The Best Unknown Alpine Motorcycle Touring Route

I saw the signs when I drove into Chiavenna, the historic Italian market town near the Swiss border : Passo dello Spluga chiuso—Spluga Pass closed.

This was rotten news. I was going to be in Chiavenna for two weeks, and I'd just picked up a Moto Guzzi V85 TT from the factory in Mandello del Lario, after a splendid factory and museum tour with plant manager Nello Mariotti. I was keen to put Guzzi's new adventure bike through its paces.

Ma—chiuso!

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Instead, early the following morning, I left Chiavenna headed for the less interesting Julier Pass, crossing the Swiss border, negotiating the Maloja Pass, and turning up into the Alps at Silvaplana.

The day was already a success. The weather was broiling in Chiavenna—all of Western Europe was seeing record-breaking June temperatures—but I’d cut about 25 degrees off the daytime high by climbing into the altitude. It was 60 degrees and sunny when I reached the top of the pass.

Though Julier isn’t as celebrated as Spluga, Stelvio, Susten, or Bernina, it has its fans. Some were assembled in a parking lot adjacent to the Julier’s lone café/gift shop, next to a sign that set the altitude at 2,284 meters (that’s 7,493 feet).

It was a brilliantly clear day, the sun glinting off the glaciers that paint the peaks in permanent white. I was heading for a cortado when two men approached me and asked for an assessment of the V85 TT.

I gave them what I had: Easy to ride and operate; pleasantly analog; not massively powerful, but with enough grunt to grind the Julier switchbacks gracefully.

They wanted to know about the torque—strong, but not overpowering, I told them—and the seat height—low, as they could see—and the handling—solid, but not stellar.

One grinned and told me he would write my review for me. He gave it top score—"Dieci, dieci, dieci!"—giving the bike straight 10s.

They told me Spluga was closed because the Swiss hadn’t cleared their side yet. You could ride to the top on the Italian side, but…

But why? There were better passes, lesser known passes, close by, with no traffic on them. Did I know Flüela? Did I know Ablula? They grabbed my map, and started jabbing fingers on this road and that. “Go,” they said. “Go now! Best roads in Europe!”

I had a whole day to spend with the Guzzi, so I got my cortado, saddled up, and took off. Down the northern slope of the Julier, through deep green Alpine valleys dotted with sheep, cows, and crumbling stone huts and houses, riding through to the ski resort town of Lenz.

There, heeding the directions I’d been given, I turned east, following signs for Davos and Albula Pass.

The two Italians did not mislead me. Off the main route now, I had the two-lane country road almost to myself. Gone were the semis, the mobile homes, the cyclists, and even the other motos. It was just me and the twisty tarmac.

I hadn’t yet seen the V85 TT ads featuring Ewan McGregor, and so I didn’t know the bike had his seal of approval. But it got mine. I found it extremely easy to ride, and more amusing than amazing. Simple, direct, almost analog in its appeal, the retro styling was matched by retro performance—a claimed 80 hp and 59 pound-feet of torque, all of it easy to manage—improved by modern technology like ABS, riding modes, and more. It was the perfect companion as I pushed further into the Alps.

The landscape and the architecture were now fully Swiss, no vestige of Italian remaining. The narrow road threaded tightly through tiny villages lined with chalet-style homes, only to give way to Alpine meadows split by streams and sprinkled with wildflowers. I liked the little town of Alvaneu. I loved Schmitten. I rode on, until I reached Davos.

Ski slopes. Resort hotels. Conference centers. Even a casino. Not for me. I slid right through town and caught the first road south—Flüela Pass.

It began promisingly, two lanes of good pavement, lined by stone walls holding back the pine-studded slopes. Soon the road rose above the tree line. The slopes were steeper, with fewer farmhouses and stone huts. Still it rose, past a stone church, into the twisties, and up.

The road was magnificent, and for my money more fun than any Stelvio. It didn’t have that many 180-degree hairpins, for one thing. And it certainly didn’t have that much traffic—or any, in fact. It was also a third-gear, 50 mph road, not requiring first- and second-gear crawls through tight turns on narrow roads, Stelvio style.

At the top, riders and drivers had stopped at the Hotel Flüela Hospiz for refreshments, photos and moto-selfies. A group of turban-topped Sikhs were terribly excited by a group of leather-clad Harleys. Soon the two groups were mingling and taking pictures of each other shaking hands in front of the bikes.

I stopped a while, too, to marvel at the crystalline Schottensee, a glacier-fed lake, and to watch the bikes go by. There weren’t many though. As at Albula, as at Julier, I had the road mostly to myself as I continued southeast, headed for Susch.

There I turned due south. I slid through Zernez, and turned west, making the return lap toward home. I’d planned to ride straight through St. Moritz, to Silvaplana, and back down the Maloja Pass.

But when I got to tiny La Punt-Chamues-ch, and saw signs for the bottom half of the Albula Pass…

I’d saved the best for last. The road spun through narrow valleys, climbed into forest, and back out the other side. Soon the center line disappeared. The road hugged the hillside. I stopped at an impossibly blue-green Palpuognasee, and stopped to refresh myself in the cool water.

I saw no traffic down the last section of the pass. When I stopped again in the crossroads town of Bergün, it felt deserted. I sat in the town square, refilling my water bottle from the communal spring, and ate a snack purchased at the local grocer.

I was due back in Chiavenna for dinner. Had I not been, I would have booked a room in Bergün and run the entire route backward the following morning.