Why is it that whenever I look at a modern sports motorcycle I think it wants to bite me? Maybe it’s the headlamps, like eyes scowling from the front of the fairing; or those indicators and grills, like talons and teeth waiting to grab me. Whatever’s creating it, there’s an impression of attack, of aggression and hostility. But if this truly is the intention, what is it for?
Despite only accounting for one percent of the total number of road users, motorcyclists suffer nearly twenty percent of all road death. It’s not young riders either, most casualties are among higher age groups, those that can afford to buy and run powerful machines. And the accidents are not necessarily at night when visibility is poor or due to the rider losing control. Many happen during the day, in fact, fatalities involving motorcycles are more likely to happen at road junctions on weekdays, where the machine is in collision with another vehicle. So, is this the reason some motorcycles seem to be on the attack, as a way of dealing with such a hostile environment, one where the odds are stacked so heavily against them?
Certainly when you look at the naming of some bikes, you get the impression that they are set on a path of confrontation rather than appeasement; a show of might that will not only warn of their presence but also challenge any other road user that gets in the way. Triumph, for example, has a motorcycle called the Street Triple - not the Avenue or Road Triple; this bike is on the ‘streets’, the tough and unforgiving world of the imagination, where a man wants ‘respect’. Similarly, Honda has the Fireblade, Suzuki its Bandit and Kawasaki the Ninja, all designed to ‘meet-head-on’ and not wait around long enough to become a victim. Even race track inspired motorcycles have names associated with predator dominance rather than the superb technology of the machines themselves. Suzuki’s Hayabusa is named after the fastest bird of prey in the world, the deadly Peregrine Falcon, and its front fairing and headlamp are shaped to be very hawk like. But, as in all cases, attack is only really sensible when the enemy is weaker, or at best equal in strength.
Stealth is something much sought after in military terms and, because of their size, motorcycles have stealth by the bucket load. The Americans have invested billions of dollars in the development of ‘invisible’ bombers, and the result has been machines that are capable of delivering a decisive victory; of winning – they have an excellent chance of coming off best. Some sports motorcycles have lots in common with the stealth bomber: they are aggressive and moody looking; they have suitably bellicose names; they are operated by people with black helmet visors; and they are very hard to see, especially from other vehicles they are travelling towards. And it is for this reason that the similarity ends because the motorcycle, in contrast to the bomber, is often destroyed in the attack and its pilot sometimes killed. So, with this in mind, there’s probably something wrong in trying to create an image of warlike response to the motorcycle’s plight on the road.
Naming a motorcycle Ninja or Bandit or referring to a machine as a ‘street fighter’ is like calling a ship Titanic – it’s asking for trouble. Ships should be given names like, The Saucy Sue, an almost silly little monocle that accepts vulnerability, one that in reality is saying, Dear Sea, You Are All Powerful, Please Don’t Let Me Sink. Motorcycles should then be called things like the Blythe Spirit 750, or the Lady Jane 400, sending a message to the rider that their machine is a respectfully passive object in a hostile world. Whether the motorcycle’s image creates the rider or the rider is simply getting the motorcycle that reflects their own attitude does not really matter, it’s an obvious mistake to make bikes that seem to be on a war footing. With the right approach, headlamps on and keeping a constant lookout, man and machine should be able to successfully navigate any danger.
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