MCN Fleet: Would I buy the Honda Africa Twin Adventure Sports?
Last week, a reader asked me if I have a favourite manufacturer – not something I’ve really thought about before – and that got me thinking about my own bikes and the Honda Africa Twin I’ve now spent 8000 miles on.
I reckon I’ve lost 4000 miles of riding thanks to Lockdown 1 & 2. That’s as frustrating as rain all weekend followed by a sunny Monday. But while L2 means I’ve spent more time in the garage again – a by-product of that has been closer scrutiny of the AT, instead of just jumping on it and riding.
It’s amazing how fast some new bikes deteriorate, and which bits of them are most guilty of trying to return to the soil. A really close inspection of the AT has revealed that after 8k in all weathers (including a salty winter) it exists in two states: utterly pristine and oddly tainted. The overwhelming winner between the two states is pristine.
The paintwork still has an impressive liquid depth to it, while most of the other painted or lacquered parts are equally mint. The engine cases are flawless, ditto the crankcases, swingarm, subframe, rider and pillion hangers and pretty much every other easily visible part of the bike. Areas of grot are harder to spot, with the exception of the exhaust which I’ve banged on about before (rightly so).
I’ve mentioned the frame, too – and having a proper nose with a torch in hand has revealed more signs of rusty ingress (great porn name) in the nooks and crannies – which will only get worse with time. There are tainted nuts and bolts, too – but nothing more serious.
A brief dash out for some provisions last week highlighted another annoyance. I always plug-in and have the map function on screen, but I was wearing a helmet with no comms unit. No connected headset. Then you’re refused CarPlay functionality. Why? I’ve never used audio commands – ever – so why force me to connect? Frustrating.
Love and bullets
The garage reflection time also made me confront a question I’ve been asked more than a few times this year: would you buy one? Sat side-saddle on it in my garage at the weekend with a mug of tea in hand and my best thinking face applied, the penny dropped that I’ve loved the last 8000 miles on it. But it’s been the kind of adoration usually reserved for a faithful dog or a favourite pair of boots. It’s not love, but appreciation and affection for all its many excellent qualities. So I would buy one? Well, no. It’s just too expensive. This up-spec’d bike would cost £20,432 – but I’d take a standard one for £14,649 and feel near-equally happy on board.
What’s the answer then?
Oh yes, sorry. It turns out I don’t have a favourite manufacturer, just favourite bikes. Lots of them.
A reader’s view from Africa Twin owner, Gavin Marchant:
“I had a 2017 Africa Twin that I’d covered just over 27,000 miles on, and decided to trade-up this year to the new 1100 – just as Covid hit. I thought I knew what I wanted so I didn’t even take a test ride and just ordered the ‘standard’ model. I’ve not ridden it as much as I’d hoped to because of the lockdowns, but now I’m wishing I’d bought the Adventure Sports instead. When the situation is better across Europe I’m desperate to rack up the miles, so the bigger fuel tank and more touring focus of the AS model would make a lot more sense. Maybe I’ll trade-up again in Spring while mine’s mint and low mileage!”
Honda Africa Twin: the story so far
- Update one: Introducing the Honda Africa Twin AS
- Update two: Hit and miss on the Honda Africa Twin AS
- Update three: How’s the Africa Twin after 4000 miles?
- Update four: Is the ‘Plus’ edition worth it?
- Update five: Honda Africa Twin luggage
- Update six: What’s new on the Honda Africa Twin
- Update seven: How is the Honda at taking a pillion
- Update eight: Tyre choices on the Africa Twin
- Update nine: Warning light on the Honda Africa Twin AS
Update nine: Seeing the Southwold illuminations
With the sun dipping over my shoulder as the beach huts and sandy shoreline of Southwold came into view, I glanced down at the Africa Twin’s dash to see the little engine management warning light ping on. Bugger. Hoping that a prolonged ‘turn it off, then turn it on again’ might win the day, I took a stroll along the pier before clambering back on board and sparking it back to life. Still on. Double bugger.
With no worrying noises, plenty of oil lubricating the right bits, and a relatively normal feeling throttle response, I limped back home with the sort of delicate throttle action you’d normally reserve for realising a police car was behind you. It was a frustrating way to tick off the second half of a 300-mile afternoon in the fading days of summer.
A complete battery disconnection the next morning reset the light (and triggered a call from the tracking company, oops), and one gentle exploratory ride didn’t reignitie it until stopping for fuel, when it illuminated again on turning the ignition key. So there was nothing else for it, the big AT went back to Honda for a health check and a marginally early 8000-mile service.
The cause of the engine management light was apparently untraceable – and after an ECU reboot there’s been no reoccurrence of the phantom light. We’ll see if it starts a one-light-disco again in the future.
Getting a shift on
With everything working as it should, I also convinced the technicians to bestow the official accessory quickshifter/blipper upon the AT’s shift rod for some clutchless snicker action. It’s certainly a worthy addition, making every change just that bit more pleasant, reducing the stress on the ‘box when simply going clutchless up through the gears, and the effort on your fingers of fiddling with the lever on downchanges. It’s slick and effective, but not absolutely superb (like some competitor offerings).
All shifters actually take a bit of learning as they’re all subtly different – so I’ll be intrigued to see how we meld together over the coming miles. But, it works well enough at all revs in both directions through the cogs, and provides an effortless slickness and sense of high-end electrickery that elevates the ride. The only real fly in the mojito is the price – a rather salty £695. That’s a lot for a switch – even in a PCP deal it adds nearly £19 per month. Would I still add it? Well, yes – but I’d reserve the right to grumble about it a bit and pull frowny faces.
Update eight: ‘You talkin’ to me?’ Tyres explored on the Africa Twin
Riding a bike should be conversation – a constant stream of observations and comments flowing between bike and human so that you know what it’s doing and, in turn, it knows what you want it to do. Ideally, it’s a clear two-way stream of consciousness and mechanical dialogue – hopefully devoid of chatter.
The Babel Fish that turns your mutually incompatible language into something useful is a cunning blend of carbon and silica (and a few other ingredients) mixed and baked until cooked, and then levered on to your wheel rims. Tyres are the translator par excellence, and the latest set I’ve fitted to the Africa Twin – Dunlop’s new Meridian adventure rubber – are proving particularly talkative.
I’m just over 500 miles into the conversation, and it’s proving to be rather a good one. I’ll confess to having been a little nervous of switching from Pirelli’s Rally STR knobbly miracles onto the Dunlops, not least because the front hoop – it’s a 90/90 R21 on the AT – looks like a rubber knife blade. The lack of breadth at the shoulders reminds me of little two-stroke trail bikes from the 1980s – but I am relieved to report that the front-end hasn’t become skittish, in fact it’s the most planted the AT’s 21-incher has felt in 7000 miles and three tyre choices.
The rear is no less impressive. With the traction control on its minimum level I’ve only seen the briefest illumination of the dash warning light – both times on sodden greasy roads when deliberately trying to make it break traction. Wet or dry, the new Meridians (currently £197 per pair at Demon Tweeks) feel structurally soft enough to find grip and deliver feedback, while offering enough rigidity to deliver predictable composure for the AT’s 240kg, plus rider.
They inevitably lack some of the soft-terrain off-road prowess of the STRs, but if you’re only riding in shallow muck, or on dry trails and stoney fire tracks, you’re losing nothing. They are surprisingly loud considering their predominantly road-orientated tread pattern. It’s neither intrusive nor aggravating – it was just a surprise that they’re not much quieter than the super-blocky STRs at 50-90mph. We need more miles together – but so far, I’ve been highly impressed.
Talking of miles – the Rally STRs managed 4350 miles before the swap. They were still legal and working without any real drop-off in performance (beyond getting squarer) and I reckon would have managed another 1000 miles before the rear could take no more. What can I say that I’ve not said numerous times already? They’re one of the best tyres on the market and deliver incredible performance. I’ve used them numerous bikes and think they’re incredible on road and off it.
Fat fingered fiddling
Now the nights are closing in again, it’s brought the AT’s fiddly switchgear and rubbish USB port back to the forefront of my mind.
Trying to plug in a USB cable behind the daftly over-fussy rubberised cover is a job for a small child’s fingers, not my sausages, and certainly not in gloves. Surely it should be easier than this? And the lack of backlit buttons on the wildly ridiculous over-buttoned left bar cluster makes all night-time button pressing a lottery you’re less like to win than the Euromillions. I hope Honda have a new version in the wings for a much-needed solution.
And talking of Honda needing to come up with solutions – where has that legendary build quality gone that they still enjoy so much trade from? I’ve mentioned the header pipe rust and frame rust (where it chips on the front downtube) already, but I noticed the creeping tide on the end-can this week – and feel utterly deflated by it.
This bike is the best part of £19,000 – and while I’ll concede that it’s been ridden in all weathers and through winter, it shouldn’t look this scabby. The stainless end-can on my 1998 VFR800F is still near-immaculate after numerous winters and four times the mileage. It’s an expensive, highly visible and sour bum-note on an otherwise well-finished bike.
Update seven: Jagged little pillion
There are two things I rarely do on a motorbike: ride with other people in groups and carry pillions. Call me an anti-social old bastard, but I much prefer riding alone. But in the last week I’ve broken both of those normal exclusions – and had a blast both times. The group ride taught me nothing about the AT other than what I already knew in terms of its effective mirrors (I was leading the rideout, not trying to win a race). But taking a pillion was far more informative.
I’ve only ever taken two pillions on the AT. The first time I didn’t touch the suspension settings at all – let’s call that a base run. The second time was also a first: The first time I’ve taken one of my kids out on a motorcycle. That meant I was operating at a level of parental protective fear I’ve never experienced on a bike before, but it was also an opportunity to experiment with the AT’s electronic semi-active suspension to see just what difference it makes to both rider and pillion.
Unlike her dad, my daughter is blessed with being a slim and athletic 14-year-old rather than being a cake-retentive Shire Horse ready for the knacker’s yard – so the impact of her in the pillion seat wasn’t dramatic, but it was noticeable. After 30 miles in the setting I normally ride in (‘solo rider with luggage’ setting works well for my 17st 5lb mass, unless I’m actually carrying luggage, in which case I up it) I pulled over and changed the settings.
Thankfully I have a doctorate in pressing buttons, so it only took a minute or two to work through the AT’s ridiculous dash/buttons complexity. A bit of electric whirring later and we were set for two riders without luggage. Not bad – but it was still a little lacking in support on the rear, so ten miles later I added the luggage setting on top. Voila – decent composure for swift progress on sinuous B-roads without any apparent sacrifice in bump absorption or rolling comfort. It lacks the outright self-levelling composure wizardry of a BMW R1250GS’s Dynamic ESA, and the long fork means inevitable pitching on the anchors and throttle, but it’s actually pretty damn decent.
Less impressive is that by the end of our 82 mile non-stop ride we both noted the lack of seat comfort – and while my daughter didn’t notice, I couldn’t help but spot the lack of available grunt for swift overtakes and the need to use both brakes with power to really scrub off speed. But they are relatively minor gripes against the privilege and joy of showing the next generation why bikes are food for the soul.
Update six: What’s new on the Honda Africa Twin?
It’s been a strange few months, dominated by our news feeds and limitations on our freedom of movement. For me, it’s been the most riding-devoid period of the last 25 years, and I’ve not enjoyed it. But since England’s rules started to relax, I’ve taken every opportunity to get out for a ride – both on my own bikes, and the mighty AT.
It’s been euphoric getting out again, even if we’re still a long way from everything being close to ‘normal’ again. So what’s happened over the last two weeks and almost 1200 miles?
More long-term tests
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When the lockdown smacked us firmly in our freedom and MCN decamped to our home offices, spare bedrooms, dining room tables and workshops (which we’re still inhabiting) the Africa Twin got locked away in the garage with 4356 miles on the dash and didn’t move again for months.
With no riding allowed, the best I could do was fit a few new bits, ready for the eventual arrival of easing. The primary mod I made is a set of ADVance Guard handguards (nippynormans.com, £199). They’re clever, too.
The AT’s standard handguards would struggle to deflect an unladen swallow at standard flying velocity – these guards will knock down walls. They mount to the bar ends and the bars directly (rather than a wobbly flexible plastic mount on the lever posts) and are rock solid.
They also have three states: normal, extended (where a big aerofoil rises to provide greater protection/ wind deflection), and naked – where the deflectors and centre panel are removed to leave just the tough aluminium frame.
They’re also heavy – which is a good and bad thing. The increased mass (one standard guard 127g, one ADV guard 582g) means better damping of bar vibes, but you can feel the additional mass on the bars at low speed.
Would I recommend them after 1000 miles of use? Yes – they work brilliantly, they’re clever, versatile, tough as hell and well put together – but that sturdiness adds extra mass and they’re pricey.
My first decent rideout for three months came just last week, when I switched my Mac off, cooked the family a BBQ and suddenly thought: ‘I wonder if I can get to Wells-next-to-the-Sea in time to watch the sunset.’ Turns out I could. Just.
It was a 172-mile round trip – and it felt absolutely awesome. But rather than stopping for chips, I merely noticed a few. And some rust.
The AT’s only area of grottiness is the area behind the front wheel. White frames are all well and good, but when it starts to chip and rust, it really shows. A sad bit of tired ugliness on a bike with less than 6000 miles on the dash. That bellypan always looks a mess, even after a ruddy good scrub, too. And those downpipes are a real lowlight. The rest of the bike is mint, so these eyesores are a real shame.
As I stopped on Wells’ harbour wall to grab a happy-snap I’d not even got my helmet off before a chap appeared at my elbow to start asking me about what tyres I was using.
Nice chap, called Chris, who owns a Lucky Strike Cagiva Elefant (which he refused to sell me) as well as a plethora of Corgis and other bikes. Turns out he’s been reading MCN for 40 years and had been following my AT tales.
So how are the Pirelli Rally STRs coping after almost exactly 3000 miles? Pretty well. The front is immaculate, but there’s no hiding the squaring of the rear. It’s the second rear tyre that has squared fast on the AT, and having used STRs on numerous other bikes, I’m confident to say that the AT has squared it more readily than, say, an R1250GS would.
The STRs also feel slightly less gluey in 90/90 R21 and 150/70 R18 sizes than they do on fatter, smaller rims. They’re still a big step up over the Karoos I whipped off 3000 miles ago and will probably suffer another 1500 miles legally, but the wear is now making the rear squirrelly at partial lean, regularly illuminating the TC light. Perhaps it’s time to try something new.
Previous Honda CRF1100L Africa Twin updates
- Update 1 – Has Honda’s Africa Twin come of age?
- Update 2 – Playing in the genepool
- Update 3 – A very fast average year
- Update 4 – Adding a big Plus to proceedings
- Update 5 – Honda Africa Twin luggage
Update five: Honda Africa Twin Adventure Sports – pack up ‘n’ go (nowhere)
I was planning a night away on the AT over the weekend, but I doubt I need to explain to you why that couldn’t happen. But despite the lockdown meaning my three-piece suite of luggage remains empty, it felt like a good time for a review.
Previous Africa Twin updates
- Update 1 – Has Honda’s Africa Twin come of age?
- Update 2 – Playing in the genepool
- Update 3 – A very fast average year
- Update 4 – Adding a big Plus to proceedings
I’ve been using the panniers and topbox for four months now and have been really impressed with some of the design ideas – and niggled by a few others.
Let’s keep it positive for starters. The construction is really good. While some panniers feel flimsy, these are rock solid. The catches and hinges all feel bullet-proof and the molded additions are similarly sturdy. The clasps locate precisely and pull the lids tightly onto the rubber weather seal, ensuring that – to date – not a single drop of moisture has found its way in.
The lid-stays prevent them from flapping right over when open and unlike my previous long term test BMW R1250GS panniers, the stays do stay put. Those bars mounted to the top edges of the panniers and topbox are also exceptionally handy.
Not only do they give you ergonomically comfortable handles to help you lug them about, but they provide great tie-down points for tents, rollmats, chickens, or anything else you need to carry.
The topbox also boasts a nice big rubber backrest for your pillion’s comfort, ensuring they’re not poked in the back by lumpy hinges and damping some of the inevitable bump and grind of British roads.
The mounting system, too, is peachy. All three cases locate on sturdy flat-topped pins before clunking pleasingly into place with their locking mechanism. That’s a raised ‘tooth’ on the plate for the topbox and twin spring-loaded tangs for the panniers.
You can mount them without the key, but not remove them – and the panniers have two indicators each side which show green when mounted correctly, red when not. There are invaluable lock covers, too – meaning your keyholes won’t gunge up with grime and cause you grief.
Related articles on MCN
- How to ride a motorbike off-road
- How to ride your motorbike in the rain
- 2017 Honda Africa Twin Adventure Sports long term test
Add a full set of the waterproof Honda-branded drybag liners, and you can rock-up at your destination and unpack with ease, too – which is especially handy in the rain.
The niggles? The lids don’t always locate straight, requiring a wiggle, you can’t leave the lids unlocked so need the key for every opening, the panniers feel an inch or two too far forward and they look dirty even when they’re clean. That’s it.
Update four: Adding a big Plus to proceedings
I’ve not turned a wheel in three weeks (other than doing a few laps of the garden before being told off by ‘the boss’). It’s the longest I’ve gone without a road ride in 23 years. This lockdown is driving me crazy, but I won’t break.
So, confined to the garage it dawned on me that a few readers have asked what makes my Honda Africa Twin AS ES a ‘Plus’ edition, and whether the extras are worth it.
Well, deep breath – this is what you get: heated grips, topbox and panniers (with inner bags), tank bag, air deflectors and visors, 12v socket, high windscreen, front/side crash bars, engine bars, fog lights and a centrestand. I’ve covered the hard luggage below, so let’s only dwell on the rest here.
The heated grips are good, with five-stage adjustment and lots of punch and offer a massive improvement over the previous Honda offering. The 12v socket is useful, but there is already a USB if all you need is phone power. The centrestand is crucial. Without it you can’t look after your chain and Honda have cunningly not fitted stand bobbin mounts, meaning you can’t even use a secure paddock stand. Cheeky.
Rich Newland’s long term tests
The other big mention I want to make is for the Pirelli Rally STR tyres I fitted at 2576 miles. They’ve been a serious step-up over the OE fitment Metzeler Karoo Streets. They warm faster, handle better and are oddly good in the wet (the blocky pattern would suggest otherwise).
Grip isn’t a problem and if the TC does kick in, it’s thanks to aggressive throttle inputs at lean. The only negative so far is visible rear tyre wear after sub-2000 miles. Can’t wait to see if they do another 2000 (they did on the R1250GS, with ease – and that’s a heavier bike).
Is the Plus worth another £2800? Well, the answer is yes, but only if you do more than just potter around the lanes on sunny Sundays.
Honda Africa Twin Adventure Sports ES Plus hits and misses
Hit: Feeling a little windy?
These upper deflectors are small, but do appear to reduce turbulence and improve the ‘rider bubble’ you sit in, cosseting you more. The lower deflectors are completely impossible to detect.
Hit: To protect and serve
The substantial engine bars are placed right where you need them and appear to give the sort of solidity needed to stop you holing a casing by having an unscheduled lay down mid-ride.
Miss: Tanking along, badly
The 4L tankbag is a useful place to stash a dash-connected phone and other bits, but the opening is fiddly, it slides around all the time and scratches the tank, and the bike-mounted flappy clips look ugly when the bag isn’t fitted.
Miss: Screen if you want to
The bigger screen is welcome, and pleasingly quiet, although too tall once off its base setting. However, the adjusters feel like cheap bulldog clips, and you have to operate the two together.
Hit: Bars and illumination
The upper crash bars feel a little bit flimsy, but do offer a mount for the fog lights, which are actually very useful extra driving lights to help the fairly weak dipped beam on country lanes.
Update three: A very fast average year – what has 4000 miles revealed about the Africa Twin?
Blimey, has it been a year already? Well, no, but with almost 4000 miles showing on the LCD panel that nestles neatly under the flashy CarPlay-enabled TFT dash, it feels like a good time to reflect on what an average UK rider’s annual mileage would have revealed.
After a couple of laps of the MCN250 and a week of commuting schleppery we’ve already crept over the first service marker. Service done, and we’re back on the road. Nothing remarkable has happened, but it’s about to.
Having forced myself to do the first miles in the bike’s standard ‘Tour’ setting, I now allow myself a bespoke twiddle with the electronic spanners and set up a ‘User 1’ custom suite of suspension and rider aids. It’s a revelation. All the pitching and yawing, aggravating traction control interventions, and other imperfections are – almost without exception – dialled out without touching a real toolbox.
The seemingly endless storms that welcome 2020 into our lives reveal that the Africa Twin has a wind problem. But it’s not how it passes gas, but how it deals with stormy gusts. Regardless of any fitted luggage (although at its worst with a top box on), the AT gets blown around like a paper bag, with that 21in front wheel acting like a spinnaker. It’s not desperate, but I’m struggling to think of another bike that suffers as much.
The Carole Nash MCN London show gives the first opportunity to load up the panniers and top box and spend a bit of time ticking off fast miles. In town, on the motorway, and blatting down country lanes all reveal a similar story: the AT is a pleasing companion in every environment, but also exhibits no particular favouritism for any single one.
If you’re looking at an adventure bike to slow you down, this one won’t. It’s hardly rampant charging through the gears, but it’ll cruise effortlessly with silly speeds on the dash all day long.
The OE fitment Metzeler Karoo Street rubber is already getting tired. The rear is squaring and both ends suffer a slightly plasticky numbness that – particularly on cold, wet roads – gives you little pulses of adrenaline when tipping into turns.
They make way for Pirelli Rally STRs, which I’ve used them on smaller, fatter rims, but the AT’s narrow rear and bicycle-like front are an unknown. But the STRs prove an immediate improvement, boosting feel and feedback and reducing the TC dash disco. Now it’s time to see how well they wear.
Lashings of rain, salt, road grit are nibbling away at some metal parts. There are a few chips to the front frame downtube, a smattering of cheap parts (like the rear sprocket) now look a bit worse for wear despite cleaning and protection attempts. The fuel tank has suffered some rubbage from the Honda official tank bag, too – but otherwise it’s still looking box-fresh after a bit of soapy love.
An average UK biker’s annual mileage reveals the AT might not wow you or set your pulse racing like a dangerous one-night stand with a hot looking psycho – but it is the marrying type. Here lies happiness, if not outright thrills. It’s still exciting, still capable, fun to spend time with, great to been seen on, and draws quiet admiration everywhere it goes. But all without the sort of drama that gives you palpitations.
Update two: Playing in the genepool
When legends are resurrected, you really want them to be worthy successors – bikes capable of building on the legacy of their forefathers. For me, the reborn Africa Twin didn’t quite hit the mark. Don’t get me wrong, it was (and is) a lovely bike, but it was just a bit too light on specialness. The 2020 model addresses much of that, giving us the bike that it should ideally have been in 2016 – albeit at a much saltier price point.
So what’s changed? Well, Honda have given it a bit more mumbo at its heart to ensure that you don’t get bored in the saddle, added some useful tech, and done their best make it feel more like a quality-laden market leader.
It’s a positive step forward, but is it all good news? Read on…
Hit: Playing at being a car
The CarPlay-enabled system is slick, sharp and delivers a great user experience (once you work out which buttons to press). The only downside is the need for a physical lead connection and comms system. But if you’ve got an iPhone and a Bluetooth helmet system – it’s superb.
Hit: Grunty boost
The fitter, larger capacity engine on the 1100 is a welcome boost. The extra grunt makes the big AT feel a tad sprightlier in every gear, all over the rev range. That fitness makes its mass feel less intrusive, injects a bit of fun to proceeding in a disorderly manner.
Miss: Stopping power
My 1998 VFR800FiW stops with more aggression than the AT. How Honda have managed to make a decent set of hardware so uninspiring is a mystery. You need a rock-climber’s squeezing tension on the front lever and a ruddy good prod of the back brake.
Hit: Bendy illumination
The arc of illumination delivered by the three-stage cornering lights gives a huge visual benefit. These bright white day-makers help erase the guesswork about what your front wheel will meet next. They’re the most effective cornering lights I’ve experienced.
Miss: Switch roulette
Whoever designed the switch cubes deserves a slap. Not only are there more switches than should ever be fitted to any motorcycle, they’re arranged and operated with infuriating quirkiness, sometimes in tandem between right and left clusters, too.
It’s madness. Even worse, they’re not even used in a consistent manner between different screen functions. It’s like they gave a bag of buttons to ten 8-year-olds and told them to do whatever they wanted, so long as they didn’t agree on a system. And they’re not backlit – so good luck finding anything you need after dark. An awful cluster.
Update One: Has Honda’s Africa Twin come of age?
The Honda Africa Twin holds a special allure for me. I loved the last of the old breed and have covered a lot of miles on the new version – including riding 2100 miles from Oslo to Nordkapp on a DCT version in 2017.
This new 2020 model appears to answer many of my criticisms of that first version – but can it answer all of them?
— Richard Newland @MCN (@Moby_MCN) February 18, 2020
I want to rack up over 10,000 miles in search of riding enjoyment both on and off-road to test its reliability and to see if an emotional connection – which never materialised with the previous model – emerges.
The rider Richard Newland, MCN Editor, 46, 5ft 11in. Riding for 35 years, all year round. Richard.firstname.lastname@example.org
Bike specs 1084cc | 100bhp | 240kg | 850-870mm seat height