Knowledge is power.
Excuse us whilst we get a little introspective here on Motofire for a moment. It’s the end of what has been a fascinating year for us – and for the world as a whole – and well… If you can’t get a little sentimental on New Year’s Eve then when can you?
This amazing video popped up on our Facebook feed this morning and we can’t help but feel that it echoes a lot of how we feel about life. And we’re proud to say that we associate very strongly with the guy who starts at the rear of the grid for this Flat Track race.
At the front of the pack are two riders who are all supremely kitted up in tidy, one-piece leathers and matching Suzuki GSXR’s. These guys look legit. They’re the kind of people who you see day in day out who make you feel just a little bit uncomfortable with yourself – like they somehow know something that you don’t. They’ve got all the kit and you know full well that if they were riding with you, they’d be stopping every few miles to let you know just how ‘epic’ that last corner was for them, or how amazing their new, fresh-out-the-box suspension upgrade feels over the stock machine’s.
They don’t seem to enjoy the ride, they just seem to enjoy telling everyone how much better they are than the rest of you.
Then, just a little further behind are the guys who actually seem to know something that even the chaps upfront don’t…
The Supermoto machines that they’re riding really look the business. If you’re going to have to carve up some dirt on track, then surely these are the motorcycles that you’d want to be piloting? With their off-road spec’d kit and open-faced lid with goggles, it’s pretty clear to all watching that these two riders are the ones who really have their game on point.
But you can’t just shake the feeling that perhaps they’re trying just a little too hard. Sometimes All The Gear, No Idea is as pointless as having a clue but not knowing how to solve the puzzle.
But just look at the man at the end.
At the back of the pack of five – on his own – is a man wearing ridiculous, NFL-esque armour, draped in a yellow jersey and with a bike that looks like it’s been built by himself in his back yard. Skinny tyres sit upfront and his handle-bars look bent beyond recognition. This guy is clearly an idiot who has bitten off way more than he can chew by even entering this race with the very-obvious-professionals who sit on the grid in front of him.
[fbvideo link=”https://www.facebook.com/racingclip/videos/697173297127135/” width=”688″ height=”433″ onlyvideo=”1″]
It’s almost as if by breaking all of the supposed rules, trying something new and not giving a **** about the established status-quo the man in yellow has proved that a maverick might just be what the race needs.
One day, we’ll all be riding like the dude in yellow.
If you can be anything in life, always choose to be the man in yellow. It doesn’t matter what other people think of you, or if you give off the impression that you really know what you’re doing; when all you’ve done is just invest in what someone else told you was the ‘right kit’.
What matters is that you believe in yourself, believe in your ideas and have the courage to stand up for your convictions.
Now if that isn’t a metaphor for life (or at the very least the market that Motofire has been in for the past year) then we don’t know what is!
We’re like a motorcycling Hans Christian Andersen.
Fire it up in the comments below:
When Projects Creep Out of Control
Is ‘more’ always better?
Back in 2008, after more than a decade working in the motorcycle industry, I finally bought my first brand new bike. Like the kid in the proverbial candy store, I wandering through my local motorcycle dealer with my stomach in knots knowing that one of these shiny, magnificent machines would be mine. And like so many people tilted by emotion, despite years of experience and insider knowledge, or perhaps because of it, I let excitement take over the decision making process. I bought a motorcycle far beyond my needs.
It was not long after taking possession of my Yamaha FZ-1 that I realized my mistake. The bike was technically faultless, the problem lay in that it was not at all what I needed. With a tiny fuel capacity and very firm ride it was a lousy touring rig (especially in Quebec where road surface quality is akin to a bombed out airstrip), but conversely it was too bulky and heavy to flick into corners on curvy A roads. It was bigger, faster, incorporated superior suspension and materials technology than it’s predecessor, the Fazer 1000 I helped develop years earlier, an yet somehow the new package was less motorcycle.
When you ask motorcyclists what they want in a new bike, the answer is always “more”. More power, more space, more features. The only thing they don’t want more of is cost. It makes sense, after all we all want more of a good thing. With motorcycles problems often arise when designers and engineers are tasked with piling on those ever increasing specifications to an existing model. This mission creep can, if not managed carefully by a strong project leader, end with a product so packed with features and high specification that it can do everything, but none of it particularly well.
The 1998 – 2004 Yamaha FZS600 Fazer was a wildly successful motorcycle design. At a time when entry level, middle displacement (500cc to 650cc) street bikes were either extremely basic or used obsolete technology, the Fazer delivered modern handling and performance in a user-friendly package. Featuring the engine and brakes from Yamaha’s YZF600R Thundercat, and a compliant chassis made of steel pipe to keep costs down, the little Fazer sold like mad satisfying a wide array of beginners and experienced riders alike.
With motorcycles the temptation is always to add more performance.
Yamaha introduced a mildly revised version two years later, along with the aforementioned larger, 1000cc version. Honda blatantly copied the Fazer formula of packaging supersport technology into an inexpensive package with the CB600F Hornet. Yamaha saw sales plummet, so along with a dozen other designers and engineers I was brought into a group to create the next, all-beating Fazer.
And that’s when the wheels came off the cart.
A whirlwind tour of European cities took place in which we interviewed hundreds of entry-level 600cc customers. The specification list grew longer and longer each day, as the demands of existing users piled on. More fuel tank range! More wind protection! More cargo carrying capacity! And of course… more power! Always more power.
Back at headquarters, the project leader handed over the design brief. As a very young designer I was confused. The new Fazer would now have an R6 motor. It would feature an all aluminum, Deltabox frame, lightweight R6 rims and a 180 section rear tire. Projector headlights. LEDs. Twin, under seat stainless steel exhausts. The brief read like the spec sheet from a top-of-the-line flagship project, not the replacement for Yamaha Motor Europe’s best selling motorcycle.
This is project creep, and it happens when an organization is beset by fear and acts out of ignorance of the big picture. The reasoning behind this phenomenon seems sound: if your opponent has three guys with knives, you better make sure you have six. It makes sense until you discover that you only have enough food for four, and so field six starved, exhausted guys against three strong and healthy ones. In manufacturing history there are hundreds of examples of this, the most famous of which may be the case of the Ford Edsel. It had more of everything than any of its competitors, and yet was so much less car.
With motorcycles the temptation is always to add more performance. After all, motorcyclists are fundamentally sold on the thrill of speed and aggressive handling. The problem is that too much performance makes most motorcycles into unmanageable, sphincter-clenching torture devices. Among our tribe few are skilled enough to exploit even half of the potential of modern bikes, which makes adding high performance to models destined for the rest of us an academic exercise. Of course our egos won’t allow us to admit it, but inside we are terrified of opening the throttle fully mid-corner. So we don’t, and wobble around on large, expensive bikes that not only don’t satisfy, but fill us with regret because we cannot master the objects of our desire.
At the cruiser end of the spectrum, the height of the chopper era saw mature, fully grown manufacturers launch models that were laden with Edsel-like heapings of features. The Honda Rune was presented as the end-all, be-all of the cruiser genre. According to Honda America’s Ray Blank, they “…wanted to set the bar higher than ever, erecting standards that no one else had yet imagined.”.
The result was a seven foot long, 400 kg, six cylinder monster that boasted 50% more torque than Honda’s then flagship superbike.
It was literally the most cruiser you could buy from any mainstream manufacturer, and yet its’ excess was its failure. At $30,000 (US) it wasn’t more expensive than a range topping Harley-Davidson, but the market balked at its bulk and cornucopia of pointless styling. Honda had failed completely to stop the design at some stage and roll it back, asking the team to refocus on what make people yearn to cruise on a motorcycle: the simple joy of sitting astride a large mechanical powertrain suspended between two chunky tires. The Chopper is, by definition, a bike “chopped” down to its basic, core elements. A little baroque styling and flair is cool, but it is not the main attraction.
As an industry, the motorcycle business is not very good at learning the lesson of project creep. The endless fight to produce the sexiest products in the marketplace inevitably drive an arms race that produces some great innovation but also squeezes out lots of poorly conceived motorcycles. If a bike comes out with a strong styling direction that hits the market like a storm, then simply copying it only with a more extreme execution is not going to work. When a competitor eats your lunch, as the Honda Hornet did when it replicated the original Yamaha Fazer concept in 2003, then just doubling down on everything is not going to win the market back.
How did we end up in a place where an entry-level street bike comes with racing style, upside-down forks and a mouse pad for a seat?
The second generation FZS600 (called the FZ6 in North America) that debuted in 2005 with all those crazy upmarket features did well in Europe for a few years, but alienated a lot of customers who loved the original Fazer’s rugged, approachable simplicity. They flocked to the second generation Suzuki SV650S, which was a better Fazer than the new FZ6 (ironically, the Suzuki’s styling was almost a copy of the updated original Fazer). By 2008, Yamaha introduced the FZ6R, a confusingly named but genuine successor to the formula that was simple, cheap, versatile and easy to use. It quietly dropped the over-spec’ed FZ6 Fazer without a replacement a year later.
In the market battlespace, project creep is easily seen in the most hotly contested areas. The 250cc class ballooned to 300cc because Kawasaki needed to edge out the class leading Honda CBR250. Then KTM launched the RC390, resplendent in its superior specification. The new Honda CBR250RR presented this winter is a very far cry from the CBR250 I tested in 2011. In five short years, the baby Honda sport bike went from being what I called “the missing link”, a motorcycle for everyone that the industry so badly needed, to being a mini CBR1000RR World Superbike contender.
I love the look of the CBR250RR, and if I am completely honest I want one rather badly. But how did we end up in a place where an entry-level street bike comes with racing style, upside-down forks and a mouse pad for a seat? I suspect it has a lot to do with looking ahead instead of behind. I’ve seen this show and I know the ending. In five years time the 250cc class will be dead again, because it will have priced itself out of the marketplace.
Getting excited and dreaming of the ultimate motorcycle is the job, but it is also the duty of manufacturers to deliver products people can actually afford and use. The ultimate anything is, as the word suggests, the last of the line. And winning the battle for the ultimate product is meaningless if you destroy the consumer base as a consequence.
Fire it up in the comments below:
Ladies and Gentleman, motorcycling.
So many things to say, so few cares left to give, but c’mon people? Is this really want we think passes as a way to attract people to a biking festival?
Sure, as the guys from the Two Enthusiasts podcast so eloquently put it in their latest episode, ‘people like to see boobs’. But do you know a better way to double your boob quota for an event?
Yep – like the same guys from the same podcast also suggest – why not produce an environment that’s inclusive to women and may actually encourage them stick around and pay an interest towards these wonderful, two-wheeled machines.
Also, Bridgestone? You should know better. Even Pirelli have stopped that nonsense with their calendar now and moved on to something far more interesting.