The twenty or so people hanging around the steps leading up to the Autogrill rest stop, all turned around and looked towards the entrance ramp to see what could possibly be making this loud, roaring noise.
It was Lele, aboard his newly restored 1972 Norton Commando Roadster, a signal orange brawler in full "combat" engine spec. High compression pistons, sports camshaft, performance ignition, coil and air filter... the works.
He parked next to my Fastback and by the time we returned from our breakfast, a few other (modern) touring bikes had parked next to us, their podgy owners all clad in matching grey/neon yellow "technical" jackets and intercom microphones on their modular helmets.
We filled our tanks and set off towards the Pietrasecca overpass (ever the spine-chilling trial), then banked right at the Torano ramp and all the way until the Cocullo exit: there is a tunnel right before the exit, so the effect is quite dramatic as you exit like a bullet from a barrel, overlooking the swooping ramp that eventually connects to the SR479 and that requires a maneuver closer to piloting a light aircraft than riding a motorcycle. On the autostrada, as on any other stretch of road that was long and wide enough, we maintained an easy cruising speed of around 100 to 110km/h, with enough for overtaking and generally enough reserve power to take us to 130km/h with no effort.
Mindful of the Roadster's shorter range and the Fastback's slightly higher fuel consumption, we filled up again somewhere near Sulmona, then rode past Pacentro until the Majella's western flank came into view, huge and towering over us like the curtain wall of an impossibly massive castle. It was here that I had to contemplate the dark, rain-laden clouds stretching northwards, possibly all the way past Roccamorice, it was hard to tell from where we were. And it was here that I realized that a couple of years away made me forget an important fact: this is not just a bike ride, and that there are no guarantees out here; you may reach the park, but whether you manage to tour it... that is up to the mountain to decide. You really have to approach this with genuine humility, or things are not going to go the way you want them to.
I kept an eye on the clouds as we cruised towards Fonte Romana, genuinely wondering how it would all unfold. I had been away since 2024, was that absence long enough to make me forget about something so fundamental as the respect owed to this place? This self-reflection ended with relief once I realized the clouds were staying off in the distance towards the North and, much later in the day, I finally understood that we'd escaped the rain altogether.
As it turned out, we had absolutely perfect weather throughout the day, with cool air and even some cloud cover, which only added to the cinematography of the experience. The engines certainly benefitted from the cooler air, and never faltered.
We reached the newly improved and upscaled campsite in Campo di Giove and set up our tents (Lele's is signal orange, just like his Commando).
Above: a signal orange tent for a signal orange bike.
Sometimes, when sunlight hits the Fastback just right (and in the right location, on a trip) the paint shines in a way that goes beyond just metalflake and polished top coat. This is what
Toni gifted us, and when I see this it's as if he's still with us. What a remarkable thing it is to witness these motorcycles be not just machines, but vessels of memory, companions who most certainly possess their own life force.
Once the tents were set up and luggage stashed away, we sat in the shade for a little while, looking at the bikes, commenting on the morning run and then looking at a good old paper map, the kind that requires a very large table to fully unfold. This tactile, analog experience lets you immerse yourself in the itinerary and I have long maintained that knowing where you are and where you're going gives riders a much fuller understanding of what they're attempting, and a richer reward once a tour is complete.
Checking in at the campsite made for a long enough break from the morning stretch on the autostrada, and we were done right in time for lunch; I believe we started the loop at around 15:00 or shortly after. Few stops along the way and an easy pace. This format is something I had wanted to test for a long time and I'm happy to say it works, meaning that it is possible to do a complete tour of the park in just over a day and with a single night in Campo di Giove.
It happens almost right away, during the descent to the southern tip; the riding becomes more focused, more purposeful and it takes on some sense of formality and importance. This isn't just a fun little stroll.
Do we ride fast? Certainly more so between Palena and Lama dei Peligni but this isn't necessarily about top speed only. It's about sustained concentration throughout the day, stamina and determination. If it appears fast it's really only because of the Nortons, that's just how you ride these things.
Throttle control requires precise, small and gradual transitions across the range. Not only to optimize torque and handling, but also to avoid violent shut-offs that inevitably impact the entire drivetrain, from engine pulley to belt to gearbox to rear chain.
With a disciplined mind, you then get into a sort of hyper focused state and it's as though you can visualize the throttle internals, the cables routing under the fuel tank to the carburetters, the slides lifting, all instantaneous and with no lag. As soon as we go past 3.000rpm the exhausts crack and roar, the Isolastic brings the whole machine into a tautness that has the singular purpose of going faster. Just how much can you rev these units? That very much depends on how much road you have in front of you, and how deep your pockets are in case something goes wrong. I'm not all that interested in finding out.
Everything on both Nortons was confidence-inspiring throughout the ride: the brakes, suspension, power delivery... everything we asked of them they delivered with poise and even grit at times; these machines are in great shape.
The handling is sublime: the combination of the properly set up Isolastic, refreshed suspension front and rear, and the excellent Avon tires means that you can ride these smooth trajectories with just a little bit of trail braking to help you along in the tighter stuff, but otherwise this is almost like an out-of-body experience as you glide with the machine across turns and climbs, dips and hairpins.
Contemporary motorcycles (and their riders) have forsaken this experience in pursuit of more horsepower, more torque, more acceleration; but this anxious need to one-up other manufacturers has resulted in a new reality that feels... sterile and devoid of what we get to experience on our "classics". So what we're talking about is not only stewardship of bygone motorcycles, but of a riding style that no longer exists.
Along the way, we made just one stop in the shade to make some coffee and take a couple of photos:
While the scenery is always top class, this tour is not easy and the north-eastern quadrant in particular is always absolutely grueling, there is just no way around that. It is there that we find the tightest part of the course, doubling in on itself in an endless sequence of hairpin turns with dismal road conditions: cracked tarmac, cave-ins and collapsed curbs, potholes and bumps for 35Km.
Reaching the northern-most point of the loop is thus a real achievement, every time:
The wolf howls to celebrate your arrival, but also to send you on your way, onwards to the highest point of the loop. This is not the time to give up, the climb gets steeper, the road just as challenging as before; because although the tarmac is of far better quality, the road constantly plunges into densely wooded areas - and darkness - then throws you back out into the open on sun-dappled twisties and a series of steep turns and dizzying views. 20Km that have the same effect as the bombastic finale of a fireworks display: just when you thought it couldn't be any more or any bigger, you find yourself overlooking the Adriatic sea off in the distance and far below, showing you just how far you've come.
Only a very brief stop this time because although we have proven that it is possible to tour the Majella park with a single night out, it really doesn't leave much time to cruise around, stop to take photos and stretch your legs. Strangely, the rifugio that normally hosts quite a few people enjoying a high-altitude aperitivo was closed this time.
The entire mood of the tour changes after this though; there is a distinct break between the tension and strain of the eastern climb, and the dreamlike, serene descent towards the west. I don't think the panoramas that reveal themselves on the way down towards Roccamorice and beyond will ever leave me indifferent.
By the time we reach Roccamorice we are noticeably tired, but the weather is perfect, the light beginning to mellow and the actual road is wide, sweeping and smooth. The ride down the western flank serves as a cool-down after the exertion of the tour, until we're back at the campsite and ready to pass out for the night.
A much colder night than I would have expected, as I woke up feeling cold and reaching for another layer, though it brought little comfort. With less than ideal rest, the morning task of taking down camp and packing up the bikes again felt like a bit of a chore. The only small boost was provided by our moka pot and freshly brewed coffee, but that alone can only go so far.
Still, looking up past the trees towards the mountain, it's natural to reflect on the previous day's tour: it is then that the essence of the experience can really settle, thus fulfilling a purpose and honoring land and machines together.
Time for breakfast though, and to get going again, only we weren't headed home this time.
We had a rally to reach...
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