All these misadventures got me remembering the "good" old days. Back when I was a youngster, hand clutches were limited to newer imports and a very few late model US made bikes. The US bikes came from the factory with a rocker type clutch pedal that had an adjustable friction brake that was supposed to hold the pedal in position. That friction brake was disliked by many riders of hotrod bikes because they felt it made fast starts too slow. So, it was very common to replace the whole assembly with a car type clutch pedal which came to be known as a suicide clutch. This is why they were called that...
Older clutch lining materials tended to expand a lot when hot, and the clutches were all of the dry type. This meant that they tended to drag a lot and you had to have the gearbox in low gear before you stopped. The front brake lever was mounted on the left bar because it took all the power one hand could muster, leaving no fingers to work the throttle. The shifter was on the left side of the tank, and the rear brake pedal was on the right. There was no kill switch on the handlebar because the key switch was right there on top of the tank where you could reach it.
So, there you are, coming up to a redlight or stopsign. You have downshifted to first, and just before you come to a stop, the bike starts to lean over to the left. Here are your choices:
1. Put your hands over your eyes and scream.
2. Grab the front brake as hard as you can, put your feet down and hope the engine stalls before you run out in front of cross traffic.
3. Let go of the brake lever and hope you can force the shifter into neutral and still stop before you get run over. Remember the clutch is dragging enough to make that very unlikely.
4. Run the stop, lay the bike over into a hard right turn and hope you can outrun that '48 Buick that's about to run over you.
5. If you don't have a sissy bar or sadlebags, most of those old hardtail bikes were low enough you could stand up and let it go. Maybe you won't fall on your face and get caught by the bike.
