14500km.
1 head on crash with a minivan.
4200km of dirt.
8 countries.
650L of fuel.
14 fuses.
3 oil changes.
2 years.
4 sets of tyres.
20L of oil.
1 top end rebuild.
8 drops.
2 MRI scans.
2 barely used left indicators.
1 triple clamp.
4 punctures.
2 mousses.
2 sets of brake pads.
7 flights.
1 chain guard.
Every holiday for the past two years I have been on the road with Poe, for the most part following the Trans Euro Trail. Those are just some of the statistics I can think of from a journey which has taken me from home in the Black Forest, over snow covered Swiss mountain passes, through a week of torrential rain in France, across eternally stunning Spanish mountains, to Portuguese plateaus, into Spanish deserts, up through the Pyrenees and France again and finally to my home island of the UK.
The map above, especially this particularly huge route, may take a minute to load. If it doesn’t a refresh often helps. I have not included the return leg, as this was done in the van and that would be cheating!
I’ve done some epic trips before, South America probably chief amongst them, but this is the first one that’s taken place over more than a year. Three years ago I became a school teacher, a decision obviously entirely unmotivated by the abundance of holidays. Ultimately that’s what led me to doing it this way, with holidays spread throughout the year which vary from one to six weeks leaving the bike in places and flying home seemed the sensible thing to do. Which leads me to one of the questions I want to answer in writing here. Was this a good approach?
Mostly, yes. Finding somewhere to store the bike has not been a problem at all, in every case a friend, workshop or the community have found somewhere for Poe to sleep for a few months. I have other bikes at home, so I am not left without anything to ride. The cost of flights has been less than the cost of driving out there with the bike in the van and even Ryanair is a damn sight more comfortable than riding even my DR350 on the motorway. The part I don’t much like has been the inability to do my own repairs and maintenance. The top end rebuild in Portugal was organised by a friend and done at a fraction of the price a workshop would charge here in Germany, but still a fair chunk of change more than doing it myself in my own workshop would cost me. The work done in the north of France was expensive and cost me a day and a wedge of cash sorting out problems that, had I done the work myself, would never have needed to be rectified.
A part of that recommendation also lies in my own psychology. If I had taken a half year off and made this trip in a big block I have no doubt I would have enjoyed it, up to a point. I know from experience that there is a length that’s just too long. But there is a point where a trip stops being a luxury and begins to transform into an obligation. There is something to be said for anticipating a thing, as much as there is for experiencing it. I had the chance to look forward to leaving for France, then I told anyone who would listen how excited I was about flying to Barcelona and continuing the journey. I was excited anew each time, even up to the final leg in the UK where the anticipactation of speaking my own language and gorging myself on fish and chips was helping carry me through the long final weeks of the school year.
How about the equipment? Is there anything I would change about what I brought with me or how I set the bike up for the trip? There isn’t a lot, I do have quite a lot of experience at this trail riding lark now. I’ve been surprised by the Adventure Spec CRF luggage racks, they do not look tough enough to take the full weight of an OS18 bag rammed full with bits and bobs. Despite some hard drops I’ve never had cause to bend the racks back out, wonky as they now look they’ve never bent so far as to be in the way of the rear wheel. Largely to accommodate my own paranoia I will be adding a bar going via the numberplate to strengthen things up. Speaking of the numberplate – it’s unexpected ejection from the bike proves that an off-the-shelf aluminium Amazon numberplate holder isn’t man enough for this kind of riding, although it made it to three days before the end of the trip.
Everything else in respect of luggage has been wonderful. The cheap handlebar bag from Louis is the perfect place for a USB charger and little bits and bobs, far superior to the tank bag I have used in the years before this trip, which always got in the way. The bike itself – close to perfect. The oil consumption was my fault, I fitted a new electric start engine without checking it’s internal condition – the top of the piston looked like the surface of the moon, the valves were a mess. Worth it though at twice the price, electric start is quite simply the ultimate luxury, I’ll never go back to the kick days. It’s the single biggest game changer I have ever fitted to this bike. The dual kick/electric start is grand and has got me out of potentially annoying dead-battery situations a couple of times.
My handlebars desperately need to be changed. They have such a high sweep that when they are set to a human compatible angle they are too close to the riding position, but if I set them further away I’m a- ridin’ the bullhorns, cowboy. Utterly comfortable when standing but I probably spent 80% or more of my time sitting, with wrists twisted into a most uncomfortable position. Somehow the body adjusts and then I get home and sit on the VFR, with it’s sporty clip-ons that then all feels completely wrong. But the bars are getting changed out for sure. Speaking of which, the 100 euro Garmin Montana 700 – so worth it. I love my little GPSMAP but there’s just no contest. Size matters.
Mousses were a worthwhile experiment, but I think I am just going to have to man up and go back to tubes. I can change a tyre easily enough when I have to even though I would much prefer not to. They are expensive, the road sections did – I suspect – eventually murder them and the bike is a better all-rounder running on air than on weird foam squishies that feel rather imprecise on the road. Shame, the feeling of invulnerability is nice.
My personal equipment I’ve had well dialled in for years now. The addition of a thick tarp for use as a groundsheet has been a nice addition, but broadly speaking I don’t think there’s much I can improve about my gear or sleep system. Some of my clothing is looking pretty worn, my AS trousers are probably not long for this world and in all honesty they don’t quite fit my gut as comfortably as I might like them to any more. Although the excess of fish and chips is, in part, to blame. Having a new helmet is utterly lovely and really shows how beaten up and skanky the old Shoei Hornet was. My gear, which I guess one day I could do a writeup on, lets me ride with a good degree of safety and comfort in all weathers in temperatures from just below zero to above 30, I can get a good night’s sleep in that same range of conditions with or without trees. So. I’d say I am pretty stowed away.
How do I feel, looking back at it all?
My opinions on long distance trail riding and motorcycle travel in general have not always been as stable as Pol Tarres on a T7, which is reflected in various articles on this very website. There have been times where I have wondered if I am just doing it because it’s the thing I do, a part of my identity, an element of how I am perceived by others and more importantly of how I perceive myself. Curiously that has not been the case on any part of this trip, except maybe a few particularly soggy moments during that rainy week in France. I’m not going to make a silly claim like “I loved every minute”. I didn’t enjoy digging the bike out of a snowdrift, I did not have a nice time covering a day of road miles in brutal heat. I did enjoy the trip at every stage though. The thought of just breaking it off and setting the satnav for “home” never crossed my mind. I found myself looking forward to every next step almost as soon as I got back home.
Before that happens though Poe needs some love. There’s a lot of servicing to do, the shock is on it’s way back to the manufacturer for a full service, the forks are proving a bitch to service, things are being disassembled, checked and greased. I have a twice bent custom triple clamp which is not going to be an easy thing to replace. There is fabrication, welding and general repair to do. Being able to indicate left without killing all of the electrics would be nice. The pain has suffered. There are bearings to replace all over the shop. Tyres, brakes, spokes, oils, valves… you name it. The paint job has not held up as well as I would have liked. The bash plate is badly bashed. I’ve a three page to-do list in the workshop. I’ll head back out there with a little more experience compensating, I hope, for an increase in age and mileage. Poe will head back out there repaired, refreshed and refined – a few steps closer to being the definitive TET bike.
I’m looking forward to the next trip as I write this. It’s been a decade since I was last in the Caucasus. I wonder what’s changed?