ABOVE: CAMPING AT ALASKA’S SALMON GLACIER. HOPE YOU BROUGHT A WARM SLEEPING BAG! PHOTO: STEVE SHANNON OPPOSITE PAGE: TIRE REPAIR TIME IN BOLIVIA, WITH AN AUDIENCE. PHOTO: MICHNUS OLIVIER
ON THE COVER STEVE SHANNON TOOK OUR COVER PHOTO WHILE EXPLORING BRITISH COLUMBIA’S KOOTENAY RANGE. SEE THE END OF THE MAGAZINE FOR A FULL SPREAD OF STEVE’S PHOTOS FROM A TRIP TO THE U.S. AND CANADIAN NORTH.
DELIVERING MILES OF SMILES ACROSS THE UNITED STATES
For the past 14 years, our little non-profit has been delivering adventures of a lifetime to riders and driving economic support into the rural communities in the backcountry of America.
BDR routes are more than just a line on a map. Each new route creates new opportunities for riders, small businesses, and the motorcycle industry at large. It’s a win-win for everyone and that’s something we’re pretty proud of.
Learn more about how you can ride BDR, join our mission, and help support rural communities in the backcountry.
Visit: RideBDR.com
BACK TO SCHOOL
DRILLING HOME THE LESSONS OF MOTORCYCLING
WORDS: Zac Kurylyk PHOTOS: Nick Dunlop
This is the Winter edition of ADVrider magazine; our production schedule means I’m writing this editorial in early fall. Every morning now, Monday through Friday, I spend about 10 minutes on the driveway waiting for the school bus to come pick up my kids. And as our North American riding season shifts to colder temperatures, I’ve just got back from school myself.
In late September, I attended Traction Erag’s XTADV riding school, billed as “Cross Training Enduro Skills For Large Displacement ADV & Dual Sport Riders.” Based out of Erag big boss Dallas Shannon’s cattle ranch near Kamloops, British Columbia, this is a five-day camp that teaches basic dirt bike control skills on small-bore Hondas. The program is intended to help riders get comfortable off-road without the added complication of managing a larger machine.
I’d done a shorter version of this program back in 2020, when Megan Griffiths (aka @megs_braap) was associated with Erag and brought the classroom on the road; a lot of what we went over was material I practiced in her class back then. At all times, eagle-eyed instructors barked reminders to abandon the sloppy habits I’ve picked up over nearly 20 years of dual sport riding.
The course wasn’t just a good reminder of proper riding form; it was also a good reminder of what makes motorcycling great in the first place. I got to stay in-camp with other committed riders for a whole week with no cell-phone service or wi-fi; we got to enjoy each other’s company and build camaraderie instead of spending our evenings on Instagram. I think the six nights in a cabin actually broke my interest in The Social Media Network Formerly Known As Twitter, and the trip was worth it for that alone.
But the real takeaway from this trip was that motorcycles are very, very fun to ride mindfully, with care and precision – especially if you’re actually riding them.
Throughout the week, we mostly rode Honda CRF250F trail bikes. No traction control. No ABS. No adjustable engine braking. Just a rider and a throttle and clutch, brakes and suspension. There were no electronics to save us if we made a mistake.
That’s a rare experience these days. As the 2020s roll on, we see electronic riding aids as practically standard. In the EU, the lowly Yamaha R125 naked bike comes with traction control. Here in North America, even the bargain basement Kawasaki KLX230 dual sport
comes with ABS. Indeed, Europe, Japan and Australia now require ABS on practically all new street-legal bikes; there are calls to do the same in North America.
I think ABS is a valuable safety tool, and traction control has its place as well. However, as these and other practical safety technologies become increasingly widespread, we are now seeing the rise of other gadgetry that is less appealing, removing more control from the motorcyclist in the name of safety or convenience. Depending on the realities of your daily ride, these features might be practical or even invaluable to you, but I believe they will eventually replace the challenges that define motorcycling. Increasingly, we are going to see real-world riding skills replaced by an array of cameras and sensors. The street smarts we once sharpened on our commute to the office will disappear, with a TFT readout alerting us of danger and a computer taking command of the bike when that happens. The loose, slippery hill-climbs that we once found challenging will now be easy, thanks to a button on the dash that lets the electrobrain assume control.
We might be safer in such a scenario, but will we enjoy our ride more? I doubt it. Even my simple DR650 is considerably more safe and easy to ride than something like an old Harley-Davidson WLA, but I doubt I enjoy riding my DR more than the riders of the ’50s enjoyed their army surplus H-Ds.
Those old hard-tailed WLAs are the perfect example of what I’m talking about here. Despite their crap brakes, crap suspension, crap headlight, crap everything, people still enjoy riding those bikes because they enjoy the fun of controlling the machine. It is true that around the world (perhaps not so much in North America), many motorcyclists are only on two wheels because they need practical, affordable transportation, and they don’t care about the joys of riding. But for those of us who ride for pleasure, since Day 1, it’s always been about taking control of the bike, making the machine do what you want.
I hope that isn’t lost in the years to come, as streetbikes get smarter and smarter. But if the thrills of street riding are slowly replaced by electronics systems, I think we will at least always have dirt bikes, adventure bikes and dual sports to take us beyond the safety net. Off-road riding may only be one corner of the moto world, but it’s the most fun, and it looks like that will probably be more-and-more the case as technology takes us forward.
THE COURSE WASN’T JUST A GOOD REMINDER OF PROPER RIDING FORM; IT WAS ALSO A GOOD REMINDER OF WHAT MAKES MOTORCYCLING GREAT IN THE FIRST PLACE.
FOLLOW NO ONE
The pursuit of adventure meets groundbreaking innovation in the R 1300 GS. Whether you traverse trails or tarmac, EVO Paralever and EVO Telelever BMW technology provide unparalleled stability and handling while its generous 1,300 cc boxer engine lets you set the pace with confidence. Experience the #SpiritofGS with perhaps our most exhilarating GS motorcycle yet.
IN BOLIVIA, TAKE IT AS IT COMES
A changing of the goals in
South American wonderland
Words:
Michnus Olivier
Across the table sits Klaus, an elderly German man wearing a Indiana Jones fedora. He sips on a local beer and entertains us with tales of adventure following his years as tourist minister of Bolivia. Once a week, we would meet with this fellow, often at a groovy little coffeeshop named Typica, owned by a local movie star and a purveyor of locally crafted beers. COVID-19 had just eased up a little, and while we still were not able to continue our travels, we were able to get together with some local friends we made in Sucre.
Photos: Michnus Olivier
We would sit and talk with Klaus and a few others for hours. Klaus’s time traveling around Bolivia made for captivating stories, and he did his damndest to show us the best-kept secrets of the small, land-locked South American country just west of Brazil. We would sit peering over an old map while Klaus outlined routes to places that were not marked. “You must go there!”
Bolivia is still a country where foreigners stick to the main routes and don’t say long. It’s not the easiest country to travel in, and getting a visa can be a tedious process. A traveler is required to report to a police station once every 30 days, and any ordinary day’s riding can become a long, exhausting expedition in this country that is half Amazon basin and half mountain country.
As we sat talking about the northern Amazon part of Bolivia, Klaus drew a circle around a village named Apolo, and it became a destination, a place we were determined to see no matter how tough the traveling might be.
We set out from Sucre, some of the first travelers since the pandemic, and with accommodation and attractions almost empty, the offerings were more affordable and the locals happy to see foreign people again.
We rode up to La Paz, at 3600 meters (11,800 feet), then north to Lake Titicaca in the Andean Altiplano – at 3812 meters (12,507 feet) the highest navigable lake in the world, and at 193 kilometers (120 miles) long, the biggest lake in South American. It straddles the Peru-Bolivia border, and long ago was the center of the Incan civilization.
The entire loop from where we hit the dirt north of Lake Titicaca to Apolo and back to Coroico was 600 kilometers (376 miles), which would take several days to cover. A group of La Paz bikers we met shook their heads at our plan, but
could not offer any updates on the road’s condition, even after phoning around.
Maybe that was for the best. This ended up being one of the longest dirt mountain passes we have ever ridden. We might have pushed that out to 1000 kilometers if we were able to ride farther south, but heavy rains on the dirt roads prevented that. Crossing rivers became impossible when we got to Coroico.
The dirt roads we encountered were either fesh-fesh bulldust or, when it rained, mud. Much of the very long first day of riding was on narrow stretches perched on the edge of the mountain with multiple 90-degree switchbacks that provided views of infinity. We felt like we were riding on top of the world, snaking our way over the highest parts of the Altiplano at 4500 meters (15,000 feet). The Altiplano, Collao, or Andean Plateau in west-central South America is the most extensive high plateau on earth outside Tibet. Staying at altitude during the pandemic was beneficial as we were able to acclimatize to it, though any activity off the bike would have our lungs crying out for relief.
Just before sunset, with dust-covered faces and tired bodies, we saw Charazani far below us, nestled between mountains. It looked like a short distance, but it took more than an hour to wind our way down steep switchbacks to this charming little village and its plaza, one hotel, and tiny shops selling the bare provisions and fuel from dirty, stained containers.
The next day we waited outside a shop for fuel and only got riding after 9 a.m., much later than we planned. We knew that day would be another long one – when riding into unknown places with little info on roads, it’s best to get moving early. The unexpected is likely to happen,
from flat tires, landslides, and riots, to rain turning roads into rivers and rivers turning into oceans.
The day turned into an exhilarating extended ride. We descended into the Amazon and the landscape changed to lush green forest overhangs and waterfalls the height of skyscrapers. And just like that we went from bitterly cold on the Altiplano to sweating like pigs in the heat. The dust still choked us, and the heat and humidity forced us to stop often on small bridges to rest and quench our thirst. There was no end to the passes. Switchback after switchback continued up one mountain and down the other side. It was non-stop mind-bending stuff.
A friend helped us to arrange for a room in a small hotel on the outskirts of Apolo, which we reached with the mother of all rainstorms in tow – luckily, just before the roads turned into unrideable mud paths. It did not stop raining for four days and we had to sit it out but without complaints as we loved spending time with the locals. There were no ATMs in that part of the world, and no other way to get cash; so we could not stay longer even though we wanted to. Our hotel host kindly suggested we could repay him when we got back to LaPaz.
An important part of this expedition to Apolo was a visit to Madidi National Park. Madidi is one of a small number of massive parks around the world that are completely wild. It is difficult to get into it due to the thick abundance of vegetation, and a guide is needed. Madidi was
established in 1995, with an area of 18,958 square kilometers (7320 square miles, about the size of New Jersey).
But our plan to take a tour into Madidi failed miserably. Its one-track roads are barely passable by 4x4 in the wet, and there was no way in or out of the park. Normally, motorcycles are allowed to go a short distance, and then riders dismount and are escorted on foot into the park.
As a consolation the locals, who were happy to see visitors from another continent, took us on a motorcycle ride to the “Brain of the Inca.” It sounds exotic but it is just a huge rock that resembles a human brain. At least the views over the basin and into the Amazon were pleasing on the eye and it made for a fun day’s riding.
The trip home was going to be just as twisty and slow to ride as the first leg of our journey. Our hotel host warned us to take it slow, as the road is muddy and crosses many rivers, and landslides happen weekly. He was not wrong; it took us two days to ride the 300 kilometers. It’s a single-lane road with little room to pass oncoming traffic, and any encounters required a calculated maneuver to prevent a fall into a river or off a cliff. On a few occasions we stopped, jaws dropped, to wait for a bulldozer carrying a lowbed truck up or down a muddy incline, defying the laws of physics. On a bike there is always a few centimeters of room to spare, but with anything bigger you can get stuck. It is incredibly dangerous stuff these men do for a paycheck.
We crossed several muddy rivers, then got to a proper river crossing where long, narrow wooden craft were tied together as a makeshift barge. We had to ride down a plank to get on the rickety thing, and with very little maneuvering space Elsebie partly dropped her bike off the barge. It took us a while to get it back up with the help of some locals.
There are many talks of “death roads” around the world. In Bolivia those words mean it, and in parts of Bolivia this is what people use every day.
Sometimes you do not get everything you planned for. We did no see Madidi, but we did experience a heart-stopping, intoxicating 600-kilometer loop road that would go forever onto our list of top rides. As an unpaved road goes, this was nothing short of magnificent.
“THERE ARE MANY TALKS OF ‘DEATH ROADS’ AROUND THE WORLD. IN BOLIVIA THOSE WORDS MEAN IT.”
Yes, There Are Plenty Of Animals In Africa
WIDE OPEN SPACES AND LOADS OF WILDLIFE!
Heading west a couple of hundred kilometers to Botswana, we learned a painful lesson in the economic realities of parts of southern Africa. Near Harare, where Kim and I had picked up our F 800 GS BMWs that morning, we cruised at 50 mph on smooth pavement, enjoying the air and the sights of the Zimbabwean countryside as we headed to the border with Botswana. It wasn’t long, though, till the pavement fell apart and we found ourselves running an obstacle course of horrific potholes, dodging them at 20 mph.
Words & Photos: Mike Botan
As we trundled along, a bus approached from behind and passed us at full highway speed, bouncing over the potholes, flinging dirt and bits of pavement off its wheels. We were not encouraged to speed up, and soon enough we came upon the bus again, on the side of the road, crippled with flat tires.
We had expected the ride to take 90 minutes. Road conditions doubled that time, but we made it safely to the Zimbabwe–Botswana border, where we were made to walk through troughs of water treated with chemicals to kill any unwanted hitchhikers. After we got our feet wet, we filled out a few forms, crossed into Botswana, and headed southwest towards Chobe National Park. The road conditions soon improved, with smooth pavement most of the way, and after only a few hours we arrived at a lodge beside the Chobe River, where we hoped to take some time off the bikes and look up some wildlife neighbors.
In our lodge rooms we found an interesting hint of what was to come: two spray cans—insect repellant and an air horn—an encouraging and somewhat frightening sign for visitors hoping to find wildlife. After sunset, hippos often wander out of the river to munch on the grass of the river bank, and while we would not end up needing either of the two cans, we would indeed find plenty of animals the following morning.
Wildlife viewing is important to Botswana’s economy, so natural habitats are protected. We could not legally
ride motorcycles through the game preserves but instead would observe wildlife from the relative comfort and safety of large flat-bottomed boats on the Chobe River. It had been a dry summer and more animals than usual had been congregating wherever there was a good supply of water, so we expected good things to come as we took a short ride in a jeep the next morning to a small dock on the river. And soon enough, as we moved down the river in our flat-bottomed boat, we were surrounded by African wildlife.
We floated past hippos with their backs poking through the water’s surface. Some took an interest in our passing boat and popped up to take a look. One hippo was not amused and, at first, started swimming towards us. As he got closer, he increased his speed, and we quickly sped away, leaving him and the remainder of the herd wading in the warm water.
As we continued our slow ride, crocodiles lazily basked in the quickly heating African air. Some lay on the river banks while others waited in the tall grass, their mouths open wide to keep them from overheating. Large birds walked in the grasses and soared overhead. After about half an hour, we rounded a corner and came upon many, many herds of elephants – hundreds of them. Elephant families slowly walked and milled around in the grass, using their trunks to tear large clumps of grass from the earth. The calves stayed close to their mothers, often sandwiched between parents. Other elephants waded in the water, and some bachelors tussled and splashed water in an
attempt to establish their places in the herd. We were able to get so close that we could see the long eyelashes and the dirt they had thrown on their backs to stay cool.
Not much further away, there were many different species of animals: giraffes standing around small watering holes, reaching down to drink with their legs spread wide, herds of grass-eating antelope, springbok, steenboks, zebras, impalas, kudus, elands, gemsbok, cape buffalo, and others slowly walking across the savannah, looking for food and watching for danger. We spent about three hours on the water, and before we were really ready, we were heading back to the jeep and the lodge for the remainder of the day.
The next day, there was more. We were up and waiting at sunrise, and soon enough we were in a jeep, trundling along a paved road, watching carefully as we passed a very large hyena that looked back at us from atop a culvert that passed under the road. It wore a bored expression as it watched us go by.
As we drove by an empty bus stop, I was thinking that it would be best to keep a careful eye out if one were to go down this road on foot, when I spotted a sign that seemed a little redundant, announcing in large block letters: “Warning, wild animals.” Well, you don’t say!
We drove along, and soon were alongside the Chobe. We watched a leopard idling along the river bank. She glanced at us, then walked towards the jeep and plopped herself on the ground right next to us. She yawned a few times, gazed up at us once or twice, and looked over the river. In the jeep, we sat in slackjawed amazement for quite some time. After a while, the spotted cat got up, crossed the road in front of us, and climbed into a tree. We lost sight of her, and then something fell from the tree. The beautiful cat climbed down, picked up a dead jackal, and carried it into the underbrush to finish eating in solitary comfort.
Five minutes down the road, a lioness lay on the ground munching on a dead elephant. Nearby, her cub patiently waited while the mother had its fill.
Just beyond, in a more wooded area, herds of giraffes browsed on the leaves of tall trees. Sometimes, they were entirely visible, while other times, just their heads and necks could be seen. Zebra, warthogs, and other grass eaters moseyed about, dining on the now-abundant greenery. Not far away and down by the water’s edge, small herds of elephants strolled by, drinking from the river and enjoying each other’s company. In what seemed to be ten minutes’ time, but was actually three hours later, it was time to head back to the lodge.
The following morning, we rode in 100-degree-plus heat for most of the day. Along the way, we decided to stop at Elephant Sands, where we were told we could have lunch among the elephants. It turned out that the place was accurately named, as the road into the area was complete with soft, deep, beach-like sand. With our heavier bikes, it was slow going for a while until we hit some hardpack. Ultimately, we were able to get to the place, and both we and the elephants relaxed while eating our lunch and watching each other.
Back on the road, we stopped for water. Nearby, a group of four children watched from inside the barbed wire fence that held their animals. I walked over to say hello. Unable to communicate with spoken words, we shook hands and smiled at each other. They were interested in my riding equipment and my phone. I knocked on my pressure suit’s hard armor and showed them my phone. I took a picture of myself and showed it to them. They seemed to enjoy it, so I took a picture of all of us together. All of them gathered closely and looked into the phone’s screen. I snapped a picture and showed it to them; they smiled and chatted with each other. We soon said our goodbyes, and we were back on the road again.
Later, we had the opportunity to meet with some San people, also known as “Bushmen.” A husband and wife led us through the savannah, showing us how their tribe hunted with small bows and gathered food. They also showed off their fire-making skills. Working together using just their hands, a sharpened stick, and dry kindling, they were able to make a fire within 45 seconds.
GO BEYOND
Before long, the day was over. When the sun rose once again, we were back on the road. The blazing sun intensified the heat. We pushed on, passing occasional four-legged grass eaters and at times ostriches who paced us as we rode at speed. Where we found trees close to the road, we made brief stops to cool down in their shade and drink water. By the time we arrived at our destination for the day in Maun, Botswana, it was nearly dark.
The next day, we headed to the Namibian border and the Namibian desert, where the temperatures were just as expected. We drank lots of water as we headed on to South Africa, where the road changed from pavement to mostly hard-packed dirt and sand and then to deep, loose gravel. In the sections where the gravel wasn’t so deep, the road turned to corrugated hardpan. For the most part, we’d generally be pinning it through the deep gravel or bouncing over the closely placed corrugations. But the road was wide and empty, so we had lots of line choices through the loose, deep stuff in search of harder surfaces. It made the riding somewhat challenging and entertaining at the same time.
The vistas were wide open, and the desert surrounded us. People and traffic were virtually non-existent. But as we neared the city of Windhoek, the landscape changed. More people and more signs of habitation. By the time we rolled into Windhoek, we were in a cosmopolitan city complete with multi-story office buildings and hotels. It was a strange feeling going
from the wide open spaces of the desert quickly into the trappings of city life.
Almost immediately after leaving Windhoek the next day, the desert landscapes returned, and the road once again turned into sand and gravel, but when I stopped for water, I found a sign showing that the road was sometimes underwater.
As we made our way further south, we came across the small enclave of Solitaire. It’s a bit of an oasis in the Namibian desert. Inside the air-conditioned building was a restaurant, a small shop, and facilities with hot and cold running water. After a half-day riding in the sand and dust, it was nice to wash off the dust in a cool place. Back on the bikes after lunch, it was a four-hour ride to our lodge in the desert.
The lodge had it all. Each of us had our own hut. Only a short walk away was an inground pool and a bar. Before dinner, we sat in the cool water sipping a cocktail, watching as oryx and ostriches slowly walked by. At dinner time, since it was already dark, we hopped in a jeep to a restaurant and enjoyed a game animal meal.
But Namibia wasn’t done with us yet. The red dunes of Sossusvlei called to us. It was supposed to be most beautiful at sunrise, so we made the trip there to see what all the talk was about. As the sky brightened, it was clear that the stories about the beauty of Sossusvlei were true. Huge red sand dunes towered above us. Wild oryx strolled along, feeding on clumps of grasses.
“NAMIBIA WASN’T DONE WITH US YET. THE RED DUNES OF SOSSUSVLEI CALLED TO US.”
In all this wilderness, it was surprising to see the number of people who came to see the dunes towering hundreds of feet into the sky.
It is permissible to walk on some of them, so we took a morning hike to the top of a very large red dune. The sand was quite powdery, almost talc-like. Below us lay the hardpan where dead trees thousands of years old were scorched black by the rays of the sun. Above us to the west, wispy clouds hung like lace at the tops of the dunes, placed there by the winds of the South Atlantic Ocean. It was an amazing sight. Unfortunately, we couldn’t linger here because we still had lots of motorcycling to do. A day of hot riding found us at another lodge in the heart of the desert. Waking up early the next day, we were on the road again to find Namibia’s Fish River Canyon. The river was nearly dry, but it was clear that at one time, it ran hard and fast, carving the earth into a sort of mini Grand Canyon.
By this point, we needed to start making time and concentrate more on riding than on sightseeing. Soon, we found ourselves crossing into South Africa on the way to our final destination in Cape Town. We made one-day stops in Clanwilliam and Stellenbosch. While Clanwilliam was a small town, Stellenbosch was a playground for the rich and famous. Surrounded by vineyards, the area has become known for its wine.
As the trip drew to its conclusion, we also made the nearly mandatory stop at the Cape of Good Hope, the most southwestern part of the African continent.
But too soon, the ocean at Cape Town loomed in front of us. We had ridden nearly 2,400 miles of pavement, sand, and gravel, enjoying every minute. The wide open spaces and the thronging wildlife of southern Africa had made for an intense experience, one never to be forgotten and possibly never to be bested.
THE LANDSCAPES WERE WILD, THE ROAD CONDITIONS CHALLENGING AT TIMES, THE VIEWS AMAZING.
Ice Roads ADVRider
Riding in the Great White North
Words: Emily Roberts Photos: Greg Samborski
The visibility diminished as the storm crept in; wisps of taillights were all we could see as we tried to avoid the snowdrifts that had begun to barricade the road. Perhaps we stayed too long, maybe this was the challenge we were meant to encounter, or maybe this was a sign: we were never meant to ride mid-winter. Regardless, we had to get back to the tarmac before we became icicles of our former selves.
It was our third day on the ice roads; we were tired, but we had found dangerous comfort with the onset of frostbite and frozen bones. We were exploring the Great White North in the most literal sense, bringing not only ourselves and our bikes, but also more than 800 pounds of donated dog and cat food to the remote towns of Fort Chipewyan and Fort Smith.
In the beginning
Mike Haberoth is a good friend of mine now, but when we first spoke at the Edmonton Motorcycle Show, I thought he was batshit crazy for wanting to ride the ice roads north of Fort McMurray, Alberta.
That meeting led to a year of countless pestering from my new friend; eventually, he convinced me I should ride the ice roads with him and his friends. In 2021, I completed my first day trip on the ice, finding it was manageable if slightly uncomfortable. The feeling of adventure lingered with me, and in 2023 we decided to ride again, this time going past the border of the Northwest Territories and spending three days trekking across the ice with our motorcycles. Haberoth, Glen, Brandon, and I would ride bikes; in support vehicles, we would have Billy, Blake, Greg, David and Ryan.
For the love of animals
Our goal was to travel by motorcycle from the beginning of the ice roads – about an hour north of Fort McMurray – to Fort Chipewyan where we’d spend the night, then up to Fort Smith, and finally back down to the staging area on the third day. We were raising money and collecting food donations for the Fort McMurray SPCA and the local animal shelters in Fort Chipewyan and Fort Smith. Because these small towns are so remote with limited access throughout the year, the supply of food for stray animals is often overlooked. Our goal was to stock the shelters in Fort Chipewyan and Fort Smith with enough dog and cat food for the following year.
Not only was it for a great cause, but I was riding with good friends, and exploring remote areas by bike, and this trip offered the chance to pet and cuddle some adorable animals while they awaited a new home. The first and most important step was to set up our bikes. We swapped the standard rubber over to studded tires, added Hippo Hands over our bars, and checked our fluids, installing hand warmers if we wanted to. I was going without hand warmers, but instead of giving myself up to the elements I opted for eWool heated gear:socks, gloves, and vest.
We parked at the staging area for the ice roads. In the summer, the road offers spectacular access to the world’s most northern active sand dunes, wandering through Alberta’s boreal forest, which is filled with the finest sand you could imagine. As temperatures drop the ice creeps in, freezing the sand; the road is flooded and the ice road route is created, winding up into the Northwest Territories.
We unloaded our bikes, a hint of orange along the horizon offering a glimpse of what the day could hold. We packed our bikes, checked them over one last time, and rode into the darkness.
The first half of the first day of ice road riding is always a bit of a mess. Everyone is trying to learn how to ride ice, figuring out what works best, how the bikes will perform and if our layers will be sufficient for the day. But we survived, meandering through the
A TRIP LIKE THIS TAKES EXTRA PREPARATION, WITH STUDDED TIRES A NECESSITY. THE TEAM BROUGHT SUPPLIES FOR ANIMAL SHELTERS IN REMOTE NORTHERN TOWNS WHERE PET FOOD IS AN AFTERTHOUGHT, WHEN SUPPLY RUNS ARE SCARCE.
THE ROADS UP NORTH WEREN’T ALWAYS ICY; SOMETIMES THEY WERE COVERED IN SNOW OR SLUSH. BUT THEY WERE ALWAYS COLD, AND USING WARM HEATED RIDING GEAR WAS ESSENTIAL.
boreal forest before we left the trees behind and floated onto Lake Athabasca, riding over a deep blue road with pressure cracks etched through the several feet of ice. It was daunting and mystical.
We were lucky to make good time on our first day. As the sun set at 3:30 p.m. we rolled onto one of the few paved roads in Fort Chipewyan. Normally, this remote settlement is only accessible by ice roads for about three months of the year. This creates obstacles when looking to bring up building supplies, food, and other necessities.
You might assume it would be a relief to reach pavement; however, we had half-inch studs on our tires, and when we hit tarmac it felt like we were rolling on marbles. The ice was much more comfortable.
We were greeted by locals and found our way to the Dene-Cree Inn, we ate at Chips Restaurant, before seeing the extensive museum listing the town’s history and local artifacts. We spent the evening dropping off dog and cat food at the shelter and prepping our bikes for the next day. A warm bed never felt so good.
Sliding through Moose Island
The next day’s departure began as the sun wrested the darkness from the sky. I expected to be riding on firm ice for another day; however, we quickly found ourselves riding slushy snowy sections as we rode onto Moose Island. The night before was warmer than usual, making the conditions unfavorable for a big bike like my KTM 790 ADV R.
Immediately the scenery changed. Tall pines greeted us as we rode onto the island. A winding road snaked through the woods, giving us a different pace for the day than the straight roads previously. Quickly I fell behind the group, with their smaller and more nimble dual-sport bikes that were able to ride through twisty
and slushy roads more easily. I soon found myself alone in the woods sliding from side to side on the snow, and over rickety bridges with wheel-swallowing holes trying to get over the island.
It was tough riding, but as we took a break for lunch in the woods, our team began to bond because of it. Many of us had met before but didn’t know each other well; we now found ourselves working together to get over this crazy road. Not only that, but our skills were tested around every corner, and our patience and determination were questioned constantly by the wilderness that surrounded us. It would’ve been easy to turn back and call it quits, but what’s life without a little challenge?
The trees dispersed and we faced another river crossing to get off Moose Island. Large ice ledges on each side gave perspective on just how much the ice had shifted through the season. Once across, we found ourselves on the home stretch to Fort Smith, scooting along a frozen gravel road which gave us some confidence and stability. We upped our speed; and then found out why that can create a whole other world of issues. Because we were riding so fast, with studded tires (offering extra traction and resistance) the tires themselves had become very warm. And for Haberoth’s bike, that meant tearing a tube. We were now on the side of the road with a flat tire. Luckily our support truck had everything we needed to get the repair done … except for the 18-inch tube we expected to find. Instead, our option was a 21-inch front tube to be stuffed into the rear wheel to get back on the road. But we got the wheel back on and were back en route to Fort Smith.
We hit paved roads once again as we approached Fort Smith and the Northwest Territories border. The lazy winter sun left us in the afternoon once again as we went to the animal shelter and dropped off the remainder of the food that had been donated to the cause.
As we walked in, we were greeted by several cats and dogs in the rescue centre. This trip wasn’t about us, but for those who need a helping hand and often get forgotten about. That night we celebrated at the Pelican Rapids Inn Restaurant, reminiscing about the trip. Who was coldest, and what would tomorrow, our last and longest day, look like?
We slept soundly in our beds as the winter gods hit us with the coldest temperatures we would see through the trip. We awoke to –27° Celsius; in the days before, the temperature ranged from –8 to –12. Luckily we were able to store our bikes inside at Lou’s Small Engine Repair to save them from the frigid temperatures, and we got ourselves some local help for the ride back. Before embarking on the journey home, we stopped at Aurora Heat for some much-needed natural hand and body warmers. Brenda Dragon, the owner of the company, works with locals, trapping beavers and using their pelts as body warmers. I had never been so happy to wear my newly attained furry beaver to keep me warm.
The return route was the same roads from two days earlier, but the pace was slower, the temperatures were colder and we all felt as if we were on the verge of frostbite. As we began the last stretch over wetlands and lakes, the wind picked up and what was once just cold became close to unbearable. The visibility turned from clear to blurred, as if we were riding in the static of a TV. We tried to stay on the road, avoiding the ever-growing snowdrifts that were forming. A minute seemed like forever with the diminishing visibility and ever-growing anxiety.
The trees soon revealed themselves, giving the first bit of definition in the gray nothingness that enveloped us. We had made it past the worst point. We found ourselves in the homestretch, which inevitably meant that something had to go wrong. A few riders had swapped bikes for the last leg; Greg had swapped out with Haberoth, while Ryan swapped onto Glen’s bike, wanting to experience the ice roads firsthand for themselves. As we stopped at the last breakpoint before our destination, we noticed Greg was no longer behind us. We waited 10 minutes and saw him riding at a snail’s pace to the checkpoint with what would be the bike’s second flat tire of the trip. We were less than an hour out so we decided it would be easiest to just load the bike and carry on.
We were down to just three riders now. We raced on the ice to get home. The bitter chill was getting to us, and it seemed like nothing would distract us from riding as fast as we could to the comfort of a warm meal. That was until we looked beside us over a sea of rolling forests: the sun was the brightest I had ever seen.
Just before we made it to the end of the ride and peeled off our cold-weather gear, the sun began the final stages of its descent. Effervescent streaks of orange and pink overtook the sky. The world had stopped. The cold had no effect. It felt as if the sun was right in front of us, only keeping us warm with the vibrant color it exuded. For a long moment we stared, and the colors got brighter as it burned the image in our minds. Absolute perfection. We all pulled out our phones, but the cold had killed the
batteries on everything we had. We could not capture the moment. This picture was meant for only us. The bitter chill, the flat tires, the long nights and short days; all had led us to this mental image that will never fade.
It was time to end our trip; the sun departed for the last time, darkness overcame, and snow began to fall. Brandon, Ryan and I pulled back into the staging area and removed our balaclavas for the last time.
This is now a yearly trip for our group and guests who would like to participate. If you are interested in riding the ice roads with us in 2025 or donating, please head to ridenorthmoto.com for more information.
“ THE BITTER CHILL, THE FLAT TIRES, THE LONG NIGHTS AND SHORT DAYS; ALL HAD LED US TO THIS MENTAL IMAGE THAT WILL NEVER FADE.”
ICE ROADS
GONE, BUT REMEMBERED
Riding with Rob
It can get lonely out on the Old Hastings Road. It’s 25 miles of gravel and dirt and occasional sand, just enough to make the front end wiggle and start a pucker in the back. If you ride it end to end, you’ll probably see one other vehicle, maybe two, headed home or to a hunting cabin. Probably.
I’ve ridden this road on many different motorcycles and every time, it’s a whole new experience. Potholes get filled and ridges get smoothed, while rocks and puddles just seem to appear. Sometimes, it gets flooded out. Decent knobby tires make all the difference for finding your way through. One time, when the way was dry, I rode a Harley cruiser with a fat front street tire and that was no fun at all. Another time, when there was snow on the ground, I drove a Toyota SUV and it was just boring: dips and curves and crowns, but far too many blind turns to muster any excitement.
Words: Mark Richardson
Photos: Mark Richardson/Chris Ellis/Steve Thornton
“IF I DIE ON A MOTORCYCLE, DON’T EVER WRITE THAT I DIED DOING WHAT I LOVED”
The Old Hastings Road was built 170 years ago to help settle this area halfway between Toronto and Ottawa, but poor soil kept settlement sparse. Back then, it was intended for horses and wagons and it’s not been much improved in the time since. Once a year, near the start of winter, it’s part of the course for the Tall Pines Rally, and the road gets closed down for the race cars to rip through. Pebbles fly everywhere and so do the cars, taking off on the crests, thudding into the hollows, and powering away on the straights.
That’s only once a year, though. The rest of the time, it’s a sleepy access road and ideal for the BMW R1300 GS I’m riding. I never ride fast here, though, because this is where my friend Rob Harris was killed in 2016 and the memory never fades.
Rob was riding a Husqvarna 701 and his friend Jim was following behind on a Honda CRF250. About halfway through, he rounded a corner and saw nothing on the straight ahead, but then dropped down from the crest and into the path of a pickup truck obscured in the hollow. Rob’s helmet hit the truck’s bumper and he was killed instantly. There was a pair of crosses at the site but they’ve gone now; local lore says they were quietly removed after a storm came through, then burned at a memorial ceremony that involved a bottle of good scotch.
Sometimes, I’ll pull in and chat for a while with a cottage owner about the road. They curse the once-in-a-while ATV or side-by-side that races through. “Don’t they know
this road’s a killer?” said the guy I spoke with this year, who owns the hunting cabin closest to where Rob died. “Those crosses for your friend may be gone now, but there are others that should remind them. I guess they’re young. I guess they think they’ll live forever.”
There’s a large white cross at the top of the road for a guy named Buck, and an eerie cross in a pond at the other end for a woman named Yvonne. The countryside is filled with such memorial crosses, and they always slow me down when I see them. Probably, they slowed Rob down too. “If I die on a motorcycle, don’t ever write that I died doing what I loved,” he told me once when we were both well into the liquor cabinet. “I would hate that.”
Rob would have appreciated this new GS. He liked nothing more than to haul an adventure bike through a swamp or over rocks, riding circles around the Jeeps and 4Runners that drove his local gravel roads of New Brunswick. He was the founding editor of the Canada Moto Guide website and created his own ADV event, the Fundy Adventure Rally, that kept him more than busy. And then he died.
Each year since then, I’ve come to the Old Hastings Road to finish his ride. It just seems like the right thing to do. Sometimes, I’ll ride with friends but more usually I’m on my own, slow and careful and contemplative. Motorcycles are a joy and a passion, but we must never forget their dangers, and the deception of the road. Rob reminds me of that every day. He paid a terrible price, but it’s the greatest gift he could have given me.
ROB HARRIS LOVED RIDING AND EXPLORING. AND OUT OF THE SADDLE, YOU COULDN’T FIND A MORE CHEERFUL, ENGAGING PERSON TO SHARE A BEER WITH.
The Cold Ride Home
A FREE BIKE TURNED INTO A FRIGID RIDE THROUGH
Words: Zac Kurylyk
SKETCHY CONDITIONS
Illustration: Jacopo Degl’Innocenti
Map: Laura Carruthers
“You’re crazy,” the border guard told me, and I had to agree. I was on the U.S. side of the Ogdensburg bridge; I’d ridden over from Johnstown, Ontario, with a cold, bitter wind blowing through the wide-open grate of the swinging steel suspension bridge. I tried not to look down, not so much because I was afraid of heights but because I was afraid of losing my front end on the frozen metal if I diverted my attention. And I tried not to shiver. Once you start shivering, it’s hard to stop.
Even though it was Thanksgiving weekend in the States, it had been warm, almost sunny, when I left that day. Now, on the American side of the St. Lawrence River, I saw snow everywhere. But I wanted to see upstate New York’s back roads on my way home to the east coast, not the boring superslab, so off I went, the sun setting behind me, snow and ice ahead of me… just not in the roadway, I hoped. Every few minutes, I’d drag a boot heel on the pavement, just to check for traction on twisty roads that would have been far more enjoyable on warmer days. But then they’d be plugged with tourist traffic; with winter just around the corner, I had the lane to myself.
The bike stayed planted, and so did I, even as darkness set in the High Peaks Wilderness and I stamped my feet on the pegs and wiggled my fingers, keeping the frost at bay as I pointed the front wheel towards Ticonderoga. I was putting a lot of trust into a motorcycle that I had only 24 hours of history with, and they hadn’t been an easy 24 hours. I’d already had to replace the chain, and that 532-pitch chain hadn’t been easy to find.
The whole affair began a few weeks earlier when Michael Hill, a classy gent who liked my writing, saw that I was looking for a sportbike and offered me his 1996 Suzuki RF900R for free. The sport tourer was a bit rough around the edges, but it started and ran. If I flew to Toronto, I could ride it home before winter hit. The trip started when I picked up the Suzook from Hill’s house in Hamilton, Ontario; I’d ridden it through Toronto rush-hour to stay at a friend’s house for the night, and en route, realized the chain had a tight spot. I’d managed to find a proper oldschool dealership with a replacement in stock, and they swapped it out for me, shortly before I crossed the border, into the cold of upstate New York.
But nothing else failed me as I rode the frosty Blue Ridge Road. That was a very good thing; I was alone. There were very few houses here, very little traffic — if I’d had trouble, it would have been very tough to deal with. I knew it was a sketchy situation so I was hyperfocused, watching the roadway, my bike’s instruments, the ditches, for anything that could go wrong. But through dumb luck, or divine intervention, I hit Route 87 safely, found the 74 over to Ticonderoga, and settled in for the night at the Stone Motel, with dinner at the Hot Biscuit Diner. The price was right at the former, the food was good at the latter. So what if the room had smelly plumbing and the TV didn’t work? I’d already cheated the odds, and I knew it.
I slept well, and slept in late. I figured I’d have to deal with ice on the roads in the morning, and I was right. That meant a later start, and the whole day kind of went downhill from there.
The problems started when the bike died at an intersection. I couldn’t figure out why, and the starter wouldn’t turn the engine over; I bump-started the bike, and got going again, with a cold rain starting to soak through the corners of my gear. Google Maps sent me packing through stop-and-go traffic in small towns, and I had to constantly blip the throttle, trying to keep from stalling again. I was not a happy camper, and the trouble was
just starting. At a gas stop, I saw the petcock spewing fuel everywhere. Suzuki petcock replacement parts are not exactly common in small-town Vermont; I knew I’d have to fix the problem myself. I managed to tighten the assembly enough to stop the leak, and I was back on the road. It was a good thing I got it fixed; within a few miles, the bike had stalled again, and then after I fixed that issue, I started getting random electrical shocks through the handlebars.
Maybe it was the heated glove liners or jacket, or maybe it was the heated grips, or maybe it was something else entirely; I didn’t have the ability to sort the problem properly; I unplugged all the wiring I could and went on down the road, colder than ever, with a fueling problem sending the bike bucking like a bronco as I hit the fourlane of Route 89 through New Hampshire. Every mile I did today was a mile I didn’t have to do tomorrow, so I pushed on, even though any thought of challenging the twisties was long-gone. Now, I was in survival mode, gethome mode. Especially as the rain changed to snow flurries, and the bike stalled again at the Hookset Toll Plaza.
I got off the bike, and after much pushing and sweating, got the engine started again in the plaza parking lot, and rolled out the last few miles of the day. I made it to Manchester just before sundown, grabbing a room
ZAC’S ROUTE HOME WAS INTENDED TO EXPLORE UPSTATE NEW YORK, BUT IT WAS ALMOST TOO COLD TO ENJOY THE VIEW.
at an Econolodge whose best days were behind it. Also, its half-decent days were behind it. Even the bad days were behind it, now; it was truly and surely an armpit of a hotel, with crooks and junkies and hookers milling around me in the parking lot as I worked on the bike under a streetlight, late into the night. For the first time in many years, I wished for a handgun. I kept a watchful eye open, and went on wrenching. Sleep came eventually, after tossing and turning, wondering if the bike would start in the morning, or would I have to call my brotherin-law to come get me with a U-Haul trailer. No other help was available; it was Thanksgiving, and every shop was closed.
I’D DONE MY BEST; NOW, IT WAS UP TO THE
BIKE.
The Suzuki RF900R is an oddball machine, a mashup of a GSX-R1100 bottom end with a GSX-R750 top end. They were solid, reliable and fast, but not particularly popular when Suzuki introduced them in the 1990s, partly because of their weight. I felt every one of those pounds as I pushed the big old sport tourer to the top of a hill, rolling it down and popping the clutch in an effort to start the big four-cylinder. Eventually gravity prevailed, the engine burped, then caught, and all was wonderful once again. I hurriedly jumped aboard and took off through southern New Hampshire, dodging
patches of ice in the streets as I left Manchester, cutting through hundreds of miles of cold air through Maine, north to Bangor.
If you’ve ridden a trip like this, you know the challenges; time is tight in late fall. With the seasonal shift of the earth’s axis, I was running out of daylight hours to get home to New Brunswick, where I lived an hour north of the U.S. border. More speed meant I’d get home before the day’s run-off iced up the roads, but more speed meant I’d cool off quickly and have to warm up in a gas station, shuffling in the corner, stomping my feet and flexing the bloodflow back into my hands, wasting precious daylight hours. At least I was warmer than the day before; I’d taken a chance on the bike’s wiring, plugging all the heated gear back in, hoping I wouldn’t be shocked now that it had stopped raining. I’d gambled wisely; now, I had the warm tingle of my heated vest, and sunlight on my back.
Kittery was in the rear-view, then Waterville, Fairfield, Newport —and then I was at the start of Route 9, in Bangor. Here was the final test, a road with steep hills and wide, sweeping corners. A lot of fun on a warm, sunny day. Not so fun if you were worried about the tall softwoods casting shadows that concealed patches of ice through the long stretches of wilderness.
I gassed up, and tucked in behind the fairing for the last couple hours of riding. The miles flew by; the sundown seemed to delay itself, just for my sake, and I realized I had the road to myself. All usual traffic was at home for Thanksgiving dinner. The state troopers who normally staked out the highway were all back at barracks. I was free, in the clear, and there was no ice. I got through the border with no hassle, and texted my wife from the first Tim Horton’s I came to “I made it,” I told her. Which wasn’t exactly true, but I knew that the few remaining highway miles before I pulled in at home would be easy, and they were.
The ride home had been cold, and difficult. But I’d finished it; I felt like I’d passed some sort of apprenticeship of roadcraft, granting me access to a secret guild of motorcycle mastery. Of course this wasn’t the case —I’d done something foolhardy and finished by sheer dumb luck. But then, doesn’t that describe most of our twowheeled experiences, when we really boil them down?
Wheeling West Africa
A SCOOTER TRIP INTO THE UNEXPECTED
Words & Photos: Sophia Vassiliadis
It’s been a while since I got back from West Africa, and it is still with me – and in less rapturous terms, Senegalese dirt is still lodged in my elbow, the part of my body that made first contact. But the first serious crash of my riding life is the least part of it. Now, when I look at the pictures, I can hear the waves, the honking horns, the crowds, and even the bleating of goats. I can smell the sand and feel it underfoot. I can taste the beer, and the fish. We slept through screaming wildlife, navigated chaotic cities, danced to joyful music, rode endless dusty vistas, tasted the fruit of the majestic baobab, and swam in the glittering ocean, none of which I will forget.
I was on a new continent, on my first organized tour, a 12-day ride through The Gambia, Senegal, and Guinea-Bissau, and our tour bikes were not motorcycles, but 110 cc scooters.
WEST
SCOOT WEST AFRICA
Travelling to the continent of Africa has been on my travel short list for a while, and Phil Paoletta and Matt Christie, whose Scoot West Africa leads tours through West Africa and beyond, offered just what I wanted. My friend Rick, who had toured with them, introduced us, and it didn’t take long for Phil and Matt to win me over – Phil with his curated videos about local history, customs, curiosities, and politics, and Matt with his lively travel updates and beautiful photos. I liked their relaxed, respectful travel philosophy and I was open to letting someone else take care of the details.
They offered an intriguing itinerary, and the cost of the trip included a bike, accommodations, most meals, some refreshments, and several activities. All I had to do was book the return flights, get the required vaccinations, and bring some cash for incidentals.
SCOOTERS AND SNAKES
After a few days enjoying the warm Atlantic waters and bustling beaches at the Leybatos Beach Resort in Fejara in the Republic of The Gambia, we met our candy-colored fleet of Jakartas, scooters with narrow wheels and unique controls: no clutch, left toe taps down to gear up, left heel taps down to gear down, back brake, right foot, right hand, front brake and throttle. They’re made in China, cheap, cheerful and what most locals ride around town, which is likely why people thought we were unhinged for using them to tour. However, the Jakartas never overheated, were comfortable to ride for hours, and were easy to manage in a variety of riding situations (unexpected get-off notwithstanding).
After a few uncertain laps on the bare bikes, we loaded up and headed into our new riding reality: competing for road space with unsupervised livestock, swerving passenger vans, diesel-burping trucks, darting taxis, gaping potholes, and pedestrians. By midafternoon we’d already made it down a long dusty path to “Footsteps,” the first of many Ecolodges, nestled in the woods near Gunjur, and early enough to go on a side-trip to the local snake sanctuary where I kept my distance from pythons and a covert and deadly puff adder.
The next morning we were up before the sun for a medicine walk through a forest of healing roots and leaves that was equal parts flora and flying fauna. By that af-
ternoon we’d ridden our way through the bullish heat to Bintang Bolong Lodge, built on the shores of a Gambian River tributary, in time to enjoy a slow boat float through the light of the setting sun.
RED GRAVEL AND FETISHES
Day 3 was a challenging 100-kilometer travel day over “Laterite” (red gravel), and sandy paths that took us through tiny villages with curious, playful residents who came out to make sure we weren’t lost and to feed us the fruit of the majestic baobab tree. At midday we were among the many captive travellers at the busy Casamance border in Senegal, where excited children swarmed around asking questions and singing.
Then came the most intimidating traffic situation: two men, one draped head-to-toe in flowing blood-red robes, and the other dressed as a threatening scarecrow, both wielding machetes. Crowds gathered to watch as the pair lunged at passing cars and trucks, and occasionally the onlookers. Far from dangerous, they were “fetishes,” key members of the local animist tradition, and omens of good luck.
THINGS GETTING TRICKY
Our fourth day started early, banging out an early 120 kilometers with a seaside lunch stop in Ziguinchor while our guides secured our visa for Guinea-Bissau. Things got tricky from here on, with road conditions so rough that I could hear my heart beating inside my helmet.
But our group navigated the threatening chasms littering the roadway. Otherwise, it was more of the same: scattered but well-behaved livestock dotting the picturesque landscapes, crowded buses, children of all ages walking to school along the roadside, waving, and an elegant woman with a giant metal bowl balanced on her head, checking her smart phone before crossing into the street. People are different around the world, but they’re also very much the same.
THE KING AND ME
After a gorgeous kayak through the Mangroves and a refreshing swim (and a shower!), I met a king. A king who, before being an intermediary between man and God, was a mechanic, hotel security guard and happily married. That all changed in 2001 when, upon recommendation by the fetishes (remember them?), a council
LEFT: NOT YOUR USUAL TRAVEL MACHINE. BUT THESE SCOOTS TAKE THE LOCALS (AND TOOK SOPHIA) TO THE SAME PLACES THE BIG-BORE ADVENTURE BIKES VISIT.
of royal elders appointed him to rule over the 50,000 people who live in the villages that make up Oussouye. He was allowed to keep his wife, but assigned two more, relieved of all his property and assets and moved to the sacred forest where he will live until the day he dies. Olivier had been referred because he had shown integrity. He also couldn’t turn down the job, and the throne cannot be passed down to any of his offspring.
Since being in power, this selfless ruler has brokered peace agreements and improved the living conditions of his people. Tourism to the area has flourished, and individuals know they can count on their leader to hear them. All they need do is ask, and not wear red when they do. And all he seemed to want was a red Jakarta scooter to use for official business, one it turned out (’cause I asked) he’s not even allowed to ride!
A RAUCOUS CELEBRATION
And then we landed at another stunning oceanside destination, in time to unload the scooters and take them on a lengthy rip along the beach. There is a special kind of joy that comes from riding next to the waves into a sunset, avoiding casual cattle and the rising tide.
The next morning our group encouraged a change of plans – to stay in place for an extra day. It was too beautiful and too hot to imagine a shift. And this is where things got fabulous. I wanted postcards, and one of Phil’s passions is visiting rural post offices. What we found in Kabrousse was a shuttered post office and a neighbour who told us where to find the post-master:
moonlighting as the photographer at the annual International Women’s Day event. And so that’s where we went, sharing palm wine, and dancing with this colourful, joyous, and raucous celebration of womanhood. No postcards, but lots of phenomenal interactions.
THE CRASH
Day 7 was steaming hot. Again. We had just left Pierre’s place after some espressos. I was enjoying the challenge of the day’s ride when, in a bid to avoid a chasm, I got too close to the edge of the road, panicked, grabbed some handbrake, and threw myself face-first onto the road. The tarmac was blistering hot. It was immediately clear that I was not okay.
Adventure travel can be uncomfortable, but not like this. And although new experiences are why we choose these types of trips, the inside of the Regional Hospital of Ziguinchor was not on the list. Phil and I spent the remainder of the afternoon there, while I had multiple X-rays and learned that I had broken my left humerus (not a funny bone), and had “contused” my left hip.
But I did keep going. On our last day of riding, Phil and I were joined by a tired-of-scootering Susie for a sweaty, agonizing car ride I hope to never repeat. Those potholes that bikes can avoid? Cages can’t. We made it through to Guinea-Bissau after a difficult border crossing and the most delicious lunch stop, all the way to the capital city of Bissau in time for me to find a specialist who let me take the boat over to the islands the next day.
THE BIJAGOS ISLANDS
Here, at least, I was able to rest a few days, on one of a group of 88 spectacular islands an easy boat ride from the capital. Bougenvillia climbed up the sides of thatched, white-washed huts overlooking a warm Atlantic teeming with fish.
For three days we ate incredible food, visited villages on several islands, and were treated to live music and dance. It was an idyllic ending to a fascinating tour of a part of the world that planted a homing beacon into my heart. And although our final day together was spent back in the mind-melting heat and chaos of Bissau, those days out in the ocean had cooled our blood and calmed our souls.
REFLECTIONS
Adventure travel is a mindset. It assumes an openness to all possibilities. It also involves pushing yourself far from your usual frame of reference and considering new boundaries. We never forget our adventures.
The people we met along the way invited us to share their food, their wine, and their stories. Even in the midst of significant challenges, there were always messages of joy and hope. I wanted to wrap myself in all the colourful fabrics and memorize all the faces of the children who waved at the crazy white folks riding loaded-down putt-putts past through their lives. Yes, I crashed, but I survived and learned more about resilience than any safer trip has ever taught me. Would I do it again? Tomorrow. So, here’s to continuing to get out there and travel on all the bikes, in all the places –oh, and wearing ALL your gear.
“ADVENTURE TRAVEL IS A MINDSET. IT ASSUMES AN OPENNESS TO ALL THE POSSIBILITIES.“
MOTORCYCLE TRAVEL PLANNING
WHAT TO CONSIDER BEFORE YOU HEAD OUT
Words & Photos: David Hilgendorf
The call of adventure can be irresistible, but it can trick even experienced off-road riders into taking on challenges that might overwhelm them. For the uninitiated, the siren song of adventure can be intoxicating, but also more than a little intimidating. If you’ve never ridden farther off-road than you could walk on your lunch break, don’t let that stop you. There are ways, my friends, to make sure you get there, and back again. And I’m here to tell you about them.
You wouldn’t attempt to fly an airplane or sail across an ocean without training and practice. The same goes for off-road motorcycling. If you’re migrating from street riding to dirt, start slowly, and work on those skills, and do it gradually.
Remember that size and weight come with penalties. Most modern adventure bikes weigh 500 pounds or more when filled with necessary fluids, and can get to a lot more with gear and a rider on board. If you’ve never ridden through
gravel, sand, or mud on two wheels, don’t expect to learn how in the heat of a desert or the cold of a high mountain pass. And picking up a heavy, loaded motorcycle that’s fallen – even if you’re not hurt – is a serious challenge, unless you know how. There are plenty of educators who will be happy to teach you the important off-road skills, including picking up that sideways motorcycle. Go for some good training – and know this: training is fun! Get into it and you’ll find yourself having a ball.
You also will benefit from understanding the terrain you plan to ride. Scaling the Rocky Mountains is an entirely different exercise than riding the dirt trails of Baja Mexico. High-clearance 4X4 trails are a much tougher proposition than maintained logging roads. Read online forums and speak with other adventurers who have ridden the same routes recently. Contact the local land management agency for recommendations and road conditions. Better yet, find a local guide who is familiar with the area and ask them to join your adventure.
NAVIGATE THAT ROUTE
You will probably enjoy your trip more if you know where you are, and where you’re going. There are many rain-resistant and glove-friendly dash-mounted navigation devices that are far more rugged and easier to use in motion than your smartphone. It can be challenging to identify and store complex off-road maps, routes and waypoints on many of these devices, but once configured, they are a helpful way to stay on track. However, wilderness routes are often closed without notice, so be sure to download offline maps to your mobile devices and pack a charging cable to assist in rerouting without cellular service. You should also carry a road atlas or other regional paper maps; they will work when nothing else is usable.
If that isn’t enough redundancy, you can add a satellite communicator with a data subscription to send text messages or emergency calls from almost anywhere, for a price. Some can even post travel progress in real time online. And you thought you were getting away from it all!
CHOOSE YOUR MOUNT
While any stock motorcycle can handle groomed gravel roads, novice adventurers would do well to start with a smaller single-cylinder dual-sport, like Suzuki’s venerable 650 or Royal Enfield’s groovy Himalayan. Want something a little bigger? Honda’s Africa Twin with an automatic DCT transmission makes hobbling over tough terrain a simple matter of twist-and-go –and a bonus: it is impossible to stall. It’s heavy and errs on the side of too much power, but it’s reliable and can be serviced practically anywhere. Just learn how to work the parking brake, change ride modes and disable the overzealous traction control before you take it off-road. Experienced riders can make practically any bike work. And be sure to learn how to pick it up when it’s on its side without wrenching your back, and practice doing it while wearing your gear.
EQUIP YOUR RIDE
There are plenty of aftermarket options that make it easier to use the controls when sitting or standing. Adding a RAM mount system to the handlebars will provide near-infinite adjustability for all your devices, and you can mount almost any electronic gadgetry you want with RAM’s system. And a larger base on the side-stand can keep the bike from toppling when parked.
If your bike didn’t come with luggage, you can go full-bore with aluminum panniers and a top case. These look the part and can take a beating, while remaining intact and waterproof. They also make a great roadside tool shelf or lunch table. Other alternatives include soft luggage and dry bags, which take up less space, weigh less and are great choices when less physical gear protection is required. Add a quick-release mounting system and a tank bag to ensure important items are always within arm’s reach. A lightweight duffel bag can be used as a pannier liner, for storing dirty gear or as hand luggage when off the bike. Don’t forget a few adjustable straps to hold everything in place.
Refrigeration isn’t practical on a motorcycle, so pack plenty of water and dry foods like jerky, trail mix and MREs. Plan to stop in towns to replenish supplies or grab hot meals along the way.
SAFETY FIRST, LAST, AND ALWAYS
You will lay the bike down, so don’t freak out about that. You believe in ATGATT, right? So do the same for your bike. Crash bars and a skid plate will protect vital engine components. Radiator guards can help keep pointy bits from draining the coolant, which would end any ride prematurely. If things go sideways and you need to haul your bike, a high-tensile tow line is a cheap, light and easily stored recovery solution.
Visibility is imperative when riding a motorcycle. Avoid riding after dark on bad roads or in the dirt if you can, but add
FAST TIMES AT THE KTM ADVENTURE RALLY CANADA, IN JULY OF 2023. LINDSAY DONOVAN WAS SHOOTING THE EVENT AND GOT THIS PHOTO OF TOM ETHERINGTON SHOWING OFF FOR THE CAMERA.
lightweight auxiliary running lights, spotlights and marker lights before you go, just in case. You might be caught out late, and the added lighting will help others see you. For additional comfort and safety, correctly fitted waterproof and breathable boots, pants, jacket and gloves are worth more than you’ll pay for them. Comfort is hard to get back once you lose it, but good gear can keep you warm, or cool, as required. And dry, anytime.
Most dual-sport bikes come with decent 70/30 road-biased tires, which are ideal for tackling all groomed gravel and logging roads and most fire roads. When those wear out or you’re ready to head further afield, you’ll gain better off-road functionality with a set of 50/50 dual-sport tires, which are good on nearly any terrain short of soft sand or slippery mud.
Also pack simple first aid and tool kits, including tire repair necessities, and know how to use them. Being able to fix small problems yourself can prevent huge headaches when far away from assistance and phone service. Know how to stave off heat stroke and sunburn, be able to soothe insect bites, and if you need something more serious, a good, compact first aid kit can be just the thing.
THE GREAT ESCAPE
An exit strategy is useful in any risky situation, and imperative on a motorcycle, when any crash can cause trip-ending injuries. An emergency GPS beacon can summon help after a fall. It’s worth the price if you only use it once.
But you can do more to assure your comfort and safety. Identify locations to pitch a tent long before nightfall. These could be dispersed camping on public lands or at a paid campground with amenities. If the weather is too cold or wet, identify a town nearby that you can drop into before dark for a hotel room. Extended travel is also a good excuse to call upon friends and relatives and exchange travel stories for lodging. And if you feed them and clean up after yourself you’ll always have a warm place to sleep.
Carry both credit cards and cash for food, fuel and other necessities, and consider a slush fund for emergencies and physical extraction. Something as simple as replacing a tire or towing a disabled bike can become both daunting and expensive when off the beaten path. If you’re not willing to leave your equipment behind, be sure to budget for its return.
PLAN TO GROW
Start small with day trips along local fire and logging roads before attempting desert crossings or high mountain passes. Pack light on early trips and have easy exit strategies. Add more complexity to your gear and route as you become more proficient. Find a mentor or club and absorb as much knowledge as you can. Be patient, persistent and adaptable, because solving problems and revising the plan as you go is all part of the fun. Most importantly, stop dreaming about adventures and start having them.
TC STANDS FOR TRACTION, AND COMFORT. THE RIGHT TIRES FOR THE TERRAIN ARE ESSENTIAL. A SEAT THAT TURNS INTO A PLANK AFTER THREE HOURS CAN RUIN YOUR TRIP. A TENT: DO WE NEED TO TELL YOU WHY?
HOW TO LIVE LIFE WITHOUT A CAR
nagamy Moto
I haven’t owned a car since Barack Obama was president. Instead, I rely on a motorcycle to get from point A to point B. Work. Trips to the dentist. Friends’ birthday parties. You name it, I usually arrive on two wheels.
At certain points in your motorcycling life you may have thought about doing the same thing. Such thoughts are healthy, right, and normal. Motorcycles are awesome, and who wouldn’t want to be awesome all the time?
That said, after 13-plus years of being rained on, suffering narrow misses, and never having a place to stuff a spare
cabbage, I’ll concede that it may not be everyone’s cup of tea. I still prefer it, but you may not, and that’s OK. This would be a short article if I stopped there, so let’s pretend you’re interested in ditching your car — or, at least, spending less time in it.
Let’s assume, too, you’ve decided yearround riding is possible in your location. I live in southern England, where it snows once every three years. Some people — Aerostich founder Andy Goldfine, famously — are happy to ride in snow. Only you can determine how much risk and misery you’re willing to suffer. After that, you need to weigh advantages and disadvantages. Let’s start with the bad.
Words & Photos: Chris Cope
DISADVANTAGES
1) You cannot escape the weather. You are going to get wet. You are going to get cold. You are going to get hot. You are going to get hit by hail, and fat, stinging drops of rain. Your visor is going to fog up. Your hands are going to get numb. And at some point, despite its very best efforts, your rain gear is going to let you down and you are going to arrive at work with an enormous wet patch on your crotch.
2) You’re not saving money. You may find that the running costs of a motorcycle are less than those of a car — especially if you do your own maintenance. But that doesn’t take into account the cost of gear. If you ride all the time you need good gear. And that costs money.
3) You have to be fastidious about everything. To extend the life of gear you need to clean and treat it; you’re going to be buying so many Nikwax products that they’ll be sending you Christmas cards. You’ll need to show the same (or more) love to your bike.
4) You need to be good at problem solving. OK, there are answers to questions of how to carry stuff from point A to point B, where to store gear when you’ve arrived, and how to keep someone from literally walking away with your bike. But you have to figure out the answers; they will be unique to your situation. Even then, no solution is perfect. Once, I was offered six bottles of good
wine to take home. I had to decline because I didn’t have space in my bags. I am still heartbroken.
ADVANTAGES
You may have read one of those “10 Reasons to Ride a Motorcycle”-type articles; forget the advantages listed there. Your impact on the world may be lessened, but only nominally. You won’t really be saving the planet; you won’t really be taking the strain off infrastructure. Besides, no one, anywhere, in any capacity, has ever made the decision to do or not do something based on the likelihood of creating potholes. Primarily, the advantages are psychological.
1) Dude, you’re riding a motorcycle. I’m stating the obvious, but it’s a point worth making: if you are riding a motorcycle all the time it means that you are riding a motorcycle all the time. It’s like eating cake for every meal; you’re doing the thing that everyone else wishes they could do.
2) You are inherently cooler than everyone else. You know this, they know this, and it permeates every interaction. You may think I’m being tongue-in-cheek. I’m not. Showing up to work on a bike every day gives you
an unspoken advantage, like being tall. It doesn’t make you competent, but — rightly or wrongly — it amplifies your strengths in the eyes of others.
3) Every commute has the potential to be lifeaffirming. Sometimes the weather will be perfect, or a little kid will wave at you because motorcycles are cool (no one waves at the driver of a Kia Forte), and something will happen in your heart and soul to give you an ounce more resiliency for when you next have to face something sucky.
Related to that, you’ll find zen/vindication from riding in bad weather. If it’s cold and raining, look into the cars around you; the people inside are miserable. You have a legitimate reason to be miserable, but they are simply experiencing an emotional response to crappy weather. When you get home, dry off, and make a hot cup of tea (or something stronger); your mood will improve because your legitimate reason for misery is no longer affecting you — you’re now warm, dry, and happy. The car people, though, will carry their misplaced unhappiness with them for the rest of the day.
4) You may get special treatment. Perhaps you live in a part of the world where filtering/lane-splitting is legally allowed, or where it’s not legal but is, reliably tolerated. Being able to move through traffic means you can more consistently predict travel times. In the UK and Europe, it’s common to find motorcycle-only parking, which is often free. Road tolls are usually waived or reduced, as well.
HOW TO MAKE IT WORK
1) Suck it up and buy good gear. Yes, it costs a lot. But opting for cheap gear is a false economy, because you’ll need to replace it sooner.
2) Get a bike that makes sense. There’s an old adage: the best bike for you is the bike that you have. That’s true; if all you have is a 2005 Suzuki GS500, that’s the right commuting bike for you. BUT, if you have the blessing of choice, think about the conditions in which you’ll be riding and try to get what you need. Not want, need . Consider, too, what you’ll want to maneuver when tired and distracted.
3) Buy a Haynes manual. I can’t imagine making motonagamy work without doing at least some of your own maintenance. At the very, very least, you should be doing things like oil, filters, and brake pads.
4) Cultivate a mindful attitude. Even more so than when driving a car, there are going to be days when everything goes to hell. I once had a full-on tantrum at the side of the road
and threw my helmet into a corn field; it took 45 minutes to find the helmet. The sooner you are able to embrace the possibility and inevitability of intense, concentrated suckiness, the better off you will be.
DUDE, YOU’RE RIDING A MOTORCYCLE
Let’s finish by reiterating the biggest advantage. Saint Thomas Aquinas posited that the purpose of evil is to help us identify good. Motonagamy is like that; it helps you treasure the good days. In the perfect moments (and you will have those) you’ll realize that all the rough days were important and necessary. The soaked-through crotch, the bloody knuckles, the shivering, the sweating, the oil and grease, the drained bank account, etc. — all laying the foundation for the incredible moments: when everything comes together and you think, “Living: I’m doing it right.”
DISCOVERING POLAND BY BMW
EASTERN EUROPE ON TWO WHEELS
Words: Mark Anthony James Powell
Illustrations: Mark Anthony James Powell
In the summer of 2005, I worked in Europe as a tour guide, and after a while it occurred to me that I needed an adventure of my own – something off the beaten track. As luck would have it, I met a band of biking brothers who felt the same way. They were from Italy, and were riding to Poland. I decided to join them. And soon enough was rewarded with marvellous and unexpected discoveries.
I had left my BMW R80/7 with a mechanic friend in Hamburg so I flew there to start my tour. I landed at a latish 10:15 p.m. and headed straight for the bike, paid the mechanic and set out on the Autobahn eastward under a starry sky. Pretty soon I started to yawn; I needed sleep. I exited to a service stop and for the first and only time in my life, sneaked into a field of stubble and put up my tent within earshot of traffic.
The next day was mostly riding, but I slipped into Schwerin in the former East Germany, and was impressed at the amount of new building going on. On my way to Sternberg, I rested in a newly harvested cornfield and read a book, The Pastor’s Wife, by a favourite Edwardian author, Elizabeth von Arnim, based on her experiences in pre-WWI Pomerania, then part of the German Empire. I had a notion that I would like to
find her house in the region; I was not disappointed. After a night in a B&B, the next day, after making good progress on an empty motorway, I stopped for a bite in Pasewalk, not memorable except for one of the greatest ironies in history. At the end of the 1914–18 war there was a military hospital here, where the life of a certain wounded Austrian corporal was saved by a Jewish doctor.
I continued, taking the day as it came. At an “Imbiss” sausage stall I met, of all people, a motorcycle tire sales rep, working for Avon. His European HQ was in Melk, Austria. We were near the Polish border and he told me Germans went across there to shop and find cheaper bread, so no bakery can survive in that town. Next was the wonderful historical port of Stettin/Szczecin, once serving trade from Berlin and after the War a Polish industrial town. One industry was motorcycle production, creating the elegant four-stroke Junak, the “Polish Bonneville” of the 1960s.
That night I rendezvoused with the Italian gang in Torun, Poland, and we dabbled in some Polish beer-tasting at the price of a pound a pint. It seems my tire-selling friend was correct; life was cheaper on this side of the border.
The next day I led the group to the battlefield of Grunwald, where in 1410 the German Teutonic Knights were defeated by the army of the combined Poles and Lithuanians. It’s funny how a helmeted medieval knight pulling on his gauntlets resembles a biker with fullface helmet struggling with his bike gloves, but at least we had a few dozen horsepower, where those combatants had made do with only one! We had lunch at Olstynek skansen (open air museum) restaurant on a long bench outside a thatched traditional inn. It was as if we were in the 17th century except for our bikes lined up where horses would have been tethered. Apart from my R80/7, there were two R850Rs, a K100, an R1200LS and an R1150RT. BMWs are popular in Italy, and their long legs made them the perfect mount for this trip.
"It’s funny how a helmeted medieval knight pulling on his gauntlets resembles a biker with full-face helmet struggling with his bike gloves”
Our next destination was Lithuania. I’d been there before, but the others wanted to add a notch to their belts. It was a fine sunny day and we rode through broad cornfields – but we saw no Lithuanians. It’s not a populous country. Back across the border in Poland we came across an architectural wonder at Stanczyki: a double viaduct, no longer in use, where two bridges run almost parallel and very close. They were once part of the German rail system. They are now used for bungee jumping, which may be far less practical, but far more entertaining.
After a night in a B&B at Trygort, I had to return to the UK and said goodbye to the lads. I was now free to meander at my own pace from one architectural monument to another along country roads lined with trees. I enjoyed the railway junction at Korsze with its monumental water towers. Bartoszce had tall brick fortified gates and Pieniezno a ruined Teutonic Knights castle.
“We came across an architectural wonder at Stanczyki: a double viaduct, no longer in use, where two bridges run almost parallel and very close.”
However, the big revelation was getting the bike onto a “ghost motorway,” an unfinished autobahn from the 1930s which was intended to link Berlin and Koenigsberg. It was left unfinished after the War because it had no use in the Polish road network, although I occasionally saw a tractor use it to move between fields. The road surface was concrete, the slip roads granite cobbles and the bridges pre-war functional metal. In places only one carriageway was paved; the other side had been levelled, but was overgrown with grass. I rode towards Elblag alone to the rhythm of bumps over the gaps between concrete slabs. If World War II had not happened, it would now be busy with Volkswagens driving from Berlin or Koenigsberg.
“ If World War II had not happened, it would now be busy with Volkswagens driving from Berlin or Koenigsberg. ”
I rode on beyond Gdansk and looked for a campsite. I found the cheapest I’ve ever known: tent, bike and me for less than £2. But there was a reason – it was a disaster. There was only one toilet, rubbish bins were not emptied, nothing was cleaned, infrastructure was falling apart. It was run entirely by teenagers. I speculated as to why. Had they ousted the adult owner and run it for themselves with minimum effort? Was it a Boy Scout project gone wrong?
The greatest discovery was yet to come. I was a great fan of von Arnim’s books, the first of which was Elizabeth and her German Garden. I now rode my bike onto her estate where the garden had been. In her day it was called Nassenheide (“Wet Heath”); now it is called Rzedziny as it passed from German to Polish rule after the War.
Many have read von Arnim’s book: it is published in paperback by Virago. Very few have actually found the real garden. I arrived in a run-down farm village with rusting equipment and not much going on. I asked around and found an elderly woman who spoke German. She told me that I was the first English person to visit for seven years. The last was an Englishwoman who came with an armful of Elizabeth’s books and pictures of the author. There was also a Saudi princess who wanted to see the garden, so she flew to Hamburg and had a taxi drive her to Rzedziny. That’s 250 miles; the taxi driver must have made enough for a long holiday. Or a new taxi. Sadly the house is now just a pile of rubble, having been bombed in the war, but I extracted a few shards of china from the kitchen. The garden is totally overgrown, though I did find a small snake.
I had to get home for my next job as guide and booked a flight from Luebeck back to Stansted. I left the bike with BMW-riding friends near Schwerin in an old GDR collective farm workshop which they rented. I’ve been out to ride it a few times since, and it’s back there now, awaiting another expedition into curiosity.
Ulysses
on a
Motorcycle
What does a Victorian poem have to do with an Australian motorcycle club?
“I CANNOT REST FROM TRAVEL: I WILL DRINK / LIFE TO THE LEES”
CLUB
Words: The Bear
Photos: Courtesy of The Bear
It was the classic scene. I had parked the bike by the statue of the Dog on the Tuckerbox, just off the Hume Highway north of Gundagai; they were a couple in late middle age walking past. She strode on while he hung back, admiring the bike and giving me a sheepish grin.
“Oh, do come on,” she turned back a little. “What? The motorbike? If you like it that much why don’t you get one?”
I doubt that I have ever seen the eyes of anyone over the age of six light up so quickly and completely. What? He was going to be allowed to buy a bike? With a widening grin thrown back to me he turned and followed her into the souvenir shop. Now I don’t really think that he bought a motorcycle as a result of that little encounter. There is always more than one reason why that inchoate hope does not result in a bike in the garage. With older potential riders, it is often the lack of anyone to ride with. There are motorcyclists who like to ride alone, but generally riding is a social sport.
“How dull it is to pause, to make an end, / To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use! / As tho’ to breathe were life!”
So it makes sense that a social club for motorcyclists would be welcome. And yet the world’s largest and most international club along those lines did not come about for sensible reasons. It began as the result of an exchange of insults.
The original trigger in 1983 was a letter to BIKE Australia, the magazine I was then editing, requesting some handling tips for a reader’s Z1100A. I passed it on to my technical editor, Grant Roff, who was writing under the pseudonym of Wrench McTaggart. The reader, who was in his fifties, reckoned that his usual touring speed was in excess of 140 km/h. Grant couldn’t help himself and replied, in part, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you about growing old gracefully? All your mates probably spend their time gumming premasticated food and weaving baskets. What’s wrong with you?”
“Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; / Death closes all: but something ere the end, / Some work of noble note, may yet be done”
Surprisingly given the usually irreverent contents of the magazine, we had at least one reader without a sense of humour who felt insulted and sent a pompous reply, to which I in turn responded by suggesting that riders over 50 should be guided by a large dog and required to wear a brightly colored hat with flashing lights to warn other traffic.
Stephen Dearnley took up the joke and wrote to say that “just because a person has reached such years of discretion that his/her hair turns gray and he/she has to take his/her teeth out to brush them, it doesn’t mean that one is too decrepit to ride a motorcycle.” The letter went on to suggest that I slip into a dry nappy and include some features for older folk, and that perhaps older riders should get together and form a touring club for the over-50s.
“Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’ / We are not now that strength which in old days / Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are”
I was in my late 30s but still liked the nappy joke and replied to Stephen that the magazine would back his efforts if he could get such a club off the ground. Meanwhile another reader, Rob Hall, had suggested that the club be named after the poem “Ulysses” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Rob’s then-girlfriend (whose name I have forgotten to my eternal disgrace) came
PREVIOUS SPREAD: STEPHEN DEARNLY WAS A KEY FIGURE IN FOUNDING THE ULYSSES CLUB WITH THE BEAR. RIGHT: WEARING THE CLUB’S LOGO PROUDLY. BOTTOM LEFT: AN EARLY MEETING OF THE CLUB’S MINDS.
FAST TIMES AT THE KTM ADVENTURE RALLY CANADA, IN JULY OF 2023. LINDSAY DONOVAN WAS SHOOTING THE EVENT AND GOT THIS PHOTO OF TOM ETHERINGTON SHOWING OFF FOR THE CAMERA.
“THE ORIGINAL TRIGGER IN 1983 WAS A LETTER TO BIKE AUSTRALIA, THE MAGAZINE I WAS THEN EDITING, REQUESTING SOME HANDLING TIPS FOR A READER’S Z1100A.”
up with the motto: Grow Old Disgracefully. Both Stephen and I loved these, and I quickly drew a rough outline for a club badge, which I faxed (remember faxes?) to Stephen. I heard no more until I discovered that the badge in its sketchy, faxed state had been adopted. It remains a rough sketch to this day.
A hastily convened meeting in Sydney was attended by the five blokes who became the fathers of the club, and the minimum age was lowered to 40 –although anyone under 50 was to be considered a junior member and would be required to help full members on and off their bikes.
The club went from its meek beginning to grow, initially slowly and then asymptotically until it was the largest social club in Australia with branches all over the world including Britain, Germany, France, Switzerland, South Africa and Norway. Its aims have always been very simple:
• To provide ways in which older motorcyclists can get together for companionship and mutual support.
• To show by example that motorcycling can be an enjoyable and practical activity for riders of all ages.
• To draw the attention of public and private institutions to the needs and views of riders over the age of 40.
Those principles have served it well, and despite a somewhat fallow period a while back, it is growing again. These days I wear my 35-year membership badge with pride. I hope my buddy from the Dog on the Tuckerbox got his bike, and I hope he found the Ulysses Club.
“One equal temper of heroic hearts, / Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will / To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
I’ve Been
Everywhere, Man
VISITING MOTO HOTSPOTS WITH THE ULTIMATE TRAVEL ACCESSORY: A VAN
We’ve all had those days when we wish to keep riding past the office and just keep going until the road runs out, then ride some more. Most of us have a home base, a fixed location we return to between rides, whether those rides last a few hours, months, or even years. I also have a home base, except mine is on wheels.
In the spring of 2021, I hit the road in Smokey Da Van, my converted camper van and full-time home on wheels. If you’ve seen the movie Nomadland , it’s something like that, except, unlike many characters in the movie, this nomadic life was not forced on me by necessity. I chose it, and most of the way I go about it.
One of the ways I chose was that there was no way I would leave the motorcycle behind. One of the few parts of my old life I took with me was my Kawasaki KLR650, which hung off the back of my Ford E250 on a Black Widow trailer hitch motorcycle carrier. It looked a little janky, and I always worried about the bike falling off while I drove. But all the weight ratings added up, and I never lost the bike.
Words & Photos: Justin Hughes
I’ve coined the term “moto-glamping” to describe living in a camper van with a motorcycle along for the ride. It’s all the best parts of motorcycle camping, but I have a metal shell around me instead of a tent, which is useful when the weather is bad. I don’t have to weigh down the bike with everything I own because the van carries all that, leaving the bike free to adventure without all the gear of moto-camping. I have luxuries like a refrigerator/freezer, a heater, and a real bed. My cat even came along for the ride. An automated ventilation system keeps him safe inside. If it’s too hot, I don’t leave him alone. No, it’s not real camping, and I never claim that it is. Instead, it’s a home on wheels, and part of that involves bringing my motorcycle with me.
While many have traveled the world on a KLR, it’s not the most comfortable bike for putting down miles, especially on the highway. Fortunately, I don’t have to. I can drive my van to an area where I want to ride, then find somewhere to camp, either a paid campground or free dispersed camping on BLM land or a National Forest. Then, I can unload the bike, hop on, and explore the area unencumbered.
One unexpected aspect of having a motorcycle for van life was that the bike became my “daily driver” rather than my van. More often than not, if I needed to run some quick errands around the area, I could hop on the bike to do it and leave the van in camp. It’s a fair bit of work to convert the van between “house mode” and “driving mode.” Everything has to get put away and secured before bouncing down the road. When I return, I may need to set some things back up again, such as tables and chairs, a rooftop awning, or ham radio antennas. Taking the bike means that I can leave the van in house mode and pick up what I need anyway. There are certainly times when it’s better to take the van, such as large grocery runs for frozen or refrigerated items. I can leave the store, go to my car, and then immediately put food away in my kitchen instead of hoping the ice cream doesn’t melt before I get home the way I did before. Most of the time, though, I can use the bike.
I do this frequently when I spend “winters” (I use that term loosely) in Quartzsite, Arizona, the place from Nomadland . There is plenty of free and affordable camping here, and “winter” isn’t really a thing, which is part of what draws so many people to spend the season here. There’s also plenty of dirt riding in the Arizona desert.
Some of it is hardpack, while other areas are sandy or loose gravel, which my KLR isn’t well suited for. I learned that the hard way. A small, scrappy dual-sport would be a much better choice for the extensive trail networks in southwest Arizona.
After my first year on the road, without paying rent or a mortgage, I saved enough money to buy an enclosed cargo trailer to replace my motorcycle carrier. It became my garage on wheels, which I towed behind my home on wheels. Not only did my motorcycle go inside, but also my gear, tools, and anything else I didn’t need inside my living space. Despite adding weight to the rig as a whole, the van actually drove much better after moving that weight to the trailer. This also opened the possibility of eventually replacing my KLR with something nicer since it wouldn’t have to live outside in the elements.
Driving up the California coast, I missed easy access to cheap and free camping, though I did splurge for an overnight in the Redwoods. I visited friends in Oregon and Washington, rode out to Mount St. Helens, and then proceeded across Idaho. Craters of the Moon National Monument is a fairly small area but an enjoyable visit, especially if you’re into post-apocalyptic-looking volcanic landscapes. My KLR looked right at home in this environment but was required to stay on the pavement as off-roading is strictly forbidden.
Another fun place to ride was Dinosaur National Monument, on the Utah and Colorado border. Dinosaurs are cool, and the park is named for the amazing fossils it contains. It also has a great deal of fun adventure riding. Harpers Corner Road is a 30-mile dead-end paved road weaving through the heart of the park between Colorado and Utah, with spectacular views the entire way. Just off this road lies Echo Park Road, an easy 11-mile dirt ride through the middle of a canyon to a campground at the far end. There are many more dirt rides to take in this area, some of which I did, and I can’t remember the routes I made up as I went along.
After spending the hottest part of summer in Colorado, I slowly made my way back to Arizona for another “winter.” I soon remembered how my KLR was too heavy for loose sand and gravel on the trails. It also wasn’t comfortable for the long pavement slogs between distant towns, despite switching from the standard 15-tooth front sprocket to a 16-tooth for better top-end performance.
“I’VE COINED THE TERM ‘MOTO-GLAMPING’
TO DESCRIBE LIVING IN A CAMPER VAN WITH A MOTORCYCLE ALONG FOR THE RIDE.”
A FEW YEARS INTO HIS NEW LIFESTYLE, JUSTIN’S VAN HAS SERVED AS A BASE TO EXPLORE THE CORNERS OF THE U.S. WHILE USING ARIZONA AS A HOME BASE IN WINTER.
Yet again, I’d saved quite a bit of money from not paying rent, so I decided it was time to splurge for something nicer. I decided on a Suzuki V-Strom 650. I knew I’d be giving up some off-road capability, but after a few modifications, like tires and a bash plate to protect the vulnerable oil filter, it’s been the perfect match for my riding style. It can handle any road I throw down, paved or otherwise, and I’m fine with giving up the trail capability the KLR had.
That doesn’t mean the V-Strom can’t handle trails, as I discovered at Get On! ADV Fest in Sturgis, South Dakota. One more benefit of my nomadic lifestyle is that I can plan my travels to attend various events along the way, many of which include motorcycles. I wanted to explore the V-Strom’s capabilities on dirt, and this event was a great way to do it. I’d love to spend a month in the Black Hills of South Dakota, just exploring all the amazing paved and dirt riding the area has to offer.
So far, my favorite event is the Rocky Mountain Roll. It’s a small camping event held by Amanda Zito of As the Magpie Flies on her
family’s property in Montana. Get On! ADV Fest is all about the riding and some socializing, while the Rocky Mountain Roll is all about socializing and a bit of riding along the way. It’s about camping out and getting to know like-minded people, coming together because we all like Amanda’s videos. I made many new friends there and look forward to getting back to Montana for another one someday.
The adventures I’ve described here are just a few of the many I’ve had while living the moto-glamping van life. More recently, I’ve spent an extended stay in the Ozarks of Arkansas with a special lady, Melissa, who I met in the Arizona desert last winter. We’ve explored well-known riding destinations like the Pig Trail, lesser-known favorite paved roads (every road around here is great to ride), and the extensive network of dirt county roads crisscrossing the area. She’s even picked up a KLR650S of her own. While life has us rather stationary these days, we both still have the urge to travel. I’ve already rearranged my van, which is now a Ford Transit, much newer and larger than my previous van. My next step is to rearrange my trailer so it can fit two adventure bikes inside.
MOTORCYCLING AROUND THE
&
UK EUROPE
ON A SHOESTRING BUDGET . . . KINDA
Words & Photos: David Goldman
Back in the day – I’m talking the late '80s –there was this idea, maybe a book or just something that stuck with me, about “Traveling Europe on $20 a Day.” I was 19 then, and that notion of budget travel seemed perfect as I dreamed of backpacking across Europe during the summer before college.
Inspired by friends’ older siblings who’d done it before, I was determined to embark on this adventure. My best friend Mike was supposed to come along, but when he backed out, I was faced with a choice: skip the trip or go solo. I chose the latter, a decision that set the tone for my future travels. Though traveling alone has its moments of loneliness, I’d rather collect experiences on my own than not at all.
Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll find the right travel companion, but until then, it’s just me and the open road.
Fast forward to last summer, when an incredible opportunity – or rather, through sheer de · ter · mi · na · tion, cold calls, and a bit of audacity I found myself and my motorcycle bound for Europe for three months. My mission? To continue my ongoing project, *The Motorcycle Portraits*, a multimedia series that captures the lives of individuals deeply connected to motorcycles. Whether they’re builders, racers, collectors, or world travelers, these are people with stories worth telling. To date, I’ve photographed 150 individuals and ridden over 52,000 miles across the U.S., Canada, the UK, Europe, and parts of India.
“THE THING ABOUT COMMITTING TO A TRIP LIKE THIS IS THAT ONCE YOU’RE IN, YOU’RE ALL IN.”
TOP: THE PRICE OF A NIGHT’S SLEEP COULD VARY FROM €100 TO FREE.
MAIN PHOTO:
THINGS
With my flight covered thanks to WestJet Cargo, I started to think about the other costs of this epic adventure. I wasn’t under any illusions that I could stick to $20 a day, but how much it would actually cost remained a mystery. To be perfectly honest, the true cost only became somewhat clearer when I tallied up the receipts after returning home.
It’s important to note that I was budgeting in Canadian dollars, which isn’t the strongest currency out there. As of August 2024, $1.00 CAD is equivalent to $0.72 USD, £0.57 GBP, and €0.66 EUR - similar to last year. So, traveling with Canadian dollars in hand felt a bit like playing with Monopoly money compared to stronger currencies.
The thing about committing to a trip like this is that once you’re in, you’re all in.
It’s like breaking free of gravity – you can’t back out. Once I found myself across the pond, I had no choice but to spend money on necessities: food, gas, and lodging. The quality of food and lodging could vary, but fuel was nonnegotiable. My 2019 KTM 790 Adventure S, fully loaded with Mosko Moto Backcountry Panniers and Aux Pox’s, a 40L Backcountry Duffle and a Hood Tank Bag, cost close to $50 USD to fill up each time. No debate there, I just had to pay.
Initially, I envisioned camping as much as possible, but I quickly learned that camping in the UK and Europe is a different game than in North America. Space is at a premium, and many campsites feel more like RV parks with spots crammed close together. Some were stunning, like the one I found in Andermatt, Switzerland, nestled between majestic mountains. There was a beautiful camp spot not far from Rimini, Italy, on the coast overlooking the sea at a place called Gabicce Mare. Others, like the wild camp I did in Calamocha, Spain, offered solitude – except for the distant sounds of dance music echoing through the mountains until dawn.
Camping costs were higher than I expected, though I’m not sure where I got my initial figures from. I still think a Twix should cost $0.75, so most prices nowadays seem offensive. Campsites ranged from €20 to €30 per night, with an option for electricity, which I occasionally paid for when I needed to charge my devices. In Normandy, France, I paid for electricity but had to leave my gear plugged in far from my pitch. When I packed up in the morning, I forgot my inReach mini, a device I relied on for emergencies. Luckily, I was able to track down the campsite thanks to Google tracking my every move and they graciously offered to send it to me, though it ended up chasing me around Europe until it finally disappeared
somewhere between France and Greece thanks to one of those countries’ postal services.
I’m not one to plan my accommodations too far ahead – who k nows how far I’ll ride in a day? Weather, stops, and the occasional mechanical issue (thankfully none this trip) all influence how far I go. I usually ride from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. before starting to think about where to sleep. For finding a place, I relied on the free app iOverlander, which helps you locate everything from wild camping spots to hotels. The app isn’t fancy, but it’s reliable as long as you have an internet connection. But always trust your instincts – if a place feels sketchy, it’s best to move on.
Hotels were something I hoped to avoid unless absolutely necessary, but reality had other plans. Many nights were spent in hotels, which significantly increased my costs. Some nights, exhaustion made it a necessity, while other times, the weather or lack of campsites left me no choice. Weather plays a huge role in determining if I camp or not – I’m a decent camper, but setting up a tent in the rain when I have another option just doesn’t appeal to me. Hotels, B&Bs, and pensions usually cost around $100 US per night, though some were cheaper and others, like a nice hotel in Le Mans, France, cost around €100.
Then there’s food. Luckily, I’m not a foodie, so I keep costs down by grabbing a sandwich or something simple from a gas station or simple restaurant rather than indulging in higher end local cuisine. Traveling solo probably helps, too – it’s easier to make do with less when you’re alone. A friend who tracked my location would sometimes suggest local delicacies, but I often skipped them in favor of something quick and cheap. Food was more affordable in some countries, like Poland and Serbia, while in others, like Switzerland, I needed at least $50 US for a basic meal.
In the end, a trip like this can vary greatly in cost. Those on a two-week go-for-broke trip through the Alps might spend as much as someone traveling for six months on a tight budget. One thing I will say: Choosing to camp tends to lead to more interactions with people. Motorcyclists, especially those riding in Europe with California plates as I was, seem to attract curiosity and conversations.
I can’t pin down exactly how much I spent last summer. It was definitely more than $5,000 but less than $10,000 – probably closer to $7,000 in Canadian money. That covered food, gas, lodging, ferries, and the occasional tourist attraction. Not a cheap adventure, but when I look back at the end of my life, I’ll be counting the memories made, not the money spent.
YAMAHA XT 500: ADV’S ORIGIN STORY
THE THUMPER THAT STARTED IT ALL
Words & Images:
Michael Uhlarik
WHERE DID THE ADVENTURE MOTORCYCLE COME FROM?
It’s not a controversial statement to say that all motorcycles can take you on adventures, and certainly bikes have gone overlanding to rare and remote places for as long as they’ve existed. Whether it was German scouting parties on Zündapp sidecar rigs during the war, farmers herding animals across New Zealand on a prewar Indian, or Ted Simon travelling around the world on a Triumph Tiger 100, there were always people keen to see how far they could go on a motorcycle.
The common contemporary read of ADV history usually begins with the 1980 BMW R 80 GS, and that bike’s subsequent victory at the 1981 Paris-Dakar rally. That reading is built on a foundation of sand taller than any dune in the African desert because five years earlier, a Japanese manufacturer gave the world its first dual-use,
globe-trotting motorcycle and Dakar-winner, a bike that was civilized on the highway but capable on the trail and so commercially successful that it spawned a dozen imitators over the next two decades. That motorcycle was the Yamaha XT500, and it was the world’s first purpose-built adventure motorcycle.
THE GENESIS OF ADVENTURE MOTORCYCLING
The adventure category was born by fusing design elements from the lightweight two-stroke motocross models of the 1960s with their four-stroke British scrambler contemporaries. The goal was a comfortable road bike that could handle long distances at highway speed, but keep going when the asphalt ran out. This union of dissimilar attributes first came together in the summer of 1973 when American dealers handed market feedback to Yamaha concerning the then-insatiable US appetite for off-road motorcycles.
The XT500 was created by a team of young, open-minded planners, engineers and designers at the start of their careers. Product planning came from Masahiro Inumaru, a young graduate straight out of university, so broke that he had borrowed a friend’s motorcycle until he could get settled enough with his new job and buy his own. “I had to sell motorcycles in Tokyo when I started working for Yamaha in 1972,” recalled Inumaru in a 2004 interview. The XT would be his first production program.
With him was project leader Shinji Tanaka and project engineer Shiro Nakamura. These three men were linked by a common attitude: that to succeed they needed to try new things and that perhaps Yamaha’s strength was to sometimes go against the stream. “To be successful in motorcycle product planning, you need to have enthusiasm and at the same time you need to have an enormous curiosity, to dig deeper and see what’s behind people’s motivation, combined with an open mind,” said Inumaru.
In the early ‘70s, Americans bought over one million new motorcycles a year, two-thirds of them in the off-road or dual sport classes. Like today, the appeal of machines such as the Yamaha DT-1 or BSA B50 MX was their hackability: easy to ride anywhere, from the suburb to the college campus or down the
canyon trail to a secluded lake. However, they were inappropriate for huge chunks of the tasks they were required to perform. The British four-strokes were expensive and hideously unreliable; the lightweight two-strokes were dependable but uncomfortable, dirty, and could barely manage sustained highway use. Honda was selling mountains of quiet and comfortable CL350 scrambler twins, but they were dismissed as not serious off-road, nor desirable for long-haul use.
Most of the market had fallen into two camps: the hard-core, veteran enthusiasts who flocked to specialty off-roaders from brands like Maico, Husqvarna, BSA and Triumph, and a much larger group of young baby boomers who were buying up lowcost Japanese alternatives.
“When the off-road market started booming in the U.S., bikers remembered the advantages of the good old singles,” said Nakamura, the lead engineer. “Soon the sales guys started to request the development of a four-stroke for off-road. Honestly speaking, we engineers were quite reluctant in the beginning.” Yamaha was then famous for high-strung twostrokes and had only ever made one four-stroke at that point, the disastrous TX750. The keywords for the new program would therefore be simplicity and reliability.
Other marketing staff in Japan pushed back hard, worried that the era of the big single-cylinder engine was long gone. “They said we will sell only some units,” remembered Tanaka, the project leader. Yamaha’s US representatives outlined a clean, easy-to-use road- and trail-ready machine that could put up respectable performance in the dirt, but could be ridden home two-up on the highway and keep up with road traffic. It needed high ground clearance like the DT-series, long-travel suspension and durability, but also had to be a low-maintenance motorcycle that was comfortable on long rides.
“Being a Japanese,” reflected Inumaru, “I have a certain cultural background, and our way of thinking differs from other cultures like the European or American. I believe it is crucial to work with locals to identify in depth how our customers are ticking, since many of our product concepts are not made for the Japanese market. It was an interesting time. I was hands-on with our dealers and customers.”
The team went to work, facing headwinds inside their own company and conflicting messages from the market. “Motorcycles are a passionate thing, and motorcyclists are emotional people. You can only be successful if you understand their way of thinking,” continued Inumaru. “You need courage. If you would just look at market sales data, you would never come up with something that exceeds the expectation of the public.”
THROUGH THE CRUCIBLE OF DOUBT
The XT500 program was wrought with technical problems almost from the start. In the highly competitive environment among Japanese manufacturers of the era, there was a lot of pressure to use the latest technological innovations and materials being developed in racing.
“Now I can confess that developing this first big single was a real nightmare,” said Nakauma. “We tested many different configurations including DOHC, and even cylinder head oil cooling, but the XT was supposed to be simple and reliable and eventually we turned away from all these complicated solutions. First, the heavy pistons gave us countless problems. They seized up. As soon as they had a bit more power they turned out to be unreliable and they were shaking like hell. We even had a cylinder that broke in the middle.”
The question of engine-starting was a constant source of irritation. To reduce weight as much as possible and keep the bike compact, the designers decided to use a kickstarter only, but the big single had so much compression that the lever could snap back hard if not used correctly. In one incident, the technical director for the company came to test a prototype and nearly broke his ankle when the kick starter smacked him. Easy starting was suddenly a new priority, and led to the introduction of a window on the top of the motor that indicated when the piston was top-dead centre.
Problems were so severe that the program was delayed by a year, something that in competitive industry is akin to failure and usually comes with severe consequences. Prototypes kept breaking. Dealers kept asking for updates and piling on new demands from electric starters to racing kits. The exhaust heat was a problem. Vibration more so. “At that time we didn’t even try balancer systems, although we had many problems with broken crankshaft bearings as well. The con-rod had no big end bearing but was turning on a needle bearing that needed a low pressure lubrication.”
Lubrication became a defining part of the XT500 engine design. It would be a dry sump, with the oil carried in a reservoir integrated
THE XT500’S DESIGNERS BUILT THE FOUR-STROKE SINGLE FROM SCRATCH, AND HAD A STEEP LEARNING CURVE ALONG THE WAY.
into the frame’s top tube so that the motorcycle could keep a high ground clearance. Oil capacity was generous and pushed through the powertrain via two pumps. Thanks to a small flywheel and short stroke it revved quickly but retained the torquey character of a big thumper. Both the crankshaft and camshaft spun in oversized ball bearings to further reduce friction, and the block was deep-finned to keep things cool, all of which helped make the XT engine one of the most reliable single-cylinder motors in history. After puttering in the woods it could be wrung right out on the highway at 75 mph (120 km/h) without worry, even in extreme heat.
The final bike was presented in 1975. It weighed 328 pounds with a 2.3 US gallon fuel tank and put out just under 30 horsepower, propelling the XT500 to a top speed of 100 mph. It was economical at a price of just $1,400 US, or about $8,900 in today’s money, and could return upwards of 59 mpg. Ground clearance and suspension travel were almost up to the motocross standards of the day, and the bike included powerful brakes that Cycle World said bested pure street bikes like the Suzuki GS750 for stopping power. Strong lighting, rubber-mounted handlebars and foot pegs and a wide, deeply cushioned seat made it all-day comfortable.
Motorcyclists loved the XT. Cycle World called it “dazzling” and “devoid of serious flaws.” It sold out quickly, surprising the doubters. Inumaru explained: “The tendency at the end of the ’70s was to make bikes faster and bigger. The four-cylinderengine was the direction all big manufacturers seemed to follow. But motorcyclists are a complex species. They like character and soul.” The idea of a big single that could do all things was hard to accept, until people tried it.
LEGACY
The XT500 was tinkered with and continuously improved with added features, and wrenchers found more performance hiding inside its over-designed guts. By the early 1980s it was not uncommon for tuners to get 55 horsepower out of the motor without failure, or for users to get 60,000 miles of use without noticeable wear. So reliable was the XT as a road and dirt platform that it was successfully raced in rallies in nearly stock form by privateers and factory alike. XT500s won the first two Paris-Dakar events in the hands of Frenchman Cyril Neveu, popularizing the image of enduro motorcycle racing, and inspiring BMW Motorrad boss Karl Gerlinger to greenlight the GS project.
Yamaha produced the original XT500 for 14 years, selling nearly half a million. They were accessible to the masses thanks to affordability, ease of use and a vast global dealer network. Because of its commercial and competition success, the XT ignited a passion for adventure motorcycles that directly led to the development of the XTZ 600 Ténéré and XTZ 750 Super Ténéré, spurred Honda to create the legendary and highly successful original Transalp and Africa Twin, gave us the Kawasaki KLR, Suzuki DR650, Cagiva Elephant and of course the BMW GS family. Together these motorcycles were made in their millions and allowed millions of motorcyclists around the globe to explore, or at least tour, without limits, up the highways and down the trails of the world.
Would this void have been filled if the XT500 failed? What if the bean-counters at Yamaha had cancelled the program after Tanaka failed to deliver it on schedule? What if Nakamura and his engineers had not solved the technical issues or instead resorted to another two-stroke? If an XT500 had not won ParisDakar, would BMW have taken a chance with the R 80 GS a year later? And without the GS, would there even be a BMW Motorrad today given how close that brand came to shutting down motorcycle operations in the 1980s?
Inumaru is largely credited as the father of the XT500 and SR500. He would go on to become the vice president of Yamaha Motor US and later president of Yamaha Motor Europe and play a major role in the development of many motorcycles including the FRJ1300, T-Max and R1. “Most of my business life happened in product planning. My way of thinking inspired me to look as far as possible beyond today’s results. I guess it was sometimes difficult for others to cope with my views. But like in motorcycle racing, if you do not set high goals, you will not win.”
The modern, four-stroke, highway and trail adventure motorcycle appears to exist largely due to the personal strengths and sensibilities of a small number of individuals, who for the most part took their lead from feelings rather than facts. The choice to make the XT a four-stroke single was derived from American enthusiasm for British bikes, not engineering logic. BMW’s decision to make the GS at all was reactionary, not proactive business development.
Inumaru concludes, “It is a difficult balance between logic, facts, creativity and vision. I believe you either have this ability or you don’t. Just like a good painter, you either have the ability to make great paintings or you don’t. This job requires a lot of intuition, which one cannot learn from school books.”
AIRHEAD 247 GS
BMW’S FIRST ADVENTURE BIKE STILL GETTING IT DONE
Words: Daren Dortin
Photos: Daren Dortin & Friends
When the BMW R80 G/S (Gelände/Straße or Street/ Trail) was introduced to unsuspecting journalists in September of 1980 it was just another curiosity from the Motorrad division in Berlin. Nobody had the slightest hint that this motorcycle would go on to create an entirely new “adventure” segment of motorcycling and along with it, a dizzying array of aftermarket accessories and manufacturers. Like the R90S before it, the R80 G/S would eventually be viewed as another monumental offering from BMW that kept the motorcycle division relevant and profitable. It’s worth noting that both the 90S and G/S were designed for BMW by Hans Muth, who also created the first fully faired RS for BMW in 1976.
BMW’s Motorrad Division is synonymous with creating and adapting new technologies. Notable highlights over the years include the first ABS system on a motorcycle in the mid 1980s as well as today’s ShiftCam variable valve timing technology. Each generation of the GS has seemingly ushered in a fresh approach or redesign to improve rider comfort, safety and convenience. Over the years the GS has, for some, strayed from its roots as a true GS, becoming larger, heavier, and more complicated. No doubt though, the modern GS is capable off the tarmac and for many is the gold standard in current ADV machines. Still, the DNA and heritage of the GS model remain inexorably linked to the original R 80 G/S.
Who better to tie the GS generations together than Globeriders founder and noted moto-traveler Helge Pedersen. Helge made his mark crossing the Darien Gap on the first R80 G/S and documented his ride in the book 10 Years on 2 Wheels. Pedersen has probably logged more miles on every generation of the GS than any other rider. And while he has fond memories of his first G/S, he hesitates to recommend an airhead GS for riders on multi-week, continent crossing tours. For his Globeriders tours, Pederson said, “When it comes to the technology and what we do (on our tours), we have more problems with the older bikes [BMWs] than the newer bikes.” However in context, Pedersen does note “it is much easier to fix an Airhead,” and the older technology can make improvised roadside repairs easier in remote locations. Pedersen’s observation here rings true with longtime airhead aficionados who value the relative simplicity and user-friendly accessibility when it comes to basic maintenance and repair tasks at home or on the road.
Marcus Best circumnavigated the globe (in two trips) on an airhead GS a little over 10 years ago. For a repeat venture, would he take his Airhead GS or a modern BMW? “There were so many situations I was able to work my way through (on the Airhead) that could have been a trip-ending failure on a modern bike . . . one of the advantages of the Airhead
platform is that it’s such a mechanically basic machine that if there is a problem I can’t figure out, there is someone around the corner who can, and I don’t think that’s the case with a modern bike.”
So, is an airhead GS the bike for your next world tour? There are well-reasoned, differing opinions on this. These anecdotes from riders who have done it on both seem to point to this: Count on more but less expensive and complicated repairs on an airhead vs. a modern GS. Conversely, a modern GS may provide more trouble-free miles and less down time; however, with modern electronics and heavy reliance on dealer service, it has a higher chance of shutting down your trip. In the end, it comes down to personal preference.
As a daily rider and occasional adventurer, there is no question, the airhead GS remains quite popular. The reasons are many; strong OEM parts availability from BMW and aftermarket suppliers and an array of shops specializing in airhead component repair. The real draw for many is the styling and build quality of a bygone era. German vehicles of the ’70s and ’80s were built to a standard, not to a price point. Airheads of the era were often twice the price of other bikes because of this. The fit, finish and attention to detail found on all airheads were in stark contrast to many of their contemporaries.
To wit, BMW airheads came with a 20-piece tool kit and detailed owner’s/maintenance manual. The relative simplicity of the mechanical design and components allow owners to learn and perfect mechanical tasks at their own allows pace and comfort level. None of these are exclusive to airhead BMWs, and many vintage brand bikes enjoy similar popularity and support. What is unique is the riding experience the airhead offers; a quiet, understated motor, smooth delivery of airhead horses and torque, all atop a pillow-like platform made to watch the odometer roll on and on.
To the uninitiated, here is a very basic overview of the airhead and GS offerings along with a few items to note when considering a purchase.
The BMW 247 platform was produced from 1970 to 1996. While there were obvious changes and technical improvements during that time, the basics of the motorcycle (engine and frame design) remained mostly static. The airhead 247 GS was produced in three generational phases from 1981 through 1995. The first was the 800cc R80 G/S and R80 G/S PD (Paris Dakar) in Monolever rear end configuration from 1981 through 1987. This version remains the most collectable and will take the hardest hit on your wallet to buy in. With its relatively smaller size and weight, the G/S is the most offroad capable bike of the lot and rides more like a 650 thumper compared to any of the later offerings. BMW introduced the single-sided, Monolever rear end with this model, which featured a user-friendly 3-lug rear wheel which can be removed in a snap. The Monolever drive line with its one-piece oil bath drive shaft has proven to be a more stable configuration than the later Paralever, which was prone to U-joint and drive shaft failures. The real weak point on the first gen G/S is the front suspension. Front end modifications are common and range
from custom triple trees with USD forks on the high end to fitting a second generation GS front end which is as close to a bolt-on-and-ride proposition as one can ask for.
The second generation (1988 to 1990) ushered in the 1000cc R100GS and R80GS in Paralever rear end configuration. The “/” in the model destination also disappeared. The Paralever rear end was designed to address the issue of “shaft jacking.”
On an airhead the acceleration being applied to the rear wheel creates a reactive force on the drive shaft, tilting the bike to the right side. Journalists were keen to point this out in BMW reviews dating back to the mid 1970s. The Paralever driveshaft was a two-piece affair without an oil bath. With a steeper articulation angle and no lubrication, the driveshafts and U-joints had a much shorter life span than the Monolever version. Many second- and third-generation GS models will have already had a driveshaft replacement at some point in their history. Whether the Paralever configuration was a step forward or not is still debatable.
Also of note, the issue of the missing transmission circlip most associated with the second and third generation models. For reasons nobody may ever admit, BMW omitted a circlip from the transmission output shaft on these models which in turn caused premature bearing failure. However, this issue is not widely viewed as a fatal flaw, with some transmissions going over 100,000 miles with no issue at all. However, transmissions without the circlip are prone to shorter life spans depending on the rider’s usage, shifting prowess and ability to keep water out of the gearbox. For a potential buyer, inquiring about the driveshaft history and circlip situation should be standard operating procedure.
From ’88 on, the GS featured a more stable and robust front fork configuration with compression and rebound on separate
NO MATTER WHICH GENERATION OF THE AIRHEAD GS (OR G/S) YOU ASPIRE TO CALL YOUR OWN, PARTS ARE STILL AVAILABLE AND EXPERT PRO AND AMATEUR WRENCHERS HAVE ALL THE SMARTS NEEDED TO HELP KEEP YOUR BIKE RUNNING.
fork legs. Front ends from the ’88–’90 models are preferable to retrofit on the first gen G/S since these have the same mounting points for the headlight and auxiliary gauges.
The third and final airhead 247 GS production run was from 1991 to 1995 and featured the R80 GS, R100GS and R100 GSPD with integrated fairing and the Paralever rear end. For many, the integrated fairing marks the first step in the GS evolving into a more road-oriented machine. The added girth and weight of the integrated fairing and protection bars made it feel and handle more like a street bike. Aside from the fairing, the third generation offered few changes from the second generation bikes. The third generation remains the most ubiquitous in second-hand availability and may have the lowest price point of the model run.
The last hurrah of airhead 247 and generation “3.5” of the GS was the R80GS Basic and Kalahari. This model was essentially a third-generation GS with the headlight/dash, gas tanks (standard and PD) and seat from the first generation G/S.
These were produced in limited numbers for the European market. The R80GS Basic has the distinction of being the last
airhead 247 to roll off the Berlin production line on December 19,1996. That day marked the end of a long and productive era of motorcycle production for BMW, over 25 years on the 247 platform. That BMW continued to make motorcycles after this is a fact lost on many.
For potential GS buyers, a reasonably informed search of bikes for sale will likely net anywhere from 10 to 20 airhead GSs on the market at any one time, ranging anywhere from $4–12K. The first generation R80 G/S has become more of a collector bike than a rider and prices will be on the highest end of the range, often exceeding $12K. Second- and third-generation bikes tend to run from $4–10K depending on a variety of factors. Generally speaking, and we do mean generally, airhead owners turned sellers usually provide a good service history and receipts, and will have shown some love and affection for their bike that is reflected in its condition and rideability.
Want to learn more? Listen to interviews with Helge Pedersen, Marcus Best, Nathan Mende, and other GS enthusiasts on the Airhead 247 podcast.
100% WATERPROOF
MONOKEY SIDE BAGS
North 0f Nowhere
A journey into the wilds of British Columbia, the Yukon, Northwest Territories and Alaska
Photos: Steve Shannon
In 2021, photographer Steve Shannon and friend Matt Chesson trucked their bikes to Smithers, a small town in northern British Columbia. What followed was a three-week trip through the Yukon, the Northwest Territories and Alaska, with return home by a 60-year-old Alaskan ferry.
The photos you see on the following pages were taken on that journey, and show the edge of the northern frontier. So often, adventure bikes are marketed with photos and YouTube videos of adventure and derring-do in sand dunes and deserts, but a motorcycle can take you anywhere-even to the far north, a place where you must be on alert for wild animals, and for cold weather that can kill you just as dead as the blazing suns of southern regions. There are often long distances between settlements, with roads in poor shape, and fuel and other supplies hard to find.
Highlights of Steve and Matt’s trip were a shotgun-toting wilderness hermit on a Rokon; exploring the Canol Road, a mostly-forgotten piece of World War II infrastructure; the scenery of the forests, lakes, mountains, rivers and valleys that lined the roads and surrounded their campsite; exploring sketchy roads and finding small towns that time has seemingly forgotten; riding alongside the Salmon Glacier and an extinct volcano; and the ferry ride home, exploring coastal Alaska with their bikes on board.
For more of Steve’s photography, visit SteveShannonPhoto.com, where you can see other photos from dirt biking and ADV travels (and skiing, and mountain biking, and so on).
THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED IS RARELY PAVED.
The V-STROM 800DE’s new 776cc parallel-twin engine with Cross Balancer technology delivers smooth, torque-rich power, while the fully adjustable long-travel suspension and 21” spoked front wheel let you attack the toughest terrain. Add the exclusive Suzuki Intelligent Ride System (S.I.R.S.) with Traction Control features like Gravel Mode, and you get the most capable V-STROM ever.
Follow any path that calls to you on the new V-STROM 800DE.
