You may think I'm talking about the women in my life, but no, I'm talking about the prototypes in my life. I e-mailed a friend to tell him about a development problem with my latest alternative-suspension exercise, the GSX-RADD (see page 44), and he responded with the above quote.
Being the first example of a new invention or idea, a prototype can be really exciting-a new beginning, a journey into the unknown, all of the clichs you can think of. But in another way, a prototype is a package of problems to solve. I've built a dozen prototypes over the years, and have been involved in the building of several more. You're basically taking an idea, or a bunch of ideas, and making them into a machine. The machine can tell you if the idea is solid, workable and worthwhile, or a harebrained scheme. You can also make mistakes in the construction that have nothing to do with the original idea, and end up with a problem-plagued machine even though the original concept was sound
I've been lucky, and maybe made some good luck, and my prototypes have been amazingly trouble-free. But a prototype without any trouble just isn't a prototype.
My first attempt at an alternative front-suspension design in 1984 required that I come up with a steering shaft that was as new to me as it was to the industry. It had to transfer steering action, change angularity and change length. The angularity was the problem. I started with a universal joint from small-aircraft control systems, and found that any free play in motorcycle steering is too much free play. I then went to automotive U-joints. Better, but cars can (and do) have some free play in their steering. Not good enough
I was getting really discouraged at this point and realized I needed an education in U-joints. I ended up with smaller, lighter, simpler parts that worked with no play, but the process really tested me. It's humbling to realize your original idea may be unworkable with your current level of knowledge and that you have to "go back to school."
My second front-suspension prototype in '87 was considerably more ambitious, but with what I learned from the first it went much smoother. The major failure happened not on the street or track, but while the bike was in a crate being shipped back from Japan. Talk about luck! A suspension link bearing broke-a failure that could have resulted in a crash if it hadn't happened in the box, probably the victim of an overly enthusiastic fork-lift driver.
After many laps of testing at Willow Springs, the RATZ prototype suddenly began acting crazy in fast Turn 8, and the rider came in complaining about the front suspension. After sending the shock back to the manufacturer, we found that a burr had been left on an internal part, broke off and ruined the seals.
The Vincent prototypes I built at the Roush facilities near Detroit were almost ready to run, right on schedule. But when we put gas in the tanks they started leaking! The tanks were fiberglass, and the builder had used the wrong resin, which partly dissolved in gasoline. We hustled to get the tanks out and coat the insides with a sealing compound.
I didn't know until I read in another technical writer's column that cadmium and titanium should never come in contact. On one prototype I had used some titanium studs with cadmium-plated aircraft nuts. I checked the studs after reading his warning, and sure enough, some threads were breaking off the studs. Time for steel studs.
There are deep satisfactions when you finally get things right, and yet there is the knowledge that you're never really finished, that there will be other testing, other problems and other frustrations. So yes, you get to feeling like you can't live with 'em and you can't live without 'em. For me, at this stage in my life, a bike that's not a prototype, no matter how good, is a bit boring. One thing about prototypes: They're never boring.
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