BritBike's story page4

• See the world, riding on an old BSA. story by Theo & Christel
• The Ten Commandments story by Dave Kath
• Ex factory BSA B50 Racer Story by Martin Smith
• Going to the Races  Story by Des Molloy

1.  Thou shat not store thy Gold Star out of doors. Nor in the cold.
   
2. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's Gold Star, nor his shop, nor his  calendars, nor his new GP.
   
3. Thou shalt not love thy Gold Star more than the spouse or children,
   as much, but not more. There are limits you know.
   
4. Thou shalt not log on to the Pit Stop or Brit Iron website on company time, for thy employer makes it possible to buy more Goldies.
   
5. Thou shalt not despise thy neighbor's Triumph, Velocette, nor even
       his Norton. OK if he's a anal compulsive Vinnie owner however.
   
6. Thou shalt not allow thy daughters nor thy sons to get married during the high holy days of the San Jose Clubman Show.
   
7. Thou shalt not deceive thy significant other into thinking that thou art taking her on a romantic Sunday ride when indeed thou art going to look at another GS.
   
8. Thou shalt not promise thy wife a new addition to thy house then use it to store thy BSA and thy tools.
   
9. Thou shalt not tell thy spouse the entire cost of the modifications, at least not at the same time.
   
10. Thou shalt not buy thy spouse a motorcycle lift and tie downs for Christmas. Perhaps a new set of Whitworth sockets would be OK tho.

Dave Kath - NV U.S.A

-- Story by Martin Smith, Nuneaton, Warwickshire, UK

In both January and February I went to the races. This is out of character for me as normally the harridan fishwife, the mortgage nazi and a host of insatiably demanding offspring would curtail such frivolous, indulgent behavior. In January I was chauffeured as an appreciated client to an opulent corporate box where from behind a glazed wall we were treated to a splendidly orchestrated day long display of equine flesh thundering around Trentham's lushly grassed race track. This day of debauchery was also notable for the crowds of bejeweled, preening, milinered ladies of all ages quaffing giggle water in between blithely placing trifectas and quinellas with alarming panache. Not being a follower of the sport of Kings this was an alien world of make believe made even more so by the tie around my neck and another man's wife on my arm. The adrenaline rush of a winning collect in the first race, the fine food, the enthusiastically imbibed refreshments and the jovial bonhomie made for a memorable day topped off by a taxi ride home worth more than the GNP of many developing nations. Truly a day to remember, perhaps I'll do it again sometime !
The second day at the races involved a similar level of surrealistic disbelief and ecstasy but no taxi home. The thrill of reading that 15 times World Champion motorcyclist Giamoco Agostini was going to ride a MV Augusta in New Zealand at the Pukekohe Motor Race Circuit near Auckland was enough to galvanize me into action to fettle up Bessie my beloved unrestored 500cc 1937 BSA and head north from Wellington on a fabulously fine Friday morning. For a variety of reasons I was riding alone, one man against the mountain, off on an adventure. Neither Bessie nor I had anything to prove as she had once gamely participated in a youthful jaunt from New Orleans to Buenos Aries when already 40 years old. Perhaps now however we were both past our best and the certainty of arrival no longer guaranteed but only hoped for. Would Bessie show the stamina she once was renowned for ? I knew the magneto was prone to sulking when hot but refurbishment would have to be in the next pay period, I knew also that the exhaust valve had been fitted with minimal tolerance in the guide and had been known occasionally to nip up if Bessie was pressed too hard but I also was sure that gentleness would see both these potentially debilitating tribulations fall by the wayside as the miles ran under our wheels and we regained that confident partnership.
Re establishing that reliable relationship of man and machine did not come easily as unfathomably Bessie nipped up at Tawa, then Porirua, Paramata, Pukerua Bay, Paekakariki…It was going to be a long hot slow day, 50kms had not yet passed behind. It was at Paekakariki that I made a strong, positive affirmation. I was away from work, I had a tent and no matter how slow or intermittently the wheels turned, we would keep heading away from home and family. After all this was to be an adventure! Magic potions were added to the fuel and slowly and progressively Bessie freed up and started to lengthen her stride so although it took us nearly 8 hours to reach Taupo, the second half of the journey saw us up to near normal cruising pace. It was after 10.00pm when we arrived at the circuit and it had taken over 13hrs for the journey but it was still with a sense of achievement and triumph that I heaved her up onto her stand and sought out friends and a place to lie my weary body.
In the daylight of Saturday morning I saw the enormity of it all. Apart from the 4 MV Augusta's that were the stars of the show there were a Bunch of BSA's, a Multitude of Matchlesses, a Burst of Bultacos, a Plethora of Triumphs, a Brace of Cottons, a Vericitude of Vincents, an Unkindness of Ravens, a Pow Wow of Indians, a Clutch of Harley Davidsons, a Gossip of Women, a Knit of Nortons, a Pox of Velocettes, a Parliament of Owls, a Lasagna of Aermachis, Benellis and Ducatis, a Romp of Rudges and I don't know the collectives for AJSs, Rex Acmes, Brough Superiors, NSUs, Excelciors, Greeves, Moto Guzzis or OECs. Also amongst this glittering array was the fabulous New Zealand made Britten. Muttering Ay Carumba, bloody hell and other suitable complementary superlatives I wandered lonely as a cloud etc through the more than 200 meticulously prepared classic motorcycle race bikes, my mouth hanging open, eyes wide in amazement, admiration and envy. The sights, sounds, smells and Ambience with a Capital in your face A were almost overpowering.
There was racing on both Saturday and Sunday so I was treated to two magnificent days of a fascinating spectacle. Super heroes from the past like four times World Champion Hugh Anderson, 87 year old Len Perry winner of more than 1000 races with dozens of New Zealand motorcycling titles of various types, our first Isle of Man TT winner and AJS factory rider Rod Coleman, 1970 runner up to Agostini in the 500cc World Championship and Bultaco factory rider Ginger Molloy, all demonstrated that they have lost little of the prowess that made them world famous in their time. Watching Hugh Anderson making up huge distances under braking time and time again as he pushed his thundering Manx Norton to its limit was truly breath taking. The neat forceful riding of Ginger Molloy on both Bultaco and BSA Goldstar was also a delight to watch. There were numerous minor stars of the 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's all showing the beautiful harmony of man and machine that is motorcycle racing. 
The droning thunder of the single cylinder Nortons, BSAs, AJSs and Velocettes contrasted strongly with snarling twin cylinder Triumphs, Nortons and the occasional Matchless. In the bigger Post Classic races three cylinder bikes howled past in an impressive rush of air and with a falsetto wail while vee twins rumbled by in their distinctive single with an echo way. In the very competitive 250cc class the harsh strident two stroke screams of Jawas, Aerial Arrows, BSA Bantams and Bultacos mingled with a host of small four stroke singles reving to near six figures. Wonderful !
The pits were filled with riders of all ages, sizes and gender. Some riders such as Dick Huurdeman still raced the same bike they made their name on. In Dick's case a Norton Special named Bucephallus that he constructed in 1962. Often the offspring of notable riders were out on the classic bike their fathers raced 40 years ago. Probably some grandkids as well. Some entrants wishing to see their bikes perform as well as they did in their hey day used hot shot young contemporary riders. This added to the often fascinating duels as the young bucks challenged the old masters. The weekend long clashes between Warren Marsh and 62yr old Hugh Anderson both on very quick Manx Nortons was a great example of this. The enjoyment of the spectacle also included the riders who were not racing ten tenths like combative tarmac warriors but who were out on the track demonstrating and exercising their particular race bike. There were pedigree AJS 7Rs, Goldstars and Manxs all cruising towards the rear of the fields giving equal enjoyment to their riders and the crowd. This was a celebration of the past and the mood was captured splendidly by the races, regularity rides, demonstration ride pasts, observed trials, static displays and the general hubbub of the pits and spectator areas.
Among the Wellington friends and acquaintances, Dave Angus's race results on his 1939 Tiger 100 Triumph and his 1950's BSA Goldstar demonstrated again that he is still the NZSO's fastest Bassoonist, Bill Biber won the Velocette race on the Thomson Kelvinator Special and debuted Roy Harvey's 250 MOV, John Saywell rode pre and post war Velocettes with style and deportment whilst making deprecating utterances about his own riding, Dave Oliver had nicely prepared road race and off road trials BSAs with him which he ably demonstrated all weekend even having to leave the lunchtime observed trial while in 3rd place to rush off into yet another race, the Huurdy gurdy man tucked down over the tank of Bucephallus hugging it with his elbows in an almost copulatory embrace and droned relentlessly around time and time again with the bike probably quicker now than ever, Laurie Anderson rode the Regularity Rides on his trusty BSA which I think became less trusty on Sunday (perhaps it felt the 7th day was for rest) whilst Alastair Thomson had the misfortune of having his very quick NSU expire in his first race of the weekend at the time holding 3rd place and Dallas Rankine kept his thundering Ducati always near the front in all his races. These are just a few of the players in the show, I wont call them bit players as every participant in this extravaganza deserves time in the spotlight because without these supporting riders we wouldn't have the stars.
The celebrated stars ofcourse were the MV Augustas. These fire engine red and silver creations from Italy dominated motorcycle road racing from 1957 to 1976 winning 37 World Chamionships and hundreds of Grand Prix. Their most successful rider was Agostini who rode for them from 1965 to 1976 with a couple of years away on Japanese bikes. During this time Ago as he is universally known, achieved superstar status in Europe and the motorcycling world and even made movies…I had the misfortune to suffer a breakdown in Greece in the early seventies and whilst waiting for the ubiquitous Combi van to have an engine makeover I had the dubious pleasure of sitting through one his movies…being in Italian with Greek subtitles I can't judge his acting talents but for us it filled in the hours. I also watched Ago at Brands Hatch and Mallory Park in the UK on a couple of occasions. Thus my connection with Ago is a tenuous link to my youth and more adventuresome times. To hear the totally unsilenced 500cc 4 cylinder, 500cc 3 cylinder, 350cc 4 cylinder and the never raced 350cc 6 cylinder bike all howl past made the hairs on your arms stand on end. Apparently they measured close to 120 decibels which made the 95 decibel ruling all the other racing bikes must comply with seem muted. The 6 cylinder bike was developed to combat the increasing threat of the 2 stroke Yamahas and Suzukis in the late 60's but the ruling body limited the number of cylinders allowable to 4 before the bike was ever required to race. This bike which has a red line of 16,500 revs per minute, truly sounded like a demented screaming turbine as the revs rose and fell around the circuit. These displays really were moments to savour and cherish. The Britten also joined in and we were treated to high speed wheelies and nose dives by Andrew Stroud on this icon of New Zealand inventiveness and creativity. Finally we saw the old master Len Perry make one last ride past and salute the huge crowd. Len has raced his last race and is determined that this will be his final retirement, perhaps his wife of 60 years thinks its time to grow up and stop tinkering with motorbikes. And so the curtain came down on a great show. 
With Bessie again loaded with the paraphernalia needed for camping and living away from home we happily headed away from Pukekohe along the minor roads of the Waikato through Tuakau, Pukekawa, Glen Murray….. Now the roads were ours with seldom any other vehicles at all. The sun was low in the sky and the heat had gone out of day, the roads were undulating and gently winding, Bessie was purring contentedly, the day's highlights still fresh in my mind, this would rank amongst the most enjoyed rides I can recall. In the golden light of near dusk with the sun making the chasing shadows run alongside I childishly watched and admired as the girder forks bobbed up and down with the spindly stays holding the dancing headlight high at the front like the prow of a sailing ship. God we looked good ! 

We wound our way over hill and down dale towards Raglan, across a gravel road to the Kawhia road then up to Otarahanga. This is New Zealand back country at it's finest. The day was done but the ride not finished as we contentedly headed towards Taranaki through the Awakino Gorge and down the coast. Although only blessed with a 6 volt supply the 8 inch headlight threw a great spread of light so nightfall brought no terrors. Ingesting midges, moths and mozzies through my open visor only made me laugh and remember how long it had been since I rode the summer twilight. Bessie was now galloping along at the old mile a minute pace and again we finished our ride after 10pm with a masochistic pleasure and weariness. 

Monday was a day of business first then a steady ride home across Taranaki, through Wanganui to Bulls where I slaked my thirst with a lone beer and washed down the forgettable pie. The day was hot and could have been unpleasantly so but now the hearth of home was beckoning and the weekend's euphoria was only just holding. An incident free day saw me home well before dusk, a little saddle sore but contented, Bessie covered in dust and road grime, a little oily. I think the family noticed I hadn't been there for the weekend but sometimes it is hard to tell. Back to work Tuesday in the Corrolla.

"Nice weekend ?"

"Yeah great, I went to the races !"

-- Story by Des Molloy Wellington, New Zealand