Playbikes

Last winter, when Chicago was buried under some 80-odd inches of snow and the Playboy staff was suffering from terminal cabin fever, our Managing Editor came up with a mercy mission: Go out to California and ride some dirt bikes. On the day we tested the machines, there was a 100-degree temperature difference between where we were and Chicago: It may have affected our judgment. We had wanted to get as far from home as possible, to locate the totally elsewhere. We succeeded. But then, that's the reason these bikes were invented. Four-stroke, single-cylinder playbikes have a long tradition: The old English BSA Victor and the larger Gold Star were massive chargers that totally ignored terrain. If you didn't like the road you were on, or where it was taking you, you simply turned left. Through a fence or over a stone wall. Up a fire road. Down a dry creek bed. The phallic single-cylinder engine had enough torque to get you through anything. If you didn't have enough power to get up the hill, you simply twisted the throttle and spun your rear wheel until there wasn't a hill. On/off-road bikes were for the impulsive adventurer, the "Don't fence me in" outlaw. The upper class had its fox hunts and thoroughbred jumpers; the working class had its four-strokes.

The four-stroke single fell out of favor for a few years as Japanese two-strokes entered the field of dirt bikes. The people who race motocross or enduro bikes like to live on the edge: Two-stroke engines are peaky--putting out most of their power just this side of red-line. The riding technique is simple--crank it on and fly. The combination of high rpms with knobby dirt tires is effective; indeed, it's not unlike putting a front wheel and handle bars on a circular saw. Most state governments view dirt riders as maniacs and have acted accordingly, confining the activity to special parks and tracks. So much for spontaneity. Before you can haul ass, you have to haul your bike in a trailer or a van. That can get expensive.

Weekend range riders needed a more sedate bike, one that you could put on a side stand and let idle while you opened a cattle gate, or took off your date's clothes. Two years ago, Yamaha introduced an update of the classic BSA Gold Star--called the XT500F--a power sled that could take you through "hill or high water." Suzuki followed with the medium-sized SP370. This year, Kawasaki supplied the market with a simple but effective 250 and Honda pulled out the technological stops to create a truly modern 500. The bikes are street-legal versions of tougher race-tested enduro models, a compromise between the civilized and the competitive. They've got the necessary extras--turn signals, mirrors, headlights, and the like--but they've also got balls. You can use them for errands or for serious business.

Off-road riding is a challenge: Your body has to make 300 physical decisions a minute as you negotiate a line through natural and man-made obstacles. The demands being made on your reaction time and balance turn your body into an adrenaline pump: The only comparable sport is downhill skiing. (It is not accidental that America's top two skiers--Phil and Steve Mahre--spend their summers keeping in shape by riding dirt bikes.) In skiing, you choose your line down the mountain. In motorcycling, you can go in both directions.

We photographed the bikes at Pismo Beach, California, a small town that most people bypass on their way to the better-known rush of Big Sur. Pismo Beach has a ten-mile stretch of flat sand, where the powers-that-be have set aside a national clam preserve. During clam-digging season, people haul a couple of thousand tons of bivalves back to their RV stoves. Most of the tourist never bother to leave the beach and so miss the sand dunes that stretch for miles inland.

The Playboy Light Panzer Division did it all. Steve Holladay, the pro rider we used as a model, took the Honda 500. He normally rides a 250-- well enough to win the Baja 500 twice and, for a chaser, the Baja 1000. That's 2000 miles of largely unwitnessed excellence. For fooling around, he prefers the feel of a 500. Watching him work out--pulling wheelies on the crests of sand dunes or jumping the small cliffs that form on the inland side--was like watching Baryshnikov dance. The Honda, with its oversized front tire and special tread design, was exceptionally sure-footed. Later, Holladay put a friend on the back and rode off into the sunset. In California, when you ride into the sunset, it's a very short ride. The Honda took to the surf without second thought.

The Yamaha XT500F shared power honors with the Honda. In practice, a 500 and a 250 have the same top speed in the dirt (you're going to go only so fast before your instinct for survival cuts in). The benefit comes from the engine's low-end torque. We put a ladyfriend on the back of the Yamaha and started carving turns on the flanks of dunes. It was a lazy day of cruising, discovering hidden lakes and an occasional rusted truck half buried in the sand.

The 500s are heavy (in the sense of intimidating) machines. The Kawasaki KL250-A2 and the Suzuki SP370 sacrifice a touch of horsepower for a light, frisky feel that is pure delight. We kept finding excuses to take the two bikes out--from hauling photographers' assistants back to the truck for more film to sending one of the girls out for some vintage Gatorade.

By the end of the day, we were sure of one thing: Dirt riding is addictive. Any of the four bikes we tested is capable of supplying a fix. Not wanting to go cold turkey once we got back to Chicago, we investigated ways of begging, borrowing or renting bikes. It turns out that most resorts have rent-a-cycle outfits that carry street-legal dirt bikes. (Perhaps they figure that a novice out for the first time is just as likely to be off the road as on the road.) Keep it in mind next time you're suffering from cabin fever. We guarantee that one day in the saddle will burn out all the cobwebs.