Also by Bob
The
Indian Allure
Undamped
Rebound
A
Luddite Nation
Fast Lane Fossils
Flying
the Flag
In the Spotlight
Bob is a contributing member, watch for more articles.
|
|
How do we define an antique motorcycle in its purest form? Since the
mainstream Indians all have kick-starts and handshifts and side valves or
F-heads, we can rest assured that our credentials are in order as riders
of genuinely old and primitive iron. Even among us insiders, though, there
must be shades of gray. If we peer deeply into our hearts, we may even
make out the faint profiles of a practical-minded dilettante arm-wrestling
with a hard-core connoisseur for control of the premises.
Before anyone gets the idea that I’ve found my way
onto a soapbox to gloat about my own commitment to the crude and hoary end
of the spectrum, I’ll concede right off that my 101 comes nowhere close
to measuring up to the ideal I would propose. That would be a 1915 twin.
The beauty of this 61” model is it’s the first year for the
three-speed transmission that would allow you to get out and actually do
some riding on modern-day roads, which is the point of the hobby, and it’s
the last year for the F-head engine developed by company co-founder Oscar
Hedstrom. With divine intervention, you might even find one equipped with
a carburetor of Hedstrom’s own design, by this time an optional
substitute. The standard Schebler model was simpler and cheaper and being
used with good results throughout the industry, but none of that holds a
candle to “Hedstrom carburetor” and the patent date stamped on the
casting. For those who don’t mind some incorrect retrofitting in the
interest of roadworthiness, the three-speed transmission will fit the
earlier machines, provided they were equipped with a two-speed to begin
with, which takes us back to 1910.
Why stop there, you say, what about the models from
that period with bicycle pedals or a belt drive? The pedals do have a
certain attraction, though I get the impression that using them to start
an engine is more an exercise in athleticism than nostalgia. Just once I
would like to pass one of my local police lying in wait for speeders while
I stand up and furiously pump out “pedal assist” to climb a hill. But
in the next instant, I’m sure I would be praying for the power and gear
ratios to retire me from this duty. As for the belt drive, while the
antique charm is beyond question, I see this as a sort of dead-end detour
that the industry dismissed early on. One of the strengths of the first
Indians was their chain drive, and the belt drive’s temporary fix of
allowing clutch-style slippage to order – using a long lever sliding
along the gas tank – was soon outweighed by its uncontrolled loss of
bite in wet weather and inadequacy for transmitting the power of
increasingly advanced engines. It’s more a curiosity than anything else,
though I’m sure many of us harbor a soft spot for the old belt-drive
trundlers.
So now we’re out on a 1915 twin coming to a red light
in front of the 7-Eleven. With no front brake, it’s best to throw out
the rear anchor with plenty of time for a gradual stop. The clattering
intake rockers provide a sort of frenetic marionette show for curious
bystanders. As the light turns green, we feather the clutch and go
bouncing stiffly down the road on leaf springs front and rear, trailing a
puff of smoke thanks to the total-loss oiling. My later total-loss machine
doesn’t seem to do this, but film clips of the earlier models often show
them sending off appropriately Indian-style “smoke signals” on
acceleration. I don’t know why there would be a difference. Galloping
along, the 1915 twin is not only an emissary to the present from motoring’s
early days, it’s a link between the later Indians we know so well and
the previous golden period when the company came full flower as the
biggest motorcycle manufacturer in the world, with its all-time production
peak occurring in 1913. Harley was little more than a pesky distraction
then. The twin sits right at the threshold to later chapters in the
company history. Its transmission is so similar to that of a 1953 Chief
that some parts are interchangeable. Yet its engine is a direct outgrowth
of the original Hedstrom design.
Models much earlier than this seem too alien and
spindly and bicycle-like for me to relate to as legitimate motorcycles.
Maybe others feel the same way about a 1915 twin, or even my 101. At the
other end of the continuum, I have trouble seeing anything with telescopic
forks as a full-fledged antique, though a Blackhawk Chief or nice Panhead
is certainly a timeless classic in its own way. On the open road, either
would serve an all-you-can-eat dust buffet to the models I most admire. In
principle, I favor the purity and archaic character of a hardtail and a
handshift. But the rear plungers on a Chief look great, so exposed and
low-tech. Plus, the splash you make with the old iron is mostly about the
jarringly anachronistic profile and crude mechanical flavor. Who’s going
to notice a footshift or a nicely integrated sprung rear? Well, let’s at
least give credit where credit is due to the riders who sacrifice comfort
and convenience and rack up some serious miles on the minimalist early
designs. I suppose someone who rides even more can build up enough credits
to atone for having a sprung rear or footshift, if that sounds fair.
Blast it all, now we’ve started down the slippery
slope toward modern designs. Let’s try this again. Anyone for cartridge
forks and acetylene lamps? Wooden wheel rims and tiny levers near the
steering head to control spark and throttle? Ah, one day we’ll pool our
money and buy a two-wheeler-only theme park where we can ride that stuff
around. Let’s call it “Camp Gone Around the Bend for Good This Time.” |
