800 meters of elevation gain isn't much for a trained mountain biker, even without a motor. With a 350-meter descent as a reward, the tour almost feels like a letdown. But those 800 meters of elevation gain in Liguria demanded so much of me that I’ll always remember this tour along the Ligurian coast. It was a successful adventure that made me forget everything else.

I had to cut short my first attempt to reach Monte Acuto from Ceriale via the ridge due to time constraints. Otherwise, my family would have had to eat dinner without me, and I might have had to cover the last few kilometers in the dark without adequate lighting. The Pettirosso Trail, which I actually want to ride, will have to wait.

The problem is that the path to the summit is a red-to-black descent—one that has to be tackled uphill. The first 250 meters of elevation gain are still rideable, though I’m constantly searching for a rideable line. After that, it’s time to push and carry the bike, interrupted by short rideable sections.

After my first attempt, which ended at an earlier summit—Monte Croce—I thought to myself: I’m not putting myself through that again. The mostly gentle descent over loose scree, sharp-edged rock slabs, and slippery gravel has its charm, but that’s about it. There’s also another route to the Pentirosso Trail. This one follows about 15 kilometers of asphalt, then several more kilometers of mountain trail with unknown terrain. Probably not a graded forest road either.

Zen-Hike-a-Bike

How much more appealing it is, then, to hike the ridge trail over three peaks again. The idea keeps circling in my head, and a few days later, the time is right. Unlike the first time, I take my time on the 250 meters of elevation gain that’s rideable, reflecting on how to tackle such an ascent to conserve energy: Slowly, without using brute force to climb the steps out of the saddle; better to take a 30-second break now and then to keep my heart rate down. Enjoy the view, accept that the trail isn’t passing beneath me as quickly as I’m used to from my other tours. Besides, it’s still damn hot here—well over 30 degrees, despite the clouds.

Once I reach the ridge, the pushing begins. And soon after that, carrying the bike, then pushing again. In between, there are a few dozen meters where I can ride. That’s how it goes for the next hour and a half. Pushing until it becomes too tedious to hoist the front wheel over boulders and steps, carrying until the terrain flattens out again, maybe riding for a short while, then a little later accepting that it makes no sense to ride here. Push—carry—ride. Over and over again. The same rule applies here: patience—the summit is getting closer—but it’s best not to treat the climb as a race against the clock, but rather to put one foot in front of the other in a Zen-like manner. And to appreciate every pedal stroke that the Ligurian mountain ridge allows.

After two hours, I arrive at Monte Acuto. According to the map, it’s not much further to the start of the descent. Maybe the whole way from here is even rideable? After all, the route first takes me across a meadow, past two dry-stone bunkers. Maybe there’s even one of those famous Italian military roads here.

Of course not. The mountain throws everything it’s already thrown at me right back at me: fields of jagged rocks, soccer-ball-sized boulders lying in loose gravel. It’s not always clear which rocks are stable and which ones will shift when my front tire hits them. I have to carry my bike several more times. When I finally spot another signpost, I think: That must be the turnoff down into the valley. The Pentirosso Trail, at last.

It turns out I’ve gone too far. So, back I go. Only thanks to the digital map, where I can see my own position, do I spot the faintest trace of a trail that marks the start of the descent. What a joy. On the Ride Trail Map, the trail is marked with black dots; Trailforks also rates it black and describes it as a freeride trail in the top third, technical with switchbacks in the middle third, and more flowy in the bottom section. Based on my varied experiences on the trails in the area, it’s hard for me to gauge just how “black” “black” is in this case. The key factor for me: I’m out here alone. That means dangerous crashes are out of the question—safety first. At the same time, I have no desire to hike down on foot after biking in the sweltering heat.

A Trail to Fall in Love With

My fears that it might be tricky were unfounded. It does get steep every now and then, and it’s mostly rocky; loose scree and gravel are common here as well. But the Pettirosso—which means “robin” in German—is a blast: varied, a bit blocked in places, but rideable even without Tom Oehler-level skills; the switchbacks show that trail builders were at work, even though the singletrack otherwise often looks very wild. You shouldn’t be afraid of brush and thorns either.

I have to admit to one or two moments of caution; after a brief hesitation and stepping back, I jump the small drop. Above all, though, one picture-perfect trail scene follows another—it’s a trail I could marry. And yet it’s only 1.6 kilometers long and ends 350 meters below the starting point. In true style, it ends with another rocky, steep section that leads to a wide path—which, during periods of heavy rain, is probably part of the mountain stream right next to it.

Is the Pettirosso really as good, as adventurous, as it seems to me in this moment of euphoria? Or am I just convincing myself of that because the climb was so exhausting? I don’t need an answer to this question; for me, the trail and the journey to get there are an adventure that has earned a permanent place in my imaginary gallery of rides.

At this point, the time of day once again dictates which direction to take. Unfortunately, I won’t be following the red downhill trail upward to also tackle Pizzo Ceresa and the Pizzo Ceresa Vertical Downhill. Once again, the evening is well underway, and sunset is just an hour away.

The trail to the second peak is about 2.5 kilometers long and climbs 350 meters in elevation. Most likely, only a small portion of it is rideable. A little lesson in humility—unfortunately, not today. Instead, I ride the trail leading out of the valley to the end, which still has a few treats and stream crossings in store. Then it turns into a gravel road and eventually becomes paved. 

Although the highest point of the tour is only 753 meters above sea level, the endless ups and downs mean I’ve clocked nearly 1,000 meters of elevation gain by the time I’m back at the starting point. And memories that I’ll recall for a long time to come and savor with a satisfied grin on my face.