Racing Disbanded?

Racing disbanded?

TDC

Kevin Cameron

BACK IN 1965, ANY U.S. YAMAHA dealer could order a 250cc TD1-B roadracer for just under $900, and the customer could have it for a suggested $1147. Pistons were $5, rings were $3. In 1972, the TA250 racebike was $1850. And when Yamaha released its famous, epoch-making TZ four-cylinder 750 in 1974, it was $3600.

Future shock hit us when theTZ250-high-tech lineal descendant; of that $900 TDl-broke through the $20,000 barrier a year or two ago, and now we hear that production Honda NSR500V privateer GP bikes will be $93,500 next year. To get full value from limited practice time, order two. Yes, I know, in the million-dollar perspective of GP racing, that price is low, but you or I might have other uses for that money.

I was reciting these figures to my wife as we had tea one recent afternoon, and her perfectly reasonable response was, “Well, now it’s ridiculous. It’s time for racing to be disbanded.”

What do you think? At every Daytona, we hear about the latest candidate for the two-wheeled Golden Fleece award; currently, this is a curved, double-throwdown, multi-layer Superbike radiator at $12,000. For healthy contrast, back at the NASCAR custom radiator shop, you can have practically anything you like, made in aluminum to your specs, for a few hundred.

Or add up all the race-kit goodies available to make your basic $9000 streetbike into a 175-mph Superbike racer. The bottom line is more than $100,000. Which, according to the real-estate section of my local paper, is more than adequate to buy a cozy lakefront cottage with screened porch and an old green canoe.

I don’t know about you, but my racing plan is this: With most of the hundred K, buy the cottage; with what’s left, use $250 to liberate a veteran RD350 Yamaha, and then put in maybe another thou or thou-and-a-half on things like tires, brake pads and general fixing-up. Take that perfectly raceable bike to the local, so-called vintage-bike races and race to your heart’s content. If you wad it up, another $250 will fetch a fresh one. At these prices, you can afford a fleet of bikes. Or, if you prefer four-stroke racing, cruise the garage sales and

offer to take away the fine, potentialladen, 25-year-old Honda 450 and 350 Twins you see. When the owner hems and haws, slip him a sawbuck and load up. A head ported in England sets you back maybe $200, and an old but still-vigorous pair of round-slide Mikuni carbs costs less than that. A cam, pistons, attention to brakes and tires, some retro-look fiberglass, and you’re off to the races for under $2000. The only thing that’s vintage about vintage racing is the prices.

Of course, you wouldn’t be racing at sophisticated, tradition-soaked venues like the Salzburgring or Suzuka, and instead of wienerschnitzel or sushi, you’d be eating the usual deadly trackburgers. But you would be racing. You’d be out there on a genuine racetrack, rolling along on rubber tires that will, if pushed hard enough, slide just like the tires on “real” racebikes costing a hundred or a thousand times more. And staying upright on those sliding tires confronts you with the very same problems that face Mick Doohan or Carl Fogarty. Just as realistic would be the little details, such as the traditional need to finish building the bike before the race starts, the penalties of crashing, the need for correct suspension set-up, the possibility of piston seizure or valve-tossing, and so on.

This would all be real, not some electronic virtual-reality game. Just like the big-time. Except that you would be paying virtually nothing for your exposure to this fascinating reality.

Well, there would be some aspects

missing. There would be no whispered conversations with the Lucky Strike guy about your plans to switch teams if offered sufficient millions. You might not be, to paraphrase the famous song, “fightin’ the girls from off’n your back” as you made your way through the adoring throng to your block-long motorhome with its triple air conditioners and blacked-out windows. And there would be no need for a personal helicopter to save you from the massive delays caused by your 100,000 fans blocking all roads as they leave the circuit after the race.

I used to think of vintage racing as misguided nonsense fomented by people who hadn’t the sense to race something they could still get parts for. I saw older gents in flat caps, with briar pipes clamped between their teeth, unloading immaculate 30-year-old Singles with remote-float carburetors and chain-driven magnetos. But no. Vintage racing today is just racing for all the folks who were pinched off the bottom rung of modern-bike racing by the heavy boots of inflation. As a reminder of how those boots work, consider that in 1972, a certain base gasket was 20 cents. When I bought one last month, I paid $5.25 for that same bit of darkgray paper with five holes in it.

Maybe you have other questions. Can I show up at vintage events even if I don’t have a Moto-Guzzi V-Eight? Will I be hideously out of place if I’m under 30? Don’t worry. You’ll see some fascinating and irreplaceable historic bikes at vintage events, and you may see some of their original riders, too. That’s the show. But the membership is running Ducati Singles, and Japanese and British Twins-bikes you can still buy for under $1000. Nostalgia may exist in vintage racing, but it’s not the driving force. The driving force is the desire to race.

I’ve wondered what had happened to all those people I used to know at the races; parts men and motorcycle mechanics, working guys who could just, with a little help from girlfriend and/or dealer, afford to keep both a van and a racebike. I don’t see those guys at the nationals much anymore. Now I know where they went: vintage racing.

The practical part of my $100,000 racing plan is that it includes a place to live. Come and see us at the lake.