Most motorcyclists are delighted with what the new electronic rider aids do for them. For many, just clicking into Rain mode makes them feel in control, rather than feeling like they’re madly hanging onto a runaway rocket that makes every moment into a crisis. But for a minority, such things as traction control actually seem immoral, for those rider aids violate what they perceive as a sacred unity between a human being and the thing that is two wheels, an engine, and a place to sit. Let’s look at this more closely. Jump back ninety years to when top US dirt trackers like Maldwyn Jones and Jim Davis (I met him once—he was eager to try a new GSX-R) were working hard to win mile races. These were serious, experienced men. Jones worked as a dyno operator at the US Army’s air development center at McCook Field, Dayton, Ohio. These were not madmen seeking glory in wild crashes; they were career racers with a living to make. Spectators may have imagined them as madmen, but they had to finish races to be paid. New engines arrive by rail and are picked up at the station (there was no Interstate highway system, just criss-crossing dirt farm roads). You get the new engine into your chassis, provide oil and fuel, and start up. It runs. You go through the details of set-up carefully. Off to the fairgrounds, you suit up and go out. Right away you notice this engine has more power, but as you try to work that power into your style, even though you are respected for your smooth throttle hand, this one’s getting away from you. It hits a bit too hard, destroying the smooth flow of acceleration off the corners. Lap times are disappointing. You know what to do because you and your colleagues have had this experience before. You have to soften the power somehow. One way is to scissor the intake and exhaust valve timings to reduce overlap. That tends to fill in any flat-spot in the torque curve, but at the cost of trimming off a bit from the torque peak. Another way is to go into your spares kit and fetch out last year’s heavier crankshaft. Its extra mass will slightly slow engine acceleration—maybe just enough to keep the back tire hooked up. Yet another possibility is that the factory has again increased the size of the intake port and the carburetor. Jones had many times looked into the venturis of carburetors on running test engines. He had seen the moment when stuttery running had cleared into strong pulling—and the flood of droplets from the delivery tube in the carb had transformed into a solid white mist. Maybe at this point he decided to try last year’s smaller carb on the new engine, hoping that transformation would occur at lower revs, not in the middle of his drive off the corner. Step by step, using a menu of alternatives, the new engine is adapted to the track, and the laptimes come down. Jump forward 58 years. Kenny Roberts and Eddie Lawson are about to go to the start of the 1984 Daytona 200. Kenny has been thinking about how hard that 750 square-four hits. He decides to ask for some ignition timing to be taken out of his engine, maybe letting him extend tire life by bringing wheelspin under better control. He wins the race. Now, it’s 1989 and Lawson is struggling with Honda’s NSR500. He decides some extra flywheel mass could help him accelerate harder without episodes of tire-destroying wheelspin. Heavier cranks are built. He is thinking, not about the next corner or today’s race, but about the championship. His is a complicated spread bet, with not all his chips teetering on one number, yet he goes on to win the world championship. So really, riders have always worked on going faster by giving the engine’s powerband the right shape. Electronics simply continue that same work in new and more flexible ways.Gadget Reviews: mamaktalk.com
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