A couple of years ago a drunken deadhead stole my bike, and after the awful shock of seeing the empty space where it should have been parked and the horrible feeling of losing an old and familiar travelling companion, I began thinking about its replacement when the insurance coughed up. Another Norton did not appear on the shortlist - too much, too slow, too many antiquated design faults, too labour intensive and, anyway, another one would never be quite the same.
That indefinable zest and bitchiness that gets labelled as character in a motorcycle is in fact the product of a relationship that particular riders develop with particular machines, not a commodity that can be packaged and sold to anybody. The character that gets pedalled in the classic rags is usually down to having made allowances for pre-historic and sometimes rank bad design, inferior technology and subsequent owners lame brained bodges and let’s face it, in 25 years a bike can have a lot of imbecile owners.
If you want to own and, more importantly, run a bike like this, do it, and at the end of the process you'll have a machine that is uniquely yours, full of character and very possibly a joy to ride, but be prepared towork very hard and to suffer greatly on route.
Paying a great deal less than £1500 will be a good start, as will ridding your mind of any thoughts of concours finish and original specification - if the bikes had been that good in the first place, Norton wouldn’t have gone bust for thinking the same and carrying on producing them.
The money you’ve saved so far will help pay for the modifications you need to make the bike reliable enough to ride anywhere and thus discover if it has your kind of character. If it doesn’t you’re up shit creek, because classic buffs don’t buy modified bikes, at least not for the £1500 it'll have cost you by now, so the only way you're going to get your money’s worth is by riding the thing, so you'll have to persevere.
After all the heartbreak involved in rebuilding and uprating it you'll be very, very good at persevering, so all in all it shouldn’t be a problem. You might even become an addict, in which case I wish you the joy of it... when the police rang up to say they'd recovered mine undamaged and caught the toe-rag who’d nicked it, I immediately forgot all about possible replacements in a big warm rush of sweet relief. I’m not sure it’s too good that a mere motorcycle can get to you like that, but this one definitely has that potential.
Potential is what it’s all about with these beasts. 120mph top end, taut but forgiving handling, 55 plus mpg and savagely functional styling... that was the kind of specification the makers bullshitted the press with in 1962, and justified by stomping the opposition in production races for the next few years. That was OK, given that it had the best mass produced frame of its time and everyone had lousy brakes, but it’s 25 years on now and the roads are a very different place.
The spanking new magneto that never missed a spark is now a clapped out collection of overheated shellac, brass and bakelite that tracks out at the first hint of salt spray. The valves have been reground so many times that they’ve disappeared up the ports, the tops are beginning to come off the pistons, the crank has been lubricated with neat sludge for the last ten years, the carbs have been grit-blasted internally and some pillock’s had the barrel off with a jemmy and removed a few fins in the process. The clutch is full of oily rubber, the gearbox full of sawdust, the front forks half full of water and the rear shocks full of nothing whatsoever.
There have recently been letters and articles in the UMG by people who are more than happy to know nothing about what goes on inside their favourite steed, and there are times when I wish I could rejoin that happy throng. I could not own an old bike if I did, however, because their potential for unreliability is higher than their potential for fun, and it takes a certain degree of application to cure the faults that make them unreliable. As I get a lot of satisfaction from solving such problems, and the bike has been reliable enough to take me all over Western Europe without serious mishap, I can enjoy owning it, but realise that this is a very personal thing.
The basic design is good enough to work on, and improve for use in the 80s, but requires a particular class of enthusiast (read obsessive) to realise that potential, so for most people it’s a bit of a non-starter, and I recommend borrowing rather than owning one if you want to experience the curious fascination for ruff, tuff 60s biking that currently afflicts these isles. If the heavy high speed vibration and sat-on-top-of-it riding position doesn’t deter then this could be the bike for you.
There are certain modifications that are essential if you want the bike to go and stop without constant maintenance and/or worry, and continue to do so until it wears out or gets rebuilt again, which depends on how hard you treat it in the interim.
The frame is the simplest item to fix. It'll handle 120mph but not massive surges of horsepower, so sticking in the old CBX motor isn’t really on. The swinging arm is carried on Silentbloc bushes that last for ever unless you stove it, in which case you need a press and a prayer book. Dedicated speed freaks can fit brass bushes and box section swinging arms, but for everyday use the bike doesn’t need them. I run Koni shocks with old Girling springs (and covers to protect the damper rods) to suit my ten stone mass.
The forks are short and stiff, which keeps everything going where you point it, but tends to be hard work over the average, ill-repaired modern road - using softer springs shows up the woefully crude damping and allows the forks to top over bumps and bottom with a resounding crunch in the ruts, though there are cunning ways to compensate for this. The fact that the forks don’t flap about is their best feature and most people learn to live with their other inadequacies, although changing the oil takes hours.
Head races as supplied are diabolical and usually replaced with taper rollers which have to be greased yearly (very tedious) and it’s cheaper and less effort to use sealed ball races, readily available from bearing factors. Any round 7" headlamp fits (CX500 units are cheap from breakers, Cibies more expensive but very wonderful) provided the electrics are upgraded to 12 volts. I’ve fitted chrono clocks as they last long enough to justify the enormous expense.
The brakes. The back one is fine, a heavy but sturdy SLS drum cum sprocket that can lock up the wheel if abused, sensitive and maintenance free if you look after the bearing seals (they’re felt, so it’s a bit of a game). The front is truly pathetic in stock SLS form, even with trick linings it fades away to nothing after a few hard stops. The much vaunted Commando TLS job is little better, despite looking very butch, as it distorts when hot and fades because the shoes don’t hit the drum squarely, and grabs when cold. The big air-scoop makes sure plenty of rain gets in to rust the drum and make it grab viciously in the wet, as evidenced by the white face of a seasoned rider I once had on the back after a particularly spectacular front wheel slide.
Blanking off the air-scoop, fitting sensible linings and a complex spindle stiffening arrangement gets them reasonably smooth, progressive and fade free, but never entirely eliminates the tendency to grab in the wet. Getting both shoes to hit the drum simultaneously requires a doctorate in physics and takes rather longer to achieve, but the whole ghastly business is no worse than de-crudding and bleeding discs every winter, so I persevere.
The engine is quite a tough lump which likes to rev despite its long stroke and very narrow bores. It’s basically a Commando bottom end without the top end strain, so main bearings last well (especially Superblends, though these are not essential and tend to let the crank whip rather than shuffle, which increases vibration). The big-ends will go for 50000 miles provided you clean all the crap out of the crank when it’s rebuilt and fit a Commando type oil filter - not forgetting to use decent oil and change it every 3000 miles.
The standard cam is quite sporty and will put a step in the power delivery if the ignition advance isn’t reasonably smooth. Which rules out civilised running if any of Joe Lucas’s pathetic mechanical auto-advance units are fitted, so electronic ignition is the answer if you want the engine to pull from low down. Any of you superstitious of black boxes can carry a points plate in your pocket, as I confess to have done in the past, but the Boyer I have fitted has run trouble free for over 60000 miles now and earned its keep in lack of maintenance - the thought of fitting and perpetually adjusting points makes me feel tired.
Early con-rods were weak and broke, but there can’t be many of them left now and later ones are up to the job. The valve gear is a bit Micky Mouse and wears out quickly, besides being very finicky to set up right, but the besetting sin of the engine is its utterly inadequate breathing, which requires major crankcase surgery to cure and entails the fitting of great horrible pipes, breather boxes, trick oil control rings and the like, all the result of the engine being bored and stroked from 500cc with no bottom end redesign. Yet another case of the punter having to do the manufacturer’s development for him.
Properly set up and run in, the engine will pull to the 7000rpm redline in top on stock gearing, which gives 120mph, but as the engine shakes like a shitting dog above 6000rpm. I can’t find much use for speeds over 100mph. I played with the cam timing a little to get her to pull from 1800 up to 6000rpm in top - which equates to a range of 40 to 105mph, perfect for cruising.
The gearbox is pleasant and positive in action until a rather pathetic spring breaks without any warning - but it’s easy to replace. The box lasts forever as long as you replace a ball bearing with a taper job (that the factory dropped out of meanness); if the ball fails (as it does if you cane the box) it writes off the cases.
The clutch is a beefed up 500 job with a gorilla grip action and a tendency to drag if abused, but the box is sweet enough not to need it except for setting off and finding neutral, so it lasts well. The internal shock absorber rubbers dissolve every year but are cheap and easy to replace. The primary drive and alternator set up is a ghastly lash up and prone to premature disintegration if run without oil or with shot main bearings, but if you change the chain every 15000 miles you'll avoid any serious disasters. Everyone ridicules Norton tin chain cases, but they can be made oil tight with perseverance and do make the transmission very easy to get at.
Electrics are the other nasty, never a strong point on British machinery, although the later Lucas stuff isn’t too bad. Alternator stators burn out or shed their wires with age, but can usually manage 50000 miles, as can the rotors provided they aren’t allowed to work loose on the crankshaft. At £30 a piece they aren’t cheap to replace but nowhere near as expensive as Jap stuff. Rectifiers, voltage control diodes and emergency start capacitors run at £5 to £10 each, but I’ve not had one go yet, and with a little intelligent mounting and wiring don’t have to be a source of problems. On/off toggle switches are cheap and easy to replace (they have to be as they dislike vibration) and I have fitted Jap switches throughout, as well as a Honda rear light unit.
Despite the fierce vibes, in eight years, I have only burst one rear bulb (when the head steady bolt sheared and the whole plot really shook) and one front filament due to a dodgy earth wire. Speedo bulbs last a month if you re lucky,
My bike was built up out of bits after I saw the engine/gearbox/transmission unit in my favourite local dealer who only wanted £100 for it. It has the wrong frame, tank, forks, brakes, etc because I had an idea of what I wanted and picked up bits as I went along with only three criteria - is it light, cheap and can it be made to fit? It cost about £400 to put on the road in a fairly scabby state. I ran it for a year and 10000 miles to see if I liked it. It was fairly obvious that the engine needed serious attention, so the following winter I stripped it and picked up another complete engine requiring a rebuild, rebore, electronic ignition, ete. The rebuild proved a bit of a disaster because one of the new pistons collapsed after running in. I had to rebore it again and used a pair of high compression pistons I had lying around.
In this form it was a real flyer, though a bit tetchy about fuel, and I ran it for about 40000 miles until the pistons were completely worn out. By this time I'd picked up some oversize pistons, so treated it to a rebore and had a quick look. at the bottom end... everything OK. A long thrash to Spain the following summer started to get the bottom end rattling a bit, so at 60000 miles I had the engine out again and replaced the big-end shells and mains, though the latter seemed fine... it’s just I’d never changed them before. I also fitted a "reconditioned" camshaft that exploded after 2500 miles.
I decided that the bike had done rather well, so treated it to a stoving and spraying job, stainless steel exhaust system and a general polish up that left no change from £400. At this stage, with 75000 miles of wear out of it, I’ve spent about £1500 in total, and after running in the new shells and mains (it took 10000 miles until it fully loosened up) the bike has never been in better condition.
All these bits and modifications have produced a bike that weighs a mere 380lbs and is dwarfed by most Jap 250s, although the Featherbed frame makes the seat high, which suits me fine as I have long legs. The bike cruises at up to 85mph and then requires a definite effort, discouraging more speed by producing a wall of vibration, but shut off the throttle and the engine will drop back to 5000rpm and then hum along quite smoothly.
It will hold this speed for hours regardless of gradients with the minimum of throttle, return at least 50mpg and not fall to bits or leak oil. If the need arises, there’s a nice kick to 95mph, but back off the throttle cos those vibes are a killer. Stay there for quite a long time and things like cylinder base nuts will work loose, allowing the barrels to leap up and down, dumping most of the oil. On the twisty stuff it is completely surefooted and eggs you on to try a bit harder, so I always find it an exhilarating bike to ride. I guess that’s what really makes me like it.
I’ve had bikes that are faster and bikes that are more competent, but never one that has made the mere process of travelling so entertaining... after 500 miles you know you’ve done it, but you feel good too. I find it nimble and effortless around town but I’m used to the heavy clutch and variable tickover. Others have found it a bit of a handful until they’ve ridden a few hundred miles.
It is a middleweight and takes its appropriate toll on consumables. Front brake shoes go for around 10000 miles, rears 15000 miles. Tyre choice is limited by the 19" back wheel to Dunlop TT100s or Mk2 Roadrunners, and I use the latter as they wear better (8000 miles). F2 Avon fronts go 16000 miles but the old ribbed SM2s will last past 20000 miles at the expense of slight queasiness in the wet. The old, super sticky, Avon GP tyres, which were original equipment, give it cat like roadholding but I once wore one out in a 2000 mile blind through Scotland, and they don’t make them anymore, anyway.
You have to redline it in every gear to get below 50mpg, a process so barbaric and painful that 55-60mpg is normal, and it'll improve to 75mpg if you take it really laid back. I’ve never managed better than 500 miles per pint of oil, due to the lousy breathing, but with Jap engines needing changing every 1000 miles this isn’t so bad. At home it’s fed on Ford 15/50 because I can get it cheaply and it’s decent enough stuff, but on long trips it gets whatever’s available and has never complained. I don’t believe that an expensive straight oil would improve shell bearing life because of its poor cold starting properties, and, anyway, try asking for a half litre of Silkolene 40 in the Finnish backwoods.
All the important bolts are now in stainless steel, with plenty of copper grease if they’re screwed into castings and Loctite or locking nuts if they’re holding things together, and I haven’t had one drop off in years. Now and again I check them over, usually on a sunny morning when I’m on holiday or on the rare occasions that I clean it. It’s all down to that perseverance again... you find out over the years which bolts it’s going to try to shed and make sure it doesn’t get the chance.
I’ve had a set of plugs go 20000 miles without missing a spark (it’s that Boyer again, it squeezes sparks out of a matchstick) and do the tappets and timing chain once a year or if they start to rattle too much, which usually comes to the same thing. The primary chain needs adjusting twice every 15000 miles - I once ran one to 22000 miles at which point it started shedding rollers and made a very ugly noise. In all, the bike is not wildly labour intensive once it’s set up properly, and I would expend a similar amount of time maintaining any vehicle that owed me £1500. So there you have it. One of the best British parallel twins, I should say, with an engine/ chassis design that was reasonably well developed to give a fairly harmonious whole.
It has enough power to scare all but the terminally brain-dead. and sufficient speed to keep you awake, with the kind of looks you either love or hate but at least end up having some feeling for. Its strong suit is its sinuous handling and dependable road holding, but that applies to all Featherbed Nortons so it must ultimately be judged by its engine, which is definitely overstretched, and improves if slightly detuned. It is not fragile, but can be finicky, with a level of vibration that is only just this side of bearable. There’s plenty of torque and stomp there if you want it, but judging by the Japanese models that do sell most people don’t, and Harley freaks would find it pretty weak kneed, so it’s all relative.
It’s the kind of bike that requires dedication from its owner but repays that care by being very entertaining. The most depressing thing about it is that it’s now an officially recognised classic which is a sad fate for a bike that gives a fine ride and loves to roar and twist its way through wild, empty places. I remember a small boy saying to his dad, as they watched me tooling up to depart some small town square, "Wow, dad, he must be really rich!" Sure, sure.
Dale Middlehurst