Ride review: Indian Scout Sixty

When I was 21 years old, I decided I no longer cared about political science and dropped-out of classes at my dreary college in Northern Minnesota on the promise of working in a tourist trap at Lake Tahoe. I packed a duffle bag, told my roommate he could keep, sell or trash everything else, and spent several days making my way to the Silver State.

My pickup truck had no air conditioner or radio; everything was barebones. I often look back on that trip, and my decision to make it, as being a pivot point in my life. In the Story of Chris, it's impossible to get here –– to the person I am now –– without first going there. So, I'd never undo the experience. But if I could be 21 now, in 2016, I'd make a change: I'd sell my truck and get to Nevada on an Indian Scout Sixty.

Because the Sixty is that kind of bike. It is a cross-the-country-and-figure-out-who-the-hell-you-are bike. A tell-your-grandkids-about-it-in-60-years bike. A motorcycle of the sort that inspires people to write novels and listen to The Sam Chase on repeat. A motorcycle your girlfriend will accuse you of loving more than her; and deep down in your soul you'll know she's right.

It's not perfect. The Sixty's chassis doesn't quite live up to the engine's promise, and Indian has cut some odd corners in keeping the price low, but it is a very, very good bike.

First Impressions

It's strange to call the Sixty small. It has a 1000cc engine, weighs in at 561 lbs. wet, and is 4 inches longer than a BMW R1200GS. It's not small. But when you drop yourself down onto its solo seat, just 25.3 inches above the ground, "small" is one of the first words that come to mind. Or, it is if you are 6 foot 1.

The good news is that it doesn't feel cramped. With its standard set-up, the Sixty is not really designed for someone my size, but it works well enough. Extended reach and reduced reach options are available to fine tune things. My friend Sash is a wee 4 foot 11 and she swoons over her time with the Scout, which is effectively the same bike, save the engine.

When I first picked up the Sixty in London, facing a 200-mile journey back to my home in Cardiff, Wales, I made a promise to myself to stop every 40 miles to stretch. I expected this motorcycle to cause ache in knees and back. To my utter surprise, more than 100 miles passed before I even started to look for a place to stop.

Engine and Transmission

The Sixty's liquid-cooled 999cc V-twin is undoubtedly the star of the show. Unless you hate happiness, you will love this engine. Effectively the same lump found in the full-size Scout but with different bore and stroke, it puts out a claimed 78hp and 65 ft.-lbs. of torque.

I'd say those numbers are more or less accurate. More important, however, is how usable are the power and torque. Indian Scout Sixty Power delivery is stupid smooth. Well, for the most part; I found some anomalous jerkiness when maintaining 30 mph in third gear. And even that is very subtle (I only noticed late into my time with the Sixty –– when I was searching for negatives so as to avoid having this review come off as a lovefest).

At that speed and in that gear, the engine is barely ticking over idle. The Scout's rev limiter kicks in north of 8,000 rpm but you'll never get there by accident. The engine is surprisingly relaxed even at highway speed –– 70 mph sees the tachometer only flirting with 4,000 rpm. All this means you don't get the rattling performance that some manufacturers claim as character. The engine simply does what an engine is supposed to do: it goes.

For me, the smoothness and calmness of the engine make it ideal for the bike's stated purpose of cruising. But don't be fooled. Twist the grip with a little more enthusiasm and the Sixty takes on a different personality; it's like that scene in films my fraternity used to watch, where the librarian tears her dress and lets her hair down. Something deep within this bike whispers to the rider: "Hey man, let's play."

And it is a whisper. The Sixty's exhaust won't get you in trouble with neighbors. The sound of the engine is that of a sleeping lion, a bass that rattles deep within an enormous set of lungs. A part of me would like pipes that allow the Sixty to roar, but I'll admit there's a certain charm in being understated.

Meanwhile, the transmission is smoother than I remember on the Sixty's larger sibling, the Scout, which means it is pretty much the smoothest American transmission I've encountered. First gear is announced with a gentle clunk, but shifting up and down in heavy traffic requires no greater effort than in many other bikes. Clutchless upshifts are manageable outside of first and second.

The Sixty is equipped with just five gears. But the nature of how those gears are set up means you genuinely don't miss sixth. If you're a cynical person like me, you'll suspect I'm stretching the truth when I say that. Certainly that's what I thought when someone first told me such a thing. But, to my complete surprise, it's true. The Sixty manages to do it all with five gears. Really.

Ride Quality and Brakes

Within the realm of what it's supposed to be –– a cruiser –– the Sixty's suspension performs admirably well, especially considering its price tag. On good, fair, or decent roads it handles imperfections with relative ease. Lean angle is generous enough that standard curves are welcomed and enjoyed.

But things get downright hectic when you push beyond those happy boundaries. Whacking into potholes will leave you struggling to stay in your seat, taking sharp corners with too much gusto will shred the pegs and put you in a panic.

That's what people always say about cruisers, though, and I feel the need to stress that these faults present themselves later than they would on, say, a Harley-Davidson Sportster, Yamaha Bolt (aka XV-950), or Triumph America. The problem is that the Sixty's engine is so much better than in any of the bikes I just mentioned. It wants to play. And that creates situations where the Sixty can suffer an identity crisis.

"Let's go, baby! Let's do this!" the engine will say as you power hard toward a bend in the road.

"Sweet Lord in heaven! What is wrong with you?!" the suspension will yelp as you go all kinds of wrong in said bend.

In other words, if you limit the Sixty to the sort of activity it was designed for, everything will be fine. But its fantastic engine will sometimes make that difficult.

The engine's being liquid cooled means no heat is felt on the legs, even when sitting still in heavy city traffic. However, I wonder if a passenger would be as happy; the Sixty's pipes get pretty hot. The plus side is that the bike still makes that air-cooled "tink-tink-tink" noise when you shut it off after a long ride. I loved this aspect of the Sixty and if Indian did it on purpose I think its engineers are geniuses for accomplishing this level of old-school feel on a modern bike.

The balloon-like Indian-branded Kenda tires are something I'd look forward to replacing if I owned a Sixty (which I've been seriously considering). They've earned a particularly bad reputation amongst British moto-journalists because they lack feel and grip in the wet. Having ridden the Sixty in Britain and Ireland I can confirm the tires' wet-weather inadequacy, but will say they aren't as bad as expected. The Sixty feels far more flickable than it looks, but also suffers a bicycle-like "floatiness" at speeds in excess of the legal limit. Not so much, however, that I would describe it as unsteady or worrying.

Brakes, meanwhile, are adequate. Especially within the aforementioned boundaries. You won't be doing any stoppies with the single-disc front brake, but I suffered no panics. In Europe, the Sixty is equipped with a rudimentary anti-lock braking system that is about as unobtrusive as ABS can be. Indian does not yet offer the feature on bikes sold in the United States, but I reckon it's only a certain amount of time until they do. And I'll bet the feature will be retrofittable.

The Sixty weighs a hell of a lot when you're muscling it around a driveway –– especially if that driveway has an incline. On the move, though, the weight is no hassle thanks to a low center of gravity.

Filtering (aka lane splitting) is easy. I mean, really, really easy. Off the top of my head, I can't think of a motorcycle I've ridden that's more effective at navigating through thick traffic. Though I wouldn't complain if the clutch lever were a little less stiff.

Comfort and Features

As mentioned above, the Sixty is more comfortable than expected. I am too tall for the standard set-up and had no screen, but was able to clock up just shy of 2,000 complaint-free miles over the space of a week.

Though the Sixty's seat is comfy it keeps the rider in a set position; you can't help but squirm after a while. Discomfort sets in at roughly the 100-mile mark, which I think is pretty good for a bike that wasn't set up for me and isn't targeted at long-distance riders.

Its 3.3-US-gallon tank is evidence of the latter. I'd normally complain about such a small tank, but the Sixty isn't too thirsty; 130 miles can be had before the fuel light comes on. So, something like 45 mpg reliably. Judicious riding will deliver better results.

Sans screen, the Sixty is most comfortable below 70 mph. Above that, you feel strain in your forearms. The good news, though, is I didn't experience the infamous cruiser head waggle at higher speeds.

The bike is minimalist, with a single display up front in the form of an analogue speedometer with digital information below. Mileage, trip meter, tachometer, engine temperature and gear indicator are all available via the display. The gear indicator isn't terribly reliable but you soon get used to the old-school method of keeping count in your head. Whereas the speedometer is spot-on accurate.

Out of the box, there's not much more to the Sixty in terms of features. Even bungee points are hard to find. I ended up strapping my bag to the rear shocks.

Practicality

You wouldn't necessarily think of a cruiser as an all-the-time everyday machine, but the Sixty could easily fulfil that role. Especially if you're willing to splash out on an accessory rack and windscreen. It's ideal for lane splitting, it's comfortable, and it's relatively economical in terms of fuel consumption. It would be a great way to commute in style.

Thanks to its simple design, the Sixty is really easy to clean –– just hit it with a hose –– and belt drive means you never have to fuss with a chain. Changing the oil requires minimal effort, though you'll need a pretty shallow oil pan to accommodate the bike's ground clearance.

Rear tire valve access to check tire pressure requires a certain amount of dexterity and is all but impossible if the exhaust is hot, but I suspect I'm the only person in the world who checks tire pressure as much as they tell you to.

The old-school-styled round headlamp is surprisingly good at throwing light.

Build Quality

The Sixty is built to a price point, which is something you notice a little in the tires, suspension and aesthetic minimalism, but it is high-end inexpensive. The overall feeling is one of quality and durability. You could drop this bike and not have it bite you in the wallet.

In addition to the five-gear transmission, cost has also been saved in eschewing the chrome engine covers and cylinder heads found on the Scout. And the Sixty's seat is vinyl rather than leather. Personally I prefer the Sixty's look, and I feel that vinyl is less hassle –– especially considering how easy it is to remove/steal the Sixty's seat (no tools or keys required, just yank on it).

However, my biggest complaint about the bike is the cost saving that resulted in the Sixty's ugly, loose-wire-laden triple tree. It's a blemish on an otherwise beautiful bike and feels like a particularly strange cost-cutting measure.

On the larger Scout, the tree wiring is covered by a simple plate. Indian will sell you that plate, which pops right onto the Sixty, for roughly US $50. The absence of the plate feels like cost cutting for the sake of cost cutting. Though, to be fair, it's hard to think of anything else Indian could have shaved off on such a minimalist bike. Plus, it's an aesthetic sin you don't notice when riding the bike. It's easily covered; I found that space was perfect for a Kriega US10 dry bag. And, really, if the worst thing you can say about a bike is that it has some unsightly wiring, you're not doing too bad.

Chatting with a dealer about it, he and I half wondered if Indian didn't leave the wiring exposed on purpose, to serve as a quirky feature of the bike. Perhaps in 70 years a retro movement will see bikes of all brands copying the look of the Sixty's loose wires.

Final Verdict

Taken for what it is and what it is supposed to be, I'd argue that the Indian Scout Sixty is one of the best bikes out there today. Yes, you can get bikes that are faster, bikes that are cheaper, bikes that come equipped with more standard features. But overall, total package, the Sixty is hard to beat.

Very few of those other bikes will have people running out into the street to talk to you about it.

The Sixty can frustrate when its delightful package leads to thoughts beyond the perimeters of what it is and what it is supposed to be. I sincerely hope Harley-Davidson sells a bajillion Roadsters, if not simply to convince Indian that doing the same thing with its Scout/Scout Sixty platform is a good idea.

Back within the reality of what the Sixty is –– a cruiser –– one thing I really appreciate is how good a motorcycle it is at base price. You can always improve a motorcycle with aftermarket modifications, but I'm of the mind that the basic package should be good enough that those modifications don't feel like requirements. You can add to the Sixty, certainly. But you don't need to go diving into your pocket straightaway.

The Sixty is there to be enjoyed and loved as is. Simple, easy, fun, and very, very good.

The Three Questions:

Any time I review a bike, I try to think of it from a consumer's perspective, imagining that I'm being asked to spend my own money on the bike. In doing so, I always ask myself these three questions:

1) Does it fit my current needs/lifestyle?
Not really, but I like to think that with a little investment perhaps it could. Maybe. I don't know. The bike is good enough, though, that a part of me would like to try. However, I used to phrase this question as "Will it fit in my garden?" to which the answer here is no. The Sixty is too awkward to be maneuvered into the space I have for a motorcycle.

2) Does it put a grin on my face?
Yes. A huge one. The only time I was ever unhappy on the Sixty was when I had to give the keys back to Indian. Comfortable, fun, unique, and cool.

3) Is it better than my current bike?
That's a tricky one. On paper, the answer is no. But, as I say, the Sixty is a good enough motorcycle to make a person somewhat willing to forego the benefits of a Japanese bike for the inherent coolness of this one. Really, rather than being better than my beloved Suzuki V-Strom 1000, the Sixty is fantastic enough to make me ponder the practicalities of owning two motorcycles.

(Portions of this article were originally published on RideApart)

ADSENSE HERE

What I want: Triumph Tiger Sport

W'hey, it's been a while since I've done one of these posts. To some extent, that speaks to how busy I've been lately. I've been getting a lot of work from RideApart and Motorcycle.com –– living the dream.

But also it speaks to how happy I've been with my trusty Suzuki V-Strom 1000. The thing is a comfortable, fun, do-everything workhorse that –– ever since I installed a Givi AirFlow screen –– has been pretty close to perfect. 

Pretty close. I would really like cruise control.

So, I have to admit, it's primarily that feature that draws me to the new Triumph Tiger Sport. Well, OK, that's not the only reason. If cruise control were really so make-or-break for me, I would have bought one of those cruise control kits from Australia (does anyone know if those things actually work?).

There's also the fact that the Tiger Sport is a sport-tourer with adventure-style ergonomics but no pretense of off-road ability. And its 1050-cc inline triple delivers something close to 130 hp.

The Tiger Sport has been around in one form or another since 2007. It was sold for a while in the US as the Tiger 1050, but apparently Americans couldn't wrap their heads around the concept and it hasn't been available Stateside since its last update back in 2012. This new version won't be available in America, either.

Ever since the Strom taught me that it's possible to appreciate an ugly bike I have had my eye on the post-2012 Tiger Sport, and I even toyed with the idea of getting one a few months ago when Triumph was offering £1,200 of free accessories as part of the deal. I didn't bite, though, because I didn't like the idea of giving up traction control, a feature on the Strom that has helped keep me upright on at least two occasions.

Now that the Tiger Sport is equipped with traction control, and multiple rider modes and that blessed cruise control, I am very interested.

So interested, in fact, that I find myself able to develop mild appreciation for this bike's aesthetics. It certainly helps that I (unlike seemingly everyone) actually like the gigantic Megaman-cannon exhausts that are showing up on bikes as a result of Euro 4 regulations. I think they look cool.

I like, too, the single-sided swingarm, and that bellypan/sump guard thing. The front end is a little too Kawasaki Versys for me (whereas seemingly everyone else in moto-journalism loves the Versys, I hate it), but you don't really see a bike when you're sitting on it.

This looks like a motorcycle that can handle every task I currently put to my Strom, but with the added benefit of being more powerful, having better residual value, and, of course, cruise control. Plus, the scuttlebutt is that this particular model will be assembled at Triumph's plant in England. I can't find any information either way, but, if true, it would speak to my sentimental patriotic side.

The voice of reason

Having said all that, I'm not sure my reasons for wanting a Tiger Sport are all that strong. I mean, effectively I like this bike because it is –– I assume, I've not test ridden it yet –– like my Strom but with the addition of cruise control and a Triumph badge (which earns more street cred in Britain).  Is that enough reason to get rid of the Strom? The fact that the Tiger Sport's got more power than the Strom doesn't factor into things because I have never use the full of the Strom's 100 hp.

So, just two reasons. Are those enough to justify getting a more expensive bike? Probably not. Especially since those features already exist on the less-expensive Tiger 800 XRx.

And that speaks to another concern I'd have about the Tiger Sport. I'm not entirely sure that Triumph motorcycles are as high-quality as the company would like to believe. 

If you've read my review of the Tiger 800 XRx, you know that its gearbox was one of the worst I've ever encountered. I've since been told by a number of folks that I was unlucky, and that, in fact, the gearboxes are fine. Meanwhile, if you've read my review of the Tiger Explorer you'll know that I experienced wobble above 75 mph. And, again, I've since had Triumph riders since tell me that I was unlucky, and that, in fact, Tiger Explorers are perfectly stable.

I don't think anyone is lying to me –– maybe I have just been unlucky with Triumphs –– but my experiences have made me question Triumph's quality control. I'm not sure I'd want to spend my own money and risk being unlucky again.

Maybe I'll just write letters to Suzuki, asking them to add cruise control to the Strom.

ADSENSE HERE

Does it matter where stuff is made?

(Originally published on RideApart)

I've become obsessed with the idea of getting an Aerostich Roadcrafter, the famously unsexy safety onesie favored by adventurers and moto-journalists. I mean, just about every two-wheel-loving scribbler out there seems to wear one: John Burns, Jamie Elvidge, Marc Cook, Gabe Ets-Hokin, that guy who goes camping with dogs... 

And since I've been known to describe myself as a moto-journalist –– primarily just to annoy my father –– I feel I should look the part. But also, 'Murica y'all.

Roadcrafter suits are made in the God-blessed United States of USA Land –– specifically Minnesota, where I spent many of my formative years –– and the idea of being able to represent my home country every time I ride hits the semi-illogical pleasure center of my brain where patriotic thoughts are most often stored. Indeed, I think that may be the main reason I want an Aerostich: patriotism.

But I'll admit to being a man of fickle allegiances. I've lived in Her Majesty's United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland for almost 10 years now, and I've developed some affection for it. As such, there may be an argument for my buying one of the textile suits made by Hideout, a company based in the English county of Hertfordshire.

I've met some of the women who run and work at the business, and that humanizes the product for me. It makes the idea of Hideout gear feel more important, more special.

Hideout Hi-Pro Adventure suit

In both cases –– Aerostich and Hideout –– the goods are said to be of extraordinary quality. And with that, comes an extraordinary price tag. In the case of the 'Stich, you're looking at shelling out upward of $1,700 for a suit with additional bells and whistles and some tailoring. Meanwhile, a two-piece from Hideout easily heads north of $2,300.

That's eyewatering, but keep in mind a two-piece from Rukka can put an equally large hole in your wallet: about $2,200. Buy the best two-piece suit Klim has to offer, and you could end up paying more than $2,500.

In my mind, I've dismissed those last two. Rukka gear comes from China, and asking the origin of Klim stuff results in a murky, apologetic admission that it comes from a lot of places, none of which are the United States.

All of this is academic, of course. I have nothing close to the money needed for even the least-expensive of these options. But I tell myself that if I did I would want my gear to be "local" (local either to where I'm from or where I am presently).

This speaks to an idea of goods origin that I've been developing recently. I want my stuff to come first and foremost from 'Murica, but if that's not possible, I'd like it to be from the UK or Ireland. After that, Canada and Mexico, then the European Union, and finally, any one of the other 75 countries at the top of the Democracy Index.

But, of course, that's hard to do. I'm writing to you on a device that was assembled in China: a country listed well below those top 75. And in inspecting the labels on the clothing I'm wearing right now, I'm only scoring 1 out of 5 in the conscientious buying game.

Aerostich Roadcrafter Classic

Meanwhile, perhaps simply to assuage feelings of guilt, I can't help asking myself if it really matters.

I mean, let's say I had the money for one of Hideout's fancy, made-to-measure get-ups. I don't know their gear to be demonstrably superior to, say, Rukka or Klim. Hideout suggests as much, but you'd expect it to say that. Finding independent reviews to back up that claim is a challenge (equally, I can find no negative reviews).

Still, I'd choose the UK brand because it's a UK brand. Because I've met some of the people who make it, but more broadly because I like the UK.

Effectively then, I'm deciding that something is "good" because its staff and manufacturing facilities are located in a place that is familiar to me. I assume they are people "like me" –– people who share the same Western values as myself, whose ideals align with my own. Is this silly? Is it jingoistic?

And more importantly, does it matter? The Vietnamese guy or gal who made the Triumph-branded riding suit that I wear at the moment is probably a cool person. But if he or she isn't, who cares? And what does it matter if he or she agrees with my world view? I bought the suit because it was the best thing I could afford at the time, and it's held up pretty well over the 21,000 miles I've worn it thus far. Shouldn't that be what matters?

Maybe. I clearly haven't gotten my undies in a twist over the fact that I don't ride a motorcycle that was made in the US or UK. For all my pro-Minnesota blustering I don't (yet) have a Victory or Indian in my shed. (Though, I will point out that the Suzuki V-Strom 1000 is made in Japan –– no. 20 on the Democracy Index)

Japanese bike in Luxembourg

I honestly can't decide which is the correct position to hold. I can't decide if "local" is actually important or if I just feel that way. I will say though, that none of this pondering has stopped me from setting aside money each month for an Aerostich.

And when I finally do get one, you can bet I'll be paying the extra $15 to have them sew on an American flag. If they can scrounge up a Minnesota flag, I might have them sew on one of those, too. Because who wouldn't want to be associated with the home of Prince, Dairy Queen, and Great Clips?

ADSENSE HERE

Indian's new Scout Sixty: Who is this for?

(This article was originally published on RideApart)

Less than two months have passed since Indian's new Scout Sixty was unveiled in Milan, and the classically styled modern cruiser has already racked up a fair amount of accolades.

I've yet to ride the bike myself (I'm working on changing that soon), but by the accounts of other motojournalists, the 999-cc Scout Sixty maintains all the positives of the 1131-cc Scout from which it is derived. The Scout Sixty loses a little bit of horsepower to its bigger sibling, as well as a sixth gear, but also sheds $2,300 from its US price tag.

That's no small amount. With the money saved you could spend a full two weeks staying at the Holiday Inn Express in Clute, Texas. Why you would want to do such a thing, I don't know; the point is that you could.

But is that enough? It seems the reason the Scout Sixty is winning so much praise is the simple fact it is, essentially, a Scout. It looks like a Scout, sounds like a Scout, rides like a Scout, and handles like a Scout. It weighs roughly the same as a Scout; it has the same seat height, the same ergonomics.

So, why not just buy a Scout?

I like the Scout Sixty, but ever since it was revealed I've struggled to understand who it's for. What segment of the motorcycling population does the Scout Sixty reach that the original Scout does not?

When you have two bikes that look almost exactly the same, it's obviously not a case of appealing to different tastes as might be the case with, say, Harley-Davidson's Iron 883 and Sportster 1200 Custom.

A common tack adopted by many motojournalists (including myself when I first wrote about the bike last November) is to suggest the Scout Sixty is aimed at new and returning riders. But, really, I don't think that explanation holds much water.

Ignoring the fact that buying a brand-new bike as your first is a terrible idea—there's nothing about the original Scout to scare off newbies. I've ridden it, and although it possesses a claimed 100 hp, it's far from being an untameable hell beast. Power delivery is smooth and manageable, especially if you adopt the traditional cruiser technique of short shifting.

Actually, perhaps I'm looking at this the wrong way. The major difference between the Scout and Scout Sixty is 22 horses: the Scout makes 100 hp, the Scout Sixty delivers 78 hp. That latter number is still plenty. More than plenty. It's more than you'll get from a Harley-Davidson Sportster 1200 (65 hp), and considerably more than the 54 hp offered by Triumph's new Bonneville Street Twin. It's more, even, than the 75 hp produced by the Ducati Scrambler, which is a bike everyone tells me isn't comparable to the Scout Sixty even though I think it is.

On paper, the Scout Sixty outmatches almost any bike you might choose to compare it against, and a fair few that you wouldn't. So, perhaps the real question is: Why would anyone buy a Scout instead of a Scout Sixty?

Has Indian shot itself in the foot by delivering a bike that is almost in every way as good as the Scout while costing $2,300 less? Probably not. But I'm stumped in trying to determine the sense of this situation.

My guess is that before long, possibly within the next eight months, we'll see the two models heading in different stylistic directions. Maybe the larger-engined Scout could be reworked into a kind of touring platform. After all, a liquid-cooled engine comes in handy when covering long distances in summer. Or maybe, as hinted by the Roland Sands flat trackers, Indian could use the Scout Sixty to finally fulfill my wish for a Scout Scrambler (or any sort of standard).

It's exciting to think of where the Scout and Scout Sixty could end up, but I'm still confused by where they are now.

ADSENSE HERE

The week that showed just how badly Harley-Davidson have failed with the Street 750

This is an exciting time of year for motonerds. Around the world, a number of trade shows are taking place and manufacturers are in the process of unveiling their latest, greatest products.

If, like me, you are a motonerd with a soft spot in your heart for hipsterism (I still contend that hipsters have saved motorcycling), this week in particular has been very exciting because it's seen the unveiling of no less than five new Triumph Bonneville variants, as well as the launch of the super sexy Yamaha XSR700.

At the presentation event for the latter motorcycle, Yamaha project manager Shun Miyazawa joked that in light of Ducati's success with its Scrambler model his company were "jumping on the hipster bandwagon." According to Visordown editor Tom Rayner, the joke fell flat –– in part because everyone knew it was true.

The style of bike that Triumph refers to as "modern classic" is where the tastes of many lie at the moment, regardless of how much it upsets the balding dudes in leather onesies, or their dads on SOLAS-tape-covered Honda Deauvilles. Personally, I love the modern classic bikes.

There's not much doubt that Triumph is at the heart of the current trend, and I'll admit to being pretty excited about everything they're bringing forward. That thing that I thought was the new Thruxton has turned out to be a new Thruxton and it is beautiful; a new, more powerful T-120 Bonneville has eliminated every complaint I had about the old Bonneville and added a few awesome things I wouldn't have even thought of; and an all-new catch-all base model known as the Street Twin has been unveiled.

I'll swoon for all of these in more detail in future posts, but it's the Street Twin in particular that set into motion a train of thought recently.

Triumph Street Twin

Prices haven't been released yet, but the Street Twin's 900-cc engine (all the others have been boosted to 1,200 cc) and single front disc brake suggest it will be the cheapest of the new Bonneville line up. My guess is that in Her Majesty's United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, its price tag will slot in somewhere between £6,250 and £7,250, the former being the price of the Yamaha XSR700 and the latter the price of a Ducati Scrambler Icon.

Also between those prices is the £7,135 Moto Guzzi V7II Stone. A bike that's relevant to this discussion because it, the Ducati Scrambler, the Yamaha XSR700 and the Triumph Street Twin all fall into the category of affordable, retro-inspired modern motorcycles designed to tie into a lifestyle that encourages you to spend more money buying custom accessories and gear.

To make it easy for you to do this, Triumph and Moto Guzzi offer fancy customization kits that transform the bike to fit a number of current styles, including urban racer, scrambler and street tracker. Ducati offers four variants of the Scrambler (and has strongly hinted that more on the way at EICMA) and a growing accessories catalogue. Yamaha only launched the XSR700 a few days ago and already it boasts an accessories catalogue of more than 40 items.

Now, think about it: all this lifestyle and factory-provided accessorizing is straight out of the Harley-Davidson playbook. But in looking at the aforementioned bikes I am overcome by the realisation of just how badly Harley-Davidson bungled (and continues to bungle) its Street 750 model. Because, really, the Street 750 (and Street 500) should be a part of the above group. It should be, but it's not. It's not even close.

Let's start with the fact that it does not look good. The Street 750 is an ugly, aesthetically lazy motorcycle from a company that has not one other ugly, aesthetically lazy motorcycle in its line up –– a company that is renown for making beautiful motorcycles. There is no way you can claim with a straight face that Harley-Davidson did their best with this thing.

Harley-Davidson Street 500

And even if it didn't look like something you'd get on the cheap from Direct Bikes, the fit and finish of the Street 750 is known to be poor. The brakes were a particular target of derision when the bike was originally launched in the United States. That issue had been addressed somewhat by the time the bike was launched recently in Europe. (Or, well, it was thought to have been addressed. Until German magazine Motorrad found the brakes failed completely in an emergency stop test.) But other problems remain. Wiring is untidy and the plastic Harley-Davidson badge bends when pressed.

Meanwhile, the Ducati Scrambler and Moto Guzzi V7II are beautiful bikes in person –– the latter especially. The Triumph Street Twin and Yamaha XSR700 aren't yet in dealerships, but I have no doubt they, too, will far exceed the Street 750 in fit and finish.

Beyond the issue of aesthetics, though, is discussion of bike features, and that's where the Street 750 really gets walloped. Putting out just 56 hp, it is underpowered compared to all but the Moto Guzzi. It is the only one without anti-lock brakes (something that will have to be rectified very soon in Europe if Harley-Davidson wants to continue selling here). It is the only one without a gear position indicator. It is the only one without a fuel gauge. It is the only one without a clock. It and the XSR700 are the only ones without traction control or a 12v plug under the seat. (Possibly to compensate for this, the XSR700 is the only one of the group to have dual front brake discs) Not to mention the Street 750 weighs up to 30 kg more than the other bikes.

When compared to the Ducati, Moto Guzzi, Triumph and Yamaha, the Harley-Davidson attempt at capturing this market is an unmitigated failure (a). But what's more frustrating is the fact it's a letdown even without competition. Even if you judge the bike solely on Harley-Davidson terms it is a disappointment.

Moto Guzzi V7II Stone

As I said above, the other brands are attempting to take a page from the Harley-Davidson playbook in trying to create a lifestyle brand of easy customisation. So, it is baffling that Harley-Davidson's own efforts toward the Street 750 are so sub-par. There are no multiple versions of the bike, as Ducati has done with the Scrambler Icon, Classic, Urban Enduro and Full Throttle; there are no "inspiration kits," a la Triumph and Moto Guzzi; there are not even the number of accessories available as those for Yamaha's XSR700.

There are strong rumours that BMW is set to offer its own version in the not-too-distant future. Quite possibly we'll see it unveiled at EICMA in a few weeks. And I'm willing to bet that they, too, will do a better job at playing Harley-Davidson's game than Harley-Davidson has.

Meanwhile, you'll probably have seen the recent news that Harley-Davidson's sales and share price are in slow decline. Partially that's because the bikes are again gaining a reputation for being unreliable (the company has had to recall 312,000 bikes this year and has recalled an average of 94,000 bikes a year over the previous decade). But Harley-Davidson readily admits that one of its biggest problems is its woeful inability to connect with a younger audience, while its older audience ages out of its riding years.

Ducati, Moto Guzzi, Triumph, Yamaha and, soon, BMW have shown (will show) that Harley-Davidson were essentially right to develop the Street 500/750. It makes a whole lot of sense. But those companies have also shown that Harley-Davidson just doesn't get it. Harley-Davidson is so rooted in what it has always done that it is seemingly incapable of doing anything else.

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(a) I use "failure" in a broad sense, not necessarily referring to its economic performance. I don't actually know how the Street 750 is faring financially overall. I would argue that if it is selling respectably that is solely because of the name on its plastic badge, rather than as a result of the bike itself.

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Ride Review: Indian Chieftain

That screen, though.

I have quite a lot of good things to say about the Indian Chieftain –– it is, after all, easily one of the best motorcycles coming out of America at the moment –– but the bike's windscreen is so awful that, for me, it would be a potential deal breaker.

OK, I'm probably lying. If I somehow had enough money to buy a Chieftain I'd probably be so eager to own one that I could be placated with a free keychain or some other trinket. But I'd like to think I'd have the principle to insist that any dealership expecting me to fork out £20,500 (or $22,000 in the United States) for this bike must replace the screen at no additional cost.

I'd like to think that if they refused, I would have the testicular fortitude to walk right... across the showroom floor to cast an eye on the Victory Cross Country, which costs several thousand pounds/dollars/euros less.

After all, both motorcycles claim Polaris as their parent company, so they're effectively the same machine, right? Uhm, well, no. The Cross Country is awesome, but the Chieftain, even with it's crappy screen, is objectively awesomer.

Start with the fit and finish of the bike, for example, and you can see the Indian earning its higher price tag. With a few disappointing exceptions, each of the bike's features seems to have been intently thought out. Every line, every curve has the look and feel of being crafted. The Chieftain is a stunning –– and gargantuan –– work of art from a distance, but step in close and you'll be rewarded even further.

The engine, of course, is the showpiece of the whole thing. The massive 1,811-cc Thunder Stroke 111 V-twin is more than just eye candy, though. Larger and more powerful than the Freedom 106 engine currently found in all of Victory's V-twin offerings, it is coupled with a slightly better gear box. Though you still get that visceral, wrench-in-a-bucket "CLUNK" when hitting first gear.

Twist the tree-trunk-sized throttle and you are pulled forward with a tidal wave of smooth torque. Smoothness is the name of the game with the Chieftain, to the extent that there is something almost car-like about the ride. This is a feeling reinforced by a number of things, including the large dashboard contained within the bike's unique and enormous fairing.

The very first time I saw the Chieftain in person I found it to be intimidating. By the time I actually got a chance to ride the bike more than a year later I had come around to accepting its elephantine proportions but I still can't imagine ever seeing it as anything but excessive.

A 12v plug is intelligently placed in the dash, providing a place to hook up your GPS or heated gear. Analogue dials give information about speed, RPM and fuel, while a central readout offers pretty much everything else: time, temperature, compass, trip meters that measure both distance and time, fuel range, fuel economy, gear, tire pressure, heated grip setting (if equipped), and, of course, radio.

As a fan of techno-wizardry like ABS, traction control, electronic suspension, etc., I probably don't have much right to criticise, but: radio? I'm not a fan of radios on motorcycles. It's a feature that triggers an emotional gag reflex for me.

Admittedly, the Chieftain's radio is responsible for one of the more entertaining moments in my motorcycling life so far. At a stop light, I found myself between two leather-cut-adorned bikers with the radio blaring Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off." Within a millisecond, the three of us fell into a synchronized dance routine, waving our hands and singing, to the bafflement of surrounding car drivers and passengers. (On a side note, the boys in the RBLRB have got some pretty good moves.)

Despite that, a radio is not a feature I want on a motorcycle. In a car, sure. But not a motorcycle. The only reason I was listening to it is that I could not figure out how to turn the damned thing off. The ugly controls on the Chieftain's left grip are anything but intuitive and have the look of something slapped on at the last minute.

The same can be said for the for the cruise control switches on the right grip. I had been eager to test the bike's standard cruise control system but couldn't figure out how to activate it. Obviously, a little time and some studying of the owner's manual would help you get to grips with the bike's features but the fact that it's not intuitive means it will be distracting (and therefore dangerous) the first few times you use them.

The presence of a radio and cruise control as standard speaks again to the Chieftain's car-like feel. Something that is reinforced by the sheer size and weight of this machine; it is more than 3 feet wide and it weighs 850 lbs. Other amenities, such as the bike's keyless start and keyless panniers carry forward the four-wheeled spirit.

These aren't criticisms necessarily, but observations. The Chieftain is a different sort of motorcycle, perhaps one you've not encountered before. But just because the experience is notably different doesn't mean you'll complain. You especially won't complain about how comfortable it is. The leather seat is large and accommodating, the suspension plush. The presence of waterski-sized floorboards means you can move your feet around and stay comfortable over long hauls.

I've read a number of internet comments claiming the Chieftain is a bit small if you're over 6 feet tall. I don't agree. I'm 6 foot 1 and I had no issues with the ergonomics.

The suspension is adjustable, but you will have to do so manually and you'll have to remove a panel to do it. You'll get no fancy electronically adjustable suspension here. No rider modes or traction control. Pretty much the only modern rider aid you'll find is ABS. To this end, some snarky part of me feels obligated to point out that the BMW K1600 GT LE costs less than a standard Chieftain and offers more technological hurly-burly than you can imagine.

But admittedly, the K1600 and the Chieftain are something of an apples-and-oranges comparison, and the nature of the Indian's power delivery is such that you really don't need traction control. And as much as I talk about its girth and car-like nature, there's no denying the Chieftain is a joy. While test riding this bike I had a very real vision of not giving it back.

It is exactly as awkward as you would expect a bison-sized motorcycle to be at slow speed, but above 5 mph the bike is surprisingly nimble and well-balanced. Its 31º lean angle and 5-and-a-half-inch ground clearance meant I didn't experience any scraping when taking sharp corners. On the go, the Chieftain rides wonderfully and it is evident that the people who put this bike together put a lot of time and thought into it.

Which makes the screen all that more frustrating. Electronically adjustable, it seems like the windscreen should be yet another feature speaking to the class and luxury of the bike. But I found I suffered pretty intense buffeting regardless of where I set the stupid thing. Perhaps this is what guys over 6 feet tall are actually complaining about. For someone my height, the screen either needs to be taller, to block out the wind, or shorter, to allow the wind to hit my helmet uninterrupted. In its standard state, however, it is awful.

The range of different heights for the screen is not that great, and I found that in all cases the lip of the screen ran right across the line of my vision and made it difficult to confidently read the road when going into corners. Additionally, the curve of the screen was catching the sun and shining it in my eyes.

As my test ride wore on, my deep love for the Chieftain was soon overshadowed by my deeper hatred of its screen. This is why I would want to insist that a dealer resolve the problem free of charge. Indian have a taller screen listed in their accessory catalog; I would want this installed before I made final payment.

There are other minor quibbles. There's the ugly switchgear I mentioned earlier, of course. And the fact that the seat has fringe. I hate fringe. I despise fringe. But obviously that's just a matter of taste, and removing it isn't that hard.

Possibly also a manner of taste, but I think more a matter of safety, is my qualm with the fact the Chieftain runs on tubed tires. Bias tires blow up. That's what happened to Motorcycle.com's John Burns when he test rode the Indian Chief Vintage, which, like the Chieftain, comes with bias tires. However, the wheels on the Chieftain are alloy, so I'd suspect it possible to equip the bike with a decent set of radials.

The dashboard is hard to read in direct sunlight, but it may be that you can boost its brightness. No doubt you'd figure out how to do that whilst wading through the owner's manual for an explanation of how to turn the radio off.

The hard panniers are too small to hold a full-face helmet. I can't find any information on the bags' capacity but it didn't look like much. If you were planning to do some serious miles on the Chieftain, you'd probably want to invest in an accessory luggage rack.

And, of course, if you own a Chieftain you'll spend a fortune in chrome polish. But, really. the only complaint I have is the bike's screen. Fix that and I'd be very, very happy to own one.

So, with that all said:

The Three Questions

1) Does it fit my current needs/lifestyle?
No. As much as I love the Chieftain, the odds of my ever owning one are actually pretty low. If I were looking to buy a bike of this sort, I'd still be far more likely to spend my money on a Victory Cross Country. That decision, though, would only come after I had convinced myself I didn't want a BMW R1200RT or a Triumph Trophy. And at the moment none of those bikes are on my radar, all being both too large to fit in my garden and well out of my price range.

2) Does it put a grin on my face?
Yes. Even with the horrible screen, I loved the Chieftain. It is a quality bike from top to bottom and if you happen to be an American, it's a bike that will give you a sense of pride. Yes, the United States is behind the rest of the world when it comes to motorcycling, but Indian is proof that things are changing. The Chieftain is a machine I was really happy to be seen on.

3) Is it better than my current bike?
Not in any measurable way, no. It costs twice as much as a Suzuki V-Strom 1000, weighs 330 lbs. more, gets less impressive fuel economy, and, despite having an engine that's 800 cc larger, it produces less horsepower. It is not as capable for all-round use, it's suspension isn't as easy to adjust (on the V-Strom you can adjust the rear whilst riding), and it's almost certainly more of a pain in the ass to clean.
However, motorcycles aren't just the sum of their numbers. And from an emotional standpoint, the Chieftain wallops any number of bikes. Fifty years from now no one in the old folks home will be impressed by the fact I used to ride a V-Strom. But if I could tell them about the Chieftain I rode cross country they'd swoon with wide-eyed jealousy.

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Ride Review: Indian Scout

"It reminds me of bikes from the 70s," says a leather-vested balding man also test-riding the new Indian Scout. "I mean, it just feels like those bikes, you know?"

I don't know. But from his enthusiasm I take this comparison to be positive. You can see it in his eyes; some part of him is back in another place, another time. The Scout is transporting him to that wonderful period of a man's life when girls were so easy to get that you didn't even care.

Some of us have never actually experienced that period in our lives, but as time puts more distance between the present and the past we start to think we did. Or that we could have. Especially if we had been riding around on a Scout.

I will credit the Scout that much. Deep within my soul I feel that if I had been riding this bike in my early 20s I would have had to fight girls off with a stick. The bike is nothing short of amazing. And that's an important thing to note in this review: I think the Scout is amazing. Really. Genuinely.

I'm not the only one saying that. Motorcyclist recently named it Best Cruiser in its 2015 Motorcycle of the Year Awards. It earned the same accolade in Motorcycle.com's Best of the Year awards. And in Cycle World's Ten Best Bikes of 2015 it came runner-up in the Best Cruiser category (losing out to the incomparable Indian Chief Classic).

But despite that, I feel the Indian Scout is not as good as it could be. Because it is being hemmed in by the category in which it won the above accolades. The Scout is just too good to be a cruiser.

The Good

Let's start with that engine. To describe it as a sportbike engine is pushing things just a little. Although if you're particularly clever in terms of mechanics you could easily turn it into a sportbike engine. Polaris won't say either way, but it's generally believed that the engine used in Victory's Project 156 was a modified version of the Scout's.

The liquid-cooled V-twin engine is more rev-happy than something found in an old-school cruiser. Pushing the bike toward 8,000 rpm will reward you with catapult-like acceleration. Heading onto the motorway, I found myself in excess of 90 mph before I was even halfway down the entrance ramp.

Although the performance of the Scout is kind of Japanese (in a good way) its gearbox remains solidly American. Shifts are noted with a THUNK that I initially found to be a little annoying in light of the engine's performance, but one that I quickly grew to appreciate. I'm not sure, though, that clutchless upshifts would be possible with such an agrarian set up.

The brakes are solid. I'd still prefer to have two discs up front, but I have to admit the bike had no problem coming to a stop, even when squeezing the front brake lever with just two fingers. ABS comes standard in the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe. In the United States it'll cost an extra $1,000, because, uhm, freedom?

By and large, fit and finish are what you would expect from Indian. This is a motorcycle you will enjoy staring at. It's beautifully simple from a distance but come close and you'll spot all kinds of fantastic little details that let you know Indian put a lot of effort into this machine. This is something worth holding on to, something worth treasuring. The leather seat is certain to be an aspect that only improves with age (and care). If I had kids, I'd probably buy a Scout despite my reservations about it, just for the sake of being able to pass this piece of American history down to my children.

Instrumentation is pretty basic. The dash consists of an analogue dial speedometer, with a digital tachometer contained within. I'd prefer it the other way around, making it easier to switch from mph to kph when you ride across borders. You can switch the tachometer display to also show a trip meter or engine temperature. You'll get no fuel gauge or gear indicator, however.

The Bad

One comment that comes up in a number of reviews for the Scout is that it's small.

It's not small. Take a look at official specs and you'll see the Scout is longer, wider and heavier than my Suzuki V-Strom 1000. It is "small" only if you are using motorcycles to compensate for your personal inadequacies. What leads people to say it's small is the fact that its ergonomics are quite compact. And the seat is particularly low to the ground.

If you are long in the leg (I'm 6 foot 1), these factors lead to your feeling a bit cramped. Indian offer different pegs and seat to help stretch things out somewhat, but I personally can't see those fixes being to my taste. I don't want to ride a motorcycle with my legs splayed out as if I were in an obstetrician's stirrups. And for me, the Scout's 25-inch seat height is just too low.

The vast majority of my criticisms of the Scout could be fixed if Indian were to answer the plea I made in RideApart for a Scout Scrambler. It doesn't have to be a scrambler per se, but the Scout deserves a platform that better allows a rider an opportunity to really enjoy its amazing engine. Something akin to the BMW RnineT, perhaps: a retro-influenced roadster.

The engine makes you want to play; it makes you want to go. But in going around corners I found myself consistently scraping the Scout's pegs. The awesomeness of the bike is diluted by the category of the bike.

I understand why Indian did this: it operates first and foremost in the United States, where the cruiser is the unquestioned king of motorcycling, and it wanted the Scout to succeed. But considering Indian had already delivered the Best Cruiser Ever in the form of the Chief Classic (and, if you like fringe, the Chief Vintage), you'd have hoped the company would be a little more willing to take a risk.

Make something that hasn't existed within the American context for a very, very long time: a standard. My hope (and it seems a reasonable one, to be fair) is that the Scout is the first step toward a whole range of machines, similar to Triumph's Bonneville platform.

If so, this first step is a very good one, but it still leaves you with a motorcycle on which you're going to end up dragging pegs. You'll probably also be rubbing your back after a long ride, because the suspension suffers from all the inadequacies inherent to a bike with only 5 inches of ground clearance. And the seat tends to lock you into a single position.

As good as the brakes are, I did find them to be just a tad off/on. Subtle braking was a challenge. Slow-speed manoeuvres were particularly awkward because the seating position makes it difficult to operate the rear brake with a great deal of finesse.

The lack of a passenger seat means you'll have to risk damaging your marriage to ride a Scout, or you'll need to fork out the extra cash to dig into Indian's accessories catalogue. You'll generally need to do the same if you want to carry any luggage (although, the Scout's sturdy metal fender allows for the judicious use of bungee cords).

The gas tank is a bit small, but considering the Scout's ergonomics you'll probably be eager to stop before the bike demands it. Especially if you're travelling at motorway speeds without a screen. The wind blast is pretty intense and will have you looking like a bobble-head doll when trying to make good time.

The Ugly

The Scout's indicator lights are quite flimsy. At idle you can see them jiggling around. In RevZilla's review of the Scout Lemmy points out that this is so they'll give way, rather than break, should a rider accidentally drop the bike. When I heard that, I immediately thought: "Ooooohhh! Indian, you are so clever!"

But without knowing that I just thought they looked cheap.

Related to that, how much does a gear indicator and fuel gauge cost? The Scout doesn't have these things and I think that's silly. You get gear indicators and fuel gauges on Japanese 125s these days. Surely the presence of such simple, useful features wouldn't have bumped up the asking price that much. If at all. Whereas the absence of them gives the bike a sting of cheapness. It feels like savings for the sake of savings.

This negates the quality inherent in the rest of the bike. I'd be happy to forgo the seat's genuine leather (which will only soak up rain, anyway) in exchange for a gear indicator, fuel gauge, and better looking turn signals.

The three questions

Overall, the Scout is one of the best motorcycles to come out of the United States in the last decade. My frustration remains, however, because it really could have been so much more. I feel Indian was playing not to fail here, rather than playing to win.

Timidity seems to be a family trait amongst Polaris brands. Hopefully, though, the Scout's success will convince Indian it's on the right track and encourage it to step out of the cruiser box before too long.

So, that leaves the three questions I ask of every motorcycle I test ride:

1) Does it fit my current lifestyle/needs?
Not really. However, forking over great quantities of cash could equip the Scout with a screen, passenger seat and panniers, which would bring it more in line with what I want out of a bike. I'm not sure it would fit in my shed, though.

2) Does it put a grin on my face?
Yes. As much as I complain about the Scout not being exactly the bike I want there's no getting away from the fact that I loved riding it. It is so much fun that I think it creates a slight flaw in Indian's positioning it as an entry-level machine. A person who gets used to the fun of this engine may be disappointed by the relative sluggishness of a larger air-cooled V-twin. Thrill-wise, the Chief Classic might actually be a step down from the Scout.

3) Is it better than my current bike?
In terms of price, features, handling, usability and engine, no, the Scout is not better than a Suzuki V-Strom 1000 (some people would be surprised to find out what a hoot the V-Strom's engine can be). But the V-Strom is not something I would ever consider holding on to for a really long time. I'm already daydreaming of what I'll replace it with in two or three years.
Whereas the Scout possesses an intangible that you want to keep with you. There's something in the Scout that speaks to the soul, that makes a person want to sink the time, money and effort into fixing its little flaws and making it one's own. The Scout makes me think of the pickup truck I had when I was in college –– the GMC Sonoma I drove all over the United States. I can remember often thinking that all I needed in the world was that truck. And I can imagine a person feeling that same sort of thing toward his or her Scout.

For me, right now, at this time and this place in my life, the Scout isn't THE motorcycle, but I can understand how it could be for someone else. I have to admit I'm just a little bit jealous of that person. And when Indian finally makes the Scout roadster I want, I'll be joining them.

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