Beatnik Bikes
Beatnik Bikes
LEANINGS
PETER EGAN
WELL, MOTORCYCLE-WISE, I’M back in action—if looking at old bikes rather than riding them can be called “action.” In a first big outing since my Wyoming dirtbike crash last month, I climbed somewhat stiffly yesterday into the back seat of a Pontiac Vibe (aluminum bike trailer attached) and rode all the way up into the wilds of northern Wisconsin with my friends Rob and Lew.
Rob was headed there to buy a 1983 BMW R80ST from an old buddy named Nick who is feeling his age and selling off a bunch of his old BMWs and Guzzis. Seems Nick has discovered that a Kawasaki 250 Ninja is a lot easier to move in and out of the garage than some of his old classic iron, and it’s also fun to ride and doesn’t need any work.
Hmm... Riding for fun, with no expensive repairs or suffering? How’s a man to redeem his soul and gain the Kingdom of Heaven with a plan like that?
Anyway, we got to Nick’s garage full of earthly delights and, while Rob loaded his new/used R80ST onto the trailer, I found myself mesmerized by a black 1972 BMW R75/5 in nice original condition. Apparently, Nick is thinking of selling this bike, too.
On the way home, I posited to Rob and Lew the many theoretical advantages of owning a bike exactly like Nick’s R75/5 if a person were to weaken and buy such a thing for no good reason.
Lew shook his head. “If you’re going to get an old airhead BMW, you’re a lot better off with a later slash-six. You get real instruments, better brakes, a fivespeed transmission and more power.” “True,” I admitted, “but there’s just something cool about those early Seventies slash-fives. They’re a little mellower and smoother, and feel like they could motor down the road forever. They’re more of a beatnik bike.” Rob and Lew both nodded. They knew instantly what I meant.
The “beatnik bike” concept is one I’ve carried around in my head ever since I was a kid, visiting my grandparents in San Francisco during the late Fifties. San Francisco—and more specifically, the North Beach neighborhood—was one of the great gathering grounds of Beat poets and writers such as Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, Gary Snyder, Neal Cassady, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, etc.
As such, the city always nurtured a certain sense of eccentric cool among the motorcycles one saw there, and it hasn’t changed much, even today. San Francisco simply has a different bike scene than anywhere else. There’s more emphasis on off-beat utility and not so much on carbon-fiber clutch covers or titanium bits. You sense the presence of a subculture that would rather sidestep the marketing world than embrace it. Cheapness and honesty are recognized virtues—as long as they have an undertone of artistic flair. A serviceable bike you find in a shed and paint with a brush may have more cachet than a perfect restoration of a known classic. Wrong handlebars are encouraged.
The Beat writers didn’t talk much about motorcycles, but the Sixties bike boom was partly a generational extension of the same free-roaming, try-everything spirit. In my own case, I read Kerouac’s On the Road and The Dharma Bums at an impressionable age and immediately began hitchhiking all over the place. After being given a ride on the back of a Harley Panhead, however, I soon realized that motorcycles were the next obvious step. They were still hip, but you didn’t have to stand in the rain for five hours with your thumb out on the industrial outskirts of Skokie while no one picked you up. You could go anywhere for very little money while still camping out and living the rugged life.
Bohemian types like James Dean picked up on this immediately and started making romantic motorcycle journeys across America, occasionally freezing half to death and getting rained on, just like Kerouac or Cassady with their freight trains and lonely highways. With a bike, you could die of exposure on your own schedule and not depend on others.
Anyway, Rob and Lew understood all this instinctively, having lived through it, and we soon began a lively discussion on what, exactly, constituted a beatnik bike. It’s a class that’s hard to define, but you know them when you see them. We all agreed that the following machines pretty much fit the bill: 1) Old BMW Singles and all of the /2 and /5 bikes; 2) Vespas and Lambrettas—even though they’re scooters; 3) most Guzzis—particularly those with floorboards; 4) all British Singles and most Sixties Twins, as long as they have just one carburetor—Bonnevilles and Spitfires may be too flashy and obvious; 5) Suzuki Water Buffalos and Titan 500s; 6) Honda CB500s and 550s, especially those with vintage 4-into-l headers.
After that, the choices became a little less certain.
Any Harleys? No new ones, certainly. Lew thought a Harley 45 might be a beatnik bike, but Rob and I thought it might be too old-fashioned and heavy on maintenance. Rob suggested a plain Shovelhead-era Sportster, and I agreed, perhaps from the Bronson effect.
We all thought the great mass of Eastern European bikes—Jawa, CZ, MZ, DKW, etc. might qualify. Also anything Spanish. Bultaco, Montesa.
Ducatis? Non-desmo models only. Lew thought most Sixties Hondas— especially the 450 Black Bomber— should be included. I suggested the 1975-76 CB400F and was voted down.
So, naturally, we had to come up with a solid definition of what constitutes a beatnik bike and what doesn’t.
We finally decided the acid test might be to park your bike in front of the City Lights Book Store on Columbus Avenue in North Beach. If a customer walks out with a copy of Kaddish or The Dharma Bums under one arm, stops to look at your bike, nods wisely and quietly says, “Cool,” then you’ve probably got yourself a beatnik bike.
I still think the 400F would do it...
Assuming the customer is truly enlightened and beatific (which Kerouac always claimed was the source of the term “Beat”) and not just some punk kid from Wisconsin visiting his grandma. U
