Right around New Year’s, an email lands in my inbox from Bart & Jess at MotoMentals with the message: “Reet D’Opale 2026 registrations are open!”
Not even 15 seconds later, I get a WhatsApp message from my offroad partner-in-crime Koeno:
“Hey, did you see it yet? I already signed up! Come on, hurry up, you HAVE to join!”
Without thinking — and under mild peer pressure — I fill in all my details, send some money over to MotoMentals, and immediately receive confirmation of my registration.
My biggest mistake? Forgetting to put the event in my calendar.
After the annual ski trip with the whole family, I get a message from Koen:
“So, how are we meeting up next weekend?”
“Next weekend? What’s happening next weekend?” I reply.
Turns out the offroad ride is already next weekend.
I go pale for a second as I realize I haven’t ridden offroad a single meter since Iceland last year, and the front forks on the Ténéré still aren’t repaired.
My God… how are we going to pull this off?
Luckily, I can choose from several bikes, but none of them are actually ready for an offroad trip. The easiest solution is taking the KTM 790 Adventure R and swapping the street tires for proper offroad rubber.
But taking an untested bike straight into a three-day trip comes with a lot of uncertainty. Let alone a demanding offroad weekend.
No time to overthink it — action mode activated.
From my hotel bed, I immediately send an email to Glenn from Allroadmoto, and we arrange to mount new tires on Thursday. One day before departure.
Cutting it close.
Back home, after throwing a load of laundry into the washing machine, I roll the KTM out of the shed and hook it up to the battery charger.
Just to be safe. (Foreshadowing!)
I put the KTM on the lift and remove the wheels.
Brake pads? Fine.
Fork seals? No leaks.
So no extra parts needed.
Still, it slowly starts sinking in that I don’t actually have any tools or spare hardware for this bike. Everything is different compared to my Ténéré.
But hey… it’s a KTM. What could possibly go wrong? (nobody owning a KTM ever said)
The wheels are ready just in time when Koen rings the doorbell. We load the KTM onto the trailer and head to his place.
During the drive, we agree to leave for the Opal Coast tomorrow right after our final meetings.
And the weather forecast looks fantastic: sunshine and warm temperatures instead of the usual rain from previous years.
Koen’s KTM 990 Adventure stands next to mine, both looking ready for battle.
As planned, I’m already in the car heading to Koen’s place. One final check to make sure everything is strapped down properly, a quick wave to the crying children and wife — Koen’s, not mine — and we’re off.
Like always, we joke around during the drive, reminiscing about previous adventures, when suddenly it hits me:
I still haven’t ridden that KTM offroad.
I start sweating lightly in the passenger seat and ask Koen if maybe we should just skip it this year.
He keeps driving straight toward the destination and calls me a pussy while delivering one of his trademark lines:
“Throttle junkies crash. Cruisers are losers.”
We arrive at the campsite, pitch the tent, and double-check whether we packed everything.
Of course we did.
Just like every other year: way too much stuff.
“It’ll be fine.”
Yeah… sure, I think to myself.
After a short and freezing night, we quickly pack up the tent, deflate the air mattresses, and drive a few kilometers toward the starting location.
And yep — everyone’s back again.
MotoMentals traded in their little black truck for a full-size trailer this year.
We collect the goodie bags, hand over our documents, unload the bikes from the trailer, and that’s when the nerves really start kicking in.
“Everybody over here for the briefing!” Bart shouts.
In his signature West Flemish accent, he welcomes everyone, shares the GPX routes, and leaves us with some golden advice:
“Just give it some throttle and go!”
Clearly, he has no idea I’ve never ridden a KTM offroad before and that I’m definitely no offroad hero.
I can’t spot a toilet anywhere nearby to deal with the emergency brewing in my intestines when Koen shoves my helmet into my hands.
“We got this. Come on!”
Without thinking, I put the helmet on, throw a leg over the bike, turn the key, and hit the starter button.
Nothing. Just a tiny click.
No roaring 790cc twin-cylinder engine coming to life.
Only a pathetic ticking sound.
I look at Koen with baby-eyes and his expression says it all.
“Euhm… you’re not getting off that easy. This is classic KTM life. If it won’t start, just push it.”
Before I know it, I’m rolling across the grass at 15 km/h powered entirely by Koen-force, trying to bump-start the KTM in second gear.
No luck.
Thankfully another rider lends us his jump pack, and suddenly the KTM erupts to life — almost offended that I gave up on it so quickly.
A sweating Koen jumps back onto his 990 and leads me onto the first asphalt sections.
Man… I barely remember this bike.
It’s been way too long since I last sat on it.
Not exactly confidence-inspiring before hitting loose terrain.
Might as well try standing up then.
Actually… not bad.
The riding position feels good, and now that the engine has warmed up a bit, the bike feels less grumpy and twitchy.
Then the first gravel section appears.
I want to scream “Nooooo!”, but only a tiny squeak escapes my helmet.
Koen asks over the intercom if something’s wrong.
“Yeah,” I reply.
Meanwhile I’m squeezing both the handlebars and my heart as tightly as possible.
But surprisingly, the KTM dances gracefully across the loose terrain. Stable, controlled, and without any unexpected slides.
The sunshine definitely helps too. The freezing bones from the night before are already warming up nicely.
The offroad riding still feels awkward at first, until I suddenly notice the engine warning light glowing on the dashboard.
Shit.
Now what?
We stop by the side of the trail — engine still running, because who knows if it’ll start again — and a quick Google search confirms the warning light can appear after a low voltage reading.
So we keep riding and hope it disappears on its own.
Fifty kilometers later, the orange glow is still very much alive.
Koen asks what riding mode I’m using.
Right.
This KTM has riding modes.
I’m still in Street mode.
I switch it over to Offroad mode and also adjust the ABS settings.
Barely seconds later, the ABS light starts blinking too.
Euhm… did I somehow mess up mounting the wheels? Is there dirt between the ABS sensor and the ring?
These bikes are literally designed to ride through dirt — why is this thing angry at me?
After a river crossing, we stop for food and drinks.
The KTM starts perfectly afterward, but the dashboard still looks like a Christmas tree.
By now, though, I’m starting to understand the KTM tango.
I slowly pick up the pace, and Koen doesn’t have to wait nearly as long for me anymore.
After another gravel section, we return to public roads.
I see Koen indicating left and do the same.
As I prepare to brake for incoming traffic, I squeeze the front brake lever.
It goes all the way to the handlebar.
All the way.
Wait… the brake lever is on the right side, not the clutch… right?!
Pump, damn it, pump!!
But after four frantic pumps, I still have no front brake.
I stomp on the rear brake like a madman and leave a black rubber stripe stretching for dozens of meters.
I finally come to a stop, relax my clenched butt cheeks, and calmly say over the intercom:
“I don’t have a front brake anymore…”
Koen looks in his mirrors and sees me trembling like a leaf on that KTM.
He immediately turns around to inspect the damage.
I look down and see my left brake caliper dangling beside the front fork, completely shaken loose.
I swallow hard and take my helmet off.
How is this even possible?
Completely loose?!
I’m speechless.
Is this the KTM curse? Was everything going too well?
Thankfully, we can temporarily remount the caliper with the tools Koen always carries under his seat.
Except…
We open the seat.
Nothing.
No tools.
Nada.
Before we can continue, I absolutely need a second caliper bolt.
Trying to be useful, I walk down the road hoping the missing bolt can’t be far away.
After more than a kilometer, Koen calls me.
Another rider had the correct tools and already tightened the remaining bolt. He even zoomed in on photos from our lunch stop at the river crossing…
Turns out the missing bolt was already gone back then.
After a loud string of curses, I walk back to Koen like a defeated dog.
I can only admit that, in my rushed preparation, I probably never tightened those bolts properly.
So the Friday ride goes on hold.
Mission objective: find another bolt.
We stop at a hardware store first to buy the right tools. There we discover that the bolts on the other brake caliper are barely tightened either.
Confirmation that I completely messed up.
Luckily without catastrophic consequences.
Now try explaining in broken school-French that you need an M10 KTM brake caliper bolt with a 1.25 thread pitch…
The shopkeeper apologetically explains those are very specific bolts and not something they stock.
But he gives us another address: an agricultural machinery store about 15 kilometers away.
So once again: bolt back in, ride carefully, remove the caliper, explain ourselves, wave our hands around, and hope for a miracle.
No luck.
Another address.
Another disappointment.
After several failed attempts, desperation starts setting in hard.
If we can’t solve this today, we only have two options left:
Ride 70 kilometers of asphalt to a KTM dealer and destroy our knobby tires.
Or ride 40 kilometers back to the car, load the bike onto the trailer, and head home.
Reet D’Opale 2026 over before it really began.
I feel incredibly guilty because Koen refuses to continue alone.
I try convincing him my mistake shouldn’t ruin his weekend, but honestly… I understand him.
We ride offroad together.
That’s our thing.
Together or not at all.
Our final hope is another motorcycle dealership.
As we enter the roundabout leading toward it, I suddenly spot a Yamaha logo.
My confidence instantly disappears.
There’s no way they’ll have KTM bolts.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Yamaha parts definitely don’t fit KTMs.
Not a single bolt from my Ténéré matches this Austrian diva.
Still, I try to stay positive while walking inside.
The manager looks at me as if I just asked permission to kiss his wife.
Looking for KTM bolts at a Yamaha dealership is basically like ordering Indian curry at a Michelin-star restaurant.
But this guy genuinely wants to help us.
You can immediately tell he has a biker’s heart.
He disappears into the workshop with the bolt, leaving us standing among shiny R7s and the new Ténéré Rally.
Was this a sign I brought the wrong bike?
Could I maybe trade my KTM for a little 125cc dirt bike and continue the ride?
I’m still daydreaming when the manager returns.
My stomach sinks…
Until he suddenly places a bolt into my hand.
“Not exactly the same one, but maybe it’ll work.”
I start mumbling, asking what I owe him.
“Tout va bien, nous vous aiderons.”
I almost collapse right there.
I could kiss this man on the spot, but thankfully realize in time that this probably wouldn’t improve our situation.
So instead, I shake his hand and thank him about twenty times.
Outside, I kneel beside the KTM — not to pray, but to finally mount the caliper with two bolts again.
And unbelievably…
It fits.
My eyes start watering, though I blame the dust from the parking lot.
A quick glance at the clock tells us we’re still 75 kilometers away from the second campsite.
We decide to ride there directly and carefully to preserve the tires.
After warning the organization we might arrive late, we finally roll into camp.
Sadly, just too late for the snacks.
To make up for the whole disaster, I spend the evening supplying Koen with food and beer.
What else can a man do to ease his guilt?
Later that night, after warming up beside the campfire, I collapse into my tent completely exhausted from a chaotic day, fully aware tomorrow starts all over again.
The next morning, I have to admit I actually slept pretty well.
Despite the freezing temperatures — there was literal ice on the tent — and despite the Dutch guys nearby snoring like chainsaws.
At first I blamed Koen, but I should’ve known better.
The MotoMentals crew serves hot eggs with sausage, pastries, bread, and coffee. They promised sunshine too, although it’s taking its sweet time to show up.
After packing up the tents and dragging our luggage toward the support truck in our creaking motocross boots, we listen to the morning briefing.
Because of the dry weather, there are no difficult routes today. Only differences in distance.
One quick look between Koen and me says enough.
We pick the longest route.
Partly to make up for yesterday’s lost kilometers.
We leave early and, thanks to the dry conditions, make excellent progress.
Bart wasn’t lying: technically, the route isn’t difficult.
And slowly but surely, I start trusting the KTM.
Despite our disastrous first day together, we finally begin understanding each other.
I dare change lines without clenching my butt cheeks, and the KTM obediently follows wherever I point it.
Even high grass sections go surprisingly smoothly. Occasionally the front wheel wanders a bit, but it always remains manageable and predictable.
The confidence grows.
Along with the speed.
At every stop, though, I still compulsively check every bolt on the bike.
Just in case.
We arrive early at the second campsite: a beautiful camping spot beside a canal.
Almost ridiculously idyllic.
Since it was a warm day and we arrived early, I decide to quickly grab a shower.
Except “quickly” turns out to be impossible.
The water dribbles from the showerhead like snot from someone with hay fever.
Getting fully wet requires patience and a strange little dance.
Still… it feels amazing afterward.
I sink into a chair and order myself a proper beer.
I earned this one.
That same feeling continues during the barbecue dinner, and later we end the evening around the famous MotoMentals campfire once again.
As we walk back to the tents, the cold hits us immediately.
If we want to sleep warmly tonight, layering up is mandatory again.
That night goes a little less smoothly.
Too many drinks around the campfire force me into a midnight bathroom trip, and afterward I struggle to get warm again inside my sleeping bag.
But Sunday is known as the “cool-down day”: fewer kilometers, but every bit as beautiful.
After breakfast — and after borrowing the jump pack once more to resurrect the KTM — we set course toward the parking lot where the car and trailer are waiting.
Roughly 160 kilometers remain over dusty roads and overgrown fields.
After a particularly challenging grassy section, we stop to catch our breath while snacking on cookies from a local supermarket.
That’s when my eyes drift toward the exhaust.
Something’s missing.
A few minutes later, it finally clicks.
The exhaust heat shield has disappeared.
The piece specifically designed to prevent roasting the rider’s and passenger’s backside.
I already suspected the KTM felt lighter near the end of the trip.
So naturally I perform another complete inspection of the bike.
Luckily, apart from that missing piece, everything else still seems attached.
At the final fuel stop before reaching the finish, Koen demonstrates his flexibility by nearly performing a full split together with his 990 after sliding on spilled diesel.
Thankfully the French don’t understand Flemish, because the amount of swearing coming from inside that helmet was impressive.
And before we realize it, we’re standing beside the Volvo again.
The exact place where this ridiculous adventure began.
We peel ourselves out of our riding gear, shake the dust off, load the bikes back onto the trailer, and fist-bump Jess & Bart before heading home.
Reet D’Opale 2026 can best be described as a bigger and faster edition, with a stressful start and an unforgettable first day.
But one thing became very clear:
The KTM and I definitely grew closer together.
So close, in fact, that there will soon be one less offroad bike in my garage.
And it won’t be the 790 Adventure R.