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?
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
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.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Last Sunday I called up moto-buddy Manfred (he of the ’02 Triumph Sprint ST) about oh-eight-hundred to see if he was up for a ride, rousing him out of deep sleep. He mumbled something in the affirmative, and then commendably turned up at my place within the hour despite his having hit the hay only a few hours beforehand. We had seven hours before I was due back to fulfill an afternoon promise of social behaviour with the missus, which when you take out an hour for lunch and sundry photo stops, left us about six hours for saddle time.Manfred squinted at the map through bloodshot eyes. “How far can we ride in six hours?” he asked. “I reckon about 360 kay emm,” I answered. This seemed as good a guess as any; I never seem to average more than about 60 kph in the Alps. (In the end we clocked up exactly 362 kilometers – that’s 225 miles to you – proving the formula valid yet again.) We eyeballed the map for a few moments and then picked a point that looked about 180 km away, tracing a gloved finger over a promising route, keeping as close as possible to the squiggly lines.
Departing Lindau at the far eastern corner of Lake Constance (where I live) our Ausflug (out-flight, or excursion) took us on a northeasterly line, skirting the northern edge of the Bavarian Alps. We skipped and dipped along the ridgeline of the mountains-that-are-not-yet-the-Alps for about 100 km before turning due south through an alpine valley as charming as you would expect, the road snaking its way through the grassy pastures and tiny villages that lie between the towering crests.
Winding our way up the Oberjoch, our first pass of the day, our momentum was hampered by the line of auto traffic and the strictly enforced no-passing rule. The Polezei can often be found standing roadside on a high turnout with a view to the hairpins below, scoping for the ne’er-do-well biker who might audaciously overtake. I’ve had occasion to deal with the police here (that’s another story) and have always found them to be polite, friendly and helpful – but the rules aren’t negotiable like they sometimes are in California. You’re not likely to worm your way out of a ticket here if you’re well and truly caught, whereas in California I’ve parleyed my way out of several tickets with the friendly staff of the CHP.
About the time I was getting completely frustrated grinding along in the traffic and was contemplating whether to bust a (criminal) move, we came around a corner near the top and – lo and behold – there were in fact two officers peering over the rim as expected. One of the officers looked a lot like Claudia Schiffer, and our snail’s pace gave me plenty of time to gaze and wonder what a fella has to do to end up in her handcuffs. Ahem.
The traffic thinned at the top of the Oberjoch as the day-trippers in their cages arrived at their destination parking lots, and we transient two-wheelers all upped the pace substantially as we lunged downhill into the Tannheimer Tal. The mighty GS was in its element, torque-surfing headlong over the remaining ridges of Bavaria and onward into the Austrian Alps. The weather was stunningly clear and temps ranged between slightly-chilly-in-the-shade mid-50’s up on the passes and a quite summerish mid-70’s down in the sunny valleys.
If I were to guess, by taking the small fraction of real estate we covered and multiplying it by the whole, I’d say there must have been over 100,000 motorcyclists in the Alps on Sunday. We couldn’t have seen fewer than 2000 during our ride – it was just one after the other going opposite, swarms parked up at every pass and restaurant, and in our own direction we frequently found ourselves part of a larger group of anywhere from five to twenty other riders who just happened to bunch up for awhile. Insane or what? Until you’ve seen it I don’t think you can imagine it. Unless machine control precludes it, almost everyone waves or nods at each other, making sure you know you’re part of the Brotherhood of the Wheel.
Every conceivable machine is on the road. About every fourth one is a BMW, and more than half of those GS’s of post-’93 vintage. You’ve got your occasional Gold Wings with open face helmets and boom microphones, your abundant sportbike guys in colorful leathers, and mostly you’ve got countless middle-aged sport-tourists (like me) decked top to bottom in Cordura that’s still festooned with last year’s bug splatters. You also see plenty of everything else, including step-through über-scooters, custom streetfighters, fringey cruisers and beater enduros with milk crates strapped on the back. Anything with two wheels is on, but sport-touring is the real name of the game for the vast majority, the bikes ranging from the sportier end of the spectrum – say a ZX-9 with a small tankbag – to bikes that are endowed by their creator with the ST title (like Manfred’s Trumpet), up to larger more touring-oriented bikes that don’t shy away from the odd peg grinding, like your humble reporter’s GS. I can’t think of a more apt category for the GS than sport-tourer. I’ve no problem keeping up with the fast group on anything but the fastest of straights, of which there are damn few here in the land of twisty tarmac.
Speaking of grinding pegs, I spent the ride enjoying having some slip with my almost-gone rear Metzler Tourance. One nice thing about the Metzlers is that they are very predictable when they are almost off, quite willing to spin up like a GP bike in a friendly way, so I was having a laugh goosing the throttle in the hairpins to skootch the back wheel around the corner, catching grip and launching forward as I took the lean angle out. For one whole passo I was being followed – or was it pursued? – by a guy on a Beull, which is a superb cornering machine. I hope he enjoyed watching my back tire slide as much as I enjoyed beating him out of every corner. First I had to beat him into the corner by braking later – those GS brakes and the anti-dive front end rule – and then, even though I didn’t have the usual level of confidence to go full lean at normal speed, I could instead finish turning faster using this GP technique. He’d come up close in the first half of the corner as I’d tiptoe in, but I’d get done with my one-eighty sooner and put some space between us on the hundred-yard dash to the next bend. It was more fun than a soccer riot.
But riding on a fading tire has it’s downside, too, and I had a few moments in sandy and gravelly corners that reminded me to be very careful if I wanted to continue my streak of not having laid a bike down since 1988. Last time I put one down I was on board a 1982 Suzuki G450L, a nasty little early-80’s vertical twin that was about as cool as penny loafers. I knew next to nothing about riding and managed to plop over in the dusty center island on Miramar Road at just under 4 mph. I tore my favorite white 501’s (hey it was the ‘80’s) and broke my thumb – which required a cast to the elbow – but the worst part was having humiliated myself in front of some of my co-workers who were watching from their car in the line of traffic I was trying to sneak past. The only other time I’d ever laid one down I was 16 and determined to find the performance limits of a Puch Maxi moped while wearing a tank-top, shorts and flip flops. Sometimes looking back I can’t believe I ever lived long enough to reproduce. Anyhow, new Michelin Pilot Road tires are on order and will be installed by the end of the month. Meantime, I’m tiptoeing around and constantly reminding myself not to panic when the back slips a bit unheeded.
To finish off a particularly superb day of riding, I arrived home and found some friends of ours had dropped by for coffee and cake while I was gone, and everyone was in high spirits. To celebrate our good moods, we all piled into a car and drove to a nearby Biergarten which is perfectly situated at a grass-strip airport next to a well-traveled motorcycle road. Oh, throw me in the briar patch! There’s nothing like dinner and a tall Hefeweizen while enjoying the activities of a country airstrip and watching a fair portion of the rest of the 100,000 come by to cap a day of riding. Not to mention gawking at all the good looking girls and yummy mummys who were there…
That’s the Reidman’s latest rant! Life is good! Now get out and RIDE!
About the time I was getting completely frustrated grinding along in the traffic and was contemplating whether to bust a (criminal) move, we came around a corner near the top and – lo and behold – there were in fact two officers peering over the rim as expected. One of the officers looked a lot like Claudia Schiffer, and our snail’s pace gave me plenty of time to gaze and wonder what a fella has to do to end up in her handcuffs. Ahem.
The traffic thinned at the top of the Oberjoch as the day-trippers in their cages arrived at their destination parking lots, and we transient two-wheelers all upped the pace substantially as we lunged downhill into the Tannheimer Tal. The mighty GS was in its element, torque-surfing headlong over the remaining ridges of Bavaria and onward into the Austrian Alps. The weather was stunningly clear and temps ranged between slightly-chilly-in-the-shade mid-50’s up on the passes and a quite summerish mid-70’s down in the sunny valleys.
If I were to guess, by taking the small fraction of real estate we covered and multiplying it by the whole, I’d say there must have been over 100,000 motorcyclists in the Alps on Sunday. We couldn’t have seen fewer than 2000 during our ride – it was just one after the other going opposite, swarms parked up at every pass and restaurant, and in our own direction we frequently found ourselves part of a larger group of anywhere from five to twenty other riders who just happened to bunch up for awhile. Insane or what? Until you’ve seen it I don’t think you can imagine it. Unless machine control precludes it, almost everyone waves or nods at each other, making sure you know you’re part of the Brotherhood of the Wheel.Every conceivable machine is on the road. About every fourth one is a BMW, and more than half of those GS’s of post-’93 vintage. You’ve got your occasional Gold Wings with open face helmets and boom microphones, your abundant sportbike guys in colorful leathers, and mostly you’ve got countless middle-aged sport-tourists (like me) decked top to bottom in Cordura that’s still festooned with last year’s bug splatters. You also see plenty of everything else, including step-through über-scooters, custom streetfighters, fringey cruisers and beater enduros with milk crates strapped on the back. Anything with two wheels is on, but sport-touring is the real name of the game for the vast majority, the bikes ranging from the sportier end of the spectrum – say a ZX-9 with a small tankbag – to bikes that are endowed by their creator with the ST title (like Manfred’s Trumpet), up to larger more touring-oriented bikes that don’t shy away from the odd peg grinding, like your humble reporter’s GS. I can’t think of a more apt category for the GS than sport-tourer. I’ve no problem keeping up with the fast group on anything but the fastest of straights, of which there are damn few here in the land of twisty tarmac.
Speaking of grinding pegs, I spent the ride enjoying having some slip with my almost-gone rear Metzler Tourance. One nice thing about the Metzlers is that they are very predictable when they are almost off, quite willing to spin up like a GP bike in a friendly way, so I was having a laugh goosing the throttle in the hairpins to skootch the back wheel around the corner, catching grip and launching forward as I took the lean angle out. For one whole passo I was being followed – or was it pursued? – by a guy on a Beull, which is a superb cornering machine. I hope he enjoyed watching my back tire slide as much as I enjoyed beating him out of every corner. First I had to beat him into the corner by braking later – those GS brakes and the anti-dive front end rule – and then, even though I didn’t have the usual level of confidence to go full lean at normal speed, I could instead finish turning faster using this GP technique. He’d come up close in the first half of the corner as I’d tiptoe in, but I’d get done with my one-eighty sooner and put some space between us on the hundred-yard dash to the next bend. It was more fun than a soccer riot.
But riding on a fading tire has it’s downside, too, and I had a few moments in sandy and gravelly corners that reminded me to be very careful if I wanted to continue my streak of not having laid a bike down since 1988. Last time I put one down I was on board a 1982 Suzuki G450L, a nasty little early-80’s vertical twin that was about as cool as penny loafers. I knew next to nothing about riding and managed to plop over in the dusty center island on Miramar Road at just under 4 mph. I tore my favorite white 501’s (hey it was the ‘80’s) and broke my thumb – which required a cast to the elbow – but the worst part was having humiliated myself in front of some of my co-workers who were watching from their car in the line of traffic I was trying to sneak past. The only other time I’d ever laid one down I was 16 and determined to find the performance limits of a Puch Maxi moped while wearing a tank-top, shorts and flip flops. Sometimes looking back I can’t believe I ever lived long enough to reproduce. Anyhow, new Michelin Pilot Road tires are on order and will be installed by the end of the month. Meantime, I’m tiptoeing around and constantly reminding myself not to panic when the back slips a bit unheeded.
To finish off a particularly superb day of riding, I arrived home and found some friends of ours had dropped by for coffee and cake while I was gone, and everyone was in high spirits. To celebrate our good moods, we all piled into a car and drove to a nearby Biergarten which is perfectly situated at a grass-strip airport next to a well-traveled motorcycle road. Oh, throw me in the briar patch! There’s nothing like dinner and a tall Hefeweizen while enjoying the activities of a country airstrip and watching a fair portion of the rest of the 100,000 come by to cap a day of riding. Not to mention gawking at all the good looking girls and yummy mummys who were there…
That’s the Reidman’s latest rant! Life is good! Now get out and RIDE!
Monday, April 4, 2005
Back to the Future - another boxer comes my way
Feast yer eyes on the attached fotos, my moto-brethren.
I'm about 90% sure that this bike will scratch all my itches, and if nothing else it'd be nothing less than a good investment. It's an immaculate '02 1150GS with 20,000 km on the clock. It’s sitting at the local dealer called Schek, (not Shrek, mind) and they want €8900, but I reckon it could be mine for €8500. I’ll barter more for them to throw in a Schuberth S-1 and a shop warranty than for absolute lowest price.
It's got a tall Ermax screen, a re-upholstered 'comfort' seat (which is really cushy) and BMW touring bags. Previous owner bought it from Schek and obviously took excellent care of it. Aside from some scuff marks on the luggage, it's totally cherry. Not a scratch.
What's the downside? It's an '02 so means that it has only one spark plug per jug, and thus the same surging problems as the RT. But what the hell, I tell myself, I'll be riding so seldom on the Autobahn, and if I am I'll just leave it in fifth and rev it up, like I used to do on the RT.
Tomorrow I'm headed to the Triumph dealer, but I think he'll be lucky to sell me a jacket and helmet at this point. I don't think the Trumpet can compete with the mighty Bavarian on points like:
Safety (ABS, servo-brakes, anti-dive front end)
Comfort (the seat is obviously good for all-dayers, whereas a common road-tester gripe on the Tiger is that you get a numb bum in about two hours)
Resale value (well, duh)
Toss in shaft drive and the contest is pretty much over before it began.
Maybe it's just too goddam much bike for these little winding backroads. I know the F650GS would suffice, but the nagging question I have about the little one-lunger is will it satisfy? I don’t wonder about the 1150 satisfying me, but I keep wondering if I’ll soon wish I wasn’t having to wheel around 600 lbs of iron when I just wanted to go scampering.
Your comments are welcome -- its' not too late to change my mind completely. Lemme know whatcha think. Pronto! REIDMAN/out
I'm about 90% sure that this bike will scratch all my itches, and if nothing else it'd be nothing less than a good investment. It's an immaculate '02 1150GS with 20,000 km on the clock. It’s sitting at the local dealer called Schek, (not Shrek, mind) and they want €8900, but I reckon it could be mine for €8500. I’ll barter more for them to throw in a Schuberth S-1 and a shop warranty than for absolute lowest price.
It's got a tall Ermax screen, a re-upholstered 'comfort' seat (which is really cushy) and BMW touring bags. Previous owner bought it from Schek and obviously took excellent care of it. Aside from some scuff marks on the luggage, it's totally cherry. Not a scratch.
What's the downside? It's an '02 so means that it has only one spark plug per jug, and thus the same surging problems as the RT. But what the hell, I tell myself, I'll be riding so seldom on the Autobahn, and if I am I'll just leave it in fifth and rev it up, like I used to do on the RT.
Tomorrow I'm headed to the Triumph dealer, but I think he'll be lucky to sell me a jacket and helmet at this point. I don't think the Trumpet can compete with the mighty Bavarian on points like:
Safety (ABS, servo-brakes, anti-dive front end)
Comfort (the seat is obviously good for all-dayers, whereas a common road-tester gripe on the Tiger is that you get a numb bum in about two hours)
Resale value (well, duh)
Toss in shaft drive and the contest is pretty much over before it began.
Maybe it's just too goddam much bike for these little winding backroads. I know the F650GS would suffice, but the nagging question I have about the little one-lunger is will it satisfy? I don’t wonder about the 1150 satisfying me, but I keep wondering if I’ll soon wish I wasn’t having to wheel around 600 lbs of iron when I just wanted to go scampering.
Your comments are welcome -- its' not too late to change my mind completely. Lemme know whatcha think. Pronto! REIDMAN/out
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Quest for Fire – Searching for exactly the Right Bike
After a sleepless night I decided to gain some clarity by making a list of all the bikes I’d really and truly consider buying, ones I have given serious consideration – and it’s a long list, about twenty bikes. The only reason I put a bike on the list is because I have considered it very seriously. That means I’ve researched it, sat on it, and if possible, ridden it. I pared from the list oddities, old loves, and antiques that, when it comes right down to it, I wouldn’t buy to be my only bike. And I don’t want a bike more than a couple of years old for maintenance and reliability reasons. It’s coming down to the final buzzer – in a matter of weeks I’ll be voting with my wallet. I like ‘em all, but it’s time to get real about which one I can love. Time to pick all the nits, put the flaws of each bike right out in the light. Time to tell the truth about the emperor’s new leathers.
First, here are a couple of bikes I’d probably buy if I could just hit the lotto numbers – they’re both frightfully expensive. From the department of “Money No Object:”
BMW R1200 GS – Ouch! It’s €13,500 with the adjustable-size panniers.
Although gently used examples can be had for around €12,000, that’s still more than many of the other bikes on this list cost new. In its past iterations, the indomitable looking Teutonic titan has been a big seller, but it never heated my kettle to a full boil. I can’t say I find the new look of the 1200 to be an improvement, I’m still undecided on the plasticky side panels. I think there are better-looking bikes, but hey, looks aren’t everything. (Are they? Aren’t they?) Except for the dreadful looking origami windscreen, it all looks fine from the cockpit. My gushing praise and perma-grin after two days in the Alps last summer could have been printed up as a sales brochure. This may be the only bike with so many riding advantages that its less-than-delectable looks don’t drop it out of the running.
The new BMW R1200 ST. With 110 hp on tap, I’m guessing that this new boxer would suit me down to the ground. But fer gawdsakes, it’s €14,500 without any hard bags. Is it just me, or is it arrogant of BMW to charge €95 extra for a centerstand? Even so (or maybe because of it), I’m writhing with curiosity about how it rides. I rode the R1200GS last year and loved its motor, suspension and gearbox. Maybe it’ll be worth a second mortgage if the ride lives up to the price. The dealer does, after all, offer some great financing. The stacked lights and windscreen look better in person. Really. From some angles. Kind of. I think.
Then there are my perennial loves, Category: “I’ll always want one, but…”
BMW R1150 RS: But it's got such dated styling. But there is a blue ’04 at the local dealer which always yanks my head around for a long gander whenever I walk by. It’s the tourer I should have bought in San Diego instead of the RT. My own soap opera moment: Oh no, I married the wrong sister.
BMW R1100S: But it really cramps my legs, and I'm completely unable to dawdle along enjoying the scenery on it – On a test ride I tried, and I just couldn’t ride within the speed limits without great mental anguish. A license ban should take about three weeks to earn. Pure lust, that’s my feeling about the S. There is no rational reason to buy this bike among its more comfortable stablemates like the RS and the GS. But wanting it for its killer boss-eyed gaze, perfect mirror stalks, and cool underseat cans isn’t about rational thinking, Pamela.
BMW F650 GS: But it will never blaze on the autobahn. I try to tell myself that it’s the scant 50 bhp that keep me from buying the baby Beemer, but the looks also disappoint me somewhere south of the belt buckle. And yet common sense is a horrible thing, because every time I see one, common sense tells me how fun and practical they are. The Bavarians would have done me a big favor to make it just a little uglier. It’s like that cheerful, smart, flat chested, buck-tooth girl at school who you knew would be a great companion but you just didn’t want to be seen dating. I’m so shallow!
Ducati ST-3: But it's got capricious electronics and a weak finish. Besides, if I decide to go with a really sporty sports-tourer, how could I ever choose between the ST-3 and the new Triumph Sprint ST? I find them both achingly beautiful, but oh that Sprint! This is a clear case of needing to win the lotto. That way I can have a red bike and a blue bike in the garage that perform exactly the same mission.
2005 Triumph Sprint ST: But, like the R100S, it'll never go pottering around the backroads here. I mean, just look at it – one must, obviously, haul frickin’ ass down everywhere one goes, lest the gods of riding smite thee down in anger. It's gorgeous, but when I let my brain have the vote, I just can’t see buying it. If I exclude the brain and leave it up to the heart and wedding tackle, it (just) edges out the ST3. Stunning.
Suzuki V-Strom. Will somebody please go to Suzuki and take away all their straight edges? That includes the half-faired SV1000. I had such hope for the V-Strom. It was the reason that Suzuki North America wouldn’t let the sexy Cagiva Navigator come to America, and then the V-Strom turned up looking like an angry robot.
Honda, under-represented elsewhere, takes three of the slots in this category. Listed from worst to best, these are “Good bikes, shame about the looks.”
Honda Varadero. Great idea, but its repellent looks have never been adequately explained, only rationalised with quips like “Great weather protection.” The new Touring version with three color-matched hard bags looks good from the tank rearward. But you can’t always sneak up on it from behind, can you?
Honda Deauville 650. The Tupperware torpedo. Super practical, but it’s just too sluggish for two-up touring at altitude. If it had the old VFR’s 750, it would be a serious contender. As is, it’s a sensible commuter, as long as no one sees you on it.
Honda Transalp. It’s bulky for a 650, seems about a third larger than the F650GS. Same wheezy motor as the Deauville, but at least it’s 37 kilos lighter. For no logical reason, I’m willing to settle for less puff in an Enduro style bike. Good looking from some angles. If it had the TDM’s 900, it’d look even better.
Yamaha TDM 900. Ugliest fairing ever designed by my erstwhile favorite oriental marque. Is it supposed to look like the cartoon Martian peeping out from under his shield? Or a pterodactyl eating a lava lamp? Can I have the old fairing with the twin round lamps with the new motor and gearbox, please?
Yamaha Fazer 1000. Best looking bike of this lot, yet no fairing in bikedom looks like more of an afterthought. If they had smoothly blended the fairing into the tank, I’d probably already have bought one. I just can’t get past the canard-wing view from the cockpit. And the big radiator in front looks like, well, a big radiator.
In no particular order, here are some bikes that I truly like in principle, but that will almost certainly never see my money on the counter. “Good bikes, shame about the …"
KTM 950 Adventure: Shame about the unsightly easel fairing and the white-hot exhaust pipes. Hot exhaust pipes? Yea, I have seen the melted rear fairing panels and ruined throw-over panniers in person. And am I the only one that think it looks like a surprised llama? Yes, I know llamas are mean and tough and can scamper right up a mountain, but I prefer thoroughbreds or even pack mules, for that matter. Besides, orange clashes so with my blue jacket, don'cha know.
Kawasaki ZRX1200: Shame about the absence of legroom. The back of my knees still have a rash from riding a Zed Rex for ten days in 2000. On the pillion, my lanky wife had no problem keeping her ears warm with her knees.
Breva 1100: Shame about its complete absence from the planet. Forget being Fast and Furious, this one’s called Dude, Where’s My Bike?
Triumph Thunderbird Sport: Shame about the stratospheric price. There’s a leftover ’04 at the dealer for around €8100. For a discontinued standard? For maybe €6500 I’d give it a thought. But for over €8K I’ll be looking for a little more legroom, tourability, weather protection, speed….
Honda VFR 800: Shame about the €1000 valve adjustments. Honda, come down from your cloud and talk to the people. We didn’t want VTEC, we wanted 200 more cee-cee’s. And shaft drive, while you’re at it.
After all that gnashing of teeth, these have to be THE FINALISTS:
BMW R1150GS: My buddy Sabo has a 2002 model in Portland, Oregon, and he swears by its comfort, utility, and fun factor. I really like the blue-white scheme from 2002 – 03, in fact when I bought my first BMW in 2002, an 1150RT, I asked if they could swap the paint from the GS over to the RT. Ever since the RT I’ve been a big fan of the boxer motor’s character, torque and looks, so I’m ready to give it a lot of benefit of the doubt.
Triumph Tiger 955i: I’d never paid the Tiger much attention, though I had often admired the audacious look of the beast in magazines. I’ve always had a thing for twin round headlamps, ever since the old GSXR and the original TDM. Last summer I had the opportunity to ride an ’03 Tiger for a weekend and I instantly fell in love with the creamy power of its 955 triple. I’d like to be able to afford the new and improved ’05 model, but at €10,360 it’s really only a few bucks shy of a low-mileage 1200GS. Choosing between them, I’d skip the Tiger and go the extra bucks to get a GS with shaft-drive and ABS. On the other hand, a low mileage ’03 or ’04 Tiger can be had for a lot less than a used 1200GS, and a sagging dollar could see the big feline winning my vote.
AND THE (most likely) WINNER IS:
According to experts the world over, the 1150GS is a far superior bike to the Tiger. Having had ABS save my bacon more than once during overly-spirited riding (my fault!) and in nasty southern California freeway chaos (definitely not my fault), I put a lot of value on it. And the shaft-drive RT spoiled me forever about not having to clean off the back wheel after lubing up. (The chain, that is.) If I were buying today, I’d take the 1150GS and hope that in a couple of years a new Tiger comes along with ABS and the new Sprint’s 1050 motor. I bet I could bring myself to lube a chain for that package.
All that having been said, ask me again next month which one I’m buying and who knows, it may not even be on this list. Unless I win the lotto. Then I’ll take them all.
First, here are a couple of bikes I’d probably buy if I could just hit the lotto numbers – they’re both frightfully expensive. From the department of “Money No Object:”
BMW R1200 GS – Ouch! It’s €13,500 with the adjustable-size panniers.
Although gently used examples can be had for around €12,000, that’s still more than many of the other bikes on this list cost new. In its past iterations, the indomitable looking Teutonic titan has been a big seller, but it never heated my kettle to a full boil. I can’t say I find the new look of the 1200 to be an improvement, I’m still undecided on the plasticky side panels. I think there are better-looking bikes, but hey, looks aren’t everything. (Are they? Aren’t they?) Except for the dreadful looking origami windscreen, it all looks fine from the cockpit. My gushing praise and perma-grin after two days in the Alps last summer could have been printed up as a sales brochure. This may be the only bike with so many riding advantages that its less-than-delectable looks don’t drop it out of the running.
The new BMW R1200 ST. With 110 hp on tap, I’m guessing that this new boxer would suit me down to the ground. But fer gawdsakes, it’s €14,500 without any hard bags. Is it just me, or is it arrogant of BMW to charge €95 extra for a centerstand? Even so (or maybe because of it), I’m writhing with curiosity about how it rides. I rode the R1200GS last year and loved its motor, suspension and gearbox. Maybe it’ll be worth a second mortgage if the ride lives up to the price. The dealer does, after all, offer some great financing. The stacked lights and windscreen look better in person. Really. From some angles. Kind of. I think.
Then there are my perennial loves, Category: “I’ll always want one, but…”
BMW R1150 RS: But it's got such dated styling. But there is a blue ’04 at the local dealer which always yanks my head around for a long gander whenever I walk by. It’s the tourer I should have bought in San Diego instead of the RT. My own soap opera moment: Oh no, I married the wrong sister.
BMW R1100S: But it really cramps my legs, and I'm completely unable to dawdle along enjoying the scenery on it – On a test ride I tried, and I just couldn’t ride within the speed limits without great mental anguish. A license ban should take about three weeks to earn. Pure lust, that’s my feeling about the S. There is no rational reason to buy this bike among its more comfortable stablemates like the RS and the GS. But wanting it for its killer boss-eyed gaze, perfect mirror stalks, and cool underseat cans isn’t about rational thinking, Pamela.
BMW F650 GS: But it will never blaze on the autobahn. I try to tell myself that it’s the scant 50 bhp that keep me from buying the baby Beemer, but the looks also disappoint me somewhere south of the belt buckle. And yet common sense is a horrible thing, because every time I see one, common sense tells me how fun and practical they are. The Bavarians would have done me a big favor to make it just a little uglier. It’s like that cheerful, smart, flat chested, buck-tooth girl at school who you knew would be a great companion but you just didn’t want to be seen dating. I’m so shallow!
Ducati ST-3: But it's got capricious electronics and a weak finish. Besides, if I decide to go with a really sporty sports-tourer, how could I ever choose between the ST-3 and the new Triumph Sprint ST? I find them both achingly beautiful, but oh that Sprint! This is a clear case of needing to win the lotto. That way I can have a red bike and a blue bike in the garage that perform exactly the same mission.
2005 Triumph Sprint ST: But, like the R100S, it'll never go pottering around the backroads here. I mean, just look at it – one must, obviously, haul frickin’ ass down everywhere one goes, lest the gods of riding smite thee down in anger. It's gorgeous, but when I let my brain have the vote, I just can’t see buying it. If I exclude the brain and leave it up to the heart and wedding tackle, it (just) edges out the ST3. Stunning.
Suzuki V-Strom. Will somebody please go to Suzuki and take away all their straight edges? That includes the half-faired SV1000. I had such hope for the V-Strom. It was the reason that Suzuki North America wouldn’t let the sexy Cagiva Navigator come to America, and then the V-Strom turned up looking like an angry robot.
Honda, under-represented elsewhere, takes three of the slots in this category. Listed from worst to best, these are “Good bikes, shame about the looks.”
Honda Varadero. Great idea, but its repellent looks have never been adequately explained, only rationalised with quips like “Great weather protection.” The new Touring version with three color-matched hard bags looks good from the tank rearward. But you can’t always sneak up on it from behind, can you?
Honda Deauville 650. The Tupperware torpedo. Super practical, but it’s just too sluggish for two-up touring at altitude. If it had the old VFR’s 750, it would be a serious contender. As is, it’s a sensible commuter, as long as no one sees you on it.
Honda Transalp. It’s bulky for a 650, seems about a third larger than the F650GS. Same wheezy motor as the Deauville, but at least it’s 37 kilos lighter. For no logical reason, I’m willing to settle for less puff in an Enduro style bike. Good looking from some angles. If it had the TDM’s 900, it’d look even better.
Yamaha TDM 900. Ugliest fairing ever designed by my erstwhile favorite oriental marque. Is it supposed to look like the cartoon Martian peeping out from under his shield? Or a pterodactyl eating a lava lamp? Can I have the old fairing with the twin round lamps with the new motor and gearbox, please?
Yamaha Fazer 1000. Best looking bike of this lot, yet no fairing in bikedom looks like more of an afterthought. If they had smoothly blended the fairing into the tank, I’d probably already have bought one. I just can’t get past the canard-wing view from the cockpit. And the big radiator in front looks like, well, a big radiator.
In no particular order, here are some bikes that I truly like in principle, but that will almost certainly never see my money on the counter. “Good bikes, shame about the …"
KTM 950 Adventure: Shame about the unsightly easel fairing and the white-hot exhaust pipes. Hot exhaust pipes? Yea, I have seen the melted rear fairing panels and ruined throw-over panniers in person. And am I the only one that think it looks like a surprised llama? Yes, I know llamas are mean and tough and can scamper right up a mountain, but I prefer thoroughbreds or even pack mules, for that matter. Besides, orange clashes so with my blue jacket, don'cha know.
Kawasaki ZRX1200: Shame about the absence of legroom. The back of my knees still have a rash from riding a Zed Rex for ten days in 2000. On the pillion, my lanky wife had no problem keeping her ears warm with her knees.
Breva 1100: Shame about its complete absence from the planet. Forget being Fast and Furious, this one’s called Dude, Where’s My Bike?
Triumph Thunderbird Sport: Shame about the stratospheric price. There’s a leftover ’04 at the dealer for around €8100. For a discontinued standard? For maybe €6500 I’d give it a thought. But for over €8K I’ll be looking for a little more legroom, tourability, weather protection, speed….
Honda VFR 800: Shame about the €1000 valve adjustments. Honda, come down from your cloud and talk to the people. We didn’t want VTEC, we wanted 200 more cee-cee’s. And shaft drive, while you’re at it.
After all that gnashing of teeth, these have to be THE FINALISTS:
BMW R1150GS: My buddy Sabo has a 2002 model in Portland, Oregon, and he swears by its comfort, utility, and fun factor. I really like the blue-white scheme from 2002 – 03, in fact when I bought my first BMW in 2002, an 1150RT, I asked if they could swap the paint from the GS over to the RT. Ever since the RT I’ve been a big fan of the boxer motor’s character, torque and looks, so I’m ready to give it a lot of benefit of the doubt.
Triumph Tiger 955i: I’d never paid the Tiger much attention, though I had often admired the audacious look of the beast in magazines. I’ve always had a thing for twin round headlamps, ever since the old GSXR and the original TDM. Last summer I had the opportunity to ride an ’03 Tiger for a weekend and I instantly fell in love with the creamy power of its 955 triple. I’d like to be able to afford the new and improved ’05 model, but at €10,360 it’s really only a few bucks shy of a low-mileage 1200GS. Choosing between them, I’d skip the Tiger and go the extra bucks to get a GS with shaft-drive and ABS. On the other hand, a low mileage ’03 or ’04 Tiger can be had for a lot less than a used 1200GS, and a sagging dollar could see the big feline winning my vote.
AND THE (most likely) WINNER IS:
According to experts the world over, the 1150GS is a far superior bike to the Tiger. Having had ABS save my bacon more than once during overly-spirited riding (my fault!) and in nasty southern California freeway chaos (definitely not my fault), I put a lot of value on it. And the shaft-drive RT spoiled me forever about not having to clean off the back wheel after lubing up. (The chain, that is.) If I were buying today, I’d take the 1150GS and hope that in a couple of years a new Tiger comes along with ABS and the new Sprint’s 1050 motor. I bet I could bring myself to lube a chain for that package.
All that having been said, ask me again next month which one I’m buying and who knows, it may not even be on this list. Unless I win the lotto. Then I’ll take them all.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Sleepless in Achberg
Too many great motorcycles to choose from while seeking to refine my search criteria
I love motorcycles. I can look at almost any motorcycle ever made and think “Now that’d be fun to have.” And there’s been a huge crop of bikes in the last few years that appeal to me. There are dozens of bikes I would buy if money and parking space were not an issue. Hell, in my fantasy garage, I’d have one of each. One in each color. The hard part for me is picking just one. It’s not parting with the money that makes me sweat, it’s the finality of the decision. Buying any one particular bike means I’m not picking one of the others I like. My airline pilot buddy Sabo assures me this is normal. Says he has the same problem whenever there’s more than one available girl at a party.
Living in California, it was frustrating for me to read the British magazines and see all the models that didn’t come to the US over the years. While the range of imports is getting better in America, there have always been more choices on the east side of the Atlantic. We Yanks missed out on many models that you probably take for granted if you live in Europe. We didn’t get the Yamaha Ténéré, Super Ténéré, TDM 900, Bulldog, or the new MT-01. Nor the Honda Deauville, Transalp 650, Africa Twin or Varadero. No big retros like the XJR1300, CB1300 or GSX1400. No FJR1300 the first two years. That’s just to name a few. Yes, we got the VFR, Firestorm and Blackbird, thank you, but only in one color. (Always the wrong one, you ask me.) Bottom line, Americans vote with their wallets, and they vote for fast sportsbikes and big cruisers, and not much in between.
At 6’2” and 200 lbs, my personal criteria for a bike are pretty straightforward: it shouldn’t kill my back, cramp my legs, require a tailwind to break the ton, or, for that matter, be able to break it in first gear (gets me in trouble). I appreciate, but don’t require, goodies like shaft drive and ABS, and I like a modicum of weather protection. Plus – and this is crucial – I’ve got to love its looks. I mean, what good is having a bike if you can’t pop a beer after a ride and just stand back and admire it? What kind of spanner-up-the-tailpipe pragmatist shells out good money for a bike only because it works well? I want a bike that wrenches my head around to gawp at it even after I rode it to the café up on the mountain.
Some bikes everyone says are wonderful just don’t float my boat, like the Z-750, the Caponord, or the Bandit 1200. Respect them I do, I’ve just never fallen for their looks. I can just hear all the shouting, “If you rode one for awhile you’d come to love it!” Sorry, I just don’t feel like I’m supposed to be in that kind of relationship. Can’t we just be friends?
Others, I love the looks, but know better than put myself through the torture. Race replicas thrill my heart but they are meant to be ridden at extreme velocities. Fact is, I hate being on top of a supersonic fighter while having to ride at traffic-pattern airspeeds in order to preserve my license. I’d rather be wringing the living daylights out of a 650 single than using ten percent of the warp-factor-seven available on some race-bred hyperbike. Also, I’m too old and pragmatic to think I’ll be happy in the long term with aching wrists, back and neck just for the sake of a few well-strafed apexes. After an hour’s riding I’d be singing “The Thrill is Gone.”
I’ve really taken to the bikes being classified as “Giant Trailies” or “Adventure Tourers.” I prefer to think of them as rational sports-tourers. Comfortable one- or two-up, good for dawdling and sightseeing but well able to pick up the pace on demand, they’re some of the best all-rounders on the pavement. Me go off-roading or round-the-world? No thanks. Not my goal. Besides, ever since I saw some nut in Austria successfully take his Fireblade off-roading on a dirt road over the Alps (‘s true!), I no longer see long-travel suspension as a requirement for that duty. Just determination.
Truth be known, in the past decade I’ve owned just three bikes. There was a ’93 FJ1200ABS that I bought new in ’95, but finally had to sell in 2000 due to wrist problems – I couldn’t keep myself from going twice the 65 mph speed limit on my San Diego commute every day. I never did get a ticket – knock wood – but if I had, it would have said Go Directly To Jail.
To rein myself in a little, and to gain a more comfortable riding position, I sold the FJ and bought a Cagiva Gran Canyon, even while Cagiva’s future – or existence, for that matter – was tenuous at best. I had heaps of fun on the Cagiva, and the highest speed I eked out was a meager 118 indicated. Speed problem sorted. The grunty Ducati two-valver and the lofty perch taught me something else, too: that it’s fun to potter along looking at the scenery once in a while, not just try to straighten out every bit of twisted pavement at maximum velocity.
In 2002 my wife and I made our plan to move to Europe, and in order to do some serious touring before we left, sold the Gran Canyon and bought a BMW R1150RT. For the next two years the RT proved a capable tourer, commuter, and even a decent sports-tourer, albeit a large one. I never thought of myself as a Beemer type of guy, but once I had the switchgear sorted out (i.e., once I stopped flashing a menacing left blinker at inattentive drivers and honking the horn to cancel said blinker), I found myself rightly impressed with the absence of dive from the telelever front end and the massive grab of the servo-assisted brakes. Got spoiled by the shaft-drive, too.
In May 2004 my wife and I finally moved out of southern California and settled near her hometown in southern Germany, a few minutes from Lake Constance. Southern California is home to some of the greatest motorcycling roads in the world and has phenomenal year-round riding weather, but where driving is concerned it really is the world’s largest open-air insane asylum. For a daily rider, the worst part are the full-combat conditions of the freeways, where those drivers not vacantly chatting on the phone go speeding maniacally across any and all lanes. Blinkers are a sign of weakness, and the weak are fallen upon and devoured. It’s the real life Fast and the Furious, starring over-caffienated soccer moms in gigantic SUVs and super-charged gang-bangers in sports coupes trying to outmaneuver the realtor who’s late to his anger management class. Sometimes actual gunfire erupts.
Starting in 1995 I’d travelled to Germany on holiday seven times and had rented or borrowed about a dozen bikes for anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. I’d come to relish European riding, what with the better disciplined and motorcycle-friendly drivers. I was stunned by the huge number of bikes on the roads in the summer, and how many of those models I’d never seen stateside. After a few excursions over the Passos I started dreaming about swapping year-round riding in crazy SoCal for riding in the Alps all summer, and I struck a deal with my wife: We’ll move to Germany, and I get to buy whatever bike I want. (Within reason. No Morbidelli V8, for example.) I started poring over the magazines and catalogs, getting heart palpitations every time I did because there would be so many more options in Europe, and I would have to pick only one.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the motorcycle show in Friedrichshafen, Germany. This is a relatively minor bike show wherein the area dealers – not the manufacturers themselves – display the latest bikes. The show was a bit of a disappointment because there were some brands completely without representation, like Moto Guzzi. But overall it was a fun show (what bike show isn’t?) and I spent all three days of the show in full shopping mode. I really wanted to leave knowing which set of wheels will be parked up in my shed once the riding season begins. But by Saturday night I’d blown all my fuses going over and over all the choices, and I found myself lying awake at midnight, unable to sleep. Too many choices – what a laughable problem. But with only one parking place in the garage and one bike in the budget, the killer question – which one, which one? – kept me percolating till dawn.
I love motorcycles. I can look at almost any motorcycle ever made and think “Now that’d be fun to have.” And there’s been a huge crop of bikes in the last few years that appeal to me. There are dozens of bikes I would buy if money and parking space were not an issue. Hell, in my fantasy garage, I’d have one of each. One in each color. The hard part for me is picking just one. It’s not parting with the money that makes me sweat, it’s the finality of the decision. Buying any one particular bike means I’m not picking one of the others I like. My airline pilot buddy Sabo assures me this is normal. Says he has the same problem whenever there’s more than one available girl at a party.
Living in California, it was frustrating for me to read the British magazines and see all the models that didn’t come to the US over the years. While the range of imports is getting better in America, there have always been more choices on the east side of the Atlantic. We Yanks missed out on many models that you probably take for granted if you live in Europe. We didn’t get the Yamaha Ténéré, Super Ténéré, TDM 900, Bulldog, or the new MT-01. Nor the Honda Deauville, Transalp 650, Africa Twin or Varadero. No big retros like the XJR1300, CB1300 or GSX1400. No FJR1300 the first two years. That’s just to name a few. Yes, we got the VFR, Firestorm and Blackbird, thank you, but only in one color. (Always the wrong one, you ask me.) Bottom line, Americans vote with their wallets, and they vote for fast sportsbikes and big cruisers, and not much in between.
At 6’2” and 200 lbs, my personal criteria for a bike are pretty straightforward: it shouldn’t kill my back, cramp my legs, require a tailwind to break the ton, or, for that matter, be able to break it in first gear (gets me in trouble). I appreciate, but don’t require, goodies like shaft drive and ABS, and I like a modicum of weather protection. Plus – and this is crucial – I’ve got to love its looks. I mean, what good is having a bike if you can’t pop a beer after a ride and just stand back and admire it? What kind of spanner-up-the-tailpipe pragmatist shells out good money for a bike only because it works well? I want a bike that wrenches my head around to gawp at it even after I rode it to the café up on the mountain.
Some bikes everyone says are wonderful just don’t float my boat, like the Z-750, the Caponord, or the Bandit 1200. Respect them I do, I’ve just never fallen for their looks. I can just hear all the shouting, “If you rode one for awhile you’d come to love it!” Sorry, I just don’t feel like I’m supposed to be in that kind of relationship. Can’t we just be friends?
Others, I love the looks, but know better than put myself through the torture. Race replicas thrill my heart but they are meant to be ridden at extreme velocities. Fact is, I hate being on top of a supersonic fighter while having to ride at traffic-pattern airspeeds in order to preserve my license. I’d rather be wringing the living daylights out of a 650 single than using ten percent of the warp-factor-seven available on some race-bred hyperbike. Also, I’m too old and pragmatic to think I’ll be happy in the long term with aching wrists, back and neck just for the sake of a few well-strafed apexes. After an hour’s riding I’d be singing “The Thrill is Gone.”
I’ve really taken to the bikes being classified as “Giant Trailies” or “Adventure Tourers.” I prefer to think of them as rational sports-tourers. Comfortable one- or two-up, good for dawdling and sightseeing but well able to pick up the pace on demand, they’re some of the best all-rounders on the pavement. Me go off-roading or round-the-world? No thanks. Not my goal. Besides, ever since I saw some nut in Austria successfully take his Fireblade off-roading on a dirt road over the Alps (‘s true!), I no longer see long-travel suspension as a requirement for that duty. Just determination.
Truth be known, in the past decade I’ve owned just three bikes. There was a ’93 FJ1200ABS that I bought new in ’95, but finally had to sell in 2000 due to wrist problems – I couldn’t keep myself from going twice the 65 mph speed limit on my San Diego commute every day. I never did get a ticket – knock wood – but if I had, it would have said Go Directly To Jail.
To rein myself in a little, and to gain a more comfortable riding position, I sold the FJ and bought a Cagiva Gran Canyon, even while Cagiva’s future – or existence, for that matter – was tenuous at best. I had heaps of fun on the Cagiva, and the highest speed I eked out was a meager 118 indicated. Speed problem sorted. The grunty Ducati two-valver and the lofty perch taught me something else, too: that it’s fun to potter along looking at the scenery once in a while, not just try to straighten out every bit of twisted pavement at maximum velocity.
In 2002 my wife and I made our plan to move to Europe, and in order to do some serious touring before we left, sold the Gran Canyon and bought a BMW R1150RT. For the next two years the RT proved a capable tourer, commuter, and even a decent sports-tourer, albeit a large one. I never thought of myself as a Beemer type of guy, but once I had the switchgear sorted out (i.e., once I stopped flashing a menacing left blinker at inattentive drivers and honking the horn to cancel said blinker), I found myself rightly impressed with the absence of dive from the telelever front end and the massive grab of the servo-assisted brakes. Got spoiled by the shaft-drive, too.
In May 2004 my wife and I finally moved out of southern California and settled near her hometown in southern Germany, a few minutes from Lake Constance. Southern California is home to some of the greatest motorcycling roads in the world and has phenomenal year-round riding weather, but where driving is concerned it really is the world’s largest open-air insane asylum. For a daily rider, the worst part are the full-combat conditions of the freeways, where those drivers not vacantly chatting on the phone go speeding maniacally across any and all lanes. Blinkers are a sign of weakness, and the weak are fallen upon and devoured. It’s the real life Fast and the Furious, starring over-caffienated soccer moms in gigantic SUVs and super-charged gang-bangers in sports coupes trying to outmaneuver the realtor who’s late to his anger management class. Sometimes actual gunfire erupts.
Starting in 1995 I’d travelled to Germany on holiday seven times and had rented or borrowed about a dozen bikes for anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. I’d come to relish European riding, what with the better disciplined and motorcycle-friendly drivers. I was stunned by the huge number of bikes on the roads in the summer, and how many of those models I’d never seen stateside. After a few excursions over the Passos I started dreaming about swapping year-round riding in crazy SoCal for riding in the Alps all summer, and I struck a deal with my wife: We’ll move to Germany, and I get to buy whatever bike I want. (Within reason. No Morbidelli V8, for example.) I started poring over the magazines and catalogs, getting heart palpitations every time I did because there would be so many more options in Europe, and I would have to pick only one.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the motorcycle show in Friedrichshafen, Germany. This is a relatively minor bike show wherein the area dealers – not the manufacturers themselves – display the latest bikes. The show was a bit of a disappointment because there were some brands completely without representation, like Moto Guzzi. But overall it was a fun show (what bike show isn’t?) and I spent all three days of the show in full shopping mode. I really wanted to leave knowing which set of wheels will be parked up in my shed once the riding season begins. But by Saturday night I’d blown all my fuses going over and over all the choices, and I found myself lying awake at midnight, unable to sleep. Too many choices – what a laughable problem. But with only one parking place in the garage and one bike in the budget, the killer question – which one, which one? – kept me percolating till dawn.
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