Hesketh: A Tragedy In Two Acts

Hesketh: A Tragedy In Two Acts

A Favorable Riding Impression...

Miles McCallum

All that remains is the bike. Sitting astride a Hesketh for the first time, the rider is overwhelmed by the sheer mass of it: There is a lot of bike both in front and behind you. Being a creature of habit, I instantly go for the clutch and throttle for a feel: The first is heavy, something I can never understand when it comes to hydraulic clutches, as it is no problem to build in sufficient mechanical advantage to make them feather-light, as Honda has proved with the V45; but the release action (which is what counts) is very, very smooth, and once in motion never intrudes. The throttle needs two handfuls to get the slides wide open, a penalty for using off-the-shelf Japanese equipment designed for banks of four small-bore carbs. Starting is easy. Pull the choke knob, mounted on the steering stem, and it always fires instantly, settling down to a very smooth slow idle that is a cross between a Vincent and a Ducati; that is to say, the exhaust beat is subjugated by an enormous cacophony of whirrings, wailing, and clattering of a lot of large bits and pieces thrashing around. Until you get used to it, or unless you lack mechanical sympathy, it’s quite unnerving. Pulling away is simple. There is an enormous amount of torque generated at very low revs; perhaps a little less than a Norton, but with such a sweet clutch, infinitely preferable.

Above walking speed, where the steering is a little heavy, the bike tracks with the precision of an Italian thoroughbred, but all that is forgotten with first gear change: Every gear change, even after a thousand miles of experience and experimenting with every known permutation, is accompanied by a loud CLUNK. The initial impression is that there is something seriously amiss with the selector (CLUNK) and the bike belongs to someone else (CLUNK) and how are you going to explain it (CLUNK), but later comes the realization that (CLUNK) is definitely part of the character of the bike (!) and, despite the initial assessment that only once have you come across a worse gearbox (on a totally thrashed pre-unit Triumph with loose gearbox bearings and half the teeth missing), the action is faultless. Short, and slightly heavy, perhaps, but very positive. Almost self servo—once you initiate a change, it takes over and throws itself into the next ratio. The CLUNK is caused by a patented and much vaunted anti-throwpast device fitted to the selector drum, to prevent it rotating further than desired. The components are so massive (they would do justice to a tractor!) that without it, the inertia the selector drum can acquire could quite easily throw it into a neutral above the next gear. Very fast clutchless changes won’t confuse it: Slow, lazy changes could, when new, but with the passing miles that ceases to be a problem. Functionally, the gearbox is perfect. Aesthetically, it needs improving.

There’s one thing I always find fascinating about motorcycles; loosely defined as feel, or character. With Italian bikes, it can be pinned down to the steering characteristics—razors slicing into the tarmac. Japanese bikes have instant appeal, which sometimes fades into boredom. British bikes have great engine characteristics (even if they do sometimes break, leak oil) and solid dependable handling. All very good bikes have one thing in common: The longer you know them, the better you realize they are. In many ways, excellence in a motorcycle is a neutral thing: it’s what they don’t do that’s so good. And so it is with the Hesketh, especially with the motor and chassis. There’s no doubt about it,

the Hesketh has that unique British feel that blinds so many to the virtues of Japanese bikes (the bikes people love to hate—Japcrap and all that—and make no mistake, I firmly believe that overall Japanese make the very best. Bar none.). The motor may not have enough grunt to beat even some 750’s down the strip, or even in top end, but since the brief was for a Grand Tourer, that’s pretty irrelevant. Power comes in low and just gets better and better to beyond the redline, set at a very conservative 7000 rpm. Don’t get the wrong impression—it’s a quick motorcycle, but more in terms of sustaining very high averages rather than instant zap. In many ways it feels like a large Ducati, only more relaxed.

One hundred mph comes up with only 5200 rpm on the tach, the motor feeling as if it’s only just getting into its stride. The limiting factor is rider stress: The nose fairing contributes little more than looks. With better protection, 110 mph cruising is a very real possibility. In comparison, all the big Japanese fours—even Gold Wings (or lead feet, as they are known in England) feel frantic. Such is the deceptive nature of the motor, that traveling far quicker than you intended is the main problem to be contended with.

Unfortunately, at low speed the transmission intrudes again: The swing arm pivot sits concentric with the gearbox sprocket; to prevent the chassis and the footpegs from being impossibly wide, a jackshaft has been added above the gearbox to pull the output slightly closer to the centerline and to keep the swing arm width normal: the advantage being no variation in chain tension (and thus lighter components can be used to the same effect). The other side of the coin is that in high gears and at low rpm, the whole train of gears and transmission shock absorbers resonate to give a very jerky drive. You have to change down. That rather spoils enjoying riding around town, if you like cruising around in top.

Now, I tend to approach new bikes with a certain pessimistic attitude—after all, you can’t be disappointed. What I didn’t expect was how truly excellent the steering and handling is. I must confess it still puts a smile out thinking of it. On paper, the Hesketh is slow steering, stable and not very nimble. A short ride refutes this. Due largely, I suspect, to a very low center of gravity, it can be pitched into a corner more like a good 500. But, because there is a great deal of mass (550 lb. wet), it does have a tendency to keep rolling over until stopped. It takes a little time to get used to it, mainly learning to use the throttle to bring it up or check it, but once you’re familiar with that, the ease with which you can flick it from side to side will put a big grin on the most skeptical face.

I never gave the rear shocks a moment’s thought—higher praise being hard to come by, although the forks feel slightly underdamped. They are filled with lOw oil, and Marzocchis do show a clear preference for 20w. Bumpy corners unsettle the front end somewhat, but never enough to persuade the bike to deviate off line. The suspension is on the soft side of sporty, but feels firm, very definitely European, but perhaps a little too undersprung. Add a 170-pound passenger and even jacking up the preload, ground clearance gets a little limited. Solo, it’s okay. Just. The “rear” pipe goes down in the right, the centerstand arm on the left, frequently if you’re going for it on tight twisty roads. At one stage, in an irresponsible moment, the stand grounded hard enough to bang it into the silencer and dent it slightly. All with no more than the merest hit of a twitch. In fact, I didn’t find out how hard it had been grounded until somebody pointed out the damage to me later. Remarkable.

Brakes are the now-familiar Brembo items, considered by many to be (deservedly) the standard by which all others must measure up to; but, although the front wheel could be locked at will, it had a curiously dead feel about it. The rear brake is stunningly powerful; fortunately, the rear caliper is fully floating (tied to the frame, or rather, the crankcases in this case, by a spherical jointed rod). That helps reduce rearwheel hop when it’s all locked up, easy to do, but sooooo controllable. I like it just the way it is.

All the switches and instruments are Japanese items: the best there is, and in need of no further comment, with the exception of the oil pressure warning light. That flashes on for a second or two every time the brakes are used hard. Irritating.

The only thing that really shocked people into stunned silence was the fuel consumption. Taking it easy around town, the Hesketh delivered 41 mpg—most acceptable. Fast cruising down country roads dropped that to 22 mpg, something to grumble about, but without all that much conviction. The real shocker came with one long freeway run: 16. In mitigation, conditions were about as bad as they possibly could be high headwinds, flat-out riding with a great deal of rolling the throttle on and off to cope with traffic, the accelerator pumps earning their keep. Even so ... .

As you might expect with a motorcycle costing $8000, the finish is quite superb: paint that wouldn’t shame a Rolls, nickel plating on the frame that looked more like chrome, excellent anodizing on the wheels. But let down by substandard chrome on the exhaust system: within a month, it was already peeling. The polished aluminum looks like they’ve been through the hands of a craftsman of the old school (they probably have), and the detailing is impressive by any standards. Two small examples: a hydraulic strut is fitted to hold up the seat (!), and included in the tool kit, which looks like it could have been ordered from Snap-on, is a bottle of Hesketh Hand Cleanser and rag. Amazing!

I may as well admit it. I am one of the cynics. I fell in love with the Hesketh, and if I could have found a plausible excuse to hang onto it for another few days, I would have done so. It’s not without faults, some of them major, some of no real consequence, but it does deserve a place in the market place. That it is now history fills me with sadness.

...and the Official Obituary of England's Superbike Revival

Any announcement of a project to resurrect the British motorcycle industry is greeted with skepticism in England, pride and faith having been replaced by cynicism. Thus, when in the early summer of 1980 Lord Alexander Hesketh unveiled his prototype, not even his obvious expertise and experience (Hesketh Racing specializes in rebuilding Cosworth engines for many F1/F2 grand prix teams) could prevent more than a few eyebrows being raised: To build from scratch a grand touring motorcycle of Rolls Royce quality and with it scoop up a sizeable proportion of the U.K. and then European superbike markets, all within 18 months, was sheer audacity.

Once the gasps of surprise had died, general misgivings weren’t allayed, despite the fact that Hesketh Motorcycles Limited was floated on the stock exchange, and shares quickly sold out.

There was, to begin with, a curious lack of concrete information. The press was invited to see the machine—which surely did look wonderful—but only Mike Hailwood was allowed to ride it. There were hints of private rides, veiled promises of test sessions, photos of the engines being assembled and of the factory built for the project, but for more than a year nobody outside the project got a look inside.

Finally there came a quick look, a few laps on production bikes. A 20-min. ride is insufficient to accurately assess a new motorcycle, but although the power delivery and handling received high praise, the universal opinion was that the engine was mechanically noisy in the extreme and that the gear change was, quite frankly, atrocious.

Development of the prototype was reportedly done with a BMW and Ducati Darmah for side-by-side comparison, which made it all the more curious that the development riders hadn’t noticed. (Later they excused themselves by claiming it was part of the bike’s character.)

Following the initial (bad) reports, Lord Hesketh decided to postpone pro> duction while the problems were sorted out. Minor detail changes were made, quieting things down a bit, and the gearbox radically redesigned, all of which took far longer than expected—over six months, which was to prove to be a fatal blow to Hesketh’s fortunes: Eventually it became clear that they were very undercapitalized; it would appear that they knew that they were skating on thin ice, with very little in reserve to cope with problems, relying on momentum to see them through to a point where they could comfortably afford time to sort out such setbacks. In retrospect, the gamble failed. Because there were insufficient funds to complete a development program as comprehensive as the Japanese, it was decided to press ahead with production and cater for any problems that arose with bikes already sold by retrofitting modified parts under guarantee. Lord Hesketh insisted that quality not be compromised at any cost, and as a result many components were made to a far higher standard than was necessary. Most of the parts not bought from outside suppliers were made in small batch production—20 off—and by hand. Thus, the net profit per unit, not taking into account development cost or investment, was just 79p ($1.34). The first year’s development program on the production bike was aimed partially at sorting out any problems as they became apparent, but mainly to build in a profit, finding out where quality could be reduced on components without adversely affecting the quality of the bike as a whole.

The problems that arose in production were fairly minor: Some owners complained that the clutch was difficult to free when the bike was cold, and then was prone to slipping when hot, which caused no surprise when it was discovered that the plates were Ducati items! A change of friction material (to Ferodo MP2) effected a cure. Most of the bikes seeped oil from the rear cam-chain housing, different gaskets solving that problem. Potentially the most serious problem was a tendency for the oil pressure light sensor to fail—which, if ignored, could prove disastrous.

The first inkling that things were seriously amiss was the failure of the bike to pass current EEC noise regulations— the bike just scraped through the British test at 83 db(A), one decibel more than the European limit. Without sales in Europe, and after that in America, which has rather tougher standards, the firm could not hope to survive. The potential for sales in England alone just couldn’t support the investment. The problem was still mechanical clatter—the exhaust system and induction designed and manufactured by Motad International was commendably quiet and couldn’t be silenced further without seriously affecting power output and thus sales potential. Initially Hesketh claimed a top speed of 130 mph plus and a power output of 86 bhp at the gearbox sprocket. Later they) dropped the claims, refusing to comment. Industrial espionage (!) has revealed that the bike actually puts out

68.5 bhp, which translates to around 120 mph, with a best (sustained) output of

71.5 bhp on a development motor. In practice, that’s quite sufficient, as road tests have proved, and certainly the potential is there to extract considerably more power, trading off on the sweet nature of the delivery; fair exchange with the proposed sports model.

The first public knowledge that Hesketh Motorcycles was in trouble came just after the 1982 Isle of Man TT races. Many of the outside suppliers weren’t being paid, and eventually one, rumored to be the firm that supplied the castings, suffering its own cash flow problems, called in the receiver. A detailed study showed Hesketh Motorcycles to be still potentially viable, although investors refused to put up further cash—Lord Hesketh refusing to comment. An attempt was made to keep production rolling on a reduced level by laying off half the workforce, while a buyer was sought. This proved impractical, as the one outside supplier refused to relent on demands of payment in advance rather than cash on delivery, so production ceased and the company put into cold storage, with all but a few key figures laid off. Various firms took a look, including Armstrong/CCM, but the only serious investigation was made by the Italian Güera concern, that decided eventually the venture was too risky. Thus, on September 3, 1982 the remaining motorcycles, spares, and machinery were disposed of at a public auction, less than a year after production began. The average price for a bike at the auction was $7140—some $850 lower than the list price and probably a more realistic value of the true worth. Only 130 Heskeths were made, making them one of the most exclusive modern motorcycles produced.

Although the Hesketh was truly a serious and deserving attempt to drag the British bike industry into the Eighties, it failed for many of the same reasons the other British manufacturers went under—lack of management foresight and under-investment. The cynicism remains, but perhaps next time .... SS