Separating Value From Sentimentality

[Hugh Janus]

A 1966 Yamaha TD1-B first built as part of Cycle World’s aborted Isle of Man TT effort that year. Later owned by Gordon Jennings and restored by Jeff Palhegyi of Palhegyi Design, a noted collector of two-stroke race bikes. (Jay McNally/Cycle World Archive/)

I can’t get worked up over “those great old bikes,” and I don’t wish my hands were going to sleep riding them. Motorcycles continue to evolve rapidly, so one lesson of the past is that what we regard as cool and ace today will in 10 years seem embarrassingly unsophisticated.

In 1965, our local roadrace hero Andy Lascoutx bought a Yamaha 250 TD1-B two-stroke roadracer (number 188, one digit ahead of the engine number of the one I am currently assembling). Being accustomed to lackluster homebuilt racers, after first practice at Vineland, New Jersey, he was bubbling with enthusiasm.

Drink in the variety of aluminum surface finishes—so fresh, so apparently unaltered by time. This bike has a black frame but the original color was a subtle “cordovan metalflake.” This bike wears the chrome-plated “Suzuka pipes” also seen on the Ascot Scrambler. See the fuel-frothing stock remote fuel bowls, bravely bolted to the engine! As you accelerated, fuel sloshed to the rear, making the engine run lean. Those chrome horns on the carbs and metal rear fender are not seen on TD1-B. (Mark Hoyer/)

“It’s so fast! And if I want to go faster, I just turn the grip more! And the brakes! If I want to stop faster, I just pull the lever harder!”

The passage of a year changed his perspective. The engines broke rings or the cylinder chrome chipped. The magnetos went out of time. Used very hard, the drum brakes were at their limit, and cracks were appearing in the iron wear rings cast into them. Suspension was harsh. Vibration made riders’ hands tingle and go numb.

This bike has the proper late-B spring-mounted pipes (the bolted-solid chrome pipes cracked constantly) painted with heat-resistant silver paint. The angled flat you see on the side of the pipe is for cornering clearance. Also the swingarm is correct—you can just make out the long gusseting (it was made longer in steps with every model, TD1, TD1-A, B, and C). Carbs are as they should be—no horns. For two-strokes, the shorter the intake the better. As you blew past the 25-hp Ducati singles it was proper to sit up and pretend to adjust your goggles. (Jay McNally/Cycle World Archive/)

Races were won in the process, yes, but it could have been better if… At Yamaha they did something about it—in 1967 came the TD1-C, whose cylinder plating was so good that you could actually wear out a cylinder (think of it—a thousand miles!). New nodular iron rings no longer broke. And now people were trying Ceriani forks in place of the seal-blowing stocker, and rudimentary disc brakes were being tried. Girling rear shocks (they came on all British bikes of the time) could be fitted with optional softer springs that stopped the pogo effect and increased grip. Change.

This very early bike still has the watermelon-shaped gas tank of the RD48 250 GP bike which gave its T1 chassis for use in “stock”-based US AMA racing. Pipes are rigidly mounted at both ends, but Yamaha soon learned better. If that thin sheet aluminum tank touched the frame anywhere, a crack appeared immediately. So it sat on special molded rubber cushions at front, rear, and middle. Just try to find an original petcock for that tank! Those are the short little Suzuka pipes with their giant 1-inch tail pipes. Next try was the longer pipes on B-models with smaller tail pipes. Brave beginnings, learning every day. (Yamaha /)

Looking back at the B-model from the C made it seem pitiful—like a collection of amateur mistakes. But that’s how design evolves—you build your best idea and try it in the real world. Parts break or don’t work as planned, and better solutions are developed.

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Today, occasionally the owner of one of the modern breed of Hinckley Triumphs decides to try a classic—say, a 1966 Bonneville. The first reaction is the normal clumsiness of learning kickstarting in place of button pressing. Once the engine starts comes the question, “Did they all vibrate like that?” After that comes the need to learn “the English roll,” which is how riders of the past dealt with the combo of unstable idle and a tendency to cut if the throttles were lifted too quickly. The trick is to make your wrist motion look decisive, while actually not moving too fast for those good old pot-metal carbs.

Don Vesco on his ex-Team Cycle World Yamaha TD-1 at Carlsbad Raceway in Southern California. (Cycle World Archive /)

For the sake of fairness, two things strike me. First, the bikes of the past represented the best solutions of their time, so those of us who saw them in showrooms (rather than at today’s vintage meets) remember them as a new dawn.

And second, we ourselves were new and unsophisticated, so those bikes which now seem so quaint were then the blaze of new creation. That state of mind is rewarding at any age and as I assemble TD1-B #189, I feel tinglings of that original brand-new-in-the-crate enthusiasm and optimism. I become, in some degree, my earlier self. I’m enjoying that.

The molded plastic tach and switch panel, and the little bosom fairing are later additions, and the polished aluminum fork crown appears to be TD1-C. Looks like a TZ throttle grip—those 156-prefix stock grips are hard to find! That great big steering-damper adjusting knob is the real thing though—just under the lower end of the steering stem is a miniature clutch that is the dry friction steering damper. When Gary Nixon was bothered with a wobble or two at the Loudon, New Hampshire, AMA National, he’d get through the turns and then busily tighten the damper for the straight. Then he’d quickly unscrew it to have fluid steering where he needed it. The coming of hydraulic steering dampers put an end to all that. (Mark Hoyer /)

I do know that if I get as far as starting the engine, the vibration in bars, seat, and pegs will still lie well outside OSHA guidelines and the chance of chipping the chrome in a cylinder will be unchanged from 1965. The rear shock springs will still have their pavement-breaking 125 pounds-per-inch rate.

I’m not old! I’m 25 again! That coal-shovel seat back is aluminum, and most of them vibrated off after cracking at the screw holes. Rider Frank Camillieri, with whom I worked in 1968, didn’t bother to replace it. “It’ll just break again.” When at a Canadian CMA event he was asked what kind of oil he put in his fork, he replied, “I dunno, I’ve never looked.” In the void under the rear of the tank can be seen the C-type float bowl bracket (bowls are invisible behind the rear edge of the fairing) which hung down from the chassis in an effort to soften the engine’s vibes. Better was coming—rubber-mounted center-float Mikuni VM30s of the 1969 TD2—new chassis, new suspension, new brakes. (Jay McNally/Cycle World Archive/)

Bikes become obsolete but enthusiasm and optimism never do.

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