Mohave with KLX250S

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• KLX – mountain and desert

With the KLX set up, I took off for a few days. The plan was to explore the Mohave desert between the Arizona border and the Sierra Nevada. Along with Baja, this has been an unfulfilled biking destination for as long as I’ve been trail biking.

In the late 70s I gobbled up the seminal Dirt Bike magazine from cover to cover – and most of their riding was done out here, east of LA. DB founder and editor Rick Sieman wrote up his ‘Dirt Biking Years’ as Monkey Butt, the memoir of an increasingly bitter individual who saw his opportunities to gun across the Mohave scrublands slowly eroded by the rise of the Joshua Tree-hugging environmentalists. In the good years the iconic, non-competitive Barstow-Las Vegas run (‘B2V’, below) had a start line of some 3000 bikes spread out a mile wide. By the late 80s the B2V got outlawed by the BLM, Rick Sieman did time for protesting/trespassing then emigrated to Baja in disgust. But as the fully legal LAB2V, a form of the event still survives.

You don’t have to be an old fan of DB to recognise that besides low-flying Maicos, countless movies have also been shot out in the Mohave, a short distance from Hollywood. Time Rider (Back to the Future meets TT500 desert racer) will be known to many riders my age, but be it a zombie western, a road movie, teenage slasher or Mars on the cheap, the arid scrubby, mountain-rimmed playas east of LA have provided the space and landscapes to spin a yarn. In 1991 I well remember watching a B-grade road movie called Delusion with its climactic shoot-out outside a 1930s deco motel at Death Valley Junction (left). Death Valley Junction – what a great name. A few days later I rolled up right outside that very motel (and passed it again on this trip,now reopened). Your road trip becomes your road movie out here.

It may even go back even further than that. Childhood telly like The High Chaparral, Bonanza, Lost in Space, and movies like Planet of the Apes all included locations out here. If you’ve ever watched telly or seen a film, chances are the Mohave backdrops will be in your blood. Painting yourself green and wearing a salad bowl for a hat? Well, that’s just down to personal choice. Hell, we’re in California!

I left Phoenix on a hot afternoon (as the song goes), looking to get a couple of hours in. Destination: west. I-10 was obviously out on a 250, there was more fun to be had on 60 up to Wickenburg, then back southwest via Salome and up 72 to Parker on the Colorado river.
Just like last time on the CRF, my ingrained thrift saw me fill up on 87 fuel – they wouldn’t sell it if it was bad, right? Wrong. My new ride was soon running like an MZ on watered-down kerosene and hit reserve at only 88 miles, somewhere east of Salome. Still, getting off to top up the bike was a relief. I refilled at a ‘Gas Haven’ roadhouse – the one pictured above is an old Hills Have Eyes movie set in Morocco. You’ll find the real thing all over the Mohave and the Southwest.

Rocking up in a small desert town like Parker can be as thrilling as an Iowa farmer marvelling at Piccadilly Circus. The bright neon signs glow against the inky sky, growling V8s and trucks roll through – it’s all Tom Waits needed in his prime.
The downside to all this road trip romance can be underwhelming food if you try to dodge the fattening fast food traps. Or even if you don’t.

Next day I hopped over the turbid Colorado river which will be sucked down to nothing by adjacent conurbations and irrigation in the next 200 miles. Barely a trickle will reach the Gulf of California.
Hereabouts names on the map can add up to nothing more than a scattering of ramshackle, sun-bleached trailer homes or shacks ringed with dead cars, washing machines and other scrap. Is it a town or just a loose collection of dwellings where a outcasts, loners, rogue chemists or desert lovers pitch up to live on their terms?

Over late brekkie at Chiricao Summit on unavoidable I-10, the penny drops and I fill up with full-fat 93-grade gasoline with added maple syrup. Hey presto, the bike is running like it should. Next turn north leads into Joshua Tree NP, a cool sounding place where like the song doesn’t go, I may find what I’m looking for.

I’d downloaded a free Desert Southwest map for the Garmin Montana but seem to be missing out on juicy dirt roads – or I’m not reading it right (#2 it was). The NP paper map has more legible detail: Old Dale Road spins off the main drag and heads for the hills. ‘Four-wheel drive only’ it says – it’s even listed on DangerousRoads.Org – but after years of wheeling in western Australia I’ve become blasé to all that. Initially it’s a light sandy track and the KLX rattles over the washboard, front end surfing and wandering on its trail tyre. The backlight makes it hard to read the surface so I stop to air down a bit. It doesn’t make much difference but under 30mph the 140-kilo Kawa doesn’t have the momentum to flip out when it gets out of shape.

Then the track turned a corner and headed into the mountains and, yes sirree, you’d want a fourbie with clearance and low range up here – or be a GS pilot with steady nerves if on your own. On occasions it gets as gnarly as the gnarliest Moroccan tracks I do, requiring confident launches up or around rock steps and over loose piles of stones.
To my relief the KLX takes it all in its stride with its combination of harmless power, light weight and compliant suspension that all helps control the bike, not require fighting it. What a revelation; that’s what I was looking for.

Up on the heights other numbered but unmapped JT (Jeep Trail?) tracks branch off and my route isn’t always clear. Orientation has to be guessed off the broad-brush NP map with the help the Montana’s compass and a desert rider’s eye for what appears to be the most used trail.

Out of the hills and back on a broad sandy runway, the bike is handling much better now. It occurs to me the energetic workout has reformatted my reflexes in tune with the bike’s bucking and sliding. Well, that plus lower shadows are now across the track, raising the definition.
Back on the highway near Twentynine Palms, as the sun begins to drop I air up and scoot back into the north side of the park for the 4000-foot high scenic loop where all the J-Trees actually grow. Below, it could be the ‘Poison Forest’ episode straight out of Lost in Space where the green Siren lures in stranded argonauts.

In Joshua Tree town the cheap-motel manager claims she’s ‘full’ but then relents and apologises for mistaking me for ‘a local’. I get this suspicion at other lodgings too – presumably highway-roaming two-wheel reprobates with swastika tattoos on their foreheads take the piss or cause trouble. Opposite the hotel the neighbouring compound had a colourful row of what I call ‘Ameri-Cans‘ capping the wall. Inside I try to watch TV for some added cultural immersion, but it’s a lost cause – you can literally channel hop from one commercial to the next.

There are roads leading north up to Amboy and Kelso next day. I kind of hope they’ll be wide gravel dirt with shady borders, but will take what I get. Out of 29 Palms it’s actually deserted crumbling blacktop, like parts of old Route 66. There are a lot of east-west railroads round here, all converging on LA I presume. At Amboy, an old rail depot, we stop at a crossing to watch a mile-long BNSF train pulled and pushed by six locos. It’s a cue for another song and a ‘so-that’s-what-it-means’ explanation of its lyrics:

And the Burlington Northern’s pullin’ out of the world
With a head full of bourbon and a dream in the straw
And a Gun Street Girl was the cause of it all
A Gun Street girl was the cause of it all

Amboy has an old roadhouse motel near a former Chloride mine – another authentic ‘gas haven’ with five-dollar fuel, no coffee and milling tourists. ‘Icy’ warns a sign on the next turn, but not today. Up top I follow a track to a grassy clearing and eat, read and doze, then head down the north slope with dunes on the horizon.

Kelso – another railroad ghost-depot. I’m wanting northeast for some intriguing backroads into Death Valley, but have to choose west for Baker and fuel (‘He was pulling into Baker on a New Year’s Eve – One eye on a pistol and the other on the door). My paper map seems unreliable, my GPS map has no key of course (but if I zoom right in dirt roads are there) and the Garmin World Base Map is – err – basic in outback California.
With a can on the back, to pass the time I decide to run the bike dry: only 125 miles but 88mpg (73US). Not bad I suppose. I snatch a few extra miles by coasting to Baker, enjoying the cycle-speed breeze. I’m not achieving a lot today, but no one’s watching.

Baker is alongside I-15 and its famous Pole of Temperature (left) is reading 85°F, but by the weekend the weather is set to turn. Storm off the Pacific, wind and rain by Sunday they say.
Baker’s too close to the interstate to invite an early cut, but up the road in Shoshone there’s no room at the village inn. ‘Pahrump is your nearest bet, honey’. Another 30 miles and it’s nighttime in Nevada. Fill up at the servo – it’s all I ever seem to do. ‘Motels? Right at the lights’. Once installed, I whizz back to casino-lined downtown helmet-less for my bi-annual BK. Is Nevada helmet-free? Probably.

Today I know exactly where I’m going. Up to Beatty for the Titus Canyon track which sneaks into Death Valley from the east. Other all-terrain recreationists are out in force today. I realise later I could’ve cut through Ash Meadows on the way to Beatty for a bit of dirt relief, had I studied the Southwest GPS map more closely last night on Base Camp. But out here there are no bad route finding decisions. Smooth dirt or broken asphalt, spin a bottle; it’s all good.

Titus is even better than I recall – a classic one-way route which, after an initial washboard approach, winds up to a high pass from where I’m able to switch off and coast almost right to the canyon mouth, peering across the arid pans of Death Valley. Without the engine distracting you, riding the KLX is like being on an oversized mountain bike, you can focus on the lines and body position while slipping silently past lumbering 4x4s.

It’s Saturday and even though it’s overcast the word is out: rare wildflowers are blooming following winter rains and the park is packed with petal spotters. I don’t suppose I’m the first person to wonder how this basin can be below sea level so far inland and not eventually fill up with debris from millennia of run-off. The visitor centre puts me straight: tectonics tilt blocks like fallen dominos, the low points happen to be below sea level. Then three tall ranges of Sierra Nevada create a Triple A rain shadow – no moisture reaches DV. Add the glaring radiation bouncing heat up against heat, and what drops may fall won’t even hit the ground so there’s never enough flash flooding and erosion to fill up the valley. Or not for a long time yet.

I should have booked a hotel – I forgot Saturday’s get busy near big national parks. Back at Death Valley Junction the colonnaded Amargosa Hotel looks great inside the lobby, but with that sort of historical ambience it’s as full as a visitors’ centre car park.
Jeez, is that the time? Must be overdue for a fill up again in Shoshone at more than double the usual price. There’s a WR250R doing the same. Turns out the guy picked it up only yesterday for $7k, equipped. I’m looking for one of these for an upcoming Sahara trip where anything heavier will be a liability – at least at my age. Nice to see a fresh WR in the flesh – a good omen I tell him. Triple clamps off a JCB, they make 30-odd hp, do 70 to Her Majesty’s gallon but don’t require WR-F-like levels of care. Or so they say. The guy is usually a Victory cruiser (like half US riders, it seems), but wants to explore the dirt side. Good on him, I say.

I try Tecopa Hot Springs, surrounded by a grubby, salt-caked wasteland, but it’s full of orange people swanning around in sarongs, and has no cabins to spare. My paper map shows a track / road heading southeast from here back to I-15. It’s getting late but could be fun. I try to follow it past the date farm but the orientation looks off. Later on, Google and Base Camp showed no link, but with a cig-packet sized screen it’s hard to work all this out on the move with seven-pound specs. Next time I’ll carry big-arsed Delorme/Benchmark road atlases, like I did on the CRF trip. Until they can beam out hologram screens, handy-sized GPS units just can’t give you the full picture. So it’s back to Baker under glowering skies and spots of warm rain.

I’m resigned to dosing in an abandoned trailer or gas station, but Baker turns out to be less popular than I thought. At the motel he accepts cash and drops a card deposit as I’m ‘not a local’. Baker seems to have every brand of fast food going, apart from the Greek place. Over the road a waitress squeezes me out a Mexican meal from a big tube.

Next day many people warn me of the strong winds, but apart from a few side sweeps, all it did was slow the KLX down to 49mph in places. I try to plan a route using the backwind and avoiding interstates, but at times there’s no getting away from either. The deserted Nipton Road (old cafe sadly dormant) leads me back past joshua trees into NV and a fat brekkie at Terrible’s Roadhouse in Searchlight. Then it’s back over the Colorado and another refill in Golden Shores to follow windy and windy old 66 via kitschy Oatman where the weekend hoards are lapping up the whole gun-slingin’, gold-pannin’, bar-fightin’ sideshow.

Near Kingman dust storms are hurtling around the valley looking for something to blow over. East along 1-40 I am sailing but turning south onto 93 it’s largely in my face and when it’s one lane I sense the tailback’s trigger fingers getting itchy. It’s the occasional price you pay for riding a 250. It rains a bit but I dry off even quicker and ease into Wickenburg on fumes.
The day turns into a tiring 9-hour, 350-mile haul of wind-surfing with the butt clearly getting acclimatised to the KLX perch. All up not so bad on a weedy 250. Must be high time to tank up.

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Quick spin • Africa Twin DCT review

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In 2020 I bought myself a manual AT

There’s one problem with marrying Honda’s ‘have your cake and eat it’ DCT transmission with their 270°-crank parallel-twin engine: you can’t dip the clutch and blip the throttle for the sheer fun of unleashing the motor’s V-twin-like growl.

As for the other 999 reasons, after less than an hour’s riding I can see why this third generation of Honda’s sophisticated electro-hydraulic Dual Clutch Transmission system (baffling image right, baffling video below) is expected to outsell manual ATs. They say last year, of the Hondas sold with optional DCT (VFR1200X, Crosstourer, VFR1200F, NC750X and -S), less than half were manuals.

I’ve not read the recent rush of road tests to glean the impression, but Honda’s prolonged promo campaign for the Africa Twin appears to have paid off. Their nostalgia-tinted hype in reviving the rugged spirit of the original 1980s Africa Twin (right) conveniently skips the similar XL1000V Varadero (left) which sold in the UK till about 2011 and now goes used from two grand. That seems to be a bike which most actual owners recall far more fondly than reviewers or pundits, and is what Honda have succeeded in comprehensively eclipsing with the new AT – not the original AT which is from another era. Good technical article on the AT.

The test bike I tried was fully optioned: luggage racks (hideous topbox removed on request), crash bars, spots, centre stand, taller screen. Maybe the hot grips were extras too.
Outside the shop the dealer explained how the DCT works. On the right bar you have a rocker switch (below left) marked Neutral; Drive and – on this latest DCT – three Sport settings. Once the stand is up you press D, open the throttle and glide away like a scooter.
And this version of DCT (also on 2016 NC750s) includes refinements like gear-holding gradient sensors and a clutch-slip reducing ‘G switch’ (right), all with a matching array of ABS/Traction Control settings to help align the model’s aspirational CRF1000L moniker and potential with the like-named CRF dirt racers.

The sales guy recommended the S1 mode which holds revs longer before changing gears, and within a few miles I agreed with him. As you decelerate the DCT smoothly drops down through the gears at just the right pace – on my unhurried test ride at least. In the Sport modes it’ll do so more briskly. The regular D setting was up in sixth by 30mph which made acceleration unpleasantly juddery. It’s presumably great for economy but it felt less good for the chain and transmission. I neglected to see if there was a ‘floor it’ kickdown like on an auto car, but at any time you can use the MTB-like thumb and forefinger shifters on the left bar to manually change up or down. You can lock it in Manual too, using the A/M button below the Drive selector.

The clutch-like lever on the left bar is actually an out-of-reach handbrake, a bit like on my late 1970s 400AT (right). That bike ran a less efficient two-speed, foot-shifted torque converter using fluid and turbines. Don’t ask me exactly how, but with DCT there’s no power-robbing slippage apart from at rest and momentarily when it changes gear, so the bike responds to acceleration and deceleration much like a manual bike. And if you still have trouble getting your head around your DCT you can get an optional electronic foot-shift lever to emulate the left-bar shifters.

I did sense the weight on pulling away (probably a quarter of a ton fully fuelled), but once on the move I was surprised how quickly I adapted to that mass, as well as the DCT. No twitching left hand or foot, just the novelty of smooth, scooter-like propulsion without the small-wheel stigma. Riding gently in Drive you can detect the shifting – ride harder and it becomes barely perceptible.
Some bikers proclaim such automation emasculates the motorcycling experience – for a young, hard-charging Gixxer pilot with licence points to spare, perhaps. But aren’t sports bike quickshifters also chasing smoother progress through automation? Me, I’ve had my share of tearing around – it was my job for over a decade – but 37 years ago my 400 Hondamatic made town riding a whole lot less tiresome. I’ve had a lot of bikes before and since, but I can’t say many have had a slick gearbox and a light, smooth clutch operation which enhanced the riding experience. For the moment I’d be happy to experiment with an alternative, and just as with 4WDs, I believe auto shifting can actually make some off-roading easier. On a bike this size I bet crawling up a rocky, washed-out hairpin in the Anti Atlas would be much easier than feathering a clutch or risking a sudden stall and tip over, just because first gear is typically too high or you misjudged the input required.

Back in mid-winter Surrey. Once I popped out onto the Epsom bypass I was able to open it up and couldn’t suppress a broad grin spreading across my face. At this speed you have to concentrate hard to detect any gear changing activity as the bars on the reversed LCD digital speedo hurriedly rearrange themselves to match the pace.
That’s probably the best thing you can say about DCT – after 40-odd years of mostly manual shifting you adapt to it in no time – it’s no harder than trying an auto car for the first time, but much more fun. A better test for the DCT AT might be charging down some switchback canyon where conventional engine- and wheel-braking give the impression of greater control. That’ll have to be for another time but I do wonder how the front 21-incher would perform. Meanwhile, at the other end of the speed dial, I found feet-up, walking pace U-turns close on lock-to-lock as easy as you’d expect on a direct drive automatic. Until that tank is full, the bike feels very well balanced for its low-set weight.

Other stuff on the DCT AT? It looks great in black, white and red, the colours of Honda’s nearly Dakar winning CRF450R-based desert racer (right). The coppery-bronze crankcases (like the new Husky 701) add a nice touch, too.

They’ve really got to grips with seat height on this bike – something that stops so many riders enjoying big Advs. With two levels (850mm and 870) and two seats offered, there’s about 50mm of potential variation, assuming I heard the dealer right. I had mine set at 870 (34.25″) and it felt lower than my CB500X RR. The suspension felt plusher too, though right now my 500X is still set for load carrying, and one back lane pothole shot a harsh jolt through the AT’s bars. On the picture above left you can see a rear spring preload adjustment knob, and doubtless there are more compression settings front and back than a squad of saturation divers.

africatime — About the same time I was riding around north Surrey two Italian guys took a brand new and old XRV AT for a ride around Mauritania.

Among the accessories, the high screen worked great for me at up to 90. Heated grips were another seamless addition, with a heat-level bar packed in on the busy lower LCD display. Real-time rumination over the innovative DCT took my mind off the bike’s more mundane aspects, but the real question here is: would it make a good overlander? Or, in what way is it better than the all-conquering R1200GS?

I’ve long thought that by the time such bikes are properly equipped and loaded, they’re just too heavy for the sort of all-terrain travel I like to do, but that doesn’t stop masses buying, equipping and actually taking them on the road. The Honda looks significantly less colossal than a GSA, even if it’s probably no lighter, though I imagine it’s more economical. And the benefits of DCT is either something you appreciate or not. For overlanding I’d take it.

Riding back home I was reminded what a great all-round machine my Rally Raided CB500X is (left). Off-road ready for half the price with a used base bike, 10-15% lighter on the dirt, and more economical by the same amount too. The AT builds on the same great looks and performance – far outdoing what I recall of the original Africa Twin which I occasionally encountered in the Sahara. It was regarded back then as a heavy and juicy machine. I also like the fact that Honda ignored engaging in the current 150-hp mania with the latest mega Advs from Ducati, KTM and BMW. Instead, they’ve focussed hard on trying to create a full-sized machine with better gravel-road manners than most, even if the antics demonstrated in the video below require surnames like Marquez and Barreda.

The transmission system’s complexity on the road can’t be any worse than a regular gearbox, except you have two clutches to share the load. All the electronic engine management – well we’re all getting accustomed to that aren’t we, and I’d sooner it came on a high-end Honda than some other marques.

The new Africa Twin is clearly a brilliant road bike and I imagine a pretty good gravel roader, but there are a few of those already. It’s also heavier and costs way more than I’d ever spend on a travel bike – and there are many more in that category too.
But finally encountering the marvel of DCT does make me reappraise bikes like a DCT-equipped NC750X which, in the original 700 form (left) now goes for about £3000 used. Problem is NC-Xs come with the same soft, budget-level suspension as the CB500X and, like my 500, probably don’t have a bar/seat/peg set-up suited to me standing, unless I get into cable transplants. Meanwhile, for the moment there’s CRF1000L at your nearest UK main dealer so you can decide for yourself.

Heated 12v jackets for motorcycling

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Turn on, Plug in but don’t Chill Out on winter’s long road.

See also: Mosko Moto Ectotherm (soon)

If you live outside the tropics and like to ride on anything other than sunny summer days, heated clothing makes sense on a bike. Your engine churns out excess electrical power which, with the benefit of modern technology and materials, can make a near-freezing ride tolerable in a way you couldn’t imagine. The two jackets looked at here are Aerostich’s 75-watt Kanetsu AirVantage and the 60/105 watt Powerlet RapidFIRe which you can still find for as little as $160.

My tips for heated jackets

Get a full heated jacket with heated arms, neck and full torso, not a waistcoat or a jacket with partial panels
Get an easy-to-operate heat controller dial
If the body’s elasticated, aim for a close fit
Wire direct to the battery via a fuse (leads often supplied)
Don’t bother with remote, battery-powered options. Your bike has a battery and charging system: use them.

I remember back the late 70s there was a batty guy at work called Maurice Seddon who rode a BSA made before I was born and who sold hand-made heated clothing on the side (left). For London-based despatching that wouldn’t have been such a great idea, as with all the stop-start and on-off you never got that cold. But out on the road between cities you sure could in winter. Even then, heated clothing had a reputation for inefficiency and unreliability and so didn’t seem worth the investment compared to piling on the layers and gritting your teeth.

Compared to the northern US states and eastern or northern Europe, the southern UK rarely gets that cold in winter (anymore), but sat on a bike in the wind it’s always colder than you think. Apparently, in bikers’ lore over in the US there’s something called the ’60 60 30 rule’: 60 mph at 60°F (ambient) feels like 30°F on a bike (100kph / 15°C / -1°C).
That may be easy to remember but is clearly exaggerated. There’s no way doing 60mph at 15°C feels like just below freezing. It’s an embellishment of what they now call the ‘old wind chill index’. According to this page, the new wind chill index (NWCI) gives a more plausible figure of 10°F / 3°C when riding at 70mph /112kph in 50°F / 10°C ambient. Bright sunshine can also reduce the wind chill by several degrees. Headwinds can increase it.

But when the ambient temperature drops to a more typical, mid-winter’s ride of 41°F (5°C), the new wind chill index corresponds to 26°F or -3°C. That’s how it felt for me crossing northern Spain one when, for the last few hundred clicks to Santander, the road rose to more or less 700m (2300′). Though it was foggy and clearly above 0°C, I felt freezing with my Powerlet RapidFIRe heated jacket turned up to the max. I rode on through the murk for as long as I could bear it, then dived into a roadside hotel to thaw out. Next day it was the same until I dropped out of the fog to the coast.

It gave me time to work out how to get the best from a heated liner. Apart from sealing against all possible draughts, using heated grips, hand guards and a windshield, having the liner pressing on your body is much more effective. Like this, the liner’s heated matrix is warming a thin base layer clinging to your skin, not the air gap between. And ironically, I feel it’s better if that base layer is not thermal – just thin polyester or whatever that’s easier to wash than a jacket full of wires. At times I was riding with my left arm hugging my chest just to force the front of the jacket against me and benefit from the heat. But doing that for a while my hand got cold away from the heated grip. Next day I wore a thin fleece over the heated jacket to press the wires down achieve the same, all-round effect.

Liner or jacket?
The Kanetsu is designed to zip in as a liner on your Aerostich Darien or Roadcrafter, but over the years I’ve mostly used it with various other jackets. The Powerlet zips up to itself, but does feature a textured outer shell that’s slightly tacky or rubbery so it’s more prone to staying with your main jacket as you slip both off (assuming that’s what you want). Because the Kanetsu is a zip-in liner, I found when using it with other jackets the open-ended zip would open up from the bottom. Aero could get round this by adding a stud to stop it separating when not zipped in as a liner.
Both jackets stuff into their own zippered pouches (left), with the Kanetsu benefitting from belt loops. On a long trip both still add up to a sizeable bulk when not worn, unless you choose to use it off the bike. As you can see below, they both look pretty good as regular jackets. The Aerostich has more pockets, the Powerlet has a lined and heated collar. Both weigh about 1100g.

As said, a close fit makes all the difference and these jackets achieve that differently. The RapidFIRe has Spandex side panels in the body and arms (left) to make the liner cling to you. Mine was an end-of-the-line cheapie which by that time was only available in XL – a bit too big on me. But it occurred to me I could easily close up those elastic panels with thread to achieve a snugger and so more effective fit.

The RapidFIRe has two heat settings: 60 or 105 watt which, afaict, the newer $430 Atomic Skin model has dropped. Probably because no one ever needed 105 watts. To activate this arctic setting you join up two loose plugs zipped into a dinky hem compartment (left). Knowing my Honda had the capacity to run it (see below), I tried the 105-watt setting on a 200-mile round trip down to around 8°C (which adds up 0.5°C windchill @ 65 mph). I found that setting 2/5 was more than enough to keep me warm in my Darien Light and a thin base layer. If I regularly rode in sub-freezing conditions I might leave it on 105 watts. More probably though, I’d get a car.

My 5-year-old 75-watt Kanetsu AirVantage is a version of Aerostich’s regular (and $70 cheaper) WindStopper. It differs by having an air bladder within the body linings which you inflate with a stem valve (left), like an airplane life jacket until you have a comfortable fit under your riding jacket. As long as you’re not wearing it inside out (an easy mistake to make) the bulging bladders press the heating elements against your torso, a clever idea that maximises efficiency and means you don’t have to whack up the dial for it to have the desired effect. Until you get used to it, it’s another thing to remember to do when togging up, and it can result in that ‘stuffed’ feeling you’re trying to avoid with heated gear. But it adds insulation and does work. The AirVantage is definitely worth the extra $70 ($387) over the regular, non-inflating WindStopper.

Fast forward to 2019 and at a show I spotted these Exotog inflatable pull-over bodywarmer. A bit like the lifejacket mentioned above, the idea is the still air creates a thick insulated layer without excessive bulk when not in use. The truth is, down works better to keep trapped air still, but that’s impractical with humid, breath-inflated items and these must be better than nothing.
It also occurred to me they’d be an effective way of pressing a heated jacket down on to your torso to derive maximum efficiency. It weighs from 270g and costs 100 quid.

What both jackets highlight is that once warmed up and doing their thing, you won’t necessarily feel like The God of Hellfire (left) reposing in front of a roaring log fire with a warm cup of cocoa. But you’ll sure notice the difference should you switch them off. [This is actually a slightly misleading test as switching off is a bit like stepping out of a shower all wet: in the short term you’ll feel chilly until things evaporate]. And, depending on the wind protection on your bike, you’ll also notice your heated but exposed arms will feel notably less warm than your balmy torso, as well noticing the slightest cold spot. In fact this whole temperature differential can be a bit of a distraction.

The Powerlet uses something called Carbon Nanocore technology (thin wires) producing far infrared heat (hence ‘Rapid FIR e’); the AirVantage simply uses ‘hotter’ wires in the arms. Whichever one you’re wearing, this is where those velcro arm cinches on your riding jacket come in useful to press the heating elements against you. The Darien I recently reviewed has them both above and below the elbow (right), but they still couldn’t spread the heat evenly. If I was heading for a really long, cold ride, I’d find a way of binding the heated jacket’s sleeves close to my arms. All these measures will enable you to run as low a setting as possible, so giving you an extra margin when things really chill down.

Electrical consumption
One good thing about modern bikes is they should have plenty of alternator capacity to power electrical accessories – and heated jacket liners probably make the biggest demands. My CB500X produced 500 watts at 5000 rpm – my late-1980s era GS500R dished out just 200 watts at the same rpm. Even a modern 250 single like my WR250R can produce over 300 watts. Modern lights draw less power too, but add fuel pumps, some LED or HiD spots, heated grips as well as the possibly lower engine speeds when riding at night in freezing temperatures, and on the old GS the alternator may have struggled to keep up with the demand.

Heat Controller
These thermostats usually come as accessories to the heated liners but are a good idea unless you’re happy with all-or-nothing heating. After all, what other heating application – domestic, industrial or otherwise – has no adjustment settings? Often, as you slow down to ride through a built-up area you’ll feel too warm – you don’t want that but you may not want to switch right off either.

heatrollers — Get an easy-to-feel dial, not buttons

hj-aerocont — Get an easy-to-feel dial, not buttons

The Aerostich Heat Troller ($70; above left and right) is a little box with a dial knob and molded SAE leads. You can feel the knob’s soft click as you turn it on and in less than one clockwise turn it’s at max. Tucked down by a tank net as above right, it’s easy to operate on the move using feel alone when wearing thick gloves. No need to take your eyes off the road. I just dial it up to max then back off as needed. There’s a red LED that flashes proportionally – handy for a quick glance to see if it’s actually working or if it’s just you and you need to dial in more heat. Direct from Aerostich it seems the Heat Troller only comes with SAE connectors but I just bought one with QuiConnects coax here). Their Kanetsu jackets now comes with BMW, SAE or QuiConnect fittings.

The Powerlet uses a similar black box and the co-axial QuiConnects all round (left), but with a flat pad to turn it on and keep pressing up to five levels. The problem is that pad is very hard to locate and feel through a thick glove, so you’re not always sure if you’ve done anything or gone too far and turned it off. You need to glance down to check the position of the red LEDs – not handy on an icy hairpin at six in the morning. It’s nowhere near as user-friendly as a dial knob. The current Atomic Skin Powerlet liner uses a remote wrist-mounted wireless controller. Me, I’d sooner fit an Aerostich-style Heat-Troller unless you mount the controller on the handlebars.

Overall, the discontinued? Powerlet RapidFIRe gets the nod as it’s a tad less bulky, has two core heat settings, has accessory wires to run glove liners, has a regular zip for use in any riding jacket, not as a zip-in liner, has wire in the collar and slicker QuiConnect fittings. But chances are you can’t buy it anymore unless you’re tiny or huge, and neither the Kanetsu not the Atomic Skin are currently sold in the UK.

Click this for a review of Aerostich and Klim shells which were used with these heated liners

Good article by ABR magazine (pdf)

Tested: Aerostich Darien Light and Klim Overland reviewed

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If you’re serious about a travel jacket, one with a waterproof/breathable membrane laminated directly to a tough outer shell, with taped seams and with some good venting is the way to go. It’s not the cheapest way of making a jacket, but it’s the most effective.I’ve now done a couple of thousand miles on two US-branded shells: Aerostich’s Darien Light (rrp $577; sold US only; 2.27kg) which has been around little changed for over a quarter of a century. And Klim’s Overland (rrp $430 / £379; 1.97kg) which hasn’t. Some might say Klim’s Latitude might be a fairer comparison with a Darien Light (DL). I looked at a 2015 Latitude but couldn’t see myself owning it, for the reasons explained in the link.

Fyi: these jackets were supplied by Aerostich and Adventure Spec in exchange for adverts in AMH7

What they say:

If you’re taking your first steps into Adventure and Adventure Touring, the all-new Overland series is a tremendous value.

The Darien Light really comes into its own for commuting and general riding, especially in atrocious weather where it will flat-out work better than whatever you now wear.

Aerostich Darien Light
A 25-year old, made-in-the-USA design that’s been refined over the years and comes in four or maybe six colours. A longer version of their equally popular Roadcrafter.

• Roomy fit
• Irresistibly practical
• Collar flap magnets
• Ten+ pockets, including massive ones
• Intuitive waist belt cinching
• Customisable plus a range of accessories including heated and thermal liners

• Bulky, base-spec TF3 armour
• Only sold at Aerostich, USA
• Plain range of colours

Review
This is my third Darien (fourth it you count the same-styled waxed cotton Falstaff). Didn’t get on with the stiff, full-weight Darien and even less with the mucky and ineffective Falstaff, but a Darien Light – made of 200D rather than 500D Darien fabric (losing 30% abrasion ability in the process) has got to be one of the most under-rated round-the-world travelling shells. Light enough to be bearable in the tropics, roomy and adjustable to take extra layers, vented to keep you cool, plus your obligatory Gore-tex membrane to reduce clamminess while resisting the rain.
The fabric may get bonded by the roll in Vietnam, but one good thing about being cut and assembled in Duluth, MN (afaik) is they can do you any number of custom fittings and enhancements if you have special prefs or a non-conventional physique. Very few motorcycle clothing manufacturers offer this level of customisation; you just get what you get in whatever colours they have between XS and XXL.

Armour
One all my previous Dariens I ditched the bulky, hard-capped TF3 elbow, shoulder and back armour without thinking. This time I stuck with all except the back pad, but can see why I used to remove it. After experiencing the Klim Overland’s supple slices of orange D3O, the bulky TF3s snag and don’t make slipping on the DL the sartorial delight it should be, especially if you’ve left the arm cinches done up. You feel like a stuntman togging up prior to being catapulted from the battlements.

armors — The TF3 elbow – top – is light at 90g and composed of a soft, open-cell sponge, cut and glued to shape, then partially topped with a hardshell cap which must be key to distributing impacts. The orange D3O T5 equivalent is heavier, slimmer and smaller, a denser rubbery foam moulding that looks more effective. Aero do sell similar, low-profile TF5 armour, which can be adapted with new velcro sleeves for fabric Darien jackets.

My advice: if buying an Aerostich fabric suit, upgrade to TF5 armour and velcro sleeves (left). For elbows and shoulders the cost should be negligible. Aero should make this upgrade option more obvious on the DL page, though as it is, the TF3s warm up quickly and once on the move you’re barely aware of the bulk.
Aero tell us that velcro-ing armour pads to the shell (rather than hanging them in a mesh) is a superior but more time-consuming way of doing it. And the velcro (Americans are constitutionally prohibited from using the v-word) does enable useful fine-tuning with the position. If you want to get picky then the outline of the velcro patches glued into the shell’s inside shows on the exterior and spoils the smooth lines.
I suppose the crux is the stuff staying in position as you tumble down the road and the two velcro cinches either side of the elbow will see to that. Perhaps in the baggier DL cut, arm-joint armour is more prone to getting dislodged than on the closer-fitting Overland with D3O. According to this detailed explanation from 2011, while not CE certified or approved (a European compliance standard), at that time TF3 was as good at impact absorption as anything out there. That’s great to know, but things have moved on and while not being a card-carrying ATGATT type, I feel the DL should come standard with TF5 – see the comments below the above linked explanation. I’ve since inserted in some half-price D3Os into my DL’s arms. The orange stuff is nearly 50% heavier (TF3 90g vs D3O 132g) but slips on better and feels less bulky, while almost certainly impacting as well.

Old Men in Black
While I’m whining, it’s shame the DL comes in such a drab selection of colours. It would be great to get away from boring old black – usually the least bad option. It’s a safe, conservative and inexpensive option, but I believe there’s a way to make a jacket interesting with shades of dark grey; my ARMR Moto cheapie wasn’t bad-looking. Singularity fans, check out the alluringly noire City Stealth Roadcrafter (right) from Aerostich. Expect to see it in the next Bond movie.

Storage
One of the best features on all Dariens is the varied array and size of pockets. For me this ability to compartmentalise your valuables and frequently useables (‘V&FUs’, as the adventure clothing industry calls them) is at the heart of the motorcycle overlander’s key garment.
My 2015 DL has ten plus one: a zip-up on the right cuff, two angled and flapped zip-ups at the hem, two vertical zipped chest pockets which’ll swallow a map, gloves or a bundle of border-generated paperwork. Behind them are a couple of spacious hand-warmers which are a tad too high for comfort. All have water-resistant TiZip-like zips which will need lubing once in a while. There’s also a small, velcro-flap-only chest pocket top left which I found handy for a waterproof point-and-shoot and a Sharpie. There’s a mini snap link inside though I’d actually prefer an exterior D-ring (like on the Overlander’s hem) – somewhere to quickly hang the keys while paying for fuel, for example.
Inside the main shell are two smaller, lighter-load-bearing but deluge-secure wallet-and-phone chest pockets: one vertical entry, the other from the side, both velcro’d; take your pick. You can also velcro on a clear, zip-up pocket onto the left forearm; handy for a compass away from metal influences, I find. I use all of them plus a light, bladder-holding daypack so when I get off the bike I know I have all my compact V&FUs with me.

Vents
The DL’s venting comprises of more water-resistant zips which arc up and round the armpit. With that bend and the stiffer zip action, you can barely work them at a standstill, let along on the move. The exhaust vent is a two-way lateral zip below the big back reflector. Riding with them open while on the piste at say 25°C and 25mph saw a nice cooling sensation on the chest, rather than an all-round coolness, but that will do me. It means you’re not gagging to take the thing off even time you stop. Problem with the horizontal back vent is it will get blocked if you wear a daypack or hydrator – vertical side exhaust vents are better in that respect.
I’d have rather had a dark grey shade, but found in wintertime Morocco the passive heat absorption of the black fabric was just right when combined with the vents. Wearing the Overland in similar conditions was noticeably cooler. Get into the tropics or the Sahara in the warmer seasons and I don’t suppose I’d be quite so comfortable in black.

Adjustability
I thought using magnets to secure a folded-down collar might be this year’s gimmick; they’re actually quite inspired. The collar simply flaps down and stays there at any speed requiring no unsightly studs, clips or velcro (though it may set your pacemaker into a nosedive). Another plus is the easy-to-use velcro waist belt: grab either forward-facing band and cinch as desired – very handy for keeping the core warm. The Klim Latitude I tried did the same thing but with backward facing tabs – for me a far less intuitive action. Other adjustments on the DL include side tabs for hip girth, a cinch cord down there, velcro tabs above and below the elbow to cinch down armour or heated clothing, plus a zip and velcro cuffs to help air-off or run gloves tucked in or out. There’s a velcro strap on the lined collar which you can just about use one-handed on the move, fighting the magnets.

Rainproof
As for waterproofness, I’ve not yet had the chance to ride in hard rain – just a few hours of dense fog. I’d expect the exterior pockets to eventually leak, but the shell to hang in there unless it’s really hammering down. Watch for an update.

Conclusion
The Darien is a flexible and versatile do-it-all jacket that, base-level armour apart, doesn’t feel like war-zone-ready clobber. It’s a jacket that, much like the CB500X I’ve been riding, is good for the getting there and the being there.

I’m sure I’m not the first to suggest that Aerostich should capitalise on this adventure biking fad with a snazzier, adventure-style jacket based on the Darien. Something that would appeal to less conservative younger riders whose fathers, I suspect, make up the core of the Darien and Roadcrafter users. The thing is, apart from a bit of flashy detailing here and there, a pouch on the back and bluetooth interconnectivity, it would differ little from what I already have here, the Leatherman of overland-ready jackets.

Klim Overland (discontinued)
The Overland was an upgrade on Klim’s entry-level Traverse, with armour, better venting and reflectivity, a new look as well other improvements.

• Was a great price and widely distributed
• Exudes quality
• Discrete D3O armour
• Easy to use vents
• Fits well if wearing minimal layers

• Sizing comes up way small according to the chart
• Small pockets
• Boring black or light grey; you get what you get in your size

Review
The Overland has a lightweight body with a boxy cut (not waist belt) and textured overlays in high-wear areas. This makes it as light as it can be – the five sections of D3O armour adds maybe a kilo to the weight. I chose the Large knowing it would be on the tight side, but also knew the XL was a big jump. Read my first impressions of the Overland here.
According to Klim’s sizing chart (right) I should have been bang on with an L as usually an American L = XL in Europe. Not with Klim, so with an L there’s just enough room underneath of a Powerlet heated jacket which adds up to three fleeces and a pint of hot soup. It does make a nice change to have a close-fitting jacket for a change, instead of the usual and more practical sack.

Armour
The soft, pliable (even when cold), CE certified (not ‘approved’) D3O T5 EVO XT armour (made in Croydon, no less!) slips unobtrusively into the mesh liner’s pockets and you forget it’s ever there. Unlike the Aero TF3, it doesn’t bulk out the jacket like an American footballer, all of which helps give the impression of a slim, close fit.

Look
It’s all subjective of course but it sure is nice not to have to wear another black jacket and it seems that Klim have toned down the branding on this one. The Overland’s fabric textures don’t come up so well in photos, but in grey it looks less dull than you might think. It’s a boxy fit they say, but then I have a boxy torso, which would yield little under a waist belt.
The reflective patches are minimal but, we’re told, mimic the form of an oncoming rider not a startled deer. It’s the other extreme from Aero’s broad bands of Scotchlite, and you do hear that France now requires a minimal area of reflectivity on motorcycle clothing which I doubt the Overland’s discrete 3M sipes would cover.

Storage
Here is where a jacket daring to call itself ‘Overland’ comes up a bit short. If they’d called it ‘Dayrider’ or ‘Happy Shopper’ or even Traverse II, it would have been fine, but then they probably wouldn’t have been so successful.
I enjoy wearing the Overland for short rides but in Morocco, when it came to sending one back before riding home in December, I knew I’d be keeping the Darien. Having pockets full of stuff may not give you a profile like a David Beckham underwear advert, but it sure is handy.

Having said that, one good thing about the mesh lining is that it’ll be easy to buy a square foot of the stuff and sew on a usefully large ‘drop pocket’ on the inside (see below), because only inside can you be sure that stuff won’t get wet. And yes I’ve looked closely at the Latitude and Badlands which IMO, both come up short on large-capacity pocketure.

Vents
The Overland’s vents have a superior arrangement to the DL and even other Klims: simple zip downs along the side but below the armpit; and matching vertical exhaust vents at the back which cunningly won’t get blocked by a daypack as the DL’s transverse back vent does. On any jacket, how all this venting deals with torrential rain remains to be seen, but on a rainy ride back from Amsterdam in 2016 I got home dry.

Adjustability
Even with the back of neck cinch cord loosened right off, I found the collar a tight fit against the front of the throat when done right up. Down at the hem you’ve another cinch cord, but that won’t snug up well against the chill as well as a waist belt. That’s not the Overland’s style and anyway, you can use your own belt against the cold or use a daypack’s hip belt. I liked the single arm cinch below the elbow; with a snug fit there’s no need for two as on the DL – less is always better. Cuffs are velcro only, no room to tuck in gloves in, if that’s your thing.

Rainproof?
Again, climate change has got to such a state that I’ve been riding near daily across three counties in winter for over a month and have dodged all rain clouds. A jacket, with four apertures and multiple zips isn’t like a submarine, no matter what they all claim. I got hours or rain riding a WR from Holland. There was a certain clamminess; but I was dry inside.

The Overland in a slick-looking and well-featured jacket that I enjoyed putting on more than the Darien Light, and would be my choice for nipping out on the bike or doing short, fly-in trips. It’s less overkill than the Badlands style as many here think. Overland may be a misleading name but it’s still Klim quality at a great price.

Update: A year in I’m liking the lightness and simplicity of my Overland. Just enough jacket to do the job with good vertical vents when it warms up. And with 50p of mesh, I’ve added some drop pockets to the insides (left) to make my Overland even more useful for overland travel where you end up with piles of documents you want to keep handy.

In 2017 the Klim dropped the Overland. Shame. The new-style Traverse (right) is similar but lacks armour and those arm cinch bands for a snug fit. Read my 2019 Travese review here (soon).