Sometimes I annoy myself. For some perverse reason, I have it stuck in my head that a bigger motorcycle means a better motorcycle-and for the life of me I cannot shake this ill-conceived notion, no matter how hard I try. I know I'm not alone, but it doesn't make it any less wacky. I mean, really, we all know intellectually that small cruisers can be much more useful than huge ones. They are lighter and more maneuverable, get better mileage and cost less to purchase and insure. Almost all are nice looking, well finished and have plenty of power for everyday use. Still, no matter how hard I try to like small, I want big. I want bigger, even though I know darn well it really isn't better.
Here's a perfect example:
I traveled to Greece in September to do a touring story for Cruiser's sister publication, Motorcycle Escape. (This tale is in the issue of Escape that's on newsstands now. In case you don't know it, Escape is produced by your very own Cruiser staff, so you might like it.) Anyway, here I am in Greece to do a 10-day self-guided tour on Peloponnese. A dream ride, for sure. The tour outfit I was using was Triumph Bike Tours out of Athens, and, you guessed it, the bikes were all Triumphs. Knowing about the country's plentiful dirt roads, I had asked for a Tiger, the manufacturer's big dual sport, and if not an adventure bike, a tourable bike like the Sprint or Thunderbird. But when I got there the owners explained that all the big bikes had just come in from a tour and needed service...and "oh, by the way," I'd be riding a Bonneville on my journey.
OK. Great. I've enjoyed the Bonnie before, but like, around town or for afternoon putts in the country. It's a great bike, no doubt, superbly nostalgic and comfortably modern. It's good looking, friendly, maneuverable and even draws a fawning crowd in the way some same-same big twins just can't. But it's smaaaall.
So, since my pride is even bigger than my appetite for big bikes, I didn't complain (too much) and we just strapped my overabundance of luggage onto the wee seat and I rode off into my adventure with my soft bags rubbing on the rear wheels and a slightly crooked smile on my face. As I said, I already know the bike and certainly enjoyed its friendly burble and felt at home in the straight-up, no-aches riding position. On the motorway-Greece's version of the autobahn -it sped along just fine, though with no windshield on the bike, I was a little whipped by the time I exited at the northeastern shore of Peloponnese. Here I said goodbye to the big roads for almost 10 days. What I'd find on this Alaska-sized island was a squiggly, slippery network of glorified one-laners the locals use like freeways.
To say the little Triumph worked well here is an understatement. It worked perfectly. By day two of negotiating the goat paths of southern Greece the bike was my hero. It was great for all the quick, incredibly tight u-turns it takes to retrieve passed photo options. Great going into fishing villages where the switchbacks often include a 45-50 percent grade. (No kidding.) Great on all the loose gravel, dirt, goat pee and potholes that are common in the isolated regions where I spent most of my time. I came to recognize the value of all the following things: the bike's light weight, maneuverability, forgiving brakes, smooth power. It was plenty quick enough to pass just about anything, whenever or wherever I wanted to, and I was comfortable all day, each day, thanks to the straight-up riding position, which was perfect for a relaxed, head-swiveling pace.
Most of all, however, I like what the bike did to me. It made me relax. If I'd had a bigger machine I would have been riding it like a bigger machine-missing scenery for certain, and probably pushing limits in a way I wouldn't think to on the Bonnie. The roads out there were unkempt to say the least. They were also truly remote, where you wouldn't see another vehicle for miles and miles. Knowing that if the Bonnie went over in any way I could lift it with my little finger made for a freer ride too. And knowing I could do things without worrying about dropping it, like taking a deep-sand shortcut to a beach, crossing a washed-out bridge or easing through a mudslide, was also calming. (All of these scenarios did happen at least once, but lucky for me, the beach shortcuts were most common.)
In fact, I was so relaxed I think I enjoyed my trip twice as much-and all because I was riding half the bike I'm used to.
So what's the problem, you ask? Well, we're back to the part where I annoy myself. I'm still hungry for big streetbikes even though I know-now more than ever-that small bikes can make a ride better. Maybe I'll grow out of it, and someday you'll see my toothless grin as I putt some little niblet of a bike around the country. Until then?
I guess I'm stuck thinking big.-Jamie Elvidge
Send your small thoughts to jamie.elvidge@primedia.com