Indian Reservations
Indian reservations
UP FRONT
David Edwards
IT IS THE CROWN JEWEL OF THE RETRO movement, the ne plus ultra of yester-bikes. The last American-made Indian motorcycle wheeled out of the Springfield, Massachusetts, factory way back in 1953. Almost immediately, revival attempts were initiated. They continue to this day.
You remember Philip Zanghi, the fast talker who promised big, only to fold up his tent like a snake-oil salesman in the middle of the night, skipping town with other people’s money-and worse, their dreams—stuffed into his back pocket.
You remember the next attempt at resurrection, this time by a New Mexico sheepskin salesman (true!) named Wayne Baughman. This effort at least produced a pair of unsightly, semi-running prototypes before going belly-up.
Then came the curiously named Maurits Hayim-Langridge, businessman, ex-Harley-Davidson importer for Australia and one of Zanghi’s bilked investors. Langridge and crew set up a labyrinth of companies that apparently wrested the rights to the Indian name away from Zanghi’s bankrupt firm-assuming, of course, that Zanghi had those rights in the first place. Adding a further South Pacific spin to all this came the news that the late John Britten had joined with Langridge to design an up-to-date Indian Superbike based on his avant-garde V-1000 racer.
Confused? Well, hold onto your puddin' bowl, ’cause here we go again.
Cue one Mr. Harvey Rosenberg, a business consultant/author/tinkerer who goes by the nickname “Gizmo.” The 54-year-old Rosenberg is associated with the same phalanx of companies as Langridge, which he says will soon be consolidated under the Indian Motocycle Manufacturing Company banner. Rosenberg also claims that the Brittenpenned Indian Superbike was nothing more than a passing fancy, that Langridge is being eased out and that the company is casting about for a “Fortune 500-type” chief executive officer.
Rosenberg’s scheme is two-pronged: First, sell a “kitbike” version of an updated 1941 Indian Four; later, offer a fully assembled revision of a 1941 Chief V-Twin.
The Model 441 four-cylinder would be powered by an all-new, air-cooled Straight-Four motor, brought into the 1990s with an overhead cam, alloy cylinders, an electric starter, and modern clutch and gearbox. Lending the proper 1940s feel would be reproduction skirted fenders, teardrop fuel tank, tractor seat and bullet headlight, all available from the Indian aftermarket. Replacing the old Four’s leaf-spring front suspension would be an updated springer-style fork; modern shocks would handle rear-suspension responsibilities. Rosenberg’s plan is to ship disassembled Fours to current Indian restoration shops, where a buyer can decide on final specs and pay to have the bike put together. Base price for a knocked-down kit would be $15,000 (an authentic Four, depending on model, specification and history, will nick you anywhere from $35,000 to $60,000).
Rosenberg, who explains the kitbike project as an end run around EPA and DOT regulations, is shooting for 1997 availability. Options are to include “solid-silver decorative elements crafted by native Americans,” paint “whose pigment is made from pulverized gemstones of the West” and “for those of you that always wished you were a motorcycle cop, an authentic Police Special decoration package.”
Company literature describes the Four as the “concrescence of motorcycling eoolosity,” which is nowhere near as evocative as the narration on the upcoming V-Twin. “The new Chief will give you a big spiritual woody,” is how it's put. Well, schwinggg!
Rosenberg's language is peppered with such psycho-imagery. Apparently, he fancies himself something of a philosopher on two wheels. “Motorcycling is transportation and transformation,” he is fond of saying. “It is alchemic: We are ‘lead’ into golden light.” He admits to being “spiritually restless my whole life; I’ve lived in Zen monasteries, studied yoga, been through all that stuff, but I’ve always come back to the motorcycle to experience living in wonderment.”
A rider for 30-plus years, he likes to strap camping gear to Electra Glide and head out for 1000-mile weekends. “I stop for sleeping,” Rosenberg says, “and I sleep in the woods.”
Rosenberg calls motorcycling an “ancient calling, an addictive experience. For many men, the motorcycle is the art in their life. It has magical power. We should not feel foolish or embarrassed by this. Motorcycles are power objects. They are central totems...spiritual nodes in our lives.”
All very well and good, but is this latest attempt to revitalize the Indian empire bonafide or simply another bamboozle?
Well, Harley-Davidson has made millions wrapping 1990s technology in 1940s trappings. And as you can read elsewhere in this issue, Yamaha, Kawasaki and Honda have jumped on the retrocruiser bandwagon in a big way.
Money will be a problem. Rosenberg freely admits his company has raised only a fraction of the estimated $100 million it will take to open a factory. Gaining credibility will be the biggest challenge, though.
Jim Wear, owner of High Country Indian, a restoration and parts business in Colorado Springs, puts it best. “Look, I’m in no way giving my personal endorsement, but I think they’ve got the right idea. The market is there and so far they’re spending their own money to try to make things happen,” he says. “But their biggest problem is following in the footsteps of thieves and shystersand, for all we know, they may turn out to be exactly the same thing.”
Look no farther than the sorry, swindling track record of previous Indian revivalists to see the wisdom in Wear’s last thought.
Want to reverse history, Mr. Rosenberg? Very simply done. Tone down the beatnik-babble and turn up the production lines. Put up or shut up. Stand and deliver.
