Burning the Ships on the Vivione

The saying “burning the ships” comes from a true story.

In 1519, Hernán Cortés arrived in Mexico with his men. The land was unknown, the risk enormous, the fear very real. Many wanted to turn back: the sea was right there, the ships ready, the escape route wide open.

Cortés made an extreme decision.
He ordered the ships to be destroyed. No turning back.
No Plan B.
No reassuring alternative.

From that moment on, there was no possibility of escape.
There was only one direction: forward.

And precisely because there was no other choice, they found a strength they didn’t know they had.

“Burning the ships” means exactly this.

This is the feeling that takes hold of me every time I go for this ride.

It doesn’t happen often that we tackle the Vivione. Once a year is already a lot. If I start from Bergamo, where I live, it’s a real expedition. You have to leave home early—it’s about 180 km.

From Bergamo to Forno Allione, where the climb begins, it’s roughly flat for many kilometers—flat like the ocean the Spanish conquistadors crossed. I imagine the same boredom and monotony on board their ships. And that growing sense of excitement as they approached the coast—just as we feel when we approach the start of the climb.

What can I say about the ascent?
Twenty-seven spectacular kilometers. A narrow road, zero traffic. The tight roadway, winding either through the forest or clinging to a rock face, keeps cars and campers away. Even motorcyclists are few.

At the top of the pass, a small, welcoming mountain hut—perfect for refueling with a classic “polenta e formài.” (Polenta and grilled mountain cheese). That’s our comfort food, what we need to feel safe. Polenta is common throughout the mountain regions of Italy, but in our mountains it has become iconic. It’s made from cornmeal, which gives it its typical yellow color. And corn comes from the Americas.

Here enters another key figure: La Malinche, also known as Malintzin, who greatly assisted Cortés’ expedition—not only as a translator but also through her deep knowledge of indigenous cultures.

That’s what we don’t have.

And even if the idea of continuing is hard to swallow, it’s better to accept that after the descent there’s still the north-side climb of the Presolana waiting—and it’s no joke. Eight kilometers long: if the first four are manageable, halfway up there are ramps at 14–15%. Considering the kilometers already in your legs, they become a serious obstacle.

At the summit of the Presolana Pass, about 1,300 meters above sea level and roughly 60 km from Bergamo, you realize that yes, from there the road is mostly downhill or flat.

The ships have been burned way before.
One way or another, you still have to get home.