Trihawk 304 Motor Trend Road Test

What has three wheels and costs $12,000? That's probably not the best riddle you'll hear this year, but it is a riddle. And the answer to the question -- the Trihawk 304 -- is a riddle in itself. Is it car or motorcycle? Folly or fantastic fun? Rich man's toy or poor man's transportation?

To answer these and other questions, let's take a look at the infancy of the automobile. Early in this century, when most cars bore huge price tags, "cyclecars" were introduced. By design, they were small, lightweight vehicles that brought the cost of automotive transportation within the range of those of modest means. With rudimentary bodywork, small engines, and, most often, chain drive, cyclecars combined the twin virtues of economy and fun. Because they allowed their owners to escape automotive taxes they were a big hit, particularly in the United Kingdom, although the advent of the Model T, a "real" car at a similar price, helped limit their popularity over here.

Now, four generations later, we're witnessing the rebirth of the cyclecar in the form of the Trihawk, and, just like the cyclecars of old, today's version is designed to circumvent onerous government regulations. Door beams? And 2.5 mpg bumpers? Emission controls? Don't' be silly. The Trihawk doesn't even have doors, much less door beams.

There's method to this madness. Lou Richards, a millionaire who struck it rich selling hamburger-forming machines , decided he wanted to make his next million in the car business, but all it took was one long look at the reams of government regs on automobiles for him to decide there must be a better way.

Richards later sold his company to Harley-Davidson, but before he did he stamped his imprint on the present Trihawk. A quick perusal of the relatively short list of motorcycle regulations led him to the conclusion that three wheels were the way to go. You see, in the eyes of the Feds, a 3-wheel vehicle is a motorcycle, and motorcycles aren't required to undergo crash-testing, EPA certification and all the other legal hassles. It doesn't matter that, from the driver's seat, the Trihawk seems for all the world like a car.

To turn the 3-wheeler concept into reality, Richards enlisted the services of Bob McKee, a car builder with a long history of experience in Indianapolis 500 and Can-Am competition. Some of McKee's most recent successes came with IMSA Volkswagen Sciroccos. Thus he was very familiar with front-wheel-drive chassis dynamics.

The Trihawk, of course, takes fwd to extremes. In McKee's design the front wheels and suspension do almost everything -- steer the car, power the car, provide the lion's share of roll stiffness, and the bulk of the braking action. All the rear wheel and suspension do is hold the back end up.

The casual observer might have some questions about the 3-wheeler's overall stability at speed. Not to worry. In virtually all driving circumstances the Trihawk is as stable and predictable as any conventional car. 

The reason for its stability is its mammoth width. With a front track of 66 in., the Trihawk won't span the Golden Gate, but it's several inches wider than any American-built car. In fact, only the Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit and the new Ferrari Testarossa are in the same wide company.

Also contributing to its stability is the vehicle's low center of gravity. According to H-D, the Trihawk's center of gravity is just a half inch above its axle center and just 12 in. off the ground. This makes for an absolute killer slalom and skidpad car. We didn't have a chance to push the Trihawk through our standard slalom course, but on the skidpad it delivered a very impressive .88g, right up there with the '85 Corvette. And that's on three P185/70R13 tires -- not gatorbacks wide as a football field. (Of course, sine the Trihawk weights under 1400 lb, it's tires don't bear the loads that the Vette's do either.)

Smooth, billiard table surfaces like the skidpad are obviously the car's forte, but on the road it's just plain fun. With the top down and the wind in your face, it conjures up memories of the Morgan 3-wheelers and the legendary Lotus Seven. Like those basic sports machines, the Trihawk is not fast in real terms, but with the breeze whipping through your hair and the exhaust booming out beside you, it sure feels fast. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, that's enough.

The first Trihawk prototype used a Subaru flat four as its motive power, and an investigation was done using the ubiquitous Volkswagen air-cooled pancake engine in the vehicle before Citroën stepped into the picture. The French auto maker proved willing to supply not only engines but technical support as well. In went the 1299cc SOHC flat four used in the Citroën GSA.

The GSA engine is, shall we say, idiosyncratic. Its most unusual feature is that because of their "pressed together" construction its crankshaft, rods, bearings, pistons and sleeves are balanced at the factory and sold as a unit. As a result, engine rebuilding can quickly become a very expensive proposition. Otherwise the powerplant is unremarkable. The combustion chambers are hemispherical and, in combination with concave piston crowns, offer a compression ratio of 8.7:1, allowing the use of regular gas. (Look, ma, no catalytic converter!) Induction is handled by a 2-bbl Weber carburetor. 

The engine produces 64 hp at 5500 rpm and 72 lb-ft of torque at 3500 rpm. These figures won't exactly take your breath away, but when these 64 ponies are stuffed into a car that weighs just 1350 lb dripping wet, you've got a vehicle that can get out of its own way. A time of 17.01 sec (78.1 mph) in the quarter won't inspire you to challenge man Z8s to a drag race (it's about the same turned in by the Nissan 200SX), but it's far from slow, at least by contemporary standards. From a standing start 60 mph comes up in 9/24 sec, also not rocket-sled territory, but fast enough to dust most of those trapped in sedans.

That's the real joy of the Trihawk in the first place. While your body isn't exposed like it would be on a motorcycle -- you've got a windshield, rollbar, and fiberglass bodywork enclosing your space -- you're still out there in the elements. You and a companion can play "Hells Angles on Wheels" with the niceties of an Alpine stereo (which you can almost hear over the engine noise) and a real live heater keeping things civilized.

One of the most civilized things about the Trihawk is its transmission, which also comes from the Citroën. The 5-speed manual is one of the best we've encountered in a fwd vehicle, although the 1-2 shift brings the lever uncomfortably close to the thigh. Also close to the thigh is the wheel, which makes the heavy rack-and-pinion steering all the more difficult. Of course, there's no power assist. After all, this is a motorcycle. 

The front suspension draws on McKee's racing background, using unequal-length A-arms in conjunction with coil-over shocks. An anti-roll bar is fitted, and Renault disc brakes are mounted outboard. In the rear, the Trihawk uses half of a Renault Le Car suspension -- its swing arm damped by a coil-over shock, plus its drum brake.

The body is a fiberglass tub with cycle fenders and bug-eyed headlights. A well-engineered cloth top and side curtains do an excellent job of keeping out the elements when the weather turns foul. Noted stylist David Stollery, former designer for General Motors and later head of Toyota's West Coast design center, was called in to draw the first Trihawk, but his aero design was considered too futuristic at the time. The car's current body configuration is not particularly aerodynamic, nor particularly attractive (unless you're a praying mantis) and it limits the vehicle's top speed to 96 mph. 

More successful is the Trihawk's dash, which offers a comprehensive array of VDO gauges. Aside from the manual choke, this could be the instrument panel of a high-luxe sports car. The seats are equally good, helping provide a comfortable ride despite the super-stiff characteristics of the suspension.

After driving many fwd vehicles one might predict that a 3-wheeler with two wheels up front would be an understerrer, and that's exactly what the Trihawk is, to a fault. The car feels happiest on smooth roads -- bumpy pavement leads to immediate teeth chatter -- a testament to its race car heritage.

Most of all, the Trihawk is a seven-letter synonym for fun. It's not the fastest car in the word and it's not the best handler, but it may be the biggest attention-getter on the road today. Drive a Trihawk and everybody is your friend. Exoticars swerve across three lanes to eye your vehicle on the freeway. Pretty girls on bicycles wave at you at every intersection. First they want to know what it is; then they want to take a ride in it. Beats the hell out of computer dating. Take the Trihawk to your next party, and you can be a star. 

What does this kind of stardom cost? As a famous masseuse once said, "Aye, there's the rub." The folks at Harley-Davidson tell us a Trihawk equipped like our tester with high-zoot radio and cushy seats will go out the door at $11,999. A stripper is on the drawing boards to be priced at $9999, and rumor has it a super-trick version might be powered by the much-touted but not-yet-introduced Harley Nova V-4 may cost 15 Gs. Harley, though, is keeping mum about the Nova and its possible use in the Trihawk.

Face it, folks, 12 grand is a lot of shekels for a 2-seater motorcycle, even if it will pass for a sports car. But H-D is so confident the Trihawk has a future that it's gearing up to manufacture them in its hometown, Milwaukee. Not only that, Harley also is discussing marketing the Trihawk through selected Porsche dealers. So you say you can't afford a 911 Cabriolet? Try a Trihawk and see how many smiles you get to the gallon.