I have fulfilled few of my youthful dreams. Perhaps that is why I went a bit mad five years ago. To judge by the comments of my family I ought to be locked away. My most heinous crime was to hand over £9750 for a series C Vincent. All through my youth I had wanted to ride one of these 1000cc vee twins, they had dominated the road like no other machine, even if in reality few were made. I could never afford one then, the biggest bike I laid my hands on was a 1966 Triumph 650 which had spat bits all over the road whenever I went over 70mph.
The usual story followed, wife, car, kids, mortgage, suddenly you're fifty, your whole life seems to have disappeared. The kids have left home, the mortgage is paid off and your bored out of your skull even when you should be counting your blessings and looking forward to a leisurely retirement. Then I picked up a glossy motorcycle magazine that heaped praise upon praise on the venerable Vincent. That was what started it all.
Coming back to motorcycling aboard a Vincent is not a very clever move.
My initial test ride of the machine went okay. Heavy clutch, heavier gearbox action (buy some proper boots, I told myself) and a raw edged feel to the thumping vee twin between my legs. Up to 60mph in stockbroker belt Kent, the chassis wandered a bit and the forks clunked when I tried to use the incredibly stiff double sided front drum, but the joy of being back on two wheels was incredible. I soon convinced myself that the engine noise, like there were a few ball bearings loose, was quite normal. The vendor told me they all sounded like that.
I should have become a little suspicious when the owner demanded the money in used fifty pound notes. The bank manager was summoned to check on my identity before the bank was willing to hand over the money. I've been so out of the game that I didn't even bother to check the engine number against that in the registration document. It had a new MOT and six months tax, shone beautifully in the summer sun and a new set of tyres whose sidewalls were still glossy black. Completely rebuilt 2000 miles ago, confided the vendor, go for a 100,000 miles, no problem. But that didn't stop him writing sold as seen on the receipt.
The ride home, some 50 miles, was rather more enlightening. The four speed box developed a penchant for locking up in second gear. Much revving, slipping of the clutch and booting was needed to persuade it into first or third. To compound the problem it wouldn't hold third, the gear slipping out and sending the revs soaring.
Once into top it would motor along quite happily up to 70mph. After that it became frightening. It wasn't just that the engine vibrated so much that my feet fell off the rests, although that was bad enough, the steering was also wicked. The bars tried to twist out of my hands as the Girdraulics forks wobbled from side to side. I backed off the throttle and it got worse before it got better. The bike had veered off the crest of the road heading straight for a hedge. Desperate braking had little effect on the lack of retardation. I narrowly avoided writing off nearly ten grand's worth of metal.
I moderated my pace to 55 to 60mph. The seat was also pretty strange as it seemed to move around and perched the rider high above the machine. The bike felt quite light and its dimensions were more in line with a Japanese 250 twin than a litre bike. By the time I arrived home I was a bit of a nervous wreck. The family came out to see the bike. With the engine whirring away noisily to itself, dripping oil and shaking the chassis, I don't think they were too impressed. After buying some serious motorcycle clothing I was ready to tackle the brute in earnest.
Or I would have been had not the beast refused to start. Family and neighbours were crowded around waiting for the machine to fire up. On about the fiftieth kick it fired up and I sagged down on to the seat. My muscles had just about recovered from operating the controls from the previous day but all that effort turning over the vicious vee had left me drained of energy. Mr Vincent was somewhat ahead of his time but not in the provision of electrics. I eventually got the technique right, or near right, and could get a cold engine fired up on the fifth, sixth or seventh kick. Hot engines are easier except that they occasionally backfire. Even a new magneto didn't help.
The Vincent had quite an advanced chassis for its time (the 1950s), using the engine as part, indeed most, of the frame. The rear suspension is not that dissimilar to early Yamaha monoshock efforts save that where you would expect a single shock Vincent provided two. This minimal frame helped keep the mass down and should, in theory, have been very stiff. The low centre of gravity should also have helped. Unfortunately, the excess of bushes in the complex if stiff front forks were well worn out. The previous owner had tightened up the bolts so hard that the excess of movement was not immediately apparent, it took a few miles to become obvious.
I found all this out the hard way. I was convinced that the wobbles I had experienced at 70mph were a mere transitory experience that could be ridden through! On the first bit of straight, I gritted my teeth and opened her up in fourth. I was sort of aware of a rush of air and the kind of stomach lurching feeling you get on a Big Dipper, but these were in the background. Most of my attention was devoted to the wretched way the machine was wobbling all over the road as the Vinnie roared past 90mph.
I began to understand what a pilot feels like when he starts to black out. My vision became so blurred from the vibes as the beast roared ever onwards past the ton, that I could barely make out the road. The wobbling did not become any better as you speeded up, but it became no worse either. I could feel that, after a fashion, it was possible to keep the machine on the right side of the road. The really frightening tank slapper came when I backed off for an approaching corner.
I thought I was going to expire on the spot from a heart attack. The bike ended up going into the corner at 70mph on the wrong side of the road. Somehow we wobbled around. As soon as I could I pulled over. My whole body was shaking from the experience and I felt like I had gone ten rounds with Mohammad Ali. By then the front forks had loosened up to an extent where even I could not fail to see the problem. The ride back home was very slow and very sad.
I'm not that stupid. I knew to get the machine into shape I would have to spend more serious money on the Vincent. Much to the family's relief I put an advert in MCN, the bike up for sale at £9500, the cheapest one in the paper. I sat by the phone all week but no-one called. The bike sat sulking in the drive, still gleaming, somewhat evilly to my eye, in the sun. I pushed her into the garage, propped the bike up on its centrestand and tore off the front end. I soon found out why the brake didn't work, the shoes were down to the rivets and the linings were deeply scored. I took the forks to a friend who owned an engineering company. He told the apprentice that it would be a good test of his skill to refurbish them. I don't think he'd make much of an engineer, but the bodge job removed most of looseness.
The reassembled machine would run up to 80mph without too many wobbles, although the back end had started to weave, but not dangerously. At speed it required a lot of muscle to chuck through the bends. Relined and fitted with new shoes, the double sided front drum was able to pull up the machine quite well from 70mph, but any faster caused fade to set in. They also didn't like wet weather, the drums filling up with water. Brief sorties up to 110mph were possible but the vibration made it difficult to maintain for more than a few seconds.
I was worried about the engine noise. I couldn't believe that the bike could sound so noisy yet be healthy. The vibes were also worrying, if I switched the huge but dim headlamp on the bulb would blow almost immediately. This may have been down to the battery being ancient and decrepit but it was difficult to find one of the right size and wattage to fit in the small space available.
I resolved to visit a meeting of the Vincent Owners Club, at least then I could compare engine noises. There were lots of bikes there but many of them looked like they never turned a tyre. Returning to my machine after the reassurance of hearing a few other machines - half a dozen Vinnies ticking over would give the noise abatement society mass apoplexy - I found a crowd of Barbour jacketed ancients around my machine. I heard them slagging it off something rotten - wrong engine for that year's chassis, non standard exhausts, seat and chassis bits plus a poor finish. They reckoned I'd have to spend a few thousand getting it up to standard; not to do so would be letting the side down. I decided it wasn't the type of club I wanted to join and roared off happy enough in the knowledge that my engine was probably more or less sound.
It did seem to eat oil, though, a pint every 150 miles. Poodling along at an almost pleasant 70mph I was a bit annoyed to have my day dreams interrupted by the engine backfiring and spitting. The strong smell of petrol came up from down below....the back cylinder's carb had fallen off. The temptation to throw a match on the petrol covered engine and claim on the insurance was resisted. The carb went back on okay after I'd unfurled the toolroll.
The next 1500 miles went by reasonably enough. I was becoming used to the machine's idiosyncrasies and after a period of muscle building was beginning to return from back lane trips with a huge grin over my face. It couldn't last of course. The clutch started slipping and power began to drop off. Engine noise increased to an even more dizzy level. My perusal of the Vincent workshop manual revealed the machine as basically simple but featuring some very strange engineering. I was quoted thousands for a full engine rebuild. I was learning the hard way that Vincent spares are very expensive and labour extortionate.
For the next three months I entered a strange nether world of used Vincent parts, arcane knowledge and the remnants of the British engineering empire. In short, the more of the engine I stripped the more did it reveal itself as comprehensively knackered. If you were to look at the individual components parts, you would not believe that such worn items when assembled into a vee twin engine would actually produce a running motor. The previous owner had been a bodging virtuoso! Anyway, after much hassle and about two thousand notes I was able to put the motor back together.
It still rattled like it was full of loose ball bearings but after 2000 miles of running in I found it was capable of an indicated 120mph. Not without a lot of torment, though, for the vibes were indescribable and the handling rather unpredictable. I did put some new bushes in the swinging arm, but this didn't stop the bike going into some vicious wobbles....I tried the steering damper but it only seemed to lock the front forks up.
Not that I wanted or needed excessive speed. I was happy with 70 to 80mph but it seemed strange to me that a bike so big and expensive was so unable to safely achieve speeds greater than a good Japanese 125! I have spoken to other Vincent owners who become very vehement when I suggest the handling is less than perfect. They swear blind their machines will do 135mph with rock solid stability.
In the past few years I've put 22000 miles on the rebuilt engine with something like reliable service. The bike needs fettling after every ride. Bolts come loose, bits do fall off and it needs a full engine service every 750 miles. Consumable wear is moderate. It's not much fun on the motorway or at night, but the bike is not used for anything other than my own pleasure. It could have been a complete disaster but I'm happy to have fulfilled and enjoyed one of the great dreams of my youth!
Roland Barry