Gift horse - part 11

With points ignition and electromechanical components, this BMW is completely analog and blissfully unaware of the ongoing worldwide chip shortage:

Triumph at the Old Irons

Another one that had been in the works for a long time, and I am frankly surprised I managed to get this done at all. Suffice to say, this Triumph 3TA "Twenty-one" had been sitting at the back of the shed for a really long time, though thankfully my dad has been able to ride it every once in a while and that served as a bit of a test to see if a longer trip like this could even be attempted.

I must admit I was not completely confident that such a small and apparently delicate machine would be able to tackle the same type of trip (and especially terrain and elevation) I normally do on the Fastback or Sportster, and part of the reason I wanted to do this was to inject some sense of adventure into a trip I now know pretty well. To me, this is the value of small capacity motorcycles: everything becomes just a little bit more daring.

I divided the luggage as follows: on the back of the seat I had a roll that comprised the poncho (which also serves as an additional ground sheet for the tent, needed on the rather rough terrain at Campo Imperatore, with thorns and thistle so hard they can pierce a leather boot), the self inflating sleeping pad, the complete tent and a small bag with a few other essentials.
Another, much lighter roll was tied to the parcel grid on the gas tank, with my trusty blanket and the sleeping bag.

I kept tools and spares to the absolute bare minimum, thinking that a broken control cable, fouled spark plug or faulty carburetter float are all things that can be easily fixed; there is, therefore, no excuse for setting off without at least these simple components and the basic tools needed to effect the repair. That said, I didn't bother taking the whole workshop along with me just in case: if there's a breakdown and it's easy to fix, I'll be prepared, but if something catastrophic happens, there's no point lugging around a ton of tools. In this particular case I'm happy to report the bike performed admirably (no breakdowns) and didn't require a single bit of maintenance other than a quick check after we exited the autostrada. But more on that later.

On Saturday morning my dad, our friend Walter and I set off from the Monolith aboard the Morini 500, the Commando Interstate and the Triumph, then met our new friend Lele after the 70km route through the hills and valleys that skirt Monte Guadagnolo immediately to the east. I had long fantasized about riding the Triumph along this route, which I have done a good few times on the Fastback, Sportster and R100GS, often thinking "I bet it would be so relaxing to do this on the Triumph. I bet it would be smooth and enjoyable". The reality of it was that as long as the road is flat or leading downhill, it is indeed a lovely thing to ride; anything more than a few degrees'  incline however, becomes hard work for the little 350, and it's often a struggle between 2nd and 3rd. Later in the day, tackling the very final ascent to Campo Imperatore, I even had to downshift into first gear and let the bike crawl along at walking pace for a little while. Poor thing, I really did ask far too much of it, but it handled itself so well.

I first met Lele through Alessio, as he is now the new owner of Alessio's Sportster, as well as of a beautiful 1970 US spec. Triumph Bonneville. This was not only his first proper outing on the Sportster, not only his first visit to the "ferri vecchi" rally, but also the first time I've ridden with him; so, a lot of firsts. Obviously the discrepancy between vehicles could hardly have been greater, and I have emphasized in the past how important it is that anyone participating in a trip be on similar machines. Aside from this time, the only other instance that comes to mind was the CMT3, and there, much as this time, it was because I had been planning to make that particular trip on a specific motorcycle, and so I ignored my own advice and did it anyway.

Lele and the others were good sports though, and didn't seem to mind puttering along (barely above idle) as the Twenty-one worked considerably harder throughout the journey.

We also had Francesco join us as a last-minute addition on his modern Triumph. Once we had replenished our caffeine levels, we had a choice to make: enter the A24 autostrada and brave the following 50 kilometers to reach the exit at Torninparte, or go a slower, somewhat safer way along the Tiburtina, following the same itinerary we did for a couple of Campotosto Mystic Trips, and most recently with my cousin back in May.

In the end we decided the autostrada would work just fine, and the 50 kilometers went by reasonably quickly, though we were the slowest moving vehicles out there by a long shot.

At one point I thought one of the bolts on the timing cover might be coming loose as I could see some oil weeping past, so Lele handed me a 3/16 allen to check once we exited at Torninparte, but it was properly tight.

The climb up to La Chiesola was again pretty slow going, we stopped to take in the view then continued down to the usual kiosk where we stopped for "light refreshments".

There are, of course, several routes you can follow from Campo Felice to Campo Imperatore. The one I chose is one that I find particularly relaxing, as it goes along narrow country lanes where you don't have much choice (nor the urge) but to just stroll along across the countryside. There are enough turns and connections to other trails to make this a bit of a tricky route to find if you don't know the way; there is a moment where, from a tiny village square, you make a turn into what seems to be someone's back yard, and I could feel the others behind me think "he's just lost at this point, this can't possibly be the right way". But it is, and you suddenly find yourself climbing up the side of the mountain among lush greenery all around you, towards a hidden valley at the top (which Francesco filmed in the short clip you can see here), then the final stretch of serious mountain road all the way to the rally.

Every arrival draws attention and friends come to greet you with ecstatic smiles and enthusiastic gesturing (this is Italy after all), which always feels like proper appreciation for the endeavor you've just completed.

The Triumph is is a crowd puller, no doubt about it, but because it attracts due to its weirdness, the main reaction is one of amused bewilderment. Several people asked about the bike and seemed genuinely appreciative of such a quirky machine, rare, and unseen at that rally until this year.

Look, understand something: this is a woefully underpowered bike and it is slow. The original specifications call for a peak power output of 18.5 ponies at 6.500rpm.
Now, that seems to me like way too much to have to spin that engine to get what is very little horsepower anyway.
Even without a rev counter I can guarantee I did not go near that engine speed but once or twice. It just seemed unkind.
But, once you adapt to the bike's own cruising speed, you soon discover just how smooth and comfortable this thing really is.
And I mean favorite armchair comfortable. The riding position is extremely relaxed and, bizarrely for a British vehicle, the ergonomics are spot on. The seat (the famed "Triumph twinseat") is a masterpiece of comfort and combined with the small 17" wheels and decent suspension that is definitely geared towards soft touring comfort, what you get is a real feeling of effortless gliding low to the ground, especially on those wonderful downhill twisty lanes; Delightful!

I actually scraped the sidestand on a couple of these hairpin turns!

Once you get to where you're going, this thing won't be a challenge to park, thanks to its "easylift" centerstand: a firm foot on the stand and a gentle pull on the wonderfully aero-shaped handlebar is all it takes for the machine to be safely parked. This is what you might have read in the press of the time, and although this little bike is by no means heavy, if you were to attempt lifting it onto the stand as I've jokingly described, you'd simply throw your back out. There is no handle to grab onto, nothing but the smooth, streamlined shape of the rear enclosure, so the only way is to grab hold of the footrest and lift (gently) from there. Not the neatest thing, but it works.

However, I will say this: there is a level of refinement to this bike that I would not have expected of what was often considered a city commuter meant only for basic transportation and devoid of any glamour or glory. This is apparent in the exhaust note, which is rich but appropriately muted; in the gearbox, which requires only the gentlest touch to work; in the engine itself, which revs happily and doesn't try to hide mechanical noise... because that noise itself is clearly coming from properly cut gears and other components. I have come across machines that flaunt pedigree and high-class but are nowhere near as refined as the Twenty-one. I guess its two most valuable attributes are comfort, above all, and fuel economy. I didn't keep any sort of accurate records on consumption, speeds, distances or load, but I am confident this thing does AT LEAST 30 kilometers with one liter of gasoline. 35 or even 40 is probably not outside the realm of possibility. As I neared the Monolith on Sunday, with the last stretch of road just for me and the motorcycle, I kept looking down at the nacelle, looking at the streamlined shadow gliding silently alongside me, feeling the engine work (but not labour) and thinking "I am so impressed... I am so impressed". 

But back to the rally.

The rest of the day is spent catching up with old friends, drinking beer, barbecuing, walking around to check out the other bikes and occasionally splashing cold water on your head to cool down; there is hardly any shelter from the sun, and though the air is cool, you still end up overheating pretty quickly when you're up there. For years now I have seen these guys walk around in wide brim straw hats and just thought it was some hipster fad: not so, I now finally grasp what a smart move that really is, and might find one for myself as well next year.

As you can tell, we all liked this twin-spark Sportster, which was a very tastefully executed customization and great use of color throughout (it's not just the orange that does it...).

Above: in a sea of blue or green tents, it was very handy to have Lele's orange tent as a beacon to help us find our way back to camp, especially as the light started to fade.

Temperatures dropped but not severely, I was expecting a far chillier evening and night (so much so that I ended up being far too hot during the night and had to peel off a couple of layers), and festivities kept going until late.

As night fell, the wind arrived. I have experienced various conditions up here on the plateau, from rain to cold to scorching hot, but never wind like this. Given the speeds (reported, but unverified, to be between 90-95km/h), it's fair to say this was a storm. Those who had properly pitched their tents were able to at least get some rest, though I doubt anyone got more than a couple hours' sleep that night. Tents shook violently and the noise was simply too loud to ignore.

Then the wind subsided and gave way to an eerie silence that somehow made the place feel small and secluded (it isn't, as you'll see in another photo below). I drifted off to sleep but woke up again around 05:30 to blustering gusts of wind, blowing at even higher speed than it had a few hours before. I heard some other people get out of their tents and say "that doesn't look good, we have to get off this mountain!"; had it been "just" the wind, I think I would have tried to get a couple more hours' rest, but hearing people say that made me decide to peek my head out and see what was happening: there were enormous dark clouds virtually overhead, and it was enough to make me think it was probably smart to get going.

The others must have thought the same and everyone was awake anyway, so in all that noise and rushing air we took down our tents trying as best we could not to loose anything.

Not an easy thing to capture in a quick snapshot, it was like being in a sand blaster. Above, you can see Marco trying to keep dust out of his eyes as Sandro and he were trying to put away a sleeping bag.

As I've said before, there is no shelter for miles around, and you're totally exposed as you can appreciate from the following aerial shot, taken by a friend in a helicopter, though obviously on a different day:

Folding things in that strong a wind was no easy feat, but we hurried ourselves, packed the bikes and took off, heading down towards l'Aquila.

Above: I have waited many years to be able to put this photo on the blog, and I am truly glad I was finally able to do it. 

The way down was nice and easy, we stopped for a leisurely breakfast along the way, then said ciao to Marco and Sandro, who were heading off in a different direction and at much higher speed, while Lele and I took the scenic route back.

Not long ago, coming back from a rally somewhere on the East coast, our friend Massimo said something which really stuck with me: "if you can make the return journey a trip, and really enjoy it, it'll give the whole thing that much more value and make it that much more memorable". He is 100% right, and I will always try to apply this conviction whenever time allows it.

Following the route that goes along the Rascino plateau, but doing so backwards, was also surprising in that it yielded new views and new vantage points even though we were riding along familiar territory. I had a similar experience with Alessio when we toured the Majella park clockwise, opposite to what I have done all other times.

I much prefer riding back home like this, with no autostrada to mar the experience and a relaxed pace that's easier on both rider and machine; Lele and I parted ways at Vicovaro, then I followed more country lanes all the way back home, all the while marveling at the Triumph's unexpected gutsiness. With no other traffic on the road, there were moments of almost Zen-like presence, of synchronicity between the Twenty-one and me and a sense of accomplishment when I finally turned the ignition key to 'off' closed the fuel taps and took the luggage off the bike.

There is now a whole year to plan for the next Old Irons rally, a whole year to get a motorcycle ready. Naturally, I already have some ideas and plans both for the Old Irons and other outings, let's see what I can manage. It goes without saying that I want Lele to come out again as often as possible, and the others too. We'll all be on similar bikes next time, I promise, so the pace will be much less strenuous. Until next year...

Old Irons 2021 - report coming soon