CityBike Magazine Articles by Jeff Ebner

The Magni

My footsteps echo as I walk into Brent Lenehan’s garage. Rows of new and old motorcycles sit in various states of assembly. Brent greets me and his voice booms in the huge space. What was once the local Chevrolet dealership’s service bay is now a place where he and his friends can indulge their motorcycle addiction without the mutual annoyance of landlords or neighbors.

When I visited him, he had just returned from the Quail motorcycle gathering, where his just-finished 1936 BSA had won second-place British bike among a crowded field. He’d found it in a rancher’s field in his native Australia, parked outside for over 60 years. Today it looks as new, in the stunning stock green and chrome finish.

Beside the BSA sat an almost 100 year old Sunbeam with wicker sidecar. Mostly unrestored, it’s a charming sight. The black paint is aged and some bolt heads have gone rusty, but the elegant design and simple, bare mechanicals make it gorgeous all the same. It’d suffice as an art object but as with all these machines, it will be ridden.

The bike I’d come to see might be Brent’s favorite of all. Off to the side, underneath a ghostly sheet, I recognized the distinctive shape. Brent uncovers the bright red paint and gives me the tour of his one of a kind Magni-framed BSA-powered Hailwood-era dream machine. Nestled in the featherweight Italian GP replica frame is Brent’s favorite motor- a BSA Rocket triple, bored to over 900ccs and putting 90-ish horsepower to the rear wheel. With a wet weight under 400 lbs. and a dramatically short 54-inch wheelbase, it’s a recipe for supersport agility and acceleration.

First, a little background-- Arturo Magni was MV’s race department head through the 1970’s with legendary riders Hailwood and Agostini. Some time later, he and his sons began producing brand new frames based on his old work refining the MV chromoly GP frames. Over the years, builders have stuffed a variety of different motors in, culminating with current plans to produce a limited run with modern Triumph 675 triples. But before Brent, there hadn’t been a British blend.

Brent enlisted the help of Jerry Liggett of Triple Tecs, one of the world’s top experts in building British triples. Brent had originally inquired about a street tracker build using the Rocket motor, but when talk turned to cafe racers and that beautiful Magni frame, they both agreed on the proper recipe. Jerry prescribed the additional bore, stroke, and strengthening of internal components, while keeping the tune friendly to pump gas. The goal was simple- Brent wanted the ultimate 1970’s streetable triple. Aside from modern rubber, the bike was to be kept largely period correct. Blending the Italian and British parts turned out to be relatively straightforward- Magni created the required engine mounts, while Brent and Jerry made alterations to other factory pieces.

Brent thumbs the starter and the motor barks to life, the loping idle reverberating off the concrete walls. The hot cam makes it sound eager, and a quick rev of the lightweight flywheel affirms the notion. Brent suggests a ride. My eyes go wide.

I follow Brent out near the airport where we swap bikes. The warmed up motor sounds more vocal now- more urgent. Pulling away gingerly, I remind myself of the inverted GP shift pattern and Brent’s recommended 7000 RPM redline. I short shift to third and cruise, getting a feel for the bike at speed. It is indeed as agile as it looks, but the ride is well damped and even feels fairly modern. Downshifts are a joy- toss the tiny flywheel with a breath of throttle and catch it with the slick-shifting transmission. The first few kinks in the road demonstrate the manic agility and I’m cackling in my helmet. Brent pulls in front and raises the pace a bit, up through the cogs again, this time to fourth. We pass beneath an overpass and I take the opportunity to crack the quick-turn throttle wide and sample the soundtrack through the beautiful 3 into 3 swan-neck megaphones. The howl that develops in the midrange sends shivers down my spine and I start to sweat in my gloves. Letting the throttle close, the open-throat song turns to a more mechanical bass line. Squeezing the brake lever the forks compress just slightly and we slow smoothly. It’s a very stable, easy to ride bike despite it’s instantly accessible potential. Precise is the word that comes most to mind- there is not one wasted motion in it’s action. Neither is there any imprecision to it’s aesthetics. Nothing about this bike is superfluous or sloppy. It is a perfect fantasy made physical.

We pull a u-turn beneath another concrete overpass, over greasy dirt and broken glass. I can’t help but blip the throttle nervously, the bike almost anticipating my mood. We carve an arc as tight as Brent’s dirtbike and accelerate from just above idle. The bike pulls cleanly, torquey down low, with a linear build in power. The bike’s light weight and short wheelbase mean that spirited acceleration is a thrilling and brief event. We climbed up three gears about as quick as a generation old supersport might, but with a bit more drama, and a lot more charm.

Before we ride back, I’m treated to one more third-gear sweeper. Easing on the throttle, I hunch over the long, low tank and see exactly what’s so special about this bike. This is the rare dream bike that rides as well as it looks, and manages to evoke classic heritage while carving a new history all it’s own.

Greenlight: A Night as a Medical Marijuana Delivery Rider in Southern California (2015)

I arrive in San Diego with perfect comic timing at 4:20PM, late for the start of my shift as a delivery rider for a local medical marijuana dispensary. I was supposed to meet up with "Max", another rider and part owner of the cooperative, before 4 but my journey from LA had taken longer than expected aboard the little SR400 (see full review, page xx) and he'd begun deliveries without me. He texts me a coffee shop to meet at and then leads me back to the office to resupply.

In a small room down a dark hallway, another employee mans the dispatch. Standing in the corner are two large safes with their doors ajar. Packaging supplies and paperwork crowd a long desk, with a neat row of cell phones beside a small laptop and calculator.

A long history of unfriendly city ordinances has forced most Southern California dispensaries underground into delivery-only cash-only outfits. While up north, the bay area has had storefront dispensaries since the late 90’s, largely supported by the community. They pay taxes, obtain all appropriate permits and licenses, and operate according to the guidelines laid out by the state, county, and city. But in LA, SD, and increasingly throughout the state and nation, delivery is seen as the best way to skirt the often vague local laws.

Delivery limits exposure for property and business owners, but it can be problematic for the couriers themselves. Of Max’s staff, every one has been robbed, most at gunpoint. Max himself was sucker-punched from behind on a late delivery about a year ago. Obviously they can’t go to the police after these incidents- but they say they did once call in an anonymous tip after catching a repeat robbery attempt early. The thief was arrested, in possession of a loaded gun.

After hearing the cautionary tales and a quick run-down of the delivery procedure, we pack up and head out. Max climbs aboard his XR650L. I kick the SR to life and follow Max out through the rush hour traffic. We chase the darkening sky to the beach where we make our first stop. In a small bungalow in-law unit we find our patients, a young lesbian couple with a friendly pug puppy. After verifying their ID and medical endorsement, the transaction is made and we wave goodbye.

The next stops are all over town, pitting our bikes against a wide variety of San Diego terrain. There are arcing freeway onramps, interchanges, wide boulevards, tight alleyways, all with more elevation change than you'd expect and pavement quality ranging from impeccable to barely there. It quickly becomes clear why Max chooses the XR, and why they're so popular throughout the city. This is a place made for the air-cooled single-cylinder motorcycle. Cheap, simple, narrow and agile. The SR I'm on fits right in and suits the city well. In a drag race with the XR, (an opportunity frequently presented thanks to San Diego's affinity for the four-way stop) it's a dead heat through second. They're a good match in the handling department as well, their tall wheels providing good traction on the more questionable surfaces, and sharing similarly flickable natures. One memorable decreasing radius interchange had us both near the moderate limits of our tires, cracking throttles open at the apex and grinning through the exit, still barely breaking the speed limit.

We finish our round of deliveries and resupply at the office. Already we've traveled 60 miles and we both need fuel. In a typical shift, Max will ride about 150-200 miles.

I spoke with another delivery rider, "Joe", who delivers on a second generation FZ1 in Los Angeles. He finds that bike perfect for his area, and racks up over 700 miles a week working long noon to 1AM shifts. Despite the frequent maintenance required, Joe says the job is worth it just to be on the bike. He's been fortunate to have no on the job accidents and only one robbery experience- an unarmed snatch and run.

For our last outing, Max and I split up the remaining orders and he sets me out on my own. It's about 10PM and the town is quiet. The SR is thankfully very stealthy and draws little attention. Packing up the cash from the first stop, a cop rolls by. He pauses at a stop sign while I hop on the bike, which thankfully starts on the first kick.

My remaining patients were all grateful, and many particularly appreciated delivery by bike. One man, in a thick Irish accent, told me how he'd been t-boned just blocks away a few years ago, and can no longer ride. He says the kush he ordered helps him get to sleep with the sometimes lingering pain.

With the last of my deliveries complete, I meet back up with Max. We grab a bite to eat and then swap bikes so I can get his impression of the SR. We ride downtown and through the surrounding hills until we're low on fuel again, and finally call it a night. Max lauds the SR with compliments on it's agile handling and great brakes, but does prefer the throttle response of his uncorked XR. We both agree the SR needs better breathing to be all the bike it can be.

Five hours later, Max is back in the office, working dispatch now. I stop by to say goodbye and find him looking just as tired as I feel. I thank him for the experience and leave through the series of locked doors. Heading north again, I'm grateful to have nothing more to deliver. It's a hard job- for rider and motorcycle. It also has it's charms- meeting mostly friendly people, riding a bike for pay, and seeing a different side of the city. San Diego is a fantastic place to do it, with an eclectic character to it's people and it's roads. I leave with a massive respect for the delivery profession. Riders who love riding enough to risk their bikes and their hides to make their living. As the SR and I break the city limit and return to the bore of I5, I remind myself of the delivery mantra- any time on a bike doesn't count as work.

2015 SR400 Review

Real old bikes have rarely interested me, and the prettier they are the more nervous they make me. A quick chat with an owner or a ride around the block is enough to quell most crushes, but the SR has always been different. Emerging in the late 70’s as a then-modern version of the iconic British singles of the 60's, the original US market SR500 sought to offer a fettle-free alternative to the old Brit roadster in the same way Mazda would later do in the car world with the Miata. And like that car, the SR found a similar fun-loving crowd to embrace it’s simplicity. These folks cared less about the credibility of having something old than about the consistent delivery of a cultivated experience- the distilled essence of what made the old stuff fun. It is a credit to Yamaha that they have offered this experience to riders for so long, and now have wisely sought to bring it back to it's American fans.

To properly attract the retrophiliacs here, Yamaha have fitted the new bike with 19” wire wheels instead of the old mags, and deleted the electric start for maximum street cred. The only modern update is EFI. Really, this is a bike not likely to be left stock for long (a proper pipe would be my first stop), and so I'll keep my judgments general to the overall platform.

Camera gear secured on the wide seat by the shiny chrome luggage loop, I hop aboard the 2015 SR400 for my first ever authentic kick start experience. I've seen it on youtube, how hard can it be? Fuel, ignition, top-dead-center (aided by a handy window), kick, and... hm. A weary Yamaha tech noticed me giving it throttle with the kick and corrected my procedure. Hand off the throttle and it starts just fine.

Trundling out of the warehouse and onto the eight lane LA streets, the SR's diminutive size becomes immediately apparent. It's low, and though the seat is wide, my one bag of luggage has me crowded on the tank, knees not far from my elbows. Onto the 605 onramp and I twist the throttle to the stop. The bike groans and shakes, vibrations coming through the pegs, grips, tank and saddle. It gets up to speed quick enough to merge safely, but the fast traffic runs us a thousand RPM short of redline in top gear.

It's nearly rush hour, and everyone starts bunching up. The brakes offer excellent power and feel as we decelerate. The slim SR slips between lanes 1 & 2, nimble on it's nineteen-inchers. A box truck wanders in it's lane, suddenly closing the gap ahead and I chirp the front tire coming to a stop. I’m on retro rubber, I remind myself. Later, on the 210 interchange the left mirror shakes itself loose, but the SR otherwise acquits itself well on the ruthlessly modern interstate.

Over the next few days I took the little thumper on over 600 miles of backroads, big cities, dirt, and highway. Together we scraped pegs in drizzly Azusa canyon, delivered medical marijuana in San Diego (see page XX) slogged up and down 5 and attracted the attention of several LA County Sheriffs deputies. So how'd it do? Well, that will almost entirely depend on your expectations and your point of reference. My hand was cramping from wringing the throttle to the stop, my feet half asleep from the peg vibration, but aside from the time on the interstate the bike never failed to be a fun and engaging experience. The seat and ergonomics are comfortable, the controls all feel positive, and the entire bike is impressively finished. The mountains and the city proved the most enjoyable- thumping through swithbacks, exploring dirt roads, alleyways, even bike paths. Consider it a classy enduro with half the performance and no ground clearance and you'll be pleased. Customize it to your preferred usage and you start to see the point of such a machine sold new in 2015.

Motorcyclists are fairly polarized on the current retro trend, and even in my own mind there are contradictory desires. While I appreciate the simple aesthetics and engineering of the old, I love the performance, capability and comfort of the new. Where bikes like the Bonneville, R9T, and now the Ducati Scrambler have struck a well-balanced resto-mod approach with the best of both worlds, the SR cannot be judged on the same scale. In my mind it can't even rightly be grouped into the retro category. This isn't a hollywood remake, it's a fresh print of the classic.

Coming down the Angeles Crest Highway, the SR was a perfect ride. 50 mph sweepers put the bike in it's element, the skinny rubber carving effortlessly. On the brakes as things tighten, the front end gives positive feedback. The bike remains neutral and intuitive right up to it's relatively low limits. Those low limits also do a great job at keeping the fun accessible at legal speeds- something that immediately came in handy as the highway wound down into the city, where I stumbled upon a group of a half dozen LA County Sherriff vehicles stopped on the side of the road. They seemed busy as I idled by, coasting down the hill. I thought nothing of it until I spotted the crown vic behind me as we entered town. Sure enough, they flip on their lights. Another unit pulls in behind the first. I'm told I was doing 5 over the limit but that they'd let me off with a warning. They ended up asking all about the bike-- "no electric start" elicited cocked eyebrows of begrudging respect--and sent me on my way. So while breaking the law aboard the SR might not be necessary for a good time, it's good to know that it is indeed possible, and the bike's charm might just save you a ticket.

So for the very specific motorcyclist who isn't happy with the craigslist collection of rusting 20th century SRs, or the city dweller looking for the coolest alternative to a vespa, or yes even the antiquarian looking for a two wheeled companion for his never-running MGB, this is the perfect bike for you. For everyone else, in the same showroom you’ll find the perfectly modern R3, FZ07, and WR250R, any of which will do at least one task infinitely better than the SR. But for the brave, stupid, vain, or otherwise inexplicably smitten, the little thumper does it all willingly, and in timeless style.

2015 Yamaha FZ07 Review

Coming from my personal 70k+ mile '04 SV650 daily rider and hopping aboard the new FZ, the generation gap is immediately apparent. Where the SV has your legs splayed out in late-90's superbike fashion, the FZ's slim seat and shaped tank give a more dirt-bike-- no, scooter-like impression on first ride. Adding to that are the muffled putts from the compact exhaust. The view out front is clear, the front wheel seemingly nestled between your knees. Only the turn signals can be seen out front, bobbing on their stalks. Noticeably absent from your forward vision is the main display, which is inexplicably placed so close to the rider it feels like checking a cell phone in your lap.

Once above walking pace, things become more traditionally bike-like. That exhaust allows some pleasing midrange snarl, and throttle response is excellent. Like the SV, it's a friendly bike to ride, chatting effervescently about the road surface and possessing that directional ADD a naked bike should always have. It turns in much quicker than the SV, while still maintaining excellent stability in high speed sweepers. The bike simply loves to change direction, rewarding trail braking with better feel and even quicker responses. Midcorner, the bike is perfectly neutral, ready for your next command.

Riding down I-5-- certainly an inappropriate test of a budget naked-- the FZ impressed. Minimal vibes and the ergo options presented by the long seat and compact tank made the six hour trip bearable. Range was an issue at about 100 miles, but the tank is compact and pretty, and touring isn't really on the bike's resume so I'll take the compromise.

This parallel twin’s spirit animal would be a happy golden retriever. Though down on low-end torque and aural pleasure compared to a vee, the compact FZ mill rips up the tach with an eagerness that's very rewarding. The top end rush is stronger than my aging SV, and maintains it's enthusiasm all the way to the rev limiter. Dicing through fast LA traffic with head-honch Surj on the FJ-09, the FZ kept pace well. Top gear acceleration is excellent, making it easy to stay ahead of the swarms of homicidal commuters.

The FZ does everything I can ask of a daily ride, and still manages to surprise with it's speed, agility, comfort and economy. It also looks fantastic in person- perfect proportions and very modern without any needless comic book embellishments. It's on a short list of new bikes I'll consider when my SV has had enough of the daily grind, and with any luck the Yamaha will become as ubiquitous as the Suzuki, making second-hand options cheap and plentiful. I’ll be watching craigslist carefully.


Kawasaki Concours 1400 Review (Group test vs. Yamaha FJR1300)

These big-four touring bikes are close to motorcycling perfection. Effortlessly fast, practical but not ponderous, and as reliable as a family sedan. On paper, the Kawasaki appears very similar to the Yamaha, but their riding experiences are actually quite different.

Starting the Concours up for the first time (keylessly, an occasionally clunky but mostly appreciated feature) the motor immediately displays more character than the quiet and reserved Yamaha. Settling into a lopey idle, it zings up the tach with a breath of throttle. Response is sharper than the FJR in it's most sporting mode, and the soundtrack is much more pronounced. The distinctive big-four whistle is there, reminiscent of a jet turbine or an incoming icbm, along with a hint of intake honk that turns to a scintillating wookie wail at full throttle. Power delivery is similarly linear to the Yamaha- a broad wave of torque from idle to infinity, with a linear build in horsepower. The Concours' top end feels stronger, continuing to build in ferocity beyond where the FJR starts to run out of breath.

Though actual speeds are neck and neck, the Kawasaki feels faster, or at least more sporting. Feedback from the front end is excellent, and the bike is well balanced for corner carving. It takes a bit more turn in effort, but rewards with spectacular stability once a course has been set. High speed sweepers are where the bike is happiest. Strafing through the Sierras the bike came alive in a way the Yamaha did not. The Concours engages through a more visceral experience, more precise in it's feedback and more deliberate in it's responses. Along the same road they're just as capable, but the Kawasaki is downright encouraging instead of simply accommodating. The bike seems eager, chomping at the bit to devour the next mile.

Where the Concours suffers in relation to the Yamaha is in overall practicality. Tank range is inexcusably low, and though the side bags accommodate a pair of full size helmets and gear, they're precariously large for city work. The bikes may be very close in weight and specs, but the Kawasaki does feel more cumbersome at walking pace.

Build quality is also not up to the industry-standard bar set by the Yamaha, with occasional squeaks and creaks from the cheaper plastics. But despite all this and the lack of electronic suspension or even cruise control, the Kawasaki is the bike I'd take home. It's a fantastic value, and by far the more engaging ride. With a bump in tank range and improved fit and finish, it'd be damn near perfect.