ONE HELLUVA ADVENTURE
Despite a couple of acres of garish orange and black smashing my eyeballs over at Motorcycles R Us, they’d focused on three little words etched into the seat. Ready to Race.
What? Get off the pot! Ready to race? Good grief, they’re kidding, right? I mean, what sort of out of balance, onehanded wrist action came up with that? It’s a bloody chook chaser. Okay, so maybe it’s a mega chooky, but it’s still a trailbike. Well, sort of, you know. In that silly way that so-called adventure bikes are styled like trailbikes even though the bigger they are, the less riders are actually heading bush. And this one, looking more like a Transformer Chainsaw than a motorcycle, looked big. And angry.
Righto, let’s wind the clock back a little. First, I’d ridden across Brisbane to Springwood on a 1960 BMW. Yep, the one I’ve owned since I was 18 about 47 years ago. That’s two ancient roosters looking at this mega spring chicken.
Second, my own ‘adventure bike’ is a carburetted Royal Enfield Himalayan. I’ve warmed it up to make 27 horsepower, enough to shift its 200kg and 100kg rider well within sight of most speed limits. Third, out of all the bikes in the shed – lots, don’t tell the wife – the Himmo’s the newest, by 25 years…
Oh, and fourth, I
