Remember my last confession? I opened the motard article revealing that I had never raced before. Well, here’s another: I have had no motorcycle training either. Learning to ride was like learning about sex — gleaned from the pages of glossy magazines and the watching of others.
How do you measure your passion for motorcycling? Perhaps one gauge might be: if you’re able to look back fondly on a tour that ended with a close encounter with a guide-rail and you on a gurney in a hospital ER!
The plan was simple enough. Meet Pascal (of SV650 National racing fame) in St. Jacob’s, Ontario, have a few beers whilst getting caught up on the latest gup, and call it an early night so that we would be fresh for an entertaining ride with the KTM Rally Connex crew the next day.
So, all the prep-work is done. We’re at Motoretta Scooters with very little sleep but lots of anticipation. The following step-by-step breakdown (with timing and distance estimations) hopefully describes the day’s grinding pace …
Alcohol is a dangerous thing. I’m not talking about the obvious here – drunken behaviour, drowning in your own vomit, etc. No it’s its ability to make a bad idea seem good that has caused the most grief for me in the past.
Although I was momentarily experiencing sensory overload, riding a Honda F4 at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway in the middle of January was proving to be a welcome change from the minus forty degree enforced hibernation back home in Montreal.
With a smooth arc through corner one, I focus on the upcoming 90-degree right-hander – on the brakes, shifter loaded. With a quick in/out of the clutch I’m into the appropriate gear and I slide half my ass off the seat – right foot weighting the peg, left knee pushing into the tank. My right arm is pushing on the bar in unison and I nail the corner with a perfect clip of the apex. With eyes already fixed on the next marker, the whole glorious process begins again.
Father (Karim) and son (Marco) Ouji, tell a tale about the search for a motorcyclist’s nirvana. Having had enough of Toronto riding, the East Coast’s Cabot Trail seemed like it could feasibly be a bike lover’s promised land… does it live up to their expectations in the end? Read on…
Big-bore dual-sports, I love ‘em. If there ever was a type of bike that you could say is made for Canada, it’s the big dualies.
Okay, so in part one we covered how these big dualies deal with the dirt (albeit relatively mild dirt), so for part two we’ll take a look at how they react to the asphalt.