A 3,500-Mile Royal Enfield Himalayan Summer

[Hugh Janus]

Himalayan in the Midwest (Illustration by Zack Meyer /)

If somebody had told me 10 years ago, when I was doing trackdays on a Ducati 996 and tearing around the backcountry on a KTM 525, that I’d end up spending almost an entire riding season seated quite happily behind the handlebars of a 24 hp, 411cc, $4,700 adventure-touring bike made in India—leaving the other bikes in my small stable almost unridden—I might have been quite puzzled. Editor Mark Hoyer certainly was, as were several of my riding buddies. So, perhaps some explanation is due.

It all started with Alaska.

About a year ago, my wife Barbara and I took an ­Inside Passage cruise from Vancouver to Anchorage, and we managed to quit eating and drinking long enough to get off the ship and do some exploring of the interior by foot, rental car, and railway. And, of course, I was predictably knocked out by the vastness and beauty of the Alaskan landscape. Gobsmacked, as our British friends might say, and often do. By the time we lifted off from Fairbanks on the flight back to Wisconsin, I looked out the window and announced to Barb, who was already nodding off, “I’m coming back here on a motorcycle.”

She mumbled something in her sleep that I interpreted as “Great idea!”

But what bike? I had a long flight to think about it. And a long winter ahead.

Friends who’d ridden in Alaska had described summer as “road-repair season,” and said to expect occasional stretches of mud and gravel, even on normally paved roads, and suggested that being able to pick up your own bike (while recovering from a slight concussion) was a very good thing. None of this sounded ideal for my 2009 Buell Ulysses, which is a great highway and gravel-road bike, but something of a tall and heavy handful in deep muck.

My 2016 Bonneville T120? Out of its element and too shiny to drop.

Several people suggested that my DR650 Suzuki would work fine, and it probably would, but the DR has a tiring engine resonance that makes Canada look very wide. Also, it’s not much fun in deep sand when heavily loaded—as I discovered while riding in Texas' Big Bend National Park this past winter.

I’ve recovered quite nicely from that crash. Thank you for asking.

So I spent the following months haunting motorcycle shops to look at alternatives. I was searching for some elusive combination of low, smooth, light, and simple, and not really finding it. Aesthetics mattered too. I’ve never bought a bike I don’t like to admire in the garage. It’s my off-season entertainment.

Simple, with a low seat height, and light enough to be picked up without assistance, the Himalayan checked the functional boxes for an Alaskan explorer. It also doesn’t look half bad. (Jeff Allen /)

While making my rounds, I tried several new midsize adventure tourers but seemed to find them, variously, too tall, chunky, high-tech, pointlessly futuristic, or expensive for my simple Walden-esque soul. I guess in the back of my mind, I was really looking for something with the rider-friendly dimensions of the old Honda XL350 I once rode on the Barstow-to-Vegas dual-sport ride, but with modern brakes and suspension. And fuel injection. Yes, the cleaning of clogged carburetor jets has finally lost its glamour for this cowboy.

Toward midsummer, I stopped by our local Triumph/Royal Enfield dealership for a look around and told the owner, Todd Ligman, about my search. He said, “Have you tried the new Royal Enfield Himalayan?”

I told him no. I’d always liked the looks and character of the Indian-built Royal Enfields, but had heard they often required a bit of fettling to correct their hand-built idiosyncrasies. Ligman assured me that was no longer the case. “We haven’t seen any problems at all in the new Himalayans or 650 Twins,” he said.

I’d read that the parent company, Eicher Motors, under the leadership of a dynamic guy named Siddhartha Lal, had spent millions upgrading its factory and production standards, so maybe it had paid off.

An inaccurate ambient temp gauge and a schizophre­nic compass sit proudly on the right side of an otherwise useful instru­ment cluster—the stars and sun are more reliable navigational aids. (Jeff Allen /)

I took their new white demo bike for a test ride and was surprised at how much I liked it. Not exactly a ball of fire compared with my two 1,200 streetbikes, but comfortably quicker away from a stoplight than the surrounding traffic. Admittedly, I didn’t try outdragging a McLaren 600LT, but the average SUV or coal-rolling diesel pickup slid easily rearward in my mirrors. No problem with on-ramp merging either, and the Himalayan cruised almost vibrationless at 70 mph, turning about 5,600 rpm on its 6,500 rpm redlined tach. It was much more serene and smooth on the highway than I’d expected.

I liked the agile handling too. Nice turn-in, planted stability on paved sweepers with its moderately knobbed Pirelli MT 60s, and a fork with a comfortable balance between travel and damping over our winter-ravaged back roads. Royal Enfield had bought the legendary frame builder Harris Performance in England and had built a new tech center there, so maybe that explained the handling. Despite the Himalayan’s not-exactly-gossamer 421-pound advertised wet weight, it felt light and manageable, with a relatively low CG and seat height.

Eicher Motors’ investment in Royal Enfield’s factory, production standards, and technical center becomes apparent when the Himalayan is set into a corner. (Jeff Allen /)

The riding position seemed personally tailored to my 6-foot-1 frame, but I didn’t like the seat. Too soft, and too much bum-stop padding at the rear. I needed to slide back more. Fixable, I guess. Other than that, no complaints.

When I pulled into the dealership, I shut off the bike and sat there awhile, looking it over. I took off my helmet and asked myself, Why doesn’t anybody build a bike like this?

I let that idiotic statement ring in the air for a moment, and then I said: “Oh, wait. Somebody does.”

What I meant, of course, was, Why doesn’t some proven, long-established brand in the American marketplace build a bike like this?

Well, somebody in India had done it—figured out exactly what I wanted, when I wasn’t even sure myself, and built it. You have to reward people who can read your mind, so I decided to go out on a limb and trade in the old DR on my own Himalayan. Would this be a big mistake I’d regret later? I liked the looks and architecture of the bike enough that I figured it was almost worth buying for winter garage scenery. We’d see.

The bike arrived in its crate about three weeks later, a white one with cool tank and fender graphics that I romanticized as snow leopard tracks, but then I realized they spelled out “Himalayan.” This is probably why I got a D-minus in calligraphy class. I’d ordered it with the factory aluminum panniers, which looked like exact copies of the Touratech bags on a friend’s BMW GS, sturdy and beautifully made. With mounting racks and installation, they added another $927. Total expenditure for the whole package—bike, accessories, and all fees and taxes—would have been $6,491.24, without my $3,500 trade-in. So I made it out the door for $2,191.24—if you don’t count the $6 I spent on a decal for the panniers.

I’d just finished reading the autobiography of the Dalai Lama, so I bought a sticker that says “Free Tibet!” A little pat on the back to India, for generously sheltering so many Tibetan refugees.

New plates installed, I set forth into the blossoming Wisconsin summer.

Over the next three months, I put 3,500 miles on the Himalayan. And I never did make it to Alaska. Just flat ran out of time. Alaska is about halfway to Alpha Centauri from here, as the crow flies, and a big place to explore when you get there. I realized I’d need to set aside more than a month of travel time to make the trip worthwhile, and that’s too long to leave Barb tending the still and feeding the chickens. Maybe a one-way trip next year.

It won’t win any light-to-light showdowns, but the Himalayan’s 411cc single is smooth and more than adequate for roaming whatever latitude and longitude you may find yourself. (Jeff Allen /)

In the meantime, I had probably the best summer of riding since I built a minibike when I was 13 (in 1961) and set myself free to roam. The Himalayan may have been built for trekking into Kashmir and the Karakoram, but it also seems tailor-made for the winding back roads of our rural hill country. It’s a bike that’s comfortable going absolutely anywhere, at least anywhere I have the ability to ride—up a long, rutted dirt driveway to look at a hilltop farm for sale, across the lawn to the workshop, or cruising comfortably with the 70 mph traffic flow on a state highway. It’s also effortless to park and turn around.

That said, this is probably not the bike for you if you have to commute on the I-5 between San Diego and LA, where 90 mph is the norm—in the slow lane. Top speed on my Himalayan, flat-out and hunched over, is an indicated 79 mph. It’s not an interstate flyer, but then I never take interstates unless I absolutely have to. Riding a motorcycle on interstates, to me, is like owning a Pitts biplane so you can taxi really fast. I’d rather go flying.

Speaking of which, the Himalayan got noticeably faster and smoother during its 300-mile break-in period (all three days), and averaged a consistent 70 mpg with the panniers off, and 64 mpg with the bags on and loaded. Right after break-in, I took it on a 700-mile meandering trip to visit my guitar-playing buddy Doug Harper in ­Minnesota, following the Great River Road up the Mississippi. This otherwise blissful journey caused me to immediately order a Tall Comfort Seat for $350 from Seat Concepts and have it installed on the original pan. This might be the best seat I’ve ever had on a motorcycle, and now I’m thinking about Alaska again. I also added a set of K&K heated grips, a set of aftermarket case guards, and installed the faithful Cycra hand guards from my DR, so the Himalayan is now ready to go around the world. Which I would gladly do, if I didn’t have to shovel the driveway.

So, any problems with the bike?

No reliability problems or repairs whatsoever, but a few minor gripes.

On an otherwise accurate and nicely laid-out instrument panel, the ambient temperature gauge is 10 to 20 degrees optimistic, apparently because the sensor is behind the cylinder head. Also, the compass—which should be wonderfully useful on this bike—is almost never right, and changes its mind every few minutes. You have to wonder about the engineers who signed off on this.

“Raji, how does the new compass work?”

“It says I’m going south when I’m headed straight north, so it’s only 180 degrees off.”

“Close enough! Let’s go to lunch.”

If Charles Lindbergh had used this compass, he’d have landed in Paris, Texas.

What else? Ah yes, the engine usually dies suddenly when you’re warming up or just leaving your driveway. Whomp!—the fire just goes out. If this were a cranky kickstart single, I’d have sold it by now, but the engine restarts instantly with a dab of the button, so it’s an almost ­subliminal ­inconvenience. Unusual for fuel injection, though.

Peter Egan (Illustration by Zack Meyer /)

Other than that, no complaints. The brakes feel rather wooden when you first ride the Himalayan, but after a few back-road miles, you discover they have a linear and predictable response to added lever pressure, and you can brake quite fiercely going into a corner without jouncing the fork or accidentally kicking in the excellent ABS. After riding this bike, my others often feel overly touchy and abrupt. The Himalayan gives you a nice sense of flow.

At the moment, our riding season is over here, and the Himalayan is in my heated workshop, basking in the green glow of the battery tender. There’s a swivel chair and a small refrigerator full of dark ales nearby, and it seems the “winter garage scenery” concept has worked out very nicely with this bike. And so has the riding.

Essentially, I spent the whole summer exploring my own backyard, so to speak, doing free-form day trips, and finding forks in the road and taking them. I felt cheated if I missed a day, and rode when I had no specific destination, just to be on the bike. No need to make up ­imaginary errands as an excuse to ride.

I still want to do the Alaska trip, but I’m considering flying up there for a nice vacation with Barb, then buying a second identical Himalayan on which to wend gradually homeward. That way I’d have a spare if they ever quit making them.

2020 Royal Enfield Himalayan (Jeff Allen /)

2020 Royal Enfield Himalayan Specs

Type	Air-cooled single
Displacement	411cc
Bore x Stroke	78.0 x 86.0mm
Compression Ratio	9.5:1
Valve Train	SOHC, 2 valves/cylinder
Induction	(1) 33mm throttle body
Transmission	5-speed/chain
Front Suspension	41mm telescopic fork, non- adjustable; 7.9-in. travel
Rear Suspension	Monoshock, non-adjustable; 7.1-in. travel
Front Tire	Pirelli MT 60 90/90-21
Rear Tire	Pirelli MT 60 120/90-17
Rake / Trail	36.0°/4.4 in.
Wheelbase	57.7 in.
Seat Height	31.9 in.
Fuel Capacity	4.0 gal.
Dry Weight	416 lb.
Horsepower	21.8 @ 6,300 RPM
Torque	21.0 @ 4,400 RPM
Fuel Consumption	57.7 mpg
Quarter-Mile	17.67 sec. @ 73.4 mph
0-30	3.03 sec.
0-60	9.80 sec.
0-100	N/A
Top-Gear Roll-on 40-60	8.46 sec.
Top-Gear Roll-on 60-80	N/A
Braking 30-0 mph	47.7 ft.
Braking 60-0 mph	175.8 ft.
MSRP	$4,749

Source

[XTreme]

@Grasshopper's Ride

[Tym]

Cant beat the value thats for sure. 

[Grasshopper]

That was a nice story, had to laugh about the compass, mine has never worked either.  From my experience I feel pretty much the same as the writer does.  It does make the bike out to be a bit more fancy than it is, the build quality is shit really in so many ways, but for some reason it all works, most of the time and its lots of fun.   It does surprise you as to where it can go..... Now back to the tent/garage for some valve checking....

[Skippy]

I must have the only compass that works! It’s still shite but it definitely works!

[XTreme]

20 minutes ago, Skippy said:

I must have the only compass that works! It’s still shite but it definitely works!

Why do they have a compass?

[Grasshopper]

3 minutes ago, XTreme said:

Why do they have a compass?

That is a very good question... Some people get really excited about the feature, not something I use. 

[Skippy]

Nor me

[XTreme]

28 minutes ago, Grasshopper's Ride said:

That is a very good question... Some people get really excited about the feature, not something I use. 

They don't have a sun dial do they? 

[Sir Fallsalot]

55 minutes ago, XTreme said:

Why do they have a compass?

Because its an old school adventure bike and a compass is great for navigating using maps if you know how to use one 

[Tym]

On 18/10/2020 at 14:45, Sir Fallsalot said:

Because its an old school adventure bike and a compass is great for navigating using maps if you know how to use one 

When you wernt looking i moved Magnetic Norths location.