The Problem with Adventure Sport Tourers

There’s been something that has been bugging me for a while, and it’s adventure sport touring motorcycles — bikes like the Ducati Multistrada, the Triumph Tiger range (the street-focused ones), and Yamaha Tracer.

My “problem” with them is basically this: They’re too good at everything. I’ve owned or rented a few, and while I’ve liked them, they’ve left me feeling like, “Well, that was easy. What’s next?”

Last year, I bought a Triumph Tiger Sport (1050) and rode it for about six months. It was an awesome bike. It had basically everything I like in a motorcycle: A big, powerful, three-cylinder engine, good handling, easy manners fast and slow, and every option you could reasonably want in something so cheap on the used market — luggage, a centre stand, a fairing, and even cruise control. And even self-cancelling turn signals! (Found that out by accident.) The feature list at a low price is why I bought it. (Here’s my review of it.)

When I rode it, I got this serene feeling of “Ah, this is nice.” But that was the problem. It was too easy. There was no struggle. The Tiger Sport could take me anywhere (despite the “Sport” — it was sporty, don’t get me wrong, but wasn’t demanding like a sport bike) and do so with grace and occasionally a bit of fury. So, what was the problem? And what’s the problem with sport adventure tourers in general?

This is a highly personal post. It won’t reflect your experiences. Some only find joy on supermotos, some demand a bike must have fairings, and some say cruisers or die. We all have to find our own path. What we each like reflects our personalities and even body shape. So, by writing this, I’m writing about myself.

In Search of Struggle

The problem is that motorcycling, when it’s too easy, becomes like driving a car. And so it risks becoming boring.

Driving a car is something I still do regularly. I’m sure you do, too. Admit it! I drive a car when I’m travelling to visit someone and want my hair (I’m lucky to still have some) to be sensible and my clothes to not look like I just came back from the Martian deserts, or if I’m crossing the city, to do groceries (I have a penchant for buying whole watermelons, and it’s very hard to find a side case that can fit a whole watermelon… new, terrible business idea?), or to cart around my plus-one (she has a helmet, but it’s not a thing I want to do for urban trips).

Cars are fine. They have air conditioning! They have automatic transmissions, a roof for when it’s raining or just too sunny, and music. They’re comfortable. If I have to pilot a vehicle in comfort, I’ll drive a car.

And that’s the opposite of the reasons for which I ride a motorcycle. I ride a motorcycle because it’s fun. It makes me feel alive. It’s badass, if you’ll allow me to be lame. Bikes give me one of a range of feelings, including

• Berserk-ness when I twist the throttle — a roar of the engine, weight tipping onto the back wheel… gets my blood going
• That I can go anywhere right now
• Like I’ve discovered the ultimate life hack as I filter through traffic

The motorcycles I’ve had that have really tickled me are very few — but here goes. There has been the Suzuki Hayabusa, a bike that got under my skin in a very permanent way, the early Ducati Monster (I’ve tried the later ones and haven’t really liked any past the era of fuel injection… I know, tough crowd!), and the Honda CBR600F4i. Those motorcycles are all awesome.

They’re also impractical. When I get on a sport bike, I feel I should put on all my protective gear, no matter how hot I am… because riding these bikes demands a little more of me than if I were to get on a small-capacity naked bike.

OK, that’s less the case when I get onto a rambunctious naked bike, like a carburettor-fed Monster. But those are impractical for other reasons — they don’t like low RPMs, they have nowhere to store anything, and occasionally, they don’t even start.

The conundrum is that the struggle is why I like those bikes. Sometimes, when I’m stuck on the side of the road and have to pull out my toolkit — even for something as banal as re-tightening a mirror — I feel a tinge of joy. Partly at the glorious completeness of my toolkit, but partly because I’m connecting with my machine. (Granted, I’ve never had to do anything more serious than change a tube.)

I even enjoy having to push a bike to the nearest service station, something that has happened when my low fuel indicator sensor turned out to have failed. In those situations, I’ve been glad to have had only modestly heavy bikes with handlebars.

It might sound counterintuitive that I enjoy these struggles. Maybe I don’t have enough stress in my life already! But it’s just what makes me feel alive.

One reason I like struggle is that it forms indelible memories. The road trip I remember the most is when I showed up to what I thought was my destination, only to realise I hadn’t put in the proper end point and had to go through 3.5 hours of dark, widning roads through a state forest, in the cold, to get there. That was a struggle, and I never will forget it. I like travelling and trying to get by in the local language. I like building businesses from scratch rather than working for someone else. If I’m not struggling, I’m just existing, and then, I forget.

Now, you can definitely struggle on an adventure sport bike. It’s hard to do things like a 1,000-mile dash in 24 h (the Iron Butt Challenge — do people still do this?) or ride around Australia (The Big Lap, they call it). But when I consider those challenges, I think how much more fun it’d be to do it on something not built for the task.

Ultimately, the search for struggle often leads me to do things more physical than riding motorcycles. I like riding bicycles long distances (well, relatively, usually only about 50 km on a day), on varied surfaces. I like lifting weights and combat sports. But when I do ride motorcycles, I don’t want it to be too easy.

Berserk Mode

Another thing I mentioned above is the feeling of “berserk-ness” when riding or even looking at a bike.

My most recent steed, a “beater” bike that’s older than most people on Reddit (it’s a 2002 Honda CB900 Hornet), is decent enough to look (with a kind of classic “standard” look) at but a hoot to ride. Its inline four engine roars above 5000 rpm, thanks to its heritage from the Honda CBR900RR sport bikes and its aftermarket exhausts. It’s nuts how good this cheap thing can make me feel.

Usually, I use it to potter about in traffic, rarely going above 80 km/h (or 50 mph). In reality, going much above that is kind of unpleasant. It’s windy, and there is then a bunch of bugs I have to wipe off everything.

But it’s there when I want it. I twist the throttle and BERSERK MODE!!!(*@ Suddenly I’m rocketing ahead, a deafening roar behind me from a motorcycle that really does look quite sedate. The suspension isn’t really up to the task but it’ll deal with it for short periods on smooth surfaces. The brakes aren’t modern superbike spec, but people have braked on far worse for a very long time.

The thing that gets me about naked sport bikes is their dual nature. I think many readers might share this feeling. You might show up to an office during the day and complain that meetings always start late, but you hang your helmet on the wall, and know that the ride home is going to be fun. You sit inside in air conditioning all day, sipping on coffee, but know that you’re going to be squinting into the setting sun as you filter through a deadly sea of ever-moving obstacles just to get back for dinner. In this regard, I am my motorcycle: I see myself in it. I usually go slow but if pushed, I’ll do whatever the hell it takes.

Sport bikes go even further, of course. Getting onto a Hayabusa after a day reorganising a warehouse was the highlight of one project I had. Everyone else got into their compact SUVs or whatever, and continued their air-condioned day but on wheels; I prepared to take off into space.

It comes with downsides, of course. It’s annoying having to carry clothes to and from work. It’s also annoying to have to think of stylish motorcycle clothing that might look appropriate showing up to a workplace before I change. And you can’t carry that much on most motorcycles. I guess this is why people end up on sport adventure tourers… luggage space, comfort, and even touch screens on which to take calls. But for me, that just starts to feel like I’m continuing my office existence on two wheels.

And here we come to the crux of the problem with adventure sport bikes: They’re just not berserk-y enough.

Sure, the BMW S 1000 XR can go mighty fast at a quick twist of the throttle. Faster than anyone reasonably should need to on public roads. It even handles well. And, obviously, it will let you do it in comfort — heated grips, cruise control, whatever you want. A competent rider will easily ride an XR faster than a lousy track rider like me on a more powerful, track-focused bike.

But if you look at a BMW S 1000 XR next to a BMW S 1000 RR, you’ll know which one gives you the jollies. Oh, heck, let’s look at the M models, as that’s more fun.

Sure, that XR looks nice, but the M looks phreeeowww! It awakens the devil in me.

Epilogue: Do Whatever You Want

Motorcycles, luckily for us, span the entire range of possibilities, from single-purpose, expensive, focused sport machines to do-it-all adventurers that can go fast and slow, carry a little or a lot, and do it with style. Each of us makes choices, and I didn’t start riding motorcycles just to have someone else tell me what to do.

Looking back at early motorcycles, they definitely didn’t start out this way. I mean, they started out as motorised bicycles! They were basically ebikes of the early 1900s. Neither did cars, by the way; they were horseless carriages.

Modern motorcycles can do everything. Some have Apple CarKit and Android Auto — you can respond to text messages (using your voice)! Some have radar-assisted cruise control, and I’m sure lane assist isn’t far off. To quote Hans Gruber from Die Hard, “And Alexander wept when he saw the breadth of his domain, for there were no more worlds to conquer.” (This is actually a misquote, according to some history geeks. But whatever. It’s a quote from Die Hard!)

And this is why simplicity still appeals to so many. We can’t strip motorcycles back to what they originally were because, apart from those failing emissions standards, they were slow, unreliable, and unpleasant to ride. Still, we can get most of the way there, with some of the parallel twin classics from brands like Triumph or Royal Enfield. Even Honda has made an interesting play by bringing the GB350S to Western markets.

Yep, that’s a classic-looking motorcycle with a 15 kW (20 hp) single-cylinder 350-cc engine. Yeah it has fuel injection, ABS, a slipper clutch and even Honda’s torque control, but that’s about it… it’s still an air-cooled, low-power engine, atop a frame with basic ride gear (conventional forks, single front disc brake), and no protection. This is a bike that does not make it easy. It doesn’t have enough power to blast through traffic. It doesn’t have the handling to do much other than get you from A to B. But despite this, it became the top-selling classic motorcycle in the UK in its first year of introduction.

The reasons are complex. It’s not like I’m going to trade my Hayabusa for one. Nor am I going to buy one new. Loads of people complain it’s underpowered or overpriced, because they’re motorcycle consumers, and that’s what they do. But for many people just getting into bikes and wanting something compliant with not just license requirements (where relevant) or a sensible frame of mind, choosing something as stylish and elemental as the GB350S is an easy call.

Anyway, this is all just a personal opinion. It’s not like I have anything against people who like long road trips in comfort or convenience on motorcycles. I’ve met many of them (or of you) and they/you are nice people who have interesting stories. I just realised I’m not one of them.

I’ll keep doing things the hard way, for some reason that I need to dissect with a psychologist… wish me luck.