All Wet

The wettest I’ve ever gotten while riding was one sweltering August Saturday a few years ago here in Southern Germany. My riding buddy Manfred and I were making an all-day test ride of a Triumph Tiger 955i and an Aprilia Caponord, courtesy of the local Triumph dealer. We had already done one big loop which brought us back to neighboring town Amtzell, which happened to be hosting an off-road endurance race in their gravel pit. We parked the bikes and walked to the pits to find some friends from the local BMW shop who had entered with a few old GS’s (and who were actually doing pretty well).

After an hour cooking under the hot summer sun, we decided it was time to rack up some more kilometers on the test bikes. As we were putting on our jackets Manfred glanced at the towering cumulus all white and cottony, pointed at my Cordura jacket and asked “Is that waterproof?” I shrugged. Having only recently moved from Southern California, I’d never found out. I seemed to remember something about it being waterproof (or was that the liner?) but I had never tested it in actual rain. The jacket is made by the German manufacturer Held, and it has zippered air vents on the back, shoulders, and running the full length of the sleeves. On the back in yellow stitching it proudly proclaims “Air Vent.” Looking at the darkening sky I was hoping it would keep me dry in a shower, at least long enough to find some shelter. Um, Cordura’s waterproof, isn’t it?

We headed off on the bikes. One minute it was sunny and I was sweating inside my helmet, wishing my jacket had a few more vents to open. The next minute the sky went black, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped and the floodgates opened. My jacket needed a new name: “Water-Vent.” In under three minutes I was about as wet as if I’d jumped in a swimming pool. Chilly too. Even if I’d had the waterproof liner (or a rain suit) with me there wasn’t time to find a place to pull over and change. My Tourmaster overpants are more or less waterproof, but not if the water is flowing in through the jacket and down the inside of the waist. I was soon squishing in my seat, feeling rivulets of cold water run down my legs.

Fortunately, I was only ten minutes from home. I went home and got dried off, hanging up my dripping clothes in the garage while my wife laughed. Half an hour later it was 72° in light rain, the clouds breaking up. I put on my cheap no-name waterproof jacket – cheap because it has no vents – and my waterproof Dianese trousers and hit the road again. Can’t waste a good summer day, so away I went. An hour later the streets were starting to dry and I was wishing for some vents to open. But at least I was dry.

Fast forward two riding seasons here, and I’ve learned a lot about changeable weather. I always ride with either a waterproof jacket or a packed rainsuit, ready for anything. Last July in Italy, riding again with Manfred, he on his Sprint ST, me on my R1150GS, I got to find out how ready I really was. It was once again a sweltering hot day and the cumulus clouds were building up to darken the sky. I was once again clad in my Air Vent jacket, vents open, feeling pretty smart about having such nice airflow keeping me cool while poor Manfred must be suffering in his expensive unvented Gore-Tex. As the fifty-caliber raindrops starting pelting down I pulled over under the eaves of a roadside residence, searching my mind for which side case held the rain jacket while three toothless old women pleaded with me from the doorway to come inside, “Signore, signore, oh signore…” I waved and smiled, determined to demonstrate my Boy Scout level of preparedness. Fear not, ladies, I’ll be dry-clad and underway in but a moment.

While I fumbled with the keys the wind shifted so that the eaves no longer offered any protection, creating some urgency to get my rubber rain coat on. This caused me to forget my careful packing job and I opened the wrong sidecase. The contents shifted, and I had to fight to smash everything back inside to get it closed. Correct sidecase finally located, I removed the never-been-opened rain coat and tried to get it on.

Problem – it was completely zippered and velcro’d closed, both up the front and at the sleeves. Clawing and ripping at the evil closures with wet fingers, I struggled to get it over my increasingly wet jacket, which was once again venting more water than air. Rain jacket finally on, I looked down at the sidecase lid which was flopped open perpendicular to the precipitation like a bucket. It was rapidly filling with rain, soaking my toilet kit and clean clothes. Fack! I struggled with closing the lid on all the shifted (and now wet) contents while the rain streamed down the crack between my helmet and collar.

I then tried putting on my waterproof winter gloves, and found that because of their fleecy lining they were almost impossible to pull on over wet hands. I think that’s when I started to cry. What should have taken one minute or less had now taken five and I was both rain- and sweat-soaked, frustrated and embarrassed. Thankfully, the old women had long since given up on me and gone back inside. I couldn’t see them anyway through my steamed up visor.

I got restarted and set off to find Manfred about a mile ahead standing dry under the canopy of a gas station, smirking in his Gore-Tex jacket. By the time I got there I was sweating through every single pore of my body, as the rubber over-jacket allows not a molecule of air to enter for any cooling effect whatsoever. It’s a well-known fact that if you’re ever cold you can put your gummy on and you’ll be warm in no time. But what about when you’re already warm and you put it on? Can you spell S-A-U-N-A? Jeez, I’d hate to spend as much money as Manfred did on a Gore-Tex jacket, and then be all comfortable and everything.

I’m in the market now for a new summer jacket to replace the old Air Vent, which has seen better days. I’m a tight bastard, so I flinch every time I glance at the price tag of a real Gore-Tex jacket. Ever the delusional, I have myself fairly convinced that I can buy a non-waterproof vented jacket and be smart enough not to be caught out again. Bet on it?

Tiger 1050 Test Ride

Who says global warming is such a bad thing? Here we are not even mid-January, and it’s 60° outside. Not an icicle or icy road in sight. To celebrate, I went out today and purposefully contributed a good dose of CO² to the atmosphere just to hedge against next winter. With my GS in mothballs for the winter, I took the opportunity book a test ride on one of the most exciting new machines of 2007.

The new Triumph Tiger 1050 certainly has my attention. On the surface it appears to be a cool competitor to the R1200GS, which I've always figured would be the next logical step up from my 2002 R1150GS. What I want when I upgrade is a lighter, more powerful machine with wheels that take sticky street rubber, as the odd size on the old GS seriously limits one’s options. Both the 1200GS, and now the new Tiger, would offer those advantages. Beyond those three gripes, there’s not much that I would change about the 1150GS.

There are lots of great machines on the market, but since I can only afford one machine at a time, it’s got to do a lot for me. Whatever bike I own must meet the mission requirements of (1) practicality, (2) comfort and (3) muscle.

I love the look of various sport-tourers – especially the old BMW R1100S and the new Triumph Sprint ST – but I guess I’ve gotten too old and cranky to buy one because I’m just not willing to ride in a semi-crouch, craning my neck to look up while popping ibuprofen for my joints. My three most recent bikes (Cagiva Gran Canyon, BMW R1150RT, BMW R1150GS) have all convinced me that sitting upright in a comfortable position doesn’t mean you can’t turn up the performance knob when desired. While there are loads of funky yet practical mid-sized scoots around (e.g., Aprilia Pegaso Strada) I want – nay, I need my beast to have cajones grande, you know, some fire in its engine room. I need torque, baby, heaps of it, or I just don’t feel, well, manly.

For me, the mission statement includes taking one big guy (me, 6'2", 205 lbs) and one tall wife (5'11", 135 lbs) on tour for a week every year, so that means a spacious seat, hard luggage, lots of legroom and bags of torque. It’s got to haul my twenty five pounds of books around on tiny farm roads when I commute to my teaching job, so that means a top box and a wide tiller for easy maneuvering at subsonic speeds. It’s also got the be fun for me to ride on the twisty alpine roads that are my playground, so it must be capable of more "spirited" riding and be able to keep up with – or ahead of – my fast friends. And as always when one buys a bike, there’s the very personal aspect of liking how it looks in the garage.

There aren't many machines which tick all those boxes for me, maybe a half dozen in all. [Read about my selection process in a previous article.] The R1150 GS only falls short in the "go real fast" area, which is a relatively minor issue given that outside of the Autobahn, the roads here impose their own limits with blind curves, mucky surfaces, tourist traffic and sneaky Polizei. On the GS, the posted limits tend to be only a smidge below my personal limits, so I’m seldom frustrated, like I am on a faster bike when I can use only a fraction of its potential without risking a ban. It’s one thing I like about the GS, not feeling frustrated.

While I would like to have a machine that could handle a trackday once or twice a year (which, honestly, I’m not sure I see the point of doing on the GS), it’d be foolish to buy a trackday bike which doesn’t do the other things well and then suffer for it the other 242 days of the riding season.

The new Tiger seems to check all the boxes – fast, (relatively) light, comfortable and tourable. The only gnat in the salad dressing might be the towering pillion provisions for my tallish wife. Inspired by some aftermarket streetfighter trend, they’ve swept the whole tail section up considerably – and in my mind, unnecessarily – slashing the spacious passenger accommodations of the old 955i. I’ll have to take a two-up test with the missus to see if this doesn’t rule out the new Tiger as my one-and-only bike.

My test ride lasted a mere 45 minutes, mostly on fast B-roads (like the fast parts of the Sunrise Highway to you San Diegans), so it’s far from comprehensive.

First thing you notice is that the ergonomics are quite comfy, in fact they feel almost identical to the R1200GS, but with the elbows closer in. Compared to the GS and other adventure tourers, the new Tiger feels small, like a three-quarter scale model. The seat is a broad but not plush. At all. I think some manufacturers make their stock seat a plank on purpose knowing they’ll upsell you on the “comfort seat” option. True to that notion, Triumph offers a higher version and a gel version. While I could sit comfortably for a couple of hours on the stocker, I’d want the gel seat for long days and for touring.

Starting is immediate and the sound at idle a pleasant baritone burble. Let out the clutch in first and the Tiger purrs effortlessly away from the curb. The fueling is excellent – much better than my GS, and even better than the R1200GS. You can let the clutch all the way out in first, roll on some throttle, and smoothly pull away. Niiiice. The gearbox scores ten out of ten. Nothing agricultural about it like most BMWs. The clutch pull is lighter than the old Tiger, and that’s good.

Once underway, it’s light and certainly more nimble than the old Tiger. There’s so much less bike that it feels like a naked bike. The instrument panel is set low, and unless you’re sitting well back, you need to dip your head considerably to glance at it. This won’t be a problem for youngsters, but after about 40 your eyes take longer – up to a couple of seconds – to refocus from such a change.

If you lean forward a little, there’s almost nothing in your peripheral vision. I had the sensation of flying down the road, just like when you dream your body can fly. There was none of the high instrument panel, windscreen, handguards and jutting cylinders in my vision which I'm accustomed to. Speaking of cylinders, my feet got noticeably cold. I’m so used to tucking them in behind the Boxer’s jugs, especially on cold days, that I forgot to wear warm socks.

There isn't a stitch of helmet turbulence from the screen, but that's because the wind is deflected much lower than your helmet; for me it was down around my upper chest.

The steering is so light, it’s almost flighty. Like a sports 600, you can change your line in a corner at will, do S-turns if you wish. You don’t so much make control inputs as think them. This is both good and bad. It feels super responsive but not at all planted. The new Tiger is agile like a wide receiver. It feels twitchy, almost frantic compared to the old one. I’m so used to shoving around a heavier bike that I was unnerved by the edginess of the Tiger. By contrast, the GS is overly stable, demanding more input. The 1150GS is sprightly like a tackle.

The motor is powerful and creamy, but unlike the electric-smooth power of an inline-four, some vibes creep out to give it some character, let you know it’s alive. It’s sneaky powerful, with heaps of smooth grunty torque that will blast you well past the speed limit in 2nd gear. I could see collecting a few tickets on this thing. Creeping through towns at 30 mph it feels like you’re going really slow, like you need to deploy the outriggers before you tip over.

Although they have good stopping power the brakes feel a bit wooden, especially the rear, but Triumph says it's all being fixed on later serial numbers and on the soon-to-come ABS models. (I think they’ve switched to the same system like on the Speed Triple, which is aces.)

Suspension is taut, and the forks are set up stiff to minimize dive. It’s not a plush ride like the GS, but it feels good, like it’s poised for a dash. I was on exceptionally good pavement, though, and didn’t make any adjustments. Some of the pavement around here – especially in the Austrian Alps – is crap. I doubt that the tautness of the Tiger’s suspension would be as pleasant on the ripples and overlaps. This is where the “supple” suspension and higher weight of the GS are an advantage.

Unlike the GS, the Tiger begs to be taken to the track, despite the upright riding position. It feels much closer to a sportbike than the GS ever will. In this way, it pummels both the 1150GS and the 1200GS.

Now that the Tiger has graduated from the Adventure category to the All-round category, I’m sure it’ll be a class leader. I’m not entirely ready to sell the GS for it, however. I’ve got at least one more riding season in the old Panzer yet. The good news is that I’ll keep my license intact longer on the GS even if I never do get a trackday out of it. But when I do decide to upgrade, my next bike may not be the R1200GS after all. The Trumpet doesn’t have the technology of the Beemer, but it’s got a huge advantage in the motor, the fueling and the gearbox. I’d have to make a much more serious comparison before I chose between the two.

I'll take another long test ride in the spring or summer. Watch this space.