I wouldn’t call myself the world’s best motocross test rider, but definitely not the worst either. What I am is a professional motorcycle test rider, and I’ve been doing this job for what feels like forever. Maybe it just seems that way after 54 years immersed in motocross racing, with 46 of those years dedicated to MXA. Over these decades, I’ve straddled the saddles of incredible bikes, truly good bikes, okay bikes, downright bad bikes, and some machines that seemed designed to torture my very soul.
Back in my younger, more reckless days, mechanical failures were just part of the game. Wheels exploding, frames cracking, gas tanks melting, shock shafts snapping, engines detonating, seats ejecting, radiators geysering – and my personal favorite – footpegs vanishing mid-ride. They didn’t actually vanish, of course; they could usually be found embedded in the dirt a good distance from my crash site. Time, as they say, heals all wounds and, thankfully, improves motorcycle design.
I like to think I’ve played a tiny role in the evolution of Motocross Bikes. Today, thankfully, truly terrible bikes are rarely sold to the public. While part of me is relieved to not have to wrestle with the infamous “three C’s” (Carabela, Cagiva, or Can-Am) ever again, another part of me misses the unpredictable thrill. From day one, I’ve been captivated by the unique sensory experience of a brand new bike – the initial creak of the cylinder as it hits peak temperature, the distinctive aroma of burning cosmoline, the golden hue of break-in oil, and the acrid fumes from fresh muffler packing. That initial tightness, that new bike feel, is so fleeting, you can practically sense it dissipating with every foot of track you cover. My love for motocross bikes runs so deep that even when I know a bike is going to be a disaster, I still crave to be the first to ride it. The adrenaline rush is even greater when a bike has earned the ominous reputation of a “serial killer with wheels.”
EVEN WHEN I KNOW THAT A BIKE IS GOING TO BE BAD, I STILL WANT TO BE THE FIRST GUY TO RIDE IT. THE RUSH IS EVEN BIGGER WHEN A PARTICULAR BIKE COMES WITH THE CACHET OF “SERIAL KILLER WITH WHEELS.”
Whenever the topic of motorcycle testing arises, the inevitable questions are: “What’s the best bike you ever raced?” and “What’s the worst?”. I’ll keep the “best bike” to myself for now, as there are always new models on the horizon, and the next “magic machine” might be just around the corner. As for the worst, it’s almost unfair to single out just one, given the sheer volume of horrendous heaps of metal and rubber I’ve encountered. It’s important to remember that even the worst motocross bikes often have a few redeeming qualities, just as the best bikes are rarely without flaws. Think of a motocross bike like a fine wine; it must be judged within the context of its era, not by today’s evolved standards. To a modern rider, virtually every bike made before 1980 might seem like the “worst bike ever.”
To truly appreciate the spectrum of good and bad motocross bikes, you have to have been riding during their respective eras. Luckily, I raced these old machines when they were brand new. With that experience as my credential, let me highlight a few… or perhaps lowlight is more accurate.
THERE IS ONE BIKE THAT SATAN WOULD CHOOSE TO RIDE, IF HE WEREN’T SO BUSY COLLECTING THE SOULS OF WAYWARD YOUTH. IT WAS CALLED THE BLACK WIDOW.
The Black Widow: 1977 Can-Am MX3
There’s one bike so evil, so diabolical, that Satan himself would choose it for a Sunday ride (if he wasn’t preoccupied with soul collecting). It was nicknamed the “Black Widow.” Sound familiar? Of course, no motorcycle company would officially christen a bike “Black Widow” – the marketing department would never allow it. However, sometimes the public gives a bike a name that’s far more damning than anything an ad agency could conjure. When Can-Am painted the 1977 MX3 black with orange stripes, the resemblance to the deadly, mate-devouring spider was undeniable.
Not every Can-Am motocross bike was terrible, but a significant number were, and the Black Widow reigned supreme in the realm of awful. Back in the day, when people inquired about the handling of the Can-Am MX3, I’d usually respond, “Like the strings on Duane Eddy’s guitar.” It was a very 1970s reference, because, well, it was the 1970s. They rarely asked for clarification, but the analogy conveyed the impression of something twangy, with excessive reverb, feedback, and the occasional jarringly sour note. One time, tackling Webco Hill at Saddleback Park, I actually had the Can-Am Black Widow almost…singing. The rear tire found great traction on the uphill climb, and as I crested the top and leaned into the left-hand downhill turn, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: “Maybe this bike isn’t so bad after all. What was I even worried about?” Then, as the weight shifted from the right side of the tire knobs to the left, it felt like the bike had been broadsided by a Boeing 747 jet engine’s gust. The rear end bucked off the ground, overtaking the front. I held on for dear life, but was whipped around like a ragdoll against the snow fence…with the Black Widow’s front wheel pointed completely the wrong way. The engine, however, continued to purr like an innocent kitten. Bad kitty indeed.
TO ME, CRITICIZING THE 1973 SUZUKI TM400 IS LIKE PICKING LOW-HANGING FRUIT—IT IS TOO EASY. IT IS THE POSTER CHILD FOR THE PHRASE “INJURY FORCES SALE.”
The Injury Inducer: 1973 Suzuki TM400
For me, lambasting the 1971-74 Suzuki TM400 is like shooting fish in a barrel – it’s just too easy. It’s the poster child for the phrase “injury forces sale.” Much like the posers who falsely claim to have been at Woodstock in 1969, countless people claim to have raced a Suzuki TM400. I know they’re lying. How do I know? They aren’t limping enough.
Take it from someone who actually endured a full series of Suzuki TM400s – it inflicted on 1970s motocross racers what a trebuchet does to a watermelon today. The TM400 Cyclone boasted an engine with an on/off switch power delivery mated to a frame made of spaghetti. The Cyclone’s power hit was so sudden it was genuinely frightening, and it swapped ends so violently it could scare flagmen standing trackside. Ironically, my biggest gripe with the Cyclone was its sheer weight. How heavy? Well, sadly, it weighed only 2 pounds less than the 2022 Suzuki RM-Z450. For those brave enough to twist the throttle wide open, three predictable (and terrifying) things would occur.
(1) Tire Smoke Show. The rear tire would erupt in a plume of smoke like a drunken snake on amphetamines. If you lost your nerve and backed off the throttle, the tire would regain traction instantly, launching you in whatever direction the bike was pointed – which was rarely straight ahead.
(2) Unintentional Wheelies. Not a graceful, controlled wheelie, but a frantic, feet-flailing, awkward skyward lurch. Moreover, whenever it wheelied, it invariably veered towards the biggest and most unyielding obstacle on the track’s edge. Trucks parked too close to the track often ended up sporting a Cyclone hood ornament. Similar to the tire spin scenario, chopping the throttle too abruptly resulted in the front end slamming down with enough force to bend the fork tubes into a chopper-esque rake. In my infinite wisdom, I would loosen the triple-clamp bolts and rotate the fork legs 180 degrees, effectively bending them back instead of forward. No worries, they would be bent chopper-style again soon enough.
(3) Pure Terror. I genuinely liked the Suzuki TM125 Challenger and considered the TM250 Champion a decent bike, but the TM400 Cyclone was utterly unpredictable. Actually, scratch that. If you expected bad things to happen, it never disappointed. Once, during a night race on a ’74 model, I thought someone was attempting a pass on my left side; it turned out the rear of my TM400 was swapping so violently I could see it in my peripheral vision. Down a rough straight, the TM400 resembled a fish desperately flopping on a beach.
I LOVED MONTESAS—FROM CAPPRAS TO VRs, TO VAs, TO VBs, TO VGs (BECAUSE OF THE VIETNAM WAR THEY SKIPPED VC, AND FOR MODESTY REASONS THEY JUMPED OVER VD).
Montesa Misadventures: A Love Affair with Bad Bikes
A truly bad bike will be universally panned, but occasionally a truly bad bike can somehow trick me into thinking it’s… good? I was inexplicably drawn to Montesas – from Cappras to VRs, to VAs, to VBs, to VGs (they skipped “VC” due to the Vietnam War, and “VD” for, let’s say, modesty reasons). Oh, I was fully aware of their flaws: they refused to turn, the transmissions were made of something akin to popcorn kernels, the shock springs coil-bound before you even cleared the starting gate, and the rubber components, most notably the infamous rubber Montesticle fuel petcocks, would disintegrate in the Southern California smog. Yet, I had a strange affinity for the Spanish brand. Viva Montesa!
I WAS CATAPULTED LIKE A CHINESE ACROBAT TRYING TO DEFECT AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN. I LANDED IN THE CENTER OF THE PITS WITH 275 POUNDS OF RHODE ISLAND-BUILT SNOWBLOWER ON TOP OF ME.
Rokon Cobra 340: Disc Brakes and Disaster
Respect and fear are often two sides of the same coin, especially when it comes to certain machines. Testing Don Kudalski’s 1975 Rokon 340 Cobra was a prime example. It was my first encounter with disc brakes on a race bike (not to mention a Sachs snowmobile engine, Salisbury torque converter, and a rope pull-starter). I respected Rokon’s innovative auto-drive system. No shifting required – just twist the throttle and hang on. Seemed simple enough. And because it weighed as much as a small car, was wider than a Buick, and freewheeled alarmingly into corners, the Rokon engineers equipped it with street-bike disc brakes, front and rear. Undrilled.
On my very first Rokon lap, I accelerated down a long straight, feeling surprisingly confident. Then came the corner and the brakes. Slamming on the brakes resulted in me being catapulted forward like a Chinese acrobat attempting to defect at Madison Square Garden. These brakes were light years beyond the spongy drum brakes of the era. I landed in the center of the pits with 275 pounds of Rhode Island-built snowblower landing squarely on top of me. I quickly learned to both respect and fear the Rokon – simultaneously.
WHEN PEOPLE ACCUSE ME OF BEING UNFAIR TO A BIKE IN AN MXA TEST, CLAIMING THAT I AM THE REASON THAT THE BIKE FAILED IN THE PUBLIC ARENA, I ALWAYS SAY THE SAME THING: “I DON’T MAKE ’EM, I JUST BREAK ’EM.”
Cannondale MX400: Roach Before Arrival
When people accuse MXA test riders of being overly critical of a bike, suggesting that we are the reason a bike fails in the marketplace, my standard response is: “I don’t make ‘em, I just break ‘em.” Which brings me to the 2001 Cannondale MX400. I knew this bike was destined for disaster even before it was officially launched. I was friendly with Mike Guerra, a former GP rider leading the Cannondale project. He visited early in the development phase to outline Cannondale’s vision. Our entire conversation could be summarized by my three-word replies to everything he told me. He described the copycat 1997 Honda CR250 aluminum frame they planned to use; I said, “That won’t work.” He explained the airbox placement in the head tube; “That won’t work.” The laid-down, no-link rear shock? “That won’t work.” The backwards engine? “That won’t work.” Mike thanked me for my “input” and never spoke to me again. The 2001 Cannondale MX400 was, unequivocally, a bad motocross bike. Let me count the ways:
(1) The first test bike Cannondale provided broke down within 15 minutes.
(2) Inexplicably, every time we returned to the pits, the Cannondale would flame out about 30 feet short of our intended stopping point.
(3) The fuel injection was so bizarre that we could start the bike, engage gear, and ride around the track without ever touching the throttle.
(4) Valve adjustments required a jack from the truck to lower the engine sufficiently for access.
(5) The oil-in-frame chassis became so scorching hot it could blister skin on accidental contact.
(6) The electric starter functioned reliably in the pits, but when you stalled during a moto – and you would stall during a moto – the battery would drain before the bike would restart.
(7) The suspension was so soft and prone to bottoming that it clanged like Big Ben. Despite one magazine inexplicably naming it “2001 Bike of the Year,” we returned our Cannondale MX400 to Cannondale after we grew weary of pushing it off the track mid-race.
WOULDN’T WE ALL WANT TO OWN A WORKS BIKE? SURE WE WOULD. EVEN IF WE COULD ONLY RIDE IT UP TO 50 PERCENT OF ITS POTENTIAL, THAT STILL MIGHT BE 10 PERCENT BETTER THAN WHAT WE COULD DO ON A STOCK PRODUCTION BIKE.
Honda CR450: Works Bike Wannabe
Wouldn’t every motocross enthusiast want to own a factory works bike? Absolutely. Even if we could only tap into 50 percent of its potential, that might still be 10 percent better than our performance on a stock production machine. So, when Honda finally released a production version of the bike that had dominated the 500 National Championship for years, everyone anticipated a guaranteed success. Unfortunately, the 1981 four-speed CR450 two-stroke turned out to be a complete nightmare. The 431cc engine was built on undersized CR250 engine cases. The power delivery was all bottom end, followed by a massive bog. The clutch slipped worse than the Rokon’s torque converter – and when it wasn’t slipping, it would explode like a dropped ice sculpture at a “Sweet 16” party. The front number plate resembled a snow shovel, the base gasket ejected from the bottom end like shrapnel, and the airbox was so porous it couldn’t even keep dirt in.
I DIDN’T KNOW THAT THE BIKES I WAS ASSIGNED TO RACE WERE GOING TO BECOME TEMPLES TO THE GOLDEN AGE OF MOTOCROSS. TO ME, IT WAS JUST ANOTHER BIKE AND I DIDN’T HAVE A CRYSTAL BALL.
Harley-Davidson 250MX: Twin Forks of Failure
I’ve raced and tested more different motocross bikes than anyone alive. Some of the bikes I had the opportunity to race have since become iconic machines, coveted by bike collectors. Sadly, I wasn’t prescient enough to realize that the bikes I was assigned to race would one day be revered as relics of the golden age of motocross. To me, it was just another bike, another day at the track. I wasn’t indifferent to my job; I simply lacked a crystal ball.
Consider the twin-forked 1975 Harley-Davidson 250MX. It was intended to be a production model, but only 65 were ever manufactured. No one informed me it was destined for rarity when I swung a leg over it (though by the time I swung it back off, I had a strong hunch it wasn’t going to be a sales success). All I knew was that in the archaic suspension era of the 1970s, some confused Harley engineer (at the Aermacchi factory in Varese, Italy) decided to put a set of forks on the rear of the Harley, based on the flawed logic that riders always complained about their rear shocks, but rarely about their forks. The fundamental flaw is that forks only have to absorb bumps, while the shock has to manage bumps plus the chain torque from the engine. I disliked the Italian-built engine, the frame geometry, the rear disc brake (I swapped it for a Yamaha drum brake on my test bike), the ergonomics, and the overall fit and finish, but the rear forks actually worked… surprisingly well.
Back in the 70s, at the notoriously rocky Lockhart track in Texas (a track we nicknamed “Rockhart” for painfully obvious reasons), I once raced a Hodaka in the 100 class, a Bultaco Pursang in the 250 class, and a BSA 441 Victim (Victor) in the 500 class. The BSA shifted on the right side, and all three bikes had completely different shift patterns (some up for low, some down). You haven’t truly lived until you instinctively reach for the brakes only to engage the shifter, and vice versa. I was never as grateful as the day the NHTSA mandated that all bikes must shift on the left and down for low gear.
Vertemati V495: Holy Grail or Handful?
In 1999, MXA acquired one of the rarest motocross bikes of all time – the legendary Vertemati four-stroke. Due to their extreme scarcity, these GP bikes had cultivated a reputation for being the absolute pinnacle of motorcycle engineering. Since only a handful were ever produced, and virtually no one outside a select few had ever ridden one, they became the holy grail of motocross bikes. In reality, the mythical Vertemati and its VOR V495 sibling were ill-handling boomerangs that exuded “trickness” only when stationary. Once in motion, they were a handful, to put it mildly. The front end understeered like a snowplow, the rear suspension was more jackhammer than shock absorber, and the vaunted, hand-built, four-stroke, V495 engine was equipped with a three-speed transmission (with neutral at the very bottom). Racing this bike required channeling your inner Clint Eastwood to avoid accidentally finding neutral mid-race. “You’ve got to ask yourself one question: ‘Did I downshift once, or did I downshift twice?’ Well, do ya, punk?” Guess wrong, and you’d be promptly pitched over the handlebars.
PLENTY OF MODERN BIKES ARE BAD, MAYBE NOT AS BAD AS THE BLACK WIDOW, BUT ANY FLAW AFTER 50 YEARS IS MORE EGREGIOUS THAN THE MISTAKES OF THE CHILDHOOD YEARS OF THE SPORT.
It might seem like all the truly bad motocross bikes are relics from decades past, but that’s simply not true. They’ve just had more time for their legends of awfulness to solidify. Plenty of modern bikes are…problematic. Maybe none are as catastrophically bad as the Black Widow or the TM400, but any significant flaw after 50 years of intense motorcycle development is arguably more inexcusable than the mistakes of well-intentioned but misguided engineers in the sport’s infancy.
A few years ago, I was at the track with the MXA crew when the Dirt Bike magazine guys asked if I’d like to take a spin on the then-new BMW G450X. While it wasn’t strictly a motocross bike, and I had no intention of testing it for MXA, I was still curious to try this uniquely unconventional machine – purely out of curiosity, not for any formal evaluation. It featured a radically canted Taiwanese engine, a bizarre hanger-style frame, and a swingarm pivot aligned with the countershaft sprocket. I’d learned long ago that innovation for innovation’s sake is rarely a recipe for success. I clicked the G450X into gear and roared off down the trail as the Dirt Bike guys turned to walk back to their truck, maybe 50 feet away. They were visibly surprised when I reappeared at their truck before they even reached it. I climbed off the BMW G450X, handed it back, and said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“What’s wrong?” they asked, genuinely curious.
“Everything,” I replied, succinctly.
“But you couldn’t have ridden it more than 100 feet!”
“Actually, I rode it 200 feet. One hundred feet out, and 100 feet back. That’s all the further I needed. I’ve never encountered a bike that was so fundamentally wrong, in so many ways, in such a short distance. Thanks anyway.”
I could afford to be dismissive of the BMW G450X because it wasn’t marketed as a motocross bike, and I was reasonably confident I’d never encounter it again. At least, I hoped not. I was wrong. Two years later, Husqvarna unveiled the 2011 Husqvarna TC449 motocross bike. It was, essentially, a thinly disguised G450X. On the positive side, Husky’s engineers had invested some development time in the original, ill-fated BMW design. However, because Husqvarna was under BMW’s corporate umbrella at the time, the higher-ups were determined to recoup some of their investment by having Husqvarna sell the warmed-over G450X.
THE 2011 HUSQVARNA TC449 WAS A BIKE THAT LOOKED LIKE IT WAS DESIGNED BY A COMMITTEE THAT NEVER MET.
Husqvarna TC449: Committee-Designed Catastrophe
The 2011 Husqvarna TC449 was a motocross bike that looked like it had been designed by a committee that never actually met. The gas cap was located at the back of the seat. The clutch was mounted directly on the crankshaft. It had two separate gas tanks, and still couldn’t hold two gallons of fuel. The front fender was comprised of 11 distinct parts. The air filter resided where the gas tank should have been, and still required two different-sized wrenches for access. It offered two ignition maps – which we helpfully labeled “bad” and “really bad.” The shock linkage was mounted on top of the swingarm, severely restricting the shock shaft’s travel. The side panels looked like inflatable pontoons. The clutch cover protruded so far that your boot constantly collided with it while braking. The TC449 was slow, revved even slower, and handled with all the precision of a wet sponge. I spoke with the Husky engineers almost daily throughout the test period, and I consciously avoided letting my tone betray the depth of my disappointment with the bike. However, I must have inadvertently tipped my hand, because just as we concluded the test, Husky called to announce they had decided to cancel the U.S. import of the motocross version of the TC449. When I returned the 2011 TC449, I strongly suggested they never import this particular bike – ever.
TRULY ATROCIOUS BIKES ARE LIKE ROAD TRIPS GONE BAD—THEY GIVE YOU A LIFETIME OF FUNNY TALES TO TELL. BUT BIKES THAT AREN’T ATROCIOUS, JUST FLAWED, DON’T HAVE ANY LITERARY VALUE.
Flawed but Forgettable: 1997 Honda CR250 and 2007 Kawasaki KX250
Truly atrocious motocross bikes are like disastrous road trips – they provide a lifetime of amusing anecdotes. Bikes that are merely flawed, however, lack any real “literary” merit. Take the 1997 Honda CR250. It was the first modern bike to feature a Delta-Box aluminum frame. It should have served as a warning that while aluminum frames might be cheaper for manufacturers to produce, they lack the inherent resilience of chromoly steel. Now, over 20 years later, engineers are still struggling to engineer a forgiving aluminum frame; meanwhile, KTM simply stuck with steel.
Remember the Yamaha WR500? The year was 1991, and Yamaha’s engineers seemingly played “Supermarket Sweepstakes” in their parts department to assemble a Frankenstein bike that combined a YZ250 frame with an air-cooled YZ490 engine. The result was a bike we affectionately nicknamed the “Maytag,” due to its intense vibration, reminiscent of a runaway washing machine.
THE BEST HOP-UP STRATEGY FOR A 2007 KAWASAKI KX250 WAS TO HOP IT DOWN. THE HANDLING WASN’T ANY BETTER. THE 2007 KX250 WAS A TURN-AND-STOMP CHASSIS.
In 2006, Kawasaki discontinued the KX125 two-stroke for the American market but inexplicably retained the KX250 for 2007. We couldn’t fathom why. It possessed a virtually unusable powerband, characterized by an explosive hit that instantly shredded tire knobs. The most effective “hop-up” modification for a 2007 Kawasaki KX250 was to “hop it down” – as in, hop off and walk. The handling was equally uninspired. The 2007 KX250 featured a “turn-and-stomp” chassis. What’s that, you ask? When initiating a turn on the KX250, the front end would wash out so rapidly that you had to stomp your boot on the ground to regain control.
Can-Am Sonic 500MX: The Armstrong Atrocity
When I joined Motocross Action back in 1976, I already had a couple of years of bike and product testing under my belt. There were moments in my early testing career when I mistakenly believed I knew everything. I didn’t… as the next bike on my testing schedule would inevitably prove. I learned gradually, mistake by mistake, bike by bike. Over those decades, I came to understand that the true measure of a test rider isn’t the perceived “coolness” of being the first to ride a new bike, nor the exclusivity of the job itself. It’s measured by a rider’s willingness to ride whatever they are assigned, diligently follow the test protocol, and strive to find the optimal setup for the average consumer. In many respects, test riders are simply worker ants – doing a job that, for the most part, isn’t particularly glamorous or adventurous.
I believe every person who races a motorcycle is, in essence, a test rider. Why? Because you possess the power to improve or worsen your own motorcycle. Every decision you make, even the seemingly minor ones, impacts your bike’s performance. With sufficient experience and enough laps, any rider can analyze the strengths and weaknesses of their own machine.
As someone who has made a career out of evaluating race bikes, you might assume I’d be the primary beneficiary of the overall advancements in motocross bike technology over the decades. Not necessarily. Why not? There’s a certain job security in mediocrity. So, when I encounter an incredibly innovative new motorcycle design, I don’t immediately envision the world’s greatest bike; instead, visions of Cannondale, Can-Am, and Carabela dance like sugarplums in my head.
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