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)

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Ride Review: Harley-Davidson Street Glide Special

According to Harley-Davidson CEO Matt Levatich, roughly 80 percent of the bikes his company sells in the United States are touring models. Harley-Davidson sold 168,240 units in the U.S. market in 2015, which, according to my fuzzy math, works out to 134,592 touring bikes sold in a single year. 

That's more than the total number of motorcycles and scooters — of all brands — sold in the United Kingdom in the same period. Which speaks to the value of the touring segment for Harley, and why the company's Project Rushmore initiative of a few years ago was so important. Those big numbers may also help explain why seemingly every motorcycle I see when visiting my home state of Texas is a Street Glide.

They're far rarer here in Britain, though, so when an opportunity came up to spend a day with a 2016 Street Glide Special, I jumped at it. If nothing else, I was eager to see what my Texas brethren love so much about this iconic touring bagger.

First Impressions

There's no denying it looks cool, but upon swinging a leg over, the first thing that struck me about the Street Glide Special was how cramped its ergonomics were. I felt I was sitting in a Smart car. Apparently this is just the Harley-Davidson experience; I've been squished every other time I've ridden a Harley.

It's a strange and counterintuitive thing to feel so contorted on an infamously large and heavy bike. I've ridden cruisers from Indian, Victory, Triumph and Yamaha, and only Harley has ever left me feeling like a dad on his kid's Big Wheel. As a result, I can't help but think that an essential element of the bike is lost on me.

There's an implicit expectation in the Harley-Davidson experience that one should forgive less-than-amazing performance and braking for the sake of "character." This implicit expectation is at the heart of critics' disapproval of the brand. I don't mind it so much; I get the idea of character. But when I'm sitting like this, like an old lady on a mobility scooter, I don't feel cool. I feel silly.

Clearly, though, Harley thinks this rider triangle works, and no doubt it does for many people. I'm a lanky 6 feet 1 inch tall; if you are 5-foot-something, you may find this set up far more appealing.

Engine and Transmission

With history and heritage being one of the selling points of Harley-Davidson ownership, I decided it was appropriate to point the Street Glide Special toward Kidwelly Castle, a Norman fortress built more than 900 years ago.

Like most of Harley's bikes, the Street Glide Special employs a keyless fob system, which I think is cool. However, there's a steering lock/ignition switch that requires a key before the fob can be used, so I'm not entirely sure what the point is.

Nonetheless, once the bike started up I kind of didn't care. One of the primary complaints waged against Harley-Davidson products is that they feel agricultural. Indeed they do; riding a Harley is like riding a tractor. But something the haters neglect to mention is that riding a tractor is awesome.

Even with stock exhaust, the bike emits a deep, maniacal-laughter-inducing grumble at idle. The whole thing shakes with each kick of the pushrods. The experience is visceral. The happy truth of all internal-combustion-engined motorcycles is that you are effectively sitting on top of a metal box of explosions, but here you really feel it. You know it.

Initially, the experience is delightful. You ride around over-revving the engine just for kicks, and fighting the urge to shout: "Look at meeee!" Problems arise, however, when you attempt to use the Street Glide Special toward its stated purpose of touring.

Tackle a long stretch of highway and all that noise and shuddering will get on your nerves. Push the 1690cc air-cooled V-twin engine toward 80 mph and it fights you, desperate to lurch back to slower speeds. Keep fighting to make progress and you'll soon feel the engine's heat on your legs. The temperature was just 6ºC (or 43ºF) on the day I rode to Kidwelly, but by the end of my ride the heat pouring onto my right leg in particular was something close to painful.

The Street Glide Special's six-speed transmission is solid enough, each gear announced with the reassuring KATHUNK we've come to expect from cruiser transmissions. No real complaints beyond my feeling that first is too low and second too high. It's the sort of thing you could probably get used to, though. You'd have to also get used to an aching left hand, because clutch pull is anything but light.

Ride Quality and Brakes

Because the Victory Cross Country and Indian Chieftain were clearly styled to compete against the likes of a Street Glide Special, I frequently found myself comparing my experiences with those bikes to this one. And it was here that, for me, the Harley really fell short.

Suspension was subpar; handling was awkward at low speed and unsteady at high speed. Somewhere in the sweet spot between 30-60 mph, things were OK, but I still felt every bump and imperfection in the road being transmitted to my lower back. Pushing through corners was a full-body effort and, of course, the scraping of floorboards became part of the cacophony of sound when things got particularly twisty.

The weight of the bike never really went away. In some strange sense you can feel it even in the straights. But, I suppose, that contributes to a feeling of surefootedness you might want in a long-distance machine. Certainly within the 30-60 mph window the bike felt solid against an early-spring squall blowing in from the sea.

It was during that sudden deluge, however, that I discovered the Street Glide Special's stock Dunlop Multi-Tread tires are considerably less than great in the wet stuff. Not as awful as the Dunlop Elite 3s that are used on some other touring V-twins (e.g. the Victory Vision), but definitely not great. Feel from the tires was minimal and left me unwilling to lean too far into a turn.

Tires are something you eventually have to replace on a bike anyway, though, so I wouldn't necessarily allow the Dunlops' poor performance to affect my purchasing decision.

The Street Glide Special's brakes are decent enough, if a bit soft, but great googly-moogly does the front end dive when the bike's dual front discs are squeezed. It's a stereotype of cruiser riders that they don't use the front brake, but you certainly couldn't blame someone for such behavior if he or she were aboard this rocking horse. Meanwhile, ABS comes standard and is unobtrusive to the point of taking a fair bit of work to engage.

Comfort and Features

Since the Project Rushmore overhaul in 2014, one of the major selling points of the Street Glide Special has been its all-bells-and-whistles dash, centered around the touchscreen Boom! infotainment system (damn, I thought I was going to make it through this whole review without using Harley speak).

The dashboard is laid out well. However, the dials aren't terribly useful because the numbers are too small and the engine's shuddering blurs vision. The gear indicator is particularly hard to spot, and frustrating because it seems to need a second to think about each gear change. And the dashboard lights showing the signal/indicator are quite possibly the smallest I've encountered. You will need to be Screamin' Eagle Eyed to spot them.

The infotainment screen, though, is easily readable. It features an integrated GPS that is just a little outdated in fluidity and intuitiveness for my tastes. It reminded me of the system in my mother's Toyota Prius. But it's useful enough. The system's touchscreen doesn't work too brilliantly with thick gloves, but that means it doesn't get tricked by heavy rain.

I tend to think of stereos on motorcycles as sacrilegious and didn't spend much time investigating the Street Glide Special's sound system beyond discovering that its radio wasn't very good at holding signal. But the static was nice and loud. The dash has a space to plug in an MP3 player or other USB-compatible, phone-sized device. So, if you're eager to rock out on two wheels you can do so to a playlist of your own choosing.

Moving away from the dash, I will never, ever, ever, ever understand Harley's system for indicator switches. Whereas the vast majority of motorcycle brands place a single switch on the left grip to initiate and cancel signal/indicator lights, Harley places a switch on each side; the left switch for lights on the left, the right switch for lights on the right.

If you have never ridden a motorcycle before, you may think the Harley system makes sense. But, of course, it doesn't. In times when a rider is most likely to be using his or her turn signal he or she will be needing the right hand for throttle control and covering the brake. Adding a splayed thumb to this juggling act just to operate an indicator switch is stupid.

Because Harley-Davidson inspires a cult-like following, I have no doubt some of you will disagree with me vehemently on that point, and will somehow manage to suggest that my dislike of the system has something to do with my living in the country where Karl Marx chose to spend most of his life. You can say that, but you'll still be wrong.

Meanwhile, counter to its jarring suspension, the Street Glide Special's seat is comfy and cosseting. For the rider, at least. Not so much a passenger. If you want to ferry your significant other around, she or he had better be tiny and wearing rubber pants to keep from sliding off the back of the stylistically sloped rear of the seat.

The bike's fairing does a great job of keeping a rider protected from the elements. I was particularly surprised and impressed by the effectiveness of the Street Glide Special's tiny screen. A vent in the fairing pushes air up and creates a nice buffeting-free zone that works even in excess of the legal speed limit.

Panniers are slick and easy to open, but — perhaps commensurate to the amount of time a person would actually want to spend on the bike — aren't very big. There's probably enough luggage space for a weekend getaway, though. Assuming the place you're getting away to is hot and you don't mind wearing the same pair of shorts two days in a row.

Practicality

Practicality? With a Harley-Davidson? Hahahahahahahahahaha!!

I mean, yeah, I guess one could commute to work on a Street Glide Special if so inclined, but it wouldn't be my first, second or third choice of steed for such a job. Equally, it wouldn't be at the top of my list for long-distance touring. It is too heavy and awkward for serious urban use; too hot and shuddering for eating up the miles.

I'm not entirely sure that matters, though, since practicality isn't really a part of the Harley-Davidson mystique. No one buys these bikes expecting Honda reliability and utility; that's not what they're about.

Build Quality

Although I can find some flaws elsewhere, let's not pretend the Street Glide Special is anything other than a gorgeous machine. It looks fantastic. This is a motorcycle upon which any sane human being wants to be seen.

You may not want to pay for a Street Glide Special, may not want to spend your life with one as your only bike, but unless you are a card-carrying member of ISIS there is no way you can truthfully claim to not have at least some tiny desire to be seen on one.

This is true because when it comes to aesthetics Harley-Davidson does all the things right. Paint is deep. The chrome is shiny, but still looks cool covered in road grime. Everything feels sturdy and high-end. Even little things like the numbers on those not-actually-useful dials have a feeling of aesthetic care and attention.

Inevitably Harley-Davidson will have to develop retrofittable infotainment interfaces in a few years, but everything else has the feeling of an object you might want to turn into a family heirloom: something to give to the grandkids once you're done with it.

Final Verdict

Despite current signs of Harley-Davidson's weakening market grip in the face of competition, the company continues to be responsible for roughly half of the motorcycles sold in the United States with engines 601cc or greater. And several of its models remain among the top 10 best-selling bikes worldwide. All of which points to the fact that people are going to buy the Street Glide Special regardless of the fact it doesn't really do what it's supposed to do.

After a day with the bike, my lower back was screaming in pain and I had a headache that lasted into the next morning. Ultimately, I found I could not tolerate more than 60 miles of highway before needing to stop, stretch, and try to regain my bearings. This is not a good motorcycle for touring.

But if I were to tell this to my fellow Texans they would not care. By and large, most of them will not ride more than 100 miles in a day anyway, and far more will ride less. This "touring" bike will mostly be put to use traveling from beach to bar on comfortable weekend afternoons. And that's OK, because the Street Glide Special is a lot of fun in short bursts.

Yes, it could easily be beaten in speed, power, acceleration, cornering, comfort and touring ability by any number of bikes that cost a third of its US $23,200 (£19,645 / €30,895) asking price. But those bikes aren't Harley-Davidsons. And to many riders that's all that matters.

As I say, I get the "character" thing. Ultimately, though, I feel there's no way I could allow myself to pay so much money for a motorcycle that does so little of what I want it to do. But, hey, not everyone uses a motorcycle as their only means of transportation. Some people use a bike just to meander nearby streets, to see and be seen by the local gentry.

And to that purpose I guess I can understand why my fellow Texans, or folks anywhere, might choose a Street Glide Special. There are worse ways to spend your paycheck.

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?

No. As I say, the Street Glide Special is far too impractical, hot and overweight to serve as the all-the-time, do-everything machine that I need. Equally, from a more immediately practical standpoint, it is too wide to fit through my garden gate and into my shed.

2) Does it put a grin on my face?

Yes. For the first 20 miles or so. It is a huge, stupid, laughing-in-my-helmet grin that helps me understand why so many Americans seem to be religiously devoted to this brand. However, as the miles piled on my grin turned quickly to a grimace. And I have to admit that by the end of my day with the Street Glide Special I was approaching something akin to anger. As I say, the bike simply does not do what Harley says it is supposed to do. It is, however, really great for peacocking around town. Whether you see that as positive or negative depends a lot on your personality and what you want from a bike.

3) Is it better than my current bike?

Nope. Not in any measurable way. The Street Glide Special looks better than a V-Strom 1000 and, of course, it's got the Harley-Davidson badge; it's more likely to help me get chlamydia at Daytona Bike Week. But in all other ways it doesn't measure up.

(Parts of this review were originally published on RideApart)

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**This June I'll be taking part in the Royal British Legion Riders 1000 ride, helping to raise money for the Poppy Appeal. Please check out this page to learn more and donate in support of British veterans, currently serving military personnel, and their families.**

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Ride Review: 2014 Triumph Tiger 800

I mentioned recently that my Suzuki V-Strom 1000 has been in the shop as a result of a recall issue. It is still in the shop. Apparently there is a backlog in getting parts out to dealerships and I won't see my bike again until the end of the month.

I would be a lot angrier about all this if it weren't for the fact Fowlers of Bristol gave me a Triumph Tiger 800 to use in the meantime. Different from the current XR/XC model, this is the Tiger 800 that served as something of an economy model from 2010-2015. That is to say, it was less expensive and a little lower spec than the Tiger 800 XC that existed during the same time period.

And certainly there are aspects of the Tiger 800 that give it the feeling of being built to a budget (e.g., suspension). But, overall, this 799cc motorcycle is a lot more fun and thrilling than I would have imagined. My experience with its successor, the Tiger 800 XRx, had been so negative it plummeted my opinion of the entire Triumph brand. This bike, and the hundreds of miles of fun I've put on it, have gone a long way to restoring the British brand's name in my eyes.

Engine

Claiming 94 hp, the Tiger 800's star feature is its springy, powerband-tastic inline triple, which impels you to exceed the speed limit with license-threatening ease. You'll need a whole lot of straight and a healthy tailwind to push the machine past 110 mph, but getting up to 80 comes with relative ease. And staying there is effortless and surprisingly smooth –– no inline four buzzing, no V-twin thrumming.

Unfortunately, 80 mph is not the legal speed limit on motorways in Her Majesty's United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. At legal speeds (70 mph), with the Tiger 800's hard-to-read tachometer hovering near 5,000 rpm, there is a kind of lurching/straining that makes you think you're in too low a gear.

It's not awful, nor is the sensation distracting enough to put you off tackling long stretches of super slab, but there's no doubt the Tiger 800 shines more brightly on country roads. Especially if those roads have curves. Moving up and down the gears is easy enough once the bike warms a little, though the transmission can be a little clunky at the start of a ride. Finding neutral is a challenge in either case.

Throttle response is smooth and makes you wistful for the days before ride-by-wire, while power delivery kicks in strong just below 4,000 rpm. It makes for a happy situation in corners, allowing for confidence in terms of throttle control. And shooting out of those corners gives the sensation of being propelled forward by a giant rubber band. It is a lot of fun, and revving is rewarded with a sharp bark of an exhaust note.

Ridden hard, the Tiger 800 starts to wheeze far sooner than I'd like, but within the boundaries of the law it is fine. And it's probably best to keep it there, since the bike's basic suspension setup discourages aggressive riding.

Ride quality and brakes

Equipped with road tires, the Tiger 800 is designed to never stray from pavement despite its offroad styling. A lot of moto-journalists like to complain about that sort of thing, but I have no problem with it. It makes for a bike that is comfortable and steady on real-world roads.

Though, in the British real world of roads that are repaired only once a century or so, I'd probably like the Tiger 800's suspension to be a little less stiff. Especially since that stiffness doesn't help as much as you'd think in corners. In the bumpy stuff of Wales I found the bike becoming unsettled amid spirited riding, and I was occasionally thrown off my line as a result. I never felt able to trust the bike enough to push as hard as I wanted through a bend.

I can't help but wonder if things wouldn't have been better if Triumph had not decided to equip the Tiger 800 with a 19-inch front tire. Perhaps handling would be more assured if the company had embraced the bike's road-only nature and done as Kawasaki has with its Versys, equipping it with a 17-inch front.

Again, though, the overall feeling of the bike is good. Perhaps it is simply a victim of its own success: the ride quality is so good you're convinced it is capable of being better.

Meanwhile, the dual front discs and single rear disc are a tad soft in an emergency stop, but perfectly fine when riding within the limitations set by other aspects of the bike. The Triumph's standard antilock braking system is unobtrusive enough  that I had to really work to set it off.

I can't find any weight figures for the pre-2015 Tiger 800, but it is noticeably lighter than my 'Strom, making it a hell of a lot easier to muscle around in my garden area. It is not as well-balanced, however, so feet do come down occasionally when crawling around parking lots, and U-turns sometimes run wide.

It is steady enough, though, to make filtering through traffic a simple task –– aided by the overall lightness of the bike and the fact its handlebars are relatively narrow compared to other adventure-styled motorcycles.

Electronics

ABS is the only bit of techno wizardry to be found on the Tiger 800. No riding modes or traction control. No slipper or assisted clutch. By and large, these things are not missed too badly. Though, there were a few instances where traction control would have been helpful.

As mentioned, the ABS is a pretty basic and most riders will never manage to set it off.

Comfort and features

Seat height on the Tiger 800 is a non-adjustable 810mm (31.8 in). That creates a situation that's just a little bit cramped for my long legs, but knee soreness only ever set in after more than 230 continuous miles. The seat itself is plenty comfortable, with enough room to shift around a little over long distances. The passenger seat, too, is comfortable and large enough to accommodate a normal-sized human being (something that can be rare with motorcycle passenger space).

The windscreen is far too small for my liking, both in height and width. My arms, some of my torso, and most of my helmet were left to the elements, so long hauls were a literal pain in the neck. If I owned a Tiger 800, my very first modification would be the addition of a Givi AirFlow windscreen.

I'd also add handguards and heated grips, two features that do not come standard. With these additions, the bike could serve as a decent long-distance machine for someone a little shorter than myself. Though, you may want to avoid particularly toasty locales because the engine puts out a surprising amount of heat on the right side. Even at 80 mph I could feel warmth on my shin.

The Tiger 800's dashboard is impossible to figure out without an owners manual (I didn't have one) and defaults to a display that shows only the estimated number of miles left until empty. An odometer is visible only at startup. I hated this aspect of the bike, especially because the fuel gauge wasn't terribly accurate.

Riding along the motorway one day, I spotted a sign telling me the next fuel stop was 9 miles away. According to the Tiger 800's fuel gauge at that point, I had enough dino juice to go another 50 miles. But when I reached the fuel stop, the gauge was indicating just 12 miles of range.

Another complaint is the absence of hazard lights. That's a tiny qualm, perhaps, but British traffic can sometimes come to a very immediate stop, and hazard lights allow me to communicate more effectively to the vehicles behind me. It seems an odd omission on a bike that has features like a gear indicator and fuel gauge.

The mirrors are decent, though inclined to move. Headlights deliver a decently bright, though not as brilliant as I would have expected considering there are two.

Practicality

There's no doubt the Tiger 800 is a solid all-rounder. It filters well through city traffic and is steady on the motorway. It's all-day comfortable while being delightful (within its limits) on twisty roads. I'm a big fan of do-all motorcycles because I don't have the funds to own more than one. My experience with this Tiger 800 has been generally positive enough that I would be willing to give its successor, the Tiger 800 XR, another chance.

Absence of a center stand makes cleaning and oiling the chain an utter pain, though. Which is frustrating in light of other features that show someone at Triumph was really thinking when they designed this bike. Replacing the headlight bulbs, for example, could not be easier. And angled valve stems aid in making sure it's easy to maintain correct tire pressure.

As my pictures show, there are plenty of bits to hook a bungee cord to, and a small luggage rack comes standard.

Fuel economy is decent. Exactly how decent is hard to say due to the fact the fuel gauge is unreliable and the dash doesn't show an odometer when riding. But I was able to travel 200 miles on a single tank at one point.

Build quality

Looking closely at this bike, I think it's fair to say that in the 6,000 miles that had been racked up before it came into my possession, the bike had never been washed, the chain had never been cleaned, and the oil had never been changed. It's a loaner bike and Fowlers and Fowlers customers haven't been exactly loving.

I put roughly 1,000 miles on the bike during its month in my possession, attempting to clean and oil the chain out of sympathy but otherwise putting no effort into its maintenance or care.

In light of all that abuse, I'd say the build quality of the Tiger 800 is really, really good. The header pipes were showing rust but everything else looked and functioned as you would expect. The bike started every time and ran well.

Verdict

I realize beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I'm simply not able to get over just how ugly the Tiger 800 is. Up close, examining every little feature, things only get worse. It is, hands down, the most aesthetically unpleasant motorcycle I have ever encountered.

That's a shame because it is otherwise a very good bike. Durable, reliable and fun, it is a far better motorcycle than I had expected. With the addition of some basic aftermarket parts it could easily serve as all the motorcycle you'd ever need.

The Three Questions:

1) Does it fit my current needs/lifestyle?
Yes. The Tiger 800 fits into the exact same class as the Suzuki V-Strom 1000. It's a do-all, go-everywhere bike and it fits easily in my shed.

2) Does it put a grin on my face?
Yes. I had a lot of fun during my time with the Tiger 800 and really enjoyed the opportunity to rip it all over Wales and Southern England. The springing nature of its power delivery was particularly enjoyable.

3) Is it better than my current bike?
No. Despite my deep frustration at Suzuki for the situation that led to my having the Tiger 800, I still prefer my 'Strom. My bike doesn't wheeze at high speed, its suspension is far better, its brakes are better, the dashboard is more useful, it's more comfortable, it's better balanced, and it's better set up to tackle long distances. Additionally, it has traction control and a slipper clutch. Beyond that, though, there are certain aspects that I've simply come to prefer. I think it looks better. I like the V-twin feel and the stronger engine braking that entails. I like the snappier throttle response. And I prefer the snarl it makes under acceleration.

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Ride review: Zero DSR

Here are some words strung together: interior permanent magnet, surface mount permanent magnet, graphene matrix. You'll hear words like these when someone tells you about a Zero motorcycle. But if you are like me, your eyes will glaze over because those words don't create pictures in my mind of what part they will or won't play in my sitting on a motorcycle and shouting: "Wheeeeeeee!"

After all, that's what really matters: The joy of being on a motorcycle. If you want technical words, go read someone else's review. If you want to know about the incredible "Wheeeeeeee!" that the Zero DSR delivers, read on.

The Past and Future of Motorcycling

My experience with the DSR starts in Birmingham, England, which is home to Zero's only UK dealership, Streetbike. Birmingham has strong ties to the glory days of motorcycling. Triumph, Norton, and BSA are among the brands that started in "Brum." They've moved on, but motorcycling still runs deep. Birmingham is home to the National Motorcycle Museum, and the UK's largest motorcycle show, "Motorcycle Live."

There's symmetry in the fact that Zero, a manufacturer many see as representative of motorcycling's future, has found a home in a place so intricately linked to the motorcycling past.

Birmingham is a sprawling urban area, and I don't really know how many miles I'm going to rack up today, so I set the DSR on Eco mode. The DSR has three riding modes: Eco, Sport, and Custom. Eco helps conserve energy and thereby ensures longer range. Sport allows you to enjoy the full whump of the DSR's 106.2 ft. lbs of torque. Custom is set with a smartphone app, allowing a rider to choose speed, torque and regenerative brake settings.

The DSR is a twist-and-go bike— no clutch, no gears to shift —and it takes a moment for my head to wrap around this concept.

"Am I moving?" I ask aloud.

The lack of engine noise has also confused me. I touch my feet down, feel them drag on the street. Yes, I'm moving. I glance in one of the bike's well-placed, decently sized mirrors... there's a Land Rover there. I hop the bike up a curb onto the sidewalk, and give myself a chance to regroup.

"OK, it's a motorcycle," I tell myself. "It will go at motorcycle speed. Let's pick up the pace."

Off the curb and back into traffic. Eco mode neuters the DSR noticeably, but twist the throttle all the way back and there's the oomph to beat most cars off a stoplight. This mode reminds me of a 125cc commuter. That's not a ringing endorsement, perhaps, but there's enough here for city traffic.

It doesn't take long to get used to the absence of gears and clutch. Soon it's feeling natural. Feeling fun. I mean, golly, is this thing ever fun! With a claimed weight of 418 lbs., the DSR isn't featherweight, but its bulk is distributed evenly and the bike is well-balanced. I wouldn't use the word "flickable," but on this bike, I feel comfortable hitting some pretty tight gaps as I lane split.

BSA's Beginnings

Birmingham's Gun Quarter is so named because it was once a bustling hub for arms manufacturers— one of which was the Birmingham Small Arms Co., or BSA. The company expanded into motorcycles in 1910 and by 1951 had become the world's largest motorcycle manufacturer. BSA had a devoted following, but not so devoted that the company could survive managerial bumbling. And by 1972, it had given up.

No one's making guns in the Gun Quarter these days and all the old alleyways are gone. It's just office buildings and there's no sign of where BSA might have been. Again, I ride up a curb onto the sidewalk. I step off the bike and take a moment to really look at it, to take it in.

The DSR is proper-sized: it looks (and feels) like a motorcycle. For some reason, I had been expecting a glorified mountain bike: small, rickety, whining like an RC car on Christmas morning, but no, this thing is solid. You don't have to apologize for it. Zero's models seem to suffer the Honda curse of not being photogenic. But in person, build quality is good. Fit and finish is up to snuff, and all the components look sturdy. It doesn't look plasticky or cheap, and the Pirelli MT-60 tires make it look kind of...cool.

I'm not a fan of the swingarm, and I'm concerned the tiny tail light, which seems to attract road muck, may— like the headlight—not be bright enough. The digital dash is simple and easy to understand, and switchgear is intuitive.

Because there's no need for gas, the DSR has a storage compartment where the tank would be. It holds my bottle of water, camera and map of Birmingham, but wouldn't fit a full-size helmet. The compartment's lid is of the soft luggage sort— accessed via a zipper that keeps getting stuck.

It's better, then, to fill that space with Zero's optional Charge Tank, which allows you to use charging stations at IKEA. In Europe, IKEA's charging stations are free for customers. If I owned an electric vehicle I would eat lunch there every day: "These meatballs are payin' for themselves!"

No More Norton

I throw a leg over and get ready to head to my next destination. At 6'1'', I have no problem putting both feet flat on the ground. The DSR might not be ideal for shorter riders though: to my knowledge, the seat's 33.2-inch height is not adjustable.

As I zip around corners and weave through clogged city traffic I develop a real love for the lack of engine noise. I feel more alert, more connected, and more at ease. And being able to make better use of my hearing seems to heighten other senses. As I roll toward the site of Norton's original HQ, my olfactory nerves are working over time.

Norton set up shop at 320 Bradford Street back in 1898 and began building motorcycles four years later. Pretty soon, the company was racking up wins at the Isle of Man TT, an event that Norton would dominate into the 1950s. But it, too, went south in the '70s. After several decades in limbo, and some hefty UK government investment, Norton now seems to be back, sort of, producing high-priced boutique bikes in low numbers.

But 320 Bradford Street is just a gravel parking lot in a part of town that my nose tells me is home to a number of spice warehouses. Birmingham is one of Britain's most culturally diverse cities, and that means amazing food. Residents are particularly proud of the Indian food found here, and the smells surrounding me help decide what I'll have for dinner.

But first I want to travel to Meriden, the village where Triumph got its start.

Triumph in the Center of England

For centuries, Meriden proclaimed itself as the exact geographical center of England. In 2013, geographers remeasured and gave the title to a field in the middle of nowhere. Now Meriden is just a suburb village near the Birmingham airport.

Triumph set up shop here in the late 1800s. The company followed a similar trajectory of success and failure to BSA and Norton, and for a while even shared the same boneheaded management. Where Triumph excelled, however, was in the US market. Triumph gained a strong enough following that its name weathered decades of poor quality, bad decisions, and financial misery until falling into the hands of businessman John Bloor in 1984. These days Triumph is again a premium brand, arguably on par with BMW.

In the center of Meriden is a small village green, which I decide is a good place to take pictures. As I ride onto the grass, I'm struck by a particular advantage of an electric motorcycle. No noise, you see, means bystanders aren't upset by its presence. An old couple on the green doesn't care that I'm here—they even offer a convivial hello as I ride past.

Can you imagine doing this with an internal-combustion-engine motorcycle? They'd be phoning the police! This thing is awesome.

Back on the road, it gets more awesome when I click the DSR into Sport mode. This is the "Wheeeeeeee!" part, and all 106.2 ft. lbs. of torque are delivered almost instantly. Power delivery is smooth, to such an extent I'm unable to get the bike to wheelie (better riders than me could manage it), but ohmygosh does it accelerate quickly. REALLY quickly.

I find some quiet road and open up, accelerating from 0 to 88 mph in just seconds. The DSR is apparently limited to a 90-mph top speed, but I can't ever crack 88. Something appropriate about that: the Delorean in Back to the Future had to hit 88 mph in order to time travel. I'm on the future of motorcycling.

And when you sit on a bike that accelerates this quickly, this effortlessly, that doesn't feel like hyperbole. This is the future. Heck, this should be now. Why are we wasting our time with noisy, smelly, clunky machines?

Putting the DSR into Sport unleashes the hooligan in me. I'm whooshing ahead of traffic at every light. No, I'm teleporting. I'm like Nightcrawler from X-Men and I'm having a ridiculous amount of fun. This thing is so easy to ride and it's...So. Much. Fun. This is the crystallization of the motorcycling experience: all of the "Wheeeeeeee!" accessed just by twisting the grip.

The DSR has plenty of "whoa" to counter that go. Regenerative braking helps return energy to the battery and will feel natural to a V-twin rider. Single discs front and rear provide more immediate stopping power. ABS is unobtrusive.

Toward the end of my day, having spent several hours on the bike, my keester is alert to the lack of padding in the DSR's seat. Not all-day comfortable, but this isn't a bike you'll be riding all day. So, padding's not really an issue.

Whereas the question of battery range will be an issue for some. Zero claims this DSR model (the ZF13.0) is capable of covering up to 147 miles on a charge. Based on my experience, I would expect less—perhaps 120 miles, which is still pretty good. No, you can't ride the Trans-America Trail on the thing, but you know, that's also true of a Harley-Davidson Forty-Eight. It's ideal for urban and suburban use.

Without the optional Charge Tank, it can take roughly eight hours to get a DSR from empty to full. You do that simply by plugging it into a wall socket, just as you would a TV or any other appliance. With the Charge Tank, time is reduced to a little under three hours.

Belt-driven and lacking gears or any engine bits, the DSR is about as low-maintenance as a motorcycle can possibly be. Zero claims the power pack has a lifetime use of at least 331,000 miles.

In the United States, the DSR starts at just shy of $16,000. That's not exactly easy on the wallet, but federal tax credits can take away some of the sting and reduce the price to $14,395. Whether that's a fair price is up to the individual rider. I wouldn't scoff at someone willing to pay it, but I can't help but observe that one could buy a Suzuki V-Strom 1000 Adventure for $400 less.

They're not really comparable bikes, but the latter is the one I personally own — the one I rode to Birmingham on. The one I've returned to now as I start toward home.

"Wait, something's wrong with my bike," I think as I start it up. "Something not right."

After a second I realize what the "problem" is. The 'Strom has an engine, and it's making noise.

(Originally published on RideApart)

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Victory Octane: Flop or Underappreciated Genius?

Last month Victory Motorcycles delivered the unexpected when it pulled the cover off its long-teased Octane model. Though, it seems that for many the surprise wasn't necessarily a good one.

Reading through some 130 comments on different motorcycle websites the weekend after the Octane was released, I was able to find only three positive responses to the bike. Obviously the internet peanut gallery isn't the best place for reliable market research, but I doubt this is the reception Victory was hoping for.

The criticism seems to center on two issues: Firstly, the Octane bares a striking resemblance to the Indian Scout (Indian and Victory share the same corporate parent in Polaris) and secondly, the Octane's 104 hp and single front brake disc seem to belie some of the marketing hype about the motorcycle being intimidating to stand next to, etc.

I'll admit that my own initial reaction was something akin to disappointment. But I'll admit, too, that I am a Polaris fanboy, with Victory being the marque I lean toward most. So, after exorcising my own ridiculous complaints of "This Isn't The Sport Tourer I Wanted!" (get over it, Chris, no one but you wants a sport-tourer), I decided to look at this bike for what it is rather than what it isn't. And you know what? What it is, is a damned good-looking motorcycle.

Yes, I feel Victory's PR team may have gone just a little bit overboard, but it's hardly the case that no other manufacturer has done the same. I mean, you know that everything Harley-Davidson says about Harley-Davidsons isn't 100 percent irrefutably true, right? Or what BMW says about BMWs; what Honda says about Hondas... and so on. It's part of the marketing game.

In hindsight, the talk of sportbike heritage may have led many people to hear things that weren't actually being said, but that doesn't mean the Octane isn't a good bike. In fact, before most moto-journalists have had a chance to even see it in the flesh, we already know that it's a good bike because it shares a platform with the Indian Scout.

The gray lady of motorcycling, Cycle World, had exclusive access to the Octane before everyone else, and it says parent company Polaris is open about the fact the new Victory is "a platform play," sharing 35 percent of its parts with the Indian Scout.

And that's OK. When Yamaha uses exactly the same platform for the FZ-09, FJ-09, and XSR900 we think that's a clever use of resources. When Triumph contorts its Tiger Explorer into eight almost identical applications we say they're giving the customer what it wants. So, frankly, it is a little strange that so many people decided to fire up the hater machine when Polaris did something similar.

Two years ago, this wouldn't have happened. In a world that had yet to see the new Indian Scout, the Octane would have been met with whoops of glee. Here's an American motorcycle that costs less than a Harley-Davidson Sportster 1200, but delivers almost twice the power as well as 5 percent more lean angle.

In a pre-Scout world we would have been falling over ourselves with praise. In internet forums, people would have dutifully claimed that Harley was being made to look like fools by Victory. Dozens of moto publications worldwide would have listed the Octane as their motorcycle of the year. Every accolade that has been given to the Scout would have belonged instead to the Octane.

And arguably, that's how it was supposed to have been. In March 2014, five months before the Indian Scout was revealed at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, Motorcyclist revealed several sketches of what it said was a forthcoming liquid-cooled Victory model. Prophetically, the magazine chose to color in the most complete of the sketches using red. And, of course, a few months later we discovered this presumed Victory was, in fact, an Indian.

But is it so hard to believe that wasn't the original plan? Is it hard to believe that developing an all-new liquid-cooled 1200cc V-twin engine would take more than just three years? That's roughly the amount of time Indian had between being acquired by Polaris in April 2011 and the Scout's unveiling in August 2014. So it seems plausible to me that the Octane is not an expansion of the Scout platform, but the other way around: this bike was always supposed to be part of the Victory livery.

That's my own speculation there; I don't have any evidence that such a thing is true. I'm simply saying it strikes me as plausible.

Looking at the Octane and the Scout side-by-side, the Victory's aesthetics seem more "correct" to me. The Scout's awkward headlight, balloonish tires and front fender have always struck me as just a little off. The Octane's look seems to have better flow. Additionally, take a look at the rest of the Victory lineup — the Octane fits right in. It looks like a Victory. Whereas the Scout stands out amid the rest of the Indian lineup; it's the one blonde in a family of brunettes.

Consider, too, the quote by then Vice President of Motorcycles (now president) for Polaris, Steve Menneto, that led Motorcyclist to think those sketches were of Victory bikes. In 2013, he had told the magazine: "It's about time the Victory had a new powertrain."

Again, he said that in 2013. Another three years would pass before it happened.

I'm well off into the Land of Unfounded Speculation now, but I don't find it difficult to imagine a scenario in which a platform that Victory had been working on for a number of years was "borrowed" by Indian to help buoy its early success. That's the kind of stuff that happens in corporations all the time.

And if that's what happened, it's worked out really well for Indian. You'll notice that in that same time, though, Victory didn't do much more than repaint popular models, dropping a few along the way.

So, for me, the Octane isn't a case of Victory slapping its badge on a Scout and hoping the riding public is too stupid to notice. This is Victory finally being allowed to move in the direction it was headed several years ago. In that sense, the Octane's marketing hype was right: this is very exciting. This is totally new. The Octane is Victory's future.

The question is: What happens now?

It seems certain Victory will expand upon this platform. There are strong rumors that something more dramatic is not too far off. But don't expect a true sportbike. Considering worldwide interest in that genre is on the wane, and they've never been terribly popular in the United States, it was always unlikely Victory was going to build one.

But there are some interesting directions in which the Octane platform could more realistically go. Touring, for example. The Victory Vision has been around, unchanged, for roughly eight years and remains an incredibly good motorcycle. With a little less weight and the Octane engine it could be a great motorcycle. And I'll be surprised if this platform doesn't find its way into the bagger format.

Victory will take baby steps—it always has—but it's clear that the Octane really is a step forward. Perhaps those who are piling on criticism are simply failing to see the big picture.

(Originally published on RideApart)

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