PERSONALISATION
‘Across the spectrum of categories, the desire to personalise our rides is a natural phenomenon, whether that’s to improve its function or looks, or just to put our individual stamp on it.’ Design guru Glynn Kerr discusses this ubiquitous phenomenon
THE TITLE THAT NATURALLY suggested itself for this article was ‘Customisation’. But for those of us who grew up with the image of Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper crossing the United States to do ... whatever it was they crossed the United States to do, that word carries some immediate connotations. Wildly extended forks, banana seats and peanut tanks have now been irrevocably burned into the brain cells whenever the word ‘custom’ crops up. But that’s just one genre. Across the spectrum of categories, the desire to personalise our rides is a natural phenomenon, whether that’s to improve its function or looks, or just to put our individual stamp on it.
This desire has been increasingly recognised by manufacturers as a lucrative side-line, to the point where some bikes are developed for that very purpose: a sort of selfpropelled Christmas tree, on which to hang all those attractive baubles. Whether in chrome, carbon-fibre (either real or in ‘carbon-look’), or billet aluminium, we just can’t stop ourselves lavishing our two-wheel mistresses with all those off-the-shelf goodies. And the manufacturers, along with after-market suppliers, are more than happy to take our cash to feed our addiction. Rumour was that Harley-Davidson made higher profits from their merchandising than their motorcycles, although if so, it probably depends on the year in question. Either way, after-market sales are now a major part of many manufacturers’ balance sheets.
One reader wrote asking for some general design pointers on modifying motorcycles. While there is a general consensus of opinion as to what constitutes beauty, without which I and the editor of Playboy would be out of work, individualisation is quite the opposite. This really is a matter of beauty being in the eye of the beholder — or, in this case, the builder. Whether others see them as inspired or certifiable is irrelevant.
Our freedom to modify our vehicles feels a basic right, although the ability to do so depends on where we live. In Germany, any modifications have to meet with TÜV approval, be registered for that particular vehicle, and entered on its title, all of which tends to discourage one-offs. It’s not impossible to get hand-built vehicles registered there, but it takes a lot of perseverance and a healthy bank account. In California, there are plenty of regulations, too, but they are generally overlooked. Some of the road-going vehicles here would have the owner arrested on the spot in Germany.
Taking the subject objectively (if that isn’t a contradiction in terms), it seems personalisation can be addressed in three ways. First, there’s the add-on philosophy. Gold Wings and Electra Glides are typically the magnets for this school of thought, being heavy and complex enough to take a few dozen extra lights, and whatever chrome embellishments the owner fancies, without grossly affecting the performance or handling. This tends to be an American thing, although not entirely so. In England, the Mods covered scooters with as many mirrors as they could fit. It was a statement of cult membership and group rebellion against established values. They did it because they could, which is fine. But there’s absolutely no advice a designer can give to this whole group. “Try not to overdo it,” might be the logical recommendation, except that overdoing it seems to be the whole point.
Then there’s the replacement mindset. Here, stock parts, however adequate for the job, are just not as refined as some of the trick, over-the-counter alternatives. Sometimes deliberately so. The range of upgrades on display at the Milan EICMA for Triumphs and BMWs was mind-boggling. But this isn’t limited to European models. The first thing most Harley owners do right after purchase is swap out their exhaust system, preferably for something louder. Some of these actually produce poorer performance over the stock items, but try telling that to the owner who’s just shelled out 10 per cent of his bike’s value to throw away a perfectly good exhaust system. Hey, if it’s louder, it has to be faster, right? Design advice here is again minimal. Just keep a track on the total spending. It quickly mounts up, and you’re unlikely to see a dime back on the resale value. And please keep the
original parts. The person who buys it next may not share your tastes.
Finally, there’s the minimalist, ‘less is more’ school of thought. Anything that doesn’t have a function, and some parts that do, are slung in the dumpster in the name of weight reduction, and an illegal-looking, pared-down appearance. Racers did it out of power-to-weight necessity, and bobbers did it to full-dress tourers because it looked cool — and created the whole custom craze in the process.
Design tips? Not many. If you’re into this direction, there’s not much you can do wrong (unless you live in Germany, in which case having a good lawyer might be prudent). If we’re talking scramblers or café racers, keep the visual weight in the centre, and minimise any overhangs. This means headlights and any fairings should be small and light-looking. Same at the rear with mudguards and lights. Shorter seats look better than
The manufacturers, along with after-market suppliers, are more than happy to take our cash to feed our addiction
long ones for the same reason, but that’s a compromise on function. If you carry a pillion (or four and a box of live chickens in India or China), a short seat is going to be challenging.
Colouring is important too. Mudguards and other components painted in body colour will extend the perceived length of the bodywork. In black, silver or chrome, they become mechanical parts. This can be deliberately manipulated to give sports bikes a frontal emphasis (colouring towards the front) and custom bikes a rear emphasis (colouring towards the rear). For the classic British look, no colouring at all gives a strong, mechanical impression. Nothing looks better than a polished alloy tank.
Being something of a purist, I like to keep my bikes fairly stock. That may be partly down to Scottish ancestry, who aren’t known for having a spendthrift attitude. But more likely, it’s from my day job. When you spend months, if not years, battling against the odds and the corporate bean counters to get a design as perfect as possible, it can seem a sacrilege when an owner decides to paint stripes all over it, or add an ugly fairing. And as a hobby-restorer, the goal is to return a bike to its absolute original state. Many of my fellow Californians have a different slant on that, but older vehicles are also pieces of history, and I feel that preservation is obligatory. Escalating values for historic vehicles are pushing the argument in my direction, but then what is highly collectible today was often perceived as just old junk at some point, with little concern for preservation.
Then again, I’ve always fancied taking a Guzzi T3 and building a café racer out of it. So, maybe, I’ll catch the bug too — and start behaving like a real Californian.