Nobody seems to remember the company hired by Suzuki to advertise the Laredo model, but it certainly pulled out all the stops. The town of Laredo had a deserved reputation as a tough border crossing in Texas back in the late 1800s, and is rich in history. As well as a song called “The Streets of Laredo,” which is all about a dying cowboy; not sure that would be the proper way to tell people how much fun riding a motorcycle is, as motorcyclists were being called modern-day cowboys.
Suzuki had done a good deal of serious work in approaching the American market. At the start of the company’s business in the U.S., 1962, it offered a relatively ponderous 250 designed in the late 1950s, which had an electric starter, turn signals and a hydraulically actuated rear brake. All quite useful on a practical commuter bike.
However, the next version, the 1966 X-6 Hustler, was quite different, with performance being the issue. The X-6 touted its six-speed transmission, the six gears focused on being able to stay in the narrow powerband that the two-stroke twin enjoyed. The all-new, perfectly square (54 x 54mm) parallel twin engine was rated at 29 horses at 7,500 rpm, which was quite astounding for a street-going 250. The heavy electric starter was dispensed with, and weight was an extremely modest 300 pounds wet, resulting in a top speed of 100 mph. Good bike, albeit a tad fragile, with busted gearboxes, slippy clutches and holed pistons high on the list.
As some riders may remember, this was when the AMA was trying to impose four-speed gearboxes on all models in national racing competitions.
Change is good, especially the kind that might attract customers. For 1968 the company upsized the engine to 305cc by boring the cylinders out to 60mm, adding 58 cubic centimeters to the cylinder capacity. The resulting 305cc bike came out in two versions, the low-piped T305 Raider and the street-scrambler styled TC305, with high pipes, knobbyish tires and a skid-plate. Not that such mods made much difference when on seriously dirty dirt, but the rugged look sold — rather like today’s adventure bikes.
More essential changes involved making the tranny tougher by almost doubling the size of the gears. And slightly decreasing the compression ratio from the 250’s 7.3:1 to the 305’s 6.7:1. As well as enlarging the clutch plates and using thicker cork (when is the last time we saw a clutch with cork inserts?) to give the much-abused plates added longevity. These improvements added some 20 pounds to the heft of the engine/tranny unit. Overall wet weight, with 3.7 gallons of gas in the tank and almost half a gallon of oil in the Posi-Force reservoir, was almost 340 pounds.
This had all the essential Suzuki modernizations, with that Posi-Force oil injection system making sure that the oil got to the important lubrication points, rather than just mixing with the gas and hoping for the best. More importantly, the buyer that Suzuki was looking for had no interest in the messy business of personally adding oil to the gas tank. A vacuum petcock did away with the need to turn off the gas when stopped, a ritual the older generation was quite familiar with.
The 305 used the Vol-U-Matic induction system, a porting technique that allowed for a reasonable amount of grunt, or torque, to be generated by this middling-small engine. That was helped along by heavier flywheels, which served to make the engine less touchy when plunking along a dirt road. Tractable was a word often used by reviewers. Rotary valving was becoming much the rage in the late 1960s, but Suzuki liked the traditional piston-port design.
The 305 was produced with a pair of rather large 32mm Mikuni carbs, compared to the 24mm ones on the 250. The engineers had realized that if they left the intake port the same size as on the 250, with the same stroke, the bigger carbs would allow for rapid filling of the crankcase. And the big gulps of air assisted in quickly jamming the fuel mixture through the ports and into the hemispherical combustion chambers. An amusing side effect was that this system, useful when dawdling along, created a major intake boom when the rider chose to twist the throttle all the way open. As one magazine put it, “…the roar is enough to rattle your very bones.” But 37 horsepower was claimed by the manufacturer.
The engine/tranny unit sat in a full-cradle frame, the tubular members making a full U as they came down from the steering head to go under the engine and loop up to the saddle, to meet with the three tubes running back under the gas tank. The 51 inches between axles provided for good control at slow speeds, and still reasonably capable when pushing the century mark on the speedometer. Though the rider might need a bit of downhill to attain 100 mph, as road tests of the era showed 95 to be about top. The fork was said to be a bit on the stiff side, while the rear shocks seemed soft. Probably much depended on whether one lightweight was on board, or two heavyweights. Good ground clearance was provided, with even the centerstand neatly tucked away.
Good bike, well received, but Suzuki obviously felt the need for something new. The Laredo was only on the market for one year, with a few leftover Raiders sold in 1969. Replacing it was the Rebel 350…nice number, but the 305 engine had only been bored out another 2 mm, adding just 10cc, for a grand total of 315cc, not 350cc. Truth in advertising?
When the pavement ends, a new kind of fun begins. Photos by the author.
Andy follows me across the border from Massachusetts into Vermont. We’re riding along a dirt road that cuts through dark, deep woods overlooking the Green River. As my Kawasaki hums below, the final stanza of Robert Frost’s poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” repeats in my head:
These woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have promises to keep And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep
It’s a warm August morning, not a snowy evening, but Frost’s silken words apply. For two days we are riding through the very landscapes that inspired Frost’s extraordinary descriptions of ordinary things. As the crow flies, Vermont is about 160 miles long north to south, but we’ll cover 321 miles before reaching our destination of North Troy. We’re on the Vermont Puppy Dog Route, which links unpaved roads from the southern border we just crossed all the way to the northern border with Québec, Canada.
Your humble scribe stops to take in an early morning view near Stowe, Vermont.
This isn’t off-roading. It’s dirt-roading. Especially in Vermont, roads like these came about because someone had a destination in mind. They follow rivers along a path of least resistance, or hug the edges of pastures and fields, or take the shorter, steeper route up and over the mountains. They have names like Church Hill Road, Rabbit Hollow Road and Elmore Mountain Road. We’re not blazing new trails or attempting to conquer untamed hilltops, we’re just choosing roads no one felt the need to pave. And since they are often the only roads to certain locales, they take us through areas we’d otherwise miss.
Early morning sun begins to burn off the fog over this beaver pond somewhere in southern Vermont.
What my “Vermont Atlas & Gazetteer” depicts as dirt roads can vary in width, surface and state of repair, but these roads are maintained for public use. Some are graded hard pack wide enough for two pickups hauling horse trailers to pass with room to spare. Others are so narrow that one vehicle must give way for another to pass. A few are bumpy, graveled but navigable two-tracks. You might not want to ride your pristine Harley Ultra on these roads, but you don’t need a dedicated dirt bike either. Any scrambler or adventure bike is up to the task.
As we discover, sticking to dirt roads can present snags. In southern Vermont, the route comes to a locked gate, so we find another dirt road that returns us to the route a few miles on. Farther north, a farm road abruptly ends at a single-track trail of deep mud and big rocks. We backtrack and look for another gray line on the map. As Andy likes to say, it’s all part of the adventure.
Nothing says Vermont like a dirt road and a covered bridge.
On a motorcycle you already feel more involved in your transportation. When you ride long distances on dirt roads your connection runs deeper. There’s a different kind of mental focus than riding on tarmac. Our pace is slower, with posted limits typically just 35, and limited sight distances are the norm. Inclines and declines can be steep. Steering is more labor intensive, traction varies continuously and braking distances are longer. It’s actually a good way to practice braking control at the limit of lockup on my ’08 Kawasaki Versys, which lacks anti-lock brakes.
Dirt roads often go under railroads. The underpasses can get mucky.
We also encounter all manner of critters at close range. A bobcat scrutinizes us from its perch atop a stack of firewood. A fisher cat ambles purposefully across our path with its distinctive four-wristed gait. A docile, ungainly porcupine takes one look at us and promptly turns back. A barred owl perches high in a tree that is rooted low in a roadside ravine, making it head-high with me as it suddenly swoops into flight.
Mid-state we find ourselves riding through horse country with stately manor homes and white-fenced pastures that remind me of Kentucky. Here we share the road with horse-drawn sulkies driven by nattily dressed people enjoying a trail ride event. (Ride slowly past horses…they often get spooked by motorcycles.)
Mission accomplished: Andy arrives at the northern terminus of the Vermont Puppy Dog Route.
As we near North Troy, Andy points out a gorge and we stop for a look. There are no signs, but the map describes this beautiful place as Big Falls State Park. In a few miles we reach the Canadian border. When we stop to reflect on our ride, Robert Frost again springs to mind. This time it’s the concluding lines of “The Road Not Taken”:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
2019 Royal Enfield Continental GT 650. Photo by the author.
MSRP $5,999 Odometer: 1,958 miles
When Royal Enfield unveiledto the world its pair of all-new 650 twins, the Interceptor 650 and Continental GT, at EICMA in November 2017, the anticipation was already buzzing. We’d just visited its sparkly new state-of-the-art UK Technical Center on the Bruntingthorpe Proving Ground, near Leicester in central England, where the new twins had been wholly conceived, engineered and tested. We had to wait nearly a year, until September 2018, before we were able to swing a leg over each bike and take them for a spin through the redwoods at the global press launch in Santa Cruz, California (Rider, January 2019 and here), and it was shortly afterward that an example of each showed up at the Rider garage for a complete test.
Identical except for styling details, the Interceptor 650 and Continental GT share an all-new air/oil-cooled 648cc parallel twin, a chassis designed in conjunction with Harris Performance and standard Bosch 2-channel ABS. After a few rides we determined that both bikes not only look and feel the part, but considering their attractive price tags ($5,799 for the Interceptor and $5,999 for the GT) and three-year, unlimited-mileage warranty with free roadside assistance, they were also worth a serious look as “keepers.” The question at the forefront of everyone’s mind, however, was reliability. So we hung onto the GT for about seven months, with rides ranging from easy cruises down the coast highway, to full-on thrashing in the tortuous twisties of the Santa Monica Mountains, interspersed with stretches of just sitting in the garage as other deserving bikes got their test rides.
And it never missed a beat. The GT’s riding position is compact and sporty and the seat is about as comfortable as it looks (the Interceptor is a better choice if comfort is a priority), but leaning through the gentle curves of Highway 1, heading west out of Malibu into the setting sun, the Enfield just felt right. Goldilocks would understand. As Milwaukee-based Royal Enfield North America gradually builds a support base, the number and proximity of dealerships is the only concern for prospective new buyers, but if you’re lucky enough to have one close by, the new 650 twins are the genuine article.
With a taller, wider handlebar than its sportier Vitpilen siblings and reasonably placed footpegs, the Svartpilen puts the rider in position to comfortably tackle both traffic and twisties alike. Photos by Kevin Wing.
Different is good. What would our world be like if the only ice cream flavors were chocolate and vanilla? A life without Denali Mint Moose Tracks or Cherry Garcia would be rather bland indeed. And that’s why bikes like Husqvarna’s Svartpilen 701 excite me: it’s a refreshing antidote to the homogeny we can often detect creeping into our lives.
Husqvarna, founded in Sweden in 1689 as a manufacturer of guns and, since 1903, motorcycles, is probably best known for its off-road models, but after its motorcycle division’s acquisition by KTM in 2013 it decided to make a return to the street bike market — with a decidedly Scandinavian flair. Its current lineup of four street models includes the café racer-styled Vitpilen 401 and 701, the Svartpilen 401 scrambler and the Svartpilen 701.
Powered by the 693cc liquid-cooled single used in KTM’s 690 Duke and 690 Enduro, the Svartpilen 701 might be best described as a Swedish street tracker, complete with vestigial number plate on the right side, and its 18-inch front, 17-inch rear cast wheels are shod with the same Pirelli MT60 RS tires as those found on other street-oriented but off-road-flavored bikes like Ducati’s Scrambler lineup.
The harder you look at it, the more oddities — or art, per the eye of the beholder — you see. The engine is clutched within a tubular steel trellis frame — nothing outlandish there, but everything from there up (and back) is rendered in a futuristic blend of straight lines and curves, a departure from the origami angles of its KTM cousins.
Love it or hate it, you’ve gotta admit the Svartpilen 701 looks like nothing else on the road. Bonus: it’s a hoot to ride too!
The hard, nearly 33-inch-high seat makes ample use of the straight lines, including on its edges: uncomfortable at stops but surprisingly livable with feet on pegs and hands on the wide, slightly swept-back handlebar, at least for an hour or so at a time. No matter, you can’t even pretend that this is a touring bike, and at its intended purpose — carving up city traffic and twisty, technical roads — it succeeds in spades.
Fully adjustable WP suspension, though it boasts 5.9 inches of travel front and rear, is stiff and sporty, even at its softest settings. The throttle-by-wire EFI, pushing high-octane fuel through one big 50mm throttle body, prefers a heavy hand and higher rpm; a couple of times I felt some herky-jerkiness rolling back on out of a corner if I let the engine speed drop too far. There’s a slipper clutch if you like to keep your left hand active, plus an up/down quickshifter if you don’t, and traction control and ABS can be disabled if you so choose, although it’s all or nothing; you can’t disable/enable them separately.
The 4-valve single spins out an entertaining 72.4 horsepower at 8,200 rpm and almost 51 lb-ft of torque at 6,800, making the lithe 368-pound Svartpilen 701 gobs of fun and very easy to toss around, even for someone my size. Speaking of which, you may be looking at these road test photos and wondering if I ate the wrong mushroom in Wonderland, gaining several inches and more than several pounds. Not to worry, that’s Senior Editor Drevenstedt riding as my body double, since I was finishing up a European tour when the photo shoot occurred.
Wrapped in a steel trellis frame, the 693cc liquid-cooled single spools up quickly and the key to the engine’s smoothness is dual counterbalancers.
The Svartpilen and I got to know each other on the twisty roads of the Santa Monica Mountains, where I became smitten with its ruthless efficiency and seemingly effortless handling — as long as we were keeping the speeds below about 75 mph. Not a touring bike.
And as its looks might suggest, the Black Arrow (in Swedish, svart = black, pilen = arrow) isn’t without its quirks. For starters, fit-and-finish is a bit hit-or-miss…for example, both the Brembo front brake lever and Magura hydraulic clutch lever are adjustable, but the neighboring switchgear feels cheap and plasticky. The LED headlight and taillight are svelte and modern, but the single round LCD instrument is poorly lit with small numbers that are hard to read at a glance, and the buttons to change/reset the display are difficult to use. I also found the fuel gauge to be a bit pessimistic, with the range to empty requiring about a mile of riding after the bike was shut off/restarted before displaying again.
LCD instrument contains plenty of useful info, but is difficult to read and sticks out like a designer’s afterthought.
As personality traits go, these are quirks, however, not fatal flaws, and they disappeared pretty quickly when I was barreling up the canyon with a grin plastered across my silly face. For something so lightweight, the Svartpilen conveys a reassuring stability even as it’s flung left-to-right-to-left, the 72-ish horses being enough to keep an experienced rider entertained without feeling shortchanged by things like speed limits. A big 320mm front brake disc with 4-piston radial Brembo caliper and 240mm rear with a single-piston Brembo are more than up to the task if you do feel things getting out of hand.
After the fun is done, parked at the beach with the sun slipping under the pier and into the Pacific, I could sit and admire its rear three-quarter profile until darkness sent me home. Yes, different is good, and in a vanilla world it’s nice to get a bowl of Sea Salt Caramel now and then.
Admiring the sunset over the Pacific after a day of canyon carving on the Svartpilen 701.
Frame: Chromium-molybdenum tubular steel, aluminum swingarm Wheelbase: 56.5 in. Rake/Trail: 25 degrees/4.7 in. Seat Height: 32.9 in. Suspension, Front: 43mm USD fork, fully adj., 5.9-in. travel Rear: Single link-type shock, fully adj., 5.9-in. travel Brakes, Front: Single 320mm floating disc w/ radial 4-piston caliper & ABS Rear: Single 240mm disc w/ 1-piston floating caliper & ABS Wheels, Front: Cast, 3.00 x 18 in. Rear: Cast, 5.00 x 17 in. Tires, Front: 100/80-R18 Rear: 160/60-R17 Wet Weight: 368 lbs. Load Capacity: 403 lbs. GVWR: 771 lbs.
Performance
Fuel Capacity: 3.2 gals., last 0.7 gal. warning light on MPG: 91 AKI min. (low/avg/high) 53.6/58.4/63.2 Estimated Range: 187 miles Indicated RPM at 60 MPH: 4,000
1985 Honda V65 Magna. Owner: Van Krebs, Fresno, Ohio. Photos by Jason Keller.
The motorcycling world looked upon this machine in absolute amazement — a cruiser putting out more than 100 horsepower. Unheard of! Sure, sportbikes like Honda’s CB1100R were knocking out that many ponies, but those were for riders who liked leaning into corners at insane speeds. But a cruiser with feet-forward pegs and wide handlebars — and a shaft drive no less? This was nutso!
If this bike could be put in a category, it would be Power Cruiser. Harleys were the standard cruisers of the day, and they were lucky to get 55 horses to the rear wheel, using a pushrod V-twin that had been around for the better part of half a century. Whereas this bruiser was a V-4 with two overhead camshafts and four valves per cylinder. And liquid cooling to boot, so no worries about overheating when cruising down Main Street on a crowded Saturday evening. Except for that mildly unaesthetic radiator up front.
1985 Honda V65 Magna.
What was Honda thinking? The company had a whole bunch of bikes in the showrooms that year, 40 different models covering all the bases, from shopping-friendly Passports to huge Gold Wing touring platforms. Even a V-twin cruiser, the 750 Shadow. And a second V-4, the 750 V45 Magna, introduced the year before.
This all began with Soichiro Honda’s wanting to again be celebrated for putting an entirely new machine on the market. The world remembers (although this may be news to some of the younger generation) when he introduced the overhead camshaft, in-line four back in 1969, beginning the evolution of the UJM — Universal Japanese Motorcycle. Now the V-4 would do it again…he hoped.
But the backroom boys wanted to create a jaw-dropper, knock the American public back on its heels, as they used to say. The 750cc V45 was just a starting point for creating a machine the likes of which the motorcycle crowd had never seen. The V65’s majorly oversquare engine, with a 79.5mm bore and 55.3mm stroke, would cheerfully rev to 10 grand, with maximum rear-wheel power of 105 horses coming on at 9,500, redline at 10,000. A lot could go wrong with 16 valves popping up and down 10,000 times a minute, but Honda’s engineers made sure nothing untoward would happen.
1985 Honda V65 Magna.
These horses came from using some appropriate fiddling inside the head, with the four valves having a rather narrow 38-degree included angle. This and the shape of the combustion chamber effectively put the fuel as close to the spark plug as possible, compressed 10.5 times. Bang, bang, bang, bang — and the crankshaft spins.
Four constant-vacuum 36mm carbs, by Keihin, were accessible by lifting the gas tank. These had an easily changeable paper air cleaner. Fuel consumption was less than 40 mpg, but range was no problem as most riders wanted to get off after an hour or so. And at the time the U.S. was blessed (cursed?) with the 55-mph speed limit, so highway riders on the V65 had an excuse for not going very fast. With the V65 ergonomics city traffic was preferable to the interstates.
Power ran via straight-cut gears back to a hydraulically operated clutch. This had a diaphragm spring as an essential part of the device, which the engineers knew would be much abused, with the single diaphragm offering more consistent control than a multi-spring unit.
The gearbox had five speeds plus an overdrive sixth. If the bike could have pulled 10 grand in sixth gear, its top speed would be better than 170 mph. A more practical (!!) top speed was 140 in fifth. If the rider could hang on!
1985 Honda V65 Magna.
A full-cradle frame, with double downtubes, held this unit-construction herd semi-firmly in place, as rubber mounts were used to keep any vibrations hidden away. Which were few as the 90 degrees between the two pairs of cylinders presumed good balance, enhanced by that short 55mm stroke. A shaft final drive went out the left side, so those Levi’s would be nice and clean on cruise night, not having to put up with an oily chain. An air-adjustable 41mm fork suspended the front end, with an anti-dive unit. Rake was a pretty lazy 30.5 degrees with more than four inches of trail, and while this was OK in town, it was best not to get too optimistic out on the twisties. At the back a pair of shock absorbers had all the adjustments: spring preload, rebound and compression damping. The fork had almost six inches of travel, the swingarm a little more than four inches. Axle to axle measurement was just shy of 63 inches.
Cast wheels were 18 inches at the front and 16 at the back, with two discs at the front and a single at the back, all three squeezed by twin-piston calipers.
This power cruiser was designed by the Los Angeles boys for the American market, because the rest of the motorcycling world was not much interested in cruiser styling, preferring standard or sport. Honda hoped that the numbers would blow the Harley riders into the weeds.
Which they did. Quarter-mile times? Don’t even think about them. The 1,338cc Harley was in the 14-second category, and couldn’t break 100 mph. While the 1,098cc V65? In the 10s!! At 125 mph! More numbers? At $4,000 this V65 was at least three grand less expensive than a Harley.
What Honda had failed to realize was that in the cruising world of the 1980s, style was far more important than performance. Power cruisers would be a passing fancy, whereas Honda’s Fury model of today is a V-twin.
One final note: apparently somebody in the 1980s was selling a supercharger kit for the V65 Magna. Boggles the mind!
Honda’s latest flagship Gold Wing is a bona fide tour de force, with up to 123 pounds less weight than its predecessor depending upon model and a shorter, slimmer profile that still oozes with excellent comfort, performance and handling. Photos by Kevin Wing.
When Honda introduced a pair of radically new Gold Wings for 2018, its strategy was quite clear. After 17 model years, everyone who wanted a luxotourer like the previous GL1800 model already had one, and at 900-plus pounds, it was hardly a good starting point for adding modern features like an electric windscreen, computer-controlled adjustable suspension or an automatic dual-clutch transmission (DCT). No, to get the attention of riders across the board (not just younger ones), the new Wing had to start from a lighter, more compact place with a clean sheet of paper, and then add the latest electronic and digital features that contemporary riders expect. The result is a pair of bikes so evolved from their predecessor that some marketing types at Honda didn’t even want to call them Gold Wings.
The standard Gold Wing model with a shorter electric windscreen and no top trunk has a slight advantage in the corners over the heavier Tour model, though both can hustle through the turns like a big sport-touring bike.
Job one was to put the bike on a serious diet with a new lighter aluminum frame and single-sided swingarm, shrink-wrapped, flat opposed 6-cylinder engine and sculpted, more aerodynamic bodywork, seats and luggage, all of which and more shaved off about 79 pounds and four inches of overall length from the Navi/ABS top-trunk equipped model. Now called the Gold Wing Tour, it weighs just 831 pounds wet with a manual transmission, and the new standard Gold Wing sans top trunk is even lighter at a claimed 787 pounds, or 808 pounds for the automatic DCT version tested here. Rider was among the first to ride the new Wings, from camouflaged pre-production units at Honda’s Twin Ring Motegi racetrack in Japan to a full two-up test and big-mile shootout with a BMW K 1600 GTL in the U.S. You can find our numerous ride reports and scads of technical details on the bikes in Rider’s 2018 issues and in our First U.S. Ride Review here.
The lighter, more compact opposed flat-six in the Gold Wing cranked out 101.4 horsepower at 5,500 rpm and 106 lb-ft of torque at 4,500 the last time we dyno-tested one in 2018, and made more than 100 lb-ft of torque from 2,300 to 5,100 rpm (redline is at 6,000 rpm now).
AWOL in all of that coverage is a test of the new lighter, less expensive standard Gold Wing, in some ways the successor to Honda’s first flat-six Gold Wing bagger, the 2013 F6B. Like the new standard, the F6B had a shorty windscreen and a smooth cowl between the saddlebags instead of a top trunk, and styling changes like a gunfighter seat gave it some bagger influence. In retrospect Honda went a bit too far by stripping the F6B of cruise control, ABS, reverse, windscreen adjusters and more, which brought the weight and price down significantly but turned off touring riders who otherwise liked the idea of lighter Gold Wing. Cruise control was added two years later, but then it was only a short time before the new 2018 Wings sent the F6B packing.
Stiffer suspension with non-adjustable damping on the standard Wing works quite well on bumpy mountain roads like this one in the Los Padres National Forest, but we’d like softer settings for touring and commuting.
In addition to offering more performance overall, the new standard rectifies every F6B slipup and then some by retaining the Tour model’s cruise control, powerful linked brakes with C-ABS, electric windscreen, four riding modes (Sport, Tour, Eco and Rain), complete infotainment system with Apple CarPlay, GPS navigation, heated grips and more. Yet our 2019 Gold Wing test bike — even with its optional automatic DCT gearbox — is still a few pounds lighter than the F6B. At 30 liters each versus the F6B’s 22, the standard’s saddlebags are slightly larger, too, though they are inefficient side loaders and the interiors are quite small and convoluted — plan on getting the optional rear carrier or even the Tour’s 50-liter top trunk (it can be retrofitted) for two-up tours.
Saddlebags unlock and lock automatically when the keyless ignition fob is in or out of range, and the lids have hydraulic struts for smooth opening. Honda says each saddlebag holds 30 liters, but the side-closing lids and convoluted interiors make packing a challenge.
Besides the shorter electric windscreen and absent top trunk on the standard, some important differences between it and the Tour jump out on the first ride, most notably in the suspension. Although the standard has remotely adjustable rear spring preload, neither the spring strut in the dual-wishbone front end nor the rear shock offer adjustable damping, and both the spring and damping rates are quite stiff. While this helps the lighter, more responsive bike hustle down a twisty, bumpy road like a sport tourer, it beats up the rider around town and commuting in a very un-Gold-Wing-like way, enough to make me seriously miss the front/rear Electric Damping Adjust keyed to the riding modes on the Tour. Changing riding modes still affects throttle response, ABS and the shift points of the DCT (if equipped), but there’s no softening or stiffening of the suspension when going from Sport to Tour/Eco/Rain mode or vice versa. Moreover, the location of the remote knob makes it very difficult to change the preload setting.
Opting for the automatic DCT model gives you reverse and Walking modes as well as Matte Majestic Silver and Candy Ardent Red color options. Manual transmission model only comes in Darkness Black Metallic.
DCT is a handy feature at times since there’s no clutch lever or foot shifter to deal with (although you can have the latter if desired), and the latest version in the Wings upshifts automatically or manually quite smoothly and has seven speeds. I can’t say I’m a big fan though, because I frequently use a manual clutch lever during low-speed maneuvers (particularly when riding two-up) to feather the power delivery and match revs when downshifting. Regardless of riding mode, with DCT the power “tip-in” starting out from a stop is too abrupt, especially when you have to turn tightly as well, and downshifting automatically the DCT doesn’t fully match revs — it feels a bit like a novice rider just learning how to change down. It would seem an easy choice to save the $1,200 and get the base bike with 6-speed manual transmission, but then you also lose the DCT’s reverse and forward “Walking” modes, which are game changers on a bike that weighs around 800 pounds. Both are activated with the up/down DCT thumb shifters on the left handlebar and help greatly with parking maneuvers.
Super strong and tactile Combined ABS braking comprises triple discs with opposed 6-piston calipers in front and a 3-piston at the rear.
Several nice-to-have features found on the Tour are optional on the standard, like a centerstand, rear speakers, top box and taller windscreen. Other Tour goodies aren’t available for it, like Honda Selectable Torque Control (HSTC, or traction control), and Honda’s factory heated seats. A CB radio is not on the standard’s accessory list either (partly because the antenna installs in the Tour’s top trunk). With Eco and Rain modes available to soften the power delivery, however, I can’t say I missed HSTC, and the aftermarket can provide that other stuff.
Riding the standard Gold Wing feels a lot like taking off a heavy backpack after a hike. With 44 pounds less weight than a Tour to schlep around (and more than 100 pounds less than a 2017 Navi/ABS model!), the standard Wing accelerates more briskly with a deep growl from its smoother, broader powerband, and there’s no tail trunk wagging the dog in corners, so it handles more fluidly as well. I still find the new front end heavy and vague at low speeds, particularly on loose surfaces, but the bike’s stability on the highway and in corners fast and slow is unparalleled. Braking is linear and impressively forceful, the engine is silky smooth at all times and seating comfort and wind protection are excellent, even with the shorter windscreen. It’s easiest to hear the infotainment system with the screen in the highest position, and easier still with a Bluetooth wireless headset, which is required to enable Apple CarPlay along with an iPhone.
Quirky handling of the new dual-wishbone front end at walking/low speeds takes some getting used to, but it gives the bike terrific stability on the highway and in corners at a faster pace.
Although the Wing’s basic phone, GPS and music setup is comprehensive, easy to use and compatible with Android or Apple phones, the large TFT display is not a touchscreen, and much of the system is frustratingly locked-out when the bike is in motion. If you have an iPhone, Apple CarPlay fixes all of that by bringing a headset(s) and Siri voice commands to bear, and though the handlebar controls have a bit of a learning curve, once you figure them out there’s very little you can’t do with the phone, GPS or audio, even in motion. CarPlay also seems to have better fidelity than the base system, too.
Honda didn’t call the new standard Gold Wing the “Sport” because it might alienate the bagger crowd, but that’s the nickname it has earned around here. If you regularly ride two-up, think twice, as the hard-to-adjust stiff suspension and lack of luggage capacity are issues. But a solo rider who likes the sheer presence of the Wing and the standard’s sleek looks can rack up the miles and have a lot of fun on this bike.
Passenger accommodations on the standard include a large, plush seat and functional, fold-up floorboards, but the bike’s grab rails are too low and can require leaning forward to reach them.
2019 Honda Gold Wing DCT Specs
Base Price: $23,800 Price As Tested: $25,000 (DCT model) Warranty: 3 yrs., unltd. miles, transferable Website:powersports.honda.com
Engine
Type: Liquid-cooled, longitudinal opposed flat six Displacement: 1,833cc Bore x Stroke: 73.0 x 73.0mm Compression Ratio: 10.5:1 Valve Train: SOHC, 4 valves per cyl. Valve Adj. Interval: 24,000 miles Fuel Delivery: EFI w/ 50mm throttle body Lubrication System: Wet sump, 3.9-qt. cap. Transmission: 7-speed automatic/manual DCT w/ Walking mode & reverse (as tested) Final Drive: Shaft, 1.795:1
Frame: Aluminum tubular & box-section double cradle w/ single-sided cast aluminum swingarm Wheelbase: 66.7 in. Rake/Trail: 30.5 degrees/4.3 in. Seat Height: 29.3 in. Suspension, Front: Dual-wishbone w/ Showa shock, no adj., 4.3-in. travel Rear: Pro-Link w/ Showa shock, remote adj. spring preload, 4.1-in. travel Brakes, Front: Dual 320mm discs w/ 6-piston opposed Nissin calipers & C-ABS Rear: Single 316mm disc w/ 3-piston floating caliper & C-ABS Wheels, Front: Cast, 3.50 x 18 in. Rear: Cast, 5.00 x 16 in. Tires, Front: 130/70-R18 Rear: 200/55-R16 Wet Weight: 808 lbs. (as tested) Load Capacity: 451 lbs. (as tested) GVWR: 1,259 lbs.
Performance
Fuel Capacity: 5.5 gals., last 1.0 gal. warning light on MPG: 86 AKI min. (low/avg/high) 38.8/39.7/41.8 Estimated Range: 219 miles Indicated RPM at 60 MPH: 2,000
The author flogging a 2020 Arch KRGT-1 along the Angeles Forest Highway. Photos by Alessio Barbanti/Arnaud Puig/ARCH Motorcycle.
I’m going to be brutally honest. I showed up in Pasadena, where Rider Magazine was being given the opportunity to ride the new Arch KRGT-1, with low expectations. That’s probably not fair, but it’s the truth. I’m jaded and cynical. I’ve ridden a lot of bikes, sat through a lot of technical presentations and talked to a lot of engineers and designers. There’s so much that goes into building a motorcycle from the ground up — one that not only looks good but functions well — that frankly I didn’t expect what I saw as a movie star’s pet project would amount to much of anything. (Keanu Reeves is a co-founder of Arch Motorcycle, along with designer and builder Gard Hollinger.)
Well, I was wrong.
Arch invited us to ride its KRGT-1 for a reason: they wanted it to get the regular treatment, a complete shakedown from a respected industry magazine. Still, Arch is a small company that hand-builds each machine to order, so I’d be surprised if Gard, Keanu and the rest of the crew didn’t harbor at least a little emotional attachment to the bike and our opinion of it. After all, they’ve invested years of blood, sweat, tears and time — in Gard and Keanu’s case, more than a decade — into the KRGT-1. And a couple of skeptical moto-journalists were getting ready to thrash two of the precious machines on one of the most famous (and locally notorious) stretches of curvaceous road in the LA area: the Angeles Crest Highway.
At the Arch Motorcycle factory in Hawthorne, near Los Angeles, we got to see (and sit on) the bike that eventually became the KRGT-1: a 2005 Harley Dyna. The only remaining original part is the engine.
Before we get to that, though, a brief backstory. Arch Motorcycle was born from circumstances that most of us can totally relate to: a guy (Keanu Reeves) had a motorcycle (an ’05 Harley Dyna) whose character (pure Americana) he loved…but he wanted more from it, specifically in the handling department. So he asked respected builder and owner of LA County Choprods, Gard Hollinger, if he could help. The two started making changes and adjustments. Afterwards Keanu would go out and ride the bike in the twisting canyons of the Santa Monica Mountains, then he’d return with feedback and they’d go at it again. By 2012, the ’05 Dyna they’d started with had morphed into the genesis of what would eventually become the KRGT-1. All that remained of the original machine was the engine — everything else, including the frame and swingarm, had been created from scratch. “You know,” they said to each other, “we could make more of these.” And so Arch Motorcycle was born.
So here we are in Pasadena, it’s 7:30 a.m. and one of those Southern California November mornings that elicits a groan of anguished envy from most of the rest of the country. We’d been given no technical presentation or press kit. Instead we were ushered to a corner of the hotel where we were introduced to both Gard and Keanu, slurped a bit of coffee and shown to the bikes. There were three examples sitting outside, red, blue and silver, and we were given our choice for the ride. Each KRGT-1 is unique, curated by the Arch team with the client to create a motorcycle that is ergonomically and aesthetically bespoke. In short, the bike is built to fit your body as well as to look the way you want it. I wondered silently for whom these three had been built, then was provided the answer for one—the blue one was Keanu’s personal bike.
The KRGT-1’s machined billet aluminum gas tank is a work of art and science in itself. It’s a two-part design, with the steel frame’s backbone running down the middle. The two halves attach on either side, with hoses keeping the fuel level equal, and once bolted on the tank(s) are stiff enough to act as a stressed member of the frame. In between sits Arch’s proprietary downdraft induction system, shown here, developed in partnership with K&N. Photo by the author.
Despite a Harley-Davidson being the genesis of the KRGT-1, the production bike is powered by a massive 124ci (that’s 2,032cc for those of you keeping score at home) S&S mill that Arch modified with its own primary drive, powertrain and clever 45-degree downdraft intake system that does away with the unsightly air filter protruding from one side. The frame is a steel and aluminum hybrid — steel downtubes and backbone, with machined aluminum clutching the rear of the engine and arcing over the rear wheel.
This is actually the second iteration of the KRGT-1 and a direct result of Keanu and Gard’s relentless quest for improvement. Compared to the first version released in 2015, the 2020 KRGT-1 includes more than 20 major changes and 150 new components, including the swingarm, suspension, brakes, bodywork and controls.
The first thing one must understand when looking at a KRGT-1 is that nearly every metal piece you see apart from the engine itself is machined billet aluminum. That includes the sculpted two-piece gas tank, which itself requires more than 33 hours to complete and is ingeniously designed to operate as a stressed member of the frame, the massive but lightweight swingarm, the headlight cowl and the side plates that accommodate the new swingarm pivot, which is attached directly to the engine.
Each KRGT-1 contains around 150 pounds of machined billet aluminum. Very clean examples are used for customers who want a bare, polished look, while parts with even a hint of imperfect swirling will be anodized.
The second thing is that no expense was spared. When you’ve got the support of Keanu Reeves, a true moto-head who owns but one car and goes everywhere on a motorcycle — if not his KRGT-1 then often an old Norton Commando — and a master of metal in Gard Hollinger, sparing no expense is something you can and should do. Fully adjustable front and rear suspension is by Öhlins and was developed in partnership with Arch specifically for this model. A new larger-diameter 48mm fork has a special carrier at the bottom to accommodate 130mm mounts for the massive new six-piston ISR calipers (two-channel Bosch ABS is standard). Clutch and front brake assemblies are by Magura, five-spoke carbon fiber wheels are by South African company BST (Blackstone Tek), exhaust is by Yoshimura and tires are Michelin Commander IIs.
Arch Motorcycle R&D Manager Ryan Boyd (left) is the man responsible for taking each KRGT-1 from computer screen design to finished product.
Settled into the deeply scooped saddle, feet on the narrow forward controls, we gradually wicked up the pace as we climbed the mountain, holding the throttle open a bit more and bending a bit deeper with every corner. It might resemble just another custom chopper from a distance, but I was having one of those come-to-Jesus moments where one realizes that one’s prejudgment was quite wrong and one will have to explain this in a (hopefully) well-written review pitched at others likely to have the same prejudgmental opinions.
Now, is this a Panigale or RSV4 or ZX-10R? No, and Arch doesn’t make such ridiculous claims. What it is: an American cruiser, distilled to its essence then fortified with top-quality components and construction techniques designed to bring out the best in performance. Despite the 240-series Michelin rear tire, the KRGT-1 leans willingly and, once there, sticks stubbornly to its line. The long wheelbase helps but so does the stiff chassis and the downright amazing suspension, which was plush yet offered good feel and matched up well with some of the best front brakes of any bike I’ve yet ridden. And with a claimed 122 lb-ft of torque at the rear wheel it pulls like a freight train down low, although it runs out of juice fairly early — remember this is a power cruiser, not a superbike.
Admittedly I was riding a bit more cautiously than normal, given this bike belonged to a certain actor, but still the KRGT-1 impressed with its seriously sporty handling. With the right pilot aboard this thing might catch an unsuspecting sport rider by surprise.
By the time we stopped midway through the ride to meet up with Keanu and Gard for a quick Q&A before continuing on, it had become clear this was a machine that had been tested and developed in the canyons and on the mountain roads of the Santa Monicas, not (flat, straight, traffic-choked) Hawthorne Boulevard. “But it also has to work on Hawthorne Boulevard,” responded Keanu matter-of-factly.
And to that end, I was a bit surprised at how docile and easy to handle the fire-breathing monster could be. In hot, stop-and-go city traffic, sure the clutch pull starts to feel a bit heavy and the S&S generates considerable heat, but throttle response is smooth and linear and the low-to-mid powerband feels flat as a pancake (I’d love to get a KRGT-1 onto the Jett Tuning dyno). Vibration from the rubber-mounted engine is readily apparent at stoplights but smoothes right out once underway. It cruises the city boulevards like, well, a cruiser should. In short, Gard, Keanu and team have actually created an American bike worthy of the often over-used term “power cruiser.”
The KRGT-1 cruises like a boss. Loping along at 1,800 rpm, give the throttle a twist in any gear, however, and hold on tight.
What makes the KRGT-1 special, however — what justifies its $85,000 out-the-door price tag — is not just its performance. It’s the fact that when you buy one you’re getting a machine that is hand-built and made specifically for you. The process is a consultation rather than a “sign here” order taking, with the new owner remaining in close partnership with the Arch team throughout the 90-day build. Since there are no dealerships, any aftersale work is coordinated with local service centers vetted by the Arch team, and in many cases the owner has the direct contact info for R&D Manager Ryan Boyd, in case questions or issues arise.
So while it’s true that the KRGT-1 is a limited-production, hand-built, expensive piece of rolling art it’s also a bike that performs better than it has any right to, and that is a direct result of the vision, passion and talent of Gard Hollinger, Keanu Reeves, Ryan Boyd and the entire Arch team. And they aren’t stopping here — next up is a naked sportbike dubbed the 1S. Here’s to hoping I get invited to ride that one too.
2020 Arch Motorcycle KRGT-1.
2020 Arch KRGT-1 Specs
Base Price: $85,000 Website:archmotorcycle.com Engine Type: Air-cooled, transverse 60-degree V-twin, DOHC, 2 valves per cyl. Displacement: 124ci (2,032cc) Bore x Stroke: 104.8 x 117.5mm Transmission: Arch proprietary 6-speed w/hydraulically-actuated dry clutch Final Drive: O-ring chain Wheelbase: 68 in. Rake/Trail: 30 degrees/5.0 in. Seat Height: 27.8 in. Claimed Dry Weight: 538 lbs. Fuel Capacity: 5 gals. MPG: NA
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The author poses with Arch Motorcycle founders Keanu Reeves and Gard Hollinger.LED headlight includes cornering lights.Massive six-piston ISR calipers squeeze two floating 320mm discs up front, while a four-piston caliper pinches a 240mm in the rear. Bosch ABS is standard.Billet aluminum abounds, including around the old-school red dot matrix display and even the key.The hybrid steel/aluminum frame includes a new swingarm pivot built into the rear of the engine.Scooped seat is customized to fit each client.More billet aluminum: the headlight cowl.Serrated pegs offer excellent grip, which is good given the narrowness of the forward controls.Inside the Arch Motorcycle factory in the Los Angeles area.The Method 143 is a radical prototype that will give birth to Arch’s next model, the 1S.
1961 Matchless G12CS. Owner: Steve Eorio, Paso Robles, California.
The 1950s and ’60s were the era of the UBM — Universal British Motorcycle — a parallel OHV twin sitting upright in the frame, in the 500cc to 750cc range. The original UBM was the Triumph 5T Speed Twin of 1938, soon to be copied by half a dozen of the major British motorcycle companies. Matchless, which built its first motorcycle at the Plumstead works in southeast London around 1901, came up with its own version in 1948, the 498cc G9, with a 66 x 72.8mm bore and stroke. And a fully sprung frame, with a swingarm rear suspension.
It should be noted that in the 1930s Matchless bought the AJS marque and the company became Associated Motor Cycles, Ltd., or AMC, the major difference between the two brands being the lettering on the gas tank.
The G9 engine differed from other UBMs in that it had a third bearing on the crankshaft, between the two connecting rods, to give added strength. The engine’s dry sump lubrication system used the camshaft to run two oil pumps, one on each side of the crank, aiding in efficient lubrication; apparently these engines could go 75,000 miles before any major work was needed. Quite remarkable for a UBM of the era, when top-end jobs were often done at 20,000 miles, bottom-end at 40,000.
The two cylinders were separate, as were the heads, and while this seemed to work well with the 500, as the engine grew larger the lack of rigidity appeared to enhance vibration. During the 1950s most factories increased the size of the engine, with 650cc being considered the maximum reasonable size for a UBM, due to those vibratory concerns. In 1955 Matchless elected to bore out the engine to 72mm for an increase to 593cc — called a 600, designated as a G11. This was followed by the G11CS, or Competition Sprung, a street-legal scrambler with easily removable lights, and the G11CSR, a more roadworthy version, often called the Coffee Shop Racer. The CS models came with higher compression ratios and other performance enhancements…and often more problems. The frame used a single downtube to meet up with the full cradle holding the engine.
In 1958 Matchless offered 17 different models, including the first G12 650. The very important American market had been demanding that 650, the dealers needing it to compete with the Triumph and BSA 650s. Small problem: the engine could not be bored out any more. Solution: increase the stroke to 79.3mm, or 646cc. That was the G12, with the basic road-going model having valanced fenders and a reliable 7.5:1 compression ratio, and two sportier CS models with an 8.5:1 compression ratio and light alloy fenders.
The restroked engine required a new crankshaft, made of “nodular” iron, which flexed enough to reduce vibrations. It was also designed to incorporate a Lucas alternator, though still with six-volt electrics. A new frame with twin downtubes now welded to the full cradle was developed, which did help in reducing the vibration inherent in a 650 vertical twin using a 360-degree crankshaft, although the single-tube frame was also used. The motorcycle seen here, which was built from bits and pieces, has a 1961 G12 engine in a 1959 single downtube frame. An AMC Teledraulic fork is up front, a pair of Girling shock absorbers at the back.
Gas tanks varied in size according to the model and year, but this ’61 G12CS carried only two gallons, all you would need in a race, and was said to weigh 425 pounds with a full tank. And with 5.3 pints of oil in the reservoir.
Other changes occurred over the G12’s years, including 12-volt electrics, sending out decent visibility from the seven-inch headlight. The basic G12 had 18-inch wheels, while this CS was running 19-inchers. Distance between the axles was a little more than 55 inches. Brakes were single-leading-shoe drums, an eight-incher on the front, seven on the back.
One interesting bit of history is that the Matchless marque was originally sold in the U.S. by Californian Frank Cooper, who became the AMC importer around 1946. He did quite well selling singles to win desert races, though the twins were not as popular.
In 1953, AMC acquired financially troubled Norton, although Norton production and sales remained quite separate, the U.S. importer being Joe Berliner, or J.B. Then, in 1960, AMC bought the Indian Sales Corp., which had been selling rebadged Royal Enfields — this was to get the Indian dealers, such as they were, to sell Matchboxes rather than Royal Oilfields. And AMC summarily fired Cooper, after 14 years of good work.
However, AMC filed for bankruptcy in 1962 (Cooper must have laughed), resulting in Matchless being merged more closely with Norton, and Berliner having to deal with Matchless as well. In early 1963, J.B. Matchless Corp. put a full-page ad in Cycle magazine promoting the G12CS and G12CSR…along with the 750cc G15 Matchless, which looked surprisingly like the Norton Atlas model that had appeared in 1962. In 1963 that old 1952 Matchless/Norton arrangement, keeping them separate, changed drastically as bill collectors were pounding on both doors, and Norton production moved from its old Birmingham factory 100 miles southeast to Plumstead.
Not surprisingly, interest in the G12 waned considerably. The last Matchless ad I could find in a U.S. moto-mag was in Cycle’s July 1966 issue, featuring the Atlas-based G15, and mentioning one G12CSR and two G80 singles. At the time British bureaucrats, knowing nothing about motorcycles, thought they could save the industry by merging Matchless, AJS and Norton into the company of an affluent entrepreneur and racecar driver, Dennis Poore. Poore was already looking after the Villiers engineering firm, which made most of the British two-stroke motorcycle engines. The Matchless and AJS names dropped from sight, and the new company was called Norton-Villiers.
Michio Arai, son of company founder Hirotake, and Michio’s son Akihito (on bike), two of the three generations of Arais that have been making premium motorcycle and auto-racing helmets for nearly 70 years.
After spending a few years behind bars and a desk at Rider magazine, I like to think I have some important things figured out. “Nonplussed” doesn’t mean unimpressed. Lean and believe. Bread plate on the left, drink on the right. And wear ATGATT (All of The Gear All of The Time), especially an approved helmet, preferably full-face. What about Snell vs. DOT vs. ECE 22.05 helmet certification standards? Yes, there are significant differences among them, but those differences really only come into play if you can predict what type of accident you’re going to have. The important thing is to find an approved lid that is comfortable and fits well, has good optics and doesn’t contribute to fatigue with excess noise or weight. A helmet that you like. A helmet that you want to wear, and always do.
Arai Americas Managing Director Brian Weston holds a “preforma,” or bird’s nest layer of chopped Super Fiber ready for the mold.
Arai has been making helmets motorcycle riders and countless successful racers want to wear for a very long time, since its first fiberglass-shelled model sold in Japan in 1952. Company founder Hirotake Arai, the son of a hat maker, was an enthusiastic motorcycle rider who established a headgear and textile factory in Saitama, Japan, near Tokyo, in the late 1930s, and after World War II made helmets for construction workers. When his buddies at the local racetrack asked him to make helmets for them, Arai created the first Japanese motorcycle helmets from fiberglass, resin and expanded polystyrene foam (EPS), effectively launching the Japanese motorcycle helmet industry. Despite focusing on head protection for fellow riders first and business concerns a distant second, the company flourished producing “HA” (Hirotake Arai) branded helmets, especially after establishing the “bag molding” technique with 2-piece metal molds that is still in use for most composite helmets today.
After the preforma or “bird’s nest” is inserted into the mold, one of Arai’s shell experts carefully places the reinforcing layers inside it, then a second preforma is put in to hold everything together, creating in effect a bird’s nest sandwich.
Soon after Hirotake’s son Michio (a rider since age 7) returned to Japan from college in the U.S. to help with the family business, Arai produced its first Snell-certified HA helmet in 1963. Exports began and the U.S. distributor who would eventually start and become President of Arai Helmet USA in 1977, Roger Weston, helped convince Hirotake to change the brand name from HA to simply “Arai” for obvious reasons.
An amazing number of preforma and reinforcing layers of fiberglass are used in each lid, some Super Fiber, some AR Mat and others Zylon or even carbon fiber.
Today Arai Helmet Ltd. has factories in Saitama and Shinto, Japan, and is still a privately owned family business, now in the capable hands of Michio “Mitch” Arai, 81, and his son Akihito. Production has ranged from a pre-recessionary high of more than 450,000 helmets annually to about 280,000 today, all by hand with the exception of six robotic lasers used to cut and trim the shells. Mitch and “Aki” Arai, along with Roger Weston’s son Brian — now Managing Director of Arai Americas — recently decided it was high time to pull back the veil on Arai’s skunk works in Japan with a press tour and ride that would showcase its new Regent-X full-face helmet (review coming soon) and two overriding aspects of Arai helmets: an unfailing attention to tradition, details and quality from its factory workers and helmet experts, many of whom have been with the company for decades; and Arai’s strong belief that in addition to absorbing impacts, a helmet’s shape must allow it to slide smoothly and deflect, or “glance off” impacts in order to prevent rotational energy from entering and affecting the wearer, hence the use of roughly the same smooth, egg-like shell shape since the 1970s.
EPS pellets of four or more different densities are used to create the EPS liner that crushes to absorb impacts.
So far no one has found a better material for a motorcycle helmet’s protective liner than EPS, and like most premium helmet companies, Arai forms its liners from EPS pellets of different densities — lighter for the thicker areas like the crown and forehead, heavier for thinner spots. Where technology and cost collide with tradition and safety is in the helmet shell, the designs for which vary greatly among manufacturers. Although the days of polycarbonate, injection-molded shells not holding up to more rigorous standards are long past, Arai believes that composite shells made of laminated fiberglass layers and resin can be stronger, lighter and safer, since the shell absorbs some of the impact by crushing or delaminating and better resists penetration (both a polycarbonate and composite helmet must be replaced after a serious impact, since the EPS liner will have been compressed).
The only robots in Arai’s four factories are the laser cutters used to trim the newly formed shells, one at its R&D center in Saitama and five more at the molding facility in Shinto.
Rather than throwing out a shell design and starting over each time, Arai’s current Peripheral Belt-Structural Net Composite 2, or PB-SNC2 (used in high-end models) and PB-Complex Laminate Construction, or PBcLc, shell designs have evolved from numerous CLC designs since the first in 1977. Both start with Super Fiber, fine strands that have 30-percent more tensile strength than ordinary fiberglass. These are chopped, sprayed with resin and blown onto a perforated, rotating vacuum dome, creating a strong “bird’s nest” of sorts that is heated to retain its shape. This bird’s nest is placed into a two-piece mold, and then up to 18 reinforcing pieces such as Arai’s peripheral belt of Zylon (also used in bulletproof vests) around the top of the eyeport and the Structural Net Composite, or SNC, that helps hold the layers together, are carefully placed inside the bird’s nest. Another bird’s nest is placed on top, sandwiching the whole thing together before the resin is poured in and the hot mold is closed up with a thick airbag inside to squeeze the layers together. After 13 minutes what began as a complicated sandwich of Super Fiber, fiberglass mat and Zylon layers that can take years to learn how to assemble has formed into a light, thin but ultra-strong integral shell.
Each and every shell produced 200 kilometers away in Shinto or nearby in Saitama must pass final inspection at this facility in Amanuma, where shells are checked for thickness, weight and visible irregularities.
After the virgin shells are trimmed around the bottom and their vents and eye ports cut by the laser, what follows is flurry of handwork and quality control by dozens of skilled workers, and with the exception of some paintwork and plastic part production it’s all done in-house. From sanding, priming, painting, water-decal application, strap riveting, and inserting the EPS liner to gluing in the eyebrow vents and comfort liners and numerous QC inspections, each worker doesn’t just do his or her job — each inspects and insures the quality level of each lid and genuinely cares about the result. What struck me most about Arai was not the modernity of the factories or quantity of helmets being produced, but rather that it doesn’t modify the design or what it feels is the safety level of its helmets in order to lower cost or make production more efficient or more automated. Just as it did in the 1950s, Arai genuinely cares about protecting fellow riders first and business concerns second. As Michio Arai said before we left, “Doing what we believes in gives us pride. We are not good businessmen, but we are determined to provide protection for the heads of fellow riders.”
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Michio Arai, 81, talks about Arai Helmet’s history in Saitama. The iconic photo in the background is of his father and company founder Hirotake standing on the saddle of his Harley in the late 1930s.Punching out reinforcing layers en masse at the Shinto factory.A machine weaves strands of Super Fiber for reinforcing layers like the peripheral belt that goes around the eyeport.This is how a shell looks right after it’s removed from the mold. Now it’s off to the laser cutter. Note the staples used to hold some of the fiberglass layers together are all located in the eyeport, which gets cut out.Since resin is relatively heavy, as little as possible is used to form a shell, leaving a rough finish that requires an incredible amount of handwork to get it ready for primer and paint.Graphics that aren’t painted are typically water decals painstakingly applied before the helmet is clear coated. Interestingly decal application is all done by women, who Arai has found have much more patience than men for the intricate work.We were treated to an exceptional preview of the new Arai Regent-X Helmet’s performance with a lengthy ride from Saitama to the famously twisty roads of Gunma Prefecture near the Shinto factory. Many thanks to Honda Motorcycle Japan for providing the bikes.
Hold on tight. Kawasaki has announced it’s bringing its balanced supercharged 998cc inline four to its Z lineup of naked motorcycles with a new flagship model, the 2020 Z H2.
More detailed information will be made available at the Z H2’s U.S. debut later in November, but for now we know that it will feature a specially designed trellis frame, Showa suspension, Brembo Monobloc brake calipers, LED lighting, a full-color, switchable TFT display, smartphone connectivity and a full suite of IMU-based electronics (riding modes, power modes, KTRC, KCMF, KIBS, KLCM, KQS and cruise control) and an assist-and-slipper clutch.
The 2020 Kawasaki Z H2 will be available in Metallic Spark Black/Metallic Graphite Gray/Mirror Coated Spark Black at an MSRP of $17,000. Stay tuned for further details.
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This image shows the massive air intake feeding directly into the balanced supercharger.2020 Kawasaki Z H2.Full-color TFT display has a switchable background.
