STS Classic Motorcycles

1971 Kawasaki 500 Mach 3

I actually remember pulling the Cycle World magazine off the newsstand in the spring of 1969. The reason I remember it was that it featured a motorcycle on its cover that I had seen just a few days earlier at the Rick Case Kawasaki dealership in Cleveland Ohio. I was 14 ½ years old – and I say 14 ½ because it meant that I was only 12 months away from getting my driver’s permit at 15 ½ years of age. The cover of the magazine had a picture of a unique and revolutionary motorcycle on its cover: the 1969 Kawasaki 500 Mach 3. The bike pictured had three cylinders stretched horizontally across its frame with a British style tank updated with a modern sleekness and a raked front end that portended its power and athleticism. The picture was sex on two wheels. A young man in early adolescence is full of hormones and a nature that drives him to penetrate the world. When I saw that picture on the cover of Cycle World of the 1969 Kawasaki 500 three cylinder beast of a machine I couldn’t think of a better device to do it on.

Having seen the picture, I made it over to Rick Case Kawasaki to look at the real thing. I remember the salesman to this day. He had greased back hair and was wearing a black Ban-lon short sleeve shirt that was popular among “greasers” of that day. He must’ve said the following statement 10 times; “this 500 triple is faster than anything on the road today – real wicked”. A cardboard sign hanging from the handlebar advertised its price: $999 .00! NINE HUNDRED AND NINTY NINE DOLLARS! It had been advertised by Kawasaki to do the quarter-mile in 12.4 seconds pushing its 384 pounds explosively down the road with its 60 horsepower three cylinder two-stroke engine. Though it had a few less horsepower than the titanic Honda CB 750 that had just come on the market, it weighed 100 pounds less and had a much better power to weight ratio. Translation: line both of the bikes up at a stoplight, rev the motors near redline and dump the clutch when the light turns green and see who gets to the next stoplight first (if you can hold the front wheel down or manage not to spin the rear rubber into oblivion)-the winner is the Kawasaki and all for under $1000.00. The greaser interspersed his “real wicked” statements with “it’ll blow anything out there into the weeds”. The metaphor is best imagined by the visual of something going by another something on the road so fast that the wind that is created literally blows the second object off the road and into the weeds!

I remember him saying – “sit on it and see how it feels”. I threw my leg over the seat and straightened the bike up. I was big for my age and must’ve looked all of 16 years of age – luckily, I was able to get the balls of my feet onto the ground stabilizing the monster below me. I looked out over the long white tank with the blue racing stripes along the side. At first it had the look of a traditional British machine – like a Triumph or a BSA. I took note of the duck tail BSA style seat and grab rail, as well as the classic round instruments and the polished steel front fender extended out in front of me like a drag bike. But unlike the British motorcycles that I had sat on, when I looked down at the engine of this bike, instead of two cylinders that barely stuck out beyond the tank, there were three cylinders that menacingly extended horizontally between my legs. All I could do was to imagine the fury that would be unleashed by those three cylinders on this lean and athletic appearing machine when the throttle was opened up.

Then, greaser man asked me the following question: “so are you ready to buy it today?” As I had already had some early instruction in debate and philosophy I asked myself the following question: should I answer the question this man posed to me with my best understanding of his intent in asking the question, or should I answer the question by any possible interpretation of the words and in so doing create a favorable outcome for myself. I decided on the second option – “yeah – I’m ready”. Then he said “so let’s wheel this baby outside and start her up”. We primed the petcock and turned on the ignition key and then he said “kick her through”. I kicked the kick starter through with unnecessary force as the low compression engine easily spun rapidly instantly igniting into the harsh “Bangedy-bangedy-wing-ding-ding-ding” big bore two-stroke sound that rattled across the street and down the street and ricocheting off storefront windows and the cars that were going by- this was one mean machine. Then he said “let me see your driver’s license so I can let you go for a test drive”. I don’t know how I pulled it off but I somehow calmly said “I don’t want to drive this thing until I own it – let me go and scrape the cash together and I’ll be back”. He said “it’s a deal”.

Fast-forward a little over two years to the early fall of 1971. Now I actually had my driver’s license and had also passed my motorcycle test and had my motorcycle driver’s endorsement. In 1971, Kawasaki had put out the third in the initial series of 500 cc two-stroke monsters. Largely unchanged, they had slightly redesigned the gas tank to make it a little more sleek and modern in appearance. Instead of simple classic white, it now sported a new color called Candy Blue. I had shoveled snow in the winter time and mowed lawns in the summer and had saved every dollar I could. Going home one day I noticed a flash of blue in my peripheral vision and to my delight there was a 1971 Kawasaki Mach 3 500 In Candy Blue sitting in front of the local hardware store with a for sale sign on it. I asked my friend to turn around quickly and take me back to the store. I walked up to the counter and asked who had the bike for sale and was directed over to the tools section where I saw a young man sweeping the floor. I said “that your 500 outside?” He said “yeah, it can be years for $750 .00”. He seemed nice enough and we talked about the bike and why he was selling it. As it turns out he had been drafted into the Vietnam War and his folks didn’t want the bike sitting around taking up space in the garage. I had saved about $650 .00. I knew that I could beg borrow or steal at least an additional $50 .00 so I offered him $700 .00 even. He said “take it out back behind the store parking lot and run around a little bit and see how you like it – I guarantee you’ll pay me the full amount after you feel what it can do!” I agreed and he pulled the bike around to the back and started it for me. The characteristic growling raspy cacophony of sounds spitting out of the three asymmetrical mufflers warned me of the dangers inherent in playing with this evil creature. A light early autumn rain had hit a few hours earlier and because the humidity was high the asphalt of the large parking area was still not fully dry. I took note of this and began to do some gentle accelerations to and fro across the lot. But then the urge to experience the devil in this motor that existed beyond 5000 RPM got the best of me and I pulled the throttle wide open. The front and immediately rose toward the sky as I prayed for forgiveness. Seeing that I only had 30 or 40 yards to pull it to a stop I backed off on the throttle and the front end came back down in contact with the asphalt as I began to hit the front brake. What I had not anticipated was how weak and ineffective that front brake was and it seemed to do nothing as I squeezed on the right front lever. Now in panic mode I saw a wood fence at the border of the lot looming ever larger in front of me. It was only 20 yards away when I added the rear brake in panic mode with my right foot. Doing this on the still moist asphalt caused the whole rear end to slide around so that the whole bike was now sliding sideways toward the fence. The only thing I could think to do was “low-side” the bike so that it would strike the fence tires first. I leaned the bike over with my left leg foot sliding along the asphalt like a dirt tracker sliding through a turn. Miraculously, the tires just barely banged into the fence at one or 2 mile an hour and I had not let the left side of the bike touch the ground using every ounce of strength I had in my left leg. I pulled it up to vertical quickly as the frantic owner came running over. Naturally, he had little interest in how I was doing and pulled the bike away from me and put it on its center stand. We both looked it over as I brushed myself off and thankfully we couldn’t find anything wrong except for a few scratches in the left front turn signal housing. At this point he was yelling some four letter words about my stupidity in opening the throttle like I did. After a few more minutes of this he calmed down and actually commented on my “good save after that sideways slide” followed by the question “so are you going to buy it or not – and if you don’t buy it you owe me a turn signal”. I told him I would try to come up with the money to purchase the bike and would let him know in the next few days.

After I went home I pulled out my collection of motorcycle magazines and found the article on the 1969 model to read about the bike again (because there was no significant difference between it and the 1971 model). The article starts with the following: “Kawasaki’s new 500 has got to be the kinkiest street bike ever! It’ll raise the hairs on the back of a rider’s neck, or turn them gray in 13 seconds flat. At top speed, it will run faster than the Osaka Express. It will trounce any mass production motorcycle that comes in full street trim regardless of displacement. The stench of rubber smoke and a 100 foot long black strip give ample evidence that it has departed...” I was hooked and completely enamored dreaming of the adventures this machine and I would have together. You would’ve thought that after having nearly killed myself on the thing I would’ve run in the opposite direction – and you would have been wrong. I was actually more in love!

So I sold a minibike that I had put together from an assortment of parts and a lawnmower engine for $100 .00 and called up the hardware store and told the guy was on the way with the cash. To this day, I believe the good Lord intervened because as I drove past the Ford dealership I noticed a 1967 Mustang Fastback GT- S code 390 cubic inch monster sitting in the second row of the used-car area. My mother’s car that I was driving seemed to steer itself into the dealership and through some negotiations I ended up purchasing it. Elated, I then realized my promise to the owner of the 1971 Kawasaki. I went over to the store and told him what happened. He actually seemed relieved. He said he was going to boot camp and his folks and found some space in the garage for the bike. He had already replaced the turn signal and I paid him for his costs. I just wasn’t meant to have that mean machine while I was still unaware of my own mortality.

Years later, it was hard to find the particular 1971 Candy Blue Kawasaki Mach 3 500 that I wanted- an unmolested factory original in near showroom condition. They had all been thrashed and wrecked and abused. Eventually, I located the right bike. It was a completely original machine down to the air in its original factory tires! This motorcycle had just barely 5000 miles on it had been stored in an insulated and weatherproofed garage for 30+ years by its original owner. It had virtually no corrosion or the usual “patina” associated with being put away wet and uncared for. The original factory paint and polished steel fenders still gleamed brightly. There were no dings or dents or any damage. Most importantly, it had been started and run regularly and was mechanically perfect.

After purchase, I put the original Dunlop tires away for storage and purchased new ones. I did a full service and lubrication and appropriate adjustments. Taking the bike out again on the street 30 years later I took it easy because I knew that these three cylinder Kawasaki’s were known as widow makers and I now realized the possibility of my own mortality. Strong but relatively docile below 5000 RPM, above 5000 rpm this machine transformed from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. On my first ride on the bike, I decided that if I was going to do what I did 30 some years earlier and wick the throttle full on – I needed to be sure that I was completely leaned over the tank and pointed down a long straight in the road with no need to rely on the weak front brake. This allowed me to survive the evil beast’s wicked bipolar behavior (to use the greaser’s phrase from Rick Case Kawasaki) and I survived to ride another day. When I ride this motorcycle today it mainly causes me to reflect on the good graces of God and his universe for turning my head at the last moment away from this mythical Greek siren toward a less lethal one in the 1967 GT Mustang fastback. It’s a lesson in the moderating power of fear which has little presence in the heart or mind of a teenage boy. For a teenage boy, the church bells ringing and announcing the burial of someone has nothing to say about him. It is only with some maturation that John Donne’s famous words holds meaning: “…for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."

Thankfully, the Kawasaki owner didn’t suffer his own mortality during the war. I would actually see him riding up and down Mayfield Road on the candy blue Kawasaki 500 triple during the summer times two and three years after that first encounter. I particularly remember driving down the Mayfield Road strip on a warm summer night in my 1967 Mustang GT fastback when I heard some familiar crazy “Bangedy-Bangedy-wing-ding-ding-ding” sounds coming from my rear. Looking into the rearview mirror I saw a single light rapidly approaching my rear and then that light seem to jump up into the sky. Instinctively, I floored the Mustang and leapt forward, accelerating strongly. The candy blue Kawasaki triple with the hardware store guy on it pulled up to my left and then accelerated away pulling the front wheel skyward once again. We came up to the next stoplight that had turned red. I yelled at him saying “you want to sell that thing? He recognized me and smiled and said “never going to sell this thing – almost made that mistake before”. The light turned green and he was gone!