Big Red

BIG RED

Mr. Ness' wild ride

DAVID EDWARDS

THIS IS MORE THAN A MOTORCYCLE. IT'S AN adventure.

Five years and $100,000 in the making, it is the masterwork of a man who has been crafting custom bikes for more than 20 years, a man described by one observer of the custom scene as simply "a god who works in metal."

Arlen Ness. 51. isn't too sure about being referred to as deity. Neither is he too certain about his latest creation, which goes by various nicknames, though the one that seems to stick best is "The Big Red Bike." Looking at the completed machine as it was being set up in the Cycle Worldphoto studio, its crimson form ablaze in the modeling lights. Ness remarked. "You know, sometimes. 1 think I've gone too far with this one."

Strange talk from a man who almost didn't get started. Arlen Ness may have built a world-wide reputation and amassed great wealth as the king of customizers, but until 1967 at the age of 2X. he was a San Leandro, ( 'ali lorn in. furniture mover who didn't even know how to ride. Ness had always been interested in two wheels, but first his father and then his wife put the kibosh on anything having to do with motorcycles.

Parental and spousal aversion can't keep a good man down, though, and soon Ness had a $300 1947 Harley Knucklehead secreted away in the garage, the purchase made possible by clandestine winnings at the bowling alley. Dissatisfied with his new bike's looks. Ness stripped it and bolted on another fuel tank, which he first repainted. A riding buddy saw the results, liked the effect and asked Ness to do the same to his bike. I he story repeated itself several times. Then the I larley was entered in a bike show, where it won first prize, and Arlen Ness, furniture mover, was one his way to becoming Arlen Ness, custom-motorcycle ma ven.

Twenty-three-years, 100 outrageous bikes, a thriving retail business, a design-consulting service and many lucrative product-endorsement deals later, we come to Big Red.

“I wanted to build something wild, says Ness, “something with a big fat rear tire.” So, off he went to an autoparts store and came home toting an aluminum rim onto which was levered an amply wide Pirelli car tire, a 265/6016. The bike that was built around that rear meat is the product of Ness’s fertile imagination and the hard work of a small coterie of talented fabricator-friends. First to get a phone call was Darrell Hayes, a boyhood pal who has grown up to become an expert tool-and-die maker and an artist in billet aluminum.

Because the rear tire was so wide, getting power from the transmission —Harley five-speed internals housed in specially made cases—to the rear sprocket would require construction of a jackshaft. The prickly task fell to Hayes, who. being a fan of symmetry, set the jackshaft up so that it ran dual toothed belts to two rear sprockets, he and Ness reasoning that “if you’re going to make a wild piece, you might as well go all the way.”

The late Jim Davis, chassis man for many previous Ness bikes, welded-up the elongated frame from chrome-moly tubing. Taking up residence in the frame was an overpowering ogre of an American-built V-Twin engine, one not made in Milwaukee. The cases, cylinders and heads are John Harmon items, made from aluminum, built to withstand the violent strain of drag racing. Harley-Davidson flywheels are used, but the car-racing world chipped in with a Crane cam and pushrods, arid Sifton lifters. Two Chevy V-Eight pistons sweep through 128 cubic inches— 2098cc— o f d i spl ace m e n t.

Now things get interesting. Each cylinder is plumbed to a Magnuson supercharger and a pair of Dell 'Orto automotive two-barrel carburetors. Icing on the cake are small, polished nitrous-oxide cylinders above each blower, though Ness admits the bottles remain fully charged. “1 haven't pushed the button yet. " he confesses. “It's a monster thing to ride as it is."

Such a monster that Ness tactfully dissuades us from taking a ride on the irreplaceable leviathan. “You're welcome to ride anything else I own." he explains, “but this one's like a dragster: it corners horribly."

But he does lire the thing up. Twin aircraft batteries turn the engine over, at the same time activating a continuous. flat belt that takes its drive from bevel gears off the crankshaft and runs around the engine's exterior in the best Rube Goldberg fashion, its purpose to spin the superchargers' compressor vanes. This belt arrangement, too. was worked out by I laves, with help from fellow machinist Bob Munroe. in what Hayes remembers was “a lot of thrashing. 1 couldn't estimate the number of hours put into it."

As the starter motor churns and the belt whirls, the fuelair mixture is drawn through the Medusa-like intake tracts, not happy in its convoluted journey to the combustion chambers. Twin sparkplugs atop each cylinder do their best to light the mixture, but it takes additional revolutions before the engine erupts in an ungodly commotion, sending a bazooka blast of noise out of the chromed megaphones. unencumbered by so much as a single baffle. Silence covers its ears and runs screaming for cover when Big Red finally bursts into life.

Actually, this motorcycle is pretty noisy even at rest, courtesy of its arching bodywork and blaring red paint. If the panels on Ness' bike look like something the boys in the back room at Maranello might have hammered out when Enzo wasn't watching, well, the resemblance is purely intentional. Ness himself is a Ferrari owner, a 308 model, to be exact. But when the Italian firm unveiled its Testarossa, Ness was so enamored with its form that he commissioned a new aluminum shell for his car. one that smacked of the shape of the Testarossa. but that was 10 inches wider and 10 inches longer. Boyd Coddington's shop carried out the work on the car body, and when it came time to cover his latest, greatest motorcycle in aluminum. Ness returned to the same outfit.

Using sketches worked-up by I hom Taylor, a California hot-rod designer, Coddington's Craig Naff built cardboard mockups. which were taped to the frame and engine so that Ness could visualize the eventual configuration. The final design approved, another three months passed before the exquisite, hand-formed panels were complete and ready to be sprayed by John Kosmoski of House of Kolor. who had pigments specially ground for the Ness bike.

Visually, the details on this motorcycle will wear your eyeballs to a nub. The front end, alone, should be mounted on a pedestal and illuminated with spotlights. The handiwork of Hayes, the wheel is straddled by a monumental Simons upside-down fork, but the brake components are the real standouts. Hayes cut the rotors from aluminum plate, machine-carving Ness' name into the sides, then fired-up his CNC machine once more and casually fabricated his own calipers to grasp the personalized discs. A Metzeier Lazer completes the package. The rear binders are interesting, too. Dual Performance Machine calipers and discs are mounted inboard of the two beltdrive sprockets. Rear suspension is handled by the compressibility of the Pirelli.

Big Red is now behind Ness, finishing its show days in Europe before coming home to rest in the museum being set up above Ness's retail store in San Leandro (Arlen's Motorcycle Accessories, at 16520 E. 14th Street, is. incidentally, being enthusiastically run by Ness’ once-skeptical wife, Bev). Ask Ness about his next big project, and the master of one-off customs tells you about wanting to build his own brand of production motorcycles. Press farther, inquire about engine type and projected price and production numbers, and Ness will give nothing more. “For now, let’s just say it's a dream of mine.” he hedges.

Of course, as the big red motorcycle on these pages affirms. Arlen Ness has a way of making his dreams come true. S3