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Awesome bike. Two bikes makes sense. I was looking at the Super Tenere 1200 recently to try to accommodate the best of both worlds, when I was recently selling my Valkyrie. I don't think one bike can do both well. Two bikes may be my answer as well. Congratulations on a nice bike. Is that pic in Canada?
The 1200 is huge across the bags for off road. It looks frickin heavy too.

I rode a KLR for 35,000 miles mainly forest roads and some single track. Sold it because I kept falling off - when stationary - it's tall.
 

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From a few years ago.

Sometimes I'm such a dumbass.​





The northerly ride up Nimblewill Gap was much longer than I thought it would be. After a couple of miles I anticipated seeing the top of the mountain around every bend. It took about another mile before I did reach the forest road summit.

Please remember that I'm a gentleman putterer so my top speed coming up the road was about 20 mph and generally was about 10mph so that I could minimize the chance of getting a flat, KLR's run tubed tires.

There's a plaque at the summit of the road commemorating an aircraft crash that happened in 1968.

There's also a view of the downhill section of the forest road leading northwards. We've had a lot of rain recently in north Georgia and it seemed that most of the run off was going down the north side of the mountain, the direction I'm headed. As soon as the descent started the forest road showed signs of water erosion so I walked down to take a look at the lie of the land.

Hmmmm if I keep right to start with and then cross the very shallow gully in the middle I can then make my way down hugging the left side of the dirt road and keep away from the drop off down the side of the mountain.

KLR fired up I start threading my way downhill. Well that was easy, now I can press on and make my way to Two Wheels Only for lunch. Rounding the first downhill bend I see that the track is still washed out and now there are few rocks sticking through the dirt. Remember I mentioned it had been raining, well rocks on the north side of a mountain tend to “grow” a slippery covering of a variety of lichens and moss. Here we had some fine examples that anyone studying lichenometry would be happy to see. However rubber tires and green slimy, slippery rocks are not happy bedfellows so with a mental girding of loins I start down the obstacle course slowly weaving my way around the green bulges.

Around the next corner I see that the erosion is even more severe and that the center of the track is not suitable for my level of off-road skills so I have to choose the right or left and I can only see about 20 yards before the track disappears around another bend. Well I'll keep to the left away from the drop off and I'll be safe.

Hah! As I round the bend the gully in the center of the track veers sharply left due to an outcrop of rock on the right. This leaves a strip of wet, clayey soil about 12 inches wide with mature young saplings to the left of that. These saplings have whippy leaf covered branches sticking out into the 12 inch safety zone. Now I know that on dry flat blacktop I can ride a 12 inch strip in a perfectly straight line with my eyes closed and one hand behind my back. But on this soil with thin branches whipping at my face and a rear wheel waiting to slide 3 feet down into the gully?

Oh, did I forget to mention that the water erosion was doing its best to make north Georgia's own version of the Grand Canyon. What had started out as a shallow depression in the center of the track was now a 3 feet deep gash zig zagging across the side of the mountain.

There's no room to put the bike on the side stand. There's no room to turn around and go back uphill.

Dismounting from a KLR involves hopping backwards on the right foot whilst sliding the left leg across the saddle until the left foot is clear. Hah! Hopping backwards into the abyss is what I don't want to do. Leaning the bike towards the trees I gingerly get off trying to make sure I don't slip into the waiting maw of the crevasse behind me.

Success. Now all I need to do is start the bike up and using gravity and a little engine power carefully make my way about 10 feet until the strip I'm stranded on widens out. I've decided that if I start to slip into the gully I will push the bike away from me into the trees because I don't want it falling on top of me as I lay in the bottom of the gully. Hopefully the bike wont bounce back off any pliant saplings and smoosh me into the red Georgia clay.

Phew, secure footing and I can get get back on board and prepare for the next obstacle.

Did I mention that we've had a lot of rain. The Forest Service buries 15 inch diameter corrugated pipes across the tracks to allow water run off a safe passage without washing away the track. Well the recent rains we've had have exposed the upper halves of these pipes. These pipes are slippery and you may remember that rubber tires and slippery don't like to go hand in hand. The gully is now on the left of the track which means I have to get over the large corrugated slippery pipes on the right side of the track. That's the side next to the steep downhill, falling off the mountain side part of the track. I hazard a guess that if I just roll over the pipe I will hit the bottom of the bike and possibly crack the engine case so I'm going to have to “hop” the rear wheel over. OK front wheel up and on top of the large slippery metal corrugated pipe. A quick handful of throttle and up and over I go. Bloody hell, I made it.

Now the rocks that are sticking out of the tracks surface are large enough that some kind soul has spray painted the jagged tips with white paint so that the unwary traveler doesn't impale themselves on one. The gully in the track has become fractured with many off shoots and the track now looks like a rock debris field rather than anything a motorized vehicle could traverse.

Once more I'm forced to ride on the drop off side of the track and I'm thankful for the many hours of slow riding practice I've done over the years because clutch, throttle and rear brake are being manipulated very, very carefully. Gravity helps me trickle oh so slowly downhill. Forward motion is good.

A mantra flows through my head, right foot, back brake, no front brake; right foot, back brake, no front brake; right foot, back brake, no front brake.

Sweat is dripping down my back and oozing from the lining of my helmet – my spare helmet that has a removable liner.

Don't look where you don't want to go. Look where you want to go.

Don't look where you don't want to go. Look where you want to go.

Don't look where you don't want to go. Look where you want to go.

Don't look where you don't want to go. Look where you want to go.

This keeps me from falling off the side of the mountain which is good. Visions of me lying with broken limbs and possums sucking my eyes out at midnight flicker across my brain.

Another 15 yards and I'm back on a relatively smooth surface, one that looks like a rock quarry floor after the explosives have gone BOOM!

More blood, swear and tears and I arrive at the base of the mountain and on to a smooth gravel road.

On to Two Wheels Only Motorcycle Resort and Campground for lunch.


Arriving there I talk with two other dual sport riders and tell them of my morning adventure. One asks why the hell I was riding that side of Nimblewill Gap by myself.

I reply “Sometimes I'm such a dumbass.”.
 
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