You don’t ride long distances on the highway with a single. They’re buzzy. They’re tiring. And if you want to go far, you “need a twin.” For a long time, that old wisdom rang true.  But after an initial test on the 2025 KTM 390 Adventure R, the updated counterbalanced engine with 25cc more displacement, along with the rubber‑mounted bars, and revised motor mounts gave the bike a different feel from what I’m used to in this class. Suddenly, the little 390 was smooth from 65 to 90+ mph, had enough power to pass at altitude, and could even get into the triple digits.

After that first ride, I caught myself thinking something I’d never thought I’d say about a small‑bore single: I’d actually take this on a long highway trip. I even mentioned it in my review of the machine. So it was time to back up those words with action.

The Plan

The idea was simple: ride solo from Los Angeles, California to Breckenridge, Colorado for the 2025 KTM Adventure Rider Rally. Two long highway days through Nevada, Arizona and Utah getting there, two days of aggressive off‑road riding in Colorado, then a full return trip home. Roughly 2,500 miles total. On a small-bore single carrying my 6’2”, 210 lbs frame loaded with camping gear.  I’d done this trip ten years ago — on a 1290 Super Adventure. A smooth, big-bore, twin-cylinder adventure touring machine loaded to the brink with tech and creature comforts. That bike was built for this style of trip. This one… well, would have to prove itself.

Still, I was looking forward to the solitude. Two days of helmet time, riding at my own pace, improvising whenever I felt like it. A long cruise, some tunes, and plenty of space to think about life’s mysteries. But I also knew this was a lot of miles for a small bike to consume in five days. The last time I’d done a trip it wasn’t easy, even on a comfortable cruiser. Would I arrive in Colorado completely sapped, with aching knees and a sore backside? I hoped not.

On paper, the 390 R looks solid: a 399cc single making 44 horsepower and 28 ft‑lbs of torque, 9 inches of suspension travel, adjustable suspension, 21/18 wheels, hand guards, skid plate, tall windscreen, ABS, TC, ride modes, slipper clutch, a 5‑inch TFT — and although my bike didn’t have it, optional cruise control. All in a compact package with a 34.2‑inch seat height. For $7k you get a lot of bike and without a lot of weight at 388 pounds wet. But testing the highway comfort for a short stretch at a press launch is quite different than actually going on a long-distance trip.

Hitting the Road

I left LA at 7 a.m., catching the tail end of the morning commute. Lane‑splitting through traffic with a fully-loaded bike, embarking on a big adventure in the middle of the week always feels strange, especially when everyone else is heading into work.

Crossing the Cajon Pass, the LA basin finally disappeared behind me. The desert opened up, and I could breathe again. At 80-85 mph, the 390 felt shockingly composed — smooth bars, slight footpeg buzz, decent wind protection. The only early complaint was the seat, which started to feel like a wooden plank after a few hours. Who could imagine that on a KTM….?

At 7,000+ rpm, The little 390 was working hard but it didn’t feel overly strained. With a 3.7‑gallon tank and fuel economy hovering around 37-40 mpg at highway speeds, I was stopping every 135 miles or so. Not ideal, but manageable and it gave me time to physically reset. 

Highway Robbery

Approaching the Arizona border, I’d hoped to make it across before refueling, where gas is about a dollar cheaper than California. But with my limited range, I couldn’t avoid the notorious Fenner, CA station — $8.59 per gallon for premium. Twenty‑five bucks for three gallons. Pure highway robbery.

I needed a break from the interstate, so I detoured toward Oatman, AZ. About ten miles from town, I spotted a figure standing in the middle of the road. A burro. He stood there as I approached, refusing to move until I got within 50 yards. Then he bolted, making that unmistakable donkey honk noise as he joined some of his friends lurking off the side of the road.

A few minutes later, another group blocked the road — four or five burros, including a baby. I slowed to a stop. They had me with the baby. Luckily, I’d come prepared with carrots. The second I pulled them out, I was swarmed. I handed out treats while trying not to lose any fingers. Once the carrots were gone, their attention span evaporated and they wandered off to ambush the next tourist.

I weaved around four or five more groups before reaching Oatman. By then I was laughing in my helmet, yelling “Get out of the road, you jackass!” at each new blockade.

Oatman itself is a living ghost town — wooden storefronts, Wild West reenactors, and burros wandering the streets like they’re on the payroll. A shop owner gently scolded me for feeding them carrots. “We only allow hay biscuits now,” she said. “Carrots make them aggressive.” Based on the day’s events, I believed her.

Oatman Road, the 10‑mile twisty ribbon of pavement leading out of town, was a highlight — scenic, quiet, and a perfect opportunity to explore the 390’s sporty side on the tight hairpin turns and long sweepers.

Late‑Night Surprise

After 650 miles, daylight was fading fast. I’d hoped to camp near Mexican Hat, but between photo stops, burro delays, and general meandering, I was running out of light. I didn’t want to miss the best scenery by riding through it in the dark, so I grabbed a hotel in Kayenta, Utah.

Five miles from the hotel, cruising at 75 mph on a pitch‑black highway, the engine suddenly died on me and I could see sparks shooting out beneath me. For a moment I thought I’d hit and dragged some foreign object, but then I realized it was my kickstand dragging. 

The kickstand return spring was gone, so I held the kickstand up with my foot for miles, searching for a safe turnout. With only a few feet of shoulder and cars blasting by in the dark, stopping on the road would have been suicidal. Eventually I found a turnout and strapped the stand up for the night. I’d heard early production bikes had a kickstand issue. Apparently my loaner missed the fix. After 13 hours on the bike, I rolled into the hotel exhausted, ready for food, a shower, and good sleep.

Monument Valley

I slept in a little late to catch the sunrise, but the morning light was still spectacular. Monument Valley is one of the most iconic landscapes in the American West — towering sandstone pillars rising from a vast desert floor. The Forrest Gump viewpoint was already packed with tourists recreating the famous scene.

I soaked in the view, then continued toward Mexican Hat and the Valley of the Gods. Both incredible spots to explore and hard to skip past, but I had a schedule to keep to. By now, my body had adapted to the seat. I wouldn’t call it comfortable, but tolerable. The bike itself was unfazed by the constant high-rpm slog, cruising smoothly, hauling my 210 pounds plus camping gear without complaint.

Crossing into Utah, the scenery didn’t get any worse. Moab is spoiled with scenic adventure riding options. Instead of heading the fastest route straight to I‑70, I took Highway 128 — the Upper Colorado River Scenic Byway — a meandering two-lane road following the Colorado river lined by towering red‑rock cliff walls that rise more than a thousand feet overhead. It’s one of the most beautiful stretches of road you can ride out West and well worth the detour.

Early Fall Rains

Entering Colorado, the terrain shifted from arid desert to high mountain towns. The Glenwood Canyon section of I-70 was stunning — a winding, river‑hugging highway framed by sheer cliffs, elevated bridges, and tunnels. It felt like riding through the Alps. With speeds reduced, I managed 188 miles on a tank during this stretch and 52 mpg.

Rain began to fall lightly around this time. I’d heard the rally had already been hit with storms, but this was just a preview. After 470 miles and about 10 hours on the bike on day two, I rolled into Breckenridge. The rally was already buzzing — vendor row, demo rides, familiar faces. And the same question from everyone: “You rode that here from LA?”

Let The Off‑Road Begin

The next morning, I stopped by the Black Dog Cycle Works booth. Owner Kurt Forgét was nice enough to install one of his new ‘Ultimate’ skidplates on my bike, which took just 20 minutes. Good timing, because the day would quickly turn into a rocky hellscape.

Just before our departure time, I realized I’d forgotten something in my room. I rushed back to catch up with photographer Simon Cudby and his Offroad Underground crew I’d planned to ride with. I caught them just as they left the pavement and veered onto a rocky, slick singletrack climb.

In my haste, I hadn’t put on goggles or turned off traction control. With fast riders behind me and nowhere to pull over, I just held on and prayed the bike wouldn’t stall. Eventually I found a spot to stop, but the pace was relentless keeping up with the group.

Then came the equipment gremlins: a loose mirror spinning like a helicopter blade, a handguard bolt backing out, my loose tank bag bouncing around like a tetherball. Clearly I needed an off‑road shakedown on this bike before hitting black‑diamond trails.

Then my backpack strap broke during a photo pass. At this point, I told the group to continue while I reconfigured my entire setup. Thankfully the modular pack had enough versatility that I could strap the portion that came off onto my bike.

Riding solo afterward wasn’t a problem — there were orange riders everywhere following the same tracks. The trails were a mix of puddles, creek crossings, rock gardens, and mud ruts. Riders were slipping and tumbling all over. The Dunlop Trailmax Raids were excellent — great on the highway, even better on the wet rocks and mud. And the new BDCW skid plate earned its keep.

The 390 felt perfectly at home on the technical trails — light, nimble, and confidence‑inspiring. My only gripe was the jump from first to second gear. On steep, loose climbs, the lack of bottom‑end torque was noticeable. A gearing change might help, but it would hurt highway cruising. Perhaps a pipe and remap would be the better solution to improve the bottom end.

As the rain intensified in the afternoon, my Alpinestars AMT‑8 suit kept me dry, but my non-waterproof gloves and phone weren’t so lucky. Eventually the phone drowned and I had no GPS to guide me, so I followed the group until I could dry it out at lunch. After a nice break to dry out and swap war stories in Leadville, we decided to call it a day and head back to headquarters. The rain wasn’t letting up and we didn’t want to risk getting stranded at 12,000 feet in a snowstorm.

Single Track Heaven

Day two looked more promising. After a delayed start due to a sticky Rekluse clutch for one of the riders in our group, we skipped ahead on the route to get photos of some of the participants. Somewhere along the way, I got separated and ended up riding solo again. 

The trails were a sloppy mess from days of rain. Deep puddles, slick descents, water crossings. At one point I took a wrong turn into a series of deep mud pits. I made it through but a rider behind me submarined his bike. After helping him get his bike out, I didn’t have the heart to tell him we weren’t even on the course.

Later, I entered the long 10-mile singletrack section Baja legend Quinn Cody had warned us about. “Once you’re on it, you’re committed,” he’d said. He wasn’t kidding. Slippery climbs, rocky chutes, dense forest. I didn’t see anyone else on the trail but eventually passed two guys on KTM 300 2-strokes coming the opposite way who gave me a strange look — never a comforting sign for what might be ahead. But then the sun came out, the dirt turned tacky, and the final miles were pure singletrack bliss.

On the way back, a pair of riders blew past me like I was parked.Turned out it was Supercross legends Marvin Musquin and Ryan Dungey. Only at a KTM Rally!

The Iron Butt Return 

The event’s final night wrapped up with a full banquet, an awards ceremony, and a mountain of gear giveaways for the raffle winners — good vibes all around. Unfortunately, work obligations meant I had to make the entire return trip in one shot instead of the two days it took to get to Breckenridge. The seat was still unforgiving, the weather looked angry, and I had 1,100 miles to cover in a single day. At dawn, I rolled out into rain, then hail, then wet snow. Once I dropped elevation, the skies finally cleared, and I pushed the 390 hard — 90‑plus for long stretches, fuel economy be damned.

The ride through Utah on I-70 delivered two unexpected breaks from the monotony: Black Dragon Canyon and Chimney Rock Viewpoint — both casual rest stops that would be national parks if they existed in any other state. They offered the perfect opportunity to stretch the legs and revive the tuchus.

The stretch of I‑15 through Sullivan’s Canyon in Arizona is always scenic, Nevada zoomed by, and before long I was rolling by the Strip with the California state line just a stone’s throw over the horizon. After 15 hours on the bike and countless fuel stops, I rolled into Los Angeles just after 9 p.m., wrapping an 1,100‑mile iron butt haul from Colorado. It was quite the ride, and surprisingly, I still felt fairly fresh. 

So… Can The 390 ADV R Be Your Long-Range ADV?

After five days and more than 2,500 miles of long highway stretches, burro bandits, early‑winter storms, black‑diamond trails, mechanical mishaps, and an Iron Butt ride home, the answer is: Yes, absolutely — as long as you don’t mind making more frequent gas stops, or keeping it under 75mph to improve range on the smallish tank. I’d also recommend upgrading the seat, and the optional cruise control and heated grips would be nice to have for extended trips.

Would something in the 700cc+  range with two cylinders be better suited? Sure, but for nearly double the price and more weight, the gap isn’t that much. The 390 can also take you on some of those tight, technical single track trails you might not dare tackle on a larger machine. It’s nice to have the option of a bike in this price range that’s capable of easily transporting you to a completely new landscape, far away from the city, and allow you to explore technical trails, then get you back home again for work on Monday.

Would I do another 1000-mile plus Iron Butt ride home on the 390 Adventure R? Perhaps, but maybe I’ll wait another ten years before making that trek.  This year’s KTM Adventure Rider Rally is just around the corner if you want to check it out. Hope to see you there!

Photos by Simon Cudby and Rob Dabney

Author: Rob Dabney

Rob Dabney started a lifelong obsession with motorcycles at the age of 15 when he purchased his first bike – a 1982 Honda MB5. Through his 20’s and 30’s he competed in off-road desert races, including the Baja 250, 500 and 1000. Eventually, his proclivity for exploration led him to dual sport and adventure riding. Rob’s never-ending quest to discover what’s around the next bend has taken him on Adventures in Latin America, Africa, Europe, Asia, and throughout the American West. As a moto journalist, he enjoys inspiring others to seek adventure across horizons both near and far.