cloudgazer
Grey Hound
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2007
- Messages
- 5,135
- Reaction score
- 5
- Bike
- BMW F650GS / Dakar
Oh My God! This was insane.
Riding in and out of Die Hel was supposed to be the challenging part of my trip. But that was nothing compared to this!
High up in the mountains rain and mist had turned the road into a river of treacherously slippery mud, and my bike was sliding all over the place. To make matters worse my visor had fogged up reducing visibility to zero. Not good. Not good at all. But at least I couldn’t see the terrifying drops. I was going to get killed by the mudmonster up here in the cold misty heights of the Swartberg.
How the hell did I get here?
It had all started so well a couple of days before.
Easter weekend.
And my long, and eagerly, awaited solo trip to Die Hel had finally arrived. I’d waited months to do this trip. It was going to be a bit of a challenge for me – I’d never done a 4-day solo ride into some fairly difficult terrain before. The name and all the other ride reports I’d read made it seem truly adventurous! Die Hel.
I’d planned to get going early on Friday morning as I had a pretty long ride to Prince Albert ahead, but… didn’t get going till almost 10am. My route took me over the familiar Bain’s Kloof pass and on to Ceres. Not much I can say about this road. I’ve ridden it so many times now, my earlier fears about it seem silly. I also remember hating the pass that brings you into Ceres. Not any more, now I love this piece of road. Amazing what familiarity breeds.
I got onto the dirt just after Ceres. Finally. It’s the moment we all enjoy, the smooth feel of the tar giving way to gravel. The way your tyres suddenly sound so different. And the way your bike finally comes alive, like it’s suddenly awake, in it’s element, and ready to play.
Getting into the rhythm of the new surface always takes me a few minutes. At first I’m super excited and nervous about it, but then I settle into it, and just go with the flow of the road.
It’s so peaceful and desolate out there – I encountered only one Land Cruiser the entire afternoon.
I stopped to take a picture of this beautiful part of the world – and that’s when the first crisis of my weekend happened…
And a crisis is quite simply an event that you had not considered in all your weeks of planning and packing, deciding what to take, what’s too important to leave behind. Suddenly all that planning comes to nought.
I’d switched off my cellphone earlier to conserve the battery. Now turning it on again, it asked me for a PIN.
WTF?
A PIN?
I have no idea what my PIN is.
I tried 4 zeros.
No go.
I tried 1810, cause for some reason that number popped into my head.
It didn’t work.
Neither did my third and final attempt.
Now my phone was locked and I’d need to get a PUK number.
Damn! Out here the cell phone was my lifeline, how the hell would I get hold of BMW-on-call without it?
I decided not to worry about it – and for the first time ever plugged some headphones into my Zumo and listened to some music while I rode on.
I’ve never been a fan of listening to music while you ride, but out here with no taxis trying to kill you or traffic to worry about it was awesome. It helped me relax, and I enjoyed my ride all the way to Laingsburg.
At the Wimpy I thought I’d try get hold of Vodacom to see what could be done about my phone. All the staff were very helpful trying to find me a customer care number, and one of the waitresses actually lent me her phone so I could make the call.
The ride from there to Prince Albert was uneventful.
Prince Albert is a picturesque little town. Definitely a good spot to visit with the missus if a romantic lazy weekend shopping for pseudo home made antiques and fresh jam is what you’re after.
I stayed at a place called Bushman’s Valley, which is just one the other side of town en route to Die Hel.
It’s a great place, and I can highly recommend it.
Cheap.
Clean.
And very fucking beautiful!
Set in a little valley with a river, what more can you ask for? Once I’d setup camp I returned to town for a beer and to buy some meat for dinner.
Back at the campsite I met Braam and his wife (he on a 1200GS, she on a 650 single). A very nice couple, whom I bummed some fire-lighters from (Something I’d deliberately not packed). Another couple kept my ice in their cooler box so I could enjoy my Jack ice-cold all night. The stars never cease to amaze me when I go camping, and the galaxy provided my night’s entertainment.
DAY 2: THE RIDE INTO DIE HEL
Riding into the Swartberg was awe-inspiring. I felt a bit like Indiana Jones riding between those tower cliffs before the climb up to Die Hel’s entrance. I wanted to take pics, but figured my iPhone would never do it justice – besides I just wanted to get to Die Hel. I was amped and revving to go.
After so many months of reading about the place, I was finally gonna get to ride it myself.
Then came my second crisis, the GPS kept switching off. Not that I needed it to get where I was going, there’s only one way in and out of Die Hel. It’s not like I could get lost or anything. This was not the time to worry about the bloody thing. I had a ride to enjoy.
And wow, did I enjoy it! A lot of people told me to be wary of traffic especially since it was a long weekend.
But I did not see a single car going in or coming out. The only person I encountered (about half way) was a guy called Johan on a GS1200, he told me GreenMamba and Captain Slow were at the bottom. Oh, and I came across some crazy cyclists preddling their hearts out, but they hardly qualify as people.
The ride contained a few rocks, 2 small water crossings, ascents and descents and more hairpin turns than I can count.
Every 10 minutes I was shouting ‘Ho-leeeee Sheeee-it’ into my helmet.
The views were unbelievable, and around every corner a new magnificent vista opened up.
The time passed all too quickly and before I knew it my hard sweaty work was over, and I was at my destination.
I spent the afternoon chilling at the camp site. I really didn’t do much, had some beers, dozed, read, snacked. The camp site started to fill up much later in the afternoon.
A family arrived in a Land Rover and parked it near where I was sitting. The owners left their vehicle to scout which spot they wanted.
All of a sudden this huge baboon appeared out of nowhere. He jumped into the open passenger window, did a somersault, grabbed a bottle of water, and dived out the driver side window. It was also brilliant and professional like. I’m pretty certain he was humming the Mission Impossible tune while he did it.
Dum dum dah-dah dum-dum,
tootle-loo, tootle-loo,
dum dum dah-dah dum-dum.
Man, I laughed so hard. When I told the guy what happened, he looked in his car, but couldn’t decide exactly what the baboon had taken. “At least, its not my iPhone,” he said. Excellent, a man with priorities.
DAY 3: OUT OF DIE HEL AND STRAIGHT INTO HELL
On Sunday I awoke to sounds of kids hunting for easter eggs.
Oooh yummy…
Uh, I mean the chocolate eggs, not the kids. I love kids, but could never eat a whole one. Easter eggs, now that’s a different story.
Fortunately I didn’t have to scour the thorn tress for any goodies as my neighbourly neighbours simply gave me some marshmallow eggs. Annette and Tarynne, and… Daniel? (maybe) were all very nice. They were the keepers-of-my-ice the previous night. The easter eggs went down very well with my mug of espresso.
It was much cooler today, the clouds having drifted in overnight. There was no rain forecast, but you can never be too sure in the mountains.
The ride out was a piece of cake. I didn’t even break a sweat (and no the cooler weather had nothing to do with it). Except, of course, today there was a shit load of traffic. I must have encountered at least a dozen cars coming into Die Hel. All of them drove well, decent speeds, courteous and all that. Except for a woman in a kombi, she was driving like a bat out of hell. Bloody idiot.
At the entrance to Die Hel I noticed some people taking pics of the sign. I stopped and said hello, and they immediately advised me to be careful if I was going to Oudtshoorn. They said the road was slippery. I didn’t really pay much attention, not that it would have made any difference if I had.
I still hadn’t turned on my GPS, so had no idea what was in store for me.
As far as I was concerned I was already at the top of the Swartberg Pass. I didn’t know it got any higher. And I sure as hell didn’t know it was rainy and misty either. Or that I’d meet a mudmonster the size of Godzilla.
Getting up to the top was okay, but coming down the other side was hell. I’d never ridden in rain and mud before, certainly not coming down a mountain pass. This was a whole lot of firsts rolled into one. I was traveling in first and second gear only. It didn’t help that my visor started misting. I couldn’t see squat. All I knew is I had to go forward one inch at a time.
Pretty stupid actually. Because when I finally found a little shoulder where I could pull off the road, I realized the visibility was better than I’d thought. Once I’d cleaned and dried my visor it was much better, and the rest of the journey down was no longer terrifying but rather exciting. This was, I realized, what adventure riding is all about. I was as happy as the proverbial pig in the mud, and didn’t look much different either.
EDIT: Oh yeah, I just remembered why I’d stopped on the pass. I was worried that my phone was not safe enough in my waterproof pocket, and that it should go inside a plastic bag as well… just to be safe.
Oudtshoorn was pumping, the KKNK in full swing. The streets were crowded with people, and restaurants were all full. It looked like the carnival or World Cup had come to town. All I could think about after my near-death-experience was a good meal. I rode up and down the main road looking for a suitable venue (ie, one that was packed with hot girls), I eventually settled on a place called Jemima’s, it had a nice vibe, was packed with people, had a bevy of beautiful ladies at the tables, but unfortunately I didn’t see Steve Hofmeyer sitting there. I may have been tempted to go to the Wimpy.
I ordered a huge fillet (medium rare) and a glass of red wine, and sat there in my wet muddy kit, and felt like I was having the last supper, but actually it was more like the first meal of my new life. The cold wet horror of swartberg pass got drowned in warming red wine.
Oudtshoorn was so full the only camping spot I could get was at the aeroclub. Great.
I got to sleep next to an airfield. It wasn’t actually a campsite but rather the lawn outside the clubhouse. There may have been no place for me to make a fire, but hey, at least there was a fully stocked bar just a few meters away. Not that it bothered me, I wasn’t in town for the festival. Oudtshoorn was just an over night stop on my way home. I had an early dinner, crawled into my tent and watched a movie on my iPhone.
I must add my little 2-man tent looked ridiculously small and insignificant amongst the caravans, walk-in tents, outdoor lounges and kitchen sinks.
DAY 4: THE BIG SURPRISE!
I was awake early. Earlier than the intrepid (read: stupid) people inflating some hot air balloons on this cold gray morning. Since I didn’t cook or fully unpack yesterday, breaking camp was quick.
Today for me was merely the trip home. When planning this ride, I’d never given much thought to the route home. This trip was always about Die Hel itself. Oudtshoorn to Cape Town resembled the long boring trek back home.
Oh-My-god, how wrong I was. I thought my ‘adventure’ was going to Die Hel, and while it was the purpose of the trip, day 4 suddenly represented the true adventure part for me.
What was so adventurous about Die Hel? I felt like I knew the place before I went because I’d heard so much about it. It was a great ride, don’t get me wrong, but the adventure turned out to be the trip home. I could not absolutely trust my GPS to be working, I had no other mpas with me, and in truth didn’t have a clue where I was.
When planning the route I had just looked at the RoadTrip maps, and plotted what looked like a nice meandering route to Barrydale. I figured the roads would be like the wide gravel highways in the overberg.
These turned out to be some of the best roads I’ve ever ridden. It was scenic, it was chilled, it became challenging, a bit technical here and there, a river crossing, eighty metres of pebbles, farm tracks, everything. Adventure riding heaven. Unfortunately it also had gates, lots and lots of gates. I think I must have opened 8 of em, and rode through another 8 that were thankfully already open.
The roads and the views were not quite on the same majestic scale as Die Hel, but they were absolutely fantastic.
Today my GPS worked like a charm, and my bike seemed to float over every obstacle, always found the right line, and was a pure pleasure to ride.
I did not encounter a single vehicle the entire morning, not until I got to Barrydale where I stopped for an early lunch. I had plotted another unknown meandering route from Barrydale back home, but after my meal I was feeling decidedly lazy and opted for the most direct route.
From Barrydale back to Cape Townthe traffic along the R62 and N1 was almost bumper to bumper. There were even traffic jams entering Montagu, Robertson and Worcester. I guess everybody takes this route back after the long weekend. I almost regretted my decision to take the direct route home, but not quite.
What an awesome ride. From the desolate plains of day 1, to the majestic mountains of the Swartberg, to the great surprise of the last day, it was all just fantastic.
I’ll do this route again for sure.
And while this may not have been the most epic adventure ever undertaken. It was an adventure for me.
I was by myself visiting places I’d never been, following routes I knew nothing about. I never really felt out of my depth or overly concerned about an obstacle I faced, and the unexpected surprises on the route only made it that much more thrilling.
There is no doubt that my next solo trip will be bigger and better and just as enjoyable.
A NOTE ABOUT MY BIKE
The Dakar represents the true spirit of adventure riding. Each day once I’d setup camp I’d marvel at my beautiful bike. I could stare at it for hours.
Sure I’d be happy with a KTM 990 or the awesome 1200GSA, or even the KTM 640 Adventure (the best looking DS bike ever), but somehow none of these other bikes seems to move me in the same way as the Dakar. I don’t know what it is. It could be the colour, the shape of the tank, the very MX-looking front wheel, or possibly just the name, whatever…. No other bike seems to represent the spirit of adventure as much as the Dakar.
Riding in and out of Die Hel was supposed to be the challenging part of my trip. But that was nothing compared to this!
High up in the mountains rain and mist had turned the road into a river of treacherously slippery mud, and my bike was sliding all over the place. To make matters worse my visor had fogged up reducing visibility to zero. Not good. Not good at all. But at least I couldn’t see the terrifying drops. I was going to get killed by the mudmonster up here in the cold misty heights of the Swartberg.
How the hell did I get here?
It had all started so well a couple of days before.
Easter weekend.
And my long, and eagerly, awaited solo trip to Die Hel had finally arrived. I’d waited months to do this trip. It was going to be a bit of a challenge for me – I’d never done a 4-day solo ride into some fairly difficult terrain before. The name and all the other ride reports I’d read made it seem truly adventurous! Die Hel.
I’d planned to get going early on Friday morning as I had a pretty long ride to Prince Albert ahead, but… didn’t get going till almost 10am. My route took me over the familiar Bain’s Kloof pass and on to Ceres. Not much I can say about this road. I’ve ridden it so many times now, my earlier fears about it seem silly. I also remember hating the pass that brings you into Ceres. Not any more, now I love this piece of road. Amazing what familiarity breeds.
I got onto the dirt just after Ceres. Finally. It’s the moment we all enjoy, the smooth feel of the tar giving way to gravel. The way your tyres suddenly sound so different. And the way your bike finally comes alive, like it’s suddenly awake, in it’s element, and ready to play.
Getting into the rhythm of the new surface always takes me a few minutes. At first I’m super excited and nervous about it, but then I settle into it, and just go with the flow of the road.
It’s so peaceful and desolate out there – I encountered only one Land Cruiser the entire afternoon.
I stopped to take a picture of this beautiful part of the world – and that’s when the first crisis of my weekend happened…
And a crisis is quite simply an event that you had not considered in all your weeks of planning and packing, deciding what to take, what’s too important to leave behind. Suddenly all that planning comes to nought.
I’d switched off my cellphone earlier to conserve the battery. Now turning it on again, it asked me for a PIN.
WTF?
A PIN?
I have no idea what my PIN is.
I tried 4 zeros.
No go.
I tried 1810, cause for some reason that number popped into my head.
It didn’t work.
Neither did my third and final attempt.
Now my phone was locked and I’d need to get a PUK number.
Damn! Out here the cell phone was my lifeline, how the hell would I get hold of BMW-on-call without it?
I decided not to worry about it – and for the first time ever plugged some headphones into my Zumo and listened to some music while I rode on.
I’ve never been a fan of listening to music while you ride, but out here with no taxis trying to kill you or traffic to worry about it was awesome. It helped me relax, and I enjoyed my ride all the way to Laingsburg.
At the Wimpy I thought I’d try get hold of Vodacom to see what could be done about my phone. All the staff were very helpful trying to find me a customer care number, and one of the waitresses actually lent me her phone so I could make the call.
The ride from there to Prince Albert was uneventful.
Prince Albert is a picturesque little town. Definitely a good spot to visit with the missus if a romantic lazy weekend shopping for pseudo home made antiques and fresh jam is what you’re after.
I stayed at a place called Bushman’s Valley, which is just one the other side of town en route to Die Hel.
It’s a great place, and I can highly recommend it.
Cheap.
Clean.
And very fucking beautiful!
Set in a little valley with a river, what more can you ask for? Once I’d setup camp I returned to town for a beer and to buy some meat for dinner.
Back at the campsite I met Braam and his wife (he on a 1200GS, she on a 650 single). A very nice couple, whom I bummed some fire-lighters from (Something I’d deliberately not packed). Another couple kept my ice in their cooler box so I could enjoy my Jack ice-cold all night. The stars never cease to amaze me when I go camping, and the galaxy provided my night’s entertainment.
DAY 2: THE RIDE INTO DIE HEL
Riding into the Swartberg was awe-inspiring. I felt a bit like Indiana Jones riding between those tower cliffs before the climb up to Die Hel’s entrance. I wanted to take pics, but figured my iPhone would never do it justice – besides I just wanted to get to Die Hel. I was amped and revving to go.
After so many months of reading about the place, I was finally gonna get to ride it myself.
Then came my second crisis, the GPS kept switching off. Not that I needed it to get where I was going, there’s only one way in and out of Die Hel. It’s not like I could get lost or anything. This was not the time to worry about the bloody thing. I had a ride to enjoy.
And wow, did I enjoy it! A lot of people told me to be wary of traffic especially since it was a long weekend.
But I did not see a single car going in or coming out. The only person I encountered (about half way) was a guy called Johan on a GS1200, he told me GreenMamba and Captain Slow were at the bottom. Oh, and I came across some crazy cyclists preddling their hearts out, but they hardly qualify as people.
The ride contained a few rocks, 2 small water crossings, ascents and descents and more hairpin turns than I can count.
Every 10 minutes I was shouting ‘Ho-leeeee Sheeee-it’ into my helmet.
The views were unbelievable, and around every corner a new magnificent vista opened up.
The time passed all too quickly and before I knew it my hard sweaty work was over, and I was at my destination.
I spent the afternoon chilling at the camp site. I really didn’t do much, had some beers, dozed, read, snacked. The camp site started to fill up much later in the afternoon.
A family arrived in a Land Rover and parked it near where I was sitting. The owners left their vehicle to scout which spot they wanted.
All of a sudden this huge baboon appeared out of nowhere. He jumped into the open passenger window, did a somersault, grabbed a bottle of water, and dived out the driver side window. It was also brilliant and professional like. I’m pretty certain he was humming the Mission Impossible tune while he did it.
Dum dum dah-dah dum-dum,
tootle-loo, tootle-loo,
dum dum dah-dah dum-dum.
Man, I laughed so hard. When I told the guy what happened, he looked in his car, but couldn’t decide exactly what the baboon had taken. “At least, its not my iPhone,” he said. Excellent, a man with priorities.
DAY 3: OUT OF DIE HEL AND STRAIGHT INTO HELL
On Sunday I awoke to sounds of kids hunting for easter eggs.
Oooh yummy…
Uh, I mean the chocolate eggs, not the kids. I love kids, but could never eat a whole one. Easter eggs, now that’s a different story.
Fortunately I didn’t have to scour the thorn tress for any goodies as my neighbourly neighbours simply gave me some marshmallow eggs. Annette and Tarynne, and… Daniel? (maybe) were all very nice. They were the keepers-of-my-ice the previous night. The easter eggs went down very well with my mug of espresso.
It was much cooler today, the clouds having drifted in overnight. There was no rain forecast, but you can never be too sure in the mountains.
The ride out was a piece of cake. I didn’t even break a sweat (and no the cooler weather had nothing to do with it). Except, of course, today there was a shit load of traffic. I must have encountered at least a dozen cars coming into Die Hel. All of them drove well, decent speeds, courteous and all that. Except for a woman in a kombi, she was driving like a bat out of hell. Bloody idiot.
At the entrance to Die Hel I noticed some people taking pics of the sign. I stopped and said hello, and they immediately advised me to be careful if I was going to Oudtshoorn. They said the road was slippery. I didn’t really pay much attention, not that it would have made any difference if I had.
I still hadn’t turned on my GPS, so had no idea what was in store for me.
As far as I was concerned I was already at the top of the Swartberg Pass. I didn’t know it got any higher. And I sure as hell didn’t know it was rainy and misty either. Or that I’d meet a mudmonster the size of Godzilla.
Getting up to the top was okay, but coming down the other side was hell. I’d never ridden in rain and mud before, certainly not coming down a mountain pass. This was a whole lot of firsts rolled into one. I was traveling in first and second gear only. It didn’t help that my visor started misting. I couldn’t see squat. All I knew is I had to go forward one inch at a time.
Pretty stupid actually. Because when I finally found a little shoulder where I could pull off the road, I realized the visibility was better than I’d thought. Once I’d cleaned and dried my visor it was much better, and the rest of the journey down was no longer terrifying but rather exciting. This was, I realized, what adventure riding is all about. I was as happy as the proverbial pig in the mud, and didn’t look much different either.
EDIT: Oh yeah, I just remembered why I’d stopped on the pass. I was worried that my phone was not safe enough in my waterproof pocket, and that it should go inside a plastic bag as well… just to be safe.
Oudtshoorn was pumping, the KKNK in full swing. The streets were crowded with people, and restaurants were all full. It looked like the carnival or World Cup had come to town. All I could think about after my near-death-experience was a good meal. I rode up and down the main road looking for a suitable venue (ie, one that was packed with hot girls), I eventually settled on a place called Jemima’s, it had a nice vibe, was packed with people, had a bevy of beautiful ladies at the tables, but unfortunately I didn’t see Steve Hofmeyer sitting there. I may have been tempted to go to the Wimpy.
I ordered a huge fillet (medium rare) and a glass of red wine, and sat there in my wet muddy kit, and felt like I was having the last supper, but actually it was more like the first meal of my new life. The cold wet horror of swartberg pass got drowned in warming red wine.
Oudtshoorn was so full the only camping spot I could get was at the aeroclub. Great.
I got to sleep next to an airfield. It wasn’t actually a campsite but rather the lawn outside the clubhouse. There may have been no place for me to make a fire, but hey, at least there was a fully stocked bar just a few meters away. Not that it bothered me, I wasn’t in town for the festival. Oudtshoorn was just an over night stop on my way home. I had an early dinner, crawled into my tent and watched a movie on my iPhone.
I must add my little 2-man tent looked ridiculously small and insignificant amongst the caravans, walk-in tents, outdoor lounges and kitchen sinks.
DAY 4: THE BIG SURPRISE!
I was awake early. Earlier than the intrepid (read: stupid) people inflating some hot air balloons on this cold gray morning. Since I didn’t cook or fully unpack yesterday, breaking camp was quick.
Today for me was merely the trip home. When planning this ride, I’d never given much thought to the route home. This trip was always about Die Hel itself. Oudtshoorn to Cape Town resembled the long boring trek back home.
Oh-My-god, how wrong I was. I thought my ‘adventure’ was going to Die Hel, and while it was the purpose of the trip, day 4 suddenly represented the true adventure part for me.
What was so adventurous about Die Hel? I felt like I knew the place before I went because I’d heard so much about it. It was a great ride, don’t get me wrong, but the adventure turned out to be the trip home. I could not absolutely trust my GPS to be working, I had no other mpas with me, and in truth didn’t have a clue where I was.
When planning the route I had just looked at the RoadTrip maps, and plotted what looked like a nice meandering route to Barrydale. I figured the roads would be like the wide gravel highways in the overberg.
These turned out to be some of the best roads I’ve ever ridden. It was scenic, it was chilled, it became challenging, a bit technical here and there, a river crossing, eighty metres of pebbles, farm tracks, everything. Adventure riding heaven. Unfortunately it also had gates, lots and lots of gates. I think I must have opened 8 of em, and rode through another 8 that were thankfully already open.
The roads and the views were not quite on the same majestic scale as Die Hel, but they were absolutely fantastic.
Today my GPS worked like a charm, and my bike seemed to float over every obstacle, always found the right line, and was a pure pleasure to ride.
I did not encounter a single vehicle the entire morning, not until I got to Barrydale where I stopped for an early lunch. I had plotted another unknown meandering route from Barrydale back home, but after my meal I was feeling decidedly lazy and opted for the most direct route.
From Barrydale back to Cape Townthe traffic along the R62 and N1 was almost bumper to bumper. There were even traffic jams entering Montagu, Robertson and Worcester. I guess everybody takes this route back after the long weekend. I almost regretted my decision to take the direct route home, but not quite.
What an awesome ride. From the desolate plains of day 1, to the majestic mountains of the Swartberg, to the great surprise of the last day, it was all just fantastic.
I’ll do this route again for sure.
And while this may not have been the most epic adventure ever undertaken. It was an adventure for me.
I was by myself visiting places I’d never been, following routes I knew nothing about. I never really felt out of my depth or overly concerned about an obstacle I faced, and the unexpected surprises on the route only made it that much more thrilling.
There is no doubt that my next solo trip will be bigger and better and just as enjoyable.
A NOTE ABOUT MY BIKE
The Dakar represents the true spirit of adventure riding. Each day once I’d setup camp I’d marvel at my beautiful bike. I could stare at it for hours.
Sure I’d be happy with a KTM 990 or the awesome 1200GSA, or even the KTM 640 Adventure (the best looking DS bike ever), but somehow none of these other bikes seems to move me in the same way as the Dakar. I don’t know what it is. It could be the colour, the shape of the tank, the very MX-looking front wheel, or possibly just the name, whatever…. No other bike seems to represent the spirit of adventure as much as the Dakar.
