Project M1

[Duke Bushido]

A little history of Project M-1.

 

America has had motorcycles for years.  We market motorcycle nostalgia back to the old Harley Davidsons and Indians (the real ones.  HA!  Sorry.  Inside joke for those who know motorcycles), even the Stanley steam-powered bikes and a few dozen other home-grown speed machines.

 

The fact is that motorcycles didn't become the amazing things they are today here in the USA.  We can go to business classes all we want and talk about "competition" and how it breeds better product, but America has always had a serious problem in this area: the largest "competitors" don't strive to improve for improvement's sake.  They benchmark each other, and when they are all about the same in terms of quality or performance, innovation time is over.  That, my friends, is why all those nostalgia ads reminding you when Harley Davidson was the number one motorcycle on the road and all the cool hot rods, choppers, bobbers, and road rockets were all some version of a Harley---

 

that never happened.  That was never, at any point, even remotely true.  I am not trying to push an agenda here, but it is historical fact that there was never a time in history when a Harley Davidson was not the least powerful, least reliable option for a motorcycle.  They cost a fortune these days because they invested a fortune in the early 80s in making you believe that they were once the most sought-after brand.

 

The most common, perhaps, but that does not equate to the most sought-after.  Anyone else old enough to remember a time when the Ford Escort or the Tempo were the most common car on the road?  Now which of you _really_ believes they were the most sought after?  Yeah; fact is, they were the most affordable.  You could get an Escort cheaper than you could get a Toyota.

 

Same thing with bikes.  People bought Harleys because after the war the market was flooded with military surplus, and they could be had cheap.  Bobbers became common because it was easier to take off the most resonant of the bits and pieces before the vibration shook them off.  They kept being popular because---  well, a couple of decades ago, I bought my wife an Isuzu Rodeo.  Great vehicle: had the J-spec V-6 motor (as opposed to the detuned US-spec one), 4-speed automatic with a separate overdrive, shift-on-the-fly 4x4, and every possible option available in a Rodeo.  I bought the Leviathan at the same time: one-ton SRW, bench seat, air conditioning, and _nothing_ else.  Seriously: from the factory with a rubber floor and a cardboard headliner.  Not even a radio.

 

Outside of regular maintenance (most of which I did myself), the Rodeo was in the shop three times in the first three years: twice for power window issues, and once for a rear-defrost issue on the rear glass hatch.  The Leviathan was not.  Not because it was better mechanically (it wasn't; it wasn't even _close_, mechanically), but because it didn't have any extra systems to break.

 

That's how bobbers came to be: take your third-hand military overstock motorcycle and strip off every last thing that didn't involve keeping the engine running.  This reduced maintenance by reducing things to maintain.  Pretty standard stuff.

 

Motorcycles in the US really began to develop in the fifties, with the importing of the British bikes.  Suddenly, motorcycles actually _were_ rockets.  Bikes that were once considered fast because they could outrun a police car (and let's be honest: a Ford LTD weighed on the order of 3.-something tons, was powered by a boat anchor of a 460 CID engine that pumped out a whopping 128 horsepower.  Actual horses could outrun it from a dead stop) suddenly seemed to be glued in place.

 

Competition had resumed, and this time, the Americans had to remember how to innovate.  I will spare you lengthy histories on each brand, but suffice it to say that big brand name motorcycles never did learn to outrun the Brit bikes; they never learned how to outperform them.  Fortunately, reliability was the same, so America had no need to innovate there.  There is a bike / helmet sticker that is popular to this day amongst Americans on British bikes:

 

"Only parts made with the finest British craftsmanship will be seen falling off this motorcycle."

 

 

Now it was right about this time that Kawasaki got hold of the-- you know, I don't remember if it was Soviet or German anymore...  Anyway, it was the one-cylinder engine that would birth the UJM-- "universal Japanese machine" and single-handedly save motorcycling around the world. Seriously: the first 125cc and 250cc single cylinder two-stroke motorcycles were all not just rip offs, but blatant copies of this engine-- everyone was doing it: all the Japanese manufacturers had one, the Italians had one, even the Indians and South Americans were stamping them out.  It still survives today as the Russian motorcycle Minsk.

 

At any rate, right around 1960, things went nuts in America for motorcycle enthusiasts.  The Japanese hit, and they hit _cheap_.  Not only did they hit cheap, but they hit with novel ideas: Japan is a steel-poor country, and the frames from this era are still famous as being...   rather sprightly, at all the wrong times.  Nothing like hitting a deep lean at 80 or so and feeling the frame between the wheels give a little wobble....

 

One of the ways to combat this, particularly with the smaller engines they were stamping out by the thousands, was to avoid the traditional frame and create instead a stamped steel clamshell-- literally a steel plate shaped like a motorcycle, curled and flanged at the edges, and bolted to its mirror image.

 

Soichiro Honda pushed hard for this, and the end result was the Honda Dream and its many descendants, and of course, the world's most popular vehicle, the Honda Cub.  They _still_ make those!  Still!  And there have been more Honda Cubs produced and sold around the globe than any other vehicle in history.  Wanna _really_ grasp the magnitude of this thing?  How about "more Honda Cubs have been produced and sold world-wide than _any other ten vehicle models combined_?"  (so hey: if you're travelling to a really remote part of the world, pick up a Cub for your travels, because you will probably be able to find parts anywhere you go.  You will have to make some sacrifices: the "big" 90cc version puts out a whopping 14hp, making it pretty pitiful as a hill-climber).

 

One of the more interesting things about the Japanese manufacturers, at least up through 1990 or so, was they _loved_ to innovate.  To not move forward was the exact same thing to go backwards.  One of the interesting things about the British manufacturers: they _loved_ competition.  The British bikes remained on top through the mid-sixties, when Honda delivered the CB650-- the most iconic motorcycle of a generation.  There were very, very few things that weren't British that could keep pace with it, and nothing that could provide the reliability (if you didn't mind a squirrely frame) or the price point.  Now, I want to be fair to the nostalgia marketing campaigns: the era when roads were choked with choppers _did_ exist; that isn't something they made up.  But over half of those choppers were CB650 Hondas.  Some were chopped for comfort, others were chopped to repair frame issues.  The majority of the ones that weren't Hondas?  Most of them were British bikes, and usually Triumphs.  Even by British standards of the day, Triumphs were surprisingly reliable.  I would love to say that most of them were Vincents, but Americans were pretty rough on Vincents (when we could afford them) because Vincent insisted on having the dumbest, most counter-intuitive choke system ever designed by the mind of man, and it led to many a burned up or seized engine.  (No, I have never owned a Vincent Black Shadow, but I always hoped to be able to ride another one (I did get to ride one for a few days) before I die.)

 

 

At any rate, the Honda CB650 was being referred to in the trades as "the Prince of Motorcycles" and suddenly Honda had respect beyond just "one of those Japanese companies."  Soichiro Honda was very, very pleased, but again-- move forward; improve; be better.  He was not satisfied, particularly knowing that at this point, most Japanese bikes were re-invented British bikes, taken apart and built better-- tighter tolerances, tweaks for power.  He also felt that the performance-first orientation of the entire Japanese segment was ultimately going to cost the Japanese manufacturers in the long run.  As the seventies pushed closer, more and more Americans were looking at motorcycles differently.

 

Certainly, even today, motorcycles have always had a daredevil or deathwish reputation, but Soichiro's step-through clamshell frame (which was still in production on certain models) had done something no one had really forseen: it _tamed_ motorcycles!  Suddenly, there were motorcycles with large painted surfaces, like one might find on a car, and vibrant solid colors made them look quite smart.  The step-through frame meant one could ease into the seat rather than clamber over the top or make an ungainly one-footed leap.  There was also an accidental bonus to these machines: the seats were _massive_.  They were long and wide (to cover most of the seams and bolts and ugliness) and very plush.  Suddenly motorcycling was being taken up as a weekend adventure: you and your special someone would take a nice pleasant ride through the countryside on your civilized motorcycle.

 

American manufacturers (though at this point, there was really only one) were quick to notice this trend, particularly with younger riders (as bikes have always been cheaper than cars, at least until that stupid TV show in the 90s created some goofy "motorcycle revival" that stagnated innovation and drove prices through the roof).  They began offering machines with lower heights and much more comfortable seats.

 

Honda, too, wanted to get in on this budding motorcycle touring hobby  (Moto Guzzi, for reasons that I can't figure out and Harley Davidson-- in particular, the Police Special-- had been quietly enjoying being the bike of choice for young men touring solo, and had sort of hoped no one else would notice).  By 1968, Honda had plans and concepts for the motorcycle they would hope would become "The King of Motorcycles."  It had innovations that even Suzuki (considered to be almost a cult in their devotion to "try anything for performance" approach to dumping out actual doomsday machines onto the market just to see what would sell).  This project was dubbed Project M1, and Soichiro threw considerable research and money after it.

 

The only problem that Honda could really see with the idea was that they couldn't build it.  That is, they _could_ build it, but given the limits of technology and engineering at the time-- while it was _possible_, it would never, ever be practical.  Their initial years of research did pay some dividends, and some of the engineering techniques dreamed up for Project M1 were redesigned, and in 1972, the CB750 transverse L-4 was born.  Motorcycles would never be the same.  The fact that versions of this engine _still_ see use (though no longer in the top-of-the-line racing bikes) is a testament to how far ahead of its time this machine was.

 

Research and bits of prototyping continued on Project M1, though, for though the unheard of power available from the CB750 made it almost immediately America's choice for both traditional motorcycle hooliganism _and_ long, quiet tours through the countryside, Soichiro Honda knew in his heart that this motorcycle was not the King of Motorcycles his company would bring into the world.  For now, the world would have to do with the first true superbike, and the incredibly tame manners that made it the ultimate tourer and commuter. Still, prototyping for Project M-1 had begun anew.

 

Just a couple of years later, Kawasaki released a 900cc 4-cylinder monster that proudly bore the word "Superbike" as part of its name.  The CB750 was no longer the world's most powerful machine, but-- owing to the frames of the Japanese bikes of the era, the bigger, heavier engine made the bike less of a joy and more of a job to ride, so the CB750 continued to pick up fans in the touring and the commuting segments of the market.

 

This time around, Honda decided that perhaps the M1 was never going to be a production bike, but that by striving to bring it to life, new ideas for machining, designing, and even manufacturing could be discovered.  After all, it had already given them the CB750.

 

So a new director was put in charge of Project M1--  Shoichiro (yes; another one) Irimajiri was appointed to head the project, and his first decision was to benchmark only the best technology, and then exceed it.  When others on the staff pointed out that they had beaten almost every benchmark taken against the British, Irimajiri rebuked them, pointing out that British motorcycles were not the sum total of machine technology.  He took aim at Ducati, Porsche, BMW (both cars and motorcycles) and even Massey Ferguson.  He demanded nothing but the best-performing, most durable every-little-thing, even if it was just a thermostatic spring to control fuel flow: who made the best?  How did it work?  How could it work better?  How would they work together?  Will it create power?  Will it create reliability?  Can it be simply controlled?  Will it work for us?  What will it bring to Project M1?  He also began to redevelop the prototype, insisting that only those ideas which would create power, control, and comfort be allowed into the design.  His prototype was a hodgepodge of the most popular, most reliable ideas from across the automotive industry, tooled and retooled until they worked together, and replaced as soon as something "more perfect" came from the engineering experiments.  He did not take his job lightly, and eventually, his team had indeed created a working prototype for Project M1.

 

Problematically, the prototype still could not be built.  The engineering and machining needed to mass produce this machine were just on the horizon, but even if it could be built, until there were more advances in metallurgy and even in tolerance engineering, the M1 was almost unrideable.  It featured a water-cooled (unheard of for a motorcycle at that time) 1.5 liter horizontally-opposed engine that had a readline of almost 7,000 rpm (because benchmarking Porsche paid dividends) and a solid, notchy five-speed rollover gearbox (you only shift in one direction.  You will roll back to first eventually.  Or, more likely, accidentally.  Lots of fun when running triple digits), and a rotating shaft drive-- an absolute oddity in motorcycles at that time, having only been done successfully a dozen times or so, and most of those by FN from 1901-1919.  Even its massive 11-foot length could possibly be overcome-- and had been overcome at least enough for successful test riders to demonstrate that this behemoth had a top speed of 141 mph, but it would never be comfortable, and anyone with an inseam under 34 inches would not want to ever come to a stop.  And of course, the frame  flex was mathematically known to be nightmarish, particularly under hard acceleration.  At this point, Project F1 was tipping the scales north of 1300 pounds, and absolutely _nothing_ aesthetic had been added yet.   Still, even more ideas and technology were being harvested from Honda's dream of "the King of Motorcycles."

 

By this point, many motorcycle publications had become aware of the existence of Project M1, and forced Honda to address it. Honda stated simply that "the M1 may never see production, but it still has purpose.  The M1 now exists so that we may learn what is possible."  (or words to that effect, because I only have the translator's words to go by)

 

This is all happening about the time that Duke has discovered his own love of motorcycles.  I remember reading an article in a magazine with a lucky journalist who got to see and photograph the M1 (with and without it's hastily-constructed body panels to keep people from falling into it while riding), and-- well, a sci-fi junky and motorcycle nut reading all about this top-secret project to produce the ultimate motorcycle-- after it first teaches us what we have to know to even being designing it?!  There is absolutely no possible way to express the painful longing Duke had to be a part of this, to see it, to touch it, to ride it.......    He didn't really understand it just then, but from that point on, in the very back of his mind, that motorcycle-- even if it never existed at all, and more than fame, wealth, family--- more than even food!-- would become the thing that he desired above all else.   Which is weird, because he isn't given to really love "things," and generally considers them tools to achieve a goal.  But Project M1 was woven into his soul after reading that article and seeing those pictures.

 

Shortly after the public got wind of this "science for the sake of science" motorcycle, Irimajiri was removed from Project M1  (not for failure, but to head something larger and more pressing: the modern day sportbike was just over the horizon, and it was hoped that the engineering ideas developed during his tenure on M1 would be of use) and another man (whose name I have forgotten) who worked on Project M1 before and later went on to head the CB750 project was brought in to head Project M1.  The first thing that he did, according to legend, was to rename it to Project 371.  I have never had any confirmation that this name was particularly significant, but the change itself was ordered from on high, as Honda was not happy about the derision that came after the article, with many of the companies that competed against Honda and even some of those that had been benchmarked for the project found the whole idea of throwing money at something that might not ever come to the sales floor to be laughable.

 

 

The new guy had something of a problem on his hands:  The last two leaders of this project ultimately achieved something worthwhile from the project: the leader under whom he had originally worked had seen the technological advances needed to create the CB750; Irimajiri (I really want to never type that name again if I can at all help it) had brought about a radical change to the way that Honda approached engineering projects and how they viewed and set their goals.  However, he also noticed something that seemed to have escaped everyone else:  Project M1 was ready.  The three biggest stumbling blocks were the weight, the length, and the less-than-desired stiffness of the frame.  He had also headed most of the 4-cylinder research that had arisen after the CB750, and after assessing carefully what was available to him, he made the decision to go to production, with a few changes:

 

He lopped off two cylinders from the engine.  The crank and valves had to be redesigned, as did aspiration systems, but that wasn't huge.  The resultant loss of torque with the reduced piston count meant the transmission could be much, much smaller.  A shorter engine block and a smaller transmission dropped a considerable amount of length and weight, and the weight loss had cascade reductions to size and weight in other areas of the bike, notably the suspension and the ability to stiffen up the frame.  With less rotating mass, the engine picked up almost a thousand RPMs before the redline, and this gave a considerable horsepower boost that helped compensate for some of that lost torque.

 

It was in this way that the GL1000 was born.   For those who don't know what that is, that was the first GoldWing.  I know what you think of (if you think of anything) when you hear "Goldwing," but I promise you this wasn't it.  This was just a naked motorcycle with a horizontally-opposed 4-cylinder engine, and nice solid, dependable (if notchy) transmission, and a high-revving, powerful engine that was stronger than almost anything on the road, yet so smooth and so quiet that one could ride past a house cat at 90 mph and not wake him up.  The smoothness was a huge hit--  overnight, the Honda Goldwing was America's first choice for touring, and the unconventional "smart looking" design, coupled with it's whisper-quiet engine made the public think of it as something new-- a sort of "upscale" motorcycle for the "respectable people" instead of those loud-piped hooligans drag racing on the highways.  (for what it's worth, the Goldwing would never lose this, and BMW would also develop a similar reputation.  Why?  Smooth and quiet.  Power?  Sure, at least most of them-- but smooth and quiet just means "respectable" to the American public.  I am totally okay with that, but I may be biased ).

 

This Goldwing wasn't the massive luggage-clad cattle-catcher-equipped, "see the road through a sliding glass door" windshield that the Goldwing would become.  It wouldn't be that for a while, actually.  At any rate, the GL1000-- an entire liter of Heaven-- was on the road, and folks were doing what they did when they wanted to go touring:  they were fitting whatever they could find to use for luggage and either dropping cafe fairings on the handlebars to help with bufetting or they fabricating or having fabricated fairing and windshields to fit the front.  (Now, I _love_ touring, and I don't mind luggage, but I detest both fairings and windshields, but I also accept that I am quite alone in that).

 

Two years later, Honda would release a Honda-branded windshield that would fit it-- customer demand had been incredible.  Eventually, they would have Craig Vetter (a race rider who felt that fairings-- scientifically-designed fairings-- were the key to making 100 mpg motorcycles and making motorcycles more appealing to the mainstream public) design and manufacture the luggage and the fairings for the GL1000, and the subsequent GL1100.  This meant that of all the manufacturers in the US market, only Honda and Harley Davidson offered such things directly through your dealer (granted, if you had a Harley, you were going to get police luggage and fairing, or one of those ridiculous batwing fairings, but still, no one else had anything better).

 

Project M1 (now P371) was still a hotbed for development.  The Goldwing, even with only 4 cylinders, still produced enough grunt that its new transmission had been carefully designed, tested, redesigned, over and over before being released.  New things had been learned, and while they would not immediately make their way into Project M1, they would eventually end up there.  The GL1000 cylinders were enlarged a bit, creating the GL1100 (because there was a sudden market demand to "break the liter" for the big power cruisers-- and that is something worth noting.  At that time, one bought "this type of motorcycle" for touring, and "that type of motorcycle" for showboating and hotdogging.  The Goldwing was the first bike in the American market that could do both, and do them extremely well.

 

Too bad it wouldn't last.

 

The engine was enlarged again just a couple of years later, providing the world with the GL1200 Goldwing: 1.2 liters of horizontally-opposed 4-cylinder bliss.  This time, the engine had actually undergone some re-design, so it wasn't just bored a bit.  It wasn't just the engine, either.  THis bike  was available with four different electrical packages as well.  The public had told HOnda in no uncertain terms that there would always be a market for the Goldwing.  WIth the new engine, there was considerable power increase.  This made the GL1200C (the "C" designates a "naked" Honda bike: no luggage; no fairings, no extras: just a plain old bike) the hotrod bike to have unless you were just going to make a straight-up hardcore racing machine, in which case there were lighter bikes with similar or better power output, all of which were easier to modify for performance.  It introduced a seat that to this day I think other manufacturers (including Honda) should _still_ be using as their benchmark for comfort.

 

One of the most collectable bits of motorcycle memorabilia, believe it or not, is an original Honda or Vetter (same thing, really) fairing for the GL1000 of GL11100 (because it's the same fairing for either bike).  It is not because these plexiglass hollowed-out translucent angelfish skulls are remotely attractive, mind you (I mentioned the angelfish skull aesthetic, right?), but because they are rare, and they are rare because after producing enough units to cover a year or two of production, Vetter's production facility burned to the ground.  If I remember correctly, Shoei was able to take over production of the luggage, but that wouldn't last long, either.

 

With the advent of the 1200, Honda fully understood that not only was there a touring market and a hotrod market, but there was a market sort of in-between that as well.  The GL1200C was released as a naked model, to get a jump on that third sector of naked touring or power cruising or whatever it was shaping up to be (mostly it was just us jackasses that loved really fast, really heavy motorcycles.  Now you all know).  There wasn't enough Vetter material to go around, and Honda designed their own fairing and luggage for the GL1200.

 

Now again, this isn't about the GoldWing, per se, so let's skip through this and tell you what an incredible machine it was (I have owned 2: one naked, one touring equipped.  It is probably my favorite dressed touring bike, even today), and that it ran for a few years, introduced fuel injection about mid-run, then took it away again the next year.  Gobs of power, smooth, soft ride, quiet, peaceful, terrifyingly powerful in its day.  Wonderful bike.  The only thing you had to worry about was your instrumentation: if your fuel gauge and your voltmeter ever went all the way to the edge in opposite directions, it meant there was a small electrical component that had fried and you were going to be dead in the water in a few minutes.   Fortunately, that component hasn't been made in a couple of decades now, so I haven't been in any hurry to buy another GL1200.

 

Project M1 languished a bit here.  The GoldWing itself was becoming the testbed for engineering and creativity.  Things learned from the reworking of the GL1200 lead to-- well, eventually the GL1200 gave way to something different-- something longer, wider, heavier, strangely more nimble, and in a whole different league of grunt and power.  The GL1500 GoldWing.  This massive touring machine looked almost like a car-- the sculpted and flowing panels and integrated non-removable luggage and wide-spaced marker and headlights reminded a lot of us of nothing as much it reminded us of a Ford Taurus (the early bubble-looking ones).  Even GoldWing enthusiasts were a bit cold to it at first.  But then....  Then we started riding them.  The power was insane.  At that time, only a true sportbike would beat it.  Harley didn't have anything close in power or comfort (or size or weight, really, but most manufacturers would take those last two as a win).  BMW sort of did, but by then their touring bikes were so niche that there were several different kinds-- want a full-dressed dirt bike?  BMW has you covered!  Sportbike with an oversized fairing and massive locking luggage?  Check out BMW!  Apparently during this entire period, their approach to competing with the GoldWing 1500 was to put massive slabs of lexan and a couple of steamer trunks onto every type of bike they made and hope someone wanted it.  They eventually figured out a direction for themselves, but man was that a fun era to go BMW shopping!

 

 

I know what you're thinking:  GL1500!  It's a 1.5 liter, right?

 

Yes.  It was a 1.5 liter.  It was a horizontally-opposed v-6.  It was a shaft drive.   Yes, this was not Project M1, finally born.

 

There were lots of differences.  Lots of similarities, but lots of differences.  The engine used two carbs.  M1 had a carb for each cylinder.  This engine was geared to run for miles at lower RPM to increase mileage.  M1 was geared to run best at 3000 to 3500 RPM: right at the edge of the powerband, for crisp response.  The GL1500 had a reverse!  And of course, the luggage and the fairings.  That was all extra weight that M1 was wary of.  The engine-- while very, _very_ strong, was de-tuned for longevity.  This was the antithesis of M1.

 

 

But the things learned from the GL1200 brought to life the GL1500, or at least brought to life the research that went into it.  The things learned both in technology and manufacturing in general, and in developing and improving the last two Goldwings---   There, the things needed to make M1 a reality were perfected.

In 1995, Honda released the Valkyrie.  This colossal 8-foot, some-odd-inches motorcycle featured the 1.5l horizontally-opposed six cylinder engine.  It featured the notchy, granite-solid tractor transmission and clutches that even the Goldwing didn't get quite right (for what it's worth, transmission swaps and final drive swaps are popular for the 1500 GoldWing, because the ones from the Valkyries are so much more solid and durable).  It featured the fuel tank on top of the bike, the comfort originally envisioned, the hot cams and valves and hotter timing-- everything that Project M1 was originally slated to be, but had to wait for time, technology, and manufacturing to catch up to the vision of a man in 1968.  A motorcycle that took almost thirty years to perfect.

 

I saw one completely on accident.  I hopped into the Honda dealer in Savannah to order a couple of parts for a project bike I was working on, and I was stunned.  I saw the 1500 engine and thought "oh, so Goldwing is getting in on the retro-kick with everyone else."  But on the way out, I saw the carburetors.  Six of them-- one for each cylinder.

 

Naaahhhh.....   It couldn't be.  Not after thirty years.  Nobody does that.  The wider, beefier rims, heavier, but far more solid than the ones on the 'Wing.  These would take a real beating.  Cleverly clamshelled to conserve weight.  I looked it over, and eventually realized I had been looking at it for over an hour.

 

I saw my girlfriend later that evening.  "What did you do today?"  

 

Oh, I ordered some bits for that dirtbike I'm trying to sell.  Saw my dream bike.

 

Yeah; right.  Dream bike.  Every bike is your dream bike.

 

Yes and no.  I love them all, but there is only one that has always gotten under my skin.  Apparently they make it now.

 

Hunh?

 

 

My parts were in the next week, so I raced down to the dealer and picked them up, and stared at that bike some more.  If it hadn't been black, it would have been perfect.  I poked into every nook and cranny.  I sat on it, astride it's very GoldWing-like girth and arms spread to the far ends of the beachcomber bars.  "I _am_ the Law!"  kept beating at the back of my teeth, but I didn't want to cause a scene.  Sales people came and talked to me, and the more I heard, the more I knew what this bike was, and the more I was in love.

 

I was _barely_ online in 95, but I was in and out of the library all the time.  I looked up everything I could find on the Honda Valkyrie, Project M1 and Project 371 (which was depressingly little; motorcycle magazines apparently had zero priority for preservation), but what I could find only confirmed what my heart wanted to be true:

 

Honda had built-- finally built-- project M1.  With absolutely no fanfare (and honestly, after twenty-seven years of "research," you really couldn't make a fuss, because you have built your own Duke Nukem Forever! scenario there: you cannot live up to the hype you accidentally created).

 

The bike wasn't a huge run bike (and honestly, most of the market saw it as a retro-version of the GoldWing, only stripped down, and weren't that interested.  That goofy TV show had everyone convinced that big-inch V-twins were the ultimate in power, so they were buying 1300 and 1800cc V-twins, and the guys on the sportbikes and the guys on the Valkyries were spanking the crap out of them on the track and on the street.  I can proudly say that Valk-- for all of it's insane mass (with a pilot, it's a half a ton of motorcycle) was able to spank quite a few sportbikes up until you broke into the 750 and up range.

 

I drooled over that bike.  A lot.  My girlfriend was learning to ride on a little Honda I had picked up, and we swung by the dealership to pick up an air filter and order a mirror and side cover for it (oopsie!  dropped it!).  I showed it to her.  The Valkyrie, I mean.  Project M1.  "Damn!" she said, softly.  "That is beautiful."

 

"Yes; yes, it is."

 

"And bigger than my car."

 

"Maybe."

 

I stared at it a while more.  I started to tell her about Project M1, about the article I had read over twenty years earlier, what I had learned through the library-- the stuff I have laid out here.  A sales guy settled into orbit, listened for a minute, and said "well, I don't think I can answer any questions _you_ have, Sir, but if you want to try, I'll be right over there...." and walked off.

 

 

Are you going to get one?

 

No; the price tag is ridiculous.  

 

Why?  What have you got you need money for?

 

Getting married?

 

Yeah; right.

 

 

 

Anyway, about 18 months later, we were engaged.  Six months after that, I had my work accident that crushed my spine.  After the surgeries and the therapies, I was finally able to walk again.  My doctors and I were also pretty sure that I wasn't ever going to ride again.  The most heartbreaking thing in the world for me was selling off my motorcycles (I had several at that point).

 

I worked a night shift in the winter of '98.  I came home, and my fiance wasn't there.  No big deal: she was a nurse, and was either still at work or was headed to work (our schedules were nuts back then).  I showered, opened a window, and went to bed.

 

At some point she woke me up.  She was all excited about something.  I groped about for a cane (I was on them more than I wasn't back then.  I haven't gotten completely away from them, but there are more days without than with).  What's up?

 

I got you something!

 

 

Why?  It's not my birthday.

 

It's a wedding present!

 

That's not for six months.

 

I couldn't wait!  Come one!  It's outside!

 

Now wait a damned minute.  You bought me something I don't need or want and for no occasion, and _I_ have to bring it inside?

 

No.  You bring this inside and I'll kill you.

 

oookkkayy........

 

I got dressed, hobbled out to the living room, and was surprised to see one of my brothers on the couch.  "Hey, David!  What are you doing here?"

 

He helped me get it home.

 

Ah, crap!  It's heavy, too?!

 

Just go!

 

and sitting outside was a 1998 Honda Valkyrie, C-model. burgandy and cream and absolutely gorgeous and I cried.  

 

Not because I'm weak or touched but because motorcycles are, bar none, my favorite thing in the world, and I had finally sold everyone I ever owned because I knew I would never be able to ride again, and if that is not understandable, I don't know how else to explain it.  That bike, there, in my yard (still running!), was in that moment like having a piece of my soul chiseled out and being beaten with it.

 

It's okay!  I don't care if you never ride it!  I don't!  I just-- I just wanted you to have it.

 

 

So let's skip ahead a bit here.  Within a few weeks, I was able to ride it.  I have over the years since become able to ride almost anything (except some of the more extreme sportbikes; my back won't take it).  I have ridden it almost daily since 1998.  It is everything twelve-year-old-me thought it would be, and more.  The magazines that covered it's release and did the early testing on it referred to it as variously "the Dragon," "The howling horror," and "The SS. Honda."  To me, it is my favorite big girl.  It is the instantly-revving high-performance engine from a formula one car, mated to the transmission from a tractor, wrapped in a deceptively-graceful chubby ballerina.  It is an engine made of lust, a transmission made of sheer willpower, and an exhaust system made entirely of Dee Snider.  It's just perfect.

 

During Covid, my wife had made a comment about how shabby she was looking while I was lamenting a little power loss and the growing temperamental nature, all related to having put over 600,000 miles on it.  There were a few scratches here and there (we don't have a garage, but we have plenty of those accursed pine trees!), a couple of stone dings-- some rusty spots on the chrome and elsewhere,-- you know: what you would expect after twenty-odd years and six-hundred thousand miles!

 

So I resolved to use this period of "can't go anywhere" to completely rebuild the engine, and to restore her back to showroom glory.  I can't say it was easy (remember: we don't have a garage), but I did it.  I did it _right_: the dinged rear fender did not get filled: it got replaced with an NOS fender I found in England, of all places- eight hundred and change for the pristine, never-painted fender and shipping, and four hundred bucks of flawless paint matching.  I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that it took two years to complete, and the look on her face, the satisfaction I get when people see it and ask how long I have had it--

I tell them I have had it since it was new in 1998.  My wife bought it for me as a wedding present.  

 

Do you want to sell it?

 

My wife bought it for me as a wedding present, I have almost 700,000 miles on it, and I keep it looking and running like this.  If my wife divorced me tomorrow, this bike is not ever going to be up for sale.  I love this machine so much that, as uncommon as they were when they were new, I still managed to track down two more for projects, just to ensure that I will never, ever be without one.  No.  It isn't for sale.  I dreamed of this bike since I was a twelve year old kid.  Not _any_ bike; I already had a bike.  _This_ bike.  My fiance bought it for me  before we got married.  it carried us on almost all of our vacations; it takes us on all of our dates.  It took my kids to school until they were too big to both get on here.  It took my daughter and her date to her prom; it looks like it will take my son and his date to his.  It won't be for sale after I'm dead, either.  If my kids don't want it, it is to be burned with me, even if it has to be smashed to pieces to do it.

 

I ride it for pleasure; I ride it for errands; I ride it to work.

 

And that's where I lost it to a hit and run driver in the parking lot.

 

 

[wcw43921]

This is a brilliant story.  You should see if you can sell it to a magazine--there's got to be a motorcycle mag that would run it.  Check the Writers' Market.

[Duke Bushido]

Thanks, WCW,

 

But mostly I took time,to do that to straighten my thoughts and attempt to change my mood.  It was a simple matter of reviewing video to get the information needed to ID the hit and run driver, and I am sitting here on doubled blood pressure meds (Doctot' s orders: pressure was so high my eyes were leaking blood.  I believe you could have murdered a choir in front of and not created this level of rage.  It has been three days now, and only constant supervision stops me from committing a grievous crime on the other side of the county.

 

 

[wcw43921]

I am sorry for the loss of your motorcycle--I should have said that in my first post here.  I don't think I've ever had a car that I've loved as much as you loved your bike.  That was an excellent piece of writing, though.

 

Again, I am sorry.