Road burning

My love affair with British bikes was in full flow. The B40 was blatting me about the country in fine style, looked cool, sounded cool and required zero maintenance. Then it's big end went. Having just had the A65 do the same thing the previous year, I was less than impressed. Of course it was just a case of pulling it apart, fixing it and rebuilding. But I was hankering for something which was less like a hand grenade looking for a war....

Being part of a gang of friends with a whole range of machinery, it was likely that something would be available to suit my needs. First up was a fire breathing Norton 650SS owned by Andy. He was needing to sell it as he'd just bought something even more lairy -  a Norvin no less, i.e. a 1000cc Vincent lump shoe-horned into the inevitable Norton Featherbed frame. The 650 seemed a far better thing to my mind but was probably more than I could afford. Worse, it had a persistent niggle in that unless you gave it a handful, it would drop onto one cylinder. This reduced the price but buying something for top dollar that would need a load of faffing was less than appealing. It went like the clappers though.

My mate Rick suggested his ageing 500 Triumph. His then Wife had one which was a fine machine so I was tempted. His was a bit of a rat but went OK and did indeed draw me into the joys of Triumph twins. But I was hankering for another 650. So he gave me a shot of his Trophy and I was utterly smitten. Not quite as gutsy as the 650SS, but quick, smooth, good handling and easy to live with.  

1998 saw an absolute roaster of a Festival of 1000 bikes at Brands Hatch. We'd trooped down there with various bikes (in a van) and I spent the weekend idly looking at other peoples machinery, whilst R & A did laps of the race track. Languishing in the Autojumble was a 1970 TR6 looking decidedly sorry for itself. Rick had a closer look and determined matching numbers and most of the right bits there. A deal was done!

This was the stuff of dreams

Ignoring the vendors assertion that it needed a full rebuild before riding it, we lashed it up into something resembling a complete bike and fired it up. Horrible noises ensued but it went well. A rebuild was done that winter, a cheap spray job done on the body work and we were off. Well, not quite, as it still made a horrible noise. New pistons and rebore, no change (but it did go better) "Did you check the small ends?" says Rick. "Errr..." new small ends later, and it went like a dream. 

This was two weekends out from the Manx Grand Prix so it was a case of get it run in, change the oil and set off. I'd done another few hundred miles by the time we arrived on the Island so screwing a ton out of it on day 2 seemed a perfectly sensible thing to do. So it began....

Me and a mate Ian, who was on a 650 BSA and like me, a bachelor, would head out most weekends on one of a variety of circuits North, West and South. Distances were anything between 150 to 350 miles. Despite the age of the machinery we never broke down and had some epic thrashes around the many quiet and bendy roads in the Highlands and Borders.

The Trophy got more and more sorted as time went on, eventually looking quite flash. It also got nailed. At any available opportunity I did a ton on it and the footrest rubbers were permanently chamfered from excess cornering. Every Manx Grand prix saw me riding it harder and harder in a bid to keep the many sports bike riders at bay. To be clear we weren't mixing it up with the fast folk, more the wannabees riding too much bike. The way we were out gunning them on the twisties became an embarrassment and sometimes you were able to out run them as most didn't fancy riding above 90. Of particular note was hitting the ton down the hill from Kates Cottage to the Creg, leaving the braking as late as you dared (Twin leading shoe drum brake was surprisingly powerful) and then riding the creg bend with the footrest on the deck to an appreciative crowd. The joys of youthful exuberance.

Which wasn't to say it was all about high speed jinks. During 2001 I temporarily gained a pillion passenger who'd never been on a bike before. After some persuasion we did a tour of the West of Scotland and Skye. The Trophy was a peach handling the pillion and her extra luggage with ease. 

By this time I'd got the B40 re-built (and re-created as a scrambler) so it was getting thrashed over the bings in West Lothian. Biking nirvana by any measure. Then I bought a new bike....

Ah yes, the early 2000's supermoto fad. Everyone was expecting sports bikes to be banned and these seemed to be the next best thing. This wasn't true, they were better. What led me to this was a visit to the Scottish Motorcycle show. A local back street dealer was trying to make the jump to the mainstream and had secured dealing in MZ motorcycles, of '70's and '80's two stroke fame. These things had all but died out when MZ surprised everyone by launching a couple of super motos based on a Yamaha XTZ660 lump. They were already doing a road bike with a rotax 500 engine but as was typical in the UK in those days, no-one was interested in anything but a sports bike so they didn't sell well. These things caught peoples eye, mainly due to them being four grand new, 2 less than the nearest rival, a horrible lash up from CCM. 

What a hoot I had on this thing, even if it was heavier and weirder than the inevitable KTM's (which were pretty horrible things in those days....) Single track roads were my favourite - no traffic, no Police and no need for high speeds to have fun. Hump-backed bridges and other tarmac imperfections lead to much front wheel elevation. A-roads were cruised by and large however I discovered one which appeared to have been designed by a supermoto riding Engineer - the A814 between Garelochhead and Arrochar - a winding strip of tarmac resembling a motocross track more than a primary road. The MZ fairly flew and even the Trophy got airborne!

One of two bikes I regret selling....

And the other one....

Yes, I did sell the Trophy, albeit to a mate; but for dubious reasons - it was too reliable. Over the time I'd had it, it had clocked up around 30k with only a new set of pistons required, engine wise. The epitome of a British bike was a big thumper and I wanted something that was the epitome of the epitome - a 500cc Ariel, better still, a trials one.

Then I compounded this by swapping the MZ for a Beemer. Much more road burning followed...