Buying a 1954 bike when it was nearly 40 years old was fraught with potential trauma. The classic mania, even in the depression, meant that we were talking thousands rather than hundreds even for something rather mundane and far from standard. Why bother, when for that kind of money some fantastic high technology Japanese machine would be capable of hurtling me across the country at insane speeds and in total reliability? The truth was the old one of wanting to relive my youth a bit and enjoy a rather more relaxed pace of life.
That was the theory, anyway, what shattered it was a Norton ES2, complete with a few sensible mods to the electrics, and rather faded with time and age. Rather like myself really. The least relaxing thing I can think of is trying to start a 500cc single. I knew enough to put on a hefty pair of motorcycle boots, tickle the non-standard concentric Amal carb and give it a full bodied kick after getting over compression. If the motor was hot that usually got it running but if it was cold there was a fifty-fifty chance of the dreaded kickback. The lever comes back at an incredible ferocity with a violence that gave the impression I was trying to start a 100hp monster rather than a mere slow revving, 20hp single!
After the first day I was limping around, the shock having run straight up my thigh, almost dislocating my hip and shattering my spine. At the tender age of sixty it was a violence on a level with being attacked by a pack of skinheads. My wife gave me her book on Callenetics for sufferers of bad backs, which advised taking unlikely positions on the floor and stretching muscles in strange contortions but the relief on my spine was almost instant. This became a daily chore.
Once started the long stroke OHV engine ticked over at about 500 revs with each distinctive combustion explosion echoing around the immediate vicinity of my house. Curtains twitched as my neighbours wondered what the hell a fleet of tanks were doing rumbling down the street, not particularly relieved to see me wobbling off on an ancient motorcycle. The rusty megaphone seemed to have no effect on the exhaust noise.
My spine took another battering from the lack of suspension. I had one of the first models which actually had a swinging arm and rear shocks. Someone had fitted Roadholder forks and a TLS front drum, But age and wear had meant the suspension had been tightened up until it had as much give as a pushbike. A piece of road, that on a Jap bike appeared smooth, was like riding off road on the ES2. It took a couple of months adaptation.
The steering was thus very direct, the bike moving over each and every bump, requiring a lot of correction to keep it on the required line. After taking that into account, there weren't any real weaves and it never seemed to wobble at all.......Norton must've perfected the 370lb bike's steering geometry, at that time they were the best handling bikes around.
The riding position was very natural, better than most Japanese machines, but the seat was too wide and I felt perched high above the bike, although I am over six feet tall and have the same problem on many small Japanese machines. Any idea of comfort for more than a quarter of an hour, at any reasonable speed, was however cancelled out by the constant vibration put out by the motor.
ES2 speedos are famous for failing due to the vibes, so I had no idea of the real mileage of the engine, and no idea how great the contribution of the wear was to the levels of vibration. I certainly don't recall the same kind of foot numbing, hand shaking rumble from my youth. I was thankful for my false teeth as I'm sure a mouthful of fillings would've been spat out in short order. The vibes were linked to engine revs, with a relatively smooth patch at 50 to 60mph in top, then the kind of frenzy that made the tank feel like it was falling apart and the bars difficult to hold.
Top speed of the ES2 was supposed to be 80mph but the vibes made a nonsense of such velocity, the most I dared to do was a very quick push to 70mph. Once into top the bike would chuff along at 15mph upwards, making a real pleasure out of country roads. Once my body had adapted to the level of road shocks and vibes. Usually, I limited myself to 60mph, which had the effect of making the Norton very frugal, around 85mpg. Oil consumption more than made up for that, most of it spilling out of the primary chaincase and pushrod tubes, the tank needing a daily dose of lubricant.
Where I'd become bored with the civility of Japanese iron, every ride on the ES2 turned up some incident that threatened to have me tearing my hair out in sheer frustration or congratulating myself on my own cleverness in doing a roadside fix. I soon learnt to carry a large toolkit with all kind of essential bits, from Superglue to bales of wire.
The first thing to go was the primary chain, a clacking noise of metal grinding against metal. There wasn't any adjustment left in the chain, so I pulled the split-link off and took two links out of the chain with the link extractor I just happened to have in the toolkit (it was almost as old as the Norton). It's a pity no-one makes O-ring chains for these old Brits. Running the primary chain in such a state was a recipe for a broken chain and holed chaincase, especially with the strong single cylinder pulses, but I went easy on the gearbox, clutch and throttle, made it home in one piece. Primary chains last little more than 5000 miles, Norton realising this made the chaincase quickly detachable with just a single nut holding it on (hence the massive oil leaks). There are rubber belt conversions for the big twin and I could've probably converted one of these, but the expense and hassle are out of all proportion to the benefits.
The next problem was a rattling and tapping noise from the cylinder head and some exhaust smoke. I cantered home at moped speeds, wondering what the hell had happened now. Taking off the head was ridiculously easy as there was no awkward camchain to split, just a couple of pushrods to line up. There was a lot of carbon on the combustion chamber and valves plus valve guides that had gone loose in their seats.
I cleaned the head up, reground the valves and fitted two new guides. ES2 originals proved impossible to find but the local Brit bike shop machined some Triumph items to fit and stuck them in the head with hi-tech epoxy glue, observing that whilst they would never fall out I'd have to drill them out if I ever wanted to replace them. Whilst I was at it, I smoothed the ports out and checked the bore and crank bearings, which all seemed fine.
The engine ran a little better after that with a gallon of fuel often lasting for 90 miles. I think the most I did in a day was a 100 miles without suffering a breakdown. I very rarely went anywhere in the dark, the vibes invariably blew the bulbs and even though the lights had been upgraded to sixties standards they were very dangerous on country roads. I'd be blinded by some oncoming car then not know where I was going until my eyes became used, once again, to the pale glow put out by the lamp.
One time I thought the road was going in one direction when in fact it was going completely the other way. The first I knew of this was the front wheel skidding over grass, then the machine charging through a hedge. I was wearing an open-face helmet without glasses, instinctively put both gloved hands up in front of me to ward off the brambles, steering the ES2 with my knees.
The machine lost speed when I let go of the throttle but charged straight through the hedge, suddenly twitching the front wheel before I could get my hands on the bars as the ground turned rutted. Having the bike fall on my body sent a new wave of pain through my already battered frame but I managed to extract myself. The bloody Norton was completely free of serious injury, just a few scratches.
I also tried to avoid wet weather as well. Not because the chassis or tyres were unable to take it, the ES2 was actually quite safe in the wet except that the electrics soaked up the water, blowing fuses and the only reason the engine kept going was that it had its own self-contained magneto system. The voltage regulator was particularly prone to filling up with water, either shorting out or letting about three times the normal voltage shoot into the electrical system.
The engine itself seemed to keep running on and on with the fearsome reputation that these old thumpers used to have. They are so simple that it's not difficult to do a complete rebuild by the roadside. If I was young I guess I might've been able to adapt to the Norton, but it came as such a culture shock after years of civilized Japs, and was such hard work that after six months I soon became disenchanted with the whole experience, although I can understand the charm of the lazy torque and its essential simplicity. But it wasn't enough to sway me.
The final straw was when the clutch locked up solid. It had started becoming heavier with enough juddering to make a smooth take-off difficult. Using the slow and heavy gear lever without the clutch was akin to trying to walk through fast setting cement whilst someone hit a dustbin with a hammer. I left the bike in second and worked my way through junctions very slowly, the bike able to hold 5mph without juddering. I made it the eight miles home without stalling but had to jump three red lights. The clutch pushrod had welded itself into the gearbox shaft through which it more normally operated. I was so fed up, I sold it like that for a few hundred less than I originally paid.
George Ayers
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Big Norton singles have a lot going for them. Not least the way the long stroke engine manages to look so butch, and in the case of the ES2 so much part of the plot that it could be all carved from solid metal. Starting big, long stroke singles is an altogether different game, requiring hefty boots, a psychopathic attitude, a Zen-like indifference to pain and, of course, The Technique.
This varies from machine to machine, often varies, also, with regard to the day's temperature, humidity and wrath of the gods. Part of the technique is to start the kick at a certain point in the combustion cycle, usually just after compression so enough momentum can be gained to actually get past compression the second time around - if you fail to do that the kickback reward can turn you into a rocket man! But it's not merely starting the kick in the right place, there's also correct throttle placement (after tickling the carb and/or setting the choke, freeing the clutch and making sure nothing essential has fallen off or come loose), and picking up on the revs at the right moment.
If you've gone a bit soft in your old age, merely able to get a well slung together A10 into life on a good day, for instance, all this becomes a bit too much when bleary of eye, hung-over and generally dissipated you emerge into the cold of another winter's day. At this moment in time you think longingly of life with one of the glossies, being transported (in the comfort of a luxury van) down to the relative heat of the South of France to test the latest piece of exotica. Of course, you end up with an even sillier walk than you get from trying to start an ES2 of a cold morning.
It took me five days of frustration and frenzied activity until I got the hang of the ES2's starting. Having persevered thus, the machine seemed to shrug its shoulders and happily admit me to the exclusive club of people able to start these beasts first kick.
From its recalcitrant starting, heady exhaust noise, engine death-rattles and spine shaking vibration, it would be easy to conclude that here was a bit of a fire-breathing monster. Nothing could be further from the truth, though. Bedlam on wheels never equated to a startling forward drive, partly down to the need to dim the vibration as fast as possible by getting into fourth gear as quickly as possible.
Really low revs in top gear, just off the throttle, didn't deliver the expected juicy torque, instead gave the impression that the series of chains that comprise the primary and final transmission were whipping around in a frenzy of self-destruction. Rather like an old Honda 750 four, actually. The bike had been around the clock at least twice, so its show of either profound wear or half-hearted rebuilds was to be expected and tolerated if not praised.
Notoriously heavy were the flywheels of old British thumpers, thus opening the throttle a touch delivered stately rather than startling acceleration, but still well able to keep ahead of the rabble in low end cages. Thus was town riding tolerable enough, aided along by the kind of narrowness that a C90 owner would envy, though the position of the handlebars ends was exactly coincidental with that of many a cage's wing mirrors - either good fun or a minor annoyance depending on what mood you're in!
Two areas were lacking compared to modern bikes. Suspension travel wasn't sufficient to cope with the rigours of modern ruined and neglected roads. The bike didn't skate all over the shop, rather hit the rider with the full force of the wheel's deflection. Tiring rather than dangerous. Unlike the front brake, a SLS drum of reasonable proportions but execrable efficacy. It only worked at all when a wrist snapping amount of muscle was applied (and don't scream wimp, because I'm used to this kind of nonsense, thrive on it...), even then retardation was what you might expect on some old horror of a moped designed to get the district nurse from A to B at about 15mph.
Luckily, such was the bellow of the exhaust, at least in terms of modern machinery, that everything for half a mile around was subsumed by its lust for life; not even the most brain-dead of cagers or peds could fail to notice our unlikely progress.
Between 30 and 55mph, in top gear, the engine came awake to a degree that was tolerably enjoyable and moved fast enough to make a minor GTi player wonder what the heck was going down. It might just kill a Honda 250 twin dead. Progress to 70mph was less startling still but it was a speed that the motor would happily hold until the end of the world came, just so long as you were used to, and had a tolerance for, thumper vibration.
Economy was one of the bike's greatest plus points. Ridden mildly it would turn in nearly 80mpg; even when treated with unwarranted contempt better than 65mpg was possible. Such adventures on old, sometimes tired, Brits show up the negative progress made by modern Japanese machines in this area.
Beyond 70mph I did not much venture as the owner had threatened me that if the usual Malone treatment ensued it would be similarly inflicted on my frail frame. And we wouldn't want that, would we? A top whack of 80mph is probably possible but ultimately rendered pointless by the amount of accompanying vibration. Given the constraints of heavy flywheel and vibration it's actually an extremely difficult machine to thrash into the ground, given that one was financially and mechanically perverse enough to want to ruin such a splendid old classic (phew, those guys in Barbours outside have cleared off).
As to the handling, it was a sure-footed if slow turning old thing that was hard to throw off the road. Much more likely to hit something due to the front brake, which on examination was running a slightly warped drum - don't expect even a perfect one to give much improvement in braking, though, it really needs a good TLS replacement to sort it out. A common mod, well worth paying a bit of extra dosh for.
Switches and lights were the usual old crap which must've been replaced at least a dozen times in the course of the bike's life - the definition of perverse surely being old die-hards who refuse to fit any crap Japanese or even European electrical parts. It wasn't merely that the front light was on the dim side even on main beam, or yet that it shook in its shackles in an alarming manner, but that the insidious nature of the vibes meant there was a bigger chance it would blow than that it wouldn't. Disgraceful nonsense, and a curse on old English electrics.
Oil leaks were generally absent in this particular example, more down to modern sealants than anything else. An eye, nevertheless, had to be kept on the oil level as its ancientness meant quite a lot of lubricant was lost past the piston rings and valve guides. Of course, a brand new example, or lovingly rebuild one, might offer a touch more performance and a little less vibration, but this one seems typical of what you can expect on the secondhand market for around the £2500 mark. Feel free to buy one but don't expect me to cheer you on.
Johnny Malone