There are a few reliable signs of spring: the swallows return to San Juan Capistrano, the buzzards come back to Hinckley, and my Daytona 675 comes out of hibernation. The first two happen in March, and the third, which is a less reliable signal than the birds, may take place any time during April or May.
As I’ve written before, my Triumph Daytona 675 has a life like no other motorcycle I’ve ever owned. It’s pampered. In a lifetime of owning solid workhorses, ordinary saddle mares and the occasional broken-down nag, the Daytona is a thoroughbred, brought out only for the stakes races: sunny day sport rides on the winding roads of southeastern Ohio or West Virginia, or the track day or two that I try to do each year. In fact, she’s probably saved from being called a “garage queen” only by the fact that she’s flogged hard at the track. Well, as hard as I can flog the bike. The motorcycle’s capabilities easily exceed my talents.
The truth is that while some people happily live with a Daytona 675 as their only bike, I’m too old for that. Actually, I was never young enough for that. The Daytona is a bike that works and feels better the faster you ride it. Inching through city traffic on a hot day is misery, both because it’s such a waste of the bike’s capabilities and, more immediately, in those conditions it’s impossible to ignore that the seat is hard, the beautiful undertail exhaust is frying your thigh, the low clip-ons strain your neck, the clutch pull is heavy, and so on. But in its element, on the track or a winding road, it is divine.
For all these reasons, plus my desire to keep it looking good, it doesn’t leave the garage from November through March. I never bother switching the clock to standard time, because the motorcycle lounges in hibernation for those months, while I subject my other motorcycles to the harshest conditions.
Like many other things this year, like the trees flowering late and the dark-eyed juncos delaying their return to Canada, the Daytona came out of hibernation late. It was that kind of winter and spring. But today she got some fresh gas and a 50-mile run. As usual, it will take me longer to get back into shape than it does for her. My left wrist and neck muscles are a little sore now from the unaccustomed work. The Daytona, I’m happy to say, still runs like a thoroughbred.
