Vroom at the Top

Many of our values and ideas are shaped by our artifacts; and we, in turn, shape our possessions to fit our beliefs. Take the motorcycle: Its place in our society has changed through the years and so has the type of man who rides it. In the early decades of this century, before America was really sure it trusted and could afford the horseless carriage, the motorcycle was a reliable means of transportation and a common mechanical beast of burden. It was often better than a car, especially when navigating the narrow, bumpy roads of the day. But after World War Two, the motorcycle began to lose favor with the public; and within a few years, it had found its way into several unsavory subgroups of our society. Marlon Brando came along as the cinematic embodiment of the various outlaw cycle gangs and temporarily killed the motorcycle as an instrument of popular transportation. (Actually, to the outlaws, the (text continued on page 130) motorcycle is more ornamental than locomotive and, indeed, the garish and weird machines they build up are barely road-worthy—they represent mobile jewelry rather than transportation.)

Then came the Sixties: traffic jams, the growth of the megalopolis, no place to park, a national sense of claustrophobia and the feeling among many, especially the young and adventurous, that society was closing in on them. People looked for an escape. And Soichiro Honda provided the avenue for just such a getaway. He foresaw a renaissance in the transportation patterns of Americans; people would ride light, attractive and inexpensive motorcycles when they wished to avoid the tyranny of their cars—or were forced to walk for lack of a place to park them. Honda began the boom, and it's still going on. Hundreds of thousands of machines have been sold; Honda, Yamaha, Suzuki, Kawasaki—the companies blossomed, expanded, began to advertise nationally and to strive for social acceptance.

The first generation of machines was one of lightweights: 50-cubic-centimeter models that were just fast enough to stay within city speed limits to carry one to and from work or from the dorm to the classroom. Then some riders began to want a little more power, so they moved up to 90-c.c. machines, then to 250s.

Soon, large numbers of novice cyclists were getting into the spirit of the sport. They started buying big iron, hefty machines that would carry them up to highway speeds, and maybe faster, with power and prestige: 500-c.c. Triumphs, BMWs and Harleys were available—there from an earlier era.

Manufacturers began to sense the emergence of a class of cognoscenti—men who knew a great deal about motorcycles, very often tinkered with them as a hobby and had the money to invest in really luxurious machinery.

These were weekend enthusiasts who would brave the elements and ignore the trepidatious headshakings of nearsighted old ladies in Hudsons to ride their machines up hills, across country or around town. They appreciated the feel, the maneuverability and the ease of parking a big bike, and they loved to taste the narcotic elixir of speed.

Motorcycle manufacturers in Britain, Italy, America and Japan responded to this new kind of cyclist by designing more exotic machines sure to satisfy the most sophisticated and expensive tastes: two-, three- and four-cylinder engines, overhead camshafts, rotary valve inductions—with the sky the limit on power and speed. Who needs 68 horsepower and 125 miles an hour top speed? Quite probably the responsible, careful rider will never extend the machine to such limits. But he can glory in the awareness of this potential and in the quick response to any command. And he can savor the beauty and the intelligence that have gone into the design of such machines as those shown on these pages, each of which is the very best of its kind, and he can be glad that he is around for the golden age of motorcycling.

There are those motorists who wish to glide along in the serene luxury and rich comfort of a Rolls-Royce; there are those who like the speed and balance of a motorcycle—not to mention the fresh-air kicks. And those who want the best of both the automotive and the cycle worlds often buy a BMW. The Bayerische Motoren Werke's R 69 US is a remarkable motorcycle. Its basic design has scarcely changed since the days of the Weimar Republic; although it lacks the raw power of some of the other modern machines, it makes up the difference in sturdiness and size.

Remember those pictures of the Afrika Korps roaring across the endless blazing wastes of the Sahara? You could usually spot a feisty-looking field marshal in a sidecar. Those sidecars were on BMWs and they made it—anywhere.

One reason for the reliability of this machine is its distinctive-looking power plant. The flat-twin engine of the BMW is similar in design to the one used in the Volkswagen and the Porsche and, like them, it's a machine that can be driven stylishly across rugged terrain with the engine never missing a beat.

Check the striping and the black-lacquer finish. They're still applied the old way at the factory in Munich. The paint is lovingly rubbed down and the striping carefully applied by hand—slowly and expertly. The engines, too, are fitted with precision and care; they do not complain or leak oil (unlike some of the other similarly priced mounts). Their horsepower rating is mild, but their performance is incredibly smooth and well balanced. The power is fed through a car-type dry clutch and on through an unusual drive shaft to the rear wheel. The drive shaft does away with all the mess, bother and noise of a chain—not to mention the fact that 28 years ago, a rider had to reach Rommel at Tripoli before sunset and he couldn't risk sand in the chain slowing him down.

The R 69 US is too heavy to be really fast or agile, and any wild cornering will probably drag the exhaust pipes on the pavement. But the guy who buys one won't be the type who does such things; he'll be a man of expensive tastes (the R 69 US costs about $1750, a representative price that—like all cycle prices given in this article—may vary according to area and dealership) who demands a ride that is quiet, well mannered and absolutely reliable. Some cyclists love to fiddle with their machines, while others disdain any sort of unreliability. The latter group invariably buys a BMW.

Another big machine in this smooth-touring class is the Moto Guzzi V-7, an Italian road burner that has the power and the reliability necessary for long-distance running. Because the Moto Guzzi weighs only 520 pounds, it really handles when rounding bends and charging along rough roads. The power for such gamboling is provided by a transverse V-twin that puts out about 50 horses. You keep a check on it with an amazing array of automobilelike instrument gauges that diagnose the condition of oil, battery, lights, etc. The reliability of this machine is such that it is already used by police in several cities, including Atlanta. You, too, can join the force for $1439.

In the motorcycle kingdom, there is one creature of unquestionably established masculinity—the Harley-Davidson. The Harley is also the American motorcycle. It is the only machine not designed and built by foreigners trying to divine the motivations and desires of the American rider. The big Harley is of the old school. It is large, it is bright, it is loud and it is commanding. The fact that many motorcycle policemen ride Harleys is significant: On the road or parked by the curb, it demands—and receives—your undivided attention.

Harleys are extremely popular. The company sells as many machines as it can make; and at the $1850 price the luxury model Sportster pictured on page 129 fetches, that's something for the competition to ponder. The Harley has a solid reputation, and one reason for this is the solid way it's built: Engine, frame and parts are constructed of the highest quality materials.

The design of the machine is proof positive of Harley-Davidson's sincere dedication to tradition, for it has changed little over the years. But this adds a certain charisma to the marque, for a distinguished pedigree is just as appealing to motorcyclists as it is to social climbers. While it may be true that the Harley owner would be well advised to know how to tune the carburetor, if he is the sort of man who has chosen the Sportster, it's likely he'll be more than willing to put up with such small demands. Whatever else the machine lacks, it repays the rider with an overpowering sensation of prestige, presence and majesty.

The fact is that the Harley Sportster XLH is fast, at least compared with most motorcycles; and, more important, it gives the rider an unmistakable impression that his machine is as powerful as a locomotive. The roar of its engine, 55 cubes strong (and brought to life by a poke at the electric starter—a nice luxury touch), the bone-tingling vibration of the big-twin at high revs, the powerful torque that makes you think it could pull an aircraft carrier into dry dock (and lets you cruise at highway speeds all day, while the engine chunks easily along)—these are the trademarks of the Harley.

(continued on page 272)Vroom at the Top(continued from page 130)

Let's leave the traditional and leap forward to the year 2000. If there's anything resembling individual motorized transportation, and any room for it to run in, you can be sure it will resemble the Kawasaki Mach III. This machine is a mind bomb. It is probably the fastest accelerating motorcycle ever sold to the public, as it will go from 0 to 60 in only four seconds. The heart of the 382-pound vehicle is a 500-c.c. engine that puts out 60 hp. This power-to-weight ratio enables the Kawasaki Mach III to be both powerful and nimble and, while most high-powered mounts tend to be heavy and large, the Kawasaki is amazingly compact—except for the wide engine width. Down beneath the engine cover, you'll find such goodies as an electronic ignition that incorporates such futuristic devices as a signal generator and capacitor discharge system, thus eliminating sparkplug fouling (a bugaboo in some of the other two-stroke engines). The Kawasaki, too, is so smooth you think you're riding a turbine. But when you turn the throttle up, be prepared to launch the front wheel into the air: Treat it mean and it will treat you mean. It's a machine for the man who delights in excellence of engineering and who believes that two-stroke engines, for all practical purposes, are better than four-stroke ones. (This, incidentally, is a bone of contention to those who think two-strokes should be hitched to lawn mowers and model airplanes and to whom the sound of a four-stroke is the voice of the Almighty.)

The Kawasaki Mach III is the most advanced of the two-strokes. The company consulted with a Detroit stylist on the lines of the machine, which are more streamlined than most Japanese makes. It is held together by a twin-loop cradle frame that keeps all the power aimed toward the pavement, and it has a four-gallon gas tank, which is handy, since, like all two-strokes, the Kawasaki is gas thirsty. But for a price of just under $11000, you're still dollars ahead of the competition.

Another hard charger in this class is the Suzuki 500, which also sells for just under $1000. The product of a highly diversified Japanese automotive firm, it is one of the largest two-strokes ever built in a twin-cylinder design. Suzuki turns out small trucks and cars that are famous throughout Asia; it tangled long ago with the difficulties involved in building large-sized two-stroke engines, attempting to overcome the problem of extreme heat build-up in large-capacity cylinders (the two-stroke engine fires every stroke, and thus builds up more heat than a four-stroke one). Careful research in metallurgy and an advanced design (derived in part from Suzuki's world-championship Grand Prix road racers of several years back) aimed to provide plenty of power, plus reliability. The machine, too, is extremely quiet, a feature you'll enjoy when covering many miles at a time.

The British appreciate speed. "What's more, their real pleasure is controlled speed, whether it be exhibited by someone such as Graham Hill negotiating the Monte Carlo streets in a Formula I Lotus, Phil Read lapping the bumpy Isle of Man motorcycle course at 100 miles an hour on a 250-c.c. Yamaha or a London banker out for the weekend with his bird on his BSA Rocket 3.

All the decades of British riding and racing traditions are reflected in the new Rocket 3. It goes fast, it stops fast, it handles like a dream—and it's the most advanced motorcycle to come out of England in a generation. The "Beezar" houses a transverse three-cylinder overhead-valve engine that strongly resembles earlier twins (push-rod design and all), but with an important difference: The extra cylinder adds extra smoothness and punch to the already powerful engine. And what a jet it is. The Birmingham Small Arms people have built a big gun: It sounds like a World War Two dive bomber, or at least a racing Porsche, when you rev it up. It will run about 120 mph, safely, and seems to like it: The faster you go, the steadier it feels. This is a motorcycle built for motorcyclists.

The seasoned cyclist is the only one who can really appreciate such a machine. It is harder to ride than some of the other luxury bikes: The clutch is stiff and so is the transmission. And again, like a fast airplane, it takes somebody really driving it. It takes an experienced motorcyclist to tend to its needs, too; for, like much precision machinery, it is finicky and inclined to occasional ailments. But the experienced, dedicated cyclist accepts this as a trivial price to pay for riding a magnificent machine that behaves perfectly under the most trying conditions. If you buy one, you'll undoubtedly ride it hard and lean over in the turns until the horizon is bouncing along at a crazy angle and the foot pegs are dragging. You'll probably carry a date who digs that kind of riding, and you won't mind spending a couple of hours each week cleaning up this sleek mount and making minor adjustments.

The BSA is high spirited enough to demand skill and confidence from its rider. It is a very heavy motorcycle, for one thing, and it is large (though there is no impression of weight at speed). The styling, too, is out of the ordinary. The dazzling gas tank, the Flash Gordon—style pipes—its looks either turn you on or put you off; but the machine cannot fail to fascinate anyone who gazes on it.

The BSA Rocket 3 sells for about $1750 and, if you're not careful, it will cost you that much in speeding tickets the first year.

The Triumph Trident is the soul sister of the big Beezar. This three-cylinder machine has won scores of road races in America and abroad, often beating larger, race-prepared machinery. It has also just set a new speed record by running 800 miles down the autobahn at 90 mph, threading its way among trucks, buses and sleek Mercedes. Invest about $1750 and a stout heart and you, too, can have fun like this.

Another hot big-twin is the Norton Commando 750S, the newest pride of one of England's oldest companies in motorcycling. Its powerful engine has been redesigned for strength, to correct problems caused by overzealous acceleration nuts intent on nailing it to 60 in 4.8 seconds. (The engine is now mounted on rubber for smoothness, and rides in a lighter machine, thanks to a handsome sculpted fiberglass gas tank, slim racing-type forks and a completely redesigned frame.) Ease out the car-type diaphragm clutch, wind on the power and you'll see what your $1479 went for.

Italy's contribution to this luxury class is the Benelli Tornado 650, a big machine that combines features found in their famous Grand Prix raters with a practical road design. It is the only big-twin with a five-speed gearbox and it has race-bred handling familiar in all Italian bikes (rough, narrow roads in the homeland inspire poise in such machinery). Benelli is one of Europe's most established motorcycle companies and one of the sources of the Tornado is J. C. Penney in this country. You can see one just over there behind the dry goods, sir. The price is about $1400.

A good indication of the direction in which things are going in motorcycling is the proliferation of exotic road models that were never seen during those lean and careful years before Honda and other Japanese manufacturers pulled the switch and started the cycling boom of the Sixties. While Honda, to some people, is synonymous with little motorbikes, the company initially established its reputation by stacking up scores of wins in Grand Prix motorcycle road races in Europe and reigning as world champion for many years. And now the basic motorcycle engine used for those racing bikes—a transverse four-cylinder overhead-camshaft high-rpm engine—has been incorporated into the biggest and most powerful Honda ever built for the public, the Honda Four 750.

Hondas have always been nimble, fast, oiltight and very reliable. They have also been fairly cheap (compared with European or American models). But until recently, Honda has moved cautiously in the big-bike market, preferring to make its reputation and profits with a line of small motorcycles that went almost as fast and as far as big models. Now it's come out with the Honda Four 750, a big one that will outaccelerate and outperform just about any other machine you can buy. It is also exceedingly smooth and easy to ride: a motorcycle for engineers, for artists, for executives, for anyone who demands great beauty and perfection in a machine. Standing still, it looks like it's doing a hundred.

And it's not just aesthetically sound: Engineers familiar with the intricate mysteries of such matters as gas flow, piston speed and valve actuation marvel at the Honda. This big four with a 750-c.c. engine will wind up to 8000 rpm free and easy, and will propel the rider and his girl up to highway speeds in scant seconds. It's also nice to know that it sports a disk brake in front, to bring it down as rapidly as it winds up, an ultra-advanced twin-loop cradle frame and an electric starter to stir it up in the morning. The Honda 750's sonic trademark is the same distinctive high-pitched, hollow howl that spectators at the Isle of Man race can identify from several miles away.

The 750 offers a certain kind of fun without danger: Here's how to play like a factory road racer without taking the risks he must. Ride your machine up some twisty secondary road, such as the climb toward Yosemite or Sequoia National Park, on a Saturday morning. Don't go too fast, but just listen to the engine, watch the tach, feel the machine surge and pause as you shift it from gear to gear and swoop steadily around the turns.

The new Honda Four 750 will probably sell for $1495 delivered; and when they become available in any decent numbers, there should be a mad stampede to dealers.

Two Japanese twin-cylinder machines that propose to give the Honda 750 a good run are the Kawasaki 650 W2SS and the new Yamaha 650. The big Kawasaki is an overhead-valve design that puts out over 50 hp; it is equally at home doing 2500 or 7000 rpm. The machine also sports a twin-loop cradle frame and handles as keenly as a breeze. Take it home for $1250.

The Yamaha 650, available about next January, will have niceties unknown on many machines its size: geared primary drive, five-speed transmission, single-overhead-camshaft valve actuation and sports-car-style vacuum-advance carburetors that add up to over 50 hp responding smoothly at any rpm or throttle opening. It is Yamaha's only four-cycle machine, and when you spot one, you will know somebody is touring par excellence. There's no price on it yet.

Imagine a motorcycle shaped by the ultimate in your fantasies, your desires, without regard to complexity or cost. What strange beast would emerge? The Mammoth, never thought of in terms of mass appeal or limits of cost. Friedel Munch is a man with such a mind. He is a German engineer who set out, quite simply, to build the best motorcycle in the world, without regard to price or manufacturing conditions. And he may have done it.

The heart of the Munch Mammoth is a four-cylinder, air-cooled alloy car engine, built by NSU of Germany for their compact sedan. (NSU built motorcycles for many years, incidentally, and the proof of the essential soundness of their design is the strong NSU flavor in most early Hondas.) The Mammoth packs 80 hp, more than enough to satisfy the most demanding speed enthusiast, yet the machine can cruise smoothly at slower rates: The sound and the feel are not unlike those of a swift sports car.

The aesthetic execution of the Mammoth is a fantasy trip in itself. It is not beautiful nor is it graceful. You sit on it; below and ahead is a giant mass of engine jutting wide from both sides of the machine. A huge, humpbacked gas tank, sculpted and tall, blossoms over the engine. The gas tank has extensive hand tooling and the engine has exorbitant aluminum and magnesium castings and difficult machinings. The rear wheel is equally unusual: It is cast of magnesium, with huge vaned spokes projecting out from the brake to the rim. The front wheel has a giant road-racing brake nesting in it. Not only will this thing go but it will stop: Squeeze it too hard and it will wrinkle up the pavement.

The guy who buys a Mammoth is also a special breed. He may have a Lamborghini Miura that he drives down Wilshire Boulevard at 22 mph or he may own a Hasselblad camera that he uses only on sunny days. For, in truth, the Mammoth is the most audacious and expensive toy in motorcycling. It is large and heavy and it can be a bear to handle at low speeds. It behaves decently only out on the highway, where its weight and extreme girth don't hinder it.

The distinct advantage to owning a Mammoth is this: There is no chance—absolutely none—that anyone will confuse this machine with anything else, the main reason being that this easily identifiable Hying object costs $4000, and that will keep all the kids in the neighborhood from owning one.

There is presently a strong scent of money in the motorcycle business; thus, the proliferation of luxury machines. The implicit promise of an ever-booming market, solid and stable, is what has compelled manufacturers in America, Europe and Japan to make the heavy investment in research and development and—more important—to decide to market to the motorcycling public such exquisite beauties as the ones pictured and discussed here. But what's next? If, indeed, these motorcycles represent a contemporary high point in engineering thought and design, what can the future hold for the affluent, eager cyclist?

Plenty. How does the idea of a turbine-engine motorcycle grab you? The turbine is light, it is compact, it can put out plenty of power and it is ultrasmooth. If it can stun them at Indy, why can't it intrigue them at Kawasaki?

How about a rotary-engine motorcycle? The Wankel engine is also a light and powerful unit and it could very well find its way into production motorcycles. And if you let your imagination burst, how about an atomic-powered motorcycle? Just wind the throttle on and zoom away in total, eerie silence. Or how about an anti-gravitational machine, propelled by force fields and using its wheels only for balance and guidance functions?

But back in the here and now, the supercycles we've covered in word and photo should keep you rolling along urban boulevards and country byways in high style, with copious amounts of power and prestige right at your finger tips.