BritBike's story page 3

• Old B.S.A. Worker  Story by Roger H Dent
• A new Era of BSA's Story by Barry 'Polly' Palmer.
• The Northern California All British Ride Story by Dennis Lesea
• Coming home at last Story by Lance Lovell
• Once Bitten Story by Alan Yeomans
• British Bike Lust Story by Dennis Lesea

Hi Guys, I worked for B S A in the late 50,s  early 60,s  era. I was in the Experimental Dept, Co located with the Competition Dept in those days. A fellow worker in our Dept was Chris Vincent, who was just getting started in racing and working on a "kneeler"  which I think was one of the 1st. Jeff Smith, And Johnny Burton, are names that come to mind  as competition riders for the Company, Scrambles and Trials I think. our Immediate Supervisor was Mr. Lenn Crisp, and his boss was Bert Perrigo. My name is Roger  but as a young teen most of the older guys called me " Strawberry" I was interested in racing in those days, and went with Chris to several events, Silverstone, Mallory Park, Oulton Park, and Brands Hatch are names that come to mind. I moved to the U S A in 1964  so lost touch  with everyone, and as motorcycle Racing, was not very popular over here, I started following NASCAR. I rode a B S A Gold Star , Which I had purchased directly from the Experimental Dept, it was the one that John Surtees had ridden with a Camera Mounted on the side for a BBC documentary (A lap of Silverstone I think). Prior to that I had a Golden Flash ( 650 cc Cast Iron Motor)  and before that a Douglas 350, Not the Dragon fly  but the one before that  with Torsion Bar rear suspension. IT all seems so cloudy in my mind now  but I do like thinking about those " good old days" it brings back Fond Memories. The Competition Dept had a man named Arthur, I think, as the boss,  In our dept we had 3 other Mechanics, a Bill, a Reggie, and a really tall guy whose name I cant remember. Chris was a test rider  along with 2 others  who I cant recall there names, Even though One of them was kind enough to help me with my attempt at clubmans racing, by taking me in his Pick up  to the track, a standard Vanguard I believe. Any way  if these things ring a bell in any ones memory, please drop me a line  or if you just want to correspond that is fine too. I live in Charlotte North Carolina now, NASCAR HEAVEN, and I am actively involved in sports tours, so visit most all the NASCAR tracks  during the year. I would Love to hear from any one  who was involved in any of the above, I have not seen a motorcycle race live since the 1964 TT in the isle of man, but I do like to remember and Dream.

--Story by Roger H Dent.

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I suppose this story could also be titled "Dedication to the marquee" As mentioned on the explanation of wet sumping sent to Morgan a couple of days ago I purchased a Rocket 3 to replace my A65, as and when I could afford it, for in the days when they first became available, they were the most expensive bike on the market, even secondhand. It all happened at a BSA Owners Club camping weekend organised by the late Oxford branch at Bampton on the banks of River Thames.
There were only one or two Rocket Threes in the Club and practically all the enthusiasts wanted one especially if you had tasted the performance of one! A message filtered through to the campsite -- Faulkner's of Oxford had a secondhand Three in stock -- Mass exodus, practically all of the campers went to have a look. After a little negotiation with Bill F., the deal was done, I was the proud , excited owner of BSA Factory Press Rocket Three, the one that toured all over Europe with the rest of the 69 range. It was to be picked up a week later after being fitted with 16 inch wheels an hitched to a matching red GP Sports Watsonian sidecar. Gone was my 1967 (purchased new) A65 Thunderbolt / G.P.sports outfit, duly built internally to a 1963 specification, having experienced problems with the 9 to 1 compression ratio of the 1967 engine It was superb-- no other outfit on the road could match this lovely touring combination and it could keep up easily and in some cases out perform the solos on club runs --- no trouble!! However, a few months after purchase all was not well-- upon accelerating in second gear, overtaking a Mini -- BANG, the primary chain exited through the front of the two primary cases and wrapped itself around the front sidecar fitting and a trail of oil stretched out behind. Messers Faulkner's were very good about it and the engine went back to BSA for analysis. Not only was there a wrecked pair of chaincases but the crankshaft was bent too! After about two weeks the engine was collected , completely rebuilt by BSA Free of charge! Now back into service, but running in!!! Alas, around two months later and at practically the same speed and in the same gear another broken chain!! A second journey to the factory and another FREE rebuild, as well as other people I too am
beginning to believe its my fault, what can I be doing wrong? BSA at this time didn't really know what was causing this problem. Gradually other BSAs and Triumph triples were experiencing the problem. designed a special tool for shimming up the two primary sprockets, using a clockguage-- But only a couple of months service and yes, you' guessed it a third blowup!!. Now, any ordinary motorcyclist, especially these days, would have given up and sold the thing in favor of a BM or a Honduksi or something, but having already owned BSAs previously including DBD34 B31 and a couple of A65s over the preceding six years, belonging the best motorcycle club in the World, The BSA Owners Club, running a local Branch of the club and now having a closer link with staff at the BSA factory -- I persevered. Yet again another excellent factory rebuild and another period of running in and this rebuild seemed to be successful, We believe and later learned that the real cause of the problem was a batch of clutch chain wheels manufactured for BSA were untrue and ocilated, thus tearing off rollers from the triplex chain, then at a certain torque Bang.
So, no more problems, except the usual Rocker box oil leaks. The outfit did exceptional service and attended the BSA International Rally in Austria the following summer. The only modification carried out which proved excellent , was the fitting of three Fleetstar 250cc pistons to replace the 9 to 1 s fitted as standard. This eliminated pinking because of the 5 star petrol phasing out, which the 3's were supposed to run on, and did not deter the performance at all. Brilliant for continental travel where the petrol was poor in some countries, to say the least. I was so impressed with this , in those days " the ultimate outfit" and used every day, that I purchased a new Mk 2 Rocket Three 1971 model. Yet another story??? 
--Story by Barry 'Polly' Palmer.

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What a blast! Imagine 80 British Motorcycles coming up and over the hill and into the small coastal town of Tomales to join the rest of the group of 193 total. I thought I had died and gone to British Bike Heaven. The sight and sound was incredible. All this after 40 miles of riding along with Nortons, Triumphs, and many others. There were numerous BSA’s Including some particularly well sorted Gold Stars, at least 6 Vincents, a Panther,some Vellocettes--including  a Thruxton and a Venom model, AJ’s, Matchless’, a few Ariels (I saw  and heard 2 Square 4’s), and one that wasn’t quite all British ----- A particularly nice  Norton  Indian (Scout motor in Featherbed frame). I found myself lusting after a concours condition Matchless G80cs and a cool blue Vincent. Our member Walt Sheetz(77 years young) rolled in on his Daytona, only 2 weeks before he had been in the hospital having an arterial procedure after a heart attack . I think his recovery was accelerated by the thought of the upcoming ride. I particularly enjoyed watching John on his 65 Rickman dicing it up with a guy on a Norton followed by Dennis on a Bonneville Royal followed by me on my BSA 441 Dualsport custom. It just doesn’t get any better than this. We then took off due west towards Dillon Beach. I had checked out the map closely as to the next turn. Well, the group in front of me went straight , and I went right on Middle Road, like the map said, with John following. We rode by ourselves for  a few miles, only to join the pack at the second intersection. We then rode through the woods to Occidental, went left (west) up over the hill to be treated to a panorama of the Pacific Ocean. We turned south on Hwy.1 to a pit stop in Bodega Bay. We then headed down the Bodega Highway on the last leg home. Wouldn’t you know it --John’s Rickman threw the rear chain . Well we managed to reinstall it with the help of a borrowed chain link and some wire provided by some helpful and generous club members. We got back to the picnic late but just in time for some barbecue and the awards. We should have got one for getting the Rickman back. (Wishful thinking.) What more can you say about these people( BSA club of Northern California)? Well I say they don’t just like to show these motorcycles ---They ride them.

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It came in to the Garage were I worked as a part exchange against a Ford Anglia. It had recently had a brush with something solid that was obvious but nothing serious enough to spoil it’s fascination to a young and naive motorcyclist. "Fifteen quid and its yours" said our salesman recognising a "one born every minute"punter when he saw one.

Yes I was gullible then but not that gullible. "You must be bloody joking look at the forks. Ten quid".

I listened to a load of woffle about soon bending those straight with a bit of pipe. I’d already thought of doing that ( Yes I was that naive ) but ten pounds was two weeks wages and almost my total wealth at the time.

The salesman agonised for all of thirty seconds before grabbing the cash and I became the proud owner of a 1954 BSA Golden Flash and Rankin Double Adult Sidecar.

The deal done a wave of cold reality swept over me. Could I really straighten the forks out with a bit of pipe and what would Dad say when he found a large motorcycle combination occupying his drive? The answer to the first question was no as I would soon find out. The answer to the second question was to park it on a friends drive for the time being, while it was repaired, hopefully giving me time to break the news at a "suitable opportunity".

Of the horrors committed to the front end of that machine I shall say nothing thus sparing the blushes of an apprentice car mechanic, an apprentice instrument technician and an apprentice naval engineer but suffice to say the stanchions couldn’t be straightened out and second hand ones from the local breaker had to be used. Even then I seem to remember a titanic struggle to compress the springs and get the fork tops on.

On the way back from the garage were I worked steering with the damaged forks had been downright dangerous. The myth with sidecars is that at the first left hand bend the novice tries to bank the machine and careers straight on through a hedge. With those forks there was no chance.It was all I could do to persuade the plot to go straight at all. Any easing of pressure on the nearside of the handlebars and the blasted thing would lunge violently for the kerb like iron to a magnet. Right turns required a Herculean heave on the bars and you praying that the turn would finish before your strength ran out.

After we had replaced the stanchions I could not say it steered perfectly. No matter what we did it pulled gently but persistently to the left. In the end I just got used to it though to this day I swear it’s made my right arm longer than my left.

Now that the device was more or less roadworthy friend Ian and I decided to try it out on a week end trip to Wales.

On the Saturday we would meander our way into North Wales to a lake near Tal-y-llin, camp there and spend the evening in a nearby Hostelry were the drink and song flowed well after hours. On the Sunday, not to early, we would motor down to Towyn, meet up with a few mates who were riding out from Birmingham that morning and spend the day on the beach. What could be easier or more pleasant but as I said we were young and naive (up to that week end).

The Saturday dawned dry and sunny and and after loading up with everything bar the kitchen sink ( but including, for reasons that have disappeared in the mists of time, a neighbours alsatian dog Sheba ) we pointed the Rankin’s blunt nose westward and set off on pleasure bent.

We covered the first thirty miles or so in grand style, although all the extra weight made the steering pull left even more than usual, and it wasn’t until we were somewhere the other side of Bridgenorth that the pedal travel of the rear brake started to increase.

At first I put it down to the extra load and thought little of it but every time I pressed the pedal it moved a little more until suddenly it just kept on going with no resistance whatever.

I pulled onto a convenient verge so we could try and sort the problem out. Now you don’t get a lot for ten pounds not even then and part of the lot I didn’t get was a rear stand, so while I searched the fields and ditches for bricks etc, Ian went to let Sheba stretch her legs. That was when he discovered that Sheba :-

a. Suffered from travel sickness.

b. Had had a good breakfast.

c. Had rendered all the maps, spare gloves,etc we had put out of the way on the parcel shelf unusable.

After we had walked the poor hound, given it a drink and baled out the parcel shelf we turned our attentions to the offending brake. With a struggle and near hernia apiece we managed to wedge enough stones and bits of wood under the frame to get the back wheel clear of the ground. Another struggle and the expenditure of a great many expletives and we had the wheel out. The puzzle of the increasing pedal travel was solved when we removed the back plate from the drum and the brake linings or what was left of them fell into the grass.

Given the trouble I had stopping the plot with two brakes ( no luxuries like a sidecar brake here ) tackling the mountains of Wales with only one was out of the question. Reluctantly we decided to proceed on to Clun, not far away, have lunch, then make our way home.

We reached Clun safely enough though the stopping distance was akin to that of the Queen Mary. However as I tried to negotiate a line of parked cars an oncoming car appeared round the far corner. No problem I thought. Cat in Hell’s chance of stopping but I’ll just nip in behind that Austin 1100, let the car passed, swerve back out and on we go rejoicing. Well parts one and two of the manouver went as planned but I could have done with another inch or two of clearance to get passed the 1100. As it was there was a loud thud as the knock off hub cap on the Rankin attacked the rear bumper of the 1100.

"I thought you were to close" said Ian helpful as ever.

"Why the bloody hell didn’t you say so" I grumbled as I tried to pull up within walking distance of the 1100. " Get the dog out in case this bloke turns nasty".

Not that there was a trace of aggresion in Sheba but I reckoned while she was throwing up on this blokes foot we’d have chance to leg it. Fortunately Sheba was not called upon to sacrifice what little food she’d managed to hang onto as the owner of the now somewhat battered 1100 was politeness itself and seemed rather bemused by the fact that his rear bumper was now bent with a large dent in it while the Rankin’s only sign of contact was a now very shiny aluminium hub cap.

Names and addresses having been duly exchanged we decided to call it a day and turned for home. Depressing for us but the best news the dog had heard all day. The drive home was slow but uneventful and I never did get to Wales with that outfit. I put some more brake  shoes ( second hand ) on it and kept it for a couple of months eventualy selling it to a family from Quarry Bank for £50.They were delighted with it and the new owner said he’d soon sort out the steering. I wished him luck but as I watched trundle off down the road I knew it would not be the last outfit I’d own. The bug had bitten and there’s no known cure.

Story by Alan Yeomans

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At the age of 8, I woke up Christmas morning to a wondrous sight: there by the Christmas tree sat a new black 3 speed bike with narrow tires that had speed written all over it. A sticker on it proclaimed "Made In England", it had a 3 speed Sturmey- Archer gearbox and was gleaming black and chrome. Well it was just about the fastest thing going-- at least for child of eight in the mid fifties (10 speed bicycles were rare indeed). So I had about the fastest bike on the block-at least until I got whipped by one of those rare and expensive 10 speeds. Well that bike was fantastic, and it was indeed faster than some as I kept it well greased and oiled. What could be better for a kid?--- Well during my 14th year a friend down the street had this beat up a Schwinn with a motor in it--A "Whizzer" that barely ran. Now, something with a motor had to be faster than a bicycle, and he wanted to make a trade after riding my bicycle and proclaiming it to be fast indeed for a 3 speed. Well,I couldn’t legally drive this,but what the heck got it home and tore into it and greased and oiled it, cleaned out the carb (what fun) and got it running. It promptly blew a head gasket and didn’t go too well. I then asked my older brother what to do and he said:" mill the head and put a new gasket in. Well I did this and boy was I flying, trouble is it didn’t have any brakes to speak of. As I lived on a hill--this proved to be exciting indeed. Anyway,I was clocked at 38 mph by a motorist on level ground-- I was laying down on it really getting the most out of it. It wasn’t British--but it beat pedaling. Then came the ride on that beautiful AJS scrambler, and then that lust really took a hold.

It wasn’t even satisfied until I got my first solo experience on that very same machine. In order to legally operate a motorcycle in California at the time, all you needed was a learner’s permit so I got one upon turning 15 1/2. Next came the begging of my brother to let me ride his AJ. I think he got tired of me crying and finally relented, saying:"If you can start it, you can ride it". I think he felt pretty secure in the fact that it was no easy task to fire when cold. And I couldn’t push start it as it was parked at the bottom of a very steep driveway.(I had helped push it up the driveway for him when he couldn’t kick start it). Now this only added to the challenge-- I was determined. It probably took me 30 kicks to fire it and fire it did. Well’ I was off for the Berkeley hills and some of the best riding roads in the Bay Area. Of course, one ride just got me started, and if he wouldn’t relent and give me his permission ,I would ride it anyway after school when he was at work. It was a scrambler with a magneto ignition and no speedometer and no key, so I would carefully gas it up and put it away when I was done. Well, needless to say, I bought my own 500 single Matchless G80CS scrambler eventually, and that lust lives on to this day only to be satisfied with a ride on my BSA441 or my Triumph Bonneville.

Story by:  Dennis Lesea,  California, USA

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