How Baja Came Along. Part 1: BMW

What do all the motorcycle adventures have in common? That’s right, an adventure motorcycle. So this is the story of how my adventure motorcycle came to be.

So Lucy and I moved to America, and we were like — “We’re not gonna spend money on anything significant until we become filthy rich, so that we remain laser focused.” We lived that way for a few months, and then that slowly transformed into “We’re not gonna spend money on anything significant until we buy a house, so that we remain laser focused.” Then a few months after that, we were like “OK fuck, let’s get the best motorcycle money can buy.”

Which motorcycle is that? But of course. The one on my Facebook cover picture.

red_f800gs

The problem with America is that everything is so accessible it’s ridiculous. So we went to the BMW Motorcycle dealership in Austin, test rode an F800GS and an F800GS Adventure, went like “naaah we’re not gonna buy a bike, gotta stay focused on buying a house, man”, and forgot about it. By saying “forgot” I of course mean started watching every-single-F800GS-video-on-youtube-every-free-hour-of-every-day. That’s a hell lot of videos.

A few short months later, my colleague Brian goes like “Hey dude I’ve saved up a ton of money, and I don’t have anything good to do with it, so I just wanna waste it on buying one of those Slingshot cars. They carry them at the BMW dealership, wanna come along for a test drive?” “Sure,” I say. Who would mind test driving a Slingshot?

Myself and Brian, under some kind of an influence.
Myself and Brian, under some kind of an influence.
Polaris Slingshot. I know, right?
Polaris Slingshot. I know, right?

So back to the dealership, Brian is checking out the Slingshot, but I’m just glued to the BMW motorcycles section. The salesman, Sean, is the same guy that gave me the bikes for test riding the previous time. He goes “Hey you seem to be really into this bike, why did you decide against buying it the last time?” and I go “Well dude, we’re trying to buy a house, so stop tempting me” and he goes “Guess what, if you buy it today, I’ll give you $3000 off.”

Holy fuck.

Fast forward 1 hour, Brian and I are going back home. Me having just bought a brand new BMW F800GS Adventure. Brian being like “the Slingshot was meh.”

Fresh off the showroom
Fresh off the showroom

Experience: Turkey

After over a month of digesting all the things I have experienced during Oriental Express, now is a good time to reflect.

Turkey is a complex country. You feel it from the moment you cross the border, and this feeling does not abandon you for as long as you are in the country. It is very multi-layered and multi-faceted, and all of these layers are interweaved and connected in a thousand different ways. On one end, it is a powerful modern military state and NATO’s 2nd strongest army (or so I’ve been told), on the other end it is a myriad of different ethnicities and nationalities each with their own history, needs and agendas. On one end it is the liberal, artsy, European and intellectual Istanbul, yet on the other end it is towns like Malatya, and all the problems at the eastern borders, and then the Kurds, and Syria, and Iran, and then Islam and the religious debate, and sexual debate, and how I was advised not to make certain jokes. It is a very complex country. And as such, it is extremely interesting to explore. Not just exploring the layers, but the billions of interactions between them is really fascinating. As a whole country, I do not think any other place can offer so much depth for discovery and comprehension.

The Turkish society is extremely diverse — much more diverse than it is in Armenia, or any other place I’ve seen for that matter. Even in America I do not feel as much diversity. In fact when the Americans talk about diversity, I would say they need to check into Turkey. To have such a giant spectrum of different philosophies, religions, educations, social standings, agendas and wealth — wow! It makes your head spin!

As such, it is absolutely impossible to not find what you are looking for in Turkey.

I want to stress the last paragraph, because many ask — what are the Turks like? I can not answer that question! Depends on the Turk, I guess! But mostly, they are just like you. You know, they laugh when a clumsy child is having a hard time climbing on his tricycle, and they turn their heads after a hot chick wearing high heels or a handsome man driving a nice Porsche, and of course they run out of their cars to help when they see a motorcyclist in an accident.

Was it difficult to travel in Turkey as an Armenian? This question should really be split into two.

Was it difficult to travel in Turkey? Yes, in many ways. Traveling in Turkey is not at all like traveling in Germany. You need to bargain the prices. You need to talk and communicate, sometimes with feelings. There are sometimes not enough instructions. Most things that really matter are subtle and hidden. People mostly won’t smile at you if they don’t like you, or if they don’t know you. Driving is difficult. Gasoline is fucking expensive. People are tempered.

And this is a good moment to answer the second part of the question — as an Armenian, none of that was really difficult! In fact, every single traveler I met on my trip was having a much harder time than myself! What aren’t we used to, as Armenians — sincere facial expressions? Tempered people? Bargaining? Lack of instructions? So I would say, it is sort of difficult to travel in Turkey, but much easier for an Armenian than for a Canadian. That for damn sure!

Do not get me wrong. The last thing I would wanna do is to stand in downtown Malatya on a minaret and yell that I am an Armenian. In fact, I have lied quite a few times about being American… of Armenian heritage. Felt safer that way, especially towards the beginning of the trip. But it never made any difference. I spoke Armenian on a phone video call on the busiest streets, spent two full days with two Armenian ladies roaming outside in Istanbul, and never ever had a hint of a problem.

Again, it was not a problem for me to be an Armenian in Turkey. Not when I chatted other young guys and girls at the bars. Not when I dealed with the policemen. Not when crossing the border. Not when I asked for directions. Never. In fact sometimes in Istanbul I felt like it was a “cool” and “classy” thing to be an Armenian. Surprising, yeah? A good friend of mine told me that he feels safer when there is no special attitude towards him — positive or negative — and I agree. I am not saying it is not special to be an Armenian in Turkey (although these days it is perhaps less special than it used to be 20 years ago). I am just saying it seems relatively safe. All that I had to do was to respect the people I talked to, and smile.

I did occasionally come across some nationalist talk, but on these occasions I decided not to reveal my ethnicity.

Was my journey a brave thing to do? To some extent, I felt that way towards the beginning. But towards the end, I realized that it took me much more bravery to walk around Tenderloin in San Francisco after midnight, or, for God’s sake, to jump with a parachute. That shit is scary!

I cannot finish a post about Turkey without writing about the hospitality. I have lived in a Caucasian country all my life and we are all big on embracing the Caucasian hospitality, or the Armenian hospitality. I have always been skeptical and cynical about it. In fact I could never quite understand what this hospitality thing is, until I experienced Turkey. You just simply have no idea.

Hospitality is getting the Coke free at the gas station only because you said “I’m really thirsty” when paying for it. It is two people you never met spending an entire day with you in forsaken Erzurum just so that you don’t feel lonely or lost. It is the hundreds of cups of tea I drunk when asking for a direction at a store. Hospitality is when you go to a barber to style your hair, and he splits his kebab in half, wraps the other half with his own hands in the remaining bread, and instructs that his apprentice gets fresh tomatoes from the store around the corner so that your kebab does not feel too “naked”. The most amazing thing is, it is not a special attitude towards an Armenian guest who is visiting. It is an attitude towards everyone — a guest, a neighbor, and a friend just walking by. We don’t have that. And Georgians don’t have that. We are focused on something else.

Turks are wonderful people. Just like all the other people in the world. Yes, just like all of us.

Will I go back? Absolutely! I missed the Mediterranean part of my journey because of the accident, and I am definitely riding back. Hopefully with friends, and a bigger motorcycle!

Traffic Police, Story Three

After enjoying superb sushi and other great Asian food from some of Yerevan’s best cooks on a friend’s goodbye party at his house, we wanted to continue with an afterparty. Carlos is a marine at the Marine Security Guard Detachment Yerevan, so we decided to continue the party over at the Embassy. The Embassy car arrived to pick everyone up and drive them over, while I rode my motorcycle.

It was freezing cold late in the night, so I was pushing the motorcycle to get to the destination as quickly as possible. The entrance and the parking lot for the personnel are on the other side of the embassy. That means one has to ride all the way to the ramp across the road to make a complex U-turn and ride back. And here is Murphy’s law about rushing to awesome parties in action: just after the U-turn a traffic police car put on the siren and pulled me over. Speeding offenses in Armenia are usually fine and cheap, you can generally get away with just 5,000 drams, but then it struck me (Muphy’s law in action number two) — I left all my insurance papers in a friend’s car during the winter and never managed to take them back! Legally, this meant 50,000 drams. Realistically, this meant a little more than 5,000 drams (depending on luck and sympathy) after a long, tedious and largely humiliating chat with a person whose IQ, statistically, is below the city average. I can handle that most of the time; sometimes it’s even entertaining. But there was a party waiting for me ahead that had all the chances of being more entertaining than a conversation with an Armenian traffic police officer late in the night next to a stinking water reservoir! Now here goes all of the above paragraph and its continuation flashing through my brain on that very moment:

“Fucking cold!… Fucking pothole!… Faster’s always good when flying over potholes… Uh! (a traffic police car)… OK they won’t pull a motorcycle over… (the cops put on the siren) God fucking damn it!!!!… OK it’s only 5,000 drams (turning on the parking signal with my frozen left thumb)… I’ll explain them it was cold and the street was empty so I pushed… Shit, the insurance papers!!!!… (pressing the turn signal button to switch it off)… Only about 1km to the embassy… Honda CBF500 against Toyota Corolla… lets roll!”

“0434, driver of the motorcycle, STOP IMMEDIATELY!!!!”

Have you ever drag-raced with the police? It’s one hell of a fun! And guess what?

A 500cc Honda parallel twin engine carrying 195 kilos including its own weight plus 65 kilos of a fully–equipped Synopsys programmer smokes a Toyota Corolla carrying two tentatively chubby Armenian policemen on a distance of 1000 meters. Easily.

I threw myself towards the personnel parking entrance gate and stopped. After some seconds the cops pushed their brakes right behind me, so close I couldn’t get out if I wanted. Felt much like being in a sandwich. You know, one of those steel-gate—armenian-policemen sandwiches! Among the other ingredients, this one had some meat, a decent sausage, and a motorcycle inside. The Armenian security guards walked out of their booth amused, watching the sandwich.

“Get off the motorcycle!” Yelled the police car from behind me. I pretended I didn’t hear it and looked at the security guard that hadn’t yet said anything, and at that point was just looking at me inquisitively. Even though he had no idea what the story was about, I felt like deep inside his heart was on my side.

“I need to see Carlos!” I put out in English, trying to mimic some sort of an American accent.

“Carlos??” asked the guard

“Zero four three four, get off the motorcycle RIGHT NOW!!” Yelled the policemen again. I wondered if he realized he was being annoying. “Get a life”, crossed quickly through my mind. I repeated:

“Please sir, I really need to see Carlos right now!”

“He is a marine. This is very important!!” I cried, not even looking at the cops behind me.

The security guard looked at my visor, hesitated for a moment, then pressed to open the gate open. “He’s American. Drive off!” he threw his hand at the police car. Throwing the hand worked like a Jedi trick — the flashing siren that reflected on my visor through my mirrors during all this time immediately faded off.

“It’s always the same on this fucking road” mumbled one of the cops, annoyed. “Way to annoy me with the stupid mike!” I thought, as they drove away.

I smoothly rode into the parking lot and started waiting for Carlos, leaning on the bike. They hadn’t arrived yet.

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this post — even those based on real people — are entirely fictional. All celebrity voices are impersonated…..poorly. This post contains coarse language and due to its content it should not be viewed by anyone.

So you dream of a motorcycle

It started with a sexy next-year sportbike model that caught your eye online or in the street. You started wanting one badly. Generally the black one.

2011 Ducati 848 Evo
2011 Ducati 848 Evo

You suddenly began noticing and hearing every motorcycle in the street, and with time your plans started shaping up. But then so did your thought process. You started “getting real”!

What if you get married and make ~40 babies? Even now, you already have a family that needs to be driven somewhere every now and then. You couldn’t ride your mom to a hair saloon on a motorcycle now, could you? Of course not!

More than the need to drive them around is the need to convince them you are going to ride. Of course, you could do that! You have the authority, you are self–sufficient and your word matters! But you calm yourself down — it’s just too much hassle… you respect your elders, you don’t wanna make daddy a sad panda!

Afterall, you also need to haul around some luggage sometimes. Heavy suitcases, personal computers, pillows, blankets, construction materials, livestock and nuclear warheads.

What about the winter? You can’t ride a motorcycle in the winter! Argh!

And you want to be safe. You want to be able to make mistakes. Airbags and crash tests!

Comfort is important to you. Who doesn’t like the good familiar bass line streaming out of the subwoofer, along with the flow of hot or cool air? Climate control! You want to be able to control the climate around you!

The apparel. What, you’ll need to purchase and wear special equipment to ride? But you love wearing your slippers out!

You love vehicle maintenance! Greasy hands are sexy in the music videos! But seriously, changing your oil and the brake pads, cleaning your carburetor and configuring the clutch, that’s more effort than watching a video!

The motorcycle has no doors. I mean of course, you’ve seen it has no doors, but whew — really? No doors? What if someone steals it? These are hard times we’re living in!

Then of course the parts! No motorcycle is an Opel Vectra, where would you order the parts? UK? USA? You get online for that? Uh!

How much fuel per 100 kilometers? 7 liters? Hey that’s almost like a car! I mean, my friend’s Cherokee burns only like 14! Nah, not when he’s pushing it of course. Still!

Finally comes the neighbor who knows someone who knows someone else who has heard of someone’s relative telling about his wife’s colleague’s lover’s neighbor dying in a motorcycle accident in 1981 on an unknown motorcycle. “I mean, the brains were all over the place!” he adds. The other neighbor confirms his words with a thoughtful nod.

And so you buy a car. Something reasonably aged, but not too old. Something you can convince yourself and the others is the coolest car one could ever own. You’re certainly planning to travel with it just as you would travel on a motorcycle, so you make sure it has a 4WD differential lock and throw in a sleeping bag into the trunk. “2011 X6?? Are you fucking kidding me? I would never ever ever change my 2001 Toyota RAV4 for that shit! My car is truly offroad and totally stylish, while X6 is just a pile of junk for wussies! I mean you can’t even ride X6 on worn tarmac, let alone gravel! Who buys that shit?! It doesn’t even look that good!” Some around you argue. Some nod. What matters is your feeling of self–righteousness.

Toyota RAV4
Toyota RAV4

 

BMW X6
BMW X6

Of course, you will get a motorcycle. Someday. Now is a little tense, financially. The stock market is going down. It is just not the right time.

You pick a date that is reasonably far away not to require any actions today, but sounds close nevertheless. Sounds to who? To yourself of course! Two or three years. Then it’ll be yours. You pick a model out of the blue — say, a Triumph Rocket III. There’s a dude standing in the promo poster that totally looks like what you would want to look.

2010 Triumph Rocket III Roadster

“This shit is my favorite motorcycle!”, you tell your friends. Of course you’ve never even seen one on TV, just the Internet. “2,300 cubic centimeters! That’s 2,3 liters in the car slang! But I can totally speak cc’s!” You learn all the specifications of this motorcycle by heart and set it as your wallpaper for a couple of weeks, before the next cool game comes out or the next awesome abstract wallpaper is published on DeviantArt.

It is pretty much sealed — you will probably never ride.

Traffic Police, Story Two

Riding home from the Rock Bar, after a friend’s birthday party, 4AM, drunk as all hell.

Speeding to quickly get to the destination and to avoid getting caught. The traffic police patrol car spots me at the beginning of Baghramyan and pulls me over. I don’t stop and keep riding along Baghramyan towards my home, with the hope that the policemen would give up on pursuing a motorcycle right away. The dudes seem tough; they put on the siren and start a pursuit. I cross the Baghramyan/Proshyan intersection under a red light, speeding somewhere around 130km/h, ride across the Barekamutyun bridge, and check my mirrors. The cops don’t appear to be there, and I no longer hear the siren or see the flashing lights. Looks like they’ve lost me. “Losers!”. I ride on. On the intersection of Komitas/Papazian, I turn left and — boom — smash my front wheel straight into the right door of the police car that was pursuing me! I barely hold the motorcycle. The policeman behind the door puts the window down, looking at me in awe, speechless.

“Hi!” I go on, looking straight into the guy’s eyes with a nervous smile on my face.

“Stop at the right side of the street!!” the other guy screams into the mike.

“Can I stop at the left side? I’m going to Papazian street, that’s where my home is.”

“STOP AT THE RIGHT SIDE!!” yells the policeman.

“Aye, officer”

I pull the motorcycle over to the right, get off. The guys are extremely pissed. The one with the higher rank runs towards me and goes on enumerating, hardly catching his breath:

“You refused to stop at a traffic police officer’s demand, you ran away from the traffic police, you crossed a red light, rode on the opposite lane, more than twice exceeded the speed limit for riding in a residential area, you smashed into our goddamn door, and I can already feel standing here that you are drunk! Do you even imagine what kind of a fine are you going to pay?!”

“I’m sorry officer, I didn’t see that you pulled me over!”

“Are you kidding me? You’re lying! You saw us stopping you and you rode away, jumping under the red light!”

“Did I? I thought it was yellow!”

“It was red, and you’re lying! Now tell me that you didn’t realize you were riding on the opposite lane!”

“I didn’t!”

“You’re lying!”

“OK officer, what now?”

“Now I’m taking away your driving license, and you’re gonna have to pay enormous fines! Look at our door!”

“Please sir, it was really late and I just wanted to get home quickly! How about we solve this otherwise?”

“What’s your occupation?” the officer looks inquisitive

“I’m a student!” (Rubik says that this always works with the police. They start pitying you because of your social standing and income. But the officer didn’t buy that.)

“You’re a student riding a brand new 2009 Honda CBF? You’re lying!!”

“Uh sir, how about I just give you all the contents of my wallet and we part?” I take out my wallet.

“How much have you got in there?”

“Well I only have 5,000 drams!”

The officer looks in my eyes suspiciously for a second, then goes on: “Deal, you’re gonna give us all the contents of your wallet. Except we’re gonna check your wallet ourselves!”

He grabs the wallet from my hands, opens it… and takes all ~70,000 drams that I have in it.

“Some twisted goddamn asshole you are!” he mumbles, walking back to his car.

Disclaimer: this story does not represent my personality in any way. Honest!

Safety disclaimer: this story is fictional. I mean, what’s with the filing a lawsuit shit?!

International Bike and Rock Festival in Armenia

Great news for all of you* on two wheels in (or soon-to-be-in) Armenia!

Here is an email I have received from one of our rider fellows a couple of minutes ago (in Armenian):

bike-festi start@ sksvum e Akhtalaic septemberi 15-in , cankali e bolor@ havakvats linen min4ev jam@ 15:00 (cerek@ ekexecu taratskum kazmakerpvelu e xorovatsi paraton taraznerov derasannerov ev ayln,isk jam@ 6-in stadionum sksvelu e rock paraton). Septemberi 16-in gnalu en Sevan, entex el pokrik mijocarum e linelu,ev 17-in gnalu en Jermuk` mianalu mec rock-festin. Bike festi shrjanaknerum kazmakerpvelu en khaxarkutyunner,mrcuytner,xaxer(Jermukum). Septemberi 21-in bolorov galis enk Yerevan nshelu ankakhutyan ton@. Menk mer vra enk vercnum Hayastanum mnalu voxj @ntackum vareliki tsaxser@. Artasahmanic bikerner@ petk e mtnen Bagratasheni koxmic, ancaketum klini mer koxmic nerkayacuci4,vor@ jamanac bikerin kpoxanci kartez,vareliki ktronner ev ayln. Amboxj @ntackum bikerner@ klinen GAI-i hskoxutyan tak t4anaparhnerin xndirneric azatelu npatakov.

Translation to English:

Bike-fest will kick off from Akhtala on September 15th. It’s desirable that everyone is there before 3:00PM (there’s gonna be a BBQ party in the church during the afternoon with national dresses, actors and shit. Then there’s gonna be a rock festival at 6PM in the stadium). On September 16th there’s gonna be another small event in Sevan, and on September 17th they [the bikers] are going to ride to Jermuk to join the rock fest. During the motorcycle fest lotteries, games and competitions are going to be organized in Jermuk. On September 21 we’re all gonna ride back to Yerevan to celebrate the Independence Day.

We [I assume the organizers?] will cover all expenses of motorcyclists’ fuel during the entire stay in Armenia. Foreign bikers/motorcyclists should enter Armenia from Bagratashen [a border town near Georgia]. We are going to have a representative at the border who will give the bikers a map, fuel purchase checks and other stuff. At all times the traffic police will be escorting the motorcyclists to avoid any issues on the road.

Then I randomly found out that PanARMENIAN.Net has more information available on the subject:

PanARMENIAN.Net – Travel without Borders project initiated by National Geographic Traveler Armenia through the assistance of RA government kicked off on August 24 with sailing of an international regatta.

The project consisting of 5 stages will finish nearby Tatev monastery on October 16, the day of opening of the longest ropeway in the world.

After Nairi and Ani boats complete their voyage, an equestrian tour will launch towards the Selim pass.

Between September 10 and 20, Armenia will host a bike fest, which is expected to bring together 150 bikers from different countries. The bikers will ride Bagratashen-Akhtala-Dilijan-Sevan-Selim pass-Jermuk route.

Besides, Music without Borders festival will take place in Jermuk.

The final stage will feature an international rally to follow Russia-Kazakhstan-Iran-Turkey-Georgia-Armenia route.

Conclusion: if you’re a motorcyclist and you want to visit Armenia (which happens to be a paradise for motorcycling), now is the perfect time!! Whether you’re riding a sportbike, a grand tourer, a cruiser, a streetfighter, a chopper or an enduro (especially an enduro!), hit the road and head over here! Even if you are a sociopath who does not care about the fantastic people he’s going to meet in Armenia, there’s still guaranteed free rides, free fuel and free police escort, where or when else would you ever have all of that together? I’d also add free drinks and free girls (maybe even guys and camels), but that wouldn’t be guaranteed. Take your shot!

For your extra information, Google Maps works great in Armenia (as long as you navigate your way through Georgia).

Have a safe trip!

* I’m gonna be on the other side of the planet from September 10, and that’s a bummer.

Why Ducati Monster Owns Honda CBF

“The Monster 796 is the perfect synthesis between sports performances, aesthetics and daily riding pleasure. Cared for in each single detail, it is the ideal bike for each riding style and represents the utmost evolution of the Monster family.”

—Ducati

Despite the differences, these motorcycles are essentially aimed at the same crowd: young urban dudes who want style, performance and daily commute (at our age it’s always a matter of a choice between a car and a motorcycle; both together are very rarely an option). For all these young dudes who want something more stylish (yes, more stylish!) and more fun (that’s right!) than a plastic sportbike, all major motorcycle manufacturers have something to offer. All these offers are generally within the 500cc and 800cc range naked streetfighters with upright riding position, have a good performance engine and stylish design.

Honda has two ideas of that for 2011. First is Honda Hornet, which is pretty cool looking but is not very practical due to its very low ground clearance (might as well get a CBR600) and limited accessories options. It’s awesome if you want to ride around cafes, but what if you encounter a little gravel?

Second is Honda CBF600, a 600cc 4-cylinder naked motorcycle that is fantastic in every way.

2011 Honda CBF600
2011 Honda CBF600

Until you see what Ducati is offering.

2011 Ducati Monster 796
2011 Ducati Monster 796

Oh my God! Now take a look at numbers!

Ducati Monster 796Honda CBF600
Engine Size796cc600cc
Cylinders44
Power87 hp (64 kW) @ 8250 rpm76.43 HP (55.8 kW)) @ 10500 RPM
Weight167kg191kg
Gearbox6-speed6-speed
Ground Clearance150mm130mm

OK, you say, the numbers are good, the looks are definitely awesome but it’s a Ducati against Honda, and this means thousands of dollars of price difference! Ducati is the “elite” motorcycle for the posh guys (who have both a motorcycle and a car), and Honda has always been there as an affordable alternative to the European motorcycles! How much more would the italian beauty cost than its cheap japanese counterpart? And that’s where the whole point of this post comes in:

2011 Ducati Monster 796: ~$9,950
2011 Honda CBF600: ~$9,000

Question: would you pay 10% extra to ride a motorcycle that is sexier, faster, lighter, more powerful, taller, has a better build quality, is hand-made in Italy and has “Ducati” written over it?

[pe2-gallery class=”gallery aligncenter” ] M 796_10S_LM-Imola-72_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_LM-Ducati-Corse_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_B_C01S [1920x1280].jpgM 796_10S_LM-IOM78_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_LM-Ducati-Sport-100_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_LM-Pantah_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_CT-Giallo_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_LM-Ducati-Mach-1_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_W_C01S [1920x1280].jpgM 796_10S_CT-Lilla_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_LM-Darmah_C01S [1200x800].jpgM 796_10S_R_C01S [1920x1280].jpgM 796_10S_CT-Arancione_C01S [1200x800].jpg[/pe2-gallery]

Note: Gallery pictures are extremely sexy and high-res, check the spectacular stock paint job of each one of these Monsters!