The nocturnality of motorcycles - 18

The second Umbrian motocamping quest.

By sheer luck I managed to find myself with a free weekend in early September, when the weather was still very hot around here, but the crowds had started to dwindle. 

Uninspired by the usual one-night outings that are available in the vicinity, it was instead Sandro who came up with a gorgeous itinerary this time, so all I had to do was enjoy the ride and see how the bike was behaving. 

Fresh from a basic but thorough servicing, and perhaps more importantly from an extremely deep cleaning to get the desert out of every nook and cranny, the GS was ready to go. I left the panniers in the garage and only took a few light items with me in a backpack to make things as easy as possible.

The GS' last outing was towards the end of June for a quick visit in Narni, so it sat for about two and a half months without being ridden after that. It fired up with the predictability of a contemporary daily rider, something that is designed to go unnoticed, but that should never be taken for granted. I maintain that back in the late 60s with the introduction of the /5 series, an effective and reliable electric starter must have felt like science-fiction technology.

the GS in Narni

"oh so smooth!" I jokingly say out loud after just leaving the little dirt lane that leads to the main road. But it's true, the flat twin is smooth and makes getting underway very easy.

After the initial warmup to reach Vicovaro, where I was to meet with Sandro, I start to notice how nimble the GS is on its refreshed suspension, also helped by having no luggage to deal with. While the front fork is definitely happier after a careful oil change, the steering head itself could probably do with a checkup and possible adjustment. Something to do this winter, together with a valve clearance adjustment I think.

We take off towards Riofreddo and Orvinio, along one of those silent country lanes that seem to be there waiting for you, our motorcycles two of likely very few vehicles crossing it. Our next heading was Rieti (more or less) so we could find the SS4bis and attack the climb up the Terminillo mountain, somewhere I hadn't been in a very, very long time. Truly impressive once the highest peak comes into view as you're accelerating up the narrow mountain lane, with its barren flank to the right and a drop over a bright panoramic view to the left.

The descent towards the town of Leonessa makes you actually feel when you dip below the tree line again, and everything changes to a calmer, quieter ride. A road closure had us scout around for a bypass we just couldn't seem to find. Like an episode of the twilight zone, we kept returning to the same spot even though we couldn't tell how we could possibly have looped around. We eventually found a ramp to an overpass, hidden behind overgrown bushes and shrubs. 

Once on it, it was a quick blast westwards until we crossed into Umbria and approached Terni. Up there on that wide dual carriageway, I was annoyed by how this bike can feel underwhelming and almost seem to struggle past a certain top speed. The handling as expected of a pure street bike leaves a lot to be desired... something's off. Until you remember that this is not where this bike can really do its thing. It needs long distances and a good mix of on and off the road, then it makes sense. Otherwise if you confine it to the tarmac and expect a high level of street performance, you will be disappointed.

I was pondering all this, with slight disappointment, as I reached an indicated, optimistic 130kph and the bike began to noticeably struggle to go faster. It felt like the engine could rev higher if I pushed it, but the aerodynamic drag was tangible and enormous (and I didn't even have the panniers!). I had to remind myself that this isn't an R100RS, and though the engine is a strong unit, it's unfair to expect an actual 150kph cruising speed out of this big goofball of a bike.

It doesn't owe me superbike performance, rather I owe it some proper offroad trails; days and days of the stuff, with panniers, the yellow Touratech or MotoFizz bag on the rear seat and a full camping set complete with cooking gear. That's where this bike shines.

With that reverie out of the way, I see Sandro peel right onto the off ramp and immediately join another country lane where all traffic vanished, until we reached the minuscule little hamlet of Macerino. Incredible that these places exist at all, and it always makes you wonder what life must have been like when they were built... or even now for that matter.

Another location we wanted to see is the church of Sant' Erasmo, perched above the small town of Cesi. We didn't quite make it but the place is a bit of a hidden gem nonetheless. There is an interesting-looking dirt road that starts from the hilltop observatory and that seems to traverse the sizeable hilly area above, something I would like to explore with better tires fitted.

The rest of the itinerary is a bit of a blur I must admit, as I just enjoyed the ride and only saw the signs for the towns of Cesi and Amelia as we coasted by, then Castel dell'Aquila and Melezzole.

We stopped to refill somewhere along the way and based on the speedometer reading, I calculated fuel consumption was around 17km/l, which is just about acceptable. I specifically mention the speedometer because it's obvious that the instrument and the gearing that controls it is a little bit optimistic (remember what I said earlier?): an indicated 60kph is closer to 50 in reality.

Once at our destination, we dropped off our backpacks and rode to the neighboring town to stock up for the evening's barbecue. We made the classic mistake of shopping for food when hungry, which led to a dinner that could have fed an extra person. Still, all delicious and the local red was just right.

Our return the following day, after a quiet night' sleep among the hills and greenery, was basically the long stretch of the Flaminia down to Narni, Orticoli and beyond until the capital comes into view, monstrous and crowded. Each mile gets harder and hotter, traffic intensifies and riding seems almost a slog. We part ways on the G.R.A. and I head back home, making mental notes of the next maintenance items for the ever-capable BMW R100GS.

Old Irons 2026 - a report.

"oh crap, where the hell are we gonna park?" I thought as we reached the clearing in the woods, never this full since the rally moved to its new location a couple of years ago.

Earlier that morning, Lele and I set off from Campo di Giove aboard our Commandos, having completed a near-perfect tour of the Majella park the day before.

Opting for the most direct route, not feeling like we had it in us to explore a detour towards Penne and Farindola, we made our way back down towards the SS17 and up to Popoli, Bussi and Ofena. 

It's somewhat of a boring stretch of quasi-highway, but surrounded by greenery and hills. It was too late in the summer for linden, so the prevailing smell came from the vineyards, ripening in the blazing sun. We did encounter spartium, especially higher up; then dry grass, hot limestone, and essential oils from santoreggia and possibly calamintha. This may seem odd, but these scents are an intrinsic part of these excursions that always make for a richer experience, Proustian memory and whatnot.

Our focus is inevitably drawn back inwards to successfully (one might even say expertly) navigate the tight upwards hairpin turns that take you to Castel del Monte. The place is overcrowded and it feels as though it is struggling to cope with the amount of visitors, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, horses, you name it. We don't stay a second longer than we have to before we calmly continue the climb towards the plateau.

It was when leaving from Castel del Monte however, that the Roadster decided to put Lele's resolve to the test the most, I would say, and refused to start. Let's not forget that the entire machine has been recently rebuilt and really does not have that many "settling in" miles on it yet. Its pilot is certainly wasting no time as this is already the second longish-range outing he has done with it, and I'm confident that by this time next year this particular Commando will be an enviably well sorted specimen.

But for now, we must address two things that I'm sure will make this much easier to live with: luggage arrangement and, most importantly, the center stand. At the moment, the Roadster only has its side stand, and while that's great at doing what it's designed for (i.e. supporting the motorcycle) it's rubbish for kickstarting the machine: the side stand is one of the longest ever encountered on a lot of motorcycles we know, so it behaves as a spring when you're trying to temporarily overcome gravity to climb on top of the kickstart and bear your weight down. The result is that instead of delivering your power into the kickstart mechanism, a lot of it is physically absorbed by the side stand, with the added problems that the motorcycle becomes unstable and the frame and bracket are at risk of serious damage. We have to get the center stand sorted and back on the bike, it will be so much easier.

As for luggage, it's a much simpler matter of adjusting the width of the saddlebags and making sure they can stay put when kickstarting.

We reach Campo Imperatore the only possible way there is, then make a final climb to the 1,600 meter pass on the SP8, here 42.395185409042476, 13.786768861597848.

Throughout the morning we came across small packs of choppers and cool custom rides, folks who must have been on day trips from the rally itself before returning in the evening for drinks, food and live entertainment.

The same was true when we began the descent towards to Rigopiano, a few long-fork choppers were coming up and waved. The road next to the rally was already lined up on both sides with vans and some of the heavier bikes who perhaps didn't want to risk the short climb on gravel (and actually the way out can be more of a problem).

I really was not expecting to see that many bikes, there must have easily been about 200/250 mostly Harley-Davidsons, though a couple of Guzzis, (new) Indians, some Hondas and even a pair of beautifully restored Laverdas (a SF750 and a Jota 1000 triple) stood out. Imagine my surprise at finding other Norton Commandos for a total of five in a sea of Harleys:

The rowdy bikers with a heart of gold welcomed us with a cold beer and the rest of the day slowly trickled by, unhurried and enough to see all the bikes, discuss our favorites, take mental notes of some cool or unusual details, plan our next custom parts and adventures, talk absolute nonsense with friends... you know, the usual.

After another chilly and uncomfortable night, we packed up and set off on our uneventful but slow return home the following day. The rapidly rising heat made the long hours in the saddle seem even longer, and we were both exhausted by the time we turned the ignition off and shut the fuel taps.

Our Nortons are wonderful machines. We didn't have a single mechanical issue to deal with, and all they need is a little bit of servicing before our next ride. My thanks to Lele for not only coming along, but for being an integral part of this experience; grazie amico.

Majella tour 7. - the Loop

The twenty or so people hanging around the steps leading up to the Autogrill rest stop, all turned around and looked towards the entrance ramp to see what could possibly be making this loud, roaring noise.

It was Lele, aboard his newly restored 1972 Norton Commando Roadster, a signal orange brawler in full "combat" engine spec. High compression pistons, sports camshaft, performance ignition, coil and air filter... the works.

He parked next to my Fastback and by the time we returned from our breakfast, a few other (modern) touring bikes had parked next to us, their podgy owners all clad in matching grey/neon yellow "technical" jackets and intercom microphones on their modular helmets.

We filled our tanks and set off towards the Pietrasecca overpass (ever the spine-chilling trial), then banked right at the Torano ramp and all the way until the Cocullo exit: there is a tunnel right before the exit, so the effect is quite dramatic as you exit like a bullet from a barrel, overlooking the swooping ramp that eventually connects to the SR479 and that requires a maneuver closer to piloting a light aircraft than riding a motorcycle. On the autostrada, as on any other stretch of road that was long and wide enough, we maintained an easy cruising speed of around 100 to 110km/h, with enough for overtaking and generally enough reserve power to take us to 130km/h with no effort.

Mindful of the Roadster's shorter range and the Fastback's slightly higher fuel consumption, we filled up again somewhere near Sulmona, then rode past Pacentro until the Majella's western flank came into view, huge and towering over us like the curtain wall of an impossibly massive castle. It was here that I had to contemplate the dark, rain-laden clouds stretching northwards, possibly all the way past Roccamorice, it was hard to tell from where we were. And it was here that I realized that a couple of years away made me forget an important fact: this is not just a bike ride, and that there are no guarantees out here; you may reach the park, but whether you manage to tour it... that is up to the mountain to decide. You really have to approach this with genuine humility, or things are not going to go the way you want them to.

I kept an eye on the clouds as we cruised towards Fonte Romana, genuinely wondering how it would all unfold. I had been away since 2024, was that absence long enough to make me forget about something so fundamental as the respect owed to this place? This self-reflection ended with relief once I realized the clouds were staying off in the distance towards the North and, much later in the day, I finally understood that we'd escaped the rain altogether.

As it turned out, we had absolutely perfect weather throughout the day, with cool air and even some cloud cover, which only added to the cinematography of the experience. The engines certainly benefitted from the cooler air, and never faltered.

We reached the newly improved and upscaled campsite in Campo di Giove and set up our tents (Lele's is signal orange, just like his Commando).

Above: a signal orange tent for a signal orange bike.

Sometimes, when sunlight hits the Fastback just right (and in the right location, on a trip) the paint shines in a way that goes beyond just metalflake and polished top coat. This is what Toni gifted us, and when I see this it's as if he's still with us. What a remarkable thing it is to witness these motorcycles be not just machines, but vessels of memory, companions who most certainly possess their own life force.

Once the tents were set up and luggage stashed away, we sat in the shade for a little while, looking at the bikes, commenting on the morning run and then looking at a good old paper map, the kind that requires a very large table to fully unfold. This tactile, analog experience lets you immerse yourself in the itinerary and I have long maintained that knowing where you are and where you're going gives riders a much fuller understanding of what they're attempting, and a richer reward once a tour is complete.

Checking in at the campsite made for a long enough break from the morning stretch on the autostrada, and we were done right in time for lunch; I believe we started the loop at around 15:00 or shortly after. Few stops along the way and an easy pace. This format is something I had wanted to test for a long time and I'm happy to say it works, meaning that it is possible to do a complete tour of the park in just over a day and with a single night in Campo di Giove. 

It happens almost right away, during the descent to the southern tip; the riding becomes more focused, more purposeful and it takes on some sense of formality and importance. This isn't just a fun little stroll.

Do we ride fast? Certainly more so between Palena and Lama dei Peligni but this isn't necessarily about top speed only. It's about sustained concentration throughout the day, stamina and determination. If it appears fast it's really only because of the Nortons, that's just how you ride these things.

Throttle control requires precise, small and gradual transitions across the range. Not only to optimize torque and handling, but also to avoid violent shut-offs that inevitably impact the entire drivetrain, from engine pulley to belt to gearbox to rear chain.

With a disciplined mind, you then get into a sort of hyper focused state and it's as though you can visualize the throttle internals, the cables routing under the fuel tank to the carburetters, the slides lifting, all instantaneous and with no lag. As soon as we go past 3.000rpm the exhausts crack and roar, the Isolastic brings the whole machine into a tautness that has the singular purpose of going faster. Just how much can you rev these units? That very much depends on how much road you have in front of you, and how deep your pockets are in case something goes wrong. I'm not all that interested in finding out.

Everything on both Nortons was confidence-inspiring throughout the ride: the brakes, suspension, power delivery... everything we asked of them they delivered with poise and even grit at times; these machines are in great shape.

The handling is sublime: the combination of the properly set up Isolastic, refreshed suspension front and rear, and the excellent Avon tires means that you can ride these smooth trajectories with just a little bit of trail braking to help you along in the tighter stuff, but otherwise this is almost like an out-of-body experience as you glide with the machine across turns and climbs, dips and hairpins.

Contemporary motorcycles (and their riders) have forsaken this experience in pursuit of more horsepower, more torque, more acceleration; but this anxious need to one-up other manufacturers has resulted in a new reality that feels... sterile and devoid of what we get to experience on our "classics". So what we're talking about is not only stewardship of bygone motorcycles, but of a riding style that no longer exists.

Along the way, we made just one stop in the shade to make some coffee and take a couple of photos:

While the scenery is always top class, this tour is not easy and the north-eastern quadrant in particular is always absolutely grueling, there is just no way around that. It is there that we find the tightest part of the course, doubling in on itself in an endless sequence of hairpin turns with dismal road conditions: cracked tarmac, cave-ins and collapsed curbs, potholes and bumps for 35Km.

Reaching the northern-most point of the loop is thus a real achievement, every time:

The wolf howls to celebrate your arrival, but also to send you on your way, onwards to the highest point of the loop. This is not the time to give up, the climb gets steeper, the road just as challenging as before; because although the tarmac is of far better quality, the road constantly plunges into densely wooded areas - and darkness - then throws you back out into the open on sun-dappled twisties and a series of steep turns and dizzying views. 20Km that have the same effect as the bombastic finale of a fireworks display: just when you thought it couldn't be any more or any bigger, you find yourself overlooking the Adriatic sea off in the distance and far below, showing you just how far you've come.

Only a very brief stop this time because although we have proven that it is possible to tour the Majella park with a single night out, it really doesn't leave much time to cruise around, stop to take photos and stretch your legs. Strangely, the rifugio that normally hosts quite a few people enjoying a high-altitude aperitivo was closed this time.

The entire mood of the tour changes after this though; there is a distinct break between the tension and strain of the eastern climb, and the dreamlike, serene descent towards the west. I don't think the panoramas that reveal themselves on the way down towards Roccamorice and beyond will ever leave me indifferent.

By the time we reach Roccamorice we are noticeably tired, but the weather is perfect, the light beginning to mellow and the actual road is wide, sweeping and smooth. The ride down the western flank serves as a cool-down after the exertion of the tour, until we're back at the campsite and ready to pass out for the night.

A much colder night than I would have expected, as I woke up feeling cold and reaching for another layer, though it brought little comfort. With less than ideal rest, the morning task of taking down camp and packing up the bikes again felt like a bit of a chore. The only small boost was provided by our moka pot and freshly brewed coffee, but that alone can only go so far.

Still, looking up past the trees towards the mountain, it's natural to reflect on the previous day's tour: it is then that the essence of the experience can really settle, thus fulfilling a purpose and honoring land and machines together.

Time for breakfast though, and to get going again, only we weren't headed home this time.

We had a rally to reach...

A completely normal amount of things to do (...again)

I turned my attention to the Fastback in the spring of 2026. After a very long absence from the road, I was finally able to get this riot of a bike back where it belongs.

Let me take a moment to appreciate the unbelievable lines of this machine: truly timeless and, to me at least, this motorcycle still looks futuristic today (actually the adjective that best describes it is the Italian "avveniristico", but English being a no-nonsense language, doesn't quite reach the same heights). The Fastback in particular also has something so lean about it that reminds me of an English Greyhound: it's long, slim, agile, fast...

Above: what you see isn't lens flare, that's just pure speed oozing from the machine, it can't be helped.

There were several things I needed to take care of, only a couple of which were a bit of a pain, the rest was part routine, part unnecessary... but looked good once it was all done.

Surrounded by an olive grove, with little outside interference, the shed sits in an idyllic setting that's conducive to making a maintenance day more than just repair of a machine, but also of the soul.
At a farm off in the distance, but close enough to be heard and unmistakable, is a donkey. And somehow it seemed to know whenever I was doing something questionable or foolish with my tools, and would bray loudly to mock me and underline that I was being an idiot. "Hee-haw!!! That's not how you use a soldering iron!"
"Hee-haw!! That's a good way to strip a thread or round a fastener!!"
More than once, I had to concede that the donkey had a point...

Handlebar and control levers:
I started by taking off the clutch and front brake levers at the handlebar, cleaning out old grease and putting it all back together, properly lubricated and with an added shim on the clutch lever to eliminate an annoying rattle. I also replaced a missing 'E' clip that holds the clutch lever pivot pin in place. These small jobs are always oddly satisfying, and do make a difference. I also replaced the brake lever with one that matches the clutch: they weren't exactly the same before, something that had been bothering me for a while. 

The lever I took off is now part of the spares kit and can be used for either the clutch or the brake (ah, the beauty of simple, mechanical controls) in an emergency. I'll talk about the "spares & tools" separately.

And then I thought I could do better than this, and got some nice new "Biltwell Recoil" grips and a stock handlebar as fitted to the very first Commandos: it's lower and narrower than the previous one I had, giving a nicely tucked in riding position. Coupled with the new grips, this feels absolutely spot on.

As is typical, unnerving and inexcusable for these things, the throttle didn't fit over the new handlebar. Vernier calipers confirmed a small but not insignificant difference between the two parts, probably indicative of very thick chrome plating. In itself, that's not a bad thing and the handlebar is a very nice piece with excellent finish, but it must have mushroomed towards the bar end during plating. That said, after a couple of in-house attempts at resolving this, I actually had to resort to a professional machine shop in Garbatella where they were able to achieve a lovely slip fit.

Years ago, when I upgraded the clutch on this bike, I had remarked that "this doesn't just feel like a better clutch, it feels like a better motorcycle." and here again it's evident how a few small details (handlebar, grips and rev counter as we'll see later) make this look and feel like an altogether different motorcycle. The only possible explanation to this is that the Norton Commando - much like all other refined, high end machines - exists at such a rarefied level of performance and design, that even the smallest change has a noticeable impact on the overall experience.

Now, I don't want to spoil the look by fitting a mirror, but I need a mirror, so I went rummaging in our box of rear-views (anything from an old Stadium, to some Japanese items, cheap Italian moped ones) and found this:

I paused because I realized just how much time has passed since I originally bought it. Decades... 

Back then, I didn't even have my Norton yet. I was riding the Morini and wanted something a bit sharp for it, so I went to a famous shop on via Marmorata and paid a pretty penny for this thing. When the Morini was eventually restored, this mirror ended up in the box with the others, so I am actually glad to get it out again and bring it along the country roads we love so much. It polished up well, tricking me into thinking that "decades" isn't really that big a deal; then I selected a couple of washers of the right thickness and installed it. I know it probably doesn't suit the bike all that much, but the aforementioned decades have transformed it into a nice "neo-vintage" accessory with some personal history, so I'm happy to keep it at least for now.

Why not refit the previous bar-end mirror, you may ask; firstly, I didn't want to cut into the brand new grips and secondly I wanted to emphasize the narrower front end by also removing the bar-end mirror.

K&N:
After that, I moved to the air filter... oh dear. It's a K&N reusable filter that looks cool and works very well, but it was long overdue for a proper cleaning. The color of the sludge that came out of it was concerning to say the least; I'm expecting a noticeable surge in power after this! You're supposed to wash these from the inside out using a mild degreaser or soap and warm water at low pressure, taking plenty of time to get all the crap out until it's clean again. After drying, the filter has to be oiled to preserve the cotton medium. Some people use ATF, but there is a proprietary blend as well, which is what I'm using here. Ridge by ridge until the whole element takes on the distinctive K&N reddish/purple hue.

The last tour I did with the Commando was by any measure a superb trip that put the machine to the test and took a toll on it. That's the reason for this current round of maintenance and small repairs.

Roadholder forks:

Next, it's time to replace the fork oil, nothing extravagant, although there is something worth noting here: the workshop manual specifies 150cc of oil per leg, however the correct quantity for the Commando is actually 180cc. I believe the lower figure comes from previous models that had the "short" Roadholder fork (specifically the damper tube) and that might have been carried over in print for the Commando. There are a few of these typos in the manual ready to catch you out, most notably the torque value for the clutch center nut, which is dangerously too high. Research the topic and de-rate accordingly...

The top bolts were a little bit looser than I'd have liked to find, I'm going to keep an eye on these. There is no specified oil weight as far as I'm aware, I believe this is a matter of personal preference. I'm using 10w30 here, and replacing the two small fiber washers for the drain bolts.

I also took the opportunity to fit these special top bolts from Andover Norton:

As you can see, they are shorter than the stock ones and are meant for the Production Racer or other specials without the instrument pods, such as is the case with my Fastback. When the bike was originally rebuilt and we removed the speedo, Peppe fabricated the two spacers you can see in the previous photos to make up for the thickness of the now-missing instrument pods, but this is a neater solution and gives me a little bit more room, now that I have the lower and narrower handlebar.

They are made of a light alloy, which means automatic bragging rights:

Considering I also removed the two spacers, which weigh around 7g each, this means I have shaved off a not insignificant 250g from the steering and around the headstock axis.

Since these are aluminum, it also means it's probably a good idea to use an ever-so-impalpable veil of copper paste on the threads so I don't end up cursing and weeping next time I do an oil change.

Gearbox inspection cover threads repair:

the first thing to do here is to drain the oil. The drain plug is located at the back of the gearbox shell, and as the bolt head is somewhat domed and shallow, you have to be very careful that your socket is a nice positive fit to avoid rounding off the fastener. I actually used my trusty ¼″ Whitworth ring spanner since the angle between the ring and the handle is perfect to clear the center stand of the bike, as well as the gearbox shell itself. A little bit of heat and a few gentle taps always help with this sort of thing. The oil itself was predictably dark but contained almost no bronze bush dust, so nothing concerning. A new copper crush washer goes on, and the drain plug is back in place.

Over to the inspection cover, I removed the zip ties and aluminum tape I had used as a get-me-home repair during the first Gran Giro delle Montagne. That patch job was needed because one of the threads had stripped completely, so now I was able to re-tap both to M5 and fit a couple of nice parkerized allen heads. Apologies to the purists.

While I was at it, I also cleaned the tiny breather hole you can see in the photo above, it was clogged, as is commonly the case with these. This was also a good chance to check everything on the inner cover: the clutch actuating mechanism, all the retaining nuts, the knuckle roller, the gearchange bush as well as all the components behind the outer cover (the ratchet plate, pawl, and the infamous spring, the kickstart seal, etc.). I found nothing out of place apart from one stud whose corresponding thread in the gearbox shell is probably not in great shape: it's not stripped and I'm not about to dismantle the whole thing for a repair that's not needed, so I'm leaving it well enough alone for the time being.
I do have one upgrade I'd like to try out, which is the knuckle roller from the later Mk3 Commando; it can be retrofitted to earlier gearboxes and supposedly makes shifting action even smoother than it already is. The original roller is a barrel shape, whereas the later one is somewhat spherical: this should help to radially align it with the ratchet pin as it travels in its upwards/downwards arc when gears are selected. Is it needed? Does it really work? I'm not about to find out anytime soon, as fitting it requires dismantling half the gearbox.

While I was down there though, I did look at the swingarm pivot pin (or spindle, whichever you prefer), checked for any signs of unwanted play, but all seems well. A little bit of oil is added by removing the locating bolt on top of the gearbox cradle. Yes, there is a zerk fitting on one of the end caps, which is easier to access and was clearly intended for this purpose, but I don't know how effective this would be. Injecting oil through the top seems like cheap insurance against premature wear of bushes and spindle.

Rear brake ventilation:
I'd had this little kit sitting on my shelf for longer than I really want to say, but I finally got it done now.

These were found on the Production Racers in the 70s and I've always liked the look. You should just about be able to make out one of the two vents on the rear drum in these grainy images:

Witold made the same modification to his Commando years ago, and he did warn me about a couple of things: first, the self-tapping screws provided aren't all that good. Second, it's important to mark the location of the vents on the bike, rather than guess it on the bench, so that's exactly my first step here.

There, that looks about right:

Those who are not familiar with how the Commando's rear wheel is made up may find the following... unsettling. First of all, judging by the looks of the hub, you might assume this is a full width drum brake, but no. The hub is just a hub, larger than it needs to be perhaps, but made this way in order to fit shorter (therefore stiffer) spokes. The brake is a side mounted SLS unit. Then, you might understandably assume that the wheel axle or spindle goes all the way through; that would be normal. But no. The aforementioned drum brake is a casting that also includes the rear wheel sprocket, and the whole assembly is bolted to the swingarm with a dummy spindle. The actual wheel is then bolted to it on early models, or it rides on pretty small cush rubbers on the '71-on machines. The wheel spindle therefore threads into the back of the sprocket/drum assembly's dummy spindle.

Right, adjusters all the way in, wheel removed, chain removed, rear brake cable disconnected, and I can now lift the brake/sprocket assembly off the bike. The brake shoes are in fairly good shape and cleaned up well with some fine sand paper, which, together with correct re-assembly later, yielded a considerable improvement in performance. I had to dismantle everything off the carrier plate in order to drill through it, something that was far more of a pain in the ass than I had anticipated. The plate is 4mm thick and very hard iron, so this really took some effort. While quite a few friends sheepishly joked "why don't you just glue the vent plates on and save yourself the hassle?" I would never fake it.

Is it needed? Is it effective? Probably not, I will admit this is mostly for looks and again for bragging rights, so in that sense it's great.

Kröber

Racer wannabes, vintage accessory fetishists, and bona fide pilots who race classic machines on the track will all be familiar with the name Kröber. I first saw these fitted to high-end single cylinder racers, BSA and Triumph triples and all manner of specials way back at the turn of the millennium. Having one on a road machine was (and still is) a way to show off that you've taken your motorcycle to the next level with a specialist bit of kit reserved for those "in the know". I've always appreciated them even though it was never high on my list of must-haves for my Fastback. Given that decades have passed though, I think I can now afford to fit one, thus doing away with the stock instruments entirely, as well as the gear drives and unsightly mechanical control cables.

Among others, Witold also fitted one of these to his Commando years ago, although his has a white dial and the scale goes up to a scandalizing 10.000 rpm. I opted for something not quite so indecorous...

I took the bike over to uncle Fester as a way to have a nice ride and hang out as he took care of bracketeering it into place.

The ride over was a jolting reminder of just how raucous, loud and brawny this thing is. The Isolastic is set to perfection, so that the higher the revs, the more comfortable the ride actually becomes and the faster you inevitably go, floating over the road on this ultra modern flying carpet of a machine. Because while a BMW delivers linear, surging power, the Norton releases the same kind of sudden shockwave  such as you'd experience when detonating a charge. Time and again this impossible combination of dense, explosive power and panther-like athleticism leaves me stunned.

Some popping on overrun makes me wonder whether I might have an exhaust leak somewhere (perhaps the sealing gaskets are starting to go), or it could very well be the effect of the properly clean air filter, resulting in a leaner mixture. Or maybe it's the timing, or maybe it's an air leak at the inlet manifolds, or somewhere else! By the time I'm done going over a list of possibilities in my head, I actually get to where I'm going and I start looking it over. Yes the exhaust lockrings were a little bit loose, I nipped those up ever so slightly and kept looking around the head and inlet manifolds until I found the obvious culprit: the pilot air adjusting screw from the right hand carburetter was totally missing. No wonder it was popping and protesting with an idle circuit completely out of whack. A replacement goes quickly in place (this is why you carry spares!) and the problem disappears.

This looks so good, but even better than how it looks is how this works: ultra precise, the needle is absolutely steady and very easy to read. I can see how this would be of great use in a true racing application.

One small but important detail is this blanking plate that seals off the location of the previous mechanical drive at the crankcase:

Nice.

Mass reduction

The seemingly small weight saving at the top of the steering head made me think about all the other components on this motorcycle that were either replaced with lighter ones or removed altogether. Unless I'm forgetting something, we are looking at:

• cylinder barrel (the cast iron original was replaced by a Steve Maney aluminum one, known to save at least 5kg);
• belt primary conversion, estimated to save at least 2/2.5kg;
• front fender (a smaller and much lighter item compared to the steel original and its stays)
• rider and passenger footrests replaced with light weight aluminum rearsets and simple passenger aluminum footpegs;
• both wheel rims have been replaced (from original steel to lightweight aluminum);
• the front brake has been replaced (from the original TLS drum to a replica Fontana magnesium 4LS - this may not necessarily result in weight reduction in and of itself);
• the original chainguard, amber light reflectors, speedometer, speedometer gearbox and cable have been altogether removed; The rev counter has been replaced with the Kröber unit, meaning the original mechanical cable is also gone, and the new rev counter is lighter than the original;
• number plate holder and headlamp brackets replaced with lighter weight aluminum items;
• the air filter has been completely replaced by a K&N filter (this also weighs considerably less than the original assembly).
  
• The horn is certainly lighter than original heavy item.

Based on the above, I think I can revisit what I had originally estimated here to a more impressive figure, upwards of 15kg. And it's not just the weight reduction, but from where that weight was shaved off, including a considerable saving in unsprung weight, rotating mass, reduction of inertia and other complicated notions that smarter minds will surely recognize. As far as I'm concerned, all I care about is that the bike looks cooler, feels lighter and handles sharply, which is why I think it has reasonably earned the "Superleggera" moniker.

And since the proof is in the pudding, let's actually put this thing on a scale with oils and a full tank of fuel and see: 183Kg. Not bad.

Oils, filters and torque settings

A bit of a catch-all paragraph to recap on a few things. All oils have been changed; nothing exceptional here, just careful, proper maintenance - gearbox, forks and engine (plus a new cartridge filter while the rear wheel was removed as I worked on the rear brake).

I took this opportunity to remove both sump plugs, dismantle the gauze filter so I could clean it, then reassembled it with a new circlip and new copper crush washers. I then mulled this over and decided to follow Norman White's advice:

I was pleased to find the rear chain in good enough condition that I could reuse it. I gave it an old fashioned kerosene bath (since it's not an o-ring type), brushed off all the grime and old grease and checked every single link and roller. Achieving the correct chain tension is a bit of a process, but it is absolutely critical on the Commando. The sacred texts provide this in the way of guidance:

When you do things by the book, with a torque wrench, you can actually feel when everything is put together properly.

The first ride was just about twenty minutes to bring the engine up to temperature, I then returned to the shed where I had all the tools laid out to retorque the cylinder barrel to the crankcase, and the head to the barrel.

The following day, with the engine fully cold, I set the valve clearance and replaced the gaskets.

I found nothing wildly out of place so I readjusted as per the above procedure. Most of the studs that hold the valve covers in place were a little loose, so I tightened those as well. The gaskets were actually in good shape but as they tore during removal, I replaced them with new ones and used the "Ermetico Vittoria" sealant instead of the usual silicone type for a neater finish. Lastly, I went through all critical fasteners from the front to the back, top to bottom. Everything in the front end, including the wheel axle, the lower yoke pinch bolts, the new fork caps and even the headlamp mounts. Elsewhere in the machine, only a few fasteners were just a little bit loose, most notably all eight bolts that secure the rocker endplates to the head.

All of the engine/gearbox-to-frame bolts, Isolastic mounts and the head steady are accurately tight, as are the shock absorbers and rear wheel axle. We're good to go. Hopefully next time it will just be a simple matter of doing some very basic servicing. What a bike though!