Around the World the Hard Way – Mondo Enduro DVD

Ready for your big adventure?  Have you seen enough of Ewan and Charlie going the Long Way here or there that you want to hop in the saddle and leave your cares behind in a cloud of dust? Well, there’s no better place to start planning a big trip than in front of your TV with the Mondo Enduro DVD. This is the story of seven Brits who decided to ride around the world by the longest route in the shortest amount of time on Suzuki DR350s. This is not a Ewan and Charlie adventure by any means. No film crew, no trucks, no satellite phone or FedEx’d parts. This is seven normal guys with small bikes, a few tools, and some camping gear pitting themselves against an aggressive schedule and the great unknown. [Read more]

Adventure GearLab 6: Platypus Hydration Bags

2-liter Platy Bottle

Water: you gotta have it, so why not make it convenient to carry? Unlike a bag of coffee or oatmeal, your canteen or water bottle takes up as much space empty as it does full. You wouldn’t waste space carrying a can of coffee with just a few grinds rattling around in the bottom, so why tote along a bulky water bottle with just a haze of H2O clinging to its sides? That’s the question that Cascade Designs, makers of flexible, foldable, packable Platypus water containers has been asking and answering for years. Their conformal containers reduce your bulk as soon as you dip into your water stores. [Read more]

The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 6

Part 6: The Gritty End

With the evening sun casting ever-lengthening shadows across the road, we each pick a wheel rut and torque along. The going is slow, but we’re making progress and looking forward to camping soon. And though we’re bone tired, it’s a gorgeous warm evening and we’re still enjoying the ride – until we hit our first patch of sand. Red and soft, the tiny remnants of ancient landscapes blasted away by wind and rain over the eons fill the entire road like a miniature Sahara. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Kail makes the decision for me, plunging in and quickly going into a monster tank-slapper. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I do – long and loud – while he wrestles the bike to a stop and paddles it to solid ground.

Now it’s my turn. Figuring that throttle is the key, I motor in, slowly twisting the grip more and more as the bike churns through the sand. Hey, this throttle idea is working! I’m looking like a pro until a bolt of Karmic comeuppance spoils the fun. In a flash, the KLR is bucking like mustang, trying its best to pitch me over the side for a sand bath. Somehow I stay aboard until it parks itself 90 degrees off course. Kail gets his chance to laugh now and by the time I struggle out of the sand we’re both chuckling at what this little excursion has thrown at us. We plow through several more stretches of sand before the road firms up for good, wearier for our efforts and beginning to wonder if Hans Flat really exists.

The sun slips away as we ride, leaving a wash of red in the west and deepening blues in the east, our headlights casting a yellow beams that gain strength as the light fades. Before long we see signs, then finally a building takes shape in the twilight. A cottontail hops away into the scrub as we pull up to the ranger station. It’s nine o’clock – we’re right on schedule. We’ve come six hours from Luna Mesa, 12 hours from Torrey, and arrived in spot far removed from civilization. Just the way we like it.

The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 5

Part 5: Chilling at the Melon Vine

Green River, Utah, isn’t a garden spot in anyone’s estimation, but to two tired motorcyclists it looks pretty darn good as we putt down the main street searching for a grocery store. The Melon Vine pops into view down a side street and we turn in. It’s six o’clock and the storefront creates a wide, welcome swath of shade for parking. But inside is a true heaven on earth. When we ask where to find cold drinks, the clerk directs us to a huge walk-in refrigerator stacked with cases of drinks and shelves of chilled food. We can’t believe our luck and settle in for some serious chilling ourselves. Maybe the rigors of the day are behind us and all that’s left is a quick ride to Hans Flat and a beautiful campsite on the rim of Canyonlands. Maybe.

Prying ourselves from the frosty delights of the Melon Vine, we cram our supplies in the few remaining voids in our luggage and hop aboard. Crossing the railroad tracks, we home in on the road south to Canyonlands and give a little whoop. The heat has let up and the road is a wide gravel surface. We’re tanked up on Gatorade and wick it up to beat the sunset to Hans Flat. Kail leads out, hitting a-mile-a-minute riding in his shirtsleeves. I follow a half-mile back watching his long trail of dust morph into a glowing wake of motorcycling joy as it rises from the road behind him. Our spirits are too high on this last charge to worry about the consequences of strapping our jackets on behind, and we can’t wait to step off the bikes for the final time that day. But the road narrows after crossing the San Rafael River on the new cement bridge, and we have to downshift both our bikes and our expectations of a quick run to camp.

We slip down another cog where the graded county road hits the Canyonlands National Park boundary and turns into a dusty two-track – or two-rut depending on the substrate. I can see a bubble above Kail’s head mirroring my thoughts: “Damn, this is turning into work pretty late into a long day.”

The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 4

Part 4: Leaving Luna Mesa

With the thermometer reading 103°F, we mounted up for the run to Hanksville, Utah. The road follows the broad flats of Caineville Wash, its wide, shallow stream beckoning the unwary into shoals of quicksand. Where the sun bakes it dry, the riverbed cracks into an intricate mosaic. Cottonwoods and gray slopes of Mancos shale create pools of shade for our journey. We took the gentle turns easily in fifth gear, setting a pace we could maintain without taxing ourselves or the bikes. Breaking into the open near Hanksville, trees and shade became a fond memory and the heat an unwelcome but constant companion. Gassed up, we girded for a long, hot haul to Green River.

Utah 24 is the best of roads and the worst of roads. Through Capitol Reef it’s an ebony ribbon slicing between multicolored cliffs, forcing a slow pace and many stops. North of Hanksville, it’s a mind-numbing stretch of two-lane crossing an endless sea of red sand. It begs haste, and the hope that stopping will not be necessary – no shade, little scenery, hardly a living thing in view besides the scrubby plants that dot the sand. No matter, I hardly felt like I was alive in this wasteland. The heat shriveled me to the bare minimum for travel – a pair of eyes scanning the road and a throttle hand keeping the bike moving. We were in drone mode, sweating up our jackets and helmets, riding just to be somewhere other than here.

The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 3

Part 3: Riding the Moon

As the day wore on, we wore down. The temperature peaked as we rode a flat section of road along a wash. Deep, dried mud ruts indicated a slimy mess when rain fell here. We steered the bikes around the worst of the small gullies and took the others in stride, though our stride wasn’t what it used to be. After stopping for another drink of warm water, we saw a small sign that said Bentonite Hills. Hills, hell – they were more like a roller-coaster built for a KLR. The road went up and down several huge mounds of multi-colored bentonite clay and the bikes took to it like they were on a track. Fatigue was a thing of the past as we hooted inside our helmets, our spirits soaring from the sheer fun of riding this moonscape. Though tempted to re-ride the hills, weariness and hunger took precedence and we motored on.

A few miles later we crossed the Fremont River and made landfall on the asphalt highway – at least that’s what it felt like after so long adrift in the heat and dust. Riding north on the pavement, the bikes that we’d been fighting like mustangs over the ruts now performed as smoothly as galloping Thoroughbreds. We stopped at the first sign of food and shade—the Luna Mesa Café near Caineville, Utah, but there were miles to go before we’d sleep this night.

The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 2

Part 2: A Romp in the Forest

At a crossroads on Thousand Lake Mountain, we studied the confusing signs, consulted our map and motored off in the wrong direction. It nagged at me that we were climbing higher, but I convinced myself we’d made the right choice…until we reached a campground that was obviously on the wrong path. No problem – what are a few more miles among friends? In the grand scheme, we’d added to our knowledge and experiences. We’d seen where this road goes, and now we’d see it from the other direction. But I could also see the day slipping away and our goal getting farther away instead of closer. Ticked that I’d led us astray, I gunned my bike and set a stupid pace back through the woods. Two miles later, faced down by an enormous logging truck, I thanked the mountain spirits that I’d met the mud-specked Leviathan on a straightaway instead of a turn, and promptly chilled out. As the dust settled around me, I took a few deep breaths to relax and rubbed the tension from my cramping forearm.

With a re-adjusted attitude I set my pace to “tourist,” found the right road and waited for Kail. A blue jay flitted from tree to tree, squawking the whole time, but there was no telling if it was a welcome or a warning. I glanced about the meadow, felt the warm breeze on my cheek, gazed overhead at the blue sky, and felt welcome – whether the jay wanted me around or not. Riding on, the gravelly road soon turned hard-packed and slippery, pocked with sharp-edged potholes the size of wash basins. Egg-sized cobbles and lava rock littered the road, a suitable landscape for the increasingly hot weather. We cut a serpentine path around the potholes, avoiding the largest of the egg rocks and correcting our paths as the bikes bumped and jerked when we hit one. We soldiered on, sweating up our helmets and stripping off jackets for this slow work. Frequent stops for water let us take in the majesty of the orange spires and cliffs of Cathedral Valley below. But with every stop, the sun moved closer to the horizon.

The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 1

Part 1: In the Beginning

“It’s three o’clock. If we leave now we can make Hans Flat by nine,” I told Kail as we finished our second Cokes. It was a wild guess, but we needed some motivation to get our sorry butts moving again. A late lunch after six scorching hours in the saddle made the cottonwoods at the Luna Mesa Café look mighty seductive, but we’d never get to the Flint Trail by napping in their shade. Kail drew his sunburned face up from the table and nodded: we had a plan, but a long ride ahead.

The day had started brilliantly, as I’m convinced most days do in Torrey, Utah – bright blue sky, puffy clouds and a warmth to the air that predicted another triple-digit day in the surrounding desert. We’d headed west that morning, upstream along the Fremont River, then turned north onto Utah Highway 72 to inhale the fine green aroma of freshly cut hay fields. The scent snapped me back to the thousands of acres of alfalfa that I’d smelled during summer vacations spent jammed into a station wagon amongst family members and camping gear. Dad drove while Mom charted a course to maximize scenic wonders and national parks. I learned early that the back roads were the best roads. And with that came the lesson that to get anywhere you have to keep moving. So that’s what Kail and I did.

Thumping our way along a peaceful country two-lane on KLR650s that morning, my thoughts half in the past from the incense of the harvest, we scoured the shoulder for a smaller road, a back road once-removed – like that one there on the right. Turning off, we faced the hulk of Thousand Lake Mountain standing like a giant in our path, its broad shoulders draped in a dozen colors of green. Accelerating over a cattle guard, we climbed quickly, holding the bikes in third gear as the surface deteriorated to a gravelly, pitted mess. The slippery road thrust aside my pleasant memories for the immediacy of controlling the bike. I wanted to enjoy the forest laid out before me, but the road became my master.

I laughed at myself for being annoyed at the very experience I’d traveled so far to enjoy. Still, I was miffed that this crummy road made me look at it instead of the scene unfolding ahead – so I stopped. Kail wasn’t surprised to see my brake light; the smaller the roads get, the more often we pull over for confabs and photos. We soaked up the scene, exchanged thumbs up and entered the forest. The contrast was startling – brilliant sun dimmed to deep shade, straight-arrow gravel road contorted to winding dirt, and the vault of blue overhead constricted to a narrow, irregular strand of color above our corridor through the trees. Deeper in the forest I hunkered down subconsciously as the roof of the sky slipped to tree-top level. Enveloped by peace and quiet, I eased up on the throttle and hushed my KLR to a whisper, sneaking like a thief through the first stand of aspen.

To be continued….

Dueling Dual-sports

My friend Alan has a keen interest in motorcycles. Like many of us, he would own several if his garage would hold them. But – also like many of us – he’s space-limited. For now he’s chosen The Hulk a Kawi ZRX-1200 and Karl, a KTM 690 SuperMoto. What he hasn’t had since selling Jughead, the Honda XR650L that he’s ridden on several adventure tours with me, is a dual-sport. Alan is looking, he’s comparing, he’s trying to make a decision about the choosing the best of the cross-breeds, those bikes that can go most anywhere and do most anything, within the limits set for them by their dirt/street bias.

Alan asks me a lot of questions about bikes, especially when he’s shopping for a new one. He knows I like the BMW F800GS I’ve owned for a year now, and that I recently rode a KTM 690 Enduro R for several hundred miles (see the December issue of Rider for my review). I knew that sooner or later he’d be asking me to compare the two. So Al, this one’s for you.

KTM 690: The lightness of a single cylinder with minimalist features
F800GS: The weight of a twin and all the amenities

KTM 690 Enduro R

KTM 690: Off pavement – swimming in a speedo, running in track shoes
F800GS: Swimming in board shorts, running in cross-trainers

KTM 690: I think I’ll pull a wheelie…NOW!
F800GS: You say the front end comes up?

KTM 690: Drop it, pick it up
F800GS: Drop it, look for help

KTM 690: This bivvy sack sucks
F800GS: No worries, I brought the BIG tent

KTM 690: This ground is hard
F800GS: This Kermit chair is comfy

KTM 690: Where’s the gas station?
F800GS: Who cares? I can go another 80 miles

KTM 690: Ticket wick
F800GS: Let that hooligan on the 690 get the tickets

KTM 690: Where’s the tool kit?
F800GS: Where’s the tool kit?

KTM 690: Trail runner
F800GS: Cross-country runner

F800GS: I could ride this to Alaska!
KTM 690: I suppose I could ride this to Alaska

BMW F800GS

F800GS: Where do I put the kitchen sink?
KTM 690: Where do I put my sleeping bag?

F800GS: Get your motor running, get out on the highway
KTM 690: Get your motor running, stay off of the highway

F800GS: I’m 35 again!
KTM 690: I’m 18 again!

F800GS: Upstanding member of society
KTM 690: Evil twin

F800GS: Single malt whisky
KTM 690: Tequila shooters

F800GS: You’d marry this one
KTM 690: But you’d date this one first

Klim Dakar Pants

Crossover gear is what I call motorcycle accessories that are designed for one kind of riding, but work well for another type as well. Klīm (pronounced clime) Dakar pants are a perfect example. Designed for off-road adventures, they make an excellent touring pant, too. [Read more]

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