1200S: service time, part 13

"hmm, that doesn't feel right" I thought as I found the front brake lever would collapse towards the throttle and be almost unresponsive or spongy at best.

Usually this is a good indication that the calipers are all gunked up with road grime and brake pad dust, but the brake then responded as expected during a short ride, so I thought nothing of it again.

I ignored it again the next time, but had to pay attention when the lever suddenly felt stiff to operate and the calipers wouldn't fully release as I was riding (!). I knew this would lead to overheating and possibly lock the front wheel suddenly, so I pulled over on a narrow lane, with angry commuters filing by on one side and a ditch on the other, obviously at night and in the dark; the perfect roadside situation. After a minute or so, I tested to see if the front wheel was free and rode back home on the rear brake alone, which did nothing but make me confidently think to myself "see? you could totally get away with an 883 chopper with no front brake".

But to the matter at hand, time to get some tools out:

• 10mm twelve point wrench and socket
• ¼″ twelve point socket
• a couple of torque wrenches
• a Phillips-head screwdriver: at least on my master cylinder cover, the screws aren't pozidriv (sic)

We'll also need some new brake pads, a diaphragm for the master cylinder and the vacuum pump. A little emery cloth, a clean shop syringe, latex gloves, clean rags and a catch tray are always handy and should not be overlooked.

Once out of their packaging, you will notice that the pads are not symmetrical: the manual clearly explains which goes where, so pay attention to that.

A separate mention for critical chemicals: DOT5 brake fluid and some high-pressure brake cleaner.

It's easier to loosen the pad pins first, then remove the caliper. I owe the bike a mea culpa as it had been a while since I had serviced the brakes and the master cylinder in particular was quite dirty. Down at the calipers, I didn't find anything concerning; the retaining pins just needed a quick touch up with some emery cloth, the inside of the calipers and the pistons were a bit dirty but cleaned up perfectly well with the brake cleaner. In the next two photos you can see the pistons partly out, after an initial clean, and then pushed all the way back in with the help of a piece of soft lumber for leverage, easy. Notice also the anti rattle springs at the very back of the caliper, these are actually very strong and locate the pads firmly in place. They are so strong, in fact, that when removing or refitting the retaining pins, it is essential to push the brake pads against the springs: this lines up the pins with the holes in the pads and makes things a lot easier.

The pads were definitely very worn, technically still within spec but only just so. You'd be a fool to keep riding on them like this. More interestingly, they were worn unevenly (this happens when a piston gets a little stuck and the rest of the set compensates: you don't notice it as you ride and the brakes work well enough, but the pads end up a little bit uneven), so it's definitely a good idea to replace these.

Torque everything as per the manual and double check everything: no mistakes allowed here. Get a high quality socket for a perfect fit:

There is something interesting up here by the reservoir. You will notice that the sight glass for the brake fluid level is located in the center of the cap instead of on the side of the master cylinder itself. At first this may seem counterintuitive and hard to read (how are you going to tell what the level is if you're looking down on it instead of from the side?) but it's actually very simple: the sight glass will appear dark, almost black if the level is correct, but it will turn clear if the level drops below its tip, alerting you that you need to top up.

Always a good idea to go gentle with new pads for the first hundred miles or so, but we're all done.

Hold on, why is the choke cable dangling off of the side instead of being on its bracket?! Man, I don't have time for this... next time.

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...