The Evel Knievel Museum is attached to Historic Harley-Davidson but draws support from the entire Topeka community. The world-class operation is obviously a source of civic pride.
The shot of George Hamilton racing toward the canyon and destiny in the 1971 movie, “Evel Knievel,” had my eyes glued to the screen at our local theater. Like many kids in the ’70s, I wanted to be Evel. A true American icon, I’m glad somebody finally built a museum in his honor. I approached the Evel Knievel Museum in Topeka with cautious optimism, expecting to see one or two bikes and a couple sets of leathers. Man was I surprised. Along with four documented Knievel motorcycles, the centerpiece is his Mack transporter found rotting in a Florida salvage yard. Like the bulk of the exhibits, much of the work on the rig was handled in-house. The overall project was completed in a couple of years.
The 1969 American Eagle by Laverda. A documented jump bike with 13 attempts and six crashes. Acquired in rough condition and restored in-house. Simply too heavy for the task.Samuel: “I looked down and I was wearing Evel Knievel’s leathers. I looked behind, and there was his cape, flapping in the wind. Cool!”
Along with bikes and memorabilia, the museum includes several interactive exhibits. One provides a virtual reality experience of jumping a Harley XR750 over 16 police cars, accomplished by outfitting rider Doug Danger with multiple cameras and doing an actual jump in downtown Topeka. A separate video game replicates jumping a selection of Knievel’s bikes over various obstacles while choosing parameters such as speed and ramp angle. The museum’s marketing director says the goal was to create an educational experience along with an entertaining one. After our visit, my 7-year-old grandson Samuel asked, “So when are you buying me that motorcycle?” Mission accomplished.
I only got to spend a few minutes at the Twisted Oz Museum. This is the main display room. An annex has already become necessary.
Twisted Oz Motorcycle Museum in Augusta is another recent construction. It was owner Kelly Modlin who answered the phone as I sat at the McDonald’s across the street. Though closed for the day, he offered to give me a quickie tour. He and Jerry Ottaway, who owns half the bikes, and a mostly volunteer crew repurposed the building from an auto body shop. More than 100 machines are displayed, many from the early days of American motorcycling, the majority of which run. Kelly is also an avid vintage rally competitor. His latest effort, a 1927 Indian Chief, was receiving final touches prior to being ridden to Portland, Maine, starting point of the biennial Cannonball Run, which ends in Portland, Oregon.
1958 Norton Dominator 99. Owner: Cliff Schoening. Photos by Ralph Noble.
This was the bike that got a lot of Americans excited about the Norton marque. Brit bikes were relatively rare in the U.S. in the early 1950s, with mainly Triumph and BSA battling it out. Yanks had long read about Norton’s racing successes, like when a 500 Manx came in second at Daytona in 1949, but were not much interested in the single-cylinder Internationals, civilianized versions of the racing Manx. What they wanted was an easy to start twin, with enough zip to run up to the semi-magical 100 mph mark. The 500cc Dominator 88 did not quite have the punch needed, but when it was bored and stroked to 600cc (actually 597cc), that stoked some serious interest.
Some people, both industry and consumers, were a little surprised that Norton had not gone to the popular 650 size, which Triumph had done in 1950 with the Thunderbird, and BSA a year later with the Golden Flash. Nortons began to be imported in 1949, and had six U.S. distributors. After the arrival of the 99 the distributors apparently got together and jointly bought the first full-page ad seen in the bike magazines–in the November ’66 “Cycle.” After a very complimentary road test in the September issue.
Norton was an old company, with James Lansdowne Norton founding the Norton Manufacturing Company at the age of 29, back in 1898, when it started manufacturing chains for the burgeoning bicycle market. But motorized bicycles were the coming thing, and JLN got right on it. His 690cc Peugeot-powered V-twin, a touring model, won the Isle of Man Tourist Trophy in 1907; success was clearly in the stars. Norton began building its own engines and prospered.
Late in 1945, after WWII, Norton went back to building civilian motorcycles, both a side valve and an OHV 500 single, along with a very few OHC 350 and 500 Internationals. Triumph was hitting the advertising pages big time, promoting its sleek T100 Tiger 500cc twin, and that was getting a lot of attention. So Norton did the logical thing and hired a designer named Bert Hopwood, who had worked at Triumph before the war when the T100 first came to light. He joined Norton in 1947, improved the singles, and then worked on developing a parallel twin. In November of 1948 the Dominator Model 7 showed up at the annual Earl’s Court motorcycle show, with a vertical twin engine mounted in a Norton frame with a telescopic fork and a plunger rear suspension. Unfortunately, at 440 pounds it was 75 pounds heavier than the Triumph. In 1949 Hopwood moved on to the BSA company, assigned to the task of making BSA’s 500 twin into a 650.
Norton went to work bringing the Dominator 7’s weight down, and the big innovation was the advent of the Featherbed frame, originally intended for the racing Manxes. Previous frames had been complicated and heavy, whereas the Featherbed was essentially two one-piece loops that was both lighter and stronger, using expensive Reynolds 531 manganese-molybdenum, mild-carbon steel tubing. Since everything passes through the steering head, the backbone tubes were welded to the bottom of the head, while the downtubes actually ran between the backbone tubes and then welded to the top of the head. All suitably braced.
Norton then went about making a roadster edition of the frame, using less expensive steel. Initially the saddle-supporting rear section was bolted on, but soon was welded, as that was a lighter approach. Norton also saw fit to give the frame its own name, plus a secondary description, which began with Wideline, and then Slimline (1960), referring to the width of the frame beneath the forward part of the saddle. The 99 used an oil-damped Roadholder fork and a swingarm rear end with a pair of Girling shock absorbers. When the 500 Domi 7 twin got the Featherbed, the bike received new numeration: Domi 88.
Move forward to 1955, and we find Mr. Hopwood being invited to rejoin the Norton Company. And soon the 497cc 88 had a larger sibling, the 597cc 99, the 100cc gained by using an even longer stroke…the 88 having a 66 x 72.6mm bore and stroke, the 99, 66 x 82mm.
Nothing exceptional about the dry-sump engine. The crankcase was split vertically, the cylinders were iron, the head aluminum alloy. The camshaft was up at the front of the engine with four light-alloy pushrods operating the four valves. A single Amal Monobloc fed the fuel to the combustion chamber, having a modest compression ratio of 7.6:1.
A single-row primary chain ran in an oil bath from the crank to clutch, which had little rubber shock absorbers. This was all done inside a sheet-metal primary case. And if the cork gasket was in good shape, the oil stayed inside. The four-speed transmission was made by Norton, and in best British tradition, the shift was on the right side, up for first.
The bike weighed some 410 pounds wet, and put out 31 horsepower. It had a comfortable seat, slightly Americanized handlebars and a 4.4-gallon tank–test write-ups said the 99 got more than 50 mpg. The headlight shell held a speedometer, ammeter and light switch. Initially a Lucas magneto sparked the plugs and a dynamo lit the seven-inch headlight, but in 1958 a crankshaft-driven alternator and distributor did both tasks. Petcock on, choke if cold, tickle the carb, fold out the starter and a healthy kick or two would get the engine going.
That “Cycle” road test reported a top speed of 114 mph–impressive. And a quarter-mile time of 14.61 seconds. Equally impressive.
The years went on. In 1961 the 99SS version appeared, with twin carbs. Last official year for the 99 and 99SS was 1962, replaced by the 650SS, now stroked to 89mm to get the additional 50cc.
What comes to mind when you imagine a European motorcycle tour? Great roads, beautiful scenery, history and amazing food? If that sounds enticing, but you’re not ready to commit to days of hair-raising Alpine passes or two weeks away from home, the Best of Europe Tour with Edelweiss Bike Travel might be right up your alley. Photos by the author.
Booking your first overseas motorcycle trip can be stressful enough, but that first day in the saddle in an unfamiliar place, on an unfamiliar bike, on unfamiliar roads marked by unfamiliar and probably unintelligible signs, can be a little overwhelming. Fortunately everyone (with the exception of yours truly) on my recent Edelweiss Best of Europe tour was in the exact same boat, something Ursula, our lead tour guide, didn’t find at all surprising.
This aptly-named weeklong tour allows you to taste a sampling of the best Europe has to offer, including plenty of castles, newly-forged friendships with other riders and of course some spectacularly beautiful roads and scenery.
According to her, the Best of Europe tour is extremely popular with first-timers, and for good reason. It’s an ideal introduction to riding in Europe: smooth, not-too-technical roads that allow you to focus on enjoying the quaint villages, spectacular scenery, delicious food and castles everywhere you turn. I recognized it for what it was immediately. This was a gateway drug, what the savvy dealer gives you to get you hooked. (Given how many hands went up at our farewell dinner when Ursula asked who would return for another tour, I’d say the hook was firmly planted.)
One of the great things about taking an overseas motorcycle tour is the new friendships you’ll forge.
As for me, the Best of Europe tour was my pick for a variety of reasons, but a large part of the decision might surprise you: genealogy. Genealogy is a hobby of mine and over the years I’ve traced back both sides of my family to some specific areas, including southwestern Germany, Alsace (now a part of France) and Switzerland–all of which we’d be visiting on the tour.
Navigating narrow, cobblestoned streets is the norm in Europe.
I’m probably preaching to the choir, but if you’re going to visit Europe, doing it on a motorcycle is the way to go–with the possible caveat that you choose the right tool for the job. European roads tend to be narrower than what we’re used to in the U.S. or Canada, especially in villages and cities where cobblestones and tight turns are common, and they’re rarely straight.
Gentle switchbacks ascend and descend the Swiss countryside as we warm up for our first Alpine pass near the mountain Säntis.
For these reasons, I opted for a BMW F 800 GS with its ready-for-anything suspension, lighter weight and nimble handling. My tour-mates also chose wisely: there were several R 1200 GS models, a couple of R 1200 RTs, and one-up riders on the Triumph Tiger 800, Honda NC700X and BMW R 1200 RS. Two couples traveling together from Pennsylvania opted for big Harley touring bikes–ideal for wide American roads, but as they learned as the week went on, a bit of a handful on our brief Alpine sections.
Carving curves on the optional ride into the Vosges Mountains on our rest day.
The Best of Europe route was thoughtfully designed to incorporate progressively more technical roads, allowing riders to get accustomed to their bikes and the foreign surroundings before hitting the serious twisties on the last few days. Our tour would loop us out of Erding, north of Munich, through undulating farmland and along river-carved valleys west and then south to the famous Black Forest, before ducking into France for a rest day. Refreshed, we’d then head back east into Germany, slip into Switzerland’s impossibly green hills studded with jagged gray peaks, then finish with a day of endless curves in Austria before returning to Erding.
The Best of Europe tour loops west out of Erding, near Munich, heading into France, then Switzerland and Austria before returning to Germany.
The gently rolling farmland we encountered on our first two days, from Erding to Rothenburg and then on to Heidelberg, reminded me why German immigrants to the U.S. felt so at home in places like Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Wisconsin.
Well, apart from the castles. They’re everywhere it seems, from 11th century ruins to gilded 18th century monuments to excess. Our first night’s stop was in Rothenburg, a beautifully preserved medieval walled city where we followed a “night watchman” on a twilight tour of the old town. Day two brought a stop at the partially ruined Hirschhorn castle and a finish in famous Heidelberg, with its mammoth palace lording over the city below.
Every village in Bavaria has a Maypole, and each one is different, with figures and decorations that represent the local characters and industry.
We usually had a couple of free hours each evening between arriving at the hotel and dinner, and by the second night in Heidelberg it was clear I’d need to devote mine to getting some exercise. German food is serious business, made even more so by the ubiquitous beer served with dinner (I opted for local wines, also very good and far less filling), and if I was going to have any hope of maintaining my girlish figure on this weeklong tour I’d need to do some walking.
German food is serious business, as this dinner (a single serving!) attests.
When I announced my intention to walk the steep path up to Heidelberg’s palace rather than take the tram, one tour-mate teased me with a quote from “The Princess Bride”: “Have fun storming the castle!” The joke stuck, and from then on storming castles became a central theme of the trip. There was the trio of ruins guarding the medieval Alsatian town of Ribeauvillé; the circular 16th-century fortress called Munot surrounded by vineyards at the center of Schaffhausen; and King Ludwig II’s ostentatious tribute to his idol Louis XVI, Castle Linderhof, a lunch stop for the group on our last riding day.
Royalty for a day at Castle Linderhof in Bavaria.
Between castles, our Edelweiss guides let us sample just about every type of road found in the heart of Europe, from the limitless autobahn to meandering country roads to the sinuous switchbacks of the Austrian Alps. They led us through and to places we’d likely never have found on our own, like the hidden Hexenlochmühle (“mill of the witch place”), a cuckoo clock workshop and café where we enjoyed slices of Black Forest cake.
We spotted this East German relic at a lunch stop in Germany.
That said, riders are always encouraged to explore on their own if they so choose–Edelweiss furnishes a detailed map with the daily route highlighted, plus a guide book–so on the rest day in Ribeauvillé several of us decided not to go on the optional group ride into the Vosges Mountains, opting instead to head off on solo adventures. After breakfast with the group, I hopped on my GS and headed back toward the Rhine River and Germany, my destination a village where my great-great-great grandfather was born.
Our rest day in Ribeauvillé allowed us to relax in the hotel, explore the countryside or wander the many shops.
But first a visit to a piece of world history: the Maginot Line. This series of fortifications and tunnels was built to deter a repeat of Germany’s rapid invasion of France during WWI, and stretched along the French border all the way to Belgium. Today several Maginot Line structures still exist, and one happened to be just a few kilometers away from Ribeauvillé.
After a sobering walk through the bunker’s chambers and a stroll over the grounds where American vehicles from the liberation force were on display, I headed for my ancestor’s German village. Ichenheim sits only a couple of kilometers from the east bank of the Rhine, surrounded by flat fields of golden-tasseled corn and lush green woods; to the east rise the dark hills of the Black Forest. Agrarian but hilly Southern Indiana must’ve felt very familiar to him.
Each hotel on our tour had its own special history and flavor; this one in Rothenberg dates from the 12th century.
After our rest day, the riding difficulty was cranked up a notch as we traversed the Black Forest again and entered Switzerland. Rolling green hills and gentle curves gave way to our first Alpine pass and a lunch break at the mountain Säntis, at 8,200 feet the highest in eastern Switzerland. From there, the curves continued nonstop as we crossed into Austria and ascended the famous Hochtannberg Pass.
Outdoor dining is a European tradition, and with beautiful weather all week we were happy to take part.
By the next morning, our last riding day, the entire group was salty and ready for anything–a far cry from the slightly nervous, curve-shy bunch that had begun the ride. We’d stormed castles, eaten our weight in spätzle, toasted our perfectly sunny riding days with liters of beer and wine each evening and scuffed the sides of our tires on roads so pretty it can be hard to keep your eyes on where you’re going. The Best of Europe tour really is a gateway drug to the joys of motorcycle travel in Europe, a dip of the toe, a sampling of the smorgasbord. Just be warned: you might get addicted.
The Edelweiss Best of Europe tour runs once a month from May to September. For more information visit edelweissbike.com.
The sun’s early rays light up towering bluffs along State Route 276 as the group heads to breakfast before tackling the notorious Notom-Bullfrog Road. Photos by Susan Dragoo.
A tiny figure on a Honda CRF250 slowly ascends a rocky slope in the rough country of southeastern Utah. Partway up she veers off course and stops a few feet from the top. A lifelong street motorcyclist, this is her first foray off pavement. Her breathing is rapid, eyes wide.
A man in a faded Tilley hat steps forward and offers a few words of encouragement. “You nearly cleaned that hill!” says Bill Dragoo. “Just stick with the plan and keep your eyes on the top. You’re here to slay some dragons and this one has met his match.” She takes a deep breath, stands up again and leans into the hill, this time victorious. A cheer goes up from her fellow students.
“What do I do if I can’t make it up that hill?” Practicing failure and learning how to convert it to success builds confidence during DART training. Instructor Bill Dragoo demonstrates technique for overcoming a failed hill climb.
For many a motorcyclist, the “Pavement Ends” sign triggers a U-turn, along with a twinge of regret. The trail ahead may be alluring and the bike fully capable of handling rough terrain, but the rider lacks the confidence to explore the unknown. This group is gathered to learn how to keep going when the asphalt disappears. MotoDiscovery has brought Bill Dragoo to Utah to train guests on one of its small-group adventure tours, beginning with two days of instruction at 3 Step Hideaway, a motorcycle-oriented resort in remote Lisbon Valley.
Three Step Hideaway welcomes motorcyclists to an off-the-grid experience amid miles of dirt trails in Lisbon Valley, Utah.
For Dragoo, the fun begins when the pavement ends. Through his school, Dragoo Adventure Rider Training (DART), his mission is “to provide quality off-road training at a fair price.” A member of the United States BMW GS Trophy team in 2010, Dragoo began teaching off-road riding skills in 2013 while visiting Bolivia. There, fellow riders sought his coaching for handling their big dual-sport bikes more skillfully on the country’s treacherous unpaved roads.
Peg weight and power are essential inputs for negotiating sand. Bill Dragoo puts them together in a sand wash near Caineville, Utah.
Soon after, he was conducting classes in his home state of Oklahoma, then accepting invitations to travel across the U.S. and back to South America to train riders as part of organized motorcycle tours. Now he is one of a handful of Americans certified as an off-road instructor by BMW Motorrad at its world training camp in Hechlingen, Germany.
Here in Utah, Dragoo’s job is to help riders prepare for MotoDiscovery’s 850-mile tour through some of the state’s best scenery, much of which can be reached only by leaving the pavement. Seven clients have traveled from across the U.S., some bringing their own dual-sport bikes, including a BMW R 1200 GS, and others renting Suzuki DRZ400s and a Honda CRF250. Skills vary widely, from newbie to desert racer, but there is something here to challenge them all.
Fuel range can be an issue for motorcyclists in many areas of Utah. MotoDiscovery prevents empty tanks with plenty of extra fuel in its chase vehicle. Here, Alex Moore tops off a rider’s tank in Capitol Reef’s Cathedral Valley.
Dragoo’s training is tailored to prepare riders for adversity. He starts with the basics and moves through a series of skill-building exercises designed to present the types of challenges students will face during a real adventure ride, whether on a local forest road, one of the Backcountry Discovery Routes or an around-the-world journey.
At 3 Step, the first morning is spent on fundamentals. Starting with static exercises, Dragoo teaches proper body position, the value of maintaining balance and the benefits of peg-weight steering. Before riding drills, participants are taught to “lead” their bikes, practicing clutch and brake interaction while walking beside the machine over small hills. Enduro steering follows, in which counterweight turns, head and eye position and the nuances of fine clutch and brake interaction are emphasized.
Full-lock turns are an essential element to managing big bikes off-pavement. Bill Dragoo demonstrates the technique during the first day of training at 3 Step Hideaway.
It is slow-speed work, keeping the bike in tension at times by dragging a brake against the clutch while executing tight circles on loose terrain, skills useful on rough mountain roads and tight switchbacks. An afternoon trail ride helps the group loosen up and apply what they’ve learned.
The second day adds braking on loose surfaces and provides comprehensive practice with a variable terrain exercise, then it’s off to the trails again for more advanced skills: hill fail reversals, loose hill starts and even towing. It is an intense two days, and responses vary. Many students are tired and eager to return to 3 Step for a rest, but a few spend some extra time riding a sand wash, just for fun.
The spires of Capitol Reef National Park’s remote Cathedral Valley District await riders willing to kick up some dust on this twisty back road.
Departure day brings a late September frost and, after a hearty breakfast, the riders layer up against the cold. Barak Naggan and Alex Moore shepherd the group for MotoDiscovery, Naggan leading on his Yamaha WR450 and Moore in a support vehicle. I’m also in a chase truck, photographing the event.
State Route 211 twists through a canyon along Indian Creek just east of Canyonlands National Park. MotoDiscovery’s Barak Naggan leads riders around the canyon’s curves after examining the petroglyphs at Newspaper Rock Historical Monument.
Traveling west, we skirt the edge of Canyonlands National Park’s Needles District, then ascend into the La Sal Mountains, negotiating dirt roads with tight switchbacks and precipitous views, where new skills come in handy. Returning to the desert, the distant towers of Monument Valley are visible on the southern horizon. We arrive at Hall’s Crossing on Lake Powell for the 4 p.m. ferry. After an intense day of riding, the chance to relax is welcome. Soon a structure becomes visible on the opposite shore–our lodging for the night, the Defiance House Lodge. When the ferry docks we roll off and travel smooth, curvy pavement to the hotel.
The village of Bullfrog nestles among red rock domes on the shore of Utah’s Lake Powell near Hall’s Ferry Crossing.
Awakening the next day to light showers, we head out for Notom-Bullfrog Road. We enter the graded dirt road off State Route 276 and are greeted by some of Utah’s most dramatic scenery as our route hugs the east side of the Waterpocket Fold, a jagged, 100-mile buckle in the earth’s surface. The Burr Trail cuts across the fold, and we ascend–and then descend–its notorious switchbacks. One of our least experienced riders shines here, delicately balancing his machine over loose terrain and picking his way along with the dexterity of a dancer.
Water breaks provide a welcome pause as riders hydrate on fluids and drink in the view at an overlook on Utah Route 276.
Back in the valley, we really begin to experience the effects of the rain: two riders go down in the slippery mud. No harm done, except to their now-grimy riding outfits, and soon we are off again, practicing a stream crossing in the Fremont River, riding a dry wash near Caineville, and taking a side trip to Capitol Reef National Park’s Cathedral Valley before ending the full day of riding in Hanksville. The town is little more than a crossroads, but it’s the only place around, and the basic but clean Whispering Sands Motel serves its purpose.
A remote ford on the Fremont River near Caineville, Utah, provides the opportunity to practice stream crossings. Bill Dragoo scouts the best line for the group of riders to follow.
There is more rain overnight and Naggan recommends the paved route to our third destination, Moab. A late morning arrival leaves ample time for individual side trips after checking in to the plush Best Western Canyonlands. Two riders join Dragoo and Naggan for a ride over Hurrah Pass. Their ride is cut short by a flat tire on Dragoo’s BMW R 1200 GS, but the inconvenience quickly becomes a teaching moment as he demonstrates a field tire repair before turning the group back to Moab.
DART is one of the few schools offering two-up adventure rider training. Bill Dragoo gives this student a taste of riding pillion while standing on the pegs and crossing the Fremont River.
Leaving Moab on our last day, we wind through the slickrock playground of Sand Flats Recreation Area. We stop at Porcupine Rim Overlook, where low clouds obscure our view of Castle Valley. Peering down from the edge, we try to glimpse hints of the formations below and are rewarded with a rare “pilot’s halo” forming a sliver of rainbow. Snow in the La Sals discourages further ascent on dirt roads so we return to 3 Step via pavement, where we load bikes on trailers and say our good-byes.
Food and fellowship abound in the cantina at 3 Step Hideaway. A bath house, livery stable (a.k.a. motorcycle shop), and solar-powered cabins complete the Old West motif at the southeastern Utah resort.
For many of these riders–learning new skills and having the opportunity to apply them immediately–it has been a week of transformation. Now for them, pavement is the means to an end and the “Pavement Ends” sign the beginning of adventure.
Switchbacking up to Passo Gardena. Photos by the author.
Every organized motorcycle tour worth its salt has interesting roads, captivating scenery, tasty food and comfortable accommodations. That’s what you’re paying for, in addition to experienced and knowledgeable guides and the convenience of having a motorcycle waiting for you when you arrive. All you have to do is show up and ride.
The sign at Passo Falzarego was remarkably clean. Signs at most of the passes are covered in so many stickers that it can be hard to read them.
Every tour also has a hook, something that catches riders’ eyes and convinces them to lay down a deposit and clear their calendar for a week or two. In the case of Ayres Adventures’ Switchback Challenges, the hook is short, intense tours that promise riders more hairpins, chicanes, kinks, sweepers and high passes than they can count.
A short break at Passo Gardena, only a few kilometers from our hotel.
Covering seven days, with two travel days bookending five riding days, these tours are reasonably priced (starting at $2,975), offer mid-level accommodations and, by staying at the same hotel during the riding days, require less hassle than tours that go from hotel to hotel each night. Ayres offers four Switchback Challenges–the Pyrenees, southern Spain, central Alps and the Dolomites.
Many valleys in the Dolomites are crisscrossed with twisting roads and ski lifts.
Lofty terms such as motorcycle “heaven” or “nirvana” are often used to describe the Alps, a huge, diverse mountain range of unrivaled beauty that, because it’s located in the heart of Western Europe and has been fought over and occupied for millennia, is densely packed with narrow, steep, winding roads, some in the most unlikely of places.
Descending from Passo Falzarego after taking a cable car to the top of the mountain. Even in late summer, a snow storm dropped several inches of snow on the Dolomites days before we arrived.
Even within an area as exceptional as the Alps, the Dolomites manage to stand out. Designated a World Heritage Site, Unesco describes the Dolomites as “a mountain range in the northern Italian Alps [that] features some of the most beautiful mountain landscapes anywhere, with vertical walls, sheer cliffs and a high density of narrow, deep and long valleys.”
The Dolomites are made up of nine distinct formations that rise up from the green valleys that surround them. BMW’s R 1200 GS Adventure is a big bike for such tight roads, but it handles well and its low-end torque came in handy.
What gives peaks and ridges in the Dolomites their distinctive jagged appearance–and the mountain range its name–is sedimentary carbonate rock with a high percentage of the mineral dolomite. Spread out over more than 550 square miles, the Dolomites are made up of nine distinct, enormous formations that tower high above valleys that weave between and around them, like giant gray teeth sticking up through green shag carpet.
Fresh asphalt and stunning views on the way up to Passo Sella.
With 18 peaks at or above 10,000 feet, parts of the Dolomites are blanketed in snow and glaciers year-round, the run-off from which crashes down steep ravines and creates dramatic waterfalls. Popular among skiers in the winter and hikers, bicyclists and motorcyclists in the summer, the Dolomites region is riddled with jaw-dropping vistas, tangles of asphalt and picturesque villages.
But first we had to get there.
Our tour guide Axel carving a fast line at Passo Nigra.
For convenience, Ayres’ Dramatic Dolomites Tour begins and ends in Munich, Germany, since its airport is a major European hub (I flew there nonstop from Los Angeles). Our affable guide, Axel Papst, with 18 years of experience leading motorcycle tours all over the world, picked me up at the airport and drove me to the hotel–a courtesy extended to all tour guests. After a tour briefing and giving our motorcycles a once-over, we walked to a local restaurant for a proper Bavarian dinner.
Passo Fedaia provides exceptional views of glacier-covered Marmolada, the highest peak in the Dolomites, and the crystal blue waters of Lago Fedaia, created by an enormous dam.
Over tall glasses of German lager, our small group–just four solo riders plus Axel–got acquainted. There was Tony, a retired executive from Indiana and a veteran of several Ayres tours–one being the Alps Switchback Challenge that he completed the week before our Dolomites tour. There was Jeff, a retired business owner and professor from Indiana who’s a riding buddy of Tony’s. And there was Lou, an engineer from Massachusetts. We quickly fell into easy conversation and shared lots of laughs, which continued throughout the week.
Our crew on the first day, during a lunch stop in Innsbruck, Austria.
On our first day, after taking the autobahn around Munich, we followed Axel on back roads through villages, forests and fields, heading south through Austria, and then into Italy via Brenner Pass, a major route through the eastern Alps that’s clogged with train tracks, a freeway, a local highway and an outlet mall. Having paid our dues for the sake of efficiency, we were soon rewarded with a steep climb up and over Passo di Pènnes, our first proper alpine pass. Even though it was the last week of August, the air was cold and windy and the mountains were dusted with snow. Weather can be unpredictable in the Alps, so it’s best to be prepared with rain gear and extra layers.
Tony, always easy to spot in his bright yellow Aerostich Darien jacket, rounding one of many hairpins on the way up to Passo di Giau.
As we would be for most of the tour, we were in South Tyrol, an autonomous province in northern Italy that was once part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Since more than 60 percent of South Tyroleans speak German and most of the rest speak Italian, signs typically list cities, passes, etc. in both languages. Most houses, hotels and barns are built in the alpine chalet style, with white walls, wide roofs, carved woodwork and large balconies, the railings of which exploded with colorful flowers in full bloom.
Known as Wolkenstein in Gröden in German and Selva di Val Gardena in Italian, this scenic ski town in a lush valley was our base camp during the tour.
We spent four nights in Wolkenstein, a charming ski town tucked in one of the Dolomites’ lush green valleys. Our home away from home was the cozy, recently renovated Hotel Comploj, run by a family that all but adopts its guests. The father is a gourmet chef, and he impressed us each night with freshly made soups, pastas and local specialties.
Located in the heart of the Dolomites, Hotel Comploj provided comfortable lodging, delicious food and charming hospitality.
Three of our riding days were spent exploring the best the Dolomites has to offer on loops averaging 150 miles. It was a garden of earthly delights, with the sort of smooth, winding pavement we all dream of delivering us to high-alpine pass after high-alpine pass, an up, down and all-around rollercoaster with a stunning backdrop everywhere you look. The list of passes we summited is long and glorious–Gardena, Valparola, Falzarego, Giau, Cibiana, Duran, Campolongo, Rolle, Valles, Cereda, Costalunga, Fedaia, Nigra, Pinei, Pordoj, Sella, Staulanza, Mendola and Erbe–each one unique, as are the roads that slither up and over them, and we lucked out with blue skies and cool temperatures.
With its countless hairpins, riding in the Dolomites will put any rider’s skills to the test.
Our daily mileage may seem modest, but when measured in terms of quality rather than quantity, our cup overfloweth. At the end of each day, as we hoisted celebratory beers back at the hotel, exhausted and exhilarated with sore shoulders from so many tight turns, no one complained of not riding enough. A Switchback Challenge, indeed.
Ayres Adventures’ Switchback Challenge tours run from August-October 2019. For more information and the full calendar of tours, visit ayresadventures.com.
Cathedral Mountain and Mount Stephen are twin 10,500-foot peaks viewed from Kicking Horse Pass on the edge of Banff National Park. Photos by the author.
“So, what’s in Yellowknife?” asked my doctor while he examined me after I informed him about my upcoming plans.
“Well,” I responded, “it’s an isolated city on the Canadian Shield in the Northwest Territories overlooking the Great Slave Lake. It’s also far enough north for excellent viewing of the aurora borealis.”
“But what else is there?” he emphatically demanded.
Fearing that he was missing the point I responded, “As a touring motorcyclist I look forward to the trek to a distant place at the end of the road,” and let it go at that.
And so I set forth to discover what, indeed, there was of note in Yellowknife. My numerous rides west from Albany, New York, follow a familiar itinerary: Albany to Conneaut, Ohio, the first day for 466 miles. Thereafter, I turn north out of Toledo, Ohio, to Bay City, Michigan; then Bemidji, Minnesota; Williston, North Dakota; and Shelby, Montana. From there I head north into the Canadian Rockies.
Sunwapta Pass on the Icefields Parkway marks the boundary between Banff and Jasper national parks.
In Mackinaw City, though, I picked up a riding partner during a lunch stop at a hot dog stand that seemed a convergence for motorcyclists. Gene is from Windsor, Ontario, aboard a Suzuki Bandit bound for Edmonton, Alberta, to visit family. He was content to follow my pace and schedule as we followed U.S. Route 2 west. I’ve always been a lone wolf during my 53 years of touring, because seldom do I encounter a more compatible riding companion. It certainly made the long slog westward more tolerable.
In Williston, North Dakota, we met two Honda ST1300 riders returning to their homes in Edmonton after a visit to the Black Hills. We were invited to tag along entering Montana, but their pace left us a diminishing view in their rearview mirrors. “Albertans seem always in a hurry,” Gene would later inform me. He and I separated outside Calgary. He directed me to Alberta Highway 22 through the picturesque Turner Valley. Many motorcyclists were enjoying the route, and each waved, including the high-riser Harleyists.
Bow Valley Parkway marks the beginning of the Banff to Jasper route through the Canadian Rockies.
Riding the Banff-Jasper route on the way to Canada’s Northern Territories is an imperative. During my last tour through here on my way to Alaska three years ago it was rainy and 48 degrees. This time around the Canadian Rockies unwound like a Technicolor film reel. Kicking Horse Pass led me into the heart of them, and a hanging waterfall plunging 1,250 feet.The Icefields Parkway glided by ragged peaks lapped by glacial tongues.
Takakkaw Falls is a two-stage plummet of 1,250 feet, reached via a steep, dead-end, 12-mile climb up Yoho Valley Road near Kicking Horse Pass, in British Columbia’s Yoho National Park.
Alberta Highway 40 out of Hinton is billed as the scenic route to Alaska. It plows through a large watershed for a lonely 325 kilometers to Grande Prairie. Signs warn of potentially dangerous encounters with caribou. Grande Prairie itself is a crossroads where one splits northwest to Alaska, east toward Edmonton, or due north for the Territories, as I do. The colorfully striking suspension bridge over the Peace River suddenly looms against a backdrop of calendar art. Within an hour I arrive at ground zero in Grimshaw.
Indigenous wildlife to watch for in these northern Canadian wilds.
The granite mile-zero marker of the Mackenzie Highway in Grimshaw may not be as famous as Mile 0 of the Alaskan Highway 125 miles due west of here, but the town makes the most of it by providing an extensive park with a lot of informative signage. The highway is named after Alexander Mackenzie, a Scottish fur trader who explored the Northwest Territories and traveled the full course of his namesake river, approximately 2,550 miles. I only have 600 miles now to Yellowknife, according to the marker.
Reaching the 60th parallel on the border with the Northwest Territories now means I am halfway to Yellowknife along the Mackenzie Highway. There’s a very nice visitor center here with a campground. But it’s raining, and I wouldn’t camp anyway because it appears the Northwest Territories is prime bug-breeding ground. They swarm me at every stop, a phalanx of horseflies, blackflies, dragonflies, yellowjackets, mosquitoes and midges. Occasionally at speed a fat one would ricochet off my helmet like a pistol shot. Flagmen at road construction sites wear mesh hoods. Alaska was never this bad.
This section of the Mackenzie passes through an extensive Bison Management Zone, and they are given free range, which means they occasionally amble onto the road. At one point I encounter an entire herd alongside the highway. They display their indifference at my passing. I test the antilock brakes on the BMW when I see a baby bison leaping across the road ahead like a deer. Remain alert, I remind myself.
Hay River Gorge below the torrent of Alexandra Falls (below) near Enterprise, NWT.Alexandra Falls above the Hay River Gorge.
Near Enterprise, Alexandra Falls thunders into the Hay River Gorge, and kayakers have risked their lives plunging into its raging torrent, so says my whitewater-running eldest son, who assures me he has no notions himself of attempting the feat. Another low octane fill up at Enterprise, all that’s available up here. But I learn to top off where I can because fuel may not be obtainable at the next stop.
Completed in 2012, after four years of construction, the Deh Cho Bridge crosses the mighty Mackenzie River at Fort Providence.
The Deh Cho Bridge frames the horizon on my approach to the mighty Mackenzie River, Canada’s largest watercourse and the second largest river system in North America. Considered an engineering marvel that took four years to construct because of extreme weather, the Deh Cho (indigenous term for the Mackenzie River) was completed in 2012. Previously, ferry service was provided and an ice road was maintained during the winter. I thread its intimidating isosceles pylons over the Mackenzie and into Fort Providence, where I fill up for the next 200 miles into Yellowknife.
Pylons of the Deh Cho Bridge pierce the sky on my approach to its highest arc above the wide Mackenzie River.
The last 60 miles of road into Yellowknife are the worst I encounter. I’m carefully negotiating numerous gravel sections, bouncing over buckled pavement and dipping into whoop-de-dos. Seeing the “Welcome to Yellowknife” sign is a relief, but it’s elevated on a hillside, making getting the bike into the picture a precarious undertaking.
I locate my B&B, the Bayside, in Old Town. This is where Yellowknife was originally settled when gold was discovered in the 1930s. Diamond mining is the new gold standard for this city of 20,000 and capital of the Northwest Territories. To gain a perspective of the city I climb the steep, zigzag staircase to the top of Pilot Hill, otherwise known as “The Rock,” an escarpment of bedrock forming the Canadian Shield.
This view from Pilot Hill in Yellowknife’s Old Town shows an inlet of the Great Slave Lake and the exposed bedrock of the Canadian Shield in the foreground.
An obelisk monument here pays tribute to the bush pilots who mapped the area and brought supplies to the fledgling settlement. Colorful houseboats cluster in the bay, while seaplanes skim the water like dragonflies, leaving broad wakes as they take off and land. Great Slave Lake sparkles in cyan radiance to the horizon, perhaps because it’s the deepest lake in North America.
Located in a restored heritage building, Yellowknife’s oldest restaurant is noted for serving bison burgers and bison poutine.
My B&B provides a delicious breakfast, and has its own restaurant called the Dancing Moose that serves gourmet fare. But to experience an Old Town tradition I am directed to the Wildcat Café, Yellowknife’s oldest restaurant located in a log heritage building. Bison burgers are on the menu, and so is a variation of a Canadian standard, bison poutine. Just up the road is quirky Bullock’s Bistro, offering wild game and the “freshest fish in the Territory.” But you’ll pay handsomely for it. I have my best repast on my final day at the Woodyard Brewhouse–a decadent charcuterie and cheese board washed down with a flight of NWT suds.
The quirky Bullocks Bistro in Yellowknife has a reputation for the best and freshest seafood in the Territories.
Riding out of Old Town toward downtown I squirm over Ragged Ass Road. This lane is so-named by the gold-rush era prospectors who had gone stone broke (ragged ass), and so built their ramshackle cabins here. The road is in no better shape now, as noted. Nearby is a rock face carved and painted with cultural symbols representing the indigenous Inuit, Métis and Inuvialuit.
This nameplate appropriately describes both the road and the Yellowknife neighborhood of former gold-rush prospectors.
In downtown Yellowknife I locate a mural that depicts Northwest Territories themes, including a colorful aurora borealis. Given the nearly 24-hour daylight I was not going to actually see them on this trip. I had learned the best time to view the northern lights was before the spring equinox, or in the dead of winter. Hmm, the first time period was too early to risk a motorcycle ride, and forget the latter option. Regardless, there are many variables that affect the viewing of northern lights. The aurora is a magnetic storm caused by the capricious solar winds, so predicting and timing their ephemeral nature is a veritable crapshoot.
Regardless of the disappointment, I was content to ride this deep into the Territories, especially feeling smug having learned there is not a single road between here and the Arctic Ocean yet to challenge. I had seen few touring motorcyclists, and perhaps only two local riders. I got to thinking, the Mackenzie and Alaska highways both have deep territorial reach, but the Mackenzie is half the length of the Alaska. Why aren’t there more brethren exploring its terminus? Organizers of the Iron Butt Rally should take note.
Maybe I found nothing too exceptional in Yellowknife, and the northern lights didn’t display themselves, but I return home with the satisfaction of achieving yet another distant horizon, which should be the goal of any adventurous touring motorcyclist.
A map of the route taken, by Bill Tipton/compartmaps.com.
1982 Benelli 254. Owner: John Goldman, San Francisco, California.
Here was a delicious little machine, a transversely mounted 231cc in-line four, putting out some impressive horsepower and weighing, fully fueled, a modest 269 pounds. With a top speed of more than 90 mph. However, in 1980 Benelli dealers also had 500 and 650 fours, along with an impressive six-cylinder 750, on the showroom floor…and Americans interested in Italian motorcycles did not care for these tiddlers. Anyone wanting a 250 could get one much cheaper from a Japanese dealer.
Cosmopolitan Motors was importing Benellis, and in 1980 the factory apparently told Cosmo that in order to get a few 750s they would have to take some 250s as well; Cosmo did so. Actually, when this 250 was conceived it was aimed strictly at the European market, as Italy and some other countries gave sub-250 bikes a good tax break and insurance costs were lower. The American market had never been seriously considered, but when 250 sales in Italy and elsewhere were not doing well, the company decided to foist a few off on the Yanks.
A little Benelli history: In 1911 the six Benelli brothers set up a garage in Pesaro, Italy, and specialized in fixing motorcycles—and soon started fabricating their own spare parts. In 1921 they built their first motorcycle, the 98cc Velo, and like any good Italian manufacturer took a big interest in racing. In 1937 they hired a young engineer named Lino Tonti in the racing department, and two years later he presented his 250 DOHC, in-line-four racebike, which was liquid-cooled and supercharged, ready for the 1940 season. Unfortunately Mussolini signed up with Hitler in June of 1940, and the rest is history.
War ended, Allied bombing had flattened the Benelli factory, but the boys—now older gents—got to work and had a pair of 250 and 500 single-cylinder street bikes for sale by 1947. When the GP races began again in 1949, they had a DOHC 250 single ready for the fray. In 1960 a new DOHC 250 four was at the track, winning a World Championship in 1969.
But the company was in financial trouble, due partially to racing expenses and the unexciting two-strokes they were selling to the public. Then a wealthy Argentinian businessman of Italian origin, Alejandro de Tomaso, showed up, acquiring 85 percent of the company in 1971 and then buying Moto Guzzi in 1973. Coincidentally, Lino Tonti was working for Guzzi at the time, and de Tomaso said he wanted some multi-cylinder bikes for the market. In 1974 the Benelli 500 and 650 fours appeared, which were closely patterned after some Japanese fours. But the next four-banger, the 250, was said to be very Italian, as nobody had made a road-going four that small. But it cost 30 percent more than Benelli’s 250 two-stroke twin.
The 231cc wet-sump engine was of the oversquare, short-stroke design, with a 44mm bore, 38mm stroke and a compression ratio of 10.5:1, happily revving to 10,500. All this was done using one overhead camshaft, two valves per cylinder and four 18mm Dell’Orto carburetors; 27 horsepower at the crankshaft. Ignition was done via battery and distributor, with the battery also powering the electric starter. Hardly necessary on such a small engine, but deemed essential in the modern market.
Primary drive was by a combination of chain and gears, a wet clutch putting power through a five-speed gearbox, with another chain going out to the rear wheel.
The open tubular frame was light, using the engine as a stressed member, and sportily rigid. A single downtube was bolted to the engine between the second and third cylinders. The front fork was a Benelli design, with the damping oil inside the cartridge, the oil in the fork legs for lubrication only. A pair of shock absorbers suspended the rear. The alloy wheels, both 18-inchers, had six twin-spokes, a 260mm disc brake on the front, drum at the back. Wheelbase was a modest 50 inches.
In 1977 similar models were sold by both Benelli and Moto Guzzi. With styling focusing on the sport rider, the Benelli was labeled the 250 Quattro; the Moto Guzzi 254 was aimed at the touring rider..
The styling fellow who did the Benelli bodywork had been charged with making the bike look modern, as well as appearing sleek. The end result was not very aesthetic; light thermoplastic panels, using straight rather then curved lines, covered the small gas tank and then angled down to where separate side panels would normally be. Moto Guzzi, on the other hand, had more traditional styling, with small panels making the gas tank look normal. Long panels traveled under the seat to a curved tail section, creating an attractively sporty look.
In an attempt to declutter the handlebar area on both bikes the speedo, tach and warning lights were positioned flat on top of the gas tank, requiring the rider to take his eyes off the road to see how fast he was going—not a good idea. Much better to have the instruments up by the headlight. For further decluttering, the reservoir for the front brake fluid was also tucked under the top of the tank.
Time went on, neither 250 selling well, and in 1980 the Mark II version came along. The Guzzi-labeled 250 was dropped, with the new Benelli 254 retaining the better-selling Guzzi styling and adding a little quarter fairing. The only picture we could find of the little Benelli sold in the U.S. was in the “1982 Motorcycle Buyer’s Guide” and it showed that slab-sided 250 Quattro model (the bike pictured in this article was imported to the U.S. from Europe). Cosmo dropped the model after 1982, while the factory went on producing the 254 version in Europe for another two years.
In the Alps, a motorcycle is the best means by which to explore the rugged terrain, twisty roads, cafés and summer snow fields. And a tour company, such as Beach’s Motorcycle Adventures, makes it all possible. (Photo by Gretchen Beach.)
A motorcycle trip in Europe’s Alps is likely on your bucket list, but such a trip is daunting. You’ll have to arrange for a bike, book hotels and, possibly, convince others to share the experience with you. Finally, if anything goes wrong during your trip, who would you call? Well, traveling with a motorcycle tour company solves all those problems at once.
Last July, I took a Beach’s Motorcycle Adventures tour of the western Alps that attracted 20 participants, 18 of whom were veterans of previous Beach tours; this percentage of repeat riders speaks volumes about these tours and the support that tour leaders Rob and Gretchen Beach provide for their customers. Most members of our tour group had flown into Zurich, Switzerland, and converged upon nearby Baden. All were from the United States except for a delightful couple from New Zealand.
An impromptu cruise on Lake Lucerne revealed views of gorgeous homes, hotels and mountains.
When our bikes arrived, we were introduced to the BMW motorcycles we had reserved from Beach’s rental fleet. Besides saddlebags, each was equipped with a GPS unit programmed so that we could ride one of several recommended daily routes or explore on our own. Rob instructed us on how to use the GPS units, and we were on our way.
Our 12-day tour through Switzerland, France and Italy began with a Tuesday ride from Baden southwest to Ornans, France. We first passed through an industrialized area with a good deal of traffic, but the Europeans often utilize roundabouts rather than stop lights so we kept moving regardless. The tour book we were given was filled with all sorts of historical and practical information about our two or three daily suggested routes, along with a map, all loaded into the GPS. They were often on small, local roads we would not likely have found on our own.
In Gruyères, Switzerland, we were treated to a dinner of its famous cheese fondue in an outdoor setting.
For weeks prior to the tour we had been receiving correspondence from the Beaches enlightening us to such considerations as foreign currencies, tipping, overseas phone calls, use of ATMs, credit cards, dress codes, packing tips and more. Then a month prior, here came a beautiful luggage bag for each participant, embroidered with the Beach’s logo and our names! The strong suggestion was to pack no more (other than riding gear) than what could fit in this bag. On traveling days we would set this packed bag in the hotel lobby, then van driver Henri would transport it to our next hotel and the bag would be waiting in our rooms when we arrived.
Soon our trip settled into a pleasant rhythm. European hotel breakfasts usually consist of sliced meats and cheeses, with croissants and breads, plus tea or coffee. Breakfasts and our varied, delicious dinners were included with the tour price, except for two dinners when we stayed a second night at the same hotel. This allowed us to explore the local restaurants.
Dinners, such as this salmon plate in Moustiers-Saint-Marie, France, were universally impressive and delicious.
On our first Wednesday we rode to Talloires, France, where our hotel overlooked Lake Annecy and a distant castle across the water. This was followed by a free day on which most of the riders went off to explore the countryside, while our passengers stayed in town to explore the local shops.
As we gathered for breakfast Friday morning, we found Rob at a table surrounded by a stack of GPS units. We learned that the Tour de France bicycle race was passing near our intended route, roads were closed, and we would have to re-route if we hoped to reach our next hotel at a reasonable hour. Now Rob was hard at work programming a new route for our convenience.
The old bridge in Lucerne, Switzerland, lured us to take a stroll.
Our route took us to Rencurel, France, passing through several tunnels and a stunning gorge in which the road actually undercut the mountain. When riding in the States, I spend most of my travel time in fifth and sixth gear. In the Alps, however, I spent most of my time in second and third gear. As a result, a 150-mile ride in the U.S. that takes three hours may take twice that long on the tight, twisty roads and first-gear hairpins of the Alps. Most of our riding days here were four to six hours, plus stops. Also, summers can be hot in the Alps and most hotels here–though delightful–do not have air conditioning.
Did someone say something about tight roads? At times I could swear I saw my own taillight in front of me!
The Alps involve very tight, technical roads that will test your slow-speed riding ability on multiple series of hairpin turns. Some were so tight that, on several occasions, I swear I could see my own taillight in front of me! For these tight mountain roads you don’t need a big bike, but something more agile. I had requested a BMW R 1200 RT for my passenger Frances’ comfort, but had I been solo would have preferred perhaps an F 700 GS.
Our hotel in Moustiers-Saint-Marie, France, offered a charming view of the mountains.
That Sunday we came within sight of Moustiers-Saint-Marie, France, a town set high against the backdrop of a massive gray wall of rocks, the buildings painted a complementary shade. This was to be our stop for the next two nights, and we found our hotel situated next to a beautiful arched bridge, below which flowed a steep, narrow, powerful waterfall. Its pleasant whoosh would be the backdrop for our sleep those nights.
The Grand St. Bernard Pass offers food, lodging and spectacular views.
Our next travel day, Tuesday, we headed for Auron, France, and were soon immersed in the sweet fragrance of lavender fields and the sight of acres of sunflowers shaking their yellow heads in the light breeze. Now we began to enjoy the ultimate mountain experience as we rode over some of the Alps’ highest passes. All the way up Cime de la Bonette, the highest at 2,802 meters (9,193 feet), were cars, motorcycles and bicycles, then a plaque at the top. I was feeling quite a sense of accomplishment for having ridden here…until I met a bicyclist from Chicago who had pedaled his way to the top.
Rob and Gretchen Beach were our amiable and informed guides.
On the next Thursday, from Sauze d’Oulx to Courmayeur, my co-pilot Frances and I encountered Rob and Gretchen who asked, “Do you want to have a picnic?” When we enthusiastically agreed they led us to a small specialty shop where we bought bread, sliced meats and cheeses. Then at an ancient bridge on the Col de l’Iseran (9,088 feet) we hiked past an old block building where, on a rocky, flower-strewn hilltop, Gretchen produced our repast as the far-off mountains shone with a necklace of glacial snow.
Narrow roads and tight turns indicate that a smaller bike may be preferable to a larger one in the Alps.
In Italy we were also fully immersed in the Alps experience, riding through small villages with streets barely wide enough for a car…or a wagon when they were constructed centuries ago. We encountered people strolling, flower boxes on windows from which emanated the fragrance of cooking or pipe tobacco. There is usually a war monument or two, sad reminders of those lost. Permanent glacial snow fields slump in the mountains, sending waterfalls rushing beside the road, sun so brilliant it can make you cry, rain so hard the pavement looks like a shag rug.
The interior of the Atrium Hotel Blume in Baden, Switzerland, was inviting indeed.
These tours allow one to interact with the locals on pre-selected routes. Rob led us to a restaurant in Courmayeur, where over dinner the friendly owner sang and mingled with our group like the uncle I used to have.
I want to stress that the Alps with their narrow roads, hairpin turns and changeable weather can be daunting, but Rob, Gretchen and van driver Henri went out of their way to care for their tour participants. When one rider had a mishap four hours from the hotel, Rob and Henri drove out to retrieve him and his bike. When some had trouble understanding the GPS, Rob conducted a mini seminar in addition to the group seminar. When Frances needed a backrest, Henri rigged one up for her from a step stool and rear seat from the spare bike. Not confident finding your way around? You’re invited to follow Rob and Gretchen to the next hotel.
Our tour members quickly coalesced into a group of riding friends.
In short, during our Alps experience with Beach’s Motorcycle Adventures we were well informed and cared for, our bikes pre-arranged and we gained many new friends with whom to share the experience. With nearly 200 tours under his belt, Rob Beach has the details dialed in. And when we returned home, we found that Gretchen had posted a 23-minute video of our tour that we could show our friends via the Internet. In all, a thoroughly enjoyable time.
The Beach’s Alpine Adventure West will run August 25-September 8, 2019; for more info visit bmca.com.
Map of the tour route, by Bill Tipton/compartmaps.com.
For 2018, Triumph offers Tiger 800s in a six-bike lineup, all incorporating extensive upgrades. The top-dog 800 XCA we tested features six riding modes: new Off-Road Pro, Off-Road, Road, Sport, Rain and a Rider-Customizable mode, as well as programmable power levels, traction control, ABS intervention and more. Even better, the core mechanicals perform delightfully well too…. Photos by Kevin Wing.
Ina world flush with outstanding large adventure bikes displacing 1,200cc and more, the Triumph Tiger 800 presents a convincing argument for middleweights. We sampled 2018’s top-of-the-line off-road-oriented XCA Tiger 800 variant, which boasts more than 200 upgrades compared to the prior edition; it’s now brimming with high-tech features that deliver a ton of versatility and convenience, along with a load of thoughtful, real-world enhancements.
To some, the engine with its newly added six riding modes may deliver the biggest surprise. Refinements include a new, lower first-gear ratio for more rapid engine response, while the torque curve remains flat as can be for an impressive power hit. This engine is a runner and it builds revs with a vengeance, starting with a raspy snarl that develops into a wild-animal howl in an eager, cammy rush. It’s only during top-gear roll-on passing that the missing 400 or 500cc become apparent, so just downshift!
Otherwise, the 800 delivers all it’s got in a seamless manner that makes riding a delight. Fuel metering, throttle response, driveline lash, gearbox action, gear spacing and clutch actuation are all practically perfect, so glitches don’t intrude on the riding experience.
Our main complaint concerns engine heat that grows painfully toasty in stop-and-go traffic when air temps climb above 80 degrees, especially on the left side where hot air flows from the radiator onto the rider’s left leg virtually unimpeded. Also, a light buzz builds in the handlebar near 70 mph, then smoothes out at higher speeds; part of this is due to vibration harmonics in the handguards, a quirk common to many ADV and dual-sport bikes.
The longish 60.8-inch wheelbase lends stability, while rake and trail figures of 23.4 degrees/3.7 inches make for light, quick steering, especially given the wide handlebar and narrowed cross-section of the 21-inch front tire. A very intuitive partner, the Tiger dances beautifully down twisty roads.
Super-aggressive riding will get the front tire howling sooner than would be the case with a 19- or 17-incher due to the reduced contact patch, but all in all, it’s a non-issue for the vast majority of sporting street riding. It’s also quite comfortable for highway travel, and the new left-side cruise control button proves a welcome convenience.
Lots of backlit controls, including a clever mini-joystick, mount on the left side for easy access.
New dual Brembo front brakes deliver strong stopping power and excellent feel. These twin-piston-caliper binders offer a softer initial bite compared to super-aggressive
supersport brakes, but you wouldn’t want racetrack-style braking when you’re in the dirt anyhow. We did notice the slimmer tire tends to nibble a bit while running along on freeway seams or rain grooves, but it’s a minor quirk that you’ll ignore in time.
Meanwhile, if you’re really going to get serious about off-road adventuring, the front wheel will accept DOT-approved knobby tires (tubes required) that will perform much better in the dirt, albeit at the cost of pavement performance. For hard-core dirt adventurers, the XCA now adds a sixth riding mode, Off-Road Pro, so riders can turn off the ABS and other systems for total control.
The 21-inch front wheel, WP fork and dual twin-piston Brembo brakes all add to ADV functionality.
The excellent WP suspension feels firm yet compliant, and I am no lightweight. Extra off-road-oriented travel means the Tiger 800 sucks up bumps, patches and holes with ease on neglected back roads with old, broken pavement; no spine-jarring hits here, yielding a huge advantage over sportbikes and naked bikes that would struggle with less suspension travel.
Seating is upright and spacious and the seat can be altered between 33.1 inches or 33.9 inches in mere seconds. I chose the taller position to appease my aging knees, and the longer reach to the ground didn’t present any problems for me with my 31-inch inseam. The seat is wide and firm although not cushy comfortable.
A new, well-designed windscreen can be easily set to any of five positions using one hand.
A new one-hand-adjustable, spring-loaded windscreen is ingenious in design and easy to alter while underway. In the lowest of five positions the oncoming windblast strikes this six-footer right about eyebrow level, and the clean airflow creates little curl-back or buffeting. Despite their modest size, the windscreen and deflectors redirect windblast away from the rider’s torso well, producing a decent still-air pocket.
Riders may choose between six styles of displays for the easy-to-read, full-color, 5-inch TFT instrument screen.
The new 5-inch, full-color TFT instrument panel stays easily readable day or night, with nice levels of contrast; the readout configuration can be custom selected to suit rider preference. Lots of the backlit switchgear has been moved to the left side of the handlebar, including a five-way joystick that greatly simplifies navigation through the many riding mode/display menus.
However, the joystick on our bike proved to be a bit sticky, locking in place until manually returned to center; hopefully this glitch is unique to our test bike, as this innovation makes it quick and easy to navigate through the plentiful mode options.
Comfy ergonomics can be adjusted for seat height and handlebar position. Riders headed off-road will appreciate the XCA’s 21-inch front wheel, but all Tiger 800s shine brightly on old busted-up back roads.
When balancing the scales, whatever edge the Tiger 800 trades away in cubic inches and punch compared to big ADV bikes, it gains back in more nimble handling, easier slow-speed maneuvering and better off-road manners thanks to a 35- to 80-pound weight savings. In short, this middleweight hits that sweet spot right in the middle. And for the Triumph Tiger 800, that’s a very good place to be.
Laing gazes across a salt field on the ancient bed of the Great Salt Lake, Utah.
Hamilton Mack Laing’s way was rutted.
Clay mud lined with the tracks made by car and wagon wheels had dried, hindering the passage of his Harley-Davidson. “We rode the combs till we fell into the ruts,” he wrote, “and when we got wedged there we heaved out and started again.” He had found his nemesis on Nebraska roads. The mud he encountered either consisted of dried ruts where “the machine stuck fast on the combs and the engine raced helplessly” which meant pushing out by hand, or of a “soupy liquid” where “the wheels would not grip; each wheel insisted on picking its own route.”
Canadian writer and naturalist Hamilton Mack Laing was not an average two-wheeled traveler. Although George Wyman had become the first to cross the U.S. on a motorcycle back in 1903, Laing was an early adopter of the motorcycle as the ideal way to connect with the places he traveled through, and he specifically enjoyed how it could immerse him in the natural world he loved so much. He was midway across the United States on his new 1915 Harley-Davidson 11F when he encountered those poor road conditions. He had begun his adventure at St. James Place, Brooklyn, and pointed his handlebar at the World’s Fair in San Francisco.
A travel companion, Smith Johnson, negotiating the dry landscape of Utah.
Negotiating dried mud would be a low point in the road conditions during Laing’s 1915 adventure, which he described in his written account as “a six-weeks perambulation on two wheels.” His motorcycle was an air-cooled, four-stroke, 11-horsepower, 988cc V-twin-engined steed with a top speed of about 65 mph. He named her Barking Betsy, and he would test her to the full.
Laing’s journey west took him through 12 states. He insisted on giving cities a wide berth, for which he apologized: “It is not that I love them less but rather that I love the country more.” What Laing called “the joy of the road” he believed was not found in the major centers, but on secondary roads, small towns and in nature. Laing called himself a “motorcycle-naturalist.” When he switched off his engine after crossing into Pennsylvania, “there were meadowlarks in the field piping jubilantly and two or three vesper sparrows that even now at noontide were singing as though in competition.” Laing was a gypsy gentleman.
But he was also a pioneer of motorcycle travel, choosing to camp whenever possible. “The first meal in camp,” he quipped, “or the first on a gipsying (sic) expedition is doubly pleasing.” He believed getting out into nature on two wheels was good for the constitution: “It is a good thing for a man’s soul to feel that way once in a year at least.”
Laing in 1917, riding east from Princeton, British Columbia, on his third Harley.
In the suburbs of Cleveland he was overtaken by two other motorcyclists riding Harley-Davidsons. They offered their help thinking he might have lost his way. It was the first bit of camaraderie of the road he experienced with other motorcycle travelers. “Fraternalism of the right sort truly,” he wrote, indicating that the connection between two-wheeled travelers was alive even in those early days of “transcontinentaling.” They guided him on the right road to Elyria.
Later on he slept in the hayloft of an obliging farmer and once again noted the bird life around him. “Bob-white was calling from a grain-field and a meadowlark was in tune.”
Today’s motorcycle traveler might be surprised to discover what Laing put in his panniers. Somehow, packed away in the heavy canvas satchels, was “an eating kit, a sleeping kit, a tarpaulin and ground sheet.” He also had to shoehorn in “a mending kit and shaving kit as well as the necessities in the way of extras for the machine and a big Kodak and its accessories.” He wore a cap, an army shirt and “riding trousers and leggings,” stressing that the “shirt and trousers ought to be made of wool.”
Even with all his preparedness, many tried to discourage Laing before departure, saying, “that if I traveled alone and slept out of doors ‘just anywhere’ rattle-snakes (sic) would bite me and I would be held up and robbed, also that I would lose my way.” As well intentioned as these harbingers of doom might have been, Laing was having none of it. “As to losing my way,” Laing quipped, “I had a road map, also a tongue in my head that was at least half Scotch.”
Crane hunting in Ebor, Saskatchewan, in 1914, Laing stands on his first Harley-Davidson motorcycle, a 10F.
In the hills of Pennsylvania, Laing encountered a rattlesnake, but not in the way he anticipated. He found a dead rattler on the road, one that had been recently run over and, always the naturalist, was curious about it. He decided to dissect it and see what it had eaten recently. What he found inside impressed him to no end as “the wretch had swallowed a full grown grey squirrel!”
Any other fears he might have had about pressing on in search of adventure and glory he tempered with philosophy. “How similar to a road is our entire spin through life,” Laing waxed. “We may see the path clearly enough to the turn, but beyond it, the future must reveal.”
“But the lure of the unending road,” he emphasized, “is a call that will not be denied.” So he and Betsy pushed on. As an early moto-traveler Laing was quick to discover the advantages of riding a motorcycle over driving a car. “We take to the Road for experiences and we get them,” he wrote. “Riders on two wheels get more of them I think, and get them in shorter compass than drivers of four wheels do.”
Laing and Smith Johnson enjoy a shave, shampoo and personal maintenance by a puddle at Sulphur Hot Springs, Nevada.
Laing had many other new experiences along his route. He used wooden planks to cross rails in Ohio, rode over mud “as untrustworthy as a greased pig” and, in Iowa, Barking Betsy sputtered to a standstill on a hillside. Laing then set to work pretending to know something of motorcycle mechanics. “I tried to look as wise as 40 long-eared owls,” he confessed. Luckily for Laing the foreman of a nearby construction site was more mechanically inclined than he and not only gave Laing sound advice (he had taken in bad fuel) and assistance, Laing also got a bed and breakfast out of the bargain. To this Laing professed of the benevolence to be found while traveling. “Blessed indeed is the man who shows genuine kindness to a stranger, to one he has never seen nor will ever seen again.”
In Nebraska he met up and rode with his brother Jim, who had ridden south from his home province of Manitoba. “Frat,” as Laing called him, traveled with him into California. He also met other Harley riders, found a brotherhood amongst them when he needed company and rode with them for some of his journey.
In Omaha he ate at a lunch counter and marveled at the simple pleasures of chatting with locals where he found “life is considerably simplified; there is a fraternity of Dirt…a better democracy.”
Laing and his brother Jim ride a dry lake bed in Nevada with throttles wide open.
He doffed his cap at many an impressive vista, from the slow power of the Mississippi to the heights of Berthoud Pass. But all through it, the highs of meeting people, rumbling along pleasant country roads and stopping to witness beautiful landscapes, and the lows of mud roads and waiting out a rainstorm under a tarp, there was the love and respect for nature and the open road. Even in Nebraska, when a meal consisted of some bread begged from a farmhouse, Laing chose to see things on the bright side. “The most pleasant thing I can recall of that meal and the place,” he wrote, “was that an Arkansas kingbird had a nest in the upper frame of the wind-mill.”
From Colorado on, the roads would dry and battling road conditions would fade into the distance. As Laing put it, “to sit up loose and easy and open the throttle a little meant quite a new joy of the road.”
Laing in 1914 beside his first Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
On August 8th, 1915, Laing rumbled into San Francisco after riding 3,842 miles, but not before having to fight through alkali poisoning picked up from drinking well water and a seemingly endless series of tire punctures. In retrospect he would term his transcontinental journey as “a mighty film, a four-thousand mile reel of wonderland, the like of which may never be seen within four walls.”
Trevor Marc Hughes is a writer and motorcyclist in Vancouver, Canada. He is currently working on publishing Hamilton Mack Laing’s account of his 1915 transcontinental journey on a Harley-Davidson. He anticipates a release of the book in the spring of 2019.
Bringing you the Best Motorcycle News from Around the Web!
We use cookies to ensure that we give you the best experience on our website. If you continue to use this site we will assume that you are happy with it.Ok
