After the improbable success of our first large-scale tour across the mountains of central Italy, we went at it again, with even less chances of succeeding. The itinerary we followed this time is modified compared to the one we sought in 2021, and is based on that experience. The aim this time was to improve by doing away with certain stages that were perhaps not very interesting, and to add a couple more ingredients to the mix for an even better tasting moto-curry. Something else that shouldn't be understated is that some of the alterations to the itinerary were beyond our control (road closures), yet we managed to make the best of it nonetheless.
The country has been suffering the effects of protracted torrential rain, coupled with incompetent management, and although this was particularly in the Emilia-Romagna region, things were not that much better farther down south.
During our five-day tour, we donned our rain gear every day, even if "only" for a few hours. Temperatures were between 7°C and 15°C, so the engines were happy but the nights were a little chilly at times.
We set off from Rome on a Tuesday morning, nice and easy, and made our way up the Flaminia towards the fairy tale town of Narni, then up towards Spoleto with a brief lunch stop at this trattoria with its cleverly placed sign that was visible from a mile away:
We continued inland on unmarked roads towards the most peculiar little hamlet of Rasiglia, where we stopped to have a look around and put away our rain gear.
Another stop along the way, up at the top of the hill that overlooks the lake at Fiastra, and then a final descent down to the campsite at the lake, which we had all to ourselves this time. The groundskeeper's dog came to check us out, decided he liked us and hung out with us until we left the following day.
Above: look at that sky... The prevailing colors that accompanied us during this trip were green and grey, the scents mostly ozone, spartium and the woody, resinous sap encountered in the fir and spruce forests.
Very often you will find that dogs are better than most people you'll meet in your life. The same can be said of some cats.
During the night I could hear a breeze blow and light drizzle from time to time, nothing dramatic. Here is the recap for day 1:
Morning came bright and sunny at first, then the clouds rolled in but still good enough that we packed up with no rush.
The first surprise of the day was finding the little lake at Gerosa, another of the many artificial lakes around these parts, with turquoise waters and surrounded by spruce. We had never come this way before, preferring instead to burrow deeper into the Sibillini park and skirt monte Vettore. Having seen this and the spectacular road that leads to it, I think we'll add it to the next edition* of the Gran Giro.
The itinerary for our second day was always going to be the most demanding, much as it had been in 2021, and once again it was unfortunately made even harder by another road closure that meant we had to add a 70km detour in the rain to an already tough day. Figuring out which way to to go required us to find some shelter under the trees so we could look at our map - it's paper, bad idea better put it away fast - so let's check with our phones; great, except that every tiny drop of water falling on the screen makes it impossible to move around a map or zoom in and out. This became so frustrating I actually started laughing in a very peculiar way. Once we finally figured out exactly how far we'd have to ride, I also thought about how much further I could ride with the dino juice left in my tank. Gas mileage on the Sportster doesn't seem to have suffered by having installed the Dynojet stage 1 kit, but the 12.5 liter tank can only carry you so far. I don't mind hitting reserve or completely running out (provided I have extra fuel as has been the norm these past few years), it makes for a quick break where bikes and riders get to relax for a moment.
Speaking of the Dynojet, here is what I've noticed during these five days putting it to the test; first of all, there is a definite difference in throttle response compared with the stock set up. Not better or worse, just different: it is more abrupt, not as gradual and progressive as it was before, so it needs you to be a little bit more decisive with the throttle. The new spray tube and needle work together to deliver more fuel in a concentrated burst (rather than the smooth progressive increments of the original setup), which combined with the lighter slide spring and larger slide hole mean that you get a stronger response from the engine.
Road closures were infuriating not only because they messed with our plan but also because they were often unnecessary and there just out of an abundance of caution. On the plus side we did discover yet more amazing roads and scenery in this vast land that never ceases to impress me. We basically had to descend to a valley way off in the distance before we could make the turn and end up at Santo Stefano di Sessanio. The hot shower, meal and wine that awaited us were a great reward that made everything right again.
Here is the recap for day 2:
Still tired from the day before and with no certainty of decent weather for day 3, we had to make a decision, which we delayed until the famous "point of no return", here: 41.918982199248326, 14.106966483862154
While the original itinerary would have included a full, glorious loop of the mighty Majella complex, we decided to only do about 15% of it (plus the ever stunning road that goes from Pacentro to the actual loop) and continue Southwest towards Civitella Alfedena. There is something truly distinctive about the Majella park, I've known this since before the first time we even toured it, when I realized it was a place I'd sometimes heard of but never quite managed to reach. It's not easy to do and it's more than just logistics, weather conditions or any other tangible challenge. I'm seriously beginning to think that it's all about whether or not the mountain accepts you that particular day. I pondered all this as the road dipped down towards Roccaraso and we picked up the pace a little bit.
Somewhere along the way I downshift into third and the gear lever makes an odd "schleuck!" sound but returns, slowly, to its starting position. I wonder if I imagined it but I soon have to shift again and there's something going on. I fear the worst but the actual gearbox works a treat and pulls all the torque I'm giving it with no trouble. I continue riding and although it's not quite working properly, it is somehow still working, so I decide not to worry about it and to just continue enjoying the ride. We'll see.
We found a campsite we had never stayed at before, and it was so quiet and empty that two deer were grazing undisturbed; they looked at us as if very surprised to see bipeds around, and eventually left with no particular hurry.
Since we had some time before dinner, we ran part of the following morning's itinerary, which made for a nice preview of what we would have done. Here is a recap of day 3:
Another windy night with some light drizzle went by and the day greeted us with what seemed like decent weather, so we started breaking down camp with no hurry, only to be caught off-guard by a massive wall of dark grey clouds, and suddenly rain. At that point we did hurry packing away what was slightly damp anyway, put on our rain gear and left ever so carefully on the wet tarmac, covered in twigs and leaves and assorted debris . Every corner was also like a surface level drainage for all the rain that was coming down, so our average speed was definitely low. Add to that that we discovered the tires on my Sportster are not exactly... fresh and well, it was very noticeable just how far I could push it. Yes, I'll get new tires soon.
The gear lever is still doing that strange thing where it does let me shift any way I want, but takes its sweet time returning to its starting position. Is it the clip on the detent plate? Is it one of the springs in the shifter mechanism? Surely it must be a spring, though if it had broken I probably wouldn't be able to shift at all, right? Oh well, let's keep going, I'll take a look once I'm back at the Monolith.
We ride past Opi and Pescasseroli and luckily the weather turns and the sky is blue once more. We stop for a quick coffee and to put away our rain gear, test the stability of our luggage (always a prudent idea) and adjust the straps accordingly, then it's off again towards Ortona, along another magnificent road.
Going over one of those vertigo-inducing high bridges that allow fast travel across these valleys, I turn my head slightly to the right to catch a quick glimpse of the swingarm working away with the piggyback shock absorbers (dialed in after the second round of servicing), the bike is banked over just a bit to the left to follow the road, it feels composed, taut and firm, and I think to myself "man, what an amazing machine this really is..."
I've been riding motorcycles for a long time now, but they never cease to amaze me, on the contrary, the more I do it and the more I learn about all things mechanical, the more I am in awe of what is undoubtedly the best thing in the world.
I'm a bit tucked in, with knees and elbows as close as possible to the bike, Arai pointing forwards and a firm grip on the handlebar; another slight, but decisive turn of the throttle propels me over the last expansion joint and back onto terra firma with a surge from the Vance & Hines exhaust that is just magnificent.
After an enormously long absence, I am delighted to be able to take the Sportster back out onto the road for a truly legendary trip such as this one.
Through various climbs and traversing countless valleys we finally reached the Campo Imperatore plateau and stopped at the largest of two establishments where you can buy cheese, meat, bread and beer.
It's right next to where the yearly Old Irons rally is held, and is a popular spot for a bare bones barbecue and a beer. A lot of motorcyclists come up here on their brand new Ducatis, KTM and BMWs, you really don't see much else. Maybe the odd Guzzi and a couple of Japanese bikes, that's it. And everything is so new, so plasticky, so electronic, so oversized. In a sea of red and orange plastic, the silver steel of the Sportster stands out and looks out of place; the bike looks like an old classic and I find that most peculiar since to me it is modern and refined. I think what makes it seem old and classic is the fact that it is such a slim motorcycle, and that it has a 19″ front wheel, which these days looks positively huge compared to the standard 16/17″ (and very wide) rims found on all other bikes. It also looks decidedly small next to something like a Multistrada or an Adventure, yet the Sportster is anything but small. I just don't "get" contemporary bikes.
After our barbecue in the mountain sun we fired up our twins and headed west by north to seek some shade near San Pietro della Ienca.
Looking out over the tranquility of this place, listening to nothing but the breeze I marveled at this timeless beauty. So many times during this trip I found myself uttering "che meraviglia..." out loud inside my Arai, and in those moments I also have to work hard to remind myself that I'm not just flying in a dreamscape, this is real and so are the 230Kg of steel I'm riding... These aren't just fun getaways, or a good ride, not even a holiday. The truth is that through these motocamping trips, we are shown a path to the Divine.
The final stretch of road for the day leads us to our hallowed place in the forest, up above the lake, the center to everything, the eye of the spiraling cosmos. We ride not just on tires but on Pneuma (get it?) one after the other all the way.
All that riding takes its toll, so be warned...
A thunderous, menacing rumble wakes me from my nap, and Witold appears on his Ducati to celebrate my birthday:
Needless to say, the evening with Mauro looking after us is very special and it fades into a perfect dusk, then the calm quiet of the night.
In my dreams I float fast and weightless over the lands we've visited these past few days, sometimes high in the sky, sometimes mere inches above the fresh green grass of hills and meadows. This is the point to these trips, we are bound to these mountains and that's why we keep coming back, no matter how long we may have to wait, no matter how hard it may be.
Here is a recap for day 4:
We are packed up and ready to go on the morning of our last day; Witold teleports back to the capital aboard his SuperSport, but Sandro and I make a trip of it and avoid the Autostrada altogether.
That gear lever is still doing that thing, it has got to be a spring. But no matter, let's see how far we get.
Stopping in the lower part of the Rascino plateau always feels like stepping outside of time, there is a special stillness to this place that's conducive to a nice break.
We part ways somewhere around Palestrina, our goodbyes are always hurried but there's no need for words really; you can see it in our eyes, we've just completed an amazing trip and there is a real sense of accomplishment. Now it's time to settle and let the countless views, fun riding and roadside stories seep into your being, as necessary as Savasana is after practice.
I ride all the way back to the Monolith and immediately drain the transmission oil, then set about opening the primary cover, again.
So what did I find in there? I'll show you next time, in the meantime here's a recap of day 5:
* I must confess that the difficulties encountered along this trip (which were the same as those found in previous trips) did make me question the reason for organizing these itineraries in the first place. I did wonder "maybe it's just not worth the effort, what the hell are we doing?", but I'm confident there is a point to all this, and that despite the setbacks it is all well worth it. Perhaps the hardest thing for me to accept is that an itinerary will not pan out exactly as I had anticipated, so what I'll need to do is truly understand that all I can do is plan. If it turns out as I wanted then great, otherwise it's back to the good old "improvise, adapt, overcome" that always seems to work.
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