Beyond Expectations

Spain’s diversity offers magical moments to the motorcycle adventurist

Some things in life are meant to go together – a crisp glass of wine with a delicious meal, a chunk of hard cheese with fresh crusty bread, scenic motorcycle touring with track time. Cat MacLeod of Leod Escapes has found the perfect pairing by combining 4-6 days of breathtaking road riding with two days of exhilarating track riding – on world-famous Moto GP circuits no less!

Having participated in one of his combo tours two years prior through the Italian Alps and on the Sachsenring circuit, I had high expectations of this inaugural trip through the Spanish Pyrenees and on to the Moto GP circuit of Aragon. The bar was set very, very high.

MacLeod has been running these perfectly blended tours for six years, offering international choices: Australian Curves to Phillip Island, Italian Dream to Mugello, or California Curves to Laguna Seca with the California Superbike School. In his quest to create the ultimate riding experience for the adventurous rider, MacLeod ran a contest asking the public to choose where his next tour should be. Czech Republic and Brno? Portugal and Portimãu? Thailand and Chang International Circuit? Or Spanish Pyrenees to Aragon?

The votes were counted and the Spanish Pyrenees to Aragon won as the most requested next trip, and so began many months of planning.

After extensive searching and testing various vendors, Leod Escapes chose IMT (International Motorcycle Tours) to provide local guides and a fleet of BMW motorcycles. Together they designed the routes that would include the things that he wants most for his customers to experience, like incredibly diverse roads, stunning scenery, local cafés and restaurants, authentic food and wine and, of course, two full days of track riding on a Moto GP circuit. There were 17 of us in total – two Canadians, 13 Americans and two Catalan guides would be the first group to enjoy this custom-built and specially requested tour.

High Standards

However, with the epic experience of my first Leod Escapes tour, I was almost expecting this one to fall short. How could any trip possibly be better than Italian Alps and Sachsenring? My friend Nicole, who accompanied me on the last trip, was my motorcycle-riding sidekick on this tour as well. We spent the first day comparing this new group of participants and the first day of roads and riding with the last trip. Even when we rolled into the town of La Seu d’Urgell to our castle accommodations, I was still content in believing that this would be the second-best Leod Escapes tour I ever participated in.

But then, as day two wound its way to an end in a flurry of twisty roads winding through desolate villages dotted with crumbling stone walls, we rolled up to a beautiful majestic castle surrounded by what our animated guide Sergi described as a “circus of mountains,” and I realized I was experiencing something beyond magical. There was no longer any need to make comparisons. This would be epic in its own way and would be a different kind of special. There we stood, flushed and tired from the day of riding but completely rejuvenated by the 360-degree view of purple-tinged mountains, touching the sky.

We snapped pictures, trying to capture the richness of the moment. Within seconds, another dash of pink by way of the clouds swirled in the ever-changing sky. We drank wine and Spanish liquor under the shadow of the mountains, thick and full, and so began the complex formations of deep and binding friendships under a canopy of stars.

Ribbons of Curves

The following days unfolded almost like a roller coaster ride that only goes up, each day building on the previous, getting better and more amazing with every twisty road and mountain pass that we traversed.

And just when we thought it couldn’t possibly get any more stunning, an outrageous, beautiful ribbon of road would appear in the middle of an idyllic town surrounded by lush, green hillsides and dotted with stone farmhouses and churches, and on the top of one of those hillsides would be another stately castle. “It’s like they just put a curve here for the sake of putting a curve here,” said Justin, a fellow tour participant from Detroit. “They could make the road straight, but they filled it with curves instead!” We were awake, but it felt as if we were dreaming.

On day three, we wound our way through single-lane, well-paved roads with broken white lines on each side – no centre line – as if riding along a paper map with edges that dropped off steeply to vibrant hillsides with goats and cows roaming below. We rode over the stunning 2,072-metre-high Port de la Bonaigua pass before we dipped into France. From the top of the pass looking down was like a scene from a fantasy novel – richly olive-tinged with dark, curvy roads thrown in for fun.

We then crossed Col du Tourmalet pass. At an elevation of 2,115 metres, it’s the highest paved mountain pass in the French Pyrenees and is a famous section of the Tour de France. We stopped for lunch in the small village of Luz-St. Sauveur, which happened to be hosting Festival Du Foire, a fair to celebrate the fall lamb harvest. We improvised with parking and then wandered the streets, hungry but too curious to sit and eat. With a big band playing trumpets and clarinets, we danced and frolicked while browsing local vendors selling wine and craft beer, rounds of cheese and fresh sausages, and cooking up meaty lamb chops on homemade grills.

Some Things Never Change

Our day in France felt soft and lovely, like riding through an ancient romance novel. I was lost in the passion of it all, new friends growing closer with each minute, beautiful scenery and flowing roads. Suddenly, our riding was halted for a few moments while we waited for weathered old men and sheep dogs to corral a herd of sheep down the road. As if we were riding 100 years ago, the hollow clang of bells being rung by farmers wearing caps and trousers, sheep dogs working the herd back and forth instinctively as they slowly meandered down the road and finally over the stone walls back into the verdant hillside.

The most beautiful vista of Arrens-Marsous came next – the place where I pulled over and stood in awe: a picturesque town nestled in rolling green hills as far as the eye could see, surrounded by higher jagged mountains and what I thought were dark clouds, which turned out not to be clouds at all but mountain peaks that rose so high I believed them to be actually touching the sky. And then, of course, when trying to return to the group, I had to patiently wait for cows to leisurely cross the road while a free-range horse stood vigilant nearby watching, the curvy road disappearing ahead.  

This spectacular pass was closely followed by the most challenging and frightening pass, through the town of Béost and up over the Col d’Aubisque; carved into the side of a rocky cliff, it was barely wide enough for one car. While I’m not scared of heights, I couldn’t allow myself to look down over the edge for fear of riding over it. How exciting! How beautiful and startling all at once.

“That was a whole different universe of sheer terror,” said Tom, one of the more cautious riders in the group and who did happen to be terrified of heights. “I did it! I loved it! The views were amazing! This is what touring is all about, growing as a rider and a traveller as well.” We were so high we were actually in the clouds and snaking through a thick, foggy blanket, back down the other side.

Riding through the Spanish Pyrenees to Aragon is a little like enjoying tapas – you get a little sampling of everything: spicy, rich, flavourful and filling. As we traversed southeast across the country, the air warmed and thickened, and the scenery morphed from lush, green hillsides to dry, rocky vistas mixed with varying shades of red, pink and orange. Even the pavement changed from deep and murky greys to an orangey pink hue and widened as we rode closer to the track: Motorland Aragón!

Listen to Your Heart

As the road opened, so did the throttle, and suddenly we were speeding toward the town of Alcañiz in a steady line, back and forth, smoothly and evenly, and I fell into that trance, in the zone, one with the motorcycle. I could see Sergi a few riders ahead, intuitively reading the group, allowing this burst of speed but keeping us all in check. “Listen to your heart when riding,” he had warned us on day one. “If it goes bap bap bap bap bap really fast, then maybe you’re riding over your head. Try always to ride with the heart that goes duh dum duh dum, duh dum.” He’s the same guy who also described his work as a guide for IMT as a “dream job, like surfing a cloud.”

As we paused at the base of the pastel-coloured town of Alcañiz – looking like a Lego block mash-up of light pink, orange, yellow and white pieces surrounded by stone towers and buildings – we could see the formidable castle at the top of the hill, almost glowing with the slowly setting sun. I can’t begin to explain the sheer joy and happiness I felt while winding through the narrow cobblestone streets, bells jangling, wafts of coffee and cigar smoke filtering through my helmet as we weaved higher and higher to the entrance of the Parador de Alcañiz. High castle walls tinged a burnt orange from the setting sun, towering archways, and right out front, marked with black ribbon, a parking area for our motorcycles – the sign: “Grupo Alojado IMT BIKE: Passion for Motorcycling.” That was a wow moment.

Exceptional Accommodation

One thing that set this trip apart from the last was our accommodations. Most nights we stayed in four- to five-star paradores – think luxury “hotels” in converted medieval castles, monasteries and fortresses; it’s a way to help fund the upkeep of these historic monuments. Stunning, majestic, impressive, unique and exquisitely beautiful. Consistent with the rest of the tour, somehow the paradors seemed to get more and more impressive as the days unfolded. And the food and wine! No matter if you are Catalan, Basque, Galician or one of the other 14 different cultural identities, Spaniards are proud of their regional menus and wines. Wine is part of the Spanish dining experience, and each evening we were offered an extremely reasonable, pay one price, try all the red and white to your liking. We enjoyed locally produced wines from unique varietals such as Tempranillo and Garnacha, and menu items like Iberian pork, fresh hake, veal and Mediterranean seafood paella.

Through relaxed dinners that started around 9 p.m., as customary, and ran long and leisurely into the night, we got to know and like each other deeply. “These two absolutely make the trip,” said Paul, a soft-spoken financial planner who’s willing to twist the throttle open on the road and track. “It wouldn’t be the same without them,” as he toasted our IMT guides.

We all agreed. Sergi Besses, or “Slim,” as he was affectionately called, was vibrant, full of energy and always smiling. A talented rider and excellent guide, he entertained us each morning for around five minutes while giving us a quick rundown of the route and the roads we might expect to encounter. “Today, we add some pepper to the ride,” he would say, grinning while pointing to the map and then throwing his hands in the air shouting, “Yella ramella!” An inside joke, which very roughly translates as “Let’s go, sheep!”

And then there was David Noya, our humble driver who followed behind in our support vehicle and luggage transporter, always looking out for anyone who may need any extra support and ensuring all the details were well taken care of. Quiet and serious at first, he quickly revealed himself as a passionate and sometimes silly instructor of riding and driving, who just so happens to be extremely fast, holding the 2004 Catalunya Championship title for racing 600 cc.

We were a mishmash of personalities, falling in love with the entire Leod Escapes experience.

Moto GP Circuit and Troy Corser

Our last night in Alcañiz was so special. Having just spent two full exciting days of track riding on the world-class GP Circuit Aragón with two-time World Superbike Champion Troy Corser instructing us through the Race Academy School and growing and improving as riders, a celebration was required. Where better to commemorate motorcycle riding and cherished memories than in a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant in a cave that just so happened to be filled with pictures of famous world-champion motorcycle racers who frequented the same place. Wine, shots, toasts, speeches, delicious food, hugs, laughter and then singing as we walked back up to our castle on the hillside full up on life. And then, as if the night wasn’t epic enough, sharing drinks with Corser himself in a stately bar in the massive castle under a sky sparkling with stars. Awake but still dreaming.

Slightly hung over (again) and under a sky of soft feathery pink, we rolled out of Alcañiz and toward our next destination, Cardona and the final parador of the tour. I did not expect what came later. Exhausted after another day of impressive touring, we rounded a corner to behold, there in the distance, a fortress more massive and impressive than all the others combined. Wild hand gestures ensued as we neared Parador de Cardona, a ninth-century castle built by Wilfred I of Barcelona.

An Emotional Last Night

Words cannot describe this place or the emotion that came from it. It was here that I broke down in tears in the grand medieval dining room, in front of everyone, knowing that our experience was winding to a close. So full up and so empty at the same time. The stone walls and archways, the ancient paintings and the silence that fell around me as I stood on the top of the tower, under a waving Catalan flag, was too much. It was as if the ghost of Cardona Castle, the one that was said to frequent room 712, the same room that Nicole and I had specially requested, had bequeathed her grief on me. Legend says she died of sadness of a broken heart, and in those stones and arched doorways, I felt something so strong and ancient. Nicole, the more empathic and intuitive of us both, felt tapped into something spiritually higher than my melancholy. Hers was an energetic, more psychic experience from within the emotionally filled walls.
We ate grapes warmed by the sun that fellow rider Brad had chopped off a vine from a vineyard on the side of the road, and we toasted each other with full-bodied wines and Blanca de Navarra liquor. It was almost time to say goodbye.

I fell in love there, in that country, with the pavement and the mountains, the valleys and the stones. I let go. And that is the magic of travel, something about movement and motion, propelling you forward even if you don’t know where you are going.

In the end, it wasn’t so much about riding motorcycles through a storybook of the most incredibly stunning scenery, or even about turning laps on the exhilarating Moto GP Circuit of Aragón, but of the coming together of a unique group of people. Riding into Barcelona after an intense and emotional nine-day adventure, I noticed an ease in which we rode beside each other, more tightly condensed and connected, in perfect formation. Gone was any fear of riding in an unfamiliar city next to new people, and in its place a sense of comfort and finality, the best ending to a life-altering experience.

We pulled into IMT bike headquarters with gas tanks empty but memory cards full, physically and mentally exhausted but emotionally fulfilled and with excellent timing . . . just in time for a cold drink and a siesta.

After dodging chaotic traffic in Lima, it didn’t take long for this pair of travellers to head for the mountains, literally

I squinted in disbelief. On a grinding wheel of terror, a whole city’s worth of boneheadedness came crashing down like a shelf full of shoes, all around my head at once. Welcome to Lima.

Dodging demolishment by the skin of my teeth was one thing in this black-souled and brazen traffic, but glimpsing a severely injured motorcyclist in an ambulance made my soul cold. Lima’s wrath will sweep you from the road like a bit of goose down in the wind if you’re not careful. Breaking out of a thick knot of cars, I rode Pearl, my F650GS, with the agility and speed of a frightened rat fleeing a rising flood. Barely retaining a grip on the Kamikaze traffic – what did I expect when Peruvians are not required to take a driving test? – the stronghold on my sanity weakened. With the utmost dispatch, we fled to the Pan American’s sandblasted highway toward the Ancash region in the north.

Leaving the Mayhem Behind

Skirting around the headland, we lapped up the calm coastal views of the Pacific on our left, giant dunes on our right. Life became quiet again. The birds of prey flirted with the ragged edge of the bluff, diving close, hovering on the updrafts, then canting their wings to soar away. The sun shone above the horizon where a gentle band of blue arced across the world – melting into the spaces between the mountains. Tension trickled from my body, leaving me feeling as light as a dandelion seed. Into that peace I rode.

Plains collided with indigo peaks on the hilly road to Huaraz, nestled in a grass-green valley. This is the gateway to the Cordillera Blanca, the highest tropical mountain range in the world. Something told me its 6,000-metre summits wouldn’t let me forget this region for a second. Huascarán National Park, packed full of Andean leviathans, encompasses most of the Cordillera Blanca above 4,000 metres. Jason and I were about to experience a place that’s home to around 600 glaciers, endangered plant species and the poised Andean condor.

Second Thoughts

Our route to peaking the enigmatic utopia involved a rocky ride first to Yanama, a tiny mountain-enveloped pueblo. Advised beforehand by a friend that the gnarly track was a little rough to begin with, I made a mental note to brace my backside. As soon as we started to climb and I turned the first corner, I stopped. Abruptly. Pearl’s nose faced down and dug into soft earth, filled me with fear. Self-doubt gnawed at my ribs as I careened precariously on loamy soil. I was a hair’s breadth from losing control, and we’d only just started.

My muscles tightened when an understanding dawned. This wouldn’t be a rugged patch to negotiate at the outset, this would be “fun” all the way to the top. But something overrode my worry, and my brain quickly rewired. Whatever it was allowed my soul to connect with Pearl’s. We must’ve communed, because a door opened in my head and out flowed the anxiety. An influx of adrenaline propelled me along the narrow dirt trail – peppered with potholes, scored with ruts and packed with loose stones and biggish rocks. I started to get my ride on.

“Lisa, just keep doing what you’re doing. Although I’d be much happier if you stuck to the left,” Jason deferentially added from behind. Fair enough – those precipices on my right were pretty sheer. They made Bolivia’s Road of Death look like a day at the beach. Part way to the top, Jason inquired, “Are you enjoying yourself, Lisa?”

“Yep! Sure am,” I blurted in a surge of glee.

“Good, because you’re riding like a pro today. I’m impressed.” Jason had said that to me only a handful of times in the last 12 months. I was ecstatic and fed off his compliment like a hungry pup. I think I dined out on it for a couple of days, because for once, my off-road riding ability remained consistently good.

Larger than Life

At altitude, the sun was in high-broiling ascendancy. The exertion from off-roading had spread over my limbs in a thick sheen of sweat. No matter, every which way I threw my gaze, ancient mountains rose to scallop the sky with humps of white. Contouring a staggering landscape, I felt ant-sized.

Upon reaching Yanama for the night, I was in a state of pure and incredulous joy. I’d made it and somehow kept Pearl upright, albeit bungling us through on a wing and a prayer. No passing gringos were present, only local children who shrilled happily in the plaza while their parents tended to their herds, or tiendas. Stable doors half opened admitted the breeze. Dogs barked happily in accompaniment and falcons wheeled on the warm air currents. We’d entered the back door to a time-honoured Peruvian life. Images danced on the back of my lids, flickering as I sunk like a stone into a deep sleep.

Night greyed into the lilac canvas of predawn, softly illuminating the hilltop villages on rolling swells of land. I awoke just as the first light stole into the world, and I squirmed to get the kink out of my back. I yawned—a jaw-stretching, tired yawn. Chickens pecked at their corn and piglets squealed in the hostel’s enclosure. I watched a splinter of sun peek over the horizon, and the mountains revealed themselves with an unfathomably icy blue presence.

Intense Vistas

Up and up we bounced over more craggy terrain. Mid-morning, we had scaled a slender backbone of ridge and rode between two ragged shards of mountain. Ice-capped glaciers rimmed the vista, their spiny points raking the bottom of the clouds. Hundreds of natural drainage channels zigzagged through a white maze of ridges. I sneaked toward the edge to get a closer look. The route had left me drained of vitality, but filled with a silence so profound it felt downy against my soul. “A-maz-ing!” slowly oozed from my lips as I gazed with utter gravity, my head panning the grandeur.

Descending the less gnarly switchbacks on the other side of the ridge, we passed the odd minibus, leaving us in a choking curtain of dust, rattling Pearl and me before it disappeared and formed a dust devil whirling off into the sky. I kept my eyes on the stony ruts. I still had a ways to go.

Out of the Clouds

Our wheels back on the national park’s bottom, massive faces of rock loomed above us – an impressive backdrop to a jade-green lake fed by a glacial blue ribbon of water running down from above. A couple of ducks came and went, passing a cow half submerged, chewing on the lake’s grasses. Hunger came on like a charging bull through my stomach.

My belly whined with gratitude over a late lunch in the town of Yungay and begged for more. By the time we’d finished chowing down, satisfaction permeated my body, trickling strength into my limbs. Another mountain-swathed village called Sucre took us in for the night. With a weak-wristed action, I parked Pearl for the evening. Exhausted from head to toe, I stood under a tepid shower; the water soothed me like cool salve on an aching burn.

Alas, the lively ride at a rather lofty altitude had taken its toll, but that mattered little, and even less in what felt like a distinctly different part of Peru. It was going to be hard to leave this little enclave. I sat quietly staring out across the plaza – the place, its people, the simplicity and location not lost on me.

It took decades for this rider to get to these islands of jagged mountains, fjords, tropical forests, sandy beaches and the largest hot springs in the world

Over 30 years ago, I set my heart on exploring one of the most beautiful countries in the world, New Zealand – a remote oasis miles from anywhere – on a motorbike trip, and have been dreaming of it ever since. This year, on turning 60, I decided it was time to turn my dream into reality and head to Aotearoa – (Māori for “Land of the Long White Cloud”) for a new road trip.

At first I thought about shipping my KLR from Vancouver to Auckland, on New Zealand’s North Island, but it was not the cheapest and easiest solution for a two-week trip. And doing this tour with my wife, Margaret, meant we needed a more comfortable motorcycle.

The best option was to rent a bike in New Zealand. Kiwi Motorcycle Rentals, based in Christchurch, on the country’s South Island, proved to be very accommodating and delivered a yellow Yamaha Super Ténéré 60th Anniversary to Auckland. We called her Yellow Peril.

Au Revoir, Auckland

After a short stop in the beautiful city of Auckland, we left its warm, summery climes and headed out of the metropolis into the bucolic landscapes of the countryside. Traffic flowed incredibly smoothly, and 250 km south of Auckland we found ourselves in the volcanic valley of Waimangu near Rotorua, one of the world’s youngest and most active geothermal systems. This incredible
valley was formed after Mount Tarawera erupted in 1886 and has some spectacular natural attractions, such as the Pink and White Terraces, and the Waimangu Geyser.

Off bike, we enjoyed a two-hour hike in this spectacular valley, which is home to several natural wonders that have become popular tourist attractions, such as Frying Pan Lake, which is the largest hot spring in the world, and the steaming and unusually pale blue Inferno Crater Lake, the largest geyser-like feature in the world.

Waimangu means “black water” in Māori, the indigenous language of New Zealand, and the Rotorua region is the best place to discover and explore the culture of the Māori, who arrived in New Zealand in the early 13th century.  

After the gentle ebb and flow of the valley’s geothermal energy, the peaceful and placid Lake Taupo welcomed us with a beautiful sunset, where we set up camp for the night.

Hawke’s Bay and Napier

After a morning coffee on the shores of Lake Taupo, we continued our adventure toward Hawke’s Bay, choosing to take the lesser-used back roads, which have minimal traffic and, very often, more beautiful scenery. Using well-used roadmaps rather than modern GPS – finding a route on the map and going with it is all part of the fun – we wound our way through rolling, grassy hills and knolls dotted with sheep until the landscape became more densely wooded as we neared the coast. Dense woodlands turned into neat rows of vineyards as we arrived in Hawke’s Bay and the beautiful seaside city of Napier.

Set in the heart of the world-class wine-producing region of Hawke’s Bay, Napier was rebuilt after a devastating earthquake in 1931, and today is renowned for its breathtaking Art Deco landmarks, such as the zigzag-patterned Daily Telegraph Building. The charming tree-lined waterfront promenade is home to the statue of a Māori maiden known as Pania of the Reef, and who stands as a symbol of the city. This is a popular spot on a sunny day, which draws crowds of people who flock to soak up the stunning views of the bay.  

Wellington

As Napier began to stir in the soft morning light, we headed out on Highway 2 in the direction of the country’s capital city, Wellington. On the last sections of the route leading to Wellington between Featherston and Upper Hut, the road snakes through 30 km of winding mountain passes with regular road signs along the way warning motorcyclists of the “high risk,” but to be honest, it was exhilarating to flick the bike through those bends.

The lovely seaside city of Wellington welcomed us with open arms. This southernmost capital in the world sits near the North Island’s farthest point on the Cook Strait and looks like a small provincial town. The compact city features a charming waterfront promenade and working harbour, beautiful sandy beaches and picturesque timber houses set among the surrounding hills.

We took a walk along the Wellington Marina as the setting sun began to soak up the incredible scenery, and admired some beautiful sailboats, reminding us that New Zealand has produced famous sailors such as Sir Peter Blake, the world’s most celebrated yachtsman of his day.

The next morning, we popped Yellow Peril on the ferry to cross the Queen Charlotte Sound, the easternmost of the main sounds of the Marlborough Sounds. On the ferry, we were seduced by the beauty of the surrounding scenery, and while the ferry ride was a little over three hours, time passed unnoticed until we heard the announcement of our arrival in Picton on the South Island. We pulled ourselves out of our peaceful reverie and headed down to the lower deck to head out on the next leg of our adventure.

Wairau Valley

After disembarking, we decided to take the narrow Queen Charlotte Drive through Whenuanui Bay Scenic Reserve, a spectacularly hilly and winding road at the edge of the sea with skirting creeks and hidden coves. Being so close to the sea, we felt we had to stop and enjoy some fresh seafood, particularly green mussels, for which the city of Havelock has the distinction as the green-lipped mussel capital of the world.

Our journey continued across the Wairau Valley, a world-famous wine region that produces some of the best wines in New Zealand, to join the west coast, where we wanted to explore the Franz Josef Glacier in the following days. However, the west coast of the South Island is renown for being the wettest region of New Zealand, and upon looking at the forecast, we discovered that the weather was expected to be bad over the next few days.

We awoke to pouring rain, so we decided to cut across the island to the east coast along Hwy 73 and Arthur’s Pass. Even though we learned that there was an extreme weather alert for the 800-metre-high Arthur’s Pass, we decided to try it anyway. As we advanced up the pass, the temperature dropped, it began to hail heavily, followed by snow, with the sides of the road becoming blanketed in white. However, our experience with Canadian winters helped us through this challenging weather, and we managed to make it to the top of the pass with beating hearts and adrenalin rushing through our veins.

The descent on the other side of the pass was more comfortable with drier roads and sunny skies, and we descended with our hearts still beating fast from our exhilarating experience. The views were breathtaking, and the landscape began to change from lush, tropical jungles on the west side of the pass to dry and desert-like mountains on the east side.  

The saddle, the rigidity of the chassis and the comfort of the suspensions of the Super Ténéré are perfect for travelling in the best possible conditions – Margaret confirms this! Traction control, ABS, touring and sport modes, and adjustable front and rear suspension are very helpful with continually changing weather and road conditions. Personally, I think it’s an underrated bike.

Lake Tekapo

It is said that in New Zealand, you can experience four seasons in one day, and we know now precisely what that means. We had made it through a heavy hailstorm in Greymouth, slogged through blankets of snow on Arthur’s Pass, ridden under grey skies on the way to Mount Somers, and warmed our backs in the sun when arriving at Lake Tekapo in the island’s interior.

Picturesque by day and dazzling by night, Lake Tekapo is a spectacular turquoise lake that is in stark contrast to the green and yellow deciduous trees that populate the small islets and the chain of Southern Alps, which are covered with snow in the background. We arrived at Lake Tekapo at the beginning of autumn, and there were dramatic changes of colours in the landscapes, with the foliage taking on red, gold and bright brown tones that contrasted with the dominant green. It was absolutely stunning. We decided to make the shore of this beautiful lake our campsite for the night and enjoyed some sizzling lamb chops cooked over the fire for dinner, beneath a sky full of stars.

The Lakes Region

We spent a few beautiful days exploring this region of lakes, heading along the shore of Lake Pukaki to Mount Cook (Aoraki in the Māori language), the highest point of the country, at 3,724 metres. Standing sentry over the glistening lakes below, Mount Cook was a festival of clouds and light from every angle on the road, and was so awe-inspiring, it was sometimes difficult to stay focused on the road. We passed other shimmering lakes in the following days, including Lakes Ohua, Hawea, Wanaka, Wakatipu and Manapouri spending alternative nights in cabins and campsites.

The next morning, the Super Ténéré was charged and ready for an early-morning departure to the iconic destination of Milford Sound. The road was a treat with a variety of landscapes, ranging from majestic mountains and rolling hills to rural flatlands and mirror-like lakes that gave the impression of seeing double.
Milford Sound is a breathtakingly beautiful fjord in the southwest of New Zealand’s South Island and a place where mountains cascade into the Tasman Sea, creating an unforgettable spectacle.

With the setting sun on our backs and shadows dancing in the hills, I felt that the landscapes became even more spectacular than the day before. I have rarely had so much fun riding a motorcycle in such beautiful countryside with good roads and limited traffic. The South Island has only a little more than a million people, compared with the 1.5 million in Auckland alone, making travelling around the South Island very pleasant.

We spent the night in a cozy and inexpensive bungalow on a farm in Manapouri. The owner raises alpacas, and when we went to pay him for the night, we had the opportunity to meet this unusual animal and watch the way he shears them for their wool, which is sold to make clothing for astronomical prices.
We woke the next morning to disastrous weather; a cold snap from the Antarctic brought violent gales of freezing wind that forced us to become balancing artists on the bike. We had to ride at such angles that it didn’t constitute normal driving, and grazed the grass on the side of the road many times.

Invercargill, Burt Munro and John Britten

We were now nearing the southern tip of the South Island and the small town of Invercargill, the birthplace of Burt Munro. Herbert James (Burt) Munro was a New Zealand motorcycle racer famous for setting an under-1,000 cc world record at Bonneville in 1967, which still stands today. The story of his record attempts on the Bonneville Salt Flats was made famous in the 2005 film The World’s Fastest Indian, starring Anthony Hopkins.

We visited the E Hayes and Sons store in Invercargill, where the “Munro Special,” as Munro called his bike, is on display, along with many other beautiful machines. Our next visit in town was at Classic Motorcycle Mecca, a collection of nearly 300 motorcycles that includes Brough Superior, Ariel, Vincent, Norton, Ducati, BMW and Indian, to name a few. Special mention to the amazing Cardinal Britten V1100 built by the late John Britten. A legend in New Zealand, he designed and built the revolutionary Britten V-twin motorcycle. By the way, I was at the 1993 Isle of Man TT, and I will never forget Shaun Harris riding the Britten in the Senior TT.

After this tribute to Burt Munro and John Britten, we took the road back inland to the east coast of the island. Our journey took us past stunning lakes, rolling hills dotted with sheep, and high mountains at the edge of the ocean to the Shag Point Scenic Reserve, where large colonies of fur seals basked in the sun.
Over the next few days, we used the small coastal town of Oamaru as a base for further adventures and explorations around the island, which included the beautiful Route 83 along the Waitaki River and returning to the Lake District.

Christchurch

The last stop on our journey was the town of Christchurch, a charming town with lovely green parks and gardens, including Hagley Park and Christchurch Botanic Gardens, but which suffered terribly from the 2010 and 2011 earthquakes. Known for its rich English heritage, Christchurch is set on the Avon River, which meanders through the city centre. Despite the earthquake damage, which sadly destroyed many of the historic centre’s stone buildings, it’s still a very picturesque town. Before dropping off the Ténéré at Kiwi Motorcycle Rentals, we visited Mike Pero’s Motorcycle Museum in Avonhead, which has an excellent display of Japanese classics from the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s.

Only one regret, however: We did not see any kiwi, New Zealand’s national bird!

The author and a few of his riding buddies take in an important celebration half a world away

Some of the members of my Jewish motorcycle club, the YOW (Yidden on Wheels), from Toronto decided to honour Israel’s special 70th birthday (Yom Ha’atzmaut) by touring the whole country for two weeks this past April. The preparation took over a year, but the results were incredible. In fact, we just proved an exception to the riders’ motto “It’s not the destination but the ride,” because this special trip was both.

The logistics of getting 14 big touring bikes halfway across the world was daunting, to say the least. We needed a customs broker, a shipping company, an insurance broker and, most importantly, proper documentation for everything. As an example, one of our riders had a new bike but the paperwork had one small mistake, resulting in a four-hour delay at the Israeli customs office in Haifa.

We shipped our bikes one month in advance by cargo ship and our group arrived by air on April 9, 2018. We reunited with our “babies” the following day. In addition to our riding club, we had four Aussies (who also shipped their bikes), one American and our local Israeli leader who acted as our tour guide. We had a large bus for those people who were not riders, like my wife, Judy, or wanted a break from being on the bikes. The bus also carried our extra luggage. Our group in total had over 40 people.

Holocaust Survivor

The trip was designed to celebrate three milestones in Israel’s young history: Holocaust Remembrance Day on April 12, Israeli Soldiers Memorial Day on April 18 and Israel’s Independence Day on April 19. For me, this trip had a lot of meaning. Foremost, I am thankful because, being a 76-year-old Holocaust survivor, I was blessed with the ability to be riding my Gold Wing in Israel, the land of my ancestors. I was also happy with some of the challenging roads we travelled on.

I give presentations about the Holocaust in the Greater Toronto area throughout the whole year, especially during Holocaust Education Week every November. In each presentation I state that for me, a motorcycle represents the greatest symbol of freedom. I can’t describe my feeling of pride when I was interviewed for Israeli television (see interview here –
goo.gl/oqLtQA) on top of Masada, which in Israel is the symbol of struggle for freedom against oppression. Masada is an ancient Roman fortress, a National Park and a UNESCO World Heritage site located in the Judean Desert near the shores of the Dead Sea. Masada was only one of our destinations, but to me it was the most meaningful.

The Riding Is Different

Israel is a small country and our entire trip covered just over 2,000 km, but the experiences both on the road and at the different sites we visited were incredible. After we picked up our bikes, we headed north to the Golan Heights on the border with Syria. With 20 bikes in the group, we quickly found out that riding in Israel is not the same as in Canada or the United States. The locals tend to be a bit more aggressive than I’m accustomed to and there are a lot of scooters cutting in and out of traffic. However, other than a couple of minor drops in gravel parking lots (mostly by yours truly), we did not have any mishaps or experienced any mechanical problems.

When we arrived at the Golan on the narrow road that separates the two countries, we saw a UN observer that is posted there, as well as several sculptures created from the remnants of the war in 1967. We spent the night at the foot of the Golan on a kibbutz, which had a very good hotel.

The Whole Country Stops

After the Golan, we headed to Jerusalem, and on this leg of the trip I witnessed a very moving and emotional experience. At exactly noon on April 12, the entire country stopped for two minutes of silence to remember the victims of the Holocaust. We were at a roadside rest stop, and we saw cars and trucks in both directions pull off the road; the drivers then got out and stood in silence.

The trip to Jerusalem was 350 km and had some pretty good switchbacks, twisties and steep descents. We spent three nights there, during which time we visited the Western Wall and Ammunition Hill, which was the site of some very heavy fighting in 1967; we were also treated to a spectacular light show at the Tower of David, which depicts the story of Jerusalem.

Our trip was designed to cover as much ground as possible on our bikes – in other words, “just ride, baby, ride.” Over the last dozen years I’ve ridden all over the United States and Canada, and I will say the roads in the Judean Hills just outside Jerusalem equalled any that I’ve experienced before, including the renowned Tail of the Dragon.

Lowest Place on Earth

It was really interesting that from the Judean Hills we descended into the Judean Desert and rode into 41 C heat. We were on our way to the Ein Gedi, an oasis and nature reserve located on the shores of the Dead Sea, which at 400 metres below sea level is the lowest point on dry land. To see the desert and sheer rocks with a natural spring cascading down from it is truly a breathtaking sight.

Our next destination was Masada, which we reached by cable car after we left our bikes in the parking lot far below the palace. A large Israeli flag flew on top and the view overlooking the Dead Sea was beautiful.

We spent the following two nights at a nearby resort on the Dead Sea. The hotel parking lot was not biker-friendly, as it was at the back of the hotel with a steep hill and a tall curb. I did negotiate the curb, but because I had to speed up to get over it, I almost hit the retaining wall. When my friend Danny saw this, he offered to park my bike whenever I felt a bit unsure (yes, I was the oldest in the group). After this, I took him up on his kind offer three times and, according to my less than charitable friends, I became the first in our club to enjoy valet service for a bike.

Home Base

The next destination was Eilat, on the shores of the Red Sea, which we used as a home base: from where we had one-day rides, returning nightly. We rode out to Timna Park, another nature park, where we visited Solomon’s Pillars. Every trip includes some interesting events or out-of-the-ordinary episodes, but birdwatching? Are you kidding me? It was no joke, but a fascinating experience. Eilat is located at a land bridge between Eurasia and Africa, and millions of birds visit there after their epic crossing of the vast Sahara desert, having flown thousands of kilometres without food or water. While in Eilat, we commemorated the Israeli Soldiers Memorial Day on April 18 and Israel’s Independence Day the following day.

On April 20, we left for Tel Aviv, and did some hard riding through the Negev Desert in the high heat. Knowing that the trip was winding down, I was already feeling sad. I wanted to ride more because I knew that our bikes would not be back in Canada for some time. (In fact, the bikes ended up being held at customs for an extra 10 days, and we didn’t get them back until June.)

Nevertheless, the last night in Tel Aviv was special. We had a big feast and reminisced about our experiences. The following day, we rode the bikes to Haifa and loaded them back into the same containers that were used to get them to Israel. For some people, it was the end of the trip. For Judy and I it was only the first leg, as we continued to Greece, Holland, Austria and Hungary to visit friends and family.

The ride was over, but what a ride it was – it really was the ride of a lifetime.

The Isle of Man TT is something that all motorcyclists should experience at least once in their lifetime

For more than 100 years, motorcyclists have raced for the Tourist Trophy (TT) on the narrow, unforgiving public roads of the Isle of Man (IoM). The confines of the course and the proximity of spectators creates a sensation of speed that has few equivalents. Victory on the 37.73-mile Mountain Course is regarded as a singular achievement, testing both mettle and metal to the extreme.

But few sporting events carry with them such an extraordinarily high cost of failure as does the TT. The death toll now sits at 257 riders since 1911. Two racers – Dan Kneen and Adam Lyon – lost their lives at the 2018 TT.

In Canada, motorcycle racing, like most motorsports, is a niche pursuit. However, at the TT, you are immersed in an atmosphere that is 100 per cent bike racing, and with a fervour that is astounding. This pulls you in and pushes aside your personal discomfort over the consequences of rider error. My wife and I attended the 2018 IoM TT as first-timers, awestruck by the speed but quietly relieved not to have witnessed the tragic accidents. The racing was remarkable, with fine weather contributing to lap records across multiple classes, including Peter Hickman’s Senior TT victory with the first-ever 135-plus mile per hour lap.

The TT is a spectacle, so pictures, rather than words, tell the story best. My wife, Catherine, is an accomplished wildlife and landscape photographer but a first-time attendee at a motorcycle race. Since 150 mph elephants are rare, some adjustments were needed! A quick study and equipped with a new sports-oriented high-speed camera, she captured the essence of the TT in this series of photos.

Basking in the friendliness of the people, the history and the amazing scenery that Croatia has to offer

Croatia has become the hidden gem of Europe for many reasons. The small country, which borders the Adriatic Sea, is often overlooked by travellers headed to the more common destinations of Italy or even Greece. Although it has mostly recovered from the Croatian War of Independence, which was won in 1995, there are still remnants of the battle, evident from bullet-ridden bricks and vacated buildings throughout the country. Despite the battle scars, however, Croatia has risen above as a hearty, proud and humble country, eager to welcome visitors to take in the beautiful landscape and enjoy all that it has to offer.

An invitation to ride was all I needed to venture to Europe. Before I knew it, I was boarding a plane from Toronto with my carefully packed bags that were bulging at the seams. The essentials were all there: bathing suit, sundress, leather riding jacket, helmet (two actually), boots, gloves and a few pairs of jeans. I was only going to be in Croatia for only a few days, so I was going to make the most of every day and take in as many experiences as I possibly could. (I took this trip in late April, which was the perfect time to visit. The weather was amazing, and the city of Split wasn’t too busy with tourists quite yet.)

I often find there’s a reason we seek travel, whether we are trying to get away from work, find ourselves, spend time with family or simply get our adrenaline fix. For me, this ended up being more than just another moto adventure (doesn’t it always, though?). It was filled with new friendships, and a better understanding of my own background and heritage. It’s interesting how, over time, the things we do lead us down this wild and crazy path; I like to think of it as a road full of fun and twisty switchbacks, to the ultimate destination of learning more about ourselves. When you think of it, how many of us have “found ourselves” on a motorcycle, or “lost ourselves” to the wide open road? If you raised your hand, or grinned a bit, then you’re still with me, and you get it.

Family Connection

On our way from the airport to Le Méridien hotel in Split, I mentioned to our shuttle driver that my family from generations back was originally from Slovakia (formerly the Czech Republic). It turns out that we were just a short eight hours away from my great-
grandparents’ birthplace. The driver smiled pleasantly and told me how the Slovak people were the first to start coming back to visit Croatia after the war. With my heart warmed, and a reminder to tell my 86-year-old grandma about this, I promised myself I would return again to visit my great-grandparents’ hometown, on a motorcycle of course.

Our adventure consisted of two days of riding through the Croatian mountains and down through the countryside and coastline surrounding Split, the
second-largest city in Croatia. As a bunch of Canadians on Harley-Davidsons, we were a bit out of our element. Yet, despite being over 7,000 km
from home, we felt strangely comfortable in a completely unfamiliar place. Perhaps it was the homemade food (usually served family style), the warm hospitality or the rustic and simple way of life that we seemed to enjoy. Either way, I felt at home, and the trip had just begun.

Croatian Roads

With a twist of the throttle on a 2018 Harley-Davidson Street Glide, the Milwaukee-Eight V-twin engine on this beast roared to life as we set off on our first day of riding through the mountainside. In search of some fun riding, we made sure to head for the hills, literally. The highest mountain peak in the country is Dinara, and we found it just east of Knin and the Croatian border with Bosnia and Herzegovina.

While these mountains are smaller than those in other European countries, at over 1,831 metres high, Dinara certainly tested this flat-land girl from Ontario. Incredibly tight switchbacks, a herd of wild goats and varying degrees of incline and decline throughout the mountain landscape encouraged me to focus intently and manoeuvre the Street Glide carefully.

The ride was mixed with slippery hairpins and wide open roads through orchards (where I could really test out the throttle response on that bike), along with cobblestone streets through small towns. However, the somewhat challenging terrain was worth the end result, with epic views of the sea and the islands from high above.

Downtime

Our final stop of the day at Hotel Panorama in Šibenik offered the most incredible views of the crystal-blue Krka River and the Krka Bridge that spans 391 metres long. This is definitely a must-stop place – the hotel also features a restaurant with a patio overlooking the Krka Canyon. From there we enjoyed a fairly easy ride back to our hotel, where we traded leathers for Lycra as a bunch of bikers in bathing suits relaxing by the infinity pool chatting about the day’s adventure.
A solid night’s sleep had us up early and ready to ride again.

I swapped the Street Glide for a 2018 Harley-Davidson Iron 1200, and opted for a shorter half-day ride along the Dalmatian Coast. Just as riding down Highway 1 in California is a bucket-list item, so is a ride along the edge of the Adriatic Sea. Perhaps it has to do with being in a foreign country or the fresh smell of the sea; either way, it’s exhilarating to the point of giving you goose bumps or plastering a huge smile on your face.

Ocean Vistas

I focused on the road, but found it impossible not to take in some of the beautiful views ahead of me and of the sea to my right. The islands off in the distance toward Italy were calling out to me for an island-hopping adventure, but that would have to be next time. We cruised along and made sure to stop at one of the many cafés located along the beach. Caffe Bar Malo Mista, in Dugi Rat, was our coffee stop of choice given the amazing view of the coastline. Nothing beats sipping European coffee after cruising along the Adriatic Sea on a motorcycle. This was the ultimate high.

I enjoyed riding the Iron 1200 along the seaside, and then into the countryside. The mid-centred controls made me feel as if I was riding a sport bike, and I could really get into some corners as we rode along. The fresh ocean air invigorated me that day, and I felt more alive than I had ever felt. I found myself on those roads in Croatia, on a Harley-Davidson, and the experience is one I hope to repeat soon. Being that far from home never felt more comfortable and familiar than it did in Croatia.

Repairing a stripped thread can be a costly endeavour, but an insert can be an inexpensive and easy fix.

There are few things that are as frustrating as removing a bolt and finding a little coil of aluminum clinging to its threads. This is an indication that the bolt had been over-tightened at one time, and it pulled the threads out of whatever it was fastening. Until those threads are restored, the clamping power of that bolt is lost. My Honda FT500 recently sprang an oil leak from the camshaft cover, the cause of which was revealed upon disassembly: a coil of aluminum came out with one of the mounting bolts.

The most effective way to restore damaged threads is with a thread insert. A thread insert is a stainless steel coil that replaces the missing threads, while also strengthening them. It is commonly known by the brand name Heli-Coil, much like most everyone calling facial tissue Kleenex, though there are several makers. Thread inserts come in specific sizes, and you need the proper tools to install them. A thread repair kit includes several inserts, an insert driver and a special tap; some kits include a drill bit, while others tell you what drill bit size to use.

The procedure is relatively simple but must be done carefully, as the thread insert must be installed straight. The bolt size on the FT500 measured M6 x 1.0, which identifies it as a 6 mm metric bolt with a 1 mm thread pitch. This is a very common size on Japanese and European bikes, and is usually the size of bolts holding down engine covers. Tightening torque on these bolts is about 90 to 110 inch-pounds, which makes it very easy to over-tighten them without a torque wrench.

With your thread repair kit in hand, the first step is to drill out the damaged hole to the proper size. Although the location of the damaged hole on my bike allowed me to repair it without removing the cylinder head, the top frame tube prevented me from using a drill. To save time, I carefully drilled the hole by hand using locking pliers to grip the drill bit and turn it slowly (yes, this damaged the drill bit, but it saved me a lot of time). Care must be taken not to wobble the drill bit around and make the hole bigger than it need be. Even when using a drill, you should use a low speed and drill carefully and square, and use either cutting fluid or some kind of lube to make a clean cut; I used WD40. One way to make sure you do not drill too deeply is to measure the depth of the hole with a vernier caliper and place a piece of masking tape on the drill bit at the proper distance for reference.

The next step is to tap the new threads. Now, the tap included in a thread repair kit is not a standard size: it’s an oversized tap that has the same thread pitch as the hole being repaired – it is the thread insert that resizes the threads to the correct diameter. When tapping, do not just turn the tap into the hole in one direction the way you would a bolt. You must go in incrementally, about a half turn at a time, then back out the tap about a quarter turn to break the aluminum filings being created during the thread-cutting process. This keeps the cutting edges of the tap clean and prevents aluminum from building up and sticking to the tap, which will produce a sloppy cut. Also use lube when cutting threads for a clean, machine-like finish. Make sure you cut the threads deep enough to accept the insert without it bottoming or tightening on the threads, and don’t forget to blow out the filings.

Once the threads are cut, you can install the thread insert using the driver. The insert has a small tab on one end that hooks onto the driver, allowing you to drive it into the hole. The driver also has a shoulder that bottoms on the surface of the part being repaired so that the insert is installed at the correct height. You’ll feel some tension on the driver as you install the insert because the insert is designed to compress slightly, which locks it in place once it is completely installed.

The final step is to snap off the installation tab at the bottom of the insert by tapping it with a small punch or screwdriver, then retrieving it with a magnet or magnetized screwdriver so it doesn’t interfere with the bolt.

While performing that thread repair I noticed a second hole with damaged threads and repaired that one, too. A subsequent road test revealed that the FT is now oil tight, and we’re both happy.

Technical articles are written purely as reference only and your motorcycle may require different procedures. You should be mechanically inclined to carry out your own maintenance and we recommend you contact your mechanic prior to performing any type of work on your bike.

For the first time ever, a Canadian representative was crowned champion at the Yamaha World Technician Grand Prix, held at Yamaha Motor Corporation’s headquarters in Iwata, Japan on October 17.

Brett Hart, a master technician at Blackfoot Motorsports (Calgary, AB), earned the prestigious title at the 8th running of the World Tech GP. You can read about the Canadian win here. Hart earned his spot in the world finals by winning the Canadian qualifier, held at Yamaha Motor Canada’s Toronto offices in July. Hart had previously been a three-time Canadian finalist before breaking through with his first win this year.

“Words cannot describe the way I feel,” said Hart after the event. “It’s surreal, a dream come true. I have been treated like a celebrity by Yamaha staff, and all the competitors act like I’m a rock star. It’s unlike anything I have experienced before.”

Similar to the Canadian competition, the day-long WTGP included both technical and customer service labs, providing an extra level of challenge for staff who spend most of their time wrenching behind the scenes rather than interacting with customers. Hart admitted to overthinking during the technical lab, putting his hopes at risk. “I was second guessing myself instead of trusting my training,” the Calgary native explained, “but I was able to get past it and quickly made up points.”

Hart bested 21 competitors representing 19 countries and regions, finishing ahead of second-place Darren Stout of Australia and third-place Alan Simmonds in the Sports Model class. There are an estimated 34,000 Yamaha Technical Academy-certified technicians across the globe, making Hart’s achievement all the more stunning.

“I think this shows that Yamaha Motor Canada takes service very seriously and should be respected on a global level,” Hart summarized. “It shows we care for our customers and have the skills to keep them safe and happy on the roads.”

Held every two years, the Yamaha Technician Grand Prix is organized as part of Yamaha Motor Corporation Ltd.’s global service education plan. The goal of the Yamaha Tech GP is to raise awareness and increase competency of
Yamaha’s technicians.

SPOT X 2-way satellite messenger is the newest addition to the SPOT family. SPOT has been an integral part of many folks’ safety regiment from daily adventures to long travels. In the past SPOT devices offer tracking options and limited communication to your loved ones to keep them informed.

SPOT keeps you connected to family, friends and emergency responders as well as protects your most valuable toys from theft. The new SPOT X is a  handheld device that features a full keyboard, paperlit screen, built-in rechargeable batteries and allows you to have direct communication with emergency services. Its unique phone number allows friends and family to contact you regardless of cellular coverage. The IP67 rating comes with all the functionality of the original SPOT products including GPS tracking and check-in.

 

To get more information go to findmespot.ca

 

With budgets cut, there were only so many ways to make the Manx Norton competitive, albeit unrideable.

The Manx Norton has no rivals for the accolade of being the ultimate British racing single in both 350 and 500 cc configurations, and as a production race bike, only the later TZ250/350 Yamahas can match its global appeal and formidable record of success over such an extended period in the hands of its customers. Indeed, the Manx’s popularity and copious race wins imbued the Norton marque with an aura of quality that extended right down to its humblest roadster, in a way few other brands have ever managed besides Ducati. That’s a key commercial justification for going racing in the first place, a strategy perpetuated today by the marque’s current owner, Stuart Garner, in taking Norton TT racing in the Isle of Man with some degree of success.

The introduction in 1950 of the double-knocker (DOHC) Manx engine and the Ulster-built “featherbed” frame designed by the McCandless brothers, enabled Norton’s Bracebridge Street factory to keep abreast of the European multi-cylinder opposition for a few extra years, after providing Geoff Duke with the means to take both 350 cc and 500 cc World Championships in 1951, and the 350 cc title again in 1952.

Thanks to the efforts of the factory race team in the 1950s, Norton held a similar status on two wheels in the British public’s consciousness as Jaguar had earned on four through its World records and Le Mans 24-Hour race victories. In Norton’s case, this was achieved by Duke’s against-all-odds World titles, and maintained by a brave if stubborn defiance of the inevitable threat posed by the so-called foreign multi-cylinder designs from Italy and Germany that, as the ’50s flew by, challenged Norton’s racing dominance ever more successfully.

The single-cylinder Manx Norton ultimately represented a gallant example of the traditional British love of the underdog, so that even after the factory team withdrew from racing at the end of 1954, Norton’s image was upheld by the hundreds of privateers from many different nations who continued to race Manx Nortons successfully – and, in many cases, profitably – right up until the early ’70s.

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A small boy’s dream evolves into his lifelong love of motorcycles.

The bus was stopped at the intersection. A small boy sat on the upper deck at the right front seat, staring at the showroom of Robb Motors. “Robb’s,” as people used to call it, sold cars and motorcycles. It had models for every price range of car, and all were from prestigious manufacturers – Rolls-Royce, Bentley, Jaguar, Rover, Austin, to mention a few. It was also a retailer for Norton motorcycles, which is what interested the boy on the bus. Not only did the dealership sell road bikes for everyday use, it also sold racing motorcycles, and standing on the showroom floor was a brand-new Manx Norton in full racing trim, complete with clip-on handlebars, racing seat, rear-mounted foot pegs, a small racing screen and a tach with a moveable red-line marker. The boy on the bus could not take his eyes off it, even when the bus continued on its way, taking him to school.

All day the boy thought about that Norton, and as soon as school finished, he boarded the bus to take him home. The journey took him past Robb’s again, at which point the boy jumped out and walked into the showroom to get a closer look at the Norton. Nothing in the world could be nicer than this, and he looked at it from every angle – even feeling the twist-grip throttle – and imagining what it must feel like to be riding such a dream bike. The exhaust pipe swept back from the cylinder head and ended in a large megaphone alongside the rear wheel. He smelled the leather of the seat, and while he was imagining himself riding this beauty, his thoughts were interrupted by a hand resting on his shoulder.

A Dream Fulfilled

A saleperson had been watching him and decided that he needed to give this boy something to think about. “Would you like to sit on it?” he said. The youngster could hardly believe his ears “Yes sir, I would love to,” he replied. “Climb aboard. The bike is on a stand and it won’t fall over.” The boy thought that his heart would burst from excitement as he swung his leg over the seat and climbed on. Everything just seemed to fit so naturally – the hand grips were waiting for him, the tach and windscreen slipped into place in front of him. And although his legs were still too short for his feet to reach the foot pegs and his hands were also still too small to allow him to reach the front brake and clutch levers, he could feel that this machine would one day fit him perfectly. He loved the feel of the fuel tank between his knees, with the lovely aluminum fuel cap located between his chin and the handlebars.

A Moment Recorded

The salesperson told him to stay there as he went over to his desk and took out a camera. He took a picture of the boy on the bike. “Come back next week and I will give you a copy of this photo,” the man said. The boy was at a loss for words as he carefully dismounted.

The whole of the following week, all he could think about was the prospect of getting that photograph of himself sitting on the Norton. Finally the day came, and he collected the photo from the kind salesperson. For this small boy, the love of motorcycles was born on this day.

That photograph was my most prized possession for many years, but unfortunately I no longer have it with me. My bicycle was my substitute for that motorcycle, and when riding it, I used to pretend that it was the Norton. I was eight years old at the time. From then on I was hooked, and all I could think about was that one day when I would be able to buy a motorcycle like that Norton, and make all of my dreams come true.

A ride on BMW’s most powerful bike to date reveals astonishing acceleration and handling.

My first glimpse of the BMW HP4 Race was earlier this year during a California Superbike School (CSS) event. Dylan Code, son of Twist of the Wrist II author and CSS founder Keith Code, rolled out the shiny, nearly $100K limited-edition motorcycle/work of art and parked it carefully on a black carpet. He then dutifully set out four poles connected by red tape to hold onlookers back from touching the exclusive machine. It looked like a Hollywood celebrity, flanked by bodyguards. Immediately, students began to gather around, whispering techy facts and pointing at the fancy bits.

The HP4R is the “bike that no one asked for but that every track rider wants after they ride it,” Dylan said. “It’s a production prototype factory race bike that exceeds the build quality of a World Superbike. The price tag is high, but the riding experience is even better than the price tag suggests.”

Because the California Superbike School is always running events at racetracks around the United States, and because it is already associated with BMW and uses BMW S1000RRs for coaches and students, it made sense for BMW to loan the school one for test rides for interested buyers. “For us, it’s a real treat to have around. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to ride it myself and can say it’s the best track bike I’ve ever ridden,” Dylan said.

Step Up to Ride the Rocket

The school decided that all the coaches should have a chance to test ride the bike at some point during the year. So, during a stretch of five days of teaching at the Ridge Motorsports Park, Washington, I decided I was ready for my chance. The Ridge is a fantastic flowing track with elevation changes and a great variety of corners. It often tops the coaches’ list of favourite tracks in the U.S. The day was hot and sunny, and all conditions perfect for such a test ride.

I was to take it out during lunch, and I have to admit I was feeling nervous as the time neared. The sheer price tag of the HP4R reminded me that any mistakes on the track would be extremely costly – and by costly, I mean it would likely bankrupt me. When Keith sauntered toward me, grinning and asking about my upcoming test ride, I told him I was planning on taking it easy and not riding it too hard or aggressively. He threw his head back and laughed and said, “Misti, that bike begs to be ridden. It inspires confidence. Go out and ride it as it’s meant to be ridden.” He paused and then added, “It’s more fun than the S1000RR.”

The HP4R is an exotic, limited-edition, track-only weapon. It features a full carbon frame and fairing, as well as carbon front and rear wheels, making it 40 kg lighter than the S1000RR it’s based on. That’s a mere 171 kg fully fuelled. Combine that featherweight chassis with the 1,000 cc, inline-four, race-ready engine that produces 215 hp at 13,900 rpm and you’ve got a rocket ship of a motorcycle – the closest thing that most regular folks will get to riding a World Superbike. Only 750 of them will be available worldwide, and with a price tag of $95,000, it’s an exclusive work of art perfect for those who are looking for a spectacular track-riding experience.

A Rundown of the Details

Before I rode the bike, Dylan sat me on it and began going through some of the seemingly unlimited customizable options: everything from the programmable BMW slick Dynamic Traction Control and Engine Brake Control to the clip-on handlebars that can be rotated in or out and the seat height that can be raised or lowered to three different settings.

The savvy electronics also feature other adjustable options like the much-needed wheelie control and launch control, and a pit lane rev limiter that can be activated on the fly. Öhlins suspension components include an FGR 300 fork and TTX 36 GP shock, exactly the same as the components used in World Superbike championships. Suspension offers colour-coded adjustment knobs for compression and rebound, while the fork features a click setting function for the spring preload.

As I was trying to wrap my head around all the possible options and tricked-out displays and buttons, including the 2D dashboard, GPS and 2D data logger, and a factory-unlocked ECU for endless customization of power maps, Dylan asked me, “How much engine braking do you want?”

“Uh, why don’t you just set it up exactly as you usually have it and I’ll ride it like that,” I replied. As a rider who normally makes as few adjustments or changes as possible, my brain was spinning with the infinite number of options.

There are four riding modes (Wet, Intermediate, Dry 1 and Dry 2) that all have plus or minus setting options to further dial in the exact riding specs that the rider is looking for. You name it and it’s most likely adjustable.

The Butterflies Are Ready for Flight

Dylan fiddled quickly and effortlessly with several buttons, putting me into Dry 1 mode with his usual settings, and expertly warmed the bike to exactly 90 F. I felt the butterflies creep in again as I put my helmet and gloves on and got ready to enjoy the rare and sought-after ride. As I sat on the bike, Dylan pointed out the custom seat he had added that had a lip at the back and sides. It felt as if it pushed me closer to the tank than I was used to, but he told me I’d understand why he added it when I felt the pull of acceleration.

The engine rumbled and growled a much deeper and throatier sound than that of the S1000RR. A crowd of students and some staff began to form around us.

Dylan removed the tire warmers and dropped the bike off the front and rear stands. He patted me on the back and said, “Don’t worry, it’s like [in the movie] Avatar: you connect your tails and the bike just does whatever you think it should do.” Keith gave a nod and I pulled into the hot pits with fellow coach Jon Groom following behind with a GoPro mounted and ready to record the experience forever.

Blast Off!

The bike was definitely taller with a more aggressive riding position, and I could feel the power rumbling beneath. I gasped as I rolled on the gas and pulled out of the hot pits onto the front straight. Right away I could feel the powerful acceleration forcing me back in the seat and the lip on the custom seat keeping me from sliding back too far. At the end of the straight is an uphill left-hander that switches immediately to a blind right, and I felt the lightness of the HP4 instantly as it effortlessly fell from corner to corner. I almost ran up over the curbing a few times while getting used to how little actual effort it required to turn it. It was as Dylan said, just like in Avatar. I merely looked at the apex and the bike seemed to read my mind and arrive.

The next turn is a fast left that opens to a quick straight, and this is where I really felt the rocket ship power propelling me forward when I rolled on the gas harder and harder. It was getting exciting already. As I tipped into the long double apex, I felt leaned over farther than I had anticipated and realized that yes, this bike really does inspire confidence and begs to be ridden. I grinned.

As I rocketed through the next series of corners, I arrived suddenly at Turn 13, a tight downhill left-hander that quickly changes to a downhill right. Seamless downshifting combined with powerful brakes had me dragging a knee and carrying more speed through it than I thought possible on the first lap of a test ride. I was, if you recall, supposed to be riding cautiously. Swinging through the longer left and then quick right onto the long straightaway, I could see a crowd of people watching from pit lane and felt the anticipation of trying to get wide open throttle on something so powerful. Although I couldn’t quite do it (call me a chicken, but it was my first time on the thing), I did shoot forward faster than I ever thought possible, like a missile, actually, and it truly was the most power I’ve ever felt on a motorcycle.

Where’s the Marker?

I was revelling in the excitement of speed and power when I quickly realized that I had no frame of reference for approaching Turn 1 at such a high rate of speed. I didn’t have a brake marker and I panicked slightly, rolling off way too early, with my fellow coach, John, shooting by me after trying to bridge the gap that I had made pulling him on the straight.

Now I was having fun. The bike, feeling super agile with sharp handling and precision everything, was encouraging me to ride it faster and harder than I ever intended. I was dragging a knee and spinning the rear nearly everywhere, and was completely mesmerized that I was doing so after only one lap. I fit into it. I was part of it. I wanted more.

I only rode a total of five laps before I was instructed to pull off and let others have a turn, but in that short time, I was completely convinced that this was the best track bike I had ever ridden. I already have a long list of things that I would buy if I ever won a cool million dollars, or 10, and the BMW HP4 Race has now slotted itself neatly into the top of that list. This truly is one of the most exclusive superbikes ever offered to the public. If only . . .