Up Front

UP FRONT

Batter up

David Edwards

WE MUST DRIVE THE JAPANESE CRAZY. Here’s a country that 40 years ago couldn’t make a decent transistor radio, yet today is the world’s leading industrial power. Some 75 percent of all motorcycles made come from Japan, each a model of refinement and dependability. But the last decade has seen a plunge in Japanese new-bike sales in the U.S., while good ol’ Harley-Davidson-a maker of unabashedly low-tech machines-has taken over the number-one spot in the over-750cc slice of the American motorcycle-market pie.

Is it possible that Japanese motorcycles are too good?

That might explain the following. The Harley-Davidson Sportster, in either 883 or 1200 form, is the crudest new bike offered to the American riding public. (H-D disciples, nix the letter-bombs: I own a breathed-on Sporty and enjoy it immensely, but that doesn’t alter the facts.) Honda’s VFR750, on the other hand, is arguably the most competent, best allaround streetbike ever made, a fact that has been repeated many times on these pages. Yet Harley easily sold about 10,000 Sportsters last year, while Honda struggled to sell maybe 1200 of its VFRs.

Michael Crichton, best-selling author, gives some insight in his novel Rising Sun, a who-dunnit murder mystery that uses Japanese-American relations as a backdrop.

“In America, a certain amount of error is normal,” says John Conner, the book’s main character, a Los Angeles police detective wise in the ways of the Orient. “You expect the plane to be late. You expect the mail to be undelivered. You expect the washing machine to break down. You expect things to go wrong all the time.

“But Japan is different. Everything works in Japan. In a Tokyo train station, you can stand at a marked spot on the platform and when the train stops, the doors will open right in front of you. Trains are on time. Bags are not lost. Connections are not missed. Deadlines are met. Things happen as planned. The Japanese are educated, prepared, motivated. They gets things done. There’s no screwing around.”

Later in the book, an American video expert examines a new playback machine and explains how the Japanese rose to prominence in the electronics industry.

“You know how the Japanese can make things this way and we can’t?” he asks. “They kaizen ’em. A process of deliberate, patient, continual refinements. Each year the products get a little better, a little smaller, a little cheaper. Americans don’t think that way. Americans are always looking for the quantum leap, the big advance. Americans try to hit a home run-to knock it out of the park-and then sit back. The Japanese just hit singles all day long, and they never sit back.”

Well, a continual process of refinement, of eradicating all flaws, of knocking off all rough edges, may work fine with watches, stereo equipment, VCRs, color televisions and econo-cars. Perfection is desired if you want to record the final episode of “Cheers” or commute to work in an inexpensive, fuel-efficient box on wheels. But a motorcycle-inherently an irrational device-need not be flawless. Indeed, one of the reasons people buy bikes is to get away from the increasing oversanitization of life, to take some risks and hone skills in a world that more and more doesn't want us to do either.

Of course, for the Japanese this concept is more than a little confusing. You want us to make our products less perfect? Not entirely, but letting individual designers have more of a free hand-not committee-planning the bikes to death-would be a good place to start, though this, too, is a concept the Japanese have trouble with. Unfortunately, one of the outcroppings of this confusion, combined with the drop-off in bike sales, is that the U.S. motorcycle market has become less and less important to the Japanese bike-makers.

It’s interesting that Honda’s CB1000 and Kawasaki’s ZR (nee Zephyr) line of retro-standards came as a surprise to the U.S. arms of the two companies. They were designed for Japan, where that style of bike is riding a huge wave of popularity. Over here, they’re just overpriced caricatures of performance machines we stopped building in our backyards 15 years ago. Likewise, the design of new sportbikes is largely driven by how well they will be accepted in Europe. Honda’s CBR900RR was intended as a 750 until the Germans demanded more autobahn speed.

Right now, I know of one American product planner who is frustrated as hell. His company makes one of the all-time great motorcycle engines; sadly, it’s surrounded by what may be the ugliest collection of cycle parts ever hung between two wheels. This man knows what needs to be done to make the bike a winner in the U.S. market. But his Japanese bosses aren’t interested; the model would have limited appeal in Japan and Europe.

I got a phone call yesterday from a PR firm doing research for one of the Japanese Big Four. The person on the other end of the phone wanted my opinions on various subjects, then finished the interview by asking what would be the one thing I’d tell the assembled officials-both American and Japanese-of the company if I had the chance. He said my quotes and those from the other interview participants would be used to close a slide show he was preparing for a presentation. He guaranteed my anonymity, but I don’t mind having my name attached to what I told him.

“Trust the research, views and advice of the Americans working in the company,” I said. “Then act on their suggestions.”

Enough with the singles, it’s time to swing for the fences. U