My first bike was a Honda Hobbit. Anyone remember those? Probably not. The Hobbit, called in all other years the PA-50, was a 50 cc moped. I named mine Frodo (original, huh?), and rode it a thousand miles down the west coast of the U.S. I learned in the first 50 miles that one really wants to lift one’s butt a bit off the seat when bouncing across Seattle potholes.
Then I rode CB models, from 100 to 400 cc’s. Nice, unexciting, solid motorcycles, they did a very good job of getting me from here to there. Swaying in soft serpentines within my lane, rising gently to take rough surfaces with the shock absorption of my knees, riding became as natural as thought. The bike became an extension of my body. I rode year-round in New England for several years.
I dreamed of a BMW RS. Sweet, low rumble of the Boxer Twin, low center of gravity and torque point for confidence in tight turns and slow traffic, a comfortable upright riding position; all I could want different would be a cushier seat and a lot lower price tag…
Parenthood got me out of the life for a long time. Now I have returned, and to my horror, there is nothing new out there I want to ride! I’ve never wanted a huge road tourer that I’d need a tow truck to pick up, and if it gets worse gas mileage than my car, it should at least have a roof. The smaller Beemers all look like crotch rockets now. The Japanese and American bikes have either cruiser or racer designs, meaning my feet are either forward or back of my hips. I don’t have the sense of oneness with the machine.
Designers, give me back a bike that puts my feet under me!