Up Front

UP FRONT

Allan Girdler

WE ARE THE ENEMY

Ronnie is a good kid, 17 or so and welcome in my house for 10 years, ever since he and my sons began hanging around together. He’s polite, does well in school, likes motorcycles and is in general the kid I sometimes tell my sons they could be more like, with emphasis on doing well in school.

He dropped by the other night and I had a surprise for him.

“Ronnie,” I said, “I am gonna pinch off your head.”

Naturally he wondered why. “You work at the corner store, right? I know you’re working the evening shift and I know when you get off work and I know you go straight home.

“I know this because you put a pipe on your 175. I sit here in my chair every night and I can hear you downshift for the corner, wind up through the gears, back off for the lefthander and wail on up the hill to your house.

“I notice this. I know it’s you and it annoys me. 1 like bikes. The neighbors don’t know it’s you but if 1 mind, how do you think they feel? That pipe is too loud and I hope you get written up.”

He was less than completely filled with remorse. “Funny you should say that. Deputy

pulled me over the other night. He asked about the pipe and said it was kinda loud. Guess I’ll put some more packing in it.”

“He should have written you up,” I grumped, and I rattled my newspaper to signal that the lecture was over,just like my father did when I was Ronnie’s age. With as much effect, I expect. Ronnie

probably meant it when he said it, although I doubt he’s done it, doubt rather than know because he’s got a job at the Honda store a couple miles up the road. I know he’s working there because every time I park the CW truck in front of my house overnight, there’s a Honda sticker on the rear bumper the next morning.

I realized later that I hadn't meant ev erything I said, either. Well, I meant it at the time, having just come back from the EPA noise regulation hearings and being fully aware that motorcycle noise has got us all in trouble. But while noise makes enemies for us, and Ronnie's bike is too loud, rigorous self-examination compels a confession.

Two confessions. I have an aftermarket exhaust on my 250. And I like motorcycle noise. Three confessions. I am looking for a

good set of pipes for my 350. Replica pipes, short megaphones that tilt up aft of the pegs, as close as I can get to what the factory GP bikes wore.

This is a terribly hypocritical spot to be in. Indefensible.

Reasons, I got. I have more logical ex cuses than you can shake a sound meter at. The aftermarket system on my 250 is cer tified as meeting the state noise limit. And the replacement muffler and pipe weighs 16 lb. less than the stock system and it has a spark arrester so I can ride in national forests, and performance has improved, to the tune of 5 mph on the top end and maybe 5 mpg in normal riding. Oh yes, I can offer a bunch of reasons for making

the change.

B.S. Deep down, I know the truth. Like John Henry, I love to hear that hammer ring.

Going down the highway at 5500 rpm I like that clear tone that tells me the mix ture and timing are spot on. When I hit that gnarly hill in 3rd, right on the torque peak and the ol' Single goes booming up to the top with the lovely deep drone that only comes from a four-stroke Single, I glow with good feeling, ear to ear, you might say.

Still on a personal note, I've been out in the wilderness and traded machines for a few miles and sat there on the trail just to hear my bike making power down the road.

Before I hear shouts of "Disgraceful" I better say that my 250 is not offensive. The Forest Rangers even have no objections. We talk about trails and where to camp and what damage the rains did and not once has anybody raised any question about whether I was making too much noise for good manners in the woods.

But this is relative. I can cheerfully claim that my own modification is all right be cause I haven't broken the law or violated my own standards, which convinces me that I'm no~ the problem. The other guys are. Humph. The difference between me and Ronnie is a matter of degree.

Why are we like this?

And who is this We?

A quick review of the staff and the other people I ride with brings only more confu sion. I know racers who like to hear the engine and racers who don't. I know young riders with quiet bikes and older riders with loud bikes, and so it goes for road vs dirt, two-stroke vs four. The only distinc tion I can draw is that some of us like to hear the engine.

If this reform movement is to work, bikers and rule-makers better take some of this into account. Rules? Fine. But let's be sure motorcycles are allowed to sound like> motorcycles. Make ’em sound like Chevies and they will have to be Chevies.

That will mean trouble. My best analogy is the speed limit. If traffic engineers show me that they’ve based the limit on a given road being safe at a given speed for an experienced operator. I’ll accept it. If legitimate surveys show that 85 per cent of the traffic travels at a certain speed on a certain road, okay. 1 believe in engineering and I believe in democracy.

But when a pack of publicity hounds with taxpayer-provided limousines imposes a law that sounds good, when they convert my friends the highway patrol into tax collectors, then Snap! I am in the market for a radar detector.

I’m not alone. We are an inventive people. Yankee Ingenuity isn't limited to north of Boston. We don't take kindly to dumb laws voted for Our Own Good, witness prohibition and a few more recent follies now repealed.

If we the people are required to buy motorcycles that don't sound like motorcycles . . . remember Prohibition and the family bathtub.

Enforcement? I'd predict some surprises for all.

1 was riding home from work, in the big city, on the Suzuki GS550 which, constant readers will remember, is currently equipped with an exhaust system which may be. er. marginal.

I arrived at a four-way stop behind a custom. Make that Kustom. Triumph Twin. 650 is my guess, with hardtail frame and extended forks and lovely paint on the tank. Ridden by a chap wearing equal parts hair and denim.

He pulled away from the stop, BRAACKKK and out of the road to the left came a police bike. Spit polished black and white. He pulled up next to the custom at the stop light.

I hung back just a tad. admiring the contrast in lifestyles, thinking just how different two bikes can be and yes, in my own self-interest, hoping that while the Cop was writing up the Outlaw, he wouldn't notice that I, your respectable Cafe Stylist with full helmet, riding suit, face shield, gloves and boots, was also liable to at least some sort of noise check.

The police officer and the custom were engaged in serious conversation. The officer looked long and hard at the hardtail and the TT pipes.

Just as the light changed, so did my judgments. As they rode away side by side. I heard the Freak ask the Fuzz “Yeah? What do you ride off duty?”

I didn’t hear the answer.

But I bet I’d enjoy its exhaust note. g]