The old Speed Triple, ready for another round

My old Speed Triple, the one motorcycle I’ve ridden more than any other, has seen very light duty in recent years. In large part, that was because of an intermittent electrical problem that made me reluctant to ride it, because I didn’t know if it would start when we needed to get back home.

Still pulling strong, after all these years.

It turns out the problem was one that should have been the first thing I suspected, but in reality, was something I thought of only after going through half a dozen other possible problems and puzzling over the issue for months. (A master mechanic, I am not.) Now, with that resolved, I rode the old bike on a round trip to West Virginia last weekend, enjoying the feeling of its swelling torque pushing me through the curves in the Hocking Hills, sweeping under yellow leaves and feeling cool, fall air unblunted by anything worth calling a fairing. It was a familiar and missed feeling.

I don’t typically anthropomorphize my motorcycles. I don’t give them names or think of them as living creatures. But in this case, it feels like an old friend is back in the game after a rough patch, a bout of ill health. The Speed Triple shows its age. It’s not as gorgeous or competent as the Daytona 675. It’s not as practical, comfortable or useful as the Versys. By many measures, it is not the equal of dozens of other newer bikes I’ve ridden. But it’s impressively close.

Despite 17 years of age and nearly 94,000 miles of often-hard use, it still gets the job done with the can-do style of a muscular good friend, ever ready to do some heavy lifting without complaint at a moment’s notice. And in many ways, after all these years, it’s still my favorite.