Daytona Factoids to help you walk the walk, and talk the talk at Bike Weak, er, make that 'Bike Week'

There was a time when Daytona really lived up to its 'World Center of Racing' hyperbole, at least as far as the motorcycle racing world was concerned. That time's long past, sadly, but it's still the focus of attention amongst American roadracers for the next few days.

In that dubious honor, I've compiled 10 bits of Daytona trivia. The first two will help you to...

Walk the walk (to the old beach monument)
If you can stand the bright morning sunlight outside – and the sound of waves crashing inside your head – the beach is a great place to walk off a Bikeweek hangover (and oh, you’ll have one.) No pilgrimage to Daytona is complete without a visit to the beach monument to early “200” racers. It’s located across from 100 N. Atlantic Avenue.

And, talk the talk
To create the impression you’re a seasoned Bike Week veteran, say, “I miss the old North Turn bar,” when you’re buying a round. In its original incarnation, the North Turn was a down-at-the-heels dive, located at the north end of the old beach course. Although it’s still there, it’s evolved into a tourist trap – a “Bubba Gump’s” for the leather set during Bike Week, and one of a thousand generic NASCAR-themed sports bars the rest of the year.

If you must go, the soulless new North Turn bar is located on the A1A highway in Ponce Inlet. (Appropriately named, if you use 'ponce' in the UK slang sense, instead of in the 'fountain of youth' sense.)

Oh all right, here's one for 'Fat Tuesday'...

Billy: "I can't find my bike" Benny: "You're sitting on it."

Billy and Benny McCrary were born in Hendersonville NC in 1946. Although they were small babies (just over 5 pounds) they quickly grew to become the world’s heaviest twins, weighing in at well over 700 pounds each. Although they are now usually remembered as pro wrestlers they were also known for the motorcycle stunts they performed on Honda SL100 minibikes. To be honest, I don’t know what “stunts” they could possibly have done, but who cares? Just riding at all must have stunned onlookers.

In fact, in the ‘70s they rode the tiny bikes across the U.S., traveling 3000 miles and amply proving the ruggedness of Honda’s products. In 1979, Billy suffered what should have been a minor injury during their stunt act and died of heart failure. Touchingly, his brother buried him back in Hendersonville, under the world’s largest granite tombstone. Benny died of heart failure at 54, and he too was buried under the stone, which is decorated with images of their beloved minibikes.

This writer's life. Riding Man, redux

Ironically, my book Riding Man sold out of its first printing almost on the day that Cycle World released its April issue, in which Peter Egan devoted a column to what amounted to a book (and DVD) review -- and a very favorable one, at that.

I've known this review was coming for the last month or so, and I've been watching my remaining stocks of the first edition dwindle, so running out of books didn't come as a surprise. If I could afford it, I'd reprint it. The alternative is to set up a Kindle downloadable edition, and to arrange for a Print-on-Demand second edition, which is something I could do with minimal set-up costs. But there are a few technical hurdles to both of those procedures, and it will take a few more days' work to get a clean copy of the book's text. Argh.

I have never met Peter Egan, though we've since traded emails. He got a copy of the book from a mutual friend of ours, Ken Gross. Ken's one of the most respected automotive writers in the U.S., and I suppose that since Riding Man came with his endorsement, Egan was inclined to view it favorably. Still I wasn't prepared to be compared to Bob Dylan and Winston Churchill. I mean, I think I'm a better motorcycle rider than Dylan, and as far I know, Winston Churchill couldn't ride for $#!+.

 

The whole anxiety over a wave of positive press coming when I have no way to capitalize on it is just one of many ups and downs along the Riding Man road. I had planned to write a book about my Isle of Man experience from the very beginning, and actually pitched the idea to publishers a couple of years before I raced there.

Pure motorcycle advertising genius

It's not just Ural that's suddenly learned how to actually sell motorcycles. The web hipsite Hell for Leather brought this bit of pure motorcycle ad genius to my attention.

The recession of '08 may have dropped bike sales into the toilet, but it was shortsighted and cowardly motorcycle marketing departments that flushed it. That's why despite ample evidence the economy's turned the corner, our business can barely see the apex. But one or two unlikely new trendsetters are emerging; witness the quintessential nerdbike, Royal Enfield transforming its brand with perfect timing. (Ironically, it's made in a country where most toilets still aren't the flush type.)

Judging from this beautiful short film, it's not just manufacturing plants we should move to developing countries where labor's cheap... it's marketing departments, too.

Art and the Zen of motorcycle making - an afternoon cooped up with Shinya Kimura

The first time I met Shinya Kimura, he was riding a 1914 Indian across eastern Arkansas. I was covering the Cannonball run across the U.S. Ayumi (Shinya's wife) followed him across the country in a rusted-out, 30 year-old van with 'Chabbott Engineering' hand-lettered on the door. I couldn't decide which vehicle was more likely to make it to California. The van made it all the way; the Indian covered over 3,000 miles but Shinya missed a couple of days when he had to make a new crankpin. At a time when custom bike builders seem more interested in starring in their own reality TV shows than in grinding valves or hammering alloy, his self-effacing style and sheer iron-butt endurance was enough to make me look him up the next time I was in Southern California.

I flew into L.A. on a Saturday. I called the shop to see if Shinya would be there. His wife, who speaks better English and handles all the phone calls, assured me was working, in a tone of voice that suggested it was a stupid question; he was in the shop all day, every day.

Azusa is a bland, industrialized suburb up on the north side of L.A. where miles of urban sprawl run into the Santa Monica mountains. Even though I had the address of Chabbott Engineering (Chabott means 'fighting rooster' in Japanese) I drove right past it a couple of times before spotting an open garage door with four or five trashed '70s bikes basking in the sun.When I finally realized that hole-in-the-wall was the place I was looking for, I had one of the most satisfying afternoons I've ever had as a writer. To spend a virtual hour cooped up with Shinya Kimura, click that tantalizing 'Read more' link and, well, read more...

Notable engineers countdown - at #4, Edward Turner gave birth to twins

Turner (1901-'73) was born on the day King Edward was crowned, which was appropriate as Turner himself became British motorcycle “royalty.” When he was hired as Triumph’s General Manager and Chief Designer he was offered a lavish salary and 5% of the company stock and profits. 


Soon after joining Triumph, he designed the 1937 Speed Twin. In truth, the motor was not strikingly innovative – some say Turner just copied its basic architecture from the Riley 9 car in which he was chauffeured to work. However, it made elegant use of existing technology and established the basic design for all British twins between the end of WWII and the 1970s. For much of that time, bikes like the Triumph Bonneville were the most sought-after models in the market.

Notable engineer countdown - at #5, Phil Vincent

Phil Vincent, making what must have been about his last stand, at the Earl's Court Motorcycle Show in 1954.

Between the late 1920s and mid-‘50s, Vincent’s motorcycles were among the fastest and most advanced on the market. He was the first major manufacturer to relocate rear shocks to something like the position now used on virtually all modern bikes. But the most striking aspect of his design was the way he virtually did away with the frame altogether. After WWII when high-quality steel tubing, suitable for use in motorcycle frames, was in short supply in Britain, he attached the steering head to the front of his massive V-twin motor and pivoted the swingarm from the back of it. Today’s manufacturers are still catching up to that idea.