I was about 17 and still at school but my best mate had left to do an engineering apprenticeship at Lucas CAV. We both had 500cc Matchless G80 singles, mine a rigid rear end 1948 model, his a jam pot one 1954. There was this guy (DS) that hung around with us but was not really a mate, his dad had an engineering firm and he had a nearly immaculate 1952 Matchless 350cc all ally rigid rear trials iron which would be worth a fortune now. The reason DS was not really a mate was because he was so tight. If we went to the pub he would rush to open the door for you so you could buy the first round, when it was his turn to buy a round he either had an urgent prior engagement or “everyone needed to be drinking halves”. He was also into expensive SLR cameras (which he funded by not buying his round when out with us). I had acquired a Matchless sidecar outfit without an engine to which I fitted an old 600cc Norton Dominator twin engine purchased for £10. This contraption was a candidate for being my race transporter for the following season (but that is another story). The Dominator engine transplant was a complete bodge, the engine was much taller than the original Matchless engine and could not sit vertical in the frame as the wider crankcase fouled the bottom frame tubes and the rocker cover fouled the top frame tube. It therefore had to be leaned forward about 15/20 degrees. None of the bolt holes in the rear of the crankcase lined up with the holes in the gearbox engine plate so they were drilled in situ by a trusty hand held Black and Decker. The holes in the crankcase were elongated somewhat to make the engine fit, the front engine mounts were 2” x 2” x 1/8” angle iron ground down. The chain line between the drive sprocket and the clutch was compromised in all 3 axes, the engine wasn’t quite vertical nor was it quite straight along the central fore and aft axis and it was visibly displaced laterally in comparison with the clutch sprocket. The single row primary drive chain howled a bit when we started it up but this was quietened down when we fitted the beautiful aluminium Matchless chain case and filled it brim full with heavy bearing grease (hoping all the while the clutch would not slip too much). DS needed a lift to buy a new SLR camera from a shop in Stockwell that was having a sale, his trials iron had a puncture and the sale ended that Saturday. At about 15 miles each way it seemed a perfect shakedown run for the outfit. I had never driven an outfit before and certainly had no idea about the finer points of setting one up. DS arrived and was installed in the chair and we set off. The first alarming moment occurred about 25 yards after setting off. The first time I shut the throttle the handlebars went into a lock to lock tank slapper whilst the outfit continued imperiously in a straight line. Under power in a straight line the thing steered OK although I soon learned about left handers as I turned out of the back alley behind our house. The inside wheel jumped about 2 feet in the air much to DS’s surprise in the chair. We made it OK to Stockwell although the foul smelling smoke rising from the overheating primary chain when we stopped at traffic lights was a cause for slight concern. The camera was duly bought and DS had it out of the box and was either cradling it lovingly or was examining it in fine detail as we made our way back home. My confidence in driving the outfit was growing by the second, right handers were a joy and I soon learned the technique of flicking the handlebars hard right and back to straight ahead whilst whacking the throttle open wide to get into a 3 wheel drift that you could control beautifully. Opening the throttle caused you to tighten the corner, shutting it caused it to drift wider. It was brilliant fun on roundabouts provided you made the left hand entry as smooth as possible and without use of any brakes. All went well until we reached the Cherry Blossom roundabout on the A4 which has a smooth curving entry and then tightens up sharply on the right hander. I gave it the flick and the big right handful and started the drift, the rear tyre howling in protest when unfortunately the front top lug attaching the sidecar to the bike frame just below the steering head parted company. Even I knew we were in trouble. I glanced down at DS who was now juggling with his £300 SLR camera about a foot above his head. He just managed to retrieve it into safe hands when the front of the sidecar smashed into the Armco on the outside of the corner. More juggling ensued and again he recovered it before we slid to a stop. Fortunately DS wasn’t very tall and his feet did not reach the front of the plywood body of the chair. The Armco had comprehensively smashed the front of the chair and he was left, fortunately completely uninjured, lying on the floor clutching his precious camera to his chest with just the tips of his boots visible through the full size hole in the front. We were still about 8 miles from home. The broken lug comprised a stripped forging with about 3/4” cycle thread. I knew I had nothing like that at home. There was nothing for it but to dismount the chair by removing the other three attachment lugs and ride back to Mundays the sidecar specialists located in, you have guessed it, Stockwell. DS was left sitting in the smashed chair whilst I raced back to get the necessary part before they shut. I returned, we re-attached the chair and made it home about 7pm. Funnily enough DS did not come round as often after this incident and eventually we lost touch. Next day we had arranged to pick up another mate (JB) from Burnham near Slough and go to Crystal Palace for the bike racing. There was no time to repair the chair so he would have to sit in the chair with a massive draught blowing up his trouser legs. We duly collected him and set off down the A4 towards London. All the while the Dommie engine was producing progressively less power and more smoke through the exhaust. Approaching the Hammersmith one way system I looked behind to see two perfect white vortexes swirling about 10 feet high, almost completely obliterating the rear view. The front of the white car behind was covered in globules of Castrol GTX and the windscreen wipers were going creating a beautiful rainbow effect on the windscreen. Captivated by this scene, I failed to notice that the car in front had stopped abruptly. Slamming on the anchors I watched JB slide forward in the chair (he was taller than DS and there was nothing to stop him ) and his legs appeared and started running on the road in front of the chair. More by luck than judgement we stopped about a foot from the car in front so no harm done. A great day was had at Crystal Palace but it was thought better if my mate took JB home on the pillion. The outfit was retired very shortly afterwards as the rings had gone in the engines (probably because the incline in the engine caused there to be too much oil in the sump which pressurised and broke the rings) and the primary chain was dark blue from overheating.
Crashed whilst attempting an emergency stop on my mod 1 training, I'm sure my instructor forgot to raise his hand (he was texting) anyhow I anchored up so hard I went into a skid, which I controlled really well but ran out of car park! Run into a grassed "run off" area and came to a stop in the biggest pile of grass cuttings you've ever seen, there was fecking grass everywhere, in me helmet, down the neck of my jacket and in me gloves! Passed my test first time though but that's another story
Took my test many years ago on a Yamaha 125 trials bike, but had to get from London to Letchworth via A and B roads. Whilst coming down a fairly steep hill near to Letchworth I came to a sharp right hand corner which I could make, hit the kerb, took off over a low hedge and landed in a ploughed field, still going and upright! When I finally arrived at the test centre the instructor appeared in imaculate black leathers whilst I was caked head to toe in mud .... when he asked where I had come from and I replied 'London' he looked just looked at me disbelievingly. Passed though ...
The 1st bike (Well, Honda 90 Cub) I rode was when I was about 11 years old. It belonged to a girl's father in my cul-de-sac. He was on nights and the schools were on the 6 week holidays. After exhausting all avenues of entertainment over the course of a few weeks, one of our group pestered this girl to let us ride her dad's C90. "He'll never know, he's in bed". After a bit of coaxing we were on the school field opposite with the bike taking it in turns to do one lap, ending with a hot handover, jumping on as the previous pilot jumped off the moving bike. What could go wrong? We were at it for what seemed ages, and as one of the handovers was taking place, the sticky throttle (have I not mentioned this? :Writing was left open and the bike shot off, without a pilot across the school field. :Nailbiting: Said school field was raised at one end with about a 10ft drop off that had a sort of chain fence at the bottom linked with concrete posts. The C90 jumped off the edge of the playing field like something out of the Dukes of Hazard and hit smack bang in the middle of one of the concrete posts. :Wideyed: The impact snapped the bike clean in half. At that age, we all thought we were going straight to the stocks but rather than just come clean, the bike was dragged back to the coal shed that it was kept in and we all dispersed. God knows what the girl's dad thought when he went to go to work that night. I kept a low profile for a few days :Bag: and never saw the girl for a while after that. I'd like to think I'd have done the chivalrous thing at the time and admitted all to her dad. But things don't quite work like that when you are 11. :Woot:
