Brand Loyalty

Brand loyalty

LEANINGS

Peter Egan

ABOUT 12 YEARS AGO, WHEN I WAS A regular staffer at the Cycle World office, I rode into work one morning on my old RD350 Yamaha. Editor Allan Girdler had also just arrived and was walking into the building. He stopped and watched me climb off the yamaha, chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

do you decide, on any given morning, which bike you are going to ride to work?” he asked. “Do you have your bikes monogrammed for days of the week, like kid’s underwear? Or is it just random, depending on which one is closest to the garage door?” He

was ribbing me, of course, because at that time I owned five motorcycles, which I suppose could be construed as one for every working day of the week, even though they weren’t monogrammed as such. I think at the time I had, besides the Yamaha, a ’71 Norton Commando, a ’68 Triumph Daytona, my 1980 boxstock club-racer Kawasaki KZ550 and a 1978 Ducati 900SS. All were in running condition, and I did tend to switch off and ride different bikes throughout the week. Riding order was unpredictable, and the collection itself was unstable, subject to occasional changes and trades. Allan,

on the other hand, was a model of single-brand (or at least double-brand) consistency and loyalty. He liked Hondas and Harleys, period. Honda dual-purpose XLs and XRs for riding in the desert, and his streetlegal Harley XR750 flat-tracker. Now, 12 years later, he still rides the Harley XR, and also owns a newer XR250 Honda and a modified Evolution 883 Sportster. He is perfectly content, and to my knowledge has never flirted with any other brands or types of bikes. This

is not to criticize. In fact, I admire and envy people who can settle on a single object of devotion and stick with it. Besides keeping life uncomplicated, it saves them a lot of timé and money. I have several friends who are dedicated to just one brand of bike and are completely satisfied. They have found, like Allan and his X-bikes, an agreeable adjunct to their own tastes and personalities. I

honestly believed at one time that I would be able to do this, too. When I bought my 1975 Norton Commando Interstate brand new, I explained to my wife Barbara that this was probably the last motorcycle I would ever need. It had everything-classical styling, plenty of power, light weight, reasonably good handling, a big tank and comfortable seat for touring, and a beautiful sound. I

bought the big $50 shop manual and-knowing the company was about to go under-a good collection of spares. With meticulous maintenance, I could keep the Commando until I was too old to ride. (This is really thinking ahead when you’re only 27). What

I didn’t anticipate, of course, was that my particular Norton was a Monday-morning bike; a lemon. It returned my loyalty by disintegrating before my eyes, not to mention under my butt. I’ve owned other Nortons since and they’ve been fine (with the usual disclaimers), but this one was an unhappy, troubled machine. So I had no philosophical qualms at all over selling the Norton to finance my first season of box-stock racing on a Honda 400E It was good-riddance time. Since

then, I’ve never announced that any motorcycle is forever, and I no longer believe that when we get to heaven we will be awarded medals for consistency on Earth, at least where possessions are concerned. So,

instead of brand loyalty, you might say I’ve gradually developed a case of brands loyalty over the years. Or maybe species loyalty is a better term. Essentially, there is almost no Peter

of motorcycle (other than a bad Japanese interpretation of one of Harley’s more strident styling efforts) whose possible ownership I would completely rule out. Like

most people, I have my favorite marques-to which I keep returning over and over again like a stuck record-but there are dozens of bikes, ancient and new, that I’ve never owned or ridden and would like to try before that big tank hits Empty. (I’m convinced we are always on Reserve.) I’d

hate to arrive at the end of this life and never have restored, owned, ridden, wrenched upon or at least had captive in my garage, say, a Vincent Twin. Or a Velo Thruxton, Bultaco Metralla or an Electra-Glide of Pan, Shovel or Blockhead persuasion. And there are about half a dozen contemporary sportbikes and endless designs yet unborn that also may deserve a closer look. Obviously,

I’m never going to own all or most of these bikes, but I like to keep the doqr open. Motorcycles seem like literature or music to me; you can go backward and forward in time, finding charm or genius in any era. Why restrict yourself? There are no rules. In

all this playing the field, however, I have to admit there is still an underlying search for the one or two motorcycles that do it all. Owning and riding a wide variety of bikes is at least partly a distillation process, a continuing search for the ideal combination of mechanical honesty, function, good looks and so on. Like a poker hand, some are discarded and some are kept close to the chest. To

an extent that non-motorcyclists can scarcely comprehend, I think our choices in bikes reflect how we see life and what we are thinking at the time. And which concepts and mechanical conclusions we wish to reward with our hard-earned income. At the heart of the matter is a continual and slightly restless search for quality. Some

people, of course, figure out what they are looking for and find it early in life. Others of us learn very slowly, and become perpetual students. What’s not clear is whether we’re flunking 5th grade or working on our masters degrees. In any case, there’s no big rush to graduate. E3 12/CYCLE