Highly desirable, as would I be if I owned one (or so I thought): The 1969 SL350 Honda.
The year was 1969 and things were happening. On the world stage, Vietnam was going full tilt with no end in sight; on the home stage, I had finished high school and was enjoying my summer working at the California Speed and Sport Shop (I’ve got to do a blog about that place someday). I was 18 years old, I had a Honda 90, Triumph 650s ruled the streets, and the pizza in New Jersey was the best in the world. Stated differently, life was good.
My cousin Marsha was seeing a cool guy named Don. Don was a little older and infinitely cooler than me and my friends, a perception he solidified one summer night when he arrived on a brand-new Honda SL350. Wow. Candy blue with white accents, downswept pipes and upswept mufflers, a high front fender, knobby tires, and a look that was just right. Honda offered the SL350, if I recall correctly, in candy apple red, candy blue, and candy gold, and the bike in any of those colors had a silver frame. It was perfect. Say what you want about Asian aesthetics; in my opinion, Honda nailed it. Make mine any color, but I would prefer blue (like Don’s) or the candy red. Nah, scratch that…as long as I’m dreaming, make mine candy red. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
The SL350 looked (and sounded) the way a motorcycle ought to look and sound. In my testosteroned and teenaged mind, I would have instantly become infinitely cooler and better looking on an SL350. Every young lady in New Jersey would want to go out with me if I had an SL350, or so I imagined.
Up to that point, my dream bike was a Triumph TT Special (it had similar tucked-in headers and lots more power), but damn, that SL350 looked right. I would have bought one, but by the time I had enough coin to get a bigger street bike Honda had introduced their CB750, and that got the nod. But I’ve always wanted an SL350.
The SL350 was Honda’s answer to Yamaha’s DT series of dual-purpose bikes, but that wasn’t why I thought it was cool. Yeah, you can play spec-sheet expert and point out that the SL350 weighed more than the Triumph TT Special and had way less power, or that the DT Yamahoppers did better both on and off road, but I don’t care. And I know that the SL350 “only” had 325cc and it “only” had a top end just north of 80 mph. My answer to that? Please see Response No. 1: I don’t care.
The SL350 is one of the ones that got away. It hit all the right notes for me (your mileage may vary), and I still want one.
When I was 13 years old in Florida you could get a restricted permit at age 14. The restricted permit was a driver’s license that allowed you to drive as long as an adult was in the car with you. Assuming he/she wasn’t suicidal, the adult was supposed to keep an eye on your driving and coach you. An adult would help you pick up the nuances of parallel parking, rude hand gestures, and, in Dade County, gun fighting after minor traffic accidents. Needless to say, having an aged, creaking burnout sitting in the car fouling the air with the smell of stale urine cut down on motoring fun quite a bit.
There was a motorcycle loophole in the restricted permit system. If a motorcycle was less than 5 horsepower, and if you stayed off the major highways and didn’t ride at night, you could ride solo without adults helicoptering over your ride. It was wonderful. Obey these few rules and a kid could ride his motorcycle anywhere he pleased.
Motorcycles between 50cc and 90cc were right in the 5-horsepower wheelhouse but your average traffic cop couldn’t tell a 175 from a 50. Many bikes were rebadged to appear smaller displacement than they were. I never knew anyone in my circle of friends that got busted for riding a bike too big. Of course, you had to be reasonable about the subterfuge. A 50cc badge on a Kawasaki 750 wouldn’t fly.
Two months before I turned 14 the state upped the age for a restricted permit to 15 years old. The world ended that day. Massive volcanic eruptions, cataclysmic earthquakes, a steady rain of nuclear weapons bombarding the United States, nothing was as devastating to me as Florida’s stupid statute change.
I would have to wait an additional 365 days and I’d only lived 5000 days in total. The year dragged by. Endless days were followed by endless nights only to be repeated one after another. I had to attend yet another grade in school. I couldn’t wait to be done with public conformitouriums anyway and this stolen year of motorcycle riding made it all the more aggravating. The drip, drip, drip of time counted my heartbeats, counted my life ebbing away. I was inconsolable, miserable and the experience placed a chip on my shoulder for government that I have not shaken off.
There are 9 years hidden in there somewhere!
Begrudging the failed clutch on my Husqvarna the other day I came to the jarring realization that I have owned the bike 9 years. I swear, I bought this thing not more than a couple days ago. I degreased the countershaft sprocket area to gain access and removed the clutch slave cylinder. From the inside of the slave I pulled out an aged, creaking o-ring that smelled of stale urine. The leak had allowed the clutch fluid to escape into the crankcase. Except for the missing 9 years the clutch repair went well.
Einstein was right; time is relative. From my 14-year-old perspective a year was an eternity. Now, as an adult I’m scared to close my eyes for fear that another decade will have passed by at light speed. Or worse yet, I won’t be able to re-open them at all.
I guess I should start this piece by explaining I’m not even sure what the Clifton Club is. After spending several minutes on Google researching it, all I could find is that it’s either a wedding and Bar Mitzvah venue in Lakewood, Ohio, or a series of bling pieces from high-end watch maker Baume and Mercier. I’m going to go with Door No. 2 on this one. It’s the only explanation that makes sense in the context of what follows.
Let me back up a step. Yesterday I chauffeured the ladies to Fashion Island in Newport. It’s a very trendy shopping mall in a very trendy part of So Cal (think Neiman-Marcus, Nordstrom’s, French poodles, BMWs, and the like). For me, a visit to any shopping mall is torture, but it keeps me in good graces with the rest of the clan and builds up goodwill points for the next collectible firearm purchase, so it all works out.
Anyway, while the girls were shopping I wandered into a high-end watch store (think Rolex and armed guards) and I noticed, of all things, a motorcycle. A new Indian, to be precise, in the middle of the store. I’ve never ridden an Indian (new or vintage), but I always thought they were beautiful motorcycles (again, both new and vintage). I’m not a big cruiser guy, but if I was, I think I would buy an Indian. They are good-looking motorcycles, and my buddies Joe Gresh and Duane both hold them in high regard (and that’s a powerful endorsement).
While I was admiring the Indian, a sales guy approached me (my new good buddy Eduardo…Eduardo, I think, is a particularly elegant name). Eduardo saw my confusion (a motorcycle in a jewelry store?), and he explained that Indian had a marketing partnership with Baume and Mercier, a high-end Swiss watchmaker. It all centered on Burt Munro and his record-breaking land speed record activities. Indian. Baume and Mercier. Burt Munro. Ah, it all came together.
The Baume and Mercier Indian watch. $3900, and it could be yours. Motorcycle not included. It is a beautiful timepiece. It’s part of their Clifton Club collection, and if you wear it, you could be a member, too.Indian got it right. It’s an OHV engine, but the valve covers are designed to emulate the flathead design of the original Indians. It’s masterful, I think.There’s a lot of room in those freight and setup fees. Don’t ever pay what any dealer asks for in these two categories. Read 5000 Miles at 8000 RPM, available on Amazon.com, and you’ll see what I’m talking about.
Do these marketing partnerships work? I suppose they do. More than 20 years ago, Ford teamed with Harley to offer a special limited edition F-150 pickup with Harley decals. As near as I could tell, the decals were the only thing special about that truck, and the only thing limiting the edition was how many they could sell. I had a lot of fun teasing a friend of mine who owned both a Harley Bad Boy (yep, they actually had a model with that name) and the limited edition truck. I drove a ginormous Tahoe and I rode a Suzuki TL1000 in those days. I told my friend I was going to put Suzuki decals on the Chevy and call it a TL-Ho. Good times.
Anyway, the Baume and Mercier watch I saw yesterday was cool (at $3900, it should be), and the Indian was beautiful. I hope the deal works out for Baume and Mercier, and for Indian. I pondered the Harley and Ford partnership mentioned above; I’m guessing nothing came of that, as the two companies seemed to have parted ways. Then I remembered that Bentley, the luxury British carmaker, has a partnership with Breitling (Breitling is another expensive Swiss watchmaker).
I wondered…what’s in it for the companies that strike up such partnerships, and what’s in it for their customers? I don’t think there’s any kind of pricing advantage or free gear package, so what would be the attraction? Is it simply living a branded lifestyle (you know, for insecure rich folks who need something more in their lives)? Or is it somehow making a statement about one’s wealth? Look at me! I drive a Bentley and wear a Breitling!
That got me to thinking…would a marketing partnership work for other brands, and in particular, would such a partnership work for less expensive motorcycles and watches? You know, look at me! I ride an RX3 and I wear a Timex!
What if you could sell a new motorcycle and give away a free watch with it? I’m thinking of China bikes, India bikes (not Indian Moto, but bikes actually made in India), and maybe Thai bikes. It might work if you included a free watch with each new motorcycle, and it would cost essentially nothing. I visited the Canton Fair in Guangzhou last year and I’m on their email list now, so I get all kinds of offers from Chinese manufacturers. You can buy new Chinese watches for $0.62 each (and if you’re thinking they are low quality, you need to think again and maybe research where what you’re currently wearing is actually manufactured).
The branding and theming opportunities might be fun. KLRs are made in Thailand…suppose you got a free milk-crate-themed watch to match your KLR’s topcase? The KTM 390 is made in India; perhaps you could include a Taj Mahal themed watch with each new 390 (isn’t that what the “TM” in KTM stands for, anyway?). Think of all the marques with models, engines, or major components manufactured in Thailand, India, and China…Hawk, SWM, CSC, Royal Enfield, BMW, Harley-Davidson, Triumph, Honda, and more. You can see the possibilities.
A 1974 T150V Triumph, as they looked when brand new 44 years ago!
I think ol’ Gresh is on to something with his Dream Bike concept, or as I call these features, the Ones That Got Away. We all have at least one…a bike we lusted after but didn’t buy.
Good buddy Tom on his Triumph Tiger on a ride through the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
Well, as it turns out, my good buddy and riding compadre Tom had a dream bike, too, but he did something (a big something) about his dream. He made it come true, and then some. Tom wrote and asked if he could contribute to the ExNotes blog, and the answer, of course, was a resounding yes. Read on, my friends…this is a great story.
Over to you, Tom!
Hello, Tom here. By way of a quick bio, I have been riding for 56 years. My first motorcycle in high school was a “motorcycle,” not a scooter, from Sears Roebuck. My current bikes are a well-used Triumph 1050 Tiger and a well-equipped Honda XR650L dual sport.
In 1975 I was riding a 1969 Honda CB 750 four. I rode it everywhere including numerous runs at the local Irwindale drag strip on Wednesday night. Straight line performance was the only thing I was interested in.
My riding partner bought a new Kawasaki Z900 and all of a sudden I was seeing more of his taillight than I was used to. It was time for more horsepower.
I had previously owned two Triumph twins, a T100 500cc and a T120 650. I always loved the Triumphs so I went looking for a new Triumph T150 750cc pushrod triple. My riding partner and I went to the two Triumph dealers in the area. We ended up at Ed Kretz Triumph in Monterey Park, California. It was well into 1975 and they only had 1974 models.
The boys at Kretz had no idea when the ‘75s would arrive. The magazines said the new 750 triples had 5 speed transmissions and disc brakes front and rear, plus electric starters. The ‘74 only had 4 speeds and the ugliest single iron disc front brake I ever saw. The electric starter was of no interest at the time but the 5 speed could have been the deal breaker. But deep in my gut, this bike had “something” that no stinking Honda had.
The next day, two of my buddies and I went back to the dealer to look again. They both were totally against the Triumph. They pointed out the huge, cast, oversized hand controls (they were about twice the size of those on the Honda or Kawi). The front brake reservoir (crudely marked with “Girling”) looked like the boys in metal shop sandcast it for a high school project. I listened to my friends and walked away from a bike I would always admire, Lucas electrics and all. For me, this was the one that got away.
I bought a new Honda CB 750 from Dick & Walt’s Honda-BMW on Whittier Blvd in Montebello, California for $1648, which was about $900 cheaper than the Triumph. Remember my trips to Irwindale drag strip with the old ’69 750 Honda? It ran about 14 seconds flat in the quarter. I had to put more than $500 into the 1975 CB 750 to equal those times. The red line on the tach was 8500 rpm. It took me about three or four trips to the strip to figure out it ran out of steam at 7000 rpm. It was a pig compared to my 1969. I kept it about a year.
Epilogue
On September 14, 2011 my good friend and riding buddy Joe and I drove up the 99 to Lodi, California. We dug out a 1974 Triumph Trident 750cc pushrod triple from behind a 1936 rear-engined Allis Chalmers tractor. They were in a white wood barn.
The real deal…a barn-find 1974 T150V 750cc Triumph. I didn’t let this one get away! This is the “before” photo.
Yes, that Triumph was a real barn find. It was in terrible shape but it did run. I happily paid $2500 for a rusted relic, and I smiled all the way home. I converted that bike into a Land Speed Racer and raced at the El Mirage dry lake for three seasons.
This is the “after” photo. I ran 133 mph on this motorcycle at El Mirage!
And, as I mentioned earlier, I still ride a Triumph today.
That’s an awesome story, Tom. Thanks very much for sharing it with us!
So, how about the rest of you guys and gals? Do you have a dream bike, one that you let get away? Hey, tell us about it. Send your story to info@ExhaustNotes.us, and we’ll publish it!
Or maybe the title of this one should be: Go West, Young Man! That’s what Ernie did, and that’s what I did, too.
My good buddy Ernie and I go back. Way back. As in kindergarten back. Hell, that was 62 years ago. That’s how long I’ve known Ernie. Elementary school, junior high school, high school, and beyond. Whoooeee!
Ernie and yours truly in elementary school.
Anyway, we’re coming up on our 50th year high school reunion back in the Garden State, and Ernie has been posting stories (along with a few other folks) about what’s gone on his life over the last five decades. Ernie’s stuff is good, and it sure hit home for me. I asked Ernie if I could run one of his stories here on the blog, and he agreed. You’ll like this…I know I sure did.
Fast forward 5 years, and it was 1969, and that meant high school graduation. Two boys from the Garden State. We both had a lot of hair back then. Ernie still does.
And those photos above? They are, as you probably guessed, from our school yearbooks. Yep, I still have them.
Ernie, over to you, my friend…
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Thanks, everybody, and especially you, Joe. I enjoy your tales on the trail. I have a few tales that you might enjoy, too.
In 1979 when our daughter Stephanie was born, we made one of our good friends Jim her Godfather. Jim was really cool. He and his brother were on a road trip with Jim’s wife Bonnie, and I was lucky enough to have met them and made friends with them, when I decided to get out of NJ and try my hand at the West.
I had been to Salt lake City about a half year before with two of my buddies. We had a few weeks where the 35-man shop was a bit slow due to the economy, so the three of us did a scouting expedition points West. We left in late October, and as luck would have it, we hit a bad snow storm in Pennsylvania.
After we made it through that, we pushed on across Ohio, Indiana and into Illinois. It was around midnight and as it has happened before to me since then, I-80 had construction and we made a wrong turn and were headed straight into the windy city. It was hell getting back on track and on 80 west again. We wasted a good hour. The highway around the area is a lot like the famed city. It blows, too.
Well, on we went. it was dark out when we were in western Nebraska and entering Wyoming. We stopped in a bar and my friend Paul, all he could talk about was Coors beer all the way from NJ, so we needed this break and to our delight guess what they had on tap. Well, it was pitcher time. All we heard was Paul’s mouth flapping happy about that ice-cold Coors.
When we got back on the road, and into Wyoming as luck would have it, a herd of mule deer were about to run out in front of us, but our headlights persuaded them not to. A while later we saw our first Western state’s snow. We stopped at a rest area and spent a good half hour throwing snowballs at one another. Finally, we rolled into Utah, and the sign said Port of Entry. The hell with the port, we wanted more Coors. Then we experienced our first big downhill run. Parley’s Canyon. 14 miles downhill at a 6% grade, winding through the Rockies.
We saw our first major “run-away truck lane.” If I was a semi, I would want to run away too. Then we saw a big opening and soon…ta dah…the Salt Lake Valley loomed in front of us. We intersected with I-15 and off to our left we spotted Dryer’s Harley Davidson. We decided that was going to be our first stop. Good thing too, because right next to it was a tavern. Well I can go on and on about this trip because we had some great experiences throughout Utah, which we circled, and some cool adventures on the way home with 25 cases of Coors beer. And we got stuck in a snowbank in Kansas, and a state trooper helped get us out. And, as luck again would have it, the exit we took led us to the hotel that they used in that movie Paper Moon. We stayed there. Yahoo!
So that scouting trip was the deciding factor that Chris and I were going to move to Salt Lake City. Months later my Dad and I took off in my Dodge van and drove across country to Salt Lake. I got the biggest kick out of my Dad, all the way across he was wide awake and thrilled at all the sights he saw. He stayed with me a few days till I found a good place to camp to look for an apartment. It was sad. It was the first and only time I saw my Dad tear up.
I camped out at the KOA on I-80. That’s where I met Jim, Bonnie, and Tom. They were on a bike road trip, and the cool thing about it was both Jim and Tom worked at the Harley-Davidson factory in Milwaukee. They both worked in engines and transmissions. Later Jim became a factory test rider. His job each night was to log in 250 miles on the test bikes (what a job, what a job!). They even sent him to Harley’s test track in Texas to race their bikes. We were at the big car show back in February and Harley had a big van there with all their new models. I entered a contest and got to talking to one of their staff. It turned out he knew Jim and Tom well. Jim still works there.
I went back to NJ to pick up my 1974 74 cubic inch dresser from my parents’ house. On the way out of NJ, I was pulled over by a state trooper who noticed my bike in the back of my van. I had shoulder length hair then and a beard and all, and I looked the part, I guess. Well ha, ha, ha. I whipped out my registration and bill of sale and foiled that trooper’s ideas.
I did lots and lots of riding while living in Utah with and without Chris. So, back to the main objective of the story, Joe. When our daughter was born we invited Jim and Bonnie to Stephanie’s christening. A few days later (this is now in Gresham, Oregon) I wanted to escort Jim and Bonnie out of town. It ended up I drove all the way to the California border with them, via the mountain pass at Eugene to Highway 101. Here is the part you may find fascinating, Joe. The Harley I had at the time was a stock 1965 Electra Glide. The problem was the front brake was out all the way down. The real issue was, the rear brake went out just when I started home from leaving Jim and Bonnie. I drove that bike up 101, through the hairy mountain pass and around that damn grooved circle they used to have in Eugene (you know how it makes your front tire wobble, Joe), then the 120 miles up I-5 in heavy traffic on the I-205 (which at the time was not completed) and on back roads to Gresham. It was challenging as hell, but a real thrill ride.
The other story is one of my best friends named John, who was a factory-sponsored, award-winning motorcycle racer for Harley-Davidson. He once rode a Harley from Seattle all the way to Portland on old highway 99 with tons of stop lights and through many small towns without a clutch, and never stopped or stalled the bike. He also hill climbed the widow maker between Salt Lake and Provo canyons, and get this, he took his Harley up to the top of Beacon Rock on Highway 14 (you know where it is, Joe), and he almost made it to the very top of Mt. Hood. The sun melted the snow and prevented him from making the last few yards.
Joe, this man was a legend. He built my 1947 Knucklehead from a basket case. The man knew every nut and bolt on just about anything that rolled sailed or flew. I was privileged to have known him.
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Good stuff, Ernie, and thanks for allowing me to share it with our friends over here on the ExhaustNotes blog. We’re looking forward to seeing you next summer, Dude…we have a lot of catching up to do!
And for our great blog followers, you may be wondering how well the last 50 years have treated us.
Well, wonder no more, my friends…
Life is good. With lifelong friends like Ernie, it’s even better!
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I liked that Dream Bike piece Gresh did over the weekend about his fantasy bike, the Kawasaki 350cc Avenger. I like the concept: Articles on the ones that got away.
And as is always the case, if Gresh wrote it, I like it.
Can I say that on this blog? You know, Gresh and I do most of the writing, so am I allowed to say that about his stuff? Hey, I don’t care.
I’m guessing if you’re reading this, you have a dream bike. You know, one you didn’t buy but wish you had. We’d like to hear about it. Do a short piece on it with a photo or two and we’ll publish it here.
In the meantime, and because I like “the one that got away” concept so much, I’m going to do a short bit on my dream bike. One of them, anyway. It’s the 1983 Harley XR1000. Yeah, I know, I’m a guy who made his bones writing about small bikes (the CSC RX3, in particular), and the XR1000 is anything but small. But I like it.
The 1983 Harley XR1000. Check out the massive Dellortos and the K&N air filters. All business. I like it.A view from the other side. I’m not a guy who normally leans left or listens to folks who do, but the XR1000’s asymmetry and leftist tendencies are oddly appealing.
The magazines of the era all panned the XR1000, and every once in a while one of them does a retrospective (and they still don’t like it). You know what? I don’t give a rat’s rear end about some magazine weenie’s opinion. I like the look, the concept, and the sound of the XR1000, and one of my few regrets in life is that I didn’t buy one new in ’83.
Not that I didn’t have good reason back then. I had bought a Harley Electra-Glide Classic, new, in 1979. It was the worst vehicle of any type I’d ever owned, and I swore I’d never buy another Harley. That was the principal thing that kept me from pulling the trigger on a new XR1000 in ’83 (I sold the Electra-Glide in ‘82, and the reliability reputation injuries it left hadn’t healed yet). But time heals all wounds (I wish I had that Electra-Glide now), and if I could find a clean XR1000 I’d be on it in a New York minute.
The magazines said the XR1000 vibrated (they actually paid folks to point that out on a Harley?), you could burn your left leg on the exhaust (duh), and the twin Dellortos hit your knee on the right side of the bike (seriously?). Not content with stating the obvious, one of the magazines actually wrote the bike had a predilection for turning left. A bike based on a flat tracker? A predilection for turning left? And folks wonder why the motorcycle magazine business fell on hard times.
Everything the magazines hated about the XR1000 made me want one more. It was a raw, muscular, asymmetric, no passenger, no compromises, in-your-face motorcycle. I still want one.
On its face, it seemed like a weak market to target…folks who want very high end, small displacement, expensive custom motorcycles. But it worked.
When CSC revived the Mustang motorcycle concept 10 years ago, the company didn’t really have a grand plan, a handle on the market, or even a clearly defined name. CSC was originally California Scooter Company, and the original plan was to re-introduce a concept pioneered by the Mustang Motor Company in the postwar 1940s.
Original vintage Mustangs. Both of these bikes, along with more than a dozen others, are in Steve Seidner’s personal Mustang collection (the largest vintage Mustang collection in the world).
The idea was to spin off of Pro-One Performance Manufacturing’s line of very high billet and other accessories (and complete large V-twin custom motorcycles), and apply it to a small, modern version of the Mustang. Pro-One, CSC’s sister company, was founded by Steve Seidner (the same guy who started CSC). And boy oh boy, did those little bikes sell. They were beautiful little creations. Jewels, actually. Hand made, and built to extremely high standards. Mirror-like paint. Billet. Chrome. Little choppers. Expensive little jewels you could actually ride.
Ah, but that name…the California Scooter Company. It created confusion. People would see the new California Scooter modern Mustang and ask: Is it a scooter or a motorcycle? They didn’t get that the name was old school. Back in the day, antiques (folks like yours truly) called any bike a scooter. A Harley was a scooter and so was a Triumph…as in “I’m going to ride down to Cabo on my Scooter.”
Me? I wanted to tell anybody who asked that question (is it a motorcycle or a scooter?) that they were too dumb to ride either, but I couldn’t do that. Then one day, the boss hit on the idea of just calling the company CSC Motorcycles. You know, go with the tradition of other world-class marques with three-letter names: BMW, BSA, AJS, KTM, and more. And that worked. The dumbass scooter or motorcycle questions stopped, and the bikes continued to sell.
Back to the modern Mustangs…the initial thought was that the bikes would sell for $4,995, and they’d be a hit with young folks.
The modern California Scooter Greaser in the San Gabriel Mountains. Folks loved this bike and it was one of the best-selling paint themes.
Ah, what we didn’t know. The market will tell you what it is. Plans and fancy marketing studies mean nothing. A hit with young folks? The problem with young folks is that they don’t have any money and they don’t buy motorcycles. Hell, a lot of them don’t even want driver’s licenses. Just, like, you know, call an Uber.
Good buddy Walter B, back in the day, on his Knucklehead Harley-Davidson.
What we found out at CSC 10 years ago was that our modern Mustang market squarely centered on older folks (who often have a lot of money). Specifically, older folks who wanted a Mustang back in the day, but Dad said no. Or folks who rode big bikes way back when and who still wanted to ride, but they didn’t want to wrestle with 800-lb monsters. Fast forward 60 years, Dad’s no longer around, an Advil a day is just the ticket, and what do you know, I can buy that Mustang I always wanted and still ride. And they did. In droves.
A near-standard CSC Mustang on the right, and two custom versions on the left. Nearly all California Scooters were extensively optioned with additional chrome, billet, and custom paint.
Almost no one bought the standard, no-accessories, $4,995 CSC 150. They could have (that bike featured a slew of custom high end stuff, like billet and chrome all over the place and a world class finish). But those old guys who were denied an opportunity to scratch that Mustang itch as teenagers wanted more. A lot more. They would call on the phone (“I don’t do the Internet”), option the little California Scooters up to over $10,000 with lots more bling (custom wheels, custom paint, and more), and then put it all on a credit card. They wouldn’t attempt to negotiate price. California Scooter buyers wanted to spend more. Negotiate a lower price? Nope, that would demean the purchasing experience. It was full boat, full freight, and here’s my security code number…
A custom California Scooter. This was the “Bobber” variant. Note the gangster whitewalls, chrome wire wheels, and other custom touches.Steve Seidner built a personal aviation-themed custom California Scooter he called the P-51 (get it?…the P-51 Mustang). Steve intended to keep the bike, but I put this photo on the CSC blog and it sold within an hour. Someone called with a godfather offer (a deal Steve couldn’t refuse).
Those little bikes were awesome. I owned one of the very first ones, and I found I was having more fun on 150cc than I had on bikes with ten times the displacement. I rode mine all the way to Cabo San Lucas and back, but that’s a story for another blog. The Baja trip did a lot for CSC, too. The 150cc bikes had Honda CG clone engines manufactured in Asia, and the Baja trips showed the bikes were supremely reliable. We invited famous people to ride with us in Mexico and that was a force multiplier. The press coverage was off the charts.
Simon Gandolfi, British novelist and world traveler, on the road in Baja with a California Scooter. He cuts a commanding figure, doesn’t he?Simon, suspenders flying, at speed on my CSC 150, just north of Cabo San Lucas.Arlene Battishill, CEO of Go Go Gear, on the Sea of Cortez with her custom California Scooter. Arlene later appeared on the TV show, Shark Tank, with this motorcycle.
One of the things that sticks in my mind is the uninformed and the ignorant occasionally posting somewhere on an Internet forum that you could get a used Sportster for the kind of money people were happily spending on California Scooters. These keyboard commandos just didn’t get it. You could actually get a new Sportster for that kind of money, but that wasn’t the point. California Scooter buyers didn’t want a Sportster. They wanted, and were happy to pay top dollar for, a custom-crafted bit of motorcycle jewelry that could be both admired and ridden. A current classic.
There’s a market for such a thing. I know. I was there.
Here’s a video that popped up on my YouTube this morning…
I have mixed emotions on the topic…I’ve been to Sturgis a couple of times (once, on a Chinese motorcycle), I’ve been in Chinese factories, I’ve managed manufacturing facilities where I had to contend with labor costs, and I’ve owned a couple of Harley-Davidsons. I guess if the answers were easy there wouldn’t be any discussion.
4.2 inches of travel in front, 4.3 inches of rear suspension travel, and 12-inch wheels…this puppy can carve!
I thought I would add a few words today about the CSC City Slicker’s wheels and suspension.
First, the suspension. Slick’s front end has a conventional non-adjustable inverted front fork with 4.2 inches of travel, and the rear has a swingarm, pre-load-adjustable monoshock, arrangement with 4.3 inches of travel. Here are a couple of photos showing each:
The action up front…Slick’s rear monoshock. It’s adjustable for preload by loosening and moving the locknuts.
The City Slicker’s suspension felt good to me, and the handling was razor-sharp. On prior internal combustion bikes from Zongshen (the RX3 and the TT250), we realized a handling improvement changing the fork oil from whatever the bikes shipped with to a 10W oil. The City Slicker did not feel to me like it needed this change. The front suspension feels good right out of the box. The was no bottoming out, nor was there any topping out (when the forks fully extend). The rear suspension felt firmer to me than it needed to be, but I noticed the rear shock had been set with the spring preload adjustment in the middle of the monoshock’s adjustment range. There appears to be plenty of room for adjustment. This can be accomplished by using a spanner to unlock the locknuts and relax the spring a bit (this assumes the spring is already compressed a bit with the adjustment as delivered by the factory). I haven’t tried this yet, but I will the next time I have an opportunity to do so.
The Slicker’s cockpit view on Route 66.
The wheels on the City Slicker are 12 inches in diameter, which is the same as most scooters, the Honda Grom, the CSC Mustang replicas, and the original Mustang motorcycles. On one of the many recent forums discussing the new City Slicker, a poster commented that 12-inch wheels are dangerous…you know, you might hit a pothole in the rain and get thrown from the bike. I don’t think that should be a concern. The truth is this: 12-inch wheels are a common design on smaller bikes and they make for incredibly quick handling. When I was on my 150cc CSC Mustang replica, I rediscovered what Walt Fulton proved back in the 1950s (more on that in a second). My CSC 150 had 12-inch wheels (just like the original Mustangs) and it was awesome in the twisties.
Yours truly with my CSC-150 on Glendora Ridge Road. I rode that bike to Cabo San Lucas and back, but that’s a story for a future blog.
Glendora Ridge Road, up in the San Gabriel Mountains, is just few miles from my house. It’s a great road from many perspectives, not the least of which is a set of glorious twisties. It is my favorite ride, and I wrote a story about it for Motorcycle Classics magazine. The point that I’m getting to in my very roundabout way is this: When I was on Glendora Ridge Road on my 150cc Mustang, I could hang with any bike up there, and most other motorcycles of any displacement couldn’t catch me (other than on GRR’s very few short straights). In the corners, my little 150 was king. It was all about wheel diameter and handling. You might not believe me, but there are more than a few riders I’ve met up there who know. They’re not talking about it, but they know. They’ve been humbled.
Walt Fulton breaking 100 mph on a Mustang back in the day…all on 12-inch diameter wheels!
So, back to Walt Fulton. He was a famous factory racer back in the 1950s who had lost his factory ride with another manufacturer. This was just before the Catalina Grand Prix, and Fulton did not have a ride. At the last minute, the Mustang Motor Corporation offered Fulton a factory spot, he accepted, and he nearly won on his 320cc, 12-inch-wheeled Mustang. Fulton passed 145 other riders on machines with up to four times the displacement (and, of course, larger wheels).
Fulton’s engine failed just a few miles from the finish, but he was on a tack to win that event. To make a long story just a little less long, the other factories complained to the Catalina Grand Prix organizers and delivered an ultimatum: Find a way to outlaw that damned Mustang next year, or we’re picking up our marbles and going home. Whaddya know…there was a sudden change to the rules. As Forrest Gump might say, just like that no one could race with wheels smaller than 16 inches. Yup. It happens.
The bottom line here is this: Slick’s 12-inch wheels make for extremely crisp handling. If you’ve never ridden a bike with 12-inch wheels, you really need to try one. I’ve found the handling is sharper than anything I’ve ever experienced.
A 1975 Z900 Kawi, a future Joe Gresh project that sort of came with Tinfiny Ranch…
One of the coolest parts of visiting Tinfiny Ranch was seeing Joe Gresh’s motorcycles. He sure has interesting toys and great project work lined up. My favorites are his 360 Yamaha and the Z900 Kawi. Joe tells the story better than I can, so here you go…
