Bologna rewards the person who arrives by bike and then walks. It sits where the flat Po plain meets the first fold of the Apennines, a red-brick city of just under four hundred thousand, and you can feel the shift in the road long before you see the towers. From the south, the old Via Emilia and the Futa and Raticosa passes bring you down from the mountains in long, easy sweeps that end very suddenly in traffic lights and delivery vans.
The centre is gloriously walkable and badly suited to riding, so leave the bike on the edge. Piazza Maggiore is the heart, with the vast, unfinished face of San Petronio, a church planned to outsize St Peter's and held back by the Pope of the day. The cathedral proper, San Pietro, is a short walk away on Via Indipendenza, and it is a quieter, more reserved affair than its neighbour. Look up at the two leaning towers, Asinelli and Garisenda; the taller reaches about ninety-seven metres, and the shorter one has been under watch for years because of its tilt.
What makes Bologna unusual is the arcades. Some forty kilometres of porticoes shelter the streets, which is why you can stroll in a downpour and stay dry, and why the city earned its UNESCO listing for them. The university here dates from 1088 and is usually called the oldest in the Western world, which explains the student bars, the book stalls and the general cheerful disorder. Food is the other half of the story: tortellini in broth, tagliatelle with ragu, mortadella, and a lot of generous people insisting you eat more.
Practically, Bologna has a limited traffic zone in the centre, so check before you ride in, and parking for motorcycles is available at designated bays around the ring. Fuel is easy on the tangenziale. The best riding is south: take the road up the Reno valley or toward the Futa pass, which tops out around nine hundred metres, and be back for dinner when the portico lights come on.