MONDAY

I was excited upon awakening Monday morning, as we were scheduled to pass thru three countries during the day's ride: Austria, Italy and Switzerland. In the process, we were also slated to cross the famed Passo de Stelvio. After a quick breakfast and morning cappuccino we saddled up and donned rain gear for what would prove to be another wet and wild day of riding.

Our itinerary took us past the Italian border first, but we would have to cross the first pass of the day - the Reschenpasse, which Markus said follows the old Roman road in portions. Th route was stunning and once we crossed the southern Austrian border we were greeted by the vision of Lake Resia.

We stopped for a break at an odd sight - the picture of an old church steeple rising out of the lake water. The effect was created when fascist dictator Benito Mussolini ordered the creation of the man-made reservoir, which in turn flooded an existing village.

History is a passion of mine, so historical footnotes like that were appreciated. Europe is rich with the past and changes an American's perspective on the concept of "old", as almost every village has buildings many times older than "historical" structures in a typical American city.

This was never more apparent than in the walled city of Glurns, where we lunched. Back in the days when Italy, Austria, Switzerland and Germany were a loose collection of small principalities, bisophrics, duchies and republics, the small city of Glurns was in constant threat of attack. The locals decided to fortify the city, like many medieval towns, with Glurns one of the best surviving examples.

The concept of Glurns changing ruling hands isn't an ancient relic, however, as the region was transferred to Italy after World War I, with its Italian name being Glorenza. Walking through the streets of Glurns you won't hear Italian though, as German is the language of choice. Markus warned us not to call the locals Italians either, they identify themselves as Tirolian. Populated by ethnic Germans, Tirol is a region made up of Northern Italian and Western Austrian provinces, which includes the Inn River Valley we'd passed through the day prior.

Alright, history lesson over. It was time for the imposing Stelvio Pass. Markus had built up the upcoming obstacle when he joked that the day's previous lunchtime ascent was a just mild warm-up for Stelvio. But even building it up in my mind, the Stelvio Pass was more than I could have ever imagined.

The ascent began through the fog on a soaked surface. My visor, which had been fog free almost the entire ride, clouded up and I flipped up my shield in time to see "48" emblazoned on a brown background. It was the first of the numbered signs I would see counting down Stelvio's formidable switchbacks.

Built in the early 19th century by the ruling Hapsburg dynasty to connect the far western provinces of the Austrian empire, the road up Stelvio never exceeds an 11% grade because the horse-drawn carriages of the day could not handle more extreme inclines. Even with the literal horsepower limitations of the past, the road is a formidable obstacle for modern machinery, including my BMW R1200S. The switchbacks are so extreme that the road is impassable for conventional tour buses. Even the smaller buses which can make the route have to do so with extreme caution, often making three or four-point turns to get around the tight corners.

Ascending through the clouds, I couldn't believe how high I was going. It seemed like we were riding up Mount Olympus to meet the Gods. It sounds easy, but counting down from 48 was a grueling affair. When those brown signs started registering numbers in the mid-twenties brief glimpses through the fog were available, revealing a seeming endless mountainside of switchbacks.

Getting up the Stelvio Pass is just half the challenge, as the descent has its fair share of obstacles as well. A rider must be extra vigilant to allow room for error and give busses the right of way, as the concept of duck walking a 400-lb motorcycle in reverse up an 11% grade is daunting to say the least. And the buses always get their way, with our guide relating instances where impassioned drivers had jumped out of their rigs to get into heated exchanges regarding right of way.

Once Stelvio is traversed you are in Italy, the true Italy. There's no mistaking it. Our route took us through the town of Livignio. Our journalistic entourage joked that we knew we were in Italy once we noticed the wood piles were heaped up in disarray. It was a light-hearted contrast to the meticulous shrines of woodpile engineering we found alongside every home throughout the German-speaking areas of our journeys.

The observation isn't meant as a slight, but a mere encapsulation of the lifestyle difference. Having seen the stern, vigorous Germans and Austrians working or hiking alongside the roads during previous days, we soaked in the Italian scene at a local cafe. It was midday on a Monday and the place was packed, with no one seeming to be in a hurry or with a care in the world. The parking lot was stuffed, with everyone double parked. Our entourage of motorcycles were hemmed in two-deep by makes and models of cars foreign to my American sensibilities. No worries, if you needed to get out you waited around and eventually the fellow behind you would get up and walk out to move his car with a smile and shrugging gesture.

By the way, not sure if it was the water, the beans, or its Italian etymology but the cappuccino in Italy was far and away the best.

After an all-too brief visit to Italy, our party headed through a long tunnel to cross into Switzerland. Not an E.U. member state, a traveler needs to carry their passport when crossing the border. The bearded border guard at our checkpoint must not have deemed us troublemakers, however, as he waved us through the border with nothing more than a smile and tip of his red beret. Then the rain came down big time, making it hard to remember much about the Swiss portion of our journey other than it was wet and I was really, really glad BMW has heated handgrips.

TUESDAY

Our final day of riding had us taking the scenic route back from Mieming to Munich. Ever the optimistic pessimist I geared back up in full rain regalia, figuring that in doing so I would ensure a bright, bright sunshiny day. It kind of worked, with the morning's weather passing and treating us to our first optimal conditions as we motored through the Namlos Valley.

Translating to Nameless Valley, the Namlos portion of our journey was an exceptional stretch of road. Tuesday was my opportunity to forget about notes and photos and just soak in the riding experience. I don't recall the details, just glimpses of riding ecstasy: Curving asphalt around a blue lake, passing groups of cars up the winding roads, the view of white river beds dried out from the previous spring runoff.

Our next stop was Linderhof Palace, built by King Ludwig II. An odd-looking fellow, to say the least, Ludwig built Linderhof in the 1870s as a scaled-down copy of the famed Versailles. It is, without a doubt, a memorable place, but seems exactly like a daft German king's copy of French culture. A little bit gaudy and overdone, it was still a memorable side trip, although the most "touristy" of our entire journey.

The long rambling stream-of-consciousness sentence in my brain that is my Alpine adventure will forever be concluded with an emphatic exclamation point courtesy of the Autobahn.

The Autobahn! There is just nothing like it in the States. For anyone who's suffered a minor rage-induced stroke because you're stuck behind Mr. Magoo going 50 mph in the fast lane, you've got to sample the Autobahn at least once in your life because the Germans "get it". On the Autobahn it's illegal to ride on the left except to pass, so when ever you click that left blinker there is nothing but open real estate. While it's true that there are portions of the Autobahn where there are no speed limits, these are in rural areas only. Lucky for us the 60 kilos we took on our return to Munich were in such a no-limits section. A very memorable 20 minutes to say the least!

Let me tell you, looking down to see the speedo needle brushing by 220 is one of those triple-take experiences, even if it is kilometers. Pushing up past 135 mph on a public road and holding on for dear life is beyond exhilarating. The crazy thing is the discrepancy between speeds, with some of the larger diesel vehicles restricted to somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 mph. Blasting by at over double the speed is mind-blowing. Even wilder is when you are pinned in sixth gear approaching redline and Gustaf in his Mercedez blasts by you!

Arriving at Munich was a little bittersweet, as it meant parting ways with my Boxer steed, which had been a willing and capable mount for my entire trip. BMW did its best to indoctrinate me into an irreversible pro-Beemer bias. I'd like to think the experience ingrained a permanent soft spot in my heart for the Boxer but that I still managed to return to my regular life with impartiality intact. That said, if I ever rip on a Boxer in a review, it will feel like I'm shootin' Old Yeller because of all the good times I had during the week.

We still had one night left to relax and kick back at the world-famous Haufbrau Haus in Munich. Chatting with Markus and the entire journalist posse about the week's amazing events, I didn't want the tour to end. Now I know why Tom mutters under his breath whenever he sees me, because the Edelweiss escapade is a marvelous experience. I'll always treasure the memory of my two-wheeled Alpine adventure and tackling the Passo dello Stelvio. I couldn't recommend the experience more for riders looking to make Alpine adventures of their own.

For more information on Edelweiss tours visit www.edelweissbike.com.


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