Majella tour 2½. - Day 2

My consciousness drifts from dreamland to the real world and I open the window to stare at the mountain. I grit my teeth, I want to go now.

Bright sun and sky, low humidity. Good visibility and seemingly little traffic out on the roads. The German demonstrates what not to do with excess luggage strap:

A certain someone should keep this in mind...

The Norton fired up on the first kick, as it does most of the time. It sounds great, the valvetrain is perhaps a little loose but it's ok. I start applying pressure to the clutch lever, I feel the resistance of the diaphragm spring and then the modified pushrod contacts with the needle roller bearing, giving a totally effortless action, and an uncanny Ducati-like sound to the disengaged clutch plates.
The Commando's gearbox is a masterpiece, I think anyone who's ever ridden one would agree. John Favill and his team did an exemplary job with it, and I am grateful for it. First gear engages with the readiness and presence of a high-caliber round.

We're off!

The south-west quadrant of the park is one big transition from forest to grasslands. It starts with the mountain towering over on your left (the loop goes counter-clockwise, anything else is heresy) and a thick forest on your right. There are one or two clearings along the way, but it's hard to guess where you're heading until the road dips, then rises sharply, exiting the forest and you find yourself overlooking wide grasslands and very distant mountains down south.

This is where you reach the quaint little train station of Palena and, more significantly, the southern tip of the Majella complex. This is where you round the buoy and begin the ascent on the eastern flank:

Shown in green above and in red, confusingly, below:

After hanging out with this inquisitive little fella for a while, we got back on the bikes and started the climb on the south-eastern quadrant.
This tour has you constantly engaged and working hard, but it's all fun, as evidenced by that big grin:

About half way through this section, nearing the town of Lettopalena, is where the road is less tightly wound, but much more spectacular: enormous slabs of rock jut out onto the road on your left, the overhang is often more than just noticeable, it actually forces oncoming traffic towards you a little bit. To your right is a fairly steep drop to the valley down below, and between you and it stands a very low stone wall.

The vegetation in this part is also unusually Nordic-looking, and it gives this section of the course its own distinctive feel.
Slightly wider corners and a clear view of oncoming traffic mean you can technically go faster, but you very quickly realize there's a precise limit between fun and folly. We respectfully stay below it and continue towards one of the region's many artificial lakes, Sant' Angelo.

Probably the hottest part of the day, that little bit of shade was the perfect place to break up the ride.

After that, you're in the most challenging part of the whole tour, where the roads wind furiously and the surface is a mess: cracks, collapsed curbs, potholes, you name it, the north-east quadrant will throw it at you. You have to understand, this mountain does not want you on it, so you have to win every mile.

It takes its toll, we reach Bocca di Valle and stop at the excellent agriturismo la Tana del Lupo. 

Highly recommended. These guys keep a quiet little place, sober and very clean. The food is elaborate but very genuine and definitely delicious. They're fond of wolves and they have a couple of Czechoslovakian Wolves there too.

A young artist left this on their wall, it's very witty:

Oh and their genziana ain't half bad either!

At the town of Pacentro you make a left turn at a roundabout marked with a white marble statue of a howling wolf, and begin the ascent to Passo Lanciano through one of the most claustrophobic sections of the circuit: no matter the time of day, or weather conditions, it is dark down there in the woods. The road gets narrower and lulls you into a false sense of security with a nice steady rhythm of corner after corner, before throwing a gnarly 90° left-hander, with the apex just inches above a dangerous dip towards the guard-rail and an exit trajectory that goes against the engineering brief of most motorcycle suspension systems.
Actually what I noticed (last year too) is that by far the two things that take the hardest beating on this hellish tour are the engine (probably the valvetrain most of all) and the suspension. Primary, clutch and gearbox seem to cope fine, as do the brakes surprisingly. The Roadholder and the Asatek shocks get a real workout here, but everything works well, with only the sporadic "clunk!" from the front fork at full rebound. This is tough riding, but it's the only way to complete the loop in one day.

Last year we had tackled both the autostrada stage from Rome to the park, and then the loop in the same day; that was insane, and by the time we got near the northern edge of the park, it was starting to get dark (partly because of the forest) so we considered finding a place to stay - no luck, so we took off again headed for Santo Stefano. Because it was that late in the day, we had to miss out on a short detour near the top of the Majelletta.

This year we had time, and we made it. Or we made it as far as motor vehicles are allowed, which is fair enough:

There seems to be some controversy surrounding the actual altitude of this particular spot, which I will now illustrate in yawn-inducing detail.

In this photo, the German poses handsomely in front of a carved plaque on the front of the mountain hut:

It would appear to say 1930 meters above sea level, but if we zoom in a little closer...

It looks to me like the carving says 1980, but the paint says 1930. Was this a mistake during the carving stage? Has the paint faded? And why do the current decals we got at the hut say 1.888 meters??

Whatever the explanation, or the actual altitude, it's fair to say you're close to two kilometers up in the air; crisp mountain air.

The road that leads from there to Roccamorice is probably my favorite of the whole tour, especially if you can time it so that you're there right as the sun sets. Just when you thought you'd seen all the best views and landscapes, this place will blow your mind. We stopped to relax for a little while.

The one above somehow makes me think of one of those early 70s ads in Cycle magazine (Evo Sportster aside) and I think we capture that spirit today, decades later, because of these motorcycles. We have picked up the baton, or the flame, or whatever other Olympic metaphor you prefer, and are taking good care of it.
With that in mind, despite appearances I am not taking a leak on my Norton, I promise!

We have crossed back over to the western flank, everyone is tired and there is still plenty of road ahead.

As Caramanico comes into view we stop to take more photos, we are now in the north-western quadrant with the hardest part behind us, and Alessio dances with joy:

The very last stop before getting back to Campo di Giove is Passo S. Leonardo, where we take a closer look at the bikes:

Nothing to worry about, just a little copper paste that must have oozed from the exhaust threads and found its way down.

This was a great day, one of those rides that will stick in your memory and, hopefully, become something of a legend as tales are told over time, and mountains get higher, temperatures more extreme, speeds more blinding, leaning angles more insane... Although we did have a camera most of the time so that'll keep us honest. By the way I'll try to put together a short clip with sights and sounds, probably sometime in the fall/early winter.
After a day like this it's hard to comprehend what you've just done. Looking at the mountain from the hotel you get a sense of scale and can't help but laugh at the thought of these two tiny ants going all the way around it like a couple of idiots: highly recommended.
The night sky is mostly clear, the moon shines bright and you can even see Mars, or Barsoom to use its native name:

Shall we do this again next year?

Majella tour 2½. - Day 1

Unlike every other trip over the last few years, where I've gone in with a mellow vibe and every intention to relax and really be absorbed by the landscape of a particular itinerary, this time I went at it like war. This was not the time to smell the flowers (although I still stopped to take some photos), or isolate every living scent. This time there was only one smell: gasoline.

Having missed out in June, I was not amused, and determined to see it through. So, the first thing was a change of strategy, with a new approach route for day one, a "base of operations" in a hotel (more on this controversial topic later) right on the loop, so we could begin day 2 with zero waste of time or energies.

I am not a fan of hotels, but the convenience is undeniable; at least for me it's not a question of comfort - my tent and my gear will always be cozier than some random place with a wonky mattress and tacky landscape "paintings" hanging on wood-paneled walls - but there are two aspects that make this an acceptable strategic compromise: you ride with far less luggage on the bike, and you are right there on the loop at the start of the second day, as opposed to camping out in Santo Stefano di Sessanio which adds 70 miles, just to reach the loop and return to the campsite, a lot of them rough and demanding, definitely a cost to be factored in.

I have been following a new route that crosses the towns of Palestrina and Capranica Prenestina, eventually merging with the Tiburtina state highway; this seems to be a suitable meeting point for those coming from Rome, and gives us the option of using the autostrada or one of several country roads fanning out from that point. For me, it means a 45-mile warm-up across a lush green landscape of hills and valleys; perfect.

Once on the autostrada, I catch up to Alessio at one of the rest stops and we continue, as usual, towards Campo Felice. For the first time though, we actually stopped in a couple of places along the way to take in the landscape. These photos give you a good idea of what it's like, but being there is quite the experience:

Alessio stares down those ominous clouds, it must have worked as we only felt a couple of raindrops later on when we stopped for a "light" lunch.

A little further along, past the "Valico la Chiesola" pass, the view opens out onto the Campo Felice plain. This is definitely one of the highlights of the day:

I'm told these are called "crocus" and they are where saffron comes from. Huh.

We glide down to the plain below and stop for food and drink. It's always windy around here, and cloud cover means it feels a lot cooler than the stifling heat we've experienced in the city.

We take off again headed for Campo di Giove, which will be our base for the following day. The weather at this point is perfect.

Notice the Speedmaster. Alessio's watch takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'.

All goes easy, save for one minor detour somewhere around here, luckily nothing bad:

We reach "Hotel Belvedere" in the late afternoon, the bikes are stashed away for the night and we are warmly welcomed by Gino and his mother, who looks after us that evening with portions that are twice too large. Ready for a good night' sleep and ready for the following day's tour.

Our room looks out onto the south-western flank of the park; it is only a fraction of it, and it takes up our entire field of view. This thing is immense.

My gloves still had the faintest soupçon of wet dog from the previous weekend, but by the end of the first day they seemed to have aired out completely.

We're ready.