Stealth Trip 3

These days so called "adventure motorbikes" are very popular with people who do serious 'round the world trips, often way off the beaten track, as well as with people who do serious commuting from home to the office, sometimes as much as 3 or 4 miles a day in city traffic!

But Witold and I are here to tell you, you don't need to spend upwards of thirty grand on one of these behemoths to experience true adventure; all you need is a couple of British parallel twins and an ill-conceived idea for a Stealth Trip!

Mild hypothermia, low fuel reserves, and mechanical breakdowns... it's all within your reach: you can have it all!

First off, the weather: while we had a few previews of glorious sunny days over the past two weeks, blue skies and mild temperatures, we had none of that during our trip. It all took place under an unbroken shroud of grey, dense cloud cover, the sun barely piercing through. The almost constant wind did nothing to blow it away, it just introduced cooler air, hour after hour.

Ready, steady, go!

Notice the reserve fuel bottle strapped to the Roadholder front forks, a thoughtful gift from Gianluca, and, as it turned out, a very useful gift indeed...

As we continue to explore new places and routes across the mountains to the East, it occurred to me that we had never visited a place called Marsia:

As it turned out, that's because everything in the area circled in blue is pretty much in the process of being reclaimed by Nature. There is nothing but ghost towns, dilapidated infrastructure and an eerie setting for this bonkers trip of ours; think of it as something between an episode of Scooby-Doo and the Shining:

(note: no filters were added for effect, what you see above is what we saw...)

We also came across some locals around those parts:

The roads and scenery are all very pleasant and at times striking, no complaints there. The fact that temperatures were just on the right side of cool helped the engines work away stress-free, even if the riders got a little chilly at times. Luckily there was no rain... on day one at least.

We set off from Monterotondo Scalo, rode up the Salaria for a while, then peeled off heading towards Rocca Sinibalda (beautiful, go see it if you get the chance). Then down towards the Turano lake where we stopped for a beer.

We only had another 50 km to go before reaching a campsite where we'd never been before; the idea was to test a new place that we could then use in the future during other trips with the rest of the gang. However, the closer we got, the spookier the land became. The few buildings we saw were all shuttered and crumbling away, old ski-lift installations were dangerously rusting away, overhead cables ready to snap. After a while we understood that we were looking at the remnants of a once picturesque mountain resort, and it must have been a pretty place to visit year 'round. But no more. We stopped at a restaurant close to the campsite to announce ourselves and let them know we'd be coming back in the evening for dinner - no luck, they were closed.
We continued on towards the campsite, again riding past relics from bygone days, abandoned houses and a couple of bars, either side of a broken and potholed lane. At the end, we found the campsite, and there was even someone there but they weren't thrilled to see us. They basically told us we could stay, but it was obvious there were no services whatsoever, certainly no food, and probably no water, not so much as a toilet.

Obviously that's disappointing but I think it's fair to say that what we witnessed was the death throes of that whole territory. Sad, but hopefully some of the beautiful roads at least will remain, so we can ride through, bring a pic-nic (and always extra fuel) and enjoy nature on our way to somewhere a little better equipped.

At this point though it was getting late in the afternoon and we had to rewrite our plan almost completely. Having understood that there was nothing for miles around, and with temperatures dropping far more than I had anticipated, we decided to continue on what would have been the following day's itinerary, to reach the campsite in a forest, by a brook where we had been the year before.

Again, the road was absolutely glorious, and well worth revisiting as part of a longer itinerary someday. We reached the small town of Capistrello, then began the rather steep ascent to the Renga plateau. It was pretty clear that this would be no easy stroll: we looked not so much ahead, as we did above us, and what we saw was a grey forest, clinging stubbornly to the mountain, also grey, under the sky, very, very grey. We could just about make out the road, cutting a sharp line towards the pass... and disappear into something that looked an awful lot like snow.
It soon got cold and we stopped to let our hands enjoy the heat radiating off the engines. This was at around 1600 meters up:

Once over the pass, we reached the town of Filettino (very near the other campsite) and asked a very friendly group for some information; within a short time we had a place to stay in the town's only remaining guesthouse, and directions to a restaurant:

Nothing but the finest establishments for our trips!
In retrospect, thinking about our chance discovery last year, that other campsite is an oddity around these parts and knowing how few and far between they are, made us appreciate that place even more. This time, a brick and mortar building was a smart choice (and really the only choice) for what turned out to be a rather chilly night. The town itself is pretty and hopefully it can resist the decay that's taken over on the other side of the mountain.

The following day, the sky still grey, we packed up after an oil check and set off again:

This is also where that extra fuel came in handy, as the Firebird Scrambler was basically running on fumes at that point.

Witold's BSA is absolutely spot-on for this type of terrain, and fits the landscape perfectly.

In search of even a sliver of blue sky, no such luck that day.

For the way back we headed towards Subiaco and then South West across the hills and lowlands between Canterano and Palestrina; pretty countryside, the roads get a little bit boring by that point though.

Witold and I parted ways near the small town of Gerano so he could head back to Rome, while I headed towards the Monolith, but not twenty meters after we said ciao, I felt something strange going on with the gearbox, perhaps a false neutral (absolutely unheard of on the AMC/Commando gearbox!) followed by something hitting the underside of the transmission case, and total loss of drive to the rear wheel. I also noticed something in the rear-view mirror that definitely should not have been in the middle of the road: my rear chain.

Mechanical snake. The master link was nowhere to be found (although I did find a chunk of the primary chaincase blown out when the chain hit it), and - stupidly - I didn't have a spare one in my kit, so I was stranded. I wasn't too far from home and I called in the cavalry, who brought me an extra link so I was able to get going again. Thanks dad.

I still had plenty of time to wait, in a field, and ponder why this had happened. Obviously I must have cocked it up when I refit the chain after shortening it to suit the recently installed smaller sprocket. This also meant that the chain was running on a tighter orbit than before, and since there really isn't much room between the gearbox and the primary transmission case, I can only guess that there was still some material that interfered with the chain.

While I thought about this it started to rain, of course. Not heavy rain, just a drizzle, but luckily I had my trusty tarp and I set it up in under a minute to make a cozy shelter:

Of course I'll be carrying one or two spare links from now on, so that should give me 100% guarantee that I will never need one again: it is a well known fact that the primary purpose of the spare parts we carry is to ward off evil spirits, rather than ever be needed.

The Fastback made it back home under its own steam, but I was riding very carefully, keeping revs and torque as low as possible.

Back at the Monolith I put the bike on the lift and took a look under the transmission to see what was happening. The photos below are from slightly different angles and the master link is shown by the blue arrow. It seems as though there is minimal clearance, and really other than taking the whole primary down to machine the inner case (not gonna happen!) I think I have to wait for the chain to eat its way through until it has enough room.

Other than that, the Commando performed really well, the new Isolastic are exceptionally good and I can't wait to get out there again for another one of these comical trips...

Prepare thyself!

Fair warning: I am about to unleash a massive post detailing the recommissioning of the weird blue Triumph.

If you want to get through it all, remember the old adage "how do you eat an elephant? one bite at a time"...

Just a sneak preview...

Click to enlarge (yes, it's snow...)

Long live DST!

I love daylight saving time, it's like a modern-day ritual festival that signals the end of winter and the return of the riding season. Those who think it's a bad thing are either people who don't ride (what the hell is wrong with you??) or Scandinavians, and, well... there's your problem right there. (I'm joking! put away your Viking battle axes, sheesh!)

Down here, where it makes sense to uphold DST, we celebrate it by getting our toys out and ready for new adventures. This year, I used the excuse of a chill hang at uncle Fester's garage to test the Fastback's newly refurbished Isolastic and gearbox sprocket.

It's a long enough round trip that takes me from the Monolith up and over a holy mountain, then down towards the coast and back, so ideal for a shake down and proper test to see how everything works.

I can confirm the new Isolastic kit works a treat, and the sweet spot with no perceptible vibration seems to be from 2.800 to 3.500 rpm. There is a very, very slight increase in vibration higher up, but you can tell the rubber bushes are still effective and doing their job. I'll probably do one or two outings as is, before I decide if I want to try a different setting.

Back at uncle Fester's, the German showed up in his black E type:

and we observed him fitting a new Siebenrock big bore kit to one of his BWM specials:

Meanwhile, my cousin has finally, at long last decided to get himself a motorcycle, and scored this almost complete Honda 500 Four:

There's obviously a lot to do, but this is not as frightening as it may appear; this is just an ugly duckling guys, it'll turn out really neat, you'll see...

Get out there and GO RIDE!

スプロケット!

Replacing the Isolastic is something I knew would be a fair bit of work, and since removing the entire primary chaincase and all the wonders it contains would expose the gearbox sprocket, I thought this would be the right time to switch to a smaller size.

When this bike was rebuilt over a decade ago, I had intended it to be able to cruise at low RPMs and high speed. Those are of course relative terms, but in practice I wanted to be able to cruise at around 130Km/h with the engine well below 5.000rpm.

The combination of the primary drive belt conversion, and a 21 tooth gearbox sprocket have definitely delivered and the bike was a capable long-distance tourer that could go all day. I mention the belt primary because the ratio is higher compared to that of the standard triplex chain set-up, so coupled with a 21 tooth sprocket, it made for fairly tall gearing overall.

This is all well and good, but it meant that the camshaft was somewhat underutilized. I have a 4S camshaft, which delivers a very satisfying bucket of mid-range torque that is plenty to keep you entertained; the problem is, that tall gearing meant you would often run out of road before hitting that spot in the rev range (around 4.800) where the camshaft really does its thing. Lowering the gearing by one tooth should allow me to be "on the cam" more frequently on the type of roads we like to ride (see example here), but still leave me able - when needed - to tackle stretches of autostrada without feeling like the engine's out of breath.

So, since the Fastback has effectively lost a tooth, I left the old sprocket under the Norton's pillow, and the tooth fairy left a fresh quart of motor oil in exchange. Nice: