Confessions of a DIY Mechanic

October 26, 2026 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

Illusion versus reality in doing your own maintenance.

Friends Riley and Marc lend a helping hand. Insert joke here involving lube and a shaft.

In my Haynes manual, the photos show a latex gloved hand removing a clean bolt. In YouTube videos, you see the guy work through a five-hour job in 15 minutes. Everything comes off easily, and he’s always got the tool he needs (yes, sometimes it’s a she) to get the job done. After watching several hours of these videos and rereading several times the section of the service manual for your job, you go in full of confidence, maybe even bravado. “That looks easy enough,” you think.

But it never goes to plan. Somewhere along the way—it could be Step 1, it could be Step 20—something goes wrong. Usually multiple things go wrong. In YouTube videos, these snags get edited out. Ah, the magic of video editing! In the Haynes manual, they’re working on a brand new bike, one that’s never seen rain, or grime, is not corroded and contains no rust. Their biggest challenge is lighting the bike for the photographs.

“You’re so lucky, you can do your own maintenance,” a club member once said to me. There’s a perception amongst my riding mates that I know what I’m doing. Only my wife knows the reality, and now you, dear reader, will too. I’m pulling back the curtain on home maintenance. The following are some truths of The Hack Mechanic.

1. Bolts have a life of their own.

“You’re going to have your moment of glory, aren’t you? Come on, you know I’m going to win in the end. You might as well give up now. It’s only a matter of time. Why don’t you just save us both the trouble?”

I’d hear my dad muttering these things from beneath our old family car as he struggled to remove a bolt. Yes, he personified his adversary, and I understand why. Sometimes it feels like a piece of rusted steel has not only a consciousness but a will, and its purpose in life is to thwart you.

And he was right. You do win in the end, although the price in time, sweat, and tears is sometimes a lot. I once watched an experienced mechanic on YouTube describe the steps he took in trying to remove a swingarm pivot pin. He tried (of course) Liquid Wrench, and heat, but that was just getting started. He rounded sockets, specialty removal tools, tried liquid cooling, a 6′ cheater bar, tried drilling it out, etc. etc. In the end, he cut the swingarm off. Yeah, he won.

I had the same problem when I removed the pivot pin on my 650GS. I got the nut off okay but the bolt wouldn’t come out. I tried heat and a drift, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard I whaled on it. In the end, I laid the bike on its side, poured a concoction of Liquid Wrench and PB Blaster into the cavity and left it overnight to seep down into the bearings, then used a ball peen hammer upside down as a drift and a sledge hammer to knock it out. I still remember the elation when I saw it first budge.

Once off, those bolts like to hide. Once I “lost” an M10 x 100mm engine mount bolt. That’s not a little bolt. I never did find it. Okay, my workspace (a garden shed) is not ideal, and this leads me to my second truth.

2. I spend more time looking for things than working.

You drop a nut and hear it clunk a fraction of second later. You have to judge based on the sound and the length of time it was falling whether it’s in the bike or on the ground. You look into the bike beneath where it fell and imagine the probable trajectory, based on engine components. You get out your extendible magnet and start fishing around, but that never works. You should know by now that you have to see it first; vision is our primary sense, unlike, say, my dog, who uses his nose to find things he needs. If that fails, you begrudgingly have to start removing components, digging deeper into the engine until the nut (or bolt) reveals itself. “Ha ha, you caught me!” it seems to cry, but you’ve long grown tired of that game.

Sometimes the part fortunately misses the bike and lands on the floor, but that’s little better. Parts like to jump, and bounce, and roll, escaping under the winter tires or into the gardening equipment or worse, right out the shed and into the grass. I’ve found parts nowhere near where I expected them to be, 10 feet from where they fell. They manage to get me literally prostrate, face down on the floor (or grass) in a submissive position like before the Emperor or a god. I have to be sufficiently humbled before they too will reveal themselves.

If it’s not a part I’m searching for, it’s a tool. My tools are in my workshop, which is on the second floor of my house. I try to anticipate what I’ll need for a job and haul everything down to the shed, but inevitably I need to fetch something and so I climb. (My wife doesn’t like me walking up the carpeted stairs in my boots so, as an added annoyance, I have to kick them off first.) She says I must be as fit as I am because somedays—I kid you not—I have to climb those stairs 20 times.

Once there, I start rummaging through toolboxes that are on the floor. This involves spilling tools onto the floor because they are heaped to overflowing and the tool is always at the bottom and it too likes to hide. If the sought-after item is not in a tool chest, I have to factor in another 30 minutes because my workshop is the playspace of entropy.

Basic physics. There is a general order to the contents but, without exerting a countering force to tidy (which I do from time to time), the order deteriorates to chaos. I have a vision of the workspace of my retirement home. It will have a clean cement floor, florescent lighting, a tool cabinet (as opposed to chests), a peg board, a lift, and heat! I’ve told my wife a heated garage or workshop is my number one requirement for our retirement home.

My current workspace. If it starts to rain, I’m done for the day.

3. Every job requires the purchase of at least one new tool.

The second requirement of our retirement home is that it is within 15 minutes of a Canadian Tire. That’s because I’m forever “hopping in the car” and “zipping up” to the Canadian Tire for a tool. My wife hates the sound of those words. In my latest job, I needed a T50 Torx socket and, later, an oil syringe. Add another hour onto that job (if you can find someone to open the socket cabinet at CT). Amazon is pretty good in a pinch, but then add another day onto the job (if you have Prime). Of course, the more tools you have, the more chaotic your workshop, and mine’s long been over-capacity.

Sometimes the tool is expensive. Then you have to factor in domestic dispute resolution, and that can take days. “Don’t you know someone who has one that you can borrow?” Who hasn’t heard those words from a much wiser and logical wife? And so you go, cap in hand, to your various mechanical friends, apologetically asking if they have a certain tool, feeling emasculated as if your tool (i.e. the primal tool) is lacking or “absent.” And don’t even get me started on renting.

If you are a home mechanic, there’s a balance sheet constantly running live in your head: cost of tools, parts, and time compared to cost of getting it done at the dealer. If there’s an expensive tool needed for a job, you’re cutting into your profits, so to speak. And if it takes five times as long as getting a professional to do it, you’re cutting into your season, which in Canada is short. This leads me to my next truth, which you’ve probably already guessed.

Rusty makes good company while working on the bike.

4. Every job takes five times longer than expected.

Yes, five times. Minimum. A job that takes 90 minutes in theory will take all day in practice. That’s working time, not including searching time, domestic resolution time, and purchasing time. For a big job that may take a professional half a day you might as well clear your week. Often a job feels like it’s two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes it’s one step forward, one step back, which is nowhere. That’s because you are learning as you are going, or as the poet Theodore Roethke said in “The Waking,” “I learn by going where I have to go.” He wrote that in an villanelle, which is a form that repeats lines in the first stanza throughout the poem and creates the effect of always coming back to the beginning in a cyclical manner that is sometimes reminiscent of working on a motorcycle.

Sometimes this back-stepping is not your fault. For example, in my last job, I had to take the swingarm off the bike. To reinstall, my Haynes manual says to install the rear shock absorber before the Paralever arm. Only once I’d done that, I realized you can’t install the nut on the front mount bolt of the Paralever arm because the shock is in the way! So I had to remove the component I’d just successfully reinstalled, and felt good about, in order to continue.

I *love* Haynes manuals, but this one had a rare mistake.

And if you strip a bolt, or break a bolt, you have to add mental health time to step away from the job until you are ready to continue. This is why I’d never be a professional mechanic; I would end up working for less than minimum wage.

5. I make a ton of mistakes.

This is the big reveal. Yes, to err is human, and I guess I’m more human than most.

I once didn’t install properly the impeller gear of the water pump on my 650GS and it fell off at a rally after a rocky hill climb, leading to the temperature light coming on. I lost the weekend waiting for new parts to arrive. On another occasion, when I replaced the rear shock after servicing, I didn’t drop the subframe correctly and the brake line rubbed on the rear tire and wore through. When I felt the rear brake going spongy, I knew something was up. I’ve installed tires backwards, wheels flipped (“Why am I getting an ABS error?”), a rear wheel askew (forgot to check the alignment marks on the rear swingarm) and, multiple times, forgot to balance the wheel after changing a tire (it usually comes to me in bed after the wheel is mounted). That’s just a few of my many mistakes over the years.

In my most recent job, I decided to remove the rubber boot on the swingarm to give it a good cleaning, only it was impossible to reinstall it afterwards without breaking the retaining clip and having to remove the swingarm, both of which I did. I also lost a spacer on my engine crash bars. I remember thinking as I removed the bars that it was odd that there were only three spacers for four bolts, but instead of pausing and reflecting a moment on this red flag, I continued on, rationalizing that the mounting points must be asymmetrical. The spacer was probably in a recess of the frame and fell out when I rode the bike to warm the gear oil before draining.

Fortunately, these mistakes have only cost me time and money and nothing more. My wife is not going to like reading this and I might lose my 2-up travel partner for this confession, but she no doubt already knows. Sometimes at my nadir she hears me berating myself and calling myself a hack mechanic, and she, bless her, corrects me and says I’m not and instead praises me for my persistence. At times like that, I know I married the right woman.

But here’s the thing I’ve come to see: even the pros make mistakes. We’ve all heard of someone whose had a car wheel fall off after having their seasonal tires changed. A riding friend of mine had her front caliper fall off and rattle around in the fender and forks after picking up her new motorcycle. Fortunately, the wheel didn’t lock up and she was able to steer safely to the side of the highway. And just recently, when I got the BMW back from my dealer after being repaired from the accident, I noticed that the rear handlebar mount bolts were super loose. Yes, to err is human, and we are all fallible.

Is it worth it?

Yes, it’s worth doing your own maintenance, despite the frustrations, the time, the mistakes, and the unnecessary added expenses.

It’s worth it because you save money—a lot of money. I just finished the major service on my BMW and a friend said he had the same work done at the dealer and there were 10 hours of labour on the invoice. With parts and tax, it was $2,000. Ouch! Mine cost less than $200 in parts, and that’s including the damaged rubber boot.

It’s worth it because you learn about the bike and gain knowledge. This time when I put the swingarm back on, I double-checked the routing of the rear brake line and noticed I didn’t have it right and was able to correct it before the test ride. More importantly, if I encounter problems in the field, I hope that I’ll be able to fix them, and that’s important if you’re an adventure rider going to remote places.

It’s worth it because, contrary to Confession 5 above, generally speaking, when I’ve done it, I know it’s done right. I’ve heard so many stories from people who’ve had unsatisfactory work done by professionals, who are working on the clock. I don’t take short-cuts, and I go the extra hour or mile to do it well. I guess what I’m saying is that I’d rather put my life in my own hands than a stranger’s.

But mostly it’s worth it because there is a satisfaction unlike no other when you ride the bike afterwards without issue. You’ve taken something apart and put it back together again, and now it’s running better than ever, the product of your own hands and mind. It’s not always easy, despite popular belief, but it’s always rewarding.

Do you do your own maintenance? Why or why not? Do you have any confessions to add? Drop a comment below.

Boss, the workhorse, with valves checked, new alternator belt, spark plugs, gearbox oil, and final drive oil. Splines were also lubed. Engine oil and filter will be replaced before winter storage.

Photo credit: Marilyn Gillespie. My wife’s selfie from our ride yesterday.

I Crashed My Dream Bike!

September 12, 2026September 22, 2026 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

What happened, what I learned, and what I would do differently next time.

My wife, who’s better at social graces than I, says that when you tell someone that a mutual friend is ill, you’re supposed to add immediately that they are okay, will be fine—if that is the case—before getting into the details. So let me say at outset that the big GS will be fine. It’s not a write-off but is being repaired by the best mechanic at the BMW Motorrad dealer here in Montreal.

Oh yeah, and I’m okay too.

It’s taken me a while to write about this because I was so upset after it happened—partly about damaging the bike, partly at myself for the mistakes I made. But I’m ready to tell the story now and pass on what I learned through the crash and, more importantly, after the crash.

The Causes

Most accidents are not the result of a single factor. Think of a goal scored in a football/soccer game. There are usually two or three players who can share the blame as well as a few on the scoring team who can take some credit. The same applies in analyzing the causes of a road accident. So here they are as I see them, itemized in chronological order.

1. Unfamiliarity With the Bike

The bike was new to me. I’d only had it a few months and hadn’t sufficiently familiarized myself with the controls. I’d read the manual but didn’t study it seated on the bike. I should have played around with the various settings before riding. This ride was my first off-road and, after the first climb on loose gravel, I stopped to turn off traction control. On the old GS, traction control and ABS are turned off with the same button: press once to turn off TC, twice to turn off ABS. I turned off both when I should have just turned off TC.

2. Unfamiliarity With the Road

We were on a road we’d been up many times but were detoured off it because of roadwork. I was unfamiliar not only with the bike but now also the road and a weird, dangerous intersection on it. Essentially there is a U-turn but at the apex of the turn coming from the other direction is an extension onto a dead-end road. There’s no warning or indication of this intersection; it looks like you’re just following a curve in the road, not approaching an intersection.

Riding counter-clockwise on the curve. Accident occurred just before the apex, where the road extends to the dead-end street.

Click on the images above to see fullscreen. You really need to see the one on the right at fullscreen for the, well, full picture.

3. Vegetation at the Corner

There was a lot of vegetation on the inside of the corner at left. This prevented me from seeing an approaching vehicle. Municipal road crews must share some of the blame for not keeping on top of cutting, but then this is rural Quebec so what can I expect? The fault was mostly mine because I think I was in the middle of the road and not further right, where I could have seen deeper into the corner. Chris Birch talks about line choice in his Say No to Slow video series for just such a corner as this.

4. The Other Driver

I’m going to put the bulk of the blame on the driver of a truck travelling in the other direction. We are all familiar with drivers who drive down the middle of the road. We’ve come across them, maybe even at a corner like this, and they scare the crap out of us. That’s why we have to “Ride Right,” as the saying goes.

But this driver actually crossed the road in front of me as he was heading to the dead-end road that is the offshoot. He didn’t slow, and he was speeding. All I saw was a truck in front of me and instinctively grabbed my front brake. The bike instantly tucked and, before I knew it, the bike and I were sliding along the road.

At some point, I noticed that the truck had stopped just after the corner on the adjoining road. But in the aftermath, he continued on without getting out of his vehicle and speaking to any of us.

After the Accident

We righted the bike and pushed it to the side of the road to assess the damage. I was sick to my stomach, not from any injury but thinking my new dream bike was ruined. As I looked at the damage and started to make a calculation of costs in my head, it dawned on me that I would make an insurance claim. I’ve never made a claim, ever in my riding experience; I’ve always just replaced parts and done the labour myself for any damage caused in mishaps. In this case, I concluded the deductible would be a fraction of the full cost of parts.

There were a few more mistakes made, and they were arguably more crucial.

1. Take a Moment to Assess Your Own Well-Being

We were all so focused on damage to the bike, I forgot to assess my own well-being. I noticed some minor pain in my hip and that the sole of my boot had been torn off, but I didn’t take a moment to check in with my body and determine if I was more seriously injured. In the end, thankfully I wasn’t, but it often happens that more serious injuries surface after a few moments when the adrenaline wears off.

2. Get Information From Other Parties

The biggest mistake of all was not going to find the truck and its driver, who couldn’t have been far since he was headed to a dead-end street. When I eventually called my insurance company, they said they needed the licence number and insurance policy of the other driver. Without this information, they would have to report it as a single vehicle accident with me 100% responsible. I was annoyed about this and hope it doesn’t come back to haunt me when my policy is renewed. I returned the next day with a friend but it was too late; the truck was gone, although we saw its tire tracks and know which house it had visited.

3. Get a Police Report

I’ve since learned that even if we couldn’t find the other driver, I could have reported it as a hit-and-run if I’d made a police report. Again, I was so focused on damage to the bike that I neglected these important legal steps. Even if there is no direct contact with another vehicle, you can report it as a hit-and-run if someone else was involved and didn’t stop to provide their information. Apparently, the report should be done within 48 hours of the accident.

The Damage

The new GIVI Airflow windscreen I’d put on the day before had shattered. There were scratches on the fairing, the mirror, the handguard, and the beak. The Hepco & Becker bars and MachineartMoto guard had done their jobs and protected the cylinder head, but both the bar and guard were badly damaged. The bar was not only scratched but also bent from impact. The BMW badge was torn off. The assessment came in at over $6,000 Canadian, plus labour. BMW parts are expensive, even for an old bike.

The Take-Aways

One of the biggest costs of the accident has been losing two months of the short riding season here in Canada. I’ve had a lot of time to think about my mistakes and what I’ve learned through the whole ordeal. Consider these as points of discussion and consideration rather than absolutes, but this is what I’ve arrived at:

Never take a ride casually. I’d just come back from an off-road rally and went into this ride thinking it would be low-risk. I wasn’t mentally and physically prepared to ride. I almost didn’t put on my compression suit that morning, and I hadn’t replaced the hip armour in my pants after laundering them.
Is it worth it to turn off ABS on a big bike like the 1200GS? If you are taking it onto terrain that requires you to turn off ABS, you’re probably on the wrong bike. ABS probably would have saved me in that panic situation.
Avoid 80/20 “touring tires” if you go off asphalt. Even on dirt roads, they are pretty useless. I was surprised by how quickly the bike went down. In the future, if I’m going to be doing even “light off-roading,” I’m going to put on at least a 50/50 tire.
Arguably, it’s more dangerous to ride rural dirt roads than trails. On trails, it’s relatively slow speed and there are no other vehicles except those in your group. People on rural roads drive like they are the only ones on the road. They drive down the middle of the road; they speed; they back out of their driveways without looking; they stop in the middle of the road after a blind corner to chat with a neighbour, etc. We need to be constantly vigilant in reminding ourselves that these are public roads and rural drivers are the worst!
Beware of the unfamiliar. Different bike, different road—anything that takes you out of the normal, e.g. weather, riding buddies, time of day.
ATGATT. The old acronym is true: all the gear all the time. You never know when you’ll need it.
Get information from everyone who was directly or indirectly involved, including witnesses. Luckily I have a witness because I don’t have a police report.
Do a police report for insurance purposes, preferably within 48 hours.
Take a moment to assess yourself after adrenaline wears off, and err on the side of caution. If you aren’t sure you’re okay, go get checked. We had a rider in our street club who had an innocuous-looking accident, said he was okay, road home, but ended up later that night in the hospital. Take a moment to check in with your body as well as the bike after an accident.
Take as many photographs as you can. I’m glad I took photos of the location and damage to the bike and my gear for insurance purposes.
In some jurisdictions, you can claim for damaged gear (a damaged helmet is the common item). Here in Quebec, for example, riders have over $1,100 of coverage to replace clothing and riding gear.
Acrylic windscreens are not appropriate for off-roading. They shatter in a minor crash. I’ve replaced the GIVI with the OEM and will add a Puig Multi-Adjustable Visor to help with airflow.

The information in this post may not pertain to the law in your country or state and may not reflect your specific insurance policy. I suggest you take some time to familiarize yourself with that information before you need it.

Conclusion

As the saying goes, all’s well that ends well, and the bike and I are fine. The dealer is just waiting for the beak to come back from the body shop and then I’ll have the bike again, just in time for autumn riding. I’ve seen the parts list, and although slow, Moto Gabriel here in Montreal are being very thorough, replacing even things like the handlebars, which I hadn’t noticed were damaged. I’m happy to pay the price in time if it means the bike returns looking good as new.

In the meantime, I’ve had a chance to bond with the new Honda 300 Rally. If you haven’t seen the video I edited on my ride of the TQT with Riley, check that out below. I’ve had some time to play with video editing and am thinking of growing the 650thumper YouTube channel as well as this blog. Toward that end, I’ve improved the logo. I’ll be getting some stickers made up and maybe even some merch, so look for some swag in the coming months. Retirement is pretty good, I must say.

Trans Québec Trail 2026: Magog to Mont-Saint-Pierre

September 6, 2026September 7, 2026 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

The tour this year was not ambitious but had everything needed to satisfy the itch.

Last year I rode a section of the TQT solo but abandoned it after a week for a few reasons. For one, I found it a little lonely. The Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke advised his protégé Franz Kappus that he had to be comfortable “walking through hallways of solitude” if he wanted to become a good poet, and I’m pretty comfortable with my own company, but hours and hours of riding alone through forest did get a little boring. It’s also not that safe. It’s not advisable to ride solo off-road, particularly in remote areas. I also had a bike that wasn’t starting reliably, and it was also top-heavy and difficult to lift fully-loaded on my own. Added up, I was riding with a constant low-level stress detracting from the enjoyment of the tour.

This year I changed all the elements that were holding me back. I swapped the 500 lb. Tiger 800XC for a 330 lb. Honda CRF 300 Rally, and best of all, I was riding with a buddy; my friend Riley from The Awesome Players Off-Road Club was interested in doing some of the trail. He was on his Norden 901 Expedition, a bike 3x the size of my Honda, so we were looking a little like Laurel and Hardy as we headed off down Highway 10 toward Magog. We had decided to pick up the TQT there and ride it as far east as we could in the five days we had.

The trail east of Magog is easy concession roads passing through farmland, with horses and cattle grazing at the sides of the road and crops extending over rolling hills to mountains on the horizon. Just east of Stanstead, we dropped down and road along the Canada-US border for a few kilometres. The road was in Canada but the ditch was in the The States, and I couldn’t help thinking about the current tariff war that is dominating the news, and how our good relations with America have soured during President Trump’s current term. We are into a war of words now, but despite what the politicians and talking heads are saying in front of the cameras, most Canadians are united in staying the course and not capitulating to Trump’s demands by signing a deal under threat that isn’t good long-term for Canada.

The world’s longest undefended border. You can see the cement markers along the fence-line.

Soon we were ready for a break and took the diversion to the Mont Hereford Lookout, which now provided a view out over Quebec and south to Vermont and New Hampshire (banner image above). We were so high, we could almost spit or whiz onto US soil, not that we would ever want to do that!

Our next stop was at the Tim Horton’s in Lac Mégantic to borrow their WIFI and charge up with caffeine. After a quick stop at the memorial and site of the 2013 rail disaster, we continued on, determined to put as many miles as possible in before the light faded. The best riding of the day was during the golden hour that took us along the Chaudière River to 2 Rivers Campground.

2 Rivers is a classic RV park and not really my cup of tea, but when you’re putting in long days in the saddle, you’re just thankful for a site, and in my case, one with a couple of trees for my hammock. They tucked us in the tenting section, which predictably was empty so we had a lot of privacy to drink and listen to music. There was some competing music coming from somewhere and late in the evening we decided to take a walk up through the park, and as we approached a large tent I realized the music was live. I guess we caught the season-end party and the band was really good! Unfortunately, despite having a working knowledge of French (Riley’s is better than mine), neither of us could understand a word of the French vocals, making us feel like the minorities we were and just how separate the two solitudes of Quebec truly are.

The next day took us into our first ZEC and where I had split off the previous year, not feeling comfortable venturing into these regions alone. What is a ZEC? It’s a Zone d’Exploitation Contrôlée, poorly translated as a “controlled exploitation zone”—hunting, fishing, and other ways one can exploit nature. I’m sure there are more than a few environmentalists who cringe at this naming. These are “gated” regions requiring a permit to enter, even if you aren’t going to kill anything, and there isn’t much in them but animals to kill and the odd hunter. You wouldn’t think that nature reserves and motorsports go well together, but if you’re on an adventure bike, the trails and forest access roads that cross ZECs make for good riding.

Normally, you have to stop and pay an entrance fee for each ZEC or risk being fined $500, but this year Marc Chartrand of Ridaventure has managed to negotiate an agreement between the TQT and the ZECs. You buy a sticker at a cost of about $57 and it grants you unlimited access during the calendar year to the 25 ZECs the trail crosses. Not only is this a lot more convenient for riders but it’s also a pretty good deal because the individual entrance fees can be upwards of $40.

As you can see, we were among the first to use this new system, and let me just say that some of the wrinkles still need to be ironed out. We arrived at our first “gate,” which was an unstaffed electronic kiosk, and Riley spent 20 minutes filling out online forms, similar no doubt to the ones we filled out when we ordered the TQT sticker (i.e. name, address, make and model of bike, licence plate number), only to discover there was no option for Ridaventure, only other options with more charges. The cheapest of these had something to do with gathering (presumably berries, or such?), but since we were only gathering mud, that didn’t apply. We decided to risk it and, with stickers clearly visible, ventured bravely into the controlled zone. If this is sounding like the language of 1984, Logan’s Run, or some other dystopian story, that’s a little how it felt.

We emerged unhunted and rode into Pohénégamook, a place I have only now learned how to pronounce let alone spell. The name comes from the Indigenous Abenaki word ponegamikw, which translates to “winter camp.” Local First Nations set up camp around the lake in winter to . . . you guessed it, hunt. It’s geographically an odd little town nestled right on the Canada-US border right at the northernmost tip of where Maine juts up into Canada and near the New Brunswick border.

Lac Pohénémagook
Riley’s Norden 901 Expedition and my Honda 300 Rally
View from Montagne de la Croix Lookout

Unfortunately, the next day the weather turned on us. Riley was in an MSR Xplorer ADV Suit which kept him cozy and warm, but I had risked wearing my Klim Traverse jacket. I knew the Gore-Tex weatherproofing was vulnerable—I’d been caught in rain before while commuting—and it wasn’t long before I was soaked to the skin. My Carlsbad pants generally held up, but I have to contact Klim about the Gore-Tex lifetime warranty on the jacket. Hopefully they won’t say, as someone once joked, “you have outlived the warranty.”

Rain aside, the riding was great! We crossed two more ZECs, which offered more challenging riding. At times we were routed onto some 2-track snowmobile trails and I was happy to be on the little Honda, and another time two moose crossed the trail in front of us. I wasn’t filming at the time so didn’t catch much of them (watch until the end).

Sorry about the rain droplets on the camera; I have to remember to wipe it more often. We popped out at Amqui and found a site at the municipal campground there.

Set up for the night at Amqui Municipal Campground. My hammock is off-screen. Gear drying on the line under the tarp.

This was the first real tour on the Honda with the Enduristan Monsoon 3 bags, and overall I was very happy with them. I had to remove my passenger pegs and replace each with a fabricated nylon strap with grommets to use as a tie-down point. The built-in elasticated ROKstraps of the Monsoon 3s ensure the bags don’t flop around, and each bag takes 30L for a total of 60L. A little wet-dry bag on top was all I needed for all my camping gear, including a little food.

You can use original hardware from the pegs. I added a more robust cotter pin.

After nearly two full days off road, we were ready for some asphalt and headed up toward the coast. Riley had never ridden any of the 132 and I knew how awesome it is after riding it around the Gaspé peninsula en route to Newfoundland. We asked Kurviger to come up with an interesting route to the coast, and Kurviger never disappoints. My phone wasn’t charging from all the water of the preceding day, so Riley led with his wireless charger. It’s always a fun challenge trying to keep up with him, especially on the little Honda.

The Honda keeps up just fine in the corners but I have to downshift to 5th and wring its neck a bit on the climbs. That flashing white light on my display at 7,000 rpm is telling me to upshift but 6th is an overdrive gear that doesn’t do well climbing, especially with the bike fully loaded. I generally try not to go above 7,000 for prolonged periods of time but I do to pass other vehicles as needed. It’s all part of the trade-off of having a bike that weighs 330 lbs. This is not a bike for highway riding but trails and maybe some secondary highways. I can see taking this bike across Canada on the TCAT someday. I would have confidence doing that on it, knowing how capable it is off road, how light it is to lift, and how reliable it is as a Honda.

Suddenly as we crested a hill the air turned cool and I knew we were approaching the river, or as they like to call it along the gulf, la mer (the sea). That naming is mostly for tourist dollars but the river here looks like the sea and smells like the sea, and if you surrender to the idea it can feel like the sea. The mountains on the opposite side of the road are dramatic. The 132 never disappoints and I could ride it all day. In fact, that’s pretty much what we did. We didn’t want to stop and the views kept drawing us further east, although we knew that each kilometre further was another kilometre we’d have to ride to get back to Montreal the following day.

We were looking for food and, after an impromptu peanut-butter and syrup sandwich at the lighthouse, we found some fish & chips in Mont-Saint-Pierre. This was our turnaround point and, now powered up, we headed back along the 132, stopping for the night at Camping Chalet La Luciole in Sainte-Luce-Sur-Mer.

We weren’t permitted to have a wood fire but the campground has propane fire-pits to rent, which was a good alternative. The fire and the last of the Crown Royal warmed us from the cold air coming off the water. As the name suggests, Sainte-Luce is right on the sea, and we could hear waves breaking on the beach from our tents, no sleep app needed.

I slept like a baby in my hammock and was up at dawn. I went down to the boardwalk and took in the beach, the wood sculptures, and the colourful homes. Sainte-Luce-sur-Mer is a pretty little town worth a stop if you are passing through.

The boardwalk at dawn
Impressive wood sculpture of a lobster
Frog sculpture
Moose and hunter
The homes here are colourful.

On our final day, we continued along the 132 as far as it was interesting, which is to say, until La Pocatière, stopping in Kamouraska for a coffee mid-afternoon before the big push. 4+ hours on the highway on the Honda was the price I paid for having a trail bike in the ZECs and riding into Gaspésie, but it was all worth it. As I pulled off the highway into my little village on the West Island of Montreal, I noticed people on the street with their phones out, photographing something behind me. Once I pulled into my driveway and turned off the bike, I saw it was a massive, brilliant, double rainbow. It was an appropriate ending to a short but colourful tour through south-eastern Quebec.

Image Credit: RidAventure.ca. We did roughly from Sherbrooke to St-Anne-Des-Monts.

Paying the Price: a review of Free Ride by Noraly Schoenmaker

July 22, 2026July 22, 2026 / 650thumper / 2 Comments

If you are into adventure motorcycling, you’ve heard of Itchy Boots. Even if you aren’t into adventure motorcycling but ride a motorcycle, you’ve probably heard of Itchy Boots. In fact, if you aren’t a motorcyclist, will never be a motorcyclist, and aren’t into motorcycling at all (adventure or otherwise), there’s a good chance that you’ve heard of Itchy Boots. Her YouTube Channel to date has 3.36 million subscribers. In other words, more people subscribe to her channel than cable television. More people watch her videos than those who watched Supergirl. I suspect more people follow her on social media than the Kardashians. I might be a little off on these estimates but she’s popular! Which begs the question, Why?

I must admit, I missed her first season as she travelled through the Middle East, the subject that largely occupies Free Ride. But I watched avidly her journey up through South America, Central America, and North America to Alaska on a Honda CRF 300 Rally. She’s a new rider, so I don’t find any technical instruction from her videos, but I admire her courage and determination to travel as a solo female rider through some very punishing and dangerous geography. She’s inspiring. If you find yourself sitting at your desk (or armchair with your tablet or phone) and dreaming of doing adventures to far-off exotic lands, her videos are excellent fodder for those dreams and might even provide for you the gumption to get up out of your armchair and realize them. If this blond, blue-eyed woman of 5’6” can travel solo through drug cartel Mexico, maybe I can get out there and have my own adventure. With that in mind, I’ve recently bought a Honda 300 Rally.

And if you aren’t interested in travelling except vicariously, her videos help restore your faith in the common goodness of most people around the world. They are the antidote to depressing legacy news and our cynical social media feeds.

It is therefore all the more ironic that Noraly’s life-defining moment was an act of betrayal. (Spoiler alert.) She discovers that her husband has been having an affair with a colleague and in the fallout she loses her marriage, her house, and her job. Stripped of these three pillars of identity, she sets off to Delhi in search of a way forward. What results is, as the subtitle indicates, a 20,000-mile journey that changed her life.

The book opens with her stuck in the snow-covered Alborz Mountains of northern Iran. She’s out of her depth and has already dropped the bike several times. She’s not prepared for the cold and is freezing. No one is around and she’s in trouble.

There I was, all alone, halfway up a mountain, with a motorcycle that was stuck like a stubborn goat, refusing to take another step. I feverishly tried to remember when I’d last passed a village. Or a house. A person. Hadn’t I seen a house just before turning onto this hellish road, on the other side of a field? But the memory turned increasingly murky and disjointed with every attempt to bring it into focus. Eventually, I gave up and faced my only option. All I could do was walk up the mountain and find help, any kind of help. It was the best plan I had. (6)

She does find help, or help finds her. She comes across two shepherds, and although she doesn’t know any Farsi, she manages to explain her predicament. They walk with her back to the bike and one hops on and manages to get it moving again with the help of Noraly and the other shepherd. They not only get her out of that pickle but also provide her with warmth, food, and shelter for the night.

This is a refrain throughout the book. She gets into trouble, and the good-will of strangers gets her out. In this way, she restores her faith in others. In literally putting her life in their hands, she rebuilds the trust she lost in the betrayal of her husband and his lover.

There are other therapeutic aspects of her journey. Her description of the squalor of India’s slums is so vivid that it must have put her own plight into perspective.

The first few miles I rode that day were through the ugliest part of India that I’d ever seen. Small trash fires burned everywhere you looked on the side of the road. The smell of burning plastic was even worse than that of the smog, and every time I passed a fire I involuntarily held my breath. I passed landfills with gaunt, sick cows eating trash, and little kids poking around in it. The houses were patchworks of plastic, cloth, and pieces of wood, and even from the road I could see that most of them were on the verge of collapse. Young women—barely more than children themselves—walked to and fro with bags of construction debris balanced on their heads, dressed in gorgeous, colorful saris. Their elaborate, graceful garments contrasted sharply with their dull, tired eyes. (46)

She stays in some pretty rough “accommodations” and endures a lot of physical hardship, from extreme heat to frigid cold, dust, rain, bugs, air pollution, etc. . . . you name it. Adventure motorcycling is not for the faint of heart. This reader wonders if there was, in these self-imposed hardships, a sense of expiating guilt for her own decisions in the past, and perhaps for some denial when she sensed that something was wrong in her marriage. A woman always knows.

Indeed, as the book and the journey near their end, she concludes:

My broken heart and the pain that had plagued me from the start of my adventure began to disappear into the background, and the bad memories with it. Finally, I could see that I hadn’t only lost, I had also gained. Every lie he had told hadn’t just been a lie, and every act of betrayal not just a betrayal. I had been right every single time, because I had sensed all the untruths from the start. I hadn’t been crazy or paranoid. I could trust my gut feeling. It was the only thing that hadn’t let me down. I welcomed my intuition with open arms, like an old friend. (196)

Free Ride documents Noraly’s personal journey through grief and healing as it describes her physical journey through South, Central, and Western Asia. The two narratives intertwine but unfortunately are not balanced. As a piece of personal creative non-fiction, Free Ride is relatively void of emotional content. Her attention is largely focused on describing to us the physical details of the ride and the people she meets, and the personal insights are few and far between. For example, her account of finding out about her husband’s affair gets less than two pages, and while she returns to it periodically throughout the book, she never really gets down in the dirt and the mud and weeds of this journey as she does with the one on her bike. This is a shame because the verbal arts lend themselves best to describing emotional life and thoughts. (Think of the difference between a book and the movie version of a book. We don’t get the interior life of a character in the movie as readily as in the novel.) And I have to say, at one point in reading Free Ride, I wondered what I was getting from it that I couldn’t get from watching her video series of the same content.

There were also a few small technical issues with the narrative. At one point, I couldn’t remember how she ended up with Basanti, her trusty Royal Enfield Himalayan. That is to say, I couldn’t remember her making the major decision to buy it and went searching back through the pages to find that major event. I’ve looked and looked, and all I can find is when she’s handed the keys: “It wasn’t until after the wedding, when I was standing in Delhi and Irfan handed me the keys to Basanti, that I realized that what I had bought from him was freedom” (43). Perhaps I’m missing something and a reader can point me to the page(s).

Part of that confusion might be because the narrative through the first 50 pages or so is quite fragmented as it jumps back and forth in time and setting between the events of the end of her marriage, the end of her job, discussion with family and friends about her decisions, and even her past as a student of Geology and her program work. These are real structural challenges that required deft editing.

Speaking of editing, there were times also when I found the English a bit . . . pedestrian. I know the version I read is a translation, but if I’m being picky—and I am—I’d say some sentences don’t quite work. There is a tendency to lead with a long adjectival phrase and have the verb come very late.

After finishing up a plate of laghman for the umpteenth time on this trip and lingering to stay in the cozy heat of the restaurant a little longer, I got ready to leave Murghab. Even though there was a hotel down here, and earlier in the day I had considered staying around for a night, I wanted nothing more than to leave. My desire to escape the bleakness of Murghab, suddenly longing for sunshine, won out.

See what I mean? This is not Noraly’s fault but her editor’s, and my sense is that the book was rushed to press a little fast. I hear she is completing her second book as I write this and I hope the language gets a little more attention in it.

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how I came by Free Ride. A good friend of my wife was living in London last year and, knowing I was an avid motorcyclist, went in search through a few bookstores for a signed copy for me. Thank you Christa! I don’t mean to sound critical of the book but honest and fair. I did enjoy it overall, especially as I read it in snatches as I completed my end-of-term marking and could dream of the summer and retirement, the purchase of the Honda 300 Rally, and my own touring plans.

Noraly reminds us that you don’t have to be an expert rider to be an adventure rider. You don’t have to have a $30,000 motorcycle with 120+ HP. You don’t even have to have a YouTube channel with 3M subscribers. You just have to have a big heart and a burning desire to explore the world. There is nothing holding us back but fear.

Back to BMW

May 23, 2026May 23, 2026 / 650thumper / 2 Comments

First ride. Sunset on the 342 just west of Hudson, QC.

In one week, I bought a bike, sold a bike, and retired from teaching. Yes, there’s a relationship between those events.

At 59, I crunched the numbers and came up with three scenarios: retirement at 61, at 63, and at 65. Because I’m Canadian, I went for the compromise. Here it is, 4 years on, and I’ve taught my last class, graded my last essay, attended my last department meeting. The occasion called for something special: a new bike. No wait, two new bikes.

The original prize was going to be a Honda CRF300 Rally for playing on the trails. But as I was researching that purchase over the long winter months of the off season, I found myself more often drawn to Facebook Marketplace listings for a big GS. I watched buyer’s guides on YouTube, read about the different generations, models, years. I listened to the BMW Motorrad podcast Ride and Talk, and spent a lot of time at the BMW section of the Motoshow. It was clear that in many ways I was more excited about upgrading my touring bike than getting the little dirt bike.

I guess that is to be expected. My retirement plans focus on places I want to tour. In my final semester, I had 15 little labels on my office desk, each with a destination, and took one home at the end of each week as I counted down to retirement. I would need a big Kilometre Cruncher to get all across North America, something bigger and more comfortable than the Tiger, and I knew the BMW 1200 GS was the best bike within my budget for that.

I was leaning toward the 2013-17 water-cooled models. They had a little more power than the earlier oil/air-cooled models, a wet clutch that is easily accessible, rider modes, cruise control, and a smooth gearbox. Then my buddy Riley started singing the praises of the old oil-cooled models. He had an 1150 years ago so was familiar with those engines. No radiator, no water pump, no gaskets, no thermostat, he said, and lighter and generally more reliable. AI suggested that the water-cooled models were sportier but the oil-cooled ones were more reliable. And without all the electronics, the oil-cooled engine was easier to work on for the home mechanic like me and for trailside repairs.

There are pros and cons to both, and all GS’s are good, but in the end I followed my gut, which was telling me I’m an old tech type of guy. The original 650 Thumper had no rider aids, not even ABS, and while the Tiger at least had ABS and a fuel gauge, it also didn’t have modes or cruise control. I think the only essential rider aid is good ABS for those panic situations. Some form of traction control is also useful in rainy conditions. The 2010-12 GS was now my target, when the old R25 engine was at the very end of its run and all the kinks had been worked out.

In the end I followed my gut, which was telling me I’m an old tech type of guy.

By now, Riley had become my unofficial (or at least unpaid) consultant. He said he likes spending other people’s money. He was sending me listings and accompanying me to look at bikes. He found a white 2012 with low mileage and under $10G. I got excited and we went to look at it but that bike had too much history. It had developed a rattle and the dealer said the engine was finished so the first owner (or was it the second?) bought an engine off eBay and installed it himself. I don’t think anyone knew what the actual mileage on the bike was. So I backed out of that. (It turned out that the original engine had only something minor wrong!)

As we sat on my porch drinking beer, Riley mentioned a late friend’s bike. The first owner sadly had passed away about two years ago and he didn’t know what had happened to his bike, which was a shame because it was apparently a really nice low-mileage bike. After he left, I naturally opened Marketplace and looked at the GSs. There was a low mileage triple black at a good price so I left a message. A few days later, Riley and I were on our way to see it.

As we turned onto the street of the address, Riley said he knew someone who lives here, and as we pulled in front of the house, he recognized it and the bike sitting in the garage. It was his late friend’s bike! It was one of those coincidences that seem like it was meant to be. And from a practical point of view, it meant I knew the history of the bike. It had always been serviced by the dealer, never ridden off road, and ridden conservatively. Buying it was a no-brainer.

So let me introduce to you the bike that will take Marilyn and me across North America over the next 10-15 years, God willing, and maybe some of Europe too.

She’s a beauty. The Triple Black came with optional cross-spoke wheels.

The bike has 35K on it, exactly the same mileage as the 650 when I bought it. These bikes apparently aren’t broken in until that mileage, so there’s plenty of life left in it. In fact, many of these engines last well over 200,000 kilometres if taken care of with regular oil changes.

I don’t know what the options were for this particular model, but the bike has ESA (Electronic Suspension Adjustment) and ASC (Automatic Stability Control, or BMW’s early version of traction control). It has heated handgrips, a must in my opinion for touring in Canada and at elevations. I think those things are standard.

It was one of those coincidences that seem like it was meant to be.

I like most of the modifications the first owner has made to the bike. Since it doesn’t have cruise control, he has added an Atlas Throttle Lock and a Throttle Rocker. That might seem like overkill but I like both. There are times when I just use the rocker, and on the open highway, times when I use the throttle lock. I had an Atlas on the Tiger and they are great. He’s also added Grip Puppies to reduce vibrations in the hands.

In lieu of cruise control, for crunching the miles.

You can see in this photo a mount for a GPS. The bike came with a Tom Tom unit, and while I’ve gotten used to touring with my phone, I’m going to try the GPS for now. I like that it’s waterproof and heat and vibration resistant. It also works of course by satellite and not cellular service, which will be handy when touring out of country. On the other handlebar, he’s added a double USB port instead of the standard aux port. There is an aux port, however, under the seat near the back, so with an adapter Marilyn will be able to plug in to charge her phone or use heated gear.

He’s added a Mudsling rear suspension guard to protect the rear shock, and at the front, PIAA auxiliary lighting with a separate switch on the left handguard. I’m pretty partial to my Cyclops Aurora lights, so will probably swap them in as my aux lighting. I like how visible the amber halo makes me when riding around town, and I like the 4000 lumens they provide when I hit my high beams.

The bike has a Canbus electrical system, so I was preparing to install a CANsmart Controller to do that, but then I lifted the seat to find this.

Nice! The Denali Powerhub 2 Distribution Module works with a CANbus system, making the install of the Auroras a lot easier. There are six circuits and only three are currently used (presumably one for the PIAA lights) and all six circuits can be either switched or non-switched power. I had the Centech AP-2 Aux Fuse Panel briefly on the Tiger but this is clearly a superior system.

I’m not really a top box guy so will probably eventually take off the GIVI box, but I have to admit, it sure is handy around town. I’m enjoying it for now but have bought an SW-Motech Alu-Rack and Quick-Lock Luggage Rack for touring. The Alu-Rack is a durable, secure base for a small tail bag when I’m not touring, and the Quick-Lock Luggage Rack can quickly be added over and will provide a larger platform for a duffle bag.

Last but certainly not least, he’s added excellent protection for the engine with Hepco-Becker bars and head covers from Machineart Moto. No need for big bars going halfway up the faring; these are all you need with the boxer engines.

I love everything about this bike. I love that it’s black—triple black, to be specific. All my bikes have been black, even my bicycles growing up. I used to buy bicycles at the police auctions, strip them down, paint them black, then reassemble them with new grease. When I bought a new bicycle from Canadian Tire in my early 20s, it was burgundy, so naturally I had to do the same. I don’t know why because blue is my favourite colour, but my bikes are always black. It just wouldn’t have felt right having a white bike.

I love everything about this bike.

I love that it starts on half a crank and twitches when you twist the throttle. I love that it shakes a little at idle and at low revs. And I love the baffle that BMW added on the 2010-12 years, giving it a real throaty exhaust note. It’s a far cry from the silky smooth Triumph triple and reminds me of the original thumper but without the buzziness at highway speeds.

BMW added an electronically controlled exhaust flap (flapper valve) on the 2010 model to control noise while keeping a throaty exhaust note.

Given the context, I can’t help think of the original owner when I swing my leg over the bike. In some way, it feels like I’ll be riding the adventures he should have had in his retirement but for some rotten luck. I don’t know what he would think, and I obviously can’t speak for him, but I like to think that part of him would be happy that his bike will be used for its original intent.

We must count our blessings and appreciate what each new day brings. That may sound like a platitude, but as I age, I recognize the wisdom of it more and more.

Hello Honda

April 2, 2026 / 650thumper / 2 Comments

I add a Honda CRF 300L Rally to the stable.

The first and only time I’ve ridden a little dirt bike was at SMART Riding Adventures back in 2017. I did a day class there and they start you in the morning on a Yamaha 230. It was so much fun that I later wrote to a riding friend that it was better than sex. She said I must be doing something wrong, but I stand by my initial impression. On a little bike with knobby tires, you can do stuff that you’d never attempt on a bigger bike, like muddy ruts, deep water crossings, and hopping logs. You can just enjoy the ride without all the performance anxiety. Like I said, better than sex.

It’s taken me almost a decade, but I finally have a trail bike in my stable. It’s my retirement gift to myself. A budget bike isn’t much of a reward for 30 years of teaching in public education, but I’m not complaining one bit. It’s going to be a really fun season. My purchase last week was the culmination of about a year of research and rumination, including a lot of YouTube reviews, discussions with fellow riders, and some demo rides. The light ADV market is the hottest segment at the moment and there are several excellent bikes to choose from. Below is my rationale for how I landed on the Honda Rally. If you are in the market for a light ADV bike, some of this research might be helpful to you.

Assessing my Needs

Of course, the first thing you have to decide in the purchase of a new bike is what you will be using it for. In fact, maybe that’s the most important part. I wanted a light trail bike to ride on the network of dirt roads and ATV trails here in Quebec and neighbouring Ontario and New Brunswick. I’d been trying to do this with a midsize bike since I began riding and it wasn’t going great. As Chris Birch says to people who show up at his clinics on a heavy bike, “You didn’t buy the wrong bike. You bought the wrong first bike.” There’s a reason Clinton Smout and his instructors at SMART put you on a little dirt bike to start: it’s a lot easier to learn off-road skills on a 300-lb bike than a 500-lb bike, and I would add, a lot safer too.

But I was also looking for a light ADV bike too, one that I could take on my solo adventures and not have to worry about getting stuck somewhere or being unable to lift on my own. A lighter bike is going to gain you access to more remote and technical riding than a big bike, and some of my retirement plans included that type of adventure. In sum, I was looking for a trail bike that could also cover long distances and do long days comfortably. I was essentially looking for a rally bike.

With that in mind, here were the contenders.

Kove 450 Rally

I got really excited when I heard you can get a competition rally bike for around $10G ($13G if you live in Canada). In the specs, it looked like the perfect bike. 449cc DOHC single with dual radiators, oil cooler, fuel injected, with a Bosch ECU controlling everything. The engine puts out 51 hp at 9500 rpm and 29.5 ft-lb at 7000 rpm.. It’s got a whopping 12″ suspension travel (high-seat model) and a whopping 8 Gallon fuel capacity over no less than 3 tanks (two up front, one in the rear) for a range of over 300 miles (500 kilometres), more than enough for even the most remote riding, all with a dry weight of just 320 lbs.! It seemed too good to be true and had many in the industry scratching their heads. I didn’t have any qualms about it being manufactured in China; Kove is not alone in that respect, and their performance in the Dakar Rally indicated good reliability. I sat on a Kove 450 at the Montreal Moto Show and it felt really good, exactly what I was looking for.

But this is one where the specs don’t tell the full story. I test rode one at La Classique Moto Fest last year. My first impression: it was loud! And for someone with only one good ear, the thought of riding this all day with the stock muffler was a deal-breaker. I could have perhaps got a baffle, but the other impression I had is that the experience of riding this bike is very raw. It’s vibey, and had head-shake at speed. Air management wasn’t great (more noise). In short, it felt like a race bike, which it is. I could have a ton of fun on this bike for day rides, but I think it would be very fatiguing on a long-distance tour, especially with the stock seat. As I write this, Craig Luke of I Think We Missed a Turn is preparing to ride the entire TCAT this summer on his Kove 450, and it will be interesting to hear how he gets on. No doubt he’s got the bike to get through whatever the TCAT throws at him, but I decided it was too much bike for me.

CF Moto Ibex 450

The bike everyone was talking about at La Classique was the CF Moto Ibex 450. It has everything hard core ADV riders have been asking for but no manufacturer was willing to make at the risk of cutting into the market share of one of their other bikes. It took a renegade manufacturer like CF Moto without a horse yet in the race to make the proverbial “unicorn bike.” It’s got a sweet sounding and smooth 449 parallel twin engine with a 270 degree offset crank for low-end grunt and a throaty exhaust note, fully adjustable suspension front and back, 18/21 tubeless spoked wheels, a slipper clutch, both ABS and CBS (combined braking system), a TFT display, rider modes, app connectivity . . . like I said, everything we’ve been asking for and for under $8000. Canadian!

The fly in the ointment? There really isn’t one, except maybe no cruise control, which is odd because it has ride-by-wire. That can easily be remedied by a throttle lock. It’s Chinese made, but I’m not calling that a fly. CF Moto has been making engines for KTM for a while now and we all know how reliable they are. [Pause for comic effect.] Okay, maybe that’s a bit of fly. Honestly, Honda’s reliability was a factor in my decision, but the real reason I didn’t go with the Ibex was that, at 420 lbs, it’s getting pretty close to the middle-weight bike I already have. (The Tiger stock 474 lb.) Like the Kove, the Ibex was a close second. I test rode one at La Classique and it’s a very impressive package. If I didn’t already have a bike and was aiming for another one-bike set-up, it would be hard to beat the Ibex 450.

Royal Enfield Himalayan 450

Gone are the days of RE’s reliability issues. When Fort Nine did a comparison of the top motorcycle manufacturers’ plants for cleanliness by analyzing oil samples taken from new models, he surprisingly found that Royal Enfield came out on top, even beating out BMW, who came up with the standards. So they seem to have turned their manufacturing around. And under maverick CEO Siddhartha Lal, the company’s fortunes seem to have also turned around. The third corner of this triangle is design and engineering, and I can’t speak to that directly but can say that everyone who rides the 450 Himalayan is surprised by just how capable it is, despite its spec sheet. Itchy Boots was one of its first converts when she rode a pre-production model into the Himalayan Mountains, and Adam Reimann took it through the Nepal and could often be heard praising “Sir Enfield” for “getting it done.” In other light ADV “shootouts,” the Himalayan holds its own. In particular, reviews seems to praise the characteristics of the engine, and while the suspension is not adjustable, the stock set-up seems to work surprisingly well.

I haven’t test ridden a Himalayan, but it was never on my short list because of the 432-lb curb weight. That’s about 100 lbs more than what I was looking for as a fun trail bike. The Himalayan is listed as a light ADV, but like George Orwell, who self-identified as “lower upper-middle-class,” the Himalayan is an upper light-middle-weight bike. It also doesn’t have a lot of ground clearance, which is important when you’re riding trails. My sense is that trying to take the Himalayan 450 on trails would be like when I tried taking my 650 GS on them, and that didn’t go well.

KTM 390 Adventure R

Honestly, probably the best off-road bike for the money in this segment is the KTM 390 Adventure R. It’s got 45 hp, WP suspension, floating axial brakes, cornering ABS and traction control, rider modes, 10.7″ ground clearance, and a 5″ TFT display with connectivity to your phone, all for a very competitive price. At 388 lbs, it’s not as light at the Kove, but significantly lighter than the Ibex and Himalayan. Certainly, when you look at all that, it seems a no-brainer to go for the KTM.

But here’s the thing, and I’m not even going to mention the chocolate camshafts. Even before KTM had its meltdown, I was never a KTM guy. Why? Partly because I swim against the crowd, but mostly because I’m more of an explorer than a racer. These engines have their specific characteristics, and the KTM is a high-strung, high-octane, high-compression, high-revving engine that likes to go fast and be aggressive. At 62, my fast days are over and I was never aggressive. Or maybe I was never fast and my aggressive days are over. Either way, that bike just doesn’t suit my personality, and I think that’s an important but indefinable quality in a bike. Do you see yourself in a bike, or put another way, does the bike reflect something of you? Maybe this is what others call brand loyalty, but I call it Narcissism. And while this all feels very new and unfamiliar, I think I’m a Honda guy.

Honda CRF 300L Rally

I was initially tipped off about the Honda 300L by my buddy Riley from The Awesome Players. I think it was St. Patrick’s Day 2025, so about a year ago, and we were sitting on my porch having a Guinness and talking—what else—bikes. He’d just participated in Traction eRag’s 5-day training course out in BC. They run a fleet of Honda 250s and report no burnt clutches and very few mechanical issues. When I started watching the reviews, I kept hearing about “Honda reliability.” I’ve always fixed my own bikes, more out of necessity than good sense, and the idea of owning one that doesn’t require constant maintenance sounded appealing.

Aside from its reliability, there are a couple of characteristics of the Honda that I kept hearing in reviews. One is that, unlike the KTM, the Honda gets its power low in the rev range. This is really helpful if you don’t want to go fast but need torque down low to get up hills and over obstacles. The other is that the bike is very confidence-inspiring. That has something to do with the power delivery but also how the bike seems to carry its weight low. And at only 335 lbs, it’s one of the lightest bikes in the segment.

It’s only got 27 hp, so many owners immediately start trying to boost that with modifications to the airbox, ECU remapping, aftermarket exhaust, etc. even a complete new big bore kit if you want to have KTM-like power out of Honda. But I think those people are missing the point. Doing those mods will change the reliability and characteristics of the engine. Remember kids: it’s the tortoise who wins the race, not the hare. The only mods I might do to the engine would be to remove some of the Euro restrictions that are choking it.

Reviews also point out that the suspension is soft. Yeah, Itchy Boots rode one through South America, America, and most of Canada before finding out in Prince George, I think it was, that her static sag fully loaded was about 50%. When I decided to get the Honda, my initial plan was to buy used and put the difference in money into a suspension upgrade. Maybe an upgrade is somewhere in the new bike’s future, but there was only about $1000 difference between used 2021-24 models with 8,000K on them and a new 2025 model with improved suspension. At all of 150 lbs, I’m hoping the stock suspension on the 2025 model will be sufficient, at least for a while.

Other pros? The engine is supposedly surprisingly smooth for a single, and Honda have put a 6th gear in that serves as an overdrive. It will do 70 mph (120 kph), depending on wind direction, which is enough to get you to the dirt. The windscreen works quite well, and the headlight, although goofy-looking (some might say ugly), reportedly works very well, which is important on an ADV bike. Last but not least, I think the bike looks great. I like that Honda have gone back to the blue saddle on the 2025 model. You can see the rally heritage in its design.

Reviewers consistently call the Honda CRF 300 Rally either a “beginner bike” or an “old man bike.” As an older man who still considers himself a beginner off road, I think it will be a good fit.

Which bike would you choose and why? Is there another I should have considered? Do you have a new bike this season? Drop a comment below. I always like to hear from my readers.

Review: Mitas Enduro Trail-XT+

February 14, 2026March 3, 2026 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

A long-lasting aggressive knobby that’s surprisingly quiet and stable on the road.

The Triumph Tiger is notorious for having a steep rake and an unstable front end in the dirt. Ask me how I know.

I dropped the fork tubes flush with the triple tree to rake out the Tiger but it was still causing me some grief in loose terrain.

All these tucks happened with the 50/50 Michelin Anakee Wild on the front. It’s a good tire, but not aggressive enough for the Tiger when it ventures into sand or mud. Before heading out on the TQT this past summer, I decided that, enough was enough, I’d put the most aggressive tire I could find on the front. That ended up being the Mitas Enduro Trail-XT+, a 20/80 tire that replaces the discontinued the E-09 Enduro. Because I’m cheap, I paired the Enduro Trail-XT+ on the front with a Shinko 804 on the rear and it was a good combination.

Many people find the Mitas naming confusing. Here’s a chart to study. A quiz will follow at the end of this post.

Street Performance

I’ve never had such an aggressive tire on either the Tiger or my old 650GS so it was a new experience for me. As soon as I headed out, I noticed the infamous headshake in the rain grooves on the highway, but I loosened my grip on the bars and said a Hail Mary in my helmet and all was well. I got used to this unnerving feeling and before long was happily blasting at 130+ km/hr without requiring a diaper, er, “incontinence brief.” Maybe the edges of the knobs rounded off a bit, or maybe I just got used to it, but this tire is fine at highway speed. It’s also surprisingly quiet too, with no high-speed whine.

The Trail-XT+ was also reliable in hard cornering on the street. I had it on when I did some “spirited” riding with the boys during a pavement ride at Rally Connex’s Fall Colours Ride. It’s not easy keeping up with KTM Fred and VRRA-man Marc, but I managed, and that was after the tire already had maybe 10,000K on it. Unlike the Scorpion Rally that stepped out on Kyle Bradshaw on his twisties challenge, the Trail-XT+ held without a twitch or slip.

Off-Road Performance

At a 20/80 rating, obviously this tire shines in the dirt. It took me a while to gain confidence in the front again but I can confidently say that the Enduro Trail-XT+ finally stabilized the front end of the Tiger. I can’t speak to how consistently the rear slides out because I wasn’t running it on the rear, but the Trail-XT+ kept the front planted. The TQT doesn’t have deep sand, but I rode through a variety of loose gravel, dirt, wet dirt, mud—even some shallow sand—and the front end never once twitched. I felt I could finally enjoy this bike off road without being nervous about the front end.

Okay, this is not gnarly terrain. The TQT is big-bike friendly so there isn’t any of that. But you can tell by the speed I’m carrying into these corners and especially in the wet dirt (not quite mud, but slippery nonetheless) that I’m confident in the front end now.

What’s the difference? Comparing the Wild and the XT+, it’s clear that the Mitas has smaller lugs that bite into the dirt. More significantly, its sidewall lugs protrude more and hold the front in place when the bike is leaned over.

I know how to weight the outside peg when cornering off road, and I know to keep my weight over the contact patch, so I don’t think those tucks are simply a result of improper body positioning. Most of those them were a result of hitting a slight rut when riding straight; the Anakee Wilds just cannot climb out of even a sandy rut and start to plough sideways and away we go! I think the side-lugs of the Trail-XT+ make all the difference.

Longevity

In terms of compound, I’d say the Anakee is actually softer. This gives the Mitas its longevity. I got a full season out of one, about 14,000K (8,700 miles), which is pretty damn good for a knobby, especially when about half of that was on asphalt. This is what it looked like toward the end of season with approximately 12,000K (7,500 miles) on it. Obviously, you can’t expect this kind of longevity on a rear.

Despite the longevity, the tire is not vibey on asphalt. In fact, I’ve found some street tires with a hard centre compound to be more vibey than the Trail-XT+. I really don’t know how Mitas managed to pull that off.

Conclusion

If it’s not already evident, I’m really impressed with this tire, and if I were not planning to sell the Tiger, another would definitely be going on the front next season. In fact, I’ll probably put the same on whatever bike I end up getting. Excellent grip off road, good road performance, quiet, not vibey, and long-lasting—what more are you looking for in an ADV tire? This is going to be my go-to tire for everything other than street touring, it’s that good.

Direct competitors for the Trail-XT+ are probably the Dunlop 606 and the Pirelli Scorpion Rally Racing (Racing, not STR).

The Enduro Trail-XT+ is available TT/TL in a full range of sizes and a Dakar stiffer carcass as well. For more information, technical specs, and a complete sizing chart, visit the Mitas page.

Pros:

Not vibey or noisy on road.
Good, reliable grip on road in twisties.
Headshake in rain grooves and cheese-grater bridges bearable.
Excellent off road. Planted front end.
Upwards of 12,000 – 14,000K (7,500 – 8,700 miles) longevity expected on front.
Tube type and tubeless for all sizes.
Good range of sizes available.
Dakar (yellow stripe) version available.

Cons

More expensive than a budget tire.

Have you tried this tire? Was your experience as positive as mine? What do you agree with in my review? What do you disagree with? Any other tire suggestions for off road riding? Drop a comment below. I promise, I’m not a bot seeking your personal info. I always like to hear from readers.

The Lighthouse Route, Nova Scotia

January 31, 2026January 31, 2026 / 650thumper / Leave a comment

Everyone tours The Cabot Trail on the east coast, but the west coast has its own charm.

After riding the TQT (Trans Quebec Trail) from Magog to Rimouski, I’d had enough of dirt roads and boreal forest and decided on a change of pace. I contacted my good friend in Nova Scotia to see if she was up for a visit. Sharon and I met as undergrads at Western University, so long ago the university was then called The University of Western Ontario, and we’d kept in touch through the years. She’s one of my oldest and dearest friends and I don’t see her enough, so I spontaneously reached out. Thankfully, my timing was good; she’d just finished her teaching duties for the summer and her schedule was clear. I decided I’d nip down to central Nova Scotia for a short visit, then ride The Lighthouse Route that follows the NS western coastline from Halifax through Lunenburg, Liverpool, Kejimkujik National Park Seaside, Yarmouth, and around to Digby. Then I figured I’d cross The Bay of Fundy on the ferry and start making my way back to Montreal. Where the first week was remote solitary dirt and gravel riding through forest, the second would be asphalt, ocean, lighthouses, cafes, bookstores, and microbreweries.

Google said Sharon was only 7 hours from Rimouski by highway, but I wasn’t in a hurry so thought I’d ride mostly dirt roads down. In fact, I could still follow the TQT south out of Rimouski and then follow my nose. It brought me to the northern gate of a large nature reserve (ZEC) standing between me and New Brunswick. I write “gate” but there was no actual barrier, just a small building that you stop at to buy your permit. There is a small fee to enter these reserves. I’m not sure why, but this is Quebec and there’s usually a fee attached to most things. No doubt the money goes toward maintenance of the building that houses the staff member whose job it is to collect the fee.

The man inside started to fill out the paperwork for my fee. I noticed that he was a two-finger typist so I guess a certain typing speed was not a requirement for his job. We got to the point where he collects the fee and I caught something about “trois cent kilomètres,” which caused me some concern. (He didn’t speak any English so obviously that was not a requirement either for the job.) A few questions of inquiry and I discovered that, yes, it was over 300 hundred kilometres through the reserve. (This man was now earning his wages.) I wasn’t expecting that and hadn’t filled my extra fuel bladder and didn’t know if I had enough gas to get through. He also said it wasn’t advisable to ride through alone because there are a lot of moose and not many people in the reserve. With that, I wished the man adieu and decided to find another way down to Nova Scotia.

I rode back out to the main road and plugged Sharon’s address into Google but with the option to “Avoid Highways.” I figured if I couldn’t ride dirt, I at least didn’t have to ride highways. Google did pretty well and in fact found me some interesting dirt to ride.

However, once I got into New Brunswick, Google did less well. I think some of the NB backroads aren’t mapped in Google using anything but satellite imagery because I soon found myself on an ATV trail that looked pretty gnarly. Yes, it wasn’t highway, but it also wasn’t a road. Fortunately there was a sign indicating I needed a permit (yes, another fee) to ride it, and given that I was fully loaded and alone, I decided to back out of that one too. It wasn’t easy getting to Nova Scotia. Clearly I couldn’t ride through the drive-through province without using highways.

Now I was somewhere in New Brunswick and getting low on fuel. I didn’t have cell service so couldn’t look up the nearest gas station so I went old-school and asked a man who was cutting his grass. (Thankfully, there was a house.) He said to continue until I reached the St. John’s River and then turn left and that would take me into Edmundston. Phew! Every tour requires at least one fuel scare.

Soon I was not only fueled up but also at a tourist information centre, which in Edmundston is housed in an old military block house on the St. John’s River.

Prepared to defend against the attacking tourists.

And before long, I was set up for the night at Parc Provincial de la République, which is nowhere near as revolutionary as its name suggests.

The next day there was no avoiding it: 5+ hours on the Trans Canada Highway south and then east, cutting through bush with moose fence on either side, a 120 km/h asphalt corridor that numbs the mind and body but gets you into Nova Scotia, where you can drop down a gear and start to smell the ocean. I had in mind to camp at 5 Islands Provincial Park, which I missed the last time through by accidentally staying at 5 Islands RV Park (very different), only once I got there after a long, exhausting, boring day in the saddle, I was told they didn’t have a site. The Not Since Moses race was that weekend in which participants run along the muddy beach at low tide. Sounds like fun but unfortunately it meant the campground was full. With some advice from park staff and a phone call, I found a site just 30 minutes west along the shore in Glooscap Campground in Parrsboro. I was now right on the shore of Minas Basin with Sharon just a short ride away on the other side of Cobequid Bay.

Minas Basin, an inlet of The Bay of Fundy.

The next day, while circumnavigating the bay, I came across this roadside sign, which seemed apropos since I wouldn’t have been in Nova Scotia if it weren’t for what was happening in The United States.

Reads, “Elbows Up. We are proud to be Canadian forever. July 1867”

“Elbows Up” is a reference to hockey, Canada’s official national winter sport. It refers to a style of play by Mr. Hockey, Gordie Howe, who used his elbows to defend himself against larger attacking players. It has become a rallying cry for Canadians against Trump’s punishing tariffs and threats of annexation. The date indicated on the sign is when Canada officially became a nation, comparable to 1776 for Americans.

As a Canadian, I’ve watched with a kind of dispassionate curiosity the political events and discourse happening south of the border, but lately the conflict and tensions have crossed the border and become more personal and threatening. I normally don’t like to get political in this blog because it’s one of those topics one is supposed to avoid at the dinner table so perhaps should be avoided in this public conversation as well. Let me preface the following comments by saying that I’m in agreement with some of Trump’s policies and recognize that the Democratic Party seems to have abandoned the working class and adopted a politic based more on race and identity than pragmatic economics. I’m not a fan of open borders, despite understanding why many people might want to flee difficult situations in their home countries. I don’t think mass unregulated immigration is viable long-term. And while I’m not an anti-vaxxer, I’m curious to see what Robert Kennedy Jr. is going to do with health care reform and food and drug safety in The States.

However, Make America Great Again cannot involve violating international law and annexing sovereign countries and continents. It should not involve turning a friend and ally into an enemy and opponent by breaking trade agreements with unreasonable tariffs designed to crush industries that have served both countries very well since 1989, when the US-Canada Free Trade Agreement (FTA) was first signed by President Reagan and Prime Minister Mulrooney (superseded by NAFTA). If President Trump wants to change the nature of the US-Can trade agreement, there are mechanisms built into the agreement for that. But Trump wields tariffs like a club, threatening to use them according to his whims when he even hears something he doesn’t like. That is not a viable economic strategy for developing stable trade and investment relations.

In 1969, then Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau said that living next to America is like “sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly or even tempered is the beast . . . one is affected by every twitch and grunt.” And currently the beast is far from friendly. How does a relatively small country like Canada deal with a unfriendly United States? I think the answer can be found in one of our oldest stories, Jack and the Beanstalk, a story that is perhaps 30,000 years old. Jack knows he cannot survive on his own against the giant, so he enlists the help of the giant’s wife, who feeds him and hides him when the giant returns. Perhaps she too is afraid of the giant. This is exactly what Prime Minister Carney has suggested in his recent speech at the World Economic Forum in Davos—for middle-sized countries to cooperate and form alliances to protect themselves against hostile superpowers. That speech has clearly angered Trump because, as I write this, he’s threatening a 100% tariff on all Canadian goods, although his motives for this latest threat are unclear.

But back to Elbows Up for a moment, while we are still stopped at the side of the road. I miss riding in The United States and hope these political tensions are resolved soon. I plan to tour in my upcoming retirement not only the eastern seaboard but also The Continental Divide, including Utah, and the Pacific Coast Highway, among other destinations. I haven’t yet seen The Grand Canyon, or the Bonneville Salt Flats, or ridden The Great Smokey Mountains or The Outer Banks. So please, my American readers, don’t take it personally that I’ve decided to participate in the tourism boycott for now. It is a price that we are both paying for President Trump’s decisions. I feel it’s just something I ought to do while President Trump is being disrespectful. In every single course outline I present to my students, there is a sentence at the end of the section on class rules: “Mutual respect is the basis of all relationships.” Referring to Canada as the 51st state and our Prime Minister as its governor is not being respectful.

Feel free to comment below on what I’ve said above, but if I may extend the analogy of the classroom a little further, another of my class rules is that any and all comments are valid as long as they remain respectful in both tone and content.

After a few days of rest, conversation, campfires, and catching up with Sharon, I loaded up the bike again and headed south, skirting Halifax and picking up the 333 that took me to my first lighthouse, Peggy’s Cove. The first time I visited Peggy’s Cove, I camped about 15 minutes away at Wayside Campground and was able to get down to the lighthouse at dawn to take the photo above (banner image). This time it was later in the morning and it looked very different.

My tour now was not solitary, and unfortunately, I got more of the same once I reached my destination for the day, Lunenburg. I set up my hammock at the campground, then walked down into town for a pint and some fish & chips.

Click on arrows left and right for slideshow.

After dinner, I got an ice cream and walked down to the dock to see Bluenose II.

The last time I was here was with Marilyn. In fact, we’ve visited Lunenburg a couple of times and now, alone, I experienced another kind of loneliness from the previous week as everywhere I went her absence was all the more poignant, exacerbated ironically by the streets and restaurants teeming with tourists.

I decided to wander over to the other side of the bay where it was quieter and provided a peaceful view of the harbour at dusk. The next day I was strangely happy to pack up and continue west along the coastline, out from the crowds and into the more remote side of the province.

My first stop was LaHave Bakery, just off the ferry that takes you across the LaHave River. One of my favourite things while touring is stopping at a bakery for a midday snack and coffee, and it doesn’t get any better than the LaHave Bakery. They have not only delicious baked goods and coffee but also an adjoining bookstore and a dock out back where you can sit while you enjoy your treats.

A good coffee, some baking, and a book. Simple pleasures.

After, I continued along the 331, dropping down onto secondary roads that hug the shoreline of the peninsulas as I headed west to Kejimkujik National Park Seaside. Don’t ask me how to say it (or spell it, for that matter), but it’s on the southern shore about halfway between Lunenburg and Yarmouth. You can’t camp there so I went to Thomas Raddall Provincial Park just on the other side of the bay and set up there. As soon as I’d strung the hammock and made my way down to the beach, I knew I would stay here for a few days.

Port Joli Beach at Thomas Raddall Provincial park, looking across to Kejimkujik.

I went for a swim and read for a bit, then hopped on the bike and rode over to the park, only by the time I got there it was getting late, the parking lot was completely empty, and I knew I was all alone in this large, remote park. You have to walk a narrow trail to get to the beach from the parking lot and signs at the trailhead indicated the presence of bears. I’d left my bear spray back at camp, and when I saw signs of bear activity on the trail, I decided not to risk it but return the following day better prepared. Sometimes you just have to listen to your gut.

Back at Port Joli Beach for another peaceful dusk.

I’ve written in an earlier post about how, at my age (62), I’m trying to take some days off the bike while touring. Rest days, recovery days, sightseeing days—call them what you will, they are helpful and needed and ensure I slow down a bit and don’t ride past attractions in the quest to cover miles. Kejimkujik was the perfect place to spend a day and in many ways felt like the highlight of the tour.

And speaking of rest, the last time I was here with Marilyn, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep sitting up on a rock at the shoreline, much to Marilyn’s chagrin, who found it a photographer’s paradise. At least that’s her memory of our visit, but in truth I was just “resting my eyes.” This time I was well rested and hiked the trail, then found a viewpoint to sit and take in the sights and sounds of the ocean. Seals were in the bay in front and a bunch were bathing on a nearby island, which I was able to see through my monocular and photograph by putting it to the lens on my phone.

Kejimkujuk beach
Kejimkujik shore
Seals sunbathing

While hiking the shoreline trail, I rounded a corner and saw a bear up ahead, but it skedaddled into the bush when it saw me. Kejimkujuk Seaside really is a special place. If you are a nature lover, make sure it’s on your destination list.

The next day I continued along the shore toward Yarmouth. I found this quaint mom and pop diner for breakfast in Bayman (Highway 3), and later in the heat of the afternoon, a classic ice cream parlour in Barrington Passage. It was a different kind of tour from first week but I was enjoying the comforts.

Classic NS breakfast diner.
Yes, there are still places in NS that spell it “shoppe.”
Sainte Anne Church, the oldest parish in the region (1799)

I stopped at the Canadian Tire in Yarmouth to get some oil for the bike, then rode inland to Castle Lake Campground. It was a campground unlike any other I’ve stayed at—the biggest, for sure, with lots of heavy equipment and construction going on, and some unusual artifacts, like a dismantled McDonnell CF-101B Voodoo sitting on a flatbed. I’m not sure what they plan to do with it. At any rate, I was happy for the site because everything else was full.

The next morning I was treated to one of those peaceful moments that make camping for me preferable to a cheap room.

I was now getting near the end of my loop. I rode into Digby and bought my ferry ticket for passage the following day. Then I had the day to spend so I decided to ride the Digby spit. It’s very different from The Cabot Trail, but special too in its own way. Where The Cabot Trail is spectacular and exciting, the Digby spit is quiet and peaceful, but not without some interesting attractions.

I stopped at the reconstruction of folk artist Maud Lewis‘s home. If you haven’t seen the movie Maudie (2016) starring Sally Hawkins and Ethan Hawke, it’s worth a look. Someone who as a boy knew Maud has built a pretty good reconstruction of her tiny home (the original is in the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia). I have to admit that I don’t understand the artistic merit of folk art, but I can appreciate a good story, and the story of a young destitute woman with numerous physical challenges finding love and artistic success in rural Nova Scotia is a good one and exemplifies much that is right about Canada.

Murray Ross beside his replica house on the site of the original.
Maud Lewis in the doorway of her home, 1961 Photograph by Cora Greenaway

Murray Ross told a few stories from memory about Maud, including that she soaked her paintbrushes in turpentine and the terrible fumes in the little house likely contributed to her lung ailments later in life.

A little further along the spit, I pulled off at the appropriately-named Sandy Cove.

Sandy Cove, NS. No crashing waves here but a very pleasant rest stop along the spit.

The Digby spit is comprised of several islands. There are free short ferries rides that take you to the outer islands. If you have the time, keep going because there are some interesting attractions further along.

Shortly after getting off the first ferry, look for the sign for Balancing Rock. You have to survive a very buggy hike along a trail to the shore to see it, but it’s pretty neat. (Pro tip: wear your helmet with visor down on the hike.)

Keep your eye out for whales. Finally, if you make it that far, Brier Island not only has ice cream but also a lighthouse out on the point.

Brier Island Lighthouse, my final lighthouse.

I’d never made it out to the furthest island before, and doing so this time felt like the end of the road for this tour. The next day I caught the ferry across The Bay of Fundy and started heading home, stopping at my buddy Mark’s place again in Rivière du Loup for the night before pushing on to Montreal.

Reflecting on the tour now, midwinter, I have to admit that the planned tour changed pretty dramatically, from an ambitious solo off-road ride across two major provinces, to three weeks on the TQT, to one week on the TQT and one in rural Nova Scotia. Some of that downgrading was from a lack of confidence in my bike, some from a lack of confidence in myself. When I had a stupid tip-over turning around on Mark’s driveway, I discovered that I could barely get the Tiger back up again on my own. My back is not what it used to be, and my confidence took a hit.

I’m working on getting my mojo back. I’ve been working really hard this winter on my strength and fitness to prepare my body for the kind of retirement I want to have, and moving to a bike 150 lb. lighter with Honda reliability will give me confidence again to explore on my own. That includes plans for some epic tours, but I’ll leave that for a future post. For now, I’m looking forward to buying the Honda 300 Rally in the spring and having some fun with the boys on the trails next summer.

Solo on the Trans Quebec Trail

December 27, 2025December 27, 2025 / 650thumper / 5 Comments

It wasn’t the tour I had planned, but the best adventures rarely are.

The original plan was finally to ride The Blue Ridge Parkway down into West Virginia and then take the MABDR and NEBDR back to Canada. Followers of this blog will know I’ve been trying to do this bucket list ride for the past several years, but something always gets in the way. This past season it was the ridiculous rhetoric coming out of President Trump’s mouth about Canada being the 51st state. Statements like that are disrespectful toward all Canadians at best and mildly threatening at worst. Despite how much I was looking forward to that tour, I decided to exercise what little agency I have as a Canadian by participating in the boycott.

I got to thinking that, while we don’t have BDRs here in Canada (yet), we do have the TCAT (Trans Canada Adventure Trail), and it’s the same idea. I thought I might do the section named The Forest that goes from Baie Comeau, Quebec, west to Kenora, Ontario, so essentially across the two largest provinces in Canada, mostly off road. The TCAT takes you through some very remote regions and would have been quite a challenge, especially solo.

Why solo, you ask? Well, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I put the word out to my riding buddies, but there was none who could get away from work and family commitments for the length of time I was considering, and others who could but had other stuff get in the way. I’m used to touring solo, although this would be the first time solo off road, which is never advisable. It’s always better to ride with a buddy, but if I got into trouble, I had a Garmin inReach Mini to help get me out.

Then my riding buddy Riley reminded me of the TQT, the Trans Quebec Trail. Same idea but closer to home and, more importantly, with an accompanying app. The concern I had with the TCAT is whether the tracks would be up to date. I’d come across this liability before when doing a section of it south of Calabogie, Ontario. A bridge was out but not indicated in the tracks I purchased, and this led to being stranded on a hydro line overnight. However, the TQT has an app and users can report a problem easily in real time, so you know the route is kept current. The app also includes information on gas stations, restaurants, campgrounds, accommodations, hospitals, and more, taking a lot of the burden out of this aspect of touring and providing some support and peace of mind. That decided it: I’d ride as much of the TQT as I could.

On the shakedown ride, the Tiger started having intermittent starting issues—not the usual slow-crank kind but a new no-crank kind—nadda, nothing. After a few minutes, it would crank and fire fine so the problem was clearly heat-related. Given where I was going, I decided to rig up a jumper cable from the starter terminal to up under the seat by the battery. If the bike started acting up in the middle of nowhere, I could bypass the ignition system by touching it to the Pos terminal of the battery.

My departure date arrived and I was loaded up and ready to go. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts to avoid a duffle bag on the tail, in the end I needed it because I was trying hammock camping and needed the room for an insulation pad that goes under the hammock. The duffle, however, was very light, containing the pad, my sleeping bag, and a few other items. It looks worse than it was.

Safety chicken with his seatbelt on a little too tight.

I bombed down to Magog where I planned to pick up the TQT—2 hours of highway riding east of Montreal. It was hot, very hot, maybe not by Nevada standards but enough to make my phone battery overheat. When I reached the route, it took me some time to orient myself with the app. That involved some starting and stopping at the side of the road as I fiddled with my phone, and on one occasion, the bike wouldn’t restart, the same problem I was experiencing before. I figured it was because the lithium battery in the bike, like in my phone, was overheating, a problem I’d experienced before with another lithium battery. Using the jump wire, I found that the starter cranked just fine but the bike didn’t start. It was like it wasn’t getting any fuel. Not good. (At the time, I guessed that the ECU must need power to regulate the fueling, but I discovered much later that the issue was actually a loose wire into the fuel pump relay.) With the entire three weeks of remote riding ahead of me, I decided to err on the side of caution and return home.

The next day I started out again, this time with an old AGM battery in the bike. I rode again hard down to Magog, then stopped and started the bike several times, stressing the bike to test it as best I could before committing to the tour. It seemed to be starting fine now so on I went.

With these glitches behind me and the bike running great, I could finally enjoy the ride, and enjoy I did! I’ve never been east of the Townships up into the Mégantic Mountain Range but this region is beautiful. I passed through rolling hills and farmland in the valleys. The riding is not technical but mostly hard-packed dirt and gravel, which is good if you’re fully loaded.

The Tiger is perfect for this stuff, and since putting a Mitas Enduro XT+ on the front, the front end is planted, giving me a lot of confidence compared to when I had an Anakee Wild washing out on me.

As you can see, I was climbing up into the mountains as I headed northeast. The time came to start looking for a camping spot for the night. This is where the app is really helpful. It automatically detects when you are on the route and brings up sidebar information like next gas station, nearby attractions, and other options. One option is Campgrounds, and pressing it brings up nearby campgrounds relevant to your geolocation. I saw there was one a few kilometres away and pressing on it gave me the option to navigate there in the app of my choice. Nice! I might be explaining this slightly wrong, but trust me, it’s easy, and the next thing I knew I was pulling in to Camping Mont-Mégantic.

It was starting to rain so I quickly strung a tarp over the picnic table and made my dinner.

My drinking buddy likes to sing but doesn’t have much of a voice.

When the sun went down, it wasn’t long before I was in my hammock, enjoying listening to the rain on the tarp.

The next day started with a ride down into the lovely town of Lac-Mégantic. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because the town is the site of one of the worst industrial disasters in Canadian history. I soon found the memorial at the place where the accident occurred.

The inscription is a little difficult to read in the photo above so I’ve transcribed most of it below.

On the night of July 6^th, 2013, a 72 wagon train carrying crude oil derailed in the middle of Lac Mégantic. The resulting explosion claimed the lives of 47 people and destroyed half of its historic town centre. The crude oil seeped into the sewage system, contaminating many other buildings and a total of more than 100 shops and offices disappeared. You are now facing the point of impact.

It was a moving and reflective moment, and I will admit, the feeling that came to me at the time in addition to sadness was anger, not at the oil industry or the railway workers. The accident was just that—an accident—and I’m not going to fault anyone for being human. No, my thought went to environmentalists who think they can solve our oil dependency by blocking pipelines. As I write this, about one third of global energy consumption is oil, and while it’s slowly dropping, we are still very much in need of moving oil across geography. Blocking a pipeline from being constructed, however well intentioned, does not erase the need. The oil is simply moved by freight instead, sometimes through populated areas like Lac Mégantic. Oil passes less than a few hundred meters from my house.

I don’t have the space here or the expertise to wade into the renewable versus fossil fuel debate. What I will say, however, is that blocking pipelines is short-sighted. A pipeline like the Trans Mountain Pipeline is an easy target, the proverbial line in the sand, but getting Alberta’s oil to global markets means Canada is less reliant on The United States as its sole buyer and can demand international market prices. More importantly, according to one study by the National Bank, getting China and India off of coal will reduce more CO2 emissions than what Canada produces as a whole. In fact, transitioning China alone off of coal will eliminate 8 times the amount of CO2 that Canada produces.

Of course, none of this was in my head as I stood at the site of the disaster and tried to imagine the devastation that the explosion caused, but I was thinking of the Quebec Government’s opposition to the Energy East pipeline proposal. Recently under increased demand for inter-provincial cooperation and trade, there has been a softening. The issues surrounding proposed pipelines are nuanced and complex, but my hope is that decisions are made based more on pragmatic calculations than political ideology or regional interests.

As I stood on the platform, a train carrying oil slowly passed through town, and it seemed to me that families came to witness it. The train was somehow central to this community, part of its collective memory and culture. The marche du vent is a walk that serves “as a guide for understanding a town in the process of reinventing itself,” and I was glad that a moment of reflection at this historic site was a part of my adventure.

I climbed back onto the bike and burnt some more fossil fuels. At times, the route narrowed to single-lane road so I had to keep my speed down and ride right.

I stopped in Saint George for lunch, then continued on northeast through the Beauce. This region is surprisingly still part of the Appalachian Mountains and the route seemed to zig zag back and forth across mountain ranges, providing a lot of fun riding and some spectacular views.

Somewhere around Frampton, QC, looking north toward Quebec City.

My planned destination for the day was just south of Rivière du Loup, where a friend has some property, but my progress was slow. You can’t really get out of 3rd gear on these roads, nor would you want to. In some sections, the route narrows further and becomes sandy, and there were other delays.

As the afternoon progressed, I had a decision to make: whether to start looking for a campsite or to bail on the TQT and get to my buddy’s property where he said I could pitch. I was curious to see his property and the log cabin he was building there, and I was ready to get out of the forest and nearer the coast, so I decided on the latter. 90 minutes of highway riding later, I was there just as the light was beginning to fade. Unfortunately, I happened to be there in one of the rare times that he was back in Montreal.

Bagged curry and beer dinner in the fading light.

In the morning, I could see that Mark had the foundation poured. He now has the walls up and the roof on, hydro in, and windows and doors installed. That’s pretty impressive for one summer’s work, given that he’s virtually working alone with only his wife to help and provide food services. The only thing he didn’t get to was the chinking, so that will have to be done in the spring. (He has the cabin insulated though.) If you want to see how he’s done most of this construction and other work, check out his YouTube channel, Fierce Tartan. There you will see the nearly-finished project and how he managed to lift those huge beams into place on his own.

The workshite. As with most construction, it’s pretty messy and all comes together at the end.

I decided to stay a second night so I could rest a bit and enjoy the area. I went up to the local public beach for a swim, then rode into town to buy a cheap polar blanket because, even with the insulating pad, I wasn’t warm enough at night.

I had mixed feelings about bailing the day before. I tend to get goal fixated and not riding all the TQT to RDL felt like a fail. Honestly, what concerned me was the ZEC section I was heading toward, just south of La Pocatière and Kamouraska. ZECs are nature reserves and there really isn’t anyone in them this time of year when it’s not hunting season. The route skirts the US-Canada border east to Pehénégamook before turning north toward Rivière du Loup. That section looks really interesting as it follows the Notre Dame Mountain Range but would have to wait until I could return with some riding buddies.

Atlas throttle lock needed adjustment. Every tour requires some parking lot maintenance.

After a McD’s breakfast, I followed my nose and found what I was looking for—a sunny, grassy, spot on the shoreline where I could read and nap in the shade. This is technically still the St. Lawrence River but you can see there is a tide. The water begins to become brackish, and just east it widens into the gulf.

After two days of boreal forest, this is what I was craving and was happy that the route east follows the shoreline a short ways before turning inland again. The next day’s riding took me through more small towns, some with unusual attractions.

Can Castle in Saint-Jean-de-Dieu. 27,927 cans used to make this castle. Apparently somebody counted.

But mostly it was more and more forest on gravel roads, and some of it quite remote.

The route now was taking me deeper into the bush and at the same time it began to rain. I decided again to detour off and go back to the coast. By the time I reached Bic, just west of Rimouski, it was pouring so I decided to splurge on a room for the night. Okay, call me a wimp, but one of the gifts of ageing is good judgment.

Auberge des Iles du Bic
My room
Lobby

The Auberge des Îles du Bic was constructed in 1840. Rates were very reasonable and came with breakfast. The owner let me borrow the outside tap to hose down my bags before bringing them into the room.

The next morning I went exploring. I’d heard about Parc national du Bic and I was hoping to get a campsite there. Unfortunately, the campground is popular and they had no open sites. A neighbouring private campsite wasn’t very nice, and I was having trouble finding trees near the shore to string a hammock. At the same time, I was coming to some conclusions about the tour thus far.

For one, I wasn’t enjoying the solo touring as much as I had in the past. The shakedown ride with the boys on The Timber Trail in Kawartha Lakes was really fun and I was missing that camaraderie. Or perhaps I was now used to having Marilyn riding pillion. When I’d toured solo before, it was on the street where you run into people and are approached in coffee shops and gas stations. At any rate, riding solo for hours during the day through remote forest was lonely.

I also found that, while the off-road route involved potentially more interesting riding, I had to ride conservatively because I was alone. I didn’t feel comfortable venturing hundreds of miles into a nature reserve alone, and I was having some difficulty finding wild camping or campgrounds where I could string my hammock. Aside from the last few hundred kilometres into Rivière du Loup, I’d accomplished my primary goal of riding the TQT from Magog to Rimouski.

It was sometime around then that I decided to change my plans for the remainder of the tour. I would visit a good friend in central Nova Scotia instead and spend the following week touring that province’s western coastline, a region I’d never fully explored before. It would mean more asphalt and more tourists, but also more cafes, bookshops, and microbreweries. I will definitely be back on the TQT next summer and hope to go further, into Gaspesie and over the Chic-Choc Mountains. Next time I will come with friends.

Foreboding skies over Parc national du Bic.

Do you have any thoughts about my decision? Itchy Boots and Lyndon Poskitt and many other ADV riders ride solo. Am I getting old and soft or old and wise? The solo versus group tour debate is an interesting one. What is your preference? Drop a comment below and click Follow if you want to hear how the rest of the tour through NS goes.

The Wish List, 2025

December 6, 2025December 6, 2025 / 650thumper / 2 Comments

This year, my wish list is very short.

Once, while watching a VRRA race, I saw a guy pat his bike just after he crossed the finish line. It was a real nail-biter and he managed to squeak out the win in the last few meters of the race. I noticed the gesture—a double pat on the side of the fuel tank—because I sometimes do this to my bike, but privately, usually as we either head out on or return from a long adventure. It’s a gesture of kinship, or thanks. I guess I feel silly doing it, but at least now I know I’m not alone.

The pat is silly because, of course, machines don’t have feelings. Perhaps the gesture is only an acknowledgment of our own. If you work on your bike, and especially if it takes you on some adventures, you develop a bond, dare I say an intimacy, with the bike. You trust it with your life and return the favour of that loyalty by keeping it well maintained. And sometimes, I will publicly admit, I even talk to my bike, promising from inside my helmet some much needed maintenance as we cover the last few kilometres of a long tour. No wonder my wife sometimes feels second-best.

I mention all this because, yesterday, while browsing Facebook marketplace listings, I came across my old, first bike, the original Beemer after which this blog is named, the one that took me across Canada and up to the Arctic Circle and Marilyn and me over The Rockies. I put 100,000 kilometres on that bike and did all the maintenance myself, and now here it was, sitting in a stranger’s driveway.

The original 650 Thumper. photo credit://Alain Thibault

I always wondered what had happened to it. Last I heard, the woman I sold it to didn’t keep it for long but sold it, I was told, to trade up to a bigger GS. Her loss, I thought, since she was a learner and it’s a perfect learner bike and more. Now that new owner is selling it, and for a moment I actually considered buying it back. But I’ve got other plans.

Next spring I’ll be buying a new bike, or new to me. I’m looking at the Honda CRF 300 Rally.

I’ve always wanted a little trail bike. As good as the 650 was as a starter bike, there really is some truth to the adage that you should start small. It’s a lot easier to develop off-road skills on a little dirt bike than on a big adventure bike, a point on which Clinton Smout has founded his SMART riding school and which Adam Reimann argues in a recent video.

The polemical Adam Reimann.

I will also throw some rackless saddlebags on it and use it as a light adventure tourer. I’ve already bought the Enduristan Monsoon 3’s in a Black Friday sale at Dual Sport Plus; now I just need the bike.

I know what’s coming, so let’s just get this out of the way early. Why doesn’t everyone who is reading this leave the comment, “That’s the same bike Itchy Boots used,” and I will henceforth become inert to the remark. But seriously, I’d rather you weigh in on another decision I’m making.

I’ve also decided to sell the Tiger and get an even better long distance touring bike, and yes, it will be a big GS because that’s the law. If you’re over 60 and into adventure street touring, you must get a big boxer. I’ve never owned a big GS but I rode one in a demo ride at La Classique a few years ago and was immediately hooked. If you don’t understand, you clearly haven’t ridden one.

But joking aside, hear me out. I’ve been trying to do it all—trail riding and touring—with a middle-weight bike, but that inevitably involves compromise both in the dirt and on the street. With retirement approaching fast, I think I’m ready for two bikes. The Tiger is a really fun bike, but it’s still a big bike for technical riding and a little small for long-distance touring. The GS carries its weight so low you can turn it on a dime, and where the 800 triple is straining a bit 2-up at 120 km/hr (70 mph), the 1200 GS is cruising in its element. There’s good reason that the GS is the best-selling adventure bike of all time.

I’ve considered getting a dedicated touring bike like a Gold Wing but wouldn’t want to go up The Dempster on one of those. I’ve also considered a sport touring bike like the discontinued Yamaha FJR but want the option of top-loading panniers for my camping gear. No, I knew a 1200GS was somewhere in my future; I just didn’t realize it would be this soon.

Why a 1200 and not a 1250 or even 1300? Mostly due to budget, but there are benefits to going with an older bike too. I like to work on my own bikes, so the simpler the better, without a lot of electronics, and there are literally thousands of old 1200 GS’s out there, so lots of choice. Ah, there’s the rub: I have choice paralysis.

What is the best era of the 1200? The simple, reliable, and relatively lightweight 04-12 1st Gen oil/air-cooled models; 2nd Gen 13-16 water-cooled models with more power and a wet clutch, electronic suspension, quickshifter, and rider modes with cruise control; or 3rd Gen 17-18 models with TFT display, dynamic (i.e. self-levelling) electronic suspension, cornering ABS, and finally a smooth transmission? There are incremental updates in each generation too so the decision gets complicated fast. Please let me know if you have a preferred year and why. I’ve got all winter and probably most of next season to decide, but I’m researching and narrowing down my decision now. I think I’ll probably go GS Adventure for the extra range and better wind protection if I can get my old Touratech panniers to go on it. (Do all GSA’s have the bent luggage rack on the muffler side?)

As for the Tiger, it’s been a really fun, sporty, adventure bike, and I will be sad to see it go, as I was when I sold the Beemer. We’ve had some good adventures together, and I’ll give it a few pats and parting words before the new owner rides it away. The only consolation for such loss is the promise of new adventures on new bikes. As Galway Kinnell writes of separation, “the need / for the new love is faithfulness to the old” (“Wait” 14-15).