What the Classic 650 looks like

Royal Enfield's new Classic 650 isn't a copy of the 1951 500 twin.

 Dubbing it "the most retro of them all," Ultimate Motorcycling's thorough description of the coming Royal Enfield Classic 650 twin neatly summarizes why it appeals. 

Of all the Royal Enfield 650 twins -- Interceptor, Continental GT, Shotgun, Super Meteor and Bear -- the Classic 650 packs the clearest appeal to fans of historic British motorcycles. 

It's upright, attractively styled, tastefully shiny, and powered by a parallel twin-cylinder motor. 

It clearly references Royal Enfield twins of the past. EVO magazine reported that the "sweetly rounded tank plus a solo saddle" are a direct reference to Royal Enfield's first parallel twin motorcycle, the 500 twin of 1948. 

"In fact, if you care to compare it to the new Classic 650 you can make out why and how (design chief) Mark Wells and his motley crew fell in love with the 500's lines to scale them up in more ways than one to present Royal Enfield's new flagship in all its grown-up build and grace," the magazine wrote.

Listen to Mark Wells enthuse about the Classic 650 in this brief Royal Enfield video.

Except, note that he doesn't mention the 500 twin in this video (he may have, elsewhere).

Comparing the 500 twin to the Classic 650 directly, it's easy to spot the differences in appearance. See the animation at the top of this blog item.

The separate gearbox, kick start lever, and neutral finder lever of the 500 twin impose a lot of busyness. Its straight up-and-down cylinders stand as erect as soldiers at attention. Its solo seat doesn't hide the springs that support it.

The Classic 650 caters more to modern tastes, with gearbox and motor encased together. Cylinders are canted forward and the side covers slant firmly forward.

The Classic 650 is tightly packaged. Its solo seat is tucked in, without springs. From some angles the big, unit powerplant seems to bulge with barely contained muscle.

One point of criticism has been the (overly?) generous rear fender, which at rest leaves a significant space over the rear wheel.

Does this rear fender make me look fat?

It seems to awkwardly advertise the fact that the Classic 650's rear wheel is 18 inches, slightly smaller than its 19-inch front.

In contrast, the rear fender of the 1951 500 looks svelte, and closely follows the curve of the wheel. (Note that the front fender of the Classic 650 is relatively trim and tight.)

To be fair, some of the "classic" in the Classic 650 twin is supplied not by bodywork but by its vintage-looking color palate of Teal, Vallam Red, Bruntingthorpe Blue, and Black Chrome.

Why even bring up the comparison of a 2025 Royal Enfield to the 500 twin of (gasp) 75 years ago?

"For those not up to speed with post-war British motorcycle history, Enfield credits its 1948 500 Twin as one of the most important bikes in its long history, and indeed of its era," Dan Trent wrote in Goodwood Road and Racing.

Royal Enfield itself suggested the comparison; not the press. Its press release, reprinted on many websites says this:

"In the mid-20th century, streamlining was the optimistic promise of modernity, speed and progress. The streamline ‘speed-form’ was an integral part of the signature style of design masters such as Henry Dreyfuss and Raymond Loewy.

"On the 500 Twin, this influence was evident in the form of the teardrop-shaped fuel tank, side panels and, perhaps most prominently, the famous signature Royal Enfield casquette (nacelle) headlight housing.

"With the new Classic 650 Twin, the design team has taken this design language and evolved it, italicizing the stance of the motorcycle to give it a sense of motion even when stood still...

"The ‘500-Twin’ later evolved into further parallel twin models like the Super Meteor, Constellation, and Interceptor, but the 500-Twin is where it all started."

To that statement, Trent injects a note of realism regarding the new (yes, new!) Classic 650 twin.

"It may not look it, but this is a totally modern bike, riffing as it does on Royal Enfield tradition but based around that decidedly 21st-century engine and using up-to-date suspension and brakes to hopefully combine contemporary riding manners with a look harking back to the good old days. If, indeed, they were that good at all."

Those "good old days" were good, in part, because they looked forward, not back. The 500 twin of 1948 was Royal Enfield's step towards the future. In his book "Royal Enfield, The Postwar Years," Roy Bacon tells it this way:

"After the second world war there was a great rush among the British firms to get a twin cylinder model into their lists in opposition to the Triumph, which had come out first in 1937. Not for nothing was the (Triumph) Speed Twin advertised as the one with a 10-year start.

"In time all the major firms produced their twins as fast as postwar problems would allow them and Royal Enfield were no exception."

Royal Enfield's 500 twin had its own distinct history, triumphing in competition, improving in power and sophistication, and even getting better looking: the early models lacked the famous casquette, and had an enormous, ghastly, unsprung front fender.

The 1951 version was best looking, in my opinion, and so I've used it for the comparison animation.

During its run, the 500 twin would spawn "sport" and "deluxe" models, be saddled with the somewhat dowdy Airflow fairing, a toaster-shaped tank, and be renamed with the sad-sack moniker "Meteor Minor."

"A little sadly, this was not what sold motorcycles at that time for a decline had set in and was to last a decade, destroying much of the British industry in the period," Bacon writes.

"There was no longer any place for a 500 twin and so, in 1963, the final example of the small Enfield twin went from the range."

What remained were memories, and they are fond memories. The new Royal Enfield Classic 650 is, to me, the most interesting of the new 650s because it carries on into that future the 500 twin never got.

Basically, it's this: what if the motorcycle I wanted as a teen (but couldn't have) was suddenly available in 2025, updated and perfected? Would I want it? Wouldn't you?

Is this the silliest motorcycle ad ever?

Why is a man in a tux disassembling a motorcycle?

 Of all the silly advertisements ever created to sell motorcycles, the most ridiculous, in my opinion, was a 1953 magazine ad for Vincent motorcycles. 

This is fair enough, because I also am of the opinion that one of the most brilliant motorcycle illustrations ever was a painting of a Vincent HRD motorcycle in action. More on that later. 

Let's do the silly part first. 

So here we have a drawing of a man in what appears to be fancy dinner dress disconnecting the rear half of a Vincent motorcycle. 

I'd only ever seen one reproduction of this advertisement on the Internet, in low resolution, so I purchased a copy of the Sept. 3, 1953 Motor Cycling magazine to see the original.

I've scanned the full-page Vincent ad in high resolution, and included it on this blog post so you can see it and even read the small print.

(Click on the image, then right click on it to open in a new tab; and you can expand it even farther.)

In the illustration, the gentleman appears to be lifting, or about to lift, the detached back end of the bike, complete with wheel, tire, subframe, fender, brake, seat, kick stand, chain guard, shock absorbers and suspension. A pretty heavy job. 

The headline reads "No.2, Features that put VINCENT in a class by itself." 

The number 2 indicates that there were a series of ads touting Vincent features. No. 1 was for "the unique Vincent Girdaulic front fork."

Vincent was proud of its fancy front fork.

The Girdaulic was indeed unique (no one else bothered with such a thing). It combined the "best features" of telescopic forks (dampening) with those of girder forks (rigidity). No tuxedoed gentleman was depicted messing with it.

I don't know if there was a "No. 3" in the series of advertisements. Vincents did have other features to tout, including enormous powerplants.

You know the famous photo of Rollie Free stretched out in only a bathing suit, riding a motorcycle to a 150 mph speed record? Yup. He was on a Vincent.

Possibly the most famous motorcycle photo ever taken.

The bathing suit was impractical and dangerous for a speed run, but Free wanted to go for the best streamlining possible. He even wore a woman's bathing cap. No dinner suit for him.

The well-dressed man in advertisement No. 2 is brave to a lesser extent, being shown having undone the oily chain, which is seen dangling on the ground at his feet. No way he didn't ruin his clothing doing that.

So, what IS he doing?

According to the ad copy, the drawing illustrates the great "accessibility" of the Vincent motorcycle. The rear suspension, it boasts, can be "removed in a matter of minutes by the simple operation of undoing three nuts, driving out three bolts, uncoupling the rear chain and detaching the rear brake cable and rear light wire."

You would never do this. Not in a tux. So it's silly.

But maybe the advertisement worked. Because it made you stop and look.

Whether in a 1953 magazine or a 2024 TikTok, the first thing any advertisement has to accomplish is to make you look at it.

In this case, the ad's real message may have been not in the illustration or the copy, but the simple motto, at the bottom:

"Motorcycles of the future will be judged by the standards set by Vincent today."

If you have heard at all about Vincent motorcycles, you probably believe that statement to be true. They were advanced motorcycles.

Just ask Hunter S. Thompson.

"A fantastic bike," he wrote of the Vincent Black Shadow, going on to exaggerate slightly.

"The new model is something like two thousand cubic inches, developing two hundred brake-horsepower at four thousand revolutions per minute on a magnesium frame with two Styrofoam seats and a total curb weight of exactly two hundred pounds."

Now, quickly, what about my favorite motorcycle illustration ever?

It is R.C. Reyrolles' 1945 painting of a prototype HRD-Vincent Series B. Rapide.

After this, no one ever again had to explain the thrill of motorcycling.

What's cuter than a Royal Enfield?

Automobiles don't come cuter than a Morris Minor station wagon.

 "Wouldn't you like to have a hobby car you could have fun with?" my wife asked me. 

We'd just admired a lovely 1959 Morris Minor 1000 estate wagon (dubbed the Traveler) parked at a marina in St. Marys, Georgia. A surfboard was attached to the roof. 

Naturally we talked with the enthusiastic owner, who described its restoration, to standards that made it better than it was when new. 

Its original 948cc motor was replaced with the 1275cc motor. The rear axle ratio remained 4:11, however, limiting speed. 

It's a surfer's delight, complete with surfboard on the roof.

"I have a bunch of collector cars," he said, mentioning a 1932 Ford convertible. But the Morris was his favorite. 

The car, probably not repainted in a factory color, fairly glowed in the sunset. 

Sure, who wouldn't want such a pretty little car?

"Thing is," I told my wife, "if I had a car like that I would want to baby it, keep it in showpiece condition,  avoid wear and tear, and hardly ever drive it.

"Besides, I already have a fun collector vehicle," I said.

"You do?"

"Yes. My Royal Enfield Bullet. It gets all the love I have to spare for a vehicle."

Note the bulge of the hood crease at the center of the bonnet. Designer Alex Issigonis, dissatisfied with the narrow width of the car, had the prototype cut in half and the halves moved apart until he decided a four-inch increase looked best. The bulge filled in the gap.

"But a car would be safer," she said.

"Yes, safer than a motorcycle. It's a metal box you are inside. But, as a car, this one is only safe to 1959 standards. Seatbelts might have been added, but not shoulder belts, head rests, collapsible steering column, or side impact protection. The owner told us his car isn't fast enough to be safe on expressways and its brakes are probably as bad as the ones on my old Enfield."

A design of the 1940s, the Morris Minor was never meant for safety.

Its stiff, monocoque structure provided no crumble zone. The thickness of hood and doors was reduced in an effort to improve things, but the fender wings remained full strength, eliminating any advantage. The thinner metal was abandoned as its result alone was to make a crumble zone of the passenger compartment.

But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and the little Morris Traveler is as cute as a puppy. My wife almost cooed as she peered in through a side window.

"I see you travel with your skeleton," she said to the owner. A plastic Halloween skeleton rested on the back seat.

"Yes. I pose him on the surfboard at car shows," he replied.

You can't beat that for cute.

Ahead of its time in some ways, the Morris Minor retained post-war styling of the 1940s. Seatbelts came along in the 1960s but otherwise safety was an afterthought.