A friend stopped by to catch up with a specific conversation. He had a recent motorcycle magazine with him. And was very excited.
In that motorcycle magazine a hymn was held on the new Yamaha R1. That 1000 cc'er now delivered 200 hp and had more electronics on board than the moonlander ever had. All that electronics were used to get the 200 pk to the road as safely as possible. For example, there was something else with such an abbreviation as a name that when suddenly full throttle would prevent the engine from making a wheelie.
My daily classic is also an almost 1000 cc heavy motorcycle
Emotionally, I estimate the power as 'more than sufficient'. Even fact-checking teaches that an early Moto Guzzi Cali 3 was abandoned by the eternally optimistic Italians for 65,4 pk. You can't get away from that with 10-hole injectors and four catalysts. The new R1 is perhaps a bit exceptional because it is only made to go as fast as possible - preferably on a circuit. But what is the use in a country where we have to save the environment by driving a maximum of 100 km / h?
Former super sports were also nonsense
But they were kind of boyish with it. They were therefore far from perfect. And as we know after all the photoshopped photos of the heroes / heroines of our (grand) children: Perfection is boring and threatening. The most convincing of the pleasant madness of the past? The first generation Kawasaki 500 cc three-cylinder. They were super-fast, over-motorized, the frame, the brakes, and the suspension and damping were understaffed. Things were sinking like Templars and everything broke down. They crashed at bushes. But whether they really steered so badly? Whether the myth wasn't bigger than the engine? At Zandvoort, men who could really steer (and who had big hearts) drove really sharp times on those things. They didn't need any trays of electronics for that. With their respective asses and hands, they did an incredible amount more than high-tech electronics can do even now.
The Yamaha RD350 LC YPVS was an engine that preceded the abbreviation race but was extremely user-friendly. It was an engine that was lightning fast, steered and braked well before its time. And with less than 50 hp, he was a lot faster than 750 cc machines. But in his limitations was his sense of adventure.
Imperfection is risky, but much nicer
The modern Adventurous is a world in which a fully organized, hour-to-hour motorcycle trip is the pinnacle of adventure. Where a participant complained that there was no lunch yet at 14.00. Riding in a fantastic safe protective clothing system, an airbag jacket plus a neck brace.
In the past, part of the fun was not just imperfection, but also the consequences. A motorcycle trip was an open-ended story. A cut-through to a distant village center ended in an engine that sank to its rear axle in a freshly plowed field. That was a laugh for a BMW GS, but for the tightly packed 1968'er BMW R60 with Earless fork, the field was a bridge too far. You walked to the village. Ordered a few pilsen. And meal. You arranged a room. And the next day a toothless local pulled the BMW out of the field.
It was also the time that you were completely soaked under a British bridge
One Triumph didn't do it anymore. The other was broken. An Austin with a friendly family put it in. The driver also had one Triumph. We were invited soaked in for tea at home. Cramming six men into a small Austin was no problem. The two daughters, neat boarding school girls, thought it was fantastic to sit on wet strangers' lap. The strangers themselves were also very pleased with it. The girls smoke nicely. The matter was discussed with the host and his host at home. Later the two became Triumphs dragged to their house where we could see what was wrong in the garage. We were allowed to hang our wet things to dry. One Triumph had water in the float tanks. The other had electrical problems. We were allowed to keep eating. But invited the family to dinner. That was the first time we tasted chicken tandoori. We were allowed to sleep.
How surprising the field of tension between then and now is demonstrated by the ride that an acquaintance made on a lightning-fast classic four-cylinder engine. Our friend was used to modern, very fast motorcycles. He knew and knows how to play all electronic cousins perfectly. He drives very fast on circuits and with a sharp edge.
After a few habituation laps on the old super-athlete, he went mercilessly on his plate. He flew out of the corner. When he was approachable again, he said that he had gone wrong because he relied on his electronic assistance when turning the bend out of habit. One present said: “All nice and nice. But you just can't ride a motorcycle. "
We live in a time when we men also have to work with our feelings
While in the past we used our soft side mainly to sit on. But nowadays we are completely driven by electronic smart guys on the motorcycle. We only have a limited contribution of our own. "Just like in a marriage" we hear someone sigh.
Back in the days? Then we had a feel for our machines. Any movement or reaction of the bike was the purest feedback. And I think about that every time I see my friend, the classic motorcycle sprayer, Theo Terwel dancing on his BMW R69S. Electronics are good for ignition systems. Point.