When the news was out, I faced a barrage of warnings, along the lines that I would certainly kill myself on such a big bike, that it was too powerful (for you, lad), etc. I bought it anyway, I was a little apprehensive at the time but I assumed that Don had looked after it properly.
He’d raised the seat to suit his 6’ 4" frame which meant I persuaded a pal to ride it home for me. The next morning I couldn’t face the bus, decided to take the bike before I had a chance to lower the seat. Petrol on, tickle till wet, couple of prods, ignition on swing - nothing. Kick, kick - nothing. Tickle again, kick, kick, kick, gasp, kick, kick, cough - it’s trying - kick, kick... balls, right, bump start ‘er. I pushed it a couple of hundred yards to a nice slope. Ignition on, into second, run, run, bump, push - nothing.
A passing stranger offered a push (just imagine that happening down - south). Nothing. I unclipped the distributor (about the only thing I could check without tools) - it was full of water. Came to life first kick after that. It ran the first 100 yards on one pot, I can still remember the surge of power when the other one chimed in. I managed the 5 miles to work without incident, save that I almost took a convoy of cars at 80mph in a 30mph limit until I saw it was headed by a police car.
Finishing work, I stopped to speak with a mate, putting the bike into neutral and my gear foot down on a slope. Up came my right leg and as I squirmed across the seat my right foot caught the kickstarter and over we went in full view of the mill... oh, the shame of it. As soon as I got home the seat was altered to fit more snugly on the mudguard.
For the next few months the bike lived up to my expectations, proving to be reliable, giving fair performance and the handling seemed to be OK (until I rode a Norton 99). I did have the habit of running out of petrol. I always used to buy a gallon at a time, which would take it between 70 to 80 miles. Reserve varied between 3 and 15 miles, more often than not it was the former. Inexcusable, really, with a four gallon tank.
By the time I clocked up 5000 miles the motor began to become 4 more and more noisy, and other owners advised that the cam followers were on the way out. Eventually it became so bad that I had to strip the engine down. I had already served my apprenticeship with 3 or 4 previous bikes which I had managed to maim during the learning curve and carefully dismantled the motor in my mother’s wash house.
Both camshafts and followers were well worn. By the time I’d added the cost of gaskets, oil and the like, I’d run up a bill equal to a couple of weeks wages. Rebuilt, the engine was quiet until after ten miles it blew one of the head gaskets, an occurrence that was to become so frequent that I soon became adept at roadside strips, helped by the fact that there were two sets of heads and cylinders.
A few weeks later the ignition system packed up. I threw the distributor away and fitted a Lucas magneto. Shortly after that a major disaster occurred when, with my mates on the motorway, flirting with 80mph out of boredom, there was an almighty clatter from the bowels of the engine. After stopping, the motor would still turn but it sounded like someone was wielding a hammer inside. I was towed up to Lancaster services on the end of a borrowed length of fencing wire, where the stripped motor revealed a dislodged gudgeon pin circlip, a wrecked big-end and scarred rod. Rebuilt, with used pistons, barrels and con-rods, I was soon on the road again - I was horrified to see that the cam followers were already worn badly after only a few hundred miles.
After reading an article about an AJS 650 twin (basically the same engine as the G12) that could rev to 6000rpm in third whilst endurance racing, I decided to try that out on the Matchless. On my favourite bit of road I wound her up to 75mph when there was an almighty clang from down below. I pulled up to find the motor still chugging on one pot, popping and banging on the other, all the while a most amazing graunching racket from inside. I stopped the motor, gently turned it over to deduce that I was suffering from the dreaded Matchless 650 bogey. I was right, the three bearing crank had snapped in half.
I pushed the bike 3 miles home, which included some particularly steep hills. I turned up with steam coming out of my Belstaff and a vest wringing wet with sweat. I had the motor dismantled within 2 hours to find little internal damage, but had to buy a used crank and have it reground, not easy to find someone willing to do the work because of the centre web. I bought an old 150 Bantam to keep me mobile - but that’s another story.
Once rebuilt, the bike entered its second phase of comparative reliability. I had moved further away from work and relied upon it even more to do a 36 mile round trip. I used it in all weather - rain, ice, snow. On one occasion I remember riding over Darwen moor in a blizzard. On the drop downhill into Bolton I came across a line of cars slithering and skidding, trying to climb the hill. As I emerged from the darkness and snow drops, myself and bike thick with snow, drivers simply stopped and stared in wonder that a bike could actually get through. These days, I wouldn't even dream of such a trick.
One day an apprentice rolled up on a new Honda 175. An argument about Jap crap and British is best ensued. We agreed to a drag race after work to prove the point. As we both roared off, the little Honda had the edge. I thrashed off after him, as I snicked up into second and. wound on the revs there was a sickening crunch and the motor revved its head off - the primary chain had snapped. The lad on his Honda pissed himself laughing and I never lived it down.
During my ownership I had alternatively pondered turning the bike into a cafe racer and a tourer. The former was difficult as few people were making go-faster bits, perhaps because of the way the motor blew up when tuned. I rather fancied the Matchless 750 street scrambler with braced handlebars, small tank, aluminium guards et al, but I forgot all about that when I acquired a Norton 99.
My lasting impression of Matchless ownership is a period in my life when I was forever mending rather than riding. Every journey was an adventure into the unknown. A sixty mile round trip to Oulton Park would almost certainly see one or other of our bikes broken down at some point. That it actually took my then fiancee plus luggage and me all the way to Cornwall and back without incident, and survived a week in the Isle of Man, is a mystery.
In fairness to it, it was 6 years old when I bought it and once a bike had 20000 miles on the clock you just assumed something would go wrong at some stage. I never fitted new points, timing was carried out with a screwdriver down the plug hole and a fag paper in the points. Whilst I frequently washed and fried the chain in Linklife, I never even thought about buying new sprockets. The general finish was good and it’d polish up well, the chrome was still there and the alloy buffed up like new.
It is not, however, a machine I would like to own again and the prices asked for them now are totally ludicrous. I recently came across a G12, its owner was starting her up - what a bloody din, rattling and banging, oil pissing out everywhere. A nice enough ornament, but not even much use as a practical classic, these days.
Eddie Barnes