The Motorcycle Obsession

Just a quick addendum to my previous post. One thing I noticed in the Honda video featuring world explorers was a lack of American accents. And that got me thinking: Off the top of my head, I can think of no world-travelling American motorcyclists.

I can't remember ever reading about even one. I've read about riders from Canada, France, Germany, Israel, New Zealand and Ireland. I've read about loads of Aussies and loads more Brits. But I'm not aware of the story of one American who has travelled the globe on two wheels.

I realise there are plenty of Iron Butted Americans who have criss-crossed the United States and perhaps even sojourned in Canada or Mexico. I take great pride in counting as friends two people who effectively live on the American highways and byways. But why has my country produced no world travellers?

Have I just missed hearing about them, or is there something about Americans that keeps them from straying too far from home?

Full disclosure: I (currently) have little interest in riding around the world on a motorcycle. Sure, I'm fomenting plans to explore Europe, and I dream always of wandering the great expanse of North America, but I'll admit that the thought of possibly breaking down on the Trans-Siberian Highway or having to bribe customs officials in Bali puts me off wanting to ride in areas that would force me too far from my Western sensibilities. I'm not entirely sure why I am this way (Am I afraid? Am I too comfortable?), but perhaps it speaks to the reason that other Americans aren't doing such a thing either.

What do you think? Why aren't there more American accents in far-flung places?

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(The picture above, by the way, is of American Sash Johnson riding near the Mexican border. I wouldn't put it past her to take up world travelling soon)

Let's start with the fact that I don't actually think the bike pictured above is the forthcoming Triumph Street Tracker. To me, it looks a lot like an updated Triumph Thruxton, and as such, what we're looking at here is an updated Bonneville platform. Whatever it's called, though, I want one.

Spy photos of the Triumph in question showed up on a number of motorcycle websites last week, including VisorDown, Cycle World, and Motorcycle.com. What strikes me about all the publications' stories about the bike is how consistent they are. All agree that this is an 1100-1200cc machine that is liquid-cooled and therefore capable of upward of 100 horsepower. All agree the bike will have anti-lock brakes. All agree there will be a standard and an R model. Most agree the bike will be called a Street Tracker.

Obviously, some of that information is educated guesswork. Back in 2012, Triumph went to the trouble to trademark the name "Triumph Street Tracker," so it seems to make sense that the name would be applied to this new machine. Similarly, ABS will be required on all new models sold in the European Union from 1 January 2016, so it's pretty much a given that every new bike we see from this point forward will be ABS-equipped.

Notes on the engine size, though, suggest a certain level of inside knowledge. And such loose lips from the Triumph camp suggests an imminent release date for this bike. Based on the rather finished look of the machine, I'd expect to see it announced and in dealerships in time for the 2015 peak riding season.

But, as I say, I'm not convinced about the name. Do a Google image search for the phrase "street tracker" and you will be presented with a whole bunch of customised bikes that don't really look like this one. The handlebars are different. On most street trackers the seat is different; quite a lot of street trackers use alloy wheels and have a flattened front that mimics where the number plate would go on a flat tracker.

Instead, this looks a whole lot like an updated Thruxton. In fact, let's just go with that: What you see here are spy photos of a new liquid-cooled Triumph Thruxton being put through its paces in Spain. And I want one.

I mentioned in my post about Motorcycle Live that I have fallen in love with the Thruxton recently. I have long admired its looks but had not before had a chance to really ogle the bike up close and in person. And I'll admit that I hadn't made much effort to do so. Having ridden (and thoroughly enjoyed) the Bonneville, I have no doubt that the current Thruxton is a joy to ride. But, like the Bonneville, it lacks ABS. Add to this the fact that its ergonomics require more of a forward lean and I had told myself I wasn't interested.

But then one day, back in mid-November, I found myself sitting in soul-destroying Cardiff morning traffic, en route to return a rental car I had used over the weekend, and I watched as a Thruxton slipped through the narrow alley between unmoving cars.

"Ooh," I said aloud. "That bike filters well. And the rider looks so cool doing it."

With the possible exception of certain Victory motorcycles, I can think of no bike that looks better from the rear than a Thruxton. So, a week or so later when I arrived at Motorcycle Live, I made a point of heading to the Triumph area of the show and spending some quality time with the Thruxton. It is beautiful in person and its ergonomics are far more comfortable than I had imagined.

Were it equipped with ABS, the Thruxton is already a machine that could answer all the demands I have for a bike whilst looking so much sexier than my Honda. When I got home, I showed Jenn a picture of one in Brookland green and her simple reply was: "Ooh, babe. You should get one."

You may remember that my wife used to keep a sticker book of motorcycles when she was a little girl. She preferred the classic Triumphs -- the bikes that were, in her words, "real motorcycles" -- and of them, her favourites were those painted green. You may remember, as well, that back in March of this year, when I came very close to signing a loan deal for a Bonneville my wife had no opposition to the idea. Whereas she is totally indifferent to my swooning over, say, a Moto Guzzi Griso, and outright coughed in disdain when I once drew her attention to a BMW R1200GS, she is very much a Triumph girl. The Thruxton is 100 percent Mrs. Cope-approved and, obviously, that makes it quite desirable in my eyes.

It appears the R-spec version of this bike will have fancy suspension.

The Thruxton is, of course, part of the Bonneville line; the Bonneville, Scrambler, Thruxton, America and Speedmaster are all effectively the same bike, with different ergonomics and aesthetics. And since 2007, almost nothing has changed on the bikes other than paint. The platform has been in need of an upgrade for a while now, but that has become even more painfully obvious in recent months. Think of all the bikes against which the Bonneville line competes and consider the ways in which they are superior:

Harley Davidson Sportster 1200 (ABS, more standard features)
Indian Scout (ABS [in Europe], more powerful, more standard features)
Ducati Scrambler (ABS, more powerful, more standard features)
Moto Guzzi V7II (ABS, traction control)
Yamaha XV950/ Star Bolt (ABS, more powerful)
BMW RnineT (ABS, more powerful, superior performance, more standard features)
Honda CB1100 (ABS, more powerful, more standard features)

Admittedly, some of those bikes cost quite a bit more, but some do not. In particular, the Yamaha and (even more so) the Ducati offer bikes that make Triumph look lazy. And I'm not the only one to think that. In October, when Triumph announced its 2015 special edition Bonnevilles much of the reaction I saw online was akin to backlash.

So, it is good to know that this new Thruxton will be more than just the same old bike with government-mandated brakes. A larger liquid-cooled engine will offer more go, dual front discs will offer more whoa. I will be interested to see, too, how this new platform extends to the rest of the Bonneville line.

I am worried as to how it all affects the price tag, though. Some have noted that this new Thruxton looks similar to the Norton Commando 961 Sport and the BMW RnineT. My fear is that Triumph will try to price it similarly.

Above is a picture from Victory's UK Facebook page, taken at a motorcycle show in 2014. Can you identify what's wrong here? If not, let me phrase the question differently: How many women do you see in this photo?

I see two: the eye candy. Everyone else in the photo appears to be male. Now, take into consideration the fact that statistics show more and more women are buying motorcycles and ask yourself again: What's wrong with this picture?

I have long felt frustration toward the latent sexism in motorcycling. In fact, I tend to list that among the myriad reasons I spent so many years not riding after I earned my license at age 18. Sure, I dated a girl who rode a Kawasaki Ninja, but overwhelmingly the riders I encountered were male (and white, and usually 20 years older than me), and much of their world seemed to objectify and demean women.

Remember that I grew up in the American Midwest, the same region in which you will find Sturgis, South Dakota. If you disagree with my suggestion that the motorcycling culture of that region is demeaning to women, I dare you to type the words "Sturgis women" into an image search and view the results at work.

Even as a young man I couldn't see how that world would attract the sort of girl I was inclined to chase after.

Older and living in another country, I now accept that the Midwestern BS is only one facet of motorcycle culture. Additionally, I am mature enough to not see the world in absolutes; just because I share certain interests with people doesn't mean I have to adhere to all their beliefs and ideologies. But even so, I am made uncomfortable by the general level of sexism I see in motorcycling.

Too many manufacturers and motorcycle racing organisations treat women as motorcycle accessories -- as if the whole point of being a female is to accentuate chrome. I understand the idea that sex sells, but I feel that this kind of selling actually damages the companies who use it, as well as motorcycling overall.

Don't get me wrong; I like what I see. I'm not a prude and I am highly appreciative of the female form. But I am equally appreciative and respectful of the female mind, and it seems to me that such an intense focus on the former is an insult to the latter.

I've found myself thinking about this a lot lately, ever since I visited the Victory display area of Motorcycle Live, where I wanted to strangle the company's marketing guys for their boneheaded strategy. The area had a handful of underfed girls in inappropriate clothing (it is never warm enough in Britain to prance around in nothing but Lycra, but that is especially true in late November) who were there for nothing more than idle titillation.

If you wanted, I suppose you could have gotten your picture taken with them, then showed it to all your buddies to falsely present yourself as a lady's main, a la Cool Hand Luke. But had you tried to ask them questions about the product whose name was stretched across their chests, you would have gotten blank stares. At one point there was a demonstration of Victory bikes and I saw a guy teaching one of the girls how to start a motorcycle. THE GIRL SHILLING MOTORCYCLES DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO TURN ONE ON!

And when I see crap like that, I can't help but think of how my wife would respond. Imagine if I wanted to buy a Victory motorcycle (which, actually, I do -- despite their poor marketing).

It makes sense that I would want my wife's input; I love her and care about her opinion. Plus, her support of my buying decisions help prevent domestic arguments. This is one of the reasons I am so particularly fond of Triumphs. My wife loves them, and that means she won't necessarily see my owning one as frivolous or wasteful.

So imagine that I take Jenn to some sort of Victory event, so she can see the bikes in person -- perhaps even go on a test ride with me. And when she gets to said event she sees these Lycra-wrapped anorexics and a bunch of men muttering crass things about them. What she doesn't see is anything that necessarily appeals to her as a female. And subtly, therefore, the message is communicated to her that she is effectively pointless. Her role is to serve as accoutrement.

I cringe to think of the sort of whithering sarcasm I'd face if I were to thereafter suggest a desire to meet Victory's asking price on a new model. Not to mention how much an experience like that would put her off motorcycling in general. How would I be able to convince her to take up riding herself if that were her impression of the motorcycling world? Who wants to be part of something that devalues you?

An exception: Alicia Elfving runs the popular Moto Lady website.

I have no doubt many women feel similarly. And I have no doubt that many women over the years have simply turned their back on motorcycling as a result. There's no way you can say that doesn't damage motorcycling. Because you're not just pushing away women, but also the men who value and respect those women.

Fortunately, there are exceptions. There always have been. Some of the most inspiring riders in history have been female: Bessie Stringfield, Vivian Bales and Elspeth Beard immediately come to mind. Stephanie Jeavons is a modern inspiration who is currently travelling around the world solo. And, of course, don't forget Alicia Elfving or the Miss-Fires.

My frustration is that these women are too often an exception; they exist despite the marketing and mentalities that demean them. In some cases, they exist in deliberate rebellion of those things. But not everyone wants to be an inspirational trailblazer. Motorcycling needs to be more open and more accepting of everyday women.

A few intelligent motorcycling companies (I'm giving you a nod here, Harley-Davidson) have recognised that money from a female is just as good as that from a male, and that by welcoming and encouraging women into motorcycling they increase its overall appeal. Too often this practice feels like a token action, and it is not nearly widespread enough, but it's a start.

Statistics show more and more women are taking up motorcycling and I'd like to see that accelerated and expanded. Motorcycle manufacturers can help this happen (and, in turn, help themselves) by acknowledging that women have a worth beyond using their physical attributes. If nothing else, that's just good business sense.

I mean, imagine again the scenario of visiting a Victory sales event. And instead of being confronted with the assertion that she is nothing but boobs and butt for a bike, my wife is encouraged to consider the freedom, independence and sense of individuality that can come from riding a motorcycle. Rather than ruining a sale, they might earn themselves two new customers

Elspeth Beard rode her BMW R60 around the world.

Before I came to Kidwelly the only thing I knew about it was that it's the home town of Ray Gravell. The fact this is not mentioned on Kidwelly's Wikipedia page is a travesty.

It's quite possible you've never heard of Ray Gravell, but suffice to say he was one of the Welshiest Welshman that ever Welshed. A hard-hitting rugby player who was part of the Llanelli RFC side that beat New Zealand on the Day the Pubs Ran Dry (a)–– 31 October 1972 –– he was also a nationalistic Welsh speaker who served as sword bearer for the Gorsedd y Beirdd.

Oh hell yeah, we're going down the rabbit hole on this trip, y'all.

In Wales, there is a pseudo-religious group of Welsh-language sycophants known as the Gorsedd y Beirdd. There's not a particularly good translation for the word "gorsedd" so let's just use "posse." Meanwhile, "beirdd" is equally difficult to translate –– especially in this context. But basically it is the plural of "bardd" or "bard" in English, which is a word English speakers use to describe writer types (most famously William Shakespeare) and a New York college that Steely Dan hated so much they wrote a song about it.

So, anyway, this Welsh Bard's Posse was dreamed up in the 1700s by a guy who was whacked out on opium, but now people take it really seriously. If I'm not mistaken, my two university degrees in Welsh mean that I am, by default, a member of the Gorsedd y Beirdd. But I have never bothered to get dressed up in green tablecloth and chant with the rest of them.

Ray Gravell did, though he was given white robes because his ability to run straight into people at speed made him more important than me. He was so important they gave him the super-mega special job of carrying around the Cleddyf Mawr. Literally translated as "The Big Sword," the Cleddyf Mawr is a 7-foot sword that its keeper holds over his head during the opening of the Gorsedd's biggest annual event: Eisteddfod.

So, yeah, that's what Gravell did. He also got drunk on television, commented on rugby matches, sold cars, and cried any time someone played "Yma o Hyd." He died in 2007 but Welsh separatists still wear T-shirts with his face on them.

Viewing Kidwelly from a window in Kidwelly Castle

Meanwhile, his car business thrives to this day, and if a person in Wales drives a Renault purchased at Gravells (replete with Gravells bumper sticker in rear window) it is effectively the same as flying a 70-foot banner banner that says: "I AM WELSH AND I AM REALLY, REALLY PROUD OF IT."

And he was from Kidwelly. He mentioned this fact at any and every opportunity. Like Kathie Lee needs Regis, like Kanye needs Jesus –– that's how our Grav felt toward Kidwelly. That the town fails to capitalise on that deep love is, as I say, a travesty.

According to the (n)ever-reliable Google Maps, Kidwelly is just 1 hour and 23 minutes from Penarth, but I chose to get here avoiding the motorway. Such a move was, admittedly, questionable. Not only did it more than double my journey time it also resulted in my having to roll slowly through a slough of undesirable Welsh valleys towns. Places with names that sound like Victorian diseases: Pyle, Margam, Baglan, Skewen.

Oh, aye, poor Tommy were working the coal pits only a fortnight afore he come down with the Margam –– he were dead within two days after that.

South Wales is the land of the bedsheet birthday wishes. At roundabouts and strapped precariously to railway bridges you'll see grandma's unwanted linen adorned with proclamation of landmark birthdays ("HAPPY 30TH GEMMA!"). This sort of thing is exemplary of how uncouth people of the South Wales Valleys can sometimes be. They think it's a good idea to make signs out of bedsheets. They think that a person would want to be celebrated in such a way; no doubt they hope to be celebrated in the same way themselves.

And because this is Wales, it is more often than not the case that these goodwill messages are illegible, the rain having caused paint to run.

Kidwelly lies on the River Gwendraeth, which stretches quickly into the Bristol Channel.

Eventually, though, I made my way past the grime and stench of these towns to the incongruence of Swansea's streets and thereafter into the best part of Wales: the west.

West Wales is the most attractive part of the country and its residents are, in my opinion, generally the most likeable. I admire the ridiculous Texan-like pride they have in their region; I enjoy the broad, growling way in which they speak Welsh; and I love their sense of humour that is at once self-effacing and unafraid. But, oh, are they annoying drivers.

In West Wales there seems to be just one speed: 40 mph. The people there drive too fast through towns and too slow through the country. Fortunately, with a little bit of throttle wind up, the Honda could easily launch past when gaps made themselves available. Then I was free to enjoy sweeping curved roads with good sight lines and decent surface –– until closing in on yet another crawling Renault.

Kidwelly itself is like a lot of West Wales towns in the sense that you imagine it would be lovely to live there but if you really imagine actually living there you realise you're happy that you don't. Especially if you roll into town on a Sunday in the winter; there is nothing to do. Nothing. Not a thing. These places live for the summer and its tourists.

I'm not entirely sure what the place lived for before tourists started showing up. Tin, probably. That's the story of huge swathes of Wales: the industrial revolution saw the ore and natural resources of Wales building up the rest of the world. Then the rest of the world decided it was cheaper to get their raw materials from places that didn't have labour unions, and the whole country fell into decline.

Kidwelly Castle

Before the industrial revolution, the town served as a strategically important location for numerous folks. The Normans established a castle in 1106. About 200 years later, Edward I ("Longshanks" for those of you who've watched Braveheart) fortified said castle amid his successful efforts to crush Welsh resistance. Another few centuries after that, it played a role in Owain Glyndwr's failed revolution.

I visited the castle and had the place pretty much to myself. It's in good condition, considering it is more than twice the age of my home country, and has lots of mysterious, narrow stairwells to wander through.

Many years ago, I watched an S4C documentary about Ray Gravell in which he stood atop of one of the castle's towers and started weeping because he loved Wales so much. Climbing up to that very same vantage point and looking out, I could understand how one might get emotional.

Just below your feet lie the town's higgledy-piggledy medieval lanes, then a handful of more modern houses that blight the eye, and beyond them a broad river delta that spills into the bits of the Bristol Channel as it becomes the Celtic Sea. On the whole, the view is almost cinematic.

The wind here is seemingly always fresh and clean. I gulped in deep breaths of the stuff, as if somehow able to store it in my lungs to enjoy back in Cardiff.

"Well done, God," I said aloud. "Excellent work."

I stood at the top of that tower until I started to chill and it occurred to me the sun was soon going to set. All the roads surrounding Kidwelly are hard to navigate in the dark if you're unfamiliar with them (b). I hummed a verse of "Yma o Hyd" in honour of Grav and scrambled my way back down to my bike.

I fired up the Honda and cranked my heated grips to 100 percent, then shoved my gloves over them to gather warmth as I did up my jacket, fussed endlessly with the two scarves I wear, and strapped on my helmet.

I sent a text to Jenn to let her know I was on my way, pointed the bike to the nearest motorway and flew home.

Narrow road leading to Kidwelly Castle

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(a)For those of you playing along at home, this was a huge moment in Wales' cultural history –– on par with Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, or the Berlin Wall being torn down. Rugby has long been incredibly important here, and the Wales national rugby team hasn't beaten New Zealand since 1953. The fact that a regional team managed to do it turned those players into demi-gods.

(b) Well, actually all the roads in Wales are hard to navigate at all times of day –– but outside of the cities they are even more baffling at night.

I had a moment of excitement and glee this week when I spotted the following blurb on page 7 of the February 2015 (a) issue of Bike magazine:

"Kawasaki's supercharged H2 has caused proper rumpus, so now Honda plan their own blown bike. They've filed patents showing a supercharger on... yes, the humble NC750."

Wait. What?!

I'll admit we're treading deep into the waters of Things Chris Doesn't Really Understand here, but from what I know of superchargers they are magical bits of machinery that when added to a motorcycle leave you wondering: why didn't they do that in the first place?

I mean, the Victory Hammer that set a land speed record at Bonneville, for example. Simply slapping a supercharger on that thing saw it delivering 200hp at the rear wheel. Compare those numbers with the roughly 83hp you'll get from a stock Hammer S and the stock bike seems like a bad investment.

I'm simplifying this so it makes sense to my tiny brain, but basically a supercharger is able to get increased performance by forcing more air into the engine. In the way I've visualised it in my head, this forced (compressed) air has an effect on the engine similar to blowing on the embers of a fire; suddenly the stuff being burned is being burned more efficiently. If you know about superchargers, please feel free to offer a clearer explanation in the comments. But remember to use small words and simple terms because I'm from Texas.

Even though they've existed for nigh 100 years, it's my understanding that superchargers haven't been placed on standard bikes because they are expensive, not just a little bit fiddly, and create a more urgent challenge in terms of engine cooling.

Also, hitherto, superchargers have really only been used to help a bike go insanely fast. And that's what so interesting about this Honda plan. Big Red intends to use the supercharger more for the sake of efficiency than speed.

According to an article in Motorcycle News, the supercharged NC750 will make use of the technology to deliver a vehicle that offers the same low emissions and enviable MPG while boosting performance to somewhere around 100 hp!

In other words, a supercharger will eliminate the single gripe I have about the NC750X. I have long been a fan of the bike, writing about it here, here, and here. Honestly, I don't think there's a week that goes by in which I don't find myself staring at the NC750X page on Honda's website, thinking: "Maybe. Maybe. Maybe that would be the bike for me."

I mean, the damned thing gets more than 80 mpg, for the love of Pete. That blows my mind. The pickup truck I owned in college got 14 mpg –– making the 240-mile drive from Bloomington to Moorhead on a single tank of gas was always a nerve-wracking experience. Meanwhile, the Honda CBF600SA I ride at the moment gets roughly 50 mpg and has spoiled me against many less-efficient machines. I love not having to pay for fuel (especially in the UK, where it costs so much).

But the thing –– and generally, the only thing, because I can overcome its ugly/bland looks –– that cools me on the NC750X is the fact it's so underpowered. It produces just 54hp. OK, uhm, true, that's the same amount of power as a Harley-Davidson Sportster 1200, and if I had the money I'd probably already be riding one of those around, but the Harley is so much cooler. My expectations exist on a sliding, often emotional scale. And because I ride a 600cc Honda that gets 76 hp, I expect at least that much from a 750cc Honda.

A supercharged NC750 would exceed my horsepower expectations while still offering a fuel-efficient and environmentally friendly machine. That last aspect is the driving force in developing a standard supercharged bike, it seems. More stringent environmental legislation is set to go into effect in Europe in 2016 and it's logical to assume that even tighter restrictions will be implemented later on.

To that end, Honda is not the only one looking to put out a supercharged middleweight bike. Just the other day I spotted a news article claiming that a supercharged 600cc Suzuki is very close to production. It's claimed the forthcoming Suzuki Recursion (which, to me, looks as if it has taken its styling cues from a sex toy) will put out 100 hp and a cruiser-like 74 ft.lb of torque.

It seems that for the sake of efficiency, the supercharger is the way forward. Indeed, not too long ago I read that Honda is developing a new VFR400 (not to be confused with the one that ceased production 20 years ago). No doubt it, too, will be supercharged. It's an exciting new world and I wouldn't mind being part of it.

Having said all that...

I've decided to add a new element to my What I Want posts, acknowledging the fact that all motorcycles have some flaws. In this case, one of the biggest problems will almost certainly be price. In the case of the Kawasaki Ninja H2, adding a supercharger means it costs 67 percent more than the Ninja ZX-10R. Jacking up the price of an NC750 by that much would dramatically decrease its appeal to me.

Add to this the fact that alleged patent drawings for this forthcoming bike show the supercharger eating up the space that currently exists for the NC750's signature tank-trunk thing.

So, now you're talking about an NC750 that costs a whole lot more and has a whole lot less storage space. Not to mention the inherently increased risk of mechanical problems that comes from adding technology that has taken more than a century to be perfected for standard use.

At that point it makes far more sense to spend your money on something like a good ol' Honda CB650F –– 86 hp and 60 mpg, plus better brakes, for only £100 more than the current NC750X.

Honda CB650F

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(a)February 2015, lads? I bought the magazine in December 2014!

I don't know if you've ever noticed the little sidebar box on the right-hand side of this blog that says "Lifetime miles." It's not totally accurate. It doesn't account for any of the miles I've done on test rides, nor the miles I covered during the arduous and expensive European training process, nor even the roughly 130 miles I racked up when the lovely people at Michelin gave me a bike to play on for a day. But I figure it's close enough.

Considering that I only earned my European license about 18 months ago, I suppose it's a decent number. Elspeth Beard clocked up roughly 10,000 miles in her first two years of motorcycle ownership and I'm on track to keep pace with her (a), but still I find the number sometimes taunts me. It's not large enough; I haven't been nearly enough places; I haven't seen nearly enough things.

The Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure is, in part, an attempt to rectify that, but it looks as if this summer I'll get a chance to really get some miles under my belt. The family of my wife's best friend has invited us to spend a week in Italy with them in July. They have a villa in Volterra, in the Tuscany region, and Jenn suggested I take the opportunity to ride my bike there (b).

She didn't need to make the suggestion twice. Within seconds of her mentioning it I was researching possible routes on Google Maps. In doing so, I discovered that one possible route runs past the German city of Saarbrücken, where my friend, the mighty Chris James, lives these days. So, I've tentatively invited myself out to visit him as part of this trip. I really should drop him a line and let him know I'm coming...

Roundtrip, this adventure will see me riding some 2,500 miles and visiting at least six countries: France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland and Italy. If I choose to avoid the notoriously expensive French toll roads on the way down, I may also venture into Austria, though that would mean missing out on the opportunity to ride through the 10-mile-long Gotthard Tunnel. Either way, my route will take me through three completely different eco zones and terrain ranging from flat coastal plain to the Alps. Great googly moogly, y'all: the Alps. My breath stutters just at the thought of it (c).

More rides through the Welsh mountains will be called for.

And that's the thing. This trip is so big, so grand in vision, that I struggle to properly grasp it in my mind. And with that comes the difficulty of figuring out how in the world I'm supposed to prepare for such a thing. I mean, where do you even start? I guess it might be handy to know how to say a few things in French, German, and Italian. And I suppose I might want to invest in a good-quality map, but where after that?

I am very seriously considering forking out the cash to equip my bike with hard, lockable luggage. I am also inclined to believe it might be a good idea to get myself an up to date and more reliable sat-nav programmed with full European maps (my current not-always-functioning sat-nav covers just the UK and Ireland). I'll be sure to have the bike checked out by a mechanic before I go, of course. And I'll pack an emergency tire repair kit, my Haynes manual, necessary tools, and will spend the next few months trying to teach myself how to do roadside fixes of the most likely issues one might face (cables, levers, chain, etc.).

Additionally, I'll spend these next few months seeking out the more challenging nearby roads (thankfully, we have plenty of those in Wales) to build up my skill level, and I may do a few runs criss-crossing the width of the UK in a day to help me improve stamina for long days. I'll make sure I'm familiar with the Iron Butt Association's Archive of Wisdom. I'll try to figure out how the hell to secure a bike when it's on a ferry. And so on.

But even with all of this, I get a twinge of fear –– a feeling that when it comes time to point the Honda toward Italia, I will be woefully unready.

So, I'm keen to hear what advice you can offer. If you've got experience covering massive distances, I'd love to hear what tips you might have for making it enjoyable. If you've ridden through multiple countries whose languages you do not speak, I'd definitely like to get your input.

I've got about seven months to prepare. Already I'm finding it difficult to sleep.

Stelvio mountain pass in the Alps.

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(a)If you haven't guessed, I have something of a crush on Elspeth Beard.

(b) She's planning to go in a car with her friend. My bike is simply not passenger-friendly enough to be stuck on the back of it over such a long distance.

(c) If I can build up the guts to do so, I may even tackle the infamous Stelvio Pass.

"What other bikes did you ride," I ask my father-in-law. "Before the 550?"

I am again trying to find a gentle way of getting him to do something with the old Honda CB550 that sits in the back of a garage in Devon. Give it to me. Drag it out and restore it. Something. Don't just let it sit there.

Jenn can remember riding on the back of it as a girl. For quite a long time, motorcycles were her father's only means of transport; well into Jenn's early teens, he didn't even have a car driving license (a). He only gave in after having to Jenn's mother to the emergency room one evening after she cut her hand. She had to ride on the back of the bike, through undulating Devon country lanes, holding on with just one hand –– the other elevated in the air and spurting blood. After this incident, Paul was informed in no uncertain terms that he would finally be getting his car license or suffer in all sorts of terrible ways.

Not too long afterward, he attempted to ride his Honda through a flood and the engine died on him. He got it back to his house, put it in the garage, and it's been there ever since.

"My first bike was a James 125," Paul says. "Well, actually, I took my test on my father's Lambretta. Back then, once you'd taken your test you were free to set out on anything."

The Lambretta. Oh.

I suspect an entire novel could be written about the Lambretta. But the men of my wife's family are true Englishmen, which is to say they are not natural storytellers. The Welsh and Texans, we can talk for hours about anything. We can draw narrative from a trip to the cornershop to get milk. But my wife's brother, father and grandfather are the sort who don't care to share details; they are too comfortable with silence. So, I don't know a great deal about the Lambretta, but for the fact Jenn's grandfather bought it shortly after returning from the Suez, where he had been stationed in the early 50s.

Fuel rationing inspired him to walk most places and use the scooter for longer trips; they may have had a car, but they preferred not to use it. Jenn's grandfather had to me made passing mention of this scooter when I rode down to visit this past autumn. He had made it sound as if he'd not owned the Lambretta for long, but obviously he held onto it at least until 1971, when my father-in-law would have been 16 years old and eligible to take his test.

James 125

Seeing me squint in confusion at the mention of a James 125, Paul explains that his first bike was "an ancient thing."

I had never heard of a James motorcycle. Later research reveals that James Cycle Co. folded when Jenn's dad was just 11 years old. And although his parents had enough money to send him to boarding school, I doubt very much that his mother, Jenn's forthright grandmother, would have put forward so much as a thruppence toward her son's first motorcycle. He would have had to pay for it out of his own pocket, which suggests the bike would have been very old indeed.

"After that, I had a Norton. A Commando," my father-in-law says. "Then a Triumph Bonneville. That was my favourite, I suspect."

"Oh! Chris is going to get a Triumph," Jenn states excitedly. "It's called a Thruxton, right, babe?"

I almost sprain my neck doing a double-take as she looks at me, smiling. This moment will spin in my mind for the next several days. Chris is going to get a Triumph, she said –– is. And the fact she remembered the name of the bike!

I mean, my wife does a good job of seemingly not caring about my obsession for motorcycles. She's supportive enough, and nods kindly when I wander again into a tangent about the merits of shaft-driven bikes, or my guesses as to why Italy has so many more manufacturers than anywhere else, or some equally boring topic, but I can tell it's not her thing. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she couldn't name the model of bike I ride at the moment.

I had showed her just one picture of the Thruxton after I came back from Motorcycle Live and commented that I liked it. But I've made the same sort of comment about literally dozens of motorcycles. That she remembers this particular one is telling. In her comment to her father Jenn had accidentally shown her hand. I'm happy she did. Her opinion plays a big part in all my decision making.

Triumph Thruxton

"A Thruxton?" her father asks.

"It's like a Bonneville, isn't it Chris?" Jenn says. "Kind of like one of those... you know... mods and rockers bikes. Wait, when was that? When were the mods and rockers?"

"The riots in Brighton were in '64," I say. "So, before your dad's time."

"Yes. I'm not sure about mods and rockers... I don't know what we were," Paul says. "But we did have quite a few... erm... disagreements with the chaps on scooters."

"You were a rocker, Daddy," Jenn says. "I'll bet you were totally a rocker."

Of course he was, I think. This is the man who snuck out of boarding school at age 15 to go see Jimi Hendrix play the Isle of Wight Festival. Having told the school he was heading home to see a doctor, he was found out when his mother called the school and asked to speak to him.

"That Triumph was so loud," my father-in-law says with a nostalgic smile. "I kept it in a garage that I was renting from some people. It was so loud they eventually paid me to take it elsewhere. I really enjoyed that one. It made such a racket."

"It's a shame you didn't keep it," Jenn says.

"Couldn't afford to," he says. "Everything always needed replacing. I spent so much money getting new parts. After that I had a Suzuki something-or-other for a while. That was the low point of my motorcycling career."

"How so?" I ask. "Did it fall apart on you?"

"No, it's just... there was nothing to it, you know?" he says with disgust. "It just went, but it had no life. No joy. No point. I couldn't stand it."

Quietly, in my head, I abandon the GSX1250FA as a potential future steed. It's never appealed to me too much, anyway. But its getting that sour look from my father-in-law almost certainly writes of Suzuki in my wife's mind. And unless you're crazy for it, why even consider a bike that won't make you look sexy in your wife's eyes?

"Well, that was the era of the UJM," I say. "Was your Honda any better?"

"It was," Paul says. "It was a good machine. Never gave up on me, 'til I rode it into a river. I'd like to do it up. It's in the back of that garage. I won't give it up. That's one of the things I'd really like to do: like to fix it up and get back on it before I get on too much in years."

"Chris would be happy to help," Jenn volunteers.

"I would," I say. "I'd love to. It's a pretty popular bike with restorers, so I'm certain it wouldn't be too hard to get parts."

"Yes, I'd like that," my father-in-law says. "Maybe. Not right at the moment –– I've got a lot on these days, you know –– but, yes, maybe..."

Honda CB550

––––––––––––––––––

(a)The two licences are separate in the United Kingdom, as opposed to the way a car driver's license is requisite to motorcycle endorsement in most U.S. states.

I was checking out Victory's UK website earlier this week and spotted something I had previously managed to overlook: Victory is offering ABS on more than just one cruiser.

If you've read more than two posts on this blog you'll likely have picked up that I am aggressively dogmatic about the importance of anti-lock brakes. It's my quirk. Anyway, Victory has made ABS available on its baggers and tourers for a few years now, but had until this year left its cruiser riders out in the cold. That fact had annoyed me for quite some time.

Then, at the Intermot Show back in October, Victory announced that the forthcoming Gunner (which had not yet reached European shores) would be ABS-equipped when it arrives in March of this year. It turns out, though, the Gunner will not be alone. Also receiving the ABS treatment in 2015 will be the Judge, the Boardwalk, and the Vegas Highball. The Vegas 8-Ball, the Hammer 8-Ball and the Hammer S will apparently, for now, keep their standard old-school braking systems.

You know, I can't help thinking that Victory should perhaps invest in hiring a press guy, rather than just hoping someone like me will stumble upon and promulgate all its news. As far as I can tell, I was the only person to write about ABS coming to the UK Gunner. After that, I was the only person to make note of the bike's price being slashed by £400.

And I bet I'm now the first to draw particular to something fascinating about the new Judge and Boardwalk models in Europe. See, hitherto, it had generally been my impression that we here in the Old World were getting Victory's American sloppy seconds. That is to say, I assumed that the bikes showing up in UK Victory dealerships were just bikes that hadn't sold in the United States -- that this year's European-spec bikes were last year's U.S.-spec bikes.

I had thought this based on the 2014 Judge I rode last April. It had the mid-peg ergonomics of the U.S.-spec 2013 model. I knew, though, that these were not the ergonomics of the U.S.-spec 2014 model. I had read a U.S.-based article saying Victory was changing the ergonomics for its 2014 Judge, giving them forward pegs and more pull-back handlebars (a). That this 2014 model I was riding in Britain did not have these things is what made me think it was just a year-old machine.

I was wrong. The Judge was dropped from the U.S. line-up for 2015, but it is still part of Victory's offerings over here. And unlike old U.S. versions, it has ABS brakes; unlike old U.S. versions, it has mid-placed pegs; and, it has a blue paint scheme that was never available for the Judge in the good ol' U.S. of A.

In other words, it seems the Judge is alive and well in Europe. That's awesome. In your face, America! We get something you don't. And it appears the same is true of the Euro-spec 2015 Boardwalk (b). It, too, was dropped from the U.S. line-up but remains a part of the European one; it, too, has ABS as standard; it, too, is being offered in a paint scheme not before seen.

Huzzah. Go Team Europe. And huzzah for Victory, who have effectively put the Judge back on my What I Want list. All I need do now is find £11,700 (US $17,695).

____________________

(a)I'm pretty sure this is what killed the Judge in the United States. Without its ergonomics, the Judge lost its uniqueness.

(b) That thing has to be one of the best-looking motorcycles in the world.

"I think we get so caught up in the marketing hype that we forget that most of the time the only person enjoying the bike is you, and the wildlife doesn't give a shit how cool you look."

–– Jeremy, from Australia

I pulled the above quote from an email I received last week from someone who got in touch to say he's a fan of the blog (a). It's a sage bit of advice, without doubt, and when I first read it I immediately found myself thinking about the Honda VFR1200F.

I'll admit I'm not terribly enamoured with the bike's odd Tomorrowland front end. And when equipped with the panniers that I'd almost certainly want to add, it looks even less cool. I can't imagine ladies swooning as I roll by. This is not the sort of bike my wife would excitedly tell others about.

But, oh my gosh, is it a fantastic machine. From everything I've read, from seeing it in person, and from getting a chance to sit on the thing, I've sort of fallen in love with it.

The catalyst for this, of course, were those cool Honda promo videos I watched back in December. Ever since then I've found a tiny bit more joy in riding my Honda CBF600SA around. The joy comes not in its sound or look but in the quiet knowledge that I can ride the hell out of the thing. I find myself thinking: "Hmm, how many miles can I put on this bike?"

It feels like a challenge.

And it's a challenge that inevitably buys me time before my next motorcycle purchase. Perhaps even enough time that I could save up enough to buy a VFR1200F -- a bike famous for its ability to rack up the miles.

Actually, in black, it's kinda sexy.

Capable of churning out a whopping 173 horsepower (!), it has considerably more oomph than I can imagine myself ever using or even wanting to use, but that's kind of the point of a VFR. It goes fast.

Fortunately, it has traction control to help regulate that speed, which is a feature so exotic to me I can't properly imagine it. Living in a wet and slippery country, though, it is a feature that holds a definite appeal. Anti-lock brakes are, of course, also standard.

Equally exotic to me is the happy daydream of never having to fuss with a chain. Yes, I've gotten used to it, but there has never been a point when I've found myself crouching next to my bike in the cold, spraying it with various expensive and toxic liquids, befouling old toothbrushes, rags and paper towels, caking my hands in grease, squinting at a ruler, banging my knuckles on the swing arm, and thought to myself: "Golly, this is fun."

Not once. Not one single time have I ever enjoyed cleaning, adjusting or oiling a chain. I tolerate it, but I don't enjoy it. And if I never had to do it again I would be quite happy. This is the appeal of a shaft-driven bike like the VFR1200F: no more messing with a chain.

The dashboard has an equal "ooooh" factor for me, mixing an analogue tachometer with two digital readouts that display all kinds of fancy information that can only be guessed at when riding my CBF600SA ("How much fuel do I have left?""How many more miles can I ride on that fuel?""What gear am I in?""What's the ambient temperature?").

I've long admired the VFR1200F's features but had assumed I wouldn't want anything to do with it because of its riding position. I've thrown a leg over the smaller VFR800 and hated it. The ergonomics squished my legs up too much, and pushed me forward too far. But when I recently got a chance to sit on this bigger VFR I was amazed at how comfortable it is. The ergonomics worked brilliantly for my 6-foot-1 frame.

Additionally, the VFR1200F has a huge, comfy seat that has plenty of room for an actual human-sized passenger. Too often manufacturers fail to consider how important is the opinion and comfort of a rider's better half. It's nice to see Honda has put in the effort on the VFR1200F.

Having said all that...

Costing £13,000 (or £14,000 if you want luggage, centre stand and heated grips), there's a rather large chasm between the bike's price tag and the amount of money in my savings account. I won't say that the VFR1200F isn't worth the money, but for several thousand pounds less you can buy a number of other bikes that would achieve many of the same aims.

The Yamaha MT-09 Tracer, for example, has traction control and more than 100 horsepower (which, really, is more than I'll ever need) and all kinds of fancy bells and whistles for just £8,150. True, it's uglier and lacks shaft drive, but those things can be suffered.

Also, £14,000 will get you an almost-new Victory Cross Country. That bike's not nearly as fast, admittedly, but it's a whole lot cooler.

Meanwhile, although I found the VFR1200F very comfortable on a showroom floor, one wonders if I'd still feel that way after 300 miles. The idea of being slumped forward for hours on end makes me fear for my lower back.

And if I'm going to contort myself in odd ways for the sake of being on a motorcycle, I think I'd rather do it on a Triumph Thruxton.

___________________

(a)Muchas gracias, by the way.

I've found myself reading a handful of law/safety-related stories recently (here, here, here and here) and it's gotten me thinking about the Right Way To Do Things. Obviously, the Right Way To Do Things is my way, because I'm brilliant and I have all the answers. One day people will recognise this and I will ascend to my rightful place as Emperor of the United States.

When that day finally comes, here's what things will look like for people on two wheels:

Helmets

Helmets are mandatory for riders and passengers on roads where the speed limit is greater than 45 mph. They are strongly encouraged in all other riding situations, and money raised from non-compliance fines helps fund campaigns to educate the public on the merits of riding with a helmet.

Riders and passengers under the age of 18 are required to wear a helmet at all times. Additionally, a helmet is required when a rider of any age is filtering/lane-splitting through traffic, regardless of posted speed limit.

The helmet, or a combination of helmet and approved eye protection, must cover at least 60 percent of the rider's skull, the skull being defined as containing both the cranium and the mandible. In simple terms, this means those ridiculous beanie helmets are not sufficient.

Safety gear

Safety gear above and beyond a helmet is not required but is encouraged. To incentivise its use, licensed motorcyclists are eligible to reclaim at least half of the sales tax on all safety-related gear, e.g. gloves, jackets, Kevlar jeans, etc.

Use of reflective clothing at night is particularly encouraged. To this end, the standard DOT sticker required on the back of all helmets is reflective and features a 2-inch-by-3-inch U.S. flag.

Training

Motorcycle training is not required but is strongly encouraged. To incentivise riders to take part in training courses, the insurance rates for those who have not undergone training is at least 15 percent higher for the first two years of possessing a license.

A qualifying training course must offer a minimum of 2 hours classroom instruction and 15 hours on-the-bike instruction. At least 5 hours of that on-the-bike instruction must take place on public roads. Instructors must renew their certification every five years.

After receiving training, riders are automatically eligible for a provisional license that heavily restricts where, when and what they can ride without an instructor, but that allows ample time (two years) for the rider to practice before taking his or her test.

Driver training courses require no less than 4 hours of motorcycle-specific training.

Licensing

License testing is conducted in the same third-party manner as car licenses. In other words, instructors (who may otherwise have a vested interest) are not allowed to issue tests to their students. Testing consists of three parts: a simple written exam ensuring riders know the rules of the road, an on-the-bike exam on a closed course that focuses on specific manoeuvres (e.g., U turn, parking, etc.), and an on-the-bike assessment that takes place on public roads.

Licenses are issued on a tiered system:

A rider holds a Tier 1 license after successfully completing his or her motorcycle exams. The holder of a Tier 1 license is restricted to vehicles with no more than 47 bhp.
After 2 years, assuming the rider's driving record is clean, his or her license will automatically be upgraded to Tier 2 status. If the rider has been cited for speeding, dangerous riding or other major traffic offenses, the Tier 2 upgrade will be applied 2 years after the date of the most recent citation. The holder of a Tier 2 license is restricted to vehicles producing 100 bhp or less.
After 2 more years, again assuming a clean record, the rider's license is automatically upgraded to Unrestricted status. At this point, he or she is free to ride a motorcycle of any power output.
The licensing system is applied irrespective of age, placing the emphasis on actual experience rather than perceived maturity.
DUI or DWI convictions result in the automatic revocation of an individual's motorcycle license. To regain his or her license, the rider must again go through the examination process and work his/her way back up through the tiered licensing system. An individual's motorcycling privileges are permanently revoked if he or she receives three DUI/DWI convictions.

Laws

Passenger accommodation: Any motorcycle carrying a passenger for any distance on a public road must be adequately equipped to do so. This means, at minimum, foot pegs and approved hand holds. Passengers may be of any age but must be able to reach the foot pegs.

Filtering: Filtering or lane splitting is permitted on all public roads. Riders must never cross a double yellow line. Riders engaged in the act of filtering must be wearing a helmet. When filtering, riders must not exceed the speed limit and must not ride at a speed that is more than 30 mph greater than the speed of surrounding traffic.

Special lanes: Motorcycle-specific lanes are strongly encouraged in city planning and incentivised with federal funding. Motorcycles are always permitted in HOV and bus lanes. Electric and 50cc scooters with a maximum speed limit of 30 mph are permitted to use bicycle greenways, where they must adhere to posted speed limits.

Parking: All public parking areas must allocate no less than two motorcycle-specific parking spaces. Reasonable effort must be made to ensure that these spaces are visible from within the business for which the parking exists. In downtown areas, cities must allocate at least 10 free motorcycle-specific parking spaces for every 100,000 residents.

Insurance: Except in cases of Tier 1 license holders who have not received training, insurance rates on a motorcycle must be at least 20 percent less than rates on comparable insurance for a car. Riders who receive advanced training after attaining Unrestricted license status receive rates that are at least 25 percent less.

Good grief, I am such a ridiculous Victory fan boy. But I can't help myself. And the fact that they don't seem to publicise any of this stuff themselves always leaves me with a slight sense of responsibility (a).

Perhaps "responsibility" isn't quite the right word to use. I'm not sure what the right word is.

Have you ever seen It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? The way Linus has such indefatigable allegiance to the idea of the Great Pumpkin, the way he goes around, knocking on people's doors, to evangelise this idea that everyone else dismisses: that's sort of how I feel about Victory Motorcycles. Linus, of course, is from Minnesota, so I'm sure he could relate.

Last weekend, I was in Swindon, visiting the Victory/Indian dealership there -- roughly 80 miles away, it is the closest Victory/Indian dealership to Cardiff -- and that sort of got me excited for the bikes all over again. It helps that the sales manager, Paul, is a genuine Victory fan.

Anyway, here are three Victory-related items I've spotted or have been pondering recently:

1) Victory UK has dropped the price of the Cross Country.

This is another one of those things I learned solely from my obsessive staring at the Victory UK website. I mentioned not too long ago that the price of the Gunner had been reduced by £400 even before its official European release later this year. Well, turns out it's not the only one. The price on the Cross Country, which is apparently Victory's most popular bike in the United States, has for 2015 been dropped by £550.

In 2014, the Cross Country was priced at £16,500. For 2015 it's being offered at £15,950. Sadly, that discount does nothing for me, but it's still noteworthy. Compare the Victory Cross Country with the quite similar Harley-Davidson Street Glide Special and you're paying £2,800 less for the brand from Minnesota.

2) Polaris bought Brammo and that might mean an electric Victory is in the works.

A fortnight or so ago, Victory's parent company, Polaris, bought electric motorcycle manufacturer Brammo. Buried within that story was the fact Polaris plans to utilise the assets acquired from Brammo to begin producing electric motorcycles sometime this year at its plant in Spirit Lake, Iowa. The same plant where Victory and Indian motorcycles are assembled.

Considering that Polaris already oversees two motorcycle brands, I'm guessing that the Brammo brand of motorcycle (a brand that is, by and large, unknown outside the circles of people who pay attention to the minutiae of motorcycling) will cease to exist. I'd expect, instead, for Brammo's technology to be reincarnated as a Victory or Indian that allows either brand to keep pace with Harley-Davidson's forthcoming LiveWire e-bike.

Many moons ago, Polaris stated that Victory would be its performance-focused brand, so, in one sense, it fits for the Brammo technology to fall under the Victory umbrella. Plus, it gives Polaris a tiny bit of wriggle room as it continues to build and fortify the Indian brand.

If Victory were to release an electric motorcycle and it were to flop, I feel it wouldn't tarnish the brand as much as if Indian were to do the same. Victory could just say: "Hey, we're the guys who are trying new things, and sometimes new things don't work. Oh well, back to the drawing board. Here are some more Cross Country models while we think of something else."

Whereas if Indian were to flop with an electric motorcycle, you might get cries of: "Oh, woe, Polaris has ruined the great and noble heritage of Indian. Fie! Fie!"

3. I'm still convinced something genuinely new and exciting will come from Victory in March.

Victory unveiled the Judge at Daytona. It unveiled the Gunner at Daytona. Based on this, I'm inclined to believe they are keen to make their stamp on that event and that they will be unveiling something truly new this year. I wrote an article about this for Biker News Online not too long ago, so I won't go into too much detail here. But suffice to say, I think there's a decent amount of evidence to suggest that Victory has something exciting planned for the very near future. And I think that Daytona Bike Week (b) is where that will be revealed.

____________________

(a)Honestly, Victory, get in touch. I'll happily be your PR guy.

(b) Crikey. a few weeks ago I wrote a post about sexism in motorcycling and made the observation: "If you disagree with my suggestion that the motorcycling culture of that region is demeaning to women, I dare you to type the words "Sturgis women" into an image search and view the results at work." -- With Daytona, you don't even have to try that hard. Just type the words "Daytona Bike Week" and you will be inundated with hundreds of such images.

This, y'all. The only thing I would add, right at the very end of the video, are three simple words: get a motorcycle:

I mentioned last month that I am slowly, slowly, slowly building up savings toward buying a new bike. So far, there's not much there; the Honda VFR1200F or Indian Chief Classic I'm pining for remain faraway propositions. But in the interim, as I wait for funds to accumulate, I like to entertain myself by searching through online classified ads to see what I could afford right now.

Actually, I presently have just enough cash to buy a brand new 50cc Chinese scooter, but I have to imagine that's a purchase I'd soon regret. According to the aforementioned scooter's spec sheet, it has a maximum speed of 30 mph. Meanwhile, I am able to hit 27 mph on my bicycle when pedalling on a flat. On the hill that is a part of my daily commute, I once managed 40 mph.

Related to that, I've taken to ruling out the multitudinous 125cc motorcycles of dubious Chinese origin that are to be found for roughly the same price as a bicycle. The bicycle would be a better investment, I feel. Not to mention that those throwaway London commuting machines have no sense of style or soul.

The MZ TS250/1 I found this month, though...

MZ stands for Motorradwerk Zschopau, and the bike -- a 1980 model -- is a product of the East German state. It looks like it, too, doesn't it? Styling reminiscent of Robert Pirsig's 1960s Honda CB77. Drum brakes, front and back. A kick starter. A two-stroke engine in which petrol and oil are mixed in the tank. This is exactly the sort of thing I would have expected to see sitting on the other side as they tore down the Berlin Wall.

According to the bike's advert, this little beauty "smells of the 1970s."

After the collapse of the Berlin Wall, poor MZ struggled in the capitalist world. According to Wikipedia, the company's spent the last quarter century being bounced from one ineffective foreign owner to the next.

But, hey, we'll always have the DDR, boys. And according to this bike's seller, this MZ is in good condition, having seen "reasonable restoration" by a previous owner. Elsewhere on the interwebs, I found a tale of someone buying an MX TS250/1 for just £100 and thereafter finding it impossible to defeat.

I suppose that makes sense. This is East German technology; it needed to run for a long time and be easy to fix, because no one had any money. The 5-speed machine apparently has a decent amount of pace -- I found YouTube video of a Polish guy pushing one to 115 km (71 mph) -- and it returns something close to 70 miles per gallon.

Not too bad, all in all. But I think I'd prefer the modern technology and performance of my Honda CBF600SA. I've long wanted to own a German bike, but not particularly this one.

On the way into work this morning, I found myself coming up with an idea for an advert for Zero Motorcycles, or whatever the hell it is that will come out of Polaris' recent acquisition of Brammo. I ride my bicycle to work. By the time I got into work, I had cemented the advert in my mind. I think it would have made a good Super Bowl ad:

Open with a CCTV-on-a-pole overhead view of an empty American city intersection. A motorcycle whirs through the intersection and you see the double flash of a speed camera/red-light camera taking a photo. A new angle, this from a security camera in a shop, shows the motorcycle coming to a rapid stop, engaging the bike's ABS.

The rider dismounts and begins to strut down the empty street back toward the red-light camera. The rider is wearing jeans, a hoodie and Shark Vancore helmet (or similar). The camera angle is now from the perspective of the red-light camera. The rider walks close up to it, looking up, and takes off the helmet to reveal a woman who is, or looks a whole lot like, Olympic boxer Nicola Adams. She squints in exasperation and says:

"Do you ever feel we've lost something?"

Jump to another security camera angle, behind her, showing how the city dwarfs her.

"Maybe it was stolen."

Back to close-up.

"Maybe we gave it away without thinking."

Overhead view

"We're safer now; there's no denying it. Statistics show. We're safer, healthier, wealthier. Better off than we've ever been."

One or two onlookers step cautiously into view. They are filming her on their phones.

"Our great-grandparents, our grandparents, our parents -- they gave this to us. They laid down these roads, they built these cities, these grids, this structure. Then, they fought to protect it. Some of them died, so we could have this."

Close-up

"But do you ever feel we've let go of what they were protecting? Lost that thing that drove them to do all this in the first place?"

Different store security camera angle, with a shining Harley-Davidson Forty-Eight conspicuously in the shot.

"Some of us still make plenty of noise."

Onlooker's camera footage.

"We bang the drum. But we don't really know what the drum means."

Tight close-up

"Maybe it's not about how loud we are. How fast. How strong. How much we can consume."

Camera pulls out to reveal close-up is via a phone's camera, the rider gently pushes away the phone and is now talking to a fellow human being.

"Maybe it's about something more. Something deep. Something our ancestors understood... And maybe -- maybe -- we haven't lost it."

Store security footage, showing the woman walking back toward her electric motorcycle.

"Maybe it's still there within us, all of us."

She gets on the bike, you see its dash panel light up. Close up on her face.

"Maybe we just need to get out, get away, and remember what it's like to be free."

Camera angle shows back of her head as she slips on the helmet, revealing a large, stylised Guy Fawkes sticker on the back. She rides away and the focus blurs. You hear the whir of an electric motor.

"It suits you, mate. Really does."

I furrowed my brow at him, half trying to communicate that I didn't quite believe him, half trying to communicate that I hadn't asked for his opinion.

"That's an important part of it, I reckon," he said, unfettered. "How you fit on the bike, like. Me, I look better on that big K1600 over there. Not sure the missus would agree if I told her how much it costs, but, you know, that's how it is. Anyway, I'm just sayin': it suits you, mate."

This conversation took place a few months ago at Motorcycle Live, as I was sitting on the new BMW R1200R. The random bloke in faded high-vis wasn't a salesman trying to sell the bike, he was just being friendly. I think.

His accent was clearly Southeast England -- possibly Kent or Essex -- and I always have a little trouble reading those dudes. Britons love being ironic, so a knowledge of the subtleties of dialectical intonation is key to understanding whether they are joking. I get the Welsh. I get people from the West Country. I'm pretty sure I've cracked Brummies. But my interaction with natives of the Southeast has been limited, so I'm never 100-percent sure. Hence the furrowed brow.

Eventually, I decided he was expressing an honest opinion. I look good on a BMW R1200R.

I guess that's good to know.

And ever since that day -- because I am so highly impressionable -- I've found myself paying more and more attention to the iconic flat-twinned machine that is the R1200R. There's something in its look I find deeply appealing. I have long said I identify more with John Sutherland in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance than with Phaedrus/Robert Pirsig. The new R1200R feels like a natural, almost organic progression of the R60/2 that carried John and his wife, Sylvia, to the West.

It looks like a motorcycle you would want to keep for a very long time. Every review I've read of the R1200R suggests you would be rewarded if you did. The engine's character, 125-hp oomph and presumed durability has had moto-journalists swooning.

"From where I'm sitting, BMW can do no wrong,"wrote Luke Bowler.

I've never ridden a BMW, so I can't fully imagine what it is that earns so much praise. But from aesthetics and features, it's certainly a damned impressive bike. Firstly, it's shaft-driven. As I mentioned in talking about the Honda VFR1200F, that is a fantasy feature for me. Oh! To be free from the hassle of constantly fussing with a chain!

The R1200R carries its 230 kg curb weight down low, which is another feature I find myself looking for in bikes. My current motorcycle tends to carry its weight (220 kg) a little high, which means there's a lot of huffing and puffing to keep it upright when moving around in tight spaces. Additionally, in all the motorcycles I've ridden that have had a low centre of gravity I've found manoeuvring at speed to be pretty much effortless.

Traction control comes standard on the R1200R, as do anti-lock brakes. I've had a little experience with the former and refuse to even consider a motorcycle without the latter. The Triumph Explorer XC I rode last year was equipped with traction control, and only several months after the fact did I clock that this was why a little light on the dashboard would occasionally flash as I navigated the muddy and broken-up roads of the Peak District.

Every time my tire slips on the cow manure that is inescapable on Welsh lanes, I wish my present bike had traction control.

Of course, there are dozens of other features. Electronic suspension. LED lights. Computerised this and that. And on and on. But, truthfully, the things that appeal to me most about the R1200R are its looks, and the fact it is a BMW.

BMW, yo. Though I may occasionally poke fun at the image of BMW guys, some deep-seeded (or is it deep-seated?) part of me wants to be one of those guys. I feel simple-minded for being so drawn to a brand -- wanting to "connect" with its heritage, its image, and all that nonsense -- but I equally can't deny that I am. BMWs just suit me, mate.

This one in particular. Just looking at the R1200R makes me feel a little jittery with excitement and want. I want to hear the engine, feel its heat. I want to swoop through curving roads on it. I want to launch it down the motorway. I daydream of bedecking an R1200R with panniers and screen and taking ridiculously long and meandering treks through Europe, perpetually coming up with weak excuses to take road trips ("Hey, I want to celebrate Bastille Day in Marseilles,""I'd like to see Eurovision in person").

And all the while, I would look so cool doing it.

Having said all that...

The BMW R1200R is as expensive as all get out. The base model will set you back £10,250 (US $15,500) in Her Majesty's United Kingdom. And to get the sexy grey version with fancy gold forks and all the farkles will see you paying out £11,910 (US $18,000).

That's before you invest in a screen and panniers.

To that end, I'm half inclined to say that the faired version of this bike, the R1200RS, might be a more practical choice. But it doesn't look as viscerally good.

Meanwhile, prices for the R1200RS model have not yet been released, but it's a good bet they'll be considerably more than the unfaired R1200R. And it's at about that point, when you're looking at a bike that costs twice that of, say, a Kawasaki Ninja 650 (aka ER-6f in Not America), that a real feeling of doubt creeps in.

Would the BMW be worth it? Especially considering that the maintenance and servicing costs would be greater than with other bikes? I don't know. I wish I had the money to find out.

It's 9 a.m. and I am riding down the main road of Porthcawl on a sunny, crisp winter morning. Already, there are people walking the promenade. Outside the beachfront cafe, old ladies in decades-old winter jackets hawkishly stake out places to sit while their husbands stand in queue for milky tea and dry cakes. And in this I find myself strangely reminded of another town, some 6,000 miles away: Julian, California.

Not because Porthcawl and Julian are in any way alike. Julian is nestled in the Laguna Mountains of Southern California, whereas Porthcawl sits on the southern Welsh coast. Julian maintains a classic Americana small town feel, with a number of wooden buildings dating back to the 1860s. Porthcawl is worn and piecemeal, its architecture reflecting decades of failed attempts to make it into something more than it will ever be.

The similarity comes simply in the fact that, in both cases, just about every person from the surrounding area insists you should go there. And when you get there you are suddenly confronted with the inherent flaw in crowdsourcing for advice. Because, see, if just about every person you meet tells you that you should visit this or that town, the odds are extremely high they've told other people the same thing.

Julian and Porthcawl are sold to newcomers and visitors alike as quaint and charming. And conceivably they could be were it not for the fact that everyone and their uncle –– and their uncle's uncle –– has come in search of that quaintness and charm. So, your main impression is instead of a place so overcrowded that every fibre in your being aches to get away from it. Its beauty is all but lost to the fact you are trying not to get run over by confused drivers as they dart for parking spaces. You are trying not to run over their children as they leap from cars into the road. You are trying not to kill their grandparents, who have apparently reached the age where they no longer know how to cross a road.

Pictures you take of the town will include all of these people, no matter how hard you try to frame them out of shot. If you stand still long enough, these people will literally walk into you. Because the bustle is all just a little too much for them, as well, and they've lost basic spatial awareness.

Porthcawl seafront. The businesses on this end were shut, so it was less busy.

I have of late been trying to follow the riding advice of Gary France: "I like to ride my favourite roads very early in the morning, while others wanting to ride it are still in bed."

I suppose 9 a.m. isn't "very early", but in the dead of winter it feels early enough. The sun has only been up for an hour at this point, and I have spent that last hour meandering my way across the Vale of Glamorgan from my own seaside town, Penarth, which is about 25 miles east along the coast.

The VOG is a damned lovely place to ride if you time it right. The A48 stretches the width of its 129 square miles, but even that is relatively relaxed thanks to the fact it runs parallel to the presumed-to-be-faster M4. Almost all other routes in the borough are B road and country lane, most of it relatively well-maintained and affording the sort of broad sightlines on corners that I prefer.

Its close proximity to the major urban centres of South Wales means you can encounter a fair few impatient and inattentive drivers during commuting times. But on a winter Sunday morning all is calm. The fields are so heavily covered in frost it looks like snow. Here and there, patches of black ice glisten in the unusually bright sun.

I have arrived at Porthcawl via an indirect and gentle route. After all, slow = warm. With my heated grips cranked to 100 percent I am able to keep feeling in my hands.

The approach to the Porthcawl seafront is an unspectacular series of roundabouts and poorly labelled roads that leave you feeling as though you've accidentally turned yourself in a full circle, but I keep following signs to the beach and eventually know I'm on the right track when I pass the sign famously warning drivers to keep an eye out for individuals riding giant ducks.

Caution: People riding ducks

That the seafront is crowded causes me to suffer a classic Chris moment of crippling indecision. Assuming the streets and pavements would be empty at this time of day, I had planned to ride my bike onto the promenade and take artsy photos. Or, well, as artsy as one can achieve with a Nexus 4 (Jenn has promised to get me a real camera for my birthday). But with the pedestrian walkway buzzing, and the winter chill forcing an aggressive determination into people's gait, it seems quite possible that riding my bike onto the pavement now would result in my knocking someone down or, at the very least, getting a stern talking to.

Especially if I park up anywhere near the beachside cafe. The people sat outside it wear a look of belligerence that suggests they could not be moved even with artillery fire. I am reminded of an observation my friend, Chris Phin, once made of efforts by residents of Edinburgh to mimic a hip, Southern Europe lifestyle despite the realities of the Scottish climate: "They're all sitting at these outdoor cafes, turning blue, with a look on their faces that's like: 'I will sip this fucking latte and smoke these fucking designer cigarettes if it fucking kills me.'"

The cafes in Porthcawl are not hip, nor their clientèle, but the spirit is the same. They are trying to imagine themselves as being somewhere else. Like almost all British seaside towns, Porthcawl has at least two abandoned hotels and a crumbling concert venue advertising a DJ Spoony gig from about 5 years ago.

It is the cycle of British seaside towns that the country will get two good summers in a row, so some have-a-go investor will set up a cheaper, half-assed version of a thing he saw while on holiday in Spain, telling himself: "This'll really pack 'em in." Then the reality of British non-summer will return for several seasons; the business will decay, flounder and shut. The cycle repeats every 7-10 years.

It's hard to tell where Porthcawl is in its cycle. Enough people come from the nearby area to keep the cafes busy on sunny days, but no one stays overnight. Well, usually, no one does.

The town's main claim to fame is that it is home to an annual Elvis Festival, which sees literally thousands of Elvis impersonators and tribute acts pour into the town for a few days each September. I've found no particularly good explanation as to why this happens: why it got started, why an Elvis Festival takes place in Porthcawl. If you ask locals, it's clear they've given it no thought: "I don't know, to be honest. He had some sort of Welsh connection, didn't he? A grandmother or an aunt, like."

This hardly seems like a viable reason to me, but then, local newspapers regularly report anything and everything about Australian pop star Kylie Minogue because her mother was from Maesteg.

Like almost every place along the South Wales coast that isn't a cliff, Porthcawl once served as a coal port during the Industrial Revolution. There are thankfully little signs of that today. Indeed, there is little sign of anything that would employ a person outside of the day-tourist trade. To that end, the bulk of Porthcawl's residents are retirees or commuters.

Just to the north (or west, depending on how you think about it) of the town's main seafront area lies Rest Bay, which is apparently renown among local surfers. I know this because there are always surfers there, regardless of conditions -- which are frequently atrocious. I suspect surfing in Wales is something akin to religious self-flagellation: the serenity of it comes through pain.

Looking over Rest Bay. I had to crop several people out of this photo.

I park my bike overlooking the beach. On a rare warm and sunny summer day, it would be crowded with literally thousands of people. Today, just a few hearty souls wander the coastline, throwing balls to their dogs or kicking at stones. In the water, a handful of fully wet-suited learning surfers try and fail to stay upright against the cutting winter winds.

From here I can see clearly across the Bristol Channel to the Exmoor coast of Somerset and Devon. Each time I'm afforded a view like this I am reminded of a story Jenn told me once of her mother, from the days when Jenn was attending Cardiff University. When her parents would drive up from Devon to visit, her mother would phone as soon as the road afforded them a view of the coast.

"I can see you," she'd say. "I can see Wales."

With U.S. shores so impossibly out of view, I have partially adopted Jenn's home county as my own. From here I can see Devon and I feel vaguely homesick. In a content sort of way. In Wales, they call this feeling "hiraeth."

I am still wearing my helmet because it helps keep my head warm, but it is only after I stomp some 150 metres across a field to a public restroom and stand there at the urinal do I realise how odd I must look. Coming out of the toilet I pull off the helmet and, out of habit, my gloves. By the time I get back to my bike, my fingers and ears are stinging with cold.

I fire up the bike, turn the heated grips to 100 percent and slip my gloves over them for heat. Then I crouch down to hide from the wind and and place my bare hands on the crankcase. Honda efficiency and winter cold mean it is only warm.

The bike, I see from this close vantage point, is filthy. Salt and sand and manure from the road is caked on the bike's exhaust pipes. I decide that I need to get home and spend my afternoon cleaning off the crap picked up in the morning's ride. But first I will spend another hour or two drifting through the VOG's lanes.

I loop back through the seafront area as I leave Porthcawl. I stop at a crosswalk to allow an a middle-aged woman to cross the road. When she is directly in front of me, she pushes back her windblown hair and says: "Lovely day for it."

Then I am off and moving away from the place that everyone will tell you to go to.

Winter muck

____________

This visit to Porthcawl was part of the Great Welsh Tea Towel Adventure, my attempt to fall in love with Wales again through visiting some 66 places listed on a tea-towel-based map.

If you've ever seen any of the pictures I've posted of my motorcycle it's a good bet you'll have noticed the presence of the Oxford X30 magnetic tank bag in most of them. This speaks to the main feature of the bag: it is so damned useful that it's hard to live without.

That's not to say I don't have complaints. There are a number of things I don't really like about the bag. It's simply that I have yet to come across a superior option.

So, let's start with the positives. Easy to throw on the bike and expandable to hold 30 litres of stuff, the bag comes in handy in pretty much every situation. "Installation," if that's the word we want to use, is ridiculously simple: You set the bag on your tank.

That's it. Wing-like flaps on either side of the bag contain strong magnets that secure the bag to any metal tank, a rubber-like underside helps to keep it from slipping. The bag also has an easy-to-buckle strap that you can loop around your headstock or handlebars to keep it from escaping, but I've had situations where I forgot to secure that strap (such as when I was riding in Scotland) and suffered no ill effects, despite the bag being loaded with stuff.

On any ride more than 50 miles I like to over-prepare; so, I pack into the bag a litre of water, a few breakfast bars, a map, a rain jacket, a baseball cap, sunglasses, spare brake lever, spare clutch lever, Leatherman tool, ear plugs, Allan key, house keys, tire gauge, side stand pad, and two sets of latex gloves (to use as glove liners if its raining heavily). From experience I know that even with all that crap there remains plenty of room to hold a full lunch (sandwich, chips, and orange), a can of ACF50, and a second pair of gloves.

Unzip the bottom portion of the bag and it can hold double that amount of crap. When I rode up to the Yorkshire Dales last summer, the tank bag and a backpack were all I needed for two days away.

The version of bag I own looks just slightly different than the one pictured above. My X30 has a large soft plastic window running across the top where I can place written directions to where I'm going. Time and experience have taught me to write such instructions as simply as possible because it isn't terribly easy to look down at directions when on the move.

The bag's large main compartment is accessed via zips that are easy to get at even when wearing winter gloves and is incredibly simple to open and close in a rush. This comes in handy in parking garages or toll booths or the like, when someone hands you something (e.g. a ticket or receipt) and you are expected to move on straight away. No digging in pockets, just throw it in the bag and go.

When you get to where you're going, the bag can be detached from its magnetic base and used as a backpack. Somewhat optimistically, Oxford have placed on this bag one of those around-the-chest straps seen on hiking backpacks. It's not comfortable enough for that, but is perfectly acceptable for wandering around a town.

Durably made, the bag is in better condition than almost any other piece of kit I own, despite constant use in all weathers.

That's all the good stuff, but as I say: I do have complaints

I can't help feeling the bag looks like a penis when extended.

Firstly, it is ugly. I mean, woo Lordy, is it ugly. It absolutely ruins the aesthetics of my bike. I realise that doesn't matter a whole hell of a lot when you're rollin' on a Honda CBF600SA, but the look of this tank bag is the motorcycling equivalent of socks with sandals. No, it's the equivalent of wearing socks with sandals and tight running shorts. Whilst dancing to 90s hair-rock band Nelson in your front lawn.

When the bag is extended to its 30 litre capacity it looks even worse. It looks like the head of a penis. Nobody wants that, man. Especially if you're leaning against it when tucking in against the wind.

Secondly, although the bag has held up well in all weather conditions, it offers your stuff little protection against that weather. Water gets into the bag easily when it rains. Oxford provide an allegedly waterproof liner bag in which to place all your stuff so as to protect against such an issue, but I don't really trust it. I suppose it's worked well enough in cases when I've been caught unaware, but in times I knew I would be riding in heavy rain I found it better to wrap all my things in plastic bags.

Thirdly, the bag is causing some damage to the paint. Said damage is very minimal, and outmatched by the damage being caused by the zippers on my jacket and riding trousers, but it is damage nonetheless. I try to tell myself that I don't care all that much, that scratches are a sign you're actually using your bike, rather than displaying it, but, you know, it's no less annoying.

And lastly, like all soft luggage, it is not the sort of thing you can leave on your bike and walk away. Because it has no locking feature, because it is not secured to the bike as a top box or hard panniers would be, I can't just hop off my bike and wander into a restaurant. I have to detach the backpack and sling it over my shoulder. Because it's such an ugly backpack, I'm often left feeling a little silly.

You know, as a motorcyclist, bedecked in your gear, you want people to look at you when you enter a restaurant/bar/coffee shop/Build-A-Bear and think: "Hey look, the cool guy is here."

But then they see me rocking my 1990s-styled Oxford X30 backpack and think: "Oh dear, someone's escaped from the Home for the Mentally Inept."

Still, despite all that, the bag's usefulness and the incredible convenience of being able to have stuff (like a map or water or sunglasses) right in front of me and to hand when I'm on the bike has made it almost indispensable. It feels strange to ride without it.

If you can handle the shame of having the motorcycle equivalent of a fanny pack/bum bag, I recommend getting one.

Dorky, but ready for adventure

My ferry tickets have been purchased; it's actually happening.

"It," of course, is my ridiculously grand adventure to Italy–– a motorcycle journey through seven countries, covering at least 3,000 miles. On my own.

I have more than 4 months to prepare for this epic ride, but already I can't sleep. At least I've taken the first and most important step: committing to it. On 3 July 2015, I will ride to the other side of the UK and board a night ferry to the Netherlands. Then, I'll spend the next few days making my way south to the Tuscany region of Italy.

I am planning to visit a friend in Saarbrücken, Germany, on the way, which explains the slightly odd route I've chosen. The Google machine insists I should get to the continent via ferries or trains that run from Dover, England, to Calais, France. But what Google doesn't take into account is the fact that taking the ferry to the Netherlands costs less, all things considered.

I'll be taking an overnight ferry and have booked a cabin for the journey. That in and of itself feels exciting and exotic. Far more so than just staying in a hotel in Calais, which was my original idea. And, as I say, it's cheaper –– even with breakfast thrown in. Not to mention the fact that the ferry inherently provides strong incentive to stick to a schedule. On the second day of the trip I should be on the road and riding to Germany by 8 a.m.

A nifty side-effect of this new route is that it means I'll be spending the bulk of my time in German-speaking countries (Luxembourg, Germany and Switzerland), which makes things easier in terms of language learning.

Just about everyone I've spoken to and everything I've read (thank you, Gary France, for your very useful European touring guide) has insisted I need not worry about learning the local lingo. The majority of Europeans are fluent in English, they say. And certainly that was true 20 years ago when I was hitchhiking across France. I have no reason to believe things are different now, but my years of living in Wales and knowing just how much people appreciate that I can speak Welsh makes me want to put in the effort.

Not too long ago I downloaded some German learning podcasts and have been listening to them on a daily basis. Obviously, I won't be able to discuss the meaning of life with Germans and the Swiss, but hopefully I will have enough of the language to at least show respect and get directions to good restaurants.

I've had someone suggest that when in Germany I take the time to ride the famous Schwarzwaldhochstraße, a particularly popular route for motorcyclists that conveniently leads to the Weltgrößte Kuckucksuhr, aka the World's Largest Cuckoo Clock. Because, dude, that is exactly the sort of thing to be checking out on a road trip. How could you even consider passing that up?

Weltgrößte Kuckucksuhr

I'm planning to go to Bern, Switzerland, at some point, as well, for the sake of swimming in the River
Aare, though I'll probably save that as something fun to do during the trip back from Italy. As my route slowly materialises, I can't help but also turn my attention to other facets of planning –– what to bring, how to bring it, etc. Those of you with a keen eye will notice something different about my bike in the picture at the top of this post. I've finally broken down and bought some hard panniers.

Frustratingly, I will probably need to get a new set of tires before I go, as well. At the moment, the Michelin Pilot Road 4s that I have on the bike are in really good condition, but they've already got nigh 4,000 miles on them and I know I'll be racking up at least 2,000 more miles before the trip. Considering that my European adventure could see me clocking as many as 4,000 miles (not to mention I'll be loaded down with gear) and I don't know how long PR4s are supposed to last, I'm thinking it will be wise to just get a new set shortly before I head out.

That's not a financially pleasant thought, but it makes more sense than pushing my luck and then finding myself having to get a new set put on in Düsseldorf. Similarly, I'm thinking it will be wise to invest in a quality sat-nav. I'll have to get one regardless, because my existing hand-me-down device only has maps for the UK and Ireland. I'm considering getting the new TomTom Rider, although it's stupidly expensive.

I'll need some physical maps, an emergency tire repair kit, perhaps a new visor for my helmet (the existing one is starting to get pretty scratched up), maybe a CrampBuster, and so on. Lots of little things. So many little things, in fact, that I'm not sure of what all I'll need. And I'm not sure what I won't need. The tendency when looking at such a daunting task is to over-prepare, to bring too many things.

I remember when I took my 3-month road trip across the United States back in 2009; I ended up hauling around a whole load of crap I didn't need –– too many sweaters and a pair of boots I never wore. In that case, I was in a car. So, it didn't matter too much. But everything I carry to Italy will be a thing I can feel the burden of: when I'm trying to accelerate, when I'm at a stop and balancing the bike. Logic says I should try to be as minimalist as possible but emotionally I feel a need to pack all the things.

As always, any advice you may have is greatly appreciated.

So, mis amigos, what's our collective opinion of the new Indian Chief Dark Horse? The bike was unveiled in Chicago and London last weekend and shows more than anything that Indian is starting to find its stride.

Changing the aesthetics of a thing and calling it new is a time-honoured tradition in motorcycling, and, though many of us find it to be an annoying tactic, within a certain timeframe it can be seen as evidence that a manufacturer has both the demand and capacity to diversify.

I suppose "timeframe" is the key word there. When Victory churns out the same thing over and over and over again, it can be seen as indication that the company is out of ideas and on the decline. Suzuki is even worse. But with a relatively new platform such as the Thunder Stroke 111 –– which has really only been around for a year and a half –– it makes sense for Indian to be making the most of it, to be offering it in any number of guises (a).

Basically what I'm trying to say here is that even though Indian has done something that generally annoys me, I'm not terribly annoyed in this case. And if I had anything approaching the amount of money needed to buy a new Indian, I definitely wouldn't be annoyed at the Chief Dark Horse's price. Somehow, throwing black paint all over everything has washed $2,000 off the price tag. In the United States, an Indian Chief Classic will set you back $18,999, whereas the asking price on a Chief Dark Horse is $16,999.

The numeral difference is the same over here in Her Majesty's United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland; the Chief Classic costs £18,499, the Chief Dark Horse costs "only"£16,499.

For that price you lose the novelty and difficult upkeep of a genuine leather seat, oil cooler and light bar found on the Classic. I'd like to hear a more technically minded person's opinion of the absent oil cooler, but the other stuff I am quite happy to do without. Meanwhile, you keep ABS and cruise control and all the other things that make the Indian Chief the best vehicle I have ever ridden.

According to Indian, the Dark Horse's blacked-out look and lower price tag is designed to help the company attract a slightly younger demographic. With its other big V-Twins it's been aiming at riders who are 55 years old and older. Whereas with this model, according to Indian Senior Project Manager Ben Lindaman, "We're targeting more around the 40-year-old."

I'll be 39 years old next month, so I suppose that means I am roughly the sort of person Indian is hoping to lure with this machine. If that's the case, I'm not 100-percent sure Indian has succeeded.

The first thing I'm not sure about is the act of blacking out everything. That's a trick that feels a little outdated to me. Perhaps "outdated" is not the right word to use on a motorcycle that so deliberately follows styling cues from the 1930s, but hopefully you get what I mean. It's something that made sense a few years ago but doesn't quite fit a bike being released in 2015.

I think "younger" riders are averse to excessive chrome, but not necessarily averse to colour. I think bikes like the Harley-Davidson Forty-Eight or Triumph Speedmaster or Victory Gunner strike a good balance.

Meanwhile, Indian has chosen to keep those damned studs on the rider's seat, which I think is a bad call. I look at things like that (and fringe) and all I can think of is that scene in Police Academy when they go to the Blue Oyster Bar.

Though, having said that, one of the things I like/respect most about the Dark Horse is the fact that the absence of chrome seems to highlight just how unapologetic Indian's designers were in being faithful to the brand's famous art deco lines. It really is a mobile work of art, and, in as much, a declaration of style and taste. This is a bike that will not aesthetically appeal to everyone; the design seems to acknowledge that and almost flaunt it.

Also, I totally approve of the alloy wheels. I think they look better, they're easier to clean, and they (presumably) make it possible to ride with tubeless tires.

With all this in mind, I find that if I look at it long enough, the Chief Dark Horse is a bike I can love. I'm not sure it quite possesses the je ne c'est quoi that would make me willing to bend myself over a financial barrell to own one –– that thing that makes me think, "Dear Lord, I need this thing in my life right now"–– but if I had the requisite money to hand I would happily part with it. If someone were to give me one, they would receive Christmas cards for life.

I have a number of friends my age who do earn enough money to buy a Chief Dark Horse, but none of them ride motorcycles. Indeed, when I've tried to cajole some of them into developing an interest in riding they've told me I'm an idiot. One of my friends said: "I would rather learn to speak Tagalog. Keep in mind I don't know anyone who's Filipino."

For Indian's sake, I hope that my own cross-section of people who are "around 40" isn't representative of the whole. I'm eager to see Indian flourish and perhaps one day blossom into a full motorcycle manufacturer –– producing several different types of motorcycle –– rather than being trapped in the cruiser cave as Harley-Davidson has been. I often think that the Indian motorcycle I really want is the one they'll be making 15-20 years from now. Think of the differences between the recently reborn Triumph of 1995 and the Triumph of today. Whatever Indian is producing in 2035 could be amazing.

For that bike to exist, though, these early steps need to succeed. So, if you've got the money please go out and buy a Chief Dark Horse. If you don't like it, you can give it to me.

––––––––––––––––––––

(a)I am most interested to see how Indian chooses to develop its Scout platform. I think there is a viable demand for using that engine in something that competes ergonomically/stylistically against the Triumph Thruxton, Bonneville or Scrambler.

Where are the Americans?

What I want: Triumph Street Tracker (which is probably actually a new Thruxton)

Sexism and motorcycling: a frustratingly cosy pair

GWTTA: Kidwelly (Cydweli)

What I want: the new supercharged Honda NC750

Je suis Charlie

Andiamo in Italia

Runs in the family

Victory's European line is better than I thought

What I Want: Honda VFR1200F

Chris Cope's great motorcycle manifesto

More Victory stuff

Get a motorcycle

What I can afford this month: MZ TS250/1

The Super Bowl commercial I'd like to see

What I want: BMW R1200R

GWTTA: Porthcawl

Gear review: Oxford X30 magnetic tank bag

Europe 2015 pt. II

Indian Chief Dark Horse