It turned out to be an ex Southend police LE Velocette. For those unfamiliar with the model, it’s a 200cc water-cooled, horizontally opposed flat twin, featuring shaft drive, box section frame enveloping the fuel tank, foot boards and built in legshields - Peter Bottomley would approve! The LE was famous for its silent running and not a lot else. This particular one had a screen fitted, had a four speed foot change and a kickstart - earlier models had hand starters and a hand gearchange.
As it didn’t take much effort to get the thing going, I agreed to take it. The owner, obviously anticipating my reaction once I’d used it, refused to accept payment until I’d ridden it for a couple of days, convinced that I’d soon want to throw the damn thing back at him. We agreed a sum, though - £7. Now even in 1970 £7 was not much. If I say it was a reasonable price, that should give you an idea of its condition. Riding it home, I was so pleased to be mobile again that I remember only joy on that 3 mile journey. What I didn’t appreciate was that at no point was I going up hill, the significance of which was apparent when I rode the opposite way to work some days later.
Once home I tried as best I could to clean it up. The battleship grey paintwork was in fair shape, which is more than could be said for the screen. It looked as if it had been cleaned with Ajax and a wire brush. On my way home I came up behind a car at a Zebra crossing, only at the last minute noticing two faintly glowing red blobs through the near opaque screen. The car was pulling a small trailer which, brake lights apart, was completely invisible through the screen. I tried a few concoctions to clean up the perspex to no avail, ending up sawing a peep hole. Shortly after I ditched it in the interests of safety and my macho image!
A couple of days later, during which I insisted on paying for it, the LE was ready for use. I don’t remember having to buy anything for it. In fact, during the few months and couple of thousand miles use, I managed to get away with spending nothing on it at all. On my first ride to work I realised why the owner had been so cagey about flogging it.
About a half mile from home I encountered my first incline. When I say incline it’s the sort where a cyclist might cog down two gears. On most bikes you wouldn't notice it, but on the LE the revs began to fall as soon as I hit the start of it and half way up I was forced to drop down to third gear. For the next hill I built up some speed, about 45mph. Up we went, speed dying all the time, back down to third, a little further and it’s down to second, just avoiding first as we struggled over the crest of the hill.
Unfortunately, there was a set of lights just before a steep hill that were red. There was enough space to get her up to third, but almost immediately I had to drop down a gear and then down to bottom, the bike just holding its own - still, it was quicker than the bus and saved a long walk. I used it as a ride to work hack, it was just fast enough to let me go home for dinner - one of the little luxuries I’ve long had to abandon since moving South.
The homeward journey downhill or flat was good fun, with a few bends to scrape the footrests on, with accompanying sparks and an attention grabbing graunching sound to add to the effect. One evening, the in-laws agreed to baby sit and we decided to go for a spin, two-up on a sunny spring evening. Anyone who knows the Blackburn area will realise that it’s particularly hilly and I didn’t take the time to plan my route carefully to avoid the worst of this.
Off we went, up one particular hill that just became steeper and steeper. In no time at all we were down to bottom gear, just holding in there. By the time the summit approached the bike had had enough. My wife bailed out, the relief of the bike was sufficient to just get us over the crest. Once on the flat it picked up speed again, somehow managing to get us both back home in one piece.
A few days later I noticed a popping sound coming from one pot, a blown head gasket giving me a good excuse to have a look inside to see where all the power was going. I didn’t need to look too far. The piston was so slack in the bore that it was possible to visibly wiggle it up and down with my thumb.
I contemplated rebuilding it, but as I already had a project underway, and no funds, abandoned that idea before it could get a grip on my mind.
All seemed well - but wasn’t. A day or so later, it refused to run on one pot. I took the plug out and laid it on the cylinder to test the spark. When I spun the motor as fast as possible, in addition to a fat spark, there was a short squirt of water out of the plug hole. I put the plug back in and off we went! This was to become an essential pre-flight exercise, much to the amusement of onlookers, though, with careful positioning and a healthy kick, the water could be squirted with reasonable accuracy. A few days later, I thought it would be a good idea to check the water level in the radiator - it looked as if someone had stirred in a couple of dog turds.
One day, when I had nothing better to do, I decided to have a close look at the exhaust system to see if anything here was stifling performance. The LE exhaust has a collector box type arrangement with two pipes leading into a flat square silencer underneath the gearbox. It was detachable off came the box, leaving just open pipes. It sounded like a low flying plane, so for the next few weeks I buzzed around on it attracting a lot of attention - the gasping little LE completely at odds with the promising drone proceeding it. I must record that this modification affected performance not one jot.
As winter approached I decided to sell my LE to finance my project - a Norton 99 rebuild - advertising it in the local paper. One chap rang up, asking if it would be possible to ride it to his house as he hadn’t any transport. I arranged to see him in the evening, which turned out to be cold, clear and dry - the sort of late autumn evening when cigarette smoke hangs in the air for ages - cigarette smoke and steam! Just as I was about to leave, a mate turned up and insisted on accompanying me on the pillion, refusing to believe the tales of the LE’s performance.
Fortunately, I had found that keeping the sump topped up with oil helped the LE climb hills; it used about a pint every 40 miles, which, as this was the same as the sump capacity, meant it needed filling up pretty often. Anyway, by the time we’d got to this bloke’s house the LE was puffing and wheezing like a 60 a day man and had all but disappeared in clouds of steam. The prospective purchaser took one look and told us to piss off.
Two days later someone came to view the bike and agreed to buy it. I stood, watching as he rode off up the street and waited. I waited for two hours, expecting him to come back and demand his money. I knew from where he lived that it was uphill all the way - but he never returned and he paid £19 for it.
In the months I’d owned it, I spent nothing on it. Every bit that went on it was scrounged - even the oil came from a redundant drum of locomotive oil - and a 180% profit on the resale! In its day, the LE was ahead of its time but was too expensive as a ride to work mount and too under-powered for serious motorcycling. Weather protection was excellent with built in legshields and generous mudguards. It was also equipped with foot boards to keep spray off the rider and provide a more comfortable riding position.
The styling is not to everybody’s taste, not helped by the predominantly battleship grey paint - the colour reflects the build quality however. Given its knackered condition, the LE turned out to be one of those bikes that could be caned and caned without exploding. If I could find one that hadn’t been thrashed to within death I would be happy to buy it, if only for the oddity value, but it would have to be quite cheap; about £7 sounds like the sort of sum to tempt me.
Eddie Barnes