I was in two minds about handing over £500 for a 1962 AJS 350 single. Oh, it looked nice enough, with polished casings and shining alloy, but the engine was reluctant to start, rattled like a metal band gone west on ecstasy and I knew sod all about British bikes. But they get to you like that. Read a few copies of Classic Bike, hear their motors go duff, duff duff and study the rugged engine lines for a while.....all of a sudden you just have to experience one for yourself.
Go for it, I hear a small but insistent voice in my head scream. So I did. Riding home I was almost charmed by its soft power delivery, the echo of its apparently open exhaust off suburban dwellings and a chassis rigidity that was miles different from my more normal, well worn and neglected, Japanese hacks.
Dismay began to set in on the first bit of deserted open road. A 60mph top speed was bad enough, but it was accompanied by an excess of filling dropping, handlebar shedding vibration. I had no idea how much power the AJS was supposed to put out, but it accelerated slower than a CD175 and had an even worse gearbox. The four speed unit was full of false neutrals and reduced my expensive trainers to ragged remnants.
I hadn't actually risked starting the AJS, the previous owner had got it going after about 20 kicks and had refused to turn it off. When my left hand finally tired of fighting a clutch that felt like the cable was corroded solid (but was actually functioning as the maker's intended), the resulting lurch stalling the engine dead at the lights, I had to attempt to kick the deadbeat into life in what felt like bare feet! It took six thigh killing kicks, left me swearing like an enraged dock-hand.
Home was a welcome sight. My neighbours thought I had gone off my trolley, ignored my protestations that it was a British classic motorcycle bought at a bargain price. By the next day I had dug out some proper motorcycle boots (that hurt like hell to walk more than a few yards) and commenced with the impromptu fitness routine involved in starting an old English thumper. After renewing the points, HT lead and spark plug, I’ve reduced it to five kicks from cold and two from hot. I've also lost almost a stone!
I'm not sure if it was just the starting or the free-vibro massage. The long stroke OHV engine always vibrated, from tickover all the way up to 7000 revs, the fury and barbarity increasing in direct proportion to engine speed, except at 50mph in fourth when there was a sudden, almost ethereal smoothness. I suspect this was a cunning arrangement by the original designers to ensure that the rider was forced to cruise at a speed that would not damage the engine. The vibes mostly hit the handlebars, making me think that the best way to prepare for life with the AJS would be to get a job working with a jack-hammer. It was so bad that whenever possible I cruised around at 50mph.
My mates with LC's, and the like, found the sight of me pottering around on the AJS hilarious. Although it would go around corners okay, the SLS brakes were as antique as the performance. Fade, fade, fade the front seemed to squeal every time I hit it in anger. It wasn't supposed to be quite that bad, whipping the wheel out revealed both linings and shoes down to the rivets. I'd heard stories about drums locking up solid once they were worn past a certain point so had both ends relined and bunged in some shoes (there's a British bike dealer nearby).
There was a noticeable improvement in braking after that but they still weren't up to a standard that the Japanese would demand for a commuter 125. Engine braking would've been an effective aid to rapid loss of speed had not the chain threatened to fall off the sprockets. The back sprocket looked merely worn, the engine sprocket had a tooth missing. The latter was only removed after taking the whole of the primary chain and clutch assembly off - anyone who thinks British bikes are easy to work on should have his head shoved down a toilet. I will admit the alloy was of a better quality and the screws came undone without the usual hassle. The pathetic chain primary drive was as far gone as the rear chain. After sending off for spares, cursing the bike for a couple of weeks, I was finally back on the road.
Surprise, surprise the gearchange was transformed and a lot of the fearful engine noises had disappeared. The bike felt able to push itself to a stunning 65mph. I'd given the motor a full service whilst it was in bits, the valves' tappets being awkward in the extreme as the kept changing as I tightened the screws. If there had been more than two valves I would've taken a hammer to it. I don't know what the recommended services are but I had to set it up every 750 miles, otherwise vibes threatened to shake the bars loose.
I put some Avons on the wheels, was quite impressed with the way it could be banked over during spirited country road riding. The frame was as good as many recent middleweight Japs and the suspension, though short in travel, gave the Ajay a nicely taut feel. Yet more praise for the ancient single, I couldn't fault the riding position or saddle comfort! The mudguards were full without looking ugly, kept the worst of the weather off both rider and bike. After I'd put on one of those tiny numberplates, the integral rear light looked really neat. The Ajay was full of such details that were a pleasure to the eye.
Although it drank oil at a wolfish rate the mildly tuned motor consumed fuel like it was the finest wine. I quietly amused myself finding how far I could get on the four gallons before reserve was needed. I actually did 110mpg riding at 30 to 35mpg but cruising at 50mph was even more impressive - dead on 100mpg! That gave a range of 400 miles. It once went down to 90mpg but that was due to my gritting my teeth when doing 65mph for an hour. I had to tighten up almost every bolt on the bike after that desperate excursion and felt like I'd gone ten rounds with Tyson.
No-one would believe my tales of economy and I doubted it myself, checked the mileometer against known distances and made sure about the amount of petrol I was putting in. There seemed something very odd about such an old bike weighing 400lbs, on worn components turning in such good economy. Why on earth didn't anyone develop this type of engine? With modern materials and knowledge it could be made into an amazing motor.
I know it's dead slow. You don't have to tell me that. The one time I ventured on to the motorway I thought I was going to die, no-one else wanted to bumble along at 50mph and I ended up riding on the hard shoulder until the next exit. I'll have the last laugh the next time there's a fuel crunch and everyone has to motor along at 50mph!
The speedo reads 87000 miles, the past owner was completely evasive about its history so I've no idea how many times it's been rebuilt or if it's completely original. In the last year it's done over 9000 miles without needing any serious attention but constant tender loving care. I've uprated the electrics to 12V and put in a TLS front wheel. Both have made the bike about ten times safer as the original stuff is laughably naff even with the distinct lack of speed. The engine's ancient but surprisingly reliable whilst the chassis is actually better than most Jap hacks I've owned. I've grown to love it, manifold warts and all.
William Garland