Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1980's

~ Greener grass: ~ Motor- ~ ~ cycling. . ~ In ~ ...... ..... $.0 0.. < . "\.14 I I Fra'nce By J am es Bradley It's just before noon in Le Man s, France. Three hours still to go in the Vingt-quatre H eures de Ia Mota, a. 24-hour race on th e same tra ck th at ho sts th e fa mous au race . An unu sual heat wav e ha s brought a dry, pounding sun. The large parking areas are baking, blowing dust poorly restrained by occassional tufts of grass. There are bikes and cars and bikes everywhere. Booths in the infi eld are sell ing T-shirts, posters, accessories, a nd mediocre food, or promoting Honda and Kawasaki motorcycles. The feeling is that of a major roadrace in California. Dusty beat, the sound of racebikes howling out of a hairpin and down the next straight, men and women ranging from scruffy to clean cut, in jeans, shorts, 'and loose, sleeveless T -shirts. Some watch intently, noting numbers and riders. Most are content to soak up the atmosphere, the fraternity of the event. A few lie ann-in-arm under the trees, eyes closed, oblivious to everything except the sense of being there. The sweat doesn't bead on my forehead in the sun because it is so dry, but there is no need to wonder about whether it is hot. Dousing my hair under a spigot, I find it is dry again in moments. I stop to buy a hat. There are some indications that it is not Ca lifornia. The hot dogs are served stuffed into holes poked in French bread by phallic aluminum skewers. Wine is sold where an American expects to find beer. Everyone is speaking French. But these things are superficial. . On the track, the riders look, well, like endurance racers. The good guys who made it through the night without breaking down or crashing are still riding well. No lap records, they've got to keep the motor and their wits together, but good consis. tent times. A couple of the stragglers are so obviously exhausted that it 's surprising each time they come around that they've managed to ride another lap without falling off the bike. They do it by going so slowly that in th e tighter corners a good Iatman on a moped could ride around them on the outside. Then comes the finish and the swarm of spectators onto the tra ck makes it hard for the racers to get back to their pits. The speeches by the victors are simple enough: "T han ks to all our sponsors; once Honda had broken down during the night we knew we had a chance. We just tried to keep riding as well as we could and hoped th e bike wo u ld be ab le to take the heat. We had a littl e luck and it worked out." The gates to the track are jammed. The parking area has become a dust storm knotted with cars and people and bikes. Eventually we're out and on the road. The highway south from Le Mans to Tours resembles a midwestern two-lane road, straightaways linked by curves, gently-rolling hills, small farms, and trees , now along the ~0~4, nq~ off o{l.a hill. The towns look different. The narrow streets are lined with stone bui ldings and walls, often hundreds of years old. Here and there you see a cafe or bakery. No McDonalds. No Dodge dealers. Groups of motorcyclists, ja zzed b y the race, are speeding a little crazily. The co ps are waiting for them. The . scene is not unfamiliar. I stop to watch so me of th e bik es /1:0 by GPzs, Secas, GSs , Beem ers. There isn 't a CBIIOOR, VFIOOOR , RZ500, or Bimota to be seen . There ar e numer ous Ducatis and few Harley-David sons, but geography a lo ne cou ld expl ain that. Most of the riders are wearing jeans , boots, and a jacket : either leather or nylon. The full leathers I expected to see everywhere pass occasionall y, but the y a re far fro m standa rd attire. Everyone has on a helmet. Young mothers and ol d men a li ke' are smiling and waving. There a re no self-righteous shakes of th e head . No one recoils in hor ro r as a quartet of GPzs reels in a line of cars on an uphill straight at well in excess of the legal limit. A IO-year-old boy at roadside' is warning riders o f a speed trap, making a palms-down motion with his outstretched hand, as if he were dribbling a basketball in slow motion. The riders wave th eir th anks and roll off th e gas. Even th e a u to p h iles, ~ an y of th em , a re sm iling. T his part o f th e sce ne cou ld n' t h app en in Amer ica. Most o f it, how ever, is quite simila r. Th e myth is th at a ll European riders have full y-faired near-racehikes , fu ll leathers, and never slow below 140 kph excep t to ea t or bu y ga s. The gene ra l tas te does favor spo rt bikes, but it's not a monopol y, a t least not here in France. In cities especially man y riders a re mor e co nce rned with st yle th an performance. Some . bu y cr uisers, but th e preference is for brightly co lored dual-purpose bikes, the bigger the better. The proper attire for riding one of these incl ud es jeans, a simulated army surplus jacket, a bright helmet, and big plastic motocross boots. At first g la nce it seems exotic eno ug h . In real ity, th ough, th ese bikes serve th eir o wne rs very much as cr u isers do in America. It 's true that ther e are more full yfaired sportbik es than we see here, but most o f th e fairings are aftermarket. The not abl e excep tion at th e moment is th e 500 Interceptor, wh ich is so ld in Europe with a sli ck full fairing. Be prep ared to take out a second mort gage o n your house if you, fall down on it and need a new one. So wh at a bo u t a ll those sixty-fourdollar hyperbikes?They have th e same a ppea l for most Fren ch rid ers as th ey do for Americans. They're something to dr eam about. " Bea u tifu l, no? If I had th e mon ey.,;" Fran ce on lygo t 200 VFI ooORs. At cu rrent excha nge rates, .

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