Glynn Kerr on motorcyle design.

Glynn Kerr

Via: Economic Times

"Since 1922, small, economical motorcycles have been rolling off the production lines of a previously disused textiles factory in Zschopau, Germany. Under the brand name DKW, production was up to 60,000 units a year by 1929, making it the largest pre-war motorcycle manufacturer in the world.

There was nothing fancy about these two-stroke models, and when Zschopau found itself part of communist East Germany from 1949 onwards, their continuing austerity was assured. Nonetheless, these cheap and cheerful twowheelers provided essential transport for the masses in the Soviet Block, and exports proved successful too. Motorradwerk Zschopau, or MZ as it became known, had a distinct if humble image, and the ES125/150 became the highest sold German motorcycle of all time.

In 1970, production figures passed the one million mark, a second million following in 1983. Over the years, MZ became the epitome of no-frills motorcycling, and the company found a ready market with cash-strapped , if not particularly fashionconscious commuters.

During the 1990s, the company decided to rise from its lowly origins and aim up-market , a move partially dictated by rising production costs following the reunification of East and West Germany. Initial projects such as the Saxon, using a 500cc Rotax fourstroke , were logical progressions from the earlier models, with simplicity and function still being the primary characteristics. The ultimate development of the single was the Skorpion, which used a 660cc Yamaha engine in a neat, tubular frame designed by Tigcraft. The package was completed with clean, modern styling by UK consultants Seymour-Powell .

Progressing from a single to a twin cylinder engine was understandable as the next move forwards, although the decision to make it a one-litre supersport model was perhaps overstepping the mark. With an engine developed and built in-house , and angular New-Edge styling by Peter Naumann, the 1000 S was aimed directly at established Ducati and BMW territory.

Here, there was already strong competition from the likes of Aprilia, Triumph and Buell, none of which had decades of low-tech utilitarian image to overcome. It was like Skoda trying to build a Ferrari-killer , and despite some earlier racing history, MZ was always going to have a hard time pulling this off. Far from having created a bad product, the company was trying to be something it was not, and expected the transition to happen overnight.

Unfortunately, the results have proven fatal. MZ has announced it will close its doors as of the end of 2008, when its current Malaysian patrons, Hong Leong Industries, will withdraw their support, and state subsidies are due to end. Unless a buyer comes forward and quickly, it appears that the demise of yet another historic marque has been accelerated by having aspirations above its station.

There are plenty of other examples where inconsistency between reality and image has compromised the product, if not the whole company. Quite what Kawasaki was thinking when it turned the reliable VN-series cruisers into the Drifter, a 1940s Indian Chief look-a-like , isn't clear.

The Drifter appeared alongside two other counterfeits - the Estrella 250, a modern interpretation of the 1957 NSU Supermax, and the W650, a celebration of a sixties' Triumph. The fact that the W650 was actually closer in spirit to those classic vertical twins than Triumph's own Bonneville when it appeared a couple of years later is immaterial. As part of the Kawasaki range, all they achieved was to confuse the line-up , and dilute the company's own identity.

While we're talking Triumph, the philosophy behind the new Thunderbird is also hard to understand. When John Bloor bought the company in the 1980s, he also acquired a long heritage, and with that came expectations of continuing the tradition.

Triumphs were popular among US riders in the sixties because they were light, fast, and sporty, and because they weren't styled like an American cruiser. So the guys in Hinckley seem to have missed the point. While the proportions and detailing of the new Thunderbird have been beautifully executed, the bike concedes all tradition to cater unashamedly to the American taste.

Rather than taking its cues from Harley-Davidson directly, the new design is closer to some of the Japanese custom models, and as such, becomes a clone of a clone. What it mostly resembles is a Kawasaki, which is an interesting reversal of the W650 enigma.

The worst cases of dishonest design are usually born out of desperation, where small bikes try to imitate large ones, and just come out looking fake. Yamaha managed to get away with dummy air ducts on the original V-Max , even though they were the focal point of the whole design, but many of the models it influenced have been far less convincing. Cagiva's Roadster looked plain ridiculous, especially with it's diminutive 125cc twostroke , although mock intake trumpets did nothing to enhance Guzzi's 750 Nevada either.

Frames are another area where manufacturers try to pull the wool over our eyes. Many a steel tube hides behind a fake plastic cover, intended to give the impression of an aluminium box section, with variable levels of success. Likewise, the mock Benelli-like frame "casting" on Suzuki's Gladius, unveiled at this year's Cologne Intermot, doesn't look too convincing as a load-bearing structure, and is nothing more than a stylised cover.

Exhausts are another area of deception. Twin silencers sprouting from a single exhaust pipe always seem pretentious and unnecessary. Fortunately, the practice died out in the seventies, but not before Guzzi ruined the Nuovo Falcone by adding a double can on the right hand side. The single fishtail on my '59 Falcone Sport worked so much better.

Honesty in design is simply a matter of showing things for what they are. There's a thin line between enhancing the appearance of certain parts, and disguising them to look like something else. Perhaps this is why we all appreciate racing bikes - there's nothing on them that doesn't have a clear purpose.

On a corporate level, honesty is also a question of analysing the DNA of a brand, and producing models that help enforce the coherency of its image. That image can evolve over time, but only within certain boundaries at each step. Trying to turn MZ into a Ducati competitor overnight was a policy doomed to failure. Whether it's an entire branding philosophy or just styling, honesty really does seem to be the best policy."

Glynn Kerr is one of the world’s leading motorcycle designer’s and also a renowned columnist and commentator of motorcycles and bike culture.