The case for modern highways.

Modern highways (motorways, autostrade, autobahn, autoroutes, whatever you want to call them) have been around for so long that people take them for granted and think of them as the only option for road travel. And so it's easy to miss just what a transformation they represent and how these networks have allowed us not just to cover longer distances more quickly, but to alter our perception of distances and make 500km seem like nothing.

I purposely avoided them entirely, when I took the 1200S up north past the Apennines one beautiful sunny autumn day.

The reason for sticking to older roads was to cruise along unhurried, through the scenery instead of removed from it. And because almost everybody else was speeding along the autostrada off in the distance, it meant there was hardly anyone where I was. The many towns and largeish cities I had to cross, slowed things down tremendously and were often an annoyance, but the rest of the way was a beautiful, cerebral experience of autumn colors and the steady hum of the Harley-Davidson's V twin.

The bike was flawless, of course. I had absolute confidence that nothing would give me trouble, and so it was. Truly, they really made something extraordinary when they created the Evolution series of the Sportster.

The addition of the "Sundowner" seat and the windshield turn the Sportster into a capable all-day tourer. Yes, as I've conceded before, the 1200S is perhaps a little rough around the edges, but it can still cruise along with no discomfort to the rider; doing 100/110 kph at around 3.000 rpm with the windshield makes it feel like you're in a dream, as your entire upper body is fully sheltered from the air, while your lower extremities are close enough to the engine to stay warm.

On smooth surfaces the ride is taut and steady, but the occasional potholes really take the rear shocks to their limits and make me curse whatever municipality I happen to be in for letting their roads get so bad.

And so along the old Flaminia, to the fortified towns of Orte and Orvieto, then deep into the Tuscan hinterland with small pretty towns, sleepy in their late morning sunshine. On towards Chiusi, Torrita and Montevarchi where I stopped for a quick lunch and what must have been the best coffee I've had in years. At that point I can aim the "Narrowglide" front end of the bike towards the foot of the mountain, cross lake Bilancino and begin the ascent on the famous SS 65 "della Futa". I hadn't been up here in many years, I don't even remember what bike I was on that time, maybe my previous Sportster or the Fastback. It's always a very rewarding road and definitely enjoyable without traffic and the usual hordes of contemporary motorcycles you'd find during the summer. Someone had gone to the hassle of having a banner printed and hung outside their house, it read "Basta moto!", so it must be quite annoying.

I only stopped for two quick photos, then continued on my way down towards Bologna and Modena, as the light faded and my German headlight cut through the darkness to the end of my ride.

Who knows what else there is to see up there...

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".

Keep it rubber-side down.

I have new tires on the Sportster, finally.

the Dunlop D402 it had before were very, very old (especially the front one) and I really ought to have taken care of this a long time ago. The rear tire was manufactured sometime in May 2015, the front one in March 2008. They had become hard and glazed, the tread was all but gone... how foolish to have waited this long.

But no matter, now we have some fresh and sticky Avon RoadRider MkII front and rear, and though they are not branded Harley-Davidson, they perform far better (as they do on my Fastback) and look great especially on a 1200S.

The main difference with the Fastback set-up is that here they are mounted tubeless, something that may seem obvious to modern riders, but that still feels like science-fiction to me.

Getting both wheels on and off the bike is a breeze, it just takes a couple of jacks to hold it steady but is otherwise a simple procedure. I applied antiseize to the wheel axles and checked the belt tension with the built-in indexes in the swingarm. Everything is then torqued to spec and new split pins are installed where necessary.

Time to go put these to the test on... THE SLIPSHOD COAST TO COAST!

This year's first motocamping antics took place on the way to the enchanted coastal dunes of Sabaudia and then all the way across the country (the short way) to reach the Adriatic on the other side.

While technically this still counts as a coast-to-coast, it is probably not what you might expect. And yet the feeling of going from Tyrrhenian to Adriatic in such a short amount of time (you could do this in a few hours, really) makes it a pleasantly jarring experience.

As the crow feathered serpent flies, the country is about a hundred miles wide in this part, but the many mountains and valleys throughout that area mean that your journey will be far longer than that. Overall, we covered just over 700Kms for this trip.

Here we go then, from sea to shining sea:

Above: the coastal dunes at Sabaudia mark the western beginning of this trip. 

The weather was absolutely perfect on day 1, with cool temperatures, class-A visibility and low humidity. It all turned the following two days with a drop in temperature and light but constant rain. 

Still, on day one I was able to enjoy some impressive views and reach the campsite with plenty of daylight left:

Meanwhile, I got news from Lele that he was on his way, so I headed over to the nearby town to get some supplies for our dinner. Nothing fancy, just a couple of porkchops and sausages, bread, a beer.

Back at the campsite I sat enjoying the absolute stillness of the countryside, the mountains off in the distance, the many birds chirping and singing in the trees, the warmth of the setting sun on my face and the damn cool lines of my Sportster:

A short while later I started hearing the unmistakable low rumble of an Evolution Sportster, that full-bodied, purposeful tone that pulls the motorcycle along in a way no other can. Lele is still out of sight but I can almost see him rolling off the throttle, downshifting and pulling out of an uphill corner, riding on those four pointy pointy cams.

The noise gets louder and I spot a flash of "aqua blue" atop gleaming chrome, a squat stance (because of the lowered front end) and a rider all clad in black.

As Lele quickly sets up his tent, I get a fire going for dinner but also for us to stay warm - it's surprising how chilly it still is.

Those moments spent talking with friends around a campfire, under the stars and with our bikes nearby are what all like-minded riders around the world recognize and I do think this speaks to something from our very, very distant past that has since become ingrained in what makes us who we are.

It was a chilly night in the tents, not unpleasant but certainly cooler than what I would have expected for this time of year.

The weather certainly turned during the night and we awoke to thick cloud cover and not a sliver of blue sky anywhere.

After a couple of breakfasts we reached Roccascalegna for the customary photo; knowing which way to go (having been there once before) allowed me to take a closer look at this most unusual structure, and really notice how audacious it is. The front view is also completely different from the more striking side view you see below, and I think we will be back here in the future.

Right around then, Lele's ride gives us a bit of a thrill as he presses the starter button and... nothing happens. It eventually starts and gives no more trouble for the remainder of the trip, but it's likely that the starter motor will soon need an overhaul. Luckily on the Sportster this is a relatively straightforward task, and parts are available to refresh this critical component. More information available on the Sportsterpedia. 

The itinerary for the rest of the morning is a straight descent to the eastern coast, across several dilapidated and abandoned towns, which look even more depressing under the gloomy, overcast sky. Honestly, not a great stretch of road and nothing of particular noteworthiness in terms of landscape, with possibly just the exception for the town of Orsogna.

We reached the famous Costa dei Trabocchi fairly quickly and rode down the costal route for a while: it must surely be a pretty sight on a sunny day, and with time to spare I'm sure a walk along the piers would be something special.

There it is, the Adriatic; we have made it from coast to coast. A nice lunch break by the beach and then back on the Sportsters to head inland again towards the campsite, only it soon starts drizzling - just a few drops, it's ok - and then sure enough it builds to a nice steady rain.

No raingear this time, partly because I just wanted to pack light for once, partly because I need to replace some items in my kit that are all worn out and torn. By the time we make it back to camp, we're fairly wet and starting to get cold but luckily a wood-burning cooker is there to dry our clothes and warm us back up again.

The ride back was made more challenging by the appalling road conditions, to the point where we came across a sign reading "warning: rough road surface ahead" only to then find there was no road surface at all, just a dirt lane with water pooling in big craters and ruts trying to catch your front wheel and make the bike tip over. I think I've come to the conclusion that beautiful as it is, this region is mostly in bad shape and (unfortunately) not worth the effort anymore. There are of course still plenty of stunning roads and places, which will be the subject of a future post, but I think we've found all there is to see at this point.

Time to call it a day and get some rest; day 3 is mostly a long drone back on the autostrada, again in the rain at times, but we make it back home with no issue. I say "mostly" because we get to have a special treat before we reach the autostrada, and that is the southern tip of the Majella, less than a quarter of the full loop, from Palena to (almost) Passo San Leonardo. The weather is still cloudy, but there, on the Majella, it goes from gloomy to striking and almost magical: that place is truly a marvel on Earth, it is alive, it is special.

Everybody loves a shapely rear end...

The Evolution Sportster proves - once again - to be a formidable machine: reliable, solid, dependable, engaging, a little rough around the edges perhaps but a lot more refined and well put together in every aspect than its detractors would have you believe.

These two are practically the same motorcycle, yet with enough differences to make each its own version of a winning formula.

Is the Sportster a perfect motorcycle? I say it is. I say it certainly was when they were new and perhaps even more so now. Now that they are no longer in production they must surely stand as an unbeatable alternative to contemporary offerings. Now that the automotive world is heading towards complete madness with electronic complications everywhere, that do nothing to add value but do everything to enslave the owner to a brand, surely an Evolution Sportster is the perfect freedom machine it always asserted itself to be.

If you've been considering one for yourself then act fast and get yours now (prices are already pretty high and these will soon become the object of desire for many, many riders).

There is no question in my mind: if I were to put together some sort of "special" right now, I would choose a Sportster. And so should you.

Majella tour 5. - Solo edition

  

With the Sportster once again fighting-fit, I was eager to get back to the mountains but unfortunately none of my usual cohorts could get away. I hesitated but kept thinking "I need my mountains" so I toured solo this time and it turned out to be a very different kind of experience that was actually quite enjoyable. I rode at my own pace and perhaps more importantly I stopped at my own pace, enjoying the beautiful scenery and contemplating nature for hours on end in almost perfect silence.

I decided that since I had a few uninterrupted days at my disposal, the best way to spend them was by doing a full loop of the Majella park, something I hadn't really done since a couple of years ago. I could then finish things off with a trip over to Campotosto and a last night at our favorite place in the forest.
In another unlikely choice, I went autostrada all the way on day 1, actually enjoying the steady cruising at around 100kph with the engine turning over at an easy 3.000rpm. I reached Sulmona, climbed up to Pacentro and stopped just before the start of the loop. 

I left the bike and climbed up a small embankment until I reached a meadow that was otherwise totally hidden from view, from the road.

Here I sat and gradually felt all thoughts become smaller and more insignificant, until the presence of the mountain became my only concern. 

Insects buzzing around me, birds signing in the the trees off in the distance, and something moving around in the woods right next to me (a deer? a boar?) the only sounds. It was fairly late in the afternoon and the light was beginning to mellow, making the western flank of the mountain glow yellow and grey. As this sort of meditation grew to a close, by itself, I stood up and returned to the bike. There is a spring nearby and I spent a while cooling off, enjoying the cold water on my hands, my arms, splashing my face and washing off the day's dust, then I fired up the twin and entered the circuit, all the while trying to remain humble and not assume I was just going to do it, but rather just hoping the mountain would accept me.

I reached Campo di Giove, where we had stayed before, but continued until just after the town to find a campsite I'd never stayed at before, in the most beautiful setting:

With almost no one else staying there I was just surrounded by trees and flowers, the setting sun turning the sky a deep shade of pink right before night took over, shrouding the Majella from view. It was a night full of fresh air and a steady breeze. I drifted off wondering what the following day would bring, to the sound of wind in the boughs and the occasional drizzle.

I had plenty of time for day 2, so I moved slow and dedicated my full attention to every single action, no matter how insignificant. This is no new discovery of course, but if you're "present in the moment" the experience will be fuller. This is why I may have been away only a few days when seen from this plane of existence, but in reality I was gone far longer than that.

I was able to take all the luggage off the Sportster (except for a fuel reserve bottle) and this always makes an enormous difference in terms of pure riding enjoyment, and all the more so in a place like the Majella park. All I had with me in a light backpack was the rain gear, a small bottle of water, a blanket and some small bits and ends. As it turned out I could have left it all in the tent (except for the water) though of course I would never gamble like that up here.

The first part of the day begins with coffee right outside the tent and then off without pause all the way to the southern tip, with virtually no traffic and an eagerness from the bike that makes me - once again - think "honestly, why would I bother ever riding anything else but this?!". I think I also figured out the Dynojet kit and basically there can be tractability if you ride easy on the throttle, or there is punchy performance if you're more decisive with it. What it doesn't like is downshifting into a tight hairpin, revs all the way down, and then opening the throttle expecting instant response: that just won't happen, and instead the engine will feel bogged down for a second before it can catch up again. So you have to  either keep the revs up a bit for a sportier style or else go easy and enjoy the view. Having understood that, the ride became much more enjoyable and smoother overall.

Above: my first long stop for the day was at the Sant'Angelo lake, admittedly a little bit off the closest possible loop of the park, but a very worthwhile diversion in terms of scenery, the ability to shelter from the heat in the hottest part of the day, and having a terrific restaurant nearby.

My next stop shortly after that was for one of the best simple lunches in recent memory: grilled chicken and fresh tomato salad. As straightforward as it was full of flavor and just delicious. I must have drank a couple liters of water by that point and I probably should have had some electrolytes as well. 

The heat was very noticeable when I set off again approaching the circuit once more, although at that point the road starts climbing again quite rapidly so you're soon in cooler air.

There is a stunning photograph of the Majella complex taken from the International Space Station available here. It makes me appreciate what a proper jaunt this really is, and I hope I can come back soon either with friends or on my own again. You can also see lake Sant'Angelo as the eye-shaped body of water on the right-hand third of the image, about halfway down:

Of the very few motorcycles I encountered during this trip, none was like the Sportster. The bike handled so well and was so much more enjoyable without luggage. I do need new tires, that much is certain and I don't think I can delay this much longer. It all depends on whether or not I can ride (the Sportster) again this year, otherwise it may be wiser to do this next spring.

As I'm climbing up towards Pretoro nature calls and when you gotta go, you gotta go. A desperate scramble into the woods and all is well again, I can continue to the highest point in the circuit. Reaching the top requires excellent depth perception as you're well above the tree line and there are very few reference points, so overshooting a corner is easily possible and to be avoided at all cost. It's not uncommon to ride through a cloud and as any aviator will tell you, it's important to stay focused and not get distracted by the experience.

I shut off the engine and park as far as motorized vehicles are allowed. Suddenly there is a special type of silence, and the wind races all around you with no obstacles in its way. It is pure, cold, mountain air.

A fox came out to see what all the fuss was about:

Up here where few people come, there is plenty of time and space to enjoy a cold beer and relax in the sunshine. This was the other long stop that day and a few hours went by before I set off again. I would have liked to have waited until sunset, to recreate an otherworldly moment from the first time we came up here years ago: as you ride down towards Roccamorice, you're treated to the most breathtaking view of the whole park, and if you time it just right, it's basically as if you're engulfed by the orange light of the sunset and you glide downhill surrounded by color and warmth in a way that makes you question whether you've been transported to another reality. It also means completing the loop at night, though that's not too much of an issue as the north-west quadrant has wide, easy roads and it's a gradual descent towards Campo di Giove.
This time though, I think the mountain had had enough of me and it was time to go: the wind grew stronger, temperatures dropped significantly and dark clouds started forming off in the distance, advancing slowly but surely towards the peak. The view on the way down was no less special, ears popping as you descend 1.400 meters to the valley below. It pays to pause for just a moment (no need to turn the engine off) and to look back, upwards to see where you were and get a sense of how huge this rock really is. 

The rest of the evening is to concentrate on closing the loop, it's a relaxed ride with very little traffic and it concludes with the arrival back at the campsite and that feeling I always get a the end of a special day like this: a mix between stunned silence, excitement and a true understanding of the purpose of motorcycles. This is what they're for.

I kept looking at the western flank of the mountain as it changed color in the approaching dusk, until it was bright pink. There was near perfect silence as I turned in for the night; usually the first couple of minutes into the tent are spent getting into the sleeping bag and adjusting yourself to be as comfortable as possible, and it can sometimes take a while before you get to that moment where everything feels comfortable and you can finally drift off to the astral plane. But this time I think it was almost instantaneous; I pulled the hood of my sleeping bag over my head, turned over on my side and felt completely snug, warm and cozy. I think I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

I awoke again to birdsong and the sun beaming down, the heat quickly rising and the mountain cloaked in clouds. The forecast for the day, especially at altitude was a bad one, so I had to readjust my itinerary for a safer option. With everything once again packed up on the bike I set off towards Pacentro, Sulmona and northwest by west towards L'Aquila. How cool is it that this city is just called "the eagle"?

On my way up to Campotosto I made a detour to a very scenic spot we had discovered during our very first foray into Abruzzo, a decade ago on our BMWs. This was the perfect opportunity to finally revisit that place and, once again, spend a few hours just enjoying nature, the colors, scents and sounds in addition to those things that go beyond the senses.

I watched that cloud front in the image above come and go, move over the hills below me, disappear and come back again and again but thankfully never quite reaching where I was. This was the perfect spot for a quick lunch, a nap in the shade and a coffee afterwards:

What wonderful solitude! The best thing about this trip was the silence; a land vast and empty of people and therefore full of tranquility. Wind the loudest thing around, aside from the Sportster, and time to think, or better yet not think and simply be, traversing this land so strong and kind as they say.

Eventually I set off again for the final part of the mighty SS80 until I reached the lake and the campsite. With hardly anyone there but a few compact camper vans, there was peace and quiet and plenty of daylight left to set up the tent and leave a few things to air out.

Another wonderful evening in the Halls of Shambhala was the perfect conclusion to this unusual but magnificent trip. The Sportster performed marvelously, the weather was perfect, the food and scenery second to none.

A lot of people claim they seek "change" or "betterment" yet I never see them up here. You wanna feel changed? Come along next time and see for yourself...