Last night I went for a ride with a few friends and was joined by a fellow I know who owns a brand new Street Glide Special. Massive thing, computerized everything, wicked stereo.
He kept walking around my Scrambler and asking a million questions about it, complaining about his bike, that this little thing was wrong and that little thing was bugging him. I could tell he wanted to take the Scrambler for a ride, so for the first time ever, I offered to trade bikes with someone for a short ride.
When I got on his bike, the first thing I had to do was accept a bunch of fine print that appeared on a screen in the dash, I guess something some bureaucrat lawyer househusband wrote about how I was 'engaging in a hazardous activity' and I had to "Accept". Or else... the bike won't start. ***? What is this madness?
The Street Glide felt like a roofless Volvo. The stereo got loud and quiet depending on my speed, blasting out some local rock station. How do they do that, I wondered. I kept fumbling around with my foot on the chrome floorboards, trying to find the shifter and brake. I tapped the rear brake, the nose dove. Linked brakes. Hmm. (I wondered why it even had a front brake. Maybe just for the cool factor.) It cornered like a greased pig in a tube slide. Maybe the weight had something to do with the fact that it felt a bit sluggish. Six gears, good golly. The seat was terrible - I can ride my plank stock Scrambler seat for 8 hours. 20 minutes into this ride, my hips needed a stretch. Calm in the light breeze behind a big fat fairing, the highway floated past. I kept thinking if a deer jumped out, I'd just run the darn thing over with my bike-truck. I could see some of the appeal.
I looked over at my friend at one point and his cheekbones were flapping skin, eyes tearing past his glasses, a huge grin on his face. He's a big guy, and the Scrambler seemed small under his huge frame.
A half hour later we pulled over and we got off our bikes. It took him a minute to figure out why his Harley hazard light flashers were stuck on, mumbling something about how the computer sometimes 'sticks' and does 'weird things' on his bike and this had happened before.
Then he turned to me and said "That was awesome. I'm going to the Triumph dealer tomorrow. I paid 35 Grand for this bike, and yours is just plain more fun. That's what real motorcycling is about - wind in the face, man! It turns on a dime! That's the most fun I've had riding in years."
He got back on his bike, commenting how awful the seat felt (compared to the stock Scrambler! lol!) I thundered off home, the wind in my face, the Scrammy snarling happily, eating up the road... thinking, "yep, this is a real motorcycle!"
All bikes are fun. Some are just more fun. But for me, there's one that's just ... the MOST fun I've ever had on two wheels.
I love my bike.
He kept walking around my Scrambler and asking a million questions about it, complaining about his bike, that this little thing was wrong and that little thing was bugging him. I could tell he wanted to take the Scrambler for a ride, so for the first time ever, I offered to trade bikes with someone for a short ride.
When I got on his bike, the first thing I had to do was accept a bunch of fine print that appeared on a screen in the dash, I guess something some bureaucrat lawyer househusband wrote about how I was 'engaging in a hazardous activity' and I had to "Accept". Or else... the bike won't start. ***? What is this madness?
The Street Glide felt like a roofless Volvo. The stereo got loud and quiet depending on my speed, blasting out some local rock station. How do they do that, I wondered. I kept fumbling around with my foot on the chrome floorboards, trying to find the shifter and brake. I tapped the rear brake, the nose dove. Linked brakes. Hmm. (I wondered why it even had a front brake. Maybe just for the cool factor.) It cornered like a greased pig in a tube slide. Maybe the weight had something to do with the fact that it felt a bit sluggish. Six gears, good golly. The seat was terrible - I can ride my plank stock Scrambler seat for 8 hours. 20 minutes into this ride, my hips needed a stretch. Calm in the light breeze behind a big fat fairing, the highway floated past. I kept thinking if a deer jumped out, I'd just run the darn thing over with my bike-truck. I could see some of the appeal.
I looked over at my friend at one point and his cheekbones were flapping skin, eyes tearing past his glasses, a huge grin on his face. He's a big guy, and the Scrambler seemed small under his huge frame.
A half hour later we pulled over and we got off our bikes. It took him a minute to figure out why his Harley hazard light flashers were stuck on, mumbling something about how the computer sometimes 'sticks' and does 'weird things' on his bike and this had happened before.
Then he turned to me and said "That was awesome. I'm going to the Triumph dealer tomorrow. I paid 35 Grand for this bike, and yours is just plain more fun. That's what real motorcycling is about - wind in the face, man! It turns on a dime! That's the most fun I've had riding in years."
He got back on his bike, commenting how awful the seat felt (compared to the stock Scrambler! lol!) I thundered off home, the wind in my face, the Scrammy snarling happily, eating up the road... thinking, "yep, this is a real motorcycle!"
All bikes are fun. Some are just more fun. But for me, there's one that's just ... the MOST fun I've ever had on two wheels.
I love my bike.