Becoming Vintage—A Letter from Marisa

Becoming Vintage—A Letter from Marisa

Depending on who you ask, 20 years is when a motorcycle becomes “vintage.” Some insurance companies say 25 and some collectors start the clock at 15, but 20 feels like a pretty solid milestone.

That’s especially true in today’s world, where bike manufacturers would prefer you trade in every two years and keep the throttle of consumerism wide open.

When I realized my 2005 KTM 950 Adventure turned 20 this year, it hit me harder than I expected. Not because I was surprised—I’ve owned it for over half its life—but because of what that age represents. 

In a time when motorcycles are upgraded, upsized, or traded in before the first valve adjustment, keeping a 20-year-old bike feels a little rebellious. 

I've ridden hundreds of bikes over the years, from sleek touring rigs, to cutting-edge adventure machines, wicked fast sport bikes, minimalist scramblers… The list is long. And yet, I always come back to the 950. 

It’s the bike that fits me best. Not just physically (although it does that too), but in a deeper, more personal way. I love the way it handles, the torque that comes on like a freight train, the raw and visceral attitude. No ride modes. No ABS. Just you and the throttle. It’s a machine that demands something of you and gives something back, if it deems you worthy.

The bike is steeped in history, too. In fact, it got its start the same year I did. 

In 1992, two German engineering students combined a pair of KTM LC4 cylinders on a special crankcase and displayed the bike at the IFMA show in France. Enamored by the idea, KTM commissioned the production of a V-twin bike for rally and hard enduro. 

With the help of Fabrizio Meoni, an accomplished racer, they completed the design and testing and set out to race the 2002 Dakar Rally. Meoni and the pre-production KTM 950 won on its debut attempt.

Fabrizio Meoni's KTM 950 rally bike in 2001.

Following the Dakar Rally in this era was quite difficult. The internet wasn’t as widespread, and easy-to-find coverage was nonexistent. I remember patiently waiting for stories to be published in some of my favorite moto mags, eager to discover who won and to see some epic photos from the race. 

By this time, I was riding my own motorcycle and dreaming about what it would be like to be a famous racer when I grew up.

Fast-forward a couple of decades, and I found myself chasing the dust trail of Cyril Despres through the sands of South Africa. Cyril is a Dakar legend who holds five rally wins on KTMs and is tied for overall number of stage wins at a staggering 33. He raced against Meoni and the experimental 950 back in the day, and was one of the racers I followed closely.

After a fast rip through the soft trails on 2023 Norden 901 Expeditions, he pulled up beside me and gave me a fist bump. It was one of those moments where life folds in on itself. Full circle, eh?

Back home, my 950 waited patiently in the garage for my return. While I enjoyed the Norden immensely, I longed for my 950 the entire time. 

This bike has carried me across the country on road trips, through some of the toughest single track Middle Tennessee has to offer, and everything in between. It’s been my teacher, my companion, and, occasionally, my tormentor. 

I’ve had it long enough that it’s baked into who I am as a rider. And while I haven’t ridden it as much in the last couple of years—caught up as I’ve been in the cycle of reviews, press bikes, and rentals—there’s a reason I haven’t let it go.

Every time I ride a new motorcycle, no matter how polished or advanced, I always come back home thinking about my 950. I can’t get my mind off the feeling it gives me, its raw nature, and how it reminds me who I was when I started and how far I’ve come.

On my 950 during a RoadRUNNER tour in 2020. Fall is the one time of year this bike doesn't stick out like a sore thumb.

Truth is, I’m getting a little vintage myself. I’m starting to show some wrinkles around the eyes, no doubt from years of grinning and squinting through the wind inside my helmet. 

Some crashes from my younger years are catching up to me. I don’t bounce like I used to, and lately I feel the wear and tear in a way that makes me pause before twisting the throttle too hard. 

But every time I swing a leg over my 950 Adventure, all of that disappears. I become the same little girl who sat in her bedroom with a magazine in hand and watched this very motorcycle win one of the most grueling off-road races on Earth.

In a world where everything is disposable, maybe holding onto something is its own kind of freedom. Perhaps being vintage just means you’ve lasted long enough to prove your worth.

I think I’ll keep the 950 around a while longer. After all, they don’t make ’em like they used to.

Grip it and rip it,

Marisa McInturff
Managing Editor