Triumph

The title is, and isn't what you think. It's my motorcycle, and it keeps me sane. It's a brand name, but it's also a triumph of the spirit.

I fell in love with my Triumph Speedmaster the first time I saw it on the showroom floor; the bike with the dorky name, typically British. Triumph was an icon of the 60's, associated with names like Brando and McQueen, and even Dylan. I remembered it from my boyhood. It was friendly and familiar. I liked it's blacked out engine, the sexy curve of the black and yellow tank, the sporty drag bars, and the gunfighter seat with room only for a determined passenger.

I took it home and it grew with me. I was healing from a setback, a divorce. The Speedmaster was my therapy. It diverted my interest. It helped me get centered again. I learned again to ride, and I relearned my rudimentary mechanical skills. It sounds a little corny, but I found Zen in a torque wrench. I found ways to coax more power out of the vertical twin engine. I added a new seat and saddlebags, and I experimented with different windscreens. One thing I didn't change was the basic look it had when I brought it home; that classic Triumph look.

Riding is the reward, the prize. It's hard to explain the feeling of cruising down the blacktop, with a wind at my back. The growl of the exhaust floats up to my ears like a mantra of harmony and power. It's like a symphony of the senses with wind and sound and cinema of the passing landscape. It's soothing, really. But it's not something I can totally lose myself in. Riding takes total focus. People have asked me how riding can be pleasant if I have to concentrate so hard. The appeal comes from shutting out all the bad stuff, the anxiety, the regrets, the distractions, and concentrating only on the inputs from the road. It's like the Buddhist practice of calm abiding, a meditation, a calming of the mind. I empty my mind of everything else, and I ride.

Rarely do I take my Triumph for a ride without drawing some kind of attention. I spot a man and woman standing on the street corner, dressed up for the evening. The woman tugs the man's sleeve and points toward my bike. Both are smiling as they watch me ride by. A young girl, maybe 10, smiles and waves from the sidewalk. A carload of college age boys pulls up beside me at the stoplight, and one rolls down the window and hollers, "Nice bike!" As I pull into the parking lot, an elderly man walks over. "Is that a Triumph? I had a Triumph once," he says with a sound of longing in his voice.

The Triumph was to be a transitional bike, something to get me back into riding again. But now that I own it, I'm hooked. It's not the most common bike on the road. In fact, it's rare to see another Triumph. It's not the most powerful bike either, with only 790cc's. Many other bikes are twice as big. But my Triumph has soul. It's classic. As Robert Pirsig might have said, "It has quality." I'm going to keep it.