My 2006 Triumph Daytona 675.
I always wanted to prove that once in my life I could own a thing of beauty and keep it that way. That one thing, for me, is this Daytona.
I am not a person who wants many luxuries. In my world view, a peanut butter sandwich and an apple at a picnic table make a better lunch than nearly any stuffy restaurant I’ve visited. On the road, I’m happier pitching my tent and sleeping on the ground than staying at the Four Seasons. (When a business trip gave me the chance to stay at the Fours Seasons, my wife, whose more sophisticated tastes enable her to appreciate an occasional luxury better than I do, noted the waste of it all.)
Along the same lines, my motorcycles have mostly been utilitarian vehicles. That doesn’t mean they all lacked style. But even if they were eye-catchers when new, they inevitably suffered under the demands of daily life. It’s easy to keep a motorcycle looking like new if you never ride it in the rain and only bring it out of the garage on occasion. But as someone who travels, commutes and runs errands all on two wheels, who has been known to strap on loads ranging from camping gear and a week’s supplies to (just once, and unsuccessfully) a coconut, my bikes age. The paint dulls from the weather and the inevitable scuffs and scratches multiply. The tip-over on the dirt road I optimistically tried on my Speed Triple left more scratches and bent turn signals. Lots of miles means lots of rock chips, lots of tire changes that leave scratches on the wheels, residual salt on Midwest winter roads that hurries corrosion, and on and on, decline and decay.
But I always envied those who did own a motorcycle that looked perfect, especially an older one. It showed a level of care I could aspire to attain. Someday, I told myself, I’d buy a beautiful motorcycle and keep it that way. Of course the only way to do that is not to press it into utilitarian duty, to leave it in the garage on rainy days and winter months. And that means it has to be a second (or third) bike. It has to be, on some level, an unnecessary luxury. And remember, we started out talking about how I don’t go in for luxuries much.
In 2007, that changed. First, my wife and I took out a home equity loan for the first time in our lives and built a new garage, one that was weather-tight and appropriate for something new and shiny. Then, continuing to spend money at what was, for me, a drunken-sailor pace, I bought a year-old 2006 Triumph Daytona 675 in Tornado Red. This one, I vowed, was a thing of beauty that would remain a thing of beauty.
Though it had already been through two owners in one year, the bike was as good as new. I lavished it with some accessories, such as the rear seat cowl and the Watsen flush-mount front turn signals you can see in the photo. I’ve been known to polish it more than any other bike. I don’t attempt to strap camping gear, groceries or coconuts to it. (The high, center-mount exhaust would probably send them up in flames anyway.)
Of course I have a garage, not a museum, so my Daytona does get use. I ride it on sunny days on curvy roads when I don’t have to carry anything that won’t fit in a small backpack. It is a joy at track days. Frankly, I never enjoy riding it on the street as much as I do on the track. It’s the perfect example of a motorcycle that feels better the faster I ride it. Stuck in city traffic, it is torture, as much mental as physical, because I can feel it yearning to run free. The track feels like its natural habitat, though at the pace my skills allow, it still yawns.
Today I took advantage of the perfectly clear day and bright sunlight to fool around with the camera and snap some beauty shots of the Daytona. It’s not perfect, but at six feet it still looks like new to all but the most perceptive and critical eye. Though it’s a six-year-old design, its lines have aged well. It is the closest thing to a pure, unnecessary luxury in my life, and it gives me hope that despite never accomplishing it before, this time I can own a thing of beauty and keep it that way.
