The Wider You Spread It, the Thinner It Gets

THE WIDER YOU SPREAD IT, THE THINNER IT GETS

UPFRONT

Allan Girdler

After several months of topping up tanks on a couple different motorcycles per week, the man who runs the gas station where I record figures for the milesper-gallon tests had figured out that I am in some way connected with bikes.

“Do you know anything about the little motorcycles?” he asked.

Some, I said.

“Can you get me some figures or sales booklets? The price is going to $1 per gallon in January and I’m gonna get a motorcycle.”

Came next my neighbor Turner, the Gold Wing owner. Another grown man in our neighborhood has bought a bike. Turner reported, so now there will be three members of our motorcycle gang who are old enough to shave.

Finally, my brother the diplomat, last seen on this page when my Harley threw him on his head. I said then he hadn't touched a motorcycle since.

Wrong. When he was stationed in Brazil, he bought a Yamaha and got so he liked it. Now he’s been posted to Spain for two years. He wonders if he should get another mass-produced machine or perhaps work a deal for a Spanish-licensed Ducati.

Naw, I said. Get something different. Maybe a Sanglas, a bike you can ship home in your diplomatic pouch, a bike you’d never have a chance to own otherwise.

And I hope he does it.

Then 1 got to thinking about all this, the signs of what to me look like an increased awareness of motorcycles and the different things they offer.

Do you suppose we’re about to see another boom?

If so, will we like it?

The surest fact about biking in the U.S. is that nobody needs a motorcycle. We have them because we want them. This has

been so since the car became as cheap as the bike, which meant motorcycles became sports machines, fast and thrilling and disliked by everybody who didn’t ride one. Marlon Brando may have given more power to the I-wouldn’t-let-my-daughter set but he didn't invent it.

Then we got the oil crisis. Being rational men, the motorcycle makers figured doubling the price of fuel and the price of a motor car would cause buyers to switch, to ride bikes for practical reasons.

Wrong again. The public rushed to buy big cars and trucks and vans. Motorcycle sales fell and have not yet recovered.

We are about to leap into another model year. By all the signs it’s gonna be a good one. We'll be busy for the next few months describing all the new machines, the rockets and roadsters and racers and playbikes and such.

There is a school of thought that says we attract new people into riding by offering them exciting new motorcycles.

And there's a school of thought that says motorcycles are transportation, that we should be trying to get more people who w ant to get to work or school or the store as cheaply as they can.

Now then. Money talks. Money also makes people listen. I am as miserly as the next man, perhaps even more miserly than average and yeah, 1 do enjoy filling the tank, paying two bucks and riding for 150 miles until the next fuel stop.

As a daily-basis rider. I am always being asked “Why do you ride that thing? Isn’t it dangerous?”

I know' if you say “Because it’s fun” people point finger to forehead and make little circles, that is. you are loopy.

Tell 'em 60 miles to the gallon and you get respect.

Despite the recent past, there has got to be some price level at which the cost of a new car and the cost of filling the tank has an effect on whether the new' vehicle has two wheels or four.

Motorcycles now make financial sense and it may come to pass that people ride them for practical reasons.

I don’t know as 1 like that.

For as long as I’ve been riding I’ve been a member of a minority. I’ve been cut off' on the highway, lectured in the living room and cursed in the parking lot. all of which has strengthened my conviction that I like Us better than Them.

Are there five million licensed riders?

Then I have five million potential friends.

We are, by current estimates, something like two per cent of the traffic stream. We have in common a strong enthusiasm for motorcycles.

I suspect that the mutual regard we have for each other is in direct proportion to how many of us there are out there. There is this enormous fund of good feeling. The more people there are eligible for a share, the smaller each share becomes.

If the numbers double, will the enthusiasm double? If we now' have five million motorcycle nuts who ride because it’s fun. and we get ten million riders, will they all appreciate how much fun they’re having while saving money?

True story. I was on the way home on a bike whose petcocks were set on reserve, something I learned when the engine sputtered to a halt.

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Before I had time to do more than stare glumly into the tank—yup, it’s empty, all right—up rolled a Yamaha 650. He'd seen me slowing and guessed why.

Took me to a gas station, where they couldn’t lend a container, then back to the bike. We found an empty beer can in the weeds, transferred a pint from his tank to mine, and he followed me back to the station, in case.

The very next day I was humming down the highway on my 250 and there on the shoulder was a Honda 450 and struggling rider. He'd borrowed the bike from a pal, the tank had been on reserve ... a situation familiar to us all.

We found an empty beer can in the weeds (there’s always one there when you need it) and transferred a pint from my tank to his. The 450’s battery had gone west weeks before, so he kicked and I kicked and he kicked. . . .

A chopped Harley boomed up. Need some help? Sure. He also kicked. Nothing.

Then, the highway patrol, on a Kawasaki. Just like basic training. “Switch Oft'!” “Yessir!” “Petcock off!” “Yessir!” “Throttle wide open!” “Yessir!” “Two full kicks!” “Yessir!” followed by two full kicks.

“Switch on?” “Switch on.” “Petcock on?” “Petcock on.” “One-third throttle?” “One-third throttle.” “Kick.” “Yessir” and he kicked and bruummmm, the 450 fired up.

Looking right past the chopper’s useless squeeze horn and my knobby tires, the patrolman threw us a snappy salute and went on his way. So did the chopper. I followed the 450 to the nearest gas station, feeling well pleased with myself, the 450, the chopper, the officer, the guy on the 650 and every one of my five million potential friends.

When was the last time you saw one car stop to help another? 0