My biking mate Mal and I once made an epic journey of 500 miles in 24 hours. 'Is that all?' you may scoff, ah, but this was in the mid 50s, before motorways, and the trek was made on a pair of 199cc Triumph Tiger Cubs. We made the trip from our homes on the North Wales coast to the Earls Court motorcycle show, and returned home the same day ( bloody hell! - GC)
The route was down the A5 London/Holyhead road in mid-winter, on bikes with a realistic cruising speed of 50-55 mph. We set off at midnight with the temperature already well below freezing, intending to ride through the night. Both of us were wearing imitation leather (really plastic) jackets, open-face helmets and loaded down with food and drink... and lots of youthful optimism.
After a nightmare TEN hour journey through freezing fog, we eventually reached the show and joined the thousands of other enthusiasts waiting to go in. The whole day was spent drooling over machines we couldn't afford, which meant virtually all of them. The higlight for me was the Moto Guzzi V8 racer, as ridden by Bill Lomas. This machine was on a podium surrounded by burly 'minders' whose demeanour clearly said 'Look, but don't touch'. However, when a scuffle broke out nearby, they couldn't resist trying to sort it out. That was the chance I needed. In a flash I was up on the podium and stretched out across that huge fuel tank. By the time I was spotted I was welded to the seat and had to be prised off with a considerable amount of force.
We left the show at 4pm, and made good time until we reached the Horseshoe Pass near Llangollen, where the clutch securing nut on my bike came adrift. With no tools we left my bike in a dry ditch and I rode pillion on Mal's bike, both of us desperately trying to stay awake for the final thirty miles home.
Finally getting home at 4am, I thought the excitement was over, but there was one last incident. The house was silent and all the family tucked up in bed, so I quietly opened the door and crept inside. I was confronted by two staring red eyes piercing the darkness accompanied by a thumping noise. After the scream had died in my throat and my heart had resumed its pounding, I managed to reach the light switch. My little brother had, earlier that day, spent his pocket money on a huge white rabbit, which had escaped from its box and was probably as scared as me.
Mal lost interest in bikes after that trip, but for me there were many more bikes to follow. Some are best forgotten, but some were a pleasure to ride, particularly a Douglas Dragonfly 350cc horizontally-opposed twin with Earles forks, rather like a mini BMW. After the usual diversions of wine, women, mortgages and family, I am now back 'in the fold'. After a dalliance with another Tiger Cub, a BSA B31, a BSA Gold Flash, a Honda 250cc twin, and a Planeta Sport... a what?...a 350cc Russian 2-stroke single (which had to go since an athritic knee prevented me kicking it over), I am now the proud owner of a Honda XBR500. This seems to me to be the machine that the BSA Gold Star would or should have evloved into.
I do wonder if today's riders have as much fun on their superbikes. How many would ride 500 miles in one day, let alone in mid-winter in freezing fog, on a 199cc tid