Adelaide Motorcycle Centre
Motorcycle Experts
Adventure Motorcycling
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UK to Cape Town: 40,000 km Ride 2-Up Beating the Odds
Published in: Rides
I sit here writing from an Airbnb in Cape Town, South Africa, somewhat in disbelief that my fiancé and I have traveled here not by plane or boat, but overland on a motorcycle. We rode out of a sleepy village in the U.K. 283 days ago with everything we’d need piled on the back of our BMW R1200GSA. An adventure that would take us over 41,000 km through 30 countries and across three continents.
Why the disbelief? Rewinding the timeline just over a year, I had no motorcycle, no motorcycle license, no riding or camping gear, and neither of us had any adventure motorcycle travel experience whatsoever. From there, we didn’t start a story of calm, easy travel on smooth tarmac roads; we were destined for true adventure. We rode some of the most challenging roads in the world, crashed in Albania, were escorted by the Iraqi military, overcame a multitude of logistical nightmares, crossed crocodile-infested rivers in the middle of the Zambian jungle, camped with tribes and rhinos, and much more.
I did have some motorcycling background. My dad, a keen biker back in the day, had me riding a 50cc Honda Monkey around the yard as a wee lad. That ignited a flame; I quickly developed a passion for anything on two wheels, spending much of my teenage years racing downhill mountain bikes and modified pit bikes.
On the other hand, Lucie had absolutely no motorcycle experience and not much interest. She had the sadly-too-common story of a motorcycle-related death in the family. Her parents remained in denial about our adventure plans until the day we wobbled up outside their home on the imposing R1200GSA. I didn’t help matters when I accidentally dropped it on their car!
Our inspiration will come as no surprise—watching Charley and Ewan on the Long Way series. As a young lad with a passion for motorcycles and a developing interest in travel, seeing that one could ride around the world on a motorcycle… well, it was one of the coolest things imaginable. But it wasn’t until we rewatched the series a few years ago, while serendipitously planning a sabbatical to travel the world, that the mental gears started turning… “Could we travel by motorcycle?” It was a thought that led down a rabbit hole of researching all things related to adventure motorcycle travel. Before long, a plan took form. We had a rough idea of a route, booked training, and eventually obtained a motorcycle license, found a suitable bike, ordered everything we’d need, and eagerly began preparing for the trip of a lifetime.
We hadn’t planned everything perfectly, though. The first time we loaded the motorcycle was the morning we left. I couldn’t believe how heavy it was… it felt like the sidestand had been welded to the ground. But thankfully, once the mighty GS got rolling, the awkwardness all but disappeared. It was easy to maneuver and very comfortable.
After some sad and somewhat concerned farewells from family and friends, we set off for the channel tunnel. The first month was spent acclimatizing to this new way of life, figuring out our gear, cautiously trying to wild camp, finding our roles, and gradually building confidence on the BMW. Eager to reach further afield, we crossed five borders in five days to arrive in Switzerland. Over the following weeks, we meandered through the Alps, crossed northern Italy to Slovenia, then followed the Adriatic coastline to Greece, where we turned inland to head east through Turkiye.
One of our big targets was the infamous Pamir Highway in Central Asia. But upon reaching Georgia, we learned the Azerbaijan border was closed indefinitely. After exhausting all the options, we reluctantly accepted that our Pamir dream was over. It seemed the universe had different plans for us. In Armenia with no feasible way of continuing east, we were left with a choice: return to Europe or turn south, through Iraq. We chose Iraq.
The experience that unfolded during our time in the beautiful desert country was one of total and complete wonderment, kindness, openness, adventure, and selfless hospitality free from expectation. We could write several articles about this alone! Our journey through this lesser-traveled part of the world demonstrated the stark difference that can exist between images and words used by the media and the actual reality of the people and culture. We were shown hospitality, kindness, and love on a whole new level. It completely took us by surprise.
Following an unforgettable time riding through Iraq, we reached Jordan and continued on to Saudi Arabia, where we took a ship across the Red Sea from Jeddah to Port Sudan, our gateway to Africa. With a warm welcome from the Sudanese bikers, we rode through the country with an open heart and open mind, despite the country’s reputation and history of unrest.
Days before we planned to leave Khartoum, the capital of Sudan, to ride to the Ethiopian border, we heard news of an overlander stuck at the border due to a change in the law. Ethiopian customs now demanded a cash bond/deposit of many multiples of a vehicle’s value. Again, it seemed the universe had different plans for our trip. After weeks of research, deliberation, and discussions with other travelers and locals, we decided to airfreight our bike to Kenya. At $4,000 including our own flights, this pushed us way over budget, but the only other option was to end the trip and fly home. We’d just landed in Africa with our sights set firmly on reaching Cape Town, and we were not ready to give up.
After finally clearing the BMW through Kenyan customs and reassembling it at the campsite, the journey continued. We spent a couple of weeks exploring Kenya and relaxing by the Indian Ocean before turning south once more to cross through Tanzania and Malawi, then west through Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, and Namibia where we reached the west coast, the Atlantic Ocean. Namibia was an absolute dream for adventure motorcycling and quickly became one of our favorite countries where we enjoyed a month of exploring remote areas off-road, getting stuck in the sand, wild camping with rhinos, and meeting so many amazing people.
Click here to read "Riding Africa's Wild West: A Namibian Adventure"
Then it was on to our final country, number 30, South Africa. Not wanting the trip to end, we explored the Western Cape and took our time slowly working towards Cape Town, where we eventually, and reluctantly, finished the trip at the Cape of Good Hope, the most southwestern point of Africa.
It’s funny how this lifestyle became so normal to us. After nine months on the road and more than 40,000 km since we left home with shiny new equipment and no experience, the day-to-day adventure motorcycle travel had now become our life, our routine, our normal. It has taught us that we (that means you, as well) are capable of so much more than we ever assumed. All it took was to believe in ourselves and get out there and do it, making mistakes and learning as we went. It’s truly amazing what can be achieved by simply taking one day at a time—when, before you realize it, you might find yourself on the other side of the planet!
The Pillion Perspective
When Matt brought up the idea of doing this trip, I had a lot of questions. At that time, we’d only had a bit of experience riding two-up on mopeds in Thailand and Indonesia. That was a great way to see areas of a country one may not otherwise visit, but it was a long way from an RTW on a GS! At the time, Matt didn’t have a motorcycle license and had never even touched a big adventure bike. But as we further researched and the planning came together, discussions of traveling by motorcycle became more normal.
I was always quite comfortable riding pillion. Being smaller folk, we had plenty of space on the big GSA and I would sit with my hands in my lap—and Matt often said that he didn’t even notice I was there. But then we had our first serious fall in Albania which ended up with me spending a night in the hospital. Our confidence went from leaning over and scraping the pegs around corners, to slowing way down and riding with caution on twisty roads. We slowly regained our confidence and again began enjoying the twisty mountain roads.
My favorite part of motorcycling is off-road riding. I love the challenge and working together as a team. Many ask, “Do you stand up?”—of course I do! I think the riding would be very hard for Matt if I didn’t and it would feel like I was being dragged around without helping at all. I stand when Matt does and sometimes even without him. In the beginning, we communicated a lot when we stood up and sat down, but eventually you learn to read the road and know when it’s necessary. The back end moves a lot more freely when I’m standing and moving my weight around. You learn the bike’s limits, and feel when it’s tipping too much. Eventually, I was really helping to prevent the bike from falling over on those rocky or sandy tracks.
Matt Shieldsand Lucie Vivian are a British couple with a thirst for adventure travel. While they enjoy sipping cocktails on the terrace of a sunset villa in the Maldives, they get much more from straying off the beaten track and trying to avoid the tourists. You can follow their adventures on YouTube and Instagram @we.are.adventure.riders.
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Book Review: Grace and Grit by William M. Murphy
Published in: Media
A Book about Motorcycle Dispatches from Early Twentieth Century Women Adventurers
Lost in the pitch black desert at night—no headlight, no moon, no sign of a trail. Slogging through heavy rainstorms and deep, sticky gumbo—washed out bridges and long detours. Negotiating mountain climbs with tortuous, narrow switchbacks where one false move meant a deadly fall….
It has all the makings of an epic adventure ride in some exotic locale, but this was the common experience in America 100 years ago for the few who dared cross the continent on motorcycles. In this case, a few intrepid women who defied the Victorian ideals of feminine behavior and became pioneers in the world of motorcycling.
Illuminating the state of transportation around the turn of the century, Grace and Grit is a well-documented and entertaining account. It tells the tales of Della Crewe, Effie and Avis Hotchkiss, and Adeline and August Van Buren, women who undertook nearly impossible journeys on “highways” which were little more than poorly marked, unimproved dirt roads and old stagecoach trails, on motorcycles that were temperamental, heavy, and difficult to operate.
Effie Hotchkiss made the difficult ride self-supported, with little fanfare and her 215-pound mother in a sidecar. Describing an incident on dirt roads in Iowa, she says, "The mud was thick and the road looked to have been stirred with a big spoon and then left to its fate, the stirring having brought up a lot of assorted rocks from the depths. I had not gone very far when the motorcycle and I took a header. This was quite humiliating as I had no inferiority complex when it came to my ability to handle a motorcycle. I was not hurt, who could be landing in the soft goo, but I cried from pure rage. I got on again and the road got worse, if that was possible, and I had another spill."
Hotchkiss and her contemporaries were capable and determined. The Van Buren sisters made their 1916 transcontinental ride as the U.S. wrestled with the question of entering World War I. They wanted to prove to the Army that women were capable of serving as dispatch riders, freeing up men for the front lines. In spite of their successful demonstration, the Army wasn't convinced, but the sisters' legacy endures. In fact, a cross-country ride in their honor is being organized to honor the centennial of their accomplishment.
I found Grace and Grit a great read and an inspiration. As author Murphy writes, “... we are the beneficiaries of everything gained by those who had the moxie to at least try, succeed or fail.” Knowing what these women accomplished, it would be difficult not to be motivated to honor them by spending more time on my own two wheels.
Title: Grace and Grit
Author: William M. Murphy
ISBN: 978-1-933926-40-7
Paperback: $17.70 | Kindle: $6.99
Publisher: Arbutus Press
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Riding in the Himalayas on Himalayans
Published in: Rides
Almost three years in the making, this trip started after seeing a photograph of a Royal Enfield Himalayan high in the Himalayas, whereupon my friends, Nash and Ladd, and I went to work planning the trip and making contacts. Royal Enfield recommended Vintage Rides (Vintagerides.travel) touring company as the best in the business. Not long after we paid our deposits and began packing our bags. That was in February of 2020, a month before COVID hit. As a result, we rescheduled and rescheduled again until June 2022. And so, it began…
Day One and Two: In Dharmsala, India, we picked up the Royal Enfield Himalayans. From there we rode into the mountains near the home of the Dalai Lama where we walked among the Tibetan monks in the land of an exiled people. At 5,280 feet, we were a mile above sea level. Although we quickly acclimated to the rules of the road, our first impression was that we’d meet our doom in the horrific traffic. Yet by the end of the trip, we miraculously never saw a single traffic accident other than witnessing a bus slide off the side of a mountain!
Day Three: Chamba, India, it rained for half the day, but at least there was less traffic. All roads were single lanes with intermittent stretches of gravel, asphalt, mud, and packed dirt, as well as a recent landslide. Cars, trucks, motorcycles, and scooters worked together to navigate around as efficiently and quickly as possible. Dinner was melt-in-our-mouths tandoori chicken and lamb.
Day Four: Killar, India, it was raining again as we rode out and continued until a police checkpoint at Sach Pass (14,420 feet) around noon. The pass was snowed in, and the police would not let us attempt it. But an hour later they let us go. Both adventure bikes and cars struggled mightily, and each of us riders fell more than once. At the top of the pass, we were able to forge on once again after a bulldozer cleared the snow. As Neil Peart wrote in Roadshow, “Adventures suck when you’re having them.” This may have been my best day ever on a motorcycle.
Day Five: Following the Chenab River to Jispa, home of an ornate 700-year-old wooden temple, we spotted a tiny farming village on the side of the mountain. One of the men was so enamored with Nash that he invited him to his home and gave him a hat made of flowers and vines. After lunch, the roads were mostly paved and much fun.
Day Six: From Tso Kar the roads got dusty and rough, but the people colorful and inviting. We met Francois, who left Paris on his Ducati Scrambler just before COVID and never stopped traveling. He’d met a young lady in Lebanon who decided to buy a motorcycle of her own in Delhi to join him. Another rider, Bhuwan from Bangalore, had been traveling on a BMW 310GS. These bikes stood out against our sea of Royal Enfields. We crossed several passes getting to Baralacha La at 16,298 feet. A first aid kit I’d strapped to my bike came in handy after our tour guide, Johann, hit a boulder tumbled. Lots of sand riding that day—I hate sand! Johann called it fesh-fesh, which reminds me of the grey moon dust I’d encountered in Iraq. We crossed about 12 miles of wide-open flat terrain where there were no roads, just multiple dirt tracks in the general direction we were headed. While our throttles were pinned skipping over rocks, a herd of running wild donkeys approached from the left and ran with us for several miles before eventually peeling away—it was like a dream sequence! Our hotel that night was at 15,000 feet, without electricity, hot water, cell service, or Internet. Bliss for some.
Day Seven: Crossing the Taglangla Pass on the way to Leh, one of the guys came down with terrible altitude sickness and was throwing up. We had no choice but to rush him down the mountain. At 17,582 feet, it’s the second highest pass in the world, made even more spectacular because we had it to ourselves. Descending through a magnificent red rock canyon, we finally arrived at Leh. There we had to change from Himalayans to Bullet 500s as part of an economic agreement that protects the locals and their ability to earn a living through tourism. The hotelier was overjoyed at our arrival as we were the first of the foreign motorcycle tours to return to Leh since COVID began. Throughout history, Leh has always depended on travelers as it was originally a stop along the Silk Road from Punjab to China. You can still see the Chinese influence on the local menu, although we stuck with Indian and Tibetan food for dinner.
Day Eight: The day started poorly when I injured my back. I could ride but was in excruciating pain. This was not a new injury, but I usually took strong painkillers and muscle relaxers for a few days to recover. It’s unwise to mix the drugs with motorcycling, so I had to tough it out. Finally, we made it to the “Crown of the World.” At 3.5 miles up (18,379 feet), Khardung La (“La” is “Pass” in the local Lehdak dialect) is touted as the highest motorable road in the world (higher passes, such as Umling La, are currently limited to military traffic due to tensions with China). Snapping a selfie at the top of the pass seems to be the No. 1 attraction in Leh, which is unfortunate because there is so much more to see. Thinksey monastery sits atop a hill overlooking the city swathed in color. The market, with its wide walkways and open spaces, gives a very European feel while preserving the Asian flavor.
Unfortunately, the return trip to Delhi was made dangerous by the traffic heading up to the pass. Prior to this, the folks we shared the road with were considerate and cooperative. But this wave of traffic behaved like they were in a race and oblivious to everyone else on the road (the only time on the bike I felt threatened by traffic). To make matters worse, on the way down, my Bullet 500 died, as did Nash’s. Switching to reserve (the Bullet is carbureted), only Nash’s bike started. Since it was all downhill, we coasted until about a half-mile from the hotel. Nash rode ahead to send the mechanic. Usually, I’m reasonably adept at diagnosing and repairing mechanical issues. Still, I wasn’t in the best of moods between the back pain, the recalcitrant old motorcycle, and the dangerous traffic. The mechanic quickly diagnosed the problem (a blown fuse) and we were on our way again.
Day Nine: After trading the Bullet 500 fleet back for our now beloved Himalayans, we followed the Indus River to Tso Moriri. The terrain changed constantly but remained rugged and mountainous. In that arid range, wherever a little rain has fallen, colors quickly blossom and rapidly fade away. There was a haunting beauty that took my breath away. Tso Moriri is the largest high-altitude lake in India and supports a diverse but sparse ecosystem. The water was brackish but crystal-clear. Nomadic Tibetan herders raise goats in this area to produce fine-quality wool (Pashmina). A 400-year-old Buddhist monastery overlooks the lake and the small town of Karzok, where we stayed in luxury tents. At 15,000 feet, we slept close to the stars on that cold, moonless night.
Day 10: Backtracking a little (conflicts in the regions prevented us from making a loop), and after five hours of mixed off-road and rock-strewn dirt roads, we were thrilled to be back on the smooth two-lane bitumen. Sweeping curves and rolling hills provided a welcome change of pace. And it was big smiles all the way to Sarchu Adventure Camp. It was cold as the sun set, but we were welcomed at the cookhouse where it was warm and full of wonderful fragrances. And the experience gave us a chance to watch a Tibetan couple working together to prepare the meal for about 25 visitors with made-from-scratch chapatis (unleavened flatbread), palak chaat (crisp spinach cakes), and aloo gogi (potatoes and cauliflower). By the time we were shooed away for dinner, our bodies were warm, and our stomachs rumbling.
Day 11: Our final riding day was almost entirely on good roads, but the environment changed again from dry desert to a land reminiscent of the Swiss Alps. We were on the way to Manali, but rather than crossing over Rohtang Pass, we took the newly completed Atal Tunnel. At 5.6 miles, it’s the longest single-tube tunnel highway above 10,000 feet in the world, saving almost 30 miles of dirt roads after a very long day. Upon its exit, we quickly dropped into the town of New Manali—an Indian mountain tourist mecca with parasailing, four-wheelers, zorbing, zip-lining, and a dinner-in-the-sky novelty restaurant. Thankfully, we continued on to Old Manali and our hotel, where we turned in the Himalayans and prepared to gather for a final dinner celebration. Dinner was at the Johnson’s Hotel Cafe and Bar, where we ate and drink like conquering warriors. The food, ambiance, and music were all first-rate, and by the time the evening was over, we were tentatively planning our next trip together. Maybe we’ll visit the eagle hunters in Mongolia….
Trip Statistics:
- Total riding distance 945 miles
- 63,519 feet of elevation climbed
James Carlisle is a retired military officer and a current fourth-grade teacher in Fairfax County, Virginia. He’s been an MSF Rider Coach for six plus years and has traveled the world on and off the motorcycle. He also works as a moto referee for USA Cycling and runs a small charity for underprivileged youth in South Carolina. When not in the classroom or riding, you can find him in his garage tinkering on cars and bikes.
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That's Texas: Three Gals Hit the Road
Published in: Rides
Where chivalry still exists, cowboys rule, and the riding is mighty fine...
It was the type of winter that drives motorcyclists crazy because the snow and cold temperatures had extended into April—that typical Idaho winter where riders long for sunshine and the first glimpse of spring flowers to herald the riding season. In January, I had purchased a 2006 950 KTM Adventure and my thoughts were consumed with taking a trip on her. Lamenting this to my friend Carolyn, she invited me to ride to Texas and see what made her state so great.
Departure day dawned frigid and snowy, no surprise in Idaho, so I waited until late morning for the roads to be cleared. The snowfall made for spectacular contrasts in the canyon country of Utah, but it was too cold to camp so I overnighted with friends and pushed on, eager for warmer climes.
Taking the long way to Texas, in Arizona I looked up my friend Sydney, a female rider I’d met the year before, when we were both riding to Alaska. At dinner we chatted about my trip to Texas and my plans of meeting my friend Carolyn to do some dual-sport riding in Big Bend National Park. On an impulse, Sydney decided to join us, and went to work the next day requesting a week off.
Sydney, Carolyn and I met up in Fort Stockton, Texas. At the campground we drew a crowd as we pitched our tents. For we three independent travelers, it’s common to travel solo, camp off the grid and be self-sufficient. But to the RVers, we were definitely unusual. Other campers took photos of us and asked questions about our travels, as if we were a rare American breed.
The following day it was an easy ride down to south of Alpine. Our destination was Cowhead Ranch, an Old West-style guest ranch where we could bunk for about $20 per night. Voni and Paul Glaves, Texas friends who hosted me on my South America trip, own an adobe across the street, so it was a natural stopping point.
Paul had agreed to be supervising mechanic for some minor repairs of mine, including my first rear tire change on the KTM. After a day at the adobe doing small fitment repairs and general tightening of nuts and bolts on all three bikes, we had dinner with Voni, Paul, and Cowboy Chris from the Cowhead Ranch, not expecting to see them again in just a couple of days.
It would be a shame to be in that part of Texas and not visit Terlingua, so that’s where we headed the next morning. Terlingua is a ghost town that’s slowly being refurbished and brought back to life; it has even entered the digital age with a dot com on the town’s sign.
Home to squatters and renters, artists and shopkeepers, locals and transplants, you’ll meet most on a walk through the small town. With a reputation for being home to a broad range of independent thinking, most residents are colorful characters in one way or another.
After lunch, it was exciting to ride into Big Bend National Park. None of us had ridden there before, and the dirt roads on a borrowed map teased us. It was a perfect Texas riding day—sun shining high and not too hot, with a warm breeze. Riding until the shadows fell long, the three of us found a campsite at the Rio Grande Village Campground for the night.
We didn’t want to chance losing our gear by leaving it in the campground, so Carolyn, Sydney and I were heavily loaded. This was not ideal, and we decided to take local advice and stick to some of the easier off-road tracks through the park, although the way wasn’t always clear.
Because of the dust, we rode at a distance from one another—periodically we’d catch up, look at the map and make directional adjustments, then take off for the next junction. During one of these excursions, while picking my way through a particularly rocky trail, I came across Sydney’s downed bike, with her in excruciating pain.
What to do? We were in the middle of nowhere with no cell reception and limited options. Incredibly, Sydney offered to ride out. We managed to get her on the bike, and somehow made it to the nearest paved road. Once we were rolling on tarmac things didn’t seem so bad, although stopping was pure anguish. Together we came up with a plan that involved riding back to Voni and Paul’s with Sydney sandwiched in the middle, not stopping at corners and cautiously rolling through stop signs.
Voni and Paul lived along the direction to the Alpine Hospital, so we figured it would be easier and faster to head their way. The boys were terrific and quickly shuffled Sydney into the car and took her to the hospital while we waited at the adobe for news.
Sure enough, Sydney’s ankle was broken and it was the end of the trip for her. She’d catch a train back to Arizona and pick up her bike in a few months after she’d healed. It was sad to say goodbye. Very few times in our lives did we manage a dual-sport adventure just with gal pals, and it was a shame to have it end in injury.
Carolyn and I headed back into Big Bend, but without Sydney it wasn’t the same. After a couple of days we decided to head to Carolyn’s place south of Waco, and do some day riding from there.
As we rolled into Amistad Reservoir late in the afternoon, we strategically pitched our tents at the water’s edge. But our seemingly idyllic location turned out to be the local party spot, and around 2:00 a.m. a group of drunken locals arrived at a nearby boat launch, hollering and partying, with music blaring from their pickup. Unfortunately, they also spied the bikes.
Our bikes had drawn a lot of attention during the trip, Carolyn’s KLR because of its unique camouflage wrap, and mine because it was a lesser-known brand. This was true even in the middle of the night. We huddled frightened in our tents without saying a word, listening to the revelers’ footsteps as they walked around the bikes.
We hoped that, because we were riding large enduros, the partiers would assume we were men and keep a more respectful distance. Sure enough, they eventually stumbled back to their pickup and drove off. As the country music receded into the distance the next thing we heard was even scarier—a lone set of footsteps walking around our bikes.
I peeked out of my tent and saw a dark silhouette standing between the machines. Did they pretend to drive off and leave someone behind? Were they just pretending to leave and then were going to circle back on foot? I laid there petrified long after all the sounds were gone, too frightened to whisper to Carolyn, “Did you hear that?” I didn’t want to add a woman’s voice to the mix of the night’s events.
The next morning we discovered that the lone footsteps were a vacationing Texas Ranger on leave. He was camped down the lake and had heard the partiers come to our site. He also knew we were women camping alone, and had come by to see if we were all right. God Bless Texas.
We packed up early and after a long day’s ride through Hill Country we were no longer keen on weekend remote camping in Texas. Instead, Carolyn led us to her friend Norm’s ranch. He let us set up our tents in the “back forty” and was surprised we didn’t ask to sleep inside, but we had been too exhausted to think of it.
The next morning Norm treated us to a cowboy breakfast of home-cooked biscuits and bacon. He proudly showed off his prized bull, tame to him, and gave us a tour of the old homestead—the smokehouse, butchery and bunkhouses. Carolyn had been there before, but for me it was a privileged view into true Texas cattle ranching.
We said goodbye to Norm and made it back to Carolyn’s ranch by late afternoon. There were lots of chores to be done, so we pitched right in. Carolyn keeps a combination of farm critters and rescued camels along with other exotic animals, and her husband was more than happy to have our help, so I stayed a few days before it was time for farewells.
After a taste of Texas, with all of its harshness, beauty and unique brand of hospitality, it was difficult to head home. Good thing it’s such a big state; there is plenty more to explore.
Postscript:
Sydney’s broken ankle healed just fine. True to her adventurous spirit, she quit her job two years later and rode her motorcycle for five and a half months around the United States. Alisa and Carolyn continue to meet in interesting places and ride together, and have just registered for the 2015 all-female Rallye Aïcha des Gazelles (Gazelle Rally) in Morocco. They will be the first American motorcycle competitors on motorcycles in the 25 year history of the rally.
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DoubleTake Mirrors Version 2.0 Review
Published in: Gear
We might not pay much attention to them sometimes, but rearview mirrors are one of the most important safety components on our bikes. As adventure riders, we place special demands on them. We tend to ride bumpy, uneven surfaces with thumpy motors that vibrate more than street bikes. Stock mirrors often don’t adjust easily, or fold down for trail riding, or articulate enough for that “just-right” viewing angle around our elbows. And stock mirrors also tend to break too easily when the bike is dropped. Ned Suess’s in-house-designed DoubleTake mirrors solved many of these problems by using the widely popular RAM ball mounting system. And for many years it seemed to work all right… or did it?
The DoubleTake team set out to tackle a few issues inherent to the original RAM mount design, which largely stemmed from the ball’s squishy rubber that tended to degrade over time. Ned’s Version 2.0 now utilizes a larger 1.125-inch ball at the base (the mirror end is still the same) that has an aluminum core with a crush-resistant nitrile coating. This modification makes the entire mounting system more rigid and should last much longer under rigorous use than the old solid rubber RAM ball system that would crush, crack and flex over time.
Another notable improvement is the new custom-cast arms. They resemble a melon baller, and the “scoops” grab more ball surface than the RAM-style arms could. The new arms are also thinner and lighter; they provide a more positive grip while also being slightly longer (by 3.5 or 6 inches, depending on the model). Further, the oversized tension knobs make adjusting the mirrors on the fly really easy, even with gloves on.
Other than the shell molding around the mirror shapes, there doesn’t appear to be other changes of note. The same three Adventure (polygonal), Dual Sport (round) and Enduro (round with extension) mirror types are still options as they seem to fit almost every need or preference.
DoubleTake Version 2.0 installation is simple, too. Just remove the stock mirrors down to the base, install one of the three included bolts through the new base ball with an 8mm allen wrench, slap on the arm and mirror being sure to match the larger scoop in the arm to the base-ball, and you’re good to go.
It’s not easy to innovate simple designs, but DoubleTake has done a good job making important improvements to an already very capable product. Given the versatility and quality of Ned’s home-grown kits, we would recommend DoubleTake’s Version 2.0 mirror kits for pretty much any motorcycle as an upgraded mirror system.
DoubleTakeMirror.com | Also available on Amazon.com
MSRP:$127 (Enduro and Dual-Sport) to $145 (Adventure) per set
PROS:
- Stronger clamping and longer life
- Easier adjustment
- Small privately owned U.S. company
- Lifetime warranty
CONS:
- No spring-loaded arms
- Pricey for mirrors (but arguably very worth it)
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