Monkeys in the Trees

Last summer, I saw this reality in a best friend. Several decades ago, at age 12, Jim and his school buddy had relentlessly pestered their folks into buying them Honda Trail 50s to fill their summer vacation days. “We harangued our parents massively to get us Mini Trails and they finally caved because they couldn’t stand us anymore,” he said. It worked out great, with the pair learning the riding ropes on trails around Mammoth Lakes, California, and in their Los Angeles neighborhood.

After his Mini Trail was stolen, Jim progressed to a Honda Scrambler 100 (aka CL100), and ultimately to a Suzuki DR350SE and various Harleys. And then, with kids grown and moved out, one day he just quit riding.

A Riding Reunion

Enter 2024, and Honda’s latest Monkey. Based on the popular Grom, Super Cub and Trail 125, it features an electric-start, fuel-injected 124cc laydown Single with air cooling, a 5-speed gearbox, front and rear disc brakes with ABS, and styling reminiscent of that first Trail 50. Jim was intrigued, and rightfully so. After borrowing a pair of them, we sketched out a weeklong trip to various locations in High Sierras. For him, the excitement was in trying out a new version of his first bike; for me, it was seeing his reaction.

Legally, it would be possible to ride the Monkeys to the Sierras from Los Angeles (e.g., by avoiding freeways), but that made little sense given their slowpoke pace (40-50 mph is their natural cruising speed), squat dimensions, and nominal 1.5 gal. fuel capacity. These bikes are better suited for byways than highways. Instead, we rolled them onto a three-rail dirtbike trailer and headed north through 110-degree desert temperatures in air-conditioned comfort – and without guilt.

Priced at $4,349, the Monkey is expert at evoking memories of the lighthearted nature of Honda Mini Trails from 1968 forward. Bigger, taller and wider than its forebears, fortunately the modern version is sized adequately for adults to ride. At 231 lbs. it’s also over 100 lbs. heavier than the original Trail 50. The fat solo seat, a foot wide and 5 in. thick, is about the most comfortable throne this side of an Electra Glide. Although speaking of fat, the midsection of the bike, measuring up to 16 in., is too wide for comfortably standing on the pegs. The rider’s triangle (proximity of bars, pegs and seat) proved too small as well.

First Ride Back

Watching Jim embark on his first ride in years was educational, as it showed a person thinking his way through the process rather than accomplishing it by instinct, habit, and muscle memory as practiced riders do. Everything was a new mountain to climb, including what to wear and how to wear it. For instance, he brought a goofy “pudding bowl” cruiser helmet, REI-style hiking shoes, and ski gloves and jacket. Lame, but illustrative that the Monkey didn’t immediately demand the respect that, say, a big CBR or Shadow would.

Easy for Jim to master was the ignition switch unifying the fork lock with electric starting and EFI, which of course eliminates the skills needed for a three-position petcock, choke or enricher, throttle position, kickstarting, and attending to warmup. As such, getting underway was easy. Score one for modern tech. “Surprisingly, when I first started it, the Monkey even sounded like my old Mini Trail, and that audible quality really made my recall come alive,” he mused.

Thinking vs. Instinct

A practice ride along the dirt trails near Crowley Lake and later the winding two-lane to Convict Lake proved ideal for reintroducing Jim to motorcycling – slow speeds and sparse traffic, with opportunities to stop and rest or calculate how to ride. He stayed seated on the comfortable Monkey throughout, and with the saddle being only 30.5 in. off terra firma, he was able to touch his feet for balance whenever and wherever required. Another win for the Monkey – it is a welcoming, reassuring and confident ride for newbies – just like the original. “On my old Mini Trail, the attraction was the freedom to go places that I couldn’t on a bicycle,” he recalled during a break to study the view. “I admit this is kind of taking me back because I have a similar feeling today.”

Mirroring his unpracticed state, Jim’s technique on the bike was not fluid. When the route was good, he’d amble along, never in a hurry or on a mission to go fast. That said, he didn’t appear to fully assess upcoming terrain for potholes, gravel, hills, off-camber or sand sections, and then quickly execute a plan to cross them smoothly. However, using his feet and plenty of first gear, he got up, over, down and through everything with no falls. (On this note, the Monkey needs lower gearing to do better off-road. If you’re thinking of hitting the trails, consider a smaller front or larger rear sprocket. Hey Honda, how about offering a dual-range gearbox?)

Stinging in the Rain

Happily, Jim victoried in the initial, exploratory trail ride precisely because he’d taken care to take it easy, listened to advice, committed when necessary, and kept himself off the ground. You’d think after this, that our backroads foray to Convict Lake would have been easier. But Jim stuck with the biker helmet and no jacket, and the choices didn’t help much. No sooner than we had resumed, reminiscent of a scene in Dumb and Dumber, an afternoon thunderstorm blew in. Soon the rain stung him in the face, roaring wind on Highway 395 assaulted his ears, and westerly gusts rocked him aboard what is actually a very small bike in a very big physical world. Again, though, in Jim’s favor, keeping his speed reasonable and rejuvenating old skills kept him safely and successfully moving forward.

Caution proved a virtue, and ride one was successfully in the bag.

The Money Run

Three days later, after an easy 150-mi. tow to Lake Tahoe, we unloaded (“detrailered?” – ha!) the twin Monkeys under the pines to prepare for our trip’s intended “feature ride” – a round trip from Stateline, Nevada to secluded Fallen Leaf Lake. A footnote of the glacier-carved Tahoe Basin dating back over 70,000 years, it’s likewise snow-fed, hard to reach, and peacefully calm and quiet. Perfect for Monkeys. The ride would include US Highway 50 and unimproved Fallen Leaf Road – from “urban” to “outpost” in one sitting.

Ready for a fun, spontaneous day, we both rejoiced in the Monkeys’ easy operation; although built in Thailand and not Japan, they’re still typical Hondas. But I had to do something about Jim’s wardrobe. Salted away in gear bags was an Arai dirt helmet, decades-old Fox goggles, armored ADV gloves, an Alpinestars moto jersey, and some floppy Cortech boots. It wasn’t the full street kit, but it made me feel better to see mi amigo decently attired. Jim then lacked only earplugs, a forgivable error that even seasoned riders can make. He was still relearning, and his penalty was borrowing and stuffing a “preowned” pair into his ears. Savage!

Ceding to Safety

Respecting Jim’s rusty skillset, we began with safety in mind: keeping to quieter roads; making right hand turns whenever possible; letting faster vehicles pass; and spatially engineering a “safe zone” for riding. Droning along so-called Pioneer Trail, a two-lane shaded by tall pines, the Monkeys were pinned most of the time trying to maintain 45 mph to flow with traffic. By the settlement of Meyers – the last stop in the Tahoe Basin before Highway 50 climbs over rigorous Echo Summit toward Sacramento – the Monkeys ran low on gas. Jim noticed it and waved. Bravo. It’s a minor miracle that he did, because the Monkey’s LED display appears practically invisible in sunlight. But calculating the mileage almost made up for this – over 100 mpg observed.

Turning onto century-old Fallen Leaf Road, awaiting us was a barely tamed wagon route, in places still not wide enough for two cars to pass. Potholed, subjugated by trees, granite boulders and geographical contours, it’s a throwback to the early days of Sierra Nevada tourism – and just right for the Monkeys today. The Hondas flitted between sunlight and shadow, putting along in third and fourth gears. While the 45-inch wheelbase and about 4 inches of wheel travel didn’t exactly offer a smooth ride on the choppy asphalt, at least the balloon tires helped.

We paused to regard an old cabin perched above the water and conjecture what it might cost (several million). “This reminds me of what I liked most about riding – getting away from everybody and exploring in a laid-back mode,” Jim remarked. “Now that I have a better sense of it, the Monkey feels like a friendly bike because it’s not heavy and I can put both my feet down if needed. It’s a good size for the environment, and I never feel like I’m going to have any problems with control. Basically, it’s a great way to re-experience much of what I liked about riding, without having to get ‘serious’ about it.”

Nestled in a valley below tall peaks, by afternoon the lake environment suddenly felt closer to dusk than daytime. Luckily the Monkeys have LED headlights, so being cold was the only detriment to staying longer – a likely scenario after swimming in the chilly waters. Following a satisfying break, we reluctantly retraced our route to our overnight lodging, arriving precisely at dinnertime.

The Question at Hand

Over the requisite beverages and tacos, I cornered Jim about whether the Monkey experience might huck him back into the ownership ranks. His reply was as dodgy as his riding, so maybe he missed a career in politics. “The little Monkey is growing on me,” he began haltingly. “Rather than totally ignite me, what it has probably done is ‘reawaken’ me to the notion that a small carefree bike like that is pretty fun. So yes, I guess it made me open to the possibility of getting a bike like a Monkey someday.”

In hindsight, Jim didn’t shout a euphoric “Yes!” and scramble to find the nearest dealer online. However, neither did he say “No.” The words he used instead were “possibility,” “probably,” and “fun.” Which means, to borrow the great Dumb and Dumber line, “So you’re telling me there’s a chance…’”

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