• May 31 2012

    The 2012 Isle of Man TT starts next week!


    With Ireland’s manic Northwest 200 having just been completed, all eyes have turned to the Isle of Man TT.  Part-time Metzeler-rider Guy Martin (he rocks Pirellis during the TT) is still recovering from his big off at the 200, but he’ll be ready to go for next week’s race.


    The TT needs no introduction, but we’ll introduce it anyway.  It’s a flat-out time trial (racers start individually at set intervals) around a 37-mile loop through the mountains of the beautiful Isle of Man, an independent island in the Irish Sea between Ireland and England.  It’s been running since 1907, and has been won by such greats as Joey Dunlop, John McGuinness, Mike Hailwood, and Carl Fogarty.


    This week is qualifying, and there’ll be good coverage to be had on the BBC, but next week is the real excitement, with sidecars and superbikes opening it up on the island.


    Viewers located in the USA typically have to wait months for full TT coverage, but there will doubtless be YouTube videos galore of the highlights.  We’ll keep you updated.  In the meantime, here are some great clips from the past:




    For the full schedule, check out


  • May 30 2012

    Tsunami Harley will stay in Milwaukee as a memorial.


    Remember the Harley marooned in a container that floated from Japan to British Columbia in the wake of the March 2011 Japanese earthquake and tsunami? Rather than having it restored (as was Harley’s original intention) and shipped back to Japan, the owner—Ikuo Yokoyama—requested that it be kept in the Harley museum as a memorial to those who lost their lives in the tsunami.


    In a press release, Yokoyama said the following:


    It is truly amazing that my Harley-Davidson motorcycle was recovered in Canada after drifting for more than a year. I would like to take this opportunity to express my heartfelt appreciation to Peter Mark, the finder of my motorcycle. Due to circumstances caused by the disaster, I have been so far unable to visit him in Canada to convey my gratitude.


    Bill Davidson, the Vice President of the Harley-Davidson Museum, said “The Harley-Davidson Museum is honored to receive this amazing motorcycle to ensure that its condition is preserved and can be displayed as a memorial to the Japan Tsunami tragedy,”


    As is evident in the pictures, the bike—a 2004 FXTB Softail Night Train—is rusty and has severe dents. That’s because it spent a year bouncing around in a container at sea.


    From Jalopnik


  • May 29 2012

    Victory’s Comfort Control System


    We’ve totally fallen for our long-term Victory Cross Country Tour. It isn’t a supermoto or a dirtbike, or an underbone (which we’re notorious for loving). It’s a big, heavy, torquey machine that does it’s best to stay simple. The cockpit of a brand-new Goldwing looks like an A380–in contrast, the CCT is remarkably restrained. The gauges are just analog circles with some additional info—courtesy liquid crystal—and the heated seat switches are totally concealed. The whole thing is pretty restrained.



    Restrained styling doesn’t mean bare-bones. On the contrary, the Cross Country Tour comes with heated grips, cruise control, and more storage capacity than any other motorcycle on the market—its 40 gallon capacity is enough for a week’s worth of groceries. We’ve come to treat it like the messy trunk of a car—our CCT has a leather jacket, two helmets, some papers, a few pairs of gloves, and some empty Vitamin Water bottles in it. The bike comes with custom nylon bags for each of the panniers and the topcase, if you’d rather keep everything organized.



    There’s more. Victory’s Comfort Control System come to define the Cross Country Tour for us. Any bike with such a big fairing is going to provide a lot of wind-protection, but Victory has recognized that there is such a thing as too much protection—in the case of a slow ride through town in the summer, for instance. Movable panels on the upper and lower fairing allow you to tailor the airflow, and they’ve clearly spent some time in a wind tunnel. Follow the path the wind will take if one of the clear vent is open—it goes into a cove in the lower leg protectors—and it is clear that each part has been designed to work with the others. It’s an excellent system, and we wish something similar came on more bikes.


    Note: the ride in the video is pretty quiet—we didn’t have the fenestrated rear window on the GoPro, and the sound suffered as a result. Throatier exhaust clips are in the works.


  • May 24 2012

    Hunter S. Thompson on the Ducati 900SS


    Hunter S. Thompson was well-known for his motorcycle-centric escapades in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and in nearly everything he wrote his love of speed and danger showed through.


    What you might not know is that he also reviewed motorcycles for Cycle World. As you might imagine, his reviews were nothing like the dry motorcycle coverage in most mainstream motorcycle publications.


    Today, we ran across an old review of his where he put a ’95 Ducati 900 SS SP through its paces.  The 900SS is one of our favorite old motorcycles, and HST does a great job of capturing not only the machine but the whole experience of holding the key to a rocket bike.


    Here we have his article in full, which first appeared in Cycle World:



    Song of the Sausage Creature, by Hunter S. Thompson


    There are some things nobody needs in this world, and a bright-red, hunch-back, warp-speed 900cc cafe racer is one of them – but I want one anyway, and on some days I actually believe I need one. That is why they are dangerous.


    Everybody has fast motorcycles these days. Some people go 150 miles an hour on two-lane blacktop roads, but not often. There are too many oncoming trucks and too many radar cops and too many stupid animals in the way. You have to be a little crazy to ride these super-torque high-speed crotch rockets anywhere except a racetrack – and even there, they will scare the whimpering shit out of you… There is, after all, not a pig’s eye worth of difference between going head-on into a Peterbilt or sideways into the bleachers. On some days you get what you want, and on others, you get what you need.


    When Cycle World called me to ask if I would road-test the new Harley Road King, I got uppity and said I’d rather have a Ducati superbike. It seemed like a chic decision at the time, and my friends on the superbike circuit got very excited. “Hot damn,” they said. “We will take it to the track and blow the bastards away.”


    “Balls,” I said. “Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We are Road People. We are Cafe Racers.”


    The Cafe Racer is a different breed, and we have our own situations. Pure speed in sixth gear on a 5000-foot straightaway is one thing, but pure speed in third gear on a gravel-strewn downhill ess-turn is quite another.


    But we like it. A thoroughbred Cafe Racer will ride all night through a fog storm in freeway traffic to put himself into what somebody told him was the ugliest and tightest decreasing-radius turn since Genghis Khan invented the corkscrew.


    Cafe Racing is mainly a matter of taste. It is an atavistic mentality, a peculiar mix of low style, high speed, pure dumbness, and overweening commitment to the Cafe Life and all its dangerous pleasures… I am a Cafe Racer myself, on some days – and it is one of my finest addictions.


    I am not without scars on my brain and my body, but I can live with them. I still feel a shudder in my spine every time I see a picture of a Vincent Black Shadow, or when I walk into a public restroom and hear crippled men whispering about the terrifying Kawasaki Triple… I have visions of compound femur-fractures and large black men in white hospital suits holding me down on a gurney while a nurse called “Bess” sews the flaps of my scalp together with a stitching drill.


    Ho, ho. Thank God for these flashbacks. The brain is such a wonderful instrument (until God sinks his teeth into it). Some people hear Tiny Tim singing when they go under, and some others hear the song of the Sausage Creature.


    When the Ducati turned up in my driveway, nobody knew what to do with it. I was in New York, covering a polo tournament, and people had threatened my life. My lawyer said I should give myself up and enroll in the Federal Witness Protection Program. Other people said it had something to do with the polo crowd.


    The motorcycle business was the last straw. It had to be the work of my enemies, or people who wanted to hurt me. It was the vilest kind of bait, and they knew I would go for it.


    Of course. You want to cripple the bastard? Send him a 130-mph cafe-racer. And include some license plates, he’ll think it’s a streetbike. He’s queer for anything fast.


    Which is true. I have been a connoisseur of fast motorcycles all my life. I bought a brand-new 650 BSA Lightning when it was billed as “the fastest motorcycle ever tested by Hot Rod magazine.” I have ridden a 500-pound Vincent through traffic on the Ventura Freeway with burning oil on my legs and run the Kawa 750 Triple through Beverly Hills at night with a head full of acid… I have ridden with Sonny Barger and smoked weed in biker bars with Jack Nicholson, Grace Slick, Ron Zigler and my infamous old friend, Ken Kesey, a legendary Cafe Racer.


    Some people will tell you that slow is good – and it may be, on some days – but I am here to tell you that fast is better. I’ve always believed this, in spite of the trouble it’s caused me. Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba….


    So when I got back from New York and found a fiery red rocket-style bike in my garage, I realized I was back in the road-testing business.


    The brand-new Ducati 900 Campione del Mundo Desmodue Supersport double-barreled magnum Cafe Racer filled me with feelings of lust every time I looked at it. Others felt the same way. My garage quickly became a magnet for drooling superbike groupies. They quarreled and bitched at each other about who would be the first to help me evaluate my new toy… And I did, of course, need a certain spectrum of opinions, besides my own, to properly judge this motorcycle. The Woody Creek Perverse Environmental Testing Facility is a long way from Daytona or even top-fuel challenge-sprints on the Pacific Coast Highway, where teams of big-bore Kawasakis and Yamahas are said to race head-on against each other in death-defying games of “chicken” at 100 miles an hour….


    No. Not everybody who buys a high-dollar torque-brute yearns to go out in a ball of fire on a public street in L.A. Some of us are decent people who want to stay out of the emergency room, but still blast through neo-gridlock traffic in residential districts whenever we feel like it… For that we need Fine Machinery.


    Which we had – no doubt about that. The Ducati people in New Jersey had opted, for some reasons of their own, to send me the 900ss-sp for testing – rather than their 916 crazy-fast, state-of-the-art superbike track-racer. It was far too fast, they said – and prohibitively expensive – to farm out for testing to a gang of half-mad Colorado cowboys who think they’re world-class Cafe Racers.


    The Ducati 900 is a finely engineered machine. My neighbors called it beautiful and admired its racing lines. The nasty little bugger looked like it was going 90 miles an hour when it was standing still in my garage.


    Taking it on the road, though, was a genuinely terrifying experience. I had no sense of speed until I was going 90 and coming up fast on a bunch of pickup trucks going into a wet curve along the river. I went for both brakes, but only the front one worked, and I almost went end over end. I was out of control staring at the tailpipe of a U.S. Mail truck, still stabbing frantically at my rear brake pedal, which I just couldn’t find… I am too tall for these new-age roadracers; they are not built for any rider taller than five-nine, and the rearset brake pedal was not where I thought it would be. Mid-size Italian pimps who like to race from one cafe to another on the boulevards of Rome in a flat-line prone position might like this, but I do not.


    I was hunched over the tank like a person diving into a pool that got emptied yesterday. Whacko! Bashed on the concrete bottom, flesh ripped off, a Sausage Creature with no teeth, fucked-up for the rest of its life.


    We all love Torque, and some of us have taken it straight over the high side from time to time – and there is always Pain in that… But there is also Fun, the deadly element, and Fun is what you get when you screw this monster on. BOOM! Instant take-off, no screeching or squawking around like a fool with your teeth clamping down on our tongue and your mind completely empty of everything but fear.


    No. This bugger digs right in and shoots you straight down the pipe, for good or ill.


    On my first take-off, I hit second gear and went through the speed limit on a two-lane blacktop highway full of ranch traffic. By the time I went up to third, I was going 75 and the tach was barely above 4000 rpm….


    And that’s when it got its second wind. From 4000 to 6000 in third will take you from 75 mph to 95 in two seconds – and after that, Bubba, you still have fourth, fifth, and sixth. Ho, ho.


    I never got to sixth gear, and I didn’t get deep into fifth. This is a shameful admission for a full-bore Cafe Racer, but let me tell you something, old sport: This motorcycle is simply too goddamn fast to ride at speed in any kind of normal road traffic unless you’re ready to go straight down the centerline with your nuts on fire and a silent scream in your throat.


    When aimed in the right direction at high speed, though, it has unnatural capabilities. This I unwittingly discovered as I made my approach to a sharp turn across some railroad tracks, saw that I was going way too fast and that my only chance was to veer right and screw it on totally, in a desperate attempt to leapfrog the curve by going airborne.


    It was a bold and reckless move, but it was necessary. And it worked: I felt like Evel Knievel as I soared across the tracks with the rain in my eyes and my jaws clamped together in fear. I tried to spit down on the tracks as I passed them, but my mouth was too dry… I landed hard on the edge of the road and lost my grip for a moment as the Ducati began fishtailing crazily into oncoming traffic. For two or three seconds I came face to face with the Sausage Creature….


    But somehow the brute straightened out. I passed a schoolbus on the right and got the bike under control long enough to gear down and pull off into an abandoned gravel driveway where I stopped and turned off the engine. My hands had seized up like claws and the rest of my body was numb. I felt nauseous and I cried for my mama, but nobody heard, then I went into a trance for 30 or 40 seconds until I was finally able to light a cigarette and calm down enough to ride home. I was too hysterical to shift gears, so I went the whole way in first at 40 miles an hour.


    Whoops! What am I saying? Tall stories, ho, ho… We are motorcycle people; we walk tall and we laugh at whatever’s funny. We shit on the chests of the Weird….

    But when we ride very fast motorcycles, we ride with immaculate sanity. We might abuse a substance here and there, but only when it’s right. The final measure of any rider’s skill is the inverse ratio of his preferred Traveling Speed to the number of bad scars on his body. It is that simple: If you ride fast and crash, you are a bad rider. And if you are a bad rider, you should not ride motorcycles.


    The emergence of the superbike has heightened this equation drastically. Motorcycle technology has made such a great leap forward. Take the Ducati. You want optimum cruising speed on this bugger? Try 90mph in fifth at 5500 rpm – and just then, you see a bull moose in the middle of the road. WHACKO. Meet the Sausage Creature.


    Or maybe not: The Ducati 900 is so finely engineered and balanced and torqued that you *can* do 90 mph in fifth through a 35-mph zone and get away with it. The bike is not just fast – it is *extremely* quick and responsive, and it *will* do amazing things… It is like riding a Vincent Black Shadow, which would outrun an F-86 jet fighter on the take-off runway, but at the end, the F-86 would go airborne and the Vincent would not, and there was no point in trying to turn it. WHAMO! The Sausage Creature strikes again.


    There is a fundamental difference, however, between the old Vincents and the new breed of superbikes. If you rode the Black Shadow at top speed for any length of time, you would almost certainly die. That is why there are not many life members of the Vincent Black Shadow Society. The Vincent was like a bullet that went straight; the Ducati is like the magic bullet in Dallas that went sideways and hit JFK and the Governor of Texas at the same time.

    It was impossible. But so was my terrifying sideways leap across the railroad tracks on the 900sp. The bike did it easily with the grace of a fleeing tomcat. The landing was so easy I remember thinking, goddamnit, if I had screwed it on a little more I could have gone a lot farther.


    Maybe this is the new Cafe Racer macho. My bike is so much faster than yours that I dare you to ride it, you lame little turd. Do you have the balls to ride this BOTTOMLESS PIT OF TORQUE?


    That is the attitude of the new-age superbike freak, and I am one of them. On some days they are about the most fun you can have with your clothes on. The Vincent just killed you a lot faster than a superbike will. A fool couldn’t ride the Vincent Black Shadow more than once, but a fool can ride a Ducati 900 many times, and it will always be a bloodcurdling kind of fun. That is the Curse of Speed which has plagued me all my life. I am a slave to it. On my tombstone they will carve, “IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME.”


    via visordown


  • May 23 2012

    Metzeler’s Roadtec Z8 takes top honors in wet-weather MCN test

    In a comparison test between the top sport-touring tires from Metzeler, Dunlop, Bridgestone, and Continental, Metzeler’s new Z8 took top honors, with a lap time nearly a full three seconds better than its closest competitor on the day, Dunlop’s Roadsmart II.


    The test was conducted at the wet-weather circuit at Pirelli’s Milanese testing facility in Milan.



    “All the tires are in the 39-40 second bracket around [this track], but the new Z8 is a 37.1, three seconds faster than the other tires.  Now okay, this isn’t a really a racing test, but it means that if I’m three seconds faster on this tire, there’s extra safety I’ve got on the road.  So this new Metzeler is head and shoulders better than the others at the moment because of the new technology they’re allowed to put into these tires. So if you want a sports touring tire, and you want it to be good in the wet, the Z8 Roadtec is the one to go for.”


    Metzeler’s Interact Technology has a patented steel belt with various winding tensions across the carcass.  It employs high tension for high-mileage in a straight line, and low tension on the shoulders for excellent grip in corners.



    High winding tension in the center reduces compound movement and increases stability of the footprint area which reduces wear and ensures high speed stability on long motorway journeys.  On the shoulders, low winding tension creates more flexibility and therefore higher energy absorption, the compound increases in temperature and becomes softer to offer more grip while leaning.


    For more information on the Z8 Interact, check out these pages:


    Z8 Interact (Europe)


    Z8 Interact (USA)