FallGuy

Want a history lesson? Here’s a short video rundown showing the story of Suzuki’s GSX-R line. Fear not, there’s no stuffy professor in a cardigan, nasally lecturing about Wellington’s maneuvers at the Battle of Waterloo—although, in its own corner of the world, the Gixxer had a similar impact. This YouTube history lesson starts with the 1985 Suzuki GSX-R750. Wait, what about the GSX-R400 that came out in 1984? That liquid-cooled inline-four race replica is generally acknowledged as the beginning of Suzuki’s superbike line, so why leave it out? Is this YouTuber following in the time-honored tradition of historians like Josephus, and leaving out important details? Shame! To be fair, most of North America and Europe didn’t really catch on to the Gixxer line before the GSX-R750 came out in 1985. It was considered the world’s first modern superbike. The 750 used the Suzuki Advanced Cooling System (SACS), a high-pressure oil cooler setup that was advanced for its day (Suzuki still uses SACS, in the DR650SE). The four-cylinder engine made a claimed 106 horsepower, good for a 146-mph top speed. The aluminum frame helped to keep weight down to 179 kg, well below the competition. The full fairing is boxy by today’s standards, but provided much-improved streamlining over other early-80s designs. It’s no wonder the first 750 stomped over everything else on the market when it was released, and it’s no wonder everyone else used the same ideas for their sportbikes. From there, the GSX-R line grew quickly, through the GSX-R1100, the GSX-R1000, and eventually the 600 models. Suzuki’s four-cylinder sportbike line went through some doldrums in the early 2010s, but the current GSX-R1000 series stacks up well against its rivals after a recent reboot. The 750 and 600 models haven’t been updated for a while, but if you want a 750-class sportbike, Suzuki’s the only company that sells one now. Too bad it doesn’t come with latest-generation electronics, as the 750 line was long known for innovation, as the history lesson shows above. Want more deets on the Gixxer line? Check out Marc Cook’s book, still available on Amazon. It’s getting a bit dated now, but all the information about the early years should be in there. Let's block ads! (Why?) Source

Flying Fortress aside, modern Moto Guzzi has a bit of a reputation for being pretty old-fashioned. Depending on whether you love or hate them, that’s something you either appreciate or don’t. Back in the early 1950s, though, Mandello del Lario just wanted to help everyday Italian citizens get back on their feet after the war. That’s the entire purpose behind the 1953 introduction of the Zigolo. Like many moto manufacturers in the aftermath of the war, Moto Guzzi just wanted to create cheap, effective transportation for people to start getting around and living their lives again. The Zigolo had a 98cc two-stroke engine that made approximately 4 horsepower when new. It was also Moto Guzzi’s very first partially-enclosed motorcycle design. While it definitely wasn’t meant to be fancy, models in good condition today still have a certain extremely retro appeal to their shape. If you’re wondering about the name, so are we. I consulted with our in-house Italian language expert Sabrina, and she said it wasn’t a word she was familiar with, but pointed me toward this Linguee lookup. It seems like it could be a bird, or a nut, or perhaps a nutty bird? Maybe even Italian for ‘kakapo,’ I half-joked. Thing is, the Zigolo isn’t very fast and definitely can’t fly, so maybe it IS a kakapo? At any rate, it’s not a gigolo, which is what Google wanted to make it when I tried that way. Thanks, Google. Anyway, Redditor Abo_91 posted this charming video of a coworker resurrecting his rusty 1954 Zigolo after it having not been run in over 50 years. What’s extra hilarious is the surrounding conversation between Italian-speaking Redditors about what is and is not the appropriate level of profanity in the Italian language and everyday speech. According to Abo_91, there are no plans to restore this bike at this time, but it’s cool to see it running. It’s also kind of amusing to see it tearing past modern cars on the street, like a Tesla and a Renault Espace. The Zigolo’s reign lasted from 1953 to 1966, and the Turismo model (of which this is an example) only ran from 1954 to 1956. It came with extra fancy bits including a Veglia speedometer and a built-in luggage rack to tote all your toteables. The Turismo had a solo saddle, but if you wanted a dual saddle, you could also have bought a Zigolo Lusso from 1954 to 1957. Sources: Reddit, Bike-Urious, Sheldon’s EMU Let's block ads! (Why?) Source

What classic bike would I buy? Well, if you’ve read even just a few of my articles, then you’d know that I’m a big sport and sport naked bike fan—in fact, I own two current generation nakeds and endlessly dream of owning whatever sportbike I last saw online. As such, what other classic bike would I love to own, if not one of the bikes that shaped the future of performance motorcycles. A motorcycle so groundbreaking at the time, that it merited it a place in the Japanese automotive hall of fame. Yup, none other than the Honda CB750 Four. In 1969, Honda shook the world when it introduced this bike. Before the CB750 Four, the thought of an in-line four engined motorcycle belonged only to exotic bikes which were considered far beyond the reach of the average motorcyclist. On top of that, the introduction of the Honda CB750 blew away most multi-cylinder motorcycles in terms of performance-to-cost ratio. The CB750 came with a 736cc in-line four engine. At the time, it produced an astronomical 67 horsepower, something that even today, is quite a lot for first time riders. As such, the CB750 Four was no beginner’s bike. In fact, it was the bike that coined the term ‘superbike’ and went on to revolutionise the future of motorcycle performance. The Honda CB750 Four went on to influence the majority of Honda’s subsequent models, as well as the models of its competitors. In the years to follow, nearly all of the major Japanese motorcycle manufacturers had a motorcycle with an in-line four engine. Of course, Honda was to blame for the emergence of this engine layout, which went on to become a staple in the motorcycle industry to this day. Of course, the Honda CB750 Four is not exactly a common motorcycle. Neither is it one that’s cheap to buy and maintain. The fact that I live all the way in the Philippines doesn’t make it any easier either. That’s why, for me, the ultimate dream as far as a classic bike goes will always be the CB750 Four, but I’d be pretty happy to settle for one of its more common descendants, say the CB400 Super Four from the early nineties? Let's block ads! (Why?) Source

Way back in 1969, the motorcycle world was just waiting for something to come along and shake it up. When Honda brought its now-legendary CB750 Four prototype to Europe, the moto world there was properly shook. It was like absolutely nothing else that had gone before, and the whole thing seemed like a much-needed breath of fresh air. Innovations like a front disc brake, an electric start, and a left-side shifter were very nice indeed, particularly since Honda had designs on cracking the American market. Most of all, though, people appreciated the extremely smooth and usable power delivery. A 750 four-cylinder may not seem revolutionary now, but that’s because the CB750 Four blazed a true trail way back then. In 1968, there were no superbikes in the world. Suddenly, in 1969, there were. As with most world-changingly-great innovations, the entire motorcycle world was soon on fire to compete with this absolute beast. It was extremely tough to beat, however, since it offered such an exquisite combination of usable power and performance at such a reasonable price. Kawasaki soon dethroned Honda in the superbike battle Soichiro started, but that’s another story and shall be told another time. Honda built four CB750 prototypes for display at motorcycle shows around the world, one each in Candy Gold, Candy Red, Candy Green, and Candy Blue (Honda had A Thing for multi-layer candy colors back in those days). Just two years ago, in March 2018, the candy gold prototype , known as “the Brighton bike” because that’s where it debuted, shattered auction records for a Japanese motorcycle. At the time, it sold for £161,000, roughly US $223,550. There’s something extra special about riding a candy gold CB750 through the streets of Brighton like the rider in this video does. It’s like a return home, to the place where it all happened. A sort of elusive and secret joy that only those motorbike fans who are really deep into it will understand as you rumble on by. Perhaps as time moves along, a CB750 as original as this one becomes even more special. After all, so many of these bikes have been customized and reshaped into other machines over the past 50 years. It’s also further confirmation that when you’re a part of an important moment in history, you don’t always realize it. How many CB750 Four owners who lined up to buy these bikes from their local dealers knew what kind of revolution was underway? It may have become crystal clear later, but who actually knew it while it was purring merrily and eating up roads underneath them? Source: YouTube Let's block ads! (Why?) Source

Motorcycling has been a growing, changing thing for over a century now. Safety has changed markedly in that time, from the old-style leather ‘helmets’ riders used to wear, to the airbag-fitted jackets and suits you can buy today. Looking back at old news program footage, like this clip from the 1970s ThamesTV motoring program Drive-In, is always going to yield some things that seem rather quaint in hindsight. The first part of the segment focuses on early-generation ABS, which we know evolved and has improved considerably since it was first introduced. Then it gets into something a bit weird, and definitely one of those things that makes you think, “how did anyone ever think this was a good idea?” The TV program(me) pays a visit to an inventor who is working on what looks like a padded chair back that faces your chest. On the demonstration bike and safety dummy, the device protrudes on a big metal arm from somewhere around the tank of your bike. The idea is that this wide, padded thing pushes the rider back if you crash, slowing your impact so you don’t fly off the bike and hurt yourself. In modern time, we have many comfortable armor options for jackets and pants. The aforementioned airbag-enhanced gear, as well as ample chest and back protector options are plentiful. I fully recognize that I’m never going to look at a video like this from a contemporaneous mindset, because I simply can’t. Still, I have to ask, why would someone think this was a good idea? Even if the armor that we all know now, and that many of us wear today didn’t exist, how on earth does this system make any kind of sense in terms of harm reduction? Thankfully, it’s just a quaint curiosity now and not a major safety device that actually took hold. You still have to wonder what kind of hilarious and exasperated conversations went on behind the scenes with this inventor, though. Source: YouTube Let's block ads! (Why?) Source

When most of us think of a person associated with Honda, it’s likely the man whose name the company still bears to this day. Soichiro Honda was, without a doubt, the primary driving force behind all the many successes Honda has achieved over time. He’s not the only one, however. You may not be as readily familiar with the name Takeo Fujisawa, but as Honda’s vice president, he had both unique access and input into Soichiro’s everyday vehicular strategizing. In 1956, when Honda first fell in love with the Isle of Man TT and wanted to compete, Fujisawa was busy soaking up every aspect of European moto culture in earnest. Scooters were great, affordable, everyday-people kind of bikes. Fujisawa was incredibly inspired by this, but quickly realized that tiny scooter wheels wouldn’t suit rough rural roads back home. Being VP meant you could bake bigger wheels into the design mix from the start, so that’s exactly what Fujisawa did. Thus, the Super Cub was born. Just as Vespas evolved from a need for inexpensive transport for Italian riders following a war, this Japanese icon sprang out of a need for inexpensive transport for Japanese riders following a war. Also, just as Vespas eventually swarmed around the globe in popularity, so too did the Super Cub. Amazingly, both of these relatively inexpensive, simple forms of everyday transport have evolved and changed through the decades, and both are still going strong today. Their pressed steel frames, seen as eminently practical for the ease of mass production, are equally seen as parts of both the Vespa’s and the Super Cub’s charm. It’s difficult not to be won over by the pure, unadulterated hope these vehicles represented. Certainly, Fujisawa and Honda wanted to see the Super Cub succeed, and undoubtedly worked very hard to give it every possible chance. Still, no one could have predicted that it would become the most beloved motorbike in the world, nor that its popularity and generational production would go on to outlive both men. It’s a good reminder that even in the most difficult times, unexpected and enduring greatness can occur. Sometimes (if you’re lucky) it might even go along with meeting the nicest people on a Honda. Sources: YouTube, Automology, The LA Times Let's block ads! (Why?) Source

Long-time readers know that I stan hard for Yamaha. If you're new here, well, let me introduce myself. Hi, I'm Jason. I'm the boss around here and I love Yamahas. Love 'em. It's not the most popular opinion in motorcycling, I know, but it's the most correct one. My very first bike—a bike I still own, mind you—was a 1980 XS850SG, one of Team Blue's rip-snorting DOHC triples. That bike charmed the hell out of me with its quirkiness, looks, reliability, and sound. That glorious triple sound. Sigh... Anyway, it made me a Yamaha Man for life. You see where this is going, right? The affordable classic bike I'd buy right now (if I wasn't spending all my money renovating a 90-year-old quasi-mansion in Detroit) is a 1978 Yamaha XS1100. Now, to be fair, I already have a bunch of the affordable classics that were on my list thanks to my poor impulse control, hoarding tendencies, and my abilities with a wrench and a can of brake cleaner. Aside from the XS850, my permanent stable currently holds a '79 XS650, a '72 Honda CB500K, a '76 Honda GL1000, and Project Firebolt, my FrankenBeezer. That's a lot of classic iron, but there's still an XS11-shaped hole in my garage (and in my heart). So, why do I want one so bad? Let's talk about it. From its founding in the early-50s to the late-60s, Yamaha built and sold small-displacement two-strokes. They were pretty good at it too. Then, in 1969, Team Blue turned the entire motorcycle industry on its head by launching the legendary XS-1. That bike, a 650cc, four-stroke, parallel-twin that our colleagues over at Cycle World once called, "The Bonneville Triumph should be making", was both Yamaha's first four-stroke bike and it's first "big" motorcycle. The XS-series grew in the mid-70s with the addition of the groundbreaking XS750 triple, which was supplanted in 1980 by the bored-out XS850. Those bikes were nice and all, but Yamaha execs wanted a piece of that 1,000cc superbike pie that Honda, Kawasaki, and Suzuki were enjoying. Enter the XS1100. BEHOLD! Released in 1978, the XS1100—The Eleven to its friends—hit the motorcycling world like a tac nuke. The engine, developed from the XS-series' triple mills, was a 1,101cc, air-cooled, dual overhead cam, inline-four that breathed in through a rack of four Mikuni carbs and out through a 4-into-2 exhaust. The big four (allegedly) put down 95 horses and generated a stump-pulling 66.5 pound-feet of torque. All that power got to the rear wheel via a five-speed gearbox and a shaft final drive. Braking was handled by dual discs in the front and a single disc aft. In its first year, Yamaha sold a single version of the XS11, the XS1100E. That bike was a standard-style machine with a flat seat (complete with cafe-style fiberglass tail section), flat bars, a square tank with knee cutouts, and cast-aluminum wheels. It came in one color—the lovely, hilariously named Macho Maroon with gold pinstriping and badges—and had a now-controversial square headlight and boxy instrument panel (haters vacate, I love square headlights). The XS1100 in Standard... ...and Special trim. In 1979, Yamaha introduced the XS1100 Special, a "factory custom" variant with a stepped seat, teardrop tank, and (dopey, uncomfortable) buckhorn handlebars. The Special came in one color, Carmine Red with no details or accents (I got a lot of opinions about Yamaha's lackluster colorways in the late-70s). Along with the regular Special, there was a limited edition version called the Midnight Special that came in black with a blacked-out powertrain and gold trim. The Midnight Special trim showed up in the XS850 and XS650 lines, too, and was offered for all three models for the rest of their respective runs. Despite being, shall we say, fashionably late to the big-bore, four-stroke, inline-four market, the XS11 made a strong impression right out of the gate. It was shockingly fast in a straight line and had a reputation for putting down sub-12-second passes in stock trim at the drag strip. It had torque for days and enough power on tap to get unsuspecting riders in a whole lot of trouble. In addition to its raw power, the big bike was also comfortable. It proved to be a smooth-running, long-legged, muscular machine that could eat up highway miles with ease. The Midnight Special was a little gaudy, but people sure did like 'em. The motoring press' reaction to Yamaha's new big-boy bike was enthusiastic. Many breathless, superlative-laden articles were written about the bike's stunning performance and good looks. Thanks to its size and power, most mojos considered the XS11 a sport touring bike akin to the first generation Gold Wing. Cycle Magazine, for example, called the XS11, "a Rolls Royce with a blown Chrysler Hemi motor", and it won Best Touring Bike in Cycle World's Ten Best Bikes in 1978 and 1979. It wasn't all twinkies and sunshine, however, and the XS11 definitely had its faults. For starters, it was about a hundred pounds too heavy, tipping the scales at a portly 603 pounds (Yamaheavy, amirite?). In addition, like its big-bore competitors from Honda, Suzuki, and Kawasaki, it had a stellar engine but terrible handling. The XS11's handling is best described as squirrelly thanks to mediocre brakes, rubbery forks, and a frame that was essentially made out of paper towel tubes. Cycle Magazine advised readers that the big Yamaha could go, steer, and stop perfectly well, just never two at the same time. Another publication said the XS11 had, "a bulletproof motor and tea trolley handling." Yamaha even offered a couple... ...of factory touring packages for the XS11. Despite its rather glaring shortcomings, The XS1100 turned out to be a winner for Yamaha. It sold respectably well from its introduction in 1978 until 1981 when it was replaced in Yamaha's lineup by the XJ1100 Maxim. In the nearly 40 years since Yamaha axed it, the XS1100 has gained a devoted following of gearheads and weirdos for whom only Yamahas will do and Hondas and Kawasakis are, at best, pedestrian appliances. You know, weirdos like me. That's a whole lot of words to say that I really want an XS1100. Specifically, I want an OG '78 E model that hasn't been too ruined by previous owners. If I can land one, it'll complete my dream of having an example of each XS-series bike Yamaha sold here in The Colonies. If you happen to see one, let me know. PS: Yeah, yeah. I know I left a bunch out of this article. I could have gone on about the touring packages, the Euro and Aus-specific models, and even the XS11's various racing successes. This article's already long enough, so I left all that out. If you want to talk about that, feel free to do so in the comments. Let's block ads! (Why?)

Have you heard of Honor Blackman? If not, the name Pussy Galore will likely make that lightbulb over your head light up. While she is best known for her role as Sean Connery’s Bond Girl in Goldfinger, Blackman has a whole history of badassery that’s her own, aside from flipping 007 on his back in a barn. Some of that badassery involved riding motorcycles during World War II. See, Honor Blackman did more than kick butts on the silver screen. She showed her inherent coolness early on when she volunteered as a motorcycle dispatch to carry packages around London during World War II. "I was only just old enough to ride a bike and my mother was terrified, but I thought it was heaven. It was pretty dangerous because we were in the midst of war and had to mask the headlights during the blackout. Bombs were falling, but the roar of the motorbike engine used to drown out the sound of the doodlebugs (V-1 flying bombs) so we never heard them coming. It seemed terribly exciting to me,” Motorcycle News quoted her saying. For reference, she was only 15 years old when the bombing of London occurred between 1940 and 1941. She also started studying and training as an actor around that age. Blackman went on to become Cathy Gale, one of the original Avengers—the spies, not the otherworldly superheroes—and, of course, one of the most famous Bond Girls in the series’ history. She also made guest appearances on such shows as Doctor Who and Columbo. She was an involved citizen and was described by her family as a “much-adored mother and grandmother” with an “an extraordinary combination of beauty, brains and physical prowess.” She passed away at age 94 in her home in Lewes, Sussex, England on April 5, 2020. Sources: The Guardian, Motorcycle News, Cycle World Let's block ads! (Why?)

The advent of the novel coronavirus has altered public life on a global scale. Routine events like work meetings, shopping, and meeting up with friends have all but moved to digital spaces. In the motorcycling world, manufacturers have resorted to live feed showcases in lieu of in-person motorcycle shows and MotoGP just completed its first virtual race during this season’s ongoing suspension. While COVID-19's collateral damage forces us settle for diluted digital versions of our favorite experiences, it can open our eyes to tools we’ve had at our fingertips all along. Almost everyone is privy to the Street View feature in Google Maps, but many don’t know that you explore the Ducati, BMW, and Harley-Davidson museums within the Street View mode. By simply dragging and dropping the flailing little orange character over the premises of the hall of hogs in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the Museo Ducati in Bologna, Italy, or the BMW Welt in Munich, Germany, you can gain access to some of the most legendary collections of motorcycles in the world—all without changing out of your pajamas. For the Harlistas out there, a pilgrimage to the hog holy land is usually the trip of a lifetime. With the recent Mama Tried motorcycle show cancellation, many Harley faithful also missed out on a chance to also visit the Motor Company's museum and campus. However, that shouldn’t stop fans from checking out 117 years of motorcycling history in the most sterile environment possible—the internet. Exhibiting board track racers, military service Harleys, and the sprawling gas tank wall, Google Maps offers exclusive access to hog heaven for those restricted from leaving their residence. If you happen to be a Ducatista instead, a digital tour of Museo Ducati is also available. Though COVID-19 forced Ducati’s museum to close in early March, the digital doors are still open via Street View. From the original Scrambler and Monster to World Record one-off builds and World Superbike Champion Ducati 851, the legendary models only lend to the lore of the Borgo firm. Yes, navigating through the labyrinthine halls of Museo Ducati isn’t as easy as shuffling through them with your own feet, but the history and beauties in red are worth an afternoon of surfing the internet. Unlike Ducati and Harley, BMW restricts the Street Views of its museum to particular points of interest. Housing both cars and motorcycles, Beemer’s facilities tell a comprehensive story of the brand’s engineering and achievements. The points of interest provide views of the company’s heralded F1 race machines, electric vehicle concepts, and classic cars of yesteryear. While motorcycles are displayed throughout sections of the museum, bike-specific exhibits include a wall of historic BMW models and a room featuring fan-favorites like the R 90S and RS 500. No, touring these virtual museums doesn’t replace the experience of actually being there, but in times like these, it’s a welcome distraction. Hopefully, a little taste of the museum in a digital space will coax people to visit them in-person because manufacturers may need the help once all this is over. Let's block ads! (Why?)