'TOP 20' MAKES ROOM FOR TWO MORE...

My 'Top 20 Motorcycle Prices at Auction' webpage has been updated; the recent HandH sale at the Imperial War Museum in Duxford, England, on April 13th brought two heavy-hitter motorcycles to the auction block; a 1948 Vincent-HRD 'Black Lighting', and a very rare 4-cylinder Brough Superior from 1932.

This 1932 Brough Superior 'BS4' with watercooled Austin 7 motor and twin rear wheels sold for £266,500 ($377,950)

The infamous 'three wheel Brough' is one of 10 produced, and this particular example is well known in the Brough Superior world, having been in Frank Solano's possession for many years.  While the watercooled Austin-engined motorcycle was intended for sidecar work, it was perfectly possible to ride the machine solo, which was Solano's preference.  He delighted in demonstrating the odd handling of the non-differential twin rear wheels - which means one of the rear wheels was usually airborne; a disconcerting feeling, as I found when he offered a ride many years ago, but the handling was perfectly safe.  Click here for The Vintagent's 2009 road test of this model.

The 1948 Vincent Black Lighting needs no introduction - one of the most sought-after motorcycles, with the most recognizable name of all.  Discovered in Argentina, it has been rebuilt to 'as new' spec.

The 1948 Vincent-HRD Lighting was found in a highly modified form in Argentina, and was brought back to 'as new' condition from a derelict state, and the oil tank/frame is from a Black Shadow.  The Vincent Owner's Club gave its blessing to the machine though, stating in effect, 'a Lightning is all about the engine', and the engine on this machine is the genuine article. Click here for The Vintagent's road test of this model.

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CATCHING UP WITH CROCKER

Pd'O in a Wet Plate image; not as suspicious of the new machine as I look

Back in May at the 2012 Quail Motorcycle Gathering, I met Michael Schacht and had a good look at his new Crocker Big Tank, which he'd just completed.  The bike looked and sounded good, and I wrote a piece for Cycle World on its début.  Schacht invited me to test ride the machine next time I was in LA; last week that opportunity arrived, and I met him at the secret Crocker warehouse/assembly shop.  That first, unpainted Crocker sat with an Indian 101 Scout Schacht restored back in his 'Indian days', the prototype Crocker C4 futurismo mockup, and a frame table on which sat the makings of New Crocker #2.  [For a history of Crocker motorcycles, click here]

Cylinder barrel raw castings, with enough meat for variable engine capacity

On the mezzanine level, a wall lined library-like with casting patterns keeps company with racks of rough castings and core boxes; the makings of the next 15 Crockers, which Schacht says he'll build 'whether I have orders or not... I'm going to make them'.  He's invested a huge amount of time and money, and staked his reputation on building real, functional motorcycles.  I only know one other such privateer motorcycle producer - he's making Brough Superiors - and they share a certain passion, a bit of blind faith, a lot of tenacity,  and an inspired vision of what they're contributing to the motorcycle world.  In Schacht's case, that vision would be nothing less than the resurrection of the Crocker marque.

Michael Schacht explains changes to the cylinder wall oiling on his barrel casting pattern

Shacht has become an expert in Crockers, as one must in order to replicate them, and I received an education on the various detail changes Al Crocker incorporated into his eponymous machines.  From 'hemi' head and Small Tank, to the later enclosed rocker, parallel valve Big Tank models.  It's amazing how many changes were made during the short, 1936-42 run of less than 100 machines.  Seeing how much attention Crocker paid to his improvements, and the level of customization he was happy to incorporate into paint jobs and engine spec, it's no wonder Crocker never made money on his Big Twin project.  He designed an incredibly durable, quality machine, with a steel gearbox casting acting as a lower frame lug, cast-aluminum fuel tanks, and heavy-duty everything.

Wet Plate image of the raw-metal prototype...

Al Crocker's could be forgiven if it were a little beastly looking, but as it turned out, the man had styling chops equal to the best.  The Crocker Big Twin is simply a gorgeous motorcycle, on par with any work of George Brough or Edward Turner, although in the American vernacular.  Custom motorcycle builders have tried to capture the tough elegance of his design for over 70 years; the man simply got it right the first time; the sweep of the fenders and tanks, that taillight (copies of which were seen on thousands of Harleys and Triumphs in later days), the big v-twin engine, it all sings together.   It's no surprise they've been coveted and collected since they were new; they're better looking, and better performing, than any other American machine of the day.

Easy to handle, light on the fingertips, well balanced.

That the Crocker was so good when introduced meant trouble from his competition, HD and Indian, the last two American bike builders left standing after the Great Depression.  It was faster and better looking than anything they had to offer, even trumping Harley's first OHV production v-twin, the Model EL 'Knucklehead', by 6 months.  The Crocker in 'base model' form (a mere 61cu.in) was easily 10mph faster than the 'Knuck', and big-engine Crockers simply rocketed away.  Al Crocker offered a money-back guarantee that his machine would outrun any Harley, and no Crocker owner ever collected, as they never needed to.

Michael Schacht warms up the big engine...

Schacht has gone to extremes to build a faithful replica of Al Crocker's machine, and has endured  harsh words from some of the Crocker faithful, whether for his business practices, his fallout with his first partner, or his cheek in buying the Crocker name, and daring to build a bike. Putting all that aside, there's a motorcycle to test, so let's take it on its own merits.

The man and his creation; it works.

Schacht copied collector Chuck Vernon's original Crocker engine dimensions, and this prototype machine clocks in at a whopping 1800cc.  I watched a good friend break his ankle kick-starting such a beast, and chose starter rollers for my test ride (I had a second road test, of the Falcon 'Black', to do next day, after all...).   The big beast started easily, and soon ticked over like a hotrodded twin usually doesn't, although the ground shook a bit with the near-liter explosions inside each jug.  Once warm, and in the saddle, the riding position was surprisingly comfy, with a big leather Meissinger saddle and typically Yank pullback 'bars.  Footboards for feet, foot clutch for gears, big knob lever on the tank side...all typical American stuff, and thank goodness this Crocker didn't have a 'suicide' clutch (ie, springs to engage it when you move your foot) like the last one I rode, during Pebble Beach Week.

In the background is the 'C4' Crocker modern prototype, as seen in the first Legend of the Motorcycle Concours

The clutch was smooth and light, and the gearshift was silent, as I slipped into first, and balanced opening the throttle with easing my foot back to engage the clutch.  With such a massive engine, even low rpms in first mean you're away fast, and the Crocker fairly launched itself forward with a loping, torquey gait.  The engine is smooth and silky, and shockingly powerful; really fast.  I reckon at 60mph in 3rd gear the engine is ticking over at 2400rpm, and at top whack the beast would easily top 110mph.  It seems to breathe well, but I didn't have a chance to really open her up at speed to find the character at higher revs.  I would feel completely safe doing so, as the bike is rock-solid, with completely neutral handling characteristics.  The only letdown is the brakes, which are crap.  Nobody expects much from the front, but the rear wasn't much better, and needs to be fixed - not a big deal, but it should definitely be sorted out before my next, high-speed run on open roads (hint!).

Taken on its own merits, the new Crocker is a gorgeous animal, with impressive performance even by modern standards.  Al Crocker built one hell of a motorcycle, and Michael Schacht has built a faithful re-creation, which is also a hell of a motorcycle.

Sponsors!  Helmet and gloves by Ruby; jeans by Edwin, sunnies by Allyn Scura

Questions of value have yet to be answered; is the public ready to drop $150k for this machine?  I can't make an assessment of whether it's 'worth' that, but if I was horny for a Crocker, the prospect of saving a few hundred grand is certainly appealing.  The upsides; it's all new, you can get parts, and it's half the price of a 1930s Crocker.  The downsides; it will never be as collectible the original machine.  If I had the money to play with, I'd probably try to break this new Crocker by riding it everywhere, hard.  I can't imagine too many bikes which give the visual satisfaction, the name recognition, and the performance offered here; it's a heady mix, and I'm game to try it again.

Many thanks to Michael Schacht for the test ride, an exclusive privilege for The Vintagent...

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RIDE WITH THE DEVIL

As a contrast to the prior post critical of contemporary motorcycles, the following is my road test report for Ducati France, who were kind enough to loan me a limited-edition 2012 Ducati Diavel 'Chromo' for the Southsiders 'Wheels and Waves' event last month.  It's not entirely old bikes in The Vintagent's world...

Test-riding the 2012 Ducati Diavel Chromo in mixed company...

"Asking a Vintagent for his opinion of a modern sporting motorbike might seem odd, exposing the unbridgeable gap between his typical road-test fodder (Brough Superiors, ancient BMWs) and the Ducati Diavel Chromo I recently rode on the Southsiders 'Wheels and Waves' through the western Pyrenees.  And yet, in my saddlebags of Riding Experience swirls the whole history of sports and racing bikes; from 1920s flat-tankers, lighter than any contemporary roadster and exceeding all expectations of fun, through venerable Norton Manxes which inspire heroism, to chubby 1970s Metisse-framed Japanese fours, desperate attempts to marry a non-wobbly chassis to an unburstable engine. I’ve even owned a few –whisper it – modern machines, which, by lucky coincidence, have all hailed from Bologna; from Ducati bevel-drive Supersports in the 1980s, to a 907ie Paso in the 1990s, some saddle-swap time in the 2000s on a 748, and California road-ribbon cutting on a 1200 Multistrada two years ago. Let’s just say my membership number in the Ducati Riders Club is pretty low, and I’ve kept credentials for 30 years. I’d even ridden a Diavel for Cycle World magazine last summer, but that was in Indiana, of all places, virtually a desert for corner-lovers, and no place for a proper appraisal.

If you’re a rider who enjoys playing pendulum at the end of gravity’s tug, the wide world of fast and competent machines provides endless options, all of which have their merits and demerits. The Diavel exists in a category of its own making, a fact much discussed in the press, and by every rider who first encounters one. Reaction 1; ‘What is that?’  Reaction 2; ‘It must handle like a camel.’  Reaction 3; ‘I love it/ I hate it.’  No sense being coy, the Diavel is a rare Statement in a motorcycle industry cowed by fear into same-sameness.  Before we say anything further, let us praise the decision-makers at Ducati for their bold move, and for succeeding, as the Diavel is clearly a sales success. But my job here is to discuss its success – or not – on the road.

 Ride prep is simple; stick the electronic key in your pocket, flip the 'kill' switch and press the wake-up button, which starts a video onscreen (you were expecting needles on gauges?) of laser-cutting a Diavel logo, a moment of Badass to remind you, rider, of what’s to come.  The screen then allows you’re in one of 3 modes; Urban, Touring, or Sport, computerized miracles to save your ass when things go sideways, or let you fly tetherless like an angry hunting animal. Simply put, the 3 modes are a balance of traction control, anti-lock braking, and horsepower. My esteemed handler from Elite Motors recommended starting in Urban, with least power/most help, and exploring more power/less controls when I felt comfortable. Before we'd even left the parking lot, 5 other monkeys tried out the Diavel’s saddle and poked the controls and my bike had been upgraded from Urban to Sport without my knowledge, and no, I didn’t check before we set out.  Mea culpa.  Result; one lurid rear-wheel slide as I gunned it while banked over, coming out of the first roundabout, and one wheelie on hitting the first decent straightaway.  I realized soon enough this was el Diablo puro, and took it easy on the throttle on that first 15 mile ride.

My second ride, about 120km, promised the green hills and twisting lanes of the lower Pyrenees, in company of a motley assembly of machinery, 1970s and newer, with very competent (read:fast) riders – those Southsider boys don’t hang about.  I clearly had the advantage of horsepower, but the roads were a mix of tight twisties, interspersed with short stretches of open farmland.  How would the mighty (read:large) Diavel take the cut-and-thrust at which smaller machines excel?  And here is the Devil’s surprise; she’s exceedingly well balanced, shockingly nimble actually, and her apparent bulk disappears once she’s in motion, even at low speed.  For a bike so large, this seems nothing short of a miracle, and Ducati’s chassis engineers deserve praise. For all practical purposes, the Diavel feels like a nicely balanced middleweight, albeit with a Lot of horsepower.

Let’s talk about that power.  With plenty of MotoGP experience, wringing giant hp out of v-twins is Ducati’s forte, no surprise there, but it’s the character of that power which constitutes the ride experience.  The Diavel’s power is everywhere, in massive abundance, from 1800 rpm upward to its 9500rpm/164hp redline.  Handfuls of Fast are available to you,instantly.  Generally, this was a joy, although in the really tight stuff, the 50kmh corners following a footpeg-scraping Commando, moderating such awesome urge requires a light touch, extreme moderation, and finesse, even in the ‘softer’ modes of Urban andTouring.  Throttle response on the Diavel is sharp, and at these moments, the true character of the beast is revealed.  The Diavel is a tiger.  Forget this fact at your peril; don't pussy-foot with this machine if you want to ride fast in tight spaces, it requires a tiger-tamer’s muscles, focus, and Will.   In short, a skilled rider will get the best of it, a less-skilled rider will scare himself silly, launched toward parts of the road he hadn’t intended.  Pay attention, be the boss, master the beast.  You’ll be rewarded with all sorts of adrenalin juices, satisfying growly noises from the engine, and rapid arrival at your destination, probably alone…unless there’s another Diavel with you.

Armchair comfort in casual riding situations...(Kristina Fender photo)

In less demanding situations, riding the Diavel gives bags of satisfying grunty power, hurtling you forward at warp speed.  The handling generally is stable and neutral, and I never noticed odd cornering sensations from that fat rear tire (as I did on a Confederate…). The riding position is totally ergonomic for my 6' chassis; super comfortable, with an all-day seat and lower-back-loving upright riding position.  The downsides; without much wind protection above your shoulders, anything north of 150km is blasty and not much fun for the long haul.  The footpegs are devil-horns, pointed and, if you’ve scraped them on tarmac, sharp as hell; I still have scars in the back of my calves from simply parking the beast.  Still, on a long-distance ride, like a California tour of the Sierras or coastal Highway 1, the Diavel would be an absolute blast, the grin-factor and surprising comfort make day-long rides fatigue-free. Anyone with moto-consciousness will take note of the Diavel’s outrageouslooks, and anyone on a lesser machine – this would include most motorcycles - will note being left for dead by a roaring tiger."

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LONDON ROAD TEST: 1936 BROUGH SUPERIOR SS80

Too much clak, clak clak on the mac, not enough wrist-turning brrum brrum, makes Jack a dull lad.  So, at the end of the northern hemisphere's riding season, on a cool but clear morning in London's Chelsea district, the offer of a road test on a nice old Brough Superior was like a cup of warm tea in cold hands; a very good idea.

The machine in question wouldn't win a Concours d'Elegance, as it has clearly been - whisper it - ridden quite a lot, and shows the inevitable road chips, cable rubs, and modest oxidation which grows unbidden even in the mildest of climates.  Not to say it isn't a beautiful machine in lovely condition; this 1936 Brough Superior SS80 was restored 3000 miles ago by BS-guru Tony Cripps, and kept by a careful owner, to whom proper function was paramount.  The result is a motorcycle which starts easily, doesn't drag its clutch in traffic, and is smooth as pudding.

The big finned covers hide the valve stems, and are quickly removed to adjust the valves

The 'Rolls Royce of Motorcycles', as Broughs are famously called (mostly by George Brough - "vide The Motor Cycle"- on every piece of their advertising from 1926), is a slightly inaccurate comparison, as Rolls never had the sporting pretensions (in terms of racing) that Bentley was famous for, although the esteemed quality of finish and envy-able flashiness of a vintage Rolls is very Brough-like.  Their prestige, and ever-high price, has ensured few Broughs ever met the scrap-man, evidenced by a remarkable 72percent survival rate for late SS80s...

Twin tank fillers, long levers, wide 'bars, Monarch forks, Lucas Magdyno (which worked), 8" Enfield front brake (which didn't), big 8" Lucas headlamp

As George Brough hitched his star to the RR name, that star dragged Broughs right out of their sporting pretensions by the early 1930s, and into the realm of the luxurious Grand Tourer.  By the time our test machine was built, 1936, Brough had ceased using JA Prestwich's racing v-twins, as they had never successfully evolved from their hairy racing heyday of the 1920s, and were simply too crude to install in a luxury machine.  Matchless/AJS had developed a pair of powerful, smooth, mechanically quiet, reliable, and relatively oil-tight engines - a sidevalver and overhead-valve, the 'MX' models, both of 990cc - and while they weren't racing engines (with a difficult-to-tune 3-lobe camshaft), they fitted the bill for a touring machine perfectly.

The evolution of Brough Superiors reflected the life and personality of the man who made them; George Brough in the 1920s was a demon rider and serious moto-dandy, building the motorcycles he most wanted, which couldn't be found elsewhere in 1919, when he embarked on Superiority.  Until other makers began copying the B-S pattern (bulbous-nose saddle tanks, long chassis, big v-twin engine), the Brough was alone at the top of the heap, and in terms of its quality of finish, remained there until the end of production (nominally 1940, although a very few Broughs were assembled during the war, and after, from broken machines or old stock).  But, after a few nasty spills in his sprinting days (51 wins out of 52 starts, plus FTD in his last race while sliding on his backside, requiring skin grafts and 8 months in hospital), George fully supported other's efforts at taking major speed records with very special Broughs, but the motorcycles he sold lost their athletic edge... and began to gain weight.

The cast-alloy primary case dripped a little oil, but not on my shoes.  Note the Harold 'Oily' Karslake-designed prop stand

This 1936 SS80 has, as mentioned, a 990cc 'square' (85.5x85.5mm) engine sourced from Matchless, which also saw service in their own 'Model X' (fantastic name; cape and mask included?), although GB specified knife-and-fork connecting rods, where the 'X' used them side-by-side.  George ditched the SS80's original JAP sv sports engine in 1935, and in five years, 460 MX-engined SS80s were sold (another 626 used the JAP engine, 1923-'34).  All SS80's were famously guaranteed capable of 80mph (these late ones more like 85mph), although a timing certificate from Brooklands might cost you an extra £10 over the £90 purchase price...which was already enough to buy a small house outside of London.

Big Burgess silencer, twin leather-front toolboxes, long pivoting footrests and sprung saddle for a friend. The postwar Lucas taillamp replaces the original 'MT110' type, but is visible in traffic, and includes a stop light.

Starting the big and surprisingly wide machine was simplicity itself; turn on the tap, a dab at the 'tickler' on the carb, and put your weight on the long kick lever.  Boom, first time.  And every time.  No valve lifter required, no knocking back the magneto timing - it never spat or kicked back or sneezed, just rumbled into life with a very pleasant rolling basso voice, and very little clickety-clack from the timing chest, more a rustle actually.

Pull in the very light clutch lever, snick the Sturmey-Archer/Norton gearbox into 1st, without a clunk or other drama (try that on your new BMW...), and the engine rumbles and give off hints at hidden power, while staying pleasantly smooth, and building up speed quickly.  Broughs use close-ratio gears (same as a Norton Inter, actually), which means a low 1st, a big gap to second, and the other two not far off.  On a big twin with plenty of torque, this doesn't make sense, as there's no need to play 'tunes' on a Brough gearbox, just stick it in a high gear and let the engine do the talking.  But, it was the best gearbox available (just ask any Vincent 'A' twin owner their opinion of the Burman 'box and clutch), and had a very 'sporty' spec.

Having ignored the mag and valve levers to start the beast, it was possible to ignore a third, while running - the front brake, which was, like all Broughs with 'Castle' or 'Monarch' leading-link forks, almost useless.  As the brake anchor must move with the front wheel, braking power is transmitted through two 'link' pivots, which takes out all the bite.  Brough owners have gone to great lengths at times to improve the situation, but dramatic braking brings other problems, ie, very bent forks, as their tubing, while lovely, is hollow and thin-walled.  Luckily the rear brake is excellent, but its best to plan your riding lines carefully to avoid the need for panic stops. 

Yes, its possible to ride a Brough in modern London traffic

The Brough sits low, with a very modest saddle height (27"), and a very long chassis (and 58"wheelbase).  That grand 4.5gal fuel tank with twin filler caps is imposing and implies gravity, but the bicycle is surprisingly light for a big 'un, at around 430lbs.  It certainly feels light when pushing it around, although with a very limited steering lock (a necessity with that bulbous chrome tank) tight turnarounds mean a lot of to-and-fro.  Once the engine is warm, the lubricant return is checked in the oil tank (via a handy return line just below the filler cap on the 6 pint tank), and the clutch is let go, the Brough feels tiny compared to a new touring machine, because it is.  And, while a sidevalve engine is cherished by some for a soft, woolly power delivery, the old girl still picks up her skirts and hustles down the road.  The gap between first and second gear is so great, you might think you'd skipped a couple and landed in top, as an upshift has the engine barely ticking over at 30mph.  As the chassis is so long, bumps don't throw the bike airborne, and the ride is surprisingly comfortable in that extra-wide sprung Lycett saddle.

The Brampton-built 'Monarch' forks do their job well, and that looong frame makes a very stable ride, without compromising smooth cornering.  Not that you'll be scratching around corners...well actually you Will be before you know it, especially on left-handers, as the patented prop-stand bolted under the left footrest will dig into tarmac at fairly tame angles of lean.  Banking right is a little better, but the low ground clearance (5" from ground to frame tubes), combined with a hefty lug  for the raised footrest hangers, mean you're grinding away valuable metal before you expect, if you're used to a true sporting bike, even from the era.  The cornering limitations enforce a gentlemanly riding style, fast yes but no corner heroics, just a well-planned line (those brakes) around the bends, all very graceful and relaxed.  With a little practice, you'll be Broughing it in style in no time.

Its easy to scoff at the whole Brough 'thing'; decades of embellishing tales (mostly from GB himself) turned some off even in the day, and the current high prices/ego purchases can be eye-rolling, but sweep the rubbish away, and what you have is a beautiful old motorcycle, built to be the best it could be by a demanding rider/designer/manufacturer, which was indeed better than its peers.  Superior even.

This motorcycle was kindly loaned by the Gauntlett Gallery, and is currently for sale; check here for details.

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