I'd been hankering after a bike trip to Damara and Kaokoland for years, but believe it or not, it wasn't without considerable persuasion that I joined this motley crew. In spite of the fact that they are all some of the finest specimens of humanity, and that I truly felt honoured to have been invited, I had a strong sense of trepidation in joining them. I knew for one that since this was not going to be one of those dirt highway trips, I'd in all likelihood be operating on the edge or outside my skill envelope a lot of the time. The Rock-Star, Ian, has a magnetic penchant for sand. He seeks it out wherever it is, and heads for it like a dog that's caught the scent of a bitch on heat. I on the other hand, have always looked at it as the enemy, and coward that I am I've always sought devious ways to avoid it at all costs. "Ha", said the Rock-Star, "You'll be styling it by the end of this trip!"
So it was that I, the charlatan prof, reluctantly traded my pristine and super-civilised 990R for a dirty tart of a bike. For reasons of compromise, I settled on a 690 - an imperfect machine in more ways than the 990 is perfect. But it is lighter, this one had the required fuel range, that motor is actually quite impressive.... I suppose if I'm to be honest, I always knew where the weak link was going to be. I was just trying to talk myself out of it all. The trepidation was strong, but the boys were not taking no for an answer, and their excitement was infectious.
Topic: Travels through God’s own motorcycle country (Read 26189 times)
