RUST magazine: Rust#10
RUST magazine: We go 700km on a KTM 450EXC! Baja on a BMW R60/6… Chris Evans buys a new bike. In the history of journalism we’re not sure we’ve ever heard of a journo buying a new bike – and especially not at list price. Chris Evans could then be creating a world first, not just a personal one. Obviously it makes for a harrowing account – and a must read. As well we take a 2016 KTM 450EXC for a long distance test: 700km in four-days – did it survive? Did we like it?! And last but not least, we welcome a feature contribution from brilliant Australian photo-journalist Thomas Wielecki, who took a 1974 BMW R60/6 the length of Baja and back (and later circled USA on it). He took his wife, too. Surprisingly, they’re still together… It’s a super-pretty, super-technicolour issue. We think you’ll like it! You might even love it…
RUST magazine: We go 700km on a KTM 450EXC! Baja on a BMW R60/6…
Chris Evans buys a new bike. In the history of journalism we’re not sure we’ve ever heard of a journo buying a new bike – and especially not at list price. Chris Evans could then be creating a world first, not just a personal one. Obviously it makes for a harrowing account – and a must read. As well we take a 2016 KTM 450EXC for a long distance test: 700km in four-days – did it survive? Did we like it?! And last but not least, we welcome a feature contribution from brilliant Australian photo-journalist Thomas Wielecki, who took a 1974 BMW R60/6 the length of Baja and back (and later circled USA on it). He took his wife, too. Surprisingly, they’re still together…
It’s a super-pretty, super-technicolour issue. We think you’ll like it! You might even love it…
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Adventure<br />
separate from its armature. As I lean forward to assess the situation,<br />
the rim and glass plummet towards the front guard and dangle freely<br />
on two charred cables. Stage two of the headlight catastrophe is<br />
under way.<br />
Very delicately I begin to apply the brakes, intently watching the<br />
disembowelled headlight. At that precise moment a series of not-sogentle<br />
corrugations send tremors into the most critical area: the front<br />
mudguard. First I watch the chrome rim slowly slide forward and fall<br />
onto the front tire as it gets dragged under. The glass element which<br />
by this stage had severed any ties with the cables is alone, trying<br />
desperately to balance atop the guard. It quivers and unhurriedly<br />
lurches forward following the rim’s exact path. As it gets dragged<br />
under, there’s a POP. All that’s left is a gaping hole with a tangle of<br />
burnt wiring.<br />
In the morning I scavenge a length of cable from a wrecked car while<br />
the local glazier cuts a round piece of window glass and welds a wire<br />
scaffolding around the armature to hold the headlight and its innards in<br />
place. We continue south in the early afternoon.<br />
JANE CRACKS<br />
We decide to follow a little used track south along the bleak west coast<br />
to Punta Abreojos. An hour later we hit sand and slippery gravel.<br />
Patches of mud deceptively masked by a thin crust swallow our tyres.<br />
Jane cracks. The corrugations, the sand, this whole bloody escapade,<br />
I am to blame for every possible misfortune under the sun.<br />
She unleashes a remarkable assault on me for bringing her this way,<br />
for dropping her bike. My defence is useless. Her barrage is so<br />
advanced all I can do is run for cover.<br />
Matilda limps into town with a broken shock mount. We’re exhausted,<br />
cold and hungry. There’s a lonely taco stand nestled in the dim pool of<br />
light under the only street lamp; our single hope for a meal. Just out<br />
of town we erect the tent in a gale. The darkness is absolute. Once<br />
comfortably inside and wrapped in sleeping bags life isn’t so bad. Then<br />
it hits. My bowels wake up and go into active duty. I’m summoned five
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