The Scout produced unbelievable power. Although the engine capacity was only 60 percent of the biggest 61-ci (I,OOO-cc) Indians and Harley-Davidsons, the output was closer to 70 percent of the big models. This, coupled with the lighter weight of the Scout, resulted in acceleration that was only slightly slower than that of the larger V-twins. The top speed of about 60 miles per hour compared poorly to the 75 to 80 miles per hour on tap from the big twins. But speeds above 60 miles per hour could seldom be sustained for more than a mile. It is far easier to ride 150 miles per hour now than it was to ride 60 miles per hour then. The roads of the era were simply too rough, with pavement usually ending at the city limits of middle-sized cities. Many streets were still unpaved, especially in smaller towns, while rural roads could be more accurately described as "trails." In fact, well into the 1920s there were maps that laid out national "motor trails." In other words, for a single rider, the Scout usually offered as much usable performance as any larger twin. Only in the case of hauling a passenger did the Scout fall behind, and only just so. The only preeminent quality of the big twins was their sidecar hauling ability.
The sporty performance of the Scout made the new model a double-barreled threat to all big twins, Indians as well as Harleys and Excelsiors.
Simply put, the Scout was a model to please all riders, the motorcycle for "every man," to use the British term for such an elusive hoped-for motorcycle. Peppy output aside, the Scout was first and foremost a user-friendly motorcycle. The rugged Scout suffered none of the flimsiness of earlier lightweight models of Indian and its rivals. Yet alongside the 61-ci twins of Indian and rivals, the Scout looked much more a lightweight than a middleweight. The bike pleased men and women who swung a leg over the saddle and gave it the sit test. If they dared to learn to ride, they learned quickly, their confidence boosted by the low saddle position and the easy, almost hands-off handling that was not that different from a pedal bicycle. The low-slung layout counted big in this department.
Yet the Scout pleased the most rugged of riders in whose hands its lightness and agility more than compensated for its relatively small engine. Out in the real world, heading into deep ruts, a sandy wash, a muddy stretch, or freshly spread deep and soft gravel, the Scout came into its own when in capable hands. This motorcycle had it all.
Indian dealers immediately knew what they had. Telegrams and letters arrived at the factory by the dozens, raving about the new Scout. There were smiles all around and an attitude of "now we've got 'em," meaning Harley-Davidson and Excelsior couldn't hope to keep up. Sales were brisk. Indian's policy was to push the Scouts, because the new middleweight stirred up less sales resistance to pedestrians upgrading to the status of new motorcyclists. Besides, this year's Scout buyer could be next year's big twin buyer and why sell one new motorcycle when you could sell two? The publicity items displayed by Indian dealers, in the form of banners, posters, testimonial letters, and sales literature, almost gave the impression that Indian had only one model, the Scout. Typical of the approach was the "Indian Scout Club," a time payment scheme offered as if no other models were bought on time.
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