The engine was typical British fare - an OHV vertical twin with pistons thumping up and down together, producing about 33hp (which was quite powerful for a 500) that would push the bike to a real hundred miles an hour. The engine has classic lines, an alloy head and iron barrel, the usual chain primary drive to a four speed gearbox.
I fitted a couple of megaphones that were claimed to give an extra 2hp, probably a little foolish as the extra power did nothing to help overcome the machine’s only serious failing - the SLS front brake. In an emergency it was a little heart stopping to sit there gripping the lever waiting to see if the thing would pull up in time. The BSA could never be called a boring bike to ride. There are several ways to improve the front brake, ranging from fitting harder linings to complete replacement. An indication of its poor efficiency can be gained from the fact that I know someone who has replaced the BSA brake with an early Honda 250 TLS job, that is much, much better.
Road holding was reasonable. It was not for nothing that the duplex steel frame was second choice to the Norton Featherbed amongst owners of Triumph twins desperate to gain some predictable and stable handing. If there is a weak point in the chassis then look no further than the front forks, especially when worn, the lack of damping and flimsy construction could overcome the basic strength of the frame - nothing as bad as a Speed Twin in a terminal wobble, of course, just a slight shaking of the head. A Taylor-Dow conversion or a set of Norton forks are both good ways of improving the front end. Overall, there were no drastic handling problems - in my four years of ownership I never fell off.
The machine was built like a battleship, plastic relegated to its proper place as insulation for the wiring. This build quality has its bad and good points. Initially, the mass of the thing frightened me - yes, I know it was only 400lbs, not much more than a 250 Superdream, but back then this was heavy metal - until after a few weeks riding I forgot all about the weight and it presented no further problems and stopped the bike from being blown off line by heavy gusts of wind.
That hefty build was very useful when cars popped out of side roads without any warning. Some poor chap in a Mini did the usual job of driving without looking and was brought back to reality when the BSA hit the side of his car - after all, I didn’t have much choice with the A7’s brake. After I straightened out the front mudguard stay the BSA was back to normal, the poor old Mini driver needed several new panels and a respray. I hate to think what the bike would do to one of these collapsible modern cars.
The BSA could also surprise the newfangled Jap bikes that were beginning to litter the roads back then. I recall one occasion when some chap went past on his Honda 500 four, giving the old BSA a very disdainful look - like a red rag to a bull. I was perhaps aided by the fact that the Honda was carrying a pillion, I was able to close in on the CB as we roared down the deserted three lane road. The Honda’s rider looked back with surprise to see the BSA still in sight. It was a stalemate - he couldn’t get away whilst I was unable to overtake. The Honda eventually turned off, when I looked down at the engine I saw it was covered in oil. The A7 was normally quite good on oil leaks, only giving into the mythical British tendency to lose more than it ate when it was thoroughly thrashed.
One bike the BSA couldn’t beat was the Kawasaki H1. One old gent, on one of these 500 two stroke triples, took great delight in accelerating away from the BSA, waiting for us to catch up and then doing the same trick again. Unfortunately, the road was straight so there was no way I could get my own back by taking the wobbling and weaving H1 through the swervery. I could also have got my own back at the fuel pumps.
Fuel consumption varied between the good and the excellent helped, no doubt, by the single Amal carb. Best was around 85mpg, worst 65mpg and she averaged around 75mpg. Oil consumption varied depending on how the bike was revved and the consequent loss of oil through leaks rather than burning the stuff being the determining factor. I guess that it was no worse than changing the oil in a Jap bike every 1000 miles. Consumption of consumables was never so bad that I particularly noticed, although you do have to consider rapid wear of the primary chain as well as the usual stuff.
I used to have the BSA serviced by a local dealer who had once been a British road race champion, although there is nothing very complex about servicing the engine, to get it really spot-on does require a little talent. This was evident after one particular service, when the BSA was really able to fly. I was hurtling along, enjoying the thrill of a well tuned engine, when the Achilles Heel of the BSA pre-unit series made itself known to me.
There was a loud bang as a con-rod failed. The engine was wrecked. They were fitted with beautiful light alloy con-rods which gave low reciprocating mass but were prone to cracking up, as demonstrated by Chris Vincent in sidecar racing more than a few times. If I was in good company this didn’t particularly leave me overwhelmed with happiness at the prospect of a rebuild, but I liked the bike enough to persevere. The engine was rebuilt using some new bits plus parts off a secondhand engine that I’d managed to obtain. Hours were spent polishing the con-rods to a high sheen to prevent a recurrence of the problem. This must have worked because I had no further problems with the engine.
Starting required a bit of a knack and a strong right foot. Make sure that there’s still a plate above the magneto, otherwise you'll end up with a magneto full of petrol, which is a quick way to collect on the TPF&T. Vibration was minimal on the 500, sure you knew the engine was thumping away but it had none of the nastiness of a heavily tuned 650 twin. The mass of the cycle parts must have helped to absorb what vibrations there were. A nicety of old bikes was the QD back wheel that meant punctures could be repaired without touching the chain.
I eventually sold the bike because parts became difficult to obtain - as it was used to ride to work every day, I couldn’t afford to have it off the road. Most British bikes, in my experience, are best forgotten, but the Shooting Star combined all the best elements of the British vertical twin with none of the all too common faults (mostly concentrated on excessive vibration). It is one of the few I would still like to own.
Vince Dusang