RIDER's CRAMP™

Triumph Sets Bonneville Speed Records (one record on a Bonneville!)

2009-09-21T11:45:00.006-04:00

ATLANTA (September 15, 2009) – Five new world land speed records have been set on Triumph motorcycles during the 2009 BUB Bonneville Speed Trials at the world famous Bonneville Salt Flats. British racing journalist Alan Cathcart of Denemoore, Claverdon, UK, teamed up with South Bay Triumph owner Matt Capri of Lomita, California to set the records with the iconic British motorcycle at its namesake race course.

Cathcart rode a street-legal Triumph Thruxton that was prepared by Capri to three records in the FIM’s 1000cc Normally-Aspirated Twin-Cylinder Unstreamlined class. The duo set new two-way FIM World Records for the flying mile at 152.678 mph and the flying kilometer at 152.770 mph as well as a best one-way speed of 153.150 mph.

Cathcart also rode Capri’s turbocharged South Bay Triumph Bonneville to two more FIM World Records for the 1000cc Forced Induction Twin-Cylinder Unstreamlined class by turning in a two-way speed of 165.405 mph for the flying mile and 165.672 mph for the flying kilometer. The bike’s best one-way speed was 171.624 mph. The mile speed also qualifies for a new AMA record.

“We’ve been coming to Bonneville since 2007 in preparation for this, the Bonneville model’s 50th birthday year,” said Cathcart. “Breaking the 150 mph barrier with the standard bike was always our main objective, and when the FIM established the new Twin-Cylinder category for Speed Records, it was great that we could claim official World Records by doing so. Matt Capri is a genius when it comes to tuning bikes for the Salt, at 4,400 feet in altitude. To set two more World marks with the Turbo, which he’s developed almost as an afterthought and has spent very little time on, is just the icing on the cake. For sure this is a 180 mph-plus motorcycle with more development in its present naked guise, and with a fairing it’ll go much faster. Maybe we’ll be back next year to try to join the 200 MPH Club with it!”

“Triumph Motorcycles wants to congratulate Alan and Matt for their success in setting five new land speed records at the Bonneville Salt Flats,” said Jim Callahan, North American Marketing Manager for Triumph Motorcycles. “Setting the records during the Triumph Bonneville’s 50th Anniversary is amazing, and something that will be remembered for quite some time.”

The Triumph Bonneville was born in 1959 to recognize Johnny Allen’s land speed records at the Bonneville Salt Flats. The Triumph Bonneville was an instant hit in America and the UK, and 50 years later continues to be one of Triumph’s most iconic motorcycles. Despite its classic appearance, the new Triumph Bonneville motorcycles feature state-of-the-art design and performance.

While the Bonneville first debuted with a 650cc power plant, an 865cc air-cooled parallel twin engine is the heart and soul of today’s motorcycles. A 360-degree firing order gives the new Bonneville the engine characteristics of a classic twin, while twin balance shafts and state-of-the-art production techniques ensure 21st century refinement and reliability. Ninety percent of peak torque – a healthy 51 ft.lbs. at 5,800rpm – is maintained from around 2,500rpm through to the redline, providing smooth and effortless acceleration through all five gears.

Triumph’s New Big Twin Cruiser Set to Land in June

2009-02-21T09:41:00.007-05:00

TRIUMPH IS NOW TAKING DEPOSITS

FOR THE THUNDERBIRD

The following is the Press Release from Triumph America:

ATLANTA (Feb. 20, 2009) – Triumph has great news for motorcyclists. The new Thunderbird is scheduled to arrive in North America late June, nearly two months ahead of schedule, and Triumph North America is now processing deposits for the first wave of Thunderbirds that will hit the shores.

The Triumph Thunderbird has been designed from the ground up to feature an innovative 1,600cc parallel twin engine, six-speed transmission and 200mm rear tire. The new bike’s namesake first landed on North American shores in 1946 and received rave reviews from motorcyclists for its styling, agility and speed and later appeared alongside Marlon Brando in the blockbuster movie “The Wild One.” The new Thunderbird is a radical departure from its ancestor, but promises to live up to its legacy.

To reserve a new Thunderbird, customers should visit their local Triumph dealer to place a deposit, complete a Reservation Form and have their dealer fax it to Triumph North America. Once the form has been received, Triumph will assign the reservation to the next delivery slot and send a confirmation email to both the customer and the dealer. The email will confirm receipt of the reservation and will indicate the expected month of delivery. As shipments are received from the factory, motorcycles will be sent to the dealers for customers in the order that the reservations were received. The special order program will run until July 1, 2009.

Triumph is air-freighting four prototype Thunderbirds to Daytona (Fla.) Bike Week for display at the Triumph Demo Truck, which will be located at Daytona International Speedway. Daytona Bike Week is scheduled to take place from Feb. 27 to March 8.

“The initial reaction to the Thunderbird has been fantastic,” said Mark Kennedy, CEO of Triumph North America. “We have received countless positive comments from motorcyclists who are ready for a big twin with Triumph’s distinctive parallel twin engine. We think customers will be pleasantly surprised when they see the bike in person.”

The Thunderbird also will be easily customized to meet each rider’s own styling tastes and riding preferences with a long list of Genuine Triumph Accessories that include a long haul touring seat, windshield, passenger back rest, luggage rack and leather saddle bags.

North America has always had a special relationship with Triumph because of the spirit that Triumph represents. Like the motorcycles themselves, people who ride a Triumph tend to be quietly confident and have a distinctive sense of style that never goes out of fashion. Triumph survived bankruptcy in the early 1980s and a devastating fire that destroyed its factory in 2002. Unfazed by the challenges, the company continues to recapture peoples’ hearts and minds as they take to the streets to discover the thrill and enjoyment that only a Triumph motorcycle can provide. Triumph is now one of the world’s fastest growing motorcycle manufacturers in the world.

To find your local Triumph dealer, please visit TriumphMotorcycles.com

Motorcycles for Women

2009-02-12T12:21:00.007-05:00

In this video our buddy, Robert Pandya, the new spokesperson for the International Motorcycle Shows talks about this years motorcycles for women and/or the vertically challenged. This video is part of an ongoing series called "New to 2" highlighting what's new on two wheels.

Awesome triple Vehicle Burnout from New Zealand

2009-01-15T09:08:00.001-05:00

Some folks have just too much time on their hands!

Great Viral Vids for the Honda Fury

2009-01-13T10:05:00.002-05:00

Honda Cancels Honda Hoot Rally

2008-12-24T13:05:00.003-05:00

Following is the Honda Press Release:

Honda Hoot 2009 Canceled Due to Economic Uncertainty

12/19/08 Torrance, CA: American Honda announced today that the 2008 Honda Hoot will bring to a close 15 years of what has been one of the most successful motorcycle rallies in history. Over the years, almost a quarter of a million guests attended the Honda Hoot which was born in the hills of Ashville North Carolina and eventually moved to Knoxville, Tennessee. At the first event, a little over 3000 attendees enjoyed what would grow to become one of the largest rallies in North America

The Hoot set new precedence for what a motorcycle rally should be, offering not only a wonderful opportunity to test ride new products but also focusing on family fun and growing the industry from the ground up. Based on the current economic crunch which may have significant impact on our customers during 2009, American Honda will take this time to seek out new and innovative ways to engage with our customers so that we can continue to ride together.

American Honda extends our deepest gratitude to the more than 1,300 volunteers who helped make the Honda Hoot a success and to all our event sponsors, to our two host cities, Knoxville, Tennessee and Asheville, North Carolina, and especially to all the good people who helped make the Hoot such a great event.

New TERMINATOR Movie Features Cyborg Motorcycles!

2008-12-12T09:35:00.008-05:00

In the latest and forth installment of the immensely popular Terminator series of films the bad guys have a new weapon: Moto-Terminators!

The Moto-Terminators are part cyborg and part motorcycle killing machines. The bikes have machine guns which rotate to act as a counter-balance when the bike leans.

Watch for the bikes 45 seconds into the trailer (below).

This latest installment of the Terminator series is set to debut May 22, 2009 and stars Christian Bale as John Connor, fighting against Skynet after a nuclear holocaust.

" I Need a Soundtrack" or "I Can Load This Bike in Dead Silence!"

2008-08-21T17:21:00.005-04:00

I shot this video for Lee Parks to use as a demo in his booth at assorted motorcycle shows but he never recorded the voiceover/soundtrack! Regardless, the Condor Motorcycle Hitch sure makes loading a bike easy - as 105 lb. Ashley demonstrates.

Complete Idiots Building and Riding Bikes

2006-10-01T11:04:00.001-04:00

Book Reviews

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Choppers
By Russ Austin and Michael Benson
Alpha Books
Penguin Book Publishing
ISBN #1-59257-452-1

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Motorcycles
By Darwin Holmstrom and Charles Everitt
Alpha Books
Penguin Book Publishing
ISBN #1-59257-303-7

That’s just what we need, more Idiots on motorcycles

When The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Motorcycles (3rd Edition) crossed my desk I heard a collective groan, “That’s just what we need, more Idiots on motorcycles.” Upon reading, I discovered that it was singularly the best basic guide ever published on the sport. Motorcyclist magazine alumnus Darwin Holmstrom and editor Charles Everitt had created a textbook that should be required reading for anyone thinking about standing near a motorcycle, let alone riding one. But thanks to the title all I could see was a wave of Idiots on gleaming new motorcycles heading right for me.

So you can imagine my dismay when I opened an envelope on my desk to reveal a copy of the newly minted: The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Choppers.

Now understand that I’ve no qualm with choppers. In fact I think they’re cool. Very cool! And don’t feed me any handling, braking, ride-ability crap about them. The thing is that a Chopper is supposed to look cool. That’s its main job. Coolness is Number One! All else is superfluous. Besides, every motorcycle on the market is more motorcycle than any of us really need so why not have a cool one?

As for Idiots it’s no secret; we all know a few, and we all are a few. A psychology exploited in marketing philosophy of The Complete Idiot’s Guide series. The CIG’s savvy publishers have developed a style and that simplifies learning regardless of your own personal level of idiocy. Information is presented in small chunks with the most basic details first and later more advanced information is piled on. All the time cleverly disguised footnotes salted throughout the text act as mnemonics.

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Choppers was written by Russ Austin, a custom builder and owner of Precious Metals Customs in Atlanta along with Michael Benson, a former car magazine editor and professional CIG writer. The duo do a fair job of explaining all the pitfalls and warning of the pratfalls involved with chopper building, buying and maintaining with a couple of secret handshake moments thrown in for good measure.

Austin’s warnings to the neophyte builder are born of his own sweat and scars which he makes abundantly clear, and at the same time he makes no bones about promoting his shop, private brand parts and personal philosophy which causes a large part of the book to read like a sales brochure. Not to be seen as all ego Austin does come clean on the source of his inspiration, necessity, admitting that his signature style of fender-free choppers was born of a painter who failed to deliver a fender in time for his first bike showing. He quickly fabricated a seat bracket and rode to the show sans fender. The crowd loved it, he took home the trophy and has avoided fenders ever since.

Overall, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Choppers provides the chopper-challenged a good platform of basic verbal information but it fails miserably on presentation. The few photographs included are too small to see details, have cluttered backgrounds and poor lighting. The photos in the color section look like the bikes were rolled out of the showroom at high noon for a snapshot then rolled back in. Choppers, especially such unique ones, deserve better. Choppers are the most creative, pictorial and coolest movements in the history of motorcycle culture. Worse, the section on Culture is the smallest in the book which is no surprise as there are pages of descriptions of motorcycles without images and boxes with bike builder biographies devoid of portraits. Such treatment leaves this reader wanting.

Buy this book if you’re admittedly absolutely totally ignorant about choppers, what makes a chopper or makes a chopper rider tick and need to know for some overwhelming reason like keeping up with the boys at the biker bar or avoiding that lost deer-in-the-headlight face when going to a custom bike show. You should also buy this book if you’re planning your first chopper build even if you’re already a top-rate tech because one piece of advice from the Guide will save you hours of cursing and confusion on something you probably never even thought of, which more than justifies the $19.95 cover price.

Now if your chopper desires extend merely to daydreaming and drooling over photos of cool bikes then your twenty bucks is better spent on some glossy custom bike magazines because the photographs are better and there might be partially clad or even totally naked girls in some of them.

Meanwhile,

Ride Far , Ride Fast and Ride Well!

MK.............=o&o>

My First Column for US Rider News!

2006-09-01T10:55:00.001-04:00

I've started writing a monthly column for US Rider News. Here's the first installment (as seen in the September edition):

As is the tradition in enthusiast rags I’ll first thank the El Jefé and his team, for this space to spout my views of motorcycles, motorcyclists, and the motorcycling life.

It’s been over a year since I’ve coughed up moto witticisms on a regular basis. Ya see, I too used to be the publisher of a motorcycle tabloid only mine had a distinct Yankee flavor.

For nearly a decade life was great. I’d earned enough respect to be invited on press introductions and get free goodies to test. I’d also reached the point where I had to pay the government, and get a check back at the end of the year.

Then came the explosion of free moto-rags and I felt the sting of competition. Not in content or quality, as the El Jefe will agree, but in the fact that to stay in business I had to kiss the butt of every dip wad, dork and dimwit inhabiting a motorcycle shop, few of whom even read. And if anyone out there thinks I’m talking about you; You’re wrong! (Unless someone is reading this to you.)

Not that the experience of publishing a moto-rag makes me an expert on motorcycles, I’m just another schmo who spent too much time in the saddle as a rally-rat cum traveler instead of going to work, lavishing my wife with attention or stashing money for retirement.

I do lay claim to having earned my saddle sores with real mileage and I have the proof. On my wall is an award, emblazoned with the logo of a certain brand and a number-300,000 miles-to be precise, which was awarded to me for riding those miles on that brand of motorcycle. Though not specifically mentioned on the aforementioned certificate, I would include; Supporting the service department of their dealers along with a consortium of oil companies, diners, donut shops and the like. What is not mentioned in the adoring calligraphy is the resulting rotator-cuff tendonitis, advanced arthritis in my neck and a cholesterol count that rivals the top end of most speedometers.

Along the way to being a mega-mileage rider I’ve been employed as a certified MSF instructor, which makes me personally responsible for keeping some of the clowns off two wheels and in cages. I’ve volunteered on the Safety Crew of more than one racetrack.

To prove that life does get better as you age - the best gig I’ve had recently was as a Sports Reporter for the New York Times covering the United States MotoGP.

The story began with an email from my buddy in Venice that he’d scored two extra tickets to Laguna Seca Raceway for the MotoGP and assorted other racing events.

This little package wasn’t the only offer to appear. My buddy Lee Parks had rented a booth on Vendor Row at the track to hawk his book, Total Control and all his self-designed trinkets like gloves and helmets refresher spray. Lee had borrowed a fleet of super-scooters for the ride and all I had to do was fly to Cali and help him schlep in exchange for camping and a ride.

I starred in that movie two years ago and ended up on the side of Pacific Coast Highway with a totaled Ultra Glide watching Lee and overload gang blow by like a freight train on crystal meth oblivious to my fate.

While tickets to the races were quite the lure remember that I’ve been suffering from mid-life-outta-work syndrome and unless someone was going to spring for the airfare I was not going to the races.

Meanwhile, in another corner of the Golden State my buddy Mike who suffers from a similar income situation offered a trove of frequent flyer miles in exchange for helping him organize his photo portfolio.

With an airfare “in the bag” I figured that earning a few shekels to cover expenses wouldn’t hurt so I fired an email inquiry to the New York Times and they bit! Journalist friends all inquired as to the pay rate and I replied, “for my first byline in the Times; I’d pay them!”

Now back in the days of my moto-publishing I’d send a three-inch thick “This is what we’ve done for you lately” package overnight to Spain begging for credentials. Last year, they decided no credentials would be issued to free magazines.

The New York Times got me full access and the name got me 10 minutes one-on-one with both Valentino Rossi and Nicky Hayden!

Meanwhile Mike waffled on booking my airfare as the Times confirmed the assignment so my wife dusted off the emergency plastic and I got on the Net.

You can read about the races elsewhere in this issue.

Oh, and that’s how I got here. See ya next month.

Ride well, ride far and ride fast!

MK…………………=o&o>

I write for the New York Times!

2006-07-25T13:10:00.001-04:00

Portland OR, Yamaha Starliner Press Intro

2005-11-12T17:24:00.000-05:00

In September I attended the Press Launch of the new (Yamaha) Star Stratoliner. Here's some video I shot on the ride from downtown Portland to the Hood River bridge. (8:21 mins, 31Mb).

All text, photos and video©mark kalan and may not be reproduced.

MotoGP Podcast

2005-11-09T09:23:00.000-05:00

You've got to check out Bob Hayes' podcast called MotoGPod on motorcycle racing. (Click here or on the logo for the site.) Bob's has a professional quality voice and produces an entertaining show. While he admits to not being an expert on all aspects of racing he does do his homework. The man puts the wind back into being a Fan. It will be interesting to see what he comes up with now that the '05 season has ended. BTW-You don't need an iPod, just the ablity to download and listen to an mp3 file.

Here's Bob's description of his program: A podcast for MotoGP and motorcycle road racing. MotoGPod’s primary focus is MotoGP, but we’ll have occasional sidetrips into the world of AMA Superbike, AMA Supersport, AMA Superstock and FIM SBK World Superbike as well. Find out what’s going on in the sport that is the pinnacle of motorsport, motorcycle road racing! New episodes every week and a race wrapup after each race.

Godspeed Christian!

2005-07-20T15:13:00.000-04:00

One of the major points stressed in motorcycle training is “risk management.” Wearing safety gear, riding sober and riding within your limits are all parts of the risk management equation. Regardless of how safety conscious we try to be, there’s always the unknown, the X factor.

On July 15th Christian Neuhauser, the Editor & Publisher of RoadRUNNER magazine was bitten by the X Factor while merging onto HWY 40 near his home in NC. I haven’t heard a final verdict on the cause but instead of merging into traffic, his sidecar rig merged into a tractor trailer truck, at speed. The ensuing accident blocked traffic for 40 hours. Christian was the only fatality.

I've had the pleasure of riding, racing, dining, laughing and arguing with Christian. Looking back, all those moments were too short and too rare. I'll miss him.

He loved to ride and he loved motorcycles of all kind. He was Austrian born and his readers benefited from his Teutonic need for quality, precision, and the inability to settle for the mundane.

The profession of motorcycle journalism is populated by a small cadre of unique individuals. Underpaid and overworked we don’t complain because we're envied by so many, especially those who are forced to live lives of quiet desperation. For that reason alone magazines like RoadRUNNER are necessary, if only to remind us that there is a light at the end of a tunnel.

When one pays this price for God and Country we deem them martyrs, hold ceremonies and build statues. Motorcyclists, and especially motorcycle journalists, being such a minor portion of the population, never receive recognition in the larger sphere. We become just another highway statistic.

Therefore its up to us riders, and us alone, to keep the flame burning in honor of Christian, those who went before him and those of us destined for a similar fate.

Christian’s remains were returned to Austria for his last ride.
mk.................=o&o>

I score a set Hot 'n Tasty Twins at Rancho Mirage!

2005-05-01T04:31:00.000-04:00

As the jet took off from White Plains Airport I closed my eyes to welcome the sandman. It was barely time to open for business and I'd already spent the last few hours moving at warp speed. Now it was time for the professionals to do their job so I could catch some shut-eye.

The Plan: Fly to Cali for two nights at the exclusive Westin Mission Hills Resort and Spa in Rancho Mirage where I had a date with not one but two hot twins. You might expect that at my age and having been married nearly a quarter-century I'd know better than to drop everything and spend a full day traveling completely across the country just to meet a couple of young twins. Well Bunkie, I may be middle-aged and married but as has been said many times before, "I ain't dead!" Besides I was their guest and they come from a very well respected family that I couldn't refuse. As I fell asleep I figured that at the very best I'd get would be to spend a few hours alone with each one for a quick fondle and grope. I'd just have to ditch the rest of their family. At 30,000 feet I fell asleep visualizing what I was going to do when I finally got to California.

The yellow sign bore a twenty mile-per-hour warning coupled to a squiggly arrow curved more ways than a Coney Island contortionist on a holiday weekend. A train of newly minted silver motorcycles sprouting leather-clad pilots spin by effortlessly at triple that speed. Desert wildflowers lined the road in stripes of yellow, red and blue that shivered in the passing vortex. On the horizon volcanic rock hills glowed red as they bathed in the last rays of sporadic spring sunlight. The entire scene was a breathtaking tableau of man, machine and nature.

In either direction the road offers an mélange of hairpins and switchbacks carved into canyon walls and mountainsides following paths that could only have been dreamed up by a deranged landscaper during a drug-induced joy-ride in a bulldozer. Or by a motorcyclist.

Some roads travel full circle or more as they cling to the canyon walls on an inner spiral only to spin out to the hillside roller-coaster-style with each turn demanding total concentration to negotiate at speed.

I'm part of a small cadre of motorcycle journalists privileged to be riding BMW's latest sport touring twins, the R1200ST and RT. We've just left the tight twisties of Mount Palomar and as we descend the hairpins that open up to sweeping curves with panoramic views of high desert, civilization, and in the distance Rancho Mirage home to the Westin Mission Hills Resort and Spa. I fought the urge to do a 180 and head back to the hills.

My pre-lunch riding hours were spent fondling the R1200RT. Both of these twins represent the latest incarnation of BMW's two-wheeled philosophy. For '05 the engineers added power and shaved weight; the standard formula for going faster and improving handling, and they did it well, increasing power by more than 10% on both bikes and reducing weight on the RT by 70 pounds and the ST by 55 pounds over their respective predecessors.

While I prefer the low bars, lighter weight, sleek profile and altered chassis design of the sporty ST especially for canyon carving, those of you who carry a passenger will find the luxury of the RT as difficult to pass up as it is for others to pass it. From the wind and weather protection of the motorized windscreen to the RT's heated seat and grips this bike is equipped perfectly for early spring temperature changes that occur during a long day's ride. And as darkness falls the new triple H7 headlights with show you the path.

Both bikes instantly rocket to illegal speeds courtesy of BMW's latest re-design of the 4-valve twin 1170cc powerplant that they introduced in 1994. Shaving that speed off when you see the trooper is effortless thanks to servo-assisted brakes with ABS.

The big tech news is the optional ($750) electronic suspension adjustment aka ESA; which allows you to tune the ride to meet your handling desires as easy as it is to change radio stations on the single-CD stereo receiver.

With the day's riding over and all of us flying or riding off in different directions BMW once again proved their command of touring uncharted territory by taking us to dinner at a Caribbean yacht club in the middle of the desert but all I really wanted to do was play with the twins some more.

Where Have All the Titties Gone?

2005-02-28T19:41:00.000-05:00

Perhaps I've only noticed because my wife's been in Amsterdam for a week smoking-up our 401K but I'm beginning to really miss seeing titties. Not only her titties in particular just titties in general. The older I get the more I notice that there are less titties around. There was a time when motorcycle magazines bore myriad mammary. Face it guys, that's why we bought motorcycles in the first place. So we could see titties up close, personal and jiggling. And jiggling titties are the only excuse for riding a hardtail. Face facts; Motorcycling made titties immediately accessible to our testosterone charged hands with the added benefit of providing portability. And if men had teats we'd still be living in caves and eating roots.

"Where have all the titties gone?" you may ask. I haven't a clue but I know where they're not; Wal-Mart. Despite a fresh crop added to the population on a daily basis there are no titties at Wal-Mart. There are no titties anywhere on the shelves of Wal-Mart. There are no titties on the DVDs sold in Wal-Mart. There are no titties on the Compact Discs sold in Wal-Mart. There are no titties on the geriatric greeters, who used to own their own businesses but are now forced to smile at you while at home they skip meals, collect cans, and pinch pennies so they can afford to take a bus to Canada to fill their Prozac, Lipitor and Viagra perscriptions. Most of all, as I'm sure you've figured out, there are no titties in the motorcycle magazines at Wal-Mart.

Iron Horse was the greatest motorcycle magazine on the planet. It didn't matter that their writers could barely construct a complete and proper sentence, that the layout was visually repulsive or that only three companies in the country would advertise in the rag. Iron Horse had two saving graces, possibly the two most important ingredients in motorcycling; Titties and Testicles.

A few decades ago three bikers, one American with a screw loose and two patch holders from the Moscow branch traversed the USSR. The triumvirate tooled through the dreaded Iron Curtain on three antique beater Harleys. During the trip they survived every mechanical malady that machines running magnetos and tube tires could generate.

On a dark and moonless night with only one of three headlights functioning, a feat made possible because of the makeshift jumper cables fastened to it from the one bike with a working generator—itself tethered by similar wiring to the third bike which boasted the only working battery, they came upon a military checkpoint. Secure in the knowledge that if stopped the bikes would never fire up again and they'd be vacationing at a Siberian labor camp they pegged the throttles, stood on the floorboards and blew through the checkpoint WFO smiling and waving. The guards were in such shock that they didn't even lift their weapons.

I read about it in Iron Horse and as I recall, the reason for the trip was so one of the three could visit his girlfriend. They did it for the titties! Titties proudly pictured in Iron Horse magazine. The original Iron Horse has long been out of print although the name is still owned by descendants of the publisher. Rumored to be in gestation thanks to artificial insemination and cash infusion Iron Horse might return*, probably watered down to the consistency of day-old gruel and definitely without the titties. Because Wal-Mart won't sell the rag if its got titties front and centerfold. And Wal-Mart sells more magazines than our politicians have pork barrel projects and tax cuts.

The only American rag running today that could even be compared content-wise to the old Horse is The Horse-Back Street Choppers. You can buy the teat-less wonder at Wal-Mart.

Motorcycle industry analysts bemoan the ageing of our sport's customer base. It seems that every few years we find out that the average rider is about...our age. Which is of course, older than we were when the previous study was done. Motorcycling has no farm team rising through the ranks. Yet according to the Motorcycle Industry Council's most recent Press Release, we sold more than a million motorcycles last year. The last time bike sales numbers were that high three wackos on rat-bikes were riding across the Soviet Republic just to get their hands on a set of titties. Rumors are rolling about that the Big Box stores are quietly buying up franchises for motorcycle dealerships. Some are already practicing by selling cheap Chinese knock-offs. Soon they'll get good at it and titties will be totally eliminated from motorcycling.

Not to worry though, we'll all be able to get minimum-wage jobs with no benefits working as greeters to the Big Box Bike Department and at that point even if we get to see any titties we won't remember what to do about it.

‘Till next month my friends, ride well, ride far, ride fast and remember that you're only as old as the woman you feel.

mk...............=o&o>

*since this was written the original Iron Horse is back. And I maintain my opinions. -mk

First Ride - Yamaha Tour Deluxe

2004-09-15T16:01:00.000-04:00

No market is more segmented than motorcycling. We've got customs, sport, touring, cruising and sport touring to name a few and now, according to Yamaha's research, we've got cruiser touring.

When I look at the research fed to us by the OEMs I can't help but compare the numbers of people riding to the general population because after every marketing presentation I'm sure that there are more people researching motorcycle trends than there are people buying and riding motorcycles. Regardless, new models are spewed out with the regularity that I wish I still had.

My lack of a high-fiber diet aside, the market research reveals that the older we get the more we ride. It sounds logical; empty nest, full wallet, accrued vacation time/retirement and being too crotchety to let anyone tell us that we can't. My translation of Yamaha's charts indicates that we'll enjoy a 33% increase in miles traveled from age 40 to 64. Just what I needed to know! Now I can budget my gasoline expense for the next decade and a half.

The marketing gurus also inform us that the cruiser segment is the fastest growing, up 500% over the last ten years. The research also says that cruiser riders are different than other riders. They want to 'really' feel the torque and they want engines that rev slow enough to count the RPMs at a stoplight without a tachometer yet leave copious amounts of rubber when the light turns green and the throttle is twisted. Additionally cruiser riders also like to bolt on lots of chromium goodies then buy lots of stuff that lets them wear their marques on their sleeves.

Yamaha's latest segment-chasing machine is the 2005 Road Star Tour Deluxe, a supposed one-bike solution for multi-segment riding, boulevard cruising and touring.

Load up the matching bags, top off the 5.3-gallon tank, fold down the floating passenger floorboards for your better half's heels and hit the highway. Later you can pull off the windscreen and backrest and you're ready for styling down Main Street.

The 1298cc liquid cooled DOHC (counterbalanced) v-four is tuned for true cruising-style laid-back performance, which belies the available power of the 98 ponies stashed inside. The beast is fed by a 32mm Mikuni carb with heated throttle body and puts the power to the road through a 5-speed gearbox and shaft-drive.

If your destination is less that 200 miles away and you've got an iron bladder you'll get there non-stop in luxury style and comfort. Air-adjustable suspension, plush saddle, bar end weights and the floating floorboards see to that.

Settle into your motel then strip her down. (I'm talking the bike; but you do whatever you see fit for the moment.) You'll find that the backrest, which kept your honey's butt from polishing the fender, pops off with ease ditto for the windshield.

In fact the latch mechanism on the windscreen wins my vote for the best innovation. During a previous incarnation as a Rally Rat I rode a bike equipped with a large Plexiglas barn door of a fairing, the mail-order variety. It claimed to be removable and was, at the expense of large chunks of epidermal tissue of the finger and knuckle variety and a little blood. Yamaha's latch is fit, smooth, easy to operate, logically located and positive locking.

Yamaha offers a lined case for the fairing but it's an accessory. As a former detachable owner I offer some advice; you need this bag! Large disembodied motorcycle parts attract objects that scratch. The chain on your wallet, the doorplate to the hotel room, the jack handle in your trunk, need I go on? If you buy the bike buy the bag or at least argue the dealer into tossing it in to close the sale. Years from now you'll thank me, each and every time you polish its scratch-free surface.

I had my first look at the Deluxe in Charlottesville Virginia at the historic Boar's Head Inn on the University of Virginia campus, which happens to be a stone's throw from the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Boar's Head Inn is a typical media launch location, interesting surroundings, great roads and luxurious comfort. Everything needed to distract a journalist from the job at hand.

Regardless of the specs or marketing savvy it's the bike that offers the last word. It's my job is to listen to the bike, to really see what the bike has to say, despite the corrosive influences of plush hotels, bottomless bar tabs, waitresses from a Warren Zevon fantasy and seamless ribbons of asphalt.

Morning arrived and after breakfast all us jaded journalists met at the Yamaha trailer for a rider's meeting. First thing that the 2005 Road Star Tour Deluxe said to me was, "I'm fat!" And the next thing I heard was our photographer barking orders. Which resulted in me spending the next four hours riding the same turns over and over and...

But as it turns out, that's the best way to test a machine. I learned the turns then tried to see how far I could push the bike's envelope.

After the first photo session I tossed the windscreen in to the photo van and the same for the backrest. They just weren't necessary for the local roads we were on.

I gotta tell ya', she may be fat but she's got a great personality. I rode her cruising style, hot-rod style and hooligan style yet she gripped each corner and purred as I twisted the throttle, happy to be in the wind.

As our little cadre of hooligans terrorized the secondary roads surrounding Boar's Head Inn and Blue Ridge Parkway the true colors of the Tour Deluxe emerged.
With a wheelbase of 67 plus inches, shaft drive and a 150/90 15-inch rear tire, highway travel is a cakewalk and the cruise control (standard equipment) is the icing. The gear ratios in fourth and fifth are designed in the overdrive category allowing highway speeds at low RPMs, which adds a thumping cruiser feel to hypersonic speeds. And yes-this puppy can cost you a license if you don't pay attention.

The clutch is hydraulic, adding to the smooth feel of the machine and complimenting the constant-mesh gearbox.

Yamaha's cruiser mantra: Style, Personalization, Performance is evident in the Tour Deluxe. There are enough dedicated accessories available to choke a credit card statement. Over one hundred Official Yamaha Accessories were designed along with the bike from solo seat rails to fender tips and billet floorboards to billet mirrors to stainless hydraulic lines. And undoubtedly there's more to come.

I'd like to see a tachometer that compliments the retro-design of the dash, not that you even need a tach, just keep the motor running slow enough to hear it. The Tour Deluxe offers comfort though not unequalled comfort. She tracks respectably for a heavyweight cruiser and there's certainly enough power but the only outstanding grace is the removable fairing and backrest.

The Deluxe isn't the jack-of-all-trades as no-doubt the marketing materials will expound; its got a definite purpose, a purpose as singular as a dirt-bike or race-bike. It's a long and short of it bike; lock on the fairing and load up the luggage with wife/girlfriend/poodle and head for parts unknown. Later, with you're brood safely nestled in suite 109 at Camp Ramada or the Holiday Caves, unlatch the fairing, lose the backrest, rent the luggage out to an immigrant family and hit the local biker haunts. You won't be disappointed, just remember to buy the fairing bag. Which, as I said before, should be included despite the respectable $13,999 asking price (which includes a five-year unlimited mileage warranty and 24 hour roadside assistance plan).

The 2005 Yamaha Road Star Tour Deluxe should be in showrooms by the time you read this but a really neat exercise would be to sign on to Yamaha's website and build yours first in virtual reality.

Fear & Loathing: Laguna 2004

2004-09-01T00:10:00.000-04:00

Fear & Loathing in Laguna Seca

When the road is your religion the racetrack is your temple and Mazda Laguna Seca Raceway is one of the most challenging and pictorial internal combustion cathedrals in the country. My first visit was last year and I was hooked before I rode through the gate.

Superbike weekend in Laguna has become the annual ritual for west coast sportbike culture. It’s really the only true sportbike event in the country. If you can imagine Daytona Bike Week crossed with Laconia Race and Rally Week in weather, topography and racing, then squeezed out 98% of the cruisers and dropped the entire wad in northern California, you might get an idea of what Laguna Seca is.

Much like the beginnings of Daytona, which started with races down the beach and around town, Laguna Seca’s roots follow a similar pattern albeit almost two decades later.

The books of the Sports Car Racing Association of the Monterey Peninsula (SCRAMP) opened on November 1, 1956 as a non-profit group who’s mission is to “benefit local charitable and non-profit organizations and to promote the economic vitality of Monterey through motorsports events.” The group leased Fort Ord land from the Army, built the track and staged its first race on November 9, 1957, a little over a year since its inception.

According to the Laguna website, events at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca have generated more than $1 billion in revenue for area businesses, while providing over $10 million for more than 100 charitable and civic groups.

Currently SCRAMP is trying to build a walkway and terrace outside the famous “Corkscrew”, a spot popular with the fans because of the views, most of the bikes get some air. Rich Oliver was famous for tossing his equipment to the fans on the corkscrew after he won a race. A tradition maintained by the younger racers, such as Jamie Hacking and others who tossed knee sliders to the fans throughout the weekend.

The 2.38-mile track with eleven turns is nestled in the hills of the outside of Monterey. This is the land that was the inspiration for John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden” and “Cannery Row.” You can still visit many of the places and buildings he mentions in his books, like the bordello in East of Eden or Doc’s Laboratory in Cannery Row.

Because he wrote about real towns-people (and not always in pleasant situations) Steinbeck was treated about as well as visiting scooter-trash of that era. He found that he couldn’t rent an office and was harassed by the wartime rations board over buying fuel and firewood, so he moved to New York.

The historic canneries, once occupied by Steinbeck’s characters, have been replaced by expensive spas and hotels, the details of where they stand now merely footnotes, their memory preserved in old photographs.

Things had changed by 1956, when the track was under construction; his hometown of Salinas contemplated naming the North Salinas High School after him. Steinbeck wrote a now-famous letter opposing the idea, “If the city of my birth should wish to perpetuate my name clearly but harmlessly, let it name a bowling alley after me or a dog track or even a medium price, low-church brothel; but a school!”

The man could have been a biker.

During Honda Superbike Weekend in Laguna you won’t find rows of posers on Chromo-cruisers but at night on Cannery Row, where sportbike burn-outs are de-rigueur, you’ll find crowds of enthusiasts milling about the restaurants and shops, “kicking tires and tellin’ lies”. This year however, there was a noticeable crackdown by the officials.

Unlike Daytona and Laconia, in Laguna all the real action is at the track. Along with the racing there are a couple miles of ten-by-ten tents with vendors offering everything from helmet deodorant to frozen Waborittas (an alcohol and lime concoction that will freeze your brain from the inside). All the major OEM’s demo trucks with bikes on display are in the infield and Ducati takes over the island, which is aptly dubbed “Ducati Island” for the event.

Unique to California Motorsports, there are the girls, what are you looking for? Just pick a bra size and there’s at least one pair within fifty feet and she’s guaranteed to be wearing tiny clothes, have a flat stomach with a bejeweled navel, an umbrella, and definitely be too young for any of us old codgers.

Which brings me to the great dichotomy of motorcycle racing; as a journalist, official or team member, you’re not allowed in the hot pits or on the track unless you have the correct credentials, you’re wearing a minimum of a t-shirt that covers part of your arms, long pants, and closed shoes. That is, unless you’re a female with an umbrella, at which point you must wear high heels, expose as much skin as possible and smile endlessly for photos with testosterone charged fans (93,000 of them according to the track’s release). So now you know why Laguna was MUST-ATTEND event for us.

City Cycle’s plans for this years pilgrimage began with a seed planted by our Senior Editor, Fred Nemiroff. Fred hadn’t been to Laguna for five years and I was already booked, so we decided to make the ’04 pilgrimage a staff event. Of course anywhere I go becomes a staff event as I’m the only full-time staff member. Later it was decided that we’d turn the ride up into a story by conducting a dual-sport shootout/comparo.

We placed Lee Parks in charge of deciding on, and collecting the motorcycles since his ranch in Victorville would be our embarkation point. At Lee’s relentless insistence BMW provided us with a new R 1200 GS, KTM lent us a very abused 950cc Adventurer and Robert Pandya at Aprilia amazed all by pulling a Caponord out of thin air, at the last minute. Triumph had promised us a Tiger but the unit designated for us wasn’t returned to the press fleet by the major glossy rag (who shall go nameless) that had borrowed it.

Monika Boutwell of Triumph remedied the situation by borrowing another Tiger from a Southern California dealer. The only problem was that it wouldn’t be ready until we were already rolling. However the last member of the tour, Ray Englehardt, was slated to arrive a day later, so we arranged for Ray to pick up the Tiger and meet us at the Blue Sky Lodge in Carmel Valley. (And Ray almost didn’t make it; read CC Staff Member Assaulted on page 31.)

Lee also arranged for us to borrow an Electra-Glide Ultra Classic from the Motor Company’s press fleet. When I asked why, since it didn’t exactly fit the dual-sport category, Lee replied that it was so our two two-up passengers could get a “butt break”. Of course it became my job to pick-up the Harley immediately after my flight landed.

Dawn rose over the desert illuminating a cloudless sky and signaling the time to pack bags, empty bladders and hit the road. Many hours, and a few home-made cappuccinos later our motley caravan snaked out of Victorville, the magnificent seven of us; Lee and Jennifer on the Harley, our attorney, Andy McKinney and his wife Kit on the KTM, then Fred on the Caponord, Stu on his personal Ducati Multi-Strada and myself on the BMW.

We rode through daylight and into the darkness. We swapped bikes then compared information and opinions on them all, even the Harley. We even stopped to shoot some video and pose for still photos. One of the last things we did on the road was vote not to let Lee pick any more restaurants. (Its not that Lee hasn’t got good taste, he just picks lousy places to eat.)
After fourteen hours of twisty canyon roads, twisty hot desert roads, a twisty road that was temporarily closed by fire and one really (glad I packed a sweater) cold highway, no Cop cars, and a couple of terrible meals we arrived at the Blue Sky Lodge, pumped and in love with motorcycling. (Although all us East Coasters were still looking for a good meal.)

For those of you who find yourselves wandering California on two wheels, you’ve got to ride 33 from Ojai to Taft and 58 to 229 to Paso Robles, and if you’re of the Alpine riding ilk, try to set a speed record going up the Laureles Grade into Carmel Valley.

At some time in the wee hours before daylight we finally found the Blue Sky Lodge, checked in and managed some much needed sleep.

The next morning we began, what would become a tradition; terrorizing the new waitress at Margy’s Diner, which is really to only place to have breakfast in the village of Monterey.
The next few days at the track are really a blur, the racing was phenomenal, Jake Zempke on the Erion Honda earned my respect as he had the crowd standing on the seats when he went from the back of the pack (due to an oil leak) to finish on the podium. Short story is that we enjoyed some best racing of the season but before we could exhale it was time to travel home.
The team again met at Margy’s diner in Monterey on Monday morning at 9AM where breakfast mutated into a one-act play entertaining Margy’s staff, her patrons and fellow riders. It was 10:30 by the time we filled our tanks, side-stands were up and we were pointed at Route One. Which is where I decided to see how crash worthy the Ultra Glide was. (Details in my column on page 6, if you haven’t read it yet.)

Having met with the Monterey Sheriff more than once on this trip (thanks to Ray’s incident little fracas), I’d seen enough uniforms by the time they showed up for us, and the Sheriff was followed by the California Highway Patrol, the Fire Department, and the Paramedics, all of them relieved at how minor our injuries were.

We got a ride back to the Big Sur Garage, it was a $100 cab ride to Monterey Airport where I rented a car. The guy at the Hertz counter was a sympathetic biker so I was able to rent a sub-compact and he upgraded me to a Mustang Convertible. When Kit and I loaded all the stuff emptied from the Harley’s luggage I realized that we were overloaded. It all barely fit into the trunk of the Mustang!

We arrived in Victorville at 4am the next day where I had to shower, pack, take Andy and Kit to the Ontario Airport then make a Vespa event in Santa Barbara (more about that next month).

I dreaded making the telephone call to Harley but 9am came around and while I was stuck in stopped traffic on “the 10” I made the call.

“Oh!” exclaimed Gene, Harley’s fleet keeper, trying to make light of the situation, “remove gas cap, install motorcycle and replace gas cap.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we couldn’t find the gas cap.

The Season of the Crash: Laguna '04

2004-09-01T00:01:00.000-04:00

Except for some tense moments on the track, few friends, or even close acquaintances have suffered a serious get-off in almost a decade. Until this season, and I'm afraid that we're not halfway through it yet.

The first, and hopefully the last, City Cycle Crash Test Program was officially inaugurated by Lee Parks while competing in a Supermoto race held at LaGrange Motorsports Park in Victorville California. Lee, a former championship roadracer and incredibly competitive person, was determined to grab a podium finish on his first time out. Hell, he had to; the track is practically in his backyard.

On the last lap after the last turn, in full tuck, doggedly battling for the third place spot, Lee rocketed down the home stretch past the checkered flag only to be surprised by the three bikes in front of him slowing to a crawl. It seems that in his enthusiastic effort for a podium spot Lee forgot that there was no cool-down lap.

Avoiding a four bike pile-up by grabbing too much brake, Lee performed an unintentional yet monumental high-side with a flawlessly executed mid-air flip (witnesses estimated it at over 25 feet) eventually landing flat on his back in the desert sand (and missing a hay bale by inches).

That little gymnastic session earned him some time in never-never land followed by a two-hour ambulance ride to the Loma Linda Trauma Center. While the ER medics diagnosed Lee's mild concussion from an MRI, Lee confirmed it by regurgitating everything he'd eaten that day: a colorful mix of chilidogs with mustard, relish and jalapeño peppers from the Meaner Weiner girls, followed by a few cans of Red Bull. (Not that the contents of my stomach was much different.)

I know this because I was waiting when they rolled Lee in from x-ray sporting a plastic tray on his lap containing said concoction. Dare I say that it was the perfect illustration of losing one's lunch only to have it returned? (Insert groans.)

Fortunately for us Lee is back to his old self, riding, racing and throwing his two cents of advice around (really, every month we send him a check for $0.02). He can't remember his Olympic grade ten-point high-side although he does remember that there is no cool-down lap in Supermoto at LaGrange.

I returned to our New York office from that particular trip to receive dark news of Arthur Coldwells, publisher of the new Robb Report's MotorCycling rag. Arthur was at speed and carving a classic California canyon curve when he collided with a propane truck making an illegal u-turn.

After hearing about the extent of his injuries I was both surprised and relieved to see him at Laguna. He was wearing a big smile despite being scarred, stiff, and limping, proof that his chronic charismatic demeanor had survived both the crash and recovery. Then again, Arthur was enjoying handicapped access privileges-tooling about the venue on a pit bike, courtesy of Honda, which at Laguna is enough to keep a smile on your face and generate envy among the other bipeds.
It was at the track we learned that Mel Moore, our media man at Kawasaki, had crashed on the ride north. Mel was airlifted to the hospital having suffered multiple fractured vertebrae. Kawasaki issued a press release saying that he's alert and resting comfortably. (As we go to press Mel is back home.)

That Saturday night, courtesy of the Motorcycle Industry Council, I was a dinner guest at the Sardine Factory, an upscale restaurant on Cannery Row where I found myself sitting next to Merv (yeah, just "Merv"), Art Director and motorcycle maven at Stuff magazine. A few months back Merv had broken his wrist riding the V-Strom 1000 at a Suzuki media event. I'm happy to report that Merv is just as much fun at dinner as ever and enjoying his newly discovered talent for setting off metal detectors. Still, I had to shelve my compassion because his Frankensteinesque scar is the perfect fashion accessory to generate sympathy from those luscious Stuff models, and Merv is single, young enough to enjoy it, and smart enough to work it.
Closer to home, two friends from the Ramapo Motorcycle Club, Vince and Janice Blehl, were riding on Route 106 in Bear Mountain and lost traction when their rear tire hit a patch of sand. While Vince escaped with a few broken ribs, Janice has a leg up with multiple fractures to the tibia and fibula. Both are recovering at home and planning their next ride.

And finally there's the shiny new Harley-Davidson Electra Glide Ultra, reviewed by Lee Parks in this edition, which I personally wadded up in Big Sur.

I was riding solo on the first leg homeward enjoying BMW's newest 1200cc adventure machine until we made a rest stop in at the Big Sur Village. After draining kidneys and kicking tires with some fellow two-wheeled travelers Lee tapped me on the shoulder and said, "You take the Harley."

Suited and saddled it took a bit of effort to lift the bike off the sidestand so I rolled to a level surface for Kit to climb aboard. Leaving the parking lot the bike felt like it bottomed out but since it was so gentle I wasn't sure, nor did I realize that although Jennifer (Lee's passenger) was petite, Kit was hardly in the anorexic class.

I was happy to leave before the rest of the group because I'd planned on being that much slower. It was one of those glorious riding days; cool, dry weather, unlimited visibility and light traffic. Kit and I got into the rhythm of the turns and the Harley was performing perfectly.

[OK Mom, this is where you can go get another glass of wine, maybe wash down a Valium or two with it...]

We entered a series of esses and as the turns started getting tighter I slowed to a speed far below the digits posted on the yellow signs. Had I been on a sportbike or any of the other rides we had in the stable I could have easily negotiated those turns at close to triple the speed we were at.

I scraped a floorboard, not uncommon in a cruiser, suddenly there was another scrape and I was thrown onto the road. I landed on my right shoulder and slid then rolled across the double yellow and the northbound lane. I saw assorted streaks of black (Kit's BMW denims), yellow (as in double-yellow line) and silver and red (the bike) go past my helmet. At some point the bike flipped over because there were scratches on the top case.

At the scene a Monterrey Sheriff's Deputy said that we "were lucky" that we had our gear on. I found it necessary to explain to him that we ALWAYS wore our gear. "It's not like we flipped a coin and said, "Hey it heads, we wear helmets today." I told him.

While Lady Luck had nothing to do with wearing our safety gear, she must have been around since we didn't meet up with a northbound truck as we slid across the road.
Speaking of helmets, not a scratch on either of ours, and Kit was wearing a BMW Denim riding suit, which took a couple of scuffs without tearing a seam. All she suffered was a poke in the stomach from landing on the handlebar when we went down.
I was wearing a Roadcrafter suit which has since been retired by Aerostich because repairing the crash damage would cost more that half the price of the suit. Bottom line is that our gear worked when we needed it.

After hearing of our get-off, Andy Goldfine the Sales Manager at Aerostich called to see how I was doing. Pleasantries and details exchanged he said, "That while we appreciate the information gathered by these impromptu crash tests we'd prefer that our customers not indulge in them."

With my better-than 20/20 hindsight I remember that the bike seemed 'off' when we first got on it. Unknown to me, the top case had been packed far beyond the recommended twenty-five pound limit and with both of us on board the bike must have been far outside the weight/balance envelope.

There's a deafening quiet to that nanosecond between not enough gravity and too much, and as anyone whose experienced it will tell you; it is not a pleasant moment. The next time I hear that little voice in my helmet that makes me double and triple check things, I'll listen.

To paraphrase an ancient aviation adage; "Motorcycling, while not inherently dangerous, will to greater effect than the sea, take advantage of any incapacity, carelessness, or neglect."

But For The Deeds Of A Few, or, Why RTW Day Is So Important

2004-06-15T16:26:00.000-04:00

A few careers ago I had a boss who was very liberal with his "attaboys." He was always the first one to tell you that you had performed your job well. Emptying the trash without being asked would earn you an "attaboy." Restocking an item before anyone noticed the empty spot on the shelf would earn an "attaboy." Just showing up early made him happy enough to toss a few "attaboys" to the staff.

At that time, I felt very lucky to have a supervisor who appreciated my work, and I told him so. At which point, he felt obliged to spew out his memorized lecture about the "Attaboy System of Rewards." Due to space constraints, and the fact that it wasn't that funny, I'll abbreviate the lecture.

Management is fond of the Attaboy System because each individual attaboy has no commercial or monetary value. So, it stands to reason that any number of accumulated attaboys are as worthless as the first. Nothing times nothing is still nothing. In fact, the value of an attaboy only exists for the precise moment that it is issued.

Those who unwittingly try to accumulate attaboys are shortly introduced to the anti-attaboy, the "aw, shee-it." I had always been suspicious of the "aw, shee-it" so I checked with Hoyle's, where I discovered that the "aw, shee-it" is the black hole of the attaboy system. Just one tiny little "aw, shee-it" mumbled completely destroys any and all record of attaboys, regardless of where you are or whom you work for.

If you think this has nothing to do with motorcycling, think again, because the Attaboy System has embedded itself in the American Collective Unconscious.
Remember the "Art of the Motorcycle" at the Guggenheim Museum? ATTABOY!
The millions of dollars generated by the "Ride For Kids?" ATTABOY!
Matt Lauer rides onto the set of The Today Show. ATTABOY!

Yes, bunkee, Motorcycle Attaboys have been showering down on us for a few years now. And we'd been enjoying it, until along came a bunch of bikers from more than a state away who had a vendetta with some other bikers on Long Island. By the time the cops sorted it out, one biker was shot, many arrests were made, and lots of illegal stuff was confiscated. (Please note that I'm not naming names!)

The story made the front page of all the newspapers, it was the lead story on the local tv and radio news, and the anchorpeople said the words "motorcycle gang" like they were shouting "fire" in a crowded theater.

Can you say, "Aw, shee-it!?"

Now, not a motorcycle attaboy can be found anywhere from Montauk to Cape May to Bear Mountain.

In Asbury Park, the town went to court and closed up the Fast Lane Biker Magazine Swap Meet and Bike Show, costing the promoter thousands of dollars. Shortly after that, the County of Nassau presented a national charity with a bill for the SWAT team that they felt needed to be hired to protect their event. No more Long Island Motorcycle Festival, after a successful five-year run.

A few years ago, Community Board 2 in Manhattan wanted to ban motorcycles from their little corner of the island. There was a meeting, and many motorcyclists tried to explain to the politicians that all motorcyclists are individuals and that penalizing all of us because of the behavior of a few is bigoted.
Thinking about that meeting still infuriates me. These politicians and politically active citizens, in what they call the most inclusive community in Manhattan, the West Village, couldn't recognize their own prejudice, to the point of booing us out of the room.

Recently, a state tried to pass legislation to the effect that, if three or more motorcyclists were traveling together, they could be considered a "motorcycle gang" and could be stopped and searched. Thanks to politically active motorcyclists, that law was never passed.

Just once I'd like to hear the newscasters report, "A gang of mothers was stopped and questioned by police today for walking their babies in strollers down the middle of Broadway, in Nyack. The mothers wore L.L. Bean cardigans consistent with membership in so-called 'Mother's Clubs,' or 'MC's,' which have menaced the lawful driving community lately with their strollers, carriages, and specially modified baby buggies. These MC's typically claim to be recreational in nature but are known to show no respect for traffic, pedestrian rights or our Department of Highways, and we all pay higher insurance rates because of their recklessness. The mothers were searched, cited for endangerment and other moving violations, and released. Lawyers for the mothers have vowed to contest the charges."

So what's a rider to do? If any of you have a solution, I'd sure like to hear it. ATTABOY.

Livin’ Large Between The Matrix & Stagecoach

2003-11-15T15:56:00.000-05:00

“I’ll meet ya’ at Borrego Springs…Partner!” he said with a drawl so deep that the end of the sentence arrived with the beginning. Then he turned around and walked through the wall, carefully stepping over road apples and the fireplace before fading into the distance, with his horse.

Being shaken awake by the ghost of Robert Mitchum was a small price to pay for a full day of canyon carving, testing, moto-modeling and indulging in general hooliganism on the ’04 Yamaha YZF-R1. Add to that; hanging with Jamie James, Doug Polen, the guys from the Internet R1 Forum plus the Yamaha crew, and it could have been the spirit of Zorro or the Federales armed with their badges for all I stinking cared! The unbridled pleasure of riding the bigger better smoother faster version of the already flawless R1 (not to mention being passed on the inside by Doug Polen, in the fog, with him moving so fast that my paint wrinkled!) was an experience worth far more than a full night’s sleep.

Days earlier and diagonally across the continent, I was lamenting the grayish, aging snow that was residing on the roofs of Nyack. This winter brought waves of it with too few days of respite above the melting point. Slice into any snow bank and you could read the winter’s history, each thaw creating a crispy layer just in time for the next storm. I haven’t enjoyed a clear path from my garage to the street since Thanksgiving. Not exactly the harbinger of riding weather.

I’d finally surrendered, admitting that the damn groundhog was right when the rescue call came from Yamaha. Before you could say “El-Kabong!” my lizard-skin boots and I were at the Hertz counter in San Diego pointing at the red Mustang convertible.

Flying to San Diego was a cakewalk compared to the ninety miles of traffic and intermittent torrential rain that I coerced that car through. Why do all Californian drivers turn into studio starlets in the rain? While the wind whipped the convertible’s top until it quivered like a surplus Boy Scout tent I coaxed the car up the mountain eventually leaving the freeway as the weather eased. We drove by outer-world landscapes, mounds of large white boulders abandoned millennia ago by heaving movements in the earth’s crust were framed by charred remnants of groves and estates lost in the recent fires. The rains came too late. I cautiously drove through the haunting mountain pass and deep into the Borrego Valley. My destination was the desert oasis of La Casa Del Zorro.

As what little light there was faded, I found myself pondering the irony of circumstance; I was driving on road that began as an emigrants trail where thousands died leading their families, livestock and all possessions to a better life. “But is it?” I asked myself, while enjoying a car named after a horse, whose vitals are controlled by computers, searching the spectrum of Satellite radio, on a mission taking me to ride the latest in high tech motorcycles. Measured against the bizarre landscape I felt suspended in a strange dimension between the “The Matrix and Stagecoach”. Then I found the adult comedy station and all was well.

Borrego Springs sits high in a desert mountain pass smack in the middle of the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. One of the largest parks in the west boasting 600,000 acres of canyons, badlands and sand dunes yet only five or six actual paved roads. As opposed to La Casa Del Zorro, which is an oasis centered on that said plain with all the 21st Century amenities you and I would want and those early settlers couldn’t imagine.

My poltergeist left behind a damp gray morning but La Casa Del Zorro’s hot breakfast and Yamaha’s fast company, which included the aforementioned hooligans and “Ileen the Umbrella Girl” more than made up for some lost sleep.

I picked a red rocket to match my leathers and was shortly warming my tires with some fellow riders behind Photographer Tom Rile’s rental car. The masters of weather and light favored us for the photo session and then it was off on a mission to terrorize the twisties in time to meet the others for lunch at a place called Mother’s.

Back in 1998 Yamaha set the sport-bike world on its ear with the trend-setting YZF-R1, and for 2004 they’ve set the R1’s engine on its proverbial ear, allowing the frame to go above the heads as opposed to around them, giving the rider two more inches and no, its not the two inches that your daily dose of spam promises.

With Spam as the furthest thing from my mind I rode the bike into Mothers’ lot in line with her sisters. It had been a few hours of Alpine-style riding, both in texture and temperature and I was ready to sit by a warm fire. The row of Ones and boisterous banter emanating from inside the restaurant indicated that we’d wandered up the correct pass. Mothers’ chef did a very Californian-style vege-burger with beans and cheese and for once I remembered to ask ‘le Chef’ to nix the Thousand Island dressing.

What is it with these California and Thousand Island dressing on burgers? I’ve heard rumor that in the 1950s there was a statewide ketchup shortage. Politicians urged drive-in and luncheonette owners to come up with a new burger-friendly condiment because too many out of work carhops and soda jerks would cause collapse of the entire southwest economy. Meanwhile the Mexicans refused to sell the gringos the secret of salsa, which actually tasted good on burgers. Things looked bleak until a blonde carhop, fond of Thousand Island on her salad decided to add the salad to the top of her burger in order to save time eating and the rest is history.

East coast burger fans traveling west be warned that now, with Arnold and Maria, who are as mayonnaise a couple as you could get, posing as California’s First Family there’s no hope for a burger without that poisonous pink spread. Unless you demand it, loudly!

Prior to lunch I had the chance to grab an ’03 One for a few kilometers and instantly noticed the difference. Comfort zone is first to mind; bars are higher by 10mm, pegs lower by 7.5mm and a bit more forward 2.5mm, not large numbers but the proof is in the riding.

According to Yamaha’s media materials, the frame’s redesign increased its rigidity by 200% vertically and 50% sideways. I’ve learned a wee bit about motorcycle riders and motorcycle physics on this job and can’t envision any situation where a 200% increase in rigidity would be unwelcome. Cheers to Yamaha.

The stiffer chassis plus a front geometry change of increased rake and offset increased the One’s flick-ability tremendously but it’s the throttle response where I found nirvana. The One has a new fuel injection system that uses a motor-driven secondary valve controlled by a new 32-bit computer system. This puppy hums and rolls smooth from stop to the 13,750rpm redline! My vote for best improvement is for the computer and new throttle bodies but the lighter crankshaft and pistons deserve a bit of the credit.

Yamaha’s also hot on their new Fracture Split con-rod caps, which provide a more precise fit over the bearings. Cracking the bottom of the connecting rod provides a rough surface like the nooks ‘n crannies on a fork-split muffin, creating two halves that mate perfectly with increased rigidity. Need I repeat my philosophy of rigidity?

The engineers are also proud of the new sleeveless cylinder design, which allowed the cylinders to operate in closer quarters and shaves nearly an inch from the camshaft. All of these improvements are crammed into a crankcase 56mm smaller than last year’s.

While all the above creates the smoothest power-plant this side of the Grand-Prix circuit, the power needs to reach the wheel and the One does it with a new transmission that is the the smoothest shifting gearbox mechanically possible.

When you’ve would her up to the redline and see the bubble gum machine cresting the horizon you’ll scrape the speed off quicker than ever by pumping Dot 4 from the larger (14mm to 16mm diameter) Brembo radial master cylinder into redesigned calipers that grab a 22mm larger 320mm rotor who’s also dieted off a half mm in thickness during the last model year.

I spent the better part of the daylight hours riding the desert plains and passes, much less time in the saddle than it would take to list the 400+ improvements; LED tail-light, titanium exhaust, 5-spoke wheels, 43mm Kayaba inverted forks, stiffer triple clamps, Die-cast swing-arm and sub-frame to name a few. I was reluctant to return the One to La Casa Del Zorro were it not for the rain growing to a steady downpour.

After leaving the Mustang at Hertz’s stables I got on the line for the stage to the airport. “What magazine you write for?” came a voice from behind. Betrayed by my leathers, I turned to meet a fellow rider. Vacationing from Atlanta he told me that he was taking delivery of his new R1 as soon as he got home.

I said that I’d meet him at Borrego Springs.

Riding the Ducati 999 - January 2003

2003-01-06T13:14:00.000-05:00

“What’s in a nose?” Don Miguel de Cervantes, 1559 (est.)

Since the first spy photos of the “Red-volutionary Ducati 999 were posted on the web, Ducatisti worldwide have been exhibiting symptoms of acute schnozophobia. If you have friends fond of Italian sportbikes, keep an eye on them for signs of this disease, which manifest incredibly fast.

Victims are usually male (but there is an increasing number of females reporting symptoms), in their late 30s to mid 60s and may own any type of motorcycle or possibly none at all. The first symptom is an uncontrollable compulsion to talk about Ducati motorcycles, which continues despite constant efforts by friends and family members to subdue them. Without intervention, the disease mounts a final assault which results in a large dent in their checkbook, or a series of small dents each month for a few years. However, there is a study currently under way that has uncovered information which leads researchers to believe many of these “schnozophobic Ducatisti” enjoy lower blood pressure, less heart disease, are able to metabolize stress and watch much less television; but these research results are currently inconclusive.

I’m sorry to report that Sean Marcus, the progenitor of the Marcus Dairy, has recently been infected. I had only been back in town for a few hours when Sean called.

“Hey guy,” I apologized, “I just flew in from the coast and haven’t settled in. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“What were you doing in California?”

“Riding the 999.”

Silence.

“You rode the 999!”, he said, then there was a short sentence, mumbled in jest, that referred to my heritage, good fortune, and the specific state of my parents nuptials at the time of my birth.
After which he asked, “Is that nose as ugly in person as it looks in the magazines?”

While not a professional proboscanist, my knowledge of noses is nothing to sneeze at. (Perhaps you should have read that sentence with a cigar and a painted-on mustache?) It’s a cultural thing, I grew up Jewish in New York City, and I have serious hay fever.

I assured Sean that the 999 is much more than a 998 with a rhinoplasty. After which I was launched into a long discussion weighing the pros and cons of buying a new 999 vs. an ‘02 Duc which carries two year’s free maintenance.

The Doctor is in, and the prognosis is that if you want one of these puppies, you’d better haul your Dainese-clad ass over to the nearest Duc farm.

Most annoying about this spate of schnoz-ophobia is that it’s directed toward an Italian product. I’ve got to laugh because when it comes to style, the Italians have it dripping from their noses, so to speak. So for myself, I defer to Bologna in most matters of design, especially with anything that’s painted red.

Willow Springs was a short ride from the motel in Lancaster. It was early winter on the high desert and the sunlight filtered through the haze just above the horizon, promising a dry, clear day. My nose thanked me. I parked my rental and noticed a dozen new Ducs lined up like dominoes so the desert light could cascade down the row, caressing each one. I stood still for a moment to soak up the scene. The best days start at the track, and they’re better when you’re on someone else’s bike.

“Damn, you are one lucky bastard,” I said to myself, having no clue that Sean Marcus would mumble the same words a week later.

I signed away any right to hold anyone but myself responsible for whatever may happen on the track (print here, then sign here. Have we done this enough times?), then I joined the Ducati folks for a rider’s meeting and a briefing on the bike, after which other journalists threw even more jabs at the Italian Superbike’s proboscis.

Ducati dubbed the 999 the “REDVOLUTION”, since the bike is more than the technological evolution of the 851 – 888 – 916 – 996 and 998 bikes that ran before it, and red being the color of Italian racing. (I guess it’s a good thing that Rudolph isn’t an Italian name. Care to join me in a chorus of “Rudolph the red-nosed race-bike”?)

Witty marketing dialogue aside, the bike IS revolutionary, from the re-designed bodywork to the wiring harness to the asymmetrical exhaust and adjustable ergonomics. The only Ducati attributes that remained untouched are the trellis frame, L-twin engine and desmodromic valve actuation.

I found my earplugs in the third pocket I looked in (out of four), screwed them into my cranium, then donned my helmet and tugged the strap snug. Raising my visor, I surveyed the situation. Twelve Ducati 999s, a few 998s, the fastest track in the west, and a dozen testosterone-charged moto-journalists, each on someone else’s expense account; truly, the ultimate expression of “Riding Free”.

I picked out a bike, threw a leg over it and listened as everyone else’s muffled exhaust notes roll by until I was alone in the pits. Quarter-turn of the key, some lights flashed and the tach needle took a bite out of the redline, then dropped, dead. I pressed the start button and it wouldn’t. I reset the key. You see, the computer cuts the ignition circuit out after 15 seconds, then you have to reset it by turning the bike off and on again. Which I did, then I pressed the little button with my right thumb, again nothing. An Italian tech ran over to me and yelled something that I couldn’t hear or heard but couldn’t understand. I pointed to my ear and shook my head. He pointed to the ground and shook his head. I looked down and learned that I failed to raise the sidestand.

“OK”, I mumbled in my helmet, “an ignition cut-off.”

This time the little button on the right grip launched the Testastretta into its distinct idling shiver. With the engine running, I placed both my boots flat on the pavement and felt the resonance of power strokes radiate from the bike. I rocked the bike between my thighs. The bike is thinner and lighter than last year’s model; too bad I’m not.

I eased out the clutch and rolled toward the track, dropped my faceshield down and it answered with a solid click, a quick peek over the shoulder to confirm all clear.

I’d like to welcome you to this little Willow Springs Motorsports Park, dubbed the “fastest track in the west” and if you’ll just ride along, I’ll mention points of interest, the first of which is known as Turn One.
Also known as Castrol Corner, Turn One is a 90-degree left-hander that looks like a dead end when you’re on the final straight, tucked in and WFO. Assuming you’ve grabbed the binders in time, you’re now rolling on and sliding your butt off the right for Turn Two, a 450 foot radius sweeper that gnaws at the foothills, also known to the locals as the Rabbit’s Ear. Turn Three is the bottom of the bunny’s ear.

Budweiser Balcony skirts the Rabbit’s nose. Turn Five lets you scratch him under the chin. Turns Six and Seven are mere wiggles along the bunny’s belly. But beware of Turns Eight and Nine. Eight rolls along the rabbit’s rump in the form of a 900 foot radius sweeper that cascades into Nine, a 600 foot radius sweeper. Coming around Nine on the outside sets you up for the full-throttle half-mile straight, until the dead-end illusion of Turn One re-appears.

Crossing the start-finish line I tapped the starter button, which really wasn’t what I really wanted to be thinking about while rocketing WFO down a 2400 foot straight, but those stylish Italians hid the wiring for the lap timer in that same button and I came to play with all the toys, so I did it anyway. The on-board computer will remember the previous 19 laps, and they can be recalled on the instrument panel.

All afternoon, Lee Parks was trying to beat 1:30 and finally clocked a1:30:00 by the end of the session. Just thinking about pushing that button has got to cost at least .01 seconds. Regardless, having a built in lap timer is cool.

While we’re talking electronics, here’s the big news. Massive wiring harnesses are history! The 999 uses a CAN (Controlled Area Network) system. Simplified, it means that all the sensors send information along the same two leads and the CPU decodes them all. Fifteen specific streams of information traveling over two wires. Less spaghetti, less weight.

The 999 heralds the return of the double-sided swing-arm. Chosen for superior rigidity. The frame is 20mm smaller than the 998, but the hollow-cast swing-arm is 15mm longer. And for the first time on a Ducati, adjustable ergonomics. Fitting the bike to the individual rider’s size and comfort is accomplished with five-way adjustable footpegs and a seat/tank combination (on the monoposto version) that is adjustable fore and aft by 20mm. The footpegs offer 5-position adjustment, 2-up/down and 3 front/rear. The brake pedal moves 23 mm in slot and the fuel tank offers three positions front and rear, allowing a10mm adjustment.

Ducati tested with riders ranging from 1.6 meters to 1.95 meters to help determine the range of adjustment required to optimize the 999’s ergos.

The layout of the 999 loads the front end of the bike appropriately for optimum handling without putting excessive weight on the rider’s hands. The rear of the tank is rounded with a low and narrow area where the knees rest, making the bike feel extremely compact.
Low speed maneuvering was improved by increasing the steering angle to 28.5 degrees and the steering head was redesigned using computer stress analysis; the result looks cooler and is 10% stiffer.

Speed starts getting scrubbed off by the new Brembo radial master cylinder, only on Ducati, which was designed to make the system more compact – a smaller master cylinder allows for more rotation of the bars. Brembo also hid the bleeder screw within the reservoir, and the new brake lever is adjustable to an infinite number of positions.
The discs have an improved stiffness-to-weight ratio because they’re using 5 fasteners instead of 6, and the piston on the rear disc was enlarged from 32mm to 36mm.

We were informed that the asymmetrical exhaust was necessary to fit ANY exhaust system on the bike. The computer-designed solution has a large silencer that rests under the seat; well, actually bakes would be a better word. At the track, where more time is spent on your toes than on your ass, the heat isn’t a problem; just don’t get stuck in summer traffic with your significant other on the pillion.

While the twenty or so laps I managed to log with the start button barely scratches the surface of respectable testing, it doesn’t matter because they’re already dusting the shelves in Bologna to display the pending World Superbike trophies. But who expected any less.

California Trip - December 2002

2002-11-30T22:17:00.000-05:00

I just returned from ten days in California. Halfway into the trip, T Bear dropped me an e-mail that began, "Hey Caliboy, did ya dye yer hair blonde yet?"

The location was Willow Springs International Raceway. A dozen or so of us slightly weathered journalists had gathered to enjoy the clean air and warm sun of California's high desert and to spend some track time with Ducati's Redvolutionary 999: the slipperiest, slickest and speediest Duc Bologna's ever sold.

I'll call it an early holiday gift from Ducati, only because when I call it work, people groan. Thanks Ducati!

Many, many laps and couple of days later, I was in a rented Saturn with my friend Mike Salisbury, motoring to Streets of Willow Springs for a day at Keith Code Superbike School. My lap times fell from 3:45 to 2:11 in one day, thanks to Keith and his team, especially my instructor, Nancy "the Perfect Carrot" Montgomery, a strawberry blonde with piercing blue eyes. She would blow by me just close and fast enough to get my attention, then turn around and point to her tail, the universal signal for "follow me." As if there was ANY chance I wouldn't!

The setting sun signaled time for our good-byes. Mike navigated while I piloted the Saturn back to Venice Beach for a couple days touring the bike shops, surf shops and ethnic restaurants of Santa Monica. Ah, California, where life's a beach.

I had been in contact with the guys at Wild West Motorcycles, some two hours' ride away via freeway, and Mike had a Yamaha FJ1300. One Yamaha, two hours, and a handmade power cruiser sounded like an excellent recipe for mischief to me.

The Yamaha was fast, but I like my license and everywhere I looked were motorcycle-mounted police, mostly on BMWs and Harleys, but some local cops were riding Kawasakis. I gingerly toured toward Escondido.

The Wild West Motorcycle Company might as well be the "Hole In The Wall Gang Motorcycle Company." The factory, if you could call it that, is hidden in an industrial park, standing out only for its lack of signage. Wild West built about 100 bikes this year, each motorcycle made to order, like a Bentley. Engines balanced and blueprinted. Billet wheels measured for run-out and only the best accepted, combined with the most incredible fit and finish I've seen. All the work is done by hand. One man builds one bike.

I rode a Wild West Peacemaker as the sun sank in the west. Some guy in Atlanta had to wait an extra couple of days to take delivery so I could ride and photograph it, so I didn't ride it far. I felt bad for the guy.

I've got to thank the folks from Biker's Dream of Atlanta and offer kudos to Jason Orsborn, who built this Peacemaker. The next time I'm in Atlanta, I'll stop in and buy your customer lunch and a beer, but it'll cost you another ride.

Back on Mike's Yamaha and headed northwest, I took the longer ride to Venice Beach, where I had dinner in yet another restaurant of unknown ethnicity.

Flying home I started recording my impressions of the motorcycles and racetracks I'd experienced. It was time for the real work of motorcycle journalism.

When I reached the baggage claim in Newark my bag was the first one out of the chute and onto the carousel. I picked it up and suddenly I felt the urge to dye my hair blonde.

Wild West Custom; Making Motorcycles the ol’ fashion way-one bike at a time!

2002-09-15T15:48:00.000-04:00

Back when I had all my hair and a gallon of gas was two bits, muscle cars and Brit bikes were our chariots of choice. Motorcycles were one step below dependable (except for those nice people you met on a Honda) and though the cars were basically reliable, we worked real hard to make them run as badly as our bikes, then we worked at making the bikes run even worse. All in the name if individuality and the need for speed.

We took Brit bikes and Jap bikes (and some of us Harley’s) then tweaked, twisted, welded, raked, and stretched any part we could so that our sleds would look like the Billy Bike and take off like a banshee. Some shade tree techs got what they wanted, we all blew up lots of motors. And thanks to those years of distinct effort by demanding individuals, a new genre of American motorcycle came into its own; the Custom Cruiser.

Today you can buy a brand new bike and before you’ve taken delivery have all the hot whiz-bang-do-dads you like added on. Chrome, powder coating, custom paint and then there’s cams, carbs, and stroking. You can even get on a dyno and have a custom computer chip burned specifically for your bike’s setup.

Or you can just buy a Wild West custom, and have all you’ve dreamed about, lusted for and drooled over, straight from the crate, that I if you’ve got a spare 35 grand stashed under the mattress.

The location of the Wild West Motorcycle Company is anything but wild. They’re tucked away in a non-descript commercial building on a dead-end street in an industrial park in Poway California. Which was a two-hour freeway extravaganza from where I was staying in Venice Beach (and after making the trip I understood why no-one else wanted to go with me). Fleeting freeway flyers on cell phones and my New Yawk pedigree aside, I was well received by the Wild West folks in Poway, right about the time the sun started a dive toward the horizon. Andy Paluczak, Wild West’s Sales and Marketing Manager, gave me the nickel tour then pushed a Vigilante out of the plant’s freight entrance.

That was my first and only look at the bike in the daylight, which was fast becoming a scarce commodity. I could have stared and photographed it all day, the reflection of setting sun in exploded over the yellow tank with orange flames. The finish was impeccable, the welds smooth, and not a burnished fastener in the lot. But it was time to ride.

I confess; I’m not a cruiser rider. I’m partial to having my head tucked in behind a sport fairing and scouting for the fuzz, so every time I get on a bike that wants me to put my feet out in front of me and drag my bum along the pavement, it takes me a bit to get into the groove. That first time I let the clutch out I was waiting for the bike to tell me off, but it didn’t. I eased the lever out and the throbbing S&S twin and I rumbled out to the road.

Hands down, no argument, the Wild West Vigilante is the most solid motorcycle I’ve ever ridden. There isn’t any resonance, at any RPM. No buzz no boom, just seamless power. I’m sure the oil-in-the-frame protocol can be thanked for that. Coupled with the fact that Wild West doesn’t take the S&S engines out of the crate and bolt them to frames. Each motor is balanced and blueprinted, and Wild West’s tolerances are tougher than most, few parts make the grade. Ditto on the wheels, while they’re bought from another manufacturer but tested and only the best accepted. Stay tuned, they’ve recently installed a huge CNC machine and are testing designs for their own wheels.

Mounted on the Vigilante’s rear wheel is a 250 tire. Probably the only piece of over-the-counter rubber that could transmit the throbbing 105 horsepower to the pavement, other than a drag slick. I expected poor handling due to the rake and resplendent rump of a tire but was proven wrong. Again the proof is in the engineering, the Vigilante is perfectly balanced, take your hands off the bars (which took a ton of testosterone to try, the bike does cost 35 grand!) and the sucker tracks straight as a laser.

Wild West credits the Baker RSD (Right Side Drive) transmission for that. By switching the drive pulley to the right they’ve eliminated the need to offset the drive train. The result, perfect balance, and rolling along a mere 21 inches above the pavement balance become a noticeable issue.

It doesn’t surprise me that a small company of a dozen or so people with sales of about a hundred bikes a year would set a benchmark for quality construction and design. Distinctly American in concept and execution, the Vigilante lives up to its name, it takes no prisoners.

Motorcycle Courtesy of: Biker's Dream of Atlanta, 9560 Highway 9, Alpharetta, GA 30004
Owner: Don Parkinson
Phone: 770-752-9160
Fax: 770-752-9156
e-mail: donpbiker@aol.com
Web address: bikersdreamatl.com
Our bike builder: Jason Orsborn
Ideas for media kit-

Vigilante - Specifications

Frame: Steel tube cradle frame with integrated oil storage in 2" O.D. backbone and seat post tubes
Engine: S&S 107 ci – roller rocker arms, forged pistons, 600 cam, 9.6:1 compression ratio, 4.0 in bore x 4.25 in stroke, 105 hp, engine finish: polished
Carburetor: S&S Super G
Transmission: Right Side Drive - 5 speed, constant mesh, backcut gears, by Baker
Primary: Polished inner primary, chrome outer primary, double row chain drive
Clutch: Rivera Pro – 9 plate heavy duty wet clutch
Fenders: Rear - IST™ (Integrated Support Technology) strutless carbon fiber
Front - carbon fiber
Tank: 4.0 Gallon
Fuel Cap: Aircraft style, flush mount, polished aluminum
Forks: Inverted, 54mm, polished
Shock: Progressive with adjustable rebound damping
Wheels: Performance Machine forged aluminum, polished. Choice of Wrath, Trinity, Villain, Vintage, and Trespasser.
Brakes: Performance Machine 4 piston billet calipers, polished, 11.5” rotors
Tires: Avon – 250/40 x 18 rear and 90/90 x 21 front
Exhaust: Drag pipes with baffle, chrome
Rear Axle: 4140 chrom-moly
Seat: Leather, by Corbin
Belt: Gates HTD Polychain
Battery: Absorbed Glass Matt (AGM) – sealed, no maintenance
Handle bars: 1 1/4", internal wiring
Speedometer: VDO – electronic pickup, digital trip meter and odometer
Oil lines: Stainless steel braided lines with aircraft style fittings
Starter: Compufire – 1.5 kw, chrome
Grips: Arlen Ness - billet aluminum, chrome, with bearings
Forward Controls: Performance Machine – billet aluminum, polished
Paint: Tank/Fenders - level 4 custom paint,
Frame: matched powdercoat

Yamaha Road Star Warrior – Power Cruiser for the Vertically Challenged -

2002-06-18T09:06:00.000-04:00

June 2002-HALF MOON BAY, CA. Buying a motorcycle is an emotional purchase tempered with minor bursts of reasoning. But for an experienced rider who’s inseam sends them to the kids department for jeans, the emotional element completely loses out to reasoning. Despite suspension lowering kits and techs that will install them, usually with some sort of liability waiver or disclaimer, short riders keep riding and keep falling over at stoplights.

Enter the Yamaha Road Star Warrior with its 28-inch seat height. While taking the trophy at a limbo contest was not what the Warrior’s designers had in mind when they started the project it is certainly a major benefit to a large part of the motorcycle market and for those of you not vertically challenged the low seat has another benefit; you can really raise your ass off it, far enough that your head is above the smoke from the burnouts you’ll inevitably be doing.

One part muscle bike, one part streetfighter and one part cruiser the Warrior is the two-wheeled embodiment of the timeless icon that seduced so many before it: the classic, all-American Hot Rod.

It’s 102 cubic inches translates into a 1670 cc of air-cooled V-twin engine that produces 79.9 horsepower at 4,400 rpm and 103.8 lbs/ft of torque at 3,500 rpm. The air intake system is comprised of two intake boxes, their combined volume is a massive 7.5 liters. Offering a 115% increase in volume while lowering the intake resistance by 70% when compared to earlier Yamaha cruisers.

The engine has been bored from 95 to 97 mm increasing the displacement from 1602 to 1670 cubic centimeters (stroke remains the same at 113 mm). The cylinders feature a new high-volume, two-piece head (vs. the Road Star’s three-piece head).

An engine this massive has its worst drawback when it isn’t running and you want to start it. Ever watch a guy try to start an old Harley that’s been stroked? It takes a lot of power (leg or electric) to crank that sucker, so Yamaha added the same engine decompression system as on the Road Star. Simply put it releases the valve a bit during the start-up sequence. While this works just fine the bike makes some unfamiliar sounds when you press the starter, but you’ll get used to it, after all, it’s the sound power to come.

Fuel and air are mixed in the two 40 mm downdraft throttle bodies. The mixture then passes into the cylinders via a revised cylinder head design that offers a straighter intake path. Cooling fin area has been increased to keep the Warrior from getting hot under the collar.

The muffler weighs in at 8.3 kilograms. That’s 1.6 kilograms less than the standard Road Star muffler, while increasing internal capacity by 1.8 liters to 11.5 liters. The engineers also managed to keep the front and rear manifolds on the two-into-one system within and inch and a half, balancing the back pressure close to perfect. The exhaust looks large… it is but it sounds great, offering up a note that will please the most die-hard cruiser addict.

All this engine technology is managed by a seven sensor EFI system that tracks everything from barometric pressure to front and rear cylinder temperature, the most sophisticated EFI system on two wheels. An ECU works with a throttle position sensor to meter the fuel. Three-dimensional digital CD ignition mapping ensures that the spark ignites at just the right moment, delivering crisp throttle response. This system provides a power curve that rivals high performance sport bikes.

The engine is mounted in a newly designed and stiffer double-cradle design frame, 71% stiffer and 10.5 kilograms (Warrior frame weighs 17.5 kg) lighter than the standard Road Star frame. The engine is also rigidly mounted to stiffen the frame up even more.

Just as important to the handling as the new frame is the 41-mm, R1 inspired front forks, which are adjustable for preload. In the rear a preload adjustable mono-shock connects to an all aluminum cast, extruded and rectangular pipe swing-arm that also boasts an R-1 inspired pedigree.
Power is transferred to the super-fat 200-section rear via belt drive adopted from the original Road Star but shaved to 8.5 mm and 5-speed, wide-ratio, with multi-plate wet clutch transmission.

As the daylight began to wane the instrument cluster took on a light of its own. Traditional incandescents have been replaced by LEDs and that goes all the way to the taillight, which looks ineffective, until you grab the binders. A grand prix style digital bar graph tachometer sweeps across the rev range while the speedometer is nestled in a very retro looking brushed finished housing.

Looking for excellent stopping power Yamaha’s designers lifted a set of calipers from the R-1 and ditto for the diameter of the master cylinder. Sumitomo calipers bite into the two 298mm diameter front discs easily scrubbing off those few illegal mph’s you might, scratch that, WILL accumulate when you get lost in the Warrior’s personality. The single rear disc boasts similar specs. None of this will matter at all when the rubber meets the road.

While the Yamaha Warrior isn’t the first Japanese power cruiser that’s made it to our shores it has set a new standard for cruiser performance and handling.