Pt 1

The Warhorse Story

Adam Riemann runs an adventure bike YouTube channel I’ve been following for years. What sets him apart isn’t just where he rides — it’s how he tells the story. His ability to blend cinematography, raw riding footage and honest narration is brilliant.

With a background as a KTM factory rider, motorcycle magazine journalist and professional videographer, he’s carved out a unique space in the adventure bike world. His travels span Australia and the globe, but one particular journey would strike a chord with riders everywhere.

Several years ago, while in Norway, Adam bought a 1992 Honda XRV750 Africa Twin. He prepped the bike for what would become a 12-day, three-country, 6,000km ride to the Arctic Circle.

That trip marked the beginning of the Warhorse journey — a five-part epic ride to the top of the world.

People didn’t just enjoy the series — they connected with it. More importantly, they connected with the Warhorse itself. The old Africa Twin wasn’t just a motorcycle anymore; it became a character in its own right.

It could have ended there.
But it didn’t.

Adam shipped the bike home to Australia, and the Warhorse story continued. More adventures followed. More videos were released. And in the comments section, something interesting started happening — riders began sharing stories of their own Warhorses.

Adam saw the opportunity to bring this growing community together.
The first Warhorse Muster was set for September 2024.
And just like that, what began as a ride to the Arctic Circle had grown into something much bigger.

Unfortunately, I’d already committed to something else and was pretty gutted I couldn’t make it.
I remember saying to my wife, “If he runs it again in 2025, I’m in.”

When the videos from the Muster started dropping, it looked like everything I’d hoped it would be — low-key, genuine, and built around the kind of people who just love riding. No ego. No hype. Just Warhorses and the riders who keep them alive.
Watching from afar only reinforced what I’d already decided.
If it happened again, I wouldn’t be missing it.

Plans, prep and getting there

A few months later, the opportunity came.
I put my name on the list, handed over the coin, and waited.

Eventually, the dates and location were released. The details had been kept fairly quiet — understandable, given the event was being held on private property.
Leave booked.
Time to get the bike sorted.
Game on.

“Get the bike sorted.” It sounds so simple when you say it like that.
The reality? Not quite.
The poor old GS had about 80,000km on the clock, and the timing chain wasn’t sounding too flash. Better deal with that. And if you’re in there, might as well replace the oil pump gears. Valve clearances? Do them too. Clutch plates were looking tired — change those. The stator had seen better days, so in went a new one (yeah… that one came back to bite me).
Then there were tyres. Something that would go the distance but still handle whatever the Muster threw at us. After far too much ruminating, I settled on a set of Motoz Tractionator tyres, a Dualventure up front and a Rallz on the rear.
Four weeks later, the bike was finally ready.

Time for a quick test ride.

Friday arvo, bikes loaded on the trailer and we’re rolling out the gate in the mighty Triton, pointed towards Tocumwal.

We’d put our names down as volunteers for the Tocumwal Airshow, and that was first on the agenda for the weekend. Before Warhorses and red dirt, there were propellers and Warbirds n things.
We caught up with a few familiar faces, did our bit on the volunteer crew, and managed to carve out time to watch some seriously cool aircraft tearing up the sky. Warbirds, aerobatics, the lot.
That’s a story for another day though.

A couple photos

Monday morning rolls around and at 0530 we’re easing out of Tocumwal, pointed west for Kimba — some 1,100km away.
No stress. Just an easy day’s drive.

Thirteen hours later, we’re pulling into my sister-in-law’s driveway after a largely uneventful run across the country. Long stretches of highway, fuel stops, podcasts, and that steady hum of kilometres ticking by.
Time to say hello, unload the bike, crack a beer, and call it a day.

Tomorrow it’s time to ride.