When choosing a motorcycle
just one thing was apparent to me - I could not rely on my own experience
because I simply had none.
It was not for me to re-invent the wheel. With curiosity
and naivety I began comparing and test riding different models. So many
people have already undertaken long distance motorcycle treks and it became
clear that the majority showed preference for one brand. I needed a bike that fit me, allowed me to reach the ground
comfortably, handled well, and most of all, one on which I felt confident.. Something rather light, well balanced and reliable was what I believed
I needed.
My final decision, a BMW F650. Some minor adjustments
were made to make life easier: Hyper-Lites and Scottoiler were installed,
the original gas tank was replaced with 7.1 gallons one (27 liters), sheep
skin saddle cover prepared for
those winter months, two added horns to help negotiate Indian traffic.
I fitted a throttle rocker, a Givi windshield and a 52 liters Maxia
top case. My first pair of saddlebags were wooden. Yes, you got it
right. Wood covered with aluminum that lasted amazingly for 2 years.
These bags, a gift from friends, had already been around the world.
Into my trip I replaced them with hand crafted, 5mm aluminum ones, rather
ugly, but at $150 for them both it seemed like a good deal. They were
waterproof, sturdy and never gave me any trouble.
My motorcycle Service Booklet reads like the passport of a cosmopolitan:
Ljubljana in Slovenia, New Jersey and Florida in USA, Caracas in Venezuela,
Santiago in Chile, Sao Paolo in Brazil, Auckland in New Zealand, Alice
Springs, Perth and Newcastle in Australia, Tokyo in Japan, Kuala Lumpur
in Malaysia, Amritsar in India, Johannesburg in South Africa, Nairobi
in Kenya, Tel Aviv in Israel, Lappeenranta in Finland and Belgrade in
Serbia.
The first mechanical lectures were taken at the local
BMW dealership in Ljubljana. At this time Slovenian Police began to ride
(and crash) BMW F650's. Fortunately for me, there were plenty of them
in need of repair and this offered me a great opportunity for exploring
the most hidden parts of the motorcycle's soul.
The BMW guys were extremely passionate about their work,
their engines and about teaching. My preparation for the long
journey infected everyone in the garage like a pleasant, exciting
virus. They had the knowledge and I had the enthusiasm and vision. Such
a wonderful combination we made.
Engine and bike mechanics made sense to me. It was impossible to get
rid of me while anyone was working on my bike. I wanted to learn and
I guess that knowing more about my two wheeled companion made me feel
safer. I knew that regular annual services were not enough and that
every day attention was needed. Same as humans I guess...
All total, 19 tire changes were needed, mostly back ones. I relied on the very
durable Metzler Enduro 4, but preferred the soft Dunlop for cold climates
and Enduro 3 knobbies for muddy terrain. The maximum mileage I got from
any front tire was 35,000 km and 25,000
from the back ones. I went through 10 chain and sproket sets, 2 water pumps and
2 shock absorbers, but never bothered to count the many gallons of engine
oil, filters, sparkplugs, steering or wheel bearings.
Different speed, travel and weather conditions resulted
in fuel consumption varying from 26 miles/gallon (9 liters per 100 km)
in strong Patagonian side winds, to 56 miles/gallon
(4.2 liters per 100 km) in calmer weather with optimum riding
conditions.
I traveled with a Carnet De Passage, a motorcycle's passport needed
when crossing borders. There are ways around not having one in most
countries (but not Pakistan, India or Egypt at my time of travel). People
often ask me about the merits of carrying one and my answer is that
if I was to travel around the world again, I would not consider going
without one.
The first bike registration was valid for 2 years, this made possible
only by the understanding of the authorities. Apparently my bike was
the first vehicle in Slovenia to be honored with such status of extended
freedom. Thereafter I had the registration papers and obligatory insurance
documents renewed and forwarded every year, a very simple procedure
if you have somebody at home who's help you can rely on. Interestingly,
the only country requiring additional temporary localized registration
and local license plate was Egypt.
My bike, a demo model, started our journey with 6,278 miles (10.045
km) on the clock. I wonder if it ever dreamed of making its way around
the planet. At the time of return the odometer reading was 118,788 miles
(190.016 km), rounding the trip distance at 112,510 miles (180.016 km).
At first my BMW F650 was just a vehicle.
Being the only constant companion I soon began to relate to it as my co-traveler.
Sharing so much time together made it my trustworthy buddy, then this
soon blossomed into a friendship like any other. The word motorcycle being
masculine in the Slovene language conditioned my relationship to the motorcycle
who I began referring to as my Red Boyfriend. Later in the journey when
traveling through Pakistan people would often ask where my husband was.
In response I began wearing a ring after one day deciding to marry my
motorcycle - an ideal husband in my opinion. No ironing, no snoring, no
complaining, no nonsense.
