In an unlikely turn of events, I managed to get away for a weekend on two wheels, bringing my "days on the road" tally to
five this year, so far. Leaving aside this genziana-bitter fact, here's what we did this past weekend.
Somewhere in the heart of the Tuscan wine country, there is a tiny hamlet with little more than a bakery, a post office and a couple of houses. The outskirts are sprawling countryside dotted with stone farmhouses, olive orchards and vineyards. It's as picturesque as you're imagining it, and there are many places like this in the area. That affords a degree of anonymity to someone choosing this place as a hideout, and makes it somewhat tough to find by outsiders.
Our friend Ennio is a guy who has one such place, in an undisclosed location, and graciously hosted a bunch of us over what turned out to be a glorious weekend, in the purest spirit of hanging out with friends, riding motorcycles, and shooting the breeze.
Five of us left from EUR on Saturday morning, hoping to reach the others (who got there the day before) sometime in the afternoon.
Let's talk mileage for a second (or kilometers, for those more civilized): not huge numbers. Not a lot of ground to cover... but as always, a combination of narrow, winding country lanes, and a propensity for frequent "pit-stops" (drinking, eating, smoking, napping, taking photos, etc.) inevitably results in a disproportionate amount of time needed to reach the destination. Of course this is precisely how we like it.
It had been a while since I had last ridden the Sportster, because I don't have much free time anymore, and because I had been concentrating on the Fastback up until recently. So this little trip was a bit of a re-discovery of this wonderful machine, and one thing that really stood out, that I don't think I had ever fully appreciated before, is how deceptively nimble the 1200S is, compared to a standard Sportster like my previous 883. I think I hadn't noticed before because so much of my attention was captured by sheer torque and sound, but now I can see that the upgraded suspension really does do a lot in making this a far better handling version of the Sportster.
That said, I need to set up the suspension properly to fix what feels like something wrong with the front end, particularly noticeable when tackling tight corners.
We followed Ennio's directions to a specific place, but I then led the group astray down the wrong dirt lane; not a huge problem as we simply circled back and found ourselves back where we started, and in the meantime Ennio had heard us nearby, hopped onto his Suzuki RV 90, and rode out to meet us.
The short dirt lane up to his property disappears into the woods, like a portal to a hidden dimension, and we emerged to the view of a cozy stone cottage, and motorcycles everywhere:
It's hard to imagine a nicer scene, or a warmer welcome; a sense of familiarity, deliberate relaxation, and a desire to banish all worries made it easy to join in right away.
Ennio also treated us to a ride on his Gilera, an irresistible toy for kids of all ages:
After an impressive effort to relax as much as humanly possible (see above), we somehow got back on the bikes to attend an event that marks a new chapter in our love affair with machinery: a display of vintage tractors at a nearby town (literally a few houses, two roads and fields everywhere else).
Since I realize that the joke writes itself, I'll save you the trouble and do it for you: "Oh it's hard to tell where the motorcycles end and the tractors begin!". Ha, ha.
That green contraption is a "Mobilsega" or mobile sawmill, handy for when you can't take the trees to your regular brick and mortar sawmill!
It was finished in a striking shade of metallic green reminiscent of verdigris, generously applied to everything but the wooden backrest:
Above: in the right-hand corner you have correctly identified a legendary Landini, with its characteristic hot bulb engine. There were a few of these, and Alessio got to ride one, while Ennio hitched a ride.
For such brutish and dangerously strong machines, these beasts somehow evoke feelings of tenderness and affection in us. I can't explain it rationally obviously, but we see these as being very much alive, and we can't help but be fascinated and in awe of such strength.
It's different from, say, the power of a high-end hypercar, or a fighter jet: to me there is something much more noble in a machine this powerful and this massive (12.000cc!!), whose entire purpose is to work the land and help put food on the table, all with absolutely zero glamour or need to show off.
"Vigneto", you can thank this guy next time you're enjoying a glass of Chianti!
Look at those faces... they're adorable!
And now look at this beast:
This thing was a hulking monster of a machine, massive! Here is a tall guy standing next to it to help you get some sense of scale:
We left as the sun started setting, just as Lisiano fired up one last tractor, this time a bit of an oddity with regards to locking differentials, twin clutches... I don't know it all got a bit loud right around then:
It looks like he's ripping donuts on the grass, but he's just demonstrating the surprisingly tight turning radius that allows this thing to turn on a dime.
Also, notice the expression on his face: if that's not love, I don't know what is (it could be red wine).
The short ride back was still long enough to have some fun on some rather technical sections of what we like to call "misto stretto"; the night, encroaching on a pink and purple sunset made for a stunning backdrop to our shenanigans:
Back at Ennio's, preparations got quickly under way for what turned out to be an excellent dinner and most pleasant evening sharing stories and many, many laughs.
To find a quiet place you can call your own, and share it with your friends while you enjoy the simple things that bring you joy, be they motorcycles or tractors. This is the meaning of life. You don't need to pursue anything more than this (but few people truly understand this).
Honorable mention to Claudio, who actually joined us late on Saturday night! In the almost total quiet of the countryside at night, we heard the growling and screaming of his big bore BSA Rocket 3 as it charged through the valleys, unmistakably making full use of the rev range, getting closer and closer until he appeared, a terrifying vision of smoke and fury, the silver bodywork glinting mercilessly in the moonlight. I didn't take a photo at that point, as it would be enough to drive anyone insane, so here's a much nicer photo taken the day after:
I had to leave relatively early on Sunday, so it was a solo ride through more B lanes heading vaguely south by west (SbW) until I reached the coast, joined the Aurelia and gunned it all the way past Rome and into the hills.
It had been many years since I had been to Tuscany, a place that is inextricably linked to my childhood. Navigating the rolling hills and fields of golden wheat, a relatively flat landscape interrupted by the occasional row of cypress trees lining the long, long driveways up to mansions and old farmhouses brought on an unexpected sense of nostalgia carried by a faint echo of a far-away past.
The sound of the almost-open intake on the CV carburetor snaps me back to the present as I accelerate up a small hill and around a right hander with an obstructed view. All thoughts of the past are left by the roadside and I concentrate on directions, while keeping an eye on my Swiss watch.
I made remarkably good time, getting back to the Monolith in just under two hours. Since I didn't cruise at more than 110/120 Kmh, I can only assume that, as always, motorcycles affect the space-time continuum with their sheer coolness.
A big thank you to Ennio and Lisa, who were so kind to have us rowdy bikers over; I really hope we can do this again someday.
The Old Irons rally is coming up fast, I should have some photos and a report of
next weekend's trip before we leave again, hopefully, to do a third loop of the Majella park in early August.
