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?