Born Of Triumph
A stranger’s bike, a snowy road, and the ride of a lifetime
Written & Photographed by : Anandhakrishnan Rajesh
Legacy, longing, and the story of a Speed 400 carving its place in my story.
It had been weeks since the motorcycle bug bit me. It started as harmless scrolling, but before I knew it, it had turned into a full-blown obsession. I was replaying ride videos like music tracks and memorising exhaust notes like lyrics to my favourite songs. My playlists gathered dust while inline singles and v-twins became my new jam. Winding roads looped in my imagination like unfinished dreams and I’d often catch myself smiling at nothing, imagining the thrill of leaning into unseen corners while picturing my hands on phantom handle bars. In my imagination I was untouchable, the road belonged to me and I craved to conquer every mile of it.
At first, I resisted. I told myself that I was just looking, that I had responsibilities, that I was busy. I was satisfied with just admiring. But with every video every blog and every story, that restless voice inside me kept growing louder and louder. The thin line between admiration, attachment and desire started to blur. Desire is a dangerous thing. It starts as innocent curiosity and slowly deepens into a restless longing. Before you even realize it, that curiosity has hardened into an undeniable necessity.
I needed to feel the throttle respond beneath my palm. I needed to pull the clutch, shift through gears, and watch the road stretch endlessly ahead.
Time and again I would try to tame this longing by borrowing a friend’s bike or renting one for the weekend. This offered a temporary escape, a brief sense of relief, enough to calm the noise for a while. But like all borrowed things, the feeling was fleeting and incomplete. The short-lived freedom was intoxicating, but it only reminded me that it didn’t really belong to me. Once the ride ended and the engine cooled, I knew that I would have to part ways with my two wheeled companion. Every time I handed the keys back to their rightful owner, our little situationship came to an abrupt end and like every situationship, it was intense and addictive while it lasted leaving me smiling on the outside but strangely empty inside. Every time it only made me crave something real, something to call my own.
Your own motorcycle is different. It is neither short lived nor borrowed. It is a deliberate commitment that you can’t back out of when it gets inconvenient. It requires alignment, understanding, and a little compromise. And in this permanence lies transformation. As we grow, mature and adapt, the machine becomes a reflection of who we are. Bringing a motorcycle in your life makes you step into a new version of yourself. This version wakes up before sunrise to catch a glimpse of the rising sun. This version chooses the longer route home. This version isn’t afraid of empty highways and uncertain turns. It gives you the permission to always say yes to new possibilities and to freedom.
Soon , it was decided, I had to get a new bike. My first motorcycle, mine. I can assure you that every rider remembers the confusion of their first real choice. The overwhelming flood of options, the endless comparisons all culminating to defining a new chapter in our lives. Choosing “The one” feels akin to a king selecting his steed knowing well that it will define the victories and conquests ahead. But unlike the medieval kings limited in their choices by proximity and availability, the modern world offers a plethora of spec sheets, reviews, opinions and brands. Like many others, I also spent countless hours crawling through factory websites and technical specifications but after a while everything blurs into each other. Amidst all this chatter and noise one name was calling out to me more than the rest. “Triumph”. The name carries the weight of history and the hunger for performance.
It has influenced the global racing scene on the Moto2 grid and conquered continents with the Tiger lineup while also preserving the timeless romance of the Bonneville. The brand has defined motorcycling history, and somewhere between admiration and aspiration I realized that I wanted to be a part of this history.
India, in its own way has reshaped Triumph’s grandeur. This place forces manufacturers to think differently. Our traffic is relentless, our pothole ridden roads unforgiving, and our driving wonderfully unpredictable. If a bike can thrive here, it can thrive anywhere.
The 400cc lineup was inviting. I wanted something nimble, something playful. Something to draft through city traffic but also spirited enough to stretch its legs on open roads. In the end it was about “the right fit”. The right fit however was not easy to find. Whether to go for the T4 or the Speed 400? I was in a dilemma. Two siblings from the same bloodline, both celebrated time and time again and I was nowhere close to a decision. Maybe even more conflicted than ever. On paper they were almost identical. They had the same heart and the same engineering DNA running through their wires, and I could not fathom what truly set them apart. I stared at reviews and the spec sheets endlessly but the confusion didn’t fade. It was time to ride them, it was time to feel what all the fuss was actually about.
Amidst all the pressures of daily life, I finally carved out the time to visit the showroom. I walked in unannounced, wanting to experience the triumph hospitality. The T4, being city-friendly, practical and more balanced, seemed like the sensible place to start. As I swung a leg over and settled into the seat, it felt right, familiar even. The bike was beautiful in itself, exactly what I had been searching for. It was composed, refined and everything made sense. Pulling it out onto the road and twisting the throttle gave me an exhilarating thrill. I thought, well this is it. I completed a short ride and in my head the decision was nearly made. It ticked all the boxes and was fun to ride. It was the sensible choice. But I hadn’t come all this way to leave without trying the Speed 400. As it was being wheeled out of the garage, I didn’t feel much.
I had seen it multiple times in videos and forums and on the road. It felt just like the T4 and since my decision was nearly made this was more or less just a formality. When the keys were finally handed to me, their weight felt symbolic. The saddle was more like a throne waiting for a king. There was an aura of youth, the bike just like me was impatient. Helmet already on, key already in all that remained was to awaken it. The moment I started it and the engine came alive, I felt a raw vibration travelling through my palms. The exhaust was symphonic to my ears, starved of something real after weeks of you tube compression. As I shifted into first, rolled the throttle and released the clutch, the world around me blurred. Every note from the exhaust was like the bike was whispering sweet nothings in my ear. The first surge of power, the first gust of wind, all of it was just waiting for me. In that moment all I could think was “HELL YEEEAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!”. That was the spark I had been searching for. There was no more confusion, no more conflicting decisions left, nothing left to ponder about. In that brief stretch of road every thing was resolved. The Speed 400 had already claimed its space in my heart.
The wait for the keys to my very own Triumph was endless. Every day felt longer and every notification on my phone made my pulse jump, was it an update from Triumph was my very own bike any closer to reaching me? When my anticipation was at its peak the D-Day arrived. I finally received the message I had been waiting for. I will always remember the call to claim what was now rightfully mine. D-Day (Delivery Day) was nothing short of an experience in itself. The first time I saw it, I was over the moon. There was no more uncertainty, this wasn’t the test unit anymore. This was “mine” now. Weeks of inner turmoil, anticipation, and restless tension had been culminating to this very moment, my first ever ride as its rightful owner.
In the weeks that followed, my familiarity with the beast grew. The wide-eyed awe of the first few weeks softened and I became one with the machine. Every throttle pull became deliberate, it no longer surprised me instead it obeyed me with precision. Every gear shift was intentional and the exhaust responded eagerly to my riding style.It became predictable in the best way, dependable and familiar, yet never dull and always ready to stretch further, lean deeper, rev harder when I asked it to.
Its only been a four months since I brought this beast home. There have been no cross-country odysseys yet, though I’m sure they are waiting on the horizon. BUt one doesn’t need epic journeys to understand the truth, a ride from Pune to Konakan was enough to remind me why I chose the Speed 400 as my loyal companion. The ride through Tamhini was a conversation between me and the bike. As I left the city air behind and touched the coastal skies, I left all my burdens and stress back in the city too. The noise of deadlines, responsibilities, and unfinished tasks faded somewhere behind the last traffic signal. Out there, it was just me, the machine, and the road unfolding ahead.
Hours slipped by unnoticed. The saddle remained forgiving. No stiffness. No aching back. No restless need to pause. Just motion. Just rhythm. Just flow.
I didn’t buy this machine to count kilometres. I bought it to feel the wind press against my chest and the engine rise beneath me. This beast is meant to roar on the streets, and I never put a leash on it.