Dirt & Trail Aug2020

17% drop in power compared to
motors running at the coast. As
we entered the Golden Gate, the
altitude climbed above 2,000m and
ascended further skywards.
The 390 starts with 43hp at
the coast and dips to 36hp in
Joburg. As we climbed ever further
towards the taunting clouds,
the horsepower seemed to drop
to somewhere around that of a
kiddies scooter, a problem when
the road seemed to be competing
with adjoining cliffs for steepness.
The hairpin bends were either
taken in first gear with the motor
screaming for blood, or in second
with mild fears of stalling.
Regardless, the 390 soldiered
on, and to be fair, the mind was on
concerns of a more deadly nature
– the temperature had dipped
into the dreaded minus figures,
and water still stood in some of
the hairpins as a remnant of the
morning showers that flooded the
area. Or was that water? Why had
it evaporated everywhere else
but not here? Would we be able to
tell the difference between shiny
water and solid ice?
Every touch of the brake
lever seemed like a life or death
manoeuvre, with plans for
emergency exits made at every
turn should the slightest hint
of ABS be felt. These included
jumping the Armco barrier and
then quickly learning to fly.
And then the wind picked
up. Well, I say picked up – it
nearly picked both the bike
and me up and carried us into
the stratosphere. As we broke
the shelter of the mountains by
nearing the peaks, the wind hit
hard, funnelled by the narrowing
topography. It felt like the front
tyre was flat and the bike wobbled
awkwardly along the narrow road.
The motor was on its last
legs, the damp road threatened
betrayal, and the wind was
showing off its gym time. The wild
grass lay nearly flat as the arctic
wind battered it, and yet there
was no sign of snow. Even looking
upwards towards the ever-nearing
peaks, all looked barren and dry.
All hope was lost, and the quest
was a failure. The people of The
Kingdom of Fouriesburg would
host a coup and me, their graceful
monarch, would be locked in the
stocks and probably beheaded for
the shame I brought upon them.
It was then, as the road
ceased its rivalry with the cliff
faces and began its descent,
our videographer pointed at a
tuft of grass that seems to have
something strange – like a sort
of cauliflower – at its base. I
dismounted the 390 and waded
through the gale to inspect.
There, shielded meagrely from
the storm, was a clump of icy
goodness.
Snow! Actual snow!
A tiny amount, but snow!
We celebrated. The honour of
Fouriesburg has been defended,
and I shall make a triumphant
return to my applauding subjects.
I built a snowman (or, as it turns
out, a snow ant), threw a snowball
(that the wind scattered into my
face), made a snow angel (read:
grass angel) and climbed shakily
aboard the 390 for the trip home.
What a fantastic little machine;
this is not the most poetic sentence
ever compiled, and it shan’t win
any awards for its eloquence, but it
sums the 390 up succinctly.
It isn’t perfect – it isn’t the most
comfortable bike in the world, it
isn’t all that sophisticated, it is
missing the kit many of the big
bikes are blessed with and, yes, it
spawned from a factory in the subcontinent
of India and not from a
facility at the foot of the Austrian
Alps, and quite frankly I couldn’t
give a toss about any of that.
It ate up miles through the
vastness of the Free State, it braved
the cold of Clarens, navigated the
slippery gravel with a clueless
gnome at the helm and climbed
the gale-force peaks of the
Drakensburg, completing a glorious
quest and saving an entire nation.
Sure, other bikes could complete
these hallowed tasks and probably
conclude them with more effortless
grace, but none of them can do it
and cost just R93,000. You can buy
secondhand bikes for that much,
but they may cost you more in
the long run and good luck getting
finance for an older motorcycle.
The 390 is an adventure
bike, and probably more of an
adventure bike to more people
than any other.
The snow that was
found. Don’t laugh.
The sight of someone
finally finding snow.
78 DIRT & TRAIL MAGAZINE AUGUST 2020