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".