Old Irons 2025 - a report.

While this was certainly the most hastily organized of all our attendances at the Old Irons rally so far, we did manage to get away and appreciate the essence of this thing nonetheless.

Sandro and I were on our modern bikes (so we parked discreetly when we arrived) while Lele was riding his newly serviced 1970 Triumph Bonneville, and Jack joined us on his 1943 Harley-Davidson WLA. We avoided the autostrada altogether and rode along the Tiburtina all the way past Tivoli, Vicovaro, Carsoli, Tagliacozzo, Avezzano and Collarmele. The flathead ran well and was cruising at around 50mph, which is third or fourth gear on the Sportster, at around 2.500/3.000rpm. So I was enjoying the scenery and thinking to myself "such a relaxing ride, what a novelty!".

The climb up to the Forca Caruso pass and the rapid succession of ascents and descents towards Goriano Sicoli and Raiano must have been too much though, as the WLA shrieked in protest and came to a halt just as we entered Raiano.
We found some shade and began troubleshooting until we discovered that the primary chain was rock solid, indicating that the gearbox might have loosened, pulling on the primary to the point it locked up. A very loose rear chain seemed to confirm this.

Since the gearbox loosening was supposedly a recurring issue, someone had placed a locknut on the adjuster bolt to prevent this from happening, though it did not work as intended. It ended up being very difficult to back out and even though we did eventually manage to move the gearbox back to its correct position, we still had trouble with the primary locking up. We suspect the culprit may be a collapsed bearing somewhere, which we were not equipped to replace. This year's commemorative T-shirt seems to have been quite prescient:

With 70 kilometers of uphill mountain roads remaining before the rally, we redistributed all our luggage on the three remaining bikes and I took Jack on the very small rear pillion. Lele's Bonneville, loaded like a mule, struggled on the steepest climbs (there is probably some fine tuning needed for the timing) and - of course - it rained for the last 12 kilometers or so.

Still, all was well in the end and the sun was shining once again.

The afternoon and evening were a continuous feast of grilled meat, cheese and bread, ice-cold beer and more of it all over again.

Old friends run into each other, pick up the conversation they left off the year before, get stoked over an improvement to their front forks or for finally having figured out why that damn Panhead just wouldn't run.

With my 2001 Sportster I had no such talking points, of course, but what I did have was the quiet appreciation for this solid motorcycle, that's equally as happy cruising along, barely doing any work, or barreling down the autostrada at 140km/h with an eagerness that quickly blows past legality and common sense.

One thing that made this little trip all that much easier was the gear I carried: it was the absolute, most minimal pack I have ever carried, very small and compact with just the tent, sleeping bag and mat, and a hoodie. That's it, no tools or spares. Compared to previous outings, it felt like I was riding the bike with no extra weight, much more svelte...

The night was easy despite the chill mountain air, the return leg the following day, uneventful. But always great to be able to do this. As Lele nicely put it, "Old Irons strengthens friendships".

BMW field test - Morocco (day 3)

From Boumalne Dades to Tinghir is barely a blip on the map, but the sweeping detour we launched into rewarded us with mile after mile of pristine asphalt. It became a seemingly endless uphill run through astonishing mountains, the GS charging at speed.

Leaving, that morning - day 3 - we began along the bottom of the Dades gorges: a narrow, towering corridor; claustrophobic but undeniably impressive.

Once we reached higher, more open ground, we realized that the sensation of endlessly repeating mountains wasn’t just a trick of the mind. Millions of years of erosion have carved these landscapes into recurring patterns: a straight run, a left turn, a dip, a right turn, another straight. Over and over, all uphill like a natural stairway of gargantuan proportions.

We made one stop along the way to check how far we’d come and how far remained. I think it was here that I really began to grasp the sheer scale of the High Atlas. Crossing them entirely would be a journey of its own. Some other time, perhaps.

Hunger crept in as the day wore on, and it occurred to us that finding food up here might not be so easy. Just then, we were surprised by a high-altitude dwelling that also serves as campground, though you'd need serious mountaineering gear to stay the night. (Coordinates: 31°58'33.7"N 5°34'25.8"W)

We ate simple, delicious food, surrounded by the raw beauty of this landscape. Melancholy perhaps, but a place that really stuck out.

More swooping roads on the edge of vast, sun-soaked landscapes, now descending gradually towards our destination.

After some riverside shenanigans, we pressed on for the last stretch of the day, which still held surprises and unexpected passages along rocky ridges and secluded trails.

We arrived somewhere near Tinghir, in the type of valley where nature seems to amass and thrive, green and lush, clinging tightly to the stream that has been carving through the rock with the patience of the eons. This day, mostly on asphalt and after such a long offroad trek the day before, really helped to make the following realization shine: the R100GS is really two motorcycles at the same time. Offroader and road tourer, always ready whenever you want either of them.

BMW field test - Morocco (day 2)

By the end of day two we had to reach Boumalne-Dades, and we did so starting with what I later dubbed "the inappropriate offroad loop" (Witold says it was one of the hardest rides he ever did, and he was on the Yamaha...), essentially a 70km detour up some mountains on some very tricky single tracks that required concentration, balance, confidence and - above all - physical stamina. 

Most of us had water reservoirs into our backpacks, the kind that have a long tube that secures to a shoulder strap and with a bite valve. At 2lt in capacity and without having to fish out a bottle from a pack, this made it far more convenient to stay hydrated. We also thought that two liters would last us all day, yet we all seemed to get through most of it after just a few hours. I added electrolyte to mine every time I refilled and it made quite the difference. I also had some "trail mix", seeds, nuts and raisins that were easy to carry and gave us a much needed boost sometimes. I should have had far more than what I carried.

I made it, but only just. We all made it, but only because there were eight of us and luckily so: at one point towards the end, we came across a steep downward incline that ended in a 'v' shaped canal. Too steep to attack with momentum, and with no passable way out on the exiting slope because of a massive boulder that was right where the bikes should have gone. Had there been even just three or four of us we simply would have had to turn back and ride a good sixty kilometers back to the start. What we did instead was to crawl down, dismount, then try to walk alongside the bike while powering it up the opposite slope, while as many other people as possible lined up on either side of the bike and heaved and hauled it up. It was a serious strain after just two bikes, nevermind eight, especially the big heavy ones. We were already tired and suffering the heat... this all but ended us.

I am still glad I did it because it was a resounding showcase of what this BMW is truly capable. Climbing up those relatively steep rocky slopes quickly became one of the more satisfying scenarios because it allows you to get to places that would be inaccessible to a four-wheeler and to street bikes. While the more specialized enduro bikes were racing up like mountain goats, the GS was simply riding purposefully up to the top, because it has plenty of motor to make it. Some of the downhill descents seemed like they would have been hazardous but somehow weren't: slowly and gently on the brakes, with a sound strategy to navigate over rocks and drops, the bike just plowed on.

At one point we reached an almost dry river bed, it must be a formidable sight when the water flows in winter, as it takes up the entirety of the valley floor and must be easily in excess of 50 meters in width.

It made for a deceptively tough crossing because the ground was essentially stacked, smooth pebbles that offered no grip but every intention to trip you over. No firm ground but plenty hard if you fell. We quickly aimed for the deepest point where a little bit of water did still flow, and followed that instead as it made for an easier "surface" than the stones. 

We must have encountered almost every possible type of surface on that infernal loop, from hard-packed dirt to sand, from loose rocks to twigs and leaves. Other than snow and ice, this thing had it all.

When we reached that canal where we had to dismount and pull the bikes up, we even tried to dislodge the boulder first but it didn't even budge. Had we had some rope and pulleys it would have made things a lot easier...

The remainder of our itinerary was properly offroad and at altitude; we crossed a few easy streams and rode across dusty plateaus surrounded by vast empty spaces and views over valley floors thousands of feet below.

I don't remember where we slept that night but I think I went to sleep as soon as I could.

BMW field test - Morocco (day 1)

Sitting on the runway at Rome Ciampino airport, Giulio looked uncomfortable in his economy seat. He appeared to be wearing regular pants and only a hoodie, but that concealed a full set of motocross body armor that he was wearing underneath because it wouldn't fit in his hand luggage...

Meanwhile, Witold cradled a metal container of gin he had just bought at the duty-free shop, and conveniently shaped like a small jerry can, its clever logo proclaiming "enGINe oil". That would have to suffice and sustain him throughout the trip in what was supposedly a dry country. We did in fact find decent beer even if only sporadically.

A most unusual way to begin a motorcycle trip, and one we all agreed felt uncomfortable. The reality was that we simply would not have had enough time (and possibly tire treads) to ride to Genoa, then sit on a boat for three days, only to then ride for 700km before we could even begin our true itinerary.

The alternative would have been a ferry from Civitavecchia to Barcelona, a thousand kilometers to reach Gibraltar, cross over and then still have to ride another 700km.

Morocco is a deceptively large and vast country. Flying in and getting to our meeting point on the outskirts of Marrakech was not all comfort and convenience, on the contrary it felt like quite the achievement in and of itself, but the true hero was Matteo, who had set out almost a week prior, aboard his Toyota Land Cruiser with a gigantic trailer in tow that carried ten (!) motorcycles:

Once the bikes were offloaded and the luggage redistributed (I kept only a small bag on the rear rack with some tools and spares, plus the rain gear), we left the trailer behind and began our trip. Almost everyone else was well equipped with modern navigation aides, so I just made sure to always have someone in front of me and otherwise focused on riding, especially when we were offroad (an unfamiliar environment to me). After a tedious stretch of road to leave Marrakech behind, we began the first climb up the Atlas and it became immediately obvious that these were proper, enormous mountains.  The tracks we followed took us decidedly offroad, along paths that are maybe used by livestock and some motor vehicles, though in some stretches there is no way you could make it through with a four-wheeler. 

Those single tracks just weren't wide enough, or else the ruts cutting across the ground were deep enough to swallow a bike and would require some serious skills in a 4x4. So began the often time-consuming process of stopping, evaluating the track ahead on foot, coming up with a strategy and then riding it, one by one. When my turn came for the first climb that required some skill and attention I wasn't apprehensive, instead I relied on torque and second gear to pull us up and over without hesitation or second-guessing my line. And just like that, I was through, Witold clapping like I'd accomplished something difficult, though it really wasn't. Throughout the day I quickly realized how this machine is able to climb, slowly and in first gear if needed, almost at a crawl, often in second gear seemingly crunching the terrain under its rear wheel but never unable to pass an obstacle, if reasonable. It may bounce around underneath you, but provided you have the correct body position, on the balls of your feet, shins tight to the sides of the bike, torso slightly forward, arms slightly bent and - above all - looking far ahead for your "exit", it is all easily manageable. You do need to have a clear idea of where you want to go and commit to that line once you've chosen it: there's no changing your mind because you'll crash if you do. This sometimes happens fast and requires maximum concentration. It's a wonderful way to strip away all other thoughts, but also means that soaking in the scenery is not really possible to the extent I would have liked. It also contributes to draining your energies so that by the end of the day you're tired all over, mind and body.

Somebody on the tour took a wrong turn and got lost, he turned out to be a bit of a... special character let's say. This delayed us greatly and we had to skip a high-altitude loop that sounded very interesting. Next time perhaps.

We still made it to the Tizi-n'Tichka pass at over 2,200 meters, where the wind howled and the air was cold. The small digital thermometer on the GS's handlebar showed just a bit over 9°C and we all scrambled to put on as many layers as we had in our small packs.

In a rare example of foresight and clear thinking, I had packed a merino turtleneck and another couple of long-sleeve tops that definitely came in handy throughout the trip. Here, in the fading light and with clouds crowding over us, a few raindrops adding a sense of urgency to the scene, we had little time to appreciate this as the gateway to the Sahara. Since our tour would have been mostly across desert areas with temperatures close to 40°C, we all had T-shirts and those ventilated, mesh-type jackets: effective in the heat but totally useless up here.

By the time we reached Telouet in the evening we were already covered in dirt (something that would repeat every day of the trip) and thrilled to be there: we were finally away from cities, up in these endless mountains and finding our footing.