Old Irons 2026 - a report.

"oh crap, where the hell are we gonna park?" I thought as we reached the clearing in the woods, never this full since the rally moved to its new location a couple of years ago.

Earlier that morning, Lele and I set off from Campo di Giove aboard our Commandos, having completed a near-perfect tour of the Majella park the day before.

Opting for the most direct route, not feeling like we had it in us to explore a detour towards Penne and Farindola, we made our way back down towards the SS17 and up to Popoli, Bussi and Ofena. 

It's somewhat of a boring stretch of quasi-highway, but surrounded by greenery and hills. It was too late in the summer for linden, so the prevailing smell came from the vineyards, ripening in the blazing sun. We did encounter spartium, especially higher up; then dry grass, hot limestone, and essential oils from santoreggia and possibly calamintha. This may seem odd, but these scents are an intrinsic part of these excursions that always make for a richer experience, Proustian memory and whatnot.

Our focus is inevitably drawn back inwards to successfully (one might even say expertly) navigate the tight upwards hairpin turns that take you to Castel del Monte. The place is overcrowded and it feels as though it is struggling to cope with the amount of visitors, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, horses, you name it. We don't stay a second longer than we have to before we calmly continue the climb towards the plateau.

It was when leaving from Castel del Monte however, that the Roadster decided to put Lele's resolve to the test the most, I would say, and refused to start. Let's not forget that the entire machine has been recently rebuilt and really does not have that many "settling in" miles on it yet. Its pilot is certainly wasting no time as this is already the second longish-range outing he has done with it, and I'm confident that by this time next year this particular Commando will be an enviably well sorted specimen.

But for now, we must address two things that I'm sure will make this much easier to live with: luggage arrangement and, most importantly, the center stand. At the moment, the Roadster only has its side stand, and while that's great at doing what it's designed for (i.e. supporting the motorcycle) it's rubbish for kickstarting the machine: the side stand is one of the longest ever encountered on a lot of motorcycles we know, so it behaves as a spring when you're trying to temporarily overcome gravity to climb on top of the kickstart and bear your weight down. The result is that instead of delivering your power into the kickstart mechanism, a lot of it is physically absorbed by the side stand, with the added problems that the motorcycle becomes unstable and the frame and bracket are at risk of serious damage. We have to get the center stand sorted and back on the bike, it will be so much easier.

As for luggage, it's a much simpler matter of adjusting the width of the saddlebags and making sure they can stay put when kickstarting.

We reach Campo Imperatore the only possible way there is, then make a final climb to the 1,600 meter pass on the SP8, here 42.395185409042476, 13.786768861597848.

Throughout the morning we came across small packs of choppers and cool custom rides, folks who must have been on day trips from the rally itself before returning in the evening for drinks, food and live entertainment.

The same was true when we began the descent towards to Rigopiano, a few long-fork choppers were coming up and waved. The road next to the rally was already lined up on both sides with vans and some of the heavier bikes who perhaps didn't want to risk the short climb on gravel (and actually the way out can be more of a problem).

I really was not expecting to see that many bikes, there must have easily been about 200/250 mostly Harley-Davidsons, though a couple of Guzzis, (new) Indians, some Hondas and even a pair of beautifully restored Laverdas (a SF750 and a Jota 1000 triple) stood out. Imagine my surprise at finding other Norton Commandos for a total of five in a sea of Harleys:

The rowdy bikers with a heart of gold welcomed us with a cold beer and the rest of the day slowly trickled by, unhurried and enough to see all the bikes, discuss our favorites, take mental notes of some cool or unusual details, plan our next custom parts and adventures, talk absolute nonsense with friends... you know, the usual.

After another chilly and uncomfortable night, we packed up and set off on our uneventful but slow return home the following day. The rapidly rising heat made the long hours in the saddle seem even longer, and we were both exhausted by the time we turned the ignition off and shut the fuel taps.

Our Nortons are wonderful machines. We didn't have a single mechanical issue to deal with, and all they need is a little bit of servicing before our next ride. My thanks to Lele for not only coming along, but for being an integral part of this experience; grazie amico.

Majella tour 7. - the Loop

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...

BMW field test - Morocco (epilogue)

Over the next couple of days, the remainder of our trip in Morocco was a climb back over the Atlas and down to Marrakech once more, where we left the bikes in Matteo's capable hands, ready for the return home.

Now heading away from the desert, we encountered more towns, though still among vast expanses of nothingness that were very scenic.

One such town was called Kourkouda, where we stopped for the millionth tajin of the trip, though this one stood out as being particularly tasty.

As we sat on plastic chairs in the shade overseeing this intersection in the middle of nowhere, I couldn't help but wonder what it would take to escape the tyranny of the West and disappear down here.

Waking from my daydream, we finished our mint tea and got going again, only to run into a silly electrical problem on the Yamaha, easy enough to bypass but fiendish to diagnose.

One last tricky climb on rocky slopes cut across mountain ridges led us to a spectacular vista, before a descent into an immense plain, truly the last before the High Atlas.

This marked the end of our offroad adventure, after this it was all tarmac and tourists. The descent from the Tizi n'Tichka pass heading towards Marrakech was perhaps a little too spirited and I may have overworked the brakes: the front caliper started seizing up and was not releasing. I stopped immediately to see what was happening, it's possible I may have had a little too much DOT4 in the reservoir and it had no room to expand as it got hot. It could also be that the pistons had accumulated so much dirt and sand by that point in the trip that they could no longer retract fully, or the master cylinder itself may need to be flushed out and cleaned. Anyway, a couple other guys pulled up and they helped me bleed the system a little bit. Not impossible to do on your own but always easier if one guy pulls the brake lever while the other one cracks the bleed nipple and shuts it off again - and yes, you can also do it by yourself using a strong rubber band or a piece of string or a luggage strap to keep the brake lever squeezed: back on the road and no more issues (I may need new brake pads soon though).

If this feels rather rushed, it's because the last couple of days went by as a blur; it seems impossible to recall every detail, though luckily the most important things are captured in memory and on this blog. Above all, I can call this field test a complete success for the R100GS, and that's satisfying.

Back in my university days, my good friend Graham was fond of saying "it's all a matter of perspective", so inevitably a trip like this puts the other trips we do back home into perspective and allows us to see them as less stressful but certainly no less rewarding: a Majella tour will always be a world-class trip no matter what. I wonder if I'll take the Fastback or the Sportster for the next glorious loop...

BMW field test - Morocco (day 6)

The ride out of M'hamid begins unapologetically with a wide, sweeping sand track; soft, beautiful yellow sand that requires gripping onto the bike with your inner legs, pushing your weight as far back as possible, and then a steady throttle in second gear, fast enough to maintain momentum and float but not so fast as to overtax the engine. The front wheel does float but the sensation can be rather disconcerting at first, almost as though the steering dynamics have suddenly reversed.

After a few meters though it becomes the most stupidly fun thing we've done so far, and we're powering into the sand banks, jumping over small dunes, weaving our way through the track like it's some sort of playground.

This continued for some time, until the ground became gradually firmer and we started climbing imperceptibly towards Tissint. You could still see some of the "Dakar reenactment fans" hanging around, but there weren't as many as the day before on this particular desert crossing.
One thing that became much more frequent were stones. Small and loose at first, almost like oversized gravel and therefore easily passable, but every now and then there would be bigger or sharper rocks. You could tell when the terrain changed by the sound the wheels made over the rocks: steady and low when riding on gravel, but suddenly louder and more alarming when we hit the big ones. The occasional sharp blow felt at the handlebar was not too bad, but when the entire track was nothing but rocks, it slowed us down and made for quite the balancing act.

Somewhere around here: 29°51'55.2"N 6°02'49.6"W we found ourselves cresting a large dune. From the top, our heading meant we would have to ride downhill and into a sandy flat that must have been about 400/500 meters wide. The descent itself was not difficult, provided you remembered that - unlike tarmac where you can just coast - sand requires you to power on even downhill. Once at the bottom though, I very quickly realized something was wrong.

It was a trap. 

An infernal bowl filled with quicksand, impossible to grip or navigate. I could feel my clutch starting to roast almost right away so I stopped and let it (and myself) cool down. As soon as I was able to get moving again, I took off in second gear, leaving the clutch lever well alone and made a monumental effort to just power through until I reached the other side. I hated every moment of it.

Luckily, temperatures were decidedly mild, otherwise I surely would have overheated. As you can see in the photo below, the sky was overcast and for a moment it even seemed like it might have rained.

Another long, sandy section led us to an oasis, with palm trees, water and birdsong, just as you'd expect (29°52'58.2"N 6°07'08.0"W). This was right around midday, so we stopped for a long pause and had some food.

One very unexpected thing we found in this place was the cold: the wind had picked up significantly, and we had to layer up to stay warm.

Lulled into a false sense of serenity by the peacefulness of the oasis and the nice food, we jolted back into action once we realized how much farther we still had to ride that day.

Later in the afternoon we met more stones and at one point I lost pressure entirely at the front wheel. Looking down towards the rim confirmed that the bead on my Continental TKC80 had jumped inwards. With the bike on the center stand, I used a couple of CO₂ cartridges to expand the tire back into place: the rapid burst of pressure was just enough to pop the bead. After a while, Matteo caught up and we used his on-board compressor to inflate the tires, upping the psi rating for both to make them a bit firmer than what I had been riding on up until that point. Off we went, with no more trouble on the rocks but... now the bike no longer worked in the sand. We reached another long sandy section and I ended up eating it, twice. Fair game the first time, I shut the fuel off and quickly started digging under the bike to help me right it. Witold came over to help and I got going again. But the second time, not ten meters away made me so angry that I shouted one of Italian's worst profanities at the top of my lungs. Later in the day Witold told me he could see that over the following 15 minutes I was riding angry, and it's true: I was tense, angry at myself for not being able to just do it and it took me a while to go "it's the tire pressure, stupid."

By that point we were on much firmer ground, with an absolutely dead flat plain that stretched out in front of us for a dozen kilometers. With little reference points to gauge speed and progress, it became slightly disorienting at times.

The odd tree started to appear again, here and there, and the landscape changed once again. At this point there was an actual gravel track we could follow, stopping in the shade to drink when we could.

Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the heat was particularly noticeable here; it was a bit of a struggle to collect ourselves and push on. An unexpected series of bends and another climb took us towards the next stage of our day's itinerary.

And then we reached what must have certainly been the most surreal of all the landscapes we traversed during our trip. This was made all the more striking by the fact that the clouds had returned, bringing relief from the heat. Despite the vastness of it all, such as we had experienced for days now, here there was only a narrow, deep, single track, clearly defined and seemingly a clear path to follow. Only it turned out to be where all the moisture had accumulated: the appearance of cracked soil was only that, an appearance. In reality, as soon as the weight of your front wheel pressed down, it gave way to sludgy mud. Giulio and Witold, about 50 meters ahead of me, had dismounted and were frantically waving to get out of the track and onto... the rest of the plain. This place where we found ourselves was covered in the strangest dried clumps of twigs, and it was only later that I realized these were all rose of Jericho, as far as the eye could see. Remarkable...

Tissint now lay just 30 kilometers and one camel crossing ahead of us, one final stretch for the day. Another incredible trip that put the R100GS to the test, the bike once again proving just how capable and competent of a machine it really is.