Mega miles made easy
If you're going to go and see a desert-y part of the world on two wheels, you should do it in comfort. And you could win a trip like this for yourself!
The road kept winding, cutting its way along a valley surrounded on each side by towering sandy-coloured mountains; their magnificence exaggerated by the bright blue sky which embraced their impressive peripheries. A dry river bed, known locally as a wadi, shouldered the smooth surfaced route which was leading us towards Jebel Jais – the highest summit in the United Arab Emirates. Up until now the going had been easy for my Harley-Davidson Street Glide, but the introduction of switchbacks demanded a deeper level of commitment from its 1690cc motor. Laden with full panniers, my wife Anna, and myself, the torquey V-twin slogged its way up the initial ascent with relative ease. Higher and higher the road went, the sheersided drop being cautioned by the occasional road sign, adjoined by those of falling rocks and wandering goats. The latter were everywhere and about as unpredictable as a balloon in the wind. What was much more expectable was the steadfast handling of the Glide, casually pitching into every hairpin with the customary acknowledgment of grinding footboards. We weren’t in a race, but the desire to reach the mountain’s 1934-metre summit was proving irresistible, as was the craving to look all around at the evermore magnificent vistas. Ten minutes in and we were still climbing, still awestruck by the sheer beauty of the road, which eventually terminated at a viewing point a couple of hundred feet short of the enormous rock’s peak. Construction machines were slogging away at the recently commissioned pass, which one day will bridge Dubai to Oman, but for now the route played a much simpler role; to highlight the wonders of this majestic land. This was not the Dubai I had in mind.
Taking it all in
When Harley-Davidson offered the chance to head out to the better known state of the UAE as part of its Discover More 2016 Tour, I really questioned the reasoning. What was there to see other than a metropolis? Where could we ride? What was the point? Dubai had always represented a commercial hub in my mind, crammed with tall buildings and not a lot else. But, behind the visage of big business and exorbitant wealth lies one of the most cultural, beautiful and fascinating regions on this earth, as Anna and I were to discover on our two- day tour. No sooner had we touched down at the airport before a taxi whisked us away from the hubbub of the city, trading cars for camels, towering buildings for towering sand dunes. Fifteen minutes into the journey and it seemed as if we were in a different world, as remote as can be, travelling along a relatively empty and perfectly conditioned motorway. After the best part of an hour the driver turned off the main road, entering onto an unmade sand and rock trail, lined by dunes and sporadic palm trees. In an instant it felt as though we’d reached the edge of civilisation, which probably would have rung true had an enormous hotel, decorated in Harley-Davidson banners, not suddenly appeared around a corner. After a warm welcome, dinner and an overview of the visit, highlighting the 800km route and the plethora of 12 different Harley touring bikes available to test, plus a trike, the time had come to relax for the evening, rounding off with a spectacular quad trip into the surrounding dunes.
Pleasant surprise
The predetermined Street Glide which stood waiting for us that next day wasn’t my obvious pick, but I soon began to warm to it as we headed away from the hotel along the bumpy and arduous trail which we’d arrived on the day before. I’ll admit to having been terrified of the bike’s sheer weight, which clocked an impressive 372kg, minus my wife, myself and our luggage. But come the time we’d reached the motorway, the cruise control set with the dash’s touch screen infotainment system and tunes blasting out from multiple speakers, the ride became much more relaxed. Life had suddenly got very easy and remarkably comfortable. Having previously only ever ridden a few Harleys, the last one being around six years ago, I’d forgotten how accommodating they were, feeling totally sheltered from the elements behind the bike’s broad and tall fairing. The non-adjustable screen sat at the perfect height, just below the eye-line, meaning my view of the surroundings was unadulterated and allowed for a thorough grasp of the sights we were seeing. On both sides of the carriageway stood impressive shells of mansions under construction, all at different stages of build, but all unoccupied. Dubai is overwhelmed by ex-pats, accounting for around two-thirds of the population, for which these palatial homes were undoubtedly being produced, massively overshadowing the much humbler and smaller traditional habitats scattered around; mostly single-storey and flat-roofed. Billboards littered the verges, mainly aimed at Caucasians with English being their core choice of language, while British-looking road signs also used the UK’s mother tongue, simultaneously written in Arabic.
Great roads
In the distance was the Hajar mountain range, lofting above the relatively flat desert landscape we were travelling. Having switched to smaller roads the ride started
to become much more interesting with the introduction of a few potholes giving the Glide’s absorbent suspension something to do. The immediate scenery became much more arid, apart from the odd hardy tree still defiantly sprung-up from the most random of places, often being set high on the rocky hills which now lined our route. This was the road to Jebel Jais on which the views took on many different forms before the eventual run up to the mountain’s summit. The road was unlike any I’d ridden before and the view from the top reiterated that uniqueness. It was impossible to guess how far the eye could see, but it was undoubtedly distant, with a grand view of the snake-like road which had led us up to the lunchtime stop.
Making things better
It was here we got our first taste of local cuisine, consisting of moreish sweet pastries and savoury bread dishes with many different meat and cheese toppings. It proved a memorable meal in the most memorable of locations. It also turned out to be a great time and place to do a little fettling to the bike. Equipped with Interphone F5 intercoms, Anna and I were in constant conversation, most of which revolved around her sliding off the bike’s backwards angled pillion seat. Who knows why it was designed like that, but the Harley support team wasted no time in fitting a back support for her, quickly and easily bolting it to the original framework of the machine. The run back down the mountain proved even more pleasurable than the climb, especially for Anna who no longer had to rely on her abs to keep herself from being jettisoned; her hands busy taking shots with the camera. By this point in the journey I’d become well attuned to the Harley which wasn’t the wieldy animal I’d expected it to be. If you took your time and stayed off the throttle, gear changes were surprisingly smooth, as was the power delivery, and the simple array of controls felt intuitive to the touch; even the side specific indicators.
Local life
Our day’s route was to lead us up into Oman’s northern province, but not until we’d checked out a few more traditional settlements along the way. Gone was the promise of grand shopping arcades and glass skyscrapers; this was the other side of the UAE we were witnessing and it was fascinating. So much so that Anna shuffled around relentlessly on the Glide’s spacious back seat to photograph the abundance of culture which was appearing before us. From fruit sellers using their car boots as stalls, to goats standing on hind legs to reach the greenest of leaves from the road’s central reservation tree line, so much drew our attention, including the exotic aroma of food dishes from the local markets and street side shops. Houses were much simpler and typically run down, potholes littered the roads, while locals drove tatty vehicles or pushed barrows with produce or equipment inside. There was so much to take on board, including enormous and crammed road signs which began to highlight our closeness to the border.
Time to switch
The final few miles of the country were spent passing enormous cement factories, military barracks and oil refineries, with no signs of civilisation whatsoever. With all cameras stashed away from the authorities, the Omani border crossing was a convoluted procedure; everyone having to dismount, show evidence of insurance, bike ownership and passport documentation. The process of leaving the UAE took around 30 minutes and the timing was around the same to enter into Omani region of Musandam, which is separated from the mainland of Oman by hundreds of miles. Due north lies Iran, shouldered by Pakistan and Afghanistan, the peninsular being a strategic gateway to the Persian Gulf. While sat in a holding area on the Omani side it was hard not to notice the knife-wielding TV host, instantly making you realise how far you were from home, irrelevant of how good one’s geography was. Nations switched, Anna and I also took the opportunity to trade our Glide for an Ultra Limited. Sporting the same engine and frame as the bike we’d just come from, the addition of a larger fairing and an enormous topbox/pillion seat combo meant the bike took on an extra 40kg in weight, which was definitely notable when trying to manhandle it around. As was the case with the Glide, the weight soon vanished once we were rolling, proving equally as agile, albeit offering better ground clearance owing to taller profile tyres. We were in the lap of luxury as we cruised farther north with the Gulf glistening a deep blue on our meandering coastal path; the Harley way of life was becoming increasingly and obsessively appealing.
“What started off as small dustings of sand grew rapidly into vast and rolling dunes...”
A taste of culture
We rolled into the coastal town of Khasab as the sun began to set, reflecting a magnificently warm glow off of the ocean. Luckily for us our hotel was on the water’s edge with an inland channel directly below our room’s balcony. Fisherman appeared every few minutes powering their way back to port on a variety of craft, each as eager as the next to return in time for the evening’s fifth and final prayers for the day. Up until this point we’d been devoid of the experience, but there was no escaping the calls to mosque which blasted out across the night’s still air from a multitude of deafening tannoys. Religion is everywhere in the Middle East, possessing a much greater influence on its residents than is typical in the UK. Just prior to dinner, a local to the area explained to us how you could be physically beaten in some Muslim nations, by special prayer police, if you were found not praying at the stipulated times. It gave food for thought as we indulged in perhaps the tastiest traditional dishes to have ever touched our tongues. It’s rational to assume Middle Eastern food is all about extreme spices and burning hot curries, but that’s not the case.
Up before the crack of dawn
Prayers echoed through our hotel room waking us promptly at 5am Oman time; 1am back in the UK. The day had started and promised more spectacles on our long journey south, ticking off around 400 kilometres. The Ultra’s top-box alone proved more than capable of consuming all the luggage we possessed, leaving the wide and deep side panniers empty as we made our way back along the route we’d travelled up on. The Khasab coastal road had lost none of its beauty overnight, still as attractively winding as the day before and equally lacking in other road users. The first stop didn’t come until we’d reached the border. In contrast to arriving, exiting Oman proved effortless. UAE officials had other ideas, however. Having reached the town of Khat we began to take on an easterly direction, heading once more up into the mountains en route to Al Dibba Al Fujairah on the eastern coast. The roads got quieter and the ride much more interesting, passing through a string of small settlements, complete with the obligatory multitude of road bumps that appeared in overwhelming numbers at every road junction, pedestrianised area or place where the local authorities generally considered a good spot to dispose of concrete which they’d obviously over ordered. The Ultra dealt with the two foot wide mounds with relative ease, being easy to haul up, using the linked brakes, and pleasant to power away from, thanks to the motor’s abundance of torque.
Learning to ride
The rocky route never lost its appeal, climbing several thousand feet high before dropping back down on the run in to Ghub. It was here that we switched roads and directions, taking the southerly Dibba-Masafi Road. The landscape was once more flat and arid, livened up by the occasional settlement. The vastness of the region beggars belief, especially so when you consider how much of it is devoid of anything. It’s not farmed; it’s not built on; it’s not home to anyone. There was a real air of remoteness to the route, which was leading us towards a waterless bowl of a dam, near Fili, where we stopped for lunch. That’s also where Dutch policeman and motorcycle gymkhana specialist Theo showed us how to get the best from a Harley. Tackling a tight packed sequence of cones in a car park, the 64-year-old made light work of the riding challenge on a heavyweight Road King. It was amazing to watch, especially so when he hovered the bike statically with his feet up, by being simultaneously on the power and rear brake. Trading the bulky tourer for a comparably featherweight Street 750, my skills got put to test around the course, with the biggest challenge being remembering which way round to go. Theo ran the course with me, shouting advice with the main guidance being to look where you wanted to place the bike. The Street turned out to be a great riding companion, light in weight and with easily manageable controls. We completed the course without the sacrifice of too many cones.
Into the desert
We rejoined the ride on a Road King. As had been the case with the Ultra, the engine and frame mimicked the Street Glide’s, but once again the bike felt massively different to the ones which we’d discovered before it. The view of the cockpit was much simpler, missing not only the infotainment system we’d become attached too, but also the dash inset quad of clocks which had told us our speed, revs, fuel level and battery voltage. The upside of this was a much clearer view of the road from behind its enormous and protective Perspex windshield. The speedo is located on the tank and other important information was there, but it was much harder to find, being highlighted on a small dot-matrix-type display. Trip and gear selections are also there, assuming you had sufficient time to stare away from the road to find them. Thankfully, the road we were now travelling was dead straight, so there was plenty of time to look at anywhere but the bike. The sights were as interesting as they’d been throughout the trip, becoming exceptional when we found ourselves venturing into the desert. What started off as small dustings of sand grew rapidly into vast and rolling dunes, coloured a blend of mauve and orange. The heat seemed to intensify and the introduction of artificial roadside workers, not too dissimilar to fancylooking scarecrows, made you realise this was no place to get stuck. There was no shade from the 35-degree heat, which reaches in excess of 50 degrees in the summer.
Good vibrations
Surrounded on all sides by 40-foot dunes, the group pulled over for a rest. Anna had been mentioning the bike’s strong vibrations while we rode, but it was only when we stopped and I stood on my feet that I appreciated her concerns. My whole body was buzzing, with my feet and hands tingling excessively. The King’s character is rawer than the Ultra or Glide, and for whatever reason it also proved more vibey, too. By the time we’d run up and down a few dunes, our sensations had returned to normal and our thoughts were left to focus purely on the bewildering magnificence of the landscape. As far as the eye could see, the dunes stretched out relentlessly, proving surprisingly hard to walk on because they are so soft.
Heading for home
Even when the dunes were long gone, sand was still very much a feature on our route with up to a metre of a road’s outer edges being buried under the stuff. Hitting it would have made for sketchy moments in a car, let alone on a bike, so the protocol was to ride more centrally. Our French tour guide Claude, and one-time chef to the Jordanian royal family, had mentioned previously that nothing could compare to the slickness of a wet desert road and our group was glad not to be experiencing it. He’d joked that we’d have been better off on a camel than a bike in such conditions; his route eventually leading us out past a camel market and racecourse. Anna didn’t like the idea of being traded for some transport, so we carried on two-up on the King, which was starting to grow on us. It wasn’t as comfy as the Ultra, feeling slightly more cramped and less refined, but it handled just as well and felt cooler against the heat, which was still stifling even as the sun began to set.
The end of the road
The last few miles to our desert hotel were saddening. Dubai and Oman had delivered on so many fronts, witnessing views which would have been unimaginable just a few days before and experiences which were perceived the reserve of adventurers, not us. Our eyes had been opened and that extended to the bikes we’d ridden, also. Harleys had never been that obvious choice of bike in the past, but this made me realise their sheer brilliance. They had been the perfect tool to see the world on, effortlessly carrying us two-up in complete comfort with all the luxuries we could have wished for. They had handled. They had stopped. They had blown away all the clichés spouted by the unknowing.