For those who haven't read my words on the new Royal Enfield Himalayan 450, it is my new lord and savior. It is the breath of life, the word of God, my dark lord that inhabits my dreams. A motorcycle I daydream about on a regular basis. More so than even me dreaming about coming into money and never having to work again.
Why, because unlike winning the lottery, finding out I'm related to some long dynasty of wealthy royals that now gets passed down to me, or finding black gold in the backyard ala the Beverly Hillbillies, the Himmy is actually attainable in my lifetime.
But that wasn't really the experience the prior Royal Enfield 411 gave off. It was, and still is for the folks who have them in their garages, a mule. It just chugged along, not really caring to get anywhere quickly, and could barely hit the highway without endangering the rider. It'd get you there, but it was absolutely the tortoise versus the new Himalayan's more hare-like reality.
