I owned a Norton 750 Combat Commando for five years and did about 15000 miles.
That’s an average of 3000 miles a year. Not very much, is it? Before I bought the Norton I used to average 10-12000 miles a year, which says something about its, er, practicality. On the other hand, it’s the only bike that I’ve kept for more than 18 months. I don’t know whether that’s a reflection on my stupidity, the bike’s charm on the odd occasion when it’s going right or merely a misplaced optimism from the fact that I’d spent so much time working on it that there’s little left to go wrong. It’s also the only bike to bring a tear to my eye when I was forced to sell it - if I had my way I’d still have it now, but the bailiffs wait for no man.
A brief history lesson: about forty years ago Norton designed a twin of 500cc, which went, as time passed and desperation seared the motorcycle industry, to 600, then 650, then 750 and finally 850cc. The first 750 was known as the Atlas (the unkind suggested this was because it had a crankshaft that acted like it had the weight of the world on it). Even die-hard Norton freaks have little good to say about this machine. The Commando had the Atlas engine stuck in a brand new frame with isolastic mounts to absorb its fearsome vibes.
The Combat was a tuned version of an already frail engine to, er, combat the Jap fours. This device goes like crazy and looks quite rorty but at the same kind of mileage as a Honda four owner was changing his oil, the Norton owner was having to change his engine! This I wasn’t aware of at the time of purchase. In fact, I was looking for a Z650 to replace a boringly reliable Z400 Kawa twin, and came across the Norton entirely by accident when visiting a friend. His neighbour had a garage full of bikes, and naturally we got talking. In the corner there was this slim, bright yellow Norton with a Dunstall exhaust system and 18000 miles on the clock. Did I want to have a go? A brief ride, that started with a wild wheelie because of the excess torque, had me hooked. The poor old Z400 felt a right slug afterwards.
Some back pay from a delayed pay rise meant I had some money to waste. I phoned the owner, who wasn‘t keen on selling but said come over for a pint anyway. The ride that followed was one of the most terrifying and exhilarating of my life. Even with good rubber, heavy fork oil and the shocks jacked up to max, a Z400 isn’t much of a scratching tool. He was riding a Trident two-up and appeared to regard Worcester’s one-way system as his personal race track - the kind of speed we achieved would have left us in deep shit on the motorway had we been stopped. Somehow I kept up and he seemed quite surprised that I was still behind him, albeit white faced and trembling, when we stopped. I was later to learn that he’d put two other prospective purchasers through this test...
A month later I’d sold the Z and went to buy the Norton. The oil seemed on the low side so we topped it up. Hands up all those who’ve left a Commando standing for a few weeks, thought the oil was low and done the same. Lesson one to British motorcycles and the charm of a separate oil tank. Do something silly like that and Norton spews up the excess oil like a headbanger after twelve pints and an Alsatian curry.
The first couple of months were mostly spent becoming used to the idiosyncrasies of the bike. Vibration was very apparent until I worked out how to sort the isolastic mountings. This stopped the number plates breaking (three), headlamps blowing (too many to count) and petrol tank splitting (once) As a further safety precaution I also rubber mounted the headlamp and number plate with the patent Enzer anti-vibe system (two rubber grommets and an old mudflap). The tank split around its mounting stud where I found the rubber washers had been misplaced.
Next problem was the clutch. Not only did it slip (cured by new plates) but also had a self-destruct cable, no matter how well it was routed it only lasted for a couple of months I ended up carrying a spare at all times. The tyres were old TT100s and let loose, especially in the wet, without any warning - when they wore out they were replaced with a set of Roadrunners.
With the above sorted, the bike ran happily for about two years, taking me round Scotland plus most of England and Wales. Problems were mostly electrical caused by the age of the wiring loom. Like many motorcyclists, I have a superstitious and wholly irrational fear of electrics, but the experience I gained from tracing the frequent shorts and broken wires exorcised most of it. Maintenance wasn’t as simple as I’d expected and needed to be executed with religious fervour. Exhaust valves were relatively accessible, inlets weren’t. Ignition timing was one real pain, even when new points were fitted and the quick destruct bobweights replaced, it never stayed in tune for long - electronic ignition is definitely recommended. Oil has to be checked in three places — primary drive, oil tank and gearbox. The latter seizes if neglected.
Talking of oil brings us to oil leaks. Yes it did, but not as bad as I’d expected. A weep from the tacho drive and the cylinder head, but the primary chaincase was the worst offender - this massive construction is held on by a mere single bolt. Anything less than the skill of a world class surgeon in tightening up this bolt will lead to the corners buckling. Instant street cred as a real Brit biker when all the oil spews out.
Did you know that the Commando was bike of the year for five years running and was the first motorcycle to obtain a British Design Council award, entitling it to one of those black and white triangular thingies seen dangling off uncomfortable pieces of household furniture? Last time I buy a toaster with one of those...
Another Commando problem is the brakes. The rear drum is spongy but works okay after a fashion. The front Lockheed disc looks pretty but that’s all. On a ten year old bike it’s not all that surprising when the master cylinder goes or when the caliper seizes, but I had the whole system rebuilt to as new - disc skimmed, the works, but it still wasn’t very impressive. If it was slightly better than some Jap jobs of the same period it was only because the Norton weighed so much less.
My Combat was fitted with high bars and a small tank. Fine for shooting around town but absolute hell out of the city. Pillions were not very happy either, one actually fell off the back when we hit a bump and she cracked the rear light in the process. Still, it’s as good an excuse as any to get a lithe young lady to hold on very tight. I fitted rear- sets and clip-ons which transformed it for fast work but made it sheer hell in town. Pillions were not too impressed, either, as their feet were stamped upon when I changed gear. Luckily, the Norton combined low mass with a motor that chucked out great gobs of torque, making it such a pleasure to drive. This was just as well, because after two years the thing decided that I must be taking it for granted.
First, the carbs leaked fuel which fell between engine and gearbox upon the tarmac in front of the rear tyre - the lurid slide across three lanes of traffic scared me shitless. Second, the bolt that holds the advance unit on the end of the crank fell off leaving me sparkless. I managed to fit another, but that only lasted a month. Third, on the way to Birmingham, there was a very expensive sounding rattle followed by an explosion. I thanked providence for the paranoia that made me join the RAC.
The engine strip showed things not as bad as I’d feared. The pistons, small ends and possibly the con-rods were shot, but the valvegear, pushrods and bottom end were undamaged if looking somewhat worn. Don’t let anyone kid you that Commandos are easy to work on. They seem to require another special tool, or improvisation thereof, every time you turn your back. Deciding that I’d rather be in the pub out of the dreadful cold, I handed over the job to the local Norton specialist.
A few weeks later it was back on the road, with new big-ends, valves, collets, springs and con-rods just to be on the safe side. The motor sounded as near perfect as it was possible to get a Norton. So good that I was able to notice the other things that were wrong. The Amals were worn out (not helped by the lack of filtration), but I couldn’t find any good used ’uns and new ones were too expensive.
The petrol pipe split due to old age and the wiring was going as fast as I could repair it. The master cylinder and caliper needed rebuilding again. As soon as that was done the Dunstalls went. Then the mystery misfire started. It wouldn’t happen for weeks, and then it would appear and go away as suddenly as it started. A plug chop didn’t help. The ignition appeared okay. The carbs were the prime suspect but new needles combined with a careful strip and rebuild didn’t help. The breather in the fuel cap was clear. I gave up, as the tax had run out, and stuck to a borrowed CB750F1 was later to buy; also, my fiancee was getting rather annoyed at having her toes trodden on all the time...
I was forced back onto the Norton when some moron ripped off the tank of the Honda, wrecking all the fuel lines in the process. I was all set to go to Stonehenge, so the girlfriend had to share the cramped accommodation on the back of the Combat with a set of throw-overs and a tent. Much to our surprise the Norton ran really well all the way there. I let my mate have a go on the Norton (he owns a 400/4 with 40,000 on the clock and claims to have never laid a finger on the engine, which sounds like a diesel). He’d gone 200 yards when the clutch stopped working.
In between manic giggles (this was Stonehenge) we stripped it dewn to find that the enormous circlip that holds the diaphragm spring in position had broken. No problem, just get the puller out of the toolkit... oh christ, in the rush I’d brought the Honda toolkit. We spent the next day wandering around asking Norton owners if they had a clutch compressor - ironic because once before one had asked me if I had one. I eventually rang a friend who was travelling down later and he brought mine.
For all that I would have another one, but not at todays prices. There was the funny side as well, all the happy memories of other people trying to start it, for instance. It was a bit like my Doberman, fine with me but temperamental with strangers. I used to take a sadistic pleasure in lending the bike to people who, having heard of the Combat’s reputation, would pussy foot it instead of throwing their full weight into it. On more than one occasion, this resulted in some anguished yells, and once in someone being deposited on the other side of the bike after it kicked back.
To some extent the rebuild costs are offset by low running costs. In 15000 miles I changed the disc pads once, rear tyre twice and front once. Fuel averaged 50 to 55mpg. Most bikes, unless they’re owned by real cheapskates, will have Superblends fitted (they cost twice as much and last four times as long). An SU carb conversion is expensive at £120 but two Amals cost £75, don’t last as long and need constant balancing (not to mention the improved economy). Spares are readily available and not too expensive.
They can be good bikes but need a lot of time and money. At todays prices they simply aren’t worth it. In MCN prices range from a box job at £500 (ho ho) to a concours at £2999 (full blown hysteria). These people may not get what they’re asking and I’ve been watching a JPS replica going down in increments to its present level of £2100.
I doubt very much if most readers of a mag like UMG would consider paying this sort of bread for a Commando, but if you’re thinking of it read the comments on Commandos in Issue 6 and add to those faults problems associated with old age... and forget it.
Bruce Enzer