The Importance of Character

I often hear "character" being described as a positive motorcycle attribute, so much so that Cycle World devoted a portion of last month's issue to the very subject of "character".

So while the talk of character gets tossed around, written about and discussed, what does it mean?  What does it mean when someone says their bike has character?  And, finally, is it something positive or negative about a motorcycle?

When discussing what constitutes character, I usually think it's a nice way of saying the bike is crap.  But the more I think about it, the more I begin to believe that line of thinking is wrong. 

To me, character means the bike is alive in some way and that the bike has flaws.  Everything that's alive, from worms to wolves to women, has faults and flaws.  Those faults and flaws are what what make up our personalities and make us who we are.  For example, I'm afraid of heights.  It's a fault of mine that makes me different from someone who isn't afraid of heights.

Motorcycles are the same way. 

A new Honda CB1000 is a nice bike.  It's relatively inexpensive, has good power and is well built.  I bet it has good handling, too.  It's a bike that will give you years of faithful service with minimal interruptions. 

It's also as interesting as a toenail.

You can be guaranteed that the Honda will start every time you go to ride it.  It also won't break down and leave you stranded on a lonely road next to a cornfield.  It won't run bad because it's hot, cold, overcast or Monday.  The ergonomics are well thought out and clutch is easy to use.  And, finally, it won't punt you into the weeds when you make a slight mistake.

In short, the Honda is a machine.  And as a machine, it is cold and lifeless.  It may as well have a place to store cold beverages and slots to make toast.

If we use the faults plus flaws equals character equation, my Guzzi would be the perfect example.  It has many faults and flaws.  It's loud, noisy, smelly and slightly overweight.  We're very much alike, my Guzzi and I.  It also doesn't run that well when the temps are below 50° F, drinks fuel like a full-size pickup and vibrates like a massage table.  I also get the feeling it would leave me stranded on a lonely road next to a cornfield, just out of spite. 

My Guzzi, then, is not a machine.  It's definitely alive and I often wonder if that's a good thing.  Why did I chose my Guzzi over the Honda, a bike that's better in almost every way?

Believe it or not, I think I know.

I said above that my Guzzi and I are alike in many ways.  I think that has a lot to do with why I bought it.  Human beings are flawed creatures; we all know that.  I think the perfection and precision of machinery scares us.  We don't want to be reminded that we're not perfect. 

The machine-like Honda will work for hours on end in any temperature while you will eventually get tired and need a rest.  When the Honda begins to age, it's life can be extended infinitely as long as parts are available to keep it running.  You will eventually die and nothing can stop that.  When a part breaks on the Honda, a new part can be installed and it will continue like nothing happened.  When you break your leg, it takes awhile for it to heal and there's no guarantee you won't have long-term effects from the injury.

So, to avoid being faced with our flaws in the face of a precise machine, we find one flawed like us.  We, as motorcyclists, will put up with a bike that cuts out in the rain or one that doesn't run well on Wednesdays or one with a ridiculous starting procedure.  We'll put up with these foibles because the bike is flawed like us and by extension, becomes a part of us.

So that's why I bought my Guzzi over a Honda CB1000.  My Guzzi has character the Honda will never have.  My Guzzi is an extension of my person because I know it's flaws and embrace them.  I embrace them the way I would another person's flaws.  That's what drew me to it in the first place.

Well, that or the carbon exhaust... 

Pantahstica!

Radical Ducati is starting to make me nervous.  Normally, I'd see one of their creations and dry heaves from the ugliness would result.  That changed with the Vendetta kit for the Ducati 1098 and it's changed again with the Pantahstica.

This endurance racer-esque machine began its life as a Cagiva 350 Alazzurra, which was a slow, touring version of the Ducati Pantah.  What Radical Ducati did was take the Cagiva, cut it up and throw everything away.  All that's left from the donor bike is a bit of the frame and maybe some bolts. 

The engine is from a 750 Paso, the heads are from a 750 F1, the cams are from a TT2, the carbs are 41mm Dell'ortos, the valves are bigger, and the ports have been...ported.  Exhausting burnt hydrocarbons is a Wolfman two-into-one with pipe wrap (barf).

The Hodge-podge of parts continues with the chassis.  The rear half of the frame was totally redesigned to fit the Verlicchi-style swing arm with mono shock.  The front fork is from an 851, the wheels are from a Monster and braking duties are left up to bits from Brembo.  The tank and seat pan are one-off items while the fairing comes from a Ducati single and the front fender is also from an 851.  There's also a wafer-thin piece of foam to put your ass on while you ride.

Basically, this bike is what would result if you let a patient from the Vannacutt Psychiatric Institute for the Criminally Insane loose into a room full of Ducati parts.  And its schizophrenia is why I like it.

It's much more interesting than another cafe bike with checker stripes and pipe wrap or the same old bobber that's been done a million times.  A fantastic amount of engineering went into this machine to make all the various bits fit together.

There's also an intent behind the design beyond making it look like an endurance racer, which it does quite well.  It does what a custom bike should: be better than what it was based on.

The Cagiva Alazzurra was an unloved and curious creation from a dark time for Ducati.  When the brand was purchased by Cagiva, there was talk of dissolving Ducati and branding all their products as Cagivas.  The Alazzurra was an initial step in that plan, taking a Pantah and calming it down a tad to make a sport-tourer.  As we now know, Ducati survived (just) and is enjoying the most success they ever have.

With this bike, the slow Alazzurra is transformed into a blistering track weapon.  It goes faster than it did, handles better than it did and stops better than it did.  It even looks better than it did.  

And, again, that's what a custom bike should be: better.