Leanings

LEANINGS

Norton Commando, round three

Peter Egan

IT'S ONE OF THE SIMPLE FACTS OF LIFE that no two gears on the Big Clock will ever mesh exactly when they should. If your long-lost pal from high school finally drifts in for a visit, he will probably arrive at exactly the same moment the pipes freeze and the in-laws show up for a family re-union. If someone gives you front-row tickets for a Rolling Stones concert. the date will conflict with a wedding where you are best man.

Motorcycles don't arrive at opportune times, either. It's part of the plan. Nearly every motorcycle I've ever bought has come on the market at precisely the wrong time and been purchased under duress. So the Norton was just another case in a fairly thick file.

It started last Wednesday. I was sitting in the office and staring at my empty checkbook, having just spent my very last dime—and then someto pay the final bill on my Triumph restoration (the chrome-plating of the headlight shell). The phone, of course, rang.

“Hi. Pete," the voice said, “this is Gary Neuer, up at the Austin Healey Store." Gary is a Healey restorer who also has a passion for Ducatis and British bikes. “Listen," he said, “I remember you once mentioned that you were looking for a 1973 or '74 Norton Commando Roadster. Black and gold, as 1 recall."

“Right."

“Well, my friend Dennis Davis and I just found one up in northern California, at Santa Rosa. We went up there to buy a Guzzi. and the guy next door had this Norton for sale, so we bought it. We don't want the bike, but we figured somebody else might, and I thought of you."

“What model is it?"

“It’s a 1974 Commando Roadster, black and gold, with 1 5,000 miles on the clock. A little dusty and used, but it runs, and it's all stock, except for having Dunstall mufflers and an 18inch rear wheel instead of the 19incher. Are you interested?"

I rubbed the palms of my hands into my eyes and took a deep breath. Was I interested? Did Nortons shake0 Was England green, except for the oil spots? “Your timing is not so good." I said at last.“but, yes. I'm interested."

Oh boy.

I'd already owned two Norton Commandos. Like a poor marksman, however. I'd managed to hit both sides of the target while missing the one I wanted. The bull's-eye.

My first Norton was a new. 1975 Interstate, an electric start Mk.III. w hich turned out to be something of a lemon. Within the first 3000 miles, it developed a badly slipping clutch, vibrated its exhaust port threads to powder and seized a valve in Montana. None of this, however, kept me from regarding the Norton as one of my all-time favorite bikes. My wife Barbara loved it, too; the sound and the look of it. When the Norton was running right, it was, like a Jaguar when it's not overheating, sublime.

Nevertheless, I sold the Interstate to buy a roadracing bike and a set of leathers, fully intending to buy another Commando when money permitted. But next time, it would be a 1973 or '74. Having sampled the Mk.III, I found that I preferred the earlier Roadsters, mostly on aesthetic grounds.

Pre-1975 850s had the traditional reverse cone mufflers, right-side shifting, and were not burdened with the Prestolite “assist" electric starter, which in trying to turn the big Twin over, took on the aspect of a toy poodle trying to pull a dog sled.

My second Norton was a brightyellow, 1971 750 Commando Roadster. which I bought because it showed up in a local shopper for $600. This was a solid, reliable bike, but I missed the front disc brake of the later versions and worried about the non-Superblend main bearings in the crankcase. I still had mv heart set

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on an early 850, so when the 750 got long in the tooth, I sold it, rather than invest a lot of time and money in restoration. That was five years ago.

I’ve been keeping my eyes open for an 850 Commando ever since. Though I occasionally see ads for them in the owners’ club newsletters in places like Kentucky and Maine, they are getting scarcer in Southern California. Foreign speculators, mostly Japanese, Australian. New Zealander and English, are shipping them out of here by the containerload. Weeks, months, go by now when the magical name Norton does not appear in the want-ad columns. Word of mouth has taken over.

So, good timing or bad timing, Gary's telephone call was the signal to buy or shut up. maybe forever. After consulting the limit on our trusty Mastercharge credit line. Barb and I drove up to Canoga Park to look at the bike.

As described, the Norton was a little faded, but all there. It was equipped with a really ugly luggage rack, a broken license plate bracket, badly scratched paint and a patina of garage dust and oil stain. It smelled like old gasoline.

We fired it up. and Barb and I took a long ride down Winnetka Boulevard. into the warm, balmy evening. It didn't take long to remember our reasons for wanting another one.

Norton C'ommandos are all that is best and worst about British Twins, wrapped up in one bike. They are vibratory at idle, glassy smooth on the road, brutishly strong in some places, frail in others, loud, refined, quarrelsome, mellow, rowdy, subtle, modern, outmoded, and absolutely beautiful in the finish of their parts and the grace with which those parts flow together.

We rode back to Dennis’s house and told him we would talk it over, consider our finances and get back to him the next day.

On the long drive home, I said to Barb. “Well, what do you think; should we buy that Norton?"

She turned and looked at me as if I were out of my mind. “We don’t have any choice," she said. “It needs us.”