Ural Motorcycles: From Siberia With Sidecar: Riding a Red Army Time Machine
09-16-2006, 05:36 AM
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Ural Motorcycles: From Siberia With Sidecar: Riding a Red Army Time Machine
September 17, 2006
From Siberia With Sidecar: Riding a Red Army Time Machine
By JERRY GARRETT
IRBIT is a small city in western Siberia, situated on the bleak plains east of the Ural Mountains. In the main square, it has a statue of Lenin that cheeky capitalists have painted pink.
That monument is not the only thing that distinguishes Irbit: its 43,000 or so permanent residents are said to own, in toto, some 60,000 motorcycles. Noteworthy, indeed, for a place with a subarctic climate — brief cool summers and brutal winters worthy of a Boris Pasternak epic.
Still, it is a mecca for the Russian motorcyclist, with two vocational schools for motorcycle mechanics, a university for motorcycle engineers, a motorcycle museum, a huge annual biker rally — and the factory where motorcycles sold under the Ural name are made. Irbit is Daytona, Sturgis and Milwaukee all rolled into one.
To a market that seems to have endless affection for nostalgic machinery, Ural brings an interesting product line: sidecar-equipped motorcycles that look for all the world like vintage BMW’s. (This is not a coincidence.) The bikes offer a curious blend of modern technology, like a front disc brake, and retro touches, like spare wheels and gas-can carriers; some have a powered wheel on the sidecar, an artifact of military service. Prices in the United States top out slightly above $10,000.
How did Irbit, a frozen windswept outpost on the steppe become a Russian biker heaven? Blame the Barbarossa, the code name for the German invasion in June 1941. That’s when Stalin declared motorcycle manufacturing a strategic wartime industry and decided to have it moved out of Moscow, where it would be vulnerable to German bombers, to a location about as accessible as the dark side of the moon. Irbit would do nicely.
Back then, Russia had only recently begun manufacturing its own motorcycles, based on designs purchased or purloined (depending on which side is telling the story) from its erstwhile allies, the Germans.
BMW, an aircraft engine maker as far back as World War I, was prevented by the terms of the Treaty of Versailles from manufacturing most military materiel; there were no rules, however, about designing weaponry. And BMW had created a sturdy R71 motorcycle with a sidecar it thought was perfect for the Russian army — perfect because BMW had also secretly designed a superior model for German use. The Russian version of the R71 was called the M-72.
At some point after the shooting began, the Russians realized they’d been had on the motorcycle deal. As the tide of World War II turned, they settled the score by marching straight to Eisenach, to the BMW factory, where the entire R75 assembly line was disassembled. The machinery was transported to Irbit and reconstructed, bolt by bolt.
Since then, more than 3.2 million Urals, with their signature heavy sidecars, have been produced. The Ural, sometimes referred to as Russia’s jeep, was a Red Army staple until the late 1950’s; after that, Ural concentrated on serving a civilian market hungry for its military-strength models.
For decades, Ural enjoyed a 100 percent share in the domestic market under the Communist system, and up to 130,000 motorcycles a year were produced. But the Soviet Union’s collapse also ended the era of subsidies. The real cost of manufacturing a Ural was too high to compete with cheap bikes from Asia. Demand faded, but did not die.
As Ural kept shrinking, so did its work force. At one point, the remaining employees dragged the assembly line pieces to a small unheated building and tried to resume production using diesel generators. When fuel ran out, work continued by candlelight.
Russian venture capitalists saved the enterprise at its darkest hour, in the winter of 2000-1, agreeing to new investments.
The company closed for six months to retool, starting again in late 2001. Annual sales have stabilized at about 2,000 worldwide.
The plucky Ural has attracted a devoted, if tiny, worldwide following from riders drawn to its go-anywhere, do-anything toughness and the ubiquitous sidecar. Urals also offer a unusual two-wheel drive ability; with a flip of a couple of levers, the wheel on the sidecar joins the motorcycle’s rear wheel in delivering power. Together, they can pull a Ural out of terrain nasty enough to snag a four-wheel-drive truck.
“People used Urals as work-horses,” said Madina Merzhoyeva, one of eight employees in Ural’s American office in Redmond, Wash. “To haul stuff around, commute, haul potato sacks on farms — young families could afford Urals as their inexpensive but practical transportation.”
Among motorcycle journalists who have some history with Urals, the view of the new models mimics what many of my old neighbors in Detroit say these days: “Oh, it’s nowhere near as bad as it used to be.”
Less than a ringing endorsement, to be sure, and not likely to wind up as a slogan for an advertising campaign (for Ural or for Detroit). But at least they are willing to concede that improvements were needed.
Now known as Irbitski Motozykletny Zavod, or IMZ-Ural, the company is striving to overcome appalling quality issues, to upgrade its models and to make them appealing enough to develop an international clientele. Ural still manufactures the frame, engine, transmission, wheels and sidecar parts for the basic 1939 specifications. But more and more components come from suppliers in Japan, Europe and the United States.
To meet American exhaust emissions standards, the anemic 650 cc two-cylinder engine had to be redesigned. In 2003, a 40-horsepower 750 cc model appeared. Sales have gradually increased; in 2005, Ural sold 550 motorcycles in the United States and the sales goal this year is 800 bikes.
“The challenge has been, however, to overcome the haunting reputation of poor quality,” Ms. Merzhoyeva said, “and change the perception of Ural being just an old retro bike.
“The company initially set out to be very aggressive in quality improvement, and in a relatively short period of time made significant changes to the bikes; 2003-6 models are light years ahead of even 2002 Urals,” she said.
Ural’s next big objective is to redesign its ancient transmission, which does not offer the convenience of synchronized gears. To avoid the embarrassment of grinding gears when shifting, the operator either expertly matches the engine speed to the transmission speed or double-clutches, giving the throttle a quick blip with the transmission in neutral and the clutch engaged, to get all the internal parts marching to the same beat.
“During the break-in period the noise and ‘crunchiness’ is normal,” Ms. Merzhoyeva advised. “After about 2,000 kilometers, the stiffness and noise significantly decrease.” Anyone proficient in motorcycle operation is likely to feel, when riding a Ural, like a buffalo on roller skates. The drag of the sidecar can make the 739-pound ensemble pull left during acceleration and between gear changes, much as torque steer tugs at the steering in a powerful front-drive car. During deceleration, and braking, the Ural pulls to the right. Since there’s always clutching, shifting, accelerating and braking going on, the Ural seems to slither back and forth across the road.
Cornering is also a specialized skill in sidecar motorcycling. If the sidecar is empty its wheel is likely to lift off the ground during a right-hand turn; turning works better with a loved one, or other ballast, in the sidecar. Getting the sidecar wheel back to terra firma takes anxious moments and a commitment to turning the handlebars left.
Not only can a Ural carry two people, the camouflage-painted Gear-Up model (with factory-installed machine gun mount — weapon sold separately) comes with a passenger seat on the motorcycle that increases total capacity to three. Behind the sidecar’s seat is enough storage for a duffel bag or two. All Urals with sidecars carry a handy spare tire.
The Ural line now comprises five models. The $10,190 Patrol is a tad less martial than the combat-ready Gear-Up, $10,990; both feature two-wheel drive. The $10,890 Retro is faithful to the 1939 BMW design. The $8,990 Tourist offers amenities like a windscreen for the sidecar, and the $10,090 Troyka evinces a more modern design. (So does the coming Wolf cruiser, which lacks a sidecar and is quite un-retro. It is available now for preorder at $6,390.)
I tested the teeth-rattling Gear-Up in Southern California. I wanted the quintessential Ural experience, and I confess, to watching too many episodes, as an impressionable youth, of “Hogan’s Heroes.” My experience double-clutching a ’32 Ford long, long ago helped me to shift with commendable mercy through the four forward gears. Another unusual Ural feature is its reverse gear (the Honda Gold Wing and BMW K1200 have limited reversing ability.)
A Ural will cruise at nearly freeway speeds. Braking safely from those velocities seemed iffy at first, but ultimately it did stop. Turning the Ural requires actually pulling and pushing on the handlebars; leaning, as you would on a two-wheel motorcycle, produces nothing but a hernia with a full sidecar.
The sidecar can be removed, but any temptation to run the bike without its sidecar — despite its classic good looks — is best suppressed.
“Ural was born with a sidecar,” Ms. Merzhoyeva explained. “Its entire geometry is calculated to produce the best sidecar handling. If you take the sidecar off, the bike will require some modifications for best performance.
“People who buy Urals take the sidecars off very rarely,” she added. “And when they do they put it back on because a Ural without a sidecar is not a Ural.”
Urals are known for their durability, and its cult of owners regularly set off on hemisphere-crossing, or even round-the-world journeys. About 30 miles was enough for me, not to mention my stoic companion in the sidecar.
It was all something of a Walter Mitty moment; I imagined us juddering along the trans-Siberian Road of Bones on a cruel winter’s night, my trusted lieutenant at my side, automatic weapons at the ready and boxes of ammunition bouncing carelessly in the trunk.
We are singing, “Then conquer we must, because our cause is just.”
Hogan!
INSIDE TRACK: Perfect ride for the May Day parade.
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/17/au...pagewanted=all
From Siberia With Sidecar: Riding a Red Army Time Machine
By JERRY GARRETT
IRBIT is a small city in western Siberia, situated on the bleak plains east of the Ural Mountains. In the main square, it has a statue of Lenin that cheeky capitalists have painted pink.
That monument is not the only thing that distinguishes Irbit: its 43,000 or so permanent residents are said to own, in toto, some 60,000 motorcycles. Noteworthy, indeed, for a place with a subarctic climate — brief cool summers and brutal winters worthy of a Boris Pasternak epic.
Still, it is a mecca for the Russian motorcyclist, with two vocational schools for motorcycle mechanics, a university for motorcycle engineers, a motorcycle museum, a huge annual biker rally — and the factory where motorcycles sold under the Ural name are made. Irbit is Daytona, Sturgis and Milwaukee all rolled into one.
To a market that seems to have endless affection for nostalgic machinery, Ural brings an interesting product line: sidecar-equipped motorcycles that look for all the world like vintage BMW’s. (This is not a coincidence.) The bikes offer a curious blend of modern technology, like a front disc brake, and retro touches, like spare wheels and gas-can carriers; some have a powered wheel on the sidecar, an artifact of military service. Prices in the United States top out slightly above $10,000.
How did Irbit, a frozen windswept outpost on the steppe become a Russian biker heaven? Blame the Barbarossa, the code name for the German invasion in June 1941. That’s when Stalin declared motorcycle manufacturing a strategic wartime industry and decided to have it moved out of Moscow, where it would be vulnerable to German bombers, to a location about as accessible as the dark side of the moon. Irbit would do nicely.
Back then, Russia had only recently begun manufacturing its own motorcycles, based on designs purchased or purloined (depending on which side is telling the story) from its erstwhile allies, the Germans.
BMW, an aircraft engine maker as far back as World War I, was prevented by the terms of the Treaty of Versailles from manufacturing most military materiel; there were no rules, however, about designing weaponry. And BMW had created a sturdy R71 motorcycle with a sidecar it thought was perfect for the Russian army — perfect because BMW had also secretly designed a superior model for German use. The Russian version of the R71 was called the M-72.
At some point after the shooting began, the Russians realized they’d been had on the motorcycle deal. As the tide of World War II turned, they settled the score by marching straight to Eisenach, to the BMW factory, where the entire R75 assembly line was disassembled. The machinery was transported to Irbit and reconstructed, bolt by bolt.
Since then, more than 3.2 million Urals, with their signature heavy sidecars, have been produced. The Ural, sometimes referred to as Russia’s jeep, was a Red Army staple until the late 1950’s; after that, Ural concentrated on serving a civilian market hungry for its military-strength models.
For decades, Ural enjoyed a 100 percent share in the domestic market under the Communist system, and up to 130,000 motorcycles a year were produced. But the Soviet Union’s collapse also ended the era of subsidies. The real cost of manufacturing a Ural was too high to compete with cheap bikes from Asia. Demand faded, but did not die.
As Ural kept shrinking, so did its work force. At one point, the remaining employees dragged the assembly line pieces to a small unheated building and tried to resume production using diesel generators. When fuel ran out, work continued by candlelight.
Russian venture capitalists saved the enterprise at its darkest hour, in the winter of 2000-1, agreeing to new investments.
The company closed for six months to retool, starting again in late 2001. Annual sales have stabilized at about 2,000 worldwide.
The plucky Ural has attracted a devoted, if tiny, worldwide following from riders drawn to its go-anywhere, do-anything toughness and the ubiquitous sidecar. Urals also offer a unusual two-wheel drive ability; with a flip of a couple of levers, the wheel on the sidecar joins the motorcycle’s rear wheel in delivering power. Together, they can pull a Ural out of terrain nasty enough to snag a four-wheel-drive truck.
“People used Urals as work-horses,” said Madina Merzhoyeva, one of eight employees in Ural’s American office in Redmond, Wash. “To haul stuff around, commute, haul potato sacks on farms — young families could afford Urals as their inexpensive but practical transportation.”
Among motorcycle journalists who have some history with Urals, the view of the new models mimics what many of my old neighbors in Detroit say these days: “Oh, it’s nowhere near as bad as it used to be.”
Less than a ringing endorsement, to be sure, and not likely to wind up as a slogan for an advertising campaign (for Ural or for Detroit). But at least they are willing to concede that improvements were needed.
Now known as Irbitski Motozykletny Zavod, or IMZ-Ural, the company is striving to overcome appalling quality issues, to upgrade its models and to make them appealing enough to develop an international clientele. Ural still manufactures the frame, engine, transmission, wheels and sidecar parts for the basic 1939 specifications. But more and more components come from suppliers in Japan, Europe and the United States.
To meet American exhaust emissions standards, the anemic 650 cc two-cylinder engine had to be redesigned. In 2003, a 40-horsepower 750 cc model appeared. Sales have gradually increased; in 2005, Ural sold 550 motorcycles in the United States and the sales goal this year is 800 bikes.
“The challenge has been, however, to overcome the haunting reputation of poor quality,” Ms. Merzhoyeva said, “and change the perception of Ural being just an old retro bike.
“The company initially set out to be very aggressive in quality improvement, and in a relatively short period of time made significant changes to the bikes; 2003-6 models are light years ahead of even 2002 Urals,” she said.
Ural’s next big objective is to redesign its ancient transmission, which does not offer the convenience of synchronized gears. To avoid the embarrassment of grinding gears when shifting, the operator either expertly matches the engine speed to the transmission speed or double-clutches, giving the throttle a quick blip with the transmission in neutral and the clutch engaged, to get all the internal parts marching to the same beat.
“During the break-in period the noise and ‘crunchiness’ is normal,” Ms. Merzhoyeva advised. “After about 2,000 kilometers, the stiffness and noise significantly decrease.” Anyone proficient in motorcycle operation is likely to feel, when riding a Ural, like a buffalo on roller skates. The drag of the sidecar can make the 739-pound ensemble pull left during acceleration and between gear changes, much as torque steer tugs at the steering in a powerful front-drive car. During deceleration, and braking, the Ural pulls to the right. Since there’s always clutching, shifting, accelerating and braking going on, the Ural seems to slither back and forth across the road.
Cornering is also a specialized skill in sidecar motorcycling. If the sidecar is empty its wheel is likely to lift off the ground during a right-hand turn; turning works better with a loved one, or other ballast, in the sidecar. Getting the sidecar wheel back to terra firma takes anxious moments and a commitment to turning the handlebars left.
Not only can a Ural carry two people, the camouflage-painted Gear-Up model (with factory-installed machine gun mount — weapon sold separately) comes with a passenger seat on the motorcycle that increases total capacity to three. Behind the sidecar’s seat is enough storage for a duffel bag or two. All Urals with sidecars carry a handy spare tire.
The Ural line now comprises five models. The $10,190 Patrol is a tad less martial than the combat-ready Gear-Up, $10,990; both feature two-wheel drive. The $10,890 Retro is faithful to the 1939 BMW design. The $8,990 Tourist offers amenities like a windscreen for the sidecar, and the $10,090 Troyka evinces a more modern design. (So does the coming Wolf cruiser, which lacks a sidecar and is quite un-retro. It is available now for preorder at $6,390.)
I tested the teeth-rattling Gear-Up in Southern California. I wanted the quintessential Ural experience, and I confess, to watching too many episodes, as an impressionable youth, of “Hogan’s Heroes.” My experience double-clutching a ’32 Ford long, long ago helped me to shift with commendable mercy through the four forward gears. Another unusual Ural feature is its reverse gear (the Honda Gold Wing and BMW K1200 have limited reversing ability.)
A Ural will cruise at nearly freeway speeds. Braking safely from those velocities seemed iffy at first, but ultimately it did stop. Turning the Ural requires actually pulling and pushing on the handlebars; leaning, as you would on a two-wheel motorcycle, produces nothing but a hernia with a full sidecar.
The sidecar can be removed, but any temptation to run the bike without its sidecar — despite its classic good looks — is best suppressed.
“Ural was born with a sidecar,” Ms. Merzhoyeva explained. “Its entire geometry is calculated to produce the best sidecar handling. If you take the sidecar off, the bike will require some modifications for best performance.
“People who buy Urals take the sidecars off very rarely,” she added. “And when they do they put it back on because a Ural without a sidecar is not a Ural.”
Urals are known for their durability, and its cult of owners regularly set off on hemisphere-crossing, or even round-the-world journeys. About 30 miles was enough for me, not to mention my stoic companion in the sidecar.
It was all something of a Walter Mitty moment; I imagined us juddering along the trans-Siberian Road of Bones on a cruel winter’s night, my trusted lieutenant at my side, automatic weapons at the ready and boxes of ammunition bouncing carelessly in the trunk.
We are singing, “Then conquer we must, because our cause is just.”
Hogan!
INSIDE TRACK: Perfect ride for the May Day parade.
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/17/au...pagewanted=all
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