The Control Freak — or Letting Go of the Clutch Lever: Honda’s Dual Clutch Transmission

I spent the better part of two decades working to become a Jedi Master of Motorcycle transmissions. Preloading shifters, feathering dry clutch levers, matching RPMS, optimizing drift and drive entering and leaving corners – seeking the smooth.

All of that, apparently, counts for nothing, now. The robots have come, and they are our masters.

When Honda asked me to evaluate their Dual Clutch Transmission (DCT), I’ll admit that I was skeptical. Operating the gearbox and the focus it demands is one of the pleasures of proper motorcycle operation, and one I from which I took great pride.

Still, there are times when that focus can become a chore – like while stuck in congested traffic during a commute or worse still, hitting a huge construction backup or accident delay during a long tour. Sadly, we all don’t get younger, and clutch hands can and do wear out, and what do you do then? With The Gold Wing’s DCT offering an F1 style manual paddle shifted mode, one has the option of doing the shifting if you want to, and not having to if you don’t want to.

The DCT is an outgrowth of Honda’s 2- and 4-wheel racing programs. DCT is technically a manual gearbox, but a manual gearbox where the forks and selectors are operated by electronics and hydraulics. If that was the design’s only trick, that would be enough, but the real genius is the transmission’s dual clutches. The way the gearbox is constructed, the first clutch controls 1st, 3rd, 5th and 7th gear, while the second clutch controls engagement of 2nd, 4th and 6th gear.

Honda 7 Speed Dual Clutch Transmission

To effect gear changes, the transmission controls have already engaged the next gear during an upshift, and simply disengages the first gear clutch while simultaneously engaging the second gear clutch. The bike is never out of gear, for even a millisecond, and there is never any break in forward momentum while accelerating. Same thing happens while decelerating, only backwards.

You can’t do that, no matter how much The Force may be with you, Mr. Jedi Motorcycle Transmission Master, and your back seat passenger, who has smacked helmets with you an infinite number of times, knows it too.

Thumb the Gold Wing into ‘Sport’ mode, with the DCT in automatic, and find a long empty stretch of rural highway. Roll the throttle wide open and the DCT will simply amaze you with a series of seamless, peak power shifts that keep the bike hooked up and hauling, front tire skimming the pavement through the shifts into 2nd, 3rd, 4th… In its selected environment, and demonstrating clear intent and aggression at the throttle, the DCT is simply amazing.

Like all things managed by software, get tentative, though, and things could be better. In the bike’s default ‘Tour’ mode, automatic shift decisions always carry too few rpms. The bike always has the torque to bull through it, but it feels like emergency acceleration is just out of reach (although with automated downshifts, it really isn’t), and the engine feels less than smooth when it clearly is at higher rpms.

‘Sport’ mode is better with shift points – holding the engine in the middle of its output and making decisions which more closely mimic my own – although after hard acceleration it tends to hold onto a gear way too long when the throttle goes neutral to closed. Both modes will occasionally snap off a downshift just after corner entry if you’re coming in off the gas, which was a behavior which had me saying non-G-rated words.

Fortunately, the system has the ability – even when in automatic mode – to accept user overrides from the paddles, so once I got in the habit of snapping off a downshift before I started corner entry all was right in Wing World.

Where the system really shines is in ‘Manual’ mode, though. With all of the shift decisions being made by a skilled rider, the DCT is magic. The Robot is faster than you, he’s smoother than you, and he never misses a shift. On a flowing two or four lane highway the system is responsive, smooth and powerful – taking repeated seconds out of shifting in ways you could have never appreciated until they were gone.

The Robots may be here, but the humans still have a thing or two to show them.




This article was originally published in the September/October 2018 edition of Motorcycle Times.


The Traveler — 2018 Honda Gold Wing Tour DCT

In the Beginning, there was my motorcycle.

Right after I learned to ride it, I went places.

Places like New Mexico and Arizona, Alabama, Kentucky, The Carolinas and Tennessee. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and The Trans-Canada Highway.

From my home in Maryland, any of these places are more than a few tank-to-tank rides.

When I have to travel for work, if the destination is less than 1000 miles from home I will usually find ways to ride, rather than fly.

I’m a motorcycle traveler, because I know that out there, somewhere between your 13th hour and your third day in the saddle, everything you know and everything you believe will suddenly illuminate and align, and you will attain enlightenment and inner peace.

Riders that feel the way I do are a weird brother- and sisterhood – the monks and sisters of the meditative road.

It’s for this kind of rider that Honda designed the new Gold Wing.

Pretty Sweet, For A Blue Bike

My previous exposure to Gold Wings had been extremely limited. A riding friend asked me to evaluate a vintage ‘Wing that had been listed for sale in my neighborhood.  The bike turned out to be a perfectly maintained, completely original 1976 GL1000.

With the original GL, Honda simply set out to build the best motorcycle ever built, and started out with some of the same design assumptions that helped to create my beloved air-cooled BMW boxer. Those assumptions were so close that the original Gold Wing prototype had actually used many of the components from my motorcycle – pretty much everything rearward of the Honda M1’s bell housing was a BMW /5 component – transmission, rear subframe, shaft final drive, rear wheel (with it’s dead-giveaway chrome hubcap), saddle and exhaust.

1972 Gold Wing Prototype – 6 Cylinders and lots of BMW /5 Parts


So it’s no surprise that my favorite motorcycle and the newly born Gold Wing came to the road with very same qualities in mind – weight carried low and forward in the frame, low roll moment, stable frames and long, long legs.

The GL I’d been asked to check out was perfect – complete service records back to delivery, and period correct matching Vetter Windjammer and cases. The bike was red – the Vetters were bright white – all the maintenance had been done – and the bike appeared to run well. I’d have no problem telling my friend he could have confidence buying this old motorcycle. When the seller found out I’d never ridden a Gold Wing though, he insisted that I ride the motorcycle, even though I explained (a few times) that I didn’t intend to buy it.

1976 GL 1000 with Vetter Windjammer and Cases

Would you have told him no? Didn’t think so.

I hadn’t ridden the GL more than 50 yards before I was completely comfortable on it – weight low, sit up riding position, sure-footed handling, and the incredibly broad spread of big drive torque. On the mountain roads around Jefferson – Fry and Mountville Roads – that original ‘Wing carved as well as many 30 years newer motorcycles I’d ridden. The indelible impression I had of the bike was that its engine was so well balanced and so refined that it almost disappeared in use. I’ll admit that my personal tastes might have preferred a different character for my motor, but there was no question that the original GL was an engineering masterpiece, and one of the short list of truly classic motorcycles.

Honda’s customers felt the same, and had demonstrated what they wanted from their Gold Wings. The Bike that Honda delivered in 1975 as a 4 cylinder, 1000cc, 650 lb. naked motorcycle were dressed with Vetter fairings and luggage and taken to the long road. Honda got that message, loud and clear – by 1980, the GL came with factory fairing and cases. Successive ‘Wings got bigger, heavier, and more complex – eventually growing to 6 cylinders and 1800 ccs – I believe one Aspencade model even featured an onboard air compressor.

As the GL grew, though, it put distance on the agility and elemental quality that the original GL1000 had delivered.

And Honda got that message too.

So they decided to do what they have always done. Which is to design something better.

Standing in front of the new Gold Wing, I get a very clear visual signal. The Gold Wing has always been Honda’s flagship touring motorcycle. The now-discontinued ST1300 was their Sport Touring bike. The new GL1800 looks like the love-child of the Old GL and the ST1300 – the new bike is smaller, narrower, more angular – the prominence of the engine, the shape of the shield, fairing, headlamps and cockpit combine to create the impression that the two motorcycles’ DNA had somehow been combined. And to anyone with a lot of ground to cover in one big hurry it’s hard to understand how that could be anything but a good thing.

The engine of the new ‘Wing is where everything starts. The 1833 cc motor is a water-cooled, boxer 6 cylinder of square design – with a 73mm bore and a 73 mm stroke – with a single overhead cam and four valves per cylinder. The engine uses coil on cap ignition and a single, shared 50mm throttle body to produce tuned intake behavior and fuel efficiency. Every dimension of the engine has been optimized during the new design to reduce dimensions and mass and optimize mass centralization. Features like a combined starter/generator illustrate the focus on mass reduction.

1833 ccs of Boxer 6 Cylinder


The Gold Wing’s engine design has a different set of requirements than that of many motorcycle motors. The emphasis is on torque, and maintaining big torque numbers across the entire operating range, and this GL delivers on that request – the ‘torque curve’ for this bike is more like a ‘torque flat’ — delivering over 100 pound feet from under 1000 rpm to its 6000 rpm redline. On the road, the engine delivers solid punch everywhere, although there is no power step at the top of the rev band.


Paging Mr. Hossack – Mr. Hossack to the Courtesy Phone

The bike’s suspension and running gear have also been thoroughly redesigned. For the front suspension, Honda has included a Hossack-type double wishbone – with a central, electrically adjustable shock absorber – with rotation of the fork controlled by a set of tie rods that link bank to the motorcycle’s steering bridge. This design permits the movement of the front wheel to be constrained to a vertical axis – compared to a telescopic fork, which allows the wheel to move simultaneously up and to the rear – and allows the engine to be moved further forward in the frame for handling advantages. The complete absence of stiction in the system’s linkages allow for astounding levels of compliance as road imperfections are encountered – plus it’s also fun to watch the movement of the fork and linkages though their fairing cutouts inside the bike’s cockpit. Rear suspension can be automatically adjusted for preload from the cockpit controls when not in motion.

6 Piston Brake Calipers for Honda’s Linked Braking System

Braking is handled by Honda’s proprietary linked ABS braking system. 320 mm twin front disks are gripped by a six piston set of calipers, and a 312 mm rear disk is gripped by a three piston unit. The center pistons in each caliper are cross plumbed to the system at the other end of the bike so that activation of the front lever pressurizes the outer four pistons in the front brakes and the center piston in the rears – while use of the rear brake pedal works the outer two pistons in the rear and the center pistons in the fronts. Braking bias – front to rear – is variable and managed electronically. The system is a dramatic improvement over prior versions I have ridden – at speed, operation is transparent and trail braking to set up corner entries using only the rear pedal is now possible again. Dual Clutch Transmission (DCT) models get a second, cable-operated rear caliper that serves as a parking brake, since the DCT design precludes sticking the bike in gear to prevent it rolling away.

What’s that extra Brake Caliper For?

The Gold Wing’s aerodynamics are state-of-the-art. The narrow fairing features an electrically adjustable windscreen – controlled from a switch on the left handlebar cluster. Honda’s use of fluid dynamics software and the wind tunnel are on clear display here – the shapes of the rearview mirrors and the structures that connect them to the fairing are clearly designed to control vortices coming off the edge of the screen, and it clearly works. Many touring fairings make use of either width or height to keep the rider’s head in clear air at speed – sometimes forcing the pilot to look through the screen. The GL1800’s, in contrast, provides clean air around the rider’s head when the screen is lowered below the pilot’s sightline – this is aerodynamic magic of the finest kind.

Honda Finally Implements an Electrically Adjustable Windshield — it was Worth The Wait

Other functional touches abound. The bike has heated grips and saddles, and a perfect glovebox in the tank top. The all LED headlamp arrays look suspiciously like their cousins from the new Acura automobiles – with each lamp – left and right — having 5 LED projectors. Absolutely no one will be looking for accessory driving lights for this motorcycle. Honda gets 6 thumbs up for the horn – which has the same punch in the gut breathtaking impact of the one on the Amtrak Acela. There is a full complement of Infotainment functions accessed through an LED screen in the center of the instrument panel – NAV/GPS, trip computer, Bluetooth phone/music integration, Apple Car Play, and detailed performance and status displays. The bike has Electronic Cruise Control and an integrated set of ride modes which control pre-set combinations of power output, traction control, linked braking front/rear bias, suspension valving and transmission shift points.

While there are less of them than there were on the previous model, there are still a great many buttons on the handlebar clusters and on the bike’s instrument panel. You will be needing some acclimation time.

The GL’s built in luggage is perhaps the one area where progress is a little tougher to identify. All three cases have electromagnetic latches, and all of mine kept throwing false positive ‘Bag Open’ messages, forcing me to dismount and latch the case again. Overall, the bike’s luggage – like every other part of this motorcycle — has been optimized for drag – pulled in tight to the rear wheel and streamlined to an extent never before envisioned. Even the top surface of the top case has been teardropped – obviously the voice of the wind tunnel, again speaking loud. The GL has two 30 liter side cases and a 50 liter top case for a total of 110 liters total capacity. This is a reduction of 30 liters capacity from the old bike – and while in principle, the reduction in mass and the improvements in aerodynamic efficiency make engineering sense, in practice, the folks that buy motorcycles like this are going to find it less functional.

It’s Not Big In There

Things that fit in every other hard case I have ever used – my overnighter shoulder bag, a helmet – will not fit inside the GL’s cases. All three cases have unusual interior shapes that seem to further limit their utility. If you buy this bike you’re absolutely going to need Honda’s accessory bag liners to carry anything. People who commute or travel for work on their motorcycle – I mean, this is a really nice motorcycle – you’d ride it to work if you could – won’t be able to store their riding gear in the bike while working. People who really pack up and live off their motorcycle – carrying camping gear, bedroll – will look at Honda’s stylish top case-mounted accessory luggage rack and laugh, or maybe cry, depending. I can understand that Honda might want their target market to travel with just a credit card and their iPhone, but there’s also lots of potential riders that want to be self-sufficient, and need to take stuff with them when they go.

Our test unit also had Honda’s Dual Clutch Transmission (DCT), which is a 7 speed, electronically controlled gearbox – a gearbox which can be operated either as an automatic controlled by the computer, or manually by the rider via a set of paddle shifters located again, on that busy left bar cluster. The DCT brings with it a slow speed forward and reverse system called ‘walking mode’ – which sounds kind of foofy until the first time you have to park the bike in tight confines and it makes child’s play of it.

“So ride the bike already, willya?”

The Gold Wing riding experience is spookily space age right from the get go. As you approach the motorcycle with the key fob in your pocket, the bike’s central control switch will start to glow – cycling its LED brighter and darker – to indicate it has detected your presence. Rotate the main switch once to the right, and the electronic steering stem lock unlocks – rotate it a second time and the ‘Wing’s ignition turns on. When the systems finish booting, operate the ‘run/don’t run’ switch on the right bar to the run position, and the bike will start itself. The default run mode is ‘Tour’ mode with the DCT set to ‘Automatic’.

At idle, the engine sounds busy and purposeful. If it sounds like there is a lot going on down there – with fuel pump whine, injector noise, and a whistling exhaust note at idle, six cylinders, overhead cams, and 24 valves – it’s because there IS a lot going on down there. Press the ‘Neutral/Drive’ switch on the right bar – which produces a nice solid sounding ‘thunk’ as the primary clutch engages – and either leave it in ‘Automatic’ or press the ‘Auto/Manual’ selector switch to select manual mode, where you make the shift decisions.

Roll the throttle open, the clutch smoothly engages, and you’re riding away, wondering what you’re going to ever learn to do with “The Hand Formerly Known As Your Clutch Hand”. In ‘Tour’ mode, the motorcycle short shifts, sometimes shifting as high as 5th gear before 40 mph. Low speed handling is breezily perfect – in my first few moments of acclimation I decided to take a few loops in a parking lot before jumping out into suburban Baltimore traffic – and was quickly giggling in my helmet at how easily the bike handled low speed circles and figure eights – the bike’s 29 in saddle height, low center of gravity and predicable clutch application quickly took all the customary drama out of the “Big Bike /Low Speed” situation.

Once the road opens up, though, let’s face it, magic happens. This GL is as willing to turn in and as light on its feet as anything with a boxer 6 spinning beneath you could possibly be. The new front end is optimized for compliance – the steering tie rods visible in the cockpit show how hard the fork girder is working, but none of the shock and impact comes through to the rider. There were times – either on bad quality Interstate pavement or slinging pretty elevated cornering loads when I would have opted for slightly more damping, but overall the comfort and control of the system is stellar.

Once up in top gear – running 7th gear at about 2500 rpm – the boxer is just smooth enough to ride from tank-to-tank until one gets to, say, Albuquerque. Honda, to their credit, has not smoothed all of character out of this motor – like other new Hondas it does communicate its personality in a way that is only appealing. It has some growl in it where its vintage forefather had none. Those tank to tank stints will be about 225 miles or so before its time to look for a pump. Our GL averaged just over 42 mpg during the time of our test.

The Ride Modes of the motorcycle make a substantial difference in the character of the bike. ‘Tour’ mode is focused on smooth operation – with the DCT in auto mode short shifting, damping set to compliant settings and throttle response smoothed out. ‘Tour’ keeps the rpms low – so low that the engine takes on a grumbly quality at times because it’s really running a gear or two or even three too high. But switch over to ‘Sport’ mode and all that gets blown away. The RPMs come up – it feels like a full 20% of output gets unleashed there – throttle response sharpens, suspension is stiffened, and when this motor’s revs get into the happy middle you can turn the bike as you wish on the gas.

During our road tests, we ran a long stretch of US-50 coming east from Keyser, West Virginia – a road that just throws endless hills and corners at you, and after a few hundred miles of dancing with the twisting yellow line, it felt like we should turn around and run it a few more times, just for fun.

Gold Wings were always about getting there, and comfortably, if possible. The stress-free ergonomics, weather protection, and monster driveline in the new GL1800 have ensured that that part has not changed. But this motorcycle has been sharpened up, and goes harder, stops better, corners better and looks for a way to get there faster, and to have more dynamic fun doing it.

With this new Gold Wing, you’ll be looking for whole states to turn around and run again, just for fun.




Portions of this Story originally appeared in the September/October 2018 Edition of Motorcycle Times Magazine.

An extended riding impression of the new ‘Wing was published in ‘Noah’.




Nice Water Drops, Eh?


I had a bible as a kid, and I read it a lot.

Now please don’t judge me, but I approached The Book more as literature than as an expression of faith.

I’m an Irish Arab Jew, for Chrissake, so I hope I can be forgiven for some ambivalence or confusion in matters of faith.

Anyway, work with me here.

I mean, there are some ripping yarns in The Bible. Light splitting the darkness. The parting of the sea. 40 days and forty nights of rain, the building of the Ark, and the waters wiping a sinful and displeasing earth clean and new in the eyes of its creator.

We may not be up to 40 nights yet, but I’ve been starting to think about a boat.




I’ve been working for about six months to get set up with the PR Team at American Honda Motorcycles. There are more than a few bikes they make that look to be really compelling. The CB500F that I helped my son Finn buy has proved surprisingly capable and fun to ride. During our planning conversations we’d talked about the Africa Twin. The NC750X. And the Gold Wing.

It didn’t take long to figure out that The Honda Men really want people to talk about the Gold Wing. And so really wanted me to ride one.

I’ll come clean. I ride a big touring motorcycle, and it is neither the simplest or least expensive thing in the world to take care of. Honda reliability is real, and in the event of the demise of my current motorcycle it is not outside the realm of possibility that I would replace it with a Gold Wing. Especially if, for example, the ‘Wing was a much better riding motorcycle.

So The Honda Men wanted me to test the bike, to see if I could help them sell more of their biggest selling motorcycle, which they acknowledge they hadn’t been selling anywhere near enough of lately. And I wondered if they had been able to raise a bar that had been pretty high to start with, high enough to have me convulsively clutching for my checkbook.

So our interests overlapped. The hands were shook. Now we just needed to figure out how to make it happen.




Shit always happens.

In my worklife, project schedules that turn into geologic eras are kind of widely shared in-joke.

In ‘Project Wing’ plenty of excrement occurred – things that were scheduled got rescheduled, commitments that got made got broke. I was starting to think the whole thing was one big set up — a way to get my hopes up and never actually get there.

Then, there was the rain.

This year, Central Maryland has had more rain than I can remember seeing in my entire life. We’ve experienced these crazy giant size stationary fronts that freighttrain insanely intense thunderstorms — one after another — for 10-15 days at a time. These storms have rain rates in the 2-4 inch an hour range.

The original plan had been to take the ‘Wing to a conference I had to attend in Nashville — a 1300 mile or so round trip up and down the spine of the Blue Ridge sounded like a perfect way to understand a traveller’s motorcycle. When the ‘Wing got delayed, I had no issue making the trip on my own bike, but the weather had gone insane, washing out roads and bridges hereabouts, literally remaking all of our streambeds, dropping tons of lumber, destroying nearby Ellicott City (for the second time), and making safe travel, two- or four-wheel, nearly impossible.

Score: Weather One, Shamieh 0.

So, since I had some moto-bandwidth available, I took advantage of the opportunity to write about a new Indian Roadmaster.  The Roadmaster deal was a short term eval — over a stretched three-day weekend. Predictably, the only time it stopped raining was when I was taking it back.

As an aside – I am not much of an appearence-care motorcyclist. I try to buy bikes that have a minimum of chrome and brightwork that someone will expect me to shine and be disappointed in that expectation. But the Roadmaster, which was a brand new, out of the crate motorcycle, was an absolute orgy of chrome, two-tone paint and polished surfaces, and got an absolute thrashing through about 350 miles of frog-strangling, gully washing, roostertail throwing, boat waking insane rain.

On the plus side, I can vouch for the Roadmaster’s excellent fairing and great roadholding in conditions that had professional truckers pulling off to the side of the Interstate. On the other side of the coin though, that motorcycle probably still wasn’t cleaned back up after three days of rag snapping, and the dealership guys that had to detail that motorcycle are probably still pissed at me.

Score: Weather Two. Shamieh still zip. We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsor.

So, finally, after more stops and starts than I -270 on the way into DC on a Monday morning, I finally set a time and a date certain to pick up my long-anticipated Gold Wing. The plan had me picking up the bike at the studios of Maryland Public Television, in Owings Mills, Maryland — about 55 miles from the shop here in Jefferson. The previous journalist to test ride the bike had been Brian Robinson — who does the ‘Two Wheelin’ motorcycle segment on MPT’s ‘Motor Week’.

The whole setup felt a bit improvisational — I had a street address, the name of the Security Officer on duty, and the descriptive phrase ‘The Bike would be in The Garage.’

After she registered a minuscule amount of complaint, I was able to convince Sweet Doris from Baltimore that she’d drive me to Owings Mills to pick up the ‘Wing. After an uneventful drive in I-70, we found ourselves rolling up the wooded driveway at Maryland Public Television just as the sun was going down. MPT’s headquarters looks exactly like a college campus — lots of low brick buildings, clustered together in a wooded glen, surrounded by a ring drive and lots of parking lots. We rolled the pickup up to the front door, and, since it was after business hours, rang for the security officer on duty.

After a delay just long enough to feel awkward, Officer John rang me in, and I introduced myself and my mission at MPT. I’d been assured that everybody knew I was coming, and that everything was in readiness. This of course, in hindsight, is absolutely the kiss of death.

Officer John knit his brows for a minute, mumbled something about thinking I was supposed to have been there this morning, and then asked if that was my truck outside the door.

After answering in the affirmative, John sold me he would grab his keys and lead us ‘down to the garage, as driving would be quicker’.

We followed John’s car around the corner and down the hill, and pulled into a driveway leading up to a grey steel industrial building. Over the door was a small stamped steel sign that read ‘Goss’ Garage’. John activated the power garage door and lead us inside.

I am not much of a TV enthusiast, but I have always watched Motor Week whenever the opportunity presented itself. Motor Week is the longest running motorhead show on American Television — presented in the form of a TV magazine — reviews of one or two new automobiles, an occasional motorcycle review, special interest pieces and ‘Goss’ Garage’ . Pat Goss is your friendly local expert mechanic — and does his piece – things like “How to Maintain Your Automatic Transmission” — from a set that looks like the idealized garage… lots of toolboxes, lifts, almost always at least one car with its hood up, metal signs from Car and component suppliers, and a fair amount of black and white checkered decor.

And now, instead of watching it, here we were.

I’ve had the experience before of being on the set of a familiar television show, and it’s always the same. Everything feels creepily familiar, but it’s always smaller than you think it should be, the colors appear off compared to their TV images, and, weirdly, it almost always smells funny. This version played out point for point from that comfortable script.

In the middle of my Goss Groupie reverie, though, I slowly became aware of the Gold Wing sitting in the corner at the very back of the set. The bike was what Honda calls ‘Pearl Hawkseye Blue’ — what we’d think of as a Royal Blue — that Honda had additionally styled with some decals — contour lines of an increasingly lighter shade of silver grey — which had the net effect of fooling the eye into seeing more contours to the saddle and top cases, and fairing side panels — that were actually there. It actually looks way better than it sounds.

Pretty Sweet, For A Blue Bike

The first impression of the bike was that it is clearly smaller, narrower, lower to the ground, and generally more compact than any Gold Wing in recent memory. In that restyling, the bike’s 1833 cc, single overhead cam, 4-valve boxer six cylinder motor had become visually a lot more prominent. The bike has an athletic stance where older ‘Wings were not getting off the couch. The fairing’s windscreen – now electrically adjustable – is a lot narrower and more tapered than its prior incarnation. The shape of the rearview mirrors and the structures that connect them back into the body of the motorcycle are clearly intended to manage vortices coming off the edges of the shield and provide hand protection and clean air in the cockpit.

It was clearly time to stop moto-overthinking, fire this bad boy up and go burn some gas.

And we’d have done that, too, if anybody had had a key.

After determining that the bike’s intelligent key fob was not within the motorcycle’s sensor range, I asked John if he knew where the key was. He told me he’d need to check back at the security desk and perhaps call Brian, if that didn’t bear fruit. Brian’s Arai helmet, gloves and leather jacket were on the table next to the bike, so, trying to put myself in the key fob’s shoes, I checked the pockets of the jacket, just in case the fob had stayed just where Honda’s description of the system’s function says it should always stay. No joy, though.

With John back inside HQ, I spent a few more awkward moments kicking imaginary rocks and checking out those bits of the ‘Wing that I could see in the dim light of The Garage.

Quickly, though, John returned bearing a standard Number 10 envelope with my name written on it and a pretty obvious fob bulge at the bottom. Bingo.

I told John I would move the bike out into the driveway, then pull my ‘Stich, helmet and gloves out of the truck to gear up for the ride home.

At this point I was genuinely thankful for the links to familiarization videos that Colin Miller — American Honda’s Press liaison — had provided. Between the Intelligent keyless ignition, the multi-level menuing system that makes up the bike’s instrument panel, and the controls for Honda’s Dual Clutch Transmission (DCT) — which have absolutely nothing in common with any motorcycle you may have ridden before — the acclimatization curve was very steep.

We shall not speak, for now, of the layout of the switches on the bike’s left and right handlebar control pods. My 1973 BMW has exactly one multi-purpose switch on each handlebar. This was absolutely not that. Taking one’s first ride just after dark was not going to help, either, in identifying and learning the many controls. On the way home there were several times where I would have liked to have had the horn as one of my available options, but never did find it until I looked in the daylight the following day.

Approaching the bike in the back of The Garage, when the Gold Wing detected that the keyless ignition fob was within range, the bike’s main switch began cycling its LED light from dim to bright and back again. I rotated the main switch once to the right to make sure that the ignition lock was retracted, then threw a leg over and pulled the bike up off the sidestand. The ‘Wing was easy to lift, with the effects of the low, balanced location of the motor and underseat fuel tank clearly making the bike easy to handle at a stop or walking speeds. I turned the main switch to the right again, than the bike’s systems powered on and booted up. I pressed the kill/run switch to the ‘run’ position, and the big boxer six lit off.

At idle, the Wing’s six cylinder engine is an internal combustion symphony. With both heads well out in the open, one can hear all of the many moving parts — fuel pump and injector whine, 6 pistons, cam chains, intake growl, 2 camshafts, with 24 vavles opening and closing, a slight burble from the exhaust — there’s just a lot going on in that engine bay.

I pressed the DCT’s control button for ‘Drive’ – leaving the bike in ‘Automatic’ mode – and the first clutch of the transmission’s dual clutches dropped into gear with a solid thunk. I applied some gentle throttle, and the bike’s automatic clutch smoothly engaged and I was rolling slowly towards the door.

After running about 40 feet down the driveway, I let off the throttle, gently applied some front brake and the bike clutched out automatically and came to a stop. I hit the ‘kill’ switch and set the bike back onto the sidestand. Because of the tropical conditions — it was 78 degrees out with a dewpoint of 76 — the minute the bike came out of the air-conditioned interior its cooled off surfaces instantly started collecting condensation, and every surface of the bike was instantly soaked with water.

The Gold Wing wouldn’t see anything remotely resembling dry for quite some time.




While pulling on my gear, I told Sweet Doris from Baltimore that she would likely beat me home — that I wanted to get a feel for 800+ pounds of ‘Wing on some secondary roads and surface streets before rolling onto the Interstate. Of most concern was the bike’s behavior when starting from standing still and coming to a stop — the operation of the bike’s automatic clutch and transmission was, for a now, a total unknown, and I prefer to meet the unknown someplace other than in the middle of heavy traffic. Sweet D and our pickup rolled out of sight while I finished strapping on my Shoei and cinching down my favorite elkskin gauntlets.

Other people’s big expensive motorcycles should, and do, make me nervous.

After a few moments of cleansing breaths to calm myself, I rotated the ‘Wing’s main switch to the right, watched the ‘Gold Wing’ boot up animation, read the ‘Motorcycles Can Hurt You So Please Pay Attention When You Use This Screen’ disclaimer from the Honda Lawyers, and then rocked the ‘run’ switch to on. With the big boxer whistling away down below, I spent a few moments checking that the rearview mirrors were properly adjusted, trying to familiarize myself with the locations of the switches on the control pods, then pressed the DCT’s ‘Drive’ control switch, and gently gave it some gas.

Fortunately, MPT’s campus was the perfect acclimation environment — in fact, its laid out almost identically to Frederick Community College, where the local Motorcycle Safety Foundation Beginning Riders Course is taught. I rolled around the ring road, working the bike back and forth underneath me, toward the rear of the campus, were the road connects a series of substantial parking lots. I headed to the center of the largest one, and then did a few starts and stops with the bike, to get a feel for the engagement and disengagement of the automatic clutch, which of course, operated flawlessly. The I did a few Os and figure eights, which were so trivially easy — given the size of the bike — that I was literally laughing in my helmet. My anxiety was clearly misplaced, and I headed back out for the road.

The driveway of the MPT complex is a long, gentle, wooded slope of about a third of a mile in length. With the falling temperatures, there was some mist starting to form about halfway to the treetops. I gently rolled the ‘Wing down the slope, on minimal throttle. As we rolled down the driveway, the DCT ran the bike up through the gears — making all of the same noises — ka-chokk, ka-chokk, ka-chokk– and most of the same sensations as any normal motorcycle gearbox — except that the rider — Me! — wasn’t doing any of the normal things that make those sounds happen — no gear shift lever — no clutch — nothing.

It was positively weird.

As I got to the bottom of the driveway and approached the intersection with the highway, as I braked, the DCT ran back down through the gears and then clutched in automatically as the bike came to a stop. Had you been sitting across the highway watching this, you’d have seen my left hand flapping spasmodically as it made clutchy – clutchy motions for a clutch this motorcycle doesn’t have. Having spent some significant seat time with a Zero electric motorcycle, which doesn’t even have a transmission, much less a clutch, my brain understood this on an intellectual level, but muscle memory is a strong thing to be reckoned with, and right now, anyway, muscle memory was winning.

Owings Mills Boulevard is a pretty bog normal suburban American road – flat, wide, featureless — an endless strip of concrete. At about 8:30 in the evening, there were only a few cars about. Not knowing the motorcycle at all, I waited for a nice open space of road, then rolled the throttle open, leaned the bike to the left and pointed it up the road.

Set in ‘Tour’ mode, the ‘Wing uses a gentle power map that combines gradual throttle response with a short shifting DCT profile. Holding about one third throttle, the transmission grabs the next gear before the big engine clears 2000 rpm. There’s tons of torque, so it doesn’t really affect progress down the road any — but at those RPMs the engine felt vaguely grumbly, which was the last thing I ever expected from an opposed six cylinder. Really noticeable though was the absence of any sense of working the throttle to work through the gears — it was just ‘dial it on and let the computer figure things out’. ‘Letting the computer figure things out’ did have one new feature, though.

Honda’s Dual Clutch transmission is an outgrowth of its racing programs, both two wheels and four. The DCT is technically a manual transmission — by which I mean it has meshing gearsets that are selected by sliding dogs — but its a manual transmission where the operation of the dogs and clutches (plural) is done via electronics and hydraulic actuators, rather than by shift and clutch levers worked by you, the human. It really is a genius design — the box has seven speeds, with the first clutch controlling first, third, fifth and seventh gear. The second clutch controls second, fourth and sixth gear. Going up through the gears, the system essentially is already in second gear at the time the shift up from first gets executed. To shift, the system simultaneously decouples the first gear clutch while engaging the second gear clutch. On the road, this translates to a shift that essentially has absolutely no loss of drive.

Think about that for a second. Or maybe more like three-quarters of a second.

Three quarters of a second is about that time that it takes for a normal motorcyclist — not, you, Valentino — to disengage the clutch, select the next gear, apply the throttle and clutch in to the next gear. During that three-quarters of a second, the bike stops accelerating, and either goes neutral or actually begins to slow down during the gap before the next gear is engaged and the driveline is accelerating again. Every motorcyclist understands this in his bones — the bwaaap, bwaaaap, bwaaap of the motorcycle speeding up, pausing and then speeding up again as each gear is engaged. That staccato stairstep of increasing speed is the fundamental, atomic set of sensations that define what most motorcyclists dream about when they’re dreaming about riding.

And with the DCT, that shit is gone.

With the Dual Clutch technology, those 3/4s of a second when the driveline unloads and then drives on again disappear – there’s just a seamless rush of power with the space between gears measured in milliseconds, if it can be measured at all. The system isn’t quite as seamless as a good Continuously Variable Transmission (CVT), buts its damn close.

Rolling up to 50 mph on Owings Mills Boulevard, that big whoosh was instantly evident, even if the bike’s default ride mode had 7th gear engaged at that speed.

I’d planned to ride Liberty Road about halfway home — Maryland 26 is a major state highway, that — at least in between towns — has a 50 or 60 mile per hour speed limit, and has rolling, open highway with minimal traffic once well west of Baltimore. It’s a perfect place to come to terms with a new motorcycle, which was exactly what I wanted to do before picking I-70 back up and really stretching back out at speed.

I’d already memorized a map of the area, and knew I only needed to make two turns to be pointed back out in the right direction, and still, somehow I blew it. I have to guess I was so tied up on learning the tactical elements of riding something this different that I completely struck out on the strategic ones — you know, where you are, where you expect to be going — that sort of thing.

In my tiny predicament, I did something I didn’t expect to do. While stopped at a traffic light I worked a few buttons on the ‘Wing’s center console, and put live navigation up on the LCD display. In this mode the system just displayed the roads that were stretched out in front of you, and well as your direction of travel. Much to my surprise, the position of the display was not as distracting as I’d anticipated — it was there if you needed to see it, and out of sightline if you didn’t.

The Nav Display made it quickly obvious that I’d righted where I should have lefted back there, and at the next major intersection, I pulled a big whopping U-turn, with a degree of ease — both due to the bike’s stellar low center of gravity and the DCT’s perfect clutch control — that is really notable on a bike of this size and power.

For the next 20 miles or so I just watched the world and the yellow line roll up to the windscreen. I’d adjusted the ‘Wings electrically adjustable shield to just below my line of sight, and even in these foggy, misty conditions my head and my eyes were in clean, still air, even with my helmet visor open. Coming into traffic lights at towns along the way, the DCT snapped off reasonably clean downshifts while slowing down or on the brakes, automatically selecting first and clutching out as the bike came to a stop.

In seriously suboptimal, spooky riding conditions, the bike felt like I was in command of the road, like I couldn’t put a wheel out of place, and was comfortable in conditions that were anything but.

When I arrived at a North-South route that took me back to the interstate I was ready, and rolled the 5 or 6 miles back to Interstate 70. On the onramp I finally got a bit demonstrative with the throttle, and kept the revs up as I entered the highway. With the engine’s single throttle body’s butterflies well open, we didn’t get 7th gear selected until just touching 80, which is where it stayed until we got back to Jefferson, and home.

I-70 though Carroll and Frederick counties as actually pretty curvy, and by my 30th mile in the saddle, the combination of the bike’s balance, neutral ergonomics, incredibly flat torque curve and compliant suspension had me feeling as comfortable as bikes I’ve ridden for 50,000. At highway RPM — about 22-2300 — the ‘Wing’s engine smoothed out, although, unlike the vintage ‘Wings I’m acquainted with, this engine had a bit more character in the form of some vibratory feedback. On the newly repaved pavement on I-70 the bike was agile and held its cornering lines perfectly, even when carrying higher than average cornering loads — we were hustling. The Lander road exit came up far too soon, and I killlswitched and standed a very damp motorcycle at the top of my driveway.

This bike would be here for 17 days. I had no way of knowing then it would pour rain for 14 of them.




Rain Much?

The next morning, when I came down to my office, I looked out my window and was greeted with the sight of two world-class, cross-continental capable touring bikes – my bike and Honda’s – doing their level best not to be motorboats. Conditions like these are why most of my Gold Wing photos look like professional car porn shots, where somebody goes to a lot of trouble to spray the car flesh with a hose so that all the pointed surfaces have big water drops on them — in my case, though, it was both effortless and unavoidable.

Gold Wing Instruments and Controls

Business End of The Big Boxer

Now You See It

Now You Don’t

I don’t know, maybe the water drop model treatment makes one more appreciative of typical Honda mechanical engineering elegance — like the bike’s nicely tapered alloy passenger floorboards that click upwards — with a nice detent and then disappear into the contours of the bike’s bodywork.

Then again, I’d like to have had the choice of appreciating them without having to stand out in my driveway in the rain.

So, with this beautiful motorcycle in my driveway, I looked for openings.

Which I didn’t get.

Owning an Aerostich Roadcrafter suit, I applied everyone’s favorite expletive, and went riding in the rain.

Someday, I hope to be able to test a motorcycle without being able to say how well its fairing works to protect the rider in the rain.

This is not that day.

The 2018 Honda Gold Wing’s fairing does a magnificent job of protecting the rider in unfavorable conditions. Even in pouring rain the air in the rider’s pocket is still, non turbulent, and does a stellar job in keeping the weather happening outside the cockpit outside the cockpit. Honda’s extensive use of fluid dynamics modelling software and the wind tunnel are clearly in evidence, with the shapes of the rearview mirrors and their fairing mounts clearly designed to shelter the riders hands and to manage vortices coming off the edge of the windshield. They look, and are, purposeful.

Air Control At Rest

It actually took three or four days before I got a real break in the rain, and was actually able to ride on something approximating dry pavement. Switching the DCT over from automatic to manual mode — where the rider controls the shifts from the paddles on the left switch cluster — upshifts via a finger trigger on the far side of the cluster, and downshifts via a thumb button on the front — really unleashed better shift behavior. I was able to keep the big boxer up higher in the RPM band, and both throttle response and engine smoothness improved.

Feeling brave, I changed drive modes from the default ‘Tour’ to ‘Sport’. I had been told to expect significant change, and I got it.

It’s important to note that unlike many modern, throttle by wire, computer managed motorcycles, with the new Gold Wing, Honda has elected to provide an essentially fixed map of ride modes. The Gold Wing’s ride modes provide a fixed menu of engine torque/horsepower, DCT transmission shift profiles, ABS/traction control settings, linked braking front/rear bias settings, and suspension damping settings. Rear suspension preload is electronically adjustable from the instrument panel. These ride mode maps — ‘Eco’, ‘Rain’, ‘Tour’ and ‘Sport’ provide different functional behavior combinations — think of them as ‘Personalities’ — that adjust the bike for road or travel conditions. The ride modes, however, are Honda’s decisions about which combinations work best. Want the high rpm DCT shift schedule of ‘Sport’ mode with the power curve of ‘Tour’ mode? Tough. The Gold Wing doesn’t give the rider any ability to adjust or tune any system parameters — i.e. a ‘User’ mode. I know Honda knows how to do this because the Africa Twin provides it. But in the ‘Wing you get what Honda has picked out for you and you’d better like it.

Gold Wing Ride Mode Matrix

‘Sport’ mode, for what it’s worth, turns the ‘Tour’ mode’s Dr. Jekyll into a snarling, foaming at the mouth, full-on Mr. Hyde. Based solely on the subjective Shamieh Butt Dyno, it feels like an extra 20% of torque and horsepower are set free with the mode switch — DCT shift scheduling goes from nearly comic levels of short shifting to the types of gearshifts I’d be making on a manually transmissioned bike — and valving in the ‘Wing’s shocks firms up the ride, making fast changes in directions on corner entrances feel smooth and natural. On an open, twisting secondary road, ‘Sport’ mode is magic, with the possible exception of the DCT’s tendency to slap off a late downshift when entering corners off the throttle. Because rider-selected paddle overrides are always available — whether in manual or automatic mode — once I developed the habit of snapping off an extra manual downshift on corner entrances, I was never bothered by that again.

You won’t be using ‘Sport’ mode around town though. Throttle response is just too abrupt, and coming out of a ‘Stop’ sign or traffic light and having, for example, to make a left turn off a standing start, it’s just too challenging to modulate. In fact, the whole notion of modulation, or moderation just doesn’t compute in ‘Sport’ mode. Get tentative with the throttle and the whole bike — refined though it may otherwise be, turns into a herky, jerky, electronically confused mess. I shared this impression with Colin Miller — Honda’s Press liaison — and his advice to me was that the rider interface assumed aggression — that if one was aggressive with the controls, the bike was completely able to understand the rider’s intention. As a rider that has spent multiple decades in the pursuit of analog smooth, I’d need to throw that shit out the window if I wanted to take the most from this motorcycle. That turned out to be perfectly good advice.




So, I kept looking for opportunities to really stretch this motorcycle out and understand it in its chosen environment. Sweet Doris from Baltimore and I planned a two-up weekend trip to the Maryland Eastern Shore, to visit Rock Hall, a quiet little village that has potential as an inexpensive retirement location. We could then skip the summer beach traffic coming back from Ocean City by looping up through Delaware, and working our way back across the secondary roads in rural Northern Maryland. I was curious to see how the ‘Wing handled up two up and loaded, and if Sweet D liked the bike. So, of course, It poured rain non-stop for two days before, the day of, and two days after the planned adventure.

We’d also planned to take some action photos of riding the motorcycle, which of course also demanded that the sun come out. Which it never did. We made it out to a decent location about 3 miles from the house, but between the time we left the house and the time we arrived on-location, it clouded over, leaving us stuck with shutter speeds like 1/60th and 1/125th of a second, which aren’t really suitable for shots of fast-moving action. If you look at the one almost critically sharp picture below, in the background you can see the cloudburst coming in that ran us off the road five minutes after that.

An Almost Critically Sharp Action Shot





My frustration, with a world-class travelling motorcycle getting drowned in my driveway, grew to almost unbearable levels. The date for the bike’s pickup was already confirmed, and compared to the 1000s of test miles I’d originally envisioned, I was struggling to make 300.

Finally, I saw an opening on the 5 day forecast — an actual, endangered species sunny day, with low humidity and highs ranging from the high 70s to low 80s — a perfect riding day. I remember shutting the window and looking over my shoulder to see if anyone had seen me looking at a good forecast — I didn’t want to blow it.

Surprisingly, over the next four days or so, the forecast held.

Sunday morning, I woke up to sunshine coming in my bedroom window. I got up, had some cold brew and some breakfast, and pulled together my insulated 3 liter water jug and a sandwich bag filled with cashews and raisins. I went outside, dried off the bike’s saddle and grips from the overnight rains of the previous night, and placed my water, snacks and DSLR camera into the top case. It does strike me as odd that the interior of the ‘Wing’s topcase is bare plastic — my experience of other touring bikes is that the top cases are usually finished with carpet or a rubber mat to keep from chewing up whatever you place in them — but the ‘every ounce counts’ ethos of this bike’s redesign had probably extended to that ounce of arguably necessary padding.

The rest of the redesigned Gold Wing’s luggage does bear additional comment. All three cases — saddlebags and topcase — have electromechanical latches that are opened by pressing a weatherproof diaphragm switch on each case. In the case of my blue bomber, I had a series of ‘no open’ events — where the switch would not open the case — and a series of ‘false positive’ error codes where the bike’s instrument display would throw up a ‘case open’ or ‘topcase open’ error message even though the case in question appeared to be closed. Is it possible that being drowned for two weeks straight was causing issues with wet seals having a bit more seal than the design called for? Maybe. It’s also possible that use of electromechanical components where a strong mechanical latch might do better could be the root of the problems I experienced.

Almost As If It Was Vacuformed Around The Final Drive

Then there is the size and shape of the cases themselves. In all things during the redesign, Honda strove for minimum aerodynamic drag and minimum mass. The side cases, for example were pulled in towards the rear wheel to the extent possible — to the point where the inner liner of the right bag clearly shows the outline of the shaft and final drive where the bag had to be shaped to fit around it. The basic shape of the bag’s interior is an elongated hexagon, and one which is pretty shallow at that. The bags are measured to be 30 liters capacity each – but the combination of the weird shape and relatively low volume — every hard case I’ve ever owned, from vintage Krausers, through 80s Vintage BMW ABS Touring Cases, to the built-in luggage on my K1200LT, are larger than 30 liters — make fitting anything into these a struggle. Items I routinely carry when on tour — a shoulder bag that easily fits two or three days of change of clothes and toiletries — won’t fit into these bags. Helmets will not fit into these bags, either — it isn’t even remotely possible. Even the top case, with its shallow design, tapered rear and sloping lid, is an odd shape that will challenge people trying to pack it. The electro latches, of course, don’t make any kind of overpack and stuff closed scenario any more likely.

I honestly don’t know what the designers were thinking — the ‘Wing is on the short list of the three or four most significant load-em-up-and-go-until-you-feel-like-coming-home motorcycles in the world. And if one is going to live off a motorcycle, that means tents, and camp stoves, and raingear and toolsets. Having not tried myself to pack the bike for two weeks on the road, I can’t say for certain, but my subjective expert says this case setup won’t accomodate any of it. If you buy this motorcycle you will be buying the Honda case liners, which — my apologies — look for all the world like an oddly shaped set of lady’s purses.

I understand that handling, motorcycle dynamics and range were foundational requirements. And the results of that are Good Things (TM). But a Gold Wing with skimpy luggage is the answer to a question that no potential buyer will ever ask.

With my day ride’s supplies aboard, and all the cases showing properly latched on the instrument panel, it was finally time to ride.




So there I was, sitting at Jefferson’s only red light, with a partially warmed up boxer six cylinder engine audibly working below me. I toggled the bike into ‘Sport’ mode, the light turned green, and I gassed it, banked left, and rolled up Holter Road.

A perfect morning. A perfect road. I wanted this to be the perfect bike.

The DCT was spinning the motor — spending more time with RPMs up above 2500 — remember, this big boxer is a low revving motor — redline is only 6000. With the revs up, the sharper throttle response felt right, the engine felt happier, the DCT seemed happier, making your pilot, speaking, wanting to participate and join in their happiness.

Working Holter’s familiar, sweeping and technical corners, I was amazed by the action of the bike’s redesigned front end. With the linkages of the Honda Hossack-type Double Wishbone working in view in the cockpit, it was amazing to see how much movement was being fed into the suspension, especially when compared to how little of it was actually being passed to the frame or rider. Honda’s design, which uses bearings for all points of movement, dramatically cuts the weight of the front suspension and its unsprung weight, and reduces the sliding friction of a telescopic suspension to virtually zero. The front end’s cornering behavior was crisp with good turn in — although there’s no hiding the engine’s presence in the gestures needed to control the bike. Honda has used every trick imaginable to cancel out the transverse flywheeled motor’s torque reactions, but no transversely mounted opposed six cylinder is ever going to be made to turn as lightly as, say, a parallel twin with a inline flywheel layout. Despite its big motor’s roll moment, the Gold Wing carves really well — one has to appreciate what a high accomplishment that is.

Double Wishbone Front Suspension Linkages In View in The Cockpit

After six or seven perfect corner entries, and six or seven enthusiastic corner exit displays of 1800 cc boxer motor, I had a mental lapse that is not characteristic for me.

“Damn,” I thought, “This is just about perfect. What could possibly go wrong?”


About 9 and half milliseconds later, I heard a nice, soft, furry thud in the left earpad of my brand new Shoei RF-SR.

A thud that Buzzed.

The Gold Wing also has really good brakes. Big power. Great balance. Zero drama. It is the first version of any linked braking system I have ridden that I didn’t find objectionable – I could select a front or rear wheel bias that allowed me to exercise most of the benefits of discrete controls — but when you had to just haul off and stop with it, it had impressive stopping power.

So I stopped. With enthusiasm.

Big Six Piston Brakes, with Linked Braking Plumbing In View

I found a paved spot beside the road where it crossed a culvert. I punched the bike out of gear from the handlebars, set the parking brake (yes. it has a parking brake. because you can’t stick it in gear to park it like your old technology motorcycle.), set the sidestand and briskly dismounted.

I got one elkskin gauntlet off and a set of D-rings unfastened in Guinness Record Book time.

Really. I’ll race ya. I’m that good.

With the helmet now upside down in my hands, I looked for either the Bee or The Wreckage That Used To Be The Bee. And I found neither.

Which I found puzzling.

I was pretty sure about what I had heard. I looked a little harder.

And then I heard a perfectly calm, healthy, “Buzz!”.

OK. Where the heck was the little buzzer?

The RF-SR has pretty typical Shoei internal pads — they’re all interchangeable, come in plus and minus sizes, and they detach so they can be washed. Where the cheek pad in my helmet meets the fixed pad of the shell, there’s a tiny gap. I pulled my other glove back on, then gently pulled the liner away from the shell.

And saw two antenna and two shiny compound eyes looking back at me.

You gotta laugh. I know I did.

After steeling myself for action — Stingy Bugs! Brand New Spendy (for me) Helmet! — I reached in again, pulled the liner back firmly, and shook the helmet with the opening pointed away from me.

Mr. Honey Bee bounced off the side of the Gold Wing’s fairing, landed on the ground, did about three loops of the Homer Simpson Shuffle, and then flew away indignantly.

I know it was indignant because about 15 feet out, he changed his mind, and then took another run at my head. At that point he probably figured we were square and he split.

What were the chances of that bug hitting that gap unharmed? About the same as hitting that vent on the Death Star.

Laughter does slow down the process of re-donning that helmet and glove, but I wasn’t feeling pressed.

I pulled off the parking brake (which was a hard habit to get into, ehem?) dropped the bike back into ‘D’ and moved back up the road.

Flash forward to Myersville, the entrance to I-70 , and a brisk roll of the throttle back onto the Interstate, westward to Maryland’s mountains.

This Gold Wing was home, baby.




Once that 1833 cc six is warmed through, seventh gear and just over 2200 RPMs translates to a pretty relaxed 78 mph or so. I’m confident you could burn though tanks of gas like that — in my experience, 225 to 240 miles per tank — over and over, until you just couldn’t manage to do it any more. With the revs up the big 6 is smooth but not so smooth as to be characterless – a thing at which Honda has become genuinely adept. 7th gear passing power in ‘Tour’ mode was a little flat for my tastes, thumbing up ‘Sport’ mode made the bike far more able to move with authority and defend itself by finding empty space in congested traffic.

The fairing, while found to be not bee resistant, could be set to where cleanest, quietest air at speed was with the screen just below my eye level, which is something that seems like free lunch to me. With any narrow motorcycle windshield, managing what happens when the airstream around both sides of the shield comes back together is really the trick. (I’m talking to you, KTM.) Get it wrong, and the rider literally gets beaten to death at speed. Get it right, and you have clear quiet air like this that allows you to run with your visor up if you feel bee-brave, and in an environment that is quiet and comfortable as any 1000 pound, 80 mph hurtling thing blasting through the air can possibly be engineered to be.

I set the cruise control, which was dead simple and worked perfectly — because on days where I burn 5 or 6 hundred miles of Interstate I will use the cruise. This one had zero surprises and get the seal of approval.

After an hours’ cruise, as we got to the point where the highway begins to climb in earnest, I took my customary Sideling Hill stop to briefly stop and honor my riding friend.

The View At Sideling Hill

Respects paid, I gassed it, and headed for the mountains.




I-68 from that point west is really a touring or sport touring bike playground. The roadbed climbs through the Mountains of Allegheny and Garrett counties, and twists entertainingly as it climbs. There are only a few places in the Interstate highway system where you’re going to be cornering a fast bike hard, and this is definitely one of them. The cruise control came off, and we had many miles of jamming — reading the road and sighting corners, executing exits and climbing the big grades. A time or two I’d find myself fending off crazy huge hot rod pickup truck guys that were pushing their acts well over the line.

This Gold Wing cornered precisely, and put down big flat power, keeping speeds up and making it all seem easy.

We kept up the turning climb – through Green Ridge, though Flintstone — until we arrived at US 220 South – which immediately took us across the border into West Virginia. 220 is one of many West Virginia motorcycle-friendly secondary roads and this continued to be a perfect way to roll. I left the bike with the DCT on auto — which gave great access to two-lane passing power that I used many times this afternoon.

I tried a little fairing gizmo that Honda calls a ‘airstream diffuser’ — a small plastic popup device located underneath the shield that redirects some of the laminar flow behind the windscreen into the cockpit… it works, too, but makes nearly double the sound pressure of the screen in its ‘clean’ configuration. I’d have to be pretty desperately hot to use it — on a day like today where noise equals fatigue, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

Managing fuel range had me sighting on Keyser, West Virgina as a town large enough to have good fuel, and after crossing the high bridge over the Potomac River, I rolled into a Sunoco Station sat prominently on the corner that made up the entrance into town. I pulled in, accessed the ‘Wings characteristic underseat fuel tank, and took on 4 odd gallons. I took advantage of the facilities, hit the topcase snackbar, did extreme hydration, then went stands up and boogied.

Coming back out onto 220, I left the parking brake set again, as I has several times before. Frankly, ‘parking brake check’ just hadn’t made it into my subconscious rider checklist, and the parking brake indicator light just got lost in the huge number of indicators and other displays on the ‘Wing’s instrument panel. Hint to Honda — this might be a rare case where an audio alert – which I usually eschew — might be appropriate.

Following 220 had us running in the valley between two ridgelines, enjoying the scenery and rolling through open country, with minimal company from the four-wheeled set. 220 has plenty of legal passing zones, and with the Gold Wing’s 100 plus foot pounds of torque across the entire tach, fast passing those isolated fellow travellers was one aggressive roll of the throttle and a downshift away. In this environment, I noticed another one of those areas where the DCT’s software might need another adjustment. After any downshift and aggressive blast of acceleration, on a manual transmission motorcycle, I will roll out of the throttle and upshift after the need for acceleration has passed – this will lower the RPMs, help to bleed off acceleration and drift back down to the desired cruise velocity. The more thrust and punch a motor has, the more pressing this behavior is, and the Wing’s boxer six, especially in sport mode, has plenty of punch. Two and a half seconds with the throttle wide open on the GL during a 55 or 60 mph pass has the bike rapidly closing on 90 miles an hour… speeding up is good, but only if one has a mechanism for getting back down from the ‘Arrest Me, Please, Officer’ zone. On the DCT-equipped ‘Wing, I found that rolling back out of the throttle — indicating that the need for acceleration had passed — wasn’t interpreted by the DCT as a signal to shift back to higher gears — the result of this was that after an aggressive two lane pass, I’d roll out of the throttle and move back into the lane in front of the passed vehicle, and the transmission, which might have downshifted to 5th or 4th gear, would stay in the downshift gear with the big motor still screaming away at 4500 or 5000 rpm – which doesn’t sound like much until one recalls this is an engine with a 6000 rpm redline. I’d be drumming my virtual fingers on the imaginary dashboard wondering when the heck the control module was going to figure out that we weren’t going to need full blasting past thrust any more.

This was another case where rider override input became routinely necessary. After a two lane pass and rolling out of the throttle, I’d need to use the upshift paddle to put the transmission back in a higher gear, lower the revs and decelerate back to cruise speed.

After working my way down the valley, we got to New Creek, and the intersection with US 50. In either direction, US 50 is a legendary road for Mid Atlantic riders, connecting multiple mountain ridges, Wilderness and Wildlife management areas, State and National Parks, rivers and stream canyons across Western Maryland and West Virginia, and eventually into Ohio. One thing 50 never is is straight, which is why we’re here. Today, we’d be running east, towards home, as unnatural as that seemed with this motorcycle — it was goading me to check out Montana, but there were more than a few people who would have been miffed by that “I might be a little late” phone call.

Running US 50 became a highlight of this motorcycle in its element — a wide open, twisting road following stream canyons, setting up for corner after corner, dancing with the yellow line as it rolled toward the screen. My approach towards motorcycle travel is right in line with Honda’s design intention — I’m not a relaxed tourist, but someone who knows that to cover ground, you’ve got to keep average speeds up, and so we were on the throttle, on the charge and really enjoying the bike’s behavior in the corners — driving deep, turning hard, and feeling relaxed due the bike’s stable handling, balanced ergonomics, and low effort steering. It was noteworthy that after a couple of hundred miles, my shoulders, which normally experience some stiffness as a day in the saddle goes on — felt completely loose and comfortable.

Pushing hard in a series of corners through one stream canyon, I did find myself wishing for just a little more rebound damping in the front damper unit — with the bike requiring one extra fraction of a second and one fraction of a bounce to settle into the cornering line. This slightly underdamped behavior also tended to show up at elevated speeds on less-than-perfect divided highway — where expansion joints or waves in the pavement would have the bike subtlety porpoising when jamming in a straight line.

It wasn’t a day or a ride for focusing on the negative, though. The sun stayed out, broken up by some high clouds, the temperature stayed down, and the curves of 50 just kept coming. As as long as the curves kept coming, the Gold Wing and I just kept dancing. We ran out of 50 long before I ran out of wanting to ride it.

In the middle of the afternoon, I found myself working my way back into the West Virginia panhandle, and my extended Rider’s Backyard. Not ready to go home yet, I turned away from home and picked up West Virginia 9, a brand new, state of the art divided highway that frankly, doesn’t really go anywhere — a concrete monument to the appropriations power of West Virginia’s late US Senator Robert Byrd. Out on The 9, I wicked the Gold Wing up — which proved to be as mechanically comfortable and unstressed at 90 as it is at 75.

The turn for home gave me one more good road — Loudoun Heights Road, which gave me a lovely combination of wide open sweepers and some tighter technical corners to cement my appreciation of the Gold Wing’s grace on a back road — a motor with good punch everywhere, and the handling behavior of a much smaller motorcycle.

It was over too soon, though, leaving me wishing for simpler, less busy, dryer life where I had time to ride 3000 miles in place of the 300-odd we’d covered today.




The 2018 Honda Gold Wing is a travellers motorcycle, and one which gets down the road in a way that is unique to itself. The motor has an absolutely dead flat torque curve, with a single throttle body and its four valve heads tuned to give good throttle response and good breathing at all RPMs, in place of the high RPM power step of more sporting motorcycles. Revving the big boxer 6 doesn’t get you access to any more power, so the DCT’s shift profiles take that into account. The engine is happiest right in the middle of its rev band where there’s plenty of torque, plenty of response to more throttle, and plenty of balanced smoothness.

Most Bikes Have a Torque Curve – The GL Has a ‘Torque Flat’

The bike’s suspension is state of the art, although the damping rates have been selected with compliance and comfort in mind. The bike never does anything evil under cornering loads, but compared to my 20-year-old european bike, which is equipped with aftermarket Ohlins damper units, there’s just a lot less communication of what is happening at the contact patches. Whether that’s important to you or a step in the wrong direction is a matter of rider’s preference.

The bike’s Dual Clutch Transmission is, at this stage, a mixed blessing. I used the transmission in Automatic mode as much as possible to get a complete appreciation of the system’s capabilities. That the system works as well as it does overall, is, on one level, an engineering masterwork. But to someone who has spent more than 30 years in the saddle honing shifting skills, there are some areas where improvement is still needed. Compared with creating an automatic transmission for a 4 wheeled vehicle, creating a good automatic for a two-wheeled vehicle is a level of magnitude more difficult. The DCT’s corner entry and aggressive passing-gear behaviors in automatic mode are still problematic, but, like all software controlled motor vehicle behaviors, a fix might only be a system flash away. If I owned one of these motorcycles, I suspect that on any technical road, I’d operate the system in manual mode, where my shift decision matrix and the electro-hydraulic gearset and clutch controls would result in perfect, millisecond shifts. On longer tours, in routine commuting duty, or stuck in congestion, the automatic mode would be a lifesaver.

Other parts of the bike bear a brief note. The ‘Walking Mode’ of the DCT, which gives riders access to engine-driven ultra low-speed reverse and forward drive, are tremendously useful in manoeuvring the bike in tight confines. The horns on the motorcycle are the best I’ve ever experienced — they have the same sort of punch as a New York Central streamliner locomotive — the percussive thump in the gut literally will take the breath away from anybody in their path. Similarly impressive are the bike’s LED headlamps, which have 5 projector units in each of the two light housings. On a late night backroad run in farm country near my home, use of the highbeams threw enough light to ignite roadside barns. You’re not going to be buying aftermarket horns or driving lights for this motorcycle.

Barn Burning Lighting

You will, however, be buying power outlets. Touring riders farkel. And although the bike’s built-in navigation and audio/communications systems will reduce what you need to add, regardless of whether its heated gear, radar detectors, CB, whatever, the stock motorcycle doesn’t have any power outlets, which seems like another design oversight that is hard to understand.

I had really high expectations for the redesigned 2018 Honda Gold Wing. Expectations, frankly, that made it unlikely that any bike could have met them. The base platform of the motorcycle — the engine, frame and suspension, brakes, riding position and fairing — is a balanced, capable combination that optimizes comfort and dynamic capability. The Dual Clutch Transmission is a technology advance that still feels like it is in its early stages, with future refinements in certain areas really necessary. The design, construction and execution of the bike’s luggage seem to be a repudiation of this bike’s traditional buyer — Honda clearly thinks that its new buyers will be hotel/motel travelers that live via their iPhone and their credit card, with tiny requirements for clean clothes and nothing else. People who go out on their motorcycles for weeks at a time — as this bike is clearly capable of — will be looking at their touring gear and scratching their heads.

The behavior of the bike on a winding road is confidence inspiring, capable, comfortable and fun. Whether it will work as your travelling partner is something only you can can decide for yourself.


Time Traveler – 2018 Indian Roadmaster

Into the Green

My buddy has an Indian.

Or, to be completely truthful, he has a do-it-yourself Indian Motorcycle kit.

As long as I’ve been visiting Al’s shop, he’s had a collection of boxes on a baker’s rack next to the roll up door. Bright blue, deeply valenced fenders. A set of obliquely finned, flathead cylinder heads. Linkages and levers for the hand shift and foot clutch. Sheet metal for the drive chain and alternator covers. The lower engine cases, with the connecting rods small ends poking out the base gasket openings. A tan leather ‘Chummee Seat’ with fringed rear skirt. A set of matching saddlebags with conchos and jewel glass appliques. The spring sets and covers for the rear suspension’s plunger units.

I haven’t ever been down to the very bottom of those boxes, but if there isn’t a cut glass Indian head wrapped in a chrome Headdress down there, there certainly needs to be.

The Warbonnet Rides Again

That 1952 Chief has been a project awaiting the time and resources needed for an extensive and total restoration, and so that classic motorcycle – at ease at speed gliding down some highway – has always been something that lived only in my imagination, and forever hung just out of reach.

Because the original, Springfield, Massachusetts-based Indian Motorcycle company went bankrupt a full six years before I was born, their motorcycles have always seemed to exist as something sadly lost to the past.   And while the company had spent the early part of its History earning a reputation for engineering leadership and competition success, mental pictures of the Indian were all sepia-toned black and whites, men wearing their competition Indian-script sweaters on motordromes and dirttracks, the Big Chief trailing flapping fringe as it disappeared into history, a superior machine that had inexplicably just vanished.

Lots of companies felt the pull of that legacy, but no one had the engineering or the capital to build a motorcycle worthy of it. Before Polaris Industries bought the remains of those companies in 2011, lots tried. Lots failed.

Which makes the Motorcycle sitting in front of me – a 2018 Indian Roadmaster — one of the most unlikely formerly assumed to be fantasy things to ever actually exist. It’s all there – the Art Deco fenders, the obliquely finned V-twin cylinders, the jeweled, lighted Warbonnet on the front fender. Underneath that skin, however, is a thoroughly modern motorcycle that is functionally as far away from that 1953 Chief as one could imagine.

The heart of the Roadmaster is the Thunder Stroke 111 engine – a new from the ground up motor that was designed solely to power the Indian Big Twin motorcycles, and to appeal directly to Indian’s History and Fans. Unlike the predecessor Indian companies, that used existing third party motors that they could purchase, Polaris correctly concluded that this shortcut was simply not acceptable. If their motorcycle was to be embraced by riders as an Indian, it couldn’t be, as the predecessors had been, powered by anybody else’s engine and dressed up with full fenders.

A Very New Engine With A Very Old Look

The Thunder Stroke does use the architecture and appearance of the old Chief’s motor as it’s jumping off point, but is as modern internally as any air-cooled motor can be. The engine carries over the oblique cooling fins of the vintage bike’s heads, its larger head and smaller barrel finning, and its downward pointed exhausts and parallel pushrod tubes. The new motor continues the vintage Indian’s use of a gear driven primary drive, and combines this with unit construction, a six speed helical cut gear transmission, three cams, an automatic starting decompression system, pushrod overhead valves, EFI, and a belt final drive. Engineering details are thoroughly modern – using slipper pistons, fracture split connecting rods, and wedge combustion chambers like those in the Corvette LS7 engine. The 49 degree V-Twin displaces an immodest 1811 ccs, and produces 119 ft-lbs of torque at peak.

The rest of the chassis and running gear are similarly new tech. The entire motorcycle is hung from a cast aluminum chassis, which provides serious strength and rigidity with relatively low mass. The Roadmaster is suspended by a cartridge fork in the front, and an air adjustable monoshock in the rear – both working through about 4.5 inches of travel. Rear air preload is adjusted via a nice little aluminum hand pump with integral pressure gauge through a Schrader valve under the left sidecover. Brakes are high specification – dual 300 mm disks grabbed by 4 piston calipers in front with a single unit in the rear.

The Roadmaster’s touring equipment is road ready – a fork attached fairing with electrically adjustable windscreen and fully adjustable lowers as well – air routing through the lowers can be tuned to allow lots of air in warmer weather, or to close off both direct and spill air overflow when Mother Nature loses her temper. The fairing houses a full complement of information and entertainment gear – trip computer, stereo, Bluetooth phone integration, GPS, all controllable from either the central touchscreen or from bar mounted controls. Saddlebags and top case are centrally locking – with the side case lids swinging outward from stoutly made chrome-steel hinges, and the deepest, most commodious top case I can remember. The topcase also features a usable chrome steel luggage rack – useful for a small tent and bedroll – that many touring motorcycles no longer provide. Foot controls are far forward on spacious footboards.

Vintage…with Touchscreen

“How”, you ask, “does all that work on the road?”

For a motorcycle whose visual appeal is a wholehearted appeal to motoring’s past, this motorcycle rides like something straight out of the future. Suffice it to say if – in a world increasingly filled with talk of all-electric transportation – you are someone who prefers your motorcycles enthusiastically internal combustiony – the Roadmaster will push every single one of your buttons.

The Roadmaster makes use of keyless ignition. If the ‘Intelligent fob’ is secreted in one’s leathers, when one mounts the bike and presses the large, Apple-like ‘Power’ button, the bike’s onboard information and entertainment systems boot up with an animated rumble and flames sequence on the dash display. Starting is accomplished by rocking the kill switch from ‘stop’ to ‘run’, which allows the bike’s electronics to manage the motor start process.

The bike’s clutch has a very light activation – once underway the Thunder Stroke motor revs far more quickly than other twins of this size, and provides a very broad spread of thrust everywhere in the rev range. Although the torque peak occurs at 3000 rpm, while covering small, technical backroads I was able to make use of usable power from as low as 1300 rpm. The combination of gear driven primary and the output shaft cush drive mean that power at low rpms is smooth and snatch free. At larger RPMs and throttle openings, power delivery is immediate – backroad passing power is always available. Throttle response from the ride by wire fuel injection system is smooth and progressive – unlike most ride by wire systems with which I am familiar, I never found myself wishing for a cable and carb. Fuel economy is what you’d expect for a very large displacement twin — in mixed highway and backroad use during our test, the Roadmaster returned 34.7 miles per gallon. On the interstate, the engine transmits just enough throb to reinforce the sensation of being on a classic American motorcycle without ever crossing the line into being objectionable or uncomfortable.

The helical gear transmission shifts positively, with just the right amount of ‘thonk’. I had nothing even remotely resembling a missed shift in my entire time with the bike. The exhaust note of the stock exhausts is absolutely perfect – a mellow low tone with that narrow V syncopated beat. That combination makes running the bike up through the gears on big throttle so pleasurable that the proper descriptive terms aren’t available for use in a family publication.

The Roadmaster’s handling is both surefooted and agile. Part of our test route included some miniscule, single track byways that wandered through West Virginia’s Sleepy Creek Wildlife Management Area, on a day when nature served up a cool, misty day. The bike’s turn in behavior, and ability to deal with slippery surfaces, limited sightlines and a fair number of 270 degree switchbacks was low effort and relaxed – the chassis worked together with the engine’s broad power spread to make all of these roads a one gear, wind it on and wind it off affair. Credit needs to be given to the Thunder Stroke’s designer – it was striking how gentle and controllable the engine’s compression braking was – for a motor with such large drive torque, one would expect dramatic and over-strong engine braking – and that wasn’t what one gets.

The Roadmaster’s braking is nothing short of amazing, when one considers this is a 900+ pound motorcycle. Give a firm pull on the lever, and give a boot to the big, pickup-like pedal way out there, and stopping just happens. Cornering clearance is also spot on – not one part touched down during our test.

All this combines to provide a ride that – in its sweet spot at about 75 mph in top gear – feels like one that could take one relaxedly from coast to coast.   The Roadmaster’s electronic cruise control saves one’s throttle hand, and with the electrically adjustable windshield in the fully raised position, the cockpit is quiet and still enough to run with a full face helmet’s visor open. Drop one’s road speed down to 60 or so in top gear, and with the low revs and rumble it’s easy to imagine the ghost of that old Flathead Chief rolling just off your six.

There are, as always, things that could be better. Polaris’ big twins have always used a combination of a radial rear tire and a bias belted front – the Roadmaster is no exception. The front tire has a slightly nervous feel during certain tentative cornering lines – it seems to be more easily knocked off line by pavement imperfections that are parallel to the line of travel than radials I have used. The horn, frankly, made me laugh. When a motorcycle feels and looks like a New York Central Streamliner locomotive, its horn shouldn’t sound like a Honda 90.

The Indian Roadmaster is not intended to be a motorcycle for everyone. The aesthetics of the bike – the fenders, the tank, the footboards, the chrome, the embossed leather and concho badges – are clearly intended to compel folks whose tastes run toward the history and tradition of American Motorcycles. If your idea of the word “motor”, conjures up images of the B-17 Bomber’s Wright Cyclone – a massive, obliquely finned, roaring air-cooled monster of power and torque – then this may be the motorcycle you’ve always dreamed of. There’s a certain deterministically massive mechanical quality to all of it, from the deep rumble of the exhaust, to the solid thonks of the transmission shifting, to the unmistakable sounds of the massive valve train working in your lap while on cruise on the highway.

The Roadmaster truly is a time machine, but one that somehow manages to travel into both the past and the future at the very same time.




Portions of this piece originally appeared in the July/August Edition of Motorcycle Times. Thanks to the folks at Twigg Indian Motorcycles of Hagerstown, Maryland, who worked with Indian to provide our test bike.

An extended riding impression of the Roadmaster can be read in here in Omps, The Indian and The George Washington Heritage Trail.



Indian Roadmaster Specifications


Engine & Drivetrain

Bore x Stroke     3.976 in x 4.449 in (101 mm x 113 mm)

Compression Ratio     9.5:1

Displacement    111 cu in (1,811 cc)

Drive/Driven ClutchWet, Multi-Plate

Electronic Fuel Injection SystemClosed loop fuel injection / 54 mm bore

Engine TypeThunder Stroke® 111

ExhaustSplit Dual Exhaust w/ Cross-over

Gear Ratio (1st)      9.403 : 1

Gear Ratio (2nd)     6.411 : 1

Gear Ratio (3rd)      4.763 : 1

Gear Ratio (4th)      3.796 : 1

Gear Ratio (5th)      3.243 : 1

Gear Ratio (6th)      2.789 : 1

Horsepower            N/A

Peak Torque           119 ft-lbs (161.6 Nm)

Peak Torque RPM   3,000 rpm

Transmission/Final Drive2.2 : 1

Transmission/Primary DriveGear Drive Wet Clutch



Fuel Capacity5.5 gal (20.8 L)

Ground Clearance5.5 in (140 mm)

GVWR1,385 lb (628 kg)

Lean AngleN/A

Overall Height58.7 in (1,491 mm)

Overall Length104.6 in (2,656 mm)

Overall Width39.4 in (1,000 mm)

Rake/Trail25° / 5.9 in (150 mm)

Seat Height26.5 in (673 mm)

Weight (Empty Tank / Full of Fuel)897 lbs / 929 lbs (407 kg / 421 kg)

Wheelbase65.7 in (1,669 mm)



Front BrakesDual / 300 mm Floating Rotor / 4 Piston Caliper

Rear BrakesSingle / 300 mm Floating Rotor / 2 Piston Caliper

Tires / Wheels

Front TiresDunlop® Elite 3 130/90B16 73H

Front WheelCast 16 in x 3.5 in

Rear TiresDunlop® Elite 3 Multi-Compound 180/60R16 80H

Rear WheelCast 16 in x 5 in



Front Fork Tube Diameter46 mm

Front Suspension Telescopic Fork – Cartridge Type

Front Travel4.7 in (119 mm)

Rear Suspension Single Shock w/ Air adjust

Rear Travel4.5 in (114 mm)

Had Quite The Adventure Monday Evening

The Big Boxer

American Honda Motor Co. has finally come through and provided a 2018 GoldWing Tour to test.

I had to pick up the bike from the previous journos at Maryland Public Television’s studios for the MotorWeek program in Owings Mills, MD. When I got there, the bike was parked in Goss’ Garage. As somebody that has watched the show and Pat Goss’ maintenance segments for years, I’ll admit I had a tiny star-struck moment firing the Wing up on the set and riding it out.

Backroaded about half the way back to Jefferson to come to terms with the bike and operation of the Dual Clutch Transmission — needless to say this is not your Grandpa’s Touring Sofa — then hit the interstate and wicked it up into the engine’s Happy Zone.

Look for a full test in the September/October Issue of Motorcycle Times, with extended coverage in RPP.

Now I just need to find some places to go!

Omps, The Indian and the George Washington Heritage Trail

Some where due east of Omps – The Indian on The Trail


During Daytona Beach Bike Week in 2013, Polaris Industries, the owner of Indian Motorcycles, unveiled the Thunder Stroke 111 engine, a brand new design that they intended to use to power the then soon-to-be-introduced Big Twin Indians. Indian, at that point, didn’t yet have a motorcycle, but they did have that engine — an 1811 cc , air and oil cooled, electronically fuel injected, gear driven primary, six speed helical cut gear transmission unit construction motor. The Thunder Stroke looked like an old Indian PowerPlus or Chief motor, but was filled with current tech engineering — it was a stock motor whose specs threw shade at Hot Rodded Harley-Davidson CVO motors, and looked bigger, better and shinier while doing it.

I remember thinking, as Indian’s presenter rolled that throttle open a few times, that while I never much was drawn to the notion of being a Harley Davidson man, that the sound that motor was making was enough to make me at least wonder whether I might somehow be an Indian man.

It was absolutely an open question, and there was only one way to get an answer.

And now that answer was sitting right there in front of me.




Folks that know me well know that in Biker-stuff, my demonstrated tastes have been a sort of gumbo of Eurotrash sporty touring and Techno Geek Road Warrior. I will ride my BMWs — some old, some less old — anywhere, anytime, and in conditions that make some folks question my sanity, as if that was ever even a question.

This means I eschew excessive ornamentation, I am alergic to both excess mass and motorcycle cleaning, and that I like my motorcycles simple, smooth, revvy and good in the corners. Anything beyond that — like outright speed, or weather protection — is just a bonus. I do have a minor fetish for mileage vaporization — the ability to comfortably maintain high sustained speeds for point to point transportation, but that is such a fringe enthusiasm that I hesitate to publicly admit to it.

So when I finally arranged to test a 2018 Indian Roadmaster, it was with a frothy mixture of curiosity, enthusiasm, and just a small seasoning of chagrin.

My oldest and most loved motorcycle — after sleeving up and hotrodding the motor — displaces 900 ccs and weighs about 450 pounds.

The Roadmaster’s specs — 1811 ccs and 920 lbs — completely double that.

I’m used to revs. This wasn’t that.

All my motorcycles have — to a greater or lesser degree — balanced seating positions where one’s arms, legs and haunches equally share the load of the rider’s weight.

The Roadmaster has long floorboards and far forward controls. One morning when starting out with the bike I Charlie-horsed myself reaching forward to toe the bike into gear.

It wasn’t helping that my good, good friends were randomly texting me pictures of objects with ever increasingly comical amounts of conchos and fringe. When I told one of them I had ridden the Roadmaster in my Aerostich suit, he laughed right at me. For a long time.

He may be laughing still.

I, on the other hand, am not laughing at all.




The reason for my lack of mirth is because, despite its ever-so-slightly tacky, over the top horseback cowboys gone chrome aesthetics, the Roadmaster is a very good motorcycle. The saddle of the Roadmaster has a rear Saddle Jockey – a leather skirt at the rear of the saddle — exactly like a good Western horse saddle. Don’t get me wrong — the Roadmaster’s motor, for example, is pure moto-porn – all finning with edges milled, the shapes of the barrels and heads. It’s just some of the details — things like the ‘Indian Motorcycles – 1901’ Indian Head badge on the clutch cover, or the ‘111’ script on the air cleaner — that is just a bit too big or a tiny bit too much in one’s face. I completely understand why the designers might have gotten very worked up at the prospect of Indian’s return, but let’s just say they might have gotten just a tad overstimulated in some respects. That aside, the Roadmaster is comfortable in that skin — it isn’t intended to be anything other than what it is, which is a massive, air cooled hunka hunka burning love, throbbing American road motorcycle. Rolling through the gears on my way home from Twigg Cycles, the dealership that had facilitated my Indian test, it was immediately apparent that this was a far more functional, modern motorcycle than its visuals were designed to suggest.

With its investment cast aluminum chassis, modern cartridge forks, monoshock rear and big ABS disc brakes, the bike’s roadholding punched way above its significant weight — it changed directions briskly without being a wrestling match and didn’t get bent out of shape when it did. The bike’s overall chassis and suspension performance was tight, and in the interest of comfort, about two clicks of compression damping short of taut, but still well controlled. The 1811 cc Thunder Stroke motor was a mountain of torque — travelling up the South Mountain Grade on I-70 East there was enough power everywhere to put yourself anywhere you wanted to be in the traffic stream and go there with authority. The Roadmaster’s gearbox was bank vault solid — the helical cut gears shifted with feedback and precision — a pleasure to operate. Air control in the cockpit was good – with the adjustable screen dialed all the way up it was serene enough to run with helmet visor open.

It took me only a little while to figure out that my customary technique, which involves strong countersteering and leaning inside, needed to be modified to a more lead with one’s lower body technique – which makes sense on a machine with a 26 inch saddle height — that had me comfortable rolling the corners by the time I’d finished my run down Maryland 17 and got back to Jefferson.

I spent a fair amount of time looking at the motorcycle that evening.

There was clearly a lot more to the Indian rebirth than conchos and fringe. It was going to be fun to find out what that lot more was.




My life, even with a test bike in the driveway, is just like anybody else’s. Saturdays have chores and shopping and runs to the hardware store, so on Saturday I do what I always do, which is use my motorcycle for any errand for which it is feasible. Overnight Friday it continued to do what it’s been doing, which was to pour raining, so when I had to grab some tools for a project up at my local hardware store, I was starting with a soaked, completely cold motorcycle.

The starting drill on the Roadmaster, given its keyless ignition setup, is exciting — one pushes the ‘Power’ button on the right side of the dash — its one that looks like it escaped from an iPhone and then spent some spare time lifting weights — and then watches while the color LCD goes through its little rumbling motors and sweeping flames animation. Once complete, one rocks the kill switch from ‘not run’ to the ‘run’ position, and the bike’s electronics manage the motor start sequence. The Thunder Stroke motor has a starting decompression system, which slightly opens the exhaust valves until the motor catches, which it does on about the third compression stroke. The motor comes up to an immediate steady idle, although from dead cold, it does exhibit a little bit of a lean stumbly character once underway, along with a slightly sticky clutch which makes selecting first gear and shifting a bit high effort until the motor begins to warm. None of this is the least bit surprising in a mammoth air-cooled motor that has a nearly 4 inch wide cylinder bore. After a mile or so, though, with some heat in the cylinder heads and the oil, the bike returns to its hard hitting, smooth shifting self.

After getting the necessary metal cutting blades I needed for my project, I rode back (the long way) to the shop, just enjoying the Roadmaster’s mechanical personality, and looking for any excuse to roll the ride by wire throttle open and shift the gearbox up through the gears. The Thunder Stroke’s exhaust note — with factory pipes in place — is just perfect, low toned and rumbly, with no burble or backfire on the overrun.

After wrapping up in the shop for the day, I saddled up again and headed over to Brunswick, which was sponsoring a Bike Night. Sweet Doris From Baltimore and I wandered around, ate some crabcakes, and quickly came to the conclusion that most of the ‘Biker Activities’ — beer, swag sales and bad cover band — were of limited appeal to us, so we took up a seat behind the Roadmaster and engaged with the many riders who stopped to look when they walked by.

One Gazillion Harleys and Just a Single Indian – OK, a guy with a Shadow snuck in somehow

Most folks that saw the bike were clearly struck by its appearance and stopped to talk. I had a few business cards from the sales manager at Twigg’s and gave them to folks that seemed genuinely interested.

After a while, I restarted the bike, and took the scenic route home – following Maryland 17 through Burkettsville – and prepared for a big ride tomorrow. It was time to put on some miles, ride through a tank or two, and really see what we had.




When we got home that night Sweet D looked at the weather forecast for the next day and told me, “Well, you better be ready to go early tomorrow. You’ll have one gap in the weather early in the day and the later it gets, the worse the forecast looks.”

I am never ready to go early.




Early Sunday morning, I was out in the driveway, taking a towel to the saddle and controls, and looking at the low sliding clouds that were off to the North and the East. And though it might not work as A Look with Conchos, I had my trusty ‘Stich on, and knew I’d be just fine no matter what the weather threw at us.

Dried off and strapped on, I lit up the Indian’s big motor. I let it idle briefly – listening to the operation of the valve train and injectors on the top end of the engine that was sitting in my lap. Despite the presence of the sophisticated electronics, the motorcycle itself had a comforting massively mechanical quality to it — every time those valves closed and one of those pistons fired, there’d be no question as to what was going on.

By the time I hit the traffic light in town – about three quarters of a mile from home – there was enough heat in the engine and oil that all was clearly well. When the light turned I made the left up Holter Road, and headed up some of the best roads in The Valley.

Where I might have been originally, I was no longer tentative with the bike in corners. I’d completely come to grips with it, and was completely comfortable with the ‘steer with your butt’ motion the motorcycle seemed to prefer. On these few technical corners spinning the engine a little between 2000 and 4000 rpm I was smiling at the way the suspension was working – keeping all that bike in line – and the thrust coming off corner exits. Running up though the gears was like Cracker Jacks – there was a free prize inside every time.

Holter Road turns onto Maryland 17 in Middletown, which gets tighter and curvier, and then deposits one at the entrance to I-70 in Myersville. I banked left into the entrance ramp, thonked up into sixth, and headed west into the mist to find the Indian.




Over the course of a great many miles, I’ve become a firm believer in listening intently to what your motorcycle is telling you. On my K12, at 3900 rpm everything goes smooth, and will run at that indicated 83 miles an hour until your road turns to ocean. With two 900cc plus cylinders, the Roadmaster’s motor looms larger, and it’s presence dictates everything you do. Listening to the Thunder Stroke, it told me it was happiest around 2100 rpm, which in sixth gear was around 74. It still had tons of power — with its torque peak at 3000 — and would briskly walk away on throttle, but everything up higher seemed just a little more busy, a little more blustery — 74 seemed to be the Roadmaster’s comfortable walking shoes – the driveline harmonics’ smiley happy place. Might it smooth out a bit as it fully breaks in? Maybe. But where I’m used to attacking, the Roadmaster’s take was to be taking it easy, and looking good and feeling comfortable doing it.

The night before I’d looked for the bones of a route with a couple of alternate ideas if Mother Nature got mad. I’d sat down with my laptop running Google Maps – and figured I’d head west to just past Hancock Maryland, where I’d get off the interstate and turn towards Berkley Springs West Virgina. USS 522 runs from 70 south through Berkley Springs across Morgan County and further south to Omps.

“Omps?” I thought. I rubbed my eyes, squinted a little harder, and cranked the Zoom up on the laptop.


Omps is an unincorporated community that lies along U.S. Route 522 in Morgan County, West Virginia, USA. Omps previously had a post office that operated between 1887 to 1973.

The community was named after one Mr. Omps, an original owner of the town site.”

What would we do without Wikipedia?

Ok, so I apologize to the inhabitants of Omps, West Virginia, but I noticed your town on the map because I thought it had a funny name. I used to live in Point of Rocks, Maryland, so you can have a turnabout is fair play laugh on me just for sport.

And whether Omps is a funny name or not, what I really noticed was the Great Big Green Thing right behind it on the map — The Sleepy Creek Wildlife Management Area. The more I zoomed in, the more tiny roads appeared. Eventually, those tiny roads popped over the mountains and came out somewhere between Inwood and Martinsburg, which was more or less back in my backyard.

Plan: Go west to 522, head south to Omps, and then make a left and then just wing it.

“Wing it? But Greg,” you say, “that Roadmaster has an LCD screen, built in GPS and nav, why would you not use it?”

Pretty simple. I was out for a ride. Not a get there.



I’ll admit that in the first few minutes after I hit cruise on 70, I did spend a little bit of time looking at the info screens to see what the system could do. I set the bike on its cruise control, which works perfectly, and diverted some attention to the onboard systems. The bike could present four different displays on the bright color LCD, that one could toggle though with either the preset buttons below the screen or with a toggle on the handlebars. My personal fave was strictly a riding information screen – real time tire pressures and fuel range. There were also screens for GPS, for navigation, for the radio and for interface with a smart phone and bluetooth music. There was also a button which dimmed the screen down to a series of dark grays with a barely discernible Indian head. I think that screen is called “Off”.

I liked that screen a lot too.

If you want to know how the radio sounded, you’ll need to ask someone else. While it looks like a nice one, I never turned it on. Between being extra attentive to someone else’s motorcycle and the bike’s built-in music, it never occurred to me to blast some tunes.

And I might have had more time to, if the aforementioned Mother Nature hadn’t shown up pissed.

Plenty pissed, too, if the intensity of the rain was any indication.

I’ve ridden in rain. I’ve ridden in lots of rain.  On my own motorcycle, with tires engineered specifically for rain traction – Thank you, Avon! – it doesn’t freak me out.

On an unfamilar motorcycle and tires, I wasn’t in a position to assume anything, I just needed to be vigilant and listen to what the motorcycle was telling me. I did cop a brief stop on the shoulder — 4 way flashers on — to close the vents and vanes on the fairing lowers and then gassed it back into traffic, and raised the power windscreen to its highest position. Even with the gas on in this strangling downpour the Roadmaster seemed planted, so I managed my lane position to keep away from other traffic and kept the bike running at about 65.

Fairing Vents Full Open

Lower Vent Closed

Deflectors Up, Captain


I passed a group of HD riders that were under an overpass, struggling with raingear.

“Who’s laughing at my Aerostich, now, mateys? Anybody want to buy one of these?”

Overall the protection offered by the bike’s fairing was quite good — my hands and my elbows were a little wetter than I was used to, but my torso and lap were dry, and my feet were also out of the blast. In the 11/10th test conditions Moms Nature provided, Roadmaster’s weather protection gets a solid two thumbs up.

After about 25 miles of this, the Roadmaster and I finally punched out the other side of the storm. It was still a little damp and steamy, but at least one didn’t drown if one opened one’s mouth. We continued to cruise– Thunder Stroke 111 just throbbing along — the few remaining miles up the interstate, until we got to the intersection of I-70, I-68, and US-522. I exited on 522 and headed south towards Berkeley Springs.

522 is a perfect two lane secondary road. If you are the type of rider that does all of your travelling off the Interstate, and seeks out roads like this, then the Roadmaster is a perfect travelling motorcycle. On 522’s winding curves, handling was almost zero effort and felt totally planted, the feet forward ergonomics made perfect sense, and one could lower the power shield to below one’s sightline and still run with visor open and minimal wind buffeting. Running at around 60 mph in 5th gear on the 6 speed box, any sluggish traffic could be instantly dispatched with zero drama — the Roadmaster’s power was like one giant slingshot.

Heading south on 522 one passes the sand mines of US Silica, and then encounters the small town of Ridersville, WV. As a committed motorcyclist, any town called Ridersville is OK by me, and this is one doubly so because of Ridersville Cycles, a large, modern multiline dealership that sits off the west side of the highway. I’d have stopped to say ‘Hi’ but they ride on Sundays, so I continued my relaxed roll to the South.

Coming into Berkeley Springs, I got a demonstration of how well the bike dealt with in-town trolling — at just above walking speeds — and found the bike to be stable and comfortable – not requiring any effort to keep on-line. Leaving town I saw a BP Station, and since I meant to get lost it was best to do it with a full tank.

I rolled into the station and standed the bike. I had a few awkward moments as I eyeballed the dual caps on the Roadmaster’s tank — remembering that only one of them is functional and not being able to remember which one. I guessed wrong, of course, and ended up with a cap in my hand with a safety sticker under it that said “Cap is decorative. Do not loosen or remove.”

Checking carefully to ensure I had not been observed in this serious transgression, I replaced the dummy cap, and tried the other one, which proved to be much more satisfactory. The tank took about 4 and a half gallons of Ultimate – capacity is 5 and a half – and I was much more careful not to drip fuel on this pretty paintjob — Indian calls it ‘Bronze over Thunder Black’ — than I would have been with one of my own motorcycles. I noticed that the trip computer had recalculated my range to empty based on my actual observed mileage – the sort of thing I could come to love out on the road. I got back on 522 South, riding the rolling hills and curves into Omps.

There isn’t much to Omps, really.

Cacapon State Park, with its Lake, Cabins and Golf Course. A Country Market with Gas Station, and the building that looked like it might have been the Post Office, back when Omps had one. But as soon as Omps had come it was gone, and my attention turned to finding a likely left turn that looked like it would cut up into the mountains to the east.

A few rolling miles south of Omps the sign appeared — it was all in international symbols — Fishing, Hunting, Camping, Left Turn — but to me it said ‘Pay dirt!’. I lit up my left signal, dropped a few gears to second, braked firmly and rolled left. By the time I had the Roadmaster straightened up and shifted back into third, I was sure I’d made the right move.

We’ve got lots of roads like this around where I live — little wandering country goat paths — but the ones that are left are in undeveloped farm land, and frankly, they don’t actually go anywhere. Three miles is about all one gets before getting dumped back out on a modern highway. But in Motorcyclist’s West Virginia, these roads can go on seemingly forever. This one rolled on though forest field and cabins as it slowly climbed the mountain — it would occasionally open up briefly where it hit pasture but mostly it was one turn after another, and the higher we climbed, the tighter it got.

From time to time, we’d hit an intersection, and I’d take which ever way looked good to me at the time. And while the road kept getting smaller, and the surroundings mistier, except for a few 270 degree switchbacks which tested the Roadmaster’s driveline and fuel injection’s ability to provide tractable, smooth steady power as really low rpms, I felt as comfortable on the bike as I could be, which is high praise indeed for a very large bike on a very small road. Coming out of these slow corners the bike smoothly launched from low road speeds – the frame’s rigidity and the suspension and steering geometry made what could have been a wrestling match very low effort and relaxing. In the whole time I had the bike, not a single bit touched down.


Leather? Check. Conchos? Check. Chrome? Check and Check. Winding Road? Perfect.

A few corners in, I was presented with another sign — George Washington Heritage Trail. It pointed in a direction, so I went that way. The Father of Our Country has never steered me wrong, and he didn’t on this day, either. The Trail kept rolling up to the summit — rocky hillsides with sparse forestation — and then broke back down the other side to the valley below. Eventually, after miles and miles of winding country roads, we came in via WV51 into the back side of Charles Town, which was frankly too close to home.

US 340 goes home, so I didn’t take it, opting instead for WV9, a twisting local favorite that took me into Loudoun County Virginia, where I picked up Loudoun Heights Road, which since the last time I’ve ridden it, has become a driveway for wineries, which is a shame, because the road itself is a gem — threading vineyard and forests with challenging turns. The vineyard tourists introduce a new wrinkle to running The Heights. It’s a road I know well, and can be ridden with verve — I did spend some time with revs up and butterflies open — the Roadmaster’s sound was superb.

Too soon though we were back on 340 North, and on a divided highway running hard for home. For the few miles left of open road, I opened it up, and spent some time running the bike at a higher road speeds. And while it never ran out of motor, and was willing to pull, there was something that just seemed unnatural spinning that big motor at those speeds. It wanted to know what my hurry was, trying to vaporize the scenery when it was clearly worth dissolving into, embracing, and savoring for a while.




Everybody has a travelling style – no one is right or wrong.

When I was down at the Barber Vintage Festival, a couple of years back, I found myself in the pits of the Blue Moon Cycle Vintage Racing Team. And amongst the /5s, R90s and kneeler sidecars sat a Cherokee Red Indian Roadmaster. I’m pretty sure I was Dribble Puddleing — both that Engine and the Bike are chrome candy moto art — it’s the sort of thing that is kind of difficult to ignore.

Its owner — who was slightly older than I am — saw me looking, and wanted to know what I rode. I told him and he said he’d traded in the same bike I rode for this.

“No neck pain, no back pain, It’s amazing.” He said. “I’ve ridden every travelling BMW – R100RS, 1100 RTs, K Bikes, the works… this is the most comfortable travelling motorcycle I’ve ever owned.”

I thought a lot about what he told me, from that time to this.

Then I rode home from Alabama — 835 miles — in a single sitting, thinking about it most all the way.

And having ridden the Indian, I now understand what he meant.

Ride this motorcycle in its element as it wants to be ridden, and it is an illuminating experience.

Let that big motor do exactly what it was built to do.

The Roadmaster isn’t about getting there, it’s about being there, about being immersed in the ride for as long as it lasts.

It’s the kind of motorcycle that changes you, and can completely change your perspective.





Thanks to Indian Motorcycles and to Twigg Indian, in Hagerstown, Maryland, for providing a 2018 Indian Roadmaster motorcycle for this story.

A complete Road Test and Review appears in the July/August Edition of Motorcycle Times.

That full review can also be found here.


I’d like you to play a little mind game with me.

Break out your mental ‘Etch-a-sketch’ and imagine a motorcycle.

First draw two circles, close to the same size, that describe the wheels. One rectangle towards the rear gives you a bench seat. A jellybean shape provides your fuel tank. A cylinder, maybe two. Give the rider some grips to grab onto, a headlight, and a pipe or two to get noise out of those cylinders, and there it is.

A motorcycle.

Unlike the ‘Famous Artist’s School’ Drawing lessons whose ads festooned a misspent youth’s worth of matchbooks and motorcycle magazines, 4 payments of $4.95 are not required – this drawing lesson is free.

What you’ve drawn looks just like a Honda CB360T. Or a Triumph Bonneville. Or a Norton International, Matchless G12 or a Royal Enfield Bullet.

Your mind’s eye has produced an iconic, simple, classic standard motorcycle.

And in your mind’s eye is likely where that classic motorcycle will stay, because almost no-one still manufactures a product that looks or functions like that.

Think about what motorcycles are out there in the marketplace, and which ones sell in substantial volumes. There are all manner of racetrack refugees – Yamaha YZF-R1s, Suzuki GSXR 1000s, BMW RR1000s, Kawasaki ZX-10s. Such motorcycles are extraordinary pieces of engineering, capable of blistering lap times and stunning top speeds that would have had them on the GP Podiums of 20 years ago.

Most of us, though, just want to get to work with our laptop and lunchbox, take a ride to the grocery store, or put our girlfriend (or boyfriend) on the back seat for a Sunday afternoon ride. Good luck transporting anything bigger than a granola bar, or any SO over 5 feet tall as a passenger on one of these machines.

Other specialized motorcycle designs abound. Heavy Tourers. Sport Tourers. Adventure Bikes. Cruisers. Baggers Bikes with more power, more mass, more suspension travel, more complexity, more function, but with more focus – being good at one thing at the expense of others. Good on the Interstate but a wrestling match in the city. Sweet on a single track but a tall mess on the pavement.

I’m as guilty as any rider of feeding the specialization beast. I have a vintage sport bike, racer boy bubble and all. I have a scrambler – which was riding dirt before anyone coined the term. I have a GT Bike – fairings, panniers and top case – complex adjustable fairings and artsy alternate suspension. It can carve twisty pavement with a week’s gear on board at 80 mph and can do it for weeks at a time. Its motor has a bigger displacement than half the cars in Italy.

My first street motorcycle was a 1973 CB750. It was bone stock – save for a universal chrome tube luggage rack, with a Green Spring Valley Dairy milkcrate bolted on.

Why does it feel like I’ve lost something?

My youngest son Finn is also a rider, and although he gets some, doesn’t really need any encouragement from me. As an Architect in Training, Finn has a developed design eye. When he first started looking at motorcycles, he was immediately drawn to one of those last few remaining classic motorcycles, the Royal Enfield. He intuitively understood the Bullet’s classic design language and intent. Had Finn had as much income as he had discerning taste, he’d have bought one, too.

His first few years in the saddle – using his bike for daily transportation – were spent aboard a Buell Blast single whose purchase was mostly based on the $900 it cost to buy. Being an Architect and not a mechanic, Finn found himself the recipient of increasingly frequent not quite social visits from me and from ever increasing percentages of my toolkit stuffed into the saddlebags of the aforementioned GT bike.

After the Blast’s engine fell out, it became clear, even to me, that some more material adjustments needed to be made to Finn’s riding life, and those adjustments were spelled H-O-N-D-A.

After about 639 phone calls to Baltimore’s Pete’s Cycle, my credit union and my Allstate agent, Finn had a brand new 2016 CB500F parked in my garage – at least until its permanent license plate showed up.

Two circles, one rectangle, one jellybean, some grips, two cylinders, a headlight and a pipe.


So it was with a light and expectant heart that I pulled on my leathers and my helmet, and rolled the CB out of my garage.

It’s not difficult to see the classic motorcycles of the past in the CB’s profile. Its parallel twin engine, sit up riding profile, and relaxed footpeg position carry obvious echos of the original CB450 Black Bomber, and the Triumph Bonneville that it was designed to vanquish. There are a few concessions to modernity – the bike’s 471 cc motor is liquid cooled, fuel injected, and has a double overhead cam, 4 valve cylinder head. Honda’s stylists did their best to pay homage to the tank shape and tailsection of Marc Marquez’ championship winning RC213V.

Fingering the starter yields immediate action – the bike’s exhaust note has a whistling quality which comes from the fuel injection pump and the operation of the injectors being the loudest sounds coming from the motor. The CB’s reaction to throttle is immediate – the engine’s square bore and stroke design has almost no flywheel.

On the road, the CB is a dream. The 6 speed transmission shifts positively – downshifts are a treat given the engine’s immediate response to a blips of the throttle. The quality of the engine’s power delivery is sneaky fast – there’s just enough communication to let you know that this is a twin, but the quality of the vibration is always pleasant – at higher RPMs and highway speeds the motor smooths out admirably. Above 6000 rpm that twin is ripping.

Cornering behavior is exemplary – the bike is narrow, weighs just over 400 lbs wet, cuts entries and changes direction like a scalpel and holds its cornering line securely even at extreme lean angles. Suspension is taut but comfortable. The bike’s 4 piston Nissin single rotor front brake is more than enough for the CB’s low mass.

I find myself seeking out tighter and more technical stretches of Frederick County pavement as the tires scrub in. I’m working the bike’s throttle, making full use of all 6 gears, and spending some quality time with the horizon anywhere but horizontal.

The CB500F has not been a sales leader for Honda. This bike was a leftover 2016 that was deeply discounted at the end of the 2017 sales year. On the West Coast, examples can be bought new for more than 35% off the current MSRP. Our American Riding Brothers and Sisters will tell you that its engine is “too small” and that it isn’t track ready, tour ready or adventure ready. All of that misses the point completely. Anywhere else in the world, where 2 wheeled transportation means a world of 125s, 350 Bullets, two strokers and motorscooters, the CB is an aspirational motorcycle – more attractive and better performing at a price that normal humans, and more importantly in the US, young riders, can afford.

Sitting in my driveway looking at the CB with Finn, it’s clear that we agree with those riders. Neither one of us ever gets tired of looking at the CB, and Finn’s opinion is “This is my new favorite thing in the entire world”.

Better still, is the CB is just grin-inducingly and totally fun to ride.

And isn’t that why we ride?




This story originally appeared in the January/February Issue of Motorcycle Times.