Are American motorcyclists retarded because of Harley-Davidson?

October 2, 2014, 2:13 pm

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Man, if that headline isn't link bait I don't know what is. But let me explain: I have this theory that motorcycling in the United States has suffered retardation, i.e., stunted development, as a result of Harley-Davidson's dominance over the past 30-odd years.

When I use the word "retard" I mean it in the technical sense –– not as a schoolyard taunt or politically incorrect description of someone who is mentally disabled. To retard is to "slow down the development or progress of something," according to Merriam-Webster. And that's what I'm asking: Has Harley-Davidson's overwhelming success in the U.S. market slowed down the development or progress of motorcycling in that country?

But, you know, obviously I could have chosen other words when asking that. "Impede" would work just as well, or "hinder," and so on. The word "retard" comes with a negative-value meta-narrative and its use implies a bias in the person asking the question. Guilty as charged, mis amigos. As someone who carries a latent pro-America stance I can't help but feel a little annoyed when I am forced to admit that my native land is not The Best at a given thing. 

And the painful truth is that Americans are not the best when it comes to making motorcycles. Not at the moment, at least. I think there is potential within the American landscape for rapid and dramatic change, but right now we are decades behind the curve. And I feel that much of the blame for that falls on the shoulders of Harley-Davidson. Albeit accidentally and unintentionally. 

In the United States, Harley-Davidson dramatically outsells all other brands. In 2013, Milwaukee's most-famous company was responsible for more than 51 percent of the street motorcycles sold in the country. And of the street bikes sold last year that were not Harley-Davidsons, quite a large percentage had been designed to look and ride like them. Los americanos les gustan las Harleys. 

That's not terribly surprising. People everywhere tend to cheer for the home team. Triumphs sell better than all else in Britain, BMWs sell better in Germany, and so on. However, Harley-Davidson's situation is unique because its sales dominance is so much greater compared to the successes of other manufacturers on their home turf. For example, BMW carves out just 17 percent of its local market.

My theory is that Harley-Davidson performs so much better at home because the United States was one of the few countries not to suffer an existential crisis after World War II. In other motorcycle-producing nations like Germany, Japan, Italy and even England the post war years forced serious re-evaluations of national identity. After all, it was nationalism and its ugly sides of xenophobia and racism that had fuelled the war. As such, patriotism isn't always an effective selling tool.

Whereas in the United States, the simple fact of a product being American is often reason in itself for people to choose it. Yes, I realise this is less true now than it used to be, but trust me, flag waving still delivers infinitely more marketing success in the United States than here in Europe. 

Through wit and good ol' fashioned dumb luck, Harley-Davidson found itself pretty much the only American motorcycle brand as it began its resurrection in 1981. Through the 1970s it had bumbled almost to the point of bankruptcy, unable to focus and therefore unable to compete against cheaper, superior foreign brands. Perhaps not so coincidentally, this rough patch had come during the Vietnam War and its aftermath, when the American psyche was suffering the closest it would ever come to existential crisis. It was a time when a product's simply being American wasn't enough.

But then, you know, "Morning in America" and all that stuff, and suddenly my grandfather was teaching me to check the labels of my T-shirts to see where they were made. And at the same time, Harley-Davidson lasered its focus to the types of model that had performed well in the past: "traditional" motorcycles. Bikes like those ridden by the modern cowboys who had captured popular imagination in the decades before.

And, of course, the American experience is always one of amalgamation. It is the melting pot. So, the society-degrading outcasts of one generation became the iconic symbols of American spirit for the next. Harley-Davidson brilliantly tapped into this and soon established itself in Americans' minds as not only as being the quintessence of America but the quintessence of motorcycling.

Growing up in the U.S. Central Time Zone –– in Texas and Minnesota –– there was only one kind of motorcycle. Well, maybe two: Harley-Davidsons (or foreign copies), and bikes for people who wore neon socks. Within my cultural understanding, it was Harley or nothing else. If you've followed this blog for a while, you'll know that, after getting my motorcycle license at age 18, I spent almost two decades choosing the "nothing else" option.

I know that the mindset of my younger self is not unique. Take a look at motorcycle blogs, websites and forums and you will see it everywhere, every day. Take a look at the motorcycles on American roads. Lots and lots of Americans struggle to comprehend a world beyond the Harley bubble.

Again, I'm not complaining about an American company being successful, nor am I necessarily complaining about the kind of bikes that Harley-Davidson chooses to make (hell, I want one myself). What irks me is that Harley's tremendous success seems to have resulted in so many people being blind to everything else. And as a result, motorcycling in the United States has not moved forward at the same pace as the rest of the world.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Perhaps it would help to take it out of a motorcycling context. Imagine if Chili's were the only place you ever ate. Ever. I'm a big fan of Chili's, personally. Free refills on ice tea, good burgers, decent wings, awesome chili-cheese nacho dip, and the Southwestern eggrolls are the bomb. That molten chocolate cake, too, yo. When I was in college I got a job as a waiter at Chili's solely because it meant getting a discount at Chili's. I could and can stand to eat at Chili's a lot. But if it was the only restaurant I ever went to? After a few decades of that I would be suffering from culinary retardation. I wouldn't really know what food could be.

In that scenario, should Chili's change what it's doing? Not necessarily. Should people begrudge its success? Definitely not. But that doesn't make me any less stunted in my understanding and philosophy of food.

I feel Harley-Davidson's success has retarded American motorcycling both technologically and philosophically. It is not just that American motorcyclists don't care about things like liquid-cooling or traction control, etc., but that they can't see why they should care. Because to them (a) motorcycles are toys. Hobbies. Trinkets that –– like an NFL jersey or Tom Petty box set –– are reflections of the personality/character a person wants to portray outwardly, but which are ultimately not terribly relevant nor deserving of analysis and progression.

The end result of that is three American brands that lack any model diversity and an American motorcycling landscape where filtering is allowed in only one state and very few people ever ride unless it's hot and sunny. A motorcycling landscape where too many riders settle for an inferior situation and too many potential riders choose nothing.

UPDATE: On the same day I published this post, Wes Siler published this article on Jalopnik, which captures the same frustrated sentiment you see in my post but more detail. It's a good piece (I wish I had written it) and will get you feeling upset at the state of motorcycling in America.

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(a)I'm talking in generalities here, speaking of the majority. Obviously, I know there are exceptions.

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Feeling practical

October 7, 2014, 1:42 am

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I talk a lot about the bikes I want. It's one of the main facets of this blog; there are just so many amazing and cool motorcycles out there, and I wish I could own them all. My daydream is that I could be like Jay Leno and possess a seemingly infinite garage full of bikes. But I'm not a celebrity; I'm just a low-tiered public relations hack with the salary to match.

So, the fact is, almost every bike I swoon over and declare to be The One For Me is, in fact, totally beyond my reach. I don't have the money to buy it and in many cases I don't have the space to store it. Even reasonably priced machines like the Yamaha XV950 are a solid £3,000 beyond the realm of Maybe Possible With A Bit Of Luck as far as I'm concerned.

This is a truth that I find incredibly depressing to accept, so, by and large, I do my best to just ignore it whilst trying to convince myself that the bike I have is better than I give it credit for being. And, indeed, I've been teaching myself over the past few months or so that by revving it harder I can get my old Honda to perform much better than I had previously thought possible.

But, still, the Honda is a little long in the tooth (it will be 10 years old in a few months) and I can't help wishing for just a bit more horsepower to better serve me when loaded up with luggage and taking my wife places. And as such, I have told myself that I would very much like to find a way to replace my existing machine shortly before its next MOT and tax payments are due.

(For those of you playing along at home, vehicles in the United Kingdom are taxed on an annual basis. In order to be allowed the privilege of paying said tax you also have to pass and pay for a Ministry of Transport test to ensure your vehicle is road worthy.)

That means I'd be looking to buy sometime in early summer 2015. That's a pretty tight time schedule -- quite possibly unrealistic -- but hope springs eternal. If I want to have any chance at all of achieving that goal, however, I have to accept that Indian Scouts and Moto Guzzi Grisos are simply out of the picture. As is any other bike that's new. So, I've been spending a lot of time looking at used listings.

Slowly, slowly, slowly over the past few weeks I've been working on developing a fondness for the Suzuki GSX1250FA. Possessing as much sex appeal as a good pair of wool socks, the GSX1250FA is essentially a Suzuki Bandit with full fairing. Which means that if you were to buy a brand new one you'd be getting a motorcycle that was effectively designed 20 years ago.

Partially it is because of that old technology that you'll find a brand new GSX1250FA to be surprisingly affordable -- undercutting competition by thousands of pounds/euros/dollars/whatever. And on the used market, aided by the fact that Suzukis have terrible resale value, you'll find them to be flat out cheap.

For example, I recently spotted a 2011 GSX1250FA with just 3,000 miles on it that is equipped with hard luggage, a centre stand and heated grips for £4,500. The cheapest Triumph Sprint GT that I can find which compares in age, mileage and accoutrements costs £6,500. The cheapest equivalent Honda CBF1000SA costs £6,750. The cheapest Kawasaki Z1000SX (aka Ninja 1000) costs £7,000. And the cheapest BMW F800GT costs £9,000. In other words, the Suzuki is an incredibly good deal.

As long as you can get over how generally unsexy it is.

I think I could. Partially because of that 20-year-old Bandit engine. One of the reasons Suzuki hasn't updated it much over the years is that it is beloved by a large segment of the motorcycling world. Delivering whopping torque for an inline four (about 75 lb.-ft.), it will pull from a dead start in fourth gear and has a reputation of being pretty much bulletproof. The fact that you see so many dirty old Bandits growling through South Wales is certainly evidence of the engine's durability.

In the real world the engine puts out about 95 hp, which is a bit wheezy when compared with equivalent bikes in the awkward middleweight all-rounder sport-tourer category, but still a solid 20 hp more than my current machine claims, and enough to push the Suzuki to 150 mph without  much effort. 

Equipped with anti-lock brakes and a simple dashboard that offers gear and fuel indicators along with all the usual info, the bike has plenty of room for a rider and passenger whilst managing to not be huge. I made a point of checking one out in the showroom of Fowlers of Bristol recently and was intrigued by the fact the GSX1250FA is not a whole lot bigger than my Honda (a). Compare that with the Triumph Sprint GT which seems to have been made extra large just for the hell of it. 

Sitting on the bike, I was quite pleased with the ergonomics, which are just a little better suited to my 6-foot-1 frame than those on my Honda. The seat felt a tiny bit more comfortable, as well. The screen isn't adjustable, so inevitably I'd find myself having to splash out on an MRA touring screen, but those don't cost too much.

Gas mileage is reportedly less than with my Honda, but 41 mpg is still decent. The Suzuki is also a few pounds heavier, but I guess that's to be expected from a bike that carries an engine that is 650cc larger.

In short, it's a pretty damn good bike at a pretty damn good price. So my question is: Do you own one, or do you know anyone who does? 

I'd really like to hear about long-term experiences with this motorcycle. Obviously, I'll test ride one at some point in the future, and availability of finances will be the deciding factor but I find myself genuinely considering this machine and want to know if it's a good idea.

Let me know what you think in the comments below.

An addendum to that by the way: if you're going to do that thing of saying: "Don't get that bike get XX instead," please be aware that XX needs to cost the same and have the same safety features (e.g. ABS). Muchas gracias.

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(a)My initial impression was that the GSX1250FA is bigger than a CBF600SA, but it is actually 1.5 inches shorter in length. It is only 0.20 inch taller and just 1.2 inches wider. In other words, it is basically the same size as my existing machine but with a far larger and more powerful engine. Basically, this supports my feeling that the CBF600SA is unnecessarily bulky. 

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October 9, 2014, 12:00 am

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British weather is proof that there is a God and that he does not like you. When you are caught in the middle of some interminable squall, the misery is just too great for such phenomena to be random. No; a higher power crafted this. Some great and awesome mind invested tremendous time and effort fine tuning every tiny aspect to ensure maximum displeasure. 

Sitting in my living room that morning, prolonging breakfast for as long as I could, I had known it would be awful. Now, narrowly skirting yet another completely distracted driver on the A4232, I realised I had underestimated just how great the potential for this ride to suck.

My bike was due its 16,000-mile service and I was on my way to Fowler's of Bristol. The 16K service is the biggest one as far as the Honda CBF600SA is concerned, and committing to having it done is inherently an act of committing yourself to the bike for a good while longer. It's like paying for your wife to have breast implants. You don't fork over that kind of money for the sake of someone else reaping the benefit.

After weeks of actually nice early-autumn conditions the weather had turned brutal overnight. High winds shook everything that weighed less than a building, and splatty cold rain worked its magic -- obscuring visibility and seeping into the clothing I had failed to re-waterproof after my trip to Scotland. 

It was all too much for many of my fellow road users. Despite the fact they live on an island that is world famous for having crappy weather, they drove as if having never before encountered wet conditions. On the A4232, a car in the lane to my left suddenly slammed on its brakes for no discernible reason, throwing itself into a skid. On Newport Road a car drifted back and forth across three lanes of traffic. On the slip road ("entrance ramp," for those of you playing along at home) to the A48, some cars attempting to join the hardly-moving flow of traffic had managed to position themselves sideways.

Typical traffic on M4 between Cardiff and Bristol

It is in moments like these that you realise the complete breakdown of society is never really so far away. But, hey, at least human kindness will persist. I found a surprising amount of it as I weaved my way down the A48 and onto the M4. Traffic was completely stopped at some points, moving at a snail's pace at others, so I took advantage of my right to filter through it -- easing the Honda down a narrow corridor between the endless rows of cars and vans and lorries. Many drivers spotted me and shifted their vehicles to allow a wider gap.

In the 48 miles between Penarth and Fowler's I'll bet I was filtering at least 70 percent of the time. Mile after mile after mile after mile of slipping past immobile cars. When you do this, you feel shocked and empathetically sad for the drivers who put themselves through such frustration just to get to work. Part of me wanted to stop and evangelise. Tap on their windows and say: "Hey, do you not see what I'm doing here? See how I'm getting places and you're not? Stop doing this to yourself. Stop living this miserable car-bound life. Join me on two wheels."

Attempting to testify in this weather would have been a challenge, though. And to that end, I was perhaps fortunate to be stuck in a filtering situation. Moving slowly through rows of giant metal windbreaks was helping protect me from the worst of the gale-force winds. I didn't realise this until things loosened up and I sped toward the Severn Bridge.

"RHYBUDD: CYFLYRAU GYRRU PERYGLUS" blinked a highway sign. (Warning: dangerous driving conditions.)

"No shit," I muttered, as the wind bounced me around in my lane and rain splattered my visor with an audible clack-clack-clack.

When we had still been stuck in heavy traffic, a small caravan of motorcyclists had formed -- about eight of us moving through the filtering corridor, taking turns as leader. Now, as speeds picked up everyone was spacing out, each taking a lane to him- or herself and settling into individual cruising speeds. A litre-sized CBR had long ago shot off. Everyone else was moving away from me at a more leisurely pace (You can take the boy out of America but you can't take the America out of the boy; I have a lot of trouble ignoring speed limits as flagrantly as Brits do).

The Severn Bridge on a good day

The Severn Bridge is a 1-mile span that soars above the wide and tumultuous mouth of the River Severn as it becomes the Bristol Channel. Crossing it is always a bit of an experience because of high winds, especially if you are sitting atop a 600cc dandy horse.

As the road arced toward mudflats and the straight approach to the bridge, the first truly brutal gusts hit us. I saw the bikes in front of me wobble a tiny, tiny bit against the wind blast. Then, the riders visibly taking in deep breaths of resignation, tucking in and throttling forward. Once more unto the breach, dear friends.

I did the same, laying my chest on my tank bag and bringing my elbows in. I moved to the middle of three lanes to give myself some hope of avoiding trouble should I be blown completely out of my lane -- the other lanes had guardrails to punish me if I drifted too far. 

And, indeed, at one point I did drift too far. Jostling to get out of the turbulence coming off a cattle truck, I was slammed by a gust right as I moved past the giant, stinking vehicle. My bike heaved right and slipped across the dotted white lines into the next lane. Pitched at a 30-degree angle I fought against the gust to get back into my own lane. As I hit the white lines at that angle, my tires wobbled a little before finding better grip. 

It all happened too quickly to be scared. But as my brain processed what had just happened I realised that the driver of a large white van into whose lane I had accidentally flown must have sensed such a thing might happen. He had held back as I passed the cattle truck. And now he chose to straddle his and my lane, using the mass of his vehicle to block other cars from riding up on me, thereby eliminating a lot of stress.

I kept my tuck and shouted out "Thank you" as loud as I could, hoping he could somehow sense that I was saying it and how much I meant it. With him and the cattle truck effectively covering my six, I made it the made it the rest of the way across the bridge without incident. As we came off the bridge and into the wind-blocking hillocks of the English side of the river, I dropped into the slow lane, sat up a bit and waited for the van to come alongside. I saluted. He gave a thumb's up and sped off.

A few minutes later I was on the M32 and back in the "safety" of filtering through Bristol rush hour traffic. Weaving onto the surface streets and through the incongruous maze of Bristol city centre I felt alive and excited. The city was vibrant. Everything was moving. Rain was falling -- heavily enough that I could hear it on my helmet -- but lightly enough that everything was clear.

Bristol is about triple the size of Cardiff and infinitely more cosmopolitan in its mindset. So, I wasn't the only one filtering, nor was there just a single filtering corridor. Between all the cars ran flowing streams of motorcycles, scooters and bicyclists. Trickling through Cabot Circus I caught glimpse of a woman in a red Volkswagen Golf, its windows fogged on the edges by conditions. You have never seen a woman looking more miserable. Not sad or grief-stricken or angry or upset, just miserable. Flat out 20-foot-thick misery.

I felt so badly for her. And for all these other people trapped in their cars, trapped doing this every single day -- year after year. I wanted so much to let her know things didn't have to be like this. I wanted to tap on her window and say: "Hey, do you not see what I'm doing here? Stop doing this to yourself. Stop living this miserable car-bound life. Join me on two wheels."

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What I want: Ducati Scrambler

October 14, 2014, 12:00 am

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Before I address that beautiful thing pictured above, I'm going to step back to Intermot very quickly, I got some of what I wanted out of it; I had been looking forward to the large European motorcycle show for a number of reasons, eager to see what each manufacturer would reveal. 

Victory delivered an ABS-equipped Gunner to absolutely no fanfare (I had to divine the information from their website rather than any news outlet). I am delighted they have done this but not terribly delighted by the bike's price (£10,399 in the UK -- the exact same as the Indian Scout). Meanwhile, there was no adventure tourer from Yamaha, and Suzuki didn't manage to offer anything they haven't already been offering in some slightly different form for the past 20 years. BMW produced a cool-looking R1200RS that I would love to have but that will almost certainly come with an unholy price tag, and Kawasaki managed to make its Versys models quite a bit less ugly.

The two biggest things to come from the show for me, though, are:

1. Triumph chose to sit on its ass for another year in terms of the Bonneville. It offered no updates to the popular model, not even the ABS that will be required in 2016. To mask this laziness, it revealed three identical "new" models, which are differentiated only in paint, wheels and seat. I mean, remember how I got angry at Victory for putting a big wheel on the Cross Country and calling it something different? These Bonneville models are even lazier than that.
2. Ducati made Triumph look like damned fools by revealing a Bonneville-killing Scrambler model, and, oh my gosh, do I want one.

But hang on, the Bonneville is a great bike in a lot of ways. I test rode one earlier this year and loved it enough that, had the salesman not calmed me down, I would have signed loan papers right then and there. My relentless sense of practicality eventually killed the bike for me but that doesn't change the fact that it is delightfully fun to ride, listen to, look at, and be seen on.

And that -- that spirit -- is at the heart of why I think the new Ducati Scrambler is the bee's motherhugging knees. Just look at that thing. It's so simple, yet so intricate. Everywhere you look there is something to hold the eye for a moment.

Obviously, from its simplicity, styling and marketing, the Ducati Scrambler is being aimed at that same young, neo-classically inspired demographic being targeted by machines like the Bonneville, Harley-Davidson Iron 883, Kawasaki W800, Yamaha SR400, Moto Guzzi V7, and Royal-Enfield Continental GT. You know, the hipsters, the kids, the Instagram mega-pros, the Vimeo auteurs.

That's cool with me, because I already hover around that world (though, I will never ever, ever wear skinny jeans). But also because I feel that world helps to draw new people into motorcycling.

And I don't just mean young people. There are loads of more modern, even more affordable bikes for young people (or the young at heart) that are practical (e.g., Honda CB500F) and awesomely fun (e.g., Yamaha MT-07), but by and large I feel those are bikes aimed at young people who were already attending the Church of Two Wheels. Whereas the neoclassical machines and the hipsters who love them, I think, help to reach beyond traditional motorcycling circles.

One of my laments, however, is that often these hipster machines aren't very good. I mean, I get the idea of authenticity, but I can't help feeling that a skinny-jeaned noob on a bike that's rocking drum brakes and bias tires is only going to get himself authentically maimed (a). And here is where the Ducati Scrambler is so awesome. It is not a throwback but a progression.

Ducati says this Scrambler is its vision of what the bike would be today had the line not been discontinued some 40 years ago. It's similar to the thinking behind all of Indian's bikes. I'm not sure I entirely buy Ducati's rhetoric but, who cares? It's a lovely bike.

Ducati Scrambler Urban Enduro

A lovely bike that is almost certainly not supposed to tackle anything more challenging than a fire road, despite its looks and tires. But, again, that's OK by me because the Scrambler appears to be a solid machine for road use. Its 803-cc V-twin engine pumps out a claimed 75 hp, which means that, although it's also not designed for long-haul journeys, if some dumb-as-I-was-in-college hipster kid decided he or she wanted to travel America on the thing he/she would at least have more than enough power to do so.

In addition, said hipster youth (or youth at heart -- hell, I'd probably still attempt such a road trip) will be aided by anti-lock brakes, LED lighting and a USB charger under the seat. That last feature is so obvious and simple that you kind of feel embarrassed for motorcycle manufacturers that it hasn't already been standard for the past half decade.

It is a feature, too, that speaks to the fact Ducati has gotten it so right with this model. Or, should I say, series of models. Because Ducati has cleverly seen where Triumph has benefited from dressing up the Bonneville in different guises, and will be offering several variants of the Scrambler right out of the gate. Along with the Scrambler there's the Scrambler Classic, the Scrambler Urban Enduro, the Scrambler Full Throttle and the Scrambler Grand Slam Breakfast with your choice of hash browns or toast.

OK, I made that last one up.

But the point is that Ducati seems to have put a lot of effort into this venture, taking the time to consider the little things. And still the price is not as brutal as you'd expect. Here in the UK, the standard red Scrambler will cost £6,895. Compare that with the £6,799 being asked for the heavier, less powerful and technologically inferior Triumph Bonneville.

This bike, y'all. I am so enamoured of this bike that I can't even think of intelligent things to say about it. That's part of what I love about it. It's the sort of machine that just sends your imagination spiralling off into that happy place of "My Life Could Be Like This!" Like when you visit a new town and you find the perfect restaurant or coffee shop, so you sit there and imagine what your life would be like if you lived in that place.

And of course you don't think about the day-to-day stuff. You don't think about bills and commutes. You don't think about house prices and finding good schools for your kids. You think about the cool places you'd eat, the fun events you'd go to. In your imagination, every day in this new city would be cinematic and amazing.

So, you look at a Ducati Scrambler and the happy-excited part of your brain goes: "OMG! I could put a rack and a screen on that thing for cheap, load it up with luggage bought at an army surplus store and travel to... uhm... I don't know! Hell, who cares! I'd just head out without a map. I'd find my way to places by asking directions, and if the directions were wrong that would just add to the adventure!"

See, this happens to me all the time. I've experienced some variant of that fantasy with every bike on my What I Want list. The beauty of the Ducati Scrambler, though, is that once the day-to-day creeps back into your thoughts -- once you realise that you have to pay for groceries regardless of whether you're living in Paris, France, or Paris, Texas -- you are still left with a beautiful and practical machine. A machine that will help make the day-to-day routines more tolerable.

I want this thing in my life. Someone give me the money to buy one...

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(a)Credit should be given to Harley-Davidson here because it's offered ABS on the Iron 883 for more than a year. Additionally, it can run with radial tires.

Love for the Can-Am Spyder

October 17, 2014, 5:13 am

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Can-Am Spyder F3

The UK motorcycling community hates trikes. Actually, that scorn extends beyond motorcycling circles. I once heard someone who doesn't ride describe trikes as "belonging to that section of motoring marked: 'Only For Men With Ponytails.'"

This colours my own attitude toward trikes, of course; we are affected by our surroundings, regardless of whether we want to be. And I will admit my own opinion of traditional two-wheels-in-the-back trikes is particularly negative. I think this is because they remind me of Big Wheels: transport of choice for discerning 4-year-olds. And when I see an adult on a Harley-Davidson Tri-Glide or converted Honda Gold Wing I can't help but imagine them to have the same traits as a 4-year-old: blindly self-focused, incapable of intelligent conversation, not terribly coordinated and inclined to wet the bed.

For some reason, though, my opinion changes if you switch things around and put the two wheels at the front, creating the Can-Am Spyder. Does this make sense? No. It's just how I think.

I'm not sure Brits share my view. According to official government statistics, Can-Am sold just 31 Spyder vehicles here last year. That's not a lot. Admittedly, a lack of dealerships may also be part of the problem. Can-Am has just four in the whole of the country. But then, MV-Agusta also has just four dealerships and managed to sell 184 models last year.

Maybe low sales are more to do with the fact that a Spyder is so utterly pointless in a UK context. With its 5-foot-wide stance, it is too broad to filter and as such serves effectively as a compact car. It's a Vauxhall Corsa with three wheels. But for the fact that the cheapest Spyder costs roughly £6,000 more than a standard Corsa, lacks the weather protection of a Corsa, can't haul nearly the amount of stuff or people as a Corsa, and gets just half the mpg of a Corsa. Top Gear described the Spyder as having "none of the benefits of a car and all the disadvantages of a bike."

Can-Am Spyder RS

The vehicle apparently sells pretty well in North America and Southern Europe, though -- places that have more sun and more open roads. And when I ponder what it would be like to own a Spyder I always picture myself back home.

I alluded to this in my post about the Ducati Scrambler: the idea of heading off on some epic, meandering journey a la Steve and Sash. One of the variants of this fantasy is the idea of Jenn and I trundling across the North American continent on a ridiculous behemoth of a machine that could hold all the things two people need to live on the road indefinitely, and with the sort of weight to resist the toppling winds that rip across the great flat spaces of the Plains States, Manitoba, Saskatchewan, et. al. Something like an Indian Roadmaster or BMW K1600GTL usually comes to mind.

But this past summer, Jenn and I were in the United States visiting family and two things happened in relatively quick succession that got me thinking about such big bikes. Both happened at the Minneapolis Farmers Market (another of the quadrillion things about the Twin Cities that makes it better than wherever you live).

First, I spotted a woman riding a Can-Am Spyder RS. I had yet to see one of these in person and was taken by the fact that: a) it is massive; and b) it is a lot less stupid-looking than I had thought. I mean, a lot. To the point that it looks strangely... cool? I'm pretty sure that's not the word I want to use, but I can't think of one that it is more appropriate. The woman steering that dry-land snowmobile through the heavy farmers market traffic looked... cool.

The second thing happened a few minutes later, as my dad, Jenn, and I were walking from one row of stalls to the next. Misjudging a curb slightly, my dad caught his foot and performed a spectacular Dolph Ziggler-esque fall onto the pavement. It wasn't just a stumble; it was as if he had launched himself to the ground.

It has to be said that Dad has never been athletic. He tells a story of himself as a chubby boy at a swimming pool wearing an inner tube that fit rather snugly. At one point he got turned upside down in the water, and lacked the physical wherewithal to right himself. A lifeguard had to jump in to save him from drowning. Now almost 65 years old, he suffers the same low-level clumsiness as always but increasingly lacks the agility and reflexes to correct such missteps. So, when he caught his foot and started to fall, he wasn't quick enough to bring the other foot forward and catch himself; he just went crashing down.

He ended up with a massive gash down his right forearm, another down his left knee and shin, and a few minor cuts on his hands. Fortunately, a paramedic team was stationed at the market and they were able to patch him up with a stack of bandages and some gentle humour.

Can-Am Spyder RT

You see where I'm going with this, right? If I want to keep riding past retirement, and especially if I want to live out that "Jenn And I Ride Across North America" fantasy, I need to accept that at some point in the future my balance, agility and reflexes might not be up to the task of manoeuvring a massive two-wheeled machine without incident. And at that point I will be left with just three options: give up riding, have expensive and morally questionable surgery to transplant my brain into the body of a 20-year-old, or get a three-wheeled bike.

The third option is the most viable. And because I find the aesthetics of a Spyder to be strangely appealing I'm OK with that. In some small way I look forward to it. I can see us now: wearing matching Roadcrafters and modular helmets with intercom systems, happily cruising across the plains of Kansas or badlands of the Dakotas on a Spyder RT -- a Wall Drug bumper sticker affixed to the top box.

But why wait until my autumn years? Jenn and I are still hoping to move to Minnesota in 2019 and I often ponder how I will deal with the fact it is a place that can see snow for 7 months out of the year. Do I just fall in with the fairweather majority, or do I become a motorcycling legend like Chris Luhman of Everyday Riding? He lives in the Twin Cities and rides through the winter on a Ural Patrol.

There's no denying the ready-for--a-zombie-apocalypse coolness of a Ural, but for me I'd prefer a Spyder as the tool for riding through the months of King Boreas' reign. It has traction control and apparently (because people in Canada have done it) it's possible to put winter car tires on the thing. So riding in winter kind of makes sense. After all, the Spyder is, as I said, a dry-land snowmobile; it is made by a snowmobile company.

So, ride on all your Spyder riders. You look ridiculous but who cares? Maybe one day I'll join you.

Can-Am Spyder snowplow. Because why not?

____________________

On a related note, it's been reported that quite a large percentage of the people buying Can-Am Spyders are women and individuals who have never ridden a motorcycle before (in many countries -- the UK included -- you do not need motorcycle qualifications to ride one, just a driver's license). I think this is great. Generally, I think that anything putting more motorcyclists or quasi-motorcyclists on the road is a good thing because it leads to normalisation, greater overall awareness by other road users and, ultimately more and better choices for consumers.

Thoughts on the Kawasaki Vulcan S

October 24, 2014, 2:07 pm

≫ Next: The new all-rounders

≪ Previous: Love for the Can-Am Spyder

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Here's a question: Is a Harley-Davidson a cruiser, or is a cruiser a Harley-Davidson? In other words, which is the Form?

In Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy there is the concept of the Form: that all things and, in fact, concepts, have Forms which are the "true" representation of their reality. So, for example, imagine if I were to show you a picture of a beagle, then a whippet, then a dalmatian, then a poodle, and thereafter ask you: "What did I just show you?" 

Your answer might be, quite simply: "Pictures of dogs."

In this case, "dog" is the Form. It is the thing that all the other things are in their essence. We have in our minds an idea, an understanding of what a dog is and we are able to apply it to thousands upon thousands of images despite the fact these images can vary greatly. 

So, again: is a Harley-Davidson a cruiser, or is a cruiser a Harley-Davidson? Which is the "true" thing? Which is the Form and which is the representation of the Form? 

More specifically, what is the Form of a cruiser? Is it a motorcycle, or is it a Harley-Davidson? My instinct, of course, is to claim the former –– that a cruiser is a type of motorcycle and that a Harley-Davidson is a type of cruiser.

But it seems a whole hell of a lot of people believe the latter. You can see this in internet forums and website comments sections; read between the lines of criticisms of, say, an Indian Scout and you will see many critics are just upset because it doesn't look/perform enough like a Harley-Davidson.

It's important that you have a solid grasp of what you believe (and belief is really all it is since even the Form of "motorcycle" can be questioned by the advent of things like the Can-Am Spyder), because it will dramatically temper your interpretation of machines like the newly announced Kawasaki Vulcan S. If you are of the camp that believes Harley-Davidson is the Form, and therefore to make a cruiser is to make a truckling homage to Harley-Davidson, you probably won't like the new Vulcan S.

Personally, I do like it. To me, this bike is really interesting and part of what seems like an exciting movement in the cruiser genre to push away from the old thinking in which Harley-Davidson is the Form. Interestingly, Harley-Davidson itself is part of that movement, but I'll get to that in a second.

The Vulcan S was announced rather suddenly a while back at the AIM Expo in Orlando, although a few websites, like Biker News Online, had picked up rumours of its existence about a month earlier. Those rumours were quite excited because the Vulcan S is powered by the same 650cc liquid-cooled parallel-twin engine that can be found in the Kawasaki Ninja 650 and Kawasaki Versys 650. And as such, it delivers roughly the same amount of power as is enjoyed on those bikes.

On the surface, taking a platform that has existed for years and dressing it up as something else doesn't sound terribly revolutionary, but such is the overly conservative nature of the cruiser world. For decades, manufacturers held to the idea of a Harley-Davidson as the cruiser's Form. Which, if you think about it, was a really stupid thing to do for everyone who wasn't Harley-Davidson (or, perhaps Triumph); you can't out-Harley the Harley-Davidson Motor Company. If you're any other manufacturer and you're setting out to create a Harley-Davidson you're inherently going to fail.

And even when companies appeared to be breaking from the same old routine, such as when BMW made the R1200C, they weren't really –– still adhering to the Form ideas of a cruiser as heavy, underpowered for its engine size, and expensive.

But in the quite recent past, we've seen a small movement to make cruisers that are lighter, less expensive, and that deliver more power with smaller engines. To my mind this started with the Honda CTX700N, a bike that looks as if it was designed to be used in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Which is to say, it looks as if someone in the 1990s was trying to imagine what cruisers would look like in the future.

Next to lift its head was Harley-Davidson itself, with the Street 500 and Street 750 models. To me, though, these bikes look a little confused. It's as if Harley-Davidson wasn't prepared to commit to the idea of a motorcycle that looked like anything other than a "traditional" Harley-Davidson.

I think the look of the Vulcan S is the best of this new school. Its headlight takes a little getting used to (it reminds me of Cobra Commander's face shield) but once you break from the emotional need for a round headlight on a cruiser you can see that it fits the overall look and feel of the bike.

With its engine set to produce 61 hp, the new Vulcan S will deliver roughly the same amount of power as the Harley-Davidson Sportster 1200. It will have anti-lock brakes and a few other modern touches, such as its digital dash, but the thing that really strikes me is that the ergonomics will be highly adjustable. Moving the pegs and seat to a variety of combinations will, Kawasaki says, allow the Vulcan S to accommodate a large spread of heights. And Kawasaki says these ergonomic adjustments will come at no additional cost.

I also like that the exhaust is placed underneath the bike, creating a little more space for lean and lessening the chance of the rider or passenger burning his or her leg, a la Road Warrior Animal in SummerSlam 1992.

In the United States, the ABS version of the Vulcan S will be priced at $7,399 (and £5,899 in the UK), which still puts it at $100 less than the H-D Street. The latter bike offers less power and does not (yet) have an ABS option. Considering the half-hearted reviews the Street has received so far I think the Vulcan could stand out as the king of this little group of sub-800cc liquid-cooled machines.

However, although I definitely like the concept of the Vulcan S and will certainly make an effort to test ride one as soon as it arrives in UK dealerships, there is not really anything about the bike that makes me think: "I need this in my life."

But that is generally how I feel toward Kawasakis. There's just something about them that feels a little "meh" to me. Great bikes, without doubt –– along with the Vulcan S, I'd love to be given a Z1000SX or Versys 1000 or 1400GTR –– but they aren't really bikes that make me want to spend my own money.

My hope, though, is that the Vulcan S and the Street models and even the dog ugly CTX700s will succeed. I think these are machines that can help widen the appeal of motorcycling just a little more. And I hope, too, that their success would draw Yamaha into the field, making use of its fantastic MT-07 platform.

The new all-rounders

November 5, 2014, 8:59 am

≫ Next: The Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure

≪ Previous: Thoughts on the Kawasaki Vulcan S

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I'm not really sure what we call these bikes: adventure-sport? Adventure-tour? The bikes that look a bit like offroad-capable machines but that are never intended to be taken off road. The motorcycle equivalent of the Volkswagen Tiguan, I suppose. Though, I feel that's slightly insulting to this particular class of bike. 

But like a pseudo-SUV (a "pSeUdo-V," perhaps?) it is a class of vehicle that borrows offroad styling and features to deliver a positive on-road experience. But in the case of an adventure-touring motorcycle (let's just agree to use that term here), the vehicle is one that is applicable to almost all (paved) scenarios. 

It is an all-rounder. It may not be the perfect bike for any one situation, but it will perform admirably in all. Faster, lighter and better in corners than a cruiser; more comfortable and functional than a sport bike; better suited to long motorway hauls than a true offroad machine. And although very much geared to paved-road use, an adventure-tourer can be expected to hold up on a well-maintained dirt/gravel road. And if, like me, you are on the tallish side (I'm 6 foot 1), adventure-tourers come with the added benefit of ergonomics that don't require yoga.

The real weak point of an adventure-tourer, as with an actual offroad-worthy adventure bike, is that it is ugly. But the incredible usefulness of my own not-terribly-sexy Honda (which is an all-rounder in a sport-tourer guise) has softened my previously aggressive stance on aesthetics in recent months, to the extent that when I play the Next Bike I Will Own game, this type of bike starts to creep in.

This is an example of my practical side, acknowledging that I don't have the money or garage space to own more than one bike. So, whatever bike I do choose next will need to be capable of being put to many different uses. And in the spirit of practicality I've created the following chart to help me examine the qualities of the adventure-tourers I find myself considering most often:

	BMW S1000XR	Honda VFR 800X Crossrunner	Kawasaki Versys 1000	KTM Adventure 1050	Suzuki V-Strom 1000 Adventure	Triumph Tiger 800 XR	Yamaha MT-09 Tracer
Price	(?) At least £11,000	£10,300	(?) At least £10,000	£11,000	£10,000	£8,500	(?) Roughly £8,000
Horsepower	160	106	120	95	99	95	115
Engine cc	1000	782	1,043	1,050	1,037	799	847
Traction control?	Yes	Yes	Yes	Yes	Yes	Yes	Yes
Multiple ride modes?	Yes	No	Yes	Yes	No	Yes	Yes
Weight	228 kg	242 kg	250 kg	212 kg	228 kg	213 kg	210 kg
Unique standard features?	12V plug	- Heated grips - Top box - Centre stand - TomTom GPS - Self-cancelling indicators - Akrapovic exhaust	- Centre stand - Assist and slipper clutch - Adjustable windscreen	- Hand guards - Slipper clutch - Adjustable windshield, handlebars, footrests and levers	- Hand guards - Lower cowling - Engine guard - Panniers - Pointless graphics	-Adjustable seat and levers - 12V plug - Sump guard	- Hand guards - Centre stand - 12V plug - LED headlights - Adjustable headlights, windscreen, seat, and handlebars

You'll note that all are in the largish end of the middleweight category. More and more I find I am attracted to bikes that are "only" a litre or smaller in engine size, and I can't really see why I would need something larger apart from the fact that bigger-engined bikes tend to be more accommodating of tall guys. By and large, though, because of how I ride, a bigger engine is wasted on me. It has horsepower I will never use. Truthfully, for a solid 85 percent of my riding I would be perfectly content astride a Honda NC750X. and I could probably live with its shortcomings the other 15 percent of the time.

But, see, I like being able to dramatically accelerate at high speed. And when I think about the bikes I want, my eye tends to wander toward those with a little more oomph. So, here's a closer look at the bikes in this category that are tickling my fancy at the moment:

BMW S1000XR

This bike was unveiled recently at EICMA, the big trade show in Italy that is like Christmas for those of us who get excited about the new things happening in the motorcycling world. Using the same inline-4 engine of the BMW S1000R, the S1000XR reportedly churns out 160 hp, which, if I'm honest, steps into the "too much oomph" territory for me. Not that I'd complain if someone were to give the bike to me, you understand.

But when I consider how much I think BMW will expect people to pay for such oomph I am reminded of that scene in White Christmas when Danny Kaye asks: "How much is 'wow'?" No pricing has been announced yet, but I'd not be surprised to see a price tag nearing £13,000 on this machine. If it ends up being less that it is only because BMW has figured out how to create its own Harley tax by making almost everything an extra.

An example of how they do this can be found in the F800GT. It's a great bike that in the UK has an asking price of £8,290. But if you want all the features that make it great you'll end up forking out an additional £3,000 in extras. This sort of thing annoys the hell out of me to the extent that even if I could afford a BMW I probably wouldn't get one just out of principle. Probably...

Honda VFR800X Crossrunner

This is a bike I've actually had my eye on for a while. It's been revamped for the 2015 model year and no longer looks as much like a dolphin. It's also been given a few technological upgrades. In the UK it will come with bells and whistles a plenty, but that will jack it up to costing roughly £1,000 more than the old Crossrunner. Which was a bike I already felt was overpriced.

Using the acclaimed (and occasionally maligned) VTEC inline-4 set-up of the VFR800F, the Crossrunner's primary claim to fame is an engine that makes moto-journalists swoon.

I certainly prefer its new look but had been warming to the old aesthetic if not simply because its bulbous front end brought on warm childhood memories of playing with an inflatable Shamu in my family's swimming pool. I've seen a few on the used market that appear to be in really good condition and are far more reasonably priced. If I had a spare £6,000 I'd seriously consider getting one. Although, crikey, is it heavy.

Kawasaki Versys 1000

Speaking of heavy, the Kawasaki Versys 1000 tips the scales at 250 kg! I realise that's nothing compared to the 360-kg Victory Cross Country that I often pine for, but we're talking about a bike with a higher centre of gravity here. Still, the Versys appeals to me on some level.

Like the Honda Crossrunner it's been given a facelift for the 2015 model year, which is too bad because I sort of preferred the old look. Sort of. In a very weird way. I obviously was in the minority.

For me, the appeal of the bike is that its designers put a lot of thought into the passenger experience, which is something that is often ignored on anything that isn't a behemoth American tourer. I also like that, with 120 hp, it hovers right on the edge of having too much oomph but not so much that I'd feel guilty. Its mpg, however, is apparently abysmal.

Price, though, would probably be the biggest issue for me. Prices on this new Versys have not been announced but the existing version will set you back £9,600. Which, in my opinion, is already a bit steep. No doubt the price will only go up to allow Kawasaki to capitalize on the "newness" of this version.

KTM Adventure 1050

Speaking of things that cost a lot. I tend to automatically discount KTMs. They are very much in the "How much is 'wow'?" pricing category. And in that weird thing we all do of assuming a person's personality based on his/her motorcycle choice I've always felt that KTM owners were pretentious. I hasten to add, however, that I have no legitimate reason for feeling that way. I don't know anyone who owns a KTM.

The Adventure 1050 is another bike to have been introduced at EICMA, so there's still a number of unknowns. Because I don't know the bike's price I find myself interested in it –– despite its deep, deep ugliness –– because KTMs have such a good reputation among moto-journalists. The V-twin engine no doubt delivers a whole lot of fun.

However, my lasting impression of the bike will depend wholly on how much KTM asks for it. A publicity photo I saw for the bike features young, sexy people hanging out on a beach. Maybe maybe maybe this bike (like the Ducati Scrambler, which used similar publicity shots) will be one young people could actually afford. But I doubt it.

UPDATE: Amid my writing this post, KTM put more information on its website. The UK price is £10,999. In other words; way, way too much.

Suzuki V-Strom 1000 Adventure

Wait. Do I actually want this bike? Not for the price, no. Here in the UK it would appear that Suzuki is discovering many people feel the same way. A few months ago, Suzuki was offering a £1,000 rebate on this bike. Now that promotion has ended you'd have to be kind of stupid to pay the full price.

To tempt people into doing so, Suzuki has slapped on some luggage and dumb graphics. If the price tag were considerably less this bike might be competitive. I think, though, that if I had my heart set on one I'd just wait until they start showing up on the used market. Oh, wait. They're already there. I just did a search and found a 2014 V-Strom 1000 Adventure with only 130 miles for £7,990. That's more like it.

Triumph Tiger 800 XR

Triumph's strategy for the 2015 model year seems to be one of not doing very much beyond offering long-existing models in a multitude of new skins. Its Bonneville range is in desperate need of an upgrade, for example, but for the 2015 model year (the last year it can do so before EU regulations force it to at least add anti-lock brakes) it is offering the exact same machine they've been selling since 2009 with minor aesthetic changes.

Triumph has most muddied its waters, however, with the Tiger 800 range –– offering the bike in four different guises: the XR, the XRx, the XC, and the XCx. The differences are mostly cosmetic. The XR is the cheapest.

However, in fairness, Triumph claims to have tweaked its 799cc triple to the point that it now delivers roughly 65 mpg. And indeed, its economical nature is really the selling point for me, considering that, in my opinion, its definitely the ugliest bike of the bunch. Coming in at £8,500, the better-equipped Tiger 800 XR costs what the Suzuki should. Also, cruise control is available as an option.

Yamaha MT-09 Tracer (aka FJ-09 in the United States)

I was anticipating seeing this bike at Intermot, but Yamaha chose to wait until EICMA. To my mind, this is the machine to get –– assuming my guess on the price is accurate. Loaded with bells and whistles, the MT-09 Tracer (I have no idea why Yamaha gives it a special "FJ-09" designation just for the United States) is the lightest of the bikes I've listed here whilst being beat in the horsepower stakes only by the BMW and the Kawasaki.

I got a chance to ride the basic MT-09 back in August and my initial impression was that it wasn't as much fun as the MT-07. Primarily I felt this way because I didn't feel the platform fit the particular application. Which is to say, I felt the 847cc triple was better suited to a more all-round bike. I suggested in my review of the MT-09 that its engine would work better in "a bike that can take you long distances." My other issue was the fuel mapping, which is something that quite a lot of other people have commented on.

Both my laments appear to have been rectified with the Tracer. Yamaha says it has adjusted the mapping and this machine is clearly aimed at taking people long distances. And in red it actually looks kinda cool. Kinda. I especially like the look of the bike in red with its optional side cases.

The big question, then, is how much Yamaha intends to charge for it. A basic MT-09 in the UK will set you back £7,000. I am hoping that the extra fairing and bells and whistles of the Tracer will only bump the price up by £1,000 or so.

If I had the money to spend...
Although I like these bikes, it's unlikely that I'll own any of them soon. For the most part, my plan remains to save up enough money to buy a good-condition used Suzuki GSX1250FA.

Had I the cash to spend, however, I think the two bikes most grabbing my attention would be the Triumph and the Yamaha. They just strike me as the best value for money. If the price turns out to be right, I'd say the Yamaha is the overall winner.

The Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure

November 8, 2014, 4:27 am

≫ Next: GWTTA: Newport, South Wales (Casnewydd)

≪ Previous: The new all-rounders

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My first year in Wales was awful. Ranked among my thus far 38.5 years on this planet, I would say it was the second worst of my life -- edged out of the top spot by my fourth year in Wales. I am willing to bet that the third worst year of my life also took place in Wales, which sort of begs the question as to why the hell I am still living here. But I'll get to that in a moment.

Despite it being so generally awful, there were in that first year some highlights. One of which being the day Mormons showed up at the door with a TV.

My ex-wife was (and presumably still is) a member of the Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints, and had found a welcome in the nearby Rhiwbina ward soon after our arrival in Cardiff. I am thankful she did. I doubt very much that we would have survived that first year on our own.

For those of you playing along at home, if you are considering a move to the Old World, be prepared to suffer at least 8 months of unemployment. Jobs are a hell of a lot harder to find in Europe than in the United States. Hitherto our moving to the United Kingdom, the longest my ex-wife or I had ever gone without work was just two weeks. Having arrived Cardiff in early July, we were by late October in dire straits.

Most of the money we had saved up before moving was now gone. Primarily we were living off my student loans and her minimum wage earnings from a part-time gig at Starbucks. We ate a lot of rice; I can't now remember a meal that didn't pad the stomach with rice. We didn't have a car. Getting groceries meant walking 2 miles to the Tesco and stuffing everything into backpacking rucksacks.

We couldn't afford to go out; we couldn't even afford a television. Meanwhile, I had learned that I was in way over my head in university, so my life became one of attending lectures and thereafter coming home to lock myself away in the study. At night I would surface just long enough to wolf down a rice-heavy meal, then disappear again until well after midnight -- collapsing into bed with eyes hurting from staring at Welsh dictionaries. My ex-wife would spend the evenings reading in silence.

Her respite was attending church. Or "chapel," as they call it here in Wales. Going to "church" usually implies attending Church of England services. Not that many people here do either these days. And to that end, LDS meetinghouses are few and far between. Cardiff, being the largest city in Wales, has two but neither were particularly close to us. So, members of my ex-wife's ward would give her a lift.

Stoic almost to a fault, I doubt very much that she ever complained of her condition -- thousands of miles away from family, poor, highly qualified but reduced to serving coffee (a substance barred by her religion), effectively ignored by her academically swamped husband, left to spend her free time alone and reading in silence -- but no doubt the members of her ward were able to pick up on her unhappiness. So, one night, amid the rainy creeping darkness of October, a group of them showed up unannounced and armed with gifts.

There was the TV, of course -- a 27-inch-screen beast that one of the congregation had had lying around spare. He insisted upon giving it to us because, he joked, he didn't want us to miss seeing Wales playing in the international rugby matches that take place each November. More touching, though, was the huge care package the group had brought with them. It was full of foodstuffs like canned goods, pasta, rice (more rice!), and a few jars of Caro, which is what British Mormons drink instead of tea (which is also against the LDS Word of Wisdom). But also there were a number of Welsh items: local jam, honey and chocolates, a little stuffed dragon, and a tea towel featuring a map of Wales.

A few years later came that aforementioned fourth year in this country. That was the year that put the "ex" in ex-wife. Our lives had gotten better, but they hadn't gotten good. And all the years of struggle had worn us down and made us miserable. In particular, both of us had developed a very deep, angry bitterness toward Wales. My ex-wife wisely responded to this by leaving the country. I still don't really understand why I stayed.

Ultimately, we are both much better off these days, and staying here was the right decision for me. But if you've read this blog for very long you will almost certainly have picked up that much of my old bitterness remains. I don't want to make myself angry by trying to express just how deep that well goes, but suffice to say it is a motherhugger. And it is so intense as to be a hindrance. 

I mean, uhm, I'm a pretty lonely dude; I don't have a lot of Welsh friends. You could count them all on one hand and still have enough fingers to hold a cup of tea and a Kit-Kat. There's a reason for that: my attitude doesn't make me easy to befriend. If I knew someone who was anywhere near as critical of the United States as I am of Wales I sure as hell wouldn't be his pal. I understand this logically, as well as the fact that it is utterly ridiculous to be so emotionally hurt by a place, but I struggle to overcome it.

Quite some time ago I learned through the grapevine that my ex-wife had actually returned to the UK after our divorce, for a visit. Apparently she had come expressly to "make peace with Wales," keen to bury and move on from her own negative emotions toward this little wet nation. It's a good idea, and something I have tried to do myself, though without much success.

I think that is partially because of how I've gone about it. I haven't left. You can't really "move on" if you don't move. Instead, it occurs to me that if you're going to stay in a place, it's probably better to try to rekindle the affection that brought you there in the first place.

Meanwhile, I have noticed that my overall level of rage toward all things Welsh has decreased considerably ever since I got a motorcycle. (You were wondering when a motorcycle was going to fit into this, weren't you?) And I have thought that perhaps one way of getting over my bitterness toward Wales is to get to know it better, to invest some time trying to remind myself why I wanted to live here, why I was desperate to call this place my home.

And here's where we get to the point of all this. I still have that tea towel given to me by Mormons back in 2006. As I say, it's primary image is a map of Wales. Though there are also a few drawings of notable buildings, such as Harlech Castle and the Swansea Guildhall...

"Wait. The Swansea Guildhall? What the hell is so special about that? It's just an office building used by the council. Who would list that as a tourist attraction?" 

That was the thought that came to me recently as I found myself actually looking at the tea towel for the first time in a number of years (rather than simply using it to dry dishes, or watching Jenn accidentally set it on fire whilst cooking, as she does with most of our tea towels). And upon further examination I saw that little of this representation of Wales made sense. The map lists some 66 cities, towns and villages in Wales, along with one national park –– those being:

• Aberaeron 
• Aberdaron 
• Aberdovey 
• Aberporth 
• Abersoch 
• Aberystwyth 
• Amlwch 
• Ammanford 
• Bala 
• Bangor 
• Barmouth 
• Barry 
• Beaumaris 
• Borth 
• Brecon 
• Bridgend 
• Builth 
• Wells 
• Caerleon 
• Caernarfon 
• Cardiff 
• Cardigan 
• Carmarthen 
• Conwy 
• Corwen 
• Criccieth 
• Dolgellau 
• Fishguard 
• Flint 
• Harlech 
• Haverfordwest 
• Holyhead 
• Kidwelly 
• Knighton 
• Lampeter 
• Llanberis 
• Llandudno 
• Llanelli 
• Llangollen 
• Llanrhystyd 
• Machynlleth 
• Merthyr Tydfil 
• Milfordhaven 
• Monmouth 
• Montgomery 
• Neath 
• Nefyn 
• New Quay 
• Newcastle Emlyn 
• Newport (South Wales)
• Newport (Pembrokeshire) 
• Newtown 
• Pembroke 
• Pontypridd 
• Port Talbot 
• Porthcawl 
• Porthmadog 
• Pwllheli 
• Rhyl 
• Ruthin 
• Saint David's 
• Saudersfoot
• Snowdonia 
• Swansea 
• Tenby 
• Tywyn 
• Welshpool

Effectively this is just a random collection of places. There is no rhyme or reason here. This is certainly not a map of places that you should or necessarily would want to visit. I mean, Borth –– a city that Morrissey described as a "seaside town that they forgot to bomb"–– makes the list, but Hay-on-Wye, home to one of the world's best known literature festivals, does not. The thoroughly unspectacular town of Barry is listed, but tourist honey pot Abergavenny isn't. The map mentions Port Talbot for Pete's sake. The thinking behind the selection process here is impossible for me to grasp.

But, see, in its randomness, its that-doesn't-make-a-damned-bit-of-sense-ness, this tea towel map is so very, very Welsh. That is such a Welsh thing to do. Welsh people are often clueless about what might make Wales appealing; its part of their charm.

So, from this ridiculous tea-towel-based map I came up with a ridiculous idea: to visit every single one of these places. Because why not? Any excuse to ride a motorcycle is a good one, and maybe this excuse can help change the way I think of Wales. Maybe riding to pointless corners like Ammanford and Knighton, and, more importantly all the spaces in between, can cure me of my Welsh hate.

It shouldn't be too hard. Wales is a tiny place; in the case of all the locations on the map, I can ride there and back within a day. The only trick is hitting these places in good weather. After all, if your stated goal is one of improving your impression of Wales, definitely don't go visiting places in the rain.

So, that's the plan. I'm aiming to visit all 67 spots within the next year or so. Maybe longer. We'll see what happens. I'll be keeping an eye on the weather and seizing whatever riding opportunities I can. Expect my first report soon.

---

GWTTA: Newport, South Wales (Casnewydd)

November 15, 2014, 4:39 am

≫ Next: Monsoon season

≪ Previous: The Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure

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It seems appropriate for Newport to be the first place visited on the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure. It is here, after all, that I finally passed my Mod 2 exam, thereby earning my motorcycle license.

It is appropriate, too, because Newport exemplifies how utterly random is my tea towel map. I can think of very few scenarios in which I would suggest Newport as a place to visit. I doubt many Welsh people –– including and especially those from Newport –– would tell you to visit, either. Newport is not a place to go to of your own free will; it is a place to ridicule.

Literally translated, the town's Welsh name, Casnewydd, means "new hate," but, of course, this name is almost certainly a mishearing of whatever people were calling it centuries ago. That happens a lot in South Wales. Cardiff's Welsh name, for example, is Caerdydd, which literally translates to "Day Fortress"(a). The name of the town I live in, Penarth, translates to "Bear's Head"(b).

According to the ever-reliable Wikipedia, Newport's original Welsh name was Castell Newydd ar Wysg, meaning "New Castle on the River Usk." The castle being referred to there hasn't been new since about 1087. Get used to this sort of thing as the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure rolls on: stuff is really old here. Sadly, this particular really old stuff is no longer visible, its crumbled remains having been buried under rubble created by railway work in the 1840s.

That's not to say Newport is sans castle. After all, Wales is home to more castles and fortresses than any other country in the world –– for a city to be without one would be gauche, darling. A new, new castle was built around 1327. Within two centuries, it had fallen into disrepair but it was used by various invading forces off and on right through the inaccurately named English Civil War (c).

These days the castle is little more than a miserable pile of rocks, occupied primarily by dodgy-looking teenagers. "Dodgy-looking" is a descriptor that can be used for almost everything in Newport: buildings, people, cars, rail-road tracks, even the River Usk as it churns wide and muddy through the middle of the city.

In case you're wondering, Newport smells as bad as it looks.

Still, for some reason I can't quite fathom, I have a little soft spot in my heart for Newport. That is to say, I don't outright hate it. I guess the fact I passed my motorcycle test there plays a part in this. Along with the correlating days I spent riding all around the city in training for the test.

Located less than 15 miles from Penarth, it is a place to which I will often ride when I want to refresh certain skills. The almost-always-empty car park for Newport Stadium is a good place to work on slow-speed manoeuvres. The width of the roads through city centre make them ideal for practicing the art of filtering. And overall, the city's roads are pretty quiet, except for certain roundabouts connecting the major arteries of the Sirhowy, Ebbw, Ebbw Fach, Llwyd and Usk valleys.

All of these road junctions are in the north of the city, where the M4 runs past, exporting goods and talent to Cardiff and the more profitable towns and cities of Southwest England. And therein lies the only thing that Newport has ever had going for it: it's conveniently located near better stuff.

During the Roman occupation it was conveniently located near the legionary fortress of Caerleon. During the Industrial Revolution it was conveniently located between Wales' ore-rich valleys and the sea. These days it's conveniently located between the major cultural centres of Cardiff and Bristol. However, its interminable ugliness and notoriously drunken and drugged-up residents mean it hasn't really been able to shape itself into a commuter town.

Newport's most famous residents, comedy rap group Goldie Lookin' Chain (who achieved their greatest fame with the songs "Your Mother's Got A Penis" and "Guns Don't Kill People, Rappers Do"), are a mocking but equally accurate portrayal of the sort of person you're likely to encounter in the city: dirty, bedecked in discount leisurewear, under the influence of at least one kind of substance, but ultimately convivial and open to conversation. Newport, in other words, is one of those places that apologists like to describe as "having a lot of character."

And, indeed it does. Or, rather, it should. If you look at Newport, it seems to have all the elements necessary to be a cool, quirky, artist haven like London's Camden neighbourhood, or Brooklyn's Williamsburg. But it isn't. The artists aren't here; they won't come. It's just an ugly place full of scary people that, because of its general desolation, happens to be a good spot to practice riding one's motorcycle.

I rode into the city taking the old Newport Road out of Cardiff, a route that was long ago superseded by the adjacent A48, and thereafter the M4. As such, Newport Road is relatively quiet. It is one of the few places in Britain where you can cheerfully putt along at the speed limit without having other road users aggressively trying to force you to go faster. At St Mellons, it joins up with the A48 for a few miles but this section, too, is almost always quiet.

Reaching the city boundaries I began looking for something to take a picture of. Anything. This was something of a challenge because the look of Newport is generally one of two things: 1) crumbling post-industrial decay; or 2) a flat space where crumbling post-industrial decay has been levelled and replaced by a McDonalds or KFC.

Eventually I settled on the Transporter Bridge.

Built in 1906 as a unique answer to the problem of getting people across a river that is also used for shipping, the Transporter Bridge features a sort of platform gondola that hangs from wires. Within a few years it was being used as a setting in the film Tiger Bay, which highlighted how utterly shit life in South Wales was in the 1950s. A few decades later, the bridge ceased operation because it had fallen into disrepair and there was no need for it; industry was dead.

These days it is just a tourist destination that struggles to stay open because there are no tourists. When I stopped to take pictures, a woman at the bridge's shed-sized visitor centre asked me if I was lost.

She explained to me the bridge was closed for the winter. Should I be keen to return in summer there are specific open days during which I can ride the bridge's gondola back and forth to my heart's content and climb to the top of the structure all for the low price of £2.75. It's an unmitigated bargain, to be sure, but the problem is that it requires you spend time in Newport.

After finishing the cup of tea the woman had kindly offered, I decided I had spent enough time here and packed up to move on. If the goal of this whole adventure is to improve my opinion of Wales, it was probably best to get Newport out of the way as soon as possible.

____________________

(a)Most people agree that Caerdydd is a bastardisation of "Caer Daf," which would mean "Taff Fortress." That name makes sense, considering Cardiff began life nigh 2,000 years ago as a Roman fortress on the banks of the River Taff.

(b) Although Penarth Town Council have embraced the bear's head theme, even going so far as to incorporate several images of bears into the town crest, Penarth's name is probably a mishearing of "Pen y Garth," which means "top of the hill." And surprise, surprise, Penarth is located at the top of a hill.

(c) Which took place in the 1640s. If you're unfamiliar with the English Civil War, here it is explained in two and half minutes through the medium of song.

Monsoon season

November 17, 2014, 12:00 pm

≫ Next: GWTTA: Caerleon (Caerllion)

≪ Previous: GWTTA: Newport, South Wales (Casnewydd)

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Nikwax, Fabsil, duct tape, repeat. Nikwax, Fabsil, duct tape, repeat. Nikwax, Fabsil, duct tape, repeat. Nikwax, Fabsil, duct tape, repeat. Nikwax, Fabsil, duct tape, repeat...

It feels as if it has been raining nonstop for the past two months.

The relative dry of September had lulled me into a false sense of security and I had not put much effort into getting all my gear ready for the Long Dark: that unrelenting cold, wet greyness which envelops this island from October to May. So, I find myself now trying to play catch up.

There was that soaking ride to Bristol. My gear barely had a chance to dry out completely before I put it through hell again a week or so later on the way down to Exeter.

To my credit, I had spent the days beforehand washing my riding trousers and gloves in Nixwax Tech Wash and thereafter coating them in Fabsil. I had waxed my boots, as well. But that sort of stuff is just the starting point. There is a mental aspect to staying dry that I had somehow forgotten since riding through storms in Scotland earlier this year. You have to remember the routines: this goes with that, these overlap those, etc.

Exeter, for those of you playing along at home, is the largest city in Devon -- the English county in which my wife was raised. As the crow flies it's not too terribly far from Cardiff, but I'm not a crow. Getting to the other side of the Bristol Channel means a journey of roughly 110 miles. Which is still not all that far, especially considering that a solid 90 percent of the trip is on motorway. It is close enough that I can head there after work and be at Jenn's grandmother's house in time for a late dinner.

That was the plan, at least. We hadn't seen any of her family members since August, so had arranged to head down and spend the weekend at Grandma's. I was to meet Jenn there, she having taken the train because she works in Bristol -- halfway between Cardiff and Exeter. This turned out to be for the best. Had Jenn been forced to suffer through that storm I doubt I ever would have gotten her on a bike again.

Setting out from Cardiff, it was only wind I had to contend with. Strong winds and the mile-long Severn Bridge are never a happy combination, but I had suddenly remembered the Dutch flappering knee technique, which works surprisingly well. It helped, too, that I was bringing down all the weekend's clothes for Jenn and myself, giving me a bit more weight.

Almost as soon as I got off the bridge and onto the M49, rain started to fall. By the time I reached the M5 junction, just a few miles later, rain was falling so hard it was causing traffic chaos. I have never understood what it is about rain that causes drivers' IQs to plummet. I mean, it made sense when I lived in Southern California; people there aren't used to the stuff. But here? It rains all the time. And still, each time it does society goes into collapse. People drive as if there are no rules, as if there are no white lines separating the lanes.

Though, in fairness, the white lines were damned hard to see. Rain was falling so heavily it bounced up from the road. It pooled in other places, creating fearful riding through the long sections of the M5 for which there is no street lighting. Meanwhile, 50-mph gusts lifted the water off the road and turned it into blinding spray.

Those are the moments when you find your zen. All you can do is trundle on through the night. Keep one eye on the mirrors at all times to try to anticipate any weirdness. Hope all the high-vis you're wearing will do its job. Accept the wet. Accept the wind.

Near Taunton, the rain eased just in time for me to be stopped in traffic. An accident resulted in the police closing all three lanes of the motorway. I filtered up to the front of the queue, then cut my engine. I got off my bike to stretch my legs and a police officer came over to tell me off.

"Mate, don't be walking about on the motorway," he said.

"Like the way you're walking about on the motorway?" I joked.

I sat there for about 10 minutes and it became utterly surreal. The world was quiet. There were no lights on the road, no sign of life beyond it. Just the blinking of police lights about 100 yards ahead of me and the white-blue glow of hundreds of car headlights backing up behind me.

It was hard to figure out what had happened at the accident scene. There was a car in the far right lane (the fast lane in the UK). Its occupants appeared to be over on the side of the road. There was no ambulance. Several officers seemed to be showing particular interest in the rear of the vehicle, shining it with flashlights and opening and closing the trunk. Eventually they hooked it to one of the police cars and pulled it to the side of the road.

The cop who had been holding up traffic got in his car and signalled it was OK for us to head off again. The end.

I don't have any commentary on the whole thing apart from the surreality of it. The quietness of sitting there in the quiet dark of nowhere, eerily lit, while something so important takes place that it stops traffic. But then, right as I'm thinking of digging in my bag to find my phone to text Jenn that I'll be late, it all clears up. Engines rev. Within seconds we're all again screaming through the night at 80 mph. And within seconds after that the wind and rain have returned with vengeance. The next day there is news of a body being found on the same stretch of road but at a different place and a different time to where and when I was stopped.

It's as if the whole incident existed to remind me of the basic philosophy of riding in the rain: Stuff happens; don't dwell on it. Acknowledge it and move on.

As I got closer to Exeter I found myself having to acknowledge that I had forgotten to zip in the waterproof liner of my riding trousers. The Nikwax and Fabsil had performed admirably, but it wasn't enough. Water seeped into my crotch and ran down my legs. It found its way into my boots and collected in squishy pools I could feel when moving my toes. By the time I reached Jenn's grandmother's house my teeth were chattering with cold.

I lucked out two days later, on the ride home. The weather was dry and unseasonably warm -- fortunate because my winter gloves, the ones I had worn on the way down, were still soaked through. My boots, too, were still wet. My helmet was musty. My pannier bags were still damp. And this, more or less, has been the story of riding life ever since. I am forever on the back foot in my battle against the relentless British wet.

My biggest problem at the moment is keeping my bike protected. I keep it under two allegedly waterproof covers, but they're just not good enough. Moisture is coming through and I noticed yesterday that the paint on the tank is starting to bubble as a result. My bike is being ruined and I don't know how to stop it.

Is this another case of having to find zen? Having to accept this is just the way of things, that entropy is irresistible?

Man, I hate this country at times.

GWTTA: Caerleon (Caerllion)

November 21, 2014, 9:30 am

≫ Next: Gear review: Knox Fastback Gilet

≪ Previous: Monsoon season

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This is the second stop on the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure. Remember that this whole thing is a work in progress, so if you happen to know anything about the towns, villages and cities I'm planning to visit, don't wait until after the fact to tell me what I should have done -- give me your suggestions on what to see, what to do, where to eat, when to visit, etc. Thanks!

__________

Caerleon –– according to the tourism officials at Caerleon –– was once one of the most important places in Britain. It was home to a large Roman fortress and thereafter the setting for a number of Arthurian legends.

Yeah. Bet you didn't know King Arthur was Welsh, did you? He was. He gets mentioned a lot in the Mabinogi, a collection of folk tales that has somewhat biblical status in Wales. And even before then he was being linked with Caerleon. Some versions of his tale say he came from there and others claim simply that he held court there.

Somehow, however, Caerleon's prestigious beginnings didn't translate well beyond the Middle Ages. These days it is little more than a quaint suburb of Newport where visitors may find themselves somewhat challenged to find anything worth taking a picture of.

That said, it is somewhat exemplary of Wales. There is was a castle. There are Roman ruins. And the people of the town don't really seem to give a damn about either. That is such a Welsh thing. You have history falling out of your ears and you just don't give a fuck. These days all that's left of the castle is a crumbling bit of tower next to a pub, and the Roman ruins are crowded by rugby pitches and a school.

There is also evidence that Caerleon may be the home of the Mari Llwyd tradition, which is the most Welsh thing ever. It involves singing a bunch of boring songs and waving about a horse's skull for reasons no one understands until you either get bored or people bribe you to go away.

Huge chunks of Welsh folk tradition, song, dance, food and storytelling were obliterated forever by the unrelenting no-funness of puritanism and thereafter Methodism in Wales (a). The Mari Llwyd is one of the very, very few things to have survived long enough for us to even know it existed. But, of course, no one in Caeleon cares.

Remains of Roman amphitheatre

I used to teach Welsh at the school that overlooks the Roman ruins. That is, I taught night classes there. Getting students to show up was a challenge. Eventually, my class was reduced to just two regular attendees. Often no one would show up for classes at all. In a trick I learned from reading Mihangel Morgan novels (b), I took to marking absent students as present so the council wouldn't cancel my class and put me out of a job.

I didn't have a car or motorbike in those days, and getting to Caerleon was always an unreasonably arduous process due to the infrequency of buses. So, I'll admit that Caerleon instils in me a kind of sadness, a "Is this all there is?"-ness. This place was the end of the dream for me. I had come to Wales, worked incredibly hard to learn the language and culture, and all it had earned me was a small-time teaching gig in a town where the Welshness had withered away before I was even born. Sometimes, when I'd find myself again with a studentless classroom and an hour's wait for the next bus, I would walk out to the remains of the Roman barracks, sit on the walls and cry because I hated my life so much.

This speaks to something I mentioned when I first came up with the idea for this tea-towel-driven adventure: I carry a great big heaping lot of bitterness and animosity toward Wales. Several of the worst years of my life have been spent in this country. I want to overcome that, but there will be times during this adventure when it will all come flooding back and I'll just want to scream and set things on fire. That's kind of how I felt upon visiting Caerleon again.

Which is a really unfair amount of weight to put on the shoulders of an otherwise quaint British suburban town. In and of itself, there is nothing too terribly offensive about Caerleon. Nor too terribly exciting. 

From a motorcycling standpoint, you can cover the town in under three minutes. That's assuming you want to see it twice. There is a single one-way road that runs in a circle around/through the town taking you on a speedy tour past Roman remains and a handful of interesting looking pubs.

If you ignore the soul-destroyingly uninteresting 1970s semi-detached homes on Caerleon's outskirts, it is a town set within an attractive valley of the River Usk. Thanks in part to the fact Caerleon's train station closed in the 1960s and buses are so rare, it seems most of the undesirable elements of Newport don't make it this far upriver. 

If you've got good weather and sturdy legs, you can use Caerleon as the starting point for the 25-mile Usk Valley Walk, which will eventually land you in the very charming and very much worth visiting (even though it's not on my tea towel map) town of Abergavenny. Jenn and I have walked various sections of the route and I've always come away from the experience feeling inspired.

So my point is, Caerleon is a very nice spot indeed. As long as you're not me. 

Before heading here, I had thought I might stop and have lunch at one of the pubs that overlook the River Usk, the day being just barely warm enough for me to sit outside. But when I got to Caerleon I managed only to take a picture of the old Roman amphitheatre before a deep feeling of needing to be elsewhere kicked up inside me. I rode two or three loops around the town before deciding there was nothing worth taking a picture of, then sped away.

Caerleon town centre

____________________

(a)One of the things that makes Wales harder to love than its Celtic cousins of Ireland and Scotland is that it lacks the sort of songs, dances, foods and traditions those places have. Protestantism spent a very long time stifling creativity in Wales, to the point that well into the late 1800s it was considered sinful to read or write a work of fiction, because fiction is inherently a lie, and to lie is a sin.

(b) In one of Morgan's novels -- either Dirgel Ddyn or Y Ddynes Ddirgel, I can't remember which -- the main character is a Welsh teacher who creates a false student for the sake of having the bare number of students to hold a class.

Gear review: Knox Fastback Gilet

November 23, 2014, 11:00 pm

≫ Next: What I Want: Victory Gunner

≪ Previous: GWTTA: Caerleon (Caerllion)

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"Gilet," for those of you playing along at home, is a fancy word for vest. But Knox, being a British company, probably doesn't call this bit of kit the Knox Fastback Vest because in British lingo a vest is often a tank-top.

"So, wait," I can hear American voices saying. "Does that mean that when Brits wear a three-piece suit, the piece under the jacket is a gilet?"

No. that is a waistcoat. Presumably, calling it the Knox Fastback Waistcoat seemed a little too prim, considering the purpose and target audience of this article of clothing. The suggestion of wearing a waistcoat on a motorcycle brings up images of the Distinguished Gentlemen's Ride.

"OK. What about a sweater vest?" my countrymen may ask. "What do they call that? A 'sweater gilet?' A 'sweater waistcoat?'"

Nope. That is a "sleeveless jumper." Obviously, calling this thing a Knox Sleeveless Jumper That Is Not Actually A Jumper is too wordy and not just a little bit confusing.

"A jumper?" American voices may persist. "That's what they call a sweater? But isn't a jumper a..."

Look, let's just forget about it, OK? The truth is, the British are not very good at English. This is additionally evidenced by the fact that the product's name doesn't really describe what it is. I mean, yes, it is a gilet. But usually gilets are worn skiing, and the Fastback's mesh construction would be a real disappointment if your primary aim was warmth.

The main function of the Fastback is as a back protector. And in that role I think the Knox Fastback Gilet does quite well.

"Think" is the operative word there, I'll admit. I have thankfully suffered no major incidents riding my motorcycle, so I can't speak from personal experience as to the effectiveness of this back protector in a crash. I hope I'll never have occasion to do so.

To be honest, I do somewhat wonder exactly how useful a back protector would be in a crash, because what are the odds you are going to land flat on your back? I am willing to bet that many spinal injuries come from contortion -- the body twisting in not-very-pleasant ways -- and there is little that a back protector can do to prevent that. But, hey, just because an air bag won't protect your feet doesn't mean you drive without one.

And philosophically I suppose that is an accurate comparison. Like an air bag, a back protector is not the be all and end all of safety, and like an air bag you'd really prefer to never have to find out how useful it is or isn't. Its primary value is psychological.

To that end, the Fastback is a good product. I feel safer when I ride with it (typically any time I'm going to be going on the motorway). The unexpected benefit of the vest, though, is that it also makes me feel more comfortable.

The main feature of the vest, of course, is the large, thick back protector that covers from the shoulders down to the lower lumbar region of the spine. Almost an inch thick, the pad is quite firm -- enough that you could fall to your back from a standing position onto a hard surface and not be injured.

The vest has a zipper down the front and two large Velcro straps at the belly to keep it snug. Mine is quite snug. The first few times I wore it I found myself thinking of the old legend that William Shatner wears a girdle.

"This is what it feels like to be Captain Kirk," I thought.

But it is not really uncomfortable or restricting, and you soon get used to it. Soon, it starts to feel right. I now find I really like the feeling of being "hugged" throughout my ride. Most importantly, though, the back pad results in my having better posture when riding. This has delivered an ability to ride much farther without ache. I wear out less quickly -- especially at body-jostling motorway speeds -- and can cover far greater distances.

The Fastback is equally handy at rest stops if I want to close my eyes for a few minutes, the pad helping to turn a picnic bench or just about any other surface into one comfortable enough to stretch out on.

Overall, I can't now really picture myself riding without this sort of gear, but I'll admit there are a few potential drawbacks.

The first is that the vest is, as I say, quite snug. This means I have to wear it as close to my body as possible or it will feel restrictive. I wear an Under Armour base layer, the vest, then whatever else I'm wearing according to the weather. And that means I don't really take it off or loosen the Fastback at stops. It would be too much fuss to take off, say, a sweater and T-shirt to get at the thing.

This means that if I stop for lunch, etc., I still have that snug feeling of being hugged as I eat. To me, there is a knock-on positive in that I don't eat too much, which means I am less likely to get sleepy once I'm back on the road.

I bought the Fastback early this year. In summer temperatures, I wore just a base layer and vest underneath my jacket, and that leads to the second potential drawback: the Fastback adds a layer.

Temperatures here in Her Majesty's United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland never reached a point this summer where that was a problem, especially considering that the vest is comprised mostly of (sturdy) mesh. But in other parts of the world, where they have actual summers, wearing another layer -- especially one that is so snug -- might be off-putting.

Neither of these are real problems for me and overall I've been pleased. The Fastback is well-made and durable, so I expect to be wearing one for quite some time. Though, as I say: I hope I'll never actually use it.

What I Want: Victory Gunner

November 27, 2014, 12:00 am

≫ Next: A look back at Motorcycle Live

≪ Previous: Gear review: Knox Fastback Gilet

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I can't believe I've thus far neglected to add the Victory Gunner to my What I Want list. I suppose I got a little wrapped up in being disappointed in Victory for appearing to rest on its laurels over the past year or so.

The 2015 model year line up that was announced this past summer was a real let down, full of rehashed versions of bikes that have been around for years. Before that was the let down of the Gunner itself. The first new model since the rebirth of Indian Motorcycles (both Victory and Indian are owned by Minnesota-based Polaris), it fell short of my hopes. Polaris had promised a new, performance-oriented Victory as a result of Indian, but the Gunner is not the all-singing, all-dancing wündermotorrad I had wished for.

Really, the Gunner is just a stripped down Victory Judge. Same engine, same rake angle, pretty much same everything but for paint and seats. And that is, as I say, disappointing when you're a Victory fan who was hoping for so much more.

(On a side note, I recently wrote an article for BikerNewsOnline explaining why I think something very big will be coming from Victory within the next 5 months.)

But, the thing is: just because the Victory Gunner isn't the newest, most-amazing, most-spectacular example of American engineering ever known in the motorcycling world doesn't mean it's not a cool bike. And it definitely doesn't preclude me from wanting one.

The fact is, the Gunner is right near the top of my list of bikes that I really would buy if I had anywhere near enough money to pay for one. Especially now that it will come with anti-lock brakes. If you've read my blog for long you'll know I'm a stickler for that feature on motorcycles and have complained vociferously about its absence on Victory's line of cruisers.

But back in October, Victory announced at the Intermot motorcycle show that the Gunner models coming to Europe in March 2015 will be equipped with ABS. This is, of course, a response to the fact that anti-lock brakes will soon be required on all motorcycles (above 125cc) sold in the European Union.

Though, I'll admit that I'd still be a little concerned about the Gunner's stopping power. As I say, the Gunner is effectively a Judge styled to capitalise on the current bobber craze. I got a chance to ride a Judge a few months ago and my primary complaint was that its brakes seemed inadequate in countering all that power and weight. Adding ABS isn't really going to resolve that issue (though, I guess you can at least now grab more aggressively without fear of locking up). Really, the Gunner should be equipped with a second disc up front.

But apart from that -- based on my experiences on the Judge, at least -- the Gunner is an amazing machine. It has an immensely powerful engine that launches you forward without every really seeming to strain at all.

The bike's subdued aesthetics of no chrome and blacked-out sections appeal to me infinitely more than the shining tassle-laden butt jewellery that many cruiser manufacturers seem to think their customers want.

Priced at £10,300 (US $16,200) in Her Majesty's United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the Gunner costs exactly the same as the new Indian Scout (which will also be out in March over here and will also be equipped with ABS as standard). I like to daydream about being in a financial position where I could choose between the two. I go back and forth in my deliberations, but always eventually decide to spend my (imaginary) money on the Gunner.

I daydream of adding a passenger seat and hunting down the same sort of bullet fairing that the Ness family put on their custom-built Gunner. Though, I sure as hell wouldn't incorporate any of the other changes they made. I like the Gunner as a machine of understatement and utility. The matte green paint available on standard models is exactly the sort of look I prefer. It gives the Gunner a sense of being something you could scratch without feeling too much guilt -- a machine on which you could ride long distances in the ever-present British rain.

Whether it will ever be anything more than a daydream remains to be seen. Victory motorcycles are pretty sparse on UK roads and perhaps because of that they hold their value pretty well on the rare occasion that an owner decides to part with one. But, hey, hope springs eternal. If anyone wants to send me the cash for a new Gunner, please get in touch.

A look back at Motorcycle Live

December 1, 2014, 12:00 am

≫ Next: Ours is to scream against standardisation

≪ Previous: What I Want: Victory Gunner

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I went to my first motorcycle show recently: Motorcycle Live. The show takes place in Birmingham every year and is reportedly the country's largest.

I can believe that claim. The show runs for nine days, thereby incorporating two weekends, and when I was there on a Wednesday it was packed. Test rides booked up within minutes, empty places to sit were few and far between, and you had to do some pretty aggressive hovering to be able to sit on the models that appealed to you.

The models of motorcycles, that is. As opposed to the other type of model. I'm not sure we would have been allowed to sit on the underfed girls who prowled the convention halls shoving leaflets into people's hands.

I can't find any recent figures, but in 2011 the show drew more than 112,000. If you consider that the European economy has improved (just a tiny bit) since then, and there have been a huge number of new and interesting bikes announced this year, it's safe to say they are on track to do better this year. I'm terrible at gauging such things, but I'm willing to bet I was one of at least 10,000 people on the day I visited.

There was plenty of space for us, to be fair, with the hundreds of exhibitors and manufacturers spread through a number of gigantic aeroplane-hangar-sized halls. I suppose the cost of heating such an enormous space is where the bulk of one's £17 ticket price goes. And to that end, I don't imagine I'll go to Motorcycle Live again in the future. I loved getting a chance to see and sit on so many bikes, but overall I don't think it was worth the money, nor the effort I had to put into getting there. Birmingham is 125 miles from Cardiff; riding there in a cold drizzle was a whole lot of not-fun. Riding home in the same conditions was even worse in the dark.

Still, there were a number of positives and I came away from the show with lots of things for my motorcycle-loving brain to spin around on for the next several months. Here are my impressions of the show, organised by the manufacturers that drew my attention most.

BMW

Tiny men love this bike.

Short guys fucking love the R1200GS. I don't understand this at all, considering it is such a tall bike, but they were swarming around this machine, almost crawling on top of each other for the opportunity to sit on it, squeeze the levers and click the gears up and down.

This is what you do at a motorcycle show, it would appear: click those gears as if they were your path to the Heavenly Kingdom. Make sure you put on a very serious face when you do it, too. You are testing the... uhm... something. It is serious business that demands a serious face. Equally, you should bend down and stare intently at a random part of the engine. Poke it and furrow your brow, so people know you are seriously assessing this bike seriously.

BMW fans were easily the most guilty of this behaviour. They were primarily also white males over the age of 40, with expensive shoes and hairstyles that would have been stylish 10 years ago. Being amongst them made me feel a little sad. I don't want to be one of these guys. But I sure as hell would love to own a BMW. 

I have already stated my desire to own a BMW F800GT. Finally getting to sit on one at the show only increased that desire. I also found myself intrigued by the F800R, which costs less than its fully-faired sibling and isn't as ugly as it looks in pictures. I was surprised to find myself generally unimpressed by the RnineT, but I really dug the R1200RS and R1200R models. I did not dig their prices. The R1200RS will start at £12,500 in Her Majesty's United Kingdom.

Meanwhile, the staff at the BMW area knew very little about BMWs. This was a common theme for all the exhibiting manufacturers. The F800GT on display was kitted with panniers and other extra bits, so I found a woman and asked her if she knew how much that bike would cost.

"There's the... uhm... on the... uh..." she said, pointing to a display board next to the bike.

"Yes," I said. "The standard price is there, but this bike has panniers, a top box, and some other stuff."

"If you... uhm.. ah..."
"You don't know, do you?"

"No. Sorry."

She directed me to a bloke who also didn't know.

Ducati

I couldn't care less about a Panigale; my attention went instead to the new Scrambler, which looks pretty damn good in person. Though, I'll admit that something –– I don't know what –– cooled me on the bike a little. Maybe I'm just not that big a fan of scramblers. Maybe it's the fact that I really can't imagine quite how a Scrambler would fit to my actual life.

I liked it. I just didn't find myself sitting on it and thinking: "Oooh, I need this."

EBR

The same could be said of the EBR 1190RX and 1190SX. Poor EBR got very little love from show attendees. People walked by without even glancing at these American-made machines. They were so ignored I felt I probably could have wheeled one out of the hall without being noticed.

That made me feel just a little sad, because I'm an American and I want to see American things do well. But I have to say I don't really blame all the people who ignored the EBR bikes. In person, they are not terribly exciting. The ergonomics of the bikes are awful for someone of my height and the seats are about as comfortable as laying a sweatshirt across a keyboard.

Harley-Davidson

Impractical but sexy –– Harley-Davidson Seventy-Two

I don't really know what Harley's doing in terms of marketing in the United States these days, but over here they've gone for a completely different vibe than the one I had always known. This is a good thing, in my opinion. Remember that all the old dudes on Road Kings I used to see when growing up in Minnesota are what put me off biking for so many years.

I saw none of that at Harley's area of Motorcycle Live. There were no leather vests with patches. No bandannas and long beards. No biker babes. None of the clichés. Instead, the exhibit area had a live DJ mixing house music replete with bleeps and bloops added via Launchpad. None of the stuff contained in that last sentence ("house music,""Launchpad") would make a damned bit of sense to the Sturgis crowd, and I love that fact.

Not too long ago, I had a conversation with the former head of marketing for Mercedes, who told me that one of the most important things to do when promoting a brand is to reduce your philosophy to three words –– four at the most. From there, you make sure that everything you do fits that three-word definition. Here, the three words I would have used for Harley-Davidson were: Unique, Intelligent, and Modern. If allowed to add a fourth, I would say Urban. I like seeing Harley-Davidson perform this tack.

I sat on a number of bikes and found them to be ergonomically awkward compared to those offered by other manufacturers. This is the same thing I experienced back when I got a chance to test ride the Sportster 1200 and the 883 SuperLow. Harleys just don't seem to fit me well. The exception is the Seventy-Two, which I got to sit on and really enjoyed. I can't imagine how I could ever argue such a bike from a practical side, but man it was cool. Somebody buy me one, please.

Herald

Ever heard of Herald Motor Company? Neither had I. They seem to be a Chinese outfit, offering a load of 125cc machines. But they are pretty cool-looking 125s. Odds of my ever owning one are extremely low. They drew my interest simply because I have a long-running fantasy of duping Jenn into riding by showing up one day with a 125 for her to learn on. She prefers "real" motorcycles, so the aesthetics of these machines would suit her.

Honda

Probably not the demographic Honda was hoping to capture with the Vultus.

Take the number of short dudes clamouring for a glimpse of the BMW R1200GS and increase it by a zillion: therein you have the number of bald and semi-bald white dudes in their 60s and beyond who were swarming the bulk of Honda's offerings. This made me a little sad considering I am a Honda owner, a general fan of Hondas, and a white guy. I don't want to be anyone's grandfather yet. But here I was hanging out with loads of them and finding much in common.

The redeeming aspect of this is that when you look at Honda owners in general they are a grubby crew who ride their bikes into the ground. Their gear is worn to hell from use. And I suppose, ultimately, that's the group you'd want to be associated with, even if they don't look as flashy as the BMW guys.

Meanwhile, as far as the actual bikes were concerned, I didn't really find myself swooning over them. Many models (e.g., the ST1300 Pan-European and the VT750 Shadow) are long in the tooth and in need of a refresh. Whereas others (e.g. NC750X, et al.) were so mind-numbingly practical I felt I needed a nap.

Also, the Vultus looks terribly cheap in person, and its ergonomics were awkward. It's definitely off my list.

Some positives, however: Honda's sport bikes were drawing a decent amount of attention from younger white males, many of whom still had their hair or, at least, the wisdom to cover things up with a baseball cap. The look of CTX1300 continues to grow on me, though I still struggle to imagine scenarios in which I would choose to buy it over the similarly priced Victory Cross Country. And I found the CB500 series of bike (CB500F, CB500X, CBR500R) to be more formidably sized than I had previously realised. I could definitely picture myself getting by on a nicely-kitted CB500X –– still perfectly able to travel anywhere in the United Kingdom.

The new True Adventure bike revealed at EICMA was on display, and I found one aspect of that bike to be particularly interesting: there was no clutch lever or gear pedal. That suggests Honda will be equipping the machine with the DCT automatic transmission, and creates a whole lot of questions.

Honda seems to be going all-in with its 750cc DCT platform, using it to create the NC750S, NC750X, NC750 Integra, Vultus, and probably soon in the bike currently known as the CTX700 (not sold in the UK) once Honda runs out of old 700cc stock. And now, apparently, the True Adventure. So, what does that mean for the NC750X? Does it get scrapped? Does Honda rework the X's engine to get a little more oomph and transform it into a middleweight adventure-tourer? Will the True Adventure be an expensive novelty machine like the Vultus?

Indian
I got a chance to test ride an Indian Chief Classic as a part of the show and will be writing up a review in the near future. The short review is that it is an amazing machine.

What I was most looking forward to seeing, however, was the new Indian Scout. It is a beautiful machine up close and I am delighted to report that its ergonomics were perfectly agreeable to my 6-foot-1 frame.

I am looking forward to test riding the bike once it officially arrives in Blighty in March. The day the Scout was launched back in August I called my nearest Indian dealership, Blade Victory and Indian in Swindon, and asked to be contacted as soon as test rides are available.

Swindon is some 80 miles from Penarth, which would be a pain in the ass if I were a Victory or Indian owner and needed work done. Though, the guys at the Indian area of the show said the company is working on expanding its dealer network.

In contrast to the image of urban modernity being promulgated Harley-Davidson, the three words I would use for Indian's approach are: Authenticity, Heritage, and Quality. Again, though, there were no leather vests with patches, no biker girls, no incessant blaring of "Born to Be Wild." The feeling was high-end, and I think it "sold" well to the crowd. In a country where cruisers get the least amount of love, Indian was garnering quite a lot of wide-eyed attention. I found it especially refreshing to note how many women were keen to sit on these bikes.

Indeed, throughout the show I noticed that women gave most of their attention to cruisers and classic-styled machines –– the "real" motorcycles my wife likes. I would hope that some of the manufacturers' marketing teams were there to notice this. With the exception of Harley-Davidson, too many manufacturers are ignoring women as customers.

Kawasaki

Kawasaki Vulcan S

Women were giving a lot of love to the new Kawasaki Vulcan S, too. Though, they weren't the only ones. Indeed, with the possible exception of the Triumph Bonneville range, I saw no other bike at the show drawing so much attention from such a wide range of ages, genders and social classes. Kawasaki had three models of the Vulcan S on display and still you had to muscle your way through the crowd to sit on one.

Previously I described the Vulcan S as looking a little "meh" to my tastes, but I rescind that criticism having now had a chance to see it in person. It has a great, quality look, is nice and roomy, and is comfortable as all get out to sit on. I have promised myself that I will test ride one as soon as I can. This is dangerous, because the Vulcan S is "affordable" (less than £6,000) and a positive test ride might result in my just going nuts and getting one.

Royal-Enfield
The Continental GT; what a joke. Uncomfortable to sit on, tiny, and looks cheaply made. I was thoroughly underwhelmed. As were most show attendees, it seems –– the Royal-Enfield area was almost as quiet as the EBR space. Whereas it makes sense for a small, relatively new American company to get little attention it felt a little sad to see a long-standing brand like Royal-Enfield being so ignored.

The bikes getting the most attention were the Classic 500s. They were quite popular with ladies who appeared to be in their 70s and 80s. Seeing this, it suddenly became clear why Royal-Enfield has struggled in recent years to find a UK distributor.

Suzuki
Whereas some of Honda's models are long in the tooth almost all of Suzuki's are. And even those that aren't look that way. Case in point: the "new" GSX-S1000F. Its awful paint scheme makes it look 10 years old. Playing the three-word marketing game with Suzuki, the words that come to my mind are: Affordable, Decent, and... uhm... Affordable. Suzuki's bikes are just a little underwhelming.

Regardless, I am still saving up to get a GSX1250FA. To that end, I spent a lot of time staring at and sitting on the GSX1250FA that was on display at the show. I am pleased to report that I found the ergonomics to be quite agreeable.

Additionally, I found myself warming to the V-Strom 650. It is a formidably sized machine and for all the European journeys that I imagine myself taking on a GSX1250FA, I suspect the V-Strom would be just as well suited if not in some cases better. And it gets better mpg. This is something Bob Leong told me years ago; I trust he's in heaven now saying "I told you so."

Triumph

You have to pay extra for a fuel cap that locks. Because Triumph.

The staff at the Triumph area knew very little about Triumphs. They did not know when the Bonneville line will get ABS. They did not know if the alloy-wheeled Bonneville can take radial tires. They did not know whether certain Bonneville accessories would fit the Speedmaster. They did not know if you can simply add cruise control to the Tiger XR or if you inherently have to get a Tiger XRx. And on. It was annoying.

That didn't stop me from falling in love with the Thruxton, though. My local dealership doesn't have one on display, so I'd not really had a chance to stare at one in person before. Yes, it uses stupid bias tires and the mirrors are only a tiny step above useless and I wouldn't even consider buying one until Triumph adds ABS and you have to pay extra to get a fuel cap that locks, but it is so cool! I mean, really, really cool. Especially in green.

That bike is so cool some part of my brain has already started to rationalise getting one. My ultra-practical side, the side that is trying to keep me from locking myself into the challenge of making monthly payments, is clinging to my ABS dogma like a priest clutching a crucifix at an exorcism. When Triumph eventually delivers anti-lock brakes (I would expect to see it announced before the summer), I may not be able to hold out any longer. Practicality be damned.

Victory
Speaking of bikes that look good in green, oh my goodness is the Gunner a sexy beast. I have never seen a picture of this bike that manages to capture just how attractive it is in real life. Sitting on the machine, I felt a deep urge to just hug it and thereafter refuse to let go. I could easily imagine a scenario in which staff from the National Exhibition Centre were having to pry me off the bike as I wept and shouted: "It's mah baby! She needs me!"

The seat of the Gunner is ridiculously comfortable; the overall ergonomics of the bike felt ideal. Whether the Gunner is £1,300 better than the £9,000 Victory Vegas 8-Ball, however, is up for debate. I realise the former is presently the only Victory cruiser with ABS as an option, but oof.

Meanwhile, I continue to be disappointed by Victory's marketing strategy. Here is where you hear classic rock being blared. Here is where you see scantily clad women tottering on high heels who don't know a goddamn thing about the bikes they're shilling. I mean Not. A. Single. Fucking. Thing.

At one point in the afternoon, there was a guy who demonstrated that Victory bikes can actually be manoeuvred into very tight turns (if you've had shedloads of training and you don't mind the very high possibility that you'll drop your bike). As he was setting up, one of his crew was flirting with a Victory girl and showing her how to start the bike. He had to show her how to twist the throttle.

I almost started screaming. That kind of bullshit is everything that's wrong with motorcycling. All those females at the show who were paying attention to cruisers and classic-styled machines, you will never sell to them if the underlying message of your marketing is that women exist solely to be stared at.

Don't get me wrong, I like sexy women; I married one. But I can just imagine what my wife's response would be if I were to take her to a Victory event where Lycra-clad anorexics galumph about on 6-inch heels amid a soundtrack by The Offspring. In the game of trying to convince her that bikes are a really good idea we should spend money on, I'd be set back a decade.

Motorcyclists often scoff at this idea –– and there are always exceptions –– but when you buy a bike you are buying into a lifestyle. Or, at the very least, you are buying into an acceptance of a lifestyle, a willingness to be associated with that lifestyle. Buy a Honda and you are embracing all those raggedy old white men. Buy a BMW and you are welcoming the association with short, rich guys. Buy a Suzuki and you're telling the world you're a cheapskate. Buy a Triumph Bonneville and you're showing love for those who take facial grooming very seriously. I'd accept those other associations. I do not want to be a part of or condone the idiot misogyny implied by Victory's marketing.

I weep for Jaqui van Ham.

WK Bikes

WK 650TR (aka CF Moto 650TR)

For quite some time I have pondered whether the WK 650TR –– aka the CF Moto 650TR –– is a bike worth having. A China-made machine whose engine copies the Kawasaki Ninja 650 (aka ER-6 outside the United States) and wears the aesthetics of a Honda ST1300, its price is incredibly appealing. In the UK, it will set you back just £5,200

For that, you get a fully faired bike capable of nigh 68 hp that has incorporated hard panniers, a fancy little 12V plug for your sat-nav/phone, and some nifty wee storage compartments in the fairing. By comparison, if you were to get an actual Ninja 650R (known as an ER-6f in the UK) and add accessory panniers and 12V plug, you'd likely be paying close to £7,200.

Of course, you'd also be getting a Kawasaki. With the WK, you get a bike whose name changes depending on which country its sold in and a sparse dealer network made up of independent shops that look as if they are about to shut down. In fact, they frequently do –– a number of dealers listed on WK's site no longer exist.

But still. What if? That's what any economy-minded motorcyclist asks. What if this WK 650TR were actually good enough? What if I really could get all that bike, brand new, for so little money?

I know other people ask this, too, because the two 650TR machines on display were drawing a decent amount of attention at Motorcycle Live. And clearly all of the people looking had similar concerns about quality. Every bloke I saw get near the bike would first take a furtive glance to make sure no staff were watching, then strike some part of the bike with a certain amount of force. They were yanking on the panniers, banging the tank with their wedding rings, tugging at the doors of the fairing compartments, thunking the mirrors, mashing the pedals, squeezing the levers and otherwise treating the display models as roughly as they felt they could get away with. And when I say "they" I mean "we."

If you consider that thousands of people were doing this day after day, it seems the build quality of the 650 TR is pretty good. What that says for the actual running of the bike, I'm not sure. The truth is, I still don't think I'd trust it. Not least because the 650TR does not come with ABS. A quick glance at AutoTrader tells me that a 2010 ER-6f with antilock brakes and less than 5,000 miles on the odometer can be had for £3,100. Givi panniers and a 12V plug will add another £500 or so. That leaves you paying £1,600 less than the asking price of the 650TR, with a still-higher resale value and a legitimate dealer network.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that the 650TR's 12V plug is oddly located right where my knee pushes against the fairing, which means it would probably be useless. My leg would be accidentally disconnecting whatever I had plugged in. I realise I am a bit tall for the bike but I can't imagine anyone being so tiny they would not disrupt the plug. Except for a baby. And babies really should not be riding full-size motorcycles; it's dangerous.

Yamaha

Yamaha MT-09 Tracer (aka FJ-09)

Instead of getting a 650TR you could get an MT-07. Because that is one of the best bikes I've ever ridden. Equipped with ABS it costs just £100 more than the Chinese bike. No, it doesn't have any wind protection or panniers but it is so much fun you won't care.

The bike of most interest to me at the Yamaha exhibit, however, was the newly announced MT-09 Tracer (aka the FJ-09 in the United States). It's got the look of a legitimately solid and useable machine, comfortable ergonomics and will be priced at £8,100 in the UK. That puts it at almost £2,000 less than most of its competition and still several hundred pounds cheaper than the new Triumph Tiger XR, while offering more standard amenities.

Though, you know, if you do a side-by-side comparison, the difference in price is somewhat visible. Just by looking, a person could probably guess the cheaper bike. That's OK, because the MT-09 Tracer is still (probably –– I haven't test ridden one yet, obviously) a good bike. But it's something to be aware of.

What's baffling is that you would have the same experience when comparing the XV950 (aka Star Bolt) and the Harley-Davidson Iron 883. But in this case you'd be wrong about the cheaper bike. The Yamaha actually costs more in the UK. I personally think the Yamaha is overall the better bike, but it is not so much better as to be worth more than a Harley. This is especially true when you can do such direct comparisons in build quality.

I was able to look at the H-D Iron, then walk across the hall and look at the XV950 and see that the latter really doesn't match up. It doesn't even match up against the Kawasaki Vulcan S, which costs almost £2,000 less (the ABS-equipped Vulcan S costs £5,950; the Harley-Davidson Iron 883 with ABS costs £7,650; the XV950R [ABS equipped] costs £7,800). That's a damn shame because I really, really like the XV950. You'd be silly to pay so much more for it, though.

Other stuff

• Did you know Peugeot makes scooters? I didn't either. That's probably down to the fact that I pay almost no attention to scooters. If I lived in London or an equally sprawling mega-city, I'd probably be crazy for them. They certainly look like fun and I dig how much stuff they hold.
• I saw three black people at the show. Three. This was in Birmingham, which is one of the most ethnically diverse cities in Britain and home to the largest black population outside of the London metropolitan region. Three black people, y'all. Whereas there is still work to be done in attracting women to motorcycling there is a whole lot of work to be done in attracting minorities.
• £10 for a cheeseburger, fries and a soda.
• The NEC offered free, covered, secure motorcycle parking. Through this, one of the highlights of the show for me was the opportunity to chat with different people about the bikes they rode. I got into a particularly long conversation with an old white dude from East Anglia about his 11-year-old Honda ST13000 Pan-European, upon which he had ridden some 87,000 miles thus far. Apart from brake pads, tires and the like, he had experienced no problems with the machine and lamented the fact he had no reason to get rid of it. I decided he was a pretty cool dude and secretly admitted to myself that if the opportunity ever presents itself, I will definitely get an ST1300. Though, if I do, I will in my mind probably associate myself with Steve Johnson, who is neither old nor white.

Ours is to scream against standardisation

December 3, 2014, 9:01 am

≫ Next: Victory drops price of Gunner in the UK

≪ Previous: A look back at Motorcycle Live

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I've mentioned before my love of El Solitario –– a custom-builder from Spain whose work is part of a movement in motorcycles that I love. Here's an interesting little film about him that talks, of course, about motorcycles but also about art and its relevance. 

Subversively, this little film also explains why I need to improve my Spanish and move to Spain.

 

Who The Fuck is El Solitario from Juan Rayos on Vimeo.

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Victory drops price of Gunner in the UK

December 5, 2014, 7:09 am

≫ Next: Ride Review: Indian Chief Classic

≪ Previous: Ours is to scream against standardisation

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Victory fans are somewhat few and far between in the United Kingdom (and who can blame them considering the outdated marketing philosophy Victory displays at shows like Motorcycle Live?), so the number of people who will be interested in this little bit of "news" could probably be counted on one hand. But I thought I'd mention it, anyway:

I just happened to check Victory's website today and it appears that the asking price of the 2015 Victory Gunner (due to arrive UK dealerships in March) has been dropped. Its starting price is now just £9,999. 

As recently as last week, the asking price had been listed as £10,399 -- the same as the Indian Scout (also due to arrive UK dealerships in March). Both machines will be equipped with ABS, to adhere to impending EU legislation, and as such cost comparatively more than their U.S. counterparts.

I find it interesting and perhaps a little concerning that Victory has chosen to slash £400 from the Gunner's asking price before it has even arrived at UK dealerships. But, hey, if you're a Brit who's keen to own a kick-ass cruiser, it's a deal for you.

Recently Motorcycle.com did a comparison between a Victory Gunner and Harley-Davidson FXSB Breakout, which saw the two bikes coming out pretty evenly matched. Here in the United Kingdom, both bikes are equipped with anti-lock brakes as standard. The starting price for a Breakout is £15,895 -- almost £9,000 more than the Gunner! 

That is damned impressive. It makes me worry a little bit for Victory (I'd suggest rethinking your marketing strategy, guys), but mostly it makes me wish I had £10,000.

Ride Review: Indian Chief Classic

December 10, 2014, 3:36 am

≫ Next: GWTTA: Monmouth (Trefynwy)

≪ Previous: Victory drops price of Gunner in the UK

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There is only one reason you should not rush out and buy yourself an Indian Chief Classic. I'll get to that in a bit, but first I want to stress that the Chief Classic is the best motorcycle I have ever ridden.

That sort of thing comes with a caveat, I suppose, because of the truth that there is no perfect motorcycle. If you are looking for elbow-dragging cornering prowess, or crossing-the-Kazakh-mountains off-road capability, the Chief will disappoint. Indeed, there are any number of unfair comparisons that could be put to this bike that would leave it wanting. But if you take it for what it is –– an outsized torque monster that turns the head of everyone you pass –– then it is, without question, The Best Motorcycle Ever.

I should probably admit a certain amount of bias right uprfront, however. Indian Motorcycles is owned by Minnesota-based Polaris, and I tend to have a soft spot for all things Minnesotan. But even without that adopted-home-state connection, I reckon I'd be pretty hot on this machine. The Chief (I see no reason to differentiate between the Chief Classic and Chief Vintage, since the only difference between the two is that one has a screen and saddlebags as standard) has long been on my What I Want list. I have previously written about it both here and here. 

You will know, of course, that the resurrected Chief was introduced to the world in summer 2013. The forthcoming 2015 Chief Classic is only different from previous offerings in paint schemes. The machine I rode was a 2014 model, bedecked in deep Springfield Blue that, in my opinion, looked even better with a little bit of Birmingham road grime on it –– rather than shining and spotless on a showroom floor.

That's good to know. I'm not big into cleaning regimes beyond throwing some water on the thing to clear away road salt. I think if I were to own a Chief I'd be somewhat inclined to let the bike's chrome rust –– as chrome is so naturally wont to do –– and create a bit of patina, which you could then clear coat to keep it from rusting any further.

(I learned that trick from the guys at Gas Monkey Garage.)

You'd certainly have a fair bit of patina, because the Chief is dripping with shiny bits. Like the massive steer's head that is the headlight assembly and handlebars. I mean, good grief, that thing is huge. I am not exaggerating even slightly in telling you that just the headlight assembly is larger than my Honda's 19-litre fuel tank. It is the size of a horse's head.

This theme of hugeness extends to all corners of the bike: giganto pullback handlebars that are as thick around as a tree trunk, supersized forks, valanced fenders the size of a child's bicycle, a seat large enough to establish a homestead on, and so on. With Minnesota serving as the de facto home to Indian Motorcycles, one wonders if this thing wasn't designed with Paul Bunyan in mind.

At 8.5 feet long and more than 3 feet wide, it is a big motorcycle. One benefit of all at girth (and all that chrome), though, is that it gets you noticed. As the rider of a 600cc Honda, I am used to being ignored by other road users, but when I was astride this beast, cars and trucks were stopping to give way –– partially out of respect for the bike's size and partially because it is a joy to look at.

It is also a joy to ride. Somehow, Indian has figured out a way to make the massive Chief handle far better than it has any right to. No, you won't be pulling any Royal Jordanian-style filtering moves, but the curves and awkward corners of normal British roads are surprisingly manageable for anyone who understands the basics of clutch/throttle control. Slow-speed manoeuvring is solid and relatively stress-free.

At speed, this great American land yacht floats over everything. It got to the point that I started targeting massive potholes, but still the Chief's suspension gobbled them up. Additionally, the bike's surfboard-sized floorboards allowed me to stand up off the seat when hitting speed bumps and the like. Add to this the bike's incredible leather seat, and it is genuinely the most comfortable vehicle I have ever experienced. Note that I say "vehicle" there; it is more comfortable than any motorcycle I've ridden, easily, but also more comfortable than any car, truck, bus, train, boat or aeroplane I've been on/in.

Twisting the throttle produces a deep, from-the-bowels-of-the-earth growl in the Chief's gargantuan 1,811cc engine. Hauling all that weight means you won't be popping any wheelies, but a fistful of throttle definitely hurls you forward in such a way that will have you whooping in your helmet. Indeed, I spent the whole of my ride laughing, shouting expletives of affirmation and grinning so wide my teeth went dry.

Because of the Polaris family connection, I had expected the experience of riding a Chief to be similar to that of riding a Victory, but it turns out that an Indian is so much more. First gear is a little "shorter" than on a Victory, meaning the engine's groaning will have you wanting to shift at about 30 mph. But the higher gears are much "longer." Sixth gear is very much a motorway/interstate gear; when cruising below 65 mph, you find no need to explore beyond fifth.

The clutch is relatively light –– especially when compared to a Victory –– though I should point out that I have long fingers (that's right, ladies), and I wonder how easily shifting gears would come to someone with smaller hands.

At higher speeds, that leviathan headlight assembly blocks a lot of wind –– to the extent I wonder whether I would ever want a screen. The Chief purrs at 75 mph, suggesting an ability to go far into the territory of illegal speeds before the engine shows any signs of stress. This is clearly a motorcycle suited to its home country. The United States is roughly 3,000 miles from ocean to ocean and this bike is a great way to tackle those miles in style and comfort. The roomy seat, the massive floorboards and the colossal pull-back handlebars offer plenty of wriggle room.

When it comes time to bring all that mass to a stop, the Chief's two front discs and single rear seem to be very much up to the job. Again, this is a markedly different experience than one finds on a Victory. With a Chief, you can use a sportbike-style two-fingered grab of the lever to temper momentum. The bike is also equipped with anti-lock brakes as standard.

I, personally, am not a fan of placing the speedometer and other info on the tank of the bike, but I'll admit that it works with the Chief's aesthetics and I had no trouble keeping speed and gear position in my peripheral view whilst riding.

Beyond that, I can find no other qualms with this motorcycle. Well, except for that one thing I mentioned at the start of this post –– the only reason I can think of for not running out right now and buying one: its price.

Good Lord almighty, is it expensive. Here in the United Kingdom, the starting price for an Indian Chief Classic is greater than my my net annual salary. At my current rate of saving (which is already overly optimistic), it would take me 12 years to put aside enough money to buy one of these magnificent beasts. Which means –– despite its greatness –– you will probably never see one in my garage.

All of this, then, leads to the three questions I put to every motorbike I get a chance to test ride:

1) Does it fit my current needs/lifestyle?
Sadly, no. The Indian Chief Classic is too big, too expensive and too demanding in its cleaning schedule to belong to a low-paid PR hack who has to store his bike outside.

2) Does it put a grin on my face?
Yes. A massive, kid-on-Christmas-morning grin that sits on my face even as I think of riding the Chief. The thought of never owning one initiates a deep, trembling sadness in my soul.

3) Is is better than my current motorcycle?
Yes. In looks, acceleration, comfort, quality and coolness it is –– unsurprisingly –– superior to my hard-working little Honda. In comfort alone it is, as I said, superior to every other vehicle I've ever experienced.

If your financial situation is better than my own, I urge you to get a Chief. I wish you many years of happy riding. Please don't be surprised when you see me gaping in envy as you ride past.

GWTTA: Monmouth (Trefynwy)

December 12, 2014, 9:00 am

≫ Next: What can I actually afford?

≪ Previous: Ride Review: Indian Chief Classic

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Let's call the visit to Monmouth a learning experience. 

I learned, for instance, that I should probably do a little research on the places I visit as part of the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventurebefore going to them (a). Otherwise I'll arrive at said place with no idea of what might be there.

Additionally, I learned I should not attempt to explore a place when I haven't eaten. Being hungry makes me incomparably stupid and indecisive. Which, of course, isn't a good thing to be when you don't know what you're doing.

These two issues came to a head when I had the experience of also learning that the Waitrose in Monmouth doesn't have a cafe.

For those of you playing along at home, Waitrose is chain of high-end grocery stores in the United Kingdom. Often they have cafes. Or so I thought.

Monnow Bridge

I had ridden through Monmouth once or twice in the past and noted the existence of aforementioned Waitrose, so my plan had been to arrive, eat at aforementioned cafe and thereafter take a leisurely stroll through aforementioned town to see what I could see. But, as I said afore, the Monmouth Waitrose is sans cafe.

Because I had not arrived with a back-up plan, because I was feeling a little flustered from my ride here, and because I was being made stupid by hunger, I was not able to respond to this minor setback and simply choose somewhere else to eat. There are literally dozens of cafes, pubs and restaurants in Monmouth but in the face of them I became so indecisive that all I was able to do was walk around getting more and more upset at my inability to decide where to eat.

"Oh moan, that place looks a little too pricey. Woe is me, eating in this place might leave me too full for dinner tonight. Sorrow, with all my motorcycle gear I'd draw too much attention in there. Fie, this place looks so nice I'll want to spend the rest of the day in here. Distress, If I go in there I'll want a pint, too, but I have to ride home..."

In the end, I just chose to not eat. This in itself was a learning experience. From it I learned that if I spend all day riding around in the cold, having eaten nothing but two pieces of toast in the morning, I will end up getting a fever blister the next day and feeling awful for the next two weeks.

Monmouth Castle

All in all, I would say my visit to Monmouth was something of a bust. I was flustered and hungry and I failed to deal with it properly.

I was feeling flustered partially because my visit to Monmouth came on the same day I had visited Caerleon –– the two towns only being a few miles apart –– and that hadn't gone terribly well. But also because it was on the ride to Monmouth I learned I shouldn't rely solely on my sat-nav (known as a GPS in America-land) to get to a place. I mean, yeesh, everyone knows that. But especially my sat-nav.

Mine is a hand-me-down Tom-Tom given to me for free because its previous owner was convinced she couldn't trust it. I learned on my Monmouth adventure that I can't really trust it either. Especially not its battery, When I stopped in the middle of nowhere to click on the device, its battery was dead. I have since found that some sort of fault in the sat-nav (probably as a result of its being in my bag that time I got soaked en route to Exeter) causes it to take more than 48 hours to charge fully.

I'm going to need to come up with a solution to my sat-nav issue as I go forward with the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure. Navigation can be damned tricky in Land of Song. Physical maps are hard to use on a motorcycle anyway, of course, but also it can be extra difficult to find maps that even bother to include the small country lanes that are requisite to getting places in Wales.

Getting lost en route to Monmouth.

Meanwhile, outside of Cardiff and Swansea, phone signal is weak at best and sometimes non-existent, so navigating via Google Maps is ill-advised (not to mention it saps battery that will be needed to phone for help if your bike breaks down). But, for that matter, sat-navs, too, struggle to keep tabs as you wind through narrow valleys. My friend, Sian, was born and raised in Wales but lives now in London. She told me she often gets lost when she returns home. In trying to give me directions to the town where her wedding was held she said: "Head west and follow your heart."

Which is more or less what I did when getting from Caerleon to Monmouth (though, I was headed north and east).

There is a pretty straight-forward 70-mph route I could have taken, but that would have been boring. I wanted instead to make my way through the undulating country lanes that lie between the two towns. With my sat-nav dead, I studied an overview map of the area on my phone, memorised the names of a few towns I would pass, and set out –– planning to use road signs as a guide.

The phrase "road sign" is a misleading one when it comes to finding your way in the Welsh countryside. There are, indeed, signs by the road but often they were not designed for motorists. In these country lanes the signs can be upward of 200 years old, intended for the eyes of people moving at a far slower pace.

Random shop in Monmouth

If you've ever read PG Wodehouse novels, he frequently references the challenges of driving in the 1920s, literally having to stop and get out of the car to read a road sign. These are the sort of signs that were guiding me to Monmouth. And the route they prescribed was one that saw me bumping down lanes so narrow I could stretch out both my arms and touch the hedges on either side.

These lanes were pockmarked, crumbling, and caked with mud, livestock manure and, in some darker corners, algae. It is in situations like this that I am thankful I do not own an expensive motorcycle. As I rode along, I found myself remembering the claims made by the Michelin guys when they wined and dined me a few months ago. Pilot Road 4 tires have improved grip on every surface but snow, they said.

But "improved" doesn't necessarily mean "good." Not when tackling the literal and metaphorical crap found on a Welsh lane. I had several bum-clenching moments of having the rear tire kick out on me as I crept down the lanes. Fortunately, I encountered almost no other traffic on these roads (everyone else being smart enough to avoid them, I suppose) and was able to move at a snail's pace.

Eventually, I was rewarded for my efforts. I stopped on the rise of a hill, alone in the green, tranquil quiet of the countryside. I shut off my bike and was overwhelmed by the silence, the peacefulness. It felt otherworldly. Normally you just don't find this sort of thing in Britain. Everyone is so aggressive, so impatient and so crowded around each other on this little archipelago that when it all finally stops, when you can take a breath and actually hear the sound of fresh air filling your lungs, the experience kicks you in the stomach.

This was intensified by the views I had of the mountains to the north of me. I sat there for several minutes, listening to my breathing, the birds and faraway sheep. I didn't really think it at the time but it occurs to me now that this is the point of the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure; this sort of thing is why I moved to Wales.

Statue of Charles Rolls upstaging statue of Henry V

Eventually, I fired up the bike again and bounced my way down to Monmouth. It is a nice town, far more English in its quaintness than most Welsh towns and villages. That makes sense, as it is quite close to the English border.

Thanks to a statue in the town centre, I learned it is also the birthplace of one of the most iconic Englishmen ever: Henry V. You know, the fella of, "Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George," fame. You can't get more English than that, lads. Especially considering the fact that before becoming king, Henry V cut his warring teeth by defeating and humiliating one of Wales' greatest cultural heroes: Owain Glyndwr.

Far more recently, Monmouth was home to equally iconic Englishman Charles Rolls, of Rolls-Royce fame, and in present day it is home to a whole lot of people who don't speak a word of Welsh. In part because of all of these things, the town is often dismissed by hardcore Welshies. And this speaks to something else that I sense will become a theme throughout the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure: often, the things I like most about Wales are, in fact, quite English in nature.

I didn't bother to ponder this at the time, however. I was hungry. After a quick visit to the crumbling remains of Monmouth Castle (built by the English to help them invade Wales) and a stroll through the town's older streets I headed back to my bike and sped home to dinner. It had been a positive learning experience, even if I was still pretty ignorant about Monmouth.

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(a)If you've got any insider knowledge about the places I'm planning to visit, please clue me in.

What can I actually afford?

December 15, 2014, 12:00 am

≫ Next: I'm a sucker for good marketing

≪ Previous: GWTTA: Monmouth (Trefynwy)

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You will know, of course, that I have a tendency to swoon over just about every bike I see. I'm not terribly picky, though I'll admit that the stuff I get most excited about tends to be rather pricey. My grandmother has always accused me of having such tastes. When I was a boy she would take me clothes shopping and claimed I had a magical ability to immediately identify the most expensive item in the shop.

I got to thinking about this a few days ago, after posting my review of the Indian Chief Classic. I absolutely love that bike, but as part of the review I went to the trouble to work out that at my current rate of saving I would have to wait until my 50th birthday to be able to buy one (I am presently 38 years old).

And that got me wondering: what bikes could I actually afford right now? So, I started searching eBay, BikeTrader, MCN,  and various other bike listings to see what I could come up with.

The first thing to really catch my eye was the 2001 BMW K1200 pictured above.

"it had a collision. I sell it for parts," explains the owner. "seat are ok."

Glad to know the seat is OK. The bike comes in under my budget and, golly, it's exciting to think of owning a genuine BMW. I could make a project of this bike -- fix it up and thereafter have my very own top-of-the-line tourer. All I'd need would be a garage to do the work in, appropriate tools, money for additional parts, and a mechanical knowledge that extends beyond "Righty tighty, lefty loosey." I have none of these things, however, so let's move on.

At my current budget, the bulk of bikes available are 125cc machines from China that have very clearly been ridden and maintained by 17-year-old boys from England's less-desirable towns and cities. Here and there, one finds an old Kawasaki GPZ 550 with interstellar miles, looking like it might -- just might -- survive a lap or two at Dirt Quake before needing to be sold for scrap.

The best bike I can find for the money I have now is this one: a 1989 Suzuki GSX750F with 32,500 miles on the clock. We all know eBay is a haven for liars and thieves, but let's pretend otherwise and take the bike's seller at his word.

"This bike really rides very well and is unbelievable to think it's 25 years old," says the seller. "Like a 5-year-old bike, not a 25 year old."

He adds, however, that the bike is currently on SORN (Statutory Off Road Notification), which is a UK tax designation given to vehicles that are not being used on the roads. Usually you SORN a vehicle because it doesn't run. But it's not unheard of for people to SORN a bike over the winter.

Either way, it means the bike is not currently allowed on British roads, which: a) calls into question the owner's claims of how well it rides; b) means I couldn't legally test ride it; c) I'd be faced with a lot of paperwork before getting it back on the road.

Maybe it's a sweet find. Maybe I could get my hands on this thing and experience the joy of riding around on a modern classic. I think, though, that I'll just keep saving my pennies and dreaming of another day.

I'm a sucker for good marketing

December 18, 2014, 12:00 am

≫ Next: Where are the Americans?

≪ Previous: What can I actually afford?

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"A life without dreams simply has no meaning."

–– Soichiro Honda

I'm a Honda rider; I'm never really sure, however, whether you could call me a Honda guy. My emotional relationship with the manufacturer of the bike I ride is often tenuous. You can see that in a number of posts I've written over the past few years: the time I compared Honda to professional wrestler Lance Storm,the time I lamented Honda's utter lack of coolness, the time I compared my bike to an ex-girlfriend, and so on.

Of course, the mind immediately jumps to the question of whether it's necessary to be an anything guy. Why not just buy/ride whatever bike it is that you like according to your needs and wants at the time, rather than trying to shoehorn yourself into the illusory lifestyle of any given motorcycle manufacturer? After all, motorcycle ownership is not religion. (Though, some Harley-Davidson owners might lead you think otherwise.)

But I suppose we could learn a little about motorcycling from at least one religion: Sikhism. To paraphrase Guru Nanak, there is no Harley Guy, there is no Honda Guy, but each of us must still choose a motorcycle.

I digress. The point is: I'm a Honda owner but I often feel something akin to embarrassment because of it. People will ask me what kind of bike I ride and too often I'll attenuate my answer with words like "only" or "just," e.g., "Oh, it's only a little 600cc Honda, but what I really want is..."

Nevermind that my "little 600cc Honda" delivers more horsepower than a 1200cc Harley-Davidson Sportster, is more fuel-efficient and everyday useful than an Indian Chief Classic, and has better brakes than every bike Victory has ever made. For some reason, I have in my head a silly, childish, aesthetic, and all too often financially-based (a) vision of what coolness is, and Honda doesn't really fit within that.

But then there are things like the picture above of world-travelling Stephanie Jeavons, or my own interaction with American nomad Steve Johnson, or the chance conversations I've had with people like the guy I met at Motorcycle Live who had put 87,000 miles on his ST1300 and said of it: "Be careful if you get one because the bloody thing won't die and you won't have any good reason to replace it when you decide you want something new."

These people are adventurers. Their gear is often makeshift and almost always worn out from use. They just go and go and go, in part because the bike they've chosen doesn't stop. And that's pretty cool. 

But because I'm a Gen X dude who can't think for himself, I sometimes need the capitalist machine to remind me that Hondas are cool. Which is why I have been really digging the marketing campaign for the forthcoming True Adventure motorcycle.

I kind of wonder how this hype will jive with the actual automatic transmission motorcycle that I saw displayed at Motorcycle Live, but, you know, Who cares, man?! These videos are awesome. Especially that second one (b); I've watched it about a dozen times thus far. And each time I do, it manages to set off a little voice in my head that yelps: "I need a Honda so I can explore all the things."

Hey, wait! I already have a Honda! Go me! I can explore all the things right now! Yay! Fire up Google Maps and let the dreaming begin!

And therein you have the power of good marketing. Harley-Davidson, of course, does it incredibly well, but this is the first time I can remember being struck by any sort of Honda campaign. Well done, Big Red: you've made me feel happy to be a Honda owner.

Though, I'm still not sure if I'm a Honda guy...

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(a)For example, Hondas have a reputation for durability and quality. BMWs also have a reputation for durability and quality. BMWs definitely don't look much better than Hondas, so why do I swoon over them more? The only logical answer is that I am somehow enchanted (and duped) by the fact that they are more expensive.

(b) One of the people featured in the video is Steph Jeavons, who is Welsh and is a partial inspiration for my own Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure.