I don't know if this is true for everyone, but my first ten years of motorcycling were an arms race. Whenever I became used to the power of my bike, I'd look for something with a little more poke to satiate the need for performance. Like a drug addict requiring increasingly large doses, I was fixated on power to provide the same rush of excitement. The unquenchable thirst for more power started whilst learning to ride. I'm one of those guys who took an intense week-long course, starting from nothing, going through the CBT, completing my theory test and squeezing in a few days of training before the practical test. In hindsight, it seems incredible to think I started on a Friday morning, having never sat on a bike, to taking delivery of a GSX-R600 the following Friday.
It's incredible how fast and agile a battered ER-5 feels after a couple of days pottering around on a CG125. I remember believing nobody needed a bike more powerful than the ageing Kawasaki. That belief lasted approximately two days. When I took delivery of my GSX-R600 K3 the day after passing my test, it satisfied my lust for power. However, despite the brief honeymoon period of thinking my gixer was the fastest vehicle on the road, I soon became used to the performance. I chopped in the 600 a year later and replaced it with a shiny new GSX-R750 K7. Again, it satisfied the need for a while, but it wasn't long before a Fireblade was on the cards. In fact, it was the first of three Fireblades, starting with a beautiful HRC-liveried RR9 (god, I loved that bike) and culminating in a sublime 2017 SP. However, 2017 was also the year I realised I'd been barking up the wrong tree.
You see, the problem with the quest for power is that you run out of options sooner or later. Furthermore, you enter a position of diminishing returns; you'll feel the difference between 100bhp and 135bhp far more than between 180bhp and 215bhp, for example. Once you've sampled a few 200bhp bikes, you'll struggle to find your next dopamine high. So what's the solution? As the saying goes, a change is as good as a rest. I never understood this more clearly than when I tried my first adventure bike. After years of sports bikes and with a particularly appealing PCP deal available on Honda's 2017 Africa Twin, I thought I'd give it a go. Perhaps foolishly, I didn't even test-ride the bike before collecting it from the dealer. From the moment I was handed the keys to my shiny new toy, I was entering a new world, the freshness of the experience bolstered by the fact it was a DCT model rather than a manual.
The first few miles were more exciting than I'd anticipated; the floppy suspension, dining table riding position and seat height comparable to a Ford Transit were in stark contrast to the attributes of the Fireblade. Perhaps more interestingly, I wasn't worried about the power or lack thereof. With around 94bhp and a slick dual-clutch transmission, I knew it wouldn't feel quick - and it didn't, by the way - but I didn't miss the glut of excess power. I was more than happy to plod along at the speed limit, taking in the scenery and enjoying being in the moment—the urge to 'go fast' didn't enter my consciousness. If the Fireblade was a weekend of class-A drugs and 240bpm dance music, the Africa Twin was a pint of real ale in a country pub with an open fire and a labrador. Maybe it's my age, but the latter seems much more inviting. I'm sure my driving licence welcomes the refined pace, too.
Over the next few years, with both the Fireblade SP and Africa Twin in my garage, I found myself using the Fireblade less and less. The SP was a fantastic bike, but I had to be in the mood to use it, and the moments of wanting to experience brutal performance and razor-sharp handling became more infrequent as the months rolled by. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed the Fireblade when I used it, but it often seemed like too much effort. Having to dress up as if I'd just failed an audition for The Avengers, feeling compelled to burn away the chicken strips to avoid bike meet mockery, and this overwhelming feeling that I had to ride fast became unappealing. In contrast, the Africa Twin was a low-effort ride where I could get into a much more enjoyable headspace without any pressure to do anything. I'd fallen in love with the least powerful bike I've ever owned.
Now, I'm not suggesting you all sell your sports bikes and buy an Africa Twin. That would be madness. However, if you've had a long line of the same style of bike, and you're feeling that it's all getting a bit much and that maybe you want to take a break from riding: don't. If you're going to rekindle your love for motorcycles, try something new. Whether you jump to a wild supermoto, a gentle cruiser, a portly adventure bike or any other fantastic machines available, the change is the critical factor. I'd also argue that the greater the extreme, the more fun you'll have. If you've only ever eaten chicken vindaloos, vanilla ice cream will blow your mind.
It doesn't have to be a permanent change, either. Once you start getting bored or too comfortable with your new bike, you can either return to what you first fell in love with or try something completely different again. As motorcyclists, we're spoiled for choice these days. Nearly every manufacturer offers a range of styles and options to keep you entertained for a long time, and very few 'bad' bikes are out there. So, consider trying something new next time you take a deep sigh before zipping up your one-piece racing leathers. The change will do you good, and the experience will broaden your mind. There's a whole world out there.
