Road test of Triumph1200 BONNEVILLE T 120 2016 The stroll trap

we don't even pay attention to these little moments anymore. The rustle of foam on your cheeks as you slip on your helmet; the air and sound scratched by the zipper that zippers up your jacket; the imperceptible crackle of boots taking a few moreimperceptible creak of the boots taking a few more steps before hugging the footrests; all you can hear is the clack as the visor closes and the djiii of the injection when the key has turned in the contactor.
It's become too habitual. We eat up the miles and the adrenalin without looking for the essential. Except here and now, in front of a small piece of English territory measuring less than 1 m2. Faced with a Bonneville T 120, it's up to us to catch a glimpse of a frontier, one where time becomes relative. We see neither the past nor the manufacturer's banner; simply a machine eager to relax and enjoy a patina of pleasure. And yet so quick to bang into the metal, with muscle more than tone. So we pay more attention to the ambience, the chrome, the cooling fins... we wait... we want it... it won't wait too long either. It's high time we set off on this Triumph 1200 Bonneville. Will we come back with a Beatles or Coldplay song in our teeth?

it's 2016, not the Bonnie. She seems to be in a time bubble, as if Chronos has no hold on her. Resting quietly on her crutch, she's neither old nor young; she's simply gorgeous. Like an incarnation, she could pass through the generations without any of them being able to give her an age. A bit magical, isn't she Bonnie? Certainly, if you believe a little. In my ear, a few explanations of the machine's uses come through:
"Here's how to select the driving mode... It's essential to disengage the clutch to start the engine... You'll see, it's...".
But I've already stopped listening. Because I've already entered this bubble, where time slows down. No, that's not it. It doesn't slow down, in fact, it doesn't exist. I feel every notch of the micrometric buckle as I adjust my helmet. The suppleness of the leather makes me shiver as I slip on the gloves. The engine's pulsing calms my heartbeat as the metal beckons. I look at her, ready for a romantic picnic. All in all, she's waiting for me.

this brand-new version of the Bonneville cubes 1200 cm3. A large displacement that suggests a nice size. But it's nothing of the sort. There's nothing imposing about the machine, its silhouette inviting everyone, big or small, to take a seat. In this Black version, it's bewitchingly simple, and its finish cannot fail to impress. Not a single visible hose, not a single loose wire, everything that's not useful to the eye is hidden away, a feeling of quality omnipresent, a twin untouched by any artifice, looking as if it's in the middle of nowhere.there's an omnipresent feeling of quality, a twin stripped of all artifice, looking as if it's been plucked from a display case, and what a restful absence of mess around the engine, as sporty roadsters are wont to do. The dark dress suits her well; and with a pair of gold rims, she'd be to die for.
Miss Bonnie seems indifferent to my voyeurism. Patient, she doesn't anticipate an adrenalin shot like so many fashionable streetfighters. I settle down on her back, enjoying the melody of the exhausts. In slow motion, the ballet of the cylinders lulls the eardrum over several scales. A steady poum-poum-poum fills the air, while a swaying fla-flap-fla makes its way from behind. If only you could close your eyes, you'd see old coasters returning to Dartmouth harbor one evening.

that red light is long. And we don't care. The T120 is so relaxed that the little annoyances of everyday life don't affect the driver. The serenity of the ride gives way to a renewed attention to detail. The chrome ring around the meters, the flashy(but not hinged) lockable fuel filler cap, the discreet little numbers and the wealth of information in the digital windows, the last-century mirrors... The rev counter needle trembles, reluctant to stay coolly on the numbers. These would give a racing driver a heart attack. With the red zone starting at a car-like 7,000 rpm, the British twin is in danger of running out of breath. Now that the green light is on, let's see if the manufacturer's promises are fulfilled. And now the enchantment really begins.
Slim and elegant, the Bonneville slips through town with ease. Fearlessly simple, it can be ridden with the ease of a young girl. It knows how to make you feel at ease in every situation, gratifying you with an engine suppleness that's very useful in congested or slow areas. Let the revs drop quietly to around 1,500 rpm and you're off to the net. A flick to the right to rejoin the ring road and we're on our way to happier speeds. As a result, the flexibility threshold is raised, as the 1200 doesn't appreciate dropping below 2000 rpm once anchored in 5th or 6th gear.

bonnie & I are accomplices now; 5 minutes after we met. The road climbs towards Lans-en-Vercors, and it's a blast. A small button on the inside of the left-hand grip engages the heated grips, on three heating levels. The air is cool underneath, and this infusion of heat is very pleasant. Relax sweet home. The ride is perfectly natural, the seat comfortable, the rider's position worthy of a bike ride. Tilt! It's all there: the ride. The Bonneville T120 doesn't say it right away, but it's a real walker. There's no need or desire to get carried away, no pretence at touring, not the slightest hint of raids, parades or time trials. The various pleasures offered by different categories of motorcycles (sportbikes, customs, trail bikes, roadsters, etc.) are annihilated in the face of this simple pleasure: to ride, just to ride. Not to get from point A to point B, take a trip or inject yourself with big thrills. No, to ride hand in hand with the handlebars, aimless, limitless, with your mind as your only boundary.

cornering is a formality, relaunching never a surprise. The breath of the twin-cylinder is present all the time, very early on, with the latent power of a full heart. There's no need to provoke it, as the 10 mkg of torque lightly carries the crew. We dawdle, we admire, and I almost had the urge to deviate from the road to get lost in a few lanes. The Triumph doesn't lend itself to this, but the urge isn't far away. Oh yes, the Scrambler should be considered in such cases.
Caught in the delicious trap of the ride, I left my natural horniness behind. But if you don't do what's natural, it comes back at a gallop. A flock of cars seems to have decided to drive up this road in 5th gear with the handbrake on. No matter at this moment. Except that a Porsche Boxster right at the back of the queue has no intention of staying calm. A hairpin has passed, the horizon is clear. In no time at all, the German sports car has dropped a dozen gears and spurts out of the procession. The Englishwoman in my hands didn't waste a moment: a flick of the boot on the selector, the needle on the RPM dial swings between 30 and 40, the right hand turns sharply and the Bonneville leaps into action. The quiet dimension changes instantly: gripped by the fat torque and generous muscle, the engine propels the bike with vigor. What force! It's like a big breaker sweeping you forward, wrapping itself around you and sending you over the foam to catch up with the previous waves. Except this time, it's a Porsche it's trying to catch. The pace has become much more dynamic, with a sportiness more akin to a polo match than a fighter jet ride. The Bonnie doesn't let itself get left behind, keeping the distance without overtaking the Boxster. Every bend is punctuated by a "Sscriiitch" shouted by the footbraces, every straightaway lets the mechanics speak for themselves. Without fuss but with conviction, it climbs the revs without ever giving the impression of running out of breath. And the traction seems to stretch far into the connecting rods, so much so that the red zone isn't reached as quickly as initially thought. So to speak, there's no need to go looking for watts above 6,000 rpm. We prefer to use and abuse the intermediate revs, where relaunches are endless and the punch is virulent. Each gear change leaves a delicate impression in the foot. The gear is engaged instantly, with a fast, firm and precise click. A delight that makes you wish for even more gears.
Uncompromising in terms of fundamentals, the T120 can be ridden at any tempo without a second thought. ABS and traction control keep a close eye on things, freeing your mind. The morning being superb, the electronic stands were never put to the test. However, on a rainy day, it's good to have the assurance in the back of your mind that any slippage will be contained.

the car veers off; we continue on our way, at a more leisurely but still enthusiastic pace. It's then that I look back at the speedometer for a moment... and realize that I'm going much slower than I thought. The naughty Englishwoman has played with me, distilling some intoxication without making me dizzy.
And wandering like this, you soon forget that the clock is ticking. Too much so. Let's get away from this piece of sympathy and get back to the concession. The descent will put much more strain on the brakes, which have been little used up to now. The control appeared consistent but lacked feel, not communicating enough deceleration power. The Bonneville brakes, hard when needed, without really making you feel it. The rear brake provides more perception.
The return through town loses the poetry of the previous ride. A few speed bumps and other roughness make you appreciate the comfort of the saddle and the general cushioning: slightly firm but not at all dry on compressions, and totally transparent during the mountain ride. The Bonneville also knows good manners.

no false notes on this Triumph Bonneville T120. The finish is striking, the engine full of life, the riding pleasure all-encompassing and the charm total. The only shortcomings and limitations are to be found in muscular riding, but is that what it's all about? There are Thruxtons or Street / Speed Triples if you want to go hard on the throttle. Of course, the price tag has also become a little heavier. But it's justified by the overall performance. Riding it, you'd really like time to stand still, for pump attendants to come and fill up when you arrive, for the streets to smell of coffee and buns instead of diesel. We take the key out of the ignition. The twin falls asleep, the needles drop. Outside, everything suddenly speeds up.

G. Rattin