Karosa Š-Series

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Karosa Š-Series
Karosa ŠL 11
Type	Urban bus (ŠM 11) Inercity bus (ŠL 11) Coach bus (ŠD 11)
Manifacturer	Karosa
Production	1964 - 1981
Body material	Stalinium, Karosirium
Body Style	3-door urban bus (ŠM) 2-door intercity bus (ŠL) 1/2-door coach bus (ŠD)
Engine	Škoda ML 634
Layout	Mid engine, rear-wheel drive
Curb weight	many tons
Predcessor	Škoda 706 RTO
Successor	Karosa 700 series

The Karosa Š (For Americans Sh) series (1961–1981) was the pinnacle of socialist engineering—a bus designed to transport the proletariat from point A to point B as quickly as possible, with no regard for comfort or style. Who cares if it looked like a box on wheels? The main thing was that it got the masses to the factories on time—and if not, it was at least a great opportunity to strengthen comradely patience.

Development

The development of the Karosa Š series began in 1961, when the geniuses at the socialist planning office decided it was time to build a bus that could haul the masses around, whether they liked it or not. Comfort? Efficiency? Aesthetic appeal? Pfff, who the hell needed that when the glorious worker’s revolution was on the move? They just needed something with four wheels and enough seats to cram as many comrades as possible, like livestock heading to the great socialist slaughterhouse—err, workplace.

The design team didn’t mess around with any bourgeois nonsense like streamlining or, God forbid, ergonomic seating. Instead, they slapped together a modular metal box on wheels that could be used for everything from city commutes to intercity transport. The key was to make it indestructible, because when you’re transporting the heroic proletariat, you need a machine that can handle potholes, winter blizzards, and the fact that the roads were about as well-maintained as a capitalist's conscience. The engines were loud, clunky, and guzzled fuel like a Russian factory worker downs vodka.

For the next two decades, the Karosa Š series didn’t change much. Why would it? It was already the pinnacle of socialist efficiency: minimal comfort, maximum suffering. The interior was kitted out with rock-hard benches—because only weak capitalist pigs need cushioning—and windows that never quite closed, giving you a taste of the fresh socialist air year-round, whether you wanted it or not. The only real innovation was making sure the bus didn’t collapse under the weight of an overstuffed horde of passengers, since personal space was just another decadent imperialist idea.

But what really took the cake was the “maintenance” process. Every few months, mechanics would bang on the engine with a wrench, maybe throw in some spare parts that had been lying around since the Stalin era, and voilà—good to go! If the damn thing broke down, it was just another chance for the working class to bond over their shared misery, pushing the bus to the nearest repair station, swearing and cursing their way toward utopia.

By 1981, even the planners realized they couldn’t keep churning out these rusty, diesel-belching boxes forever. The Karosa 700 series came along, but let’s be honest—by then, the damage was done. Everyone who had ever set foot in a Karosa Š had been hardened by the experience, ready to face anything life could throw at them. After all, if you survived a three-hour ride in a freezing, rattling, overpacked death trap, what’s a little thing like capitalist oppression?

Variants

Karosa ŠM 11: The Urban Warrior (1964–1981)

Karosa ŠM 11 (probably 1630) in Prague

Designed for urban use, the ŠM 11 was the hero of city commutes. It didn’t matter if the streets were jammed, the weather miserable, or the passengers even more so—the ŠM 11 was there to make your life just a little bit harder. The engineering was described as “ahead of its time” if we consider time to be 100 years in the past.

1. ŠM 11.603 (1964–1973): The OG model. Loud, bouncy, and often more of a suggestion than a mode of transportation. Riding this bus meant being part of an industrial orchestra, where the engine provided the percussion and the rattling windows the melody. It had a unique talent for breaking down right before your stop.
2. ŠM 11.1608 (1969–1975): In an effort to improve, the 1608 introduced marginally better seating (which means you only thought about standing half the time). The suspension? Still non-existent, but hey, at least you weren’t on foot!
3. ŠM 11.1620 (1972–1981): Dubbed the "VIP" model, which stands for "Very Intense Potholes." The seats were slightly more cushioned, but the engine noise remained an ever-present companion, ensuring you’d leave the bus with both physical and emotional scars.
4. ŠM 11.1630 (1976–1981): By now, the engineers realized they didn’t need to actually fix anything. Just slap on new headlights and voilà—people will think it’s cutting-edge. This model also introduced the famous “heat/no heat” feature, which activated only when you didn’t want it to.
5. ŠM 11.1630MOC (1978–1981): The Moment of Chaos edition. Featuring “advanced” controls that randomly malfunctioned, this model added a touch of unpredictability to every ride. Want the doors to open? Well, good luck with that—it might take a few tries, or none at all!

Karosa ŠL 11: The Link to Nowhere (1970–1981)

Karosa ŠL 11 of ČSAD Carlsbad

The ŠL 11 was the link bus for intercity travel, bringing people to their destination slightly faster than a horse and cart. Promoted as having "comfortable" seating for long distances, it actually taught passengers to appreciate pain tolerance and awkward conversation with strangers.

1. ŠL 11.1305 (1970–1977): The first model in the series. Its biggest innovation was the realization that putting a toilet on the bus might have been a good idea—something they, of course, didn’t include. Equipped with seats that were possibly designed by a sadist, the ŠL 11 1305 took passengers on a long, slow journey across the gray, beautiful socialist landscape.
2. ŠL 11.1310 (1975–1981): A "slightly improved" version with even more seating so more people could suffer together. It was truly a bonding experience. The 1310 was known for its “automatic doors,” which only occasionally worked, providing passengers with a thrilling guessing game at every stop.
3. ŠL 11.1311 (1978–1980): A short-lived experiment in “modernization” that was so modern, it often arrived hours late or not at all. Passengers were encouraged to “enjoy the journey,” even if they spent most of it stuck on the side of the road waiting for repairs.
4. ŠL 11.1307 Tourist (1973–1980): The Tourist edition was aimed at adventurous travelers who didn’t mind spending their entire vacation trapped in a bus that smelled like old upholstery and gasoline. It offered no air conditioning but came with a free headache after each trip.

Karosa ŠD 11: The Long-Distance Torture Device (1968–1981)

Karosa ŠD 11 with sleeping trailer.

The ŠD 11 was the ultimate solution for long-distance travel, back when comfort was a luxury no one could afford. This bus was built to test your endurance—physically, mentally, and emotionally. If you survived the ride, you came out stronger. Plus, it had those famous manual doors that ensured even getting on and off the bus was an adventure in itself.

1. ŠD 11.2036 (1968–1981): The ŠD 11.2036 was your basic no-frills model, known for its single of front door. That's right—just one door, placed strategically at the front of the bus to ensure that the entire boarding and deboarding process felt like a battle royale. As passengers struggled to cram through the single entry point, friendships were forged, and tempers flared. The manual door mechanism provided that extra bit of Soviet-era charm, requiring at least one strong, capable person to wrestle it open and closed at every stop. It was a great way to burn some calories while traveling! And don’t forget the charming feature where luggage compartments would occasionally fling open mid-trip—nothing like watching your suitcase tumble out onto the highway to really spice up the journey.
2. ŠD 11.2040 (1976–1981): Now, here’s where things got “fancy.” The ŠD 11.2040 was introduced with a groundbreaking innovation—a second door at the rear. Yes, finally, passengers had the luxury of two doors, front and back. This cutting-edge feature was supposed to make boarding and deboarding faster, though, in reality, the rear door had a bit of a reputation for not always functioning as intended. Sometimes they wouldn’t open at all, ensuring that all the disgruntled passengers had to file out through the front anyway. Other times, they’d fly open when you least expected it, offering a thrilling escape opportunity. Either way, the rear doors were there, making the ŠD 11.2040 the top choice for those seeking slightly more convenience in their long-haul misery.

Service

ŠM 11, used by Opava City Transit System in 1990.

The Karosa Š series buses have taken on an almost mythical status, the stuff of legends, like the urban folklore of transportation. Imagine a bus so rugged, so unapologetically utilitarian, that it seemed to scoff at the very idea of planned obsolescence. These buses, with their mid-engine placement and high floors (an engineering marvel of the "let's make everyone climb Everest before sitting down" school of thought), trudged along on city streets until 1994, especially in Opava, a place that must have seen them as a civic duty, not just transportation.

But the story doesn't end there. When the cities finally said, "Enough is enough!" and tried to retire these beasts, they simply shifted gears. They were sold off to sports clubs and the military, because apparently, after years of hauling people, they were perfectly suited to hauling equipment and soldiers. And why stop there? Some were even converted into mobile homes, because who wouldn’t want to live in a bus that defies time and space? Others were used as moving vans, likely outlasting whatever furniture they transported.

Today, we look at these buses with a sort of ironic reverence. Sure, we have our modern, sleek, eco-friendly buses, but let’s face it: how many of them will still be running in 30, 40, 50 years? The Karosa Š was built to last—maybe not on purpose, but definitely by accident. It's as if engineers in the 1960s unwittingly created an indestructible Frankenstein’s monster of transportation. They might have set out to make a bus, but they ended up making something closer to a medieval fortress on wheels.

So, yes, in this age of disposable technology, the Karosa Š is like that grizzled war veteran who’s seen it all and lived to tell the tale. "Back in my day," it seems to say, "we didn’t need all this fancy tech; we just kept going!" Today, these buses are a strange sort of treasure—a relic from a time when things were built so solidly that even nature might hesitate before trying to break them down. They’re a rolling satire of modern efficiency, reminding us that sometimes, less isn’t more—more is more, and a Karosa Š had more than anyone ever bargained for.

Specs

1. Karosa ŠM 11

The ŠM 11 wasn’t just an urban bus—it was a rolling statement. That statement was, "I will outlive you, your children, and possibly this city." Built to withstand the everyday chaos of city streets, this machine took its job as seriously as a bouncer at a nightclub. People got on board with the unspoken understanding that they were in for a ride—not necessarily a smooth one, but certainly one they’d remember.

Specifications

• Seating Capacity: 28–31 seats, which the designers must have imagined would comfortably fit passengers. In reality, it was more of a "seat suggestion"—wherever you could find space to perch between elbows and shopping bags was fair game.
• Standing Capacity: 75 passengers, though this number probably referred to a Soviet-era metric of “however many people we can jam in before the windows pop out.”
• Engine: The famed Škoda ML 634 engine. You could almost hear it sigh with exhaustion every time the driver asked for more power, yet it delivered—barely. With 209 horsepower, this engine had the same enthusiasm as a middle-aged accountant being forced to run a marathon.
• Max Speed: A humble 60–70 km/h. It didn’t need to go fast. Speed was for sports cars; the ŠM 11 had other priorities, like reminding passengers that every trip was a test of endurance.
• Fuel Consumption: 35-45 liters per 100 km. At this rate, it guzzled diesel like it was trying to make a point: "You want transportation? You better pay for it—in diesel and patience."

The Reality of the Ride: The ŠM 11 was designed for frequent stops, so the words “acceleration” and “comfort” were more like distant dreams than reality. Every start felt like the bus was grudgingly agreeing to move forward, and every stop felt like it was taking a moment to reconsider its life choices. The suspension system—pneumatic, because the engineers tried—gave passengers a bouncy, unpredictable experience. It wasn’t so much a bus ride as a shared journey of resilience, and everyone onboard knew it.

2. Karosa ŠL 11

The ŠL 11, built for intercity travel, was the workhorse of the Karosa family. Designed to haul passengers from town to town, this bus carried with it a quiet determination to get the job done. But beneath its humble, clunky exterior, the ŠL 11 hid a secret desire—it wanted to be fast, really fast. Sadly, its speed limiter kept this dream in check, but there were whispers that under the right conditions, this bus could leave even the boldest drivers clutching the wheel in terror.

Specifications (The Beast Tamed by a Limiter):

• Seating Capacity: 43 passengers, each comfortably seated—or as comfortable as one could be on a bus that felt like it was built out of spare parts from a Soviet submarine.
• Engine: The trusty (and overworked) Škoda ML 634 diesel engine. With 209 horsepower, it wasn’t built to be flashy—it was built to survive. You could almost feel the engine’s existential struggle every time it had to push this 11-meter hulk down the road.
• Max Speed (Limited): 100 km/h, thanks to a responsible speed limiter. After all, you can’t just let a bus this heavy tear down the highway like a fighter jet, right? Wrong. You absolutely could.
• Max Speed (Unleashed): Without the limiter, the ŠL 11 could theoretically hit speeds over 100 km/h. In its dreams, it was a bullet on wheels, but in reality, it usually kept its wild side hidden. Legend has it that the driver who dared to push the limits was treated to a near-supersonic experience (for a bus, anyway), with the rest of the passengers holding on for dear life.
• Fuel Consumption: 30-40 liters per 100 km. What can you say? You want to move 11 tons of steel at speed? It’s going to cost you.

The Tamed Beast: The ŠL 11 lived a life of restraint, held back by the shackles of a speed limiter that kept it from realizing its full potential. This was probably for the best, as a 160 km/h Karosa bus would likely have resulted in widespread panic and at least a few airborne passengers. Yet the speed was there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when the driver would release the beast—if only for a few heart-stopping minutes.

3. Karosa ŠD 11

The Karosa ŠD 11 was built for long-haul travel, designed to carry passengers across the vast stretches of the country with comfort and dignity. At least, that’s what the brochures said. In reality, this bus was a heavyweight champion of the road, combining the brute force of a semi-truck with the gentle caress of a vibrating massage chair gone wrong. But here’s the kicker: the ŠD 11 wasn’t just tough—it was fast. Take off the speed limiter, and this bus would practically fly.

Specifications

• Seating Capacity: 45 reclining seats, because when you’re hurtling down a highway at speeds approaching those of a small airplane, you might as well be somewhat comfortable.
• Engine: The same ol’ Škoda ML 634 engine that powered its siblings, but in this case, it felt more like a secret jet engine disguised as a diesel machine. The 209 horsepower might have seemed modest on paper, but the ŠD 11’s engine had a special gift for turning that into momentum.
• Max Speed (Limited): 100 km/h, which is respectable for a bus. It was the kind of speed that let you pass the odd tractor on a country road without scaring too many chickens.
• Max Speed (Unleashed): Now here’s the fun part—without the limiter, the ŠD 11 could reportedly hit 160 km/h. That’s right, a bus full of passengers, bags, and dreams zooming down the highway at speeds that would make Formula 1 drivers take notice. Of course, at that speed, the bus’s aerodynamics were less "cutting-edge" and more "brick flying through the air," but still—160 km/h in a bus? Legendary.
• Fuel Consumption: 30-35 liters per 100 km, but at 160 km/h, that number probably shot up to “a tanker truck trailing behind you.”

The Karosa Rocket: Riding in an unleashed ŠD 11 was less about enjoying the scenery and more about surviving the thrill ride. With the limiter off, this bus transformed from a humble hauler into a rogue missile, barreling down highways and leaving drivers of modern cars wondering if they’d just been overtaken by a misplaced train. The passengers? They experienced a unique form of travel, somewhere between "long-distance bus ride" and "unexpected adrenaline junkie experience." Reclining seats were provided, but at those speeds, no seat could truly prepare you for the wild ride that was the Karosa ŠD 11 at full throttle.

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