A vision of the future

denis falconieri

The first time I set foot in Calabria was in 2021, and perhaps I wasn’t ready for that region. My first impression had been harsh, almost repellent, like a stormy sea that rejects you. Then I climbed the mountains of the Calabrian Apennines, discovered the endless forests of the Sila, and something fell into place. In that silence, amidst woods and winding roads, I sensed that another Calabria existed, one that, thanks in part to the mountains, resonated on the same wavelength as me.
Riding through those mountains, which had welcomed me with silences that speak louder than words, I had seen brand-new signs: ‘Ciclovia dei Parchi della Calabria’ they read, planted like promises along roads that seemed to lead nowhere. And at that point, I made a mental note of a promise: sooner or later I would return by bike.
It took just a few years to get the project off the ground: in May 2025, with two friends and my bike laden with that lightness you feel when you know you have something great, yet still undefined, ahead of you, I set off from Laino Borgo to cycle the entire route and write a guide. Eight stages, from Pollino to the Strait. I wasn’t just looking for a route; I didn’t want it to be merely a search for information to include in the guide: I was seeking confirmation of that intuition.

The Journey
Right from the start, I sensed that the Ciclovia was no longer a fledgling idea, but a taut thread holding together mountains, villages and stories. Cycling there means traversing a project that has since grown to become one of the country’s most significant cycle-touring experiences, without losing its essential nature as a journey defined by effort, distance and slowness.
The first few days in Pollino were a statement of intent. Vast spaces, profound silences, climbs that force you to find a rhythm and stick to it. The bike, as always, is an excellent teacher: you can’t cheat, you can’t rush. You have to earn every metre, but that is precisely why every view becomes a conquest.

Then came the Sila, and with it the rain that gave us a taste of the harshness of spring in these mountains: two days of cold and relentless rain, seeping in everywhere. Our hands were frozen on the handlebars, conversation was kept to a minimum, and we kept our eyes down so as not to lose our way. That wasn’t the picture-postcard Calabria, and perhaps that was precisely why it was the right one. We were cycling in a more essential dimension, where beauty did not reveal itself easily but, when it did, it had a more intense flavour. I remember the sound of the tyres on the wet tarmac, the road disappearing behind the thick fog, and that silent camaraderie that arises from shared small difficulties. There was no need to say much; we just had to keep pedalling.

And then the sun came out again, treating us to an unforgettable sunset in Tiriolo, with the unmistakable silhouette of Stromboli on the horizon and the magic of colours that only the sea can paint.
As I cycled between the Serre and Aspromonte, I felt a sense of gratitude welling up within me. For the road, for the weather, for that Calabria which does not reveal itself straight away but which, when it does, does so without reserve. Aspromonte, in particular, has stayed with me with its harshness and its truth. It does not try to please, it does not soften. It asks for an act of faith and then repays you with great generosity.
And after Gambarie, the arrival in Reggio Calabria was almost sudden. After so many days of climbing and descending, the sea of the Strait appeared as a line that brings the journey to an end and at the same time opens it up to other possibilities. I stopped to look at it with the distinct feeling of having crossed something that was not merely a geographical space, thanks above all to the encounters: every day someone who had a story to tell, people who had left and then returned to live in those places that others consider marginal.

The Cycle Route is not just a line on a map, but a real possibility: that of breathing new life into vulnerable areas and the communities that live there.
Looking back on those days, I realise how certain journeys have a transformative power that others do not: in 2021 I had glimpsed a possibility; in 2025 I actually set out on it. And in doing so, I discovered that Calabria – made up of mountains, villages and people – was not just a place to write about, but a place capable of restoring meaning. And after cycling through it, I truly understood that the Ciclovia dei Parchi is not just a route linking Pollino, Sila, Serre and Aspromonte, but a concrete vision of the future, a delicate thread that binds marginalised areas together and brings them back to the centre.
I returned home with tired legs and a head full of images layered with deep emotions and indelible memories, but above all with that distinct feeling of having received a wonderful gift.

Ah, the guide ‘La Ciclovia dei Parchi della Calabria’ (published by Terre di Mezzo) was released in February 2026, and writing it was another tremendous gift.

denis falconieri, A journalist and keen traveller – including by bike – he has written several guides for Lonely Planet, including one on Calabria. He is the creator of television programmes dedicated to the outdoors and travel for RAI Valle d’Aosta. IN 2026, HE PUBLISHED THE GUIDE TO THE CALABRIA PARKS CYCLING ROUTE WITH TERRE DI MEZZO.