Riders Preferred Membership
Track Order
Contact Us
Epiphanies can dawn on you in the most unexpected locations. My light bulb moment hit me like the sheet of ice I found myself dragging my BMW F 850 GS off of at the top of 24 snowy switchbacks. Big-bore adventure bikes have become incredibly capable, but as I found, they still have their limits. So when I took mine to the edge, I realized it was time to make an addition to the stable.
As a recent transplant to Colorado from Washington D.C., my concept of adventure riding was given a trial by fire. Back East, my GS was no stranger to the muck and the mire, but the trails I knew by heart required tedious highway jaunts just to reach an off-road route that would hardly make me break a sweat. By the time I moved, I could probably pick the best line up Hawbottom Road with my eyes closed.
After reaching the summit without much issue, I decided to plan an alternate descent. Going back down the rocky track was a less-than-appealing prospect, so I scouted out a tamer route back to town. The road I chose was wide and smooth as I meandered through the aspens over a gently packed layer of light snow. But as I carried momentum up a slight slope, a hidden layer of ice from a stream runoff unceremoniously dismounted me. The slick stuff was as wide as the road, and gave me a jarring reminder of just how heavy a 500-pound adventure bike feels when it's horizontal. In order to gain stable footing and lift the GS, I had to drag it downhill until I was off the ice.
Once that ordeal ended, I went to grab my clutch lever and felt it flop back to the grip. The lever, while in one piece, had broken off right at the pivot point. I had also broken the cardinal rule of adventure riding by going out alone, and now I was on top of a mountain with a critical broken part. Fortunately, I was still able to get the bike into neutral, and with an aggressive throttle hand and mashing of the shifter the bike jerked forward. All seemed well until it came time to climb back up a short but steep section full of snow-covered ruts. About halfway up I lost momentum as my rear tire spun into the snow pack and kicked outwards, sending the bike back onto the ground. Lots of colorful language soon gave way to exhaustion. Eventually, I nursed the bike back down the two dozen switchbacks sans clutch, but I'm surprised I didn't have to call for help to get off the mountain.
Time for reassessment
Diving into the dual-sport market, I was met with an abundance of choices and some fantastic bikes. With everything from fuel-injected two-strokes to fire-breathing plated dirt bikes, there's a bike to fit every requirement. My major considerations were weight, street rideability and reliability. I don't own any sort of four-wheeled vehicle, so a dual-sport that could comfortably get me to the trails was key. Despite the strong used motorcycle market overall, in the dead of winter I still found some fantastic deals locally on KTM 525s and Yamaha WRF450s, but my dirt riding friends warned me to steer clear of a bike that would be less than enjoyable on the highway. Their minimal oil capacity, high performance components, and a transmission meant for trails would likely spell a maintenance nightmare. I'm not too proud to admit that, with my amateur wrenching skills, the concept of a valve check that's measured in hours is too much to stomach.
It was this need for balance that brought me to the Suzuki DR-Z400S, a bike that's graced the industry with its presence since the year 2000. It has gained a cult following for its steadfast reliability and a tremendous amount of aftermarket adaptability. It has changed little, but that means there's a well established list of modifications owners do to address issues or tune its performance. At a hair over 300 pounds wet, the DR-Z is not as light as the more modern competition but it feels like a featherweight compared to my GS. And the carbureted 400 cc engine really hits a sweet spot in terms of power. It has enough torque to loft the front wheel skywards with ease, and will cruise on the highway all day long without shaking the teeth out of your skull.
Moreover, the service intervals are more in line with a typical street bike, alleviating the fears of having to break open a cylinder head in the middle of an overland adventure. I was also pleasantly surprised to see that the DR-Z comes stock with fully adjustable front suspension, a luxury that's surprisingly absent from my F 850 GS. I considered other options, like the Honda XR400, but I've been spoiled by starter motors. While I appreciate the utility of a kickstarter in the unfortunate event of hydro lock, there are other ways to cope with that event and I was far more worried that a kickstart-only bike would grow old fast on the trails. Plus, while the air-cooled XR is lighter, having liquid cooling is a tremendous boon while navigating low-speed terrain.
Given the DR-Z's presence in the market for over two decades, riders have found plenty of ways to tweak them. While DR-Z enthusiasts with an itchy throttle hand swoon for the FCR carb upgrade, I must say that the stock Mikuni CV unit has its merits. It probably won't win you a hole shot off the line, but the constant velocity carb gives stable and linear throttle response. The bike will tractor away from a stop sign in second gear without even batting an eye. And in the ever-changing altitudes of Colorado trail riding, the vacuum of the Mikuni significantly negates the power drain. My introduction to motorcycling happened on vintage Hondas, and the curse of old carburetors left a bad taste in my mouth. But this bike has absolutely given me a change of heart. It will roar to life as quick as an EFI bike, even in subzero temperatures.
While ready-to-race bikes and rally-ready production dual-sports certainly have their place, with more performance comes more upkeep. The more horsepower you coax out of an engine, the more stress you put on every other aspect of the drivetrain. I was drawn to the DR-Z for its indestructibility, a bike that could be hammered on and put away wet without worrying that I'd need to think about a yearly top end rebuild.
This bike promotes a style of riding that's an eye-opening change of pace from what I'm used to. When you're accustomed to having the comforts and speed of a modern bike, you tend to search for the upper limits of its capability. Getting onto the DR-Z felt like a return to the essence of motorcycling. You focus less on the bike itself and become more aware of what's around you. Instead of racing towards the horizon you appreciate what's in its confines. With zero frills or fancy gadgets and a dash that does away with distraction, you're left with the distilled experience of the open road.
The durability of a tried-and-true dual-sport paired with parts that cost far below the typical BMW price tag led me to approach new adventures with less trepidation. No longer riding a bike with an MSRP that teeters on car territory, I was inspired to take on bigger challenges without fear of falling and breaking a part that costs as much as rent.
The first test of the DR-Z came the morning after I put my first Colorado license plate on it. Denver awoke to a few inches of freshly fallen snow, and showed no signs of stopping. I had to make my commute across town to the RevZilla showroom, and with a quick choke the DR-Z was ready to roll. The predictable torque and happiness to lug along made the bike an absolute joy in the powder. Sticking to the alleyways in an effort to make fresh tracks, I was thrilled to see the bike rolling along with aplomb in conditions that would have left the GS hurting. Conditions that would have been scary became fun as I stopped to do donuts in the desolate streets. The DR-Z tracked straight and planted, but when things inevitably got squirrelly, it was nimble enough to slide around and let me confidently put a foot down. I made it to work early despite the conditions, and arrived with a renewed love for motorcycles.
They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but sometimes you don't need to. All the power in the world won't do you much good when you're spending most of the day teetering between first and second gear. In this era of whirlwind innovation and technological prowess, there's something to be said for the simplicity of firing up an old dinosaur and riding it until the wheels come off.
