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...
