A bit more than a bike

It doesn't lane-split, but the Can-Am Spyder has its attractions.

It isn't a motorcycle. It isn't a car. It isn't an all-terrain vehicle (ATV). So what is it, and who's going to buy one? It seems a bit pointless, except it's so eye-catching, and what's it like to ride?

It was a bit of a palaver to find out. This is an American brand, and before I could mount, there were pages of indemnity form protecting the company from any claim up to and including mental injury or death. Then, before you could start it, you had to slide a further indemnity card from a slot beneath the screen, read the small print and press a button to say you had done so.

I just pressed the button every time, as advised by the motorcyclist, who was trundled out to show me the controls.

It's not that they are complicated. There's a foot brake, a hand throttle and a thumb gear-change, but no clutch. The trouble is you feel as if you are on a motorcycle, but there's no hand-operated brake lever, the one you rely on most to stop a bike. The Can-Am doesn't lean, either. You turn the bars.

But you also need to move around to get the best from it, not to mention turn safely at speed.

The Can-Am boys made me do a circuit of the car park, then a loop of the road outside before they would let me leave.

By then, I had discovered the impressively capacious boot up front – a 44-litre box accessed by twisting the key – and the optional backrest ($960) for the pillion, also released with a twist of the key if you would rather use the flat luggage plate.

The saddlebags are after-market Givi items (at $1617 plus $340 for silver inserts), so also lockable, but I never had to use them. The boot sufficed.

I've ridden ATVs, and thus felt immediately at home. Seeing two wheels up front underlined it. But I was aware that, as a biker, if something went wrong and my knee-jerk reaction was a bike-suitable response, I could be in trouble.

Drivers, for whom the whole plot is unfamiliar, would have no such inappropriate reflex response.

So my first few hours were spent carefully running around-town errands at around-town speeds.

To begin with, it pulls strongly, with a thrummy note from the 990cc Rotax V-twin engine and its standard exhaust (rortier-sounding after-market items are available). You can keep the throttle open, while snicking through the gears, but the response is a tad jerky. Modulating it as you change, as you would on a bike or in a manual car, smooths progress, and it's rapid progress, with 0kmh to 100kmh in 4.5 seconds.

In third gear at 100kmh, it's sitting at 6500rpm, just above peak torque. In second, it's revving hard at about 8000rpm, flirting with peak power. Ride like this around corners and you may be glad there's stability and traction control – not to mention ABS brakes. No wonder it weighs 317 kilograms dry.

Despite this, the Spyder is easy to muscle around. The riding position is less extreme than you imagine when looking at it, and stop-go traffic or walking-pace manoeuvres are a cinch given the thing doesn't lean and won't fall over. Unlike with a bike, though, you can't lane-split, so there's no trickling through a jam.

But unlike a car, the Can-Am will park in tiny spaces, bigger than a bike would fit into, but smaller than any car could use. It helps that there's reverse – necessary for a vehicle that weighs this much – and a tight steering lock.

I began to see the point. My errands meant parking on slopes and angles that would be awkward for anything on a bike stand, and turning around in spaces that would be problematic when manually hauling your mount about. But with a park brake, the stability of three wheels, and reverse? A doddle.

I got quite a lot of shopping up front too, and unlike a four-wheeled shopping hack, I turned heads wherever I went. Indeed, the only downside was all the unwanted kerbside conversations the Can-Am prompted.

By now I had got the hang of using the bars to steer the front wheels towards the corner like in a car, not counter-steering like on a motorcycle, although I still tended to reach for a right brake lever instead of using my foot, which was too short to get good purchase on the footbrake without shifting it slightly. An adjustment kit is available.

Meanwhile, I had also found that pushing down on the outside footpeg, although it didn't have quite the same cornering effect as on an ATV, helped me with handlebar leverage. It was a lot more helpful at open-road speeds, or was that the dynamic power steering? Anyway, pushing down on the outside foot thrust my body into the best cornering angle. Try sitting upright through high-speed bends and G-forces throw you outwards, which is less noticeable and much less risky in a car than on something like this. Although the Can-Am doesn't lean, you lean into corners to keep your bodyweight neutral, which helps you control the thing and is a lot more comfortable.

By now, I also appreciated the suspension. The rear was compliant enough to manage bumpy B roads, although I noted side-to-side pitching over deeper potholes, and watching those front double A-arms do their stuff can be distracting.

Carrying a pillion passenger is easier than on a bike in that, however clumsily they mount, you won't fall over; but as with a motorcycle, a heavy pillion alters the suspension response and front-rear balance and requires a bit more rider input to smooth progress.

Still, I soon didn't have to think about what I was doing. I got used to not straight-lining corners bike-style and moved around the Can-Am quite happily, enjoying the man-machine connection you only really get when you become physically involved with your progress, a connection you find only on a bike or a machine like this, but don't feel in a car.

Would I recommend one?

If you're a biker, probably not. It doesn't lean and won't lane-split, although a biker with a dicky knee or bike-hating spouse could enjoy the bike parallels. However, car drivers who can't be bothered with bike-licence palaver and want a macho machine will find it here.

- © Fairfax NZ News