I had exactly one week of vacation—no more, no less—to pull off an adventure that's been on our bucket list for way too long. The plan was to tackle the Wolf's Lair, an epic bikepacking loop through the Italian region of Abruzzo in mid-July. When you tell friends you're off to the Italian mountains in the hottest month of the year, they either think you're courageous or out of your mind—sometimes both. In our case, we had no choice: my new job's schedule offered only this narrow window, and Abruzzo's promise of rough terrain, wild scenery, and hidden villages was too tempting to pass up.
The 400km Wolf's Lair route is an astonishing bikepacking loop developed in 2016 by Montanus, an Italian adventure duo born in Abruzzo. It has evolved as a staple in the bikepacking community for its unique mix of epic doubletracks, stunning landscapes and thrilling descents in the plateau of the Apennines mountains. While it's touted as a gravel route be warned though, wide tires and hike-a-bike sections are a necessity.
We adapted the official route into our so-called “SE” version, which might stand for “Summer Edition,” “Simpler Edition,” “Short Edition,” or “Something Else” depending on who asks. It would shave off only a mere 50 of the original 400 kilometers with close to 6,900 meters of elevation gain. The daily distances weren't monstrous, but the combination of intense heat and rugged surfaces definitely made each kilometer count over our 6-day ride.
The original route sidestepped Abruzzo's main city of L'Aquila, however, we decided to begin and end here as it's easy to reach by train and a perfect place to solve any last-minute mechanical issues, plus it's a gem in its own right, slowly being rebuilt after the devastating 2009 earthquake.
The Ground Rules
Travelling with my girlfriend, Valerie, some ground-rules for safety had to be in place. First, no tent. Sleeping in an actual bed, with an actual shower, felt like a fair trade after pedaling all day under the 40°C sun. Second, gravel is fun and all but, albeit I'm a single track maniac, incorporating some smooth tarmac was non-negotiable to save our bodies (and minds) from constant bouncing. Our tire choices—36 mm and 40 mm—turned out to be borderline for some of Abruzzo's rocky trails, which made the occasional stretch of asphalt a blessing.
Nothing quite prepares you for the abruptness of summer in Italy's Apennines. You start climbing from the bottom of a hot valley, and within a few hours, you're drenched in sweat and dust, rationing water as if you're crossing a vast desert. Then you crest a plateau that's blessed by a sudden breeze and for a moment, you can't believe this refreshing climate coexists with the oppressive heat below. From the beginning, we learned to carry more water than we thought necessary. Though Abruzzo is dotted with fountains, many were dry or undergoing restrictions due to drought conditions so we stocked up whenever we could.
Our strategy was to climb in the morning, if possible. Even so, we often found ourselves pushing through intense midday heat. The physical toll was one thing, but mentally, the sun can be an oppressive force. We learned to stop whenever we spotted a bit of shade, pressing our backs against stone walls with the excuse of a photo or leaning under a tree to catch a few minutes of relief. Those breaks became our lifesavers.
Spaghetti Western (with a Touch Of Asia)
Abruzzo is sometimes called “The Little Tibet” yet it doesn't fully capture how astonishingly varied the region's geography is. In a single day, you can move from parched fields that mirror that of the American mid-west to forests of beech and pine, where the air suddenly feels cooler and quieter. Then, after a steep climb, you might emerge onto a wide plateau resembling the Tibetan highlands, with unobstructed views of distant peaks.
Our adventure started early in the morning in L'Aquila with strong coffee, crusty bread, and thrumming anticipation of what's to come. The city's outskirts faded to rural villages like Camarda, unfolding in stone and shadow, narrow streets leading to ever-narrower lanes, until tarmac surrendered to gravel. The true adventure ignited.
The first push into the Wolf's Lair felt like stepping into a spaghetti western. A man on horseback, leading a caravan of pioneers to the West in search of fortune could appear at any moment. In Italy, there is a subgenre of western films known as spaghetti western—think A Fistful of Dollars, directed by Sergio Leone and starring Clint Eastwood. Leone, Eastwood, Morricone - names synonymous with a landscape now unfolding around us. Movies like They Call Me Trinity were filmed right here in Abruzzo, exactly where we were riding. Forgive the movie detour, but pedaling through these landscapes felt like stepping straight into one of those westerns I grew up watching with my old one.
The landscape opened into a vast grassland: each turn, each hair of grass, amplified the cinematic illusion. Then, they appeared. Not pioneers, not outlaws, but equally iconic Abruzzese figures: Livestock Guardian Dogs (LGD), pastore abruzzese in Italian. Not city lapdogs, but white guardians, bred for purpose through centuries of shepherding. These dogs can look intimidating, but mostly keep a respectful distance. Occasionally, one would bark in warning as we passed by. We took it as a reminder that we were guests in their territory.
After a night in the renewed relics of a medieval village, we started climbing toward the Gran Sasso massif and Campo Imperatore. A mix of double and single tracks lead you deep into the woods. Hidden rocky surfaces beneath layers of leaves, small potholes, fallen trees, and steep climbs repeatedly forced us to dismount, pushing our bikes while huffing and puffing through the rugged terrain. It took a long rough descent to leave the dark trees behind and enter the astonishing Piana del Voltigno, a plateau reminiscent of the prairies of Oregon and California. This section was undoubtedly one of the most technical and challenging parts of the entire route, especially for those on gravel bikes. Navigating narrow tracks through the grass, we pedaled (and pushed, again) crossing the entire plateau, only to re-enter the woods on the far side, leaving mud, dirt and gravel for tarmac.
We passed through several ghostly villages along the way in nearly manless landscapes—places like Corvara, where only a handful of residents remain, a poignant example of many villages in the region that were gradually deserted in the wake of a series of earthquakes that shook the area a few decades ago. If you plan to visit Corvara, be aware that there's only one accessible road. The alternative is a steep staircase path, which turned into a hike-a-bike section for us. Make smarter choices than we did.
With brake pads squealing and overheating from another steep descent, the not-so-smooth asphalt was our best friend to end the day, as the fatigue of the morning began to take its toll.
A Melting Point
Our “no camping” rule led us to book small guesthouses or B&Bs in villages that often seemed half-deserted, letting us glimpse the slow-paced life in towns that rarely see tourists. In Tocco da Casauria, we said goodbye to the charming farmhouse where we spent the night —though not before using the outdoor water pump to give our “horses” a quick rinse. The plan for the day was straightforward: a smooth ascent to Passo San Leonardo, a gravel shortcut, and ending with a fast descent toward Cansano.
Valerie was dealing with her own challenges, while her spirit was high, she was physically exhausted and completely drained. To make matters worse, the weather wasn't in our favor. That day, we later discovered, turned out to be the hottest day of the entire year with skyrocketing temperatures close to 40°C (104° F).
As we climbed to the 1300 meters of Passo San Leonardo, the winding route gently weaved through the villages and towns of Parco della Majella, including the picturesque Caramanico Terme. We reached Passo San Leonardo. What once was the start of a ski lift now stands as a relic of climate change and a testament to the need for greater care in shaping (or scarring) our mountains and regions.
From there, a ribbon of gravel led us back to the main road descended into the valley. A peaceful beech forest, an ancient Roman fountain and historic shepherds' houses whispering stories of the past. We approached the final kilometers passing by an abandoned hotel in Campo Di Giove, taken straight out of the Accidental WesAnderson subreddit, before reaching Cansano. A small bar with some elderly people playing cards and a few cars lazily rolling by were the only signs of life: a radler (beer mixed with lemonade - fun Fact: Radler means cycling in Bavarian) and some Arrosticini were our rewards of the day.
Unplanned Repairs—Unplanned Sceneries
On the second or third day, I noticed a bothersome wobble in my handlebar. At first, I tried to ignore it, but the rough gravel descents made it impossible to overlook. Eventually, we decided to detour to a bike shop in Sulmona. Losing time to repairs reminded us that any plan can unravel if you don't stay flexible. We got the handlebar fixed without catastrophic failure and then improvised to get back on track. This was the day we departed the most from the original route—in fact, this entire section was completely unplanned.
The first part was a fast up-and-down on a cyclepath later identified as Ciclovia del Sagittario with gravel sections, double tracks through the woods and worn stretches of tarmac running parallel to old romans waterworks. It was then that we arrived at the first “wow” moment of the day: an artificial lake with a water plant towering behind and a narrow cement walkway to go across it.
A few kilometers further there was Anversa degli Abruzzi, a gem of a village perched at around 600 meters, overlooking the Valle del Sagittario with its wild, rugged gorges. Continuing our climb through the canyon, we finally reached the village—once again, a hike-a-bike staircase served as the entry fee with a refreshing spring to fill our bottles was the first reward.
After a quick lunch, it was time to climb again, passing through Cocullo, the village felt like a border city of the old Wild West with barred windows and empty streets. The only bar was closed, but the owner, who lived nearby, spotted those two out-of-place bikepackers and graciously opened just for us. We chatted for a while, enjoying a refreshing citron juice, and followed her advice to bypass a section of tarmac. Not to say: that shortcut was once the main road to an abandoned cave. As we climbed, the narrow canyon and shadowy, rocky gorges of the Valle del Sagittario faded behind us. In their place, the landscape opened up again, resembling the vast plateaus we saw a couple of days ago.
Emotional Rollercoaster
Not all terrain was wide-open. We navigated narrow paths that wound up steep canyon walls or descended into deep ravines in the search of gravel paradise.
Our place for the night was Rifugio Silone, in Pescina. Once a shooting-range, it's been turned into a camping site. We arrived as the sun dipped lower after our last climb of the day. We shared a couple of beers with three sheepdogs reluctantly running all over the place. We were happy with just the two of us and the three sheepdogs keeping watch over us alone in the campground. Their distant barking echoed through the night—were they warning off foxes… or maybe wolves!? As these thoughts passed through my mind, I slowly surrendered to sleep.
From Pescina we began our climb toward Gagliano Aterno. Once a basin, it now stretches out as grasslands dotted with scattered farmhouses and solitary roads leading to them, while windmills atop the hills complete the scene. The original route involved a path starting a few hundred meters from Secinara but we opted for the road instead. At this point the views were nothing remarkable and the relentless midday sun made it hard to focus on the world around us. Water was scarce, but an oasis in the desert awaited us at Chalet del Sirente: cold drinks, delicious pasta and a spot of shade.
To reconnect with the original route we could have stayed on the tarmac or taken a hike-a-bike section toward gravel. Naturally, we chose the latter. We even managed to pedal a bit of the three-kilometer stretch as we worked our way back on track. While my girlfriend isn't the biggest fan of single-track, she ended up enjoying this section. We found ourselves riding along a gravel road, passing through ghost towns known as Pagliare. The Abruzzo mountains rise majestically in the distance, framing the world around us. It was hot, but the beauty of the landscape made every effort worthwhile.
Reading various online sources before our trip, the upcoming section was described as, 'a gravel road gem, continuing all the way until Terranera in a steadily ascending fashion.' Well, it definitely wasn't that. The once-great path from Pagliare di Tione to Terranera had been extensively reworked, leaving it in terrible condition—completely unrideable—at least on gravel bikes. The surface was a chaotic mix of large rocks and loose sandy soil that made it all too easy to sink in. We had no choice but to push our bikes the final three kilometers. We later discovered that the road had been restructured in preparation for future paving. Even so, the situation was frustrating. Pushing a bike isn't a big deal if it's planned, but this unexpected ordeal caught us off guard. Fatigue, sense of guilt and doubt clouded my thoughts as I dragged Valerie along in exhaustion. From Terranera, the road became smooth once more. The sun was setting, a refreshing breeze swept across the plateau we had reached, easing the day. To top it all off, the B&B awaiting us turned out to be a true retreat—one of the best we've ever experienced. 64 kilometers and 1600 meters ascended later, Abruzzo was smiling at us again.
Moments You Never Forget
All good things must come to an end. The final act was no longer measured in days, but in the fading kilometers that began with the ascent towards Campo Felice.
We followed a series of secondary roads and forgotten cycle paths leading us to the last climb, an easy 600m. At the top, a 1,200-meter wormhole-tunnel transported us to a mystical landscape, reminiscent of the Asian plateaus, with double tracks and cowboys conversing in thick Abruzzese dialect. The atmosphere brought us full-circle, evoking the charm and feelings of the first days at Campo Imperatore. The weather was just right, not too hot, with a steady breeze. Aside from the distant hum of engines, we enjoyed the silence before going back on tarmac. There was still time to enjoy a few sleepy villages and quiet secondary roads. By mid-afternoon, we approached Abruzzo's main city, slipping in from the outskirts, retracing our path back to where our journey began.
After a week of being immersed in nature and tiny villages, the sudden presence of cars, people, and urban life jolted us. But it also stirred gratitude. We had completed a loop that tested our endurance, challenged our relationship, and showed us corners of Abruzzo we never knew existed. Reflecting on the entire route, I realized how many of us—myself included—often overlook the gems in our own backyards. Abruzzo's tapestry of plateaus, forests, and ravines rivals many of the more famous bikepacking destinations around the world, yet it remains underexplored.
This route truly exceeded our expectations. Sometimes, the best adventures aren't found on the most polished routes or under perfect conditions. They're found in the heat, sweat, and stumbling moments that threaten to break you—but end up forging a deeper respect for both the land and your own resilience. If you're considering a bikepacking trip perfect for a one-week adventure, our Wolf's Lair SE variation might be your calling. Pack enough water, brace for the unexpected, and let Abruzzo's mountains teach you a little something about yourself.
