It's a combination of the nasty characters of Dallas, the back-stabbing of day-time soap operas, the devious behavior of a Savings and Loan scam artist and the trust-worthiness of a Clinton State Trooper.

 

The story behind the fall of Maico, once the most prestigious European motocrosser made, is a bizarre and tortuous tale. This writer was able to acquire documents, copies of invoices, internal memos, legal papers, documentation from key sources and statements from key personnel.

Like most people, we thought that Maico simply fell on hard times, or fell apart at the seams from poor business practices. However, when we got the real facts and inside information, it became apparent that plain old greed and an internal family takeover brought the company to its knees.
 
THE GLORY DAYS
Dirt bikes started becoming enormously popular in the mid and late 60s in the United States. By 1970, the big hitters in the game were CZ, Husky and Maico. If you rode one of these, you were among the elite. You had "Yur-peen" iron. Your bike handled, had correct power and went where it was pointed with no ugly surprises.

Your options were few: You rode an ill-handling, utterly reliable Japanese bike, or some half-finished British or Italian machine made up of ill-matched parts.
 
Right around 1971, the Maico was so superior in handling and power, that it was almost like cheating. I can recall being a back-of-the-pack Novice with a Yamaha DT-1, then almost immediately after buying a 400 Maico, I actually started winning races!

This was as trick as a Maico got in 1972; it had a Yamaha front hub, Koni shocks and plenty of Wheelsmith goodies. The power of the big-bore Maicos was not only there in abundance, it was smooth from idle all the way to peak revs. A properly jetted 400 or 440 Maico would simply eat any other bike of that era alive in the race to the first turn.

Certainly, they were fussy. Learning to live with the temperature-sensitive Bing carb required patience and a tool-box full of jets. The primary chain driven left side of the engine required constant attention, and key nuts and bolts had to be secured with industrial strength Loctite. The front brake was more decorative than effective. Rims, grips, air boots, cables and fiberglass fenders were all disposable items.

All that aside, the Maicos would turn under anything else on the track, go straighter than a tossed spear and accelerate like the Hounds of Hell were after it. Forget the marginal brakes; the rider could simply concentrate on keeping the throttle pegged and passing everything else in sight, with absurd ease.