My best motorcycle tour in 2024

It was only two days, I rode an unimpressive 650 kilometers and wasn’t even in the saddle for 13 hours. And yet this trip to Switzerland was my best motorcycle tour of 2024. Let me tell you why.

Before you read, please note: this post was translated with the help of Deepl.
If you find any errors – please have fun first and then give me a hint.

2024 was an intense motorcycle year. As in previous years, I was mostly out and about on my Zero SR/F. Although I rarely record routes and mileage due to a lack of passion for statistics, the tire wear on the electric roadster spoke for itself.

The Ducati was allowed to play model in the Dolomites – and made it painfully clear to me that it actually belongs on the racetrack and not on winding mountain passes. I ignored it again in 2024. Quite atypical for the 748: it lost a few bolts around the Sella Pass, after which the monoposto just hung loosely from the frame.

The Road King came fresh from the gym in spring, Johnny from Etschside Custom optimized the chassis. Now the Harley not only looks cool, but can also corner like a king, which I really enjoyed on my favorite passes and several short trips to the Engadin.

Unfortunately, I had to cancel my participation in the MiMoto meeting in Vercors (FR). After ten years, my Harley travels through France would have come full circle there, but a bigger project got in the way. However, my dear colleague steph had planned a stopover at my place for her journey – and because we like to ride motorcycles together, I spontaneously packed some essential things.

Start of the
 most beautiful motorcycle tour 2024

Steph invites me forward with a friendly hand gesture. She wants to follow me. But after just 30 kilometers, the road is closed due to an accident. We take a shortcut, then have a clear path on the way to the Ofen Pass and can swing in perfectly.

The muffled pounding of the King echoes off the rock faces and is lost in the coniferous forest of the Swiss National Park. The Harley has little power, its crazy weight slows down any hint of dynamism – and that’s exactly what makes riding it so relaxing.

That’s exactly what steph wants. While I don’t want or need to write any stories in my head for this one time, steph enjoys the “I don’t have to worry about anything”. On the ascent to the Albula Pass, she occasionally looms large in the rear-view mirror, but that’s due to the otherworldly tracking ability of her beautiful 1100cc monster.

The Albula enchants. Always. Rolling up to the top of the pass between barren slopes and then plunging down into the ever greener Albula valley is an experience every time. Steph dances through the bends on her featherweight Ducati, while I catch the heavy King, who likes to get overconfident on the descent, with spirited kicks on the brake pedal.

On every trip over the Albula, I have wished to see a Rhaetian Railway train set on the Landwasser viaduct near Filisur – and each time I promised myself I would hike up to the viaduct and take my dream photo. But this time it’s different. After Bergün, I get the feeling that my wish could come true today, and I’m not mistaken: out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of one of the typical red trains coming from Tiefelcastel and heading in our direction.

I bring the King to a dust-swirling halt in a parking lot, causing slight panic among a group of motorcyclists. Steph is guided into position with a few instructions, then I pull the camera out of the side case not a second too soon: click!

Photo successful, wish fulfilled. Our journey continues under the humbling Brienzer Rutsch to Thusis. We save a visit to the Viamala Gorge, but later turn off to the Rhine Gorge and marvel at the depths over steaming coffee – thanks to the Piknik bag on my Harley -, watch brave canoeists and look forward to the next Rhaetian Railway train winding its way along the bank. The railroad seems to become a theme of this tour.

Things get exciting high above the Ruinalta. This is no Swiss-style alpine boulevard, but a pitifully beaten path behind an airy Grisons fence. It demands active disregard for my fear of heights. But just a few kilometers later, it turns into a wonderful stretch of winding, well-arranged motorcycle road that takes us to Valendas, where steph knows a snack bar at the train station. There we linger over our new impressions and decide to take the convertible post bus through the Rhine Gorge at some point.

The Oberalp Pass, just under 60 kilometers from here, is the shortest way for me to reach central Switzerland. And the most beautiful. I love driving along the Vorderrhein, rolling relaxed and unagitated on the first-class road through small villages, gazing into the distance. I like being impressed by the huge Disentis monastery, I like how the road gets narrower and steeper with every kilometer closer to the pass and takes me to the iconic lighthouse at 2000 meters above sea level. Steph is already waiting there – her monster could no longer be kept behind the Harley on the hairpin bends, its running boards sparking and begging for moderation.

From now on it’s all downhill. Initially rather flat, the road descends more and more steeply in wonderfully rideable bends to Andermatt. I feel I have arrived. I’ve already been here as a photo model, precision driver and just for fun, always with dear friends and in a good mood. Now I’m looking forward to the drive over one of the most beautiful roads I know, the Susten Pass. The way it manages to captivate me every time is crazy.

The Devil’s Bridge and the dramatic Schöllenen Gorge are behind us, as is the climb up out of Wassen. Ahead of us lies a first-class road that enchants with its route and the surrounding landscape. It immediately forces me into the flow. Focused on the perfect line through the Meien valley, steph and I, now similar and harmonious in our riding style, swing the 20 kilometers to the top of the pass – and linger there, by the small lake, for a few quiet moments.

Steph has booked us a special place to stay. So special that my satnav doesn’t know it – which may also be because I don’t know my satnav. The Evergrin in Gadmen is not far from Innertkirchen on the Susten west ramp, and this indescribably beautiful stretch of dream road becomes the highlight of our day’s ride. A wonderful structure winds its way along, garnished with bridges, viaducts and tunnels, with impressive views of the valley. In countless bends, lined with stone walls built with Swiss precision, we celebrate the best hobby: motorcycling in the mountains.

The Evergrin. A place with a special magic that is not immediately obvious, even at second glance. It is only rudimentarily signposted and can be reached via a narrow dirt track that immediately makes me think “wrong turn”. It is literally colorful and different, unusual. It appears wild and abandoned, but the junk piled up in chaos turns out to be a conglomerate of seating and lounging areas, time-wasters, collectors’ items, event technology and so on.

We marvel and wonder. We look at a huge house made of stone and wood, a meadow in front with magnificent fruit trees, discover free-standing construction trailers, bathtubs and fire pits in the greenery, trampolines and oversized garden chairs – and are immediately enveloped by this flair. Everything is lovingly arranged, but so casually that a spontaneous mess would not change the loving atmosphere.

Our hostess Isa doesn’t welcome us, no, she is delighted. We are given a big hug and then shown around the house. It’s a revelation: everything is homemade, handcrafted, recycled or donated by kind souls. No two chairs, plates or glasses are the same and, above all, nothing has been bought new. Every corner is filled with books, creative or useful things, the doors of all the rooms are open, everything is there for everyone, everything belongs to everyone.

Isa offers me rooms in all price variants – or a trailer in the countryside. Steph has already reserved one, so of course I choose one too: an ancient thing, renovated by people who are cared for and supported here. It is wondrously quirky, with a wood-burning stove in the corner and red and white checked curtains hanging in front of the windows. It’s better than any suite, only night-time toilet visits are worse. Isa then leaves us alone with the words “Make yourselves at home”.

In the evening light, I tell steph about the Oberaar panoramic road, a feeder road high above Lake Grimsel. Leonoor Fischer, a traveler from the Netherlands, published a video about it a few weeks earlier – I’ve wanted to go there ever since. And because we have to refuel and eat something anyway, we are back on the road minutes later, rolling towards Innertkirchen and the Grimsel Pass. But the night catches up with us. Driving the panoramic road in the dark would be pointless – doing it in the morning is much better. So, after a hearty dinner in Guttannen, we crawl into our caravans.

At 6.00 a.m. the Grimsel Pass has us back again. Our powerful-sounding motorcycles crackle in the cold morning air, the lights go on in the Alpenrösli and in some of the motorhomes. Get up! And as we climb over the rocks not far from the top of the pass, the sun rises over the Gotthard massif.

We experience a natural spectacle. The sun warms us more and more every minute, peeling colors from the barren, overgrown rock, driving the darkness out of the valleys and luring marmots out of their burrows. And the parking lot fills up: like-minded people hold their smartphones up to the morning sun and the Swiss motorcycle scene begins to show off, accompanied by the fanfare of the Postbus. We’ve had breakfast and bought our tickets for the panoramic road and are the last in the queue at the traffic lights.

This allows us to ride as slowly as we can and stop wherever we want. We have 30 minutes to cover the six kilometers to Berghaus Oberaar, during which time an avalanche of impressions engulfs us. We look down at the gigantic, green Grimselsee below us, find our way along the narrow road cut into the rock, cast our eyes on the four-thousand-metre peaks jutting into the sky in the distance and on long but disappearing glacier tongues. We wind our way along the mountain between rocks and crash barriers, roll through an overwhelming landscape and finally, on the dam wall of the Oberaarsee, which is crowned by the mighty Oberaarhorn, we search for words to describe what we have just experienced.

We walk along the banks of the lake for several hours, looking out over the water, lying in the green of the sloping meadows and watching birds of prey, forgetting the time. We have found another special place.

The return journey to the Grimsel Pass is difficult. There are still too many photos to be taken, too many vantage points offering too many opportunities to sink into the magnificent panoramas. We could spend the whole day here. But I still have to get home today and will need at least six hours for this trip.

So we ride down the blossoming Meienwang, not without – of course – marveling at the train set of the historic Furkabahn. It fills the valley floor around Gletsch with its billows of steam and smoke, and the acrid smell of coal fills our helmets. You have to see and, above all, smell it. Of course, the Hotel Belvédère on the Furka Pass is also crying out for a photo – but hundreds of others hear the call too, the parking lot is overflowing. We give up and rejoin the traffic, which has become tedious. And during the descent, we marvel at the driving skills of some of our colleagues. Their driving style seems to be characterized by an urgent longing for death.

The look on Steph’s face when I ask about the Tremola speaks volumes. No matter how tight my schedule is, the traffic circle in Hospental always sends me onto the Gotthard. And not in the fastest way, but in the most rustic way: on the cobblestones of the Tremola. Steph doesn’t mind, so we break away from the hectic line of vehicles heading for the top of the pass and take the route over THE Swiss classic par excellence.

The Harley is given a good shake. Trim plates, luggage racks and apparently loose bolts create a new sound on the granite cubes. I don’t know what steph hears on her Ducati. I sent her ahead to stop further forward on the red center line and sit on the pavement behind her motorcycle.

Because I have a photo in my head:

In times when every second counts, the Tremola is no longer shown on the navigation systems. If you want to head south via the Gotthard, you choose the road tunnel or the less winding Hauptstraße 2, which is hidden in galleries. In view of the summer traffic volume, you don’t even want to imagine the chaos on the Tremola – that would mean gridlock for days.

We experience the pavement at walking speed. Millions of stones glide under our tires, and we wouldn’t be in Switzerland if even a single one were missing. Mighty retaining walls press the road against the mountain, we swing through its typical course, which dozens of drone photographers push anew into social media channels every day, and not a piece falls off either the Harley or the Ducati.

It’s entertaining, the photo sessions are extensive, the breaks are relaxing and the conversations about God, the world and its cobblestones are cordial. I’m always expecting to see the classic five-horse Gotthard stagecoach on its way between Andermatt and Airolo – but of all things, it doesn’t do me the favor. It’s suddenly early afternoon and I can’t delay my departure any longer. Under the Oberalp lighthouse, where we say goodbye over coffee and cake, we take one last look at the darkening sky and realize: We will both have to ride through rain.

Steph stays in Evergrin for a few more days; I try to escape the bad weather by ignoring the speed limit. I succeed as far as Thusis, then I am mercilessly overtaken and warned as I look down into the Albula Valley: don’t you dare! Lightning flashes incessantly through the fat-black clouds.

Although the rain radar reports a gap in the clouds on the Julier Pass, I have to seek refuge at a petrol station. Within minutes, everything is ankle-deep in water and I feel a little sick as my boots get soaked. I have to wait a good two hours for the gap to open before I can make it to a dry St. Moritz and finally reach home in the last light of day. Never before have I been soaked like this on a motorcycle – I’m soaked to the bone.

This short tour had it all – not just train sets, but wishes fulfilled, good motorcycling, new experiences and the most pleasant conversations. Plus perfect and challenging roads, impressive nature, scorching heat and a crazy downpour. And that’s why this was my best motorcycle tour in 2024.

Thank you very much for this,
dear steph!

Links &
Infos

• steph’s trip report from day 1 (Microsoft Sway) with even more photos
• steph’s trip report from day 2 (Microsoft Sway) with even more photos
• The route (Kurviger)
• The Evergrin in Gadmen
• Info about the festival at Evergrin

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