Speed takes time. The Bonneville Salt Flats, dubbed the fastest track in the world, is an extremely tricky race surface to figure out. Optimal conditions roll in around the end of summer, after the ridged and rigid crust has been appropriately baked by Utah’s summer sun. Unlike asphalt, that crust could quickly give way to a softer powdery bed below if it hasn’t had its time in the oven. Jumping on the power too early and creating too much torque or adding one too many spoilers for down-force could spell doom — especially for motorcycle riders chasing a land speed record — by swallowing or re-directing a wheel before a rider has time to react. So you see, going fast takes time — and for some, a lifetime.
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Burt Munro set his first speed record in New Zealand in 1938. He was riding an eighteen-year-old motorcycle that was factory built to top out at 55 MPH. Burt clocked 120.8. That sort of bump doesn’t happen on its own. When it left the assembly line, Burt’s Indian Scout was powered by a side-valved 600cc V-Twin complete with a mechanical oil pump and helical gear transmission, a very advanced system for the time. The tinkering began almost immediately, and the speeds increased.
By the time Burt began his top-end conversion to an overhead valve assembly he was hitting 90 MPH. With the help of a kerosene blow-lamp and hand-built castings, new pistons were forged to fit the over-bored cylinders, bringing the total displacement to 1000ccs. Those were connected to a larger crank pin via connecting rods that normally saw duty in Caterpillar tractor axles. The dry-sump system from the larger-engined Indian Chief was swapped in to meet the oiling demands, and those helical gears gave way to a chain driven primary, complete with homemade sprockets. With the bottom-end now built, an extra set of cams were introduced to allow for finer tuning during valve adjustments, and finally, the clutch was beefed up through the addition of extra springs to handle the extra power going to the 3-speed gear box. Built by his own hands in his own shed and seemingly held together with tie-wire and gaffer-tape, his 1920 Indian Scout was very much like the man himself: rough around the edges, but purpose built.
By the time he made it to Bonneville, everything had been changed in one way or another; most people wouldn’t dare swing a leg over his machine for fear it would fall apart, or worse, blow up with them on it. Despite the sport’s “grassroots” style, most other land-speed record seekers piloted machines that were team built, with professionally manufactured parts and in some cases, factory support, even back then. While other competitors were escorted to the staging lanes by their entourage of support staff and mechanics, who were also ready to change factory-finished parts if necessary, Burt usually had to ask folks for a push just to get his bike going. When asked in 1971 by then Bonneville chief referee Earl Flanders when he was going to wash that same (now fifty-one-year-old) machine, Munro replied confusedly, “Wash it? With water? Oh, I ‘aven’t ‘ad time to polish mine. It’s been nine months and nine days on that engine last year, and three minutes to three on a Saturday six weeks ago I got it to run right. New cylinders, new pistons, new cam rod, new cams — eight of ’em — eight new pistons, new valves, all new eccentric tappets and guides. I wasn’t idle. I had three hours off on Christmas Day. In the middle of the day, when they eat”.
“Wash it? With water? Oh, I ‘aven’t ‘ad time to polish mine.”
– Burt Munro
