Can You Handle Dubai's Craziest Motorcycle Ride? The Day the Wheelie Virus Struck

If any of my previous bosses ever finds out that I can, in fact, wake up early in the morning — voluntarily, cheerfully, at 5 a.m. — they are going to be very surprised and extremely angry. I spent two decades proving to each of them that mornings and I are incompatible, and they all adjusted my office arrival time accordingly. And yet here I was, before dawn, fully geared, riding to a meeting point. Motorcycles fix things that HR never could.

Forty GSes and One Fearless Leader

This was my first daytime run with GS Nation, a new club in Dubai built entirely around BMW's GS family. Around forty of us gathered while Rajesh — our fearless leader — delivered the briefing, and then the convoy rolled out: fancy bikes, fancy lights, and a level of discipline that lasted precisely until the road started to climb.

That's when I diagnosed the outbreak. There is a condition spreading among Dubai bikers, and I am calling it the wheelie virus. The symptoms are clinical and consistent: breathing accelerates, heart rate climbs, eyes go wide. Then the neurological phase — the left hand goes loose, the right hand begins a slow circular motion, and the rider's centre of gravity migrates mysteriously toward the back of the bike. The moment we hit the foothills, patient zero succumbed. He simply could not resist. Front wheel up, in front of everyone — and yes, I've included the slow-motion replay, because documentation matters in epidemiology.

The Twisties, and the Great Overtaking of Mir

Then the hairpins began and the whole group went beautifully feral. Even our most innocent-looking member, Uday, was suddenly cornering so deep that his panniers were nearly scraping the tarmac. Meanwhile I conducted my own experiment in humility: I started the climb near the front of the pack and arrived at the summit dead last, overtaken one by one by every rider in the club. I did manage to overtake some bikers myself — unfortunately they were the engineless kind. Bicycles. I counted them anyway.

I started the climb at the front of the pack and reached the top dead last. The only things I overtook had pedals.

A month earlier I'd climbed this same mountain at night with PRG, and the difference is night and day in the most literal sense. The night ride was thrilling but blind — all that majesty swallowed by darkness. By daylight, Jebel Jais shows off: huge rock walls, ridgelines stacked to the horizon, and that impossibly smooth road the UAE laid across it all. If those early starts puzzle you, there's a whole article on why UAE bikers ride at 4:30 a.m. — short version: this view, before the heat arrives.

Karak at the Top

At the summit Rajesh had arranged the only finish line that matters: samosas, cutlets and karak tea. No bike ride in this country is complete without karak — it's practically a federal regulation. We took pictures, introduced ourselves, and I made it into the group photo (the one in the white shirt, standing next to Rajesh, looking suspiciously awake). The descent was pure pleasure — lovely corners, no virus relapses — and I rolled home a fully converted morning person. Don't tell my old bosses.

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