MOTO MELEE 2009; PART 2

Large-capacity twin cylinder machines weren't the only bikes of choice on the rally, and several classic Singles made the rally with no problems. The big winner of the weekend was Kevin Burrell's '47 Velo MSS 500cc ohv, which was also one of the prettiest bikes on the ride, but I'm biased as it used to be mine! Kevin won the big King of the Melee trophy for making it look easy to ride a rigid-frame machine 900 miles in 3 days, plus a few bonus miles on the Lost Coast, on dirt roads.

Another interesting machine is Lyn Miller's Norton ES2 special, one of the rare non-Featherbed swingarm models with an all-alloy engine. It ran very well, and quickly.

The route on Day 2 incorporated the legendary Hwy 36, which is just about a perfect motorcycle road, stretching 72 miles from Red Bluff to the coast. But, we veered north midway to explore Forest Road 1 (above, with my Atlas and Frank Forster's ultra-dependable Commando tourer), which is the longest continuous 'ridge road' in the world - it follows a spur of the Coastal Range for almost 80 miles, and for long stretches the road itself IS the top of the ridge - a fall in either direction will land you in one or another valley - to the West one can see the fog lurking over the Pacific, to the East shone the snowy peaks of Mt. Lassen. FR1 climbs to about 5500' at points, and is blissfully cool during the day, with a showy array of wildflowers carpeting the dozens of small meadows bordering the road. One lane wide, no stripes, no traffic at all.

Our lunch stop was the Samoa Cookhouse, a historic building which formerly served as the canteen numerous lumber mills and shipping companies which populated this strangely-named town. The cookhouse serves the same food, in the same manner, as it always has; you get what you get, as much of it as you want, whatever they're serving that day. If you come away hungry, it's your own fault! Photos of the days when lumber was king in Arcata/Eureka line the walls, as do some of the implements of logging.

Lumber was Very Good to the burghers of Eureka, and quite a few splendid examples of High Victorian mansions survive as museums or private clubs.

But, they didn't get ALL the old-growth Redwoods, and the Avenue of the Giants is one of two large stands of these ancient behemoths untouched by the saw. For 50 miles the road threads between the tallest trees in the world, and the light filtering through the high canopy feels like the interior of a Gothic cathedral. But, we get to ride through this church, and commune with any god we choose.

The ride on Sunday totaled 340 miles, and it was a relief to arrive at our Motel, even after a nice cool stretch of Highway 1 along the ocean cliffs. As beautiful as the road is, I was ready for a shower, a meal, and a drink. Smiles prevailed at the greeting point, where your room key and a cold beer awaited (below, Phillippe Murat is happy about his beer).

A few souls had the energy to fettle, even after a long day in the saddle, on a scooter! These guys really impressed me.

By the next morning, the carnage of the weekend had become clear; all 3 chase vehicles were full, and help arrived from a local collector. A few of the machines were hors de combat, like this Triumph which has clearly had a Serious Problem with a connecting rod... ouch.

A sad fate for a BSA Gold Star and Velocette Thruxton - racing each other in the back of a pickup truck! Being chased as usual by a BSA Hornet and Triumph Bonneville, in the trailer.

As mentioned, the range of machines was dramatic, and included a multi-year veteran Lambretta (in purple, to match Barry's hair!) and this first-time '38 Indian Chief, which had a little trouble with a duff battery.

If you have an interest in joining next year, you can find more information on the Moto Melee website; the date is typically the third weekend in June, Friday thru Monday. You'll never forget the ride.

For more Melee photos, check out:
Bob Slote's Flickr page
Craig Howell's photos
Blaise Descollange's photos

REVEREND BILL AND THE 59 CLUB

By Amaryllis Knight:

One of the founders of the legendary 59 Club, The Reverend Bill Shergold (2nd to the right), died last month aged 89. Known as the  "ton-up vicar",  “Farv” or the "biker priest", Shergold famously ministered to hordes of young hot-headed rockers, who used to tear around London’s North Circular Road on their Nortons, BSAs and Triumphs, intimidating the population at large and causing retired Captains to sputter up their gin... 

The 59 Club was originally set up as a church-run youth club at the Eton Mission youth club, based at Hackney Wick, but under the auspices of Father Bill it fast became a refuge for anti-social 'ton-up' kids and tear-away bikers to share their passion. If you rode a motorcycle and wore a black leather jacket in London in the 1960s, there were few places you'd be welcome. Shergold had discovered that young motorcyclists were banned from most cafés, cinemas, clubs and bowling alleys and had decided that they should have a club of their own where they could "come and go as they please, with no strings attached'  (below: The Ace Café, London, today).

 

At the time the North Circular's infamous Ace Café was the favored haunt of the UK rocker scene and was sure to be packed with the disaffected youths who roamed London at night. It was the place where the original ton-up boys would eat greasy trucker food, enjoy illegal burn-ups, work on their bikes and swap stories of their riding exploits which would soon become Legend. A favourite pastime was to play a rock'n'roll record on the jukebox and race each other to the nearest roundabout and back, attempting to return to the Cafe before the song had finished.  “The Ace Cafe was quite a rough place in those days and I wasn’t at all keen on going there – the rockers had a bit of a reputation, and I wasn’t sure how they would react to a vicar" Sherwood reminisced before his passing, but one Sunday afternoon he hid his vicar dog collar behind a scarf and rode up in his leathers. "Just past Staples Corner about a dozen bikes, ridden by sinister figures in black leathers, roared past in the opposite direction. I felt sick with fear. By the time I reached the bridges at Stonebridge Park I was in such a panic I opened the throttle and fled past the Ace as fast as I could. I realised I was being a coward, so I turned back. Again panic seized me and I went past. Then I turned back again and finally rode into the forecourt. By now, the Ace was practically deserted but I consoled myself that I had at least penetrated into the lions' den, even if the lions were out on the prowl." Father Bill went home and spent the following two weeks plucking up his courage to return. This time, he took an armful of church leaflets, didn't attempt to hide anything and rode his Triumph Speed Twin up to the Ace, on a busy Saturday night. "It was packed. Hundreds of boys were milling around, laughing and talking. I thought, 'This is it. I shall almost certainly lose my trousers or land up in the canal'," he later confessed. (Bill Shergold, the ton-up vicar and his congreagation of Rockers from the Ace Cafe, Busy Bee and Chelsea Bridge Snack Bar). 

Far from the traditional dunking that Father Bill expected, he was treated with the utmost courtesy and found himseld "amazed" at the positive reaction he got when he handed out his leaflets and invited the bikers to come to the Eton Mission on Saturday nights. The idea of riding in convoy to a church service being held in their honour seemed to strike a chord with the leather boys and not only was Father Bill’s church in Hackney Wick  packed with a scrum of rockers and cluster of media (BBC and ITV news teams swarmed around the church to see the service), but this became the beginning of the biking section of the 59 Club, which soon had more than 4,000 members, arriving weekly from as far afield as Oxford and Kent. Adressing them from the pulpit, Farv compared his biker congregation to the "knights of old", challanging them to uphold the same ideals of "courage, courtesy and chivalry." He implored that they should "dedicate their bikes and themselves to God’s service, endeavouring to use the machines in a responsible way" and then blessed their machines, as they sat, parked in the aisles of the church in tidy lines.  (Shergold on the Cover of the 59 Club magazine, November 1966).

The 59 Club's round badge with the number '59' in it's centre became the envy of bikers Country wide. In it's first year, it grew into the biggest bike club in the world the ton-up vicar brought another bike riding Father in to the fold to help him run the club: Father Graham Hullett. New premises needed to be found to house its 11,000 members, so the club moved its HQ to Paddington in central London. Father Graham became heavily involved in the Club, and was known as the man who would do anything to help those in trouble. Like Shergold, he felt that "These were the same kind of lads who would have been flying Spitfires or bombers in defence of their country 20 years earlier," he says now. "Other members of the church thought myself and Father Shergold were very brave, but we weren't really - we were just mixing with people who rode bikes. Being a biker myself, I saw these lads as being just as good as anyone else. They had a different way of life but they were just as good as the rest of mankind. The 59 club's rules were that “you had to have a motorbike, and you had to visit in person to sign up.” It was packed with rockers and bikers from that moment on, and went on to become the largest motorcycle club in the world. A parish house was set up, with beds for touring bikers and a trip to the 59 Club became a pilgrimage, with riders turning up from around Great Britain with nothing more than toothbrushes and a comb. 

In 1963, senior boys at Eton College invited 59 Club members to a dinner-dance at one of London's most revered and Luxurious hotels in the heart of Mayfair, the Dorchester. It gained unprecedented support from all walks of life, including Cliff Richard, Princess Margaret, nuns and the Reverend Mother from a nearby Anglican priory, all of whom rode motorcycles and attended FARV's services. (Bill Shergold, “FARV”, gets his ton-up buddies in to the Dorchester Hotel on Park Lane).

 The 59 Club continued to receive widespread coverage in the press and according to London's Daily Telegraph, the Bishop of London was telephoned in the middle of the night by a reporter seeking his views on blessing motorcycles... but if the newspapers hoped for a schism they were disappointed. "I had nothing but support from the Church," Shergold said. "One or two cranky lay people wrote asking me what on earth I thought I was doing, but that was about the sum of it." 

In 1969, aged 60, Father Bill moved to Dover and took on more conventional parish duties, but the bikers hadn't had their fill of him yet, and hearing that he'd moved to their town, nominated him as founder of a new club, the 69 Club. Once again he found himself running the local biker club, being its spiritual guide and being rechristened “Farv” by his flock. Shergold was elected life president of both the 59 and 69 Clubs, both of which continue to this day. The club is now located in Plaistow, East London and, in keeping with tradition, is under the guidance of another "man of the cloth", Father Scot Anderson. Sadly, internal politics and frictions mean the club is now divided between older and newer members, according to Visordown. Many members of the original 59 Club feel their spirit has been lost along the way and they refuse to have anything to do with the club as it is now. Likewise, many current members prefer to distance themselves from the less-than-savoury reputation the club had in the 1960s. The 59 Club – which has some 30,000 members today (of which many renew their subscription each year by turning up in person) – will ride-out from The Ace Café at 10am on September 12, 2009, to a memorial service they are holding in Shergold's honor at St Martins-in-the Fields in Trafalgar Square, London. The service will coincide with Club's 50th anniversary and will be lead by Fr Scott Anderson, who will replicate the inaugural service celebrated by Father William Shergold, followed by a Blessing of Bikes.

This article was originally published in Amaryllis' beautiful new Falcon Motorcycles website.  Thanks!

SEARCHING FOR AN INTER...

Tas owned an early Bronze-head ex-works Norton Model 40 International, which I thought, before seeing photos, might have been one I just sold.. but his bike has a two-stay frame, while mine had the earlier three-stay type.  There can't have been many bronze-head ohc Nortons on the West Coast of the US, but perhaps his machine is out there somewhere..

.Hi Paul,

My name is Tasman Graham, and my daughter Kathy has been in touch with you concerning the history and location of my old Norton Model 40. As we presently understand it, the bike you owned  spent time in Germany, came to the States to you, in turn you sold it to John in Holland. This background information is a bit at odds with my bike’s history as I have been  able to reconstruct it, some of this info came via Stan Dibben, from George Cohen’s memory.

It was first a factory bike for several years, then it was imported to the agent in Launceston, Tasmania, E.T.H. (Trevor) Jowett. It might have been in Victora  for a short time. It was raced in Tasmania from the late1930’s, pre WWII, and the owner in 1950 put it up for sale so he could buy a newer one. I purchased it directly from Jowett.  It had few identification marks, but in late 1950 I dropped a valve doing the flying mile at Greens Beach. It was then rebuilt by the BSA Goldstar wizard, Pat Brown, in Devonport, Tasmania. In order to keep the cost down, he used a 348cc BSA Goldstar piston in lieu of the Norton piston which was very expensive. Unless the bike has been rebuilt, it is probably in there.

The bike had two valves, a few were made with four, hairpin valve springs, and the racing fuel petrol aluminum tankcap centered on top of the tank. Also, the aluminum fuel tank had scalloped edges where the sides were soldered to the bottom, beautifully done. When I sold it, it was partially restored, all the tin painted, but the seat was not finished

I was born in Idaho and moved to Tasmania with my mother in 1934. In 1952, after I turned 21, I started looking for a way to come back to the U.S.A. to see my father and brothers. I met some of the crew of the Matson line freighter SS Sierra and was able to purchase a ticket from Brisbane to San Francisco. I sold the Norton to a crew member on the same ship and it paid for my ticket home. The only name I have from that crew was the purser, Robert Boehm of Portland, Oregon, whom I have so far been unable to locate, and believe he may be gone. The last time I saw my bike it was lashed to a mast of the Sierra on 7 Oct. 1952.

Some recent information from the Tasmanian Motorcycle Club of this period has encouraged me to track down the history of my bike. I am enclosing copies of the only photos I still have, one showing the right side in its original form with me sitting on it.

The second one shows the left side after I had started restoration. The new paint job was complete but the replacement seat was not finished. This is how the bike looked in Oct. 1952. With everything going on in those days, I did not have sense enough to keep information like engine or frame numbers of any of my bikes.  So this is going to be hit and miss, but with the information I got from Kathy, it shows great promise.

By the way, I enlisted in the U.S Army in 1953 and was stationed in Germany from ’54-58 where I was able to attend much of the Continental Circus, including the Dutch TT at Assen in ’55-’58.

There are a few mechanical details that might be important, but we can discuss this at a later date. A final note: I am now 77, have no lungs, am blind and have terminal cancer, so every day is a gift and a new trip, and maybe we will have time to sort this out, I do hope so. I sure thank you for your response and help to Kathy.

Cheers, Tas

Does this story ring a bell to anyone?  Contact me and I'll send the info to Tas...

DELIVERING THE MKVII KTT

"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to sold 'em" - apologies to Kenny Rogers - but indeed circumstances required that my long-anticipated Antipodean Velo MkVII KTT should pass to a new owner before I even laid a finger on it. I did have the luxury of choosing with whom it might reside, and I chose proximity over any other factor... such a rare machine (Veloce made 37 mkVIIs in 1938) is an easy sell, and the KTT might just as easily have landed in England or Germany, but my friend John has been a fly in my ear for a long time about wanting a KTT...that he didn't have to restore. John is a great stalwart/founder of the Velocette club here in North America, and who deserves better the blessings of what I consider the prettiest of all the KTT range, produced from '28 to '49, from Mks 1-8.

A modern Honda CBR metal crate was sourced in Melbourne, the bike wrapped in bubbles, and airfreight customs are a thousandfold easier to navigate than sea freight, even if shipping costs are nearly triple that of an uncertain voyage on a big boat.

Still, it was John's 50th birthday all over again, as we slowly unwrapped the bike - what a treat. All the arcane instructions written on tape were unnecessary - a Velo is a Velo, and they're fairly easy to navigate.

As the bike had sat for an unknown length of time, the front innertube had perished, so the first order of business was a tube swap. Fill it with oil, a little 110 octane race gas, a short bump, and the neighbors are awake!
After a brief warmup to check oil circulation, and a short ride, it was back into the shed for more fettling...and a set of new tires, as the old ones are rock hard.

The bike will appear, suitably fettled and shod, in Kamloops B.C. for the big week-long Velo rally in July. Come have a look, and listen. It sounds tremendous.

'UN-RALLYING'

BY SOMER HOOKER

I sometimes have a hard time comprehending people who like to own things and not use them. Over the years, I’ve even had some old race bikes that I would manage to get out for a parade lap. I try to ride most of the bikes I own. It is a tall order at times [top pic - a group of Vincents stop at an 80yr old gas station in Appalachia; two Shadows, a Comet, and an Egli].

Anyone who has put on a Rally these days knows it is not a simple feat. You have to book a venue, get event insurance, caterers, PA system, trophies, mailings, security etc.,etc..
Years ago we were putting on an event. With just weeks to go, I noticed that very few entries were coming in. Consequently, we changed it and called it an “UNRALLY”. You booked your own room, you bought your own meal, and you pretty much could do as you pleased with likeminded folk. There was no money being paid to an event. Kind of like picking a coffee shop as a jump off point for a morning ride. In this case the binding glue was Vincents. We typically have 8-10 show up. A ride leader will go on a ride. You can follow if you like. You don’t have to either. Everything becomes an “UN” event or uneventful [second pic; why they call them the Smoky Mountains!].

Typically done in some sort of pastoral setting like the Smokey Mountains, we have access to scenic twisty back roads. Rides are kept to a moderate pace but then people have been known to break away at a more “brisk” pace. [Third pic; a small resort in the middle of nowhere is the best rally spot - make sure they have a restaurant]. We have done things like Deals Gap aka. The “Dragon”, a road between North Carolina and Tennessee that has 311 turns in 11 miles (We do it early in the morning before the Squids are out). Sometimes it is just studying a Deloreme map and figuring a nice loop of 120-150 miles to do in a day. It’s good for your bike and good for your head [last pic...the Road is all-important].

[Some comments from Pd'O - having organized quite a few Week and Weekend rallies, I echo the sentiment that it can be trying to plan and predict, especially after laying the groundwork for a good time, getting all the puzzle pieces together of good roads, accomodations, food. An 'Un-Rally' sounds pretty appealing too! But, there is something really nice about Just Showing Up, paying your check, and 'only' worrying about your mount and your progress!]

BEART FEATHERBED MANX NORTON

By John Joss

Nostalgia attacks as I fling my leg over this lovely Featherbed replica: all the old familiar sights and sounds, the identical saddle, throttle, footpeg and lever ergonomics. The sensations are immensely pleasing. I am transported back to my youth as if by magic, watching Geoff Duke and John Surtees on the Island. Take a deep breath. Force down the upwelling of memories and concentrate. The owner’s wife won’t let him ride it, ever. I am honored today.

Before we take the ride, may I ask you, please, not to be down on reproduction bikes. As readers know, one can buy complete bikes and cars of other eras, some built from the original drawings, and when faithfully executed they are as authentic as the originals. Often they are better, produced from superior materials and solving original design problems. Many ‘genuine’ bikes with pedigrees, matching engine and frame numbers, and all that jazz, contain modern parts that replace the ‘pure original.’ Start with spark plugs and keep going.

Last time I rode a Featherbed was on the Isle of Man, a long time ago. It was a 350, with reverse-cone megaphone that controlled exhaust and intake pulses for maximum engine performance. The 500-cc motor on this Francis Beart replica has been started by ‘motorized roller’ applied to the rear wheel, so today no run-and-bump calisthenics are required. Just as well, since I haven’t applied this technique in anger to a race bike in, ahem, several years. I lack the agility now.

The open pipe barks melodiously but without an idle setting in the Amal TT carb I must blip it continuously to keep the fire lit. The only instrument is the tach (see photo). In the nearby pits I see that the throaty bellow sits poorly with visitors, who flinch and put their fingers in their ears. Time to launch. Remember the routine: foot brake on the left, gearshift on the right, up for first.

Mechanical brake and clutch controls embody friction and feel unknown to modern riders who use hydraulics, but these Norton levers and cables have a decisive, honest quality, a strong physical connection. The sensation is a bit like the difference between mechanical, or even assisted-mechanical aircraft controls, vs. ‘fly-by-wire’ systems managed by a modern DFCS (Digital Flight Control System), for example in the F/A-18 Hornet I flew recently, that lack a genuine, direct feel. You’re flying a computer, not an airplane. Perhaps like trying to express emotion through a phone or screen, rather than in person. Not all change is progress.

I roll out onto the Laguna Seca track, accompanied only by the camera car, and proceed to savour five laps in splendid isolation. Doucement: those narrow tires are cold and unscuffed. The big TT Amal is maladjusted and won’t provoke a clean response at low revs, so I must crank it up a tad. There. I guess 50 smooth, linear horses, not like a modern racing two-stroke, with ‘light-switch’ throttle and minuscule rev range, or a race 600 with ‘Everest’ power curves.

I traverse the diabolical, downhill Turn 2 buttonhook and all the sensations of control and feel, conveyed historically by the Featherbed, come back in earnest. Compared with a modern race bike, this half-century-old design holds up well: honest and forgiving, great turn-in, ‘finishes’ the corners without drama. Those drum brakes? Don’t ask too much of them. By the time I reach the Corkscrew I know that I want this experience to continue forever. But Race Control has placed strict limits on my joyride: five laps or fifteen minutes, maximum.

Five laps in just twelve minutes. It passes like the sudden caress of a butterfly’s wing, a snatch of marvelous music or the momentary embrace of a woman whose scent lingers after a casual kiss. One longs for more. (Ref: “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn”).

AN OBSERVATION ON VINTAGE MOTORCYCLING AND YOUTH CULTURE...

Rick Parkington from Classic Bike recently wrote with his notes regarding the changing 'scene' for old motorcycles; it's worth sharing.

Hi Paul,
Did you get your Rex-Acme yet? I reluctantly gave Ewan McGregor his TT8 back, he seemed pleased with it. He was also very taken with my grubby old '35 Inter. I tell you, change is in the air; over here there seems to be an attitude shift, kids are as likely to give an old vehicle a thumbs up as catcalls. I feared that with bikes now principally the preserve of the over-40s, kids would view them like caravans and golf trolleys - but apparently not. Additionally there is much more interest in unrestored bikes and charm seems to score over concours shine, may be wishful thinking on my part but I had an interesting conversation with a friend my age at Stafford. He was keen on an unrestored New Imperial 500 ohv at £5000.
A very established collector friend scoffed at the price but Rob had the money and liked the bike. I didn't find out whether he bought it - but the point was the 'established collector' was ridiculed 15 years ago for paying 'stupid money' for a basket case SS100. Needless to say he has since sold it for a huge profit. Things change. The collector will have seen a not particularly special thirties bike, factored in the cost of painting, plating etc and decided that the price wasn't justified. But, Rob wouldn't want to restore it so these costs are immaterial and if, as I suspect, unrestored bikes are the future, that New Imp will have a value because of its condition, regardless of the provenance of the marque or model. I never really lusted after a cammy Norton but I bought mine simply because of its condition. When Ewan rode it he said, "If you ever find another one of these...in this condition and everything I mean..let me know"

I rest my case!

Jim Moore at the mag [Classic Bike] was banging on about the series A Vinnie that sold for £250,000 and how it was a disgrace that old bikes are removed so far from the reach of ordinary enthusiasts... but I had a thought about that too. First as I pointed out to him, they only made 80-odd series As so they are out of reach anyway but there's more. Absurdly valuable old bikes give the whole movement some kudos in the eyes of society. The neighbours of the guy working on his Francis Barnett in a tiny council house shed whisper 'I heard that some of these old bikes are worth a fortune' and the guy gets a bit more respect. It has a knock on effect that makes everybody feel involved although at different levels, isn't that why fake designer labels sell? Maybe it's not exactly the same as the celebs wear but it's in the same ball park...

I reckon if old bikes have celebrity style kudos with the general public it can only help make them interesting to young people and keep the whole thing going. It will be different to the steam-fair and swap-meet world of the past, but if the choice is between that and all this stuff going to the scrap yard it's no contest!

Thought for the day, all the best,

Rick

(the photos were taken at the Coupe Moto Legende in Dijon, May 30/31, 2009, and show a broad age spectrum in attendance... hope for the future?)