Cafe Racer.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream (1970)

"Well," he said, "as your attorney I advise you to buy a motorcycle. How else can you cover a thing like this righteously?" "No way," I said. "Where can we get hold of a Vincent Black Shadow?" "Whats that?" "A fantastic bike," I said. "The new model is something like two thousand cubic inches, developing two hundred brake-horsepower at four thousand revolutions per minute on a magnesium frame with two styrofoam seats and a total curb weight of exactly two hundred pounds." "That sounds about right for this gig," he said. "It is," I assured him. "The fucker's not much for turning, but it's pure hell on the straightaway. It'll outrun the F-111 until takeoff." "Takeoff?" he said. "Can we handle that much torque?" "Absolutely," I said. "I'll call New York for some cash."