100 000.

So if you're a mod, maybe you'll think this belongs in ride reports, and thats your prerogative. But I'd ask you read it first, because you may see why it might belong here.

Last weekend, the odometer on my 2004 950 Adv passed 100 000.

I'd be watching it for weeks as it ticked ever closer to that sixth digit. I'd spent the weekend away with some friends who'd since departed, and as the evening approached, I found myself in a secluded but familiar little village, nestled at the foothills of the mountains, poring over my maps. My odometer read 99 984. The tarmac home started south of here, but I'd be damned if I was going to make this milestone on a sealed road.


There was nothing within range that I hadn't already ridden, except for one little track. I'd first seen it some three years earlier. It was steep, steep enough the local map-maker had decided to write "Steep"! next to it, in case the contour-line mosh pit didn't get the message across. For three years, I'd ridden past, nervously peering up it each time, but it went nowhere useful and I'd built it up in my mind, so I always delayed until 'another day'. Apparently that day had come. As I rolled north out of town, I watched my odometer count down my impending doom.




99 986. I have a history with this bike. It was my first proper 'offroad' bike, arguably not really a sensible choice. But having spent much of my learner years trying to ride 250cc townbikes down roads they had no right to be on, it was a step in the right direction. In the time I've had it, it's changed color three times and sprouted more farkles than I care to count. I've fed it whatever oil was on special, and whatever fuel they could scoop from the bottom of the barrel. A mixture of KTM reliability and bad work from mechanics has meant that I've learned and done almost all my own wrenching, mostly based on 'the internet told me'. It's been my only vehicle for over four years. It looks nothing now like when I bought it.




99 989. All I originally wanted was something that could still get from A to B if it was down a gravel road. A GS was my original choice (courtesy in part to Mr McGregor), but I couldn't find one in my budget. Maybe I was deluded by visions of Dakar glory, but once I had it, the 950 felt wasted unless B was somewhere with a good view down a rough road. Spurred on by youthful exuberance and a love of the outdoors, gravel roads soon led to fire trails, fire trails led to disused tracks, and we all know where those lead. I picked up the offroading basics easily enough. But without the foundation skills so many get from a childhood on chook-chasers, the biggest deficiency was my riding. I was pretty much the epitome of 'all the gear and no idea', and fiercely independent

Consequently, I got myself into all sorts of trouble.



99 992. It seems I still am. The sun slid below he ridge to the west, casting the valley into shadow. This was silly. I should know better by now. A little over 12 months ago, I'd been lying on the side of a road not 20km away, as two firemen tried to find my pulse. The product of nearby bushfires, and a blind corner on a gravel road not wide enough for the both of us. The bike was fine, save for some gravelrash. I lost the capacity to lift my dominant arm.

99 997. My math was spot on. The hill loomed in the distance ahead. Suddenly I didn't care about photos. Seriously - why am I doing this? No one ELSE is out here. I hate steep. It's getting dark, I have work tomorrow, my back tire is made for sand and just about bald, and I'm really not up to heavy lifting. And for what, sentimentality over a number? Why couldn't I just be normal and take up recreational binge drinking like the other boys?

Plenty of folk my age ride, but rarely much further than the same patch of track every Saturday afternoon. No one seems interested in heading into the hills on a Friday night in the pouring rain, and so while I've spent plenty of nights around campfires with strangers, I've spent many more utterly alone. I don't mind it though. In many ways, I prefer it. You gain a remarkable introspective clarity when you come to depend only on yourself. Plus, there's a selfish pleasure in having a view all to yourself.





99 998. Everyone thought I was mad for getting back on the bike. "It's a deathtrap, what's wrong with you? Aren't you terrified?" And right now, looking up this hill, I was. But that's nothing new. Going up any new road scares me - the prospect of a slope too steep or a river too deep is always round the corner in my mind. Maybe I should be scared, on a bike this size. And yet something else pushes me forward, further into the woods, even when fear calls me back to the safe and familiar. I can't explain it. I don't bother trying any more.


99 999. I started up the hill. For a long time before the crash, fear made me approach obstacles at a crawl, even though this tactic usually led to the fall I was so trying to avoid. But without the strength to manhandle the beast through slowly, I had to change tactic and learn how to actually ride. Ironically, the crash that almost stopped me riding, made me a better rider than ever before. Within a month of leaving the hospital, my 'deathtrap' was taking me even deeper into the unknown.






I didn't actually see it roll over to 100 000. There was a tree down, and that's never much fun going uphill. It took a lot of pushing myself to get my head around how just how far I could trust this bike if I kept my momentum and held my line. Don't dodge the rut - trust the front. Hold the line. Tail-slides don't make you go fast - feather the clutch, keep the rear hooked up. Hold the line. Hit the log square, weight back, power the front up and the back over. Hold the line. Logs used to be show stoppers, let alone logs on hills. I guess maybe I'm learning. Or I'm just less afraid. Perhaps one comes with the other.

The trail leveled and widened into a clearing, mountains sprawled out on its flanks. I'm not a fast rider. I'm not even a good rider. This bike was never really ideal for me on paper. It's expensive. It's heavy. It's had me stuck head down in swamps as the snow fell. It's had me in the shed till 2am, trying to figure out why I now have no gears other than 2nd (displaced shifter drum, if you're wondering). It's never quite been 100% - there's always a broken indicator or a leaky seal or a thingy going clicky, and it's starting to blow a little smoke. It's a bit worse for wear. Arguably, so am I.




But it's never once left me on the side of the road waiting for a trailer, except when I've run it out of gas, having too much fun to notice. While the people in my life have abandoned or betrayed me, this humble machine has remained steadfast, asking little more than oil, fuel and a the occasional weekend spent living in the shed . Every time I've gone in over my head, talentless and terrified, this fat bitch of a bike has always got me (albeit far from gracefully) safely to a campfire of some sorts. Around those campfires I've met people I'd have otherwise never had crossed paths with, and had conversations that I know could not be reproduced. I've been from the snowcaps to the Simpson on it, slogged through knee-deep clay and scraped pegs round racetracks, sometimes on the same day. Sure, I've ridden other bikes that are easier on snotty hills or faster carving twisties, but nothing seems to field such an astoundingly capable compromise, and nothing, absolutely nothing, has made me cackle like a loon with a simple twist of the wrist.



I stopped and looked down. There it was. 100 000. And here I was, yet again, somewhere new, unknown, beautiful, challenging. I know darn well I can't ride this bike as fast as it deserves, but it doesn't mean I don't have fun trying. And with every ride, I grow into it a little, and it rewards me a little more. There's countless prose out there about why the rest of the world doesn't understand why people ride motorbikes. It's the same with the 950. You can spruik the merits of other bikes over it and level plenty of criticisms, all perfectly valid. But (and I'm sure many other owners will back me on this) until you ride one, until you live with one, you just don't get how amazingly enabling this bike is.



The trail ahead meandered upwards, becoming steadily more overgrown. If the tree-fall so far was any indicator, the last storm would have left more down as it climbed. The flashing light on the dash told me I'd just hit reserve, the darkened skies told me the servo in town was shut now, and I'd likely be lucky to make it to the next one, if I turned back down the hill now.





I won't make 200 000. I know this. Despite my efforts to pretend otherwise, my body is slowly falling apart now, dragging the rest of my life with it, and I'm trying to cram a lifetime of riding in while I still can. Maybe I should get a smaller bike. Maybe I shouldn't be out here at all.

Or maybe the view's better up there. The starter coughed; I set off upwards. Maybe I don't feel quite so afraid any more.

Absolutely Awesome!!

You Are My Hero! That was utterly fantastic! It's as f you were describing me at times, my fears of weakness, unworthiness...but hey, you just said it all way better!

Thats some good shit right there...

thanks for that. great writing man. triumphant yet somehow elegiac at the same time. the climb ever upward and forward, the reflection inward and backward, the clock and odometer turning.......100,000. Amazing. keep riding, keep writing.

Absolutely fantastic my friend!!!!
This thread embodies why I just brought home my own KTM adventure. I'm hoping to make as many memories on mine

Well done

Damn, you must be a writer! I bow to you Obi Wan


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

You've got me crying over my dead departed 990.
Ted

Very cool, congrats and never stop riding!

Rarely seen anymore....Total Class

Solid story telling

Wonderful writing. Thank you for sharing your writing talents!

My 990 also thanks you! I want to go ride right now......

inspiring

Thanks for that. Best read in a while.

Keep the thread here, and perhaps anyone else who reaches that mark could do a write up too.
Loved it.

Great story! You should write more reports.

Awesome! Thanks for the inspiration!

Thanks for that. Well done!

One of the best reads I've had on here in awhile. Thanks for the inspiration!

I do, but they're usually longwinded or boring.


Or embarrassing.


So I kinda stopped bothering.


I make videos sometimes though.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/dhhUz5HDH1w" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>