Small Motorcycles of the Sixties

The Tiddler Invasion is now at Amazon. The following information was written to describe the book at Amazon, but this material has not yet appeared on the page with the book. The description should be there within a week or so, but you can order The Tiddler Invasion from Amazon now.

This is the book collectors, restorers, and nostalgic fans of the machines of our youth have been waiting to arrive! After years of extensive research through archives of motorcycle magazines, books, and brochures from the classic era, the founder of the seminal Tiddlerosis website has published his magnum opus on the subject. The Tiddler Invasion covers many miles of two-wheeled motorized nostalgia. Thousands of facts, figures, colors, specifications, and even original prices are packed into more than 600 detailed pages. The story of the invasion of the USA by small motorcycles and scooters in the 1955-1975 era is told with enthusiasm for these many wondrous little machines by someone who lived through that special time in our nation's history. The book includes approximately 180 charts of the popular models sold in the U.S. during the period and well over 400 B&W photos. The author and two major collectors of these special little bikes share nostalgic personal remembrances of a wondrous time past.

The focus of The Tiddler Invasion is on the most common machines of the period, mostly from Japan. Honda, Yamaha, Kawasaki, and Suzuki each have a detailed chapter. Bridgestone, Hodaka, Tohatsu, and other early brands share a chapter. The story basically begins with the arrival of the Honda 50 in 1959 and ends with the release of the Gold Wing in 1975. The tiddler era rose to prominence in the Sixties and began its slow descent into obscurity as the Kawasaki Mach III, the Honda 750 Four, and the Kawasaki Z-1 took over the U.S. motorcycle market.

The major brands from the USA are detailed in a chapter, too. This group is of course dominated by Harley-Davidson, Allstate, and Cushman, just as it was back then. There are no H-D Big Twins here, but plenty of Hummers, Toppers, Super Eagles, Mopeds and Twingles!

There were countless European brands and models imported in the Sixties, but only those of significance are included. As we all know, most of the European models were either large road burners, obscure small Italian bikes and scooters, or off-road competition machines. You will not find Nortons, Guzzis, Maicos or Parillas here, but the European chapter is quite sizable nonetheless.

The most difficult element to communicate to a prospective reader is the definition of the machines and parameters included in this book. The concept of The Tiddler Invasion is unique to the time and place. Although the 50cc machines began Americans' rush to motorcycle dealerships, the market rapidly expanded from that point. The smallest machines covered in the book are the true tiddlers, but these little putt-putts for kids comprised only the tip of the iceberg. Many classic 250cc sports machines such as the Ducati Diana, Harley-Davidson Sprint H, Honda Hawk, Yamaha YDS-2, Suzuki X-6, and Bultaco Metralla roar through the pages of this book! The Kawasaki Triples scream through it so much you will choke on the two-stroke smoke! The author has a thing for the Honda Scramblers, as if they were dark-haired beauties in bikinis or something. The kings of upswept exhaust pipes and crossbrace handlebars get their own chapter.

Once you have possession of this book, you will never want to give it up. The Tidder Invasion is not a coffee table book of pretty color pictures. It is a reference guide crammed to the Snuff-or-Nots with useful info for collectors and enthusiasts of small classic motorcycles.

The author began collecting motorcycle brochures and magazines in 1962. Reproductions of and detailed information from these sources are included in this extensive reference guide. The author of this book is not a collector, a photographer, or a restorer. He is a super-nerd who clearly loves these classic machines. The earliest part of this book was written in 1985 on a 1959 IBM typewriter. Now with the help of modern computers, the whole, wonderful, magical story of that very special era in American history can finally be told!

 Floyd M. Orr is a retiree from the financial services industry who has published seven books since 2000. He is not a prolific author. The Tiddler Invasion is the only book he will ever write about motorcycles. His books are of a unique type he calls Nonfiction in a Fictional Style. No two are from the same subject matter, yet all the author's books in the NIAFS Series share certain characteristics. Each one is firmly rooted in American Baby Boomer history, particularly the 1960s. Each contains thousands of facts and figures about the subject matter (remember the author's career background). Each book covers its subject matter with entertaining stories of nostalgia to complement the plethora of facts and figures. Every NIAFS book has been designed to be read first cover to cover and then kept on a shelf as a continually long-term reference.

Floyd M. Orr has always been a skinny little bookworm who lacks the physical traits necessary for success in competitive sports. He was born and raised in small towns in Mississippi and has lived his adult life in Texas. From the time he was handlebar high to a Harley Hummer, he has been fascinated with small motorcycles. His first access to the machines of his youth was discovered through the Sears Roebuck catalogs of the Fifties. The author's obsession was poured into concrete when his best friend got a Harley-Davidson Super 10 and his favorite cousin acquired a Honda Benly 150 in early 1960. He would soon become an avid trail rider while that new sport was in its infancy. He rode his Honda 350 from Mississippi to California in 1971. Like many young men of his generation, he was compelled to "find himself" by imitating Captain America. It was so much fun he did it TWICE to the tune of a howling Honda Scrambler!

America, We Have Been Invaded!

The Tiddler Invasion: Small Motorcycles of the Sixties  
 (616 pages - 6/29/13 - $28.95)

My latest book project just went live an hour ago. This is a copy of the front and back covers of the largest book project I shall ever dare to undertake. This monster began with a small idea for my first book back in 1985. The oldest story in it was typed on my 1959 IBM. The latest material was created with my IBP (I Buy Power) computer. The IBM had one KB of RAM, me. The IBP has four GB attached to a 2 TB hard drive. These attributes came in handy while I was creating the monster. The Tiddler Invasion was partially created from 5.5 GB of files of old motorcycle photos. The  7" x 10" format 616-page book is crammed to the exhaust pipes with detailed information. There are 180 charts of cycle models and 430 photos. The Bibliography alone is huge. This book is priced higher than my earlier books because the project and the finished product were and are sizable, to say the least. Thousands of photos were considered for inclusion, and of course most were left on the hard drive. Hundreds of books, magazines and brochures were read and thoroughly examined countless times to sort out the foggy details from as far back as fifty years ago. Take a ride on the wild side back to the magical days of the Sixties. Here is one of my favorite poignant excerpts from the book:

Whiffs of Magical Memories...

...I Remember Them Like It Was Yesterday

I could not wait for each new Sears catalog to arrive. There was that Allstate Moped that maybe one day I could afford for only $179.95 in 36 easy payments. No more pedaling uphill! The hardtail 125 would prepare me visually for the Super 10 I would meet in 1960, but I choked on the thought of its hand shift. It had only a single seat so I could not carry a passenger. What I really wanted was that Allstate 175 in black with a dual saddle!

A couple of young punks I knew in high school, identical twins actually, rode these strange, gangly, antique-looking Simplex machines. They were identical, just like their pilots. Those belt drives looked weird, man.

Some of us had a scooter, usually an Allstate Cruisaire. The kick starter had no cache. The bulbous body had no style, at least not any we wanted to be seen with, and the ponderous hand shift was klunky, but at least it had a clutch. The innocent putt-putting exhaust and small wheels rolled us to school without pedaling, but it just wasn't quite a motorcycle!

That Harley-Davidson Super 10 was so American, so stylish with its big wheels, Buckhorn handlebars, swoopy Buddy Seat, and hardtail non-rear suspension. I remember the way the oversized footpegs flopped down loosely, not spring-loaded. The handgrips were large, fit for a real man. The kick starter was on the left side where you had to stand beside the machine, holding it off the stand with those tall bars, and kick it vigorously several times to start it.

There was one guy in town who had a Sportster. He was a real guy, a man's man. Of course I don't really remember him, his name or what he looked like. I don't even remember his girlfriend. But I remember the swoopy style of that rolling thunder he rode.

The first time I saw a Honda, I wondered if the name was meant to look and sound American. Some of the local rednecks mispronounced it as Hondo, like the old John Wayne western. This was a Benly Touring 150 with bodywork that seemed so modern at the time. The kick starter folded, but you did not even have to use it.

The first time I saw a Honda Super Sports Cub, I marveled at its tiny jewel-like presence. Its handgrips seemed too small, like its quiet sound, yet it was a real motorcycle nonetheless. The footshift was only a three-speed, but you had to learn the process of starting and shifting with a clutch.

Just as some of the local yahoos thought a Honda was a Hondo and a Yamaha was a Yammahaw, I the super nerd, thought it was a YaMAha.

There was a Honda dealership in the small town, but one bigger than the town I resided in, that was famous for having a virtual motorcycle junkyard out back, behind its little building. There were the remains of Honda 50's and Hawks, Dreams, and Benlys. Deceased Yamahas and even the occasional Suzi lounged in that graveyard of adolescent dreams. The man and his wife who owned the shop were legendary as Mr. & Mrs. Grouch, two selfish old critters who could be so nice, if only they would allow a punk like me to make a meager bid on a few of those wretched, disassembled bodies. I wanted so desperately to put together a tiddler I could afford and ride! Years later, when I was almost an adult, they gave me the best deal on a new Honda that would travel far and wide below my Captain America helmet.

My mom would drive me over there on a Sunday afternoon when the little dealership was closed, just so I could cup my hands around my eyes and stare through the glass into the dimness, ogling the machines therein. When the shop was open, I could smell that special whiff of the two-stroke oil in the dingy little Yamaha shop on a back street in a small town. I think the flavor was DA Speed Sport.

One lazy summer afternoon, a fellow tiddler buddy and I went over to see Dub Terry. That was his real nickname and he was the official Fonzie of our little town. He owned a beautiful red Honda Hawk that had been developed into what I would later come to know as a flat-tracker. It had a Super Sports 50 gas tank painted red, semi-knobby tires and open exhausts. The legend was that he would challenge some kid to a race. After the kid had zipped off down the road, Dub would come howling by on that fierce machine on one wheel. We later called it a wheelie.

You can never forget the first time you heard a Honda 250 or 305 Scrambler unmuffled in the distance. There was a special underwater warble to it that has never been duplicated to this day. When you rode one of these beasts in the dirt, the seat and suspension were misunderstandably stiff. That is the best way I can describe it.

The first time you sat down on a Hodaka and the soft seat and suspension went squish! you knew that dirt bikes had matured into what they were supposed to be.

The CL-350 was much softer and sweeter than its immediate predecessor. It had an electric starter, but I didn't use it much. I liked the feel of kicking it alive like a real man. The stroke of the kick starter seemed a bit short as the engine went thump-thump only once whenever it failed to fire on the first kick when cold. It always seemed to fire on one cylinder first for a few seconds before the second cylinder kicked in.

No one ever forgets his first Mach III experience. Two pipes on one side and only one on the other? Cool! And then there was the alien sound of dub-dub-drubble-bub. And then the carbs sucked so much air so fast that you completely forgot about the exhaust noise.

We all knew what a Ferrari was and that it had this sound of ripping silk shriek, but we had never heard a motorcycle that made that sound. The first CB-750 we encountered impressed us with its four pipes, front disc brake, and oversized instruments properly tilted back to stare us in the face. We knew it was a new kind of speed when we heard it scream down the street.