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Can’t beat a bit of speed block.....and I don’t mean the patio??
Motorcycle Porn.....Readers Rides
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Nasher
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Here's a starter for 10
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OP
I hoped with a bit of bait you might turn up?
Stealaway
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Empress Drive. Douglas, IOM
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OP
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There must be a story that goes with that observation?
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Nasher
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Good spot!!
Outside what was then the Ratcliffe hotel
These were also taken there - 25 years later (almost to the day)
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My current steed during the NC500 couple of years ago.
Not a biker myself but the bikes bring back memories from my time at the army apprentice college 71-73.
The three cylinder two stroke Kawasaki was a favour. It seemed to be only in one colour, green. I think there were different engine sizes all two stroke. The alternative were the CB Honda, again different engine sizes but looked similar.
The only motorbike I rode in the army was the BSA B40 that I took my test on. I had to have a licence for every vehicle I repaired to be able to test drive it after repairs. They were replaced by the Canam I think they were called.
I didn’t repair motorbikes so I never road one after taking my test, the B40 was enough to put me off.
My father had a BSA with the tank gear change when they were fist married. Later he bought an Ariel Square Four in bits later but never finished it. After he retired he bought an ex police Triumph Boniville.
The three cylinder two stroke Kawasaki was a favour. It seemed to be only in one colour, green. I think there were different engine sizes all two stroke. The alternative were the CB Honda, again different engine sizes but looked similar.
The only motorbike I rode in the army was the BSA B40 that I took my test on. I had to have a licence for every vehicle I repaired to be able to test drive it after repairs. They were replaced by the Canam I think they were called.
I didn’t repair motorbikes so I never road one after taking my test, the B40 was enough to put me off.
My father had a BSA with the tank gear change when they were fist married. Later he bought an Ariel Square Four in bits later but never finished it. After he retired he bought an ex police Triumph Boniville.
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Photo`s of photo`s.... Cos I cannot find my bike disc...
Had them up till a few years ago...
And many old brit bikes before...
Wow, can’t tell for sure but a 900ss (carbed) and 900ss ie (injected).
Noting all the other bikes there too, your user name should be ‘big twin’! ?
Ian
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Spot on....
And the Ducati in the middle picture was a hack I used to run around on..... A little 650 Monster..
Cracking little bike and handled superbly...
Twins and V8`s I love to bit`s...
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I only have seen just one of those DKW Wankels in a shed in Birmingham 1990 approx, was there a importer for these in the UK or did they arrive as personal imports
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Boringfrog
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Guess the location....
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I’m afraid I don’t know. It was back in 1980 when I had use of it; it was my brother-in-law’s bike that he loaned me for a few months. It was in Orkney and sold on to another Orcadian.
Ian
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Having had my daily walk and picked all the fluff from the Velcro on my jacket I've dug out my travel diary and passed time putting together events of the outward leg tale of a trip to the Milan International Jampot camping rally for vintage British AJS and Matchless motorbikes.
------------------------------------------
We, my regular riding pal ‘Thrifty’ Peter on his 1967 750cc Matchless P11
and me on Marigold my 1954 350cc Matchless G3LS)
had ridden 90 miles from near Brighton to Dover with full camping gear to meet up with Surrey section member Miss Luky riding her 1948 500cc Matchless G80L and stay overnight at the Clare House B&B ready to catch a morning ferry en route to the British Bulldog rally at Chievres in Belgium and then on to the Jampot rally near Milan, in total an estimated 2000 mile round trip. By 8 p.m. there being no sign of Luky we had fish and chips sat on a wall before retiring to the Golden Lion pub. About 9 o’clock, after a few beers, a text arrived from Luky: ‘Broken down on M20. What shall I do?’. I handed the phone to Peter for his suggestion. “I think we should have another pint, then we definitely can’t ride out to her” was his unchivalrous decision. Luky was recovered home that night by the AA.
Next morning when checking out of the B&B after Thrifty’s heated argument with the owner who wanted to charge us for Luky's unoccupied room, Luky phoned me: “I’m buying a new Triumph Bonneville and am leaving shortly. It will need its first service at 400 miles and the dealer has arranged for it to be done at a Triumph agent near Vittel, takes only half an hour. I’ll join you at Chievres” she assured.
After disembarking at Dunkirk it was only 90 miles to the Chievres rally where Luky joined us later on her sparkling new Bonneville. After we pitched our tents we were introduced to some rather motley characters, including one well-oiled local whom I was advised did house clearances for people who weren’t at home and who greeted me drunkenly with a grab of my privates which was explained to me as a ‘Belgian handshake’… hmm. It was a riotous couple of nights.
Monday morning we left Chievres for the 240 mile run to Camping Spineuse at Neufchateau before a short run of 50 miles, to ‘stop off’ en route South at the very posh dealership at Vittel at around 10 a.m. for the pre-arranged 400 mile service on Luky’s Bonneville.
At the marble Reception desk in the busy stainless steel and plate glass showroom with its rows of gleaming Triumphs and Harleys the smiley white coated professional receptionist was expecting us and he welcomed us warmly with handshakes all round. However, things changed rapidly when I had to translate for Luky and tell her that the receptionist said the bike would be ready after lunch next day. Luky was adamant that she was told that it would be done while she waited. “That is impossible, we have a schedule with other clients” replied the snooty rat-faced arrogant pompous little Frog. I informed him firmly that it was not acceptable as we were en route to Italy and didn’t have 24hrs to waste waiting for a half hour service, but he was hearing none of it.
I persisted long and hard but always got the same: "That’s impossible" he insisted for the umpteenth time. "Our workshop has a schedule for other clients" whereupon two customers, a mechanic and the Parts Manager drifted over to come to his defence and we were soon surrounded by a scrum of waving arms, grunts, wagging fingers, gymnastic eyebrows and Gallic outrage. Notified of the near riot the owner appeared from the workshop where he had been overseeing the build of a new Triumph Rocket Three race outfit and ushered us outside where the same fracas continued, but at a higher level all round. Just as I was giving up hope a rather attractive lady of a certain age pulled up in a BMW 4x4 and joined us, listening to the final 15 minutes of the arguing. It was Mme Patricia, the owner’s wife and she evidently took a shine to me as she then laid in to her hubby and with a stare that would have stripped stove enamel she instructed: "Christoff, you are such a miserable man. You must help this handsome English man and his friends. I see the sparkle of adventure in his eyes and would rather go with him to Italy on his motorbike than be kept prisoner here with you and your boring garage for the rest of my life".
It took only seconds for it to dawn on Christoff! that disruption of the schedule of his Service Department was far preferable to a major disruption of service in the Matrimonial Department so he meekly agreed to do it that afternoon. Much relieved, we agreed with Luky that as we used only minor roads and she could speed down on trunk roads with her Bonneville after her bike was ready that we would press on and look for a camp site towards Bern, about 200 miles away.
Peter and I set off through the sweeping rural roads but our gleeful liberation didn’t last long; about 3 miles in all, when Peter’s P11 engine died and smoke billowed out from under the tank and seat. Rapid battery disconnection then removal of camping gear, tank and seat revealed the destruction of 90% of the wiring loom from headlight to rear lamp, leaving only bare copper strands and melted plastic insulation sagging in strings like cheese pizza topping.
“I’ll have to rewire it then” muttered Peter, pulling a handy foot of spare wire from his tool bag. Clearly a bit more than that was needed so there was no option but for me to ride back with my tail between my legs to the scene of the earlier flaming confrontation...…………..
More later if I'm not boring y'all.
------------------------------------------
We, my regular riding pal ‘Thrifty’ Peter on his 1967 750cc Matchless P11
and me on Marigold my 1954 350cc Matchless G3LS)
had ridden 90 miles from near Brighton to Dover with full camping gear to meet up with Surrey section member Miss Luky riding her 1948 500cc Matchless G80L and stay overnight at the Clare House B&B ready to catch a morning ferry en route to the British Bulldog rally at Chievres in Belgium and then on to the Jampot rally near Milan, in total an estimated 2000 mile round trip. By 8 p.m. there being no sign of Luky we had fish and chips sat on a wall before retiring to the Golden Lion pub. About 9 o’clock, after a few beers, a text arrived from Luky: ‘Broken down on M20. What shall I do?’. I handed the phone to Peter for his suggestion. “I think we should have another pint, then we definitely can’t ride out to her” was his unchivalrous decision. Luky was recovered home that night by the AA.
Next morning when checking out of the B&B after Thrifty’s heated argument with the owner who wanted to charge us for Luky's unoccupied room, Luky phoned me: “I’m buying a new Triumph Bonneville and am leaving shortly. It will need its first service at 400 miles and the dealer has arranged for it to be done at a Triumph agent near Vittel, takes only half an hour. I’ll join you at Chievres” she assured.
After disembarking at Dunkirk it was only 90 miles to the Chievres rally where Luky joined us later on her sparkling new Bonneville. After we pitched our tents we were introduced to some rather motley characters, including one well-oiled local whom I was advised did house clearances for people who weren’t at home and who greeted me drunkenly with a grab of my privates which was explained to me as a ‘Belgian handshake’… hmm. It was a riotous couple of nights.
Monday morning we left Chievres for the 240 mile run to Camping Spineuse at Neufchateau before a short run of 50 miles, to ‘stop off’ en route South at the very posh dealership at Vittel at around 10 a.m. for the pre-arranged 400 mile service on Luky’s Bonneville.
At the marble Reception desk in the busy stainless steel and plate glass showroom with its rows of gleaming Triumphs and Harleys the smiley white coated professional receptionist was expecting us and he welcomed us warmly with handshakes all round. However, things changed rapidly when I had to translate for Luky and tell her that the receptionist said the bike would be ready after lunch next day. Luky was adamant that she was told that it would be done while she waited. “That is impossible, we have a schedule with other clients” replied the snooty rat-faced arrogant pompous little Frog. I informed him firmly that it was not acceptable as we were en route to Italy and didn’t have 24hrs to waste waiting for a half hour service, but he was hearing none of it.
I persisted long and hard but always got the same: "That’s impossible" he insisted for the umpteenth time. "Our workshop has a schedule for other clients" whereupon two customers, a mechanic and the Parts Manager drifted over to come to his defence and we were soon surrounded by a scrum of waving arms, grunts, wagging fingers, gymnastic eyebrows and Gallic outrage. Notified of the near riot the owner appeared from the workshop where he had been overseeing the build of a new Triumph Rocket Three race outfit and ushered us outside where the same fracas continued, but at a higher level all round. Just as I was giving up hope a rather attractive lady of a certain age pulled up in a BMW 4x4 and joined us, listening to the final 15 minutes of the arguing. It was Mme Patricia, the owner’s wife and she evidently took a shine to me as she then laid in to her hubby and with a stare that would have stripped stove enamel she instructed: "Christoff, you are such a miserable man. You must help this handsome English man and his friends. I see the sparkle of adventure in his eyes and would rather go with him to Italy on his motorbike than be kept prisoner here with you and your boring garage for the rest of my life".
It took only seconds for it to dawn on Christoff! that disruption of the schedule of his Service Department was far preferable to a major disruption of service in the Matrimonial Department so he meekly agreed to do it that afternoon. Much relieved, we agreed with Luky that as we used only minor roads and she could speed down on trunk roads with her Bonneville after her bike was ready that we would press on and look for a camp site towards Bern, about 200 miles away.
Peter and I set off through the sweeping rural roads but our gleeful liberation didn’t last long; about 3 miles in all, when Peter’s P11 engine died and smoke billowed out from under the tank and seat. Rapid battery disconnection then removal of camping gear, tank and seat revealed the destruction of 90% of the wiring loom from headlight to rear lamp, leaving only bare copper strands and melted plastic insulation sagging in strings like cheese pizza topping.
“I’ll have to rewire it then” muttered Peter, pulling a handy foot of spare wire from his tool bag. Clearly a bit more than that was needed so there was no option but for me to ride back with my tail between my legs to the scene of the earlier flaming confrontation...…………..
More later if I'm not boring y'all.
Steve and Denise
LIFE MEMBER
I owned that number 46 back in the seventies before he was born
But he seemed to do a lot better ?
OP
OP
Sidecar passengers......mad or different metal?
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Steve and Denise
LIFE MEMBER
I always struggled to get enough to complete a meeting it was always a problem with their bleeding on and poor commitment,
I used to tell them your safe with me and if we are at the front you don’t get any crap of the other outfits in your face.
Had a few good passengers but then they grew up bar********s ?
Do you remember the twins that used to race in the 60s? The passenger was killed at a meeting.
Boringfrog
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No....Scotland....
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klaatu
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Please. Very enjoyable reading.
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Benidorm Special ?
Then one I made earlier from this
to this
Then one I made earlier from this
to this
Steve and Denise
LIFE MEMBER
No I did not start racing until the early seventies.
As I said earlier I am not a biker but I seem to have a lot of connections with them and biking tales.
My parents rode to the Lake District for there honeymoon on dads BSA with camping gear and luggage piled on it. It started to loose power so he decided the valves were getting coked up. With water from a public toilet and brick dust he lapped the valves in whilst Mum brewed up on the Primus. The gear linkage fell off on the way home, this May have prompted the purchase of another mode of transport.
Whilst stationed in Germany I followed my mates around the motorbike races with there camping gear in my MG Midget, its surprising how much you can cram in an MG.
After the Belgium race my mate with a Ducati found some one had stolen his headlight !!!. He drove back to camp in North Germany with no headlight, two hours in the dark.
The Elephant rally at the Nurburgring was in February. That was a dam cold weekend for camping. You can’t sleep in an MG, I tried.
They decided to go to Imala in Italy and they convinced me to act as baggage transport again. The first day I had a puncture. I spent the rest of the fortnight with no spare. Getting the puncture repaired never crossed my mind.
I kept this up until we were all posted apart or left the army but it was an interesting three years following some of the forgotten British bike racers around the circuits.
My parents rode to the Lake District for there honeymoon on dads BSA with camping gear and luggage piled on it. It started to loose power so he decided the valves were getting coked up. With water from a public toilet and brick dust he lapped the valves in whilst Mum brewed up on the Primus. The gear linkage fell off on the way home, this May have prompted the purchase of another mode of transport.
Whilst stationed in Germany I followed my mates around the motorbike races with there camping gear in my MG Midget, its surprising how much you can cram in an MG.
After the Belgium race my mate with a Ducati found some one had stolen his headlight !!!. He drove back to camp in North Germany with no headlight, two hours in the dark.
The Elephant rally at the Nurburgring was in February. That was a dam cold weekend for camping. You can’t sleep in an MG, I tried.
They decided to go to Imala in Italy and they convinced me to act as baggage transport again. The first day I had a puncture. I spent the rest of the fortnight with no spare. Getting the puncture repaired never crossed my mind.
I kept this up until we were all posted apart or left the army but it was an interesting three years following some of the forgotten British bike racers around the circuits.
OP
OP
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