I was suddenly bored with the whole Jap bike scene. Buy a big Jap four, ride it for a few weeks and then find myself bored out of my skull with the experience. Just too bland and reliable, the searing acceleration insufficient to maintain my interest for very long. And they were expensive beasts to keep in fuel, pads, chain and insurance.
It was the latter, more than anything else, that perked my interest. £75 rather than £750. Being a mean bugger that got to me. I could have gone the classic Jap route, but, come on, those old dogs are just accidents looking for somewhere to happen and I figured values could fall by 50% overnight. No backbone to them.
So it had to be British. I wanted something with a bit of blood and guts, decided on a 650 twin, narrowed it down to a Norton, BSA, or Triumph. Hardly original thinking but I left the final choice to whatever turned up within a reasonable distance of my house. I did visit some dealers but the bikes were priced so high that I just walked out with an air of utter contempt.
The first Triumph I went to see was a bitsa. God knows I’m no expert, but the flowing lines of a sixties Triumph were totally missing due to the mismatch of cycle parts. The owner protested his innocence and went on to confirm his low status by utterly failing to start the machine. I reckoned a hundred notes was about right rather than the £1500 demanded but he didn’t concur.
My wife told me off, said I should expect twenty, thirty year old bikes to be in a bit of a mess. I gibbered away at her, showing her the high gloss tones of the bikes in the classic magazines. In one of their ads there was a picture of an immaculate Norton 650SS for £3000. Trouble was it was 200 miles across the other side of the country in somewhere called Leeds.
The other half wasn’t even suspicious when I suggested a day trip there. I dropped her off in the town centre whilst claiming to be hunting for a parking place. Barrelled down to the owner's home, was suitably gobsmacked by the excellent state of the rebuilt bike and had a quick blast round his housing estate. It certainly had plenty of blood and guts! A cheque was written with the promise of returning next week.
The wife knew nothing about the deed until the following week when I pronounced that a bike had been found and I was going to pick it up. She looked up from her knitting, shrugged, dismissed me as if I was some kind of errant schoolboy.
Riding the Norton home was a revelation. The owner had enthused about upgraded and uprated engine components, dynamically balanced crankshaft, lightened rocker gear, blueprinted engine, etc. What struck me first, though, was just how good was the Slimline Featherbed chassis. Not just that it held its line well and was a delight to flick around but also that the Avon tyres communicated their grip on the tarmac in a way that was most reassuring in the slightly damp conditions. I felt at one with the machine and totally at ease after only the shortest of introductions. No wonder the past owner had been close to tears when he handed the machine over with the instruction to take good care of her.
The engine was entirely different to anything else I'd come across. It was a gruff old bugger that communicated every nuance of the combustion process to my feet, hands and arse. The rev counter was largely redundant, as it was very obvious which of the four gears I'd engaged. Real vibration, the stuff of legends, didn’t come in until 6000 revs, which, annoyingly, was when there was a surge of power that took the tacho right up to 8000 revs when the instruments tried to leap out of their brackets and my feet fell off the footrests. I'd been told in emphatic terms to keep the revs below 6000 except for brief blasts of acceleration. In top, 6000rpm equated to 110mph (the gearing was taller than stock), so no great hassle.
Although there was that concentrated surge of power at 6000 revs, the engine could pull strongly from tickover, that lovely thudding torque that gave the impression of awesome engine power and tried to shove me off the seat like the great hand of God was descending. The bike much preferred to be slung into fourth and then slog it out on the throttle.That doesn’t mean that the gearbox was a bummer, just that the whole bike felt more relaxed and natural when ridden that way.
It was the latter, more than anything else, that perked my interest. £75 rather than £750. Being a mean bugger that got to me. I could have gone the classic Jap route, but, come on, those old dogs are just accidents looking for somewhere to happen and I figured values could fall by 50% overnight. No backbone to them.
So it had to be British. I wanted something with a bit of blood and guts, decided on a 650 twin, narrowed it down to a Norton, BSA, or Triumph. Hardly original thinking but I left the final choice to whatever turned up within a reasonable distance of my house. I did visit some dealers but the bikes were priced so high that I just walked out with an air of utter contempt.
The first Triumph I went to see was a bitsa. God knows I’m no expert, but the flowing lines of a sixties Triumph were totally missing due to the mismatch of cycle parts. The owner protested his innocence and went on to confirm his low status by utterly failing to start the machine. I reckoned a hundred notes was about right rather than the £1500 demanded but he didn’t concur.
My wife told me off, said I should expect twenty, thirty year old bikes to be in a bit of a mess. I gibbered away at her, showing her the high gloss tones of the bikes in the classic magazines. In one of their ads there was a picture of an immaculate Norton 650SS for £3000. Trouble was it was 200 miles across the other side of the country in somewhere called Leeds.
The other half wasn’t even suspicious when I suggested a day trip there. I dropped her off in the town centre whilst claiming to be hunting for a parking place. Barrelled down to the owner's home, was suitably gobsmacked by the excellent state of the rebuilt bike and had a quick blast round his housing estate. It certainly had plenty of blood and guts! A cheque was written with the promise of returning next week.
The wife knew nothing about the deed until the following week when I pronounced that a bike had been found and I was going to pick it up. She looked up from her knitting, shrugged, dismissed me as if I was some kind of errant schoolboy.
Riding the Norton home was a revelation. The owner had enthused about upgraded and uprated engine components, dynamically balanced crankshaft, lightened rocker gear, blueprinted engine, etc. What struck me first, though, was just how good was the Slimline Featherbed chassis. Not just that it held its line well and was a delight to flick around but also that the Avon tyres communicated their grip on the tarmac in a way that was most reassuring in the slightly damp conditions. I felt at one with the machine and totally at ease after only the shortest of introductions. No wonder the past owner had been close to tears when he handed the machine over with the instruction to take good care of her.
The engine was entirely different to anything else I'd come across. It was a gruff old bugger that communicated every nuance of the combustion process to my feet, hands and arse. The rev counter was largely redundant, as it was very obvious which of the four gears I'd engaged. Real vibration, the stuff of legends, didn’t come in until 6000 revs, which, annoyingly, was when there was a surge of power that took the tacho right up to 8000 revs when the instruments tried to leap out of their brackets and my feet fell off the footrests. I'd been told in emphatic terms to keep the revs below 6000 except for brief blasts of acceleration. In top, 6000rpm equated to 110mph (the gearing was taller than stock), so no great hassle.
Although there was that concentrated surge of power at 6000 revs, the engine could pull strongly from tickover, that lovely thudding torque that gave the impression of awesome engine power and tried to shove me off the seat like the great hand of God was descending. The bike much preferred to be slung into fourth and then slog it out on the throttle.That doesn’t mean that the gearbox was a bummer, just that the whole bike felt more relaxed and natural when ridden that way.
The gearbox wasn't quite up to the standards of, say, the slicker Suzukis due to a rather long, heavy action but it was infinitely better than the vague stuff Honda still fit to some of their bigger bikes. False neutrals were unknown. The clutch, though, was one of those types that reacted to excessive town riding by dragging, making me screw out the handlebar adjuster on the clutch cable (which would then cause slip when the engine cooled).
It would also lose a lot of oil in town. Not a continuous evacuation, though the primary chaincase wept like it was in mourning for better days, but sudden spurting out of the engine breather tube which had been routed on to the left side, so that pedestrians would get a surprise drenching! Fortunately, the Norton was thin enough to make a rapid escape even through the densest of traffic.
One other hassle was the TLS front drum which I found difficult to adjust. It was either fading away to nothing or locking up. It certainly lacked the defensive capabilities of even the most mediocre of modern disc brakes, causing me to whack into a couple of ped’s who materialized out of nowhere. How they didn’t hear the rorty beat out of the stainless steel silencers, I don’t know.
As with most British bikes of this era, an upgraded front end is but a cheque book and phone call away. Commando’s might not have very nice engines but their front forks and disc brake are excellent. But I was reluctant to take the machine that far away from stock. Instead, solved the problem - to an extent - by dumping the racing shoes for standard fare. A much more reliable and predictable front brake was the result.
It would also lose a lot of oil in town. Not a continuous evacuation, though the primary chaincase wept like it was in mourning for better days, but sudden spurting out of the engine breather tube which had been routed on to the left side, so that pedestrians would get a surprise drenching! Fortunately, the Norton was thin enough to make a rapid escape even through the densest of traffic.
One other hassle was the TLS front drum which I found difficult to adjust. It was either fading away to nothing or locking up. It certainly lacked the defensive capabilities of even the most mediocre of modern disc brakes, causing me to whack into a couple of ped’s who materialized out of nowhere. How they didn’t hear the rorty beat out of the stainless steel silencers, I don’t know.
As with most British bikes of this era, an upgraded front end is but a cheque book and phone call away. Commando’s might not have very nice engines but their front forks and disc brake are excellent. But I was reluctant to take the machine that far away from stock. Instead, solved the problem - to an extent - by dumping the racing shoes for standard fare. A much more reliable and predictable front brake was the result.
Readers are probably waiting with baited breath for the tales of the great engine blow up, so much a part of British biking. Well, forget it (touch wood!). Don’t get me wrong, the big twin cylinder engine isn’t the kind of device that allows neglect. Tender loving care is the name of the game. Every day go over the engine bolts, and do the same to the chassis every week. It doesn’t take long and costs zilch. Every 500 miles, or even sooner, do the valves, carbs, points, check timing chains, etc. There are electronic ignition kits available but I found the old-fashioned system reassuring, as long as it was looked after.
So there was this strange bonding with the bike, needing more care and attention than the wife demanded, though a lot less dosh - running costs were amazingly low, with tyres that didn’t wear out, chains that seemed indestructible, fuel that lasted for 55 to 60mpg, and only the weekly pint of oil a notable drain on resources. As it has a separate tank there was never any need to change it, just keep filling up as it leaked away (well, you should change it sometimes but I haven't done enough miles yet).
After five months and 4000 miles I ain’t bored. No way, it’s such an emotive experience, making the pilot so much more a part of the ride. Pretty much like a Harley, I guess, but with lots more speed, handling and practicality for UK roads. Good stuff!
So there was this strange bonding with the bike, needing more care and attention than the wife demanded, though a lot less dosh - running costs were amazingly low, with tyres that didn’t wear out, chains that seemed indestructible, fuel that lasted for 55 to 60mpg, and only the weekly pint of oil a notable drain on resources. As it has a separate tank there was never any need to change it, just keep filling up as it leaked away (well, you should change it sometimes but I haven't done enough miles yet).
After five months and 4000 miles I ain’t bored. No way, it’s such an emotive experience, making the pilot so much more a part of the ride. Pretty much like a Harley, I guess, but with lots more speed, handling and practicality for UK roads. Good stuff!
H.T.