the Campotosto Mystic Trip 6 - "a hermetic path to henosis"

I don't need to be the one to tell you that we live in hard times. This bad mojo seems to affect everything and everyone, including our ability to put together even a simple motorcycle trip and take off for a couple of days.

In 2020, I rode all of three days. The rest of the time I didn't even get to see my bikes, let alone wrench on them or plan for the future.

That said, against dire odds and at great cost, we managed to observe the yearly ritual of the Campotosto Mystic Trip, once again as the original three.

Massimo was supposed to join us with a friend, but he fell ill at the last minute and couldn't make it.

On a Friday in late September, I set off from the Monolith aboard the R100GS, which I hadn't ridden in seven long years (which is mute testament of what has become of my life). It was also the first time I used the rugged Milanek panniers, and the first time I rode the bike since it received a supposed "performance upgrade" with a lightened crankshaft: in my opinion this did nothing but introduce vibration at the lower end of the rev range, for a questionable gain in acceleration. If it were up to me, I would put it back the way it was (or... this might actually be the perfect excuse to fit a big bore kit from Siebenrock, I hear they're supposedly working on a 1130cc kit!).

The panniers proved to be very practical, but I noticed a concerning tendency to make the bike unstable at anything over 110-120 Km/h, no doubt due to their shape and size, which is anything but aerodynamic; not exactly ideal for long distance cruising at speed. Perhaps this wobble could be addressed with a firmer rear suspension setting and better tires: it currently has a set of Avon Distanzia, which I did not like as I found them very hard to "read" in terms of grip and lean angle feedback. The K60 Scout Heidenau it had before were much, much better.

I pondered all this as I made my way along the unmarked route that cuts across hills and rocky countryside to emerge along the A24 autostrada.

I met Witold on his battle-hardened Paralever, and we set off along roughly the same route we had followed years ago on our Commandos. It's always a very good idea to go on a trip with similar bikes, precisely what we did this time as well.

Whereas that time our plans were foiled by horrendous and actually dangerous weather, this time we only had to endure a little bit of rain, which we waited out along the way before being able to press on; we pulled over on a quiet mountain road and sheltered under some trees, after all it's the road that cuts across the forest, not the forest that goes all the way to the edge of the road:

A simple lunch along the way, then off again towards Passo Serra, the 1600-meter border crossing between Lazio and Abruzzo, where we stopped to go just a little bit off-road to take in the view and a couple of photos.

At the bottom of the SP30, down the other side, we reached Capistrello, then headed Southeast-by-South until the town of Sora, then up the SR666 and 509 climbing all the way to the stunning little hamlet of Opi, then finally to Villetta Barrea, at long last.

The campiste we found was out of the ordinary for two reasons: first, it sits in the middle of a deer preservation reserve, and the animals roam around, graze and do what they do right there where you're camping. It's impressive, but you can also hear them all night 'long, so keep that in mind as it is not a quiet night's sleep. Secondly, you're allowed to light a fire (in designated areas), which is most unusual for campsites in general, nevermind one right in the middle of a nature reserve. 

When the time came to get some dinner, we walked over to the center of town, which on one side is squeezed along the edge of a stream with crystal clear water, as well as being right at the bottom of a steep valley on the other side, so that the town looks very unique due to its location, clinging to the foothill and stretched along a thin strip of useable land.

We had a good meal, then sat outside the restaurant on a wooden bench perched up on the steep cobblestone alley that leads to the entrance, overlooking the stream, the meadow on the other side and the far side of the valley rising up to a cloudy night sky.

It was very dark by the time we walked back, as we approached our tents we saw a few people hanging around by small campfires here and there and thought "man, that'd be nice right about now".

Because it had rained and also because we had no real gear to light a fire - which we don't usually carry precisely because you're not allowed to light a fire anywhere, it was extremely difficult to get one going, but we managed thanks to some other campers who had come much better prepared than us and were happy to lend a hand, look at our motorcycles and exchange some stories over a beer or two.

Despite the ground being pretty wet and everything else in general being quite damp, we nevertheless managed to get a good night's sleep and wake up to the deer having their breakfast in the bushes near the tents.

Packing up with the aluminum panniers is indeed very convenient, especially if you're not using them to capacity: you just throw everything in there and shut the lid, job done in a couple of minutes.

We then walked over to a pub/cafeteria and had some breakfast ourselves, then it was time to go.

On day two of our trip, Marco was able to join us aboard his wonderful BMW R100 special: it was the first time I got to truly appreciate the lines and proportion of this fine machine while riding behind it, and I have to say I cannot find anything wrong or out of place. This thing is spot on.

Marco led us to a "baita" up in the woods somewhere near the town of Ovindoli, yet another very good meal and time to relax and talk nonsense about all the nonsense we like.

The afternoon ride included a detour to Piani di Pezza, a stunning belvedere that could pass for an Icelandic landscape:

The rest of the way was brilliant, with perfect weather and road conditions, all the way up to the lake; the SS80 is Witold's all-time favorite stretch of road and it's easy to see why: a formidable 25 kilometers of highly technical and demanding riding that rewards only the bravest of riders with a gift of the essence of "why we ride", that blissful state of being, that true Moksha, the henosis that's reserved only for a select few deserving of the experience. The only time I've been able to keep up with him on this road was during Pathfinder 2, and that's only because I had twice the engine displacement he did, and we were riding small, easy and relatively slow motorcycles.

Incidentally, a modern road navigation system will estimate a good half-hour for an average tourist to complete this course. Witold can do it in around ten minutes. Probably substantially less if we're being honest.

Marco is no slouch either, and it was impossible to keep up with them for more than a few hundred meters, after that they disappeared, roaring in the distance, while I had to settle to a more sedate pace, feeling all of the seven years away from the GS, and a full year away from any motorcycle at all. I know it's no use complaining (and I could blame the tires and suspension and awkward panniers all I want), but the truth is I'll just never again ride the way I used to, meaning neither as well as I used to nor as often as I used to, and it's a tough pill to swallow.

I found them waiting for me right by the massive containment wall on the southernmost edge of the lake, then we continued over the bridge to the little shack on the other side where we stopped for a beer just before the final stretch to the campsite. It was here that we saw two Canadair water bombers swoop low over our heads and down to the lake to refill and power out of the reservoir time and again, probably headed to a fire relatively nearby. Absolutely impressive to see such a steep dive executed with balls of steel (and yet so gracefully), then full power on and oomph! up and away again.

This late in the year, and with a goddamn pandemic underway, I was expecting the campsite to be empty; not so, in fact it was quite the opposite, I have never seen it so full! We met a very young couple from up north on a modern KTM, who looked at our airhead BMWs with amazement (for how could we be so foolhardy to ride such relics) then at us with disbelief when we told them we were being lazy and were in fact riding our "modern" bikes...

As usual, the evening and dinner being looked after by Mauro, Antonella et al. was a delight. The fading light outside, the lake and the mountains disappearing into the night (and it gets properly dark up there) while you're all cozy and warm in the wooden house, the yellow lights glowing in wicker lampshades, the sound and smell of the fire, the clinking of wine bottles and glasses, the smell of food wafting over you... There is no better place in the world.

A very good night's sleep is an essential part of any CMT, and this time too the forest sheltered us and let us awake the following morning to a glorious sunny sky, as a send off after a good outing on our motorcycles, among friends.

I don't know whether there will be a CMT7 in 2021 or at all, maybe this is it. At least I hope the others get to go and have a good time along the way.

some of us have aged in dog-years...

Ride free, Toni.

I'm sad to report that Toni Raia, our friend and great artist has unexpectedly passed away.

His death leaves a void that I cannot imagine will be filled soon, or easily.

I'd like to think that a part of his soul will remain in the art that adorns virtually all our motorcycles and that through his work he made our motorcycles better; I'll certainly think about him every time the sun shines on my Fastback, or my Sportster, or the Rising Star.

He was not only one of those rare people gifted with skill and artistic sensibility beyond mere technique, he was a gentle man, a humble, honest and kind person who was enthusiastic about making us happy with his dope paintjobs, and who loved his craft, his friends, his family, and whom we will all miss very much.

Every time I took delivery of a gas tank or a fender, I was always blown away by the depth of the color, the warmth of the overall appearance, a timeless look that showed what some might regard as imperfections, but which were in fact the very essence of his work. Not to say that his work was imperfect, on the contrary, he was so good that he was able to mix his own Prana into the paint, and the result was a metaphysical quality to his work, to the finished product, that cannot be matched.

Every time... and I would say "wow man, you really outdid yourself this time!" or "this is incredible, look at it!!" and every time... he had this little smile about him, a touch of pride in his eye but immediately followed by "beh, è un po' così, questa è un po' ajo e oglio..." because he probably preferred to know that you were happy, rather than be praised.

Ride free, Toni.

The nocturnality of motorcycles - 13

Isolastic once again.

As you may remember, I overhauled the Isolastic on my Commando many moons ago. It was a very satisfying winter project that - as usual - took way too long even though I could have had it done in under a week if I'd had some free time.

The result was unquestionably a better motorcycle, an improvement measured in megaparsecs, simply put, a proper Commando.

Then Alessio decided to carry out the same upgrade on his Commando, going from the original shim type units, to the vernier adjustable that can be retrofitted to all Commandos.

Seeing as I had already done this on mine, we decided to try this together on his Fastback, which also has a belt drive primary and is therefore an almost identical set-up to mine.

Removing the primary was surprisingly quick and aided by the fact that almost everything that had to come off was barely finger-tight. Good grief!

We found an unacceptable amount of rust in the front mount, and although the rubber itself was showing some wear, I have seen much worse. The front mount itself came off the bike with no resistance, probably because Alessio's crankcases are the original ones and in all likelihood a hair narrower than mine (which are a contemporary reproduction).

A hydraulic press sure comes in handy for this (but isn't strictly necessary):

This particular bike is gradually returning to a "close to stock" look, and in that effort Alessio will be refitting the rear chain guard; to do that, he needs to go back to a 520 chain, and while we had the gearbox sprocket within reach, we replaced it with a new one (still 20 tooth). Again, the mainshaft nut came off with very little effort (i.e. worryingly it was barely more than finger tight).

Everything there is now back on, tight and properly secured.
Moving onto the rear mount, this is where things get trickier, and with one substantial difference from my Commando: Alessio's bike is a 1970 model, which means the center stand is mounted to the main frame, as opposed to the gearbox cradle as it is on mine.

Aside from the fact that he has actually removed the center stand altogether (you rebel, you!), we still need to consider a different way to support the engine-gearbox-swingarm-wheel as we separate that sub-assembly from the mainframe.

The exhausts being tied to both, we unbolted the Z-plates to let them move without the risk of damaging anything (or making things harder for ourselves).

The head-steady on this bike is the original type, made up of the same rubber mountings used for the silencers, as opposed to the actual Isolastic upgrade that's fitted on my Fastback. This too was unbolted to allow extra room to move, as were the ignition coils, rear mudguard, oil tank (actually removed), air filter, battery tray and rear shock absorbers. Yes, that is a lot of stuff, but the alternative would have been to remove the engine altogether and there was no way we were going to do that.

Because of the different position of the bracing tube on the 1970 frame, the operation to get at the rear Isolastic mounting was significantly trickier and harder than on my (1971) machine. This is something I was not expecting, although with some effort (see long list above) we managed to get it done.

Above: finally able to get at the rear mounting (only just), Alessio scrubs it clean of old rubber particles that were stuck on. The rubber mountings themselves were showing signs of compression (the metal tube being way off-center) and were probably not able to provide much in the way of cushioning anymore.

Below: the new unit in place (minus the dust cover).

The front Isolastic gets replaced on the bench and is obviously a much easier thing to do.

Meanwhile, these two keep guard on the shed:

Ferocious.
The grey one is (kind of) a Manx cat. He lost his tail in an accident but he has a good life nonetheless:

We can now begin to realign the mainframe and sub-assembly, bolting the front unit back on, the Z-plates with spacers, nuts, bolts and washers all accounted for, and finally the long mounting bolt/stud that links the whole motorcycle together.

Everything else that has had to come off or moved out of place goes back to its rightful place aboard the machine, ready to ride again at top speed. Fun fact: Norton Commandos are known to set off nearby seismometers due to the huge amounts of torque they unleash on the ground; however, thanks to the Isolastic system, the rider is unaware of the tectonic shift going on underneath the bike, and can concentrate on chasing the vanishing point to the next bend.

This was a good opportunity to give the clutch plates and basket a good clean; outside and in the winter sun:

Most of the plates were stuck together, the basket was predictably dirty (gearbox oil) and Alessio appears to be missing one friction plate, we'll look into that later on.

Below - Happiness is: wrenching on a motorcycle!

I'm glad we were able to get this done together, in a relatively short time and with no major mishaps.
Alessio now has to find the right setting/adjustment of the new Isolastic to suit his Norton and his riding style (hint: it's called a Fastback), and while adjusting the vernier units is certainly fiddly, it is far, far easier than dealing with shims.

Drinking the Kool-Aid.

Those who've known me long enough will tell you that I'm not very open minded when it comes to motorcycles. I'm set in my ways and I'm very, very picky (though luckily I don't have very expensive tastes) about what I like.

Anything with too much electronic gadgetry like fuel injection and ABS is out. And generally speaking, anything that's too popular is also out, as a matter of principle.

And yet, there is a motorcycle in our stables that by all accounts should not be there, has no business being there! I'm talking about, of course, our 1988 BMW R100GS.

BMW have done something remarkable with the GS line in general. Starting with the G/S in 1980 that invented a new genre of motorcycles (yet using what they already had! More on this concept below), in and of itself no easy feat, they evolved them over 40 years (and counting) and it has always been an extremely popular machine. And to that I say "bah, humbug." in no small part because so many of these behemoths that are actually capable of touring around the planet spend most of their time going from home to the office and back, all within the safe confines of a city, with tow-trucks and filling stations aplenty. What's the point?!
I also refuse to believe that the Telelever front suspension system is something that would work for me, though I'd be happy to be proven wrong.
Add to all that the ever more complex cooling systems, fuel injection, ABS, traction control, riding modes, on-board computer nonsense and you've totally lost me.

I know the G/S and the Paralever GS. I like the G/S's aesthetics if taken within a strict 1980s context, but do not like how it rides, with its annoying torque effect that jacks the bike up and down, and its flimsy top fork yoke that gives a rubbery feeling to the whole thing. I don't really care how our R100GS looks like, I certainly can't say that it's beautiful or even cool for that matter, but by god does it work! Simply put, there is no other motorcycle that I know or own that comes close to delivering the experience you can have with this flat twin. Not in terms of sheer performance (speed, handling, torque), both the Norton and the Sportster will run circles around it all day, and both deliver a visceral, gut-churning punch that the BMW could never do; what the GS does do, is make everything so very, very... easy. And that's why they're so popular.

I think I've said it before: BMW motorcycles aren't really motorcycles. They're 2-wheeled automobiles and they have so many quirks and oddities (that for the most part work, mind you!), to really put them into a class of their own.

You could argue, very superficially obviously, that since the /5 series in the late 60s, all the way up to the early 90s, BMW have offered the same frame and the same flat-twin engine; it's always the same bike, always the same stuff. 

Except it isn't. 

Somehow, by altering the overall recipe ever so slightly, those crazy fun-loving Germans have managed to create vastly different machines; compare if you will an R75/5 (of which I want one, by the way) with Witold's R100GS PD: same mainframe, and both have a boxer twin, yet you couldn't possibly say they're the same bike, or attempt the same type of use or tour with both machines as if they were interchangeable. I think this reveals one thing: the basic design of that same frame & engine is intrinsically brilliant, and has yielded something so versatile as to be able to last a quarter of a century in production and provide machines for a wide variety of applications, with high build quality, better-than-average reliability, and decent performance to boot.

I will never say, or feel, that a BMW could be my favorite motorcycle in the world (that is and always will be the Norton Commando)... but damn, they're looking awful close in that rear-view mirror.

Ode to the daily driver - Return of the Honda.

After much too long an absence, my trusty "Vigor" is back in daily driver action:

This bike has been well looked after by my dad while I was unable to use it, and is in better shape than when I left it!

For starters, there are new tires, the same as were fitted back in 2015, which gave good performance. An oil and filter change, new brake pads, all contribute to breathing new life into a workhorse of a machine, that has covered a truly impressive mileage over the years.

There is a lot to like about this motorcycle, a lot I have come to appreciate and, looking back, it has done remarkable things and proved to be very strong: the very first trip to Corsica, the very first Stealth Trip, the CMT3, and countless trips within the hellhole that is Rome and surrounding territory.

This may not be the prettiest or fastest or most sought after bike there is, but it is a reminder that even the most humble motorcycle is still infinitely better than the best car in the world.

Happy New Year