TREASURE ISLAND I

by Boris 'Cruiser Abuser' Mihailovic

Australia's latest national treasure brings home the colours in race one

We were originally gonna do a long-distance comparo between the current supersport bikes -- but since the 2007 models aren't due to arrive until the end of March and we had to go to Phillip Island, we got the next best comparable bikes -- power cruisers.

To wit: One Triumph Rocket Three, one Suzuki Boulevarde, one Yamaha Roadliner and one Honda VTX.

The only problem was that out of our testing crew (Dino, Klink, Steve and me), I was the only one who had ever ridden any of these juggernauts.

The others had no idea and Klink, a Buell tragic, made sour lemon faces at me when I told him he was piloting the VTX.

Steve owns 'Fatso', a venerable Kwaka 1300 six -- so he had some terms of reference -- and just smiled, shrugged and went about the business of riding and operating Camera Two for us, just like the diamond geezer that he is.

That left Dino. And Dino? well, Dino races bikes in BEARS (very fucking bastard quick), rides dirt a little less well than Chad Reed and is criminally fast on a road bike. He's kinda like Mick, but not as large -- and he has never in his life even sat on a cruiser or contemplated buying one. He was perfect for this task.

The only time the Rocket 3 was ever behind the Yamaha

He called me when he got home after picking up the Rocket Three from my place in a downpour.

"Fuck me!" he stated. "I was so fucking scared riding that home. It's gigantic! My wife has never seen a bike that large."

Good, I thought. He's scared. That means he will treat it with respect. That also means we shall not be booked, shot, imprisoned or hospitalized on the way to Phillip Island for the 2007 Supers. Mick was already down at the island filming with the Andrew, and Ian lives in Melbourne for the moment, Al was busy doing computerational deployments on the Internet and browsing gun magazines, so it was my responsibility to ensure we all arrived safety. I immediately delegated that job to Klink -- who meticulously planned out a route, booked accommodation and made his peace with God.

"We are going straight down the Hume," I declared after he'd submitted a plan which involved two zesty 550km day jaunts along various back roads.

Klink beamed at me. "It's just as well," he chortled. "Given what we're riding."

He was correct, of course. But he didn't need to find that out from me.

We set off at 8am on Thursday -- all a little nonplussed. None of us had ridden anywhere together before (though Klink did come with us on the Christmas Run), so it all felt a little strange motoring off up the road.

Eight hundred metres later, it felt even more strange cos Klink had disappeared.

"I have never lost any bastard in less than a kilometer," I enthused to Steve and Dino, as we waited on the side of the road two corners from my house. They remained silent. There was really nothing to talk about at this stage.

"Wait here," I said, doing a U-turn through six lanes of peak hour traffic with the Boulevarde (a very easy and graceful manoeuver) and thundering back the way we'd come.

Nothing. Klink was gone. I rode back to the others, shrugged and set off down the Hume.

Fuck, I hate that road. I hate it all the way to Albury, after which I loathe it and despise it and want to carpet-bomb it and kill its children with rat-poison. If there was ever a place where the 110kmh speed limit must be exceeded as a matter of public safety, then that bit between Albury and Melbournistan is it.

But that was a way off yet and the omens were not good.

Klink was gone, Steve wouldn't turn the Yamaha's blinker off, and Dino had discovered how fuck-off fast and hard the Rocket Three actually does go.

"Yes, that is the redline!"

I already knew how fast and hard the Suzuki Boulevarde went and because I was keen to see which one went the hardest and fastest, I was perhaps a tad too indulgent with Dino.

Either way, we got to Marulan rather quickly. There was still no Klink,

Then my phone rang.

"I'm in Goulburn," Klink explained.

"Stay there," I said. "We are coming."

We found him in the roadhouse on the other side of town, exchanged meaningful glances, learned some things about each other, and set off again.

Now there's not much to do on the Hume but the limit, more or less (at least in NSW), so we were on the perfect bikes for this cruise.

We were swapping at each petrol stop and there quickly emerged a preference and for strikingly similar reasons. It was obvious early on that the Suzuki and the Rocket were in a class of their own. These were true "power" cruisers, with an acceleration that would thrill the most jaded superbike rider. The Honda and Yamaha were a different story altogether, and when the pace picked up (as it does when men are feeling bored and lucky), seemed to struggle.

Honda make a good-looking bike. So we put Boris on it

Actually, it was more the riders that struggled. The Yamaha Roadliner is probably the most unsuited to anything over 120kmh. Up to that speed it is refined and smooth, with great brakes, superbly compliant suspension and what is arguably the best gearbox of them all (but there's really no splitting it from the Honda's box). Its seat is also a song of glory unto your buttocks. But its stupid, stupid, stupid tiller-shaped handlebars cause your hands to slip off them at speed.

Dino felt that Velcro would have been of assistance here. It's styling was universally condemned, but that should bother no-one who's after a mild-mannered, beautifully enchromed and finished cruiser (after all, I bought a Speed Triple so what do I know about beautiful bikes?) that fits its assigned category to a tee.

The footboards were a styling thing, but cause your knees to fall apart when the wind increases and its petrol cap arrangement was a bizarre anachronism and far too fiddly in 2007. The instrument cluster was some designer's art deco glory, even though you have to bend your head to read it. It wouldn't look out of place on your mantelpiece... if you lived with a man who smelled like a woman most of the time.

Boris' offered Serbian dancing lessons to passing traffic

The Honda also lacked nothing in its class. I rode one on the first AMCN Dumb & Dumber and liked it more than all the other cruisers on that trip.

This year's had factory-painted flames, proper bars for when you want to go a little harder, a better riding position that the Yamaha for long periods in the saddle and all the crispness and refinement Honda brings to every bike it builds. It's also starting to look a little dated around the switchblocks and instruments, but it is an immensely competent bike and if there was no Boulevarde or Triumph to muddy its waters, would be a like a sweet mountain stream in the cruiser world.

But there was a Boulevarde and a Triumph -- and no-one who's ridden one of these can remain indifferent to them.

I was concerned that Steve and Dino would come to blows over who loved the Triumph more. That was until Steve rode the Boulevarde and started looking at me with a hard glint in his eye. Klink was also coming out of his Buell fugue (a little) and after a stint on the Rocket and the Boulevarde, finally came down on the Boulevarde's side.

But there was really not much in it between the two in terms of power and comfort. We conducted a bunch of roll-ons (what else are you gonna do on the Hume?) at various speeds up to about 140kmh and there is no substitute for cubic inches and there never was.