Aprilia Tuareg Rally Review

A rally bike pretending to be an adventure bike. Or maybe the other way around.

The Tuareg Rally exists because Aprilia started winning rallies again. Africa Eco Race. Twice. Hellas Rally Raid. Once more for emphasis. Rather than quietly enjoying that success, Aprilia built a middleweight adventure bike that wears its rally intent openly. Gold wheels. Revised suspension. Aggressive stance. It looks like it just wandered out of a bivouac and accidentally stopped at a gas station.

Aprilia calls it a lightweight adventure bike. That feels like understatement bordering on sarcasm.

The plan

The test would be simple and unreasonable. Tight, broken California canyons where guardrails look optional. Then a long desert crossing into Nevada where fuel range matters more than optimism. Then Moab, Utah, for the Tuareg Experience off road school, where Aprilia hands the keys to Dakar veterans and tells them to teach you how this bike is supposed to be ridden.

I was nervous. I have off road experience, but not on bikes this tall, this heavy, and this powerful. If anything was going to get exposed here, it would be me.

First impressions on pavement

Los Angeles traffic wastes no time. Lane splitting immediately highlighted two things. The handlebars are wide, and the bark busters demand respect around truck mirrors. Clutch control matters. Patience matters more.

Then the road opens. One moment you are sweating through traffic. The next you are carving cliffside pavement with the Pacific flashing between corners. This is where the Tuareg Rally starts to confuse expectations.

• It should feel vague. It does not.
• It should feel tall and nervous. It does not.
• It should feel like a compromise. It refuses.

On tight, broken canyon roads, the suspension works constantly beneath you, smoothing pavement that would make a sport bike flinch. On fast sweepers, the bike stays planted and calm. The confidence it delivers feels disproportionate to what it is supposed to be.

Living with it day after day

Leaving the coast always feels like loss. The salt air disappears. The temperature climbs. Traffic returns. California makes you earn its best roads.

Once past Bakersfield and into the mountains near Lake Isabella, the Tuareg Rally found its rhythm. Traffic vanished. Temperatures dropped. Roads narrowed and crumbled. No guardrails. No signs. No cell service. Just blind corners and engine echo bouncing off canyon walls.

The bike felt completely at home.

Almost twenty years ago I rode this same region on a naked sport bike with no business being there. It was brutal and exhilarating. Two decades later, the Tuareg Rally tackled the same roads for entirely different reasons. It absorbed everything. It never punished me. It never asked for mercy.

Ergonomics and comfort

Let’s talk about the seat.

Standing on the pegs, it makes perfect sense. Narrow. Firm. Built for control. Sit on it for hours, especially across Nevada, and it becomes a wedge with personal vendettas against anatomy. Crossing the desert felt less like touring and more like negotiating terms of surrender.

The windscreen does buffet above 80 mph. That matters less on a bike that encourages detours over straight lines. At those speeds you are probably outrunning judgment anyway.

Passenger pegs deserve a mention. Off road, they bruised the backs of my legs repeatedly. They would be the first thing I remove. This is not a bike built for passengers. It is built for momentum.

Power modes and electronics

The power mode names make little sense at first. Explorer is fast. Individual is chaos with intent. It does not matter once you understand them. Owners will. Critics will move on.

What matters is the delivery. Smooth. Linear. Predictable. It never surprises you when traction is scarce. That trait becomes essential later.

A planned route met an unplanned early snowstorm. GPS optimism met frozen reality. I crossed snow patches until it became clear this was no longer brave. It was stupid.

Gas was either 15 miles ahead or 50 miles behind. I turned around.

What followed was a masterclass in efficiency. Coasting. Short shifting. Negotiating with gravity. When I finally reached fuel, I squeezed 4.9 gallons into a tank rated smaller. The Tuareg Rally got me there. Barely. That counts.

Aprilia’s dealer network remains the elephant in the room. I live without a local dealer. It has not been an issue.

Parts availability through AF1 Racing has been excellent. GP Cycles in San Diego has been outstanding. The owner community fills the gaps with knowledge, parts, and occasional bad financial encouragement.

My own Aprilia lives on racetracks and lives hard. It has been bulletproof.

The only real frustration is the service reminder. You cannot reset it yourself. Paying labor to turn off a light is nonsense. That should be free.

Moab changes everything.

As soon as I rolled into camp, Aprilia technicians adjusted levers, checked torque, fine tuned suspension, and removed the passenger pegs. They knew what was coming.

The instructors were rally veterans. Dakar finishers. The quiet competence type.

Training escalated quickly. Slick mud. Deep sand. Off camber climbs. Loose descents. Terrain that makes you reconsider tire pressures and life choices. The Tuareg Rally never flinched.

It bulldozed through obstacles with calm authority. It carried speed across desert. It chugged up near vertical climbs. It made me laugh inside my helmet.

This is where the bike made sense.

Off road performance

This is the terrain it was built for. Big suspension travel. Smooth power. Stable geometry. Once moving, the bike almost balances itself. Stand up and it feels like it reads terrain before you do.

You cannot toss it like a 250. You can drive it like a freight train. Momentum is your ally. When it commits, it commits completely.

It is not dancing. It is moshing. Loud. Heavy. Effective.

Design and aesthetics

From the side, the Tuareg Rally is rally perfection. Proportions. Paint. Gold wheels. It looks like a documentary waiting to happen.

From the front, it looks confused. Like a praying mantis halfway through a tax audit. The good news is simple. You cannot see it from the saddle.

I rarely photograph press bikes for myself. I took too many photos of this one.

Final thoughts

The Tuareg Rally is not supposed to be a sport tourer. It is not supposed to be a canyon bike. It is not supposed to be comfortable crossing Nevada.

And yet it does all of those things while reminding you that its real purpose lies somewhere far from pavement.

Its off road capability exceeds mine. That is the point. It makes me want to improve. It feels like a bike you grow into rather than out of.

This is not the kind of motorcycle I expected to fall for. It is tall. Serious. Purpose built for places I do not always go.

Now I cannot stop thinking about it. And honestly, I am not ready to give it back.