The Nerds Adventure Rally: Living with the Zero DSR/X off-road

And it's true. When I have a new bike to test, I really do ride them. My personal German alloy mistresses become quite cross with me, as they are utterly ignored — not so much as a single compression stroke — until the new bike is returned.

I am a four-season rider. Motorcycles are my primary transportation and my primary recreation. I ride for business travel, for all of life's errands, and for the pure joy of it, and lately I've been having an increasingly great deal of fun riding off pavement in my rural corner of Maryland.

The DSR/X is "Purpose-built for pure adventure," according to the brochure. But its off-road credentials weren't immediately obvious back when Wade delivered it to my driveway for testing. This DSR/X had alloy wheels carrying street-biased Pirelli Scorpion Trail II tires. It did have more suspension travel than other Zero models but the stout plastic combo chin fairing and bash plate isn't a real bash plate. I mean, it's plastic.

Over the thousand miles I rode the DSR/X, I put it through all the tests a versatile adventure bike should be expected to handle. I did a "beer run" to a favored microbrewery that's fortuitously located 32 curvy backroad miles from home. I took it on errands ranging from local runs to a trip through suburban Virginia that probably resembles many people's commutes. I did an interstate run for a business appointment that involved charging at a public charger. You can read my unabridged, in-depth report on how the DSR/X performed (spoiler: well) at all these tasks by switching over to my personal website, Rolling Physics Problem.

The original pitch to Zero for this test, however, had been to take their new adventure bike out on the Mid Atlantic Backcountry Discovery Route, which passes within eight miles of my home. Looking at the not-so-ADV-like parts on the DSR/X, I had doubts. I kept hearing the words of Frank Zappa ringing in my head: "Is that a real poncho or a Sears poncho?" Was the DSR/X a real adventure bike or just a street motorcycle tarted up with some styling? The MABDR would make it all clear.

An MABDR plan comes together

The weekend forecast called for bright sunshine and daytime highs in the low 70s. I have two friends who had been asking about an off-road riding weekend, so after asking Sweet Doris from Baltimore if she was game to take Moby The Camper Van back to the woods again ("Is that even a question?"), I reached out to Triumph Paul and my buddy Justin to see if they were available. Oddly, both instantly replied that their wives were booked for non-mate-including activities that weekend. The stars seemed to be aligning.

The outline of the plan was simple: We'd get a campsite in Pennsylvania's Caledonia State Park. Moby The Camper Van would provide kitchen and cooler facilities for all and sleeping accommodations for Sweet D and me, and the site would have enough room for tents for Justin and Paul. Caledonia — which is about 50 miles north of my home — sits directly on the MABDR, in the dead middle of the Michaux State Forest, which has several hundred miles of unpaved roads and more challenging trails in mostly undeveloped wilderness. Sweet Doris from Baltimore had given me a Purple Lizard unpaved route map and a Butler MABDR map as Christmas gifts, and it looked like they were finally going to get to come out of the tank bag to play.

Sweet Doris and Moby got a head start of more than 10 minutes while I loaded the DSR/X's "frunk" storage space and buckled up my new-from-RevZilla Alpinestars Tech 7 Enduro Drystar boots. After battling through Friday evening traffic around Frederick, Maryland, I erased the time gap and we rolled into Caledonia at the same time. Props to the Pennsylvania Department of Conservation and Natural Resources (DCNR). Every bit of infrastructure had just been 100% renovated. The whole facility was brand spanking new and looked beautiful. The public day use area at the bottom of the mountain even had free electric vehicle charging stations.

Closer to Moby's camp site, I took a little exploratory walk around the brand-new bathhouse. All four corners of the building had two outdoor electrical boxes. A lot of the plugs were already occupied by a mixture of smartphones and battery bank chargers.

A word of explanation here. Zero's Cypher 3 operating system has a charging routine designed to protect the 17.3 kWh battery's long-term health. Under normal circumstances, the charger limits the actual state of charge to 90%. The rider display indicates that the battery is at 100% when it effectively is only charged to 90%. You can get around that, however, by using the "Extended Range Charging" setting, which allows the battery to charge fully and this is displayed at a state of charge of 110%. In the immortal words of Nigel Tufnel in Spinal Tap, "these go to 11."

I much preferred charging the bike 60 feet away to hiking up the mountain from the public chargers in enduro boots, so I rode the DSR/X around behind the bathhouse, set the bike to Extended Range changing, and plugged in the charger brick. I had more than enough time before morning to get fully charged.

While making a campfire, I heard the unmistakable sound (to me, anyway!) of an 800 cc Rotax twin, the engine in older BMW F 800 GSs. A gentleman in a high-viz enduro jacket, his bike's cases displaying BMW MOA stickers, rolled up to a nearby camp site. I walked over and introduced myself — our new neighbor was Anatoly — and later on, when he'd set up his tent and I had a fire, we chatted a while. He mentioned that he "used to race motocross" and asked if he could join our group ride. I agreed. Hopefully this would be a case of the more the merrier. I've seen that go the other way, but I was feeling lucky.

In the morning, I was nursing a cup of coffee when I first heard "The Pig" off in the distance climbing the grade up the mountain. "The Pig" is Triumph Paul's low-investment introduction to adventure riding. After the better part of a decade on Heritage Bonneville twins and a few more on a very muscular 1200 Tiger, Paul discovered the unalloyed joy of a Gen1 Kawasaki KLR650, a simple off-road big single that one doesn't care about hurting and probably couldn't if one tried to, anyway. Paul barely had his helmet off, and his hand pumping in mine, before I heard the sound of another, higher pitched single thrashing up the same long grade. This would be Justin, a rare case of someone well worth keeping around when the job where you'd met him maybe wasn't. Justin is cerebral, technically astute, analytical. He was riding a fairly recent Honda CRF250L sporting a fresh set of Shinko 705s. Arguably, he was the only one of the four of us who had selected the correct tool for the job at hand.

Looking at the four motorcycles arrayed across the front of our campsite, I couldn't help but think that serendipity had provided the type of perfect assortment of off-road-capable motorcycles that the motorcycle magazine editors of old used to lose sleep over assembling for comparison tests. We had a lightweight single-cylinder dual-sport, a tractor of a large-displacement dual-sport, a middleweight twin-cylinder adventure bike, and a heavyweight electric. Intended or not, the off-road comparo was officially on.

The Nerds Adventure Rally

Looking over the Zero, Anatoly was incredulous. "You're going to take... this," sweeping his arm toward the DSR/X, "up there, riding on those," he said, gesturing toward the mountain and the Scorpion Trail tires. He seemed put out by the very notion.

"Yup," I replied. "I think you'll be surprised."

Silently, I hoped I wouldn't be surprised.

Justin, as he tends to, cut to the chase.

"So what's the plan?"

I pulled my off-road maps out of the frunk, and opened the Michaud one on the picnic table. "I figured we'd follow this loop," I said, as I ran my finger around a route that ringed most of the northern section of the park.

"So, every time we get to an intersection, you're going to… look at a map?"

What seemed reasonable to me clearly wasn't being universally adopted.

This would be good time to mention I'd been jokingly referring to this informal gather as The Nerds Adventure Rally. I was about to find how much truth lived in that humor. Folks produced their phones and starting thumbing this way and that.

Paul produced an app that seemed to have track files that roughly lined up with what "Analog Greg" had just described.

"I've never used this before, so I don't knowwwwww… I guess you just follow the arrow."

"Congrats. You're the leader. Let's go."

Triumph Paul pushed the yellow button on his mapping app, dropped his KLR down into first gear, and led the four of us on a merry chase down the steep winding road that leads off the mountain and out of the campground. Since the Zero makes almost no noise, I had the pleasurable experience of hearing all these different engine types trying to sing together.

I was relieved to see that all four riders in our party were instantly displaying good group roadcraft. Everyone was leaving good buffers and exercising throttle discipline, so the group was moving safely as a unit. This is always a concern when you've assembled a new group of riders. I'd ridden with Triumph Paul only a time or two. I knew Justin well but had never ridden with him. And Anatoly, well, I'd found him beside the road, so that was clearly not a known quality.

After half a mile of Pennsylvania Route 233, a beautiful, old paved road with green shafts of sunlight occasionally breaking through the overhanging trees, Paul's turn signal came on and he made a left into a hole in the roadside trees. There wasn't any real sign of a formal intersection there. Just chalky crushed stone, a steep hill, and a whole bunch of tracks left by knobby tires that had been there before.

I followed Paul in riding standing up, the soles of the Tech 7s locked in on the DSR/X's metal, enduro-style footpegs. With my weight over the front wheel, the Zero was locked in, too, although the local crushed stone was a little more slippery and a tad more slidy than my Maryland limestone. Both fork and shock — whose settings I'd never even touched — were just sucking up whatever the surface of the day proved to be. I dialed in some power and climbed the grade like a goat with attitude. The bike just kept making it seem too easy.

At the top of the grade, Cap'n Paul signaled right, and we were immediately riding in deep woods. The dual-track surface was as much soil and some muddy patches as it was stone. Predictably enough, the muddy patches would prove to be my nemesis for this day. The Scorpion Trails were consistently writing bad checks in them. After a very few self-soiling moments, I had a revelation and a strategy — if traction at both ends evaporated simultaneously, don't do anything quickly or rashly and without forethought, and patiently wait for the evaporated stuff to reconstitute itself and return to the scene.

That was the revelation.

The strategy, though, was to process the terrain far enough ahead of the bike so I could steer around the muddy bits altogether.

With the revelation and the strategy internalized, I had a much more relaxing ride.

After a brief dogleg on and off of pavement, our group turned onto Ridge Road. As it grew narrower and climbed past camp sites and cabins in the woods, the surface and the surrounding landscape became more rocky. This forest track was the toughest technical stuff I'd ridden the DSR/X on yet, but nothing touched down, the front end did exactly what I asked, and the utter precision of the Zero's power delivery allowed me to pick my line and put the bike exactly where I wanted it. There were some pretty big stones in this track, but for the most part I didn't hit them, and when I did, the chassis just sucked them up. Justin's CRF, with its low weight and long-travel suspension, was having the easiest time of it up here, but this 545-pound electric motorcycle was still in the frame with Honda's dual-sport. Nobody in this group was having to sit around wait on anybody.

I was beginning to think the DSR/X was a real poncho.

After just under 50 miles of trail, we looped back to the campground for lunch, hydration, and an afternoon strategy. Anatoly, who had consistently demonstrated that his motocross racing days were not that long ago, had to be back home, so he loaded his camping gear on his bike and gave us a wave as he motored off.

I checked the Zero's state of charge and still had more than 80% charge showing. Clearly, when operated at trail riding speeds, as opposed to highway speeds, Zero's stated spec of close to 180 miles didn't seem in any way out of the hunt.

Sweet Doris from Baltimore made everybody a sandwich, and, impervious to ridicule, I pulled my Purple Lizard Michaud off-roap map back out of the DSR/X's frunk. Everyone was still enthusiastic and fresh, so after lunch we headed south, instead of north. After a few closed gates, we picked up unpaved Newman Road. I haven't run into an unpaved road of this type before. Newman is wide enough for two large trucks and has a maintained, graded gravel surface. If they let adventure riders roost on golf courses — they don't, if you were wondering — it might be something like this. A manicured riding surface. Coming out of one of Newman's wide, sweeping corners, I called up the most enthusiastic power level I'd use the entire day. On this surface, the DSR/X went absolutely rock solid at 60 mph, suspension and chassis working perfectly. It was calm and planted.

At the end, we backtracked to hit an interesting trail. The surface changed frequently — some sections were gravel, some dirt, and some exposed stone. Sightlines were short, with frequent short climbs and matching descents. It was tighter, technical stuff, where too much acceleration could really mess with your setup for the next corner or three. The DSR/X made it all complete child's play. No matter what my velocity, I had instant access to as much torque or motor regen as needed. The machine felt completely planted and any anxiety I'd had about this motorcycle's capabilities off pavement had all but disappeared. The control that the Zero gave me — less to manage and faster response — made me look like a better off-road rider than I really am.

Choosing another road, we found a two-track gravel surface. Climbing one long grade, I came up behind a line of gravel pedal cyclists. I moved over into the opposite wheel track, dropped some speed, and channeled Schwinn-riding Greg — Sweet Doris and I spend lots of time on the bicycle rail trails in the region — and clearly said, "Coming by on your left," the standard bicyclist's courtesy. As I drew even with the rider at the back of the column, he turned his head to look at me.

His expression was one of the high points of a very good day.

Expectation: Another Lycra-clad he-man bicyclist, buff enough to be passing him, who is already pretty fast.

Reality: Aerostich-clad Power Ranger lookalike astride a large motorcycle making absolutely no noise.

You've seen 1930s vintage cartoons where the surprised character's eyes get to be the size of dinner plates, and their jaw literally hits the ground. Aaaa-OOOOO-gah. It was kinda like that.

Motorcycling can fill one's life with vivid memories.

We rolled through sunlit meadows until we reached pavement, and then a few twisties later we were back in the campground. There was nothing on our three faces but big smiles. It felt like the first one to say something would be the loser. After a ride like that, there is really nothing one can say.

Triumph Paul, it seemed, had no one at home to look after his dog who is, amusingly in this context, named Zero. Zero — an absolutely stone enormous and utter prince of a dog — is not the sort of dog I'd want to leave feeling lonesome and put-upon for very long. A separate development at home meant Justin had to leave, another single receding in the distance. However, the president of our Camping Club recently bought a home only six or so miles east of Caledonia. Joe, bearing growlers from a local joint called The Thirsty Farmer, joined us at the campground and enjoyed the steaks cooked over the fire that my riding buds missed out on.

It's really hard to imagine a better riding day.

Onto the BDR, bringing it home

The next morning, with the sun climbing in a clear blue sky and the temperature rising, I studied my MABDR map. The MABDR connects Caledonia State Park to my part of Frederick County Maryland. It might only be a little more than half of one section, but I was going to take the BDR home. It would be a quiet, contemplative ride in the woods — absolutely no need to hurry, or be concerned about inconveniencing the group by stopping for pictures, or to talk to a man about a horse.

Better still, no one would give me grief if I wanted to look at a map.

You can also read about that part of the ride at Rolling Physics Problem. But what about the DSR/X?

A 545-pound motorcycle designed to be operated off pavement enters the fray with about 200 things working against it. With that in mind, I didn't really expect much when I took the DSR/X past the end of the macadam. Which is why it was such an overwhelmingly pleasant experience to have been so resoundingly wrong.

I have written before about how Bosch's Motorcycle Stability Control can react in about 50 milliseconds on an electric Zero, compared to about 600 milliseconds on a four-stroke, internal-combustion motorcycle. Zero seems to have wed that technology with world-class chassis and suspension engineering, energy storage, and propulsion. The result is a genuinely excellent motorcycle. Not an excellent electric motorcycle. Just an excellent motorcycle.

Most folks bring bias to how they look at machines like this. The fact is, Zero's DSR/X just works better than its petroleum-burning counterparts. The availability of maximum torque at every point in the motor's rpm range, combined with the new off-road mode extensions to Bosch's Motorcycle Stability Control (MSC), make the DSR/X both easier and safer to operate in both off-road and on-road contexts.

The DSX/R may be the most precise motorcycle to operate I've ever ridden.

I am not a gifted off-road rider. The DSR/X, though, gives me the confidence to fully enjoy riding out in the woods because the Zero's software makes controlling the motorcycle in low-traction conditions easier to master.

"But Greg," you're no doubt yelling at your screen, "You can’t go adventuring on an electric motorcycle! There's no place to charge out there."

Starting with the Backcountry Discovery Routes, the organization and Zero have been doing development and investment work to position chargers at every section break on the BDR routes, at minimum, and many more places along the routes, as well. Pennsylvania and Maryland State parks, for example, have Level 2 chargers that are free. If one goes to the online versions of the BDR Route maps, there's a toggle that activates a layer that displays all of the charging locations, and at least for the Mid Atlantic BDR route, there are literally hundreds of them along the 1,000-mile-plus route.

And that doesn't count the creative plug sourcing sockets like the one I used at the campground bathhouse.

Also consider that riding the DSR/X at trail speeds — figure between 20 and 50 miles per hour — the range of the 17.3 kWh battery pack approaches 200 miles. The average BDR section is just over 100 miles. Of the many electric motorcycles I've ridden, the DSR/X is the first one where I actually stopped fixating on the state of charge indicator and just enjoyed the ride. During the Nerds Adventure Rally, we rode close to 100 miles of trail on Saturday, and the bike returned to camp with roughly 60% of its battery remaining.

I was fully prepared to be underwhelmed by this Zero once it left the pavement. Disappointment was the one emotion I never experienced while riding it.