Leno!
LENO!
Jokes? He's got a million of 'em. Motorcycles? He's working on it.
A HOLLYWOOD SCREENWRITER COULDN'T HAVE scripted Jay Leno’s life story any better. By almost any standards he has it all: a loving wife, a considerable salary, a spacious house nestled in the hills above Los Angeles, and, to top it off, two garages filled with some of the most wonderful sports cars and motorcycles ever made.
You would almost expect one of the most popular comedians in the world, the guy who every Monday night fills in for Johnny Carson on the “Tonight Show,” to have all he wants. But what is most surprising about Leno is that he is not only genuinely nice guy, he is also a completely addicted motorcyclist.
Today, motorcycles are the hot topic in Hollywood, and the 38-year-old Leno. who has been involved with bikes since he was 14, is one of the key spokesmen. “Now, everybody has an opinion about motorcycles,” he says. “Often on the ‘Tonight Show.' I'll bring up the subject, and no matter which way the discussion goes. I'll get a lot of mail on the subject, most of it supportive.” He does say, however, that the producers of the show would prefer he stick to more-mainstream subjects, but he still takes every chance he can to promote the sport.
CAMRON E. BUSSARD
Of course, other stars are also motorcyclists, and actors like Dan Aykroyd. Mickey Rourke. Sylvester Stallone, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Patrick Swavze, Gary Busey. James Caan and a host of others are becoming more visible and vocal about their interest in the sport. And for the most part. Leno thinks their involvement is a positive element. But he doesn't hang out with these guys, preferring to pursue his addiction in a more-solitary way.
He explains: “I've always resisted the status quo. When I was in college, everyone did drugs. It was their form of rebellion, but I rebelled against them. I never did drugs, and even now. I don't drink. I don't hold the Hollywood lifestyle in contempt, I just honestly don't enjoy it. I have everything I need here at home."
Home includes two three-bay garages, one of which is attached to the house and is the repository of Leno's dayto-day machinery: A Harley-Davidson FXRS Sport Edition stuffed in one corner, a Harley dresser in another. In between he has a Cagiva Paso, a Vincent Black Knight, and a Vincent Black Shadow. Each of these machines is ready to ride, and each contains the one element that Leno holds essential: a V-Twin engine. “V-Twins have always been what bikes are all about. Aesthetically, for w idth, for handling, low' center of gravity, the V-Twin always was the ideal way to go. It's the perfect bike engine."
Behind the large, rambling, stone-and-shingle house. Leno has built a second garage, a two-story, three-bay affair that could easily be mistaken for a 'mid-sized house, although Leno claims. “I still don't have enough room." Posters and photographs of old motorcycles and Italian sports cars completely cover the interior walls, and he has letters from motorcycle clubs all over the world thumbtacked where ever he finds an open space. There is only one Jay Leno poster in the whole lot and that is in danger of being plastered over by Lamborghini memorabilia sprouting like weeds on the far wall. If not for its size and exotic contents, the garage is just about messy enough to belong to an average guy.
One feature, however, that most average guvs don't have in their oarages is a lift in the back corner that lowers motorcycles to the basement. This is where Leno works on the bikes when he is restoring them. Currently, in this lower section, he has several Brough Superiors, a Honda CBX, a BSA. and several bizarre mid-'Sixties Hondas that he's reluctant to talk about. They are the poor cousins in the midst of royalty. “You begin to collect what you can afford," he explains w hile trying to move away from the Japanese bikes. “But w hen you get them back into shape, they aren't worth anvthing. Now' I try to buy stuff that's worth something from the start."
Certainly, the two Vincents he keeps in the f ront garage are good examples of motorcycles “worth something," but he shelters his four finest motorcycles on the main floor of the second garage. Here, exotic cars—two Lamborghini Miuras, a new turbo Bentley and a late-model Countach— surround and protect the machines he prizes most. On one side, he has a splendid, red-and-green Ducati Mike Hailwood Replica. “Riding the Ducati." he says, “is like riding a classic roadracer of the ’Fifties, and it sounds like you're riding a big bass drum. I always like a bike with a history and that one has it."
Across the wav from the Ducati is a beautiful 750 MV J Augusta inline-Four. “This has to be one of the most beautiful sounds you could ever hear," Leno says as he fires up the orange MV. He gives the throttle a couple of chops and the sound bounces off the back wall, roaring out the doors and racing down the hill toward Hollywood like a pack of angry dogs. A beautifully restored 1970 Triumph Bonneville sitting next to the MV seems demure and almost frightened by the howling of the boisterous Italian machine. The Triumph’s simple loveliness is form, not sound, and it seduces the eye w ith the shape of the elemental motorcycle.
The jewel of Leno’s garage, though, sits poised in the center of these motorcycles. The Vincent Black Shadow', a motorcycle so mechanically beautiful that it still holds him in awe. It is the reason he fell in love with motorcycles so long ago, and it remains his passion. The Black Shadow. 1 95 1 vintage, also inspires him: “Sometimes, when I need to concentrate, I come out and just look at this bike, and there are all these little nooks and crannies to study. I just don't think there is a prettier motorcycle than the Vincent; it's truly a classic shape. I never get tired of looking at it.”
Ironically, Leno first learned of the fabled British road burner by way of Cycle World magazine. He still has every magazine we’ve ever published, including the February, 1965, issue in which we tested a then-10-year-old Vincent Black Lightning. The editors at that time said the handling was bad enough to make brave men blanch, and that it was the most dangerous motorcycle ever to come their way. Well, that was just the sort of stuff to make the 14-year-old Leno salivate. “You guys said this was a death machine, and I'm only 14 years old, so that’s the motorcycle I've got to have. Bv the way. the Vincent guys are still mad about that test, especially that part where vou called it an evilhandling beast.”
Strangely enough, at one point Leno almost gave up motorcycles. Not long after he arrived in California in the early 'Seventies and still a struggling nightclub joke-teller, he bought a 650 Yamaha that he admits was a piece of junk. The bike was so uninspiring he began to ride less and less, and he says, “I honestly thought that I just didn't like to ride. I felt that if this was it. I really didn't like bikes anymore.” Then Honda came out with the inline-Six CBX. “I was so mesmerized by that motor,” he says, “I just had to have one.”
As Leno’s comedy career began to take off. he scraped up enough money to buy a CBX. “I loved that bike, and I rode it all over the place. Sure, it was a pain to work on, and it didn't handle, but it sounded neat and was smooth and all the controls worked, and the bike actually stopped. With my old bikes, when you wanted to stop, you had to get their attention first. It was like, hey! heyhey! heyheyhey! STOOOOOOP!!!! I was so amazed that finally there was a motorcycle as technically as interesting as a car," he says.
Leno kept the CBX for several years, but then crashed it when the throttle stuck open. He bought a newer version, but by then the bike had lost some of its appeal. “I don't know," he says, “maybe I was yearning for a simpler era, but by this time, the bike just seemed too complicated." The result was that Leno began to pay more attention to classic motorcycles, and he rediscovered the Vincent that he had read about as a teenager.
He bought his Black Lightning in 1977 for $4000, and has continued to ride it and maintain it himself. “I feel a special kinship with the Vincents," he explains. “They just look right, you know. It’s that business where form follows function. These were bikes that an engineer designed to work a certain way: one man’s vision of how it should be."
Of course, the Vincent legend helped fuel his desire to own one. “When 1 was growing up. it was one of those things you always heard about but never had the chance to see. The old guvs would tell these stories about how' fast the Vincents were, and about some guy racing another guy, falling down, and sliding 100 yards right up to the saloon door. 1 le gets up. goes in and has a drink. He comes out a few minutes later, picks up the bike. It fires on one kick and away he goes. You don’t get those stupid, wonderful stories with the new' bikes."
Even though all of Leno’s bikes are now ready to ride after a couple of stout kicks, he quickly points out that it’s not a simple matter of jumping on one of these old boys and riding away without extensive preparation. “That’s the great thing about these old bikes. Just the fact that you can get one running, then keep it running long enough to get there and back gives you a sense of great accomplishment."
That sense of accomplishment is one of the things that Leno believes is missing from motorcycling today. He says it has become too easy to ride motorcycles. “1 think that one of the problems with motorcycling today is that people get bored," he says. “What’s a guy w ith one of the new' bikes going to do with the bike when he is finished riding it?" He also thinks most motorcycles have become too automotive, too sophisticated, and the old bikes offer much more charm and soul. “The difference," he explains, “is the difference between a digital w'atch and an old vest-pocket watch hung on the end of a gold chain."
Certainly, a vintage bike is not for everyone, in part because of the larger commitment necessary to get one running, but Leno admits: “I like the ritual of the old bikes. The tracking dow n of brochures, and hunting for original parts." He also loves the idea that every Vincent was owned bv somebody, and each bike has a history. “You can always associate a Vincent with the people who built it, much like people associate Harley-Davidsons with Willy G.," he says.
It is the thrill of owning what he calls “one man’s vision" that keeps Leno in the garage working on his bikes as much as he rides them. He has enough experience and mechanical ability to keep his bikes running, and he does all his ow n maintenance, even making minor repairs. But when something special needs to be done, he knows his limitations, so he heads for the experts. “I do one thing well." he explains. “I tell jokes, so when 1 have a serious problem. 1 take my bike to some friends. I’m almost embarrassed that I don’t work with my hands when I am around these guys because they are so good with machines."
Leno feels much the same way about his riding ability. He is a good, competent rider, but he makes no great claims about being the next Eddie Lawson, although he admits, “I do have my Walter Mitty times with the bike when I go zoom-zoom around a few' corners and make myself think I’m going fast." That's another reason Leno prefers older bikes. He points to the red, low-slung Countach in the corner. “T he only thing you can do with that car is drive it fast, and the same is true with the new sportbikes; they are no fun riding to the post office. With the old bikes, I feel so proud when I can get them running, I feel like I just won a roadiace."
That Leno is a committed motorcyclist is beyond doubt, but he prefers to run everyday errands in one of his cars, saving his bikes for recreation. “To me." he says, “motorcycling is a sport, so I dress like it's a sport. I wear leathers and a helmet. This is how I relax, so if I have to be at the ‘Tonight Show' at one o'clock, then I'll leave the house at 1 1, so I have some extra time."
Even though extra time is the one thing Leno doesn’t reallv have, he believes in making time for his fans. That position is all too rare in Hollywood where celebrities find their status intimidating, and a reason to withdraw, to hide behind body guards and dark-tinted limousine windows. But Leno sees no reason to hide. “I don't care who you are, celebrity or not, you just have to be nice. That's what people will remember." he savs.
So, if you run into him. don't expect Jay Leno to play the star. He sees himself as a regular guy, still surprised and a little embarrassed about his celebrity status. And don't bother looking for Leno at one of L.A.'s fashionable watering holes w ith an entourage of glad-handers in tow.
Instead, you'll find him where he’s most content: Riding his Black Shadow in the hills high above Hollvwood. EE
