"Volaaaaaare. Cantaaaare. Nelblu dipinto di blu." In 1958, Domenico Modugno won the Festival di San Remo with this classic. Now, on a bike tour above the Ligurian Sea, the croon sounds like it was written for us. The sky is blue above us, the sea is blue below us and we are flying along a sandy trail through the maquis towards the beach. Flowers, music and glamour. That's what San Remo is famous for. In February, the largest Italian music festival takes place here on the western coast of Liguria. Followed by all kinds of media and paparazzi until the grand finale, when the winner is announced. Weeks later, the finalists' songs are still blaring out of the country's radios. So often that it almost makes you sick. Especially if you don't like this kind of music anyway: Amore, Amore, Amore ...
That was my only relationship with San Remo so far - until I was invited there. "Marco, there are great trails here," Alessandro told me on the phone, "and not a soul around, not even during the festival!" The mere fact that you can bike in San Remo in February without a care in the world made me suspicious. Nevertheless, it was May before I visited Alessandro.
The nice dentist greets me with a perfect 32-tooth smile and immediately shows me the best gelateria in town. My gaze immediately falls on the mountains on which San Remo was built. Villas tower up to a certain height. The typical greenhouses in which San Remo's flowers are cultivated sprawl between them. But above them, only scrubby scrubland thrives. "Here, this is where we're going," Alessandro points to a map. "You can hardly find the trails here yourself, the cartography is too imprecise and the signposting too poor. But I've recorded everything on GPS."
THE GAME OF HIDE AND SEEK IN THE MAQUIS
There is a saying in Italian: "Son di Macchia". This means that you disappear and don't show your face for an indefinite period of time. It is no coincidence that it is best to hide in the maquis rather than in a conventional forest: the maquis grows extremely quickly and makes every trace disappear. In San Remo, the trails wind almost exclusively through this vegetation, which smells like a herb garden. The ground is a mix of sand and rough rocks. Where the terrain becomes steeper, the trails also become more toxic. The gentle landscape with sea views is deceptive. You think you're about to reach the beach. Instead, I'm struggling with steps and slippery patches made even more slippery by last night's thunderstorm. I've definitely brought the wrong bike. I thought the trails would be like in Finale Ligure, with lots of forest floor. That's why I brought an all-mountain bike. But the right bike would have been my enduro bike, with more suspension travel. That's what Alessandro is riding, smiling as he waits for me at a viewpoint. "On a clear day, you can see Corsica from here," he says proudly. I wouldn't recognise the island anyway, shaken as I am. Luckily, it's almost aperitivo time, the time of day when Italians go to a bar, order a Prosecco and are served various appetisers from the bar.
My motivation increases exponentially and I master the last tricky sections until the city has us back. We cycle leisurely downhill through old alleyways until Alessandro reaches his favourite bar. The barista is about to prepare the Prosecchi and my stomach growls loudly when I see the counter full of Parmesan, ham, olives and focaccia. "The washed-out patches you saw are the result of wild motocross riding," says Alessandro, choosing a table with a tactical view of the road so that we can see everyone walking past. "San Remo has been the Italian home of this discipline for years." Now I'm not quite sure exactly which discipline he means, because as Alessandro speaks, his eyes follow two miniskirts bobbing past. Well, I mean the motocrossers! They tear up all the trails. And when it rains, they make real gullies in the ground. So deep that they are sometimes unrideable for mountain bikers. "But now," Alessandro leans over the table, "we've looked for new trails and they won't find them so easily."
The next day, when we are back on the mountain, the sound of an engine rattling comes from somewhere. Alessandro stops and holds his head to the wind like a scenting dog. I'm not quite sure whether he wants to hear or sniff out the motorised enemy. Despite all the prohibitions, the troublemakers always find a way to penetrate the maquis. With a conspiratorial look, Alessandro tells me to turn off the trail to the right. We stop again just behind the first tree. Alessandro snaps a branch from a bush and waves our tyre tracks out of the sand behind me. This time I don't want the motocrossers to find his trail again.
Serpentines help us down a steep section, then we cut down the slope for a kilometre without any bends. We speed along and I can feel the maquis carving into my legs. The trail is too narrow to avoid touching the thorny bushes. Now the path becomes flat. A break for the brakes and for my concentration. Suddenly a stony surface, the path widens. "This is the route of the San Remo Downhill," says Alessandro. The race is held every spring and is part of the Italian Downhill Championship.
This is a three-kilometre stretch that takes a direct line from a mountain ridge towards the sea. The most difficult passages are the steep sections littered with sharp stones. Falling here would mean pretty nasty injuries. Especially if, like me, you've forgotten your protectors again. I carefully feel my way to the edge, hesitantly let go of the brakes, set my sights on the flat section further down and slide boldly down it. It's the only way to keep my balance here. The sound of my locked tyres on the sliding stones is reminiscent of fingernails on a blackboard. It's a huge relief when we reach the flowing part of the downhill section and shoot through the maquis again with our jerseys flapping.
After three days in San Remo, my riding technique has adapted to the terrain. More relaxed than before, I reach the vantage point where Alessandro points into the distance. This time I can see the outline of Corsica. Yes, that's right, close enough to touch somehow - but hopefully much further away than our next aperitivo bar? Alessandro looks at me, puzzled, but then has to laugh. Apparently he's hungry now too, because for the first time he forgets to cover our tracks...
MTB-INFOS SAN REMO
LOCATION AND ARRIVAL
San Remo is located west of Genoa on the Mediterranean, 30 kilometres from the French border. Journey: Munich-Innsbruck-Brenner-Brescia-Genoa-San Remo. Distance: 800 km, journey time: approx. 8 hours.
CARD
Compass map no. 640: "Nice-Monaco-San Remo", scale: 1:50 000.
TOURS
Orientation is difficult due to the lack of marked paths. But if you have GPS, you can download free tours: www.mtbsanremo.it and www.alpidelmareinbici.it
INFO
www.sanremoguide.it
All information about the MTB trails around San Remo can be found in the free PDF download.
