A day in the sun.

Motorcycles used to be single brand things in the store. In the UK of my youth any self respecting high street would have several such stores from Triumph (died in 1983), BSA (1972), Matchless (1966) and Royal Enfield (1971) for the lowest demographic, through to the Velocette (1971), AJS (1969) and Norton (1975) stores for the higher tuned machines with racing aspirations, then onto the high end which meant Vincent (1955) and BMW (which continues merrily to this day).

With one exception, all the great British marques failed owing to crappy engineering, with little reinvestment in modern production machinery and newer designs, the same curse which destroyed most of British industry while louche aspirants to power like Margaret Thatcher saw to it that Britain became a financialized nation centered in London, making precisely nothing, while shuffling paper denominating debt and real estate.

The one exception was Vincent which went under because of that generic British curse, lousy management. But without doubt, above all these self-inflicted wounds, the one machine which destroyed British motorcycle manufacture was the Honda CB750 of 1969, an across the frame, air cooled four which did all the things British machines did not. It started first thing, sported a powerful engine, had an electric starter, was reliable as a hammer and never leaked oil. Honda got there after making smaller predecessors like their fine 125, 175, 250 and 400 multis, all leading up to the killer 750.

So now the high street line up – this is the early 1970s – found one brand stores from Honda, Yamaha, Kawasaki and Suzuki, the ‘Big Four’, all making superb, powerful, beautifully executed multis. And, of course, BMW, with its staid but reliable and oh-so-well-made twins.

Then the accountants started to take over and today the single brand store no longer exists, unless you consider Harley-Davidson and the ever failing Indian. We can disregard those as they are restricted to PTSD sufferers who were once pawns of the Pentagon, fighting yet another losing war while having their guts vaporized along with their grey cells, such as they were.

They buy motorcycles not to ride but to commiserate.

For the other big name manufacturers, the chances that you will find many brands under one roof are high. One such (very large) roof is GOAZ Motorcycles near my home in Scottsdale, Arizona where on one lot you will find Triumph (resurrected and alive), BMW, Aprilia, KTM, Ducati, Vespa/Piaggio, the Big Four and Ducati. And let’s not forget the Ural, a Russian piece of garbage with a sidecar sold only to the criminally insane.

Every fall, in the first week of autumn (the start of our riding season, as you can no longer fry an egg unaided on the sidewalk), GOAZ holds a vintage motorcycle show where exhibitors (like me) are required to pay a $15 entry fee to show their old machines. Strange economics. Shouldn’t the gawking visitors be paying? It’s a fun show not least because Harleys and their owners are not welcome (there’s the world’s largest HD dealership next door for these knuckle draggers, complete with tattoo parlor and wedding chapel. The dealership actually makes more money from clothing sales than from bikes but the profit leader is the service section because, you know, Harleys make pre-war British bikes look like exemplars of reliability. No, I am not making any of this up.)

The 2018 fall show was held today and my much ridden 1975 BMW R90/6 was again on display, accompanied by lovely old Ducatis, Benellis, Moto Guzzis, British bikes aplenty, lots of vintage Japanese iron, Vespa and Lambretta scooters and on and on.

All snaps on the iPhone7 in HDR mode.