Jean Turner | May 14, 2021
A 2021 Royal Enfield Meteor 350 and a 1939 Indian Daytona Scout have seemingly little in common, but in between the yin and yang of accessibility and unobtainium lies the same timeless appeal.
A weekend in Paso Robles, California aboard the new Royal Enfield Meteor 350 was a welcome escape.
Photography by Jean Turner, Dave Johnson and Travis Brock
A lot has happened between 1939 and 2021. A glance between our two motorcycles was clear testament to that. My friend Dave rolled his 1939 Indian Daytona Scout off the trailer and parked it next to my brand-new 2021 Royal Enfield Meteor 350. The fireball red tank of the Meteor reflected in the hand-polished aluminum of the Indian. The two couldn’t be more diametrically opposed—eight decades apart, from opposite sides of the globe, a 350cc single versus a 950cc V-twin, modern comfort and technology versus raw vintage mechanics. Yet here we were, drawn together by a last-minute stroke of fate that had me packing my bags and heading to California’s Central Coast for a weekend of riding.
As Dave coiled up his cable lock, I laughed about even needing to lock it up, as any casual thief wouldn’t have a clue how to even start it, let alone ride it. No keyed ignition, but a kickstart, jockey shift and foot clutch are the virtual combination lock here—not many people know how to operate a classic like this. The few who do understand the mechanics of a stunning restoration like Dave’s ’39 Indian Scout might say it belongs in a museum. Dave thinks it belongs on the road.
Perhaps this 1939 Indian Daytona Scout belongs in a museum. Its owner, Dave Johnson, thinks it belongs on the road.
Royal Enfield has its share of historic motorcycles, the company celebrating its 120th anniversary in 2021. While the Enfield has introduced several innovations to the two-wheel world (including the articulating swingarm, as I recently found out), Royal Enfield doesn’t strive to define the future, instead maintaining a foothold in classic design elements, fused with carefully thought-out modern touches. The Meteor 350 is a vision in its own right, an all-new modern classic with lines and curves drawing your eye from tip to tail, with color accents along the way. Everything about the Meteor 350 invites you in—from its satisfying style to the low seat height, and especially the $4399 price tag. Another stark contrast to the vintage gem alongside it: the ultimate in accessibility versus pure unobtanium.
Dave stood atop the Indian and gave the kickstarter a thorough wallop. The Scout gave a dry cough. One more and it fired to life, releasing a glorious hearty rumble, straight out of 1939. I thumbed the starter of the Meteor and it thumped to life, lighting up the digital dials and GPS navigation.
Dave paused, his head slightly cocked. “Hmm…” came the voice in my helmet. “That’s a new noise.”
“Is it okay?” I asked.
He shrugged, “It’s always something with these bikes.”
He reached down to the jockey shift and popped it into gear. I guess we were on our way.
The afternoon light in Paso Robles was creeping toward the golden hour, perfect timing to get in a quick ride on Friday. We headed south through downtown Paso Robles and I relished the scent of orange blossoms with a hint of sea air, and the occasional malty waft from the nearby Firestone brewery. (After golden hour, it was time for happy hour!) I thought back to one year ago, quarantined in my apartment, calculating how long I could ration toilet paper, unsure what the future months would bring. It sure felt good to be here now, seeing restaurants and playgrounds open again, reconnecting with old friends and exploring new areas.
The ultimate in accessibility, the new Royal Enfield Meteor 350 is the gateway. This bike has the potential to open doors for many new riders.
Peachy Canyon Road is a winding ribbon of asphalt, ducking in and out of oak tree tunnels, past wineries and ranches on a 25-mile loop that comes right back into Paso Robles—a real treat on a motorcycle of any era. Our goal was to get some quick photos and video clips in the late afternoon light, but I caught myself zipping straight past every perfect photo op. This was too good; it was simply time to ride. Time to let this idiotic grin on my face grow wider as the turns grew tighter, and let the stress of my week flutter away, like the brittle oak leaves on the side of the road. The pavement shimmered in the late light, framed by the occasional patch of poppies while wafts of sea air became more detectable as the hills rose beneath us. The little Royal rocked side to side, dipping in and out of turns that banked at just the right angle—I have to believe a motorcyclist made this road. After a few miles at a “sporting speed,” I rolled off the throttle. Only at a slower pace was I able to detect the tiny white flecks that sparkled in the air beneath the shade of the trees. I wondered if they were tiny bugs or floating seeds, and suddenly I felt it—that soul-affirming tranquility that only comes from the Central Coast. I was officially unwound.
We only had enough time for a few miles (and eventually a handful of photos) on Friday evening, but it was an excellent preview of our weekend ahead. I washed down my first taste of Peachy Canyon with a pint of Firestone Double Barrel Ale that night and went to sleep dreaming of more Central Coast miles.
The beautifully restored ’39 Indian, with its hand-polished aluminum, jockey shift, foot clutch and kick start, is pure unobtainium. Would you even know how to ride it?
The next two days were filled with more epic roads through the hills of the Central Coast, undulating like a rollercoaster in some spots, prompting us to flip a quick U-turn for a few more laughs before moving on. As we neared the end of the Peachy Canyon Road loop on Saturday afternoon and saw we were headed back into Paso Robles, Dave and I made the decision to flip another U-turn and take the scenic route back to the hotel. Our photo stops were accompanied by a few visits to wineries and restaurants along the loop. Everywhere we stopped, the bikes drew attention. People strolled over to ask us about the motorcycles, and to my surprise, interest was about a 50/50 split between the 2021 Royal Enfield Meteor 350 and the 1939 Indian Scout.
“Wow, that’s a really nice-looking bike.” I had to study their face to be sure which bike they were looking at. I was most surprised by those who walked past the Scout to inquire about the Meteor.
“You do realize, that’s a 1939 Indian, right?” I wanted to say. “That’s a vintage treasure!”
The Royal Enfield certainly merits attention in its own right. The badge on the tank lets you know right away this isn’t a common powerhouse brand. The Royal Enfield is exotic, authentic, and this all-new model, not yet available in the States, is presently just as rare.
People were surprised to hear the price, and the longer they looked at it, the more they appreciated the aesthetics. “Go ahead and sit on it,” I told a few of the more intent onlookers.
“Ah, no. I couldn’t,” was followed immediately by, “Really?” The sheepish grin that crept over their faces as they felt the grips in their hands was the same each time. It was the kid finding the 10-speed on Christmas morning, or the teenager being handed the keys to his first car. These are the eyes you look through when you see a bike like the Meteor 350. It is the gateway, the bike that opens new doors and welcomes you into a whole new world. Freedom, confidence and adventure await.
Onlookers approached us all weekend, and we could never be sure which bike they would gravitate to.
Dave certainly had his share of inquirers, as well. I heard him going on about the magneto, and the total-loss system, the abundance of Zerk fittings and the tedious maintenance required by his pre-war gem. I was glad to hear Dave enjoyed chatting about motorcycles as much as I do, and wasn’t at all concerned about burning daylight. I took the time to talk shop with people about Royal Enfield.
“Where are they based?”
“India.”
“Ah, so it’s an Indian bike?”
“Yep, originally from the UK.”
“Oh. And that one is also Indian?”
“That’s an Indian Motorcycle. But it’s not from India. The Royal Enfield is Indian. But the Indian is made in America.”
“Ah, okay.”
An unexpected twist in the tale of two opposites is the fact that the Indian Motorcycle and Royal Enfield brands have actually intersected in the past. After Indian Motorcycle went under in 1953, the company was acquired by Brockhouse Engineering, that imported Royal Enfield motorcycles from England and rebadged them as Indians from 1955 to 1960. Again in the 1960’s, Floyd Clymer began branding Indian Motorcycles with Italjet frames powered by Royal Enfield Interceptor 750 engines. It was interesting to find the common history between the two brands.
The Tesla owner at the winery asked to have his picture taken on the Meteor. “I’m all electric now,” he said. “But this… hmm.” I envisioned the devil horns rising in his mind at the thought of spark meeting fuel, and the soul of a living, breathing pulse beneath him, thumping the way no electric vehicle without a baseball card in its spokes can offer.
The Tesla owner at the winery wanted his picture taken on the Meteor 350.
The ex-Harley rider at the coffee shop in Paso Robles was waiting for us when we came out. “Is this yours?” His eye was trained on the bright red of the Royal Enfield. He was considering getting back on a motorcycle and couldn’t believe this unique little machine was about to become available. He swung a leg over the Meteor and embraced the grips. “Yeah, this thing rips!” he kept muttering to himself.
Does one “rip” on a 350cc single? I thought. Sure, why not? It’s all in the eye of the throttle twister, right? Just like that first 10-speed. Or perhaps the thought of “ripping” equated to finding a gateway back into the two-wheel world. Something he might not have found until just now.
Motorcycles have changed quite a bit in the past eight decades. But one thing remains the same.
Most people we encountered had an appreciation for both machines. The Suzuki V-Strom 1050 rider at Home Depot zipped across the street into the hotel parking lot on Sunday morning when he caught a glimpse of the Meteor’s red tank.
“I saw you guys and had to come over,” he said. We chatted for nearly an hour, along with another hotel patron who wandered out to inspect the goods. The V-Strom rider wanted a photo of the Meteor to text to his girlfriend, a perfect fit for this bike in his mind.
“I thought you were at Home Depot?” came the response.
The honey-do list was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind. He was equally enthralled with the ’39 Indian and pointed out the timeline of powersports right before his eyes. “It’s amazing how far they’ve come,” he said.
A point made even more stark by another interesting (horrifying?) factoid Dave revealed about early Indian Motorcycles. It seems the earliest models didn’t actually have throttles. They controlled speed through timing advance. The left grip would either advance or retard the ignition, and the entire distributor would rotate. We’ve come a long way, indeed.
Quite an odd couple Dave and I were on our mounts, the contrast made even more distinct by the photos and video we captured along the ride. I mounted my GoPro on Dave’s backpack to capture some trailing shots of the Meteor 350, which are beautiful, though a bit confusing as you see the Meteor while hearing the Indian. That clip will need a footnote: *Actual audio may vary.
Our differences were also revealed by people’s reactions, and I remarked how surprising it was to see which people gravitated toward each motorcycle. “You just never know who’s going to be interested,” said Dave, who has experienced years of traveling, riding and showcasing his vintage Indian Motorcycles (he also has a 1948 Chief).
Only at the end of the weekend did it occur to me what it was people were responding to: accessibility or unobtanium. These were the two extremes: the wide-open door and the precious time capsule; the golden retriever and the snow leopard. For a seasoned journalist like myself, immersed in the motorcycle world on a daily basis, it’s the rare and unique that draws my eye. Even more extraordinary than a 1930’s restoration is one that is still a runner. Watching Dave rip through turns and chirp the tires with one hand on the bar and the other on the jockey shift is a sight to behold. For people who never saw a way into the two-wheel world, finding a wide-open door is probably just as inspiring.
Yet more remarkable than our differences is how similar the experience remains. Opposites separated by eight decades are suddenly identical in the timeless experience. We rode the same roads, enjoyed the same sensation of twisting a throttle, and ended the weekend with the same grins on our faces. And why wouldn’t we? It’s all about getting out there, no matter what you’re doing it on. And there’s no better time than now. This weekend was more than a springtime ride, this one coming after the yearlong winter of Covid, serving as a reminder that the world is waking from crisis, and better times are near.
“I really needed that,” Dave said on Sunday afternoon as we prepared to part ways.
My sentiments, exactly. I headed home with a smile on my face, my head a little clearer, and my soul a little lighter.
Back home on Monday I came across a vintage Royal Enfield poster, entitled “One Fine Day.” Coming across this poster right after our weekend seemed as serendipitous as our Central Coast rendezvous, itself. It appears to be from about 80 years ago (the same eras as Dave’s Scout) when Europe was facing the dark times of WW2, yet the words ring as true today as they were then:
“When the sun is high and the birds are singing, we’ll ride out across the moors—loitering perhaps to talk with some local sportsman—consciously enjoying the peace which will result from Victory and happy to be astride a brand-new Royal Enfield Motor Cycle.
“For just as in the past Royal Enfield Motor Cycles have helped us to enjoy our pleasure hours, so will they provide additional enjoyment in the better times ahead.”
Anywhere in between the unobtainable and the accessible, between eight decades ago and today, as well as into the future, motorcycles hold the promise of the same timeless experience: an escape from everyday stress, a link to new and old friends, miles of adventure and the prospect of a brighter tomorrow. CN
