The Flight of the Honda Hawk
IT'S PERHAPS THE slickest run the Honda Hawk has ever made-off the struts with little bobbling or swerving, up through 1st, 2nd and 3rd gears, the two-mile sign flashes past at about 200 mph, full throttle in 4th, the song of the wind and the muted howl of eight turbo-charged cylinders strong in my ears, a drop in thrust as the rev limiters cut out at 8000 rpm, then into 5th gear for the hard pull through the Bonneville timing traps. The four-mile sign disappears around the side of the nose window and the Hawk is running about 290 mph by the tachometer.
The five-mile sign looms rapidly into view to the left of the front tire, and my immediate reaction is one of joy and satisfaction. The Hawk has cut a good number, plenty of speed to qualify for a record attempt tomorrow, Friday morning. And, throughout the run, the gentle swerves needed to stay in the middle of the long, graded strip of salt have been easy to handle, easier than on any previous run.
As the big sign with the numeral five zips by, the machine suddenly, shockingly, veers left. Desperately, but with all of the precision I can muster at a moment like this, I crank the handlebars to the left and bank the machine over to the right. The Hawk responds, and begins an agonizingly slow arc to the right, back toward the center of the course.
The Hawk crosses the narrow lane very quickly at 2 70 mph. From inside the streamlined shell it is instantly clear that the machine’s path will arc off the graded track into the edge berm and off into the rough “crunchies,” compression ridges on the great salt desert.
With the machine banked well over to the right, the tires hit the soft berm. The sickening feel of wheel slide streaks through my body, and I know that the machine has crossed up and is trying to play dirt-tracker at 270 mph. A couple of twitches, crossing up one way and then the other, and the Hawk falls over.
As it drops, I pull the right hand lever to release the high-speed parachute. Almost immediately, just as the machine hits the salt, it takes off like a launched javelin. I see the sky above, and the normal sounds of salt contact are strangely absent. The Hawk is flying at terrific speed, and all I can do is ride along.
I reach out with my left hand and pull the low-speed parachute. Nothing to do now but try to get stopped as quickly as possible. The Hawk rolls in the air, fluttering like a bird with broken wings, and arcs back toward the salt-upside down.
Through the nose window I can see the salt approaching, but before the Hawk hits I close my eyes and brace arms and legs as hard as possible. We come to earth with a resounding crunch, slide, bounce—and then we are stopped.
THE FLIGHT OF THE HONDA HAWK
Jon McKibben
Time to get out and survey the damage, both to machine and me. I pull the hatch cover pins, still functioning normally as a kind of final tribute to the builders of the bulletproof Honda Hawk. As I begin to crawl out of the hatch onto the salt, I realize that there is an awful lot of smoke and bad smell, so I reach back into the cockpit and press the fire extinguisher control. Freon hisses into the engine and rider compartments, and the fire almost immediately diminishes.
People are rushing up, all with the same question, “Are you okay?” Sure, Fm all right, but the Hawk is destroyed. Any immediate joy in being alive and well is dampened by terrible frustration, the disappointing realization that the Hawk won’t run again. The record that the Honda people have worked for, the flogging day-and-night to build, rebuild and rebuild again, has once again escaped the Hawk.
Everything seems to work normally, both legs hold me up and respond to walking commands. Arms and hands feel a little numb, but I release the D-rings on my helmet strap without difficulty.
And then I do the only thing that makes sense to me at the time. I toss my helmet onto the salt, throw off my gloves, and walk away from the machine which just finished its last run with lifesaving performance.
Standing there, looking off across the salt with my back to the machine and the people, my guts are wrenched by the bitter failure to attain the record that was within our grasp. Run after run well over record speed. Night after night watching the Honda guys slave to prepare the Hawk for “one more shot. ”
Hawk I is dead, but in its death it proved to be the strongest, safest motorcycle ever conceived. The monocoque structure around the rider compartment stayed remarkably intact, despite a Bonneville crash that may be unsurpassed in severity. The parachutes worked, and kept the machine from a far longer flight and tumbling landing. The seatbelt and shoulder harness system was superb. Green bruise stripes across my pelvis and collar bones are a welcome tradeoff for a broken neck, crushed body or fractured skull.
Earlier in the 1972 Bonneville Speed Week, a motorcycle streamliner rider was killed while traveling at a reported 50 mph. Another rider upset his twowheeled liner at about 80-90 mph, and was still unconscious days later.
Neither rider released his parachutes, and consequently rolled and tumbled. Both had their low-speed stabilizing struts down when they crashed, the struts digging in and preventing a smooth slide across the salt. The one who was almost instantly killed didn’t fasten, or came out of, his shoulder harness, allowing his head to leave the protective confine of the machine’s structure and be crushed against the salt.
Rider errors? Sure, but motorcycle streamliners are perhaps the most difficult machines in all the racing world to ride and control. How severely should a rider be penalized for an error? Death or permanent disablement seem unduly harsh, if they can be prevented by proper machine design.
The Hawk was a heavy motorcycle. Starting line weight at Bonneville this year was about 1700 lb. But the monocoque structure only weighed about 270 lb. How much could be saved by scrimping on structure and safety? Paring off 50-75 lb. by creating a fragile shell around the rider is a foolish compromise.
The Hawk recorded speeds over 286 mph through a measured mile. True, the official two-way land speed record still is held by Harley-Davidson, but I believe that even the most anti-Honda reader would have to admit that the Hawk showed plenty of speed. The Honda Hawk was the fastest motorcycle ever built, and the safest. You don’t have to trade rider protection for performance.
The American Motorcycle Association is concerned about Bonneville motorcycles. In the coming months, men like Don Woods and Jim Manning will be seeking information for development of safety standards for motorcycle streamliners. Earl and Bruce Flanders continue to work very hard toward safe, fair competition at Bonneville, and presumably will be in charge of the speed record runs for a long time to come.
Sometimes I disagree with Earl on a technical point or two, but my respect for his hard labor in behalf of Bonneville motorcycle racers is great. Bonneville is Earl Flanders’ labor of love, and with help from his sons he always manages to make Bonneville a pleasant, meaningful experience for everyone connected with motorcycle record attempts.
As I write this, Honda’s plans for future record attempts are unknown. A new streamliner will cost a considerable amount of money. The crew of the Hawk, headed by Bob Young and Dix Erickson, is eager to apply the lessons we learned with Hawk I toward construction of another machine. They are confident they can build a faster, better handling, more consistent motorcycle this time.
One thing is sure. A new Hawk will be as safe as the original, and that’s saying a lot. When you walk away from a 150-yard flight at 270 mph, you really don’t know how to thank the builders and crew. Thanks, Honda, for my life. If you build a new Hawk, I want in front of the line to ride it.
