I’d already had it a couple of years and had got it cheap because it was burning a lot of oil, despite the fact the previous owner had re-bored it. He’d taken it apart again but was stumped as to why it was still burning oil - which is where I came in. Apart from the oil burning it was immaculate and he’d done all the right mods to it. 180 watt alternator, Rita electronic ignition, Mk 3 vernier isolastic adjusters - he’d also polished it regularly!
He thought that this meant he could ask £850 for it and conveniently forgot to mention the oil burning over the phone. I was so annoyed at being dragged a long distance to look at a problem bike that I only offered him six hundred notes - with hindsight that was a pretty good deal.
Anyone who’s used to a British parallel twin will find a well set-up Commando a revelation. The way the engine vibration smooths out above 2000rpm is uncanny. You can still hear the engine working away under you, but progress is almost turbine smooth.
The engine, like practically everything else on the bike, is rubber mounted. Isolating vibration with rubber is a well recognized solution in the car world, but it was indeed revolutionary back in the late sixties when Norton designed the Commando, Unfortunately, Norton didn’t quite get it right - shimming the bushes was complex and difficult until the Mark 3 vernier adjustment system. The latter was originally planned when the bike was introduced but was dropped because of excessive production costs.
They didn’t quite use the correct rubber in the oil tank mountings, either, as the brackets tend to fracture, allowing oil to piss out all over the floor. How do I know this? Well, my newly acquired pride and joy emptied about a pint of straight 50 all over my newly laid concrete path when parked up overnight. No wonder he wanted rid of it! In truth, though, it was pretty easy to solve - unlike the vibration related hole in the petrol tank which developed some years later (my heart goes out to all those proficient welders, but I digress).
On careful examination of the head and barrels, back at my luxuriously equipped workshop (the garden shed) I noticed how the piston rings on the newly fitted pistons were worn, which meant he’d fitted the rings the wrong-way up, causing the piston to pump oil rather than scrape It.
It should have been just a case of fitting some new rings, for the bores were good, but I’d forgotten rule number one of building British bikes - always check the valves and guides for wear. I can excuse my ineptitude slightly by saying that the previous owner had claimed he’d fitted new valves - he had, but he hadn’t replaced the guides, which brings us to rule number 2 of repairing British bikes - assume nothing, always check it yourself. He’d also forgotten to replace the valve guide seals.
Having stripped down the engine, I decided to have the head gas flowed. Whereupon, I fell foul of yet another golden rule of repairing British bikes (or any other bike for that matter), don’t believe all that the dealer adverts claim. When my once good cylinder head was returned, newly machined with new guides installed, they’d made such a bodge-up of re-cutting the seats that I contemplated taking them to court. In the end I didn’t but that’s the last thing they'll see from me.
Anyway, there followed two virtually trouble free years with the bike. It came with quite high gearing but once on the move the Commando felt rather comfortable, making 110mph at around 5500rpm a nice relaxed and stressless romp. The other advantage of high gearing was that I very rarely achieved less than 45mpg.
I changed the oil (SAE30 in winter, SAE50 in summer) every 1000 miles and the cartridge filter every other oil change. Tyre wear on TT100s worked out at around 7000 rear and 12000 miles front. Chain wear, no matter what I did, was rather high, caused by the fact that the whole engine unit is jumping around from side to side.
When my money ran out, I was forced to commute from sunny Grays in Essex to Richmond in Surrey. A journey across the most disgusting, depressing parts of the East End, through the centre of London and thence into the expensive suburbs of the South West. I’d be the first to admit that the Commando does not spring to mind as an ideal commuting hack but yet again I was pleasantly surprised. It seemed to cope quite well. I can’t really say it liked the traffic light GP and it did run hot on occasion, but it only let me down two times.
The clutch plates took a heavy burden and really only lasted about 8000 miles of commuting wear. Life could be extended by ripping the clutch apart and filing down the tags until they were smooth, but it only lasted for a couple of weeks. The Lockheed front caliper was good for a laugh just so long as there weren’t any psycho car or cab drivers around. It wasn’t much use under mild use, in heavy traffic it became worse and worse, whilst all the crud tended to seize up the pistons. It eventually went beyond repair and was replaced with a Lockheed racing caliper for £35, for which I had to make up an alloy holder. The transformation was amazing, progressive, powerful braking at a touch of your fingers.
There was also an intermittent electrical fault - the worst kind to try to find. The ignition circuit would suddenly cut out, but a few minutes later the bike roared into life. At first I suspected crud in the petrol tank and dismissed it from my mind because it occurred so infrequently. Eventually, however, the bike stopped altogether and I was forced to try to sort out the problem. I became fed up after checking the spark and fuel in the wet and cold of the Embankment, so went for a cup of tea. Half an hour later I went back and she roared into life.
I should have checked the bike over when I arrived home, but it was too late and cold. Next morning it broke down at the same place. I was late for work, so phoned. a friend to pick up the bike and continued on public transport, arriving in such a foul temper that I told them to stuff their job. It never rains... still, I'd have plenty of time to fix the Norton.
The problem turned out to be the previous owner, again, who had located the energy discharge capacitor behind the toolbox so that it self destructed. Whilst in the mood, I stripped the head as the engine was smoking a little all that was needed were some new valves and guides, not at all bad for nearly 35000 miles.
Unfortunately, unemployment brought economic crisis on my head and I was forced to sell the Commando to some lucky sod who gave me just over 50% more than what I originally paid for it. In a lot of ways I wish I’d never had to sell the Commando. It was a very reliable machine and a better general purpose bike than any of the BSAs or Triumphs that I’d owned before.
I think the secret of tuning any British bike reliably is to run it within its design limitations, which in the case of a 360° parallel twin means that you either have to run them gently to avoid self destruction or you isolate the engine vibration from the rest of the chassis - ergo the Commando.
The isolastic mountings still allowed decent handling in the British tradition (taut suspension, slow steering geometry and low mass) despite the swinging arm being effectively rubber mounted. With the vernier adjusters it’s easy to keep the clearances under control to maintain good stability.
The feel of the bike is excellent, it’s one of those bikes that feel as good on bumpy wet roads as they do on dry smooth roads - if you’ve never ridden an European bike then you just don’t know what you're missing.
Engine reliability can be good if the bike is moderately tuned, put together properly and given a regular dose of love and care (relatively easy, especially with electronic ignition - which is the first thing to fit if it hasn’t been done already). I’d definitely like to buy another, but it would have to be cheap because I’d want to make all the good mods to improve reliability and longevity - just like my last bike had. Finding one at that sort of price will, I fear, be hard going.
Nick Williams