Together with Witold, we have finally achieved something that had been in the works and on our wishlist for a long time.
We first attempted this in 2017 (though the idea came a year or two before that), but due to several road closures, our itinerary was drastically altered, and we missed out on a "special feature" of the trip.
This time though, everything worked out, and I can confidently say this was the most intense, most impressive trip I have done since Corsica ten years ago. There was certainly nothing easy or relaxed about this tour and both riders and machines took a bit of a beating. What I mean to say is that although the trip was immensely enjoyable, it is certainly a "level: expert" type of affair, where the love of the sport has to be strong enough to overshadow the physical and mental (and mechanical!) toll it inevitably takes.
I want to properly convey the scale of what we have done, so allow me to take you back to another trip that's a bit more than your average motocamping weekend: the Majella tour. Take a look at this description, here, then feast your eyes on the map below, outlining the loop that goes around the massive complex:
With that in mind, here is the itinerary we followed over five glorious days of touring this sacred land:
Day 1 was a return to Fiastrone, where I had been a couple of times before. The road is a beautiful and easy stroll along the Valnerina, though peppered with speed traps. It has also been fully repaired after the horrendous earthquakes of a few years ago, so you can now go all the way up to the town of Visso, make the hairpin turn into the Grande Via del Parco, and reach the plateau near Cupi, then make your way down to the lake. A brief stop up at the top, resting in the shade of a tree, is an opportunity to savor some fresh mountain air and listen to the sound of a steady breeze and bugs chirping and buzzing around.
The salt-of-the-earth guy who runs the campsite is a quietly jovial fellow, friendly and laid back: "bring your motorcycles right by the tents, but please, try not to make too much noise early in the morning?". You got it chief.
Above: the new tent in fully-vented mode. This turned out to be an impressive piece of kit.
Below: while not strictly necessary, being able to make a simple hot meal makes carrying a basic cooking kit worthwhile.
While this first day is not overly taxing, during the night I awoke to this dull ache in my right wrist, no doubt some tendonitis ascribable to the Fontana replica brake and the effort it requires to function. It kept me awake for a while, but I eventually fell back to sleep and woke up refreshed and restored, full grip strength back, a welcome surprise. That didn't bother me for the rest of the trip, though Witold and I both seemed to wake up to new aches and pains every day, in areas I'm sure you can well imagine.
Day two is far, far more challenging and requires long hours in the saddle, full concentration on riding as well as on navigation, for there are many different stages and it is necessary to double check your location on maps and GPS devices from time to time. The views along this hard to reach area are impressive:
After our meal we decided to press on, with many miles left to cover and tents to set up (or so we thought...); as we were at the top of the road I thought "I'm feeling lazy so I'll just put it in gear and jump start it". That part worked well enough, but when I tried to downshift into second, I found the gearbox was totally stuck. I tried fourth, which worked, then back into third and... disaster! I looked down to see the rearset linkage, and the rod to the actual gearbox dangling off of the starboard side of the motorcycle. At first I thought - hoped, really - I might have lost a bolt, but as I looked closer I saw that the linkage bracket had cracked, with clear signs of a stress fracture that finally gave way. Imagine how my heart sank as I pictured waiting for hours for a tow truck, only to return home barely a day and a half into this epic trip. Then I thought "no, we just need to find someone to weld this back", and I coasted the rest of the way down, where Witold was waiting for me. I pulled up next to him and said "I broke the gearbox" and he went "...what??", looked down and said "oh that's nothing, let's find a blacksmith". He went asking around and we continued coasting downhill (thankfully), until we reached Isola again. There we saw a bunch of teenagers wrenching away on their highly souped up scooters, asked if they had a welder and when they said "that's the only thing we're missing" two of them offered to escort us further down the road where they knew someone else who could help. And so with them leading the way and Witold giving me a push for a few miles (thank you), we reached this metalworks and fabrication workshop, where a couple of very friendly guys helped us with the repair. They were very kind and refused payment for their work, what true gentlemen.
The weld held up for the rest of the trip, and I wouldn't be surprised if this lasted for many years to come. As I had said in a previous post, I have been wondering whether to switch back to the standard footrests, and while this incident might be an argument in favor of that, on the other hand the Commando handles so damn well like this, that it would almost certainly be a step backwards to refit the standard footrests. We'll see.
This is the shortcoming of fitting rearsets to a Commando, as anyone who understands the Isolastic system will tell you. Rearsets such as these create a rigid link between the rubber mounted sub-assembly (engine, gearbox, swing-arm and rear wheel) and the motorcycle's main frame. This focuses vibration in that exact spot, which after a while (admittedly about 15 years and many thousands of miles) results in metal fatigue and failure. The original setup keeps the two (mainframe and sub-assembly) separate by bolting the short gearshift lever directly to the gearbox and the footrest to the mainframe, so it's your right foot that absorbs vibration at that point.
Still grateful for the kindness of strangers, we pressed on towards the eastern flank of the Gran Sasso and Campo Imperatore complex, at long last completing the itinerary we had attempted in 2017, but which had been blocked off by the awful avalanche in January of that same year. The fact that the road is once more accessible should be understood as a great feat of (I suspect) military engineering: clearing away what was essentially a giant-sized game of pick-up sticks, with a high risk of further damage and injury, must have been an impressive thing to witness. On the upside, I guess lumber must have been plentiful that year.
We reached the plateau at Campo Imperatore, elated, and a friendly German guy took our picture, which you can see at the very top of this post.
After a brief stop at the "ristoro Mucciante" we continued down towards Calascio and Santo Stefano di Sessanio, only to find the campsite shut. Luckily, the excellent "locanda sul lago" is a stone's throw away and we were welcomed with a spacious room (separate beds you guys) and a delicious dinner at the in-house restaurant. The place has obviously been beautifully restored and is well maintained. Highly recommended.
A good meal and a hot shower, what more could you possibly want? We woke up the following day ready to include a Majella tour into this already impressive trip.
Day three is thus the fourth time I have gone around the Majella park and that place hasn't lost an iota of its wild charm and awe-inspiring presence. We reached the town of Sulmona after a tedious stretch of quasi-highway, then found our way to the small and beautiful hamlet of Pacentro, where the amazing SR487 takes you to the edge of the loop. A mere 12 kilometers long, and yet the most impressive introduction to the Majella park you could imagine. I know that road, I've ridden it before, and still I was gobsmacked by the time I reached the top.
A right turn signals the beginning of the loop and it's at this point that Witold and I exchanged motorcycles, we continued for a short while, until we stopped to regain our rightful rides.
At this point I should mention what you'll have already spotted, that is a Honda VF500F, Witold's latest acquisition and a bit of a technological gem, with its water-cooled V4 engine and aluminum frame.
Another reason we stopped was to check the weather, on our pocket computers, as well as with good old mark-1 eyeballs. As you can see in the next photo, we had reason to be concerned that this particular Majella tour may have some nasty weather in store for us:
I have to say, I really like the look of this bike, with its sharp lines, eagle-like fairing, that tail pointing up and that belly pan proudly stating V-FOUR.
It's amazing what modern technology can do for us: we had a radar in the palm of our hand and with it were able to spot a window of opportunity to complete the loop and sneak through some heavy stormy clouds. It would require no stops other than absolutely essential (a quick refueling stop and grabbing a sandwich, no sit-down lunch this time), but it was doable. So we went for it, getting the odd tail-end of a drizzle here and there, patches of wet road elsewhere, but luckily no rain. We completed the tightest version of the loop (no detour at lake S. Angelo this time) and still managed to climb up to the top, though we only took a couple of photos and headed back down right away. It was by far the quickest tour of the Majella out of the four I've done so far.
On a clear day you can see the Adriatic sea from up there, and for miles around; that day all we could see was layers and layers of clouds being beaten around by the winds, so we decided to head back down and not push our luck more than we already had. Tired after the climb, relieved from having made it to the top, we approached the way down with a much more serene state of mind, which only enhances what must be the most scenic part of the whole loop. The first time we came here we ended up at this particular spot as the sun was setting, and it was such a spectacular moment that I still get goosebumps every time I think about it. Doing the rest of the loop at night is not necessarily a good idea, but it might be worth repeating just to capture that experience once again. This time, it was no less beautiful, and we slowly rolled down while taking in the view of this majestic place.
Somewhat in disbelief and equally overjoyed, we completed the loop just as these horses were making their way up towards a meadow that's nearby:
Another 12 kilometers of the wonderful road to Pacentro (made all the more spectacular by the castle perched on top of a rocky outcrop coming into view as you descend) and then off again to Santo Stefano, where the people at the inn had graciously kept our luggage for the day, so we were able to tour the Majella park unencumbered by extra weight, and really enjoy the ride. I had originally thought that we might spend two nights in Santo Stefano, at the campsite, but Witold came up with a better plan: seeing as we still had plenty of daylight, it was worth the extra time to reach Campotosto, so that we could enjoy two nights camping in the forest and enjoy the wonderful hospitality at what is most likely my favorite place on Earth.
The prevalent scents of spartium, linden and spruce resin are, as always, an essential part of any of these trips, and they have the ability to infuse the ride with an extra dimension, a more complete experience that's highly alluring and soothing to the soul.
As usual, Witold has no rivals on the SS80, though this time I really was not far behind him. It's no hyperbole when I say that throughout this trip I have ridden the Commando better than any other time in all my life. Even Witold noticed a marked improvement and, coming from him, that's very high praise indeed. I have gained new confidence and understanding of this amazing machine (every time I thought I was being unkind to it, I kept saying to myself "trust your Norton", and I wasn't wrong), helped in no small part by the excellent Avon RoadRider tires, and... my new helmet. This may seem counterintuitive, but having a top quality full-face helmet has given me a level of comfort, quiet, and stability that allows me to concentrate far more (and for far longer) than I was ever able to with my classic open-face jet helmet.
In particular, it is an Arai "Concept X" (also referred to as the Rapide in certain markets); I love the styling of it, but more importantly, this is a truly wonderfully crafted piece of equipment, and it's no wonder Arai enjoys the reputation it has. It was a gift from my wonderful girlfriend who, despite not being as into motorcycles as I am (yet), appreciates that a 12-year old jet helmet is probably not the safest way to go.
The Arai proved to be light, comfortable, with excellent visibility, stability at speed (120/130kph), great ventilation and good noise reduction: enough to cut out annoying frequencies while keeping you well aware of mechanical noise and potential traffic hazards.
Reaching Campotosto always brings about this sense of homecoming, of being privy to some secret, of being one of the chosen few who gets to experience this place in this way. There were actually quite a lot of chosen few to be honest, but we still had our own little corner under the trees, where we set up the tents and relaxed until it was time to head down for aperitivo and dinner.
As always, the evening's feast and libations where incredible, and the best possible way to close off such a full day. I think I must have drifted off to sleep in my new tent in just a few minutes, and slept very well indeed.
This tent follows the current trend of having the poles as the outermost frame, with the rain sheet hanging below, and the tent itself attached below that, in a way that eliminates any contact between the two (and should help keep you dry in case of rain); as it happens, I do think it drizzled a little bit both nights we were there, but it was certainly nothing heavy, and everything inside the tent was bone dry. While not necessarily any faster to set up, it is considerably lighter than my Ferrino, thanks to remarkable new materials that are somehow strong yet light.
Day four was thus an extra day to ride once more with no luggage on the bikes, and we had a special guest for the day, as my dad joined us in the morning aboard the R100GS, toured with us up to Castelluccio di Norcia, then returned to base in the afternoon, completing a 400km day trip that's certainly no easy feat.
When monte Vettore comes into view, it's possible to spot a group of trees that was planted in the shape of Italy:
On the way down the SS80, Witold's Honda hit 50.000kms on the clock; this thing is practically like new.
After these five days of hard riding, my Fastback looks a little worse for wear, but make no mistake, this is one remarkable motorcycle, going strong at 50 years old and if it's capable of doing so well on a big tour like this, then it can take on almost anything.
The thing about these trips is that they trigger a sort of bulimic frenzy of the mind, and I find myself planning new itineraries, considering all sorts of possibilities and ways of rearranging locations to yield new experiences... How about an expanded Majella tour, or a foray into the mysterious region of Molise? Big bikes? Slow bikes? Small bikes? Choppers? The mind reels.
Until we come up with something, and until we can actually get back out there, here's to the next one!
