There is a particular kind of dissatisfaction that only comes from owning something flawless.
For the past few years, I rode a Honda CB1100 — a motorcycle that, by almost every measure, gave me nothing to complain about. The engine was smooth and torquey, the reliability was unshakeable, and the classic styling turned heads at every stop. On paper, it was the ideal machine for someone like me: dependable, refined, and built to last.
And yet, something was missing.
The Paradox of Perfection
The CB1100 never let me down — and that, oddly, became the problem. Every ride felt predictable. The engine hummed along with an almost engineered contentment, as if it were quietly reassuring me that everything was under control. There were no edges, no rawness, no moments where the machine surprised me.
I began to realize: I was not truly
riding the bike. I was simply being transported by it.
This feeling reminded me of something I have observed in my professional life as well. Tools and processes that are too polished, too optimized, sometimes remove the very friction that keeps us engaged and learning. Comfort, taken too far, can quietly become complacency.
The Pull of the Twin
The BMW R nineT had been on my radar for some time. A boxer twin — an engine layout that is, in many ways, a deliberate step away from refinement. It vibrates. It pulses. The exhaust note is deep, mechanical, and honest in a way that modern multi-cylinder engines rarely are.
What I wanted was not better performance. What I wanted was
feeling.
The moment I first opened the throttle on the R nineT, I understood the difference. The twin-cylinder pulse travels through the frame, through the handlebars, into your hands. The exhaust sound is not background noise — it is a conversation between you and the machine. Every gear change, every corner, every deceleration feels deliberate and alive.
Choosing Imperfection, Intentionally
This renewal was not a rational upgrade. By many technical metrics, the CB1100 was the superior daily companion. But motorcycling — like many things worth doing — is not purely rational.
I think there is a broader lesson in this choice: sometimes we need to step away from the perfect to rediscover our passion. The R nineT demands more from me as a rider. It is less forgiving, more characterful, and requires genuine attention. And because of that, every ride feels like an event rather than a routine.
As I approach my 50s, I find myself more drawn to experiences that are
textured — rough around the edges, full of character, and genuinely engaging. The smooth and the seamless have their place, but so does the raw and the real.
The CB1100 was a great motorcycle. The R nineT makes me feel alive.
