THE BIKE - A MESSAGE
Whilst the development of technique and performance began to affect the bike’s appearance, there were also instinctive and financial urges to make that appearance desirable. The manufacturers knew that visual appeal helped to sell their product. Experience and discussion among the early riders devised home-spun improvements, that either added to or detracted from the manufactured appearance of their bikes. They were re-defining the message, both visually and in its spoken language. Intrinsic with this is their understanding; latter day riders know that drag bars aren’t somewhere you hang out, and that bananas are for sitting on. Such components add up to a pictorial statement of intention.
There has been mention of craft, in so much as the maintenance and repair of bikes goes beyond simply tightening nuts and bolts. Within this we have seen the alteration, addition and removal of components, both commercially and privately. Whilst external parts alter the bike’s appearance, internal modifications require a dexterity and knowledge. That knowledge often comes as a result of trial and error, but in creating a more effective machine (for whatever purpose) the owner gleans skills as a crafts person. The tidier the work, for example in polishing engine internals, the better the performance result (power and dance-wise).
This ability is still evident, even though technology is so far advanced that the amateur will usually not have the necessary tooling to produce it. Upside-down forks and single-sided swinging arms are just two of the more easily spotted components that speak of the quest for better handling. Such mass-produced items may appear to smudge out individualism, but it has to be acknowledged that a common goal is going to produce commonalities. And the bike as the medium for the message is a shared canvas. The actual set-up of the parts once fitted to the bike is variable. It might only be detectable through the bike’s behaviour, but the individualism remains. And it is a curios fact of nature, that no two bikes off the same production line will be the same - even competition technologists cannot provide the perfect spare machine.
A motorcycle as a medium has intrinsic information that we can use concerning its purpose, and to some extent the nature of its owner. Each machine has a distinct look, but it is made of separate parts. So the message (the bike) is like a statement, made of words or signs that are in its physical components. The motocrosser for example, has knobbly tyres for extra grip due to its off-road use. Wide bars are fitted to assist control and the suspension is jacked up to allow greater ground-clearance over rough terrain. So anyone who knows about bikes will know instantly what this bike is about. They will also know what to say to its owner, because of its message.
Roadsters are a little harder to disseminate. There are several messages, however they suit definitive purposes. Slight variations and additions give clues; for example panniers say it’s probably touring. A luggage rack indicates some practical use like occasional shopping or camping, while the absence of any component other than functional ones suggests pure biking. Some bike messages are distinguished by an absence, rather than any addition of characters. Beyond the bobber or other naked speed sacrifice, the speedway bike speaks of courage, having no brakes.
So the variety of bike-types have different messages, and the components used in their construction contribute to or even alter the overall message. They are signs that our minds interpret with particular meanings. Semiology is the analysis of signs; it is something that academics aspire to, while those at the heart of any culture understand it naturally. Through the process of semiology - that is, reading signs, our brain assembles and deconstructs in the same instant, as we consciously or unconsciously analyse messages. An accustomed ear can recognise a variety of bikes without looking, but when a Biker sees a bike, they instantly know much more. In a visual context, they’re reading what’s called non-verbal communication.
The use of appearance over practicality sets the custom machines in a world apart. Petrol tanks of a reduced size contributed to the minimalist appearance of choppers and other customs, and were the canvass where bike-art moved from sculpted engineering into the mural or painted stage. Single or dual colours like purple, red, and not-so-bikey pink, began appearing. Wolves, Amerindians and the Star Spangled Banner glared out, and fantastic creatures like dragons and space-aliens were allowed to flow off the tank onto the rest of the frame. These thematic contexts followed similar patterns to the way that bands were putting concept albums together. It’s not that those people were un-bike-like in the head, as their machines were usable. It’s an expression of self, which, as a vehicular decoration, is probably the greatest canvas of Biker culture beyond personal appearance.
Whilst a race-special might be ridden more aggressively in terms of speed than a custom bike, they in turn were ridden with a socially aggressive pose. The chopper’s laid back position created a who-cares sort of glower. Suddenly, bikes didn’t just look or sound individual; they now exuded it from every nut and bolt. The political and cultural state of Bikerdom reveled in this, and the bike as a statement became a contentious monster all over again.
Scooters were also treated to some customisation, with enough mirrors to see into the past and mural-painted panels. Some were stripped naked, but most in the possession of Mods went for the fur and mirror look, the Union Jack and roundels as per RAF plane identification making regular appearances in contrast to the swastikas and German crosses on some bikes. It wasn’t that either party assumed W.W.II roles and identities in their alleged battles. The Iron Cross has a particular attraction with or without any undertones, however the roundel did have a Brit ideal in the mind of the patriotic Mod.
The trike in its latter-day concept began to emerge in the 1970’s. Whilst motor tricycles had existed from the start, trikes are a kind of aftermath to the combos and three-wheeled cars that had been race-tweaked or visually customised. When the trike came, it had a leaning towards the chopperised custom bike. The amount of one-off fabrication and bastardisation of parts involved in creating a trike dictated this. Rear axles from cars like Jaguar and Reliant meant more solid wheels (often the polished alloy items from custom cars) were used. With a greater surface area, the trike can reach mural proportions aligned with the Bayeux Tapestry.
Setting aside art or need, there is also a sense of humour in the custom machine. It is sometimes accidental, like the kid who rode a moped with ape-hangers on. Or it could be in the name and appearance of the machine, like the trike called Captain Penis. Some machines have camouflage netting draped over them, and an amazing matte black trike called Jus’ Takin’ The Piss, has a car engine and wheels, with a frame that rises into a sort of cage. There was seating for about ten people. A long throw from the slick, low ‘n’ mean chopper. Skeleton-like appendages, furry seats and other curiosities are often just exaggerations of the machine’s aspects; or a thought that tickled the owner, like the bike covered in crochet work. It’s the incongruity of some additions, rather than their appeal, that makes them say ‘yes’ when they should be saying ‘no’. This is because they affirm the ideal of not taking anything (yourself included) too seriously. Some bikes carry a written statement, even if it’s just a comment on the number-plate. These may be skits on advertising, like: The Car in Front is Now Behind. Or a phrase describing how the owner sees the machine: Goddam Sexual Tyrannosaurus, or maybe a jab at other road users: Eat My Shorts.
As customising progressed and became more popular, motorcycle manufacturers began a tradition of factory customs like the Kawasaki LTD and later Yamaha Virago. The manufacturers unfortunately ignored the engine tuning that often accompanies visual alterations. They associated custom with retro, and retro with slow. So in the naked tradition, the streetfighter evolved, based on sportier bikes with expressive paint jobs. Similar bikes were eventually manufactured by the makers, like Ducati’s Monster and the Triumph T509 - yet even these are still modified by their owners. There are times when only a personal message will do.
Since the 80s, a GRP mask has grown over the naked concept. It became almost indecent to see a flash of frame work. From Suzuki’s Katana range to the MV Agusta 750 F4 of 1998, sexy has become the in word among bike journalists to describe such machines. This is the new face of biking that some feel to be a shift away from the essential Biker ethos. But it was spawned by the wave of super-bikes, who were begat by the ever increasing engine capacities of the 1950’s parallel twins - which demonstrates that even unaltered bikes speak of heritage and pedigree. Bike catalogues bulge with add-ons for these sports and touring bikes, many of them performance or ergonomically defined, that still entice people to customise; they corroborate the dream-reality that Bikers aspire to.
Before we all begin fiddling with bike identities, the manufacturers have a hand in their personas. Names like Hawk, Swift, Gadabout, Tiger, Thundercat, Monster, Electraglide and Fireblade were created to tell us what we were getting for our money. They reflect the endeavours of the makers to create bikes for specific uses, and speak differently to the numeric specifications used; T120, GS 1000, YZF R1, SX 200. Machines also acquire not-so-flattering names like camel, if they don’t make the grade. Others are dubbed affectionately, like the Hog (Harley-Davidson), Trump and Gixer (Suzuki GSXR).
Whether or not a machine has been breathed on, and even whilst it is not in motion, it speaks. Exposed areas of frame and engine have a rugged aggression. Even the rubbed-away paint and crudities of an antique machine quaintly convey a message. It could perhaps be buried in the history of the engine, the first examples of which were created by similar engineering tools used to make war-engines, like the cannon.
There are two basic ways of reading the bike. Some people see them as an item beyond their own persona, like a vacuum cleaner or fishing rod - pretty useful when they need them. Others feel an almost bio-mechanical oneness with them - even when parked out of sight, they are not out of mind. It’s the difference between a toy and a way of life. However it may be read, the essential motorcycle is not to be regarded under any pretension, or for any purpose beyond being ridden. After we’ve said how pretty, ugly or weird it may be, it still says to us: Get on, and get going.