You Wanted to Ride La Bicicletta? Well, Then, Pedala!

In Italy’s gorgeous but hilly Piedmont region, SARAH TRELEAVEN hops on a bike, as the famous idiom suggests. Now she’s just got to pedal

There’s never a bad time to visit northern Italy’s Piedmont region, but when I visited the area was in the middle of its grape harvest and there were bunches of plump Nebbiolo grapes hanging heavy on the seemingly ubiquitous vines. Porcini mushroom, hazelnuts, chestnuts and white truffles were in season and very popular on menus. I could also hear the occasional gunshot coming from wooded areas, which meant that wild boar season was on its way. Warm, sunny days gave way to cool evenings perfect for sleeping with the shutters wide open.

I took all of this in while on a bicycle—not my typical form of transportation. I had signed on for the Barolo Gastronomic Cycling tour with Exodus (operated by Headwater, which is based in the United Kingdom) and I’m still not entirely sure why. It’s possible that my brain was overpowered by the “gastronomic” part of the tour.

I knew Piedmont, in Italy’s northeast, bordering France and Switzerland, was hilly— it’s surrounded on three sides by the Alps and is known for its Instagram-ready valleys. But I was in slight denial about the exact nature of the topography, though I knew I was not in serious biking shape.

About midway through my first day of cycling, when I noticed that almost every other cyclist I encountered was wearing professional cycling gear—head-to-toe spandex, specialized shoes, fancy aerodynamic helmets—I realized that I might be in a bit of trouble, with my scuffed-up checkerboard Vans and a purple spring dress I contemplate throwing away monthly. Less than an hour later, I was walking my bike up another damn hill.

I started off in Benevello at a small hotel called Villa d’Amelia, sitting by their pool with a view of the Alps in the distance and abundant pear trees in the foreground. But even as I struggled with the physical challenges of three-to-four daily hours of intensive cycling, the beauty of the region overwhelmed me. The contrast between Italy’s major cities, especially a well-functioning machine like nearby Milan, and countryside can seem stark. In Piedmont, the near-universal embrace of slowness and pride in craft and ancient tradition was immediately and immensely endearing.

One night in Grinzane Cavour, the owner of lovely Casa Pavesi served me an Aperol spritz alongside a plate of superb cured meats and cheeses and the near-ubiquitous Grissini I had to come to find a perfect accompaniment to a cocktail, and then she took a seat on the arm of a nearby couch to chat. “Tonight your dinner is in the castle, yes?” And it was. My dinner was in a 13th-century castle just across the street from my 17th-century B&B. It was extraordinary.

As I continued my journey, cycling or walking by day and indulging in guinea fowl with caramelized onions or ravioli stuffed with roasted meats by night, I felt myself slowing down. There was something about my lack of biking proficiency that forced me to take it easy. Progress was slower than I expected, and I stopped much more often than I had hoped. I walked my bike up steep hills, often turning to admire the views of valleys lined with grape vines and peach or lemon-coloured villas. I stopped to gaze affectionately at pomegranate trees, their fruit ripening to a deep red, and to listen to hazelnuts dropping from the trees. I became uncharacteristically more concerned with the journey than the destination.

A plate of calamari and peppers.

Feeling quite at home at Villa d'Amelia.

Chef Mark Lanteri of Castello fame.

Grapes ready for harvest.

Night falls over Villa d’Amelia, deep in the heart of Piedmont.

Tonight your dinner is in the castle, yes?

The highlights of the trip were many, and soon I came to see the bike as a key tool. I could cover more ground than if I was walking. Unlike being in a car or bus, I could engage with my surroundings, smelling fermentation in the air when I hit Bricco di Neive. I stopped for lunch in pretty little Barolo, sampling Barbaresco and Nebbiolo vintages. I was able to pick up souvenirs—mostly food-related, including toasted hazelnuts and white truffle oil and bottles of light but creamy Arneis, the local white grape—and stuff them into my backpack and panniers. I parked my bike in Alba’s town square and sat and ate two chocolate-hazelnut cookies sandwiched with Nutella, and then went from store to store to smell rich white and black truffles.

Headwater did its best to prepare me. They handled all of the logistics, booking me into a different hotel every two nights, transporting my luggage and making dinner reservations every evening. My local hosts Greg and Laura regularly checked in with me, making sure I was enjoying myself, offering tips and troubleshooting the shortcuts I inevitably sought out. On the last day, in the midst of an uphill bike ride that had seemingly gone on forever, Laura appeared in her van and inquired whether I might prefer to take a lift and spend the rest of the day sitting by the pool. And I did prefer that.

The next time I do a tour like this, I’ll walk—that’s what I kept thinking. But I was drawn to the bike, over and over, walking for a bit and then riding when I regained my breath. Hopping on when the road finally started to slope downhill, the warm wind in my face, as I passed wineries and seemingly endless and highly territorial barking dogs. I would reach a hilltop village just in time to hear the church bells ring and it would fill me with absolute joy.

I don’t know if I’ll ever do another cycling tour, but I’m tempted, especially now that it’s over and the steep hills are a fading memory. But the trip provided a surprising balance for me: A not insignificant challenge paired with the absolute indulgence of eating wild game, drinking Barolo and lounging by pools with amazing views of Piedmont’s spectacular landscapes. I’m not sure those evenings eating tajarin thick with butter and Parmesan would have felt as good as it did if my thighs weren’t aching from the day’s activity.

When I travel, I frequently announce that I need a drink when I arrive somewhere. This time, rolling into the courtyards of elegant little hotels, the valleys once again at my feet, I felt like I had really earned it.