The Royal Enfield Story: A Tale Of Two Singles

At around half past three on Tuesday afternoon, Mohan knows he’s very near closing an important deal for his airline, which would get him out of his unfamiliar low sales rut. Just before the day's end, he loses out to the rival player, this after three days of persistent sweat and sweet talk. His calm expression hides a downed heart as he says bye to the guys, and rolls back home on the 5:46 AC, nodding slightly to a Steve Winwood playlist. It’s been a rough day. 

Mohan ducks in and out of the shower, then heads down the elevator into the basement, and walks towards a little glint of chrome in an unlit corner. As he nears the two wheels he’s proudest in the world to call his own, a small smile melts away all his previous intestinal by-product descriptions of the day. A decompression and two kicks later, and he’s off to buy bread at Satya’s bakery twelve kays away, after deciding against getting it delivered. Because somehow that beat his silver Bullet orchestrates never fails to soothe his stressed neurons.

Chicken and cheese sandwiched for supper, he sits on the single couch and places his prized book on the coffee table, feeling the familiar nirvana of slowly turning the glazed pages of that particular Royal Enfield collector’s edition hardbound…

It was around the time Sir Arthur Conan Doyle introduced Dr. John H Watson to Sherlock Holmes when the gods smiled down on the vision of a sturdy frame for the bicycle that would mature into a rather famous motorcycle. In the early 1880s, George Townsend Jr. had evolved the "Townsend Cyclists Saddles and Springs" company from a producer of a local inventor’s single coil saddle to a manufacturer of complete bicycles remembered for their robust scaffolding. Around ten years later, after bagging a valuable contract to produce precision rifle parts for an arms factory in Enfield, Middlesex, the newly-named-and-controlled "Eadie Manufacturing Company Limited" commemorated the occasion with the release of the Enfield bicycle. The link to, pardon the pun, 'royalty’ began when the specialised company producing these bicycles became "Royal Enfield Manufacturing Co. Ltd".

Image source - www.hembrow.eu

Royal Enfield’s initial foray into mechanised vehicle manufacture began with three and four-wheelers with an unimaginable gross output of 1.75hp. Quite soon after the hype and hangovers of the biggest parties the right side of the 19^th century had died down, French designer Louis Goviet penned the first ever Royal Enfield motorcycle. With the remarkably small Minerva engine mounted over the front wheel, it went into production immediately in 1901.

The front-engine design soon lost 'traction', since the first wheel was overtaxed for grip around corners due to excess weight up front. The engine was moved to behind the front wheel on the frame and came to temporary rest under the rider’s rear. Royal Enfield then furthered a division purely for production of cars and motorcycles called the Enfield Autocar Company. The Alldays and Onions Company took over proceedings of the soon cash-strapped Enfield Autocar from 1907 up until 1924, when the name “Bullet” was first adopted for car models produced under “Enfield” and “Enfield-Allday” badges.

Image source - www.royalenfield-paysbasque.com

Where there is a wheel, there is usually a way to compete. In 1909, Royal Enfield produced a quality set of two wheels that used a strong 297cc, Motosacoche V-twin motor coupled with a belt drive. The V-Twin went on to become very successful, winning prestigious reliability trials like the “Edinburgh to London” in 1910. Two years later, the Royal Enfield Model 180 with a 770cc JAP engine and sidecar competed convincingly in the famed Brooklands races. Some versions were exhibited with a machine gun fitted to the sidecar to garner public awareness of their versatility. This publicity did not ‘stunt’ the company’s growth by any means, because when World War I ensued, strengthened Model 180s realised huge demand not just from the UK, but France, Belgium and Russia as well.

Royal Enfield Model 180; image source - www.motorcycle-74.blogspot.com

However, the motorcycle we so fondly know actually spawned in 1934 when 350cc and 500cc displacement iterations were released with exposed valve gear - the first true Royal Enfield Bullet. Post-WWII in 1947, Enfield reintroduced the 500 Model J with kinder-to-spine front hydraulic damping system. This economical workhorse sold good numbers, while revolutionary rear spring suspension was introduced on Bullet 350 OHV and 25hp 500 versions shortly afterwards. Wonders never ceased with Enfied around that period, it seems, as the manufacturer is credited with producing in 1959 what was possibly the first superbike in history - the 700cc Constellation Twin. Some Enfields even crossed borders into the US, rebadged as red-liveried Indians. The Yanks, however, did not take too warmly to the immigrants.

Efficient Japanese motorcycles were to become all the practical rage around when the world’s best concert ever took place in that ranch near Woodstock, New York. What was to follow could have been forecast the moment the first frugal import was successfully tested. The demise of British Royal Enfield occurred finally in 1970 when their Bradford-on-Avon factory was shut down, meekly aping the Redditch facility’s end in 1967.

Mohan pours a stiff whiskey and lights his post-meal smoke.

India, meanwhile, had more than twenty years of familiarity with the good ol’ thumper before Britain’s Enfield fabrication ground to a halt. 1955 saw the government order an 800-strong consignment of Enfields that were to be mainly pressed into border patrol service. Working to lower production costs, the Redditch firm chose Madras Motors as partner to assemble British-built components into the largely unchanged Bullet 350s under the “Enfield India” title.

By the late fifties, the Indian offshoot was manufacturing Royal Enfield components locally after purchasing the necessary tooling. Enfield India became wholly independent producers of Bullets in 1967. The company kept churning out examples of these singles for almost thirty years, till Eicher bought over the company in 1994, and obtained the rights to the “Royal Enfield” name the following year.

Unfortunately, there was a long time when a Bullet was not “Made Like a Gun” like its original 1893 trademark advertised. Worrying oil spills occurred anywhere they were parked more than momentarily, and the itch to ditch lube from any supposedly-sealed joint had the knack of creating brilliantly random black streaks on just-laundered attire. Not too much complaint was made at the time, since there really wasn't much choice in the market at the time to threaten shifting of loyalty to a competing bike maker.

However, demographics of buyers have changed especially over recent years. Younger, ‘sophisticated’ buyers in spotless chinos began demanding improved-everything, adding to the safe and more silent customer base of yore. Enfield sat up and took notice of its shoddy workmanship which turned out to be a good thing for the company. Royal Enfield can’t keep up with current demand and is ramping up production capability. Steps in the right direction are constantly being made, and though most Bullets today still ride on that basic 1960s design, they are exponentially more reliable, and easier to ride and live with now. A lot of buyers presently even use them as daily commuters, something that even the bravest enthusiast couldn’t have been bribed to do previously.

Image source - www.flickriver.com

The relatively-simple-to-modify Bullet sparked local chop shops aplenty. Results, sadly, have not always been entirely delectable due to bank statements often taking precedence over quality personalisation work. However, a handful of low-profile mod-gurus do still take pride in keeping national customisation colours at full mast. Aftermarket jobs like silencer replacements to attain that perfect pipe length and pump out the right acoustics are almost unwritten requirements of new Enfield owners today. Let’s not forget world-renowned names like Swiss Enfield distributor and tuner, Fritz W. Egli, and Englishman Andy Berry, who transcend geographical boundaries to showcase their skill and passion on the Bullet canvas.

The Royal Enfield portfolio today has a dozen single-cylinder models in 350cc and 500cc displacement variants, true to their unique mechanical upbringing. The engineered protagonist holds the longest continuous production cycle for any motorcycle in our spinning sphere’s two-wheeled history – the Bullet has become an obvious stalwart in the Motorcycle Hall of Fame. Glory put aside, there quite simply isn’t an alternative to that iconic bass resonance sending jitters down the chassis of predominantly characterless new-age competition during a nonchalant pass on open tarmac. Since often parroted are phrases like “glorious history” and “timeless heritage” in the same breath as “Bullet”, this unflinching single-cylinder icon warranted a small excavation into Royal Enfield’s time capsule.

Author Illustration

Mohan swigs the last remnants of his second drink, clinks the stubby glass down on the balsa table, and reads the handwritten epilogue on the back cover he remains deeply rooted to:

A family in the nineties,

An ailing man in his fifties,

And a Bullet from the sixties

Finally went separate ways.

It was an emotional goodbye,

But the next meeting’s on lay-by.

A stretch, a scratch, and few steps later, he’s under the covers with the fan at full tick. It’s one in the morning and he’s exhausted, but fulfilled. Mohan’s day improved by night, when he grabbed those valuable couple of hours to exercise a blessing he knew was his – being able to sample and understand why only some legends will be truly fit for royalty.

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Of True Ambassadors

Ram Banerjee was through. His shift had just ended, but where any other worker would have been glad to leave the factory, he walked to his white Maruti 800 with a slightly heavy heart. Ram was employed as a floor manager for the Hindustan Motors factory in Uttarapara, West Bengal, and was closing in on twenty-three years with the company.

His tenure with HM had begun in 1989 on the assembly line where he was tasked with fitting and then checking suspension assemblies. Ram’s excellent character and leadership qualities were soon recognised though, and he mechanically moved up the ranks to floor manager, where his ascent had plateaued over the last six years.

Ram was laid off today. He was not all surprised though. After Ambassador sales and production plummeted steadily post the mid-1990s, he knew he was lucky to have been held on for so long despite being a broad shoulder of the ever-dwindling workforce. Heck, even he had sold out, he felt, after selling his treasured and mechanic-friendly Mark II Ambassador three years ago in exchange for Mighty Mouse. Having to work for a different manufacturer after all this time was going to be tough with new sensitivity and loyalty yardsticks.

It was late and he knew Manju, his wife, would be asleep. They hadn’t had time to do the grocery round yesterday, so he decided to pick up some south Indian takeaway, and forget the day in front of the idiot box.  He reached home and slid into the cane recliner, not hassled by table etiquette or a plate at this midnight hour. The television crackled on and ironically, three channel flicks down, an Ambassador seemed to be the unusual apple of the camera’s red eye.

Turned out it was a historical tribute of sorts to the Ambassador and, despite the crappy day, Ram smiled inside. If ever there was a true fan, it was Ram. He had known no professional life outside the gates of the Hindustan Motors factory, but was still fiercely loyal to the carmaker. He began his career at the factory the day after his eighteenth birthday and bought a ‘68 Ambassador with his first chunk of savings at twenty-three. He turned up the volume a little and opened the banana leaf package of idlis and coconut chutney.

A baritone voice narrated, “If ever there was an Indian automobile that deserved the status of ‘Grand Old Lady’, it would have to be the Hindustan Ambassador. Until only recently has this iconic car been one of the chief means of personal transport across the country, from the average family right up to the top brass of government. While new-age cars have almost sent the Amby into extinction, few motor vehicles invoke nostalgia like this four-wheeled national symbol.”

Hm. "Might actually be worth a watch, this," Ram pondered as he took a sip from the water jug.

“Hindustan Motors may claim that the Ambassador has evolved since its inception, but fact is the car has hardly changed from the 1950s, save the engine transplants and minor styling alterations. Despite changes of nomenclature, from the first Mark I model to the current Avigo, the basic silhouette has been retained across the range. And why not? At one stage, the Hindustan Ambassador was the best-selling car in India, with its Uttarpara facility mass producing at full tilt. Interestingly, in 1800ISZ guise, the Amby even had the impressive claim to fame of being the fastest production car in India.”

Ram knew that was true. He recalled trying to chase a 1.8 Ambassador driver that cut him off the road and unleashed some nasty vocabulary. After three kilometres of trying to keep up in his 800, Ram gave up. Old won gold that time.

“However, the biggest selling points of the Ambassador were its spaciousness, high comfort level in the rear and the good ride quality for the time. Even the multitude of luxury automobiles now available in the country have to try really hard to emulate the back seat opulence that the Amby so popularly provided. This legend ferried pretty much the whole of India, from the average family and their cat right up to the top brass of government.”

A detergent commercial came on air, and Ram rose to get his cigarettes on the table. He lit one and drew deeply, and sank back into the chair.

“While the Hindustan Ambassador began life with a side-valve motor that produced little over 35bhp, the latest iteration of the Ambassador is available with a number of engine options: a 2000cc black smoker that produces 56 PS, and the Isuzu 1800cc petrol that produces a healthy 75 PS, with both powerplants available in CNG form as well. Called the Avigo, it also sees modern fittings like bucket seats, power steering and a factory-installed air conditioner.”

“Modern fittings are what you see in new bathrooms. Idiots. No mention of the Amby’s origins?” Ram knew that all Ambassadors were based on the Morris Oxford III, while the previous generation Landmaster was tooled from the Morris Oxford II. He fondly recalled his father’s black Landmaster with its characteristic downward-curved boot shape and rudimentary two-spoke steering wheel. As a kid growing up, he used to try spotting differences in replacement Ambies. He remembered noticing the fins on the first Ambassador which were all the rage in the late 1950s, and how the grille and headlamp covers had morphed. He hated the confused design attempts on the current Avigo however.

The narrator solemnly concluded, “HM’s iconic Ambassador seems to be wheeling down the green quarter-mile. Most of this generation would have driven or been driven in an Amby sometime in their lives, so it’s sad that fewer and fewer Ambassadors seem to be around these days. No doubt inevitable, because there are better cars available now for less money.”

He turned the box off.

There are better cars, yes. But they will evolve faster than you can change from second to third in steadfast ol’ Greenie. His mind lifted as remembered the time his Ambassador’s rear slid out unexpectedly on a wet ghat road and how he almost didn’t catch it...

 Author Illustraion

Meals Or Wheels?

It’s almost taboo these days to say you enjoy driving your vehicle because the leather surrounding your month’s bread is bound by ever-frightening fuel pricing. A sad era has dawned on petrolheads; tanking up a four-wheeler seems set to become only a luxury for our next-of-salaried-kin.

There are still some of us who can’t resist opening up the throttle on an empty piece of bitumen, but we are an endangered species. Restraint will eventually dictate even the most stubborn never-change-up driver, lest the most hated gauge in personal transport today announce that famous empty threat…

Author illustration

We grew up when petrol was cheap, streets were empty, and exhaust fumes were dirty. And didn’t we love it! Screaming engines with only two strokes and blue smoke powered the majority of motorcycles on the road, while an Amby that gave you anything over seven kilometres to the litre was deemed acceptable.

This allowed spontaneous family excursions to ‘Selvam Bakery’ thirty kays away to buy their fresh bread, instead of hopping around the block to the neighbourhood market. Those were indeed the glory days of affordable fuel.

Now we perform ballerina impressions on the accelerator, our vehicles seem greener than trees, and kids order home delivery. It’s all depressing, really.

 

Rear Wheel Should Thrive - From The Archive

What’s not to like about cars these days? Safety and finish have improved by motorway miles; we’re finally feeling some oomph in the engines and seeing technology drive the gaadi engineers. It’s a good sign because the Indian consumer has become more informed and manufacturers have to think twice about skimping on the essentials like power windows and music systems.

I’m glad to say it may be time the 0-96 km/h time of a car should become a standard measurement like how it is most of elsewhere. After all, cars these days are able hit centuries without taking a tail-light year to do so. Maybe the 0-60 km/h measurements could be restricted to our economy-focused motorcycles. Too bad our driving hasn’t improved as well, but that’s a whole other story. It still has to be said though that we still have a long way to go because we still don’t have an affordable rear-wheel drive sports car that can drift around a race track corner to comfort the crying enthusiast baby.

Somehow being seen trying to power slide your fifth generation Amby or Fiat around a corner just seems a teeny bit wrong. Do it when no one’s looking. But seriously, try it with a current affordable car and all you’ll get is understeer which is a little, ahem, boring because they’re all front-wheel-drive. Ah, rear-wheel-drive. I like the oversteer. I like the prop-shaft tunnel inside the car. I like to be pushed rather than pulled.

Image source: www.favcars.com

 

I’m waiting for the day we see more ads like the Honda one that used to air on T.V. during F1 season some years ago, the one with the Honda S2000 powersliding in the dirt in slow motion with the driver correcting the drift. Man, that kind of stuff gives us enthusiasts goose bumps and sends a cool shiver down the rear scaffolding. It’s rubbish that some people dislike ‘stunt-heavy’ advertisements? Is one supposed to dislike a trapeze artist just because what he does is dangerous? It converts people into actively involving themselves and taking pride in their driving. I’m not saying try drifting on public roads between traffic, I’m saying try it on blocked-off roads late night. Getting the government to allow such fun seems as improbable as getting it to legalize late night drags on cordoned-off roads. But that’s another whole story. Maybe I’m not too good at sticking to one story…

But it would really be nice to see experts from overseas oversee oversteer competitions when power and rear-wheel-drive become an affordable cocktail. While I puff away at my cancer stick, think about this. While we wait for the sports car for the masses let’s start organizing more car shows and similar events. I know, there goes my business idea. Not just the annual classic car shows and drags, but events for modified and customized cars as well. After all, the car artist is a neglected individual with no social skills as yet.

Talking about social skills, I recently went up to a guy in Bangalore who had a decent mod job for his Swift and said, “Nice car you got there.” He lifted his chin, looked down at me and muttered something. It certainly wasn’t a nice “Thanks dude”. He must be a shitty driver.

 

Igno Ramus

Ignorant drivers in the mountains are often entrusted with ferrying around excitable passengers. Slow trucks crawling up characteristically narrow ghat roads at single-digit speeds invite risky passes by even initially patient drivers. Blind curves are usually met with a lead foot instead of a light boot.

Those behind the wheel might do well to curb this over enthusiasm, since traffic around bends is visible only at the last instant. It is truly miraculous how bikers especially manage to retain control and skin texture during forced forays into the gravel. Also, riders need to make it a point to have their helmets strapped on, or be prepared to have them bounce off in the event of an unexpected impact. Close shaves and near misses are shockingly habitual to these unprotected road users.

Image source: www.trekkerboy.com

We might do well now to not just pry over spilt brains, but ponder seriously over this blatant disregard for common road sense. Thick-skinned attitude towards safety is now an even bigger epidemic. Accidents in the hills are adding more and more to the ever-escalating and ever-disgracing 150,000-odd annual road accidents-related death toll.

Driving schools are meant to school, not fool.

Nil Spill Hill Thrill

A young friend of mine, Ghosh, from Bangalore visited me up in Kodaikanal recently. I was pleased he wanted to learn how to drive in the hills despite being a newbie, because once you get accustomed to the hills, other driving becomes easier. So what we did was take turns driving amidst Kodai town in our family four-speed Maruti 800, with me talking through my driving and pointing out his mistakes.

Kodai roads are narrow and with steep inclines for the most part, so many times there isn’t room for trucks or buses to go two abreast. This often necessitates stopping and starting from an incline. I found that Ghosh would continually roll back and was in danger of getting the Maruti Service Centre’s finance manager rubbing his hands in glee.  “Use the handbrake so you won’t roll and release it only as you feel the engine power kicking in through the clutch,” I told him. “It’s a blessing we have handbrakes now." A far cry from the nostalgic Fiats and Ambassadors that required a hand stand to get them to work.

While driving around, unfortunately missing out on the pretty girls, Ghosh’s gear changing was obviously not suited to hill driving. He would shift up the gears too quickly into top gear just like changing in flat terrain, and I cringed because the car was struggling. I told him to downshift to a lower gear, third, because it was a moderate straight uphill gradient. He argued that the car would ‘drink’ more fuel, which is true to an extent, but I explained that a little more fuel consumed is much better than the long-term damage on the engine. After all, changing two gears, even three, uses far more fuel in reality, instead of choosing the right one initially.

After traversing a bit in town, we picked up some dinner and a couple of Kingfishers for the night. I drove the way back. Going home, mainly a slight downhill slope, required going down to third gear, not fourth (or fifth gear like some unknowingly persist doing). He asked why and I explained that it was to save the brakes, since rolling down a hill in a high gear using the brakes to constantly slow down allows dangerous brake fade. He was also a little bewildered to know why I was being so ‘nice’ and giving room to climbing vehicles at the narrow sections. "Uphill traffic always gets right of way." That night though, he showed me who was boss on the racetrack, on the world's greatest driving simulator, Gran Tourismo. Maybe it was the beer that caught me off guard. Ahem.

Image source: Unknown

 

The next day, I thought it would be nice to do what’s called the ‘ten-mile round’ in these parts for more driving practice for Ghosh. The road here winds through some lovely scenery and popular sightseeing halts. He was at the wheel and leaned on the horn when we got stuck behind a tourist bus. However, an experienced hill driver will tell you that you only need to toot to let the driver know you’re behind in a faster vehicle, and a thank-you-toot when he gives you room to pass. But Ghosh insisted on overtaking. “You can’t see more than a few feet ahead of you since the road is winding, dude, so don’t," I thought.  Needless to say, suddenly two cars appeared from the opposite direction and we narrowly avoided a metallic spill.

I took over the wheel, and we carried on down the road. Ghosh wanted to go a little faster, but before I did, I told him that this is when you have to be extra careful, especially during the day, since there are no headlights to warn you of an approaching vehicle, especially if the driver doesn’t toot his horn.

 

As part of the gear changing lesson, I accelerated a bit, and since most of the turns were pretty sharp, I told him you should always go down to second gear for sharp turns (as is true for most moderately powered cars), the first reason being the extra torque which helps the car grip the road better and prevent it from running dangerously wide towards oncoming traffic. Most accidents in the hills happen because inexperienced drivers are in racetrack mode and cut neat across their lane. The other reason for a gear change is so that you don’t lose power during the turn and hold up traffic behind you while you wait for the car to gather momentum again.

Later that day Ghosh left, after bargaining for three tons of homemade (or should I say home -mad) chocolate and eucalyptus oil, and caught the bus to Bangalore after an evening dosa. I hope he returned home a better driver.