The world’s first four-cylin­der street ma­chine was not a Honda. Alan Cath­cart re­counts the un­usual tale of a Mam­moth, a Euro­pean mon­ster of myth…

Real Classic - - What Lies Within - Pho­tos by Kel Edge

The world’s first four-cylin­der street ma­chine was not a Honda. Alan Cath­cart re­counts the un­usual tale of a Mam­moth, a Euro­pean mon­ster of myth…

Of the many small-vol­ume mo­tor­cy­cle man­u­fac­tur­ers in two-wheeled his­tory, Ger­many’s Friedel Münch was ac­tu­ally one of the most far-sighted. He fore­saw the mod­ern-day Su­per­bike era in a dead-heat with Count Domenico Agusta by com­menc­ing pro­duc­tion in 1966 of the world’s first four-cylin­der per­for­mance street­bike to reach the mar­ket­place, three years be­fore the show­room de­but of the Honda CB750. Ex­cept, the Count’s aes­thet­i­cally chal­lenged (I mean, a rec­tan­gu­lar head­lamp?) MV Agusta 600 Quat­tro was a prac­ti­cally apolo­getic ex­am­ple of multi-cylin­der mo­tor­cy­cling, of which the 136 ex­am­ples built had ex­actly half the ca­pac­ity but some­what more than half the weight of the aptly named Münch-4 1200TTS Mam­mut, as it was for­mally known be­fore a Ger­man bi­cy­cle man­u­fac­turer who’d reg­is­tered the name stepped in to pre­vent that.

Münch Mo­tor­cy­cles con­structed 478 such bikes in var­i­ous ca­pac­i­ties up un­til 1980, be­fore the ac­tions of oth­ers brought Friedel’s firm to its knees. All of the ma­chines found ready buy­ers – more than 150 of them in the USA alone, where they con­tin­ued be­ing called the Mam­moth – through be­ing surely big­ger, cer­tainly costlier and ar­guably more ex­clu­sive than any other cat­a­logued road bike built any­where else for some time. Big, loud and ex­tremely Teu­tonic, they epit­o­mised en­gi­neer­ing ex­cess on two wheels.

Friedel Münch was born in 1927 in a vil­lage 30km north of Frank­furt, in the Hesse re­gion of Ger­many where he lived all his life. His fa­ther’s busi­ness re­pair­ing cars and mo­tor­cy­cles meant he grew up around bikes, and by the age of six he could al­ready ride one. Friedel served as a Luft­waffe me­chanic dur­ing WW2, and in the aus­tere post-war years joined the fam­ily busi­ness to dis­play a re­mark­able tal­ent for im­pro­vi­sa­tion and lat­eral think­ing in keep­ing cus­tomers’ bikes run­ning at a time when spare parts were in short sup­ply. He be­gan tun­ing Horex mo­tor­cy­cles for rac­ing, at which he turned out to be a dab hand, win­ning sev­eral races on his home-brewed 500cc Münch Spezial un­til a se­ri­ous ac­ci­dent at the Schot­ten­ring cir­cuit in 1951 re­sult­ing in a dam­aged liver en­cour­aged him to hang up his hel­met and fo­cus on the en­gi­neer­ing. Such were his tun­ing skills that in 1954 he was asked to join the fac­tory Horex R&D/com­pe­ti­tion depart­ment, but as sales de­clined he re­joined his dad a year later, and when the Horex fac­tory closed in 1958 he bought up a huge quan­tity of parts, plus the en­tire tool­ing for the twin-cylin­der Im­per­a­tor mo­tor.

How­ever, Friedel’s in­ten­tion to make his own com­plete four-cylin­der mo­tor­cy­cle, us­ing a pair of Im­per­a­tor top ends on an all­new crank­case, was aborted when his school friend Karl Bohn vis­ited him in the spring of 1965, driv­ing his brand new NSU Prinz 1000 TT car, pow­ered by an air-cooled 1085cc in­line-four mo­tor with its sin­gle over­head camshaft chain-driven up the left side of the en­gine. In prepa­ra­tion for his own such mo­tor, Friedel had al­ready built a rolling chas­sis sim­i­lar to a Nor­ton Feath­erbed frame, and he soon worked out that with a few mods the new NSU one-litre four would fit right in.

Re­mem­ber; NSU had for­merly been one of the world’s largest mo­tor­cy­cle man­u­fac­tur­ers – an­nual pro­duc­tion num­bered 350,000 bikes in 1955 alone, be­fore they stopped mak­ing two-wheel­ers al­to­gether in 1963. So its man­age­ment con­firmed they’d sup­ply him with parts for any fu­ture pro­duc­tion ver­sion. They later had to fu­ri­ously deny be­ing re­spon­si­ble for the pro­to­type Prinz-en­gined Münch-4, af­ter this was spot­ted on the

au­to­bahn by a zeal­ous jour­nal­ist, and out­ran his Mercedes-Benz car un­til stop­ping for fuel at the next ser­vices! Friedel had com­pleted this in Fe­bru­ary 1966, and it duly formed the ba­sis of all other 477 fu­ture such bikes.

From the orig­i­nal donor 1085cc NSU mo­tor mea­sur­ing 72 x 66.6mm, Münch used only the crank­case, crankshaft, cylin­der block and cylin­der head. He em­ployed new dedicated in­ter­nals on his Münch-4 mo­tor, and cast a spe­cial new oil sump in elec­tron mag­ne­sium al­loy to con­tain the 5.5 litres of lu­bri­cant, as well as a new cast alu­minium pri­mary case to house the spe­cially de­signed four-speed Hurth trans­mis­sion’s he­li­cal gear pri­mary drive. The large-di­am­e­ter Ortling­haus dry clutch was housed in a sep­a­rate elec­tron cas­ing, with du­plex chain fi­nal drive con­tained in a mas­sive oil-bath chain­case com­pris­ing one half of the swing­ing arm, which was also cast in elec­tron.

In this form the ini­tial 30 first-gen­er­a­tion Münch-4 mo­tor­cy­cles de­vel­oped 56bhp at 5800rpm, but af­ter NSU had man­u­fac­tured 14,292 ex­am­ples of the Prinz 1000 TT be­tween 1965 and 1967, it was then re­placed by the big­ger en­gined 1200 TT. The new model’s 1177cc mo­tor with a 3mm over­bore was adopted by Münch from Novem­ber 1967 to cre­ate the 1200TTS, rais­ing the price to DM 10,000, out­put to 88bhp at 6500rpm, and torque to a then-sub­stan­tial 75.97ft-lb at 6000rpm.

NSU par­al­leled Münch pro­duc­tion by build­ing the larger-en­gined Prinz un­til July 1972, mak­ing a to­tal of 49,327 cars be­fore it was taken over by VW, and merged with Auto Union to form the re­vived Audi mar­que.

Friedel had unveiled the Münch-4 at the IFMA Cologne Show in Septem­ber 1966, where it was a huge hit thanks to boast­ing an elec­tric start, twin head­lights, and pro­vid­ing all-day cruis­ing at 180km/h. This re­sulted in cash de­posits for 18 bikes at a then steep price of DM 8200 – al­though canny French dealer Jean Mu­rit had al­ready pur­chased the pro­to­type bike sight un­seen for DM 6500. This was a use­ful piece of up-front cash­flow to sub­sidise such a costly en­deav­our, since Friedel lacked the fi­nan­cial means to set up any kind of se­ries pro­duc­tion.

More sub­stan­tial back­ing came from colour­ful Amer­i­can two-wheeled en­tre­pre­neur Floyd Cly­mer, a for­mer racer (he was a works rider for both In­dian and Har­leyDavid­son), race pro­moter, mo­tor­cy­cle dealer/ dis­trib­u­tor, and mag­a­zine pub­lisher and au­thor. The 71-year old Cly­mer met Münch at that Cologne show and fas­tened on to him, partly as a means of pro­mot­ing the re­turn of his beloved In­dian brand, whose trade­mark he held the rights to, and also be­cause he could fore­see a sig­nif­i­cant de­mand in his home coun­try for the fast and im­pos­ing four-cylin­der Ger­man bike. He wasn’t wrong: in that pre-dig­i­tal era Münch re­ceived over 700 writ­ten re­quests from the USA alone for more info about the Mam­moth af­ter its IFMA de­but.

Nowa­days when 200bhp street­bikes have be­come the Su­per­bike norm, it’s hard to grasp just what a huge im­pact the Münch-4 had on its de­but. It was a game-changer – there had lit­er­ally been noth­ing like it ever built be­fore with that many cylin­ders, or that much horse­power.

Cly­mer formed a busi­ness part­ner­ship with Münch, whereby he ac­quired the US distri­bu­tion rights of the Mam­moth and over­saw the fi­nan­cial side of the busi­ness. He bankrolled the es­tab­lish­ment of a proper Münch fac­tory in Ossen­heim with a 20-strong work­force. Man­u­fac­ture be­gan of the bikes sell­ing for $3995 in the USA (when a BMW R69S Boxer twin cost less than half that, at $1695) un­der the Cly­mer-Münch Mam­moth ti­tle, us­ing the slo­gan ‘Built up to a stan­dard, not down to a price.’

All ini­tially went well, with a to­tal of 30 Münchs de­liv­ered in 1967, many to the USA – al­though Friedel’s fo­cus on meet­ing the sig­nif­i­cant de­mand for the bike was dis­tracted by Cly­mer’s in­sis­tence on pro­duc­ing var­i­ous pro­to­type In­dian twins, none of which ac­tu­ally re­vived his beloved brand. But then with­out telling his Ger­man part­ner, in May 1969 the el­derly and now se­ri­ously ill Cly­mer (who passed away in Jan­uary 1970) se­cretly sold his ma­jor­ity share­hold­ing in the com­pany to the Mi­ami- based Bell fam­ily, whose pa­tri­arch Arthur signed it over to his youngest son, 30 year-old Ge­orge. He flew to Ger­many to take over the busi­ness, armed with a fist­ful of dol­lars from his dad aimed at al­low­ing Münch to build race­bikes and record break­ers to pro­mote the brand – and to man­u­fac­ture twice as many Mam­moths a month than he’d been do­ing so far, to pay for it all.

Münch had thus far built 137 bikes in the first three years of pro­duc­tion, all of them crafted by hand to his own high stan­dards, but to ac­cel­er­ate the pro­duc­tion vol­ume Bell moved the firm to a new, larger, lav­ishly equipped fac­tory 10km away in Al­tenstadt, with the work­force now num­ber­ing 38 em­ploy­ees work­ing on an assem­bly line ba­sis, with brand-new ma­chine tools. This also housed the URS 500 GP rac­ing project, which Bell had pur­chased from Hel­mut Fath, and re­named the Münch-URS team.

But within 18 months all too sud­denly the flow of cash halted, and Bell dis­ap­peared,

only later to resur­face in Florida, hav­ing left a pile of un­paid debts in sim­ply walk­ing away from the com­pany which, at the end of 1971, forced Münch Mo­tor­cy­cles KG into bankruptcy. This de­spite pro­duc­tion hav­ing in­deed been stepped up, as or­ders con­tin­ued to flow in for what was now a wellestab­lished bike in the mar­ket­place, de­mand for which the 1969 show­room de­but of the smaller, slower Honda CB750 had in no way dented.

Even though the bikes could no longer be sold in the USA, Friedel suc­ceeded in find­ing a new part­ner in the form of the nearby Has­sia pack­ag­ing com­pany, and with the help of Spiess, tun­ing spe­cial­ist for NSU Prinz cars, he en­larged the en­gine to 1287cc with a fur­ther over­bore to 78.5mm, also fit­ting Kugelfis­cher EFI to cre­ate the world’s first fu­elin­jected pro­duc­tion mo­tor­cy­cle.

Sadly, the col­lapse of his North Amer­i­can distri­bu­tion saw sales de­cline, and at the end of 1973 the com­pany went un­der once again, this time cost­ing Friedel Münch his home and per­sonal as­sets, in­clud­ing the rights to the Münch name. A 1200TTS owner from nearby Frank­furt, wealthy busi­ness­man Heinz Henke, ac­quired the busi­ness from the liq­uida­tor for DM 1.2 mil­lion, but Friedel found it im­pos­si­ble to work with him as an em­ployee, so the two sep­a­rated two years later, and early in 1980 Henke ceased pro­duc­tion of Münch mo­tor­cy­cles for good.

Friedel con­tin­ued to build four-cylin­der bikes un­der the Ti­tan name, lift­ing ca­pac­ity from 1287cc to 1370cc to 1527cc to 1786cc to the one and only 1996cc tur­bocharged Münch 2000 four he built for a Ger­man count. Sadly, in 1991 Friedel suf­fered a stroke, send­ing him fi­nally into re­tire­ment be­fore he passed away in April 2014 at the age of 87.

Münch mo­tor­cy­cles have be­come

in­creas­ingly sought af­ter in re­cent years, so the ap­pear­ance of a mint, freshly re­stored ex­am­ple car­ry­ing match­ing en­gine/frame no.114 in the Bon­hams sale at this April’s Stafford Show, as part of the mag­nif­i­cent col­lec­tion of bikes as­sem­bled by the late Mik­los Sala­mon, brought buy­ers out in force. It even­tu­ally sold for a record price of £154,940 inc. buyer’s pre­mium, 50% above the guide price quoted in the cat­a­logue. One week later it was on dis­play in the Sammy Miller Mu­seum, where ac­cord­ing to the in­de­fati­ga­ble Ul­ster­man the new owner – who prefers to re­main anony­mous – has consigned it on semi-per­ma­nent loan.

‘He’s kindly ar­ranged with us to look af­ter it for him, and to take it to events so that peo­ple can see and hear it in ac­tion, as well as leav­ing it on dis­play in the Mu­seum,’ said Sammy – shortly be­fore throw­ing me the keys to go and make sure it was run­ning OK! Which I duly did via an af­ter­noon ram­ble around the gor­geous New For­est roads sur­round­ing the Mu­seum.

In fact, do­ing so wasn’t the first time I’d rid­den a Münch. More than 30 years ago I made the first of a hand­ful of trips to Ger­many to meet Friedel, each time to sam­ple his lat­est and great­est as his cre­ations climbed in­ex­orably up the ca­pac­ity scale, cul­mi­nat­ing in a ride on an 1800TTS-E. But rid­ing the Miller Mu­seum bike was the first time I’d tried out an orig­i­nal 1200TTS, which was de­liv­ered new to the USA in 1969, rather than 1970 as shown in the sale cat­a­logue. That’s be­cause af­ter frame no.138, built in Jan­uary 1970, Münch made de­tail changes to the frame and body­work, as well as some mi­nor im­prove­ments to the en­gine. That makes this bike – no.114 de­liv­ered brand new to a cus­tomer in New Jer­sey – a true first-gen­er­a­tion Münch 1200TTS, al­beit fit­ted with the up­rated 1177cc ver­sion of the NSU en­gine.

Friedel Münch ‘im­proved’ the stan­dard NSU en­gine still more, fit­ting Hoeckle con rods and Mahle pis­tons to the stock five-bear­ing crankshaft, with an NSU oil pump gear-driven off the crank to de­liver hot lu­bri­cant at 40psi to the plain bear­ings. While re­tain­ing the low 9.2:1 com­pres­sion ra­tio, he ported and pol­ished the cylin­der head, and fit­ted a hot camshaft off the NSU Sport, while re­tain­ing the stock valves (two per cylin­der, of course). He care­fully bal­anced the two twin-choke 40mm We­ber carbs on his Schenk dyno, and fit­ted a 4-2 Lafran­coni ex­haust sys­tem with twin si­lencers run­ning low down ei­ther side of the bike. This 88bhp en­gine was very po­tent by the stan­dards of the day, when a Nor­ton Com­mando de­liv­ered just 50bhp, and even a Honda CB750 four just 67bhp, but at over 100kg the NSU-de­rived mo­tor was also very heavy.

Al­though the very tall mo­tor, sur­mounted by that preg­nant-look­ing hand­made steel fuel tank, only ac­cen­tu­ates the im­pres­sion, the Münch is in­deed a very short bike for such a mam­moth megalump, with a wheel­base for its Nor­ton Feath­erbed-in­spired du­plex frame of just 1410mm – the same as today’s Honda CBR600! Steer­ing ge­om­e­try is quite con­ser­va­tive, as al­ways back then, with the 41.3mm Rick­man fork set at 28 de­grees with 108mm of trail, giv­ing 120mm

of wheel travel. Ev­ery Münch ever built was a twin-shocker, with a pair of Koni units on the Miller Mu­seum bike, and the cast elec­tron 18-inch rear wheel matched to a 19-inch Bor­rani al­loy rim up front, laced to a mas­sive 250mm dou­ble-sided 2LS front brake, with a sin­gle such stop­per at the rear. Friedel had been mak­ing these for some years be­fore start­ing man­u­fac­ture of the Münch-4, and they were a pop­u­lar if costly yet re­mark­ably light way for Ger­man rid­ers to keep up with the in­creased per­for­mance of their twin­cylin­der road­burn­ers (mostly of the Boxer twin per­sua­sion).

Elec­tron cast­ings are ex­ten­sively used on the bike in an ef­fort to put it on a diet – seat, rear mud­guard, en­closed chain guard, brake plates, etc – but there’s no dis­guis­ing that this is a bike that Lu­ciano Pavarotti, let alone for­mer Ger­man chan­cel­lor Hel­mut Kohl, could have iden­ti­fied with, es­pe­cially as it has a sim­i­lar prob­lem of weight distri­bu­tion. The Münch scales no less than 260kg half-dry, so with oil but no fuel, with a mas­sive 40/60% rear­wards weight bias – most other road­sters are around the 50/50 mark, to give you an idea how ex­cep­tional this is.

Friedel al­ways claimed he had to fit cast rear wheels to all his bikes be­cause of all the torque their en­gines pro­duced – the Münch was the first pro­duc­tion bike to fea­ture a cast wheel. But hav­ing met many Münch own­ers down the years, most of them XXL and up­wards, I have a rather dif­fer­ent idea of why the wire rear wheels he orig­i­nally equipped them with col­lapsed! In­deed, af­ter at­tend­ing a cou­ple of Münch own­ers’ get-to­geth­ers at Friedel’s work­shop, I have to re­port that the cliché of dogs look­ing like their own­ers has now been ex­tended to mo­tor­cy­cles...

Be­ing very def­i­nitely not of Teu­tonic build, I was rather sur­prised to find the mam­moth Münch 1200TTS a lot more comfy than I ex­pected, for while the rid­ing po­si­tion is slightly strange, it’s strangely reassuring. You sit al­most in the mid­dle of the bike, fur­ther for­ward than on Friedel’s later cre­ations which had a longer wheel­base, with your legs fairly bent be­cause the semi-rear-set footrests are quite high – though even with such a wide en­gine, there’s lit­tle risk of ground clear­ance prob­lems, be­cause it’s po­si­tioned rather high rel­a­tive to the wheel axles. The fairly flat bars with very Teu­tonic bar-end in­di­ca­tors set in them de­liver a rea­son­ably sporty stance, which back then was prob­a­bly thought of as quite ex­treme, least­ways at the 133mph top speed the bike was ho­molo­gated at.

You are how­ever aware at all times that this is a bike which lives up to the name on the tank – it’s tall, wide and porky, with that bul­bous fuel tank stop­ping you see­ing much of the en­gine be­neath it, even though it is rather wide.

Thumb the elec­tric starter but­ton – then a def­i­nite two-wheeled rar­ity: was it the first on a mo­tor­cy­cle? – on what strictly speak­ing is called the 1200TTS-E (E stand­ing for ein­sitzer, or the sin­gle rather than dual seat, with heaps of stor­age space in the bul­bous rear sec­tion), and it cranks in­stantly into life be­fore set­tling to a 1200rpm idle with quite a lot of me­chan­i­cal noise from the off­set cam­chain, but just a muted crackle from the low slung Ital­ian ex­hausts. The twin clocks set into the top of the NSU Prinz-sourced dual head­lamp fea­ture a 250km/h speedo on the left and an 8000rpm tacho on the right.

There’s no steer­ing damper, not even a fric­tion one in the head­stock, and the ex­tra weight of that big twin head­lamp and the in­stru­ments is enough to get the han­dle­bars wav­ing gen­tly in your hands pen­du­lum-style if you turn into a slow bend and aren’t ready to cor­rect that. Noth­ing gets out of hand, but you do need to be aware of this trait. The twin Bosch spot­lights ei­ther side of the en­gine en­sure

you’re al­ways go­ing to be able to find your way home in the dark.

It’s hard to find neu­tral on the one-up four­speed gearshift – all Münches had a racepat­tern gearshift. The en­gine is very smooth at low rpm, and pulls prac­ti­cally off idle, with lots of punch from 1500 revs up, and un­like the big­ger such bikes I’ve rid­den which started vi­brat­ing at around 3500rpm and got pro­gres­sively worse as the revs mounted, this one is as well-bal­anced as a Ja­panese four, mak­ing rel­a­tively un­tir­ing high speed mo­tor­way cruis­ing this bike’s forte on the wide-open au­to­bah­nen. Friedel used to claim that this bike would smoothly drive from 40km/h to 200km/h in top gear with seam­less pur­pose.

I didn’t have the chance to try that out on the New For­est roads, but the Münch had a lovely, re­lax­ing power de­liv­ery all through the rev scale – though in def­er­ence to its new owner’s cheque­book I didn’t take it over 5500rpm, a thou­sand revs shy of its 6500rpm peak. How­ever, ac­cel­er­a­tion is leisurely, rather than vivid. It does feel heavy both to steer and to get mov­ing from rest, but once you have some mo­men­tum it’s very syrupy in its power de­liv­ery. And much to my sur­prise it stopped very well, the trio of big 250mm elec­tron drums do­ing a great job with heaps of feel. I raced a pair of clas­sic bikes for many years with 250mm Fon­tana 4LS drum brakes which give equiv­a­lent stop­ping power to mid­size discs, es­pe­cially early Ja­panese ones made be­fore 1980 or so, and these Münch equiv­a­lents are just as good in haul­ing down such a heavy bike from speed. They’re not over-fierce, just ul­tra-ef­fec­tive, and above all they don’t grab, just do their job.

Per­suad­ing the Münch to change di­rec­tion in a hurry is some­thing you might want to get in shape for at your lo­cal gym, but the up­side of all that weight is that it rides rough sur­faces pretty well, in spite of the twin-shock rear end. Ground clear­ance is pretty lim­ited, es­pe­cially on the left, and you’ll scrape the side­stand all too eas­ily if you start to try too hard. The sur­prise is that the Münch ac­tu­ally en­cour­ages you to do so, for al­though you’re wedged in place by the seat and meaty tank, it ac­tu­ally steers pretty well for such a big bike, es­pe­cially one with such a crazy weight bias. I ex­pected it to push the front wheel in turns, es­pe­cially un­der power, but it doesn’t, and in fact it han­dles tight turns pretty well.

The short wheel­base makes it pitch a fair bit over most bumps, which makes for a choppy ride, but against that it feels ex­tremely solid and sturdy, very Teu­tonic in its build qual­ity and its abil­ity to shrug off the rough stuff. But the 60s time-warp chas­sis de­sign pre­vents you from de­riv­ing max­i­mum ben­e­fit from this, for as it is, the Münch is strictly a point and squirt ma­chine, at home cruis­ing in sporty mode from one bierkeller to an­other. Café rac­ing? Ach, leave that to the Ital­ians and their bikes – real men drink beer, and ride in straight lines!

The Münch 1200TTS was the fastest, most pow­er­ful and most ex­pen­sive mo­tor­cy­cle of its era – a two-wheeled wor­ship­per at the tem­ple of ex­cess. But it came at a hu­man cost for its cre­ator. ‘All I ever wanted to do was to build mo­tor­cy­cles,’ Friedel Münch once con­fided to me in an in­ter­view, in a tone that was more sad than bit­ter. ‘But all the dif­fer­ent peo­ple I got in­volved with in busi­ness ever wanted to do was to take ad­van­tage of that, and try to get rich quick on the back of my en­deav­ours. I’ve been cheated, de­ceived, robbed and lied to – but still today I’m a happy man, be­cause I can hold my head up high, and know I never did any wrong to any­one. And most im­por­tant of all, the bikes that I built will go on liv­ing long af­ter I’m gone, as a re­minder to the world of what I achieved. I’m happy with that.’

In­deed so…

It may seem un­likely, but this is a re­mark­ably prac­ti­cal ma­chine. Seen here a lit­tle loaded at the 1985 Münch Rally

Above: Even the pi­lot’s view is star­tling, with that vast head­light, those bar-end mir­rors and neat con­trols

Left: Noth­ing about the Münch is less than star­tling. Gaze in awe at the pipework, the carbs, the huge sump be­neath the en­gine

Be­hold, a car en­gine fit­ted into a mo­tor­cy­cle. Does this ever ac­tu­ally work out well?

Right: What it says on the tin: one very large en­gine, de­vel­oped from a car en­gine for mo­tor­cy­cle use

Above: Great mass and great power de­mand great lights. As seen here. And be seen you cer­tainly will be

Per­fect for those coun­try lanes. Ac­tu­ally…

Friedel Münch him­self, build­ing and sam­pling his own work

Right: En­gines in­tended for car use were rarely de­signed to be com­pact, space not al­ways be­ing a prob­lem

Above: There was even a Day­tona bike!

Af­ter 1980’s end of pro­duc­tion Friedel Münch con­tin­ued to build ma­chines un­der the Ti­tan name The very end. The one and only 1996cc tur­bocharged Münch 2000 four built for a Ger­man count

Even the bike’s key is re­mark­able!

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