Lost Youth

A reprint from August 2009 when I tested a Triumph with clip on handlebars and decided I prefer my standard Bonneville. That was seven years ago too.

"The past is another country- they do things differently there." I have always had a hankering for a Triumph Thruxton under my bum, to more accurately reflect my nostalgia for my very well spent motorcycling youth. Something like this:

When I was a kid I never quite understood who bought the "Touring" models of the motorcycles that interested me. My first bike, after my moped years, was an MV Agusta 350, with clip on handlebars, just like the 2007 Thruxton pictured above. My next motorcycle was a Moto Morini also the 350 Sport model with stubby little handlebars and a crouched riding position and another flame red paint job. After 200 miles on the Thruxton pictured above I admire my long lost youth more than I would have thought possible. How the hell did I ever ride Europe from one end to the other crouched like that? I can't do it any more, that's for sure! My wife said to me out of the blue one day last week "I've been looking up motorcycle rentals in Ocala but I can't find any..." and she then announced that when our little road trip stopped at Nancy's place in Ocala I would have the day off while they went shopping and would I like to rent a bike to go for a ride by myself...? Like proverbial wild bear crapping in the woods I got to work with Google figuring my wife just couldn't find what must be there- a rental in Ocala. Well, there wasn't but I did come across Modern Classic Motorcycle Rentals of Orlando and I started to figure how far Orlando was from Ocala. It seemed do-able so I called Frank. Clearly a man after my own heart he gushed about his Triumphs for rent-he's owned a Bonneville since they were first imported in 2001- and at $69 for eight hours I easily talked myself into a day on a Thruxton. For $49 I could have had a Bonneville or Scrambler! With insurance and stuff the total 8 hours on the red rocket came to just about $100 an excellent deal by any standard. I was real happy to find my way to Frank's house and pick up the Thruxton, a brand new carburetted 2007 model with just 280 miles on the clock. It looked incredible. The Thruxton (or more properly as Frank would have it the Bonneville Thruxton) is based on the Bonneville 865cc engine and frame with just a few modifications to give it the factory café racer look. It has a smaller 18 inch front wheel, clip on handlebars, and upgraded front forks. The foot pegs are rather fancier than the Bonneville's sturdy rubber clogs and Triumph has used some rather nice hardwear to attach them to the bike:

The rider's feet are pushed into a toe down position and the brake and gear controls are substantially lower than the Bonneville's... which combined with the truly tiny handlebars makes you feel like a boy racer as soon as you fire up the docile and easily managed engine.

Look at those big white clocks (tach included!) and those stubby little handlebars and that thick white stripe down the back of the tank, which tank is the same identical to the regular Bonneville's, but just looks different thanks to all the other subtle changes around it. The side panels are the same too, but the writing is different and more aggressive on that gorgeous red background:

The whole package looks a million bucks parked on the refurbished main street of De Land, a satellite community north of Orlando:After I signed the paperwork for the rental and insurance I found myself alone in downtown Orlando, maneuvering this red jewel through unfamiliar streets and onto the I-4 interstate highway with no time to get used to anything. It was a strange sensation, the controls are as smooth and light as I am used to on my own Bonneville, the engine which supposedly puts out ten more horsepower than my own Bonneville's modest 65, pulled smartly and the cone exhausts gave a pleasing though very civilized rumble as i moved through the five speed gearbox. Handling was firm, just like my own machine with any lightness produced by the slightly smaller front wheel amply compensated for by the short low handlebars. Looking over my shoulders at lane changes was much tougher than I am used to, and though I am short, 5' 06" (168cms) and I have short legs, yet I still was able to clasp the cylinder heads with my knees if I wasn't careful. For taller riders Triumph has added wire guards to the cylinder fins:

The Thruxton invites acceleration, I leaned over the bars, the bright chromed headlamp shell reflecting the sunlight and shining in my face like a beacon. I opened the throttle and the café racer pulled smoothly away. Some people think these modern classic Triumphs are short changed in the horsepower department, as though anything less than a hundred horsepower on a 900cc bike is somehow wrong! Perhaps this style of riding is incomprehensible to a twenty year old looking for a 14,000 rpm deadline on a modern water cooled four cylinder 600cc crotch rocket. The Thruxton is a very different ride and for my money much more pleasant. A few Harley riders waved as they passed in the opposite direction, some of them apparently recognized a classic air cooled ride. I got a second glance from T E Lawrence's doppelganger riding a Ducati 1099 on the freeway, helmetless with his middle aged dyed blond air flapping uncomfortably in the wind. He should have been friendlier as I was closer to a Brough Superior than he was on his Italian exotica. (Lawrence of Arabia loved his Brough Superior motorcycles in the twenties and thirties until he died on one).I don't know the Orlando area very well and though Frank tried to direct me to some twisties I wanted to try to get out of town and take some country roads well away from the traffic of the big city, and make no mistake, Mickey Mouse's home town is sprawling like you wouldn't believe. Florida is not known for it's great winding motorcycle roads but I gave it my best shot. Every time I saw a side road I took it and ripped up lanes and back roads big and small. I found a failed housing development deep in the woods and spent a happy five minutes snicking through the gears and weaving around my own private race course past the undeveloped housing lots. The bike was brand new so I wasn't pushing anything but I enjoyed the performance I did squeeze out of it. Very calm and middle aged of me. Besides my wrists aren't as resistant as they used to be and the heat was truly astonishing. It was hot as Hades out there, so much so I took off my gloves for a while for relief from the relentless fug of hot air to air my sweaty hands out and let some air up my sleeves.

By the time I got back to Frank's place I had put 203 miles (305kms) on the clock and I think I got around the upper 40s in terms of miles per gallon from two tanks of premium gas that I used. For some reason my own Bonneville returns about 43mpg in the Keys and around 47mpg when I ride the mainland. Perhaps it has to do with the longer straighter, less varied roads:

Frank says he finds the Thruxton's seat more comfortable than the standard Bonneville, though that may just be a function of what you are used to. For me the riding position was just too low.It was great fun for sections of roadway that demanded your attention, and it was much more involving to ride head down and crouched over the front wheel with those delicious clip ons grasped in your mitts, but I found on the ling straight stretches I tended to adopt the more upright position you'll see youngsters take up while riding their crotch rockets at a leisurely pace. I put my left hand on my thigh and stretched my aching lumbar regions from time to time.There is a reason I guess why so many staid riders in north central Florida, where motorcycles abound, ride those steady old Harley cruisers. I did meet a few fans of those old Triumphs though, people who come up to you when you ride a modern classic and reminisce about the good old days. This dude picking up a 24-pack of Bud for a Sunday afternoon in front of the boob tube took a few minutes to tell me about his 1960s experiences with a Thunderbird. Personally I like the modern part of the classic thing- reliable vibration free riding on a machine that starts every time.

So what about my eight hours and 200 miles on the Thruxton? This is a motorcycle for someone more limber than me and stronger in the wrists, the newer Thruxtons have lost the clip ons and have rather higher, adjustable bars,much to Frank's disgust. I loved getting to ride the bike even if I now know I did the right ting by being sensible and buying the "regular" Bonneville, upright seating position and all. I'm not 19 any more and it's time I realized that. If I had room for a second bike in the garage I don't have, I'd love one of these for my occasional blast around the mountain rides that don't exist in the Keys...

It's stupid and sentimental of me I know but I love this bike. Before I took it back to Frank I sat and stared at it for fifteen minutes. I know its a factory café racer which is a contradiction in terms for the people who used to build their own in the 1960s but Triumph have really hit the nail on the head with this machine, no longer directly produced with carburettors and clip-ons, and thus so much more precious because of it.

    As for Modern Classic Motorcycle Rentals you need to call Frank the next time you are in Orlando and he will deliver your bike to your location anywhere around the city, for as long or as short as you want it. He loves these bikes and wants you to love them too. Check it out at Modern Classic Motorcycle Rental (LINK)  or by phone at 407 583 6988 and I know you will have as much fun checking out your dream bike as I did. 

Indian Rental And A Tornado

The plan was to take up Eaglerider Orlando's offer of a rental made at the AIMExpo motorcycle show last fall, so off the three of us went last weekend to enjoy a relaxing few days away from work, the app and all business related stuff. I have to work Christmas and New Year's so my time off came in between. On Monday morning I picked up this eight hundred pound brute:

I headed south for breakfast at the curiously named Wawa on my way out of town. It turns out Wawa is the Pennsylvania town where the convenience store was founded and where in this case I found not bad food even though I didn't stand in line for the popular hot breakfast attractions. I stood by the Indian Chief Vintage in the parking lot and ate my delayed breakfast in the sun, after scaring off an admirer of the chrome and black beast in the parking lot. He slunk back to his mere car and glanced at me as though with envy. Well he might and I'm sorry if I scared him though why he didn't talk to me I'm not sure. Perhaps I had absorbed the piratical air of one who rides large American cruisers with loud exhausts.

The Indian Chief cuts quite a figure even in the crowded multi-lane traffic of the Orlando suburbs. The factory mufflers are LOUD and bark at the least provocation while the acres of chrome glinted in the sun. The leather saddlebags attracted one motorist's  attention at a traffic light and  a middle aged woman, a horse enthusiast apparently told me in no uncertain terms the saddle bags would benefit from saddle soap. I don't doubt they would but neither they nor the leather seat are my concern. I am a fan of hard lockable saddle bags and  of waterproof vinyl seats. The leather saddle took up the heat of the 90 degree day and reflected it faithfully onto my buttocks. It looked like a hell of a ride, fringes and all when viewed from alongside, from the riding position it was like driving a boat with a tiller:

I have never been much of a fan of the feet forwards riding style of cruiser motorcycles and despite the appearance of comfort by the end of the 300-mile day my shoulders ached from holding the widespread handlebars and my backside was as sore as you might expect from being wedged in one spot on the single seat. The foot controls were quite far forward for my short legs and my trouser legs rode up to my knees in the breeze when I stretched my feet out forward. As much as I liked the looks the Chief was not, to me, as comfortable as my sit-up-and-beg style with the Triumph Bonneville I ride daily.

The Chief is a beautiful bike, rich with clever styling details, acres of luscious paint and lots of chrome. However the mirror stalks were at 1000 miles starting to show slight signs of rust so for an all weather rider the Vintage is an iffy proposition- chrome to clean and leather to soap and none of it benefiting from getting wet! The tires on this model have tubes so getting a flat requires calling a tow to get a puncture repaired.

The 1800cc  engine is air cooled and mechanically noisy but it has hydraulic valves that require no maintenance and the primary drive, unlike Harleys is by gears but to me they sounded straight-cut and there was a fair bit of mechanical whine at lower speeds. The gearbox has six speeds though God knows why. I found myself cruising happily at 75 miles per hour in fourth not noticing I had two gears to spare! I had a very pleasant ride to the north shore of Lake Okeechobee:

I had found a Vietnamese restaurant hidden away in a strip mall near the Lake so after taking a  few pictures I took some time out in the air conditioning to drink some soup. The motorcycle as always made me feel rather inadequate with its rumbling exhaust and vast shiny presence, I felt like a rather inadequate flea on a very flamboyant elephant everywhere I went.

The pho wasn't terrible but it was mostly broth and noodles and less meat and vegetables but it did the job and it wasn't  fried  so it worked for me. This was when the day started to go wrong, just as I was feeling all was well with the world. I wasn't missing gear shifts while riding the beast and I had got no speeding tickets despite testing sixth gear to an easily attained 95 mph. The speedometer checked against my phone GPS was dead accurate up to 60 mph, as fast as I was willing to ride one handed with a GPS on my mind.

A call from my wife in tears revealed the news that our Texas rental home in a Dallas suburb was one of 1600 homes trashed after Christmas by a series of killer tornadoes. Our tenants were  safe which was good but the house was wrecked and so far pending an engineer's report will require demolition.

The house in Rowlett was our plan B if we needed a bolt hole somewhere away from floods and earthquakes- ha who thought of tornadoes in Dallas? We had been turned on to a first rate rental company in that city and the rent had been paying for the house for almost twenty years. Dallas isn't our idea of a first rate living with neither mountains nor ocean but it has a strong economy normally decent weather for people who don't mind heat, and it had seemed  a secure bolt hole or an inexpensive base for retirement travels should we have needed it instead of monthly income. Man proposes, God disposes as the saying goes:

Just this summer we had spent a bundle upgrading tired facilities in the home and now all was wrecked:

My wife insisted I continue the ride as she would feel worse were I to cut it short and return to her hotel room where she had planned a day of leisure. Actually it turned out the La Quinta where we were staying was undergoing renovation and the outdoor pool wasn't heated - no swimming. There was no gym, boo hiss and the room itself was more like a dungeon with purple paint, no carpet and a rather strait jacket  layout, narrow and dark. My wife was making do but Cheyenne was peculiarly restless and unhappy in the room. The weekend break was not quite going to plan and plans were going to be wrecked even more if that were possible.

I decided to set the tornado news aside as there was nothing I could do and so instead I amused myself passing trucks in sixth gear rolling the gas on from 55mph. The motorcycle accelerated without a care in the world and cruised at 75mph in top gear at 2700 rpm. Wide sweeping curves were a delight with no wobbles at all,  and the weight of the bike is down low so when I amused myself by pulling a u-turn it was the easiest thing in the world to lock the bars and flop around in a tight circle without putting my foot down. 

Riding alone ( two suggestions to meet for lunch were rejected, it being the holidays by two moto bloggers) I could stop as I pleased to look around. So I did. It was a delightful day, not a tornado or even a rain cloud in sight.

The oil filter was easily accessible ( I check stuff like that when I think about owning a bike) below the oil cooler, and this one was changed I'm guessing at 512 miles. With belt drive and gear primary drive, changing the five quarts of oil every five thousand miles is about the only maintenance chore. I find that  very attractive combined with the low stress nature of the low revving engine.

You can read elsewhere about the history of Indian founded in 1901 in Springfield Massachusetts, as Polaris has done a masterful job since buying the company in 2011 of building heritage motorcycles in Iowa. The Indian name is proudly displayed all over the motorcycle.

 I was having a good time rolling along Highway 98 north full of Vietnamese food, and enjoying the crazy noisy rumbling engine. You've heard people say that "loud pipes save lives" well because I ride with quiet factory mufflers I have never had proof one way or the other. Riding the Chief Vintage I got proof positive they don't- three different ways. I had the classic turn left to cross my path attempt by one driver, another changed lanes suddenly to exit the multi-lane street across my path and on a country highway the pick up didn't see notice or hear me approaching from behind when he took a sudden turn to the left to exit the road as I was planning  a pass. None of the suicide drivers used signals or mirrors or anything decadent like that. Powerful ABS brakes and an alert brain saved my ass each time. 

I love central Florida, the rolling countryside, more pronounced hills to the north and wide open cowboy spaces to the south with smooth roads, a bit too straight frankly offering miles of peaceful touring through varied countryside. Arcadia is known as the Cowboy Capital of Florida but Okeechobee has its own rodeo ground and fleet of citywide pick up trucks.

Crossing the bridge into Highlands County was a reminder of the hilly nature of the countryside west of Orlando. There are lakes woods and rising and dipping ridges of hills in the area, the highest point in the peninsula is almost 350 feet high near Clermont. Not much by Colorado standards but plenty in the Sunshine State where two days after Christmas I was enjoying low humidity, a light cool breeze and 90 degree temperatures which I found perfect.

Hot enough for the cows to seek refreshment in the puddles. And it was after I took this picture that my motorcycle troubles began. The starter wouldn't start. I checked the side stand, I checked the kill button which I normally never touch, I fiddled with the starting procedure, I looked for the radio activated fob to make sure I still had it. But the bastard wouldn't start. I called the rental  company and as though by magic the call got the thing going. Great thought I...

The Chief is a gas guzzler. Granted I was riding a brand new bike that hit 1,000 miles on my three hundred mile jaunt and I'd like to think the Beast would get better mileage with premium with the addition of a few thousand miles...but in town riding hard I got less than 30 miles to the US gallon. The 5.5 US gallon tank started to look empty in the gauge after a hundred miles though probably I could have gone another thirty without panicking. However not knowing the machine and not wanting to act the rental prat with an empty tank I made sure I got gas promptly every 100 miles and added three gallons each time. Gulp!

 Naturally when I stopped for gas and a phone call to check on my still tearful wife the engine refused to start. To start this bike you keep the fob near the bike ( I carried it in my man purse in the saddlebag) and you press the big black button on the tank. That sets ion motion to fuel injection and the starting procedure. When you are ready to set the machine rumbling you press the starter button on the handlebar. However something seemed to have gone wrong with the security feature as the black button lit up red and the starter didn't start. I kicked the side stand, and when it did start the horn started beeping (LOUDLY) as I tried to ride off, making me look like a thief. Great!

Suddenly it all settled down of its own accord and spared me a second embarrassing call to Eaglerider. Off I rode until I stopped on Highway 27 to answer my phone and check my map on my way to the hallowed Yalala Bakery near Clermont. And that was when Eaglerider promised to send a mechanic out with a spare bike as this non starting had left me stranded again. I walked to Bob Evans for soup and a pee and waited for the mechanic and trailer as the sun hit the horizon.

 I put my riding jacket on the side walk and decided to read my Kindle, thank heavens for the iPhone, and wait in patience for deliverance. Idly I tried to re-start the bastard and wouldn't you know it, it fired up promptly, leading me to think the diagnosis of a dead battery in the electronic fob was not correct. If the battery were dead it should stay dead. Yet here it seemed to work at random.  I called the mechanic and cancelled him, put away my stuff in the saddlebags (including some Bob Evans cookies for my long suffering wife) and set off into the gathering darkness. That was when the bugger died again after giving off several loud horn farts as I rode down Highway 27. I coasted into a turn lane in the dark where the bugger fired right up again and I lurched off homewards on old highway 50, what turned out to be a delightfully twisted wooded road toward Orlando. It would have been great had I not been riding with my heart in my mouth waiting for the horn to start beeping madly before cutting the engine off.

It was a wild ride through Winter Garden and Windermere stopping to check my map on my blessed phone hoping the engine wouldn't cut out and I started to have fun, feeling like I was 20 years old again riding the crazily unreliable used motorcycles of my youth, all failed wiring and uncertain return times. There was no drama, just an hour long ride I'd like to replicate in daylight on a motorcycle I trust... and after a few missed turns I was back in the dungeon with my grateful wife who feared for my life on the stop and go Indian, and my dog  who was finally exhausted, sleeping and still hating the sparsely furnished  hotel room and life. It took Cheyenne a night at home before she would talk to me so I think her traveling and exploring days are over. I got the hint from my elderly Lab.

Eaglerider were great. I got the bike started in the morning and therefore naturally got lost on my way to the shop but when I arrived with a full tank (did not turn the bike off at the pumps) they refunded the money for the rental in full, and gave me a credit for a free rental in the next year. There are roads I want to ride around Orlando, next time I think on a Harley Davidson. I enjoy riding different motorcycles on rentals and had I the time and money I would spend a lot more of both around the country with Eaglerider. 

I took this picture of Cheyenne at home, happy on her bed and eager to forget her Orlando vacation. I don't think she can take the car further north than Ft Lauderdale or Ft Myers anymore and at the age of fifteen she is happy to spend her days pottering around the house sleeping and eating and watching my every move. It's taken me a while to accept that she is happiest being left at home but it seems now I am convinced that for the rest of her life our travels will be circumscribed by her needs.

She has been a good dog and I would do no less for her. I'm just glad she's forgiven me for putting her through a  stupid weekend to indulge my riding habit. Oh not to mention my wife and the ghastly hotel room and the tornado and the calls to the insurance company and FEMA and the mortgage people and the rental company and on and on. What a weekend.

Posted with Blogsy

Continuing Weirdness

I rented a motorcycle for a short break from all the work we've been doing.  My wife planned to spend my ride in the hotel relaxing. Things went pear shaped. Details to follow when I get a moment. 

It was a hell of a ride around central Florida on an 800 pound Indian Chief Vintage. That the starter had an issue on a brand new bike is a story for later. 

Lost Youth

"The past is another country- they do things differently there." I have always had a hankering for a Triumph Thruxton under my bum, to more accurately reflect my nostalgia for my very well spent motorcycling youth. Something like this:

When I was a kid I never quite understood who bought the "Touring" models of the motorcycles that interested me. My first bike, after my moped years, was an MV Agusta 350, with clip on handlebars, just like the 2007 Thruxton pictured above. My next motorcycle was a Moto Morini also the 350 Sport model with stubby little handlebars and a crouched riding position and another flame red paint job. After 200 miles on the Thruxton pictured above I admire my long lost youth more than I would have thought possible. How the hell did I ever ride Europe from one end to the other crouched like that? I can't do it any more, that's for sure! My wife said to me out of the blue one day last week "I've been looking up motorcycle rentals in Ocala but I can't find any..." and she then announced that when our little road trip stopped at Nancy's place in Ocala I would have the day off while they went shopping and would I like to rent a bike to go for a ride by myself...? Like proverbial wild bear crapping in the woods I got to work with Google figuring my wife just couldn't find what must be there- a rental in Ocala. Well, there wasn't but I did come across Modern Classic Motorcycle Rentals of Orlando and I started to figure how far Orlando was from Ocala. It seemed do-able so I called Frank. Clearly a man after my own heart he gushed about his Triumphs for rent-he's owned a Bonneville since they were first imported in 2001- and at $69 for eight hours I easily talked myself into a day on a Thruxton. For $49 I could have had a Bonneville or Scrambler! With insurance and stuff the total 8 hours on the red rocket came to just about $100 an excellent deal by any standard. I was real happy to find my way to Frank's house and pick up the Thruxton, a brand new carburetted 2007 model with just 280 miles on the clock. It looked incredible. The Thruxton (or more properly as Frank would have it the Bonneville Thruxton) is based on the Bonneville 865cc engine and frame with just a few modifications to give it the factory café racer look. It has a smaller 18 inch front wheel, clip on handlebars, and upgraded front forks. The foot pegs are rather fancier than the Bonneville's sturdy rubber clogs and Triumph has used some rather nice hardwear to attach them to the bike:

The rider's feet are pushed into a toe down position and the brake and gear controls are substantially lower than the Bonneville's... which combined with the truly tiny handlebars makes you feel like a boy racer as soon as you fire up the docile and easily managed engine.

Look at those big white clocks (tach included!) and those stubby little handlebars and that thick white stripe down the back of the tank, which tank is the same identical to the regular Bonneville's, but just looks different thanks to all the other subtle changes around it. The side panels are the same too, but the writing is different and more aggressive on that gorgeous red background:

The whole package looks a million bucks parked on the refurbished main street of De Land, a satellite community north of Orlando:After I signed the paperwork for the rental and insurance I found myself alone in downtown Orlando, maneuvering this red jewel through unfamiliar streets and onto the I-4 interstate highway with no time to get used to anything. It was a strange sensation, the controls are as smooth and light as I am used to on my own Bonneville, the engine which supposedly puts out ten more horsepower than my own Bonneville's modest 65, pulled smartly and the cone exhausts gave a pleasing though very civilized rumble as i moved through the five speed gearbox. Handling was firm, just like my own machine with any lightness produced by the slightly smaller front wheel amply compensated for by the short low handlebars. Looking over my shoulders at lane changes was much tougher than I am used to, and though I am short, 5' 06" (168cms) and I have short legs, yet I still was able to clasp the cylinder heads with my knees if I wasn't careful. For taller riders Triumph has added wire guards to the cylinder fins:

The Thruxton invites acceleration, I leaned over the bars, the bright chromed headlamp shell reflecting the sunlight and shining in my face like a beacon. I opened the throttle and the café racer pulled smoothly away. Some people think these modern classic Triumphs are short changed in the horsepower department, as though anything less than a hundred horsepower on a 900cc bike is somehow wrong! Perhaps this style of riding is incomprehensible to a twenty year old looking for a 14,000 rpm deadline on a modern water cooled four cylinder 600cc crotch rocket. The Thruxton is a very different ride and for my money much more pleasant. A few Harley riders waved as they passed in the opposite direction, some of them apparently recognized a classic air cooled ride. I got a second glance from T E Lawrence's doppelganger riding a Ducati 1099 on the freeway, helmetless with his middle aged dyed blond air flapping uncomfortably in the wind. He should have been friendlier as I was closer to a Brough Superior than he was on his Italian exotica. (Lawrence of Arabia loved his Brough Superior motorcycles in the twenties and thirties until he died on one). I don't know the Orlando area very well and though Frank tried to direct me to some twisties I wanted to try to get out of town and take some country roads well away from the traffic of the big city, and make no mistake, Mickey Mouse's home town is sprawling like you wouldn't believe. Florida is not known for it's great winding motorcycle roads but I gave it my best shot. Every time I saw a side road I took it and ripped up lanes and back roads big and small. I found a failed housing development deep in the woods and spent a happy five minutes snicking through the gears and weaving around my own private race course past the undeveloped housing lots. The bike was brand new so I wasn't pushing anything but I enjoyed the performance I did squeeze out of it. Very calm and middle aged of me. Besides my wrists aren't as resistant as they used to be and the heat was truly astonishing. It was hot as Hades out there, so much so I took off my gloves for a while for relief from the relentless fug of hot air to air my sweaty hands out and let some air up my sleeves.

By the time I got back to Frank's place I had put 203 miles (305kms) on the clock and I think I got around the upper 40s in terms of miles per gallon from two tanks of premium gas that I used. For some reason my own Bonneville returns about 43mpg in the Keys and around 47mpg when I ride the mainland. Perhaps it has to do with the longer straighter, less varied roads:

Frank says he finds the Thruxton's seat more comfortable than the standard Bonneville, though that may just be a function of what you are used to. For me the riding position was just too low.It was great fun for sections of roadway that demanded your attention, and it was much more involving to ride head down and crouched over the front wheel with those delicious clip ons grasped in your mitts, but I found on the ling straight stretches I tended to adopt the more upright position you'll see youngsters take up while riding their crotch rockets at a leisurely pace. I put my left hand on my thigh and stretched my aching lumbar regions from time to time. There is a reason I guess why so many staid riders in north central Florida, where motorcycles abound, ride those steady old Harley cruisers. I did meet a few fans of those old Triumphs though, people who come up to you when you ride a modern classic and reminisce about the good old days. This dude picking up a 24-pack of Bud for a Sunday afternoon in front of the boob tube took a few minutes to tell me about his 1960s experiences with a Thunderbird. Personally I like the modern part of the classic thing- reliable vibration free riding on a machine that starts every time.

So what about my eight hours and 200 miles on the Thruxton? This is a motorcycle for someone more limber than me and stronger in the wrists, the newer Thruxtons have lost the clip ons and have rather higher, adjustable bars,much to Frank's disgust. I loved getting to ride the bike even if I now know I did the right ting by being sensible and buying the "regular" Bonneville, upright seating position and all. I'm not 19 any more and it's time I realized that. If I had room for a second bike in the garage I don't have, I'd love one of these for my occasional blast around the mountain rides that don't exist in the Keys...

It's stupid and sentimental of me I know but I love this bike. Before I took it back to Frank I sat and stared at it for fifteen minutes. I know its a factory café racer which is a contradiction in terms for the people who used to build their own in the 1960s but Triumph have really hit the nail on the head with this machine, no longer directly produced with carburettors and clip-ons, and thus so much more precious because of it.

As for Modern Classic Motorcycle Rentals you need to call Frank the next time you are in Orlando and he will deliver your bike to your location anywhere around the city, for as long or as short as you want it. He loves these bikes and wants you to love them too. Check it out at http://www.modernclassicmotorcyclerental.com/ or by phone at 407 583 6988 and I know you will have as much fun checking out your dream bike as I did. Next time I'm going to take a step ladder and check out how I do on the Scrambler and I'm going to get Frank to show me his favorite road. He's also thinking about expanding his fleet and I want first dibs on a Royal Enfield or the Harley XR1200 if gets his hands on those. I can't wait.