There are certain motorcycles that give you a particular warm feeling. The sense that they have been through a lot, seen a lot, and somehow slipped through decades of war, changing fashions, neglect and modernisation. Kamil Leszczyński’s 1929 D-Rad R9 is one of those motorcycles.
Words: Rich Orriss
Photos: Kamil Leszczyński
But before we start getting into the nuts and bolts of the motorcycle, can we start by addressing the name. The D-Rad has to be one of the sexiest titles assigned to a motorcycle. Right now that we have that small matter covered, let’s have a look at this fantastic machine.
Built in Berlin-Spandau during the final years of Germany’s great interwar motorcycle boom, the R9 represented the end of an era for D-Rad. It was the last model from the firm to retain the company’s characteristic underframe design before the next generation of machines arrived. By the time the R9 entered production in late 1928, the German motorcycle industry was changing rapidly, and even D-Rad’s engineers must have known the old formula was nearing the end of its development.
The story of D-Rad itself is deeply tied to Germany’s turbulent post-war years. The company emerged from Deutsche Industriewerke in Spandau – a former Prussian armaments manufacturer forced to abandon military production after the Treaty of Versailles. Like many German industrial firms of the early 1920s, it reinvented itself almost overnight. One moment the factories were producing military equipment, the next they were turning out household goods, railway equipment, agricultural machinery and motorcycles. Germany in the twenties had little choice but to become resourceful.
By 1923 the motorcycles carried the D-Rad name, short for Deutsches Motorrad — refreshingly direct in the way only the Germans could manage.
D-Rad quickly established itself as one of Berlin’s major motorcycle manufacturers. During the late twenties, contemporary reports imply that as many as one in every five registered motorcycles in Greater Berlin was a D-Rad. Considering that Berlin seemed to contain roughly fourteen motorcycle companies and seventeen political crises at any given moment, that was no small achievement.
The company’s reputation was built largely on durable side-valve singles, and the R9 became the final and most developed version of a design lineage stretching back through the earlier R0/4, R0/5 and R0/6 models. Under engineer Martin Stolle – formerly associated with BMW and Victoria – the machines steadily evolved into solid, dependable transport for ordinary German riders.
Mechanically, the R9 remained conservative even when new. Power came from a 496cc side-valve single producing around 12 horsepower. It was never intended to be especially fast, though in fairness many roads of the period probably discouraged excessive optimism anyway. What mattered was reliability, economy and enough torque to haul rider, passenger and luggage across Germany without scattering important internal components along the roadside.
Compared with the earlier R0/6, the most noticeable visual change was the inclined cylinder, giving the machine a more modern appearance and slightly improved cooling. The evidence of the smaller detail is apparent with the barrel fins that run level with the ground, in contrast to the lean of the engine.
The underframe layout remained, however, and with it much of the engineering philosophy that had defined D-Rad throughout the decade.
The front suspension perhaps did less to enhance the motorcycle’s reputation. Even period riders regarded the leaf-sprung leading-link arrangement as less than ideal, particularly on poor roads where it could reportedly behave with all the grace of a collapsing wardrobe. By the early thirties the R9 was already beginning to appear outdated beside newer overhead-valve designs emerging from Britain and Germany alike.
Yet despite this, the model sold well. Around 10,000 R9s were produced between late 1928 and early 1930, although unsold examples continued appearing in catalogues until 1933 as the worsening economic climate slowed motorcycle sales dramatically across Europe.
D-Rad itself would not survive much longer. The company introduced the more advanced overhead-valve R10 in an attempt to modernise the range, but by then the Depression had taken hold and the German motorcycle industry was entering a period of brutal contraction. By 1933 the D-Rad name disappeared after a total production of roughly 83,000 motorcycles.
Which makes surviving machines like Kamil’s R9 especially significant.
This particular example has survived in remarkably authentic condition. Much of the paintwork appears original, as do many of the fasteners, cables and fittings that can often vanish during a restoration. Even the registration plate tells part of the story, suggesting the motorcycle was first registered in Saxony in southern Germany.
One of the most remarkable discoveries came after Kamil acquired the motorcycle and began carefully examining its details. Inside the toolbox were a number of items that had seemingly remained untouched since the war – small remnants of the motorcycle’s earlier life that somehow escaped being lost over the decades. Among them were old newspapers, tools and personal equipment belonging to a previous owner, along with a lighter, household items, fabric string and even coins dating from the 1920s and 1930s.
It is exactly the sort of find enthusiasts quietly dream about but rarely experience. More than any factory record or registration document, these forgotten objects provide a direct link to the ordinary person who once relied on the D-Rad as everyday transport. One can easily imagine some Saxon rider hurriedly placing the items into the toolbox before setting off, never suspecting that nearly a century later they would still be there waiting to be discovered.
Unlike many restored machines, which can sometimes feel slightly detached from their working lives, Kamil’s R9 still carries traces of the people who used it. And more importantly, it still runs and continues to travel the roads of historic Silesia rather than sitting silently behind museum ropes – and that’s what it is all about, doing precisely what D-Rad built it to do.
an article by The Girder Club
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