1978 Henk van Kessel Dutch Black Arrow Streamliner - Vintage Motorcycle Article

Description

1978 Henk van Kessel Dutch Black Arrow Streamliner - 1-Page Vintage Motorcycle Article
Original, Vintage Magazine article
Page Size: Approx. 8" x 11" (21 cm x 28 cm)
Condition: Good
Early in September 1977 Henk van
Kessel, the former 50cc World Road Rac-
ing World Champion, slipped in a diminu-
tive streamliner, the Dutch "Black Arrow."
After eight months of work the Dutch
NGK-Racing Team, an all-amateur,
spare-time effort, readied its assault on
the FIM 50cc Land Speed Record, set in
1965 at Bonneville by the German Kreid-
ler factory. The old record? Over 210 kph,
or 131-plus mph.
As privateers, the Dutch team had no
hope of going to Bonneville. So van Kes-
sel was left peering out of his cockpit and
down a straight stretch of Dutch road ten
kilometers long. In fact, “Black Arrow”
builder Piet Plompen could hardly afford
two days a hundred miles from home.
Despite little practice with the ’liner and
windy conditions, van Kessel ran the
Kreidler-powered machine up to 228 kph
(142.5 mph) in one direction, establishing
an absolute speed record for a 50. Two
runs averaged over 221 kph (138 mph),
another new mark. "If we had been able to
make our attempt immediately and hadn’t
had to wait for the officials to get ready. I
think we could have set the record over
230," van Kessel later reflected. “It was
incredible. The machine, once over 200
kph, seemed to go faster and faster. In
fifth it wouldn’t go over 16,500 revs, but in
sixth I saw the needle climb to 17,000,
then 17,500 rpm. If I'd been able to hold it
open, I think it would have gone to 18,000
rpm." Still amazed at his speed, van Kes-
sel checked and rechecked his gearing
and wheel diameter.
And what did the electronic clocks say?
Well, very little. It seems the Dutch offi-
cials—who were responsible for gathering
up and using all the equipment to insure
an FIM-recognized mark—blew it. Every-
one was there, with no less an FIM lumi-
nary than Dr. Helmut Bbnsch. The timing
clocks proved defective, and the wind-
meter had been forgotten entirely, as well
as the appropriate seals to mark and hold
inviolate the record engine.
Van Kessel knew he had the record,
and the Dutch team was sure of it too. But
the "Black Arrow" group was left wonder-
ing whether the FIM really stood for the
Federation Internationale Megablunder.
•
A Whiter Shade of Pale: Shortly after
Daytona, the Ducati factory presented
Cook Neilson, on site in Bologna, Italy,
with a couple of very official jackets, filled
with duck-down (what else) and color-
schemed in white, purple and blue.
PHOTO JAH HEESE
Neilson and Schilling wore the jackets
at National road races, and soon dis-
covered the joys of mixing white sleeves
with dirty race days. After Pocono, where
the Ducati’s chain broke on the warm-up
lap, Neilson decided his jacket was filled
with bad luck and chopped chicken feath-
ers; thereafter he left his jacket at home.
Schilling persisted, attributing every
Ducati malady (from warped woodruff
keys to broken bearing cages) to the
disappearance of his framed Dr. Taglioni
photograph, which had presumably been
kidnaped—or is that doc-naped—after the
Daytona Superbike Production Race.
The strange disappearance of Dr. T's
photograph made Schilling more para-
noid than usual about his factory jacket.
For a while, there was even an unsubstan-
tiated rumor that between race days he
kept the jacket in his safe-deposit box,
along with stocks, bonds, pork-belly fu-
tures, and rare Ducati shim-stock.
Only at the close of the season did
Schilling consider the possibility of laun-
dering the jacket, its once-white sleeves
having turned a dingy gray from the cuffs
to the elbows. A bachelor with great expe-
rience in washing the wrong fabric at the
wrong speed with the wrong soap, and
having a history of gas-drying extra-large
tee-shirts down to the size, shape and
texture of sweat-socks, Schiller took his
beloved jacket off to the cleaners for a
professional tidying-up.
The jacket came back—minus almost
all of its swell purple and blue colors—but
with a long, sorrowful explanation from
the man across the counter. Sure
enough, the guy recounted, they put the
jacket in a cold-water wash with mild soap
and gentle-agitator action. And it was
swimming around in good Italian com-
pany-high-quality nighties, a bridal gown
or two, and three dress-coats for a prize
poodle. Imagine the cleaner's horror
when he gazed into the wash and saw all
the suds starting to turn blue. Imagine the
lump in his throat when, parting the suds,
he saw deep-purple water. Imagine every-
one's consternation when they discov-
ered that the blue-and-purple Italian dye
flowed right off the jacket but bonded
securely to the nighties and gowns, ef al.
"Mama mia, my gift jacket," gasped
Schiller. Then seizing upon the most logi-
cal explanation for the disaster, he con-
tinued, “But of coursa, itsa Italian!”
Cheering, Schiller added, "At least the
white partsa are white. . .
"Yeah," replied the cleaner, grimly re-
membering the deep-purple wash, "the
jacket didn't cost you anything. But it got
me for two thousand bucks."
13533-AL-7801