2016 — Rock the Road: A Wild Ride to Castellón
"Scootering is not a fashion!"
My ex-girlfriend and I planned a relaxed summer trip to Spain. What we got was 6,500 kilometres of broken ribs, holed pistons, a 21-hour death ride through the night and a carburettor jammed at full throttle inside an Alpine tunnel at 1,600 metres. I would not change a single kilometre.
This is the story of Rock the Road — the tour that nearly broke everything except my will to keep going.
Three Days Before Departure — The Engine Dies
I had been calling 2016 a cursed year for a while. Right up until the moment we left, it kept proving me right. Three days before the start date, Madalina's engine gave up completely. Not a minor issue — a full teardown and rebuild. My friend Holger Kempter spent days with me getting her back together in time.
We also had to rebuild the engine on her Bajaj from scratch. Two complete engine overhauls in three days. We left on 26 May 2016 together with a few members of the Blechrollerbande Kempten — already exhausted before we had ridden a single kilometre.
The Alps and Cortina
Before everything went wrong, the tour gave us some genuinely beautiful days.
We crossed the Alps via the Arlberg and rode down into Cortina d'Ampezzo to visit Marco "Devils" — a remarkable man who runs a small private Vespa museum dedicated to the Euro Vespa rally. We stayed for dinner and overnight. The kind of hospitality that makes you remember why you travel.
From Cortina we rode south to Parma for a meet-and-greet with the Vespa Monkeys — a proper welcome with coffee, handshakes and the kind of warmth that only a group of passionate Vespa riders can offer.
Finale Ligure — Asphalt, Oil and a Broken Rib
Italy welcomed us with rain. Not the romantic kind — the cold, relentless kind that turns everything into a trap.
Somewhere in Finale Ligure we hit a roundabout. What I did not see until it was too late was that the entire surface was covered in a foam of oil, dirt and sand. I went down faster than I could react and slid thirty metres on my backside through the roundabout with Madalina sliding next to me. It was like ice. The floor was so slippery that my rain gear did not even tear — small mercies.
My ex-girlfriend was riding directly behind me. On pure reflex she put her feet down, screamed and somehow kept her Bajaj upright — nearly rolling over me in the process. Madalina got scratches. I got a broken rib and a bruised ego. My ex-girlfriend got a severe shock and spent the next hour shivering. We found a café, got her calmed down, inspected the bike and took stock of the damage.
From that moment on she made jokes constantly — every bump, every corner, every rain shower became material. She had decided the best way to punish me for giving her that shock was to make me laugh until my broken rib hurt. It worked every time.
Any sensible person would have stopped there. I taped up, climbed back on and kept riding. We had a rally to reach and 2,000 kilometres still ahead of us.
While in Finale Ligure I also met Simone Sciutteri — a man who had ridden 15,580 kilometres across all EU countries in winter on a 1985 Vespa PK50. A Guinness World Record for the longest journey on a 50cc. He wrote a book about it and I recommend it to anyone who thinks adventure requires a big engine.
📖 Eurovespa by Simone Sciutteri —
available on Amazon Italy — Italian, Kindle & Paperback
A Night in Aix-en-Provence
Continuing west into France, we stopped in Aix-en-Provence as guests of Jean-Louis Cruvellier — president of the Vespa Club Aix-en-Provence. He had ridden 260,000 kilometres on his Vespa — not on one trip, these are lifetime kilometres — and written a book about it. He has written several books: 260.000 km en Vespa, a travel diary from his Croatia ride in 2023, and in 2025 he rode to the North Cape with two friends and documented the journey in a film screened at his club. He is the kind of rider who makes you feel like a beginner, and does it with complete warmth.
We had dinner at his home and stayed the night.
The Camargue — Three Nights Stranded on a Gravel Car Park
The Camargue started beautifully. White horses in the marshes, flamingos standing pink in the shallow water, the road flat and fast. The scooters were flying. The air smelled of salt and wild herbs. For a moment, after everything that had already gone wrong, it felt like the trip was finally giving us something back.
Then Madalina made a sound I had never heard before — a single flat plop — and died on the spot at a crossroads. No warning, no coughing, no build-up. Just stop. I rolled her onto the gravel car park of an old wine shop and looked at the engine. Complete failure. A hole in the piston.
We set up the tent on the gravel and I started making calls. The Vespa World Days were happening that same week in St Tropez — a day's ride away. I contacted people there asking if anyone could bring a piston. The response was what you might expect: everyone was too busy, too far, or too deep into the party to care. The scooter community at its finest.
I borrowed the Bajaj and rode through the surrounding villages looking for a mechanic, a parts shop, anything. What I found were a few market stalls selling regional delicacies — tapenades, saucissons, local wine. I bought everything I could carry. Not because I was hungry. Because I needed my ex-girlfriend to stay calm enough not to abandon me on that car park and ride to the nearest hotel with a spa. Honestly, I would have understood if she had.
Three nights on gravel. No hotel, no shelter worth mentioning. Luc Saint tried to get parts posted to us — the shipment failed. Eventually David Castella and Skooter Rascal from Skooterkult drove out from Avignon to save us. They worked through the night until 1:00 in the morning changing the piston, swapping the CDI, rejetting the carburettor. Without them the tour was over.
The 21-Hour Death Ride to Castellón
Three nights lost in the Camargue meant we were days behind schedule. Vespazahar was not going to wait for us. So we rode. 21 hours. We allowed ourselves exactly one stop — two hours of sleep in a tent thrown up in an industrial area somewhere in the dark, no sleeping bags pulled out, no mattress, just two bodies horizontal for 120 minutes before we packed it back up and kept going.
Through the night, through the heat, I was constantly glued to my mirror. As if my watching would somehow prevent anything bad from happening. My ex-girlfriend was following my tail light like she was in a trance — just holding on, trusting the light in front of her. I did not tell her how worried I was. There was no point.
We made it to Castellón.
The event was already in full swing when we arrived. They had set up an aperitif in a bullfighting arena — complete with a fake Vespa-bull as the centrepiece and snacks being passed around. After 21 hours on the road it felt surreal, like walking into someone else's party. A good party, but still.
I recognised faces from my tours in Spain in 2014 and 2015. Sergio Durán from Malaga was there — may he rest in peace. Javier Armengol from the Vespa Club Castellón. Old friends who had no idea what we had just ridden through to get there.
I introduced my ex-girlfriend as the hero of the ride. For me this was just another adventure — hard, yes, but my normal. For her it was her first. She had ridden through a crash, three nights stranded in France, a 21-hour night run and had still kept the wheels turning. Everyone wanted photos with her, everyone had questions.
She was so exhausted she could barely stand. At some point she leaned over and told me quietly that she would punch the next person who asked her anything. I sent her to the hotel and stayed on, smiling and talking and being present — because that was what we had been invited for. Presence and smiling.
She had more than earned her sleep.
Barcelona, Pontedera and the Piaggio Museum
After Castellón we rode to Barcelona and boarded the overnight ferry to Civitavecchia. On board we ran into a group of Vespa riders heading home from the Vespa World Days in St Tropez — the same event where nobody had been able to bring us a piston three weeks earlier. We had a few drinks, a good laugh about the irony of it all, and decided to ride into Rome together the next morning.
Rome was a proper day off. St Peter's Square, the streets of the old city, Francesco Muroni from Vespa Club Roma joining us for pizza in the evening. After the chaos of the previous weeks it felt almost normal. Almost.
From Rome we made a small detour south to Pontedera — my second visit to the Piaggio Museum, the birthplace of Vespa. The 70th anniversary special exhibition had just ended, which was a disappointment, but Simone Borghini was there and turned it into a proper photo shoot. Tuscany on the way north was some of the best riding of the entire tour — rolling hills, empty roads, warm air. A reminder of what this was supposed to be before everything started going wrong.
My friend Sean Jordan had his Vespa "Hamburglar" there. I left a small souvenir on it for him.
Bologna and the Alps in the Rain
The mountains between Pistoia and Bologna handed us one of those moments that make you believe the world is genuinely small. We were standing in the rain in front of a tiny B&B in Sambuca Pistoiese — a village so small it barely appears on maps — when my old friend Claudio Zappetti suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I knew him from Spain and Finland, where he had already hosted me and Madalina. I thought he was living in London. He had no idea we were passing through. We stood there laughing in the rain like idiots.
North of Bologna the engine started four-stroking — thermal problems, the heat, the long days. We nursed Madalina through it and pushed on toward Austria.
From Lago di Garda we crossed the Alps toward Zell am See for the Vespa Alp Days — friends, familiar faces, a reason to keep going. Then ten hours of solid rain through the Alps on the way there. Not drizzle — proper Alpine downpour. My ex-girlfriend has night blindness, and she navigated the mountain passes in the dark and the wet without complaint. That took more courage than most people will ever know.
Felbertauern Tunnel — The Scariest Moment on Two Wheels
At 1,600 metres elevation, entering the Felbertauern tunnel, the carburettor jammed at full throttle. I did not want to be an unlighted obstacle in a tunnel — it was getting dark and the walls were closing in. I had no choice but to keep going, flying toward the exit, hoping nothing was in the way.
At the tunnel exit the road was wet from heavy rain carried in by passing vehicles. I killed the engine at the last moment and nearly went into the tunnel wall. I rolled Madalina out to a small cabin and parked her under the roof. Then I took out my lamp and started investigating.
I got the carburettor unstuck. Relief. Then I went to reassemble everything — and the small pin holding the throttle cable snapped off in my hand.
That was the moment I lost it. After everything — two engine rebuilds before departure, a broken rib in Italy, three nights on a gravel car park in France, a 21-hour night ride, and now this — I stood in the rain outside a tunnel at 1,600 metres in the dark and screamed at the top of my lungs. It was the first time in the entire tour I completely lost my composure. My ex-girlfriend got genuinely worried. She had held it together through everything. Watching me break was apparently worse than any of the disasters.
I eventually pulled off a MacGyver-style repair — connecting the throttle cable to the carburettor through a small cable tie. It worked. Just about.
By the time I finished it was fully dark. My ex-girlfriend has night blindness. We had no choice but to roll down the mountain pass in the dark and rain at 30 to 50 km/h. She could only follow my brake light. I could see nothing behind me except the occasional flicker of her headlight. Every bend felt like it lasted an hour.
We made it to Zell am See.
Entering the village, a bus driver decided we were too slow and overtook us at full speed, spraying us completely. And then — I only found out afterwards because she was riding behind me — some idiot leaned out of a car window and not only shouted abuse at my ex-girlfriend but actually tried to hit her.
She did not tell me until we were off the bikes. Lucky for him. If I had seen it I would have chased him down, and the tour would have ended in a warm cell somewhere in the Salzburger Land.
Thomas Pedrazza offered us his apartment. That act of kindness probably saved what was left of the tour — and possibly my freedom.
In Zell am See I also met Atze Eischeid — author of Vesparicana, a book about his journey from Alaska to Argentina on a Vespa. 80,000 kilometres between the two ends of the American continent. Stefan Poerschke was also there — a rider who has made it to the North Cape on a Vespa, I believe twice. Many, many Vespa kilometres in the picture and behind the camera. I met Atze again at the Vespa World Days 2017 in Celle, where he presented his book.
Home — 70,000 km on the Clock
We rolled back into Kempten on day 16. As Madalina crossed the city limits, the odometer clicked over to exactly 70,000 kilometres. She had earned every one of them.
2016 was the year I learned that preparation matters, that the right people can save a tour, and that a broken rib is not a reason to stop. My ex-girlfriend proved herself tougher than most riders I know. The road gave us everything it had — we gave it everything back.
Route and Key Facts
| Distance | 6,500 km |
| Duration | 16 days |
| Countries | Germany · Austria · Switzerland · Liechtenstein · Italy · France · Andorra · Spain |
| Bike | 1979 Vespa P200E "Madalina" |
| Co-rider | My ex-girlfriend on a Bajaj |
| Odometer milestone | 70,000 km on return to Kempten |
| Injuries | 1 broken rib (Finale Ligure, Italy) |
| Breakdowns | Holed piston (Camargue, France) · Carburettor full-throttle jam (Felbertauern tunnel) |
The People Who Made It Possible
Holger Kempter rebuilt the engine three days before departure. Luc Saint tried to get parts to us in France. David Castella and Skooter Rascal drove from Avignon and worked through the night to get us back on the road. Simone Borghini helped in Italy. Thomas Pedrazza opened his apartment in Zell am See. Every long tour has a list like this behind it.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is Vespazahar? An international Vespa rally held in Castellón de la Plana, Spain — one of the biggest Vespa events on the Iberian Peninsula.
Did the broken rib stop the tour? No. I rode 6,500 km across 8 countries with a broken rib. That is La Vida Vespa.
What happened in the Felbertauern tunnel? The carburettor jammed at full throttle inside the tunnel at 1,600 metres. I nearly hit the tunnel wall and oncoming traffic before killing the engine. I finished the stage with a cable tie holding the throttle cable together.
How long were you stranded in the Camargue? Three nights on the gravel car park of a wine shop near Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Friends drove from Avignon to repair the engine overnight.
What bike did you ride? My 1979 Vespa P200E "Madalina" — the same bike that rode 22,450 km across 32 countries in 2014.
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