One Night in Monti Sibillini NP, Abruzzo, Italy
It started with a simple mark on Google Maps: “Scenic View.” I like those, so without a second thought, I downshifted my bike and veered onto the dirt track. The trail snaked upward through some bushes, bumping along the way. In my excitement, I almost drove into a narrow, deep hole in the road, but just missed it, and the view opened up… I stopped, took off my helmet, and laughed. This unexpected hidden meadow at 1,400 meters felt like a private kingdom in the sky – the perfect campsite if it weren’t in a national park where wild camping is strictly prohibited.
I decided to just hang out for the day; it was just too perfect to leave. It even had a picnic table. So, I edited some video, flew the drone (yet another no-no in a national park, but in for a penny, in for a pound…). As time passed, it became clear that I was gonna risk it. It was obvious looking around that other people had camped there before, and it WAS a glorious spot for the first camping experience of the year.
I unpacked my gear and pitched my small grey tent near a cluster of pine trees, partly hidden from any distant road. I settled in for dinner. On the menu: a crisp fennel salad (chopped fresh on the spot), a few slices of hard salami, and a plastic cup (or two) of local white wine. Why fennel salad AGAIN? That is what happens when you shop hungry. A while ago, I got two gigantic fennel heads I’ve been trying to finish. Still got some. Luckily, I love it.
It was a simple meal, but up here, it felt like a feast. I raised my humble plastic cup to toast the absurd beauty of this find. Salute! Not a whisper of wind, not a single human voice or car engine – just me and the mountains sharing a quiet dinner.
I felt like an explorer claiming new land, grinning at the thought that I was getting away with a forbidden camp in such a magnificent spot.
In a few hours, the evening light was turning the distant layers of the Apennines pastel pink in stunning silence. In every direction, grassy slopes stretched out to meet the mountains on the horizon. A lonely wooden bench stood at the edge of the plateau, as if placed there just for me and this view. I couldn’t believe my luck.
I had stumbled on this perfect wild camp spot purely by chance. The sense of solitude and freedom was intoxicating. Here I was, the only human for miles, standing in a high alpine bowl under a sky quickly fading to dusk.
Sure, I knew I was being a bit of a troublemaker. Wild camping is illegal here – exactly what every guidebook says not to do – but that just made it more thrilling. I wasn’t hurting anything: no fire, no noise, no trash, just me under a sky full of stars. What’s the harm? I figured, smirking as I poured another splash of wine.
The Milky Way shimmered overhead as I lay back beside my tent. If this was a crime, it was certainly the most serene one I’d ever committed.
Around 10 p.m., just as I am about to fall asleep, I hear an engine and see headlights approaching through the fabric of the tent. My heart jumped — is it the law? I can’t see out, so I’m just waiting to see what happens. The engine stops, just a few meters away, so I am sure I’m in trouble. Who would choose to camp 10 meters from the ONLY other person in this vast empty plateau? Must be the cops!
Then I heard german spoken. OK, so it’s unlikely they are cops… Why on earth would anyone chose to camp next to the only other person in the plateau? German-accented laughter and clinking beer bottles soon echoed across the darkness; so much for solitude. Maybe they never even noticed me, I suppose. I briefly considered getting out to confront them, but … it wasn’t really worth it. I do have earplugs. I pulled my beanie over my ears and let their faded merriment become my lullaby. I drifted off to sleep.
I woke to silence again in the chilly pre-dawn glow. My phone read 5:30 a.m., and the inside of the tent was cold as a fridge – little wonder at this altitude. I wriggled into yesterday’s clothes, layering up in the semi-darkness: thermal shirt, sweater, riding jacket, and resisted the urge to wear the helmet.
Peeling open the tent door, I was greeted by a pale purple sky and the sight of mist clinging to the valleys below. The air was crisp and smelled of damp earth and pine. Thousands of early birds chirped all around. I took a deep breath of the morning mountain air, which was so fresh it nearly cleared the fog from my brain. Stepping out, my boots crunched on frost-tipped grass.To clear the rest of the brain fog, I pulled out my cappuccino-making setup. I know, I know — what person in their right mind would carry cappuccino-making equipment on a motorcycle trip around the world… But who said anything about being in the right mind, right?
Our rowdy German friends were still conked out in their car, a dark lump on the otherwise empty plain. I smiled, feeling vindicated – the noisy night was worth it for this magical dawn alone.
I packed up my little camp, stuffing my tent and sleeping bag into the bike’s panniers. The sun was up now, and a bit of warmth returned to the world.Before departing, I rode to the far edge of the plateau to take in the view one last time.
Below, a wide valley was blanketed in fog, with only the tallest trees and hilltops poking through like islands in a white sea. I snapped a few final photos then i pulled out the drone. It barely got 10 meters up when I turned around and saw a tiny 4×4 SUV with the Carabinieri inscription on it pulling up beside me at the top of the hill. Sneaky bastards. Shit.
Two officers stepped out – polite but curt, saying flying the drone is VERY forbidden. They asked for my passport and went back to the back of their SUV, out of view. I heard them talking to each other, almost like arguing. I found myself wondering if they have cappuccino in jail. They must have; it’s Italy, they’d have riots if not. With my mind more at ease now, I awaited their return. They came back asking if I reside in Romania (passport says non-resident). I told them I live in the US. They looked at each other, gave me a look, gave my passport back, and told me again, drone is very forbidden. I gave them my most apologetic smile and promised to never do it again… ahem. I don’t know if they bought it, but in the end, they let me off with a warning, wished me a good day, and drove off. Maybe they felt sorry for me when they heard about me living in the US…
Heading down to the Edicola del Piangrande, a large flat valley near the top of the range, I saw it covered in morning fog — it just looked… photoshopped. Naturally, I stopped to take a few pictures. When I turned around to get back to the bike, I saw the little 4×4 far off on a distant hill, watching me. It was the same Carabinieri patrol – clearly not convinced I’d learned my lesson. I gave a quick wave, showed my phone and the obvious lack of a drone remote, and they quickly did a U-turn and disappeared around a bend.
Riding away, I felt… satisfied. I’d come for a panoramic view and found much more: solitude, wonder, a dash of rebellion, and a story to last a lifetime. Not a bad haul for a random detour on a Wednesday night.
