The forthright Malone correctly states, there are worse bikes than this but they don’t have Norton on the tank, though I would even be prepared to argue with that with regard to a Hi-Rider or a Jubilee... no matter, most owners of this factory mongrel sort of stumble on to them (a few lunatics actually bought them new back when we’d never had it so good) precisely because they have Norton on the tank, and therefore deserve everything they get.
I actually like most big Nortons because they are torquey and robust if properly screwed together, so I decided to build one, and got what I deserved too. For the record, it’s a 600cc Dominator twin engine (a 99) that the factory stuck into some old frames they had lying about that were originally designed for the pushrod singles. When I say originally, I mean about 1922 - the way the swinging arm is tacked onto the back of the old rigid seat tube demonstrates this.
The marketing ploy was to offer it as a sidecar tug in order to pension off a 600cc sidevalve engine originally designed by Mr Norton himself in 1908, so in the firm’s terms it was a pretty up-to-the-minute design. The cold commercial truth was that the only Nortons that anyone really wanted had Featherbed frames (even the pushrod singles were thus transported by 1959) and the factory had a load of antiquated rigid frames with swinging arms stuck on they couldn’t quite bring themselves to scrap. Once they’d run out of mugs who wanted to flop about at 75mph with a chair on, they tuned up the engine, added a bit of chrome and flogged it to Americans with a serious death wish as a desert racer called the Nomad, presumably because you were unlikely ever to get home alive. Not many people were fooled and the whole ghastly business only wasted Norton’s production facilities for three years.
Having one of the pushrod singles and tiring of the lousy big-end and exhaust valve life, I felt I had nothing to lose. Putting a sidecar on had cured the thing’s propensity for yawing like a camel with too much water in its hump at speeds over 70mph, simply because it couldn't do seventy anymore hauling all that weight... in truth, it was hard pressed to do more than 60mph, and tuning up a Norton single involves major bottom end redesign if you want reliability. Why not get more performance by bolting in a relatively modern twin, after all the factory did it.
At about this time a friend had decided to throw a 99 motor out of his cafe racer in favour of an old Combat engine he had lying around, which meant that he would need some practical transport, so he put together a rigid Norton sidevalve. This was so devastatingly slow that he took a fancy to my pushrod engine, resulting in a handy swap.
I stripped the twin engine (very simple, apart from the fiddly head/pushrod), fitting new big-end shells and did a rebore with a pair of newish pistons I had kicking around. These days, people seem to want about £70 a pair for pattern Norton pistons, so it pays to keep your air and oil clean anyone who runs an old bike without modern filtration is a Luddite or poseur. As the bike was destined to pull a sports Squire chair with my infant daughter and any adult hapless enough to come along, mechanical quietness was a big consideration, so I fitted a ramped cam and slow followers along with the obligatory right-hand siamese exhaust the result was just about bearable, my children show no signs of clinical deafness, though they have developed an intricate species of sign language for use above 50mph.
The quiet cam also lasts far better than a lot of the later sports cams... just ask the next Commando owner you meet (tee hee). A late, high compression, single carb head was popped on top, the magneto persuaded back into reluctant life and all that remained was to drop it into the frame - persons of a tender disposition should skip the next paragraph.
Two evenings of sawing, grinding and bleeding converted a sheet of quarter inch dural into a set of engine plates that held engine and gearbox in the right place. The quaint tin chaincases that Norton had the brass neck to patent back in the 30s did not fit, however, as the shaft centres are about half an inch further apart than on a standard Dominator, another two evenings were spent mauling them with cutters and a welding torch until everything fitted and the primary chain could be adjusted (by pivoting the separate gearbox, would you believe?) without leaving a large hole in the back of the case. The whole mess also has to actually contain and retain oil.
This oil rots the rubber shock absorbers in the clutch, which if they aren’t replaced yearly cause the clutch centre to eat itself, which produces lousy gearchanges and the world’s most elusive neutral. Failure to retain oil converts new primary chains into a red-hot collection of rusty sideplates and blued, broken rollers after 500 miles of hard use. Oil tightness was eventually achieved by extensive use of a hide hammer and vile language on the outer case.
I had to go up one tooth on the gearbox sprocket to stop the rear drive chain decapitating the two silly little bolts that holds on the silly little bracket that holds on the lashed on swinging arm that breaks the frame if it works loose (how this might affect the handling was really a very secondary consideration). I fought shy of the usual bodge of welding the bracket in, as this makes it impossible to remove certain Norton gearboxes. This meant fitting a tiny 17 tooth engine sprocket to restore gearing suitable for sidecar pulling. Anyone mentioning belt drives can go argue the toss with my bank manager - this system might be marginal but it gives at least 15000 miles per £7 chain with only a couple of adjustments, cost nothing but a bucket of tears to set up and has worked OK. Who’s worried about transmission noise and vibration when there’s a Norton twin shaking away? A set of Commando forks with beefed up springs and Matchless dampers produced a reasonably taut front end, and were a straight swap for the long Roadholders originally fitted.
The engine breather was piped back to the oil tank to stop it lubricating the back tyre, but the pipe was nicked by the gearbox sprocket so bungs just the right amount of oil onto the rear chain. Snail cams from a Malaguti transform rear chain adjustment. SLS brakes are improved by fitting Ferodo MZ41 linings, but repeated use at high speed makes them fade faster than Thatcher’s smile. Fully floating the front brakeplate improves matters considerably, but the only real cure is to put a chair on and just ride flat out. On the few occasions I’ve been unable to intimidate potential obstacles by this ploy the brakes have still been cool enough to stop me, usually by locking up the wheels and allowing me to drift out of harm’s way. Properly set up they just about cope with modern urban conditions, but wear is fearsome... 5000 from the rear if you’re slewing the back wheel round a chair all the time, and the front shoes go for 8000 miles.
I ran it solo for the first few months whilst everything bedded down (to find out what was going to break or fall off) and to check I’d got the basic idea right. The results were mixed but encouraging. The big, heavy frame soaked up the mildly tuned engine’s vibration extraordinarily well, everything being comfortable and buzz free up to 80mph, when the inevitable parallel twin vibes do get through via the bars and footrests. At this speed it was turning over at 5500rpm, which is beginning to push things with this kind of engine, but the same low gearing that made it rev so (relatively) high also meant it got there gratifyingly quickly and was very happy to keep on going up to 90mph (decidedly frenetic), and a ton was possible at the redline with gritted teeth.
Taking off from the lights with the nice smooth AMC gearbox was plenty of fun as it could be persuaded to hop the front wheel with very little effort, its vintage appearance giving people quite the wrong impression... old duffers used to lean out of their Escorts and drone on about their ES2s (I could hear them too, the engine really was as quiet as a newish Suzuki) until I dropped the clutch and WENT; whilst young dumbos gunned their cars but couldn’t catch it - very gratifying.
I can’t offer any comparisons with other motorcycles because it was too unsafe to make them: the engine outperformed the chassis in a way that makes an old Honda 750 appear sleek and docile. At lowish speed the rear brake locked up the back wheel if stomped upon, causing the front end to wag around until it went light with the next application of throttle. Straight line stability was excellent due to the long Wheelbase and heavy rake, an old Norton trick that won them a lot of races.
High speed cornering required folly, determination and blind faith in about equal measure. The long, unsupported frame tubes to the headstock started to flex, changing the wheelbase and the relationship between front wheel and the rest of the bike. On entering a corner the front end nodded and dropped into the curve, by the time I’d compensated by picking the thing up, it’d nod in the other direction, starting to run wide, so I had to drop it in again, by which time it was digging in again and I’d be back... thus the line was about the same as the edge of a threepenny bit. In fairness, it never felt like it was going to let go.
Apart from developing a funny knock, traced to a loose oil pump worm drive allowing the crank to shuffle about and lock the right piston against the flywheel, the bike started and went very well. Clutch action was light to middling, gear changing a pleasure, the power soft but sudden enough to be interesting, and fuel consumption was 60mpg overall.
Unfortunately, I lent the bike to a friend who was deeply distracted by a broken love affair. I rode his nicely set up MZ, whilst my girlfriend was pillion on the more powerful Norton. When I shot off through the Dales in the Lake District he followed without taking in an intervening bend and wall. He was unhurt but my girlfriend ended up with a cut face and my bike had a re-modelled front end.
By the time I’d whipped her off to the hospital to have the nastiest gash stitched and he’d kicked the bike straight, we had about an hour and half of daylight left to do the 70 miles home, with a bike without a headlamp, a pillion still in shock and about 3" less trail on the front forks than the maker intended. I don’t know quite what it says about the bike, but we made it and we all remained friends very character building this motorcycle lark. ji It was obviously time to put the sidecar on, an arcane business that I'll go into one day should anyone ask me to, but will gloss over at this point by saying merely that it was done, and took about three people three hours and as many pints of Taylors afterwards to recover.
As the Squire is pretty central to this story, I should say here that it’s a good sidecar, though some would say that’s a contradiction in terms. It cost me £100 third hand complete with mountings six years ago. The previous owner had used it on a 750 Honda to ferry his whippets about, and it was in good nick. In 30000 miles it’s cost me. two new body mounting: blocks (£10) and a new screen (£21). The screens break because my kids swing around on them and I insist on trans porting things like cookers and wardrobes in the chair.
Maintenance has consisted of tightening up the taper roller wheel bearings (one flat per year) for the MOT. The mountings are sensible, robust and don’t go out of alignment unless you use the chair for adapting car body panels. The hoods are a bit Mickey Mouse, but I have a mate who adapted the original to provide more headroom for my growing brood and reinforced the dodgy bits. It’s heavy enough to stay stable when empty, light enough to sling around, strong enough to take a lot of people and luggage, and comfortable enough to let my daughters sleep through some of England’s finest scenery and do 350 miles a day without going stirr crazy.
The original title of 77 proved to be at odds with the Trades Description Act, but only by a whisker... 75mph was achievable if I put my chin on the steering damper and locked my arms like bat’s wings on the bars, but pride and terror forbade this. It would cruise at 55-60mph and still have a bit in reserve, but the combination of flexing frame, narrow tyres and inadequate springing ruled out pushing it much above 70mph.
In truth, the engine no longer outperformed the frame, but the total package was less than devastating. Over the years the tyres became fatter and squarer, someone wound me some really hefty rear shock springs and I finally gave in and paid a friend £100 to build a set of leading link forks, after which the whole bike became a pleasure to sling around marred, only by the fact that the engine was too slow... visions of popping in an 850 Commando engine kept tugging at me, but as the transmission was already stretched out to the edge of reliability I gave up, deciding to just enjoy the ride.
Whatever I might say in condemnation of the puny frame, feeble suspension and weak drive train, I must temper by stating that, properly modified, this bike has given me more laffs per mile travelled and pounds spent than any other, and has lasted well in the face of quite merciless abuse. As originally conceived, however, it was not terribly clever.
Let’s start with mechanical problems. The original magneto worked fine until it pegged out without warning one very cold February afternoon and refused to work ever again. A mate towed us back with his 650 Triumph, which was near collapse, as well, after pulling outfit, pillion, 2 adults and 2 kids for 20 miles at a steady 50mph. A Commando type points drive and Boyer electronic ignition, £25 used, solved this problem once and for all - the engine ran sweeter too.
At 10000 miles the layshaft poked itself out of the back of the gearbox (a common Commando fault) due to the oversize sprocket and general strain imposed by the extra mass, but had the decency not to crack the bearing housing, so I just filled the hole with plastic padding with the gearbox in situ and Loctited (is this a new verb?) in the roller bearing that the factory should have fitted as standard... no further problems.
A recent tendency to jump out of first gear on spirited take-offs suggests that the layshaft is on the move again, but new bushes and shims will cure it. Early on the gearbox shuffled in the new engine plates, burning out the clutch rollers - but these were easy and cheap to replace, and merely required a bit more grunt on the mounting bolts to prevent a recurrence.
Exhaust valves never lasted more than 8000 miles, though this is solely due to the crappy nature of most available pattern valves, and easily cured these days... I just had a lot of crappy old valves around and was loathe to spend any money on new ones. Similarly, the clutch would chew the ears off pattern drive plates until there was no drive left, but an old set fitted 20000 miles ago have barely worn at all, so in this case original items seem to be the best bet.
The primary drive sprocket ate its woodruff key at 28000 miles, knocked the alternator rotor loose and placed a lot of strain on the drive-side main bearing. Having felt by this time that I’d had my money’s worth from a 30 year old motor, I glued the whole mess back together again with new keys and Loctite, thrashing the bike to Scotland and back in a really determined effort to make it go bang, having first picked up an 850 Guzzi for chair duties (another tale indeed.....) with the result that it obstinately refused to break down. Even on its last legs it would still pull 75mph in extremis, and happily run flat out for hours at a stretch, until I started to believe in its robustness. Within a fortnight of getting home it started to growl horribly, however, and the final stripdown revealed a cracked piston and knackered mains.
By this time I’d picked up a spare engine for £30, so basically, it’s been a very cheap bike, but required a bit of ingenuity to keep going. Now, of course, it’s a classic, so parts are getting too pricey to make it a realistic proposition, but at least they're available, so I’ll keep running it on knackered old bits and the odd new component until I get tired of the intensive fettling an oil nail demands if it’s to run right. Given that I already owned the thing (£50, 12 years ago and around 100000 miles on various engines and gearboxes) and enjoy spannering, I can’t really complain.
Actually, I can complain, and will, about the running costs rather than the outlay or (probably very profitable) resale value, but must grudgingly concede that these are mainly the result of the dreaded chair haulage. Flat out cruising and round town hustling will bring fuel consumption down to 35mpg, which with the standard three and a bit gallon tank is a bit of a pain, to say nothing of the 150 miles per pint oil. consumption.
Trick oil control rings and a bit of lathe work on the pistons can pull this up to about 400mpp, but the whole scavenging system is piss poor and requires extensive modification. Piping the engine breather back to the oil tank pressurises the oil tank so much that you have to pipe in a huge breather pipe and run the resultant froth into a catch tank. The unsavoury contents of this item can be poured back into the oil tank or thrown onto the chain depending on its condition. All in all, not the stuff of eighties motorcycling.
I have managed to buy used pistons that are perfectly serviceable for a few quid, simply because the proud owner has insisted on a rebore rather than live with a light rattle, whilst rings can be rescued from 500 Triumphs, Triumph Heralds and the like, but it’s getting more difficult all the time. Decent barrels cost an arm and a leg, but sleeves are cheap and plentiful, as are rods, cranks, cases and heads, whilst all the bearings can be had from your friendly local factor.
If you don’t insist on doubling the weight and halving the performance with a sidecar, a Dommie is still a reasonably practical proposition, with electronic ignition, QH lights, proper oil filters, tolerable brakes and decent dampers all readily available to drag it into the mid seventies. You've got to be prepared to fit all this stuff, however, so a good measure of enthusiasm (read masochism) and a bit of cash are also required. I must also have a small moan about tyre wear on this type of bike, again on the understanding that outfits are unkind to tyres at the best of time. y eats the triple duty Avons, that the company so kindly still produce in the obsolete 3.50x19 size, 5000 miles being the absolute limit on the back, while the front and (Mini) side-car tyres are usually done for by 10000 miles. As adhesion is not of critical importance on a 35bhp outfit, however, you can sling just about any old crap on the back - people tend to give you old relics that’ve been festering in the potting shed since Uncle Alf chopped in his M21 for a Honda 550, so actual costs are not as crucifying as the wear figures suggest.
The only blight on this is that the tread fell off one old remould during a prolonged 70mph thrash, the tyre was literally cooked off the big, narrow rear rim under the hideous cornering forces that a side- car generates. a As the bike was in full tour mode at the time - two adults, two children, two tents, etc jacking it up with the obligatory scissors jack and wrestling out the not so quickly detachable back wheel proved not to be merry fun. I finally had to put the front tyre on the back, squeeze in a skinny 18" inner tube donated by a local well- wisher, on a remote garage forecourt where the handy thermometer mercilessly informed me that the shade temperature was 85’, as fine a way of spending the hottest day of the year as any real man could wish for. As a card carrying wimp I merely labour on the mental scars. For reliability you must keep your tyres in good nick, and that can get expensive... my meanness has cost me dear in knuckle skin and brain cells, which maybe says something about anyone who tries to run a Norton on the cheap.
Why do it? Well, for one thing I’m poor and it was easier to convert a bike I already owned than buy one better suited to the job, or at least cheaper, which is the most telling factor in the final analysis. I must also confess to liking the old heap’s looks, the ant’s abdomen petrol tank complete with hefty kneegrips, the low slung oil tank and pointer dog headlamp mounting... and, above all else, the contrast between the throaty noise and the spindly looks.
It is during the winter when the bike really comes into its own - no fear of snow and ice for outfit riders because it stays controllable during a skid. In fact, I can remember emerging from a warm house at the dead of night to find the world silently sheathed in fresh snow, roaring off for a good long ride, just for the pleasure of sliding and drifting about in the magical silence and deserted landscape. Slithering down icy hills changes from the usual numbed inevitability of falling off that meets the solo rider into a game to be relished; just how many times will you have to pirouette to scrub off the required amount of speed before that main road intersection?
180° turns around the front wheel followed by a quick poke of throttle and opposite lock make them the world’s easiest vehicles to park, and when you’ve done it you just switch off and walk away, no searching around for stands and locks (very few people have the bottle or experience to swipe something like this, and those that do aren’t into nicking bikes, for the most part): way, way, easier than getting out of a car.
There, I’ve done it, compared it to a car, as do most motorcyclists who’ve never ridden one. Any fool can drive the latest Dagenham delight along at 60mph, but doing the same on the Norton takes skill, with a consequent sense of achievement. And you can poke an outfit through holes in traffic that your average car driver has neither the wit nor coordination to attempt, and somewhere, somehow, the matter of STYLE has to be addressed... where cars inspire me with torpor, put me on an outfit and I want to drive with brio... it seems to be the same for everyone.
I’m going to sell it, though, because I need a bike with more power, so I have to re-enter the market-place that I’ve managed to avoid for the past 12 years. After this long it owes me nothing, but due to the insanity of the market it'll probably fetch more than I’ve ever paid out for it. I won’t regret getting rid of it, but whoever buys it should have some fun. It certainly isn’t a real classic, but it’s sure as hell been the kind of bike you can live with.
Dale Middlehurst