If you mention the Gilera name to most people today, they'll either know the company as a maker of mopeds, scooters, and small-bore motorcycles or they'll give you a confused look.
That was not always the case, however. In the years before and after World War II, Gilera was the maker of a series of fearsome four-cylinder racing machines. That's quit a difference from their current position as being another one of Piaggio's many brands.
In the 1950s, Gilera's mighty 500 Four won six championships in eight years, including five straight from 1952 until 1957. They also won Isle of Man TT in 1955 and 1957.
Those big air-cooled fours belted out 70 hp and with the bathtub fairings of the day would propel the bike to 160 mph. After 1957 season, the declining prices of cars in Italy and the escalating costs of racing caused the Italian manufacturers to come to a gentleman's agreement: they would all pull out of racing. The dominating era of the Gilera Four came to an end.
After pulling out of racing, Gilera concentrated on small road machines and was purchased by Piaggio in 1969. They have gone on to produce motorcycles of various sizes, along with mopeds and scooters. The company also made a comeback to racing in 1992 and has won championships in the 125cc class in 2001 and the 250cc class in 2008.
But what kicked off their era of dominance? How did a company that now sells rebadged Piaggio MP3s once rule the racing world? Well, it starts with the purchase of an aircraft engine.
In 1923, two Roman engineers named Carlo Gianini and Piero Remor, with capital invested by wealthy Roman count Giovanni Bonmartini, designed a 500cc four-cylinder engine for aircraft use. The supercharged engine was originally air-cooled but was later redesigned for liquid-cooling. This engine was eventually purchased by the Caproni aircraft company, who then later sold it to Gilera.
The only similarities between this engine and later the Gilera fours was the number of cylinders and the displacement. This engine was angled forward at a steep 45° and was liquid-cooled. Nestled behind the cylinders was a rotating lobe supercharger and the exhaust was a four-into-two setup.
Shoving an airplane engine into a motorcycle frame isn't exactly easy. A special frame was designed and it was similar in concept to Yamaha's Deltabox frame that would arrive nearly 50 years later. Two layers of steel tubes ran along the sides of the powertrain and connected to a large spar just under the seat. This odd frame concept was necessary not only because of the engine's
width but because of the size and placement of the radiator. The front suspension was a traditional girder-style and the scissor-type dampers for the rear suspension were of a pivoting fork design.
This machine debuted in 1937 and immediately began to make an impact. Piero Taruffi guided it to 170 mph over the flying kilometer and into the record books. The next year, the 500 Gilera won at Taranto and Lario. In 1939, Dorino Serafini rode the bike to a record-breaking win at the Ulster Grand Prix in Ireland and on to a world championship. The next year, the fascinating Gilera was gone.
The innovative chassis played a part in the Gilera's success but the lion's share went to the engine. It pumped out 85 hp and with the unitized four-speed gearbox and sans fairing, the machine would hit 143 mph. Put a fairing on it and top speed went up to 170 mph. That was truly heady stuff for the day.
This Gilera is an important piece of motorcycle history. It's innovative chassis and powerful engine put the world on notice and paved the way for Gilera's future domination. The 500s that came later would be less radical, however. Their engines were naturally-aspirated and air-cooled while their frames were more traditional.
It's a shame that the gentleman's agreement between the Italian manufacturers ended Gilera's reign. They were such iconic and ground-breaking machines and it's sad to see the Gilera name on scooters and mopeds and not on world-beating superbikes. I don't think ever got to see just what Gilera was capable of.
I think the world was cheated.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
Knowing Better
Have you ever liked or done something that you know you shouldn't? When you were told not to touch the hot stove, didn't that make you want to touch it even more? One of my professors in college told me to never open a story with a question, yet here I am doing just that. Why? Because it's too tempting not to.
The Royal Enfield Bullet falls into the above category perfectly.
Everything I've read about the Bullet says it's a quality control nightmare. It's a good thing the Bullet is good-looking because it will spend a lot of its time stationary. Every time I see one, though, I can't help but be drawn in by its looks. I know there are issues and I know owning one will be a headache but I keep looking.
The Bullet is motorcycling's version of the coelecanth. It's a living fossil based off a machine that first hit the pavement in 1948. From that time until a few years ago, very little about the Bullet changed. It still had drum brakes front and rear, a kick starter, four speeds, and 1940s English build quality. The big pushrod 500cc single belted out just 22 bhp.
Recently, sweeping changes were made to the Bullet. The drivetrain was unitized, EFI was added and so was a front disc brake. And that was about it. On the plus side, power for the 500 went up to 27.5 bhp.
While unit construction and disc brakes are hardly revolutionary in the 21st century, adding them to the Bullet was like adding nuclear power to the USS Monitor or like adding electricity to a 16th century house. The gorgeous, timeless outside remained but with "modern" touches hidden underneath.
And gorgeous the Bullet is. By not changing much over the last 65 years, the simple and elegant styling has remained. Even the pinstripes are still applied by hand. While modern motorcycles are shaped by science, the Bullet was shaped by the human soul. Everything about the Bullet just looks right. It's one of those shapes that screams "motorcycle," not "sci-fi horror show" like many modern motorcycles. Even the little tool box on the right side looks good.
Hidden under the beauty of the Bullet is the ugliness. That ugliness is quality. Scour the Internet or talk to owners and the stories are eye-opening. Until the recent upgrades, the Bullet really was an old bike with turn signals, so it had all the old bike foibles. Included among the foibles was the fact that it was achingly slow. Flat out, the Bullet would struggle to hit 80 mph. The infusion of power raised top speed only marginally. And the quality of the metal wasn't and still isn't great, either, with rusting after one season common.
But then you look at one and the foibles you know are there move to the background. When mom was telling you not to touch the stove, you weren't really listening, were you?
The Bullet is one of those machine you have to get to really understand. But once you get it, you get it and it makes complete sense. The Bullet will never compete with a Honda CBR1000RR but then it's not supposed to. It's meant to be retro and unlike the Hinckley Bonneville or the Moto Guzzi V7, it's actually retro. It's not a modern bike styled to look like an old bike. It's an actual old bike.
I like the Bullet because it's a total museum piece that somehow continues to be sold. It's contemporaries have all gone the way of the dodo but the Bullet remains. That's staying power, especially when today's superbike is tomorrow creaking old door.
So when the apocalypse comes and civilization as we know it is obliterated, you can take solace in the fact that three things will remain: cockroaches, Cher and the Royal Enfield Bullet.
The Royal Enfield Bullet falls into the above category perfectly.
Everything I've read about the Bullet says it's a quality control nightmare. It's a good thing the Bullet is good-looking because it will spend a lot of its time stationary. Every time I see one, though, I can't help but be drawn in by its looks. I know there are issues and I know owning one will be a headache but I keep looking.
The Bullet is motorcycling's version of the coelecanth. It's a living fossil based off a machine that first hit the pavement in 1948. From that time until a few years ago, very little about the Bullet changed. It still had drum brakes front and rear, a kick starter, four speeds, and 1940s English build quality. The big pushrod 500cc single belted out just 22 bhp.
Recently, sweeping changes were made to the Bullet. The drivetrain was unitized, EFI was added and so was a front disc brake. And that was about it. On the plus side, power for the 500 went up to 27.5 bhp.
While unit construction and disc brakes are hardly revolutionary in the 21st century, adding them to the Bullet was like adding nuclear power to the USS Monitor or like adding electricity to a 16th century house. The gorgeous, timeless outside remained but with "modern" touches hidden underneath.
And gorgeous the Bullet is. By not changing much over the last 65 years, the simple and elegant styling has remained. Even the pinstripes are still applied by hand. While modern motorcycles are shaped by science, the Bullet was shaped by the human soul. Everything about the Bullet just looks right. It's one of those shapes that screams "motorcycle," not "sci-fi horror show" like many modern motorcycles. Even the little tool box on the right side looks good.
Hidden under the beauty of the Bullet is the ugliness. That ugliness is quality. Scour the Internet or talk to owners and the stories are eye-opening. Until the recent upgrades, the Bullet really was an old bike with turn signals, so it had all the old bike foibles. Included among the foibles was the fact that it was achingly slow. Flat out, the Bullet would struggle to hit 80 mph. The infusion of power raised top speed only marginally. And the quality of the metal wasn't and still isn't great, either, with rusting after one season common.
But then you look at one and the foibles you know are there move to the background. When mom was telling you not to touch the stove, you weren't really listening, were you?
The Bullet is one of those machine you have to get to really understand. But once you get it, you get it and it makes complete sense. The Bullet will never compete with a Honda CBR1000RR but then it's not supposed to. It's meant to be retro and unlike the Hinckley Bonneville or the Moto Guzzi V7, it's actually retro. It's not a modern bike styled to look like an old bike. It's an actual old bike.
I like the Bullet because it's a total museum piece that somehow continues to be sold. It's contemporaries have all gone the way of the dodo but the Bullet remains. That's staying power, especially when today's superbike is tomorrow creaking old door.
So when the apocalypse comes and civilization as we know it is obliterated, you can take solace in the fact that three things will remain: cockroaches, Cher and the Royal Enfield Bullet.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Great Britten
Few can claim to have built a bike from the ground up. One of the people who can claim to building his own bike is Kiwi madman John Britten.
With a little help from his friends in Christchurch, New Zealand, Britten built a revolutionary bike that went on to beat the factories and set a few land speed records.
The number of parts not bespoke to the Britten V1000 are few. The brakes come from Brembo, the suspension from Ohlins, the clutch from Kawasaki and the transmission from Yamaha. And that's about it. The rest of the bike is completely handmade in Britten's workshop.
What makes the bike extraordinary is not just that it was handmade but the tech it incorporates. Let's start at the front. Where the vast majority of racing motorcycles use a hydraulic fork, the Britten V1000 uses a Hossack-style fork with twin control arms. For reference, the Hossack suspension is marketed by BMW as the Duolever and is found on the K1200/K1300 line of bikes.
The trump cards for this design are the elimination of brake dive and its strength. A hydraulic fork not only dives under braking but the forks tend to wiggle under the strain. This system doesn't.
What's so special about this setup if BMW is using it? Britten was using this suspension in 1991, 14 years before BMW used it. Also, Britten's front suspension is made entirely from carbon fiber, not aluminum like BMW's. The unit can have an amount of brake dive tuned it, to give the rider a sense of familiarity under braking.
Let's move back toward the engine. A v-twin design was chosen because it lessens the frontal area, improving aerodynamics, and a 60° spread was chosen to keep the wheelbase short. The powerplant is fairly straightforward: it's a liquid-cooled DOHC unit with four valves per cylinder. The rods are titanium and it has two injectors per cylinder. This engine churns out 165 hp and redlines at 12,500 rpm.
A stand out part of the engine is the exhaust. The wiggling spaghetti-like exhaust is made by hand and takes 70 hours to make. It's then coated in a nice shade of blue.
As we moved back to the engine, I can hear you asking about the radiator. It's liquid-cooled, where's the rad? I'm glad you asked. The rad is located under the seat, another Britten innovation.
And while we're here, let's talk about the frame. There isn't one. Everything bolts to the engine; the steering head, the swing arm the seat, everything. There is a little bit of "frame" that holds the front suspension together. It's made from carbon fiber, but I guess you've figured that out already.
Finally, the swing arm attaches to the back of the crank case, as does the seat. The arm is made of carbon fiber, too. Another weird thing to notice is the shock unit in front of the engine. No, that's not for the front. That's the rear shock.
The body work is carbon fiber, as are the wheels and the timing covers. I think the tires would have been made from carbon fiber if that was possible.
So this bike was very innovative, but what does all that mean? Well, it means the bike was fast, very fast. The V1000 competed from 1991 until 1994 and won three Battle of the Twins events, it won the NZ Grand Prix title in 1993 and came 1st and 2nd in the New Zealand National Superbike Championship in 1994.
This machine also has a number of speed records to its name, including a top speed record at the Isle of Man TT in 1993. That same year, the V1000 set the speed record for the flying mile, the quarter mile from a standing start, the mile from a standing start and the kilometer from a standing start.
As with anything good, there also comes a side of bad. The V1000 was no different. The small shop run by Britten kept the bike out of major world competition. World Superbike requires 200 examples to be sold to enter the series. Between 1991 and 1994, only 10 Britten V1000s were produced. This limited the types of races in which the bike could be entered.
Perhaps the biggest blow to the V1000 was the death of John Britten in 1995. With him went the company and the dream.
The V1000 isn't noted just for its innovation. It's noted for being the result of a group of people dedicated to creating something truly wonderful. It's also noted for having the ability to go out and beat the factories. I think the V1000 resonates with many motorcyclists because it is the story of a man literally building a bike in his shed that goes out and not only takes on the world, but beats it. The human story outside of the bike, I think, is the most interesting part.
It's wonderful to see Honda, Yamaha, etc. spend millions to push the envelope. It's even better when it happens in someone's backyard through their vision, genius and willpower.
With a little help from his friends in Christchurch, New Zealand, Britten built a revolutionary bike that went on to beat the factories and set a few land speed records.
The number of parts not bespoke to the Britten V1000 are few. The brakes come from Brembo, the suspension from Ohlins, the clutch from Kawasaki and the transmission from Yamaha. And that's about it. The rest of the bike is completely handmade in Britten's workshop.
What makes the bike extraordinary is not just that it was handmade but the tech it incorporates. Let's start at the front. Where the vast majority of racing motorcycles use a hydraulic fork, the Britten V1000 uses a Hossack-style fork with twin control arms. For reference, the Hossack suspension is marketed by BMW as the Duolever and is found on the K1200/K1300 line of bikes.
The trump cards for this design are the elimination of brake dive and its strength. A hydraulic fork not only dives under braking but the forks tend to wiggle under the strain. This system doesn't.
What's so special about this setup if BMW is using it? Britten was using this suspension in 1991, 14 years before BMW used it. Also, Britten's front suspension is made entirely from carbon fiber, not aluminum like BMW's. The unit can have an amount of brake dive tuned it, to give the rider a sense of familiarity under braking.
Let's move back toward the engine. A v-twin design was chosen because it lessens the frontal area, improving aerodynamics, and a 60° spread was chosen to keep the wheelbase short. The powerplant is fairly straightforward: it's a liquid-cooled DOHC unit with four valves per cylinder. The rods are titanium and it has two injectors per cylinder. This engine churns out 165 hp and redlines at 12,500 rpm.
A stand out part of the engine is the exhaust. The wiggling spaghetti-like exhaust is made by hand and takes 70 hours to make. It's then coated in a nice shade of blue.
As we moved back to the engine, I can hear you asking about the radiator. It's liquid-cooled, where's the rad? I'm glad you asked. The rad is located under the seat, another Britten innovation.
And while we're here, let's talk about the frame. There isn't one. Everything bolts to the engine; the steering head, the swing arm the seat, everything. There is a little bit of "frame" that holds the front suspension together. It's made from carbon fiber, but I guess you've figured that out already.
Finally, the swing arm attaches to the back of the crank case, as does the seat. The arm is made of carbon fiber, too. Another weird thing to notice is the shock unit in front of the engine. No, that's not for the front. That's the rear shock.
The body work is carbon fiber, as are the wheels and the timing covers. I think the tires would have been made from carbon fiber if that was possible.
So this bike was very innovative, but what does all that mean? Well, it means the bike was fast, very fast. The V1000 competed from 1991 until 1994 and won three Battle of the Twins events, it won the NZ Grand Prix title in 1993 and came 1st and 2nd in the New Zealand National Superbike Championship in 1994.
This machine also has a number of speed records to its name, including a top speed record at the Isle of Man TT in 1993. That same year, the V1000 set the speed record for the flying mile, the quarter mile from a standing start, the mile from a standing start and the kilometer from a standing start.
As with anything good, there also comes a side of bad. The V1000 was no different. The small shop run by Britten kept the bike out of major world competition. World Superbike requires 200 examples to be sold to enter the series. Between 1991 and 1994, only 10 Britten V1000s were produced. This limited the types of races in which the bike could be entered.
Perhaps the biggest blow to the V1000 was the death of John Britten in 1995. With him went the company and the dream.
The V1000 isn't noted just for its innovation. It's noted for being the result of a group of people dedicated to creating something truly wonderful. It's also noted for having the ability to go out and beat the factories. I think the V1000 resonates with many motorcyclists because it is the story of a man literally building a bike in his shed that goes out and not only takes on the world, but beats it. The human story outside of the bike, I think, is the most interesting part.
It's wonderful to see Honda, Yamaha, etc. spend millions to push the envelope. It's even better when it happens in someone's backyard through their vision, genius and willpower.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Things I Hate About Motorcycling
I really enjoy riding a motorcycle. I think that's evident by the content of this blog.
With that said, there are a few things that annoy me and a few things I generally hate about riding a motorcycle. Since I'm a generous person and like sharing (stop laughing), I thought I'd share my top five annoying and hate-brewing things about motorcycling with you. You're welcome.
Alright, here goes:
1. Riding in traffic - The cars are lined up for miles and there you are on your bike. It's air-cooled, of course, so heat is wafting up, making things even hotter than it is. The fumes from the cars are making Manfred Mann's lyrics make sense. You look over at the car next to you: the people are lounging in air conditioned comfort and eating ice cream while you sweat in your black jacket, black gloves and black helmet. Oh yeah, your bike is black, too. Finally the traffic clears, you can get some air across the cylinders and you promptly get nabbed by a cop. Damn.
2. Meeting another biker at a stoplight - Do you pull up next to him? Did he move over intentionally? Does he want to talk? I can't hear him with my earplugs in so I'll just make hand gestures. Does he think I'm mentally disturbed? Does he think I'll want to race him? Can I beat him if we do race? All these questions and more flood your mind as you pull up to a light. And when you come up with answers to all the questions, the light turns green, he pulls away oblivious to your existence and you're stuck with a line of angry car drivers behind you.
3. Wearing the gear - It's 90° F with 85% humidity outside and you want to go for a ride. Okay, helmet, gloves, jacket, pants and boots on. Sweating begins before you make it to the end of the driveway. I'll make a quick run to the store, you think; it'll only take a few minutes. Okay, helmet, gloves, jacket, pants and boots on. Twenty minutes later, you leave for the store, which is just around the block. It took you 20 minutes to gear up to take a 10 minute round trip. Tired of the putting on all the gear, you decide to ride in a t-shirt and shorts like the Gixxer guys, which means you'll promptly hit a patch of oil and slide across all four lanes of the road.
4. The weather - Al Gore says the weather is changing but it's really staying the same: it rains while you're on your bike and is beautiful when you're not. When's that big rain storm going to get here? Just as you're about to leave. Packing rain gear, though, is a guaranteed way of preventing rain from happening. Washing your bike guarantees a monsoon will happen as soon as you peek out the garage.
5. Getting stuck behind slow drivers - You're flying down your favorite back road and all is going well. You're in the zone, concentrating as hard as you can and clipping every apex. Valentino Rossi is behind you taking notes, you're so good of a rider. You come around the bend, perfectly clip the apex, get ready to nail the throttle as you straighten up...and find yourself stuck behind grandma Ethel on her way to bingo.
Her 1995 Buick Skylark hasn't been above 25 mph since the lot attendant first filled it with gas 17 years ago. And there you are, Aprilia RSV4, full Dainese race suit and aching arms, on the slow boat to China. You may as well enjoy the scenery because you know the bingo hall is right by your house, this is the only road to get there and cops magically appear if you cross the double yellow.
With that said, there are a few things that annoy me and a few things I generally hate about riding a motorcycle. Since I'm a generous person and like sharing (stop laughing), I thought I'd share my top five annoying and hate-brewing things about motorcycling with you. You're welcome.
Alright, here goes:
1. Riding in traffic - The cars are lined up for miles and there you are on your bike. It's air-cooled, of course, so heat is wafting up, making things even hotter than it is. The fumes from the cars are making Manfred Mann's lyrics make sense. You look over at the car next to you: the people are lounging in air conditioned comfort and eating ice cream while you sweat in your black jacket, black gloves and black helmet. Oh yeah, your bike is black, too. Finally the traffic clears, you can get some air across the cylinders and you promptly get nabbed by a cop. Damn.
2. Meeting another biker at a stoplight - Do you pull up next to him? Did he move over intentionally? Does he want to talk? I can't hear him with my earplugs in so I'll just make hand gestures. Does he think I'm mentally disturbed? Does he think I'll want to race him? Can I beat him if we do race? All these questions and more flood your mind as you pull up to a light. And when you come up with answers to all the questions, the light turns green, he pulls away oblivious to your existence and you're stuck with a line of angry car drivers behind you.
3. Wearing the gear - It's 90° F with 85% humidity outside and you want to go for a ride. Okay, helmet, gloves, jacket, pants and boots on. Sweating begins before you make it to the end of the driveway. I'll make a quick run to the store, you think; it'll only take a few minutes. Okay, helmet, gloves, jacket, pants and boots on. Twenty minutes later, you leave for the store, which is just around the block. It took you 20 minutes to gear up to take a 10 minute round trip. Tired of the putting on all the gear, you decide to ride in a t-shirt and shorts like the Gixxer guys, which means you'll promptly hit a patch of oil and slide across all four lanes of the road.
4. The weather - Al Gore says the weather is changing but it's really staying the same: it rains while you're on your bike and is beautiful when you're not. When's that big rain storm going to get here? Just as you're about to leave. Packing rain gear, though, is a guaranteed way of preventing rain from happening. Washing your bike guarantees a monsoon will happen as soon as you peek out the garage.
5. Getting stuck behind slow drivers - You're flying down your favorite back road and all is going well. You're in the zone, concentrating as hard as you can and clipping every apex. Valentino Rossi is behind you taking notes, you're so good of a rider. You come around the bend, perfectly clip the apex, get ready to nail the throttle as you straighten up...and find yourself stuck behind grandma Ethel on her way to bingo.
Her 1995 Buick Skylark hasn't been above 25 mph since the lot attendant first filled it with gas 17 years ago. And there you are, Aprilia RSV4, full Dainese race suit and aching arms, on the slow boat to China. You may as well enjoy the scenery because you know the bingo hall is right by your house, this is the only road to get there and cops magically appear if you cross the double yellow.
Expensive Taste
Let's say you're the owner of a Superbike team. And let's also say that you have all the trappings of a professional racing team: engineers, crew members and masseuses. You have a load of spare parts, high-tech equipment and a big truck to haul it all around in. Finally completing the package is a chiseled jawed rider with the body of David and the steely-eyed glare of a comic book superhero.
It looks like everything is order for racetrack success. One thing is missing, however: a motorcycle.
Hmm, how do you solve that problem? Well, you could develop, at a great expense of time and money, your own bike. That could take years and there's no guarantee of competitiveness when you're done. You could also ink a deal with a major manufacturer and use one of their bikes. If desperation sets in, you might be able to buy last year's bike, which isn't competitive anymore, and hope for the best.
There is one other way, too. You could walk to Ducati's factory in Bologna, knock on the door and tell them you want to buy a motorcycle built solely for racing; one that isn't available to the general public. What Ducati will sell you, then, is a Panigale RS13.
As the name implies, the RS13 is the 2013 race-only version of the Panigale. No, it's not an uprated version of the 1199 R, which is a street bike adorned with super high-performance bits. When Ducati says the RS13 is track only, they mean track only. These bikes will only be sold to owners of race teams.
And how much is this dedicated race bike? It's $180,318.60.
For that large amount of money, our fictional race team owner gets a bike with carbon fiber bodywork, aluminum fuel tank and a special wiring harness. Adorning each end of the bike is uber-trick Ohlins suspension (natch), Brembo brakes (natch) and light-as-possible wheels (natch). Taunting passed riders is a full race spec Termignoni exhaust.
Alright, our race team has its high-tech crew, god-like rider and truck full of spare parts, let's go win some races!
Well, not so fast. This nearly $200,000 bike is sold as a blank canvas. Once you buy it, you still have to tune it, which means the spending has only just begin. Since motorcycle racing is like any other form of racing, it's a fast way to go broke.
So, thoughts about the RS13: I like it.
And I don't just like it because it's a Ducati and I like Ducatis. I like it because it can attract more competitors to motorcycle racing. Racing's expensive, that's no revelation. The RS13, though, can help cut costs some because Ducati has done a lot of the development work for you. Yes, you'll still have to do some work on your own, but you don't have to build the bike from the ground up. That leaves you with more money to hire better engineers, crew members, masseuses, and riders. It also leaves you more time to tune the bike for the upcoming season.
Motorcycle racing history is littered with anecdotes like John Britten, MotoCzysz and others; teams that have built up their own bikes from scratch from their own ideas. That's very commendable but most race teams don't have the time, money or genius to do such a thing. They want something that's cheap, reliable and proven so they can maximize the probability of a successful outcome.
I think the RS13 fills that void. I hope to see the RS13 do well and bring more bikes to the starting lines of tracks everywhere. More bikes and competitors is never a bad thing for a racing series.
It looks like everything is order for racetrack success. One thing is missing, however: a motorcycle.
Hmm, how do you solve that problem? Well, you could develop, at a great expense of time and money, your own bike. That could take years and there's no guarantee of competitiveness when you're done. You could also ink a deal with a major manufacturer and use one of their bikes. If desperation sets in, you might be able to buy last year's bike, which isn't competitive anymore, and hope for the best.
There is one other way, too. You could walk to Ducati's factory in Bologna, knock on the door and tell them you want to buy a motorcycle built solely for racing; one that isn't available to the general public. What Ducati will sell you, then, is a Panigale RS13.
As the name implies, the RS13 is the 2013 race-only version of the Panigale. No, it's not an uprated version of the 1199 R, which is a street bike adorned with super high-performance bits. When Ducati says the RS13 is track only, they mean track only. These bikes will only be sold to owners of race teams.
And how much is this dedicated race bike? It's $180,318.60.
For that large amount of money, our fictional race team owner gets a bike with carbon fiber bodywork, aluminum fuel tank and a special wiring harness. Adorning each end of the bike is uber-trick Ohlins suspension (natch), Brembo brakes (natch) and light-as-possible wheels (natch). Taunting passed riders is a full race spec Termignoni exhaust.
Alright, our race team has its high-tech crew, god-like rider and truck full of spare parts, let's go win some races!
Well, not so fast. This nearly $200,000 bike is sold as a blank canvas. Once you buy it, you still have to tune it, which means the spending has only just begin. Since motorcycle racing is like any other form of racing, it's a fast way to go broke.
So, thoughts about the RS13: I like it.
And I don't just like it because it's a Ducati and I like Ducatis. I like it because it can attract more competitors to motorcycle racing. Racing's expensive, that's no revelation. The RS13, though, can help cut costs some because Ducati has done a lot of the development work for you. Yes, you'll still have to do some work on your own, but you don't have to build the bike from the ground up. That leaves you with more money to hire better engineers, crew members, masseuses, and riders. It also leaves you more time to tune the bike for the upcoming season.
Motorcycle racing history is littered with anecdotes like John Britten, MotoCzysz and others; teams that have built up their own bikes from scratch from their own ideas. That's very commendable but most race teams don't have the time, money or genius to do such a thing. They want something that's cheap, reliable and proven so they can maximize the probability of a successful outcome.
I think the RS13 fills that void. I hope to see the RS13 do well and bring more bikes to the starting lines of tracks everywhere. More bikes and competitors is never a bad thing for a racing series.
Take a good, long look at this machine. This is as close as most of you will get without pit passes or a lottery ticket.
Standing with the RS is Ducati Corse Director Count Orlok, I mean, Claudio Domenicali.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Triumph's Big
I'm going to name three things and you're going to have to tell me what they all have in common:
- Alaska
- Dahuofang Water Tunnel
- Triumph Rocket III
Have you figured it out, yet? Okay, I'll give you a few more seconds.
Time's up. The answer? They're all really, really big.
Alaska is the largest of the 50 U.S. states. It's more than twice as big as Texas, the next largest state. The Dahuofang Tunnel is a 53-mile-long water tunnel in China and is the longest tunnel in the world. Finally, the Rocket III has the biggest engine of any mass-produced motorcycle. It's a massive 2,292 cc (2.3L) inline three.
To put the size of the Rocket's engine in comparison, the V8 in the Daimler SP250 Dart was 2.5L; Ferrari's first V12 was 1.5L; Harley's biggest current engine is 1.8L; and Triumph's next largest triple is 1.2L.
And it's just not the engine that's big on the Rocket. Everything about the bike is big. It's length is a massive 98 inches, longer than the wheelbase of my '75 Corvette. The gas tank holds 6.3 gallons of fuel. And the weight? It's a ground-pounding 807 lbs for the RIII Roadster and a whopping 869 lbs for the RIII Touring. That's twice the weight of a Triumph Daytona 675, also a triple.
Alright, we've established that the RIII is an oil tanker-sized motorcycle with a big ol' boat anchor of an engine. What kind of power does this lump produce, then? In the RIII Roadster, the 2.3L triple puts out 146 bhp. That's a lot in some respects but not a lot in others. A liter sports bike like the BMW S1000RR will touch 200 bhp. In this case, the Bimmer puts out 193 bhp The 1.7L v-four in the Yamaha VMAX, a close competitor, puts out 174 bhp.
The real trump card for the Rocket is the torque responsible for propelling this machine down the road. That big ol' boat anchor belts out 163 ft.lbs at a diesel-like 2,750 rpm. Ninety percent of that torque is available at 2,000 rpm. The VMAX puts out a piddling 113 ft.lbs way up at 6,600 rpm. And the BMW with all that horsepower? It puts out a positively microscopic 83 ft.lbs all the way up at 9,750 rpm. Pathetic.
The RIII is a celebration of all things big. It's no wonder the model was introduced first in the U.S., the country that loves big, in 2003. To continue my theme of unique and oddball motorcycle, the RIII fits perfectly. This bike is an excess-is-best approach that one can't help but enjoy. I think the RIII is a fantastic bike and it makes all the other supposedly big cruisers look like play things. Cruiser guys love to talk about engine size but nothing short of a Boss Hoss can touch a Rocket in that department.
And the RIII isn't just some fat lump. It's fast, too, and quite a good handler. Triumph originally marketed the RIII as a pure cruiser but the traditional buyers didn't know what to make of it. The RIII was then re-branded as a muscle bike and a tourer and I think it's found its niche. The Roadster is the muscle bike, all black and sinister, and the Touring is the, um, tourer, all soft and chrome. I think the RIII makes more sense this way. Triumph was never going to steal sales from HD with the RIII and this lets the bike be free to go its own way.
- Alaska
- Dahuofang Water Tunnel
- Triumph Rocket III
Have you figured it out, yet? Okay, I'll give you a few more seconds.
Time's up. The answer? They're all really, really big.
Alaska is the largest of the 50 U.S. states. It's more than twice as big as Texas, the next largest state. The Dahuofang Tunnel is a 53-mile-long water tunnel in China and is the longest tunnel in the world. Finally, the Rocket III has the biggest engine of any mass-produced motorcycle. It's a massive 2,292 cc (2.3L) inline three.
To put the size of the Rocket's engine in comparison, the V8 in the Daimler SP250 Dart was 2.5L; Ferrari's first V12 was 1.5L; Harley's biggest current engine is 1.8L; and Triumph's next largest triple is 1.2L.
And it's just not the engine that's big on the Rocket. Everything about the bike is big. It's length is a massive 98 inches, longer than the wheelbase of my '75 Corvette. The gas tank holds 6.3 gallons of fuel. And the weight? It's a ground-pounding 807 lbs for the RIII Roadster and a whopping 869 lbs for the RIII Touring. That's twice the weight of a Triumph Daytona 675, also a triple.
Alright, we've established that the RIII is an oil tanker-sized motorcycle with a big ol' boat anchor of an engine. What kind of power does this lump produce, then? In the RIII Roadster, the 2.3L triple puts out 146 bhp. That's a lot in some respects but not a lot in others. A liter sports bike like the BMW S1000RR will touch 200 bhp. In this case, the Bimmer puts out 193 bhp The 1.7L v-four in the Yamaha VMAX, a close competitor, puts out 174 bhp.
The real trump card for the Rocket is the torque responsible for propelling this machine down the road. That big ol' boat anchor belts out 163 ft.lbs at a diesel-like 2,750 rpm. Ninety percent of that torque is available at 2,000 rpm. The VMAX puts out a piddling 113 ft.lbs way up at 6,600 rpm. And the BMW with all that horsepower? It puts out a positively microscopic 83 ft.lbs all the way up at 9,750 rpm. Pathetic.
The RIII is a celebration of all things big. It's no wonder the model was introduced first in the U.S., the country that loves big, in 2003. To continue my theme of unique and oddball motorcycle, the RIII fits perfectly. This bike is an excess-is-best approach that one can't help but enjoy. I think the RIII is a fantastic bike and it makes all the other supposedly big cruisers look like play things. Cruiser guys love to talk about engine size but nothing short of a Boss Hoss can touch a Rocket in that department.
And the RIII isn't just some fat lump. It's fast, too, and quite a good handler. Triumph originally marketed the RIII as a pure cruiser but the traditional buyers didn't know what to make of it. The RIII was then re-branded as a muscle bike and a tourer and I think it's found its niche. The Roadster is the muscle bike, all black and sinister, and the Touring is the, um, tourer, all soft and chrome. I think the RIII makes more sense this way. Triumph was never going to steal sales from HD with the RIII and this lets the bike be free to go its own way.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Two-Wheeled Twins
When one thinks of Moto Guzzi, the mind naturally goes to longitudinal v-twins and shaft drive. That layout is synonymous with the brand. All their current models use this layout.
During the De Tomaso years, though, a number of inline fours were produced with the Guzzi name on the tank. Guzzi shared De Tomaso ownership with Benelli during the 70s. To confront the Japanese superbike onslaught, Benelli copied a Honda 500 four and added two more cylinders, creating the six-cylinder Sei. Smaller versions of the Sei with four cylinders were produced, badged as the Quattro. Due to the hard work of the Badge Engineering Department at De Tomaso, versions of the Benelli fours rolled out of the plant with Moto Guzzi badging on them.
While the 400 and 500 Quattros were fairly middle of the road by the day's standards, one particular model stood out: the 250 four.
Benelli took their 500 four, stuck it in the copy machine and hit the reduce button a few times. Then, they wrapped it in weird styling where the seat continued up on the gas tank. The gauges were also built into the gas tank. What a busy place, that tank. Benelli versions were sold as the 250 Quattro and Moto Guzzi versions were sold as the 254, a reference to the size of the engine and the number of cylinders.
The little 231cc SOHC four belted out about 30 bhp at a stratospheric 10,500 rpm. Compression was high (11:1), the carbs were tiny (18mm) and the price was enormous. It cost as much or more than many 350cc-class bikes and was quite a bit more than its 250cc-class rivals.
Aside from the frantic engine, the rest of the bike was fairly normal. It had a steel frame, twin shocks and skinny tires. Stopping this screamer was a tiny front disc and a tinier rear drum. One thing in the technical specs that stands out to me is weight. Even though they used an air-cooled four, the bikes managed to be lighter than many of their competitors using twins or singles.
The Benelli twins had flaws deeper than their outrageous price, though. For one, there was the output of the engine. All the power was at the top of the rev range, and since there wasn't much to start with, you had to rev the nuts of it to go anywhere. Its scant torque, 14 lb/ft, was reached way up at 9,000 rpm. There was also the fact that it had five gears, which meant the ratios were longer and that hurt acceleration. Having six gears would have made it easier to keep it on the boil. Top speed was a mere 93 mph.
As flawed as the Benelli twins were, I can't help but like them. I like their small size, both of the bike itself and the engine, and their unique styling. They really didn't look like anything else at the time. Even though they were produced from 1976 to 1986, I feel they aren't well recognized by the public and the motorcycling community. It doesn't hurt that a small four revving to the moon sounds fantastic.
During the De Tomaso years, though, a number of inline fours were produced with the Guzzi name on the tank. Guzzi shared De Tomaso ownership with Benelli during the 70s. To confront the Japanese superbike onslaught, Benelli copied a Honda 500 four and added two more cylinders, creating the six-cylinder Sei. Smaller versions of the Sei with four cylinders were produced, badged as the Quattro. Due to the hard work of the Badge Engineering Department at De Tomaso, versions of the Benelli fours rolled out of the plant with Moto Guzzi badging on them.
While the 400 and 500 Quattros were fairly middle of the road by the day's standards, one particular model stood out: the 250 four.
Benelli took their 500 four, stuck it in the copy machine and hit the reduce button a few times. Then, they wrapped it in weird styling where the seat continued up on the gas tank. The gauges were also built into the gas tank. What a busy place, that tank. Benelli versions were sold as the 250 Quattro and Moto Guzzi versions were sold as the 254, a reference to the size of the engine and the number of cylinders.
The little 231cc SOHC four belted out about 30 bhp at a stratospheric 10,500 rpm. Compression was high (11:1), the carbs were tiny (18mm) and the price was enormous. It cost as much or more than many 350cc-class bikes and was quite a bit more than its 250cc-class rivals.
Aside from the frantic engine, the rest of the bike was fairly normal. It had a steel frame, twin shocks and skinny tires. Stopping this screamer was a tiny front disc and a tinier rear drum. One thing in the technical specs that stands out to me is weight. Even though they used an air-cooled four, the bikes managed to be lighter than many of their competitors using twins or singles.
The Benelli twins had flaws deeper than their outrageous price, though. For one, there was the output of the engine. All the power was at the top of the rev range, and since there wasn't much to start with, you had to rev the nuts of it to go anywhere. Its scant torque, 14 lb/ft, was reached way up at 9,000 rpm. There was also the fact that it had five gears, which meant the ratios were longer and that hurt acceleration. Having six gears would have made it easier to keep it on the boil. Top speed was a mere 93 mph.
As flawed as the Benelli twins were, I can't help but like them. I like their small size, both of the bike itself and the engine, and their unique styling. They really didn't look like anything else at the time. Even though they were produced from 1976 to 1986, I feel they aren't well recognized by the public and the motorcycling community. It doesn't hurt that a small four revving to the moon sounds fantastic.
This is an early version of the 250 Quattro. As you can see, the bodywork was pretty avant garde in some respects, like the gas tank and seat areas, and pretty normal in other areas, like the fenders and wheels.
Here's the nacelle containing the gauges and the ignition switch. While putting them here continues with the styling theme of the bike, it doesn't seem to be very practical. Imagine having to look down at the tank to check your speed or revs. To me, that would have to be very distracting.
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