Cars and motorcycles. Although a firm fan of both, my knowledge pool is predominantly filled by the latter. But mention PRAGA, and my first thought is of a monstrously powered Hypercar, tearing around the Top-Gear track to the sound of grown men giggling. Their 700BHP, sub 1000kg, Nissan GT-R engined Bohema, is the stuff of Top-Trumps legend. So, on hearing the Bohema engineering team had developed a motorcycle alongside this beast, you could forgive my surprise to learn it's power-train of choice, comes from the humble Kawasaki W800.
With more detail clearly required, I was delighted to be offered the chance to meet the Praga team, ride the ZS800 and discover the story behind it. What a story...Alongside cars, Czech company Praga have an established history engineering all manner of vehicles. Airplanes, cars, Dakar-Rally trucks, go-karts, and of course motorcycles. None more notable than their 1928 BD500. A quick google of said machine, and the ZS of today immediately begins to make sense. With its headlight held high, girder front-end, rigid frame and blue livery, the ZS was designed in homage to that revered machine. But while you might expect this as a design brief passed down from the upper echelons of the company, the ZS was in fact the brainchild of an engineer hard at work on the Bohema project. Jan Žuži, was in his own time, developing the concept of a super lightweight motorcycle that would showcase Praga's engineering and manufacturing portfolio, while celebrating their heritage, specifically the BD500. When he presented the project to his superiors, they agreed to bring it in-house, on the proviso the work would continue to be carried out in Jan's own time… his priority was to remain the Bohema. His reward? Like the BD before it, the ZS project would carry the initials of the designers that brought it to life, Jan Zussi, and fellow engineer, Radek Šebesta.Where to start with this remarkable machine? The weight. At 142kg the desire to keep weight as low as possible, drove every decision. Including that of the aforementioned motor. The W800 unit, with its handsome proportions and BD500 reminiscent bevel-gear cam drive is also, crucially, the lightest of the modern-retro parallel-twins. Whilst further comparisons with the Kawasaki are irrelevant, it is a useful marker to note that the ZS is almost 100kg lighter than the W800 with which it shares an engine.With Hypercar tooling and tech at their disposal, Jan and Radek made sure to take full advantage. Titanium is used extensively, from the girder fork spring, through each and every bolt, to the 3D printed footpegs and exhaust end-caps. Yes, you read that right, 3D printed titanium. Another remarkable engineering flex is on display at the wheels. The "spokes" and rims are constructed from knitted carbon-fibre, mated to bespoke, hydraulic drum brakes, front and rear.Every bracket, stay, mount and detail is a work of art. The rigid frame and exquisite fork are constructed from the finest 25CrMo steel. That fork, like the seat, incorporating a fully adjustable Ӧhlins suspension unit. The Spring? titanium, of course. One hidden innovation lies within the tank. A 5-axis machined alloy spine serves both as fuel vessel and structural frame, further reducing weight. Even an element as seemingly simple as the elegant rear rack, is in fact 5-axis machined from a single piece of billet. Special. Very special.Naturally this level of materials, engineering prowess and technical process, all add up to a machine of considerable value, and as I depart Bike Shed Shoreditch for a swift blast around East London, its 90k price tag is never far from my thoughts. Have fun, but don't be daft. The sound of the parallel twin through those glorious titanium pipes immediately turns the heads of passing petrol heads, and once turned, they stay fixed. The ZS is comfortably amongst the most attention grabbing machines I have ever ridden. My eyes themselves have a tough time lifting from the mesmeric and precise actuation of the girder forks, but a crack of the light throttle propels me forward with enough haste to soon shake the fixation. With only around 50bhp (or 7% of the Bohema's output…) the ZS is far from rapid, but the feather-like-weight, combined with the tautness of the rigid frame, make it feel incredibly alive. The Ӧhlins seat damper offering some relief to one's rear, although I'd wager it was set up for someone significantly below my 100kg weight.Apparently, during development of the ZS, Jan took the test mule to a flat-track meet and gave it hell. And it is immediately apparent that despite aesthetics and details to justify buyers who would enjoy it largely statically, this was a machine intended to be enjoyed dynamically. With enough U-turns made and photographs captured to complete the media obligations, I take it for one last flick through some of my favourite Shoreditch streets. It feels incredibly special. Like an exquisite classic restored and upgraded with technology many years from the mainstream. Even the switchgear is remarkable, tiny carbon thumb paddles manufactured purely for this machine.They are only going to make 28 machines in total, a nod to the year of that original BD, and only 5 in this particular carbon livery. As a showpiece for Praga's skillset and heritage, it could easily be seen as an elaborate branding exercise, but the origin story of this machine, a love-letter from two extraordinary engineers to the past and the present of Praga, elevate it to a very special place. What a privilege to have ridden it.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a Svartpilen! Perhaps stretching the analogy a touch, but in a world of Scramblers and Roadsters, Husqvarna have always trod a different path with their Pilen range. From the moment that first, staggeringly striking 701 Vitpilen concept broke cover at Eicma 2015, they have stuck stoically to their mantra, "Escape the ordinary".401 concepts followed, along with the arresting Aero project, before the market-ready 401's finally landed in 2018. The launch of their 701 brethren was staggered, with the road oriented, clip-on sporting Vit arriving first, the Svart a year later, sporting new, flat-track themed glad rags and a 19 inch front wheel. Fast-forward to 2024 and the reveal order has flipped, with the Black Arrow taking first bow for the all-new large capacity models. And the big news? Bye bye single, hello twin.It is no secret that Husqvarna is owned by the KTM group, and in the finest display of sibling sharing ever witnessed, the racy-one has lent the Nordic-one their renowned 790 twin. In response to that kindness, Husky have hustled an extra 10bhp from the motor for their 801 over that of the 2024 Duke… There is about to be a fight in the play-room.It is an astonishing engine. Perched on a table in the briefing room of the bikes Marseille launch, it is almost impossibly small, easily mistaken for the single it replaced, but packing 105 horses into its lithe 52kg form. The steel main-frame utilises the compact motor as a stressed member while the beautiful, airbox-housing subframe is a cast aluminium two-piece with a sumptuous, powder-coated finish. WP Apex forks, with simplified 5 click rebound and preload adjustment, work in tandem with an adjustable shock (also WP) to connect the chassis to cast, 17' wheels. And here we arrive at the first significant point for discussion. Seventeen-inch wheels. Wearing Pirelli MT60RS flat-track aping rubber, on a bike described in the press kit as "Scrambler inspired". Confusing. The 19' front of the 701 iteration complemented it's aforementioned flat-track garb perfectly but would have also fit the Scrambler tagline without committing to a full 21' hoop. In fact, the more I look at the bike, the only thing I see to tick the prescribed inspiration box are those braced bars. Not that I mind, because the more I look, the more I like what I see.That signature Pilen style, with its combination of flat-planes, sharp angles and sweeping curves was originally penned and now developed by Kiska Design. Their foundation in product and industrial design on show for all to see. The 801 Svartpilen is an incredibly pleasing object at a standstill, but with  obvious, dynamic intent. Backed by those asphalt baiting 17 inch wheels, it is a machine desperate to hit the road. And what roads they were. Like overcooked spaghetti tossed at a mountain, flicking this way and that, past precipice and through forest. The Svartpilen devoured them all with agility and stability. As a person of 20/20 vision I have not ridden the 790 Duke, but the more experienced racers journalists on the launch reported the Husky as a more stable, less frenetic steed. To me it was incredibly engaging and yet confidence inspiring, with no hint of a squirm from those block-tread Pirellis.  Our "dynamic pack" equipped test bikes came with a vast collection of acronyms to boast the suite of tech on call. PASC (Power Assist Slipper Clutch), MSR (Motor Slip Regulation), Motorcycle Traction Control (MTC), Easy-shift (EMS) and at last, one I recognised, ABS. Not to mention Anti-Wheelie Control, that for reasons unknown is deprived of an abbreviation in the spec sheet. After a series of ham-fisted attempts to imitate my mono-wheeling company, I was relieved to find my Anti-Wheelie set to VERY LOW, but after tapping away at the pleasing switchgear to dial VERY HIGH, I was delighted (and relieved) to waft my front tyre in the air.Is all that tech intrusive? Quite the opposite, almost purifying and focussing the ride experience. Watching MCN's Michael Neeves utilise the rear ABS cancelling "Supermoto Mode" to lock and drift the back wheel into repeated downhill corners was a treat that will live long in the memory. Suffice to say, in talented hands the Svartpilen is an absolute weapon, and in mine, an absolute hoot. After a bright morning in the mountains, post lunch we dropped down to a lake filled valley and the heavens gave way. Flicking through the three preset riding modes from Sport, via Street, to Rain, the Svartpilen again affirmed it's inclination for tarmac. No Dirt or Enduro modes hiding here. Although a fourth, fully user-defined mode becomes available with the optional dynamic-pack. As the pace slowed and the rain seeped into my borrowed gear (thanks BA for leaving my kit-bag at Heathrow…) I was afforded more time to fathom exactly what the Svartpilen is for.My 6'4 frame had relatively few grumbles and aches from a day in the saddle. The low pegs, high bars and surprisingly roomy seat provided opportunity to shuffle between a few rider triangles. The clear TFT dash and intuitive navigation cluster were pleasing to use and the feel from the cockpit is one of quality. Although we enjoyed largely open, traffic free roads I have little doubt it is a setup that would fare well on an urban commute. A model moniker of "The dark street explorer" would certainly suggest confidence in this habitat.So where does it sit and with what does it compete? Ducati's current Scrambler range run exclusively on 17's and command similar desirability, but on paper, the Svartpilen's digits are far closer to those of the road-biased Monster. Fantic's 700 Caballero came up in the breakfast-brainstorm along with both the seven and nine hundred XSR Yamahas, the KTM 790 Duke with which it shares a power-unit also entered the discussion. The blend of references and press-kit directives may suggest a machine with an identity crisis, but the motorcycle itself is crystal clear. If the unique aesthetic catches you in the gut, then the moment you take to the street, its capabilities will seal the deal. Can it play in the dirt? No idea, but if that is your primary playground you are likely looking elsewhere anyway, perhaps even at Husqvarna's own Norden. The anticipated arrival of its twin twin, the road-focussed Vitpilen may pose further questions to the Svartpilien's intended purpose, but for me, this iteration combines all the notes I desire. Is it a Scrambler? Is it a Tracker? No, it's a Svartpilen. I want one.

Evolution - the natural selection of inherited variations that increase ability to compete, survive, and reproduce. So far, so spot-on. But when we force the ugly word of "constant" before this clearly superior noun, the disconnect begins. Our never-ending pursuit of the next new thing, missing the crux point, evolution cares little for haste.So, to the BMW Boxer engine. The new 1300 is a wonder, the shift-cam 1250 a globe-conquering legend, but with their adoption of water-cooling, both saw fit to make redundant the inherent cooling benefits of their cylinders sticking out sideways in the first place. Granted, air-cooling had to tap-out when asked to cut through the heat our desired performance produces, but the air/oil-cooled evolution of the Boxer that entered the game in the late 90's? To many, that power-unit is peak Boxer. And that, give-or-take a few (thousand) tweaks and Euro-induced platitudes, is the engine with which BMW have kept faith for the next evolutionary step of their iconic RnineT. As you were, as it were.A Shed-regular and proud owner of a perfectly original RnineT, tells the story of when he went to test ride the new machine in 2014. The salesman told him it was merely a styling exercise - designed to use up the last of the old engines. It would be made to the limited number of units remaining and discontinued, his unenthusiastic pitch. Ten-years on, it is fair to assume the success of this "parts-bin special" means they would have had to cobble-together a few more motors. It is also safe to assume that said salesman would have felt certain the latest water-cooled lump would finally retire the ancient motor for the RnineT's successor... Thankfully BMW HQ recognised that in a machine pitched as the R12, R12nineT and RnineT before them, it is the last thing that needed changing.It is the beating heart of these motorcycles. Torque and power are abundant, but it is the character, the visceral shake and almost agricultural feel that make it so apt for this deployment. If you are going to tag a machine with the moniker of Heritage, it has to stir emotion. Big, fat tick.So what is new? A whole model for a start. The RnineT was no stranger to derivations; the Racer, Scrambler, Pure, Urban GS etc. But give or take a few parts, they were largely the same base machine. But with the R12 now sitting alongside the R12nineT, BMW have added a whole new genre to the pot. On the day this particular R12 was delivered to the Shed for me to test, Rory and Stu from Pier City Cycles were in town. These gents have forgotten more about customising BMW's heritage line-up than most will ever know, and the first thing they celebrated of the new models, was the revised bolt-on subframe. Well, it was actually the return of that engine, but once we were past that, it was onto the subframe. (Check out the video we made together on the R12 HERE.)The original RnineT frame was one piece, nose to tail, but with the new bolt-on arrangement, BMW (and the guys at Pier City) have far greater flexibility in the geometry of subsequent models/builds. With this stand alone subframe and tank, the R12 cuts a very different silhouette to the roadster styled R12nineT. After the considerable proposition that was the R18 cruiser, the R12 offers similar style, in a far more compact, usable package. It also restricts peak power to sub 100 horses, enabling A2 compliance. As the most obviously altered of the two new machines, it was the one I was most eager to try.I won't continue to lavish broad praise on the engine (this far into the article you should be aware how strongly I feel about it) instead, let's get into the details. There are two riding modes, named for reasons no sane person can fathom, Rock & Roll. Once you have recovered from the cringiness of their naming convention, you discover they offer two totally different personalities. At tickover, "Roll" provides a steady, calming purr. Flick to "Rock" and the purr is replaced with an off-beat gallop that begs you to get going. And when you do, the chassis is more than obliging.Perhaps via nominative determinism, manufacturers creating machines to occupy the genre of "Cruiser" can often be less focused on the handling capabilities of the finished article. Not so with the R12. Fat upside-down Marzocchi forks, mighty Brembo brakes front and rear coupled with that inherent low-down, boxer weight distribution result in a machine that thrives in the twisties. Aided by the relatively low seat height and glorious quick-shifter, the R12 is a hugely confidence inspiring set-up, prompting much peg scraping shenanigans...As a lofty unit, my body rarely enjoys cruiser geometry and locked-in seating positions, but once on the move, I feel surprisingly at home on the R12. At a standstill, figuring a location for my (admittedly) disproportionately long-lallies, proved somewhat harder. With the cylinders reminding my shins not to venture forward, I instead find myself straddling the low centre of the bike like a saddle-sore cowboy on a Shetland pony. Whilst I might look a little odd at lights, it at least gives an opportunity to savour the sumptuous detailing of the bike. With the optional "Option 719" pack, this model is covered in highlights.The slender digital dash, shadow "billet pack", cleverly shaped bar-end mirrors and 90's BMX aping gold handlebar... the quality of the R12 componentry is second to none. As always, spending too long in the BMW configurator can dramatically increase the price of your desired steed, but at base price, the R12 is somewhat of a steal. At two grand less than the more powerful R12nineT, it becomes a hugely tempting proposition in it's class.I am yet to ride the R12nineT, but a huge fondness for the previous model coupled with the raft of updates experienced in the R12, leave me in no doubt that it will be a worthy and staggeringly capable descendent of the original RnineT. But in the evolutionary divergent R12, BMW have landed on a second, equally compelling machine in its own right. The cruiser crowd may well lap it up, but for those (like me) a little outside of that, the lure of that iconic engine in an adaptable package, plus 2k in change with which to meddle and evolve the bike to your particular desire, may well be the winning ticket.

No other marque has been in the continuous production of motorcycles for as long as Royal Enfield. And with that 123 year heritage (count 'em) it is hardly surprising to see their current model line-up often doff its flat-cap to machines of their past, even the nomenclature is largely mined from their historical fleet. But with the Shotgun, despite the familial artillery title, Royal Enfield have picked a brand new name and set their sights in a new direction, forward.

Hosted at BSMC Shoreditch, the UK launch of the Shotgun included a presentation peppered with reference material of future cityscapes, manga comics and the obligatory Akira poster… No one can deny that the Eighties created the most compelling vision of the future to date. It was from these mood boards that the creative direction of the Shotgun formed. In place of pinstriping you find bold graphic blocks, in place of chrome, paint and powder-coat. Sure, credit is paid to the past, the cast wheel design apes the criss-cross of spokes and Enfield's iconic rear frame triangle is celebrated, but the overall feel of the Shotgun is at minimum contemporary, with one eye firmly fixed on tomorrow. 

If you wanted to box the Shotgun, it would seem to most easily occupy the genre of cruiser, but that is a category in which RE already have a player, the excellent Super Meteor. The Shotgun instead, shorn of chrome, with a comparatively neutral riding position and dynamic ambitions beyond the usually casual standard of the cruiser class, shrugs off the concept of category. And this is entirely deliberate. 

From the ground up the Shotgun was created with the intention of providing the owner with a starting point on which to realise their own direction for the bike. With the Bike Shed baiting tagline, "Inspired by custom, for Custom", the Shotgun immediately invites you to contemplate what you would alter, be it through the extensive parts catalogue, or a more involved build process. But before we fall down that wonderful rabbit hole, what's it like to ride?

Bloody good fun. Enfield's much admired 650 twin, first seen in the Interceptor and Continental GT models, is as ever, a willing accomplice. The motor's modest stats belie an eagerness to work coupled with gymnastic flexibility across the lower gears that I would take over more boastful numbers every time. With 6th and to a certain extent 5th acting as overdrive ratios, the ability to cruise required of the Shotgun's loosely occupied category is a box predictably ticked. The surprise comes in the bike's desire to duck and dive.

The spine frame is shared with the Super Meteor, but it edits the more laid-back approach of that machine by steepening the rake and shortening the trail, resulting in a wheelbase some 35mm shorter. That, coupled with the revised rider ergonomic triangle and shift from 19' to 18' inch front wheels, yields a machine that begs for bends. Just don't be surprised by the inevitable grind of those pegs… 

That agility, in turn lends itself to the adjust and thrust of city riding. My two-week taste of Shotgun ownership was largely spent criss-crossing London through incessant February rain. That a smile was frequently found beneath my helmet I am keen to attribute to the Shotgun's willingness to entertain, rather than my creeping winter insanity. Slicing through traffic to the polite burble of the parallel twin is an engaging yet easy-going venture, with the shop windows throwing satisfying reflections back at you… even if my oversized proportions slightly undermine the bike's undeniable presence. 

Beyond riding pleasure, potential Shotgun owners would encounter the much-vaunted value of Enfield ownership, alongside the unlikely bedfellow of quality components; Showa suspension, Enfield's Google backed Tripper navigation system, satisfying aluminium switchgear and much more. So should you choose to hand over your hard-earned in exchange for a Shotgun, you would be paired with a capable and compelling machine to enjoy as stock. But with an Enfield accented voice nagging in your head, "what's next?" ...Back to that Rabbit hole.

Not shown in the shots of my test bike, the Shotgun is delivered with a bolt on/off rear subframe that can be deployed as a pillion seat, luggage rack or abandoned completely in favour of the solo look. The mounting points for this provide the perfect anchor point for a floating subframe of your own design.

Currently in residence at 384 Old St, the factory-developed custom Shotgun, built for new Netflix movie "The Kitchen" gives an idea of just how far you could take this idea. Check out our YouTube video exploring the design of this incredible custom HERE. At the other end of the scale would be a smattering of parts plucked from the aforementioned aftermarket catalogue, and a play with paint. Neither direction is any more or less valid than the other. 

To create high-end inspiration for this journey into modification, Enfield delivered a mystery box of body panels, headlight nacelle, tank and yokes to some of the finest custom builders on the planet, to edit the Shotgun pre-launch, unseen. Check out our Youtube Vid with Rough Crafts founder Winston Yeh HERE to see his stunning take on this programme. For Bike Shed, as champions of custom-culture, it is incredibly refreshing to see a manufacturer actively encourage onward creativity and individuality with a new machine. We cannot wait to see what you do with them... Now, who is going to be ready for the 2024 Bike Shed Moto Show??!

This was a ride I have long craved. Back in April, LiveWire held their S2 Del Mar first look event at Bike Shed Shoreditch before bringing that same launch edition to our '23 Show. Having already had my mind less altered, more blown-apart by my time with the mighty LiveWire One, the flat-track focus of the Del Mar concept, had me at hello. At a time where electric is largely powering practical, pragmatic and politically cognisant transport, LiveWire are nailing their company colours to the fun mast.Instead of looking to pursue that electric motorcycle nadir of range (and with it, inevitable weight) LiveWire have instead chosen to strip the Del Mar right back. Where do Electric motorcycles excel? Within city limits and on short, dynamic rides. That is the laser focus of the Del Mar, and the thinking behind the European launch in the dreamy city of Barcelona. A tight, bustling metropolis, with a mountainous playground on its doorstep.Arriving on a flight so early it was still late, I had a chance to take in the city and speak with members of the Del Mar design team before flicking up the kick-stand. My first question, when was the flat-track direction of LiveWire's latest platform determined? The answer, day one. The first sheet of paper was not blank, it was a picture of the iconic Harley-Davidson XR750. A machine of pure purpose and zero fuss. And despite the complex engineering at play, the Del Mar can boast the very same ethos. Visuals are always subjective, but to my eyes, it's a home-run. Finally the time came to lift that stand. The cockpit may prove faintly familiar to Harley-holics with company gauges, switchgear and a headlight though originally from their Sportster S, that has found its spiritual home on the Del Mar. Beyond that, this is an entirely new platform. Parts in common with the LiveWire One are reportedly zero. The striking, finned 10.5 KWH battery (vs 15.4 in the One) dominates the bike. A minimal headstock bolts to the front of it, whilst the subframe, shock and motor hang from its rear and lower sections. The tank is referred to instead as a "top cover" whilst the box in front of the motor (resembling a sump-guard) contains the "electronics package."Wide, tracker style bars combine with surprising leg-room and the comfortable seat to position you perfectly "in" rather than "on" the bike, poised to slice through traffic or carve canyon roads. Let's do that. Exiting the city in silent convoy, we exchange casual conversation and revel in a throttle so silky smooth that any concern low-speed control might be hampered by the absence of a clutch, is swiftly allayed.

With the sun radiating a heat British shores have already forgotten for the year, I am reminded of the added bonus of a heat-free motor. The whole package makes city riding unbelievably calm. With the gentlest of the three preset modes engaged you could dart cross town for countless hours, or 113 miles, whichever comes first. Having experienced the S2's imperious progress through its nominated habitat, it was time to switch from "Range" to "Road" and hit the highway.Bursts of enticing slip-road surge led to easy progress on mundane carriageway before we turned for the mountains. With one more click into "Sport" mode, the Del Mar truly came to life. Holy Hell this thing rips. 84hp with 200kg would suggest vaguely comparable on-paper performance with my daily petrol-powered ride, but a staggering 194 lb ft of torque, some four times that of my combustion comparison, completely changes the game.The complete lack of preparation for propulsion, in the form of gears, revs or clutch makes the immediacy of the power delivery an addictive hit. Twist and go go go. With patches of the road surface still greasy from the previous evening showers, I am thankful for the sophisticated ABS and traction control systems as I chase the fast disappearing Charley Boorman higher into the hills. Having found his way to the hidden Flat-Track mode that disables all rider aids and unleashes 20% more shift, he is clearly looking to preserve his front tyre, lifting the front at every opportunity…

As we climb, that city agility gives way to corner composure as the dual 19's (clad with specifically developed Dunlop tyres) provide grip and feedback. It was a special ride, revealing that despite its primary remit of the city, it would be a travesty if Del Mar owners didn't also look to explore the edges of its considerable capacity. We stop for lunch and photographs high above the city and talk inevitably turns to range and how much more of this entertainment we can enjoy. So to the stats. In the circumstances where internal combustion engines see their range increase, typically electric platforms provide lower returns. So those 113 city miles drop to between 60 and 80 when "combined" and deplete to an anxiety-inducing 40 odd at a sustained 70 mph. So, definitely not as far as your appetite for the Del Mars talents may crave. You would have to make a very deliberate plan before heading to far afield, but trust me you should.All of which points to why the Del Mar so squarely targets the urban environment. Personally I have a fairly typical UK commute of 10 or 12 miles each way (depending on my mood) into a cracking spot in East London… The Del Mar would fit absolutely perfectly into this routine. With a midweek charge and a top up for the weekend as and when I had the chance for a few hours fun.The more I contemplated existing with the Del Mar, the more I realised its intentions align with 95% of my motorcycle usage. And the more I wanted one. With one caveat. It would have to form part of a two machine garage. For that 5% of the time that my motorcycle must also provide the opportunity for travel, escape and adventure. But I'd wager in this glorious two-bike alternate reality, the Del Mar would raise more smiles, and cover many more miles… Try one.

Jacket - REV'IT! Surgent
Helmet - Bell Eliminator
Jeans - BSMC Resistant BLK
Gloves - Alpinestars Oscar Robinson
Boots - Thorogood 

"Can I take it for a spin?" I knew it was futile to beg a go on Tokyo Connection, the blockbuster FTR custom build by Sideburn x Cheetah x Indian Motorcycle unveiled at the 2023 Bike Shed Moto Show, but damn I'm glad I did. Of course, hell no was the instant and inevitable answer, but crucially, there was a but. "Hell no. But would you like to borrow a stock one?" Hell yes.  Fast forward a month or so and an Indian monikered truck delivered two machines to Bike Shed Shoreditch. For display, Tokyo Connection, every bit as stunning as remembered from the Show, and to ride, a box fresh FTR1200 Sport. To ensure there was no misunderstanding on my part, they only left one key.The Sport is the most recent iteration of the FTR breed, replacing the outgoing S model in the now 5 model line-up. Gone is the Flat Track inspired 19' front of the 2019 original in favour of street oriented 17's fore and aft. The Rally and limited "Championship Edition" variants still sport the original 18/19 set-up, but the standard, Sport and R Carbon models all opt for the 17's. Other updates include a round touchscreen TFT dash (on all but the base model) from which to navigate the host of rider and navigation aids that joined the package in 2021.Still with me? The meat and potatoes, or rather burger and fries of the all-American FTR remain the same regardless of year or model. A sinuous trellis frame and elegant tubular swingarm suspend the hulking 1200 v-twin motor liberated from the Scout production line. That motor is the heart and soul of the riding experience. On its transition from Scout to FTR it wrangled as many additional horses it could find and crammed them within its cases. It still sports the weightiness and low down thump expected of a cruiser, casually pulling lofty gears, but get more eager with the throttle and said horses bray their approval.The given name of Sport provides a none too subtle nudge to give this machine some extra beans. When you do so, the front remains incredibly stable with lashings of grip laid on from those sticky 17' tyres, something which was reported to be less of a given with the original 18/19 tyre combo. My longest day in the saddle was spent travelling to and from an afternoon of Enduro riding, via as many twisting B-roads as I could factor in, the FTR was in its element. Comfort, although far from this machines most targeted accolade, was surprisingly decent on the outward leg, but on the punishing return journey, my shoddy, forest-beaten body would have struggled to find comfort in a limousine… A fuel stop on both legs revealed the diminutive tank size, perhaps not helped by my over caution of the slightly awkward filling neck, but you quickly figure the knack.So a willing companion to a blast through the twisties, with an inherent ability to relax to a cruise, a compelling combination. I often find when riding a machine with the purpose of writing my opinion of it, my mind wanders to comparable machines. What's it most like? What might a potential owner consider instead? Whilst there is a sizeable cohort of awesome naked motorcycles out there, none seem to be taking aim at quite the same target as the Indian FTR. Unmistakably American, big power from a classic motor allied to sharp dynamic intent, with a retro aesthetic leaning on the company's motorsport heritage...As I carved through rush hour traffic (a habitat in which the FTR excels) pondering what machinery I would recruit into an FTR group test, I found myself stopped at lights beside a modern day Mustang. Not the randomly monikered EV, but a proper, petrol-swilling V8 fastback. In white, with red stripes. Unmistakably American, big power from a classic engine allied to sharp dynamic intent, with a retro aesthetic leaning on the company's motorsport heritage...It may have been our paired liveries, or the knowing nod of the driver side-eyeing the FTR, but it felt like I had stumbled on a machine (albeit with a few too many wheels) aiming at the very same target. His engine roared me back to attention just in time for the red light to extinguish and for me to give my new buddy an excellent view of the FTR's splendidly proportioned rear-end…From that point forward I couldn't shake the idea of the FTR as a bruising American Muscle Car, reincarnated with my preferred number of rotating black bits. A Barracuda, a Challenger, hell the original Mustang even shared its engine with a pre-existing Sedan... This preoccupation with the all-American four-wheeled icon even seeped into my riding style, revelling in the burbling cruise, but seeking every opportunity to light 'em up. Having an absolute ball...Sadly, that aforementioned Indian van soon found its way back to the Shed to collect my new American friend. And so with my red, white and blue tinted glasses removed and my sensible thinking cap on I returned to my recurring line of thought. What are the FTR's rivals? From Europe the 1200 Speed Twin or BMW RnineT? Perhaps a Monster? Looking East, the Z900 or Katana? All feel of a different persuasion to the FTR and serve to highlight the sad and quiet death of the once mighty muscle bike class.No, the FTR is doing it's own thing, in it's own way, in a class of one. And to me, that is a damn good thing. If your heart aligns with the FTR's target, then the boisterous riding experience, design and engineering details, combined with the overriding feeling of owning something that bit special, will certainly hit the bullseye.

Helmet - Bell Elliminator
Jacket - REV'IT! Surgent
Jeans - BSMC Resistant BLK
Boots - Alpinestars Turnstone
Gloves - Alpinestars Oscar Robinson

Let's get one thing out of the way, I bloody love this motorcycle. If you are looking for a balanced opinion-piece with multiple angles of analysis, jog on. Sure, I have one, maybe two niggles, but they are so irrelevant within my overwhelmingly joyous experience of this machine, that they are but a footnote to an unapologetically enthusiastic word dump on the awesome Yamaha XSR900...In truth, I have wanted a crack on one of these ever since it's release. I had a few miles on its admittedly excellent predecessor, but was never truly compelled by it. So why the excitement for the revamp? Call me fickle, but those late 80's / early 90's inspired visuals immediately turned my crank. That the swathe of launch reviews unanimously raved of its power, new-found composure and all-round abilities, did little to quash my appetite for this XSR.When I finally threw a leg over that boxy tail section, we got off to an inauspicious start. A drizzly, British summer's day™, a spanking new set of nib-fresh tyres and an eagerness to ride that failed to observe the maximum power and minimum traction settings previously dialled in... resulted in some gut clenching mini-roundabout negotiations. This is one snap-happy motor. A toy with the settings thumb-wheel on the right bar (see footnote) led to a palpable adjustment to the power delivery, and over the following miles we quickly became better acquainted.Did I say snap-happy? This motor is so much more than that. Yamaha's 890cc, 117bhp, inline triple dubbed the CP3, continually draws the highest of praise in its deployment across the Tracer, MT and Niken ranges. And it is easy to feel why. Those 117 horses are eager to engage across the mid-range, but still hold back an intoxicating kick for the finishing straight. It is a joyous engine to use, an ever active and engaged participant of each and every journey.Orchestrated by your right wrist or a flick of your left boot via the quick-shifter, the motor sings with an evocative triple note that begs to be heard, even through that stock underslung Euro 5 appeasing pipe/box/pan/carbuncle... Which is substantially less visually obtrusive in the metal than via the lens of a ground hugging photographer.Back to that quick-shifter. As a general rule I tend to recoil from tech which looks to remove a hard earned skillset from the riding experience, but again, this is simply a joy to use. Blasting up a slip-road or pounding down the ratios on the approach to a junction, the accuracy and speed of the changes is glorious. Up and down arrows on the seemingly Casio inspired TFT dash glow to indicate when the QS can be utilised, but you soon get the gist of it. I remember back when my dad was teaching me to ride, he put great sway in the accurate blip-matching of revs on a downshift. It has been an action I have relished ever since, but having it auto-executed to perfection each and every time is perhaps even more satisfying. I am officially converted.I assumed the inclusion of a slipper clutch was purely for track work or the ham-fisted, but hearing that it also eases general mechanical wear and tear can only be a good thing. In my riding, I didn't notice its presence. Neither, thankfully did I need notice the lean sensitive ABS, but I was more than happy to know it was along for the ride. Speaking of the ride, that beautiful Delta-box frame (in common with the MT-Wheelie-09) is mated in the XSR to the longer swingarm of the Tracer 9 and XSR specific adjustable suspension to create a wonderful road package. It forces me to combine words that have no logical sense in their pairing. Agile yet planted, firm yet plush, aggressive yet compliant... Really bloody good, and really bloody naughty.With a strong rapport firmly established, I sought to further increase compatibility between man and machine ahead of a lengthy trip. Rotating the bars forward 10mm or so put the levers in a better ergonomic line from my lofty shoulders, but having initially got excited to read the footpegs had various mounting options I was disappointed to find them already in the lowest spot. By this point I was settled on power and traction modes 2 of the 4 available, but it was nice to know that a track, or more likely a rain-day, could illicit a tactical adjustment in either direction.Despite the lost hope of slightly slackening my knee and hip angles, I faired better than expected on a day in the saddle, with the cruise control further easing the monotony of dreary motorway miles. The previous iteration had a strong reputation with the long of leg, and if I had the slightly lower seated current model of my own, I would be tempted to raise it with an inch or so of foam to truly accommodate my 6'4' frame. One of my own... Now there is a train of thought I would happily pursue, and I am delighted to see a few custom builders have done exactly that. At the 2023 Bike Shed Moto Show Yamaha Yard-Built showcased their stunning Faster Sons collaboration with @caferacersofinstagram, a fully carbon faired XSR leaning even further into those blocky 80's visuals. Elsewhere Velocity Moto showcased their epic RD500 inspired do-over kit and Yamaha brought along the black variant clad with their newly launched "Racer" aftermarket parts. The seat cowl looks superb.Clearly the XSR is a machine that speaks to builders and riders of a certain age, but that is hardly a surprise. Over the past few years we have seen the inspiration sources for custom builders creeping chronologically forward. At recent Bike Shed shows more and more machines have looked not to the 60's and 70's, but to the 80's & 90's. Of the current mainstream market, the XSR900 is for certain the machine most overtly aping that era. Whilst that bravery needs applauding, it is also perhaps simply strong sales nouse to align product design with the poster bikes that would have graced the teenage walls of that ever profitable demographic of riders now flirting with their forties and fifties. And judging by the splendid styling of our restaurant crew in Shoreditch, it is a time-frame that also happens to be bang in fashion with the youth of today, which certainly can't hurt either.Yamaha clearly aren't yet done with the era. At the recent Goodwood Festival of Speed the hill-lined crowds were treated to a fleeting glimpse of their stunning DB40 prototype. Essentially an XSR with clip-ons and a half-fairing, and lashings of TZR / YZF / TRX nostalgia. Just look at that brushed frame and swingarm. That frame is actually the source of the machines moniker, with DB celebrating Yamaha's DeltaBox frame construction and 40 being the number of years they have utilised it.Dear people of Yamaha controlling the production green lights... Pretty, pretty please. And so to conclude on the 2023 XSR900. It is fair to say that the aesthetic revamp had me at hello, but as important as that visual connection is in our experience of a motorcycle, from the saddle it is rendered all but redundant. And from the saddle is where I truly fell for this machine. That motor, the quick-shift, the handling, the comprehensive tech-support, that sound... I squeezed more trips, long-way commutes and late night errand runs into my two weeks with this machine than I have on any other test bike. I wanted to ride it as often as I could, and I sure as hell did not want to give it back...That footnote: The menu navigation wheel come button on the right handlebar is fiddly and difficult to use, and the lovely bar-end mirrors are too wide for serious traffic cleaving. But I really couldn't care less.

Helmet - Bell Eliminator
Jacket - BSMC Denim Jacket Cordura BLK
Jeans - BSMC Protective Jeans - BLK
Gloves - Alpinestars Oscar Robinson
Boots - Thorogood Moc Toe

What does "Scrambler" mean to you? A predominantly road biased machine that won't turn tail at the sight of a gravel track or green lane? Or a mud plugger built to launch off tabletops and negotiate the odd linking road... If you tip toward the latter, get back to your copy of Enduro Monthly, but if you favour the former, then Fantic have just built a motorcycle you might like. A lot.Introducing the Fantic Caballero 700. Now before we wade into the superb list of components or I get carried away describing the ride, a quick recap on Fantic the brand. Founded in the late 60's in northern Italy (where they are still built) Fantic are known predominantly for their trials and motocross machinery, and of course that infamously lairy 70's moped chopper... Google it. They enjoyed success throughout the 80's on the competition stage (sadly, not with the chopper) and more recently have offered a range of Enduro and Motocross machinery. In 2019 they reintroduced the iconic Caballero name in the form of 125, 250 and 500cc scrambler and flat-track inclined machines. Why the history lesson? Because it seems following a few fleeting conversations at the Shoreditch Shed there are a few misconceptions of the brand. Yes, the lower capacity Caballeros utilise the excellent, Chinese-built Zongshen engine, but despite providing strong value, they are anything but budget-built Asian machines topped with a fancy European badge. Fantic are a proudly Italian manufacturer, boasting a vibrant heritage, creating machines with far loftier ambitions than the approval of your wallet. They are targeting your heart and your senses. And in the 700 Caballero, they have leveraged their long-standing relationship with Yamaha to procure a motor that no misguided country of origin snobbery can criticise.So to the motorcycle. That universally adored 689cc parallel twin is hung from a brand new, dedicated tubular steel frame, which thankfully carries over the beautiful CNC frame plates from the 500. Unlike it's largely tech-free Yamaha sister steeds, the XSR, MT-07 & Tenere, the Caballero mates the motor with a fancy IMU to deliver variable traction control and lean sensitive ABS. The three riding modes (street, off-road & user custom) are accessed through a circular TFT dash, sitting pretty above the glorious CNC yokes which grasp the fat, non-adjustable USD Marzocchi forks. Those fork legs in turn straddle a 19' front which is ably arrested by the Brembo caliper biting a single front disc.The styling draws heavily from the mightily attractive smaller capacity Caballeros. Twin, high-level exhausts peak from behind oval number boards which pair with the pleasingly simple white mudguards in a nod to the past. The long, one-piece seat rides up the tank which features a few additional slashes and sculpts over the 500 to embrace that 700 frame and those sizeable forks. My one gripe with the 500 visuals is fixed in the 700 by way of a clean and simple headlight unit replacing the more elaborate bulb layout of the former. Resplendent in matt blue or vibrant red, it is without doubt a handsome machine with a level of detailing many more mainstream manufacturers would eye with envy.As we set about a days riding on the glorious lanes and byways of Kent I was keen to find out if I would register the tweaks Fantic have made to the engine mapping. It is a unit with which I am very familiar from my daily-use Tenere, and it immediately reminded me why I love it so. With a cherry on top. Whether provided via the mapping, the loss of a few KG's, the pleasantly burbling soundtrack of the high pipes, (or more likely the combination of all three) the surging motor has definitely found itself a happy home in the Fantic.As the bends began to swing, the firmer than expected suspension and planted yet co-operative 19' front wheel set the handling expectations early. While never directly referred to as a "Street" Scrambler, Fantic clearly intend for this to be enjoyed as much, if not more so on the road than anywhere else. Which is exactly right if you adhere to the earlier definition of the type.It is perhaps a little unsporting to compare my Tenere (with its 21' front) with the Fantic over ever-tightening A & B roads, and such was the composure and eagerness shown by the Caballero that I soon parked that comparison. Instead my internal debate began to question whether I was in fact having more fun on these classic country roads aboard the Caballero, than I would on a dedicated roadster with a now de rigueur '17 front? I have always had a soft spot for the handling of a 19' on the road, and the Caballero reminded me exactly why. The best of both worlds the majority of the time? I would wager so. In fact, throw some dedicated road rubber at this machine (in place of the admittedly excellent dual purpose Pirelli Scorpion Rally STR's) and you would be well set to surprise more than just yourself on the British road network.So while I would happily have stuck to the tarmac, with the looming mantle of "Scrambler" to address, my 500 riding guide began to lead us down ever more broken tracks. I thumbed the mode button to engage the off-road setting and adjusted my mindset accordingly, but before we took to the byways proper we parked up, and surveyed the five and seven-hundred side by side. It was a timely reminder of what we should and perhaps shouldn't look to tackle. The larger engine is carried significantly lower than that of its 500 predecessor and the exhaust and engine lowers are clad with a lovely, yet decidedly thin carbon bash guard. Gravel tracks and green lanes would be ripe for plunder but significantly uneven terrain would be off the agenda (from the back of my mind, my maligned Tenere summoned a smug smile). At a long limbed 6'4", standing on the pegs tipped me into an awkward downward dog, so with my bum back on the seat I set about kicking the back out of line under power and provoking some skids on the loose stuff. The 700 was more than willing to engage and no doubt would indulge in further dirt-foolery in more capable hands. Our day encapsulated exactly the variety of road network this style of machine should be pitched at, and it is what makes the genre so appealing. That a country ride should not feel the need to terminate at the sight of a tempting track. That the road (marginally) less travelled can be explored, as part of the wider body of a tarmac ride, but not as its sole endeavour. From my perspective the Scrambler box is firmly ticked by the 700, but if you crave more, it is likely that in time Fantic will follow the footsteps of their 500 lineup and develop a more dirt inclined Rally edition... I took a brief interlude on the 500 Rally. Shod with more trail oriented rubber and a few additional inches of ground clearance it clearly had dirtier inclinations than the 700, at the expense of some of those road going grins I was wearing earlier. 

If I was applying adventure-tyre style terrain splits to the machines I would pitch the 700 as 80/20, the 500 Rally as 60/40.So, is the Caballero 700 worth your consideration? Most definitely. With Ducati and Triumph's excellent Scrambler options the most obvious competitors and plenty of alternative machines to consider it is a complicated category to navigate. But with that joyous engine at its heart, the quality componentry and tech suite delivering a thoroughly engaging ride, and a smattering of parts and details to make it feel truly special, the Caballero certainly commands consideration. Without the firm evidence of a back to back test, but with a healthy dose of gut feeling, of the three mentioned, it would be my choice. Try one. 

Jacket - Belstaff Brooklands
Jeans - BSMC Resistant BLK
Helmet - Bell x BSMC Moto III
Boots - Alpinestar Oscar Monty
Gloves - Aether
Goggled - Ethen

100 years deserves a party. And it turns out BMW Motorrad know how to throw a hell of a party...

I got to tag along for the ride with a small squad of UK journalists, and as we bid one another farewell after touching down on our return journey to Heathrow, it was abundantly clear that our weekend in Berlin would be long remembered...Rewind 48 hours and the first port of call was a behind the scenes tour of BMW's Berlin factory. The geek in me delights in seeing how things are made and on arrival we were advised this would be an extra special tour. The normally non-stop manufacture at the plant had ceased for the weekend. For the party. Yep, BMW shut down everything, at all their factories, worldwide so that everybody could go to the party. Nice.That meant unprecedented access to the production line. It was as fascinating, Germanically methodical and fastidious as you would expect, with the one curve-ball being the random sequence of bike model construction. If I was to assume my 2 minute station in the production line, I would not receive a constant flow of the same model but a different machine on each moving carousel. From a GS, to a M1000RR, RnineT, F900XR, R18... Apparently it is a trick taken from the car world and a method used only by BMW in motorcycle production. I bet it is certainly a hell of a lot more fun for the technicians.Speaking of fun, our next destination was the Pure&Crafted Festival, a celebration of Music, Motorcycles and Art. Pure&Crafted has been on my radar since its 2015 inception, as to put it predictably, it is right up my straße (sorry). Arriving at the warehouse complex on the banks of the Spree River that hosted the festival, the grind and slap of tricking skateboards could be heard faintly beneath live music, as the waft of BBQ's food filled our nostrils. Past the gates our sense picture was complete as our eyes were greeted with a mass of vibrant humanity, all out for the good times.Before we could wade into the festival we were ushered into a dark, moody corner for the unveiling of the latest addition to BMW's electric line-up. Tasked with enticing the next generation of riders to the game, the CE 02 is built for fun in the urban sprawl. But despite that eye on the future it also signals a welcome return to some of BMW's bold and quirky design cues of the past. In short, it looks like a lot of fun. No doubt my new journalist mates will have remembered a good deal more of the tech spec than I, and perhaps garnered some comprehension of the co-launched "MetaRide" digital world designed to accompany the machine. So if you want some meat on these CE 02 bones, you know where to head.After putting away a sensational deep fried jerk burrito I headed for the custom bike hall. Some familiar favourites from Gas & Retro and Hookie Co. were a splendid start alongside some machinery I hadn't previously encountered from Loose Screw, Omega Kraftrad and Motoism. But it was perhaps Vagabund's spectacularly "toy-boxed" RnineT that stole the show.As the music ramped up and the beverages flowed my companions and I set about hardening our party tolerance for the following days centenary bash before a brief foray into the Berlin night.Wakened by the sound of the stirring inhabitants of Berlin Zoo beneath my hotel window, myself and the other primates then headed to the final location of the trip, BMW's Motorrad Days festival at the staggeringly impressive Messe building. Built in the 30's the stunning Art deco entrance hall was arranged with seven stunning customs whilst the side halls were packed with BMW's extensive stock line-up along with a host of retailers and exhibitors.Out back, beyond the opulent ball room, the grounds bore host to a series of stunt shows, a wall of death, further exhibitors and more sausage based dining options than you could possibly imagine. It is an incredible setup and clearly a pilgrimage for BMW fans worldwide. On our inbound flight we made the acquaintance of a couple from New York who had made the trip especially. I'm sure they weren't disappointed.In the afternoon an opportunity to hit the streets of Berlin and beyond aboard the latest metal to depart the factory could not be passed up. Having amassed a good deal of miles on their Heritage fleet last year I opted for something a little different - the 2023 R1250R. Bloody hell what a motor. The current zenith of the Boxer engine the "Shiftcam" unit delivers over 130 rip-snorting horses in a roadster / super-naked package that had me instantly wishing we had allowed for a few extra road hours.Keeping pace with my rapid companions aboard M1000RR's and the like gave me little time to take in the scenery but once we eventually cleared the city limits and began whipping past fields and through pine forests the oft overlooked and perhaps leftfield R1250R certainly convinced that further exploration of it's many capabilities would be time very well spent. Give one a try.Back at base only one thing remained on the itinerary, that 100th birthday party. A vast Oktoberfest style beer tent bore host to a smorgasbord of international BMW staff and fans. Those obligatory voluminous beer jugs clinked in cheers as songs were sung and yet more sausage-based plates were consumed to fuel the ensuing pounding of the earth as the best damn cover band you have ever heard raised the roof... An incredible atmosphere and celebration that drew long into the night and stood to the passion of those behind the brand.Happy Birthday BMW. You sure know how to party. Now, when can we all have a go on that new R12 nine T???

I subscribe to the notion of type. We all have our preferences as well as our long-ingrained apathies. And whilst I would describe my two-wheeled tastes as broad, the genre of "cruisers" has always sat in the latter category for me. Perhaps it is that they don't seem to accommodate my overly-limbed frame, or their unshakable Americana pretence, typically I overlook them. So, I assumed a two-week match made with Royal Enfield's new 650 cruiser, the boldly named Super Meteor, would prove a challenge to my factory settings.

As I took delivery of the bike on our Shoreditch drive a fellow Shedist (whose preferred motorcycle type most certainly is cruisers) bounded over eager to see it. His delight in the details and overall proportions made me park my preconceptions, stand back and look again. He was right, the Super Meteor is a handsome and satisfyingly robust machine. 

As befits the class there are splashes of chrome here and there, which I admit ticked my colleagues boxes more than mine, but a quick flick through the available paint schemes revealed these more prevalent on the Interstellar design (as per my loaner) than the more subdued Astral options. My eyes were drawn instead to the front-end with its considerable, upside-down Showa forks and those splendid cast wheels. "Shame it doesn't have spokies" chimed my viewing friend, confirming once and for all that winning is simply not an option. For my part, any minute of my future not spent cleaning a spoked wheel is a minute I welcome back. 

Although the Super Meteor shares a power-unit with RE's Continental GT and Interceptor models, little else is carried over. The spine frame is a dedicated design for the SM which through a new cylinder head mount utilises said motor as a stressed member. As cruiser standards dictate the rider sits low with the soles of their feet thrust forward via a bolt-on tube and plate set-up. Despite being an alien position to me, it proved comfortable enough on first acquaintance. Time to put some miles beneath the wheels. 

Familiarity and a firm fondness for Enfield's universally admired 650 twin greased the wheels of my soon about-turn. It is just a joy to use. The modest digits belie an eagerness to work, coupled with a near gymnastic flexibility that for anywhere shy of highway mile-munching, I would take over more boastful numbers every time. But don't suppose it wont thrum along happily all day at (or a little above) the national speed limit, that is well within this motor's expansive locker, with 6th and even 5th almost acting as overdrive ratios. The exhaust note is engaging if a little polite, but having heard it through a variety of pipe options I can confirm there is a burly bellow lying in wait for those who want it. 

But stop, anyone who has swung a leg over alternative deployments of this power-unit are already well aware of the above. The question is how does it feel to ride the Super Meteor?

Absolutely bloody great. 

I believed cruisers were required to sacrifice their handling ambition at the altar of their raked out steering angle. Apparently not. Far from feeling distant, the front-end and low-slung riding position provoke huge confidence and a broad grin as I chase that foot-peg grind bend after bend. I absolutely relished in throwing the Super Meteor around. Preconceptions corrected. 

Sure, I craved a little more response from the front brake but the rear proved a far superior anchor anyway and since my protruding legs could offer little in the way of weight bearing or steering input, it was nice for my right foot to participate in the ride. The rear shocks could benefit from a little rider specific weight and style tweakery (there is 5-step preload adjustment as standard) but I was having too much fun riding to bother messing about. 

As my two weeks of cruiser life drew to a surprisingly unwanted close, the words so often bandied about at the Enfield press events began to echo in my head. Fun and accessible. If my words haven't completely failed me, hopefully the 500 or so written above have portrayed the fun I enjoyed on the Super Meteor, so now to the accessibility part. Motorcycling is an expensive pastime to fuel and an even more wallet-challenging endeavour to embark upon, but Enfield have absolutely nailed value. Their range of 350 (see my HNTR review HERE) and 400cc (Scram HERE) models are deliberately priced to bring motorcycling within the grasp of more. Then, when hooked (as they no doubt will be) the now expanded 650 line-up is waiting to take those recruits deeper down our most joyous rabbit hole. 

None of which is to say that the larger capacity machines of the Enfield line-up are solely the preserve of recent or returning motorcyclists. I have spoken with many (with a more storied motorcycling back catalogue than my own) who find more enjoyment in the honest and perfectly judged 650 platform than in plenty of the more lauded machines they have had the privilege to sample.

So, did my two-week date with the Super Meteor convince me it was the Enfield 650 for me? Truthfully I'd probably stick with the Interceptor, but I now know I would be doing so due to my preference of type and not from my mis-informed belief that it would yield any greater riding pleasure. The Super Meteor is an absolute blast. About time I scrap that adherence to the notion of type...

Last week saw the motorcycle industry gather in Milan for the annual EICMA exhibition. As usual many used it as a chance to whip the covers from their latest models and concepts - and as usual a few definitely caught our eye. Below is a quick run down on some of the machines we look forward to swinging a leg over in 2023 and beyond.

ROYAL ENFIELD SUPER METEOR 650

As teased at our 2022 London Show, Royal Enfield launched the latest vessel for their cracking 650 Twin. The Super Meteor carries said motor in an entirely new tubular steel frame with upside down forks (a first for Enfield) and cast wheels. The Super will no doubt build on the success of their existing Meteor monikered 350 cruiser. We look forward to seeing these roll down our drive in 2023. 

INDIAN FTR SPORT

Indian Motorcycle showcased their revised 2023 FTR model line-up. ⁠The "S" variant has now become the "Sport" with a reshaped tank and aggressive belly-pan. Along with the visually tweaked R Carbon and Rally iterations the Sport also gains trick integrated navigation. The stock FTR meanwhile has a graphic makeover as all models lean away from their flat-track inspiration toward a sporting road focus. All models benefit from revised front braking and clutch systems. ⁠More on these, along with several other new models across their offering on Indians site.

SUPER73-C1X

Our friends at Super73 further showcased their pedal-ditching C1X. Their first exciting step into the world of electric motorcycles. With 15' wheels front and back, BMX thinking and Super73's firmly established DNA we cannot wait to have a rip on this fun-machine. Deposits (£73) now being taken...

HONDA TRANSALP AND SUZUKI DR800

The Japanese pair both launched street and adventure models featuring brand new parallel twin power units. The Transalp and DR800 (well, DE) names were revived along with colour smatterings paying homage to the previous incumbents of the names. Both clearly have their cross hairs fixed on the Yamaha Tenere with it's CP2 engine, speaking of which...

FANTIC SCRAMBLER 700

Italian brand Fantic have leveraged their partnership with Yamaha to shoe horn that aforementioned motor into their striking Caballero platform. The 700 Scrambler apes the 125, 250 and 500 iterations visually but promises plenty of power and reliability from the well proven and universally admired CP2 unit also found in the XSR700 and MT-07.

HONDA CL500

Honda clearly have a well thumbed copy of their back catalogue at their development HQ as the initials CL, first seen in the 60's, once again entered the fray. The CL500 combines their popular 500 parallel twin with retro scrambler styling cues but no doubt a more city than trail bent.

DUCATI 800 SCRAMBLER RANGE

Ducati evolved their 800 Scrambler range with a host of technical rider aids and TFT dash tech while tweaking the lines and dropping a few kgs in the process. The changes are more than skin deep with a re-engineered trellis frame notably ditching the side mounted shock in favour of a central mount to the redesigned swing arm. Nice. 

Crowds also formed around the new "RR22" liveried Desert X. Ducati and their mates at Audi let loose with the felt tips in homage to the Dakar conquering Audi RS Q e-tron... anticipate a Desert X tilt at the Dakar this year. Check out Dutch's ride report on the Desert X HERE.

MV AGUSTA 921 S CONCEPT

MV have suggested we may have as little as two years to save up for their stunning 921 S concept. Inspired by their iconic '72 750S the inline four 921 is riddled with classic styling cues yet dripping with modern tech. We truly hope it retains as much of this style as possible on the treacherous journey from concept to production.

Elsewhere Guzzi displayed some new editions of their much loved V7 alongside the recently launched V100 Mandello (which I cannot wait to ride). Triumph's latest Chrome Collection (recently launched at Bike Shed London) glistened under the lights while Bimota surprised everybody with a 450 Enduro bike borrowing Kawasaki running gear who themselves hinted at a Hydrogen powered future H2... 

What else caught your eye??

I've been waiting a long time to have a go on a Norton 961 Commando. A very long time. About 12 years, in fact. The elephant in the room which needs addressing straight away is that this bike first came to the market in spring 2010, under the previous ownership, who I won't mention here, as enough has been written about them already. Let's just say, things didn't go well.

Bikes rolled off the production line in 2010 and into owner's garages, and many went straight back for repairs. After the farce that followed many owners were left without a working motorcycle, or no motorcycle at all. 

Although this may look like a continuation of service for Norton, it is actually a brand new chapter for this much-loved British Marque. Norton has been bought by wealthy Indian Company TVS, who've invested over £100m into the business, with a whole new team of engineers and managers. This investment included a brand new, state-of-the-art factory in Solihul, where the new team had to reverse-engineer major components of the motorcycles they had bought, and in the case of the 961's engine, replace over 130 parts, while rebuilding the engines to much higher tolerances.

There are also general improvements in all the  components, from fasteners, brackets, and finishes to the latest high-spec Ohlins and Brembo chassis parts, with beautiful, polished wire-spoked wheels, all hung together to create a finished machine that looks much more carefully considered than previous incarnations. Back in 2010, some journalists described the bike as looking as though it was assembled with whatever parts were lying around the factory floor. Thankfully this bump in the road has been pushed firmly into Norton's past.

When I heard Norton were back under new ownership and were going into production again I was initially surprised that the they decided to re-make a bike for 2022 that was already a re-make back in 2010, evolved from a re-made Norton originally created in Oregon by Kenny Dreer in 2006 as the Norton Commando 952 (actually 861cc). (You can read the Alan Cathcart Review HERE).

It seemed like an odd gamble, especially considering the 2010 bike's short-comings in build quality and consistency, but when you consider what is happening to motorcycling right now it might just turn out to be a very clever thing to do in relaunching the Company and winning trust back from the moto community.

Norton haven't changed the basic design or silhouette from 2010, despite the competition having spent the last decade or so perfecting the Modern-Classic motorcycle category, especially as they've all taken-on some of the custom scenes minimal shapes and style cues. This bike looks old-fashioned in comparison, especially in photos, but when you see one in real life, you stop thinking about all that because it's just a lovely-looking thing. It also looks like the real-deal in an era of re-imaginings, tributes and homages.

What needs describing is the overall appearance of the bike in the flesh. It looks hand made, but in a good way. Perhaps in a 1960s Rolls-Royce British-Luxury kind of way. The engine looks like it's from another era of engineering (which it is) with heavily polished cases that were definitely not designed by a computer. Not all the components and brackets have exactly the same finish, but all of them are well made. The pin-striping is clearly done by hand, and there's a simplicity to the overall construction, but as an object of automotive design the bike does looks properly conceived. It is extremely curvy, with huge scallops cut into the tank, which lead back to a very narrow seat.

From above the bike looks like a black and gold wasp. In some ways the "new" (or remade) Commando looks more like the result of old-school British automotive design than the original 1970s 850 Commando. There's a 60's feel to it more reminiscent of that decade's Jaguars and Aston Martins.

The "new" Commando comes in two version. The Café Racer, with clips-ons and the Sport with upright bars, both available in either black and hand painted gold pinstripe or silver and black. Apart from the bar position they both appear identical, although I haven't compared the footrest position, as we only borrowed the Sport version to have a play on.

My riding day started with some very slow manoeuvres around Shoreditch's back streets, so Camera Dan could take some photos for my write-up. I spent about 45 minutes riding around in first and second gear, doing U turns, and riding as slowly as I could so Dan could get as many shots as possible. Normally this isn't fun, but it turned out to be the perfect start. Firstly, the bike handles and moves really well at low speeds, which isn't always the norm for large capacity classically styled motorcycles. The 5-speed gearbox is firm and accurate, and feels familiar straight away. The slow speed turning is completely neutral, and the engine was quite happy getting hot while rumbling along very slowly. Even when I absent-mindedly snicked-up into third and it lurched at low speed it didn't stall, when it probably should have.

It's quite a heavy bike, but at no point did I notice the weight under exactly the kind of conditions where it might have been annoying. Even wheeling the Norton around the Bike Shed gallery was easier than I expected.

The best part of my day was the public reaction. It was a weekend, so Shoreditch was busy with shoppers, and every single person who saw the bike gave me a smile, a nod, or a thumbs up, or asked me about it. None of them looked like bikers or people who knew anything about motorcycles. This bike is a crowd-pleaser. It's like cruising around in classic convertible car on a Sunday afternoon, enjoying the admiring glances.

So what about the ride?

It was fun. Pure and simple. The engine feels like a proper motorcycle engine, and clatters away like a Ducati twin from the early noughties, with pleasant mechanical noises and a rich exhaust note, even with standard pipes, thanks to the Individual Vehicle Approval process which circumvents Euro 6 noise compliance. It feels like the 77 brake horsepower quoted, which is plenty for most British roads, and the suspension and brakes are superb - as per the quality components. It's like riding a resto-mod. A classic bike that has been completely rebuilt, better than new, and then had the chassis parts modernized - which is kind of what this bike is.

Many people compare this bike to a Triumph Thruxton 1200R, but I think they are missing the mark. I have a 1200RS and although the bike is stylistically similar and may even attract similar customers, the Thruxton is very much a modern motorcycle; much smoother, much cleverer electronics, more of a proper factory finish, with every component clearly coming from the same evolved design and build. It's also a lot faster and more responsive, but that's not the point.

I think a better comparison is a Ducati Sport Classic 1000 GT. While the Ducati is lighter and faster, it delivers a very similar feeling: Lots of clattering noise, with rattly clutch and basic engine design, offering plenty of enjoyable character, vibration and punchy exhaust note. It's also the only other bike I've ridden that gathers as much attention from the non-riding general public, especially the café racer Paul Smart version, which I still have. Both the Ducati and the Norton generate a reaction from other people that can only make you feel a little bit cooler.

This is not a bike for commuting and owners won't want to ride it in the rain. It's a modern classic in the truest sense, and is perhaps the last knockings of an era in motorcycling that will soon be behind us. It makes me happy that a bike like this exists in 2022. It also looks as though the new owners are willing to take on the burden of the previous owner's failures, and are putting their money where their mouth is. Hats off to them. I think it's bloody marvellous, and, biking - as a culture - deserves motorcycles like this to still be in production, whether it's your cup of tea or not.

....

SECOND OPINION - Gareth Charlton. Bike Shed's Brand Director.

Splendid. Dutch has covered the oh-so-complicated backstory, the Phoenix-like rebirth and the technical details of the machine itself, meaning my tuppence-worth can be pure and simple gut-feeling and opinion. Cheers Boss.

But first, what's in a name? Ever since its 1967 introduction and ten year production run the name Commando has demanded respect and adulation both within and beyond motorcycling. It is that iconic name and reputation that new owners, TVS, are betting is strong enough to withstand the previous, ill-fated revival. For myself, and I dare say anyone not scarred by those trials and tribulations, it remains a name that holds sway. I want for a Norton Commando to exist, and I want to want one as badly as I have all these years.

And here it is, in the metal, and I have the key. 

Now this article is full to bursting with beautiful pictures (top job camera-Dan) but trust me when I tell you they do not do the Commando justice as to the eye. The purity of the original Kenny Dreer design, so long lusted after, remains intact and yet heightened. Exaggerated and simplified. It is just bloody gorgeous. That classic engine, with its almost biological cases, that thick-tubed frame with dramatic diagonal back-bone reminiscent of the Seeley iterations of the original.

The silhouette and proportions are sublime and the finish and detailing more than live up to the Modern Luxury tagline. My one disappointment? That aforementioned key could easily be confused with any number of others with a far less emotive task than firing up this Commando. 

But, woof. What a noise it brings to life. The best I have heard on a stock bike bar-none. As Dutch touched on, some clever navigation of homologation rules I care not to understand have made it possible - and it is quite simply delicious. Time to ride. After much negotiation of our available hours I grabbed the key for the first of mine and right then (of course) the heavens utterly opened. I guess they figured some dramatic thunder and lightning was required to go with the soundtrack just unleashed on earth. 

Now I am going to make some assumptions. I don't believe many owners will take their Commando out in the rain. I also don't count on many tasking it with their commute, but that was to be my first taste of the bike, and despite the conditions, it more than convinced me to take the circuitous route home. Cue a fitful night's sleep punctuated with much weather-app checking that was thankfully ended by an early alarm and clear skies. The neighbours were rudely awakened and off we went. The Commando that promised so much on that tiptoe home now gets to show me exactly what it is about. 

I have always craved a classic motorcycle. They are what kicked me down the road to my life and work today, but every time I have actually ridden one, I have been either underwhelmed or downright scared. The 2022 Commando 961 is how I always wish they had felt. A soul-filled motor, chattering and bellowing back at you. Slick gear changes interlacing surges of power. Weighty controls revealing just the right level of healthy vibrations. Responsive suspension, sharp handling and eye-popping brakes. The very best of both modern and classic. Not to say the motor is old, as described it is filled with freshly engineered parts, but its approach to propulsion remains from yesteryear and the satisfaction it provides cannot be matched.

I am going to assume again that lucky Commando owners will use them primarily for their Sunday B-road jaunt, and for this I cannot think of a better companion. The power is perfect for our UK roads, you can give it some stick without hitting inappropriate digits and that nimble handling will put you exactly where you want to be on your favourite road. And the big fat cherry on top? That unquantifiable feeling of being aboard something more than a bit special. Of a machine that will always command a second glance and a third or fourth conversation. 

Of course there are many more capable motorcycles, there are many motorcycles that ape the same feelings, and there are some motorcycles that are both. But there is nothing like the Commando. For as long as we are allowed to combust petrol for pleasure, I cannot think of a better machine to do so upon.

The promo video plays; a host of familiar young faces riding the familiar streets of East London, taking photos, having fun - their motorcycle the facilitator in chief of their busy lifestyle. The target audience for Enfield's latest 350 could not be clearer. Are you a young city-dweller who dreams of a motorcycle and the independence it provides? The Hunter is for you, sorry I mean the HNTR. Depending on your location in the world this model is pitched as either the Hunter or HNTR 350 and in the UK we don't get the vowels. I suppose we did opt out of the EU…

Arriving in the crisp morning light at the West London start-line of the UK launch, the assembly of HNTR's immediately hit the right visual notes. Bright, enticing, approachable, modern and yet undeniably classic. The third machine to use Enfield's 350cc J-engine (following the cruiser-lite Meteor and classic Classic) the HNTR is pegged as the firms Roadster, with its stomping ground firmly determined as the city streets.

It is certainly a handsome little motor, reminiscent of the old Kawasaki TR250 unit with its upright cylinder surrounded with open space. Over the years small capacity singles such as Yamaha's SR and Suzuki's GN have provided a superb base for many a custom whip and I have no doubt the clean lines of this frame and motor will have many creative minds pondering a project beyond the plentiful parts catalogue... but I digress. 

The global launch pitted the Hunter against Bangkok's notorious road network to prove its urban worth and for the UK, the plan was similar. To cross the heart of London, west to east and back again. All well and good if you live west… a trudge if you live east and have to factor in the additional criss-cross. This had better be as good an urban assault vehicle as they say it is. 

After a short intro citing the 1959 Fury as a key inspiration to the lines of the HNTR the host dropped a bombshell that left my underprepared-jaw on the floor. This motorcycle can be yours for £3899 on the road. Or to put it another way, 18 months of a London zone 1-4 travel card. I say underprepared, because the hugely successful Meteor 350 goes for a similarly wallet-friendly price - but its baby cruiser looks left me cold, so I forgot to pay attention. The HNTR on the other hand, with cast 17-inch wheels fore and aft, broad seat, aluminium grab-rails and striking graphics definitely piques my attention. And it feels like a quality piece of kit despite the budget price - fair play RE.

Time to ride. From tick-over the motor provides a satisfying single-cylinder soundtrack at a surprisingly low pitch, instantly encouraging an eager throttle hand as we peel onto the busy London streets. Now let's get one thing straight, this is not a fast motorbike, rather with only 20 horses to call on it sits firmly in the slow category. But a decent corresponding torque figure of 27nm lends it enough hustle to keep up with and pass-out traffic in those aforementioned zones 1-4. I am also growing quite keen on the phenomenon of riding slow bikes fast, as opposed to fast bikes slowly - using more of a machine's dynamic range will always be more fun. 

Almost instantly the bike feels familiar, as simple and easy to ride as geared machines come, with broad, flexible ratios and agile, yet sure footed handling. The front brake initially surprises with a lack of bite but does the job once familiar while simultaneously encouraging use of the effective rear, something which I confess has become a rare occurrence in my daily riding. The HNTR will likely be early, if not at the very start of a motorcyclists machine-owning journey and it is the perfect choice for recent recruits to the two wheeled world. 

As we progress across the capital, taking in all the key sights, our throng of riders are clearly having a blast. We dart and dive for the camera guy, chat at lights, engage with eager onlookers and revel in the fun factor of the HNTR. This is exactly how this machine is meant to be used, socially, actively, in the heart of a city. A brief stretch of flyover allows sight of 60mph and no doubt the machine could sit comfortably in the mid 60's for as long as your interest would sustain. But the tighter the roads and the gaps become, the more this machine truly excels, boasting comfortably the tightest turning circle I have ever experienced. 

So, the HNTR has absolutely smashed its brief and will no doubt more than satisfy the riders it was built to target, but what of those outside of that demographic? Well it entirely depends on what you want from your bike and how you ultimately use it. But if you think the HNTR 350 may fit your personal riding brief, in it you will find an honest, low cc, low cost, imminently usable motorcycle that will never fail to raise a smile. In their stable of 350 and 411 machines Royal Enfield have created a bike for every taste and the HNTR is the sweetest handling of the lot. If I was starting my two wheeled journey again - this is exactly where I would start.

This is not about the future. E-fuel, alt-fuel, hydrogen, electric… who knows what two-wheeled transportation will look like further down the line. This is instead about the here and now, today and tomorrow, where alternatives already ride amongst us. 

First up a confession. I have not been in the least interested. Do not misunderstand me, I have two, very small, very important reasons (that keep me awake most nights) to want to preserve this rock of ours. I always endeavour to do my bit, but I have knowingly neglected to apply this focus to my motorcycling habit. I know I need to accept the inevitable march of progress, but I will forever be more inspired by what has been than what is to come - a different take on recycling, perhaps.

Rather than sit with the nerds in I.T and Computer Science I spent my formative years in the Archaeology and History rooms. Today, I couldn't tell you the model of my iphone and the prospect of a watch that needs charging makes my wrist break out in a rash. In short, I am not the tech-loving, future craving, early-adopter that the majority of LiveWire nerds customers will likely be. No Question, I am a tough crowd for this test ride. And (whisper it) I don't really get Harleys... 

But wait, it's not a Harley anymore? Over to the man in charge in Milwaukee.

"We recognized the pioneering spirit and brand value in LiveWire for our community and took the decision to evolve the original LiveWire motorcycle into a dedicated EV brand."

Both a brave and understandable decision. As a machine the LiveWire always felt somewhat outside of the traditional Harley stable. More akin to what Erik Buell would have made had Harley originally launched this power unit in a Sportster or Fatboy inspired platform. And you know what? I really like Buells. 

Walking around the LiveWire the Harley ownership is still apparent. The HD shield adorns the petrol/charger cap and the full name wraps around the specifically developed Michelin "Scorcher Sport" rubber. Fat grips and a brake lever like a skillet handle also reinforce the factory heritage. But beyond those elements the aggressively hunched tank and slim, high seat-unit remind instead of the original Ducati Monster and again, the Buell back catalogue - a great reference list that adds up to without question the best looking machine in its class.

Time to fire it up. Thankfully the TFT screen helps me navigate the plethora of bar buttons and we are ready to go, I think. A gentle pulse through the bars lets you know you are "live" and with the first of what would be many gropes for an absent clutch lever we are off. At the recommendation of the delivery guy I head out in rain mode to soften the power delivery. The stance is immediately and thankfully familiar as my brain recalibrates to the reduced riding task list. Stop and Go. 

I make it approximately half a mile before deciding I am ready for the unfiltered version and mash the buttons until the rain cloud in the top right of the screen is replaced by an enticing red S, that'll be the Sport mode. An empty slip road opens up before me, time to see what this instant torque is all about. Great Scott! The surge is astounding, the previously silent forward motion is replaced by the whirring of a Pod-Racer and the world races forward at light speed. I could quote HP figures but they seem meaningless such is the difference in delivery versus a combustion unit. The complete lack of preparation for propulsion in the form of gears, revs or clutch makes the immediacy of the power delivery an addictive hit. Twist and Go. My mind races back to 1998 and the seared-in experience of taking a bigger kids two stroke Italjet Dragster 180 around the block…

Back to 2022 and the taught suspension, fierce brakes and fat rubber relay supreme confidence and soon enough I am riding as if the entire Galactic Empire fleet is hot on my tail. Of course it is not necessary to ride the LiveWire this way, but it is utterly addictive. There is seemingly no correlation between current road speed and available warp thrust. Be it 20-40, 40-60, 60 to a bit more, that immediacy always surprises. Pick a spot a few hundred yards up the road and the LiveWire will have you there before you can say "plasma cannon".

It is just such a totally different experience (one that 120 riders sampled over a weekend of test rides out of our Shoreditch HQ) as much defined by what is absent as what is present. The limited controls, lack of noise, of heat, an exhaust. The heightened awareness of the suspension and road surface that comes with the near silent progress. It is an entirely separate genre of two-wheel experience. And that silence - there is huge joy to be had stealthily rolling into your street in the dead of night, whisper-quiet. A sleeping fox raised barely a whisker as I parked up a few feet away.

Plugged into my domestic socket overnight it was more than ready to go in the morning. Range depends on your abuse of the throttle but 90-140 miles is expected and workable. I watched enough Long Way Up to know that longer trips require careful planning but for 90% of my riding it wouldn't be an issue. There is even a fast charger at work… Hang on - am I seriously considering this? Could it replace my idea of a motorcycle? 

Well, no. But also yes. I would miss the bangs and the pops, the control points and the familiarity of combustion and my romantic attachment to it. But, if I had the space and means for two machines, while one unashamedly would be a nostalgic fossil-fuel drinker, the other could very well be a LiveWire. Because they both do the same thing so very differently. I know that when the delivery man returns to collect the LiveWire, I will absolutely miss it too. The whoosh and the whirr, the simplicity and the excitement of this new mode of transport.

Contrary to my expectations, I am absolutely convinced. So whilst I may always lean toward the fedora clad version of Mr Ford, Han Solo also had a solid point when he foresaw "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."...

Three days riding many motorcycles in glorious countryside en route to Goodwood Revival punctuated with factory tours and slap-up meals in good company? When the invitation to join BMW's press "Heritage Tour" landed in my inbox it was one of the easier hell-yesses to give. The main aim of the trip? To pass hours in the saddle of the gamut of BMW's heritage range; the R18 in its Classic, Bagger and Transcontinental guises and all four iterations of their hugely successful R nineT. 

After an introductory dinner at Bike Shed Shoreditch (a sterling start) our 26-strong group of journalists and BMW key-players took off early next morning for the Marshall Amplifier factory in Bletchley. Why? BMW teamed up with the iconic British brand as their speaker partner for the R18 Transcontinental and Bagger, my ride for the day. 

Even within the gleaming line up of assembled metal my Bagger stood out. With a deep, metallic violet and silver paint-job daubed across that mighty screen and pannier set it simply demanded attention. But not even the outrageous colour scheme could detract from the centrepiece of this bike. That almighty engine. 

An eighteen-hundred and two cc, torque laden celebration of the boxer configuration. A whale's heart captured in a motorcycle. Traditionally, I should now mention the exhaust note, but this was my first time on a motorcycle with a stereo and it was not a novelty I was prepared to turn off. Ever. With Planet Rock turned up to 10 in pursuit of the campest Rock songs I could find, the purple beast and I wound our way out of North London. Huge thanks to the DJ that saw fit to string together Pat Benatar, Starship and Journey on the Holloway Rd.

Cards on the table, this isn't usually my cup of coffee. Cruisers, baggers, Harleys and their ilk have never been the machines I google at night. But perhaps I missed their point… The motorway hop was despatched in laid back, low rpm comfort and with the sun high in the sky and London dwindling behind us, the R18 and I were swinging through bends, gobbling up straights, having a damn fine time of it. It is such a different vision of motorcycling to anything I have previously known or pursued, but I think I can finally appreciate the appeal.

At circa 400kg's it is without question a substantial proposition. But it carries the bulk of those digits low and does that trick the best monster-machines manage of seemingly shedding pounds on the move. Granted, gravel car parks are a butt-clenching scenario but the more miles I spent on the bike the more it felt at peace with itself. And I will never tire of that lurch to the left as you blip the throttle at standstill. 

The first destination of the tour was the Marshall factory, both a Rock 'n Roll mecca and a pleasingly idiosyncratic, British establishment boasting a crew of craftsmen and master solderers. The place tells a great story and makes the best gear in the amplification game - it would have to, to be heard over that R18 motor. A painfully-slow traffic filled dawdle to our overnight provided me the chance to admire the other machines on the tour fleet and I earmarked a beautiful Option 719 R nineT Urban GS for the next day's action.

With too little sleep, heavy heads and full bellies we took the short hop to the next stop, the BMW Mini Factory. Not an obvious destination for a riding group but having begun my four-wheeled life in one of the proper ones I was happy to visit the site where the original manufacture also took place. And it blew my puny mind. I had no idea humans could conceive such things. An army of giant orange robots as far as the eye could see, wielding and welding Minis in a spark-fuelled ballet of automated, automotive creation. With barely a human in sight. Skynet is real.

Mind still reeling, I climbed aboard the refreshingly simple Urban GS and headed for some of the best roads of the entire route. As clearly the most up my straße machine of the entire range, this was a bike I was eager to pass some miles on. Many more qualified than I have written reams in review of the universally admired Nine T range - so expect no technical dissection here, rather my honest gut feelings from two days in the saddle.

As with the R18, the motor dominates the experience. Character is the word most often hung from it and I won't reach for an alternative - but I will add another. Grunt. I was taken aback by the power of this thing. The quoted figure of 109 horses while respectable, does not do justice to the real-world hustle this unit offers. Of course, it slides through towns and low speed traffic in a gentlemanly fashion, but loosen the neck-tie and this thing just lunges for the other side of the horizon, sharpish. They may have leaned into a scrambler visual with this particular model but I was far more inclined to slide my toes backward on the pegs, devour straights and romp through bends than search for the nearest byway.

The R nineT range currently sits at 4 models. The un-monikered original with a 17-inch front and upside-down forks, the Pure, also with a 17' out-front but sandwiched between conventional forks and finally the Urban GS and Scrambler models which share a 19' front wheel and differ via a few styling gambits. The beautiful but wrist-testing Racer has been discontinued, much to the disappointment of carpal-tunnel specialists. All models of course benefit from that spectacular oil/air cooled 1200 engine, formerly housed in the GS and provide largely similar riding experiences. Pick yours by your preferred riding vibe as much as anything. For me the Urban GS was the sweet spot. And I'll stick with the cast wheels.

After two days of plentiful miles, I had to add an additional 300 mile-round trip back to London for an evening of family duties ahead of the final day gathering at Goodwood. It was the last thing my ride-weary body needed but the nineT had my (aching) back. Heated grips made my poor glove choice an irrelevance and the faultless cruise-control munched through the motorway miles. The clearest mirrors I have ever experienced, while a decidedly dull detail, only added to the abounding feeling of quality exuding from the whole package.

And so, with the last of the summer bugs smeared across my visor I rolled into the 2022 Goodwood Revival. It has been too many years since I attended this one of a kind event and it did not disappoint. What an experience. The noise, theatricality, relentless eye-candy, anticipation and excitement among the attendees create a vibe like no other. The bike-pits were a hive of activity ahead of the Barry Sheene Memorial Trophy race and the machinery on display, simply outrageous. A 1928 rigid BMW R57 Kompressor with leaf-spring forks later described by the commentator as "The most evil thing at Goodwood" exploded to life a yard from my noggin before registering 132 on the noise man's decibel stick… My head is still ringing.

With a Le-Mans style running start, pit-lane rider swapsies and a grid-full of current track stars to ride the nuts and bolts off the remarkable machines the race itself was a chaotic joy to behold. The noise was apocalyptic - that a silencer flew loose from one bike, cartwheeling down the start / finish straight and yet made no discernible difference to the noise emitted tells some of the story…

Suitably reminded as to why BMW can proudly refer to this assemblage of bikes as their "Heritage Range" and with a flat-cap full of memories to which a phone exploding with images would never do justice, I made my way back to the nineT for my long ride home. And even after those many, many miles, it still goaded me into the scenic route…

G Charlton

For the overwhelming majority of my time on two wheels, the breaking of traction has been an occurrence I have done my damnedest to avoid…Grip, grip and an extra serving of grip please. But my preference for adhesion belies a long-standing obsession with flat track. A teenager who clocked up too many hours watching On Any Sunday became an adult with a Sideburn Magazine addiction and sideways leaning friends who still somehow never quite managed to scratch the itch. Until now.

A Bike Shed Members day at the Dirt Craft / Royal Enfield Slide School appeared in the calendar and my arm shot in the air. In anticipation of the day I studied the particulars; location - Iwade Speedway circuit on the Kent coast, machines - custom Royal Enfield Himalayan "FT" 411's and the instructor - Pro Flat Track racer Gary Birtwistle. This was going to be a lot of fun.

In the name of a good story-telling (but in reality, to get a jump on the participating members) I wangled a brand-spanking Royal Enfield Scram 411 on test for a few days either side of the school. With a flat track standard 19' front hoop the Himalayan based Scram is a squint away from near-as-dammit the same as the slide school steeds we would be wrestling. After a dreary motorway drone to our destination (not the Scrams most obvious habitat) the learning could begin. 

As usual on 'Shed member events the atmosphere was easy, relaxed and jovial as Gary explained some of the basic principles of sliding on a picturesque track walk, which revealed a surface simultaneously looser yet harder than I had expected. The essential left-peg steel-shoes were fitted to provide us with that authentic clunk-thud racer limp gait and we were tentatively underway.

Oh-so slow early laps with cone strewn straights kept us upright and sensible as we learned our way around the bikes and the basics. The easy-going motor and broad gear ratios I had familiarised with aboard the Scram were as expected, but bolstered with a grin inducing growl courtesy of the fruity S&S pipe. The lack of front brake however, I doubt could feel familiar in a lifetime of laps, my two right fingers groping the air for the absent lever…

Progress and pace increased as sessions and snacks ticked by, punctuated with further pearls of wisdom from the ever-helpful, good humoured Gary. The drip-feed tuition was timed just right as confidence grew and the breaking of traction became provoked rather than feared. Of course, it is no surprise he can teach this stuff so well, 'cause my Lord can he do it.

Gary has won every round of the 2022 DTRA season to date aboard his stunning factory RE Harris Performance 650 (seen below in attendance at our '22 London Show). A further 2 British and 1 European Championship between 2018-2020 for Ducati UK, alongside regular race wins in the 450 Pro-class, tell you all you need to know. Watching him pilot the school FT 411's on sighting and demonstration laps displayed a supreme skill, the edges of which were surprisingly accessible during our one day tuition, but the mastery of which is clearly an entirely different gallop of greyhounds.

Back to us newbies. Our speeds lifted and slides lengthened as early boundaries were explored and surpassed, the shriek of steel shoes growing ever louder as the day drew to a close. It was amazing to see the progression in our group; from a quiet, cautious procession to a raucous crew of somewhat slide-ways converts.

On a couple of occasions the dirt was viewed a little closer than intended. For myself I was as convinced as I have ever been of imminent crashy-crashy only to find myself through the other side and belting down the straight - my heart lost through my mouth somewhere mid-corner. But with limits came learning and finally, with a degree of assurance I hadn't expected, I knew what it was to go side-ways. And hell, do I want to do it some more.

Dirt Craft host slide schools across the UK, check out their page HERE and get yourself along - you will not regret it. There is already a clamour for more sideways action from Bike Shed members and crew so expect another day to drop into our calendar soon. Email Dan.ja@thebikeshed.cc to get yourself a hole shot start for the list.

If like me, all this has given you a flat track appetite you can begin to sate it HERE with Sideburn Magazines review of all the trackers in attendance at our 2022 London Show, some absolute belters. 

On the journey home the Scram and I continued our acquaintance. Away from the motorway and encouraged by the frolics had astride its FT cousin, we really started to get along. In truth, we do not make an obvious pair. At 6'4' and 100 ish kg's I have a habit of making big bikes look small, and the Scram ain't particularly big. One more creative observer likened my appearance on the Scram to "a spider in a teacup - all knees and elbows". So yes, perhaps I am not this 24-horse machine's target rider, or perhaps that is my own misconception? The Scram was more than happy to try and convince me otherwise.

As we rode in and out of towns, flick flacked through roundabouts and whipped between hedgerows one word kept springing to mind. Honest. A long admired human trait but not always top of the want list when it comes to motorcycles, perhaps it should be. The Scram is obviously not a fast motorcycle, nor is it pretending to be. It takes you back instead to the simplest form of riding, where momentum, line and presence within a journey are far more pertinent than tech spec bragging rights and elec-trickery.

Enfield describe the Scram as "A spirited, multipurpose ADV Crossover that combines high altitude adventurer DNA with authentic scrambler vibes... An able multi-tasker, optimized for agility and always ready to take on challenges." And whilst I am pretty sure it is a moto-journo no-no to type marketing blurb verbatim, I am not a moto-journo, and this line hits the proverbial nail with a well-aimed hammer.

I love the Scram wheel set up. Having spent the majority of my days piloting a 21-inch front in various guises, I have grown accustomed to their on-road vagaries, but I often crave the set-up of my all-time favourite back-road hustler, the odd-ball Cagiva Gran-Canyon (do bear with me reader). With a 19' front and 17' rear (as my oft mourned 'Giva) the Scram is mountain-goat agile in an eager, bounding fashion. I don't understand the physics, but I know the feeling. If you were previously tempted by the Himalayan with its 21'- 17' set up, do be sure to give the Scram a swing too.

Forcing the bike down Supermoto (and as I now know Flat-track) style was a rewarding hoot as was more upright pendulum progress. Beyond a few dusty tracks the majority of our time was spent on tarmac, but such is the confidence the Scram package inspires I wager it would prove a more than willing accomplice on the loose stuff as well. And if you really must, for those high(er) speed slogs, just stick to 70. You will get there in the end. Plus, if you try for more than that the mirrors will start folding in on you.

Given their price point Enfield actually provide the majority of competition for the Scram 411 themselves. Want something more traditional? Take the Classic 350. More Adventurous? Himalayan for you good sir/mam. Want to pretend you are American? Check out the Meteor. Or if you want longer legs via a few more cubic centimetres come and meet the 650 twins. For me, the Scram is the one. If you are moving up from a 125 or indeed just fancy a different take on the whole two-wheeled progress game you cannot go far wrong. As they said so eloquently themselves, it just does it all. You may also be tempted by a spare pair of 19's and an S&S pipe...for the weekends.

Thanks to @harryblaisefryer for capturing the day. 

BSA is back. The Gold Star is back. And on a scorching day at a tarmac playground hidden deep in the English countryside I was invited to ride a machine I have only ever heard spoken of in tones of hushed reverie. Named after the medal received by one of its predecessors for lapping Brooklands circuit at over 100mph the original Gold Star was the metal of choice for the Ton-up boys, Clubman TT Racers and Sunday Scramblers of the 50's and 60's. Fast forward to the 2020's and the reborn 650 Gold Star is gunning for those who remember fondly what it was but also a new & entirely different generation of admirers.

This was a day to ride so I will keep the preamble brief. BSA was purchased by the Mahindra Group in 2016, their intentions to manufacture in the UK were sadly scuppered by the carnage of the years since but it remains the future plan. For now, the Goldie is assembled in Mahindra's native India with machines expected to be delivered into a network of UK dealers mid-August priced from a respectable £6500 to £7000 (+ otr charges) depending on your colour of choice. Thankfully my favourite, the Highland Green is the cheapest scheme. The pictures tell far more than any words how damn handsome this machine is. A faithful homage to the DBD34, it is covered in delightful touches and unfortunately encumbered with a few modern necessities - more on those later. Overall it is a machine that will forever raise a smile as the garage door lifts and command a second glance before it closes. 

Time to ride. God I love a single. The heart of the Goldie had to be a thumper, the 500cc displacement of the original has swelled to a 652cc powertrain in which a host of sophisticated manufacturing techniques have sought to balance and smooth the inherent vices of the single layout whilst preserving its character. It is a brilliant motor. Definitely not the fastest at 45bhp, nor perhaps the most refined, but perfectly befitting the 2022 Goldie. 

Millbrook proving ground was the venue for the day's fun and games, a test facility for both two and four wheelers Millbrook boasts a host of real road simulations. Whether pootling between the hedgerows or chin on tank, throttle to the stop tickling the ton on the banked oval circuit, the motor proved a willing and compelling companion. I eagerly await that Ton-up Club members card… 

Swinging through the complex bends of the faux Alpine course (including the infamous Aston Martin flipper from Casino Royale) was a fun yet reassuring experience with the Brembo brakes arresting momentum of the 213kg Beeza with great assurity. The suspension on the machine of the slighter rider ahead of me definitely looked a sight more composed than it felt beneath my weightier-self and would (like most machines in this price bracket) benefit from fine-tuning or upgrade to suit the rider and use. Or just ride, adapt and smile. Romping through the tight layout of a supposed "city course" that better resembled a gymkhana was a hoot -  and the pace at which the lead rider conducted the route eye-widening.. 

Back in the 50's the DBD34 was defined as a super-sport machine. Today's iteration is clearly a world away from that moniker, but I wager I had a deal more fun wringing the neck of the Goldie and exploring its capabilities as opposed to clinging on to a current super-sport and exposing my own. Perhaps I was just born in the wrong era, but as todays roads seem to slow with traffic and tech, a machine with the dynamic capabilities of the Goldie makes more and more sense. 

Now for the fun part, this is Bike Shed after all and this is a motorcycle crying out for a little tinkering or full-bore customisation. One of the best things about the original machine was its adaptability. Yes, the café-racer is the first vision that springs to mind, but with the swapsies of a few key parts the old Goldie did everything well, Scrambles, Trials, Flat-Track… The inspiration is endless and I have no doubt that come our 2023 Show we will see the new Gold Star reimagined as all of the above and everything in between. No bobbers please. 

What would I do to it? Those aforementioned modern necessities can go for a start. The fugly switchgear, prominent USB charging ports and catalytic converter the size of an over-fed feline curled up in the frame rails all need a new home. While we are shedding kilos a quick glance under the seat reveals a bolt-on subframe that could fast be swapped or altered, you can keep your (all-be-it lovely) fork shrouds and the radiator seemingly sourced from an Austin Mini could use some detailed thought. A single seat, some short guards, slim-line side panels, upswept exhaust that celebrates as oppose to apologises for the thump, clip-ons, rear-sets, and sticky tires pretty please. A brief chat with the ever-growing BSA team reveals a few more ponies could easily be corralled from the motor and suddenly we are having even more fun. The beautiful reverse sweeping clocks can stay, perhaps framed with a bullet-style fairing… But I digress. Necessary? Absolutely not. Part of the fun? Absolutely yes. 

Whether owned, once ridden or long lusted for, BSA has always been a marque to command a place in the heart of many motorcyclists. With the new Gold Star, BSA are looking to add a new generation of riders to that hearty club. Have they made a machine that can do this? I sure as hell believe so. BSA, it is great to have you back.

@garethcharlton wore - 

• BSMC x Hedon Heroine Carbon Racer Helmet
• Belstaff Brooklands Jacket in Black
• BSMC Protective Jeans in Black
• Alpinestars Robinson Gloves
• Alpinetars Monty V2 Boots

You are certainly reading this for one of two reasons, either...

A. You stumbled here as you try and second guess what your motorcycle obsessed friend / lover / sibling / other would like to find under a yew tree come the 25th. 

- Or -

B. It's that groovy time of year when your favourite folk might treat you to something you fancy and you are looking for exactly what to suggest to avoid the usual Crimbo detritus...

Whether shopping for unique gifts for the motorcycle rider in your life or looking for your good-self, you have come to the right page. Here are our top picks organised into categories for all wallets. You are very welcome. 

Blow the budget over £100 and win Christmas with our stunning Hedon collaboration helmet, our RESISTANT riding jeans, BSMC Vest and Jackets or the ultimate year-round motorcyclists gift - Bike Shed Motorcycle Club membership. 

Born in England in 1901, Royal Enfield began building bikes in India in 1955 moving to entirely Indian-made machines by 1962. In taking-on the mantle of these iconic bikes of that era, Royal Enfield somehow captured the enduring spirit of Great Britain while finding a new home in India. The Company has since evolved to hold a place in the heart of two nations, with a shared provenance.

This Indian-British nationality has a natural place in East London, where culture, food and fashion from the South of Asia has taken root over generations, centred around Brick Lane, Bethnal Green and Shoreditch, also home of the Bike Shed Motorcycle Club.

To celebrate this meeting between East & West in the world of motorcycle manufacturing, Bike Shed and Royal Enfield have created a clothing and apparel collaboration that celebrates East London; a melting pot of East meets East, where Asia defines the tastes, smells, colours and sounds around the Bike Shed's first venue, alongside East London markets, bakeries, butchers, pubs and workshops.

Some of the designs take inspiration from the Bike Shed x Royal Enfield collaboration bike build, co-designed by Royal Enfield's UK Design & Technology team and Bike Shed's Founder, Dutch, to be the perfect East London urban street bike. The collection also draws on the creative side of urban East London, exploring the art and style of the district in billboard, street and stencil typography.

SHOP THE COLLECTION HERE

For all the convenience the modern world provides with it's digital magic and mass-produced accessibility, it can never replace the craft of a true artisan creating work with their hands. From the very earliest days of Bike Shed we became great friends and later collaborators with Master Artisan Jan den Hartogh of Duke & Sons; a craftsman who took his creative flare away from a screen and into his workshop, showing us all that handmade really is better made. 

We caught up with Jan to hear about his story.

Who are you / where are you based / what do you do?

​I'm Jan den Hartogh, based in the Netherlands and I'm a Leather craftsman.

How did you get started in your craft and when did you establish Duke & Sons? 

As a designer who was used to working the whole day behind a screen, I realised I was missing something important in my life and that was the opportunity to do something with my hands.

I'm a fan of the amazing atmosphere of heritage goods and brands. I love the fact that many of these companies still make the same quality goods and stick to their origins. Inspired by a real craftsman, I decided to learn the skills myself, and just by 'learning by doing' I have managed to teach myself the making of quality leather goods.

It all started in 2013.

How did you get involved with the Bike Shed and how has the collaboration grown over the years?

​I guess it was the third BSMC event, the first at Tobacco Docks in Wapping but in a very small footprint compared to what it is now. One of the Bike Shed founders had spotted my work on the internet and called to ask if I was interested in a nice weekend in London, alongside a lot of motorcycle enthusiasts. I arranged my own travel but they took take care of the stuff I would need to show my skills at the show, like table, chairs and a shop vitrine. I think the last one was from somebody's home hahaha!

It was the first time for me abroad doing my leathercraft and the first time together with Ingeborg my lovely wife. From the first moment on, we had a close relationship with everybody and it really felt like we were friends for a long time. Even Ingeborg, who was not that acquainted with the motorcycle world, embraced the whole community. It was a special weekend with special people and we were not used to that vibe in the Netherlands. When we left, it felt like we had a visit with a warm family weekend.

The rest is history... every year since we visit our 'family' at every show and we're very grateful for that.

What are your favourite pieces to work on and can you share some details of the processes that go into making them?

I love to work with natural veg tan leather. It is such a fine leather and you can do anything with it. When the leather is moisturised you can emboss it and you can dye it with several special dyes but you can also colour the embossed artwork to give a special touch and make unique pieces.

You can find many samples in my maker stories, like this one: https://www.dukeandsonsleather.com/blogs/maker-stories/making-the-bike-shed-protective-card-wallet

What bike do you currently own? 
I currently ride a 1987 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail and a 1978 Classic Yamaha XS 1100.

What was your favourite bike?
I started when I was 16 and I've had a few favourite bikes: The Laverda, my Honda CB750, and the 2 stroke Kawasaki's in particular...

What is your dream machine?
At this moment I don't have a dream machine, however, I really like the WWII Harley Davidson WLA in original army look.

What attracts you to the motorcycling world and community? The camaraderie, especially in the UK community, which is so different from the Dutch community. It is hard to explain but it is our experience when we meet all the customers at the annual BSMC show. But in general it's the freedom of riding, the power of the engine, and sharing that passion with good friends.

Check out Jan's latest exclusive BSMC pieces below - he doesn't make in batch for anyone else and we are honoured to have his work carry our name. Cheers Jan.  

HARLEY-DAVIDSON - PAN AMERICA FIRST RIDE

The day is here, I finally get to go on a press launch and I'm excited. For the past few years, I've experienced bike launches vicariously through editing the photos and video that land in my inbox, and hearing from Ross, our editor, but, with the shit-show of a year we have had, Ross retired from the 'Shed and relocated to Devon in search of a more off-grid life tinkering in his new workshop and more accessible country roads.

The obvious replacement would have been Stew, the most qualified of adventure riders of the BSMC crew, having ridden for 12 months down through the Americas on the actual 'Pan American Highway' from Alaska to Ushuaia on the Harley adventure bike's biggest adversary, the BMW GS.

But, with Stew in LA finalising the imminent grand opening of our new venue out there, I was next in line to take up the opportunity and I jumped at it.

I'm not so much a track-day speed-demon, I lean more to the travel and adventure side of motorcycling. That's what gets me excited and inspires me, loading up my bike with everything I need and riding to some mountain ranges, off the beaten tracks of Europe for a few weeks. For me there is no better feeling.

Now, this isn't gonna be packed with maths and figures on the technical details of the new Pan Am because. You can google that, or read it in Bike magazine. This review is about my experience of riding the bike, and how it made me feel, and the experience of being on a manufacturer's press launch.

THE PAN AMERICA AND IT'S RECEPTION

Since the Pan America was announced, it's definitely been divisive. Some people were welcoming and open-minded of Harley-Davidson's foray into a new market. Others, not-so-much, questioning the wanting of a piece of the pie that 'wasn't theirs to have' or being capable of seriously entering and most of all contending with. The bold aesthetics reinforce some of that negativity and inspires a love or hate reaction. It was definitely a talking point here at the 'Shed.

This bike is a huge deviation from the niche Harley-Davidson have dominated and appealed to for decades, upsetting the status quo amongst one of their most valuable assets besides their bikes, their die-hard following. On the flip side, a lot of the non-Harley riders see an insular brand muscling-in on an aspect of motorcycle culture that wasn't previously earned, but times are a changin' and to keep relevant, companies need to diversify. We've already seen that with their other stereotype breaker, the electric Livewire, although that model is now being divested from the H-D stable into it's own brand.

I could see both viewpoints but leaned towards the positive. I see an incredible brand trying something new and appealing to a different rider, but not only that, coming in with their own take on the adventure sector.

I respected that and it was certainly refreshing and exciting to see a company think a bit differently about who they are, what they want to make, and disrupt the sometimes tiresome beaky aesthetics of the current offerings. A big sway for me was their launch video back in February which was a refreshing documentary format highlighting some unknowns to me - the history of HD and their experience in off road racing in the Baja back in the 70's, and real, promising R&D that's gone into this new bike.

I personally really like the look of it. The bluntness of its features are aggressive yet refined but most of all the utilitarian feel of it all is what appeals to me most. Above everything, for me, it needs to function for what it was designed for, and that's adventure — to chew up long distance miles, with the capability of carrying everything you need as your home away from home, on any terrain you might want to throw at it, having fun along the way. On paper it's my kind of bike.

DAY ONE

Now, let's get back to the actual launch. Fortunately I had a buddy to ride with and an 'alright' one at that. It turns out that Charley 'Long Way' Boorman was booked on the same day as I was, so we decided to road trip up together to the location of the launch, set in the middle of north Wales at Lake Vrynwy. A place that is well known for adventure riding, for its beautiful scenery, twisty roads and more importantly off road tracks. After 4 hours of catching up and dad jokes, we arrived at the hotel.

We drove up the H-D flag-lined driveway to check in. We met the team and could tell they were excited for what they had in store for us. A full takeover of one of the most beautiful places I'd seen in the UK, looking over a lake which looked like the inspiration for Microsoft desktop background, with sweeping hills and valleys. This launch was important to them and they'd clearly pulled out all the stops. We'd worried that the weather was going to drench us as it had the group of journo's the day before, but we got lucky and the clouds had broken revealing a brilliant blue sky.

Soon after arrival we were ushered up to the 'HD campfire' to meet everyone else, and more importantly the bikes. Charley had already seen and ridden one briefly around London the week before and on the ride up he said it looked better in real life. That's true. Even though I was a fan of how it looked, I did fear that it's bold aesthetics and design were potentially more in favour of trying to carry over the form aspect of their iconic Road Glide, than being something that actually felt right in an adventure bike. Having a walk around and a sit on it soon quashed that worry. It's well proportioned with enough meat up front to house the tech filled cockpit and wind deflection, which then tapers-off into a nice place to sit, stand and strap luggage. Build quality looked good throughout with no badly thought out fixtures or fittings that I could see. If I really had to find something, maybe the rear brake reservoir could have been tucked away a bit better to avoid clipping a boot on it along with the bolstering of the windscreen fittings. Set at the higher level it was prone to a bit of wobble, but neither of those things are anywhere near dealbreaker territory. In fact, I'm just mentioning them as I feel obligated to list a con, which feels a bit like scraping the barrel, as for me there weren't many that made me wince.

The proper ride of the bike is planned for the next day, however HD have a little something planned for tonight; a slow race/balance competition. The rules are simple. Two riders head to head, 50ft from the finish line, last one over the line wins and a foot down will get you knocked out (of the competition I mean, like I said, they're trying to shake the leather clad brawler demographic stigma!). Finally all those filtering skills learned in the notoriously painful traffic jams of the Blackwall Tunnel could be applied and maybe even give me an edge!

I actually thought it was a bit weird for our first experience of the bike to be one of straight up on the pegs, finding a balance point and clutch controlling 50ft as slow as we could without getting a feel for how it rides generally. But, that I think was a stroke of genius from them. I think everyone, including me, maybe expected a typical grunty engine that may take a bit of time to adapt to, being bolted into the geometry of an adventure chassis. Instead, the bike fired up with more of a purr than the synonymous chuggy burble we'd usually expect from a Harley-Davidson and a wind of the throttle felt incredibly smooth.

The pressure was on in front of my new friends, but to my surprise the biting point was easily predictable to manage and with a dab of rear brake to hunker it down, within a few seconds I was stood up on the pegs, gently coaxing it along with way less effort than I'd anticipated. This bike is big, no bigger than any other adventure bike but big nonetheless, and being able to control it in that way spoke volumes to me. That's what I mean about the stroke of genius. For a first experience on a bike to instil such confidence in it under a more technical riding situation, only made me more excited for what it had to offer in more common uses out on the open road or off the beaten path gravel tracks. Well done HD.

Anyway, I won my first heat and awaited the next, but campfire burgers called with buckets of beers, which distracted people somewhat, so the competition faded away into a good old hangout and chatting about motorbikes.

However, that confidence gave me a spark, so much so that I challenged Charley to our own slow race. It was all going fine until I noticed we were neck and neck with only about a foot between us as the finish line grew closer, making the nerves kick in at maybe beating him. Although, a distraction occurred as I saw him weave toward the side rope and I inadvertently backed off the throttle just enough to stall it. Despite using my best 'bicycle at the traffic light' balance technique, right leg flailing for balance whilst trying to start it again without putting a foot down, I surrendered and allowed him his glory. It would have been fun to beat him but he'd have only blamed it on his legs!

As the sun started to set, we watched it for a bit, took in the sights of Lake Vrynwy, said our collective 'aaah's' and gathered around the campfire to discuss how 'nice it was to be out of London' and 'how lockdown was for us' whilst bumping elbows with new acquaintances. Then bedtime.

DAY TWO

I woke bright and early, excited at the thought of riding through Wales in the hopes it would fill a void I'd been longing for for over a year and a half of actually riding motorcycles properly on some good roads.

We made our way to the front of the hotel, where parked out front were a row of shiny new Pan Americas, in each colour way. These versions were the specced up 'Special' versions with quite a few extra features over the regular model. These include the usuals like heated grips, centre stand, crash bars etc, but one of the standout and most interesting features is what HD are calling Adaptive Ride Height (ARH). This is a new thing that's quite techy as it's function is to cleverly lower the ride height of the bike at standstill, how quickly it does so is calculated by the electronics depending on how aggressive or smooth your braking is. Unladen seat height stands at 890mm (with a ground clearance of 175mm) although that drops to 855mm when at a stop, lowering to a point that could make all the difference in whether you're on tip-toes or flat footed.

This is an industry first, not just for Harley, and is quite a neat little trick up its sleeve which may intrigue the shorter rider who may be put off by the height of adventure bikes. The feature-heavy 'Special' version of the Pan America comes in at about £1500 more than the standard model which is £14k so for £15.5k, you get a lot of bike for your money.

The ride out was led by Dakar legend Mick Extance who operates his own off road experience company in the same area, so we knew we were in good hands for worthy routes to test the bike on. Soon after meeting, Mick told us to pick a bike and saddle up, so I went for the flagship orange and white. That was until Charley barged me out of the way muttering "orange is my colour!". I backed off laughing and jumped on the dark grey one, more my style anyway.

We pulled out of the hotel forecourt and down the driveway, acquainting myself with positioning, controls and instruments along the way. Just like the night before, I was immediately comfortable on the bike and everything felt solid and sturdy as we made our way along the road surrounding the lake and into the hills.

It was the first time I'd been able to open up the throttle and work my way up the gears, and, as anticipated, the changes were smooth and accompanied by a purry whine as the mechanicals of the all new 150bhp Revolution Max 1250 engine did their thing. The roads had dried from the downpours of the previous days so I set the rider mode to 'road' as I got used to the bike.

We meandered through the twisty B-roads presenting the perfect opportunity to test the handling, something I was skeptical about, given how big the bike looks. It handled the corners really well delivering precision on the lines I chose, albeit with a little more counter steering at slower speeds than I thought would need to be given. Whilst handling was great and did everything I wanted it to do, it's not 'flickable', but then again I didn't expect it to be so much a country road carver as other bikes on the market. It was, quite keen to stand up rather than maintain lean more than usual, especially when powering round or accelerating out of the bends which was something echoed by other riders.

As the ride progressed out of the forest, the route before us transformed into snaking roads cutting through the beautiful Welsh valleys. There are five modes to choose from on the Special - rain, road, sport, off-road and off-road plus. This was the perfect opportunity to flick the mode button into the 'sport' setting, which can be done whilst riding. They should rename it to 'Beast mode'! I expected a change in performance and behaviour, but not to that extent, and it really did make a difference. Throttle response was sharp and aggressive and unleashes the full power capability of that engine. The suspension firms up and with slighter twists of the throttle, the bike just wants to go and pull you along with it. Acceleration was certainly a smack in the face if you're not ready for it but, what else would you expect with a 1250cc twin. 

Just as important as making the bike go, is being able to make it stop, and the Brembo braking system delivered a fine set up. The new radial monobloc four-piston calipers with 320mm twin discs up front delivered a progressive feel throughout. In fact for me, it was one of the best braking setups I've ridden with just the right amount of feathering capability and bite, giving great stopping power and feedback.

We pulled over, had a drink, and stretched our legs while we swapped first impressions, which were pretty much unanimously "yeah! It's good isn't it!", accompanied by wide eyes and raised eyebrows. As the group removed their helmets revealing surprised grins, we had a look around the bikes with a now more informed outlook on the machines that brought us here based on what is ultimately the most important thing, the ride.

We got back on the bikes and followed Mick through more of the amazing roads that Wales had to offer, stopping for sheep along the way and smiling at being out of central London, enjoying the ride and saying mental "ahh's" inside my head. Damn it's good to be back on bikes again.

We took a turn-off and followed Mick up a gravelly track which indicated we were about to start the part of the ride that had me most excited and intrigued, the off-roading. I was still in 'road' mode which at times made the ride feel a bit squirmy under the rear wheel, so again I flicked the switch and put the bike in 'off-road' to see how the behaviour and response of the bike changed. This rider aid made a lot of difference to how it performed, by restricting power in the high RPM range and also limiting the traction control's intervention allowing it to spin up a bit more. Suspension dampening is also increased to help soak up the change to uneven and shifting surfaces, and all of a sudden the bike became much more manageable as we teared up the hill and into the forest. There is another off-road mode called 'plus' which reduces the rider aids to their minimal settings. Traction control intervenes at an even lesser level and ABS braking switches to front only, allowing for experienced riders to have additional control over the bike for more aggressive riding.

With the bike now a bit more predictable on these unknown grounds, I stood up, nipping the tank with my knees and loosening up my arms. Ergonomics felt excellent for me, a rider just shy of 6ft, and it felt comfortable riding in stance position. As I got used to the ride on this terrain, I took the opportunity to try and provoke the bike into situations that make these rider aids kick in and see if it was noticeable, but the electronics on the bike are extremely intelligent and borderline magical. Traction control kicking-in wasn't like the usual, obvious power cut to the engine I'm used to, it's extremely refined, forgiving and progressive when you do give it a bit too much gas on the shift surfaces. Same with the ABS, it's a clever setup which manages harsher braking, even off-road really well with barely any of that pumping feedback which sometimes can throw your stomach into your throat when applied aggressively on gravelly descents. The tyres fitted to the Pan America were the Michelin Scorcher Adventure tyres and although I did feel they were more of a road bias at first sight, questioning whether they would require a bit of caution on the dirt, they actually held up really well. The alternate options for it are the much revered Anakee Wilds, again from Michelin, which are a much more aggressive knobbly for those who want to really push the off-road capabilities and confidence of the bike, but given our 60/40 mix of terrains, the dirt not being too waterlogged, the Scorchers worked great.

As we delved deeper into Mick's playground of tracks, hills, whoops and puddles, my opinion and love for this bike grew. Skepticism about how it would handle on tricky ground faded away quite quickly as it seemed to just lap up whatever I wanted it to do both in terms of terrain but also how I wanted to be able to control it. It felt unphased, obedient, and planted as we navigated through some tight and narrow trails, often having to duck under branches, which despite much repositioning of my body, held it's own weight when I wanted it to and came with me when I didn't. A lot of this I think is down to the really well thought out geometry but also clever weight distribution of all of the components. They have clearly been on a quest to find the all important sweet spot to achieve a quite remarkable centre of gravity, much of this owed to material choices such as aluminium fuel tank, and lighter weight magnesium engine casings. That was the part of the ride that stuck in my mind and solidified this bike in my head as a really capable adventure bike for me.

I loved riding these tracks so much that I had another run around the obstacle loop, and made my way back to the group. This is where I had a 'whoopsy'. I pulled up as the side of the track, reconvening with the group, laughing to the others at the fun I was having, and was caught off guard momentarily by the amount of lean the bike needs to sweep the side stand out fully. Without realising, a rock under my right foot rolled and I dropped the bike. Normally I'd have been able to catch this weight, but, with five healing broken ribs (yes from another whoopsy the month before) I had to succumb and let it go. Not ideal, but shit happens. At least it gave us an authentic look into how the bike takes the inevitable mishap. On It's side, the bike lay perfectly on its crash bars, front and rear with not a scratch or even mark of dirt elsewhere apart from the bar end. Simple design working perfectly as intended. Nice one. This also presented another opportunity, how easy is it to lift the bike up again? Extremely easy, as it happens. No sooner than I had got to my feet, clutching my rib, one of the other guys had already whipped it up back onto its wheels. This bike was ticking all the boxes we could throw at it.

I dusted myself off, sucked up the jibes, and we got back on the bikes to make our way back through the forest and back to base. As we enjoyed the roads that we had ridden earlier in the morning, I couldn't help but smile. I was in the middle of the countryside with the sun shining, riding motorbikes again, muddied up and having a great time. That was something I'd been thinking about and longing for over the past year or so. I reflected then on the bike I was doing it all on. I was excited pre-ride about this bike which surprised me as I didn't think that a Harley-Davidson could ever do that to me. However, I went in open minded and in doing so had all of the misconceptions that surround this bike blown away. I'm currently making a list in my head of what my next bike will be, of which touring, off-road capability, performance and fun is high on the the check list. I can confidently say this bike ticks all of those boxes and more for me and certainly makes the shortlist of favourite bikes I've ever ridden.

While I was there it became clear to me, after the ride when asked how I found it, the Harley-Davidson team didn't want a sugar coated response in return for their wonderful hospitality. They knew they'd built a great motorcycle, and enjoyed seeing people return from the Welsh valleys with the same astounded reactions that I had, pulling up back at base with a smile. They were deservedly relishing the fact that I was another person knocked from my perch on the fence and into their garden. It's a nice place to be, and finally they offer something in their line-up that gets me excited. And that makes me happy too.

It's for sure that one of their goals with the Pan America was to convert new people to their brand, and I'll happily say, mission accomplished.

Whether this is the right adventure bike for you is best discovered by taking one for a test ride, which I'd urge you to do. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Want to know more? Here's the launch event video that made my ears prick up and begin to pay more attention.

The 2023 Tour de France kicked off last weekend but while the rest of the world can’t seem to see past the maillot jaune riding the latest carbon fiber creation, we’ve only got eyes for Donhou Bicycles’ sunflower-hued Utility Bike.

Tom Donhou has, quite literally, set up shop in Athens: the Donhou Store is his retail therapy where, alongside a fully equipped frame building workshop, he purveys a curated collection of sustainable cycling products — including their Utility bIke.

The exceptionally-versatile Utility Bike is offered as a frame set (which includes frame, fork and handle bar/stem combination), a complete bike or a custom build. The geometry is optimised for a front load, yet is still lively and stable riding unloaded and carefree.

Built from strong and dependable Reynolds 525 tubing, it has all the rack and mudguard mounts you’d require — even a kickstand mount. ISO disc mounts are standard and horizontal dropouts mean you can run it single speed or geared.

Donhou Bicycles has deservedly won numerous awards over the years from all the big shows, and all that experience has been poured into their Utility Bike. This is one bike to do it all, from commuting around town to a leisurely grande boucle around France.

Head to the Donhou Bicycles website for prices and ordering information.

The post All Eyes On Yellow: Donhou Bicycles Utility Bike appeared first on The Spoken.

We’re raising money to take an ecological artwork to Venice. Support us here.

In 2022, my partner and I co-founded the artist’s collective Vessel on the island of Aegina to explore creative approaches to ecology, climate change, and the needs of our community.

We’ve taught students how to build collectively and ecologically, painted murals in local playgrounds, and invited people to explore the lost springs of the island.

Now, we’ve been invited to take something of Aegina to the Venice Biennale of Architecture in 2025, and we’d like your help to get there.

Mediterranean seagrass – Posidonia oceanica – grows all around our island. It’s an extraordinary plant, the only flowering one in the ocean, and it is vital to marine ecosystems worldwide. It stores carbon, fills the ocean with oxygen, and provides a habitat for everyone else. It’s also under threat, with some 60% of seagrass meadows disappearing from the ocean in the last few decades.

On Aegina, and around the Mediterranean, seagrass has been used for generations as insulation for houses and fertiliser for fields. Although these practices have largely disappeared, and been replaced by synthetic and unsustainable alternatives, the seagrass is still here. 

We’ve been using seagrass as insulation in our projects, and it really is a wonder material: fire-resistant, inhospitable to pests, and free to collect on the beaches. Moreover, as we’ve used it, we’ve discovered its worlds, and become involved in conservation efforts to preserve and regenerate local seagrass meadows in the Aegean.

We want to share this knowledge, and raise awareness about seagrass ecology and conservation. And the Vennice Biennial has invited us to do so: but they don’t offer any financial support. That’s why we’re asking for help.

We want to send several packing cases of seagrass, collected on our local beaches, to Venice. As well as samples of seagrass prepared for architectural use, we’ll include ceramic objects made from local clay, which tell the story of seagrass in the wild. This is a reference to the Venetian glassmakers of Murano, who used to send their wares around the world packed in seagrass from the lagoon of Venice. Even the painted crates will be made from reclaimed wood, and will form part of the exhibit, in order to minimise waste and maximise recycling as part of the project.

You can read more, and donate to our fundraising effort, here. It would be hugely appreciated.

I was recently interviewed by Kanoko Tamura for the Japanese art magazine art journal “Bijutsu-Techo”. The interview will be published, in Japanese, in a forthcoming issue of the magazine, dedicated to Generative AI. I’m publishing an English-language transcript, only lightly edited, of our discussion, because it touches on so many things I’m interested in, and raises one particularly interesting question, which I attempted to answer: “what is a non-human aesthetic?”.

Kanoko Tamura:

For the next issue that we are working on, it’s going to be about generative AI and art. Becaus now ChatGPT and all these technologies have been spread among general people, a lot of people have started using those technologies. But it’s also a very particular time in the history because generative art has its own long history. But what is happening now is something very unique. So I want to use this issue as an opportunity to analyze what is really our current situation?

I think a lot of us are having been learning pros and cons of AI and if it’s actually useful for art. And there’s a huge discussion in the art world as well if we should use AI or not, and how should we face the AI from the point of view of the art world. So we are doing different interviews with artists to hear how people think about it and also in a way to try to find a positive way to look at the current situation. So being positive - not accepting everything nor denying everything, but trying to find a positive/productive way of looking at the technology from the artist’s point of view.

I will be interviewing you today, and I wish to talk about stuff based on Ways of Being where you talk about non-human intelligence and how you find values and possibilities in it? Also connecting that to what’s going on in the art world. If you, as an artist, see any possibilities or issues or challenges in usage of AI in terms of creative work. If you could start by maybe talking about how you see this current situation at the moment and also if you see any possibilities toward the future?

James Bridle:

Certainly, and thanks. It’s a vast thing to talk about, right? Because one thing to start talking about from the outside is really: what are we talking about? One of the first splits to talk about is between the AI that most people imagine and the AI that actually somewhat exists. We have AI as in the kind of vast science fiction imagining of everyone, which is fed by science fiction films, and by the marketing propaganda of companies that engage in this. That is something that’s so huge and so culturally powerful that it really shapes so much of our thinking about AI, in the art world, but also everywhere.

The reality of the actual tools that we have in the present moment are pretty different from what immediately pops into our head when we think about AI. So that’s the first thing: making a distinction between AI as it is in the popular imagination, and in the artistic imagination; and in the actuality of the tools that we have.

The second thing I would say is that there’s a really important distinction between the AI you're talking about – generative AI and large language models – and all the different kinds of AI there actually are in existence. Because I have made projects over the years using neural networks, which underlie generative AI and large language models, but I haven’t used those specific technologies in my work. And these emerge from a whole history of other attempts to build AI that have different outcomes. The idea that AI is just something that can make images or make text out of these kind of huge corpora is only one thing that might be possible with them. There’s a range of practices around AI.

The other split I’m quite keen to make, that cuts across those other ones and doesn’t just apply to imagining other forms of AI, but trues to ask what we’re talking about when we talk about intelligence in general. Where does AI sit within our imagination of who gets to think, who gets to create. A lot of my work, and particularly in Ways of Being, has been about trying to figure out what we mean when we talk about AI - or rather, let’s call it machine intelligence rather than artificial intelligence. Because when we talk about intelligence, we mostly, subconsciously or consciously, mean what humans do. So all of our thinking about AI is contained within this very narrow idea that AI is somehow mimicking some or all aspects of what we consider to be human intelligence. It’s like a subset of human intelligence. One of my questions is: what if it’s not? What if it’s actually a radically different kind of thinking about the world? Therefore, what other modes of thinking the world might we be able to come up with to compare it to, to make sense of it, to measure it against?

I’ve always found it incredibly striking that AI, this big amorphous conceptual thing, is having such a huge moment in the popular imagination just as in a lot of other ways, in the art world and elsewhere in politics, in our relationship to the planet, we’re also rethinking the centrality of the human. We’re recognizing both our overwhelming power to organize, control, change, damage, perhaps improve the planet, but also our intense limitations, and part of that is recognizing that there’s a whole world of other beings that have always inhabited this planet, who also have their own forms of intelligence that are not lesser than ours. They’re just different ways of thinking the world. And so is machine intelligence like human intelligence? Is it like the intelligence of some other living being? Is it something entirely new? How does it partake in the world?

That brings up really fascinating philosophical questions concerning what we can know about the intelligence of others. Not just the intelligence of other species, but the intelligence of other people, the intelligence of people who’ve existed within different cultures, different cosmologies. There’s so many different ways of thinking in the world. That’s the beginning.

We can say some things about what kind of intelligence we are dealing with. One thing we can say about the contemporary forms of AI that most of us have access to is that it is what I call corporate AI. It is AI that is made by large corporations, mostly American and some Chinese and others, all within these very particular structures of power and capitalism. That is like a plant growing within a particular ecosystem. It will take on the qualities of the life it has to survive, what it considers success from that niche in which it grows up. This is why so much attention is paid to AIs that play games. It’s because that’s the only way we have to tell if it’s winning. But that makes it think that winning is the most important thing, which is a particular value of capitalism and of some other systems. It comes freighted with these kind of values, biases, concerns. It comes with its own view of the world that it acts upon.

Personally, I’m not interested in art involving AI that doesn’t contain some of that critique, that doesn’t contain some of that thinking. Because what is this thing we’re talking about? Is it a way of painting or is it a way of thinking about painting? Or is it a way of seeing the whole world? Is it a tool? Is it a context? Is it a framework? Or is it a whole cosmology, a whole model of the world that we’re interacting with?

And very, very finally and briefly, I want to make a case that AI is very boring. It’s not as interesting or as important as so many other things, including art. It has to be secondary to the important things we’re discussing, which in this case might be: what is art? What can art be? What can art do? We have to talk about the art first and then see if maybe, just perhaps, AI is an interesting component of that.

Does it help us answer some of these questions? Does it help us do something or not?

Kanoko Tamura:

Thank you for that. With that said, I’m interested in hearing about your AI Chair Project because I see a lot of potentials in that project. Even though it’s a very simple and maybe small project that you recently started on, I think that it shows or it tries to explore possibilities of humans and the other. How can we collaborate with someone who is not human? It also shows that the values that you reach together in the conversation with AI. It’s not always the standard beauty or function. It questions the values that humans think are good. I also think about the use of the used materials or the materials that are often usually considered useless. So I think AI Chair Project asks very crucial and fundamental question, and that’s how I interpreted the project. If you could maybe talk about your intention behind it or what did you get out of it after you started the project?

James Bridle:

So one of the ways that I think about AI is thinking about the fact that you are in communication with another being, a system or whatever it is that has a way of thinking the world that is different with the way that I have of thinking the world. And most of the discourse in AI is around the discordances that it creates. Things like AI hallucinations, the way it does seem to understand the world differently in a way that doesn’t make sense to humans, that comes across as a mistake or even sometimes as a lie. That's often how these systems are critiqued as seen as being wrong, as being lying, when really that’s just how they understand the world, and it’s different to how humans understand the world.

In particular, they’re good at things that humans are bad at, like thinking about huge numbers or very large amounts of information. We’re just not very good at that. We need machines to help us with that or that’s what machines are good for, anyway. But then they’re not good at things that humans are good at, like certain other types of creative thinking, guessing, hunches, another kind of thinking in the world, just a different way of thinking. So we have these different ways of thinking. There’s different roles to be had here, and in particular rather than assuming that AI is something that will outcompete humans, we can at least start to think about it as being something that accompanies humans, that collaborates with humans, that we can put those ways of thinking into some kind of productive alignment.

One thing that the computer systems are really good at that humans aren’t so good at is optimization and efficiency. One of the long term uses for computer systems within architecture, for example, is something like how do we make a bridge with fewer supports, or less material? How do we build a more efficient roof on a house? These kind of questions. Complex mathematical problems. So that seemed like the thing to push on. I had a load of spare wood sitting around, scrap wood from other projects. So I was like, okay, well, I know how to build a chair, and chairs are useful, direct, you know. We’re probably not going to improve on the design of the chair: humans know how to make the best form of the chair for the human body. It’s just something that holds you off the ground. But I thought that the AI could perhaps do this kind of creative work that I wasn’t so good at, which was to imagine which materials would be the most efficient in different places. That’s what I was really hoping for from the project, that I would be able to give this machine a bunch of descriptions of pieces of wood that I actually had, and it would tell me how to combine them in ways that I wouldn’t have thought of, that wouldn’t have occurred to me.

The result was actually less interesting than that. It told me how to build a very simple chair. It did use the materials very efficiently. There was also work for me to do, to figure out how to follow its instructions. I had to do some creative work here. That was interesting to me because the AI didn’t learn anything from this experience, but I learned something practical and definite from this experience. My carpentry improved slightly. That’s more than collaboration. That’s commensalism, which is a term for a symbiotic relationship where something gets better on both sides. You’re not just surviving. You’re actually improving. I think that’s really key, in that I want to have relationships with my tools that is commensurate. Where we’re improved by our use of them rather than merely doing as we’re told or using them instead of our brains. It’s trying to find the places in which we have either hierarchical relationships or negative parasitic relationships, which most of our relationships with technology are, and replace them with commensal ones. Where we are all uplifted by this experience.

There’s a bunch of other stuff in there about like treating the AI as the other and that kind of stuff. But that was really my main thing: how do I build something greater out of this? Also, how do I get a better understanding of the thing that I’m dealing with? Because buried in there is a very literal description of how this kind of AI functions. The chairs that I’ve built by asking the AI to help me build chairs are the sort of chairs that are imagined by someone who has only ever read about chairs. They’ve never sat in one, which is a very important thing to understand about how AI understands things. It’s such a beautifully direct description of what this thing is that I’m dealing with that becomes so apparent when you actually make a thing.

That’s slightly in counterpoint to my last point about how you have to talk about the art first. Sometimes you just have to do the thing and then figure out what the art of it is.

Kanoko Tamura:

Yes. It’s very interesting the last thing you talked about. By making the chair, you kind of understand what exactly AI is, because it produces something not from the experience of sitting, and but out of all the information. I think in Ways of Being, you also talk about there are lots of hints as to how humans can build relationship with non-humans, including AI and other animals in nature. I think you could imagine that relationship being the kind of relationship that you’re building with AI as well. Do you have any specific ideas or examples or imagination on how exactly we can build that kind of relationship with non-humans? I’m interested in animals and plants and all the other beings that you talked about in the book as well. Maybe you could focus on those instead of AI.

James Bridle:

Happily. Very happily. What to say? One of the main points of Ways of Being is that everything is alive. Everything has its own being. Everything exists in this world equally with everything else, with its own presence, its own awareness, its own living force, whatever that is. Some of that is knowable and recognizable by us. Some of it is so strange and different to us that it’s almost impossible for us to grasp. How do we change or shape our awareness in recognition of that? How do we enter into a world in which most of the life that’s occurring is radically different to us and yet shares the world with us? There’s many possible answers to that. One of them is to directly experience, to pay attention. As I said about the AI chair, sometimes you have to do it. Most of what I’m talking about exists in the realm of direct experience. It can’t be spoken of.

What do I mean when I say these things cannot be spoken of? Well, what I mean is that language is a system for making distinctions between things. So you have to divide things up in order to be able to talk about them meaningfully. If I say "this mountain", I’m describing a particular mountain. I’m separating it from other things. But if I say the mountain is alive, what does that mean? Does it mean that the mountain breathes like a mammal? Does it exist like a bacteria? Does it live like the wind lives? The words stop having meanings in ways that are useful to us. But the mountain is alive. It’s just really hard to talk about. So the only really meaningful relationship one can have is one that goes beyond language. That concerns direct experience. Things just happen: that is the realm of direct experience. And that’s also the realm of quite a lot of art. So we’re talking about things that have a relationship. That go beyond everyday language and quite often beyond language itself in order to be able to conceive, feel and experience things that are truer than what we can put into any form of words.

The question then becomes what kind of relationships do we want to have. What do we want these to be for? Do we want these to be relationships to build a better world? A world of mutual flourishing, a world in which everyone gets to live to their fullest possibilities? And by everyone, I do also mean the birds, the animals, the seas, the mountains. How do we build a world of mutual flourishing? It comes from these kinds of forms of attention, from caring about these things, and by the gift of thinking the world as being fully alive.

A lesser question, but one that I am still fascinated with is: do computers count? Does AI count? Is AI alive? Could it be? Which is this question that keeps coming up. I find it fascinating. This is, for me, the best use of AI because it makes me ask this question - Is AI alive, in the terms that I’m talking about? If so, how? Because I understand that aliveness has some kind of a resonance, but also something that descends from something greater, from the universe. Everything comes out of the universe. That’s what makes it alive. Does AI come out of that? Or did we build it in just in the lab, and therefore, it has no life? But everything is alive. I don’t know. I'm thinking about it.

What is AI made out of? It’s literally made out of the bodies of creatures that died billions of years ago. It’s made out of plastic and oil and electrons. So it is part of the universe as much as anything else. What does it mean to think and have these relationships? How does it change us to have these relationships? How is the world changed by the relationships that we have? These are the questions that I’m interested in.

Kanoko Tamura:

I think that’s a very, very important message and question that you raised that is important not only to this topic that we want to discuss in the magazine issue, but it’s a very fundamental question that we all need to face because when we try to ask questions about AI, we tend to start by questioning and trying to criticize the corporate AI. If it’s useful or not or if it’s helpful or not. But I think if you really think about why AI is here and is AI alive, we can actually get to a very fundamental question in art as well because instead of talking about all the games happening in the art market, we start to ask questions like why do we start drawing in first place, or why do we start dancing and singing? I think it connects to those more important questions.

James Bridle:

Yes, absolutely. That for me is the most interesting thing about AI. It’s the idea of it, not whatever we write in code or systems. Why as a species are we so fascinated by the idea of there being non-human intelligence?

I should really qualify that by saying why as particular human cultures are we fascinated by non-human intelligence? Because for many cultures, the idea of non-human intelligence is not so complicated. For someone acculturated to, in particular, a Western European post-enlightenment scientific position, we’ve been told that there’s no such thing. And we’ve forced most of the world, if not to accept that position, then at least to live within it. We are living within the consequences of that imperial, colonial, epistemological action. Whatever anyone else in the world thinks, we’ve set the world up to run as though there’s nothing but the human and really nothing but certain types of human that matter. So the project, the only important project at the present, is to change that situation.

I think that's quite a long shot, given how entrenched our colonialist, capitalist, and Western Enlightenment scientific cultures are. But it does seem to me that the attention given to AI quite clearly speaks to a yearning within the human to meet and learn from the non-human.

Kanoko Tamura:

With that said or from that point of view, do you think it’s possible to kind of come back to the art and talk about aesthetics with non-human intelligence? Because aesthetics is important, it’s being discussed over years by philosophers, and then there is also a discussion of new aesthetics. But do you think it’s possible to discuss non-human aesthetics, or aesthetics of intelligence, or aesthetics of being?

James Bridle:

My engagement with aesthetics has always been somewhat accidental. My project, The New Aesthetic, which still continues, is very much a sort of amateur, outsider one, in which I responded quite viscerally to things that I was encountering. It’s always been a research project rather than a doing project in that sense. But in another sense, it’s something I’ve been doing for almost 20 years now. So I guess I can call it meaningful.

The first thing to say about a non-human aesthetic would be that it can’t be an aesthetic, as we understand it, because aesthetics is about human sense and human judgment and experience. It's about that we encounter, process, think of the world primarily in terms of appearances because we’ve got these great big eyes in the front of our head that are our primary sense. But that’s not how most of the universe encounters itself.

One of the things I always think about is the way, as humans, we live within such a narrow band of space time, in multiple ways. Within time, we live within the ticking of a clock. Our day-to-day time, the 24-hour cycle, and the cycle of our attention, which is also determined by things outside of us. We also live within the time scale of our lives, and we live within the time scale of our culture, what our culture remembers, which is a very small fraction of the history of the planet, let alone the universe, let alone, a number of other things. We live within this really narrow time and we can’t see that far ahead. Our experience is so bounded just by time. And then regarding space, we can see a little, we can hear a little, but that is limited by the frequencies we can perceive. There are huge numbers of beings that live on this planet that can hear things that we can’t hear. So even there, immediately, this other aesthetic, a non-human aesthetic, is bigger, broader, deeper, wider, stranger than a human aesthetic because it extends into all these different potential realizations, awarenesses, and therefore, things to process and therefore, things to think with. It increases the number of objects to think with.

So I guess that actually makes for me quite a neat definition of a non-human aesthetic: to increase the number of things we have to think with. Every culture has its own set of aesthetics that it thinks with and humans have collectively a set things to think with. The most interesting thing for me in the world is trying to expand the things, or rather beings, that we have to think with. I add that 'beings' to it because I think a big part of this is the transformation of things into beings. The process by which we stop regarding only the people that we know, or humans in general as being people, beings who matter, and we start to see everything as being people who are in their own process of passing through space time on a trajectory that occasionally intersects with our own. Because the moment of thinking happens when those things collide. The moment of living happens when those things collide.

In Ways of Being, I write about intelligence as being a cooperative process. But I’d go a lot further than that, and I would say this kind of living and thinking, this being or mattering is what happens when beings interact, when they meet. How do we increase the number of relationships? That is not a non-human, but a more-than-human aesthetics, that includes all these possible and effectively infinite different intersections between beings to produce entirely new perspectives, new ways of perceiving and thinking the world.

Kanoko Tamura:

You gave us a lot of hints to really digest and think on, so thank you for that. Do you have any plans for near future or anything that you’re working on at the moment that you could tell us? Any current project that you’re interested in?

James Bridle:

My work at present is largely focused on quite practical work. I spent, you know, a lot of the last 10, 15 years looking at questions of technology. That’s been my main focus. Writing Ways of Being was was part of, I should say, a conscious transition from a technological focus to an ecological focus. It’s explicit in the book, but it’s part of my whole practice and part of my whole life. I think for me and for a lot of other people, the most urgent work at present is to address the planetary ecological crisis. And an incredibly important question for artists is: what is our role within that?

One of the ways that I think about that is to ask questions of art itself, of what it can do, of how it operates. In my work with technology, I found myself running up a lot against essentially a problem of representation, which is where you make work with technology about technology that just does more technology in various ways that just recreates the same systems you’re critiquing. That problem is even greater when it comes to ecological work. It’s very easy to make work about climate change. It’s also pointless and irresponsible in the present moment.

The only work that really matters is work that actually does something. I’m not about to claim that my work succeeds in doing that. It’s hard. But it is my intention always that the work actually does some work. Now that can be work to inform people just to talk about things, to raise these as issues, to increase awareness or imagination, but that is mostly representation. It can also be super practical. I build solar panels. I build windmills. I make these things as works of art that actually do the thing, that actually work. I call them 'works that work' or 'works that do work' because they’re actively part of the transformation that I’d like to see in the world. They’re not solutions; I don’t believe in solutions. But I do believe in a kind of active engagement that the work, the artworks themselves, are part of. They don’t stand alone. They’re not representations of anything anymore. They’re actually getting involved in some way. That’s probably of a piece with my feelings about ecology, about the world around me, about the aliveness of everything. The artworks partake as much as anything else. That’s where I’m at these days. I’m making things and I’m making things in the world and I’m eager to see what the world thinks about it.

I am very pleased that Ways of Being is now available in Spanish, courtesy of Galaxia Gutenberg, joining translations in German, French, Italian, Hungarian, Dutch, Brazilian Portuguese, and other languages. I did a small interview with El Mundo, on AI and more-than-human relations, which I am publishing in English below.

1. Repsol, a Spanish company, features prominently at the beginning of your book as it uses Artificial Intelligence to search for oil in Greece, leading to the destruction of the ecosystem. When something as old and harmful as fossil fuels joins forces with something as new and seemingly positive as Artificial Intelligence, should it alarm us that things may not be as they are portrayed?”

Artificial Intelligence, as it currently actually exists, is a business technology developed by corporations for capitalist ends, so we shouldn’t really be surprised when it is put to use in ways which continue to degrade the biosphere and corrode human relations. Of course, too, the hype is about making the world better, but hasn’t it always been? As the writer Joanna Maciejewska recently put it, “I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so that I can do art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so that I can do my laundry and dishes.” We could say the same about AI and the environment: what do we actually want this tool to do, and who should be imagining it and working with it to make that so?

2. Is the technological determinism that claims technology is unstoppable a fait accompli strategy that leads us to disaster?

Technology in itself is not the problem; any technological problem, at sufficient scale, is a political problem. It matters who builds and deploys technology, and historically this power has been concentrated in the hands of corporate elites and governments who don’t always act in the best interests of people and the planet. This isn’t inevitable: most of us have access to skills and resources to shift this power towards mutual flourishing, but it’s not easy; political change never is. But the more of us who can imagine a world in which technology is a tool for emancipation and equality, rather than control, the more we can determine the future of that world together.

3. You write: “True AI is already here: it’s corporations.” It is fascinating to expand the concept in this way. Is AI any golem that has escaped its creator’s control?

I don’t think AI has escaped its creator’s control; it’s doing exactly what its creators want it to do, which is make money. AI is not some strange, otherworldly force from nowhere, it’s part of our existing systems of culture, law, and society, and it emerges from them. I talk about corporations as AI because I want to emphasise that we already live within complex, opaque systems which we have little control over – financial markets, state governments, the global climate – but we also have cultural tools to address them, from art to political activism. Changing the status quo involves both concrete steps to reduce inequalities of power and knowledge, as well as re-imagining what we think technology and governance are for.

4. When Silicon Valley tells us we should fear AI, do you think AI is also going to replace even them? Isn’t it also a way of diverting attention by pointing to Skynet so we don’t think about the gigantic power Silicon Valley is accumulating?

“Silicon Valley”, meaning the quite small number of powerful people who control the major technology companies, and have always controlled such powerful entities, including governments, like to pretend that they don’t have power, that they too are at the mercy of the systems that in fact we all create together. This pretense disempowers the rest of us too, by making us think that we too lack the power to make change in the world. AI does promise, or at least make possible, a radical shift in power, but it is unlikely to do so in a way that benefits all of us when it’s in the hands of a few corporations. We should always be critical of proclamations from the powerful that X – whether that’s AI, corporate taxes, or environmental protections – is dangerous to all of us, when in reality what is threatened is their own power. Nobody ever gave that up willingly, and they will do anything to continue their own dominance, including inventing fantasies of Skynet.

5. Your main hypothesis is that someone has deceived us into thinking that there is only one kind of intelligence when there are many. What mental journey led you to that reflection?

All my ideas come out of the world, from encounters with the Earth and the many different beings that live on and in it. In the last few years, as I’ve delved deeper into ecological thinking and forging stronger relationships with the more-than-human world – meaning us and everyone else who lives here – this has radically shifted my thinking about technology. One aspect of this is the realisation that what we call ‘Artificial Intelligence’ is really only one kind of intelligence. Just as birds, dogs, trees, monkeys and oceans all manifest their own kind of intelligence based on their context, experience, and embodiment, an intelligence no ‘higher’ or ‘lower’ than our own, but evolved for its particular circumstance, so AI is currently evolving it’s own capitalist, machine-like intelligence because of the context in which it is being raised. It’s helpful for me to think of it this way because it grounds some of the wilder thinking about AI in a broader ecological context, and also helps me to re-imagine how it could be otherwise.

6. What would it mean to build artificial intelligences and other machines that were more like octopuses, fungi, or forests?

This is the logical next step, and of course it applies to more than AI. What would all of our technologies look like if they were firstly more concerned about bringing us closer to the world than separating us from it, and secondly what can we learn from non-humans about how to do this? Octopuses, for example, have minds which are physically spread throughout their whole bodies, federated brains with neurons in their arms, which allow for a radically different kind of thinking: more responsive, perhaps more creative, and more in tune with their fluid environment. Forests are superorganisms consisting of many beings working together, intimately entangled, and more often co-operating, rather than competing, for resources. We have become programmed – by science, technology, and modernity – to think of minds as little boxes trapped inside our own heads, or inside machines, that we miss out on the reality of intelligence as something embodied, enacted, and networked in an infinite number of possible configurations.

7. What is the ecology of technology?

Over the twentieth century, almost all scientific and philosophical disciplines discovered ecology, which is the simple idea that everything is interrelated, that it is impossible to study any phenomenon in isolation, because it impacts, and is impacted by, everything around it. This applies to physics as much as biology, in the discovery of the quantum world, and to economics as much as sociology. Technology has an ecology as well: the cultures it is a product of, the rules which govern it, the effects it has on our minds, our bodies, and the planet. We tend to think of technology as lots of little boxes, which do specific things, when really it is a network of relationships, and these relationships matter more than what any particular little box does.

8. In New Dark Age, you explained that we live in a world so technologically complex that we are incapable of understanding it. What possibilities of action does a human being, walking blindly, have then?

When I say that we are incapable of understanding the complexity of contemporary technologies, I don’t mean that we are blind. The kind of understanding that we like to think we have, the ability to break something down into its component parts, master it, and control it for our own ends, simply does not apply to complex systems like a worldwide computer network, or a financial market, or the global climate. Rather, these are systems which we live inside, which we shape and which shape us in turn. This realisation shifts the question from one of understanding – a matter of power, control, and dominance – to one of ethics. How to live justly within such systems, in good relationship with everyone else, human and non-human, for the mutual benefit of all? The implications of such a question are not something we are blind to at all.

9. If one day we contact a highly advanced extraterrestrial intelligence, would it be more like an octopus or Elon Musk?

Scientists have recently begun working with, and coming to recognise, the organisms which live deep within the earth’s crust; which exist by digesting exotic minerals and excreting other ones, which might form some of the foundations of all life. In recent decades we’ve met creatures who live in total darkness at the bottom of the ocean, huddled around hot vents, breathing only methane. Others flourish atop dry mountains, or in the iron-rich rivers of mine tailings. I cannot even begin to imagine what else might be out there, but if if we meet it, it is likely to have got there by working with, rather than against, its own environment and community.

10. “The world is not like a computer. Computers are like the world.” Is another kind of computing possible?

Almost all the computers in the world are one kind of computer: the automated, binary machine invented by Alan Turing in the 1940s. Yet infinite other kinds of computer are possible, from hydrological computers which use the flow of water, rather than electrons, to calculate the freeze rate of concrete or the likelihood of a recession, to quantum computers operating at vastly accelerated speeds, to Gaia, a conception of the world as a vast, cybernetic system constantly regulating itself towards flourishing. And all these are just ways of thinking about thinking, abstractions from the actual business of living together on the Earth, useful some of the time, less so at others. Everything is not only possible, it is happening all the time.

Last year I was asked to contribute to the Serpentine Galleries’ Infinite Ecologies Marathon, a prelude to their Inifinite Ecologies programme, with something that expressed what I thought was missing from most discussion and practice of what we might call ecological art.

Over the last few years, I’ve been concerned with what might broadly be called a new crisis of representation when it comes to ecological work. This awareness stems from my own practice as well as wider concerns.

One place in which it is expressed is in Amitav Ghosh’s book The Great Derangement, a text I return to often. In it, Ghosh argues that capital-L Literature is unfit for engaging with climate-scale issues. The global ecological crisis is simply too vast in scale and complexity to be captured adequately by human-scale fiction, and thus cannot be meaningfully acted upon it. (I could write a lot more about this: Ghosh is concerned mostly with the bourgeois novel, rather than, say, speculative fiction; I would argue that in his own fiction he disproves his own thesis through his use of multiple narrators, including non-human ones; and the book is about much more than this, but anyway.)

My own journey to this crisis point comes through the technological art which was my own main preoccupation for more than a decade, centred on issues arising from networked systems, the materiality of contemporary technology, and its political effects. I found, in particular, that most art work about, say, surveillance (and now AI) which described itself as critical (including my own) mostly just reproduced the structures and mechanisms of the things it was critiquing, and thus normalised it. This is as true of the Snowden leaks as of critical tech art. Art which just does more surveillance, however transparently, or just maps out the existing structures of technological control (Look! A datacentre! Behold! A dataset!) is more likely to dazzle, frighten, and ultimately turn off an audience than to spur them to action; to make a change.

We can see parallels to this in what we might call the empathy crisis in media and humanitarian work: we know that just showing pictures of terrible things happening far away doesn’t do anything (at best) or actively turns viewers away (at worst) – but we keep doing it, for lack of better ideas (and lack of actual power and agency).

One result of this, in turning to ecological work, was to insist on what I call “works that work”, or “works that do work”: pieces which function both as artwork and as engines of ecological intervention, however minor. Hence: windmills, solar panels, self-built architecture. Not always achieved, not always achievable, but necessary. There’s no point making work about climate change. You have to do the work. This is a whole book; it might be in time.

As I couldn’t be present for the Serpentine event, I sent a short film in my stead. And for this, I focussed on the other component that I feel is central to ecological work – to art, to life – the part I feel less confident speaking about, the more personal, the often unspoken. And yet: without it, we cannot conceive of being ecological at all. And so: to the mountain.

Following my experiments with the ChatGPT-assisted AI Chair 1.0, I’ve been continuing experiments with a range of other LLMs. The below image is Chair 1.1, designed with the assistance of Mistral AI.

Before embarking on this chair, I did some experimenting with local LLMs. These are essentially small “large” language models that you download and run on your own computer. What you gain is transparency, control over resources, privacy etc etc; what you lose, to a quite significant degree, is power and complexity.

I used llamafile from Mozilla, a programme which lets you download small LLMs (filesizes are around 1GB) and tried out two very lightweight models, at the absolute maximum of what I can run on my wheezy secondhand laptop. With very little RAM and no GPU, they can only output a few tokens (~words) a minute, so the process was quite painful. Furthermore, neither were capable of designing a chair.

The above are my attempts to sketch out designs for scrap wood chairs based on the instructions from two locally-running LLMs: LLAVA 1.5 and Phi-2 (click those links for full transcripts of our conversations). While I tried to makes sense of what I was given, the above sketches are very creative interpretations of instructions which mostly did not make sense. Confusion over materials, inconsistent referents, and severe difficulties with measurements, resulted in descriptions which sounded like they should make a chair, but really didn’t.

I don’t know how much of this I can blame on the models, or the fact that they were running on a seriously underpowered machine. But I decided if I was going to use up my remaining stock of scrap wood, I would work with a slightly more helpful assistant, so I turned to the ChatGPT competitor, Mistral.

I have a pile of scrap wood and I would like to make a chair. I have a saw, a drill, screws, and wood glue. Please give me step by step instructions for making a chair from the following materials, using as little wood as possible. 3 pine panels: – 18, 180, 490 mm – 18, 255, 490 mm – 18, 255, 490mm 1 plywood sheet: – 4, 480, 455 mm 1 L-shaped laminated chipboard sheet: – 15, 280, 410 mm (missing 130, 135 mm cutout) 3 planks – 20, 95, 1300 mm – 20, 95, 1200 mm – 20, 95, 1200 mm 1 wood beam – 50, 50, 895 mm

Sure, I’d be happy to help you create a simple chair using the materials you have. Please note that the design will be basic due to the limited materials and tools. Here’s a step-by-step guide:
Materials:
• Pine panels: A (18, 180, 490 mm), B (18, 255, 490 mm), C (18, 255, 490 mm)
• Plywood sheet: D (4, 480, 455 mm)
• L-shaped laminated chipboard sheet: E (15, 280, 410 mm)
• Planks: F (20, 95, 1300 mm), G (20, 95, 1200 mm), H (20, 95, 1200 mm)
• Wood beam: I (50, 50, 895 mm)
Tools:
• Saw
• Drill
• Screws
• Wood glue
Steps:
1. Backrest and Seat:
– Use pine panel A (18, 180, 490 mm) as the backrest.
– Use the plywood sheet D (4, 480, 455 mm) as the seat.
2. Back Legs:
– Cut plank F (20, 95, 1300 mm) into two equal pieces (20, 95, 650 mm) for the back legs.
3. Front Legs:
– Use plank G (20, 95, 1200 mm) and cut it into two equal pieces (20, 95, 600 mm) for the front legs.
4. Armrests:
– Use plank H (20, 95, 1200 mm) for the armrests. Cut it into two pieces, one of 20, 95, 500 mm and the other of 20, 95, 700 mm. The longer piece will be the back armrest, and the shorter one will be the front armrest.
5. Support Beam:
– Use the wood beam I (50, 50, 895 mm) as a support beam between the front legs.
6. Assembly:
– Attach the backrest (A) to the top of the back legs.
– Attach the seat (D) to the top of the front legs and the bottom of the back legs.
– Attach the back armrest to the top of the backrest and the back legs.
– Attach the front armrest to the front legs.
– Attach the support beam (I) between the front legs for added stability.
– Use the L-shaped laminated chipboard sheet (E) as additional support. Attach it to the back of the seat and the backrest.
Remember to pre-drill all your holes to prevent the wood from splitting. Also, use wood glue in addition to screws for extra strength.
Please be aware that this design is quite basic and may not be as comfortable or as sturdy as a professionally made chair. Always ensure your safety when using tools and handling materials.
Good luck with your project!

This seemed like a pretty do-able set of instructions, although I had doubts about some of the aspects, so I went ahead and built it. There was a bit more back-and-forth about how to attach the seat (the above makes no sense), the seat’s orientation, and various connections. Read the full transcript here. Mistral is very apologetic, but I’d also been told it was more technically accurate than ChatGPT and less likely to make stuff up, so let’s go.

There were two major changes to Mistral’s first design, one of which I prompted directly, and the other I did without discussing it. The first is that it was very obvious that the seat as described had no way of attaching to the legs, and there was no way of adapting the design as given without using more wood. Challenged on this, Mistral advised adding cleats to the back legs to support the chair. I interpreted this in the way you see in the chair: adding additional blocks to the legs to widen them and provide a secure base for the seat. I did this to the front legs too, which Mistral didn’t ask for, but was very obviously necessary (and still insufficient; see below). As an aside, this produced a detail which I absolutely love, where the rear of the seat is very neatly sandwiched between the rear leg cleats and the backrest.

Secondly, Mistral suggested armrests, but it was very unclear where these went or how they were attached. As the original instructions included bracing between the front legs, but left the front-back axis supported only by the 4mm ply seat (again: no), I decided to use these pieces as semi-armrests, semi-braces, as you see in the final design. I like this: a design element I would not have come up with without having to solve a structural problem posed by, and constrained by, my collaborator’s instructions.

Mistral advised me to use the incredibly thin plywood sheet as a seat again, just as ChatGPT did. However, in this case it over-reached. It said the seat should “overhang the front legs slightly”, which when combined with the other measurements it provided, resulted in the above. This cracked as soon as I sat on it. To prevent this crack getting a lot worse, I had to add an additional beam support underneath the seat – although this actually worked really well, both aesthetically as it connected the armrests nicely, and structurally to stabilise the chair.

(A reminder when looking at these photos: I am building these chairs quickly, with very poor tools, out of materials which have been sitting in the rain and sun for months/years. Do not judge my joinery.)

Here’s the other major problem with the design as given:

I am 6’0 (182cm) tall, but even my feet don’t touch the ground. Now, the ChatGPT chair was weirdly large, but kind of comfortingly so, like an outsized child’s chair. Mistral went even bigger, specifying legs which are 60cm long. This is too long.

Of course, I could see this coming, and in a true collaboration I would have simply adjusted the height, and I nearly did this. But since I am still in the prototyping phase, I decided to let it stand, as it makes for a good point of comparison with other collaborators, for now. As I said, Mistral was supposed to be more technically precise, and concise, than ChatGPT, but from this experience it seems slightly less capable with materials and human dimensions. The various changes prompted or needed – adding cleats, shortening the legs – also made for much less efficient use of materials than the first pass.

On the other hand, apart from the material efficiency issue (which does matter), those adaptations are my job: Mistral made a way more interesting chair. The inclusion of armrests-turned-braces and the low backrest led to something that’s much closer to a ‘designer’ chair than ChatGPT’s oversized doll’s chair, even in this very rough prototype version.

Finally, for comparison, here’s where we are now: from left to right, the FRÖSVI folding chair by IKEA, the AI Chair 1.0 by ChatGPT and me, and the AI (High?) Chair 1.1 by Mistral and me:

Am I annoyed that I started making chairs, rather than simpler, elongated stools, so that I could have made a BENCHMARKING joke? Yes I am. But if any other AI developers want to give me access to their paid / geo-locked products (Anthropic, I’m looking at you there), I’d be happy to discuss BENCHMARKING your product too.

(Go read the history of benchmarks now. It has nothing to do with furniture, but it’s very nice.)

I wrote an opinion piece for the Guardian on Amazon’s “cashier-free” grocery stores, AI, outsourcing and military technology. You can read it at the Guardian’s website, but the bit I’d like to focus on is this:

The national minimum wage in the UK is £11.44. A small grocery store like the Amazon Fresh shops might have half a dozen staff. Assuming all of them were on full wage (unlikely) and all of them were on the lowest wage (ie not managers), the average individual salary would be about £20k and the annual wage bill would be about £130k. When this work is outsourced via video cameras, it is passed to data labellers. Amazon's remote data labellers might be paid one or two pounds an hour, if they are lucky. If you can replace half a dozen UK staff with half a dozen data labellers in India, Kenya or the Philippines, then the difference in the annual staff bill alone could be almost £100,000 a year.

Jeff Bezos is the second-wealthiest person in the world, worth about $205bn (£163bn). That money doesn't come out of nowhere. It doesn't drop out of a pier-end slot machine called, "I learned to code at Princeton and that's why I'm better than you". It is the result of deliberately hiding actual work - designing, making, sorting, packing, cooking, farming, delivering - behind little icons on your smartphone screen, in order to devalue it. It is the systematic use of the fake robot trick to lower the value of labour, until people are reportedly sleeping in tents at the factory gates, then banking the difference.

The size of Bezos's rocket is very precisely determined by the difference in costs between paying a worker in Britain and a worker in India - including all the historically determined racist and colonialist inequality that calculation involves. But make no mistake - Bezos and his ilk will pay a robot even less, as soon as that's possible. The only lesson of Amazon Fresh is that we are not - quite - there yet.

The thing that I’m doing here – looking at the precise cost saving of outsourcing labour through technology, and pointing out that this is actually a form of wage theft which accumulates to the capital of the company doing it – was directly inspired by one of the most extraordinary books I’ve read in some time.

That book is Sven Lindqvist’s Dig Where You Stand. I expect I’ll be writing a lot about it in my next book, but – not least because I’m really interested in discussing it with anyone else who’s read it – some notes…

I’ve been a huge admirer of Lindqvist for some time. Saharan Journey, Exterminate All the Brutes (which you might know from its HBO series adaptation by Raoul Peck, which I also highly recommend), and A History of Bombing are all unique texts, blending visceral, passionate reportage with high literary technique. I quote on a regular basis his line from Exterminate… which for me encapsulates the problem of knowledge and action in an era of over-whelming information: “You already know enough. So do I. It is not knowledge we lack. What is missing is the courage to understand what we know and to draw conclusions.”

Dig Where You Stand was published in Swedish in 1978, and started a whole movement in Scandinavia and elsewhere. I’ve been telling people that it’s simultaneously the most boring and the most fascinating book I’ve ever read. The first part is because it’s largely a book about the Swedish concrete industry: its history, its structures, its employees and management, its role in society. But it is very much more than that. It’s a practical handbook for workers in any industry to excavate and relate the history of their own labour, and thus to better frame their present working conditions and industrial relations. And it’s much more than that too: by meticulously researching the history of worker’s lives, even as they are scarcely recorded in the official archives, Lindqvist shows how power, over time, appropriates the value of labour, and makes this – yes – concrete.

One chapter, for example, details the official holiday allowances of workers in a factory in the 1920s, 30s, and 40s, as well as the unpaid seasonal layoffs which preceded this period. Then he shares excerpts from the diaries of the factory’s owner: their yacht trips, trips abroad, long weekends at their country house. Each moment of the owner’s leisure revealed as time stolen, directly, from the lives of his employees, who can neither afford, not have time for, such pleasures. Another chapter performs a similar analysis on worker’s housing, another on healthcare, and so on. A chapter on asbestos is particularly devastating: Lindqvist shows how deliberate cost-saving measures by management in the first half of the twentieth century manifest as both cancers in the lungs of workers later in life, and as actual capital in the accounts of the company.

“Thus history lives on in living people’s bodies. It lurks there and finally it kills. When the dead body is opened up, history can be found in the shape of silvery fibres – the last remnants of the air people breathed in the factories and workers’ homes of the 1910s and 20s.” [p. 115]

“For each year that Skånska Cement managed to avoid installing an electrostatic filter, the company could save some money at the expense of the workers and and the local population. This money has not disappeared. It is still there and today forms part of the capital of Industri AB Euroc.” [p. 122]

Lindqvist didn’t invent dialectical materialism. What he does in Dig… is critically twofold: he puts it to work, and he shows you how to do it. The book is a handbook, and includes boxed texts in every chapter showing you how to go and find this information yourself, where to find it – and how to ask questions of it. The result is more than information; it is agency.

Finally, Lindqvist points to a couple of examples of where workers have become involved in their work politically and culturally. He insists on the value of workers knowledge (in a chapter which compares the official Swedish dictionary with worker’s terms for their own tools, he writes: “you have knowledge that science has not” [p. 207]). And he writes particularly movingly of the work of retired engineers Tony Cundick, Ivan Fear, and Ron Plaster, who saved and restored the five huge steam engines at the Kew Bridge Pumping station:

“To me the steam engine is a time machine,” says Ron Plaster. “When I work on one of them, I feel it’s a way to enter history, knock off the rust, take it to pieces, clean it, polish it, oil it and start again. You can sense the odor of history, you hear it hissing and puffing when the steam is admitted. You can feel history tremble under the pressure, see it start slowly and begin to move, you see how history works — that’s what’s so fantastic.” [p. 240]

“To reconstruct an old text — that’s research” writes Lindqvist. ” To restore old murals in a church — that’s culture. But to get one of the largest and oldest steam engines of the world to move again, after having been in the scrap-yard for thirty years — what is that?” [p. 241]

One of the most interesting things about Lindqvist’s book is its legacy. In Scandinavia, it gave shape (and a name) to the emerging Dig Where You Stand movement, which saw tens of thousands of ordinary people (who Lindqvist termed “barefoot researchers”) join study groups and excavate their own histories and social conditions. In Germany, it helped inspire the widespread History Movement which advocated active popular engagement with the country’s recent past. Among many other things, the History Movement led to the literal digging up, by amateur archaeologists, of the rubble-strewn former Gestapo headquarters in Berlin: an action which in turn led to the preservation of the site, which is now the Topography of Terror museum.

Although it wasn’t published in English until 2023, unofficial translations circulated in Britain from the 1970s, including as part of the curriculum of the History Workshop, Raphael Samuel’s seminars at Ruskin College which also led to a broad history-from-below movement. I’m currently reading Workshop of the World, Verso’s recent edition of Samuel’s essays, which is leading me to all sorts of interesting places, like the Pleb’s League, a worker’s self-education collective founded in the mining communities of South Wales. In the 1920s the League collectively published a series of textbooks on subjects such as psychology, finance, and imperialism. I’m looking forward to going to the Marx Memorial Library to read them.

TL/DR: I asked ChatGPT to design a chair based on a pile of scrap wood, and then I built the chair.

A while ago I wrote about how I wanted an AI for carpentry. Specifically, I didn’t want something which replaced me, or the interesting bits of work, but something more like a smart carpenter’s mate, to do some of the sums and make interesting suggestions, and leave me to do the fiddling and the sanding. A collaborator, not a god.

Here is the wood that was knocking around on my balcony, left over from a few things:

And here is the prompt I gave OpenAI’s ChatGPT 4:

I have a pile of scrap wood and I would like to make a chair. I have a saw, a drill, screws, and wood glue.

Please give me step by step instructions for making a chair from the following materials, using as little wood as possible.

4 pine panels:

• 18, 180, 490 mm
• 18, 255, 490 mm
• 18, 255, 490 mm
• 18, 255, 490 mm

1 plywood sheet:

• 4, 480, 850 mm

1 L-shaped laminated chipboard sheet:

• 15, 280, 410 mm missing 130, 135 mm cutout

1 20mm diameter dowel, 1900 mm long

1 pine or fir plank

• 20, 95, 1300 mm

5 wood beams

• 50, 50, 890 mm
• 50, 50, 900 mm
• 50, 50, 980 mm
• 50, 50, 980 mm
• 50, 50, 1030 mm

There was a bit more to it than that: I had some issues formatting the prompt in a way that didn’t crash the chat client, and we also went back and forth on a backrest. I also tried to push for a more interesting design, in the way I described in the original post, but this resulted in something I could not make (materially and physically) – and wasn’t very interesting either. You can read the whole transcript here.

So, this is what we settled on:

Materials Needed:

• Plywood Sheet: For the seat.
• Pine Panels: For the backrest.
• Wood Beams: For legs and support structure.
• Dowel: For additional bracing.
• Tools: Saw, drill, screws, and wood glue.

Cutting Plan:

1. Seat: Use the plywood sheet to cut a rectangular seat, 480 mm x 400 mm.
2. Backrest: Select one pine panel (255 mm x 490 mm) and trim if necessary to match the width of the seat for aesthetic continuity.
3. Legs/Support Structure:
   • Front Legs: Cut two pieces from the beams to the desired seat height (about 450 mm).
   • Rear Legs/Backrest Support: Use the longer beams (980 mm or 1030 mm) and cut them so they can serve both as rear legs and extend upward to support the backrest. The total length should support a standard seat height plus the backrest height, roughly 900-1000 mm depending on your desired backrest angle and height.
4. Seat Supports: Use leftover wood or the pine/fir plank to create support planks that run underneath the seat for added stability. Cut these to match the width of the seat (400 mm).

Assembly:

1. Prepare the Seat: Attach the support planks to the underside of the plywood seat using wood glue and screws for extra stability. Space them evenly to distribute weight.
2. Attach Legs:
   • Front Legs: Secure the front legs directly to the underside of the seat at its corners with screws and wood glue.
   • Rear Legs/Backrest Support: Align the rear legs so they support the seat and extend up to support the backrest. Attach them to the underside of the seat and the lower end of the backrest.
3. Install the Backrest: Attach the backrest to the extended rear legs using screws and glue. Ensure it's firmly in place and offers comfortable support.
4. Bracing with Dowel: For additional lateral stability, use the dowel to create cross-braces between the legs. Cut the dowel into pieces that fit between the legs under the seat and halfway up the rear legs/backrest supports.

Finishing Touches:

• Sand the chair thoroughly to smooth out any rough edges and corners.
• Apply a finish of your choice to protect the wood and enhance its appearance.

This approach makes efficient use of your materials while providing a sturdy, comfortable seat with a backrest. The extended rear legs contribute to a streamlined, elegant design, and the under-seat supports ensure durability and weight distribution.

Based on this description, I worked up a rough plan that made sense. I tried to be as literal as possible. I suspected that the dowel braces between the legs would be necessary, and they very much were:

The chair did not take very long to build – even on a narrow balcony, in the dark – and I didn’t try too hard to make it nice. My saw is not very good; I sanded things down a bit; I glued where necessary. I tried to interpret the instructions as literally as possible. I decided where the screws and glue should go (twelve screws). You can sit in the chair.

My first impression of the chair was that this is what you get when you ask someone who has read a lot about chairs, but has never sat in one, to design a chair, which is exactly what it is. To be fair, it did a pretty good job.

My main concern building it was that the plywood seat was much too thin. It still feels very thin when you sit in it: it creaks and gives. But it holds – so far – and it’s perhaps more comfortable than a thicker, more rigid seat would have been.

It is what I wanted in that regard: minimalist – in the sense of using the absolute minimum of material – and it pushes at the boundaries of what I would have done myself.

My go-to example of what I mean here is the Optometrist Algorithm, which I wrote about in New Dark Age. The Optometrist Algorithm was designed, by Google, to improve nuclear fusion experiments. It’s an algorithm which works alongside human researchers, as a collaborator, serving to push their exploration of a problem space just a little bit further, or in novel directions, than they would do alone.

I would not have designed this seat: I would have used another piece of thicker wood. And this would probably have been less efficient. This is all the wood I had left at the end (from the pieces which ChatGPT selected):

The one change I would make would be to cut that remaining bit of ply down and use it to laminate the seat, doubling its thickness. Maybe.

The chair also felt too big. Here’s a size comparison with an IKEA folding chair:

That’s still not terribly clear, but it’s much taller, and deeper, than most chairs I have (I doubted the dimensions so much I clarified, in the chat, which way round the seat should be). But, again, I’m not sure I disagree. I’m 6’0, and it feels the right size – it makes me feel like a lot of chairs are too small for me. Plus, again: efficiency. It used all the wood. It does look very big though. It looks a bit weird. A slightly uncanny chair.

I’m not including here the images that ChatGPT made to accompany the instructions; you can see them in the transcript, but they’re not very helpful, and don’t match the descriptions in a useful, technical way. They are still the same sort of thing though: generic images of chairs, rather than generic descriptions of chairs.

I’m still a bit disappointed that other prompts which asked the programme to go a bit crazier with its design didn’t pan out. Perhaps a chair isn’t the best thing for playing with here: humanity has converged on pretty much the best minimal chair design possible without AI’s help, it’s hard to improve on that. But it’s nice that after years of trying to peer inside the machine, I get to explore in more practical ways what comes out of it.

It should be noted that this chair is built on the stolen labour of everyone who’s ever put something on the internet (including many who passed centuries before the internet was invented). The energy use is not good. I didn’t make this with ChatGPT: I made it with a partial history of all previous chairs, and I held myself back from making it “better”. But it’s something to think with.

I learned to make chairs from Enzo Mari, Donald Judd, my grandpa, YouTube. What the machine is good at is numbers, efficiency, tolerances (maybe). What can we do with that which is more interesting than putting people out of work? Which is more, genuinely, generative? Which is more interesting than more computers? Which, ultimately, builds agency rather than contributing to our general disempowerment us? That, at least, is what I mean by collaboration. We learn together.

Edit 19/3/24: As a couple of people have pointed out, this feels like the opposite of generative AI. The machine can only use the tools and materials I have to hand: it’s restrictive, yet paradoxically more productive as a result. Something to think about.

An installation at Kunthaus Zurich on the theme of media history, education, and the technology of attention.

Some time ago, I was commissioned to write an essay about children’s media and the capture of attention by the Centre for Media, Technology and Democracy at McGill University. You can read that essay in full, but here’s an excerpt, which concerns the research done by the Children’s Television Workshop (CTW) in the 1960s, which led into the development of Sesame Street:

One of the workshop's key innovations was a device Palmer termed "the distractor". Initially on visits to "poor children in day-care centres" and later in specially designed observation laboratories, Palmer and his colleagues would set up a television showing Sesame Street episodes, and next to it they would set up a slide projector, which would show a new colour image every seven and a half seconds. "We had the most varied set of slides we could imagine," said Palmer. "We would have a body riding down the street with his arms out, a picture of a tall building, a leaf floating through ripples of water, a rainbow, a picture taken through a microscope, an Escher drawing. Anything to be novel, that was the idea." Observers would sit at the side of the room and watch a group of children as the episodes played, noting what held their attention and what didn't every six and a half seconds for up to an hour at a time.

Individual characters, short skits, and even whole episodes lived or died by the distractor. By the time they got to broadcast, the show's attention rating averaged around 85 to 90 percent, and some reached 100 percent, as the crew learned to trust the distractor and absorbed its lessons. For Palmer, the distractor enabled the team to hone Sesame Street into a finely tuned educational instrument: "After the third or fourth season, I'd say it was rare that we ever had a segment below eighty five percent. We would almost never see something in the fifty to sixty percent range, and if we did, we'd fix it. You know Darwin's terms about the survival of the fittest? We had a mechanism to identify the fittest and decide what should survive."

I’ve been fascinated by the Distractor ever since I first read about it. It seemed to embody so many things I was fascinated by, from visual attention, to the use of technology to capture and hold attention, to the origins of children’s screen-based media and what’s happened to it, and even randomness.

I find the device particularly mesmerising because I don’t know how I feel about it. The research performed by CTW in the 1960s and 70s laid the groundwork for screen-based educational programming worldwide, and Sesame Street made a positive difference to the lives of millions of children, especially for many from disadvantaged backgrounds. At the same time, it marks a moment in which technological solutions were chosen over social ones, and education was outsourced to screens and corporations. Today, techniques developed by educationalists in the 1960s are deployed in automated systems, such as mobile apps and social media, and make possible the global 'attention economy', under which human attention is treated as a resource to be captured and exploited.

This fascination has caused me to spend a not inconsiderable amount of time tracking down references, descriptions, and actual data on the Distractor, its use and results, from the Children’s Television Workshop archives in the Mass Media & Culture collection at the University of Maryland (thanks to Michael Henry, Laura Schnitker, and James Baxter at UoM for their invaluable and generous assistance). Initially, I was just interested in reconstructing the contents of the slideshow, but when I was offered a commission by Kunsthaus Zurich last year to develop a new work for their digital programme, I decided to restage the mechanism in its entirety.

The above is the only photographic image I’ve found of the Distractor in operation, and I’m not sure it’s representative of most set-ups, although it’s certainly evocative, with the white researchers staring down at a black child, fingers poised on their electronic devices, while Kermit appears on one screen, and some kind of modernist architecture pops up on the other. The CTW archives contain a number of reports on the Distractor, including one entitled “The Sesame Street Distractor Method for Measuring Visual Attention”, published by Leona Schauble of Sesame Street Research in July 1976, and containing the following diagram:

For the Kunsthaus Zurich installation – which opened in May and is on view until Spring 2024 – I used this layout, sourcing period furniture and television equipment from Swiss second-hand sites (the installation does include a contemporary Parker Jotter – although only an expert would spot the differences between it and the model first introduced in 1954). The television shows the first ever broadcast episode of Sesame Street, from 1969, while the carousel slideshow, set to advance every seven seconds, contains ninety or so randomly-selected images from collections of vintage slides purchased on ebay and elsewhere.

Some of the most fascinating artefacts in the CTW archives were the original “Distractographs”: hand-drawn analyses of the results of the Distractor sessions, where researchers would plot the childrens’ attention over time, as they watched episodes of Sesame Street and other shows, while the Distractor attempted to do its work. For the installation, I reproduced half a dozen of these by hand to hang on the walls of the gallery:

(The wall colours, by the way, were chosen based on Pantone’s Sesame Street colour range.)

Finally, to accompany the installation, an online work continues the work of the Distractor into the present day. This work can be found at distractor.jamesbridle.com – visiting this page will present you with a random work from the Kunsthaus’ collection, together with information about its title, creator, and provenance. You can set this webpage to be the default new window or tab page in your browser settings, in order to constantly distract yourself with art (it’s quite nice, I promise).

Huge thanks to curator Mirjam Varadinis and to everyone at the Kunsthaus for their support in making this work happen. Particular thanks to Tony Kranz for his excellent and patient technical assistance throughout.

More information about the programme is available at digilab.kunsthaus.ch.

This is a lecture given at the Festivaletteratura, Mantova, Italy, in September 2013, about legal personhood, non-indigenous species, terraforming, colonialism, floods, and more-than-human relations. It was given without notes and the transcript below has only been loosely edited for clarity, so please forgive mis-speakings, typos, confusions, and lack of references.

*

Hello. Thank you for that introduction, thank you very much for having me; it’s a real pleasure to be here. I’m here representing my most recent book which is called Ways of Being in English and Modi di Essere in Italian and it’s a book about realizing that we are surrounded by all forms of intelligence that manifest not just in humans but in animals, plants, microorganisms of all kinds; perhaps also in in natural systems, in ecologies, in the very fabric of the world around us. Essentially, intelligence is not something that only happens inside human heads – it’s a thing that doesn’t just happen inside heads at all – but it happens when bodies meet, when we meet the world, and it’s a process by which we can come to know the world better.

There’s a lot of stories about that in my book – I talked about some of them on Friday evening if some of you were there. I wasn’t sure what I was going to talk about this afternoon but I thought I’d tell a couple of stories – some of which are in the book some of which aren’t – and also to try and bring them together with some more recent thinking that I hope is interesting… so I’m going to do that.

This is the Whanganui river in the North Island of Aotearoa, or New Zealand. It’s a huge river, it’s about 300 kilometers long, it drains a watershed of some 7,000 square kilometers, and if you’ve heard of it at all it’s probably, as I did, because in 2017 it was granted legal personhood: the river became a person under the law.

What does this mean? It means that historically when we have tried to relate to the environment through legal structures and by extension through social and political structures we’ve treated the environment as being a series of objects; a series of objects largely on which humans act: mine; extract; in the case of the river: divert; draw water; pollute and so on and so forth and so the only way to address the damage that might be happening to the river is essentially to to find the people who are doing it and find ways of changing them and punishing them because the river itself is just a thing: it doesn’t have any legal standing.

There’s this growing movement in in ecological law around the world to give non-human beings of all kinds – animals, plants, whole ecosystems like the river – their own kind of legal standing so that instead of saying it’s our responsibility to protect the river we say the river has its own rights. The river has its own right to life, to flowing, to be clean, to be healthy, to support all the communities, human and non-human, which live alongside it. And this attempt to give some kind of real meaningful recognition to non-humans plays out in different ways depending on the legal systems, the local traditions. There’s a big movement in the US for example to give zoo animals legal personhood and to say they have the right not to be imprisoned. We could go further and say animals have the right not to be kept on farms, not to be killed for food, these kind of questions. Legal personhood would reshape our relationship to non-humans in really important ways.

I often think that those are also kind of insufficient because we know that the law always lags behind what we need from our relations. It’s taken us thousands of years to get to where we are now which barely includes most humans; many, many humans are still excluded from our systems of law in various ways and the law has always been late coming to that and I don’t think legal personhood is some magic way that will solve that problem. But I think it’s interesting and it’s particularly interesting in the case of the Whanganui river because this wasn’t just a case of an existing legal system expanding to sort of grudgingly include the river but it was a result of centuries of protest by the Maori peoples who lived alongside the river and who have always considered the river to be a person. So under the Maori cosmology the river was also – has always been – a being that they have lived alongside and have had reciprocal relations with and have had a responsibility towards, and after a couple of hundred years of campaigning what happened was some of those Maori principles became incorporated into the colonial law of New Zealand to shift the kind of ways in which the river was thought about.

So while again imperfect in all kinds of ways, one of the main things is that the river now has representation within human communities, both in the law but also in the form of a couple of Maori Elders who speak for the river to bring another perspective on what is good for the river and how we could live with it better. There’s a beautiful line in some writing that I was reading about the river from one of the activists involved in the campaign to give the river personhood, where they said that what’s happening when you make this change in law but you also set up the culture that makes that law possible through the appointment of these kind of Guardians, the people who might speak for the river, is that you move from a position of saying “what do we want for the river?” to a position of “what does “the river want and how do we get there together?”

So this change that gives the river this idea of personhood is a shift in thinking to a position where we acknowledge that the river has its own needs and desires and that those matter – and of course that they matter to us as well; that by being in this kind of reciprocal arrangement we might actually change our relationship to the Earth in in far more broad ways.

A smaller example of something similar is happening on the River Aller in Somerset in England, where I come from, where a stretch of the river several miles long has been – one of the terms for this is rewilding – essentially the people who manage the area have said that they’re not going to decide what happens to the river anymore, they’re not going to bridge it, they’re not going to embank it, they’re not going to stop it flowing in any particular way; in fact they’ve cut channels into the side so that it changes its flow or it starts to change its flow and then they are going to let it do whatever it wants: they’re going to let the river flow wherever it wants.

This river for probably thousands of years has been shaped by human activity. People have moved it because they want to grow crops or grow trees, they’ve poisoned it in all kinds of ways, but this decision has been made to say we’re going to let we’re going to leave it alone and find out what the river wants. And even though this has only been going on for for five years or so the results are also already kind of amazing: the river has started to create new wetlands, it has started to stay longer in the soil so it doesn’t dry out in summer, so you have much more verdant fields, more things growing, it floods a little but less and in a way that is far far less destructive to the ecosystem around it and it’s home to vast amounts more life. The biodiversity increase is incredible. If you go there and walk around it, as you approach it, the sound of life gets stronger you can hear creatures buzzing and as you walk grasshoppers flow around your feet and the difference between that and the kind of agricultural land that surrounds it is huge, and the river is becoming healthier and in turn that affects the kind of human activity around it as well. Organic farming increases and other kinds of things because they have to in order to protect the river and respect its rights in this way. So changing the river is also a change in ourselves.

This is a friend of mine who I meet regularly, and who’s interesting to me. This is a lionfish – has anyone seen a lionfish before or know what they are? They’re very interesting, very beautiful, very strange creatures. I live on an island called Aegina which is near Athens in the Saronic Gulf in Greece, at the top of the Aegean coming off the Mediterranean, and I go diving and I meet these guys quite regularly – but I shouldn’t because they’re not from here, they’re very new to the place. Lionfish are indigenous to the Indian Ocean and for 10 million years that’s where they lived, that’s where they evolved, that’s where they changed, but for the last 20 or so years they’ve been spreading through the Mediterranean, and that’s the result of a few things.

Well, really, essentially, two things. They are what’s called Lessepsian migrants: Ferdinand Lesseps was the name of the French engineer who built the Suez Canal. When the Suez Canal was constructed humans basically cut through several millennia of geological separation between the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean and over the last hundred years or so hundreds of different species have been making their way up through this new passage into the Mediterranean. And the other reason that they’re doing that of course is climate change. The Mediterranean is getting warmer and so it’s becoming more hospitable to all of these various species.

The lionfish were first spotted in the Mediterranean about 20 years ago in a very small population, but they’ve been spreading slowly and surely. They’ve now been found as far west as Sicily and they only actually made it up into the Aegean Sea five years ago, they were first spotted off my island three years ago, but now if you go diving you’ll see half a dozen of them on a particular dive. This human activity is completely reshaping the Mediterranean and these creatures have arrived and they are spoken of in in the terminology you’ve probably heard of: of invasive species, this terminology that implies that these creatures are alien, that they don’t belong here, that this is not the place for them and we should be doing all we can to eradicate and destroy them.

Now that’s a language that’s familiar for most of our relationships, again not just to the natural world but also to other humans. We see that there’s some kind of stable state and we we don’t like the change and we don’t like the others who are coming in. Much of the discussions in biology around non-indigenous species tries take pains not to use human terminology for these creatures and I think that’s bad, as I might say a bit more about later, but even so I have a real problem with that narrative just from the perspective that I see them and I meet them on a regular basis and I am also new to this place. They arrived on this island the same time that I did, three years ago. Who am I to tell this creature that it doesn’t belong here, not least down to the fact that I am deeply responsible for it being there.

The lionfish are in the Mediterranean and around my Island because of a history of colonialism and imperialism, through the building of the Suez Canal, that I am, particularly as a British person, deeply involved in and also because of the current human activities of climate change. There’s a line that I always come back to from the British Sri Lankan writer Ambalavaner Sivanandan who wrote of colonial relationships in Britain from the perspective of non-indigenous peoples: “we are here because you were there.” These migrants are coming here because we went elsewhere and changed the world in ways that they are responding to and that’s the same for these of these creatures. We have to work out other ways of living alongside this change that is occurring, that doesn’t repeat those same mechanisms of treating the other essentially as something unwelcome and to be destroyed.

Of course you have a local variant of that here in Mantova: the lotus flowers that are growing in the lake, which are fascinating and beautiful like the lionfish, and also of course quite recent arrivals. I heard the beautiful story last night on a boat on the lake that the arrival of the lotus flower was in part the result of a love affair; that the botanist who first introduced them to the lake did so as part of their relationship with the person who was responsible for the water quality of the lake itself – that it was an act of love and beauty to introduce these things that are still seen as beautiful but also now regarded as some kind of pest.

It’s quite extraordinary – to me at least, coming to that ecosystem fresh – the extent to which it’s an entirely artificially created space. Not only have the lotus flowers only been there for a hundred years, the fish that swim under them were introduced by German sport fishermen, apparently the Ibises that fly and wade amongst them and wade are escaped zoo animals – good for them! – so this entire landscape is as far from any historical idea of somewhere natural as we could possibly imagine. And yet we still think that we can manage it in this way, that we can control the landscape in this way, in ways that will only ultimately result in more confusions like this occurring.

And it strikes me particularly what a long, ongoing process this is because of course it’s not just the introduction of the lotuses into the lake. The lakes themselves are entirely artificial creations, created back in I think the 11th, 12th, 13th centuries for the defense of Mantova. The draining of the swamp was an act of geoengineering, of transforming the landscape that is just as transformative as present climate change in terms of the biodiversity that it destroyed, the way that it reshaped the landscape [and human livelihoods]. We’ve been doing this for some time.

It reminds me particularly of another landscape from England, again from where I’m from originally from, the east of England, an area known as the Fens. For again most of history, or the most of history in which Britain was an island which is actually not even that long, the east of England was very wet and boggy and marshy and this was this area known as the Fens, which was underwater a lot of the time much like the area around here would have been a thousand years ago. In fact these processes happen at the same time and for the same reasons: politics and defense and controlling the landscape.

So between the 1100s to about the 1600s this landscape, the Fens, which was thousands and thousands of square kilometers of marsh, of bog, of these kind of wetlands that were incredibly productive in and of themselves, areas not just of biodiversity but of huge ranges of human habitat, of different kinds of ways of living, they were were drained. The water was put into canals and rivers and lakes like it was here and those landscapes were transformed. And that was done for a couple of reasons: it was done in part for agricultural reasons, that even though the these marshes were incredibly bountiful and the people who lived in them harvested all kinds of fruits and grains from them that grew there naturally, they farmed them, they grazed animals seasonally, they used the rushes to make baskets and housing – again just like was done here – the modern monocultures of wheat agriculture and so forth were instituted instead because the land was enclosed by landlords who could make more money out of it and selling it that way.

And that is destroying the land. The land around here is becoming exhausted, the use of fertilizers and so forth is destroying the soil, the crops won’t actually go on much longer. But it was also done for political reasons: it was done because the people who lived there were rebellious and they didn’t like being ruled by the king and they frequently retaliated against the tax collectors who came in and so on and so forth. And so the pacification of the landscape, the way this landscape was destroyed, was also a pacification of the people. It was a way of bringing those people under control, turning them from free people into serfs, peasants who lived under landlords and owed all their labour to them. It was one of the earliest transformations of Capitalism, which has not been around forever but has been a deliberate process of turning people from people who lived in reciprocal relationships with the land in which they found themselves into producers of capital for the for the upper classes who took over and transformed those landscapes.

What’s particularly fundamental for me about that story – as well, again, as a British person – is that’s how we learned to do colonialism. We developed the techniques of colonialism internally within Britain: the peoples of the east of England, as well as the peoples of Scotland and Wales and most of the rest of the islands were the first people to be colonized by the British – which is not quite the same as all the people who live there – and they practiced it there not just through this transformation of landscape but also through things like collective punishment, of destroying whole villages because they would try and stop the waterworks and so on and so forth. So these changes in landscape have always been tightly tightly tied to political processes, and there is no transforming once again our relationship to landscape and our understanding of landscape and our living and our health within landscapes without political processes as well.

What we do to the Earth we do to one another. The climate catastrophe is pretty much first and foremost a kind of colonial, Imperial catastrophe that builds on what we’ve been doing to the Earth for centuries long before just fossil fuels and so on and so forth and that’s what I meant when I said that it’s vitally necessary to rethink how we think about something as particular as invasive species – or non-indigenous species I should keep calling them and try to remind myself to do so – because for a long time I was very like scientists who work on this, I was quite nervous of making this explicit connection between non-human and human migrants because it’s all too easy to dehumanize people already and if you start to say “well, you know, the lionfish or the lotus flower they belong to the same category of things” it might increase that dehumanization. But I think that’s just a symptom of having it the wrong way around: we are capable of treating the Earth in this way because we are capable of treating each other this way. Racism is the first thing that then goes on to produce speciesism which ultimately produces our sense of human superiority that allows us to treat the Earth as a kind of resource to be extracted, as a thing to be to be used for our own benefit, not to be considered a person, a thing with its own life that in turn produces among other things the climate and biodiversity crisis of the present moment. These things are all deeply, deeply connected.

This has been brought home to me in violent form; it keeps being brought home to me in violent forms in various ways. After a summer of wildfires in which my island luckily escaped fire, but was repeatedly engulfed in smoke and ash – we had days in which it hurt to breathe outside, friends have lost their houses – last week my house, my garden were under about a meter and a half of water. You might have heard of the floods that have been occurring in northern Greece, which are horrific. They weren’t as bad on our island but this was the result of the same storm that sent down a meter and a half of rain over a few days, that washed out quite large areas of the island. I don’t know if anyone here has experienced flooding and if you haven’t I really hope you don’t.

I had never experienced anything like this and it was deeply frightening, on a deep, physical, bodily level, to feel as if the Earth itself was trying to hurt us. It was hard not to personify in such a strong way when the roads and streams and the hillsides next to your house which all summer have been dry turn within minutes into rivers. The question of “what does the river want?” becomes quite powerful, becomes quite serious, because in that moment the water wants to get to the sea and it quite obviously doesn’t really care about anything that stands in its way. It felt like a very violent and direct reassertion of the willfulness, of the personhood, of the beinghood of the Earth, but not one with which I or anyone else was in very good relationship with. We were not having a good relationship in this moment.

And yet in some way, on another level, even while this was occurring – and this is the feeling that I tried to hold on to – on another level I was entirely not separate from it, or this was an emphasis on the complete inability of ourselves to separate ourselves from it. While feeling this fear, this physical, animal terror at the actions of the weather, I both felt it as a being – I managed to hold on to that feeling – this is not chance, this is a process, this is a system of things that are happening, this is an event that is part of a climatic system, that is part of a global system that includes us and our actions and the lives and livinghoods of everything else that lives there. And it’s a system of which I am fundamentally a part; that I am utterly Inseparable from, that we are all inseparable from.

We are the weather. We are the river. We are the Earth, that is part of this process that is happening. And I don’t yet know entirely what that means for us. I know that feeling and that understanding is fundamentally important. I know that continuing to ask the question of “what does the river want?” will remind us that the other beings that we share the world with have their own needs, desires, hopes, fears, and by listening to them and working with them we will in turn shift our own relationship towards them, that will in turn, in time, and not without some quite terrible things happening in the future, shift the whole system of the earth towards some kind of better place. But at the moment that system is in huge turmoil. It’s trying to shift in all of these frightening ways into a kind of new relation but we are part of that system. We are the weather, we are the water, and we are the world, and we need to shift ourselves along with it and change our place within it if we hope to make any kind of better relation in the future.

I went off to the mountain alone for a few days this week, which is a longer and more interesting story than this one. And because I didn’t want the internet with me, I picked up one of these.

It’s a Nokia 105 (4th ed). 4G, Dual SIM. Calls, SMS, Alarm, Snake. No data, no photos. Battery lasts about a month.

I bought it from a big shop in Athens where I also bought a Moleskine notebook. Both items cost 22 Euros. Something is obviously wrong about both ends of that but here we are.

I don’t know why I still find this interesting, but I fell in love with it a little. Partly because it’s so small and feels so reliable – robust, but also trustworthy. You press a button, it goes ding, NOKIA appears, you can almost feel it groping around for a signal and then tying on fast. Get SMS; send SMS; turn it off again. Unlike a smartphone, it feels like an actual connection, rather than a constant assault from the outside.

The other thing that I liked was that I felt like I could build it. I don’t mean full toaster, but I’ve used all these basic components before: some kind of board, power, some kind of display, connect to a SIM card etc. (In particular, the State of Sin robots are basically mobile phones: Arduino boards connected to a sensor (including a microphone…), a display, and a GSM shield with a Hologram IoT SIM.)

I think it’s this: the level of technology I am most comfortable with (and I mean actively happy not just oblivious to) is that which I materially understand to the point of being able to build a basic, toy version of.

I’ve used the metaphor of plumbing here before. I probably shouldn’t plumb a whole house (although I am about to try) and certainly should not design a whole city sewerage system. However, I have a pretty robust mental model of what’s going on, which means I don’t have to worry about it – and, crucially, I can tell when something is not right.

Corollary: If I can’t make that little toy version work, even in my head, I think there’s an inherent level of distrust and uncertainty there, which I’m pushing down and ignoring to get on with my day. I suspect most of us are doing this most of the time, and it’s not healthy. That feeling should be reserved for actual magic.

Something something minimum viable model, knack, agency. Working on this.

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P.S. Compare/contrast the above image and thoughts with e.g. this post. Trying not to go backwards / trying to go somewhere more interesting, again.

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Last month, Navine and I opened SUPER KIOSK, pictured above, at the Thessaloniki Biennial:

SUPER KIOSK is a standalone structure made from 100% reclaimed wood, featuring rainwater collection and solar purification, solar-powered tea-making with a selection of endemic Greek mountain teas, and hand-made ceramics. SUPER KIOSK was a collaboration between James Bridle and Navine G. Dossos (representing Vessel), and students from the Architecture school at the university of Thessaloniki. It was inspired by the work of Walter Segal, Dimitris Pikionis, and the history of DIY, self-build, and regenerative construction. The installation is set within the historic courtyard of the Islehane museum, which, through its history as an orphanage and technical school during the last years of the Ottoman Empire, links back to the Kapodistrian Orphanage in Aegina as well as Vessel’s vision of an engaged, collective future.

SUPER KIOSK is on show at the wonderful Islehane museum in Thessaloniki until the end of May, and you can find out more on my website, and through the Biennial. More photos here.

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To mark five years since the original publication, Verso Books have released a new edition of NEW DARK AGE, my book about the culture of network technology and the nature of knowledge in the digital age. It has a natty new green jacket:

To mark the reissue, I’ve written a new afterword, which examines some of the things that have and haven’t changed about technology in the last half-decade. You can read an excerpt from this afterword, looking at the current cycle of Artificial Intelligence hype, published in The Guardian this week:

The lesson of the current wave of "artificial" "intelligence", I feel, is that intelligence is a poor thing when it is imagined by corporations. If your view of the world is one in which profit maximisation is the king of virtues, and all things shall be held to the standard of shareholder value, then of course your artistic, imaginative, aesthetic and emotional expressions will be woefully impoverished. We deserve better from the tools we use, the media we consume and the communities we live within, and we will only get what we deserve when we are capable of participating in them fully. And don't be intimidated by them either - they're really not that complicated. As the science-fiction legend Ursula K Le Guin wrote: "Technology is what we can learn to do." […]

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WAYS OF BEING is currently appearing in a number of languages and some magnificent new jackets, including the Italian and Brazilian editions below. Dutch, German, French, Hungarian, Japanese, Korean, Turkish and other translations are either out now or on their way. And you can now pre-order the English paperback in US and UK editions, if you somehow haven’t got a copy yet…

It’s been a pleasure talking about the book in various places. You can listen to or read my interview with Emergence Magazine online here:

We think so much like computers today because they've defined what is thinkable. And so for me, rethinking the computer rethinks what is computable, and therefore rethinks what is thinkable at all about the world.

My conversation with Krista Tippet for her On Being podcast (together with transcript) can be found here:

Everything is equally evolved. Everything has been on this planet for as long as everything else. Everything has been in this universe for as long as everything else. Nothing is more evolved than anything else. Everything has been evolving for the same length of time. Everything has been becoming for the same length of time. […] And that immediately destroys any idea of hierarchy or division for me that might shape or inform that splitting and clumping that's been the last century of scientific legacy and that we are finally getting rid of.

And I talked to one of my favourite writers, Claire Evans, for Grown by Ginkgo magazine:

I don't think there is such a thing as an artificial intelligence. There are multiple intelligences, many ways of doing intelligence. What I envisage to be more useful and interesting than artificial intelligence as we currently conceive of it—which is this incredibly reduced version of human intelligence— is something more distributed, more widely empowered, and more diverse than singular intelligence would allow for. It's actually a conversation between multiple intelligences, focused on some narrow goals.

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I have a few exhibitions coming up and in progress. I am participating in Face to Face, an exhibition about identity and identification at the National Museum, Wroc?aw, and Perfect Behaviors, an exhibition about the quantification of everyday life, at OGR Torino. I’m particularly pleased that Windmill 003 (for Walter Segal was selected for Renaissance 3.0, Peter Weibel’s final exhibition at ZKM, which explores the use by artists of the tools, methods and programs of science.