"What Is The Practical Application For That?"

Jeffrey Butts

This is what a friend asked me as we stood in the driveway looking at the result of my most recent lapse of common sense. I understood the question perfectly and struggled for an answer. Then it hit me. It is art. Pure and simple, I had purchased a piece of dynamic art. It is totally impractical but I just had to have it. "What is it, you ask?" What did I buy? A motorcycle, not just any motorcycle, but one that is likely to get me thrown in the pokey if I ride it on the street. Not that such a prospect will stop me you understand.

To shed some light on this insanity, we need to step back a few years. My father made his trip into second childhood with sports cars. Two of us boys enjoyed the castoffs of his hobby. By 1970 though, we had migrated to motorcycle racing. We still drove sports cars but racing them was way too expensive. Nothing has changed there, eh?

I joined the American Motorcycle Association (the other AMA) in 1970. I had never ridden a bike before. My first rides were on the dirt, racing TT and short track. This is not pavement racing, nor is it motocross. Dirt track racing is on packed dirt (with a blue groove racing line and a cushion on the outside). The track is either a "road" course, with left and right turns and, usually, a jump or it is on an oval ranging in size from one-tenth to one mile.

In those days, the Japanese bikes were not the reliable powerhouses that they are now. For motocross, names like Husqvarna, Maico, Bultaco, and KTM were the bikes to have. The European machines were much more tractable and reliable than the early efforts from Japan. The same was true in dirt track racing. Bultaco was a primo machine and bikes like the Yamaha and Suzuki were only just beginning to make a dent. Two stroke engines were the way to go. In the bigger engine size classes, Harley was (and still is) the benchmark with its' XR-750. The British twins (cylinders, not fraternal), BSA and Triumph were kickin' major ass on the big ovals and TT tracks. If you want a time capsule view of the era, pick up a copy of the 1971 Bruce Brown film "On Any Sunday".

Well, back to my story. I went through a succession of Bultaco's, mostly 200cc bikes. I raced indoors (on a concrete oval), and outdoors on ovals, TT tracks, and scrambles courses. I tried motocross once or twice and we would trailer the bikes down to the Mojave Desert east of Los Angeles once or twice a year. I upgraded periodically, eventually ending up with a 1973 250cc Pursang. By this time (~1977) the changes in suspension technology and in Japanese reliability meant that this once proud racer was reduced to an also-ran. The tougher the terrain, the more its' antiquated suspension slowed it down. On the fire roads it was still a bike to contend with though. In 1978, after moving to Oregon, I went riding with a neighbor in an area in the Oregon Coast Range known as the Tillamook Burn. Trails lace the hills but the area is loaded with logging roads. Smooth, hard packed dirt, logging roads. This is the arena in which the Bultaco would shine. Long wheelbase and gentle fork angle made the Pursang a great slider. My friend had a 400cc rice bike and I ate him alive. Never mind that on the trails the junior high school kids on their 125cc Hondas returned the favor. The Bultaco still rests in my garage. Not started for about seventeen years it awaits my attention as a retirement age project.

Late in 1972 I had the opportunity to buy a bigger bike. A guy that worked with me in Santa Clara was selling his BSA twin. This was originally a 650cc bike that had a special crank and rods so that it was punched out to 750cc. The motor rested in a Trackmaster racing frame. The rear sprocket was split so that you could change ratios without removing the wheel. Now I understand all about today's pavement rockets. Current motorcycles like the four cylinder, 16 valve, 750cc Suzuki GSX-R have phenomenal horsepower ratings and weigh less than 400 pounds. Back then my BSA sported about 75 horsepower (XR-750's would run about 90hp in pro races) and weighed 315 pounds with fuel. The GSX-R has an electric starter and a six-speed transmission. My Beezer had a four speed (and I never did use first gear) tranny and a leg-breaking kick-starter. I've got to tell you though, that bike was a wonderful beast. It had straight pipes and, even with the silencers on the end, made a pulse-quickening rumble. The GSX-R has dual disc in the front and a single in the rear. The BSA had drums fore and aft. When run on the ovals, no front brake was allowed. Now I have been in some fast cars and on some fast bikes but I have to tell you that the sheer adrenaline rush of riding that British twin on the Sacramento Mile oval was the experience of a lifetime. With my head down on the tank and my left hand on the fork tube for streamlining, the sight of the white horse fence ticking off to the right was Nirvana. Far out.

Well, that flashback is over. Back to the present. We had company at the house and we had decided to drive up to Seattle to take in a show. Since it started in the early afternoon, we elected to eat breakfast out before heading onto the highway. As we were walking in, I noticed a pick-up truck drive up with a bike in the back. It was a British twin, a 650cc Triumph Bonneville. The bike was obviously a dirt tracker, with only the essentials. It had been equipped with disc brakes, a single front and rear, the front rotor drilled. It sported very nice fiberglass, a white tank with blue trim and red pinstripes. Low and behold, it also had a license plate! Someone had made a racer into a street legal bike. I made a note of where the gentleman sat in the dining room and, when we were awaiting our order, went over and introduced myself. It turns out that he raced Sportsman class (amateur dirt track racing) in the same district that I had, but a few years before. When I commented on how nice the bike looked, he said that it was for sale. It only took me about a week to get up the courage/lose my good sense/make a bold decision (choose one) and make the buy.

When I went to pick up the bike I must admit I had some apprehension. It had been over fifteen years since I had even been on a bike. I had a helmet (for auto club track days) and a leather jacket. I had "work boots" left over from the fire department. I was going to ride this sucker home. In traffic. On a Friday afternoon. On a hot day. As I had noted earlier, the Triumph was, uh, street legal. It had an after-market headlight. It had a tiny taillight mounted at the top of the right rear shock. It had a mirror under the handlebar bow on the left side that gave me a shaky view of my coat pocket. A fork brace provided a minimalist front fender. Most importantly, it had a license plate on the left side. I barely heard what he was telling me. In part this was due to the fact that the bike has straight pipes. No silencer. No muffler. Just straight pipes. Mostly though, it was because I couldn't wait to get on this beautiful bike. I asked him to kill the motor (using the requisite AMA approved kill switch) so that I could start it myself. I swung my leg over the saddle, reached down and pulled out the kick-starter, and jumped on the pedal. It didn't move. The 10.5:1 compression ratio was a little more than my pathetic kick could tickle. Once again I kicked and this time I was rewarded with that sound that is every bit as sweet as the rumble of a big V-8. Some additional advice, the exchange of the check, and I was on my way down the hill, headed for commuter rush hour.

This is not the bike to ride in bumper to bumper traffic. I must have looked mighty dangerous for that first half mile. Let's see, where do I put my foot to get the best leverage on the brake? How much play is in the clutch? How sensitive is the front brake? How the hell do I keep from falling off? The engine has a built motor and so it does not idle easily. There was a whole heck of a lot of throttle blipping to keep the beast from dying. I killed it once but, thankfully, managed to get it restarted without it falling over on me. Let me tell you that neutral is not easy to find either. I'd pull up to the light and snick the lever into what I thought was a safe spot between first and second. Then, I'd ease out the clutch and see if the bike started to creep (which it usually did). Time to begin again! If I rode at about one gear higher than usual the bike was pretty quiet. Well, compared to an F-15 takeoff roll. By the time I reached the freeway, I was comfortable enough and felt as if I could actually appear to know how to ride. I resisted the temptation to lift the front wheel as I accelerated from the off ramp. Not a hard decision since I was not as stable as I thought. I wicked it on pretty good though, this orgasmic roar came from the motor, and I literally rocketed onto the freeway. I was grinning so hard my stomach hurt.

Well, I got home safely enough but the real danger awaited me in the garage. I don't think that Stephanie thought I was serious when I said that I was going to buy the Triumph. It took a couple of days before she could talk about it without turning red from anger. You need to understand that before we were married, she made more than a couple of trips with me to the hospital to patch bones, fix teeth, and bandage abrasions from my seven years of motorcycle racing bravado. She's warmed to the idea of the bike now, if not to my riding it. I have assured her that this is more of a metal sculpture than a practical vehicle. I don't plan to ride much, maybe just to the local cruise-in or some quick rides. I don't want to test the legality of the bike (and I still have to get an operator's license). Yes, it is art, but the very best kind. It is art that you can take out and play with.