Category Archives: Project: Enfield Himalayan

Tested: 450 Himalayan 3000km review

After selling my Honda 300L, summer 2024 I was all set to buy Enfield’s new Himalayan 450, but in tubeless it cost well over £6k; 10% more than the more unusual CFMoto 450MT. so I went Chinese and didn’t regret it. I sold the MT after 8 months/7000 miles and, still Himi-curious, just got back from eight days in the Moroccan Atlas with a mate on a pair of Himalayan rentals, covering 2900km.
My MT was a bit juicy for a 450cc, plus I knew at first sight its size would limit solo off-road exploration, even with the low seat height. Luckily, I did loads of that the previous winter on the 300L for my new Morocco 4 guidebook from which I span off the Trans Morocco Trail. I missed my 300’s go-anywhere ability, even if crossing Spain was a slog. Could a Him 450 pull off both? We were here to find out. I was in Morocco with Jon. We last rode together in 2003 on Desert Riders out as far as the northern Tenere’s Lost Tree.

I also owned the Him 411 a few years back and loved its ploddy thumper vibe; my sort of bike for slowly exploring trails, despite the weight being similar to the new 450. But I did get it transported to southern Spain and back which meant that like the 300L, it wasn’t a true contender as an all-round travel bike.

In a line: Economical, but heavy for what it is, we both agreed the Him was better off-road than on, but wasn’t great at either.

• Carries its mass low which results in good tracking and stability
• Low seat height, and can go lower still
• The economy of my 300, giving up 600km range
• Stock, the minimally adjustable suspension is pretty good
• Optional tubeless wheels (ours weren’t)
• Feels better made– and fixed many of the 411’s shortcomings
• No low-speed fuelling issues!
• Stock CEAT road tyres have at least 18,000km in them (which is annoying)
• Almost don’t need bar risers
• Centre stand – some added weight is worth having
• Tail rack and tank bars; ditto
• Shock preload easy to access (but I didn’t)

• Tanked up, it’s heavy and feels it on the trail
• Saddle soon gets uncomfortable
• Needs softer grips
• ‘Screen’ does nothing useful other than offer mounting points for something effective
• Display selection is a bit tiresome, and always resets
• Should an engine crash bar bend that easily?

Review
There are a couple of places renting Him 450s in Marrakech now. Ours had around 15,000km and cost €65/day with worn-out stock CEAT tyres (despite me requesting good tyres in advance). So far, so Moroccan. But both bikes looked in great nick and my bike had engine crash bars. And I have to confess: what I thought was an ugly bike in late 2023 now looks pretty good, even with the naff graphics.
I checked for a toolkit and was amazed to find something resembling a 1970s BMW or MZ. Everything’s there (below left), including an adaptor nut to remove the front wheel with the rear wheel wrench. What a shame the rental shop didn’t think it through and import tubeless models; I’d have happily paid more. We borrowed a rear tube, expecting to need it. With the seats off, I also noticed the height adjustment pegs on the front saddle (below right). I left mine on high which is still pretty low.

One annoyance was the USB-C charging port under the handlebar mounts. I was hoping for a regular USB2/3. I suppose I might have tried to buy an adaptor in Marrakech, but luckily my Garmin runs for up to two days on a battery, so I made do.
Sorry, but I didn’t waste my time trying to make the display’s Tripper mapping app work, even had my phone been Android, as it uses inadequate (for Morocco) Google Maps and can’t run offline.
Lifting the bike off the side stand and turning the bars, with tank ¾ full, the front end felt incredibly heavy, and even getting it onto the centre stand took quite a heave. It was a sign of things to come. We were on our way to Anergui, about 300km to the east, tucked in a remote High Atlas valley.

On the road the Him’s brakes were fine; the rear perhaps over leveraged, but ABS sees to that. The dash was clear enough, but doesn’t save settings afaict, and unlike Jon, I didn’t bother getting to grips with it. My gear change was nothing special, the clutch a bit heavy and the screen little more than a console G-string.
Jon and I were initially underwhelmed: the power-to-weigh ratio didn’t add up. We realised later we were on Eco mode which reduces power in the bottom four gears, though we were rolling along mostly in the upper two. And does 40-hp actually need softer power modes, or was it just a ‘because we can’ gimmick? On top of that, while looking wide and feeling soft, the saddle got painful after less than two hours and would remain so. Had 15,000 rental kms done the foam in? It didn’t feel like it, and had been the same on my 411 which I adapted with neoprene slabs and a Cool Cover. Shoulda brought my Skivvies.
This was the only part of our ride on fast, straightish roads. Perhaps the vibration might have eased up, but with no screen and my wind catching Bell lid, I didn’t have the urge to push on beyond 100kph and hold it there. Jon was the same.

The last 40km into Anergui follows the precipitous Assif Melloul gorge (above; video below) with some big drops into the river you’d not want to attempt. Getting weary, I did overcook it a couple of times – perhaps the ABS led me astray.
I even managed to poke a hole in the toe of my ageing TCX boots (left) without anything clouting the bike, far less spotting a sharp rock. I know the pegs are low, and sliding forward on the saddle points feet downwards, but this was a first for me. The wide gearing felt fine providing you kept it above 3000rpm. First was a tad tall as usual ~6-7kph @ tickover? – but clutch slipping and grunt pulled it round steep switchbacks.

Ouaouizaght to Anergui via Assif Melloul gorge

On arriving in Anergui we both decided the Him was better off-road than on, but it wasn’t great at either. The weight – 200 kilos with the 17-litre tank brimmed – is set low and combined with the low seat height made the Him stick to tracks like glue, but it still took a fair amount of effort to ride. The barely adjustable suspension felt good, especially the cartridge? forks. I could’ve backed off the rear rings a bit to reduce chattering, but neither end bottomed out during our ride. Nor did the bash plate scrape. We checked the tyre pressures, and dropped them from 36 to 30psi.

At the Anergui auberge we met up with Simon on his nicely set-up, over-bored TTR315 (left), as well as a couple of Germans on an AT and a 901 who’d both just discovered the TMT. They’d got here via TMT Stage N which had just become accessible again after months, but not without a few fall-overs. By November 2025 Stage N was rideable again. Until the next big storm.
I rarely visit Morocco this late in the season, but was staggered by the size of tourist bikes used out here. Maybe they weren’t all piste bashing, but as it is, regular mountain roads are often missing the surface or capped with dried mudslides, so a giant Adv trounces a giant tourer.
Old Man Norden said he was on his Last Bike Adventure, recognising he was becoming a bit of a liability. ‘Get a lighter bike!’ and give yourself another decade, we all thought. Feeling the same loss of ability, that’s what I’ve done.

On Day Two a rattle became evident under load. It had probably done it out of the shop but now unplugged, I could hear it. Jon’s bike was fine and his gear change was better too: I traced the latter down to a loose lever. It took a thread-stripping amount of cranking to close up the gap with a bit of added soap.
Over the next day or two we prodded various bits to try and pin down the noise: cush drive looser than Jon’s; tightened my chain (centre stand – yay!); loose rad or crash bars? Nope. Eventually I placed the rattle under the tank and, as it didn’t get worse or affect anything, I left it. Probably like the previous customer and the next one.

Both Jon and I were amazed how well the rubbish tyres tracked on dry trails, providing we backed in appropriately. In that way the low CoG is a benefit; light bikes can feel skittish. But my new thin gloves didn’t agree with the Him’s hard plastic grips combined with the need to manhandle the 450. Weeks later I still have calluses on my palms. Along with the seat, this discomfort may have jaded our impressions of the Enfield.

Economy
Having covered nearly 400km since filling up, in the Ait Boumengueze valley and with 50km range showing on the read-out, we took on a couple of litres. By the time we topped right up at the Kelaa servo next morning, I recorded 26.6kpl / 75mpg with a lot of steep and slow trails. That was already better than my MT ever managed.
The next fill up after crossing Jebel Saghro off-road and recrossing back to Dades came in at 34.5 kpl or 96mpg. These match the impressive 450 figures I’d seen bandied about and add up to a potential 600km range. I read that Acerbis have produced a 24-litre tank for the Him. Why bother? The final fill-up back in Kelaa after crossing and recrossing the High Atlas was around 86mpg / 30.5kpl which was the average. This frugality was partly what had attracted me to the new Him. And unlike my CF Moto, the low-rpm fuelling was spot on, while briefly over 3000 metres – nearly 10,000′ – the loss of power was barely noticeable at the sorts of speeds we were able to ride at.

Arriving in Imilchil the next night after long road ride recrossing Saghro and the High Atlas, it sure felt nice not to have been pummelled. Is it the weight of the bike, or my advancing years? Probably the latter, as others manage fine.

My impressions waxed and waned, but in the end settled on wane. Not helped by the discomfort, the Him wasn’t fulfilling all my expectations and Jon, who rides a 690SM, was even less impressed. Even with inner tubes, I was rather hoping the Him could become my fly-in rental hack to save me running a bike in the UK, but without improving the comfort, it’s not for me – the bane of WYRIWYG rentals.
Were I to own one, I’d fix the saddle, change the grips, fit an actual screen and change the shock and tyres. That’s pretty much a regular list you’d do to any bike – unless it’s a CFMoto 450MT, of course!

Still, all this grumbling didn’t stop Jon and me having a brilliant last couple of days in the High Atlas. We recce’d a new start to Stage N out of Imilchil that dodges a sometimes troublesome gully, then winged it off the map to discover a fabulous 50-km off-road crossing of the High Atlas back to the Dades valley, peaking at over 3000m. You really need to set the bike on full-power mode in this sort of terrain; the day or so we wasted in Eco we’ll never get back.

I was expecting the Him to be my sort of bike – more Trail than Adv which is the way my riding prefs are going – with better economy than the 450MT but still with enough grunt to chug around steep switchbacks. I also expected the lack of frontal bulk to make it less cushy on the road while giving an impression of greater agility on the piste. But for me, along with the discomfort, the weight just kills any benefits. The former could be fixed but the latter is largely there to stay and only increases once the bike gets outfitted for travel.
Looking back at my 411 review, they’ve fixed many of the flaws and even made the 450 more economical and a lot faster on the road. Yet, perhaps because I improved my 411, as we do with all our own bikes, I think I got on with my old Him better than this rental.

It was great to have tried the Him 450 on the sort or terrain I like to ride. My replacement is waiting for me on a farm up north and is a bike I’m quite excited about. What could it be?

Barkbuster Storms: 15 years 10 bikes

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My current 300L came with Acerbis handguards so I’ve decided to recycle my trusty old Aussie-made Barkbuster Storms (see ebayuk). Looking back, I realise what a great life of adventure they’ve enjoyed!
Proper handguards based around a metal frame clamped to the handlebar are a no brainer. A simple fall over can snap a lever or mount. That’s never happened to me since I’ve been busting the bark.

I bought my set in 2008 for my near-new Yamaha XT660Z to research the first edition of my Morocco Overland guidebook. Turned out I needed them too when I look a piste too far up Jebel Saro (right). The 660Z was also the first bike with which I experimented with DIY tubeless tyre spoked rim sealing. I’ve got better at it since. And the XT was my first bike with efi. What a miracle that proved to on a big single; smooth running at low rpm and over 80mpg possible. Where possible, I’d never go back to a carb bike.

Next bike was another near-new CRF250L I bought in Arizona. Over the years right up to my current 300L, I’ve profited from new owners’ selling on bikes with barely four figures on the clock and at a massive depreciation.
The L led me on a fabulous 3200-mile clockwise lap of Southwest USA through northern California, across Nevada, into amazing Utah and back down into AZ via the ‘do-it-before-you-die’ White Rim Trail. Road and/or trail, SWUSA like being in your own road movie, a trip every rider needs to tick off.

The BMW XCountry was one of my periodic breaks from reliably reliable Jap machines. I used it in Morocco on my first Fly & Ride tours which have also got a lot better since. It’s a shame BMW ditched these X bikes. This one had a grand’s worth of Hyperpro suspension – on the road you’d not notice much but off road riding was believing. The X-tank too was an ingenious idea since picked up by Camel tank and an easily replicated DIY job.

Taking a dab on the **BMW XCountry**. Photo David W

Soon after they came out I got myself another near-new, low miler; a Honda CB500X. I barked that up along with adding prototype kit from Rally Raid who also saw potential in the twin and went on to produce a popular line of 500X-ccessories. For years my 500X page was the most viewed on this website. I used the X in Morocco on tours and for researching my Morocco 2 book.

I went back to Arizona and this time got a KLX250 – basically like a CRF250L but for some reason never as fashionable and with better suspension out of the box. Unlike Europe, it was a carb model that ran horribly on low octane back-country fuel.
I ticked off another memorable tour of the American Southwest, including a dream visit down to Baja and Mike’s Sky Ranch with Al Jesse of bevel luggage fame. Below, barking along on the amazing WRT in Utah again: ‘the best 100 miles of dirt you’ll ever ride‘ as I wrote in Bike magazine.

On that KLX ride I met a chap on a WR250R near Death Valley. I never fully realised that Yamaha’s WR250R was actually a well-spec’d but expensive trail bike, not a dirt racer like the near-identical looking 250F or 250X which put out 40hp or more and so need regular maintenance. Yamaha imported the R for a few years into the UK but they proved an overpriced dud and by 2016 when I was looking, good ones were hard to find. So I bought one off Hyperpro in Holland just before Brexit confounded the whole import process, did it up and and set off for Morocco, the Dig Tree and edition 3 of the guidebook.

A 135-kilo WR-R makes the same power if not a bit more than my current 300L, but it’s located up in the stratosphere beyond 10,000rpm. As a result the bike didn’t work on well the road and left me with a back ache for months after. As a result I decided to suspend my search for the 250 unicorn.
Back home I bought a smashed up XSR700 with the creamy CP2 lump. I repaired it, jacked it up a bit and added the usual protection, including my trusty busteros, now on their 7th outing. I still wish Yamaha would make a more serious 19/17 scrambler using their brilliant CP2 motor.

Next, I got some pals together on a supported tour to Algeria where I rode a lot in the 1980s. The tour finally gave me an excuse to buy an XR400, the all-time classic trail bike from the mid-1990s which was always too skimpy of subframe to make a serious travel bike. Sadly mine turned out to be skimpy of piston rings too and began guzzling oil, but was a joy to ride in the sands of the Grand Sud. The old Barks were needed, navigating through the tussocky oueds.

The Himalayan came out and following teething problems it looked like it was worth a punt; a low saddled trail donkey that was perfect in Morocco, if not so much the getting there. We tried to reach the fabled Dig Tree again, but tyre problems saw to that. Still, at least my mate got a nice cover shot of the Bark-clad Him for the current edition of AMH.

For the kind of riding I like to do I’m not a fan of giant ‘adv’ bikes but many are, so I thought I’d take the popular Africa Twin down to Mauritania in search of manageable pistes.
‘Hotel Sahara’ I called that trip, and the outbreak of Covid 19 put an early end to it, close to the Mauritanian border. I raced back north before Morocco locked down, but punctured the engine and had to dump the bike and fly out on the last plane. Corona went on longer than we guessed, and it took me a year and a half to recover the AT from Morocco.

Back in London the Barks were removed for next time just before they pinched my AT. Now I feel they’ve paid for themselves many times over so it’s time to let them go. There’s easily another 15 years of protection left in them.
Who ya gonna call? Bark Busters!

Olympus TG5 – the ‘Top Gear Hilux’ of cameras

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Dropped and bouncing the desert highway like a tumbleweed, submerged unnoticed in a Scottish burn, like the unkillable TG Hilux, my Olympus TG never stopped working.

You’ll have read it again and again: the best camera is one you can whip out and shoot off in a jiffy. On a bike, that won’t be a bulky 3/4 mirrorless or DSLR stuck in the tankbag. It’ll be a back-up P&S in a quick-access chest pocket or mounted on your belt or daypack strap. The exposure of bike riding means it wants to be weatherproofed if it’s going to last, chiefly against dust, but if you can use it in the pouring rain, so much the better.

For this waterproof ‘diving’ P&S cameras with an enclosed lens are ideal. Rain, shine or sandstorm, you never have to worry about missing a shot or ruining the camera, and the sealed lens – tiny though it is – is protected. Over the years, along with lots of blurred rubbish, I’ve grabbed many great, one-handed shots while riding with such cameras. With it tethered to you (as right) or attached via a neck strap, just pull it out, switch it on (thin or finger-chopped gloves help), Point & Shoot. Switch off and re-pocket.

I used Panasonic’s Lumix FT2 ‘wet’ cameras for 13 years or more, a simple, slim, one-handed, all-weather P&S which didn’t have to be mollycoddled. In 2011 we even used them to make a packrafting movie. Later models seemed to lose the functionality of the FT2 so as mine died or sank, I replaced them with used ebay cheapies until they got too hard to find.

Desert, pocket or sea, I’ve always liked the Lumix range’s preference for a wider 24mm-ish lens. Ridiculous zoom levels are far less important because with the tiny lens, picture quality dives. But after a really old FT1 burner unsurprisingly failed to survive a few minutes of snorkelling, I decided to try a used Olympus TG-5 (left) recommended by some paddleboarding bikers on one of my tours.
The Olympus TG-5 and Panasonic FT7 (right) got rated as the best waterproof cameras you can buy but they seem expensive for what they are. And when you consider the tiny zoom lens tucked inside the inch-thick body you’d think you’re never going to get great shots, especially in low light or at full zoom. That is true, but give them some good light and the results can be nearly as good as an iPhone 99!

Over exposure
My old FTs always needed to be tricked into slightly lower (correct) exposures by half-clicking on the sky, pulling down and composing a landscape shot before full-clicking. It was only when I got a Lumix LX100 a few years back that I realised
a: how handy an EV Comp dial (right) can be; I use it on almost every shot (usually to under-expose a bit) and
b: how relatively crappy some of my FT pics were. My photos improved greatly with the LX and I used the FT less and less.

With all the essential controls – actual buttons and levers on the body, not buried in a digital menu – the compact LX was very nice to handle, but wasn’t really suited to ride-by one-handers or paddling. Like all such cameras with extending lenses, each time you turn it on the lens sucks in dust which eventually gets on the sensor and appears as marks or smudges on most images. It drove some LX owner-reviewers nuts, though it’s far from unique to this model. You can’t easily reach the sensor as you can on a mirrorless camera, even if the marks can easily be erased in iPhoto. But here’s a great trick: zoom in and out as you hoover the lens via a bottle (left). It really works.

After a few years of mostly desert trips my LX dials got grittier and grittier, and the deployment of the lens and the zoom got slower and slower. Eventually, it needed a tug to extend fully and a push to retract. The 2018 LX100 II got some improvements, but sadly weather-sealing wasn’t one of them, so I flogged my crunchy LX before it seized completely and bought a slightly larger but weather-sealed Sony 6300 mirrorless (here’s a great list of similar cameras) which, with a 24-105 Zeiss lens I’ve started using more and more. But it’s not pocketable, is heavy at 800g with the tele, and that lens is not sealed so dust still gets to the sensor every few days in the desert. The great thing is, it’s easy to remove with the lens removed.

Back to the TG-5. Watching one of the vids below I learned an unmarked control dial in the same, top-right position can work as an EV Comp dial. That alone is worth the price of the camera. No more point to the sky to expose correctly.
Having even been inspired to RTFM, I now realise the TG-5 is actually much closer in quality to the LX than I realised, not least in terms of the staggering number of things it can do – most of which go way over my head.

For riding, you can easily screw on a clear filter over the lens window to stop it getting scratched. It may not show up on photos, but a filter is easily wiped by a cuff or replaced for a few quid. To mount it you need the Olympus CLA-T01 adapter (£20; or a £6 JJC knock-off; right) to which you then screw in a regular 40.5mm filter: UV, polarised, whatever (left). Add a piece of screen guard over the LCD and the Olympus Tough can now be treated Olympus Rough, with both screen guard and UV filter being inexpensively replaceable.

Note: towards the end of my TG’s life I dispensed with the 40-mm filter to make it slimmer in the pocket. Within a few months the stock built-in lens cover glass/plastic (left) had become scratched to the point of ruining pictures and finally finished off the still-working camera for me. Moral: fit a quality UV lens filter; the stock cover is not up to it.

I used the TG for a month in Morocco on my Himalayan and again in November loved the Mr-Whippy-like accessibility. It too has a wide 24mm so you know you’ll shoot something, and closing the EV Comp down to -0.7 means great exposures. On very bright days -1.

It also has an easy to use custom self-timer, a blessing for us adventure-riding singletons. Normally I’ve had to settle for 3-shots-at-10 seconds, or simply shoot video and extract a cruddy still or a more complicated 4k. On the TG you press the sequential shooting dial and set: delay time, # of frames and shooting interval. With this I was able to grab some of the key riding shots which magazines require. (Even my Sony hasn’t got as good timer options.) At 4000px width resolution, that’s enough for a magazine full pager. And when shooting others, the 20fps burst speed is staggering. And all this without having to fuss about knocking the lens, dropping the camera or crap getting in it.

The battery is a slim 1270Ah which still did masses of shots – a week or more – and can be charged in the camera which means one less thing to carry. But for 20 quid I bought 3 clone batteries plus a travel-friendly USB- (right) charger, which will work off a laptop, battery pack, USB wall plug or a solar panel. I’ve hardly used them.
I always use a tether while riding, but one time in Morocco the chunky red Olympus strap unknowingly came undone just as I chose to let it go… It should have dangled from my wrist but instead fell on the road and tumbled along. I swung back expecting the worst but, apart from a small hole bashed through in one corner, it still worked fine! Its snorkelling days may be over before they began, but that was amazing. A bit of duct tape kept the dust out of the hole. Focus remained sharp. Another time it quietly fell out of my pocket while sat on a slatted footbridge in Knoydart and dropped 10 feet into a stream while I watched my stove boil. I fished it out and removed the card and batt but slowly the functions died off as water seeped through and I thought that was it. Back home I bought another immediately but before that even arrived the dunked TG had dried out and recovered fully! Stick that in your tractor shed, Jeremy Clarkson!

Once I’d have said GPS position, elevation and a compass in a camera were gimmicks. Now I’d admit they add some redundancy when a proper GPS unit goes flat. The Olympus accesses this data with a simple press of the Info button with the camera off (left). Up it comes for 10 secs, north by northwest. The TG-5 also takes great pictures.

Easy to turn on and zoom one-handed
EV Comp dial in the usual position
Battery charges in the camera
Spare 3rd-party batteries from £4; USB charger from £8
Good hand grip
Rated at 15m of water so ought to survive some splashes
Slim and light (260g with chunky wrist strap)
GPS, elevation, compass, and even a tracking app, with the camera off
Easy to access and configure custom self-timer
Red; easy to find on the river bed or by the roadside
Now used from £150

A baffling new menu to master – sigh
LCD text is a bit small
Wrist strap undoes itself in the wind
Stock lens cover is scratch prone
Annoying ‘OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA’ meta data needs to be manually removed
Discontinued by Olympus – current TG6 at 400 quid.

Himalayan 410: 4000-mile review

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Himalayan 410 Index Page
2025 Himalayan 450 3000km review

Updated January 2024

In a line:
Didn’t miss a beat over a month; no one was more surprised than me.

• At £4000, with the stock equipment it [was] a bargain. (Now £5050).
• Low, 800mm seat – at last a travel bike not limited to tall people
• Enfield build quality stood up to it
• Efi motor pulled smoothly up to 3000m (nearly 10,000′)
• Michelin Anakee Wilds (run tubeless) – great do-it-all tyres
• Low CoG and 21-″ front make it agile on the dirt
• Rear YSS shock showed up the harsh forks
• Yes it’s 190kg, but road and trail, it carries it well (or low)
• Subframe easily sturdy enough for RTW load carrying
• Economy went up and up: averaged 78 mpg (65 US; 27.6kpl; 3.62L/100k)
• 400km range from the 15-litre tank – about 250 miles

• Valves need checking every 3000 miles – not practical
• Weak front brake on the road (sintered pads are a fix)
• As a result, front ABS is a bit docile
• Stock seat foam way too soft for my bulk
• Tubliss core failed on the front; replaced with inner tube
• Centre stand hangs low – but can be raised
• Small digit dash data hard to read at a glance
• Compass always out – a gimmick
• Head bearings notchy at 4000 miles, despite regressing @ 1200 (replaced on warranty @ 5000)

Review
Following a test ride, I bought a used Himalayan with just under 1000 miles. And following the make-over detailed here (summarised in the image below) I picked it up in southern Spain with 1300 miles on the clock. So, like many of my crudely adapted project bikes, I’d barely ridden the thing or tested the modifications. With a Royal Enfield this did feel a bit more of a gamble than usual and, on collection near Malaga I was all prepared for the worst.

Far from it. The Him started on the button, ticked-over like a diesel, and after the ferry crossing and fighting the usual headwind gale down the Atlantic motorway, I arrived at a cushy hilltop lodge near Asilah feeling moderately hopeful, while still braced for a kick in the nuts somewhere down the road.
Riding an untried, near-new machine, saddled with Enfield’s possibly outdated reputation for reliability led to stressful days, waiting for something to play up, either with the bike or with my mods. I had the same feeling with BMW’s XCountry years ago. But riding my first piste: the lovely Assif Melloul gorge route out of Anergui inspired confidence. The low-slung weight and chuggy motor made this a great trail bike!

Engine and transmission
Much is made of the 410LS’s meagre 24hp (or even 22) because we’re so used to bikes delivering over 100hp per litre. Don’t forget Honda’s ill-concieved CRF450L makes about the same. It’s when you combine 24hp with the strapping 190-kilo wet weight you’d think it can’t possibly work. Yet it does – and in a way that you won’t find on a similar powered and much lighter 250 trail bike like the WR250R, KLX250S, CRF250L or 300L which I’ve also used, as well as a 310GS. I prefered riding my REH to all of them.
It must be down to the way the long-stroke, low compression, two-valve motor delivers it’s modest power, like something from the apogee of Brit biking half a century ago, but without a millstone for a flywheel, it revs more freely. The Himalayan may have the power of a CRF250L, but it has the torque of an XR400: 32Nm at 4250rpm (1150 lower than the XR). Combined with counter balancer and unexpected refinement, despite wide gearing it’s a very satisfying bike to ride. It won’t hurl you from bend to bend, it just chugs along steadily but without the sensation that you’re missing out or grossly under powered. The key is to maintain smooth momentum which is very much the riding style I aspire to. It’s an easy bike to enjoy on the empty roads and even emptier trails of southern Morocco. Duelling with congested traffic or tackling busy alpine passes may not be such fun.

Until the end of my trip – by which time the valves were technically well overdue for adjustment – it started on the button without the ‘choke’, ticked over once warmed up (probably needs adjustment too) and fuelled cleanly up to 5000rpm and nearly 10,000 feet (3000m).

A lot of it must be down to accepting the Himalayan for what it is, but there was never a moment on my ride when I thought ‘FFS! I wish this thing had more poke’. I tried some super grade fuel in Morocco but didn’t notice the difference that some claim (I know in the US fuel octane varies widely). However, once back on Spanish fuel, it did seem faster and smoother, or maybe I was just rushing for the finish line.
One thing the Trail Tech temperature sensor did highlight was how hot the air-cooled engine runs – up to 240°C at higher revs with a load on. Note I say ‘hot’, not over-heating. On my bike it’s reading from the spark plug, about as hot as it gets in there. Running down hill it might drop to 160°C or so. Either way, especially with an air-cooled motor, it’s good to know how hard the engine is working and when it may be time to back off.
Oil consumption was zero up to a pre-emptive oil change at 3000 miles. Straight 50W Moroccan was all they had (a bit thicker; better for hot weather) and I had the feeling consumption increased briefly after that, maybe 200ml in 2000 miles, but then it stopped.
The gearbox is a lot less clunky than some. Originally, I thought first gear would be too tall off road (a common complaint I have) but, helped by the low-down torque, it’s well matched to the Himalayan’s modest trail biking abilities which are governed mainly by its weight. One time in deep soft sand, the gearing was too tall to move the bike forward – the chain jumped on the front sprocket instead (see below).
The chain had a hard time in Morocco: conditions too gritty to lube most of the time. On longer road stretches I hand-lubed with a toothbrush from small bottle of Tutoro oil. As a result I adjusted it three times in 4000 miles – more than normal, even for a stock chain. Again, you have to assume the stock chain was chosen for its price, not quality, but with a bit more care and lube it should last 8000 miles.

Suspension
Normally the suspension is where a budget bike shows its limits once pushed on rough roads and trails, with heavy loads. Plus I tend to leave my tyres at road pressures unless absolutely necessary, so as a result off-road the my suspension can feel harsher than it could be.

On the rear there’s only preload adjustment and nothing on the front, but the Himalayan surprised me with firm suspension. Before I realised this, I’d fitted some inexpensive fork preload caps, (set at zero), and a YSS shock that had 1cm of length adjustment and 35 clicks of rebound damping. I had the YSS fitted on the settings out of the box (more here) which worked fine once loaded up and on the dirt. At one point in Morocco I screwed the rebound in 4 clicks (more rebound?) but can’t say I noticed any difference.
Overall, I suspect the stock shock (inset above) would have been OK, but you have to assume the YSS is an improvement because there’s more adjustment and it’s red. It certainly felt better than a twice-as-expensive Wilbers on the XSR last year. Over the trip it loosened up a bit and bottomed out maybe once.
If anything the front forks are now shown up by the YSS. YSS do offer a fork kit but in the UK it’s £330 (though it seems you can buy springs plus the emulators for half that). Bottom line: no great need to meddle with the stock suspension for normal riding.

Economy
It seems that even at 1300 miles the air-cooled REH was still running in. As I added the miles the economy improved, eventually averaging 78.7mpg (27.8kpl; 65US). With the 15-litre tank that’s an ideal range of just over 400km. Riding with some 310GSs for a week, my mpg was near identical to the more powerful and lighter BMWs. The gauge on the tank is pessimistic and the warning light plus a trip reset comes on with a good 100km left. Hot, cold, high, low, the fueling itself was glitch-free. Fuel consumption data here.

Comfort
Thanks to a counter-balanced and non-ginormous capacity, the REH is very smooth for a single. I did feel some tingling in my right hand after hours at the bars which could have been from over-gripping a heavy throttle. I’d have used my throttle handrest had I remembered it.
One of the best things about the Himalayan is the low seat of 800mm or 31.5 inches. At 6′ 1″, it’s actually a bit too low for me, especially once my mass sinks down through the soft foam, but at last there’s a travel bike which isn’t limited to tall people, while still having useful ground clearance. It never scraped out on the dirt
I needed more height with firmer foam, inexpensively achieved with a couple of 20mm neoprene slabs under a Cool Cover. It enabled 500-km days with few stops, but on rough tracks still gave soreness, probably because I wasn’t standing up or letting the tyres down enough. I also thought the seat could do with levelling out to stop me sliding forward on the slippery, aerated Cool Cover.
My seat bodge was not a night-and-day transformation, but by the end of my trip it didn’t cause any discomfort over long days on the road. I’m less convinced now that I need to improve it some more.
The 50mm bar risers managed to not snag the screen on full lock and nearly reduced my stooping when standing up – another inch would have done it. I might have cured that stoop by removing the footrest rubbers, but to be honest I liked the comfort when standing (in ordinary slip-on Blunnies). Otherwise, for wet conditions, consider fitting wider footrests if you’re off-roading. I hear DR650 pegs nearly fit.

Some say it will clock 80 but I set myself a self-imposed cruising limit of around 65mph (where possible). At this speed the screen did a pretty good job, even with my wind-catching Bell Moto III helmet. Others claim the mirrors create turbulence and are better moved or changed. I suppose this is possible but that complaint is a new one on me. Let’s face it: it’s a motorbike out in the wind, not a space capsule. Some turbulence will be evident.

On the dirt
The Him took to the dirt so naturally, I didn’t even notice it at first. The key attributes must be the Michelin tyres, low seat and firm suspension. The 21-inch front wheel must help too, as does the torquey motor, getting round the wide gearing. And the otherwise ordinary brakes are just right on the dirt.
The Him is a plodder, but then so am I. You won’t be pulling wheelies, launching off jumps or bouncing off berms. For that the bike is just too heavy and low-powered. It’s a travel bike, not a dirt bike and in all the miles I never ever had a sketchy moment on the dirt, nor wished the bike was something else.
I reached the Himalayan’s limit in the sandy gorge on Route MW6/7 in Western Sahara – same place I’d struggled with the WR two years earlier. This time I traced a better route along the valley but the flooded waterhole was now a dry mass of deep sandy ruts in which the Himalayan would bog down for sure. I aired down, pushed around the side in first gear, but stopped once the chain jumped on the front sprocket from the strain: the torque had got the better of the weight, tall gearing and deep sand. The Himalayan doesn’t have the agility or power to handle deep soft sand – for that you want an unloaded KTM 450.

Durability and problems
It’s a short list. Apart from what’s below, nothing broke or even came loose, but I’ve not seen the bike since I left it at Malaga. A closer inspection may reveal more.

Stock bike
• Head bearings got notchy by 4000 miles, despite regreasing
• Chain needed adjustment every 1000 miles
• Exhaust guards dented

My mods
• Tubliss core leaked around valve stem, then packed up
• Michelin TPMS packed up – twice

Summary
The Himalayan is a unique all-road travel bike, one that not only looks fit for the job as many adv bikes do – but that’s actually equipped for it and performs well, too. You might not think 24hp and 190 kilos (420 lbs) adds up, and for some it won’t. But for your £4000 or $4500 you get a lot of kit that’s no found on similar bikes. Don’t dismiss it as a shoddily assembled Asian cheapie, or anything to do with the Bullets. The bike has caught on, and in western markets the demand for the BS4 has outstripped importers’ expectations. If you’re curious like I was, try one. You might also be surprised.