It was a midweek afternoon and I was on my way out to do an interview. The ride involved some city traffic and a blast down the freeway but instead of my agile little sportbike I'd unhesitatingly chosen the Triumph Scrambler test bike.
And found myself wondering, not for the first time: "Why is an out-of-date, under-powered, overweight, so-called off-roader with limited suspension travel and no mod cons other than an electric starter so much fun to ride?"
Because it's cool, that's why. Cool in the independent, laid-back manner personified by Steve McQueen, who could afford to employ a full-time mechanic but maintained his own bikes because he enjoyed it.
Cool like endless summer afternoons on the dirt roads of the Baja Peninsula, just looking for the perfect spot from which to watch the sun dive into the Pacific.
The Scrambler is based on the now-familiar Bonneville twin but styled to recreate the early-1960's TR6C that was intended solely for the rapidly expanding American leisure market typified by the Southern California pursuit of sun, surf and good times.
It was immortalised in the 1963 film The Great Escape which starred McQueen as an escaping American POW who tries to jump a stolen motorcycle over the fence into Switzerland.
What's less well known is that McQueen was a rider good enough to qualify - on a TR6C! - for the US team for the 1964 International Six Days Trial in what was then Communist East Germany, much to the consternation of his studio bosses.
Don't let the high pipes and block-treaded tyres fool you, however; this Scrambler is purely a road bike, although its wide handlebars and 19" front wheel make it surprisingly nimble considering its 205kg dry weight.
It has the 865cc parallel twin engine that's now standard on all Hinckley twins but with the 270° offset crankshaft used on the US-market Speedmaster and America models, which Triumph claims gives it that V-twin sound Americans apparently want.
Well, to me, it still has a typically British bark, albeit with a slightly off-beat idle.
Hinckley quotes an understated 40kW at 7000rpm, with 69Nm at 4500. Thanks to the balance shaft, without which no self-respecting retrobike is complete, the nearly-900cc twin runs dead smooth up about 6000rpm before a slightly off-putting high-frequency secondary vibration begins to be felt through bars and pegs.
Unsurprising, then, that its most comfortable cruise is at 130km/h with 5800 showing on the (extra-cost optional) rev counter below the big central speedometer.
If you hunker down, rev it hard in fourth and pop it into top it'll max out just on the naughty side of 160km/h, with the rev-counter needle its own width short of 7000.
A little twitchy
Even flat out the bike is stable, although its stiff suspension (and unintentional rider input through the wide bars) make it a little twitchy. It's also distinctly uncomfortable so you relax, sit up and go back to enjoying the day at 130km/h.
It has a firm, positive clutch with a surprisingly light pull and a typically Triumph gearbox - clonky from first to second but slick and quick everywhere else. I dispensed with the clutch for upshifts within 10 minutes of getting the bike and by the end of the day was getting seamless shifts every time.
The suspension is 1960's firm at each end; also, in the fashion of the times, it's adjustable only for rear pre-load, but the bike handles well on anything less corrugated than the "bumpy test" section of our standard test route.
On really bad tar the rear becomes a little stuttery but the bike never goes out of line and it's admirably sure-footed on the long, sweeping curves of the "open road" section.
Surprisingly wieldy
The brakes seem a little basic, with a single disc and floating calliper on each wheel, but they're more than adequate within the limits of the Scrambler's performance envelope. They probably work a lot better than the drums fitted to the TR6C and are less prone to fade under prolonged abuse.
Below handlebar level the Scrambler is unexpectedly slim, especially for riders who grew up in an era of chunky transverse fours; that, and its pinpoint low-speed handling, make it a surprisingly wieldy commuter.
It pulls well from about 2400rpm and will trickle through the traffic at 60km/h and 2600 in top without complaining or missing a beat - and there's always power available to grab an unexpected gap before the box pilots realise what's going on and close it.
The classic Britbike seating position - leaning a little forward, with the 'pegs directly under the nose of the saddle and bodyweight distributed equally between hands, feet and bum - works just as well around town as it does cruising the Winelands.
You can also look around you without getting a crick in your neck, unlike the race replicas, which seem to focus your attention on the road ahead by restricting your range of movement.
Shopping trolley
The long, flat saddle is more comfortable (and better padded!) than it looks and my wife - who went shopping on it with a friend from work - reported that the bike handles just as well two-up as it does solo.
It also handles dirt roads with aplomb, within the (fairly narrow) limits of its tyres and suspension; the upright seating position and wide 'bars give you plenty of control.
It's not a mudplugger, though, despite the fly screen, headlight protector and bash plate fitted as extra-cost options to the test bike.
It is, however, a very stylish round-towner, a better commuter than its looks would suggest, a rolling reminder of a more innocent time when macho was a compliment and the only chemical we needed to get high on was a good dose of adrenalin.
You have only to hear that first "Ker-rack!" from the high-mounted pipes as engine fires up to know that the spirit of Steve McQueen is alive and well and kickin' ass at Hinckley.
Way cool, bro.
- Test bike from Mike Hopkins Motorcycles, Cape Town.
Price:
R69 995. The road-test bike had the optional rev counter (R1573), fly screen (R1573), headlight grille (R798), engine protector bars (R1573), and alloy skid plate (R1106).