Hot 'saki
Hot 'Saki
Flattery will get you everywhere
DAVID EDWARDS
IT WAS A TELEPHONE CALL TWO years in the making. Jerry Greer is on the other end, speaking from his Indian Engineering workshop. "Hey, Dave, got a second? Too damn bad if ya don't. Listen to this..." With that, he holds the receiver at arm's length and signals for his partner, John Bivens, to romp down on the kickstarter of a spartan, silver-and-black motorcycle. The engine coughs, catches, then erupts, its twin open pipes cutting loose with such fury that I instinctively yank the phone away from my ear. It is t glorious racket.
My 1940 Indian Sport Scout bob job, purchased as a rough hut rolling basketcase, is a runner. (ireer gets back oil the line.
"Is that a stump-pullin' torquedaddy, or what!"
Jump ahead two years to another phone call, this one from Ken E3oyko, ()VC~ and shaker at Cobra Engineering, leading maker of acces sories for Japanese cruisers, with 1 00 employees turning out all manner of pipes, light bars, floorboards, etc., etc etc. Cobra had a new showbike in the works, would (`IV be interested in doing a story'?
“Dunno,” says I. “What is it?” “A secret,” says Boyko, “but I think you’re gonna like it.” I guess.
What greets me three months later is as close a copy of my Indian as it's possible to get using a new 1999 Kawasaki Vulcan 800 as a starting point.
Bringer-forth of all this bobjob duplication was builder Denny Berg. You know Berg from previous Cobra customs that have appeared on these pages, show-stoppers all, not to mention "Brando," the coolest chopped Triumph you'll ever see, and my hot-rod BSA Gold Star, a likeness of which graces page 10 every month. There are cafe-racers and street-trackers in Mr. Berg's résumé, too, and he even logged hot laps aboard a Moto Morini (!) roadracer back in the `70s. A stand-up Cycle World kind of guy.
First step in the Vulcan's transformation was to strip all bodywork. What confronted Berg looked promising. "It's a neat chassis, a good place to start," he says. Suspension front and rear was lowered an inch and a half. The stock fuel tank was sucked down 3 inches. "I didn't want anything higher than the top of the triple-tree," explains Berg. Next he lopped off the rear subframe, intended to support fender and seat. The new fender (originally a 195 Os aftermarket front fender) mounts to the swingarm so it stays low to the tire; the sprung solo main saddle attaches to the rame's upper tubes. Not wanting to go the overshiny powdercoat route, Berg simply spray-canned the finished frame a satin black.
Internally the motor is stock-not a bad thing considering a showroom Vulcan 800 puts 46 bhp to the rear wheel, just 2 less than the 1500cc version. Ajet kit compensates for the, ahem, freer-breathing bell-tip exhausts, copied from my bobber, in turn copied from a pair of pipes seen on an old Ed Kretz flat-tracker Scout. Finish is a brushed nickel. Vanity covers were jettisoned from the engine's left side; sidecovers and cylinder heads have been treated to a coat of Hammertone silver, again straight from a rattle-can. That's the stock radiator hidden between the frame's downtubes, run without the cooling fan-so far, no over heating problems.
Finishing off the retro effect are period pieces: a 61/2-inch headlight from an old Springer front end; gas cap from a 1935 Harley; brake rubber from a `29 JD; Harley switchgear from the Twenties; Barnett handlebar levers; Flanders !, "Jackhammer" grips; Anderson footpegs. The faux kickstarter and return spring, liberated from an old Hog, are welded in place ("Call it a rear-pipe guard," grins Berg). Tires are semi-mod em, bias-ply Metzelers, with a crisscross tread pattern that hints of old Firestones. / As with my Scout, the J Kawi-bobber's crowning touch is its WWII-style tank art, done by airbrush artist extraordi naire Dawne Holmes. The results are sublimely, spectacular ly lifelike. "When we were hanging the tanks, I kept try ing to look up her dress,"
said Greer of my Varga Girl. Unveiled at the recent Indianapolis aftermarket expo, the Cobra bobber was a `, big hit. A throwback to the beginnings of American-style customs, it flies in the face of legions of $30,000, over chromed, pastel-painted billet
barges all seemingly trying to out-Arlen Ness each other.
"It's like they're afraid to try anything different," says Berg. "This bike was built with a drill press and a body grinder, just like a guy could have done back in the `40s. All hand labor. Basically, it's a big-ass motor with as little else as possible. Take parts off, drill what's left, go riding, have fun." File that under "Success, recipe for."
