From Creek Bed to Circuit

Everyone knows Sjaak Lucassen or Nick Sanders. Two madmen who can be found somewhere in a distant desert, struggling along on their Yamaha R1, or braving the freezing cold in places where normally no motorcyclist would ever go. Travelling around the world is a challenge in itself, let alone when you do it on a motorcycle that isn't exactly known for its comfort. I don't have the same ambitions, but I still want to give it a try, in a light version: travelling on a sportsbike. From circuit to circuit. Is there any pleasure to be found in it, or is it pure masochism?

For this experiment, I call KTM about the new 990 RC R, the first modern, road-legal sportsbike from the Austrians since the legendary RC8. The looks of the 990 RC R are almost as striking as those of its predecessor. With some amazement, I pick it up in Gembloux, after which I ride in a straight line across Wallonia towards Beaumont. Via some truly awful national roads, that is. Only after crossing the border into France do I start looking for my first corner.

A Gravel Road and a Lying Frenchman

That first corner comes quickly. So does the gravel. On RouteYou, I forgot to tick the 'avoid unpaved roads' box, and I immediately regret it. Not that it can't be done — after all, there is orange oil flowing through this motorcycle — but I have little desire to get a puncture, especially with suspension that wasn't exactly designed to absorb rough terrain smoothly. I ask a local Frenchman how much longer the road continues. He assures me it's only another 200 metres. I suspect the French use a different metric system, because those 200 metres eventually turn out to be closer to two kilometres. With a nervous heart, I continue through the forest. Not that it isn't beautiful, but ideal it certainly isn't.

"I suspect the French use a different metric system, because those 200 metres eventually turn out to be closer to two kilometres."

The country is bone-dry at the beginning of summer. The farmers have already started harvesting the grain, the air is filled with dust and the bare fields are dotted with hay bales, randomly scattered all the way to the horizon. A dead-straight road cuts through the landscape, with a church tower rising above everything in the distance. This is how I ride from village to village in the northern French border region, on a motorcycle that was actually built to go as fast as possible around a racetrack. A little further on, the route even sends me through a creek. I could turn around, but that would cost too much time. So I take the chance and carefully steer across the slippery stones. Fortunately, the water isn't too deep and I reach the other side without a scratch.

Surrogate Grandma

When the route then sends me onto yet another gravel road through the fields, I've had enough. Before it gets too late, I look for a restaurant. My navigation takes me to a small pizzeria in one of the many villages. Afterwards, with the setting sun straight ahead, I continue towards Marie's chambre d'hôtes in the village of Folembray.

The friendly widow welcomes me into her cosy little house, while her dog and cat greet me each in their own way. After a scorching hot day, I finally take off my motorcycle suit, collapse into a chair in the garden and do absolutely nothing for a while. Just enjoying the peace and slowness that this village seems to radiate so naturally.

The next morning, Marie puts a classic French breakfast on the table. Before I leave, she also warns me about Folembray circuit. Like a concerned surrogate grandmother, she urges me to be especially careful, particularly in the fast corner at the far end of the track.

Folembray: No Briefing, but a Deer

A little later, I arrive at the circuit, where three West Flemish guys have already set up camp with their Legend Cars — compact racing cars, a kind of mini hot rods powered by Yamaha's familiar three-cylinder engine from the MT-09 and R9. Together, we register with Fred, the owner of the circuit. Everything is remarkably relaxed. No briefing, no lengthy list of rules, and just one old car with a 'Paramedic' sticker. We are simply given a sheet with the timetable, although even that later turns out to be open to interpretation.

After a fresh rain shower, I decide to skip the first two sessions. Not because it is impossible to ride, but because this race bike also has to get me safely home afterwards. I'd rather not take that risk. By the third session, the asphalt is completely dry again. I remove the luggage from the KTM and head out onto the circuit. No marshals, no other motorcyclists. I have the track entirely to myself and plenty of time to explore it at my own pace.

That same morning, a deer had collided with one of the Legend Cars. The driver's day was immediately over, and the deer would no longer be hopping around either. The circuit lies in the middle of the forest, and in some places a proper fence is more of a suggestion than a certainty. Plenty of reason, then, to complete my first laps with the necessary caution.

Face to Face with My Childhood Hero

After a few sessions, it is time for the lunch break. I strike up another conversation with Fred, who lives in the old villa that literally stands in the middle of the circuit. Before long, he tells me that there are two KTM RC8s in his garage. What are the odds?

Naturally, I ask if I can have a look at them. A little later, he rolls both motorcycles outside and onto the circuit. As a teenager, I had a poster of the RC8 above my bed. Normally, I'm not easily impressed by famous people or special places, but now it almost feels like I'm standing face to face with a childhood hero. It may sound banal, but the radical lines of the RC8 are so deeply etched into my memory that seeing them in real life brings out more emotion than I expected.

For a brief moment, the thought crosses my mind to ask if I can take it for a lap around the circuit. The temptation is strong, but I don't want to push Fred's generosity. So instead, I put on my leather suit and take a few photos in the middle of the scorching asphalt at thirty degrees. Despite the heat, I could stand here for hours, simply looking at those motorcycles.

In the afternoon, another Aprilia RS 660 appears on the circuit. Its owner is clearly a regular and knows every metre of the asphalt. He gives me a few useful tips, and together we have almost the entire track to ourselves.

It all feels surprisingly informal. More like visiting family who happen to have a racetrack around their house. And yet it is the middle of summer and the height of the holiday season, so I had expected many more people. But precisely because it is so quiet, everyone quickly gets to know each other. It feels as though a group of friends has rented the circuit for a day. The absence of marshals adds to that atmosphere too: everyone takes responsibility for themselves, without everything having to become deadly serious.

On the Way to the Champagne Region

In the late afternoon, I strap the luggage back onto the motorcycle and set course for the Champagne region, where the Ecuyers circuit is located. The local D-roads feel like an extension of the racetrack, with long, flowing corners winding through the rolling landscape. Meanwhile, the evening sun slowly sinks towards the horizon and the vast grain fields gradually give way to the first vineyards that give this region its character.

It's one of those moments when everything seems to come together and you are reminded once again why motorcycling is so much more than simply getting from A to B. The KTM 990 RC R makes maintaining a brisk pace almost effortless. And once again, the old cliché proves to be true: a slightly higher speed takes just enough pressure off the wrists. Pure enjoyment.

A little later, I arrive at my next chambre d'hôtes, where a remarkable group of people my age are staying, all riding different motorcycles. They are all here for the same reason I am: tomorrow's Trackdays trackday at Ecuyers.

Ecuyers: A Belgian Invasion in France

The next morning, we sit down for breakfast early to make sure we arrive at the circuit on time. Once again, it feels as though we are a newly formed group of friends travelling together. We have breakfast around the large table while the French hostess serves us coffee and fresh bread.

The contrast with Folembray could hardly be greater. Here, everything is much more professional and, above all, busier. I count almost a hundred motorcycles, divided into four groups according to experience level. The organisation is tight: every participant receives a race number and a transponder for lap times, there is an extensive briefing, photographers are walking around and marshals are stationed around the circuit, ready to wave flags in the event of an incident.

There is plenty to see in the paddock as well. The car park is packed with professional equipment, but it is the Belgian presence that stands out most. The circuit may be in France, but the Belgian organisation Trackdays has completely taken over the place. It almost feels like a Belgian invasion.

There is plenty to see in the paddock as well. The car park is packed with professional equipment, but it is the Belgian presence that stands out most. The circuit may be in France, but the Belgian organisation Trackdays has completely taken over the place. It almost feels like a Belgian invasion.

The contrast between the two circuits themselves could hardly be greater either. At Folembray, the corners followed one another relatively simply, whereas Ecuyers is a succession of short corners, chicanes and long sweepers, with only one real straight. This circuit demands constant concentration. After every session, I climb off the motorcycle puffing for breath, but at the same time I'm thoroughly enjoying myself.

The Body as the Limiting Factor

After two intensive days on a sportsbike, however, I slowly begin to pay the price. My knees are protesting more than yesterday and the pressure on my wrists is becoming increasingly noticeable. The KTM RC 990 R is, in my opinion, among the absolute best in its segment, but at this point I realise that my body and concentration are the limiting factors, not the motorcycle.

There is another thought that keeps nagging at me. While most of the participants simply load their motorcycles onto a trailer afterwards, I still have to ride mine home for almost four hours. That realisation remains somewhere in the back of my mind throughout the day. One stupid mistake would be enough to have to call someone in Belgium and ask them to come and pick me up. For that reason alone, I deliberately keep a little extra margin.

The Long Way Home

After lunch, I decide to ride one final session. Then I set course for Belgium, although I first make a small detour through the Champagne region. In the warm summer light, the landscape looks almost Mediterranean — hard to believe that I'm barely two hours from the Belgian border. Along the way, the names of famous champagne houses begin to appear. For a moment, I consider taking a few bottles home, but luggage space on a sportsbike is limited. I'm already happy that I've managed to bring everything I really needed.

Via Sedan, which is new territory for me, I ride towards Belgium. I expect the most beautiful scenery to be behind me by now, but the N89 and N899 prove otherwise. They take me along a fast but above all beautiful route through the south of the country towards the E411. Only at dusk do I join the motorway for the final two hours home.

I have to admit: by then, it is mostly suffering. The affection I've developed for the 990 RC R over the past three days has to make way for fatigue. Three intense days in the saddle with two trackdays inevitably take their toll. At home, I straighten my back again, take a relieving shower and almost immediately disappear into bed.

Travelling and riding on track with a sportsbike? It can be done. Just like crossing a creek with one, apparently. But would I do it again anytime soon? Probably not. That doesn't change the fact that it was an adventure I'll remember for a long time.