“I Fought the law and the law won…”
Right. We have the whole posse out today for a shoot, some vid, blue highveld skies and a Triumph 2.5 Rocket R from Bikeshop Rivonia. What could possibly go wrong?
Clang! The sound of a prison door slamming shut. That’s what!
You know sometimes when you put that helmet on and wheel your favourite friend outside, you get that lekker feeling of indestructibility. That feeling that nothing could possibly ruin your day?
That’s what owning and riding a Triumph Rocket is like EVERY single time you ride it.
This particular Friday was no exception as the Rocket and I headed out of the spectacular Bikeshop Rivonia dealership with the massive triple cylinder engine singing its song and the rider completely oblivious to everything but that lekker sensation of opening up the throttle and tearing up a perfectly pothole free urban street.
Sadly, the rider was also oblivious to the speed limit and speeding camera on said perfect road as well as the squadron of souped up squad cars that were just dying to intercept oblivious people on the day…
Yup! They were out to destroy the joy that is riding a Rocket R and upon approaching the traffic lights at the next intersection, a rather large officer of the law stepped in between the cars to intercept…
The conversation went like this:
“Good Day Sir! May I please see your licence.”
Bear in mind that the bikes were filtering through traffic and that the Rocket, that happened to be in front, was wedged between two cars.
“Sure!” I replied, “I’ll pull over to the side and get it out.” “No Sir, right here will be fine thank you.”
Somewhat unusual, but OK – wallet was fumbled out of pocket, Licence presented. “Thank you – please park over there…”
I complied as my fellow riders nonchalantly trundled past in a most responsible manner.
To be absolutely honest, at this point I had no real idea what the issue was – or where it was all going. I parked the bike and wandered across to say hello.
‘Sir, could you please go with this gentleman in his car”, says the officer pointing to a squad car.
“Why?” “Well just to look at the camera and confirm that you were speeding.”
Damn, the penny drops!
“Well officer, if you say that I was speeding, that’s fine, I’ll accept it, can I have my fine and I’ll be on my way?”
Nope. Please accompany my colleague.
Needless to say, that was the end of this particular ride. The camera has a perfect shot of a Triumph Rocket that looked an awful lot like the one that I had been riding, going somewhat faster than the indicated speed is for that section of road.
Very British thoughts like “Gosh!” and “Blast!” were going through my head at this stage.
We returned to the errant motorcycle, whereupon this hapless rider was presented with a very formal looking document and was instructed to ‘Call whoever he felt was necessary.” That sounded ominous…
What the hell does that even mean?
My kids will laugh at me and the wife… well that’s another story.
An hour was spent cooling my heels and chatting all things bike to the gathered police force in the bright South African sunshine.
By this time, there were several more oblivious people from all walks of life being detained for the same infringement.
We were all eventually gathered up and instructed to follow a squad car, lights flashing and siren blaring to a nearby police station. It was all pretty cool, a bit like being escorted by the blue light brigade, except that we were not en route to a banquet dinner or a meeting with Donald Trump.
The fleeting thought that “If I open up and gap it, they will never catch me” was quashed by the fact that the constabulary were still in possession of my licence.
The bike went into a safe parking, and we were all led into a dodgy looking passage where… CLANG! The prison door shut behind us and reality started to set in.
These guys were C for Siriusss, no nonsense by the book operators.
Details were laboriously filled in to log books and licences were returned as we were asked to wait in the courtyard while the rest of the felons were documented. This was absolutely not fun – and yet most of us were still smiling and joking, there was a sense of almost disbelief at what was going on.
Ever seen those police shows where you remove your belt, shoelaces and valuables and hand them in? Yup! That was the next step and by now, the laughing and joking had subsided somewhat as we were led off to our accommodations for the rest of the day. Ladies to the ladies cell, gents into their own one. Nine of us. No seats, blank, high walls, no roof, just rebar mesh under the blue sky.
One open plan toilet (No seat or Loo roll), one shower with no apparent hot water tap and a seriously dodgy looking basin.
There was a second room with a few of those properly skinny mattresses and some interesting looking fibre blankets piled in a corner, but none of my compatriots had the urge to explore those options.
Anyone reading this:
Do as we say and not as we do, this is not a place where anyone wishes to be detained.
The hours dragged by with the inevitable realisation that we might just be in there for the weekend… and it was a long weekend, ironically, freedom day was on the Monday and here we were…
As the shadows grew longer, the cold crept in and we were literally measuring up who would spoon with whom in order to survive the chilly winters evening… not a fun thought.
At around 5pm there was a clang as the door swung open and we were greeted by some pretty stern looking people who were “Going to do their best to get us processed and out of there.”
Ever seen those cop shows on TV? Fingerprints, statements, sign here, sign there, pay bail? Yup just like that, this was the might of South African law at work and they did it by the book!
I had to phone a friend who procured cash for the bail and was given a date and time for my court appearance.
Thankfully, we were set free, on bail for the weekend.
Some thoughts:
No jokes, this was one of the least fun days ever spent in the pursuit of first hand motorcycle journalism but it’s not all doom and gloom.
- There was never any mention of “Cool Drinks” or any such thing.
- We were treated with absolute courtesy throughout.
- Receipts and documents were properly filled and supplied.
- The holding cells are certainly no holiday digs.
If you think that you’ll run from the high speed squad in a carefully executed sting like this, we’ll tell you for free that you won’t. We were not being reckless and every motorcyclist will know what it’s like – the Rocket begged to be opened up at exactly the wrong time – and this time, they were waiting…
Séan, from our office has some mates pretty high up with the traffic cops and has been shown some of the mods to the ‘High Speed Units’, and YES! The motors are tricked out with upgraded ECU’s, but so are the suspensions, the brakes, etc. and all these Speed Cops have been on every high speed pursuit driving course possible – SO! You will not outrun them – Don’t even try, “Jy sal ‘n groot pak slae kry!”
No Jokes. Ride a Triumph Rocket at your own peril. It’s magnificent!
We had to collect the bike a few days later in order to complete the actual test instead of cooling our heels behind bars.
Less enthusiastic use of the throttle meant that we actually got to spend some decent saddle time on, what is arguably one of our favourite motorcycles – but it felt almost as though this specific Triumph is a speedcop magnet.
Deon was photographing and doing the vids on the day and we must have gone through five road blocks and speed traps on our second attempt. Thankfully successfully this time – but it was pretty bizarre!
I would like to meet the gent (And the sheer insanity of the whole concept could only have been thought of by a man (probably an Irish man), who said :
“Oi Tink we should pop our 2500cc triple engine into a motorcycle chassis and see what ‘appens!”
You Sir are a genius!
This review is short and sweet because – well it’s pointless trying to write acres of stuff about such a magnificent beastie.
What’s to like?
225 Nm at 4000 rpm, 182 horses at 7000 rpm, and a top-shelf assembly with top shelf Brembo brakes and suspension to match.
Quality!
Instruments, seat, wheels, clips, fasteners, paintwork, crafted parts and overall finish that is absolutely top-of-the-line.
She delivers the coolest grumble from the stubby pipes as you are hurled to speed well in excess of the national speed limit as you titter away in your helmet.
Combining that ridiculously smooth, deceptively fast (Did you catch that?) triple with an amazingly comfortable chassis setup, exceptional suspension and enormous brakes has resulted in a muscle roadster that should be nowhere as good as it is.
It shouldn’t handle or corner easily – but it does. Sorcery I tell ya!
Torque, Quickshifter, comfort, attitude, handling. This is the real deal, not unlike the first gen V-Max that we had all those years ago when men were men, just so much better at everything.
It’s long and the Avon tyres are fat, you need to commit and it all delivers a wonderful feeling of indestructibility.
That, my friends, is what makes any motorcycle great to ride.
We love bikes like this. You need to go and ride it.
This one’s at Bikeshop Rivonia. It’s in perfect condition and costs half the price of a new one…
Did we mention that Bikeshop Rivonia has acres of motorcycles on the floor?
