Leanings

LEANINGS

British bikes discussed here

Peter Egan

JuST LAST WEEK, I RECEIVED A LETTER from a woman in Milwaukee who complained that I never write about British bikes, even though I have a picture of one underneath my smiling likeness at the top of this column.

Me? Not talk about British bikes?

This is like Hugh Hefner getting a letter complaining he doesn’t pay enough attention to good-looking young women, or President Bush being told he ignores the plight of troubled savings & loan executives and spends all his time helping poor welfare mothers. Or someone asking Victor Kiam why he never shaves. The accusation caught me by surprise.

Looking back at recent columns, though, I have to admit the point is well taken. I’ve probably been subconsciously avoiding columns about British bikes so as not to sound like a stuck record. It may be a case of overcompensation, like an RAF veteran trying hard not to bore everyone with war stories, while secretly hoping his grandchildren will climb up on his lap and say, “Hey, Gramps, tell us again about the Battle of Britain.”

Anyway, I’d like to thank this woman in Milwaukee for jogging my memory, if not actually sitting on my lap. The Battle of Britain needs discussion from time to time.

I’m still riding my two British bikes-a 1967 Triumph TR6-C and a 1974 Norton 850 Commando-regularly. The first real day of spring this year, I took the Triumph out for an allday backroad exploration mission of the left/right variety.

This is where you hit the county road system and keep turning randomly right and left on interesting-looking roads until (a) you pull up sharply at the banks of the Mississippi River, or (b) it starts to get dark and you head for home by some direct route that allows you to walk through the door at exactly the moment your spouse is lifting the phone receiver to tell the police you are missing.

There has never been a better bike made for this kind of riding than a high-pipe Triumph Twin.

Okay, there have been better bikes made, but very few that look or sound so good. This is part of the secret appeal of British bikes: They have so much visual and aural flair that you can almost imagine the landscape as a kind of empty soundstage, waiting for some pushrod Twin to come along and liven things up with a little sound and color. (I haven't asked any local farmers if they agree with this perception. Better to just wave.)

But British bikes do seem to carry with them a perpetual sense of drama, like a tireless actor who does Hamlet and is always in character. And, like most actors, they smoke too much, never have a light when you need one, drink a bit and are subject to the occasional suicide or nervous breakdown. They also work well on unpaved roads, which has nothing to do with theater, and handle effortlessly on pavement.

Is there a modern counterpart to a Triumph TR6-C or T100C? A current enduro/road bike whose aesthetics go beyond mere function? The BMW R100GS comes to mind.

When the Triumph returns to the garage, I park it carefully over its own oil spot (why make two or three?) and place a sheet of paper towel beneath the engine. I restored the Triumph from the ground up three years ago, using all the latest sealant and gasket technology and it immediately started oozing oil from all the old familiar places, as if to say, “Oil tight? You must be confusing me with a bike from some other country.”

The other oil spot in my garage, of course, belongs to the Norton. This bike now has almost 17,000 miles on it and is undergoing a “moving restoration,” meaning it’s never taken off the road for more than a weekend or two, while I replace things like brakes, wheel bearings, clutch plates, etc.

The latest and most significant addition is a Boyer electronic ignition system, as recommended by my friend and Norton guru, Brian Slark. The old mechanical advance system was sticking on full advance, so the kickstarter kept trying to break my leg or kill me. It was like kick-starting a land mine. Now the bike starts with a single non-lethal prod and actually idles. Pure magic.

Don’t ask what I’ll do if the black box goes up in smoke out on the road somewhere. Walk to a bus station, I suppose, as usual.

The Commando also has a new genyou-wine set of Norton mufflers and headpipes, imported from England at great expense, which don’t fit right and have very wavy metal finishing beneath the chrome.

Apparently, the old bloke at the Norton factory who knew how to make these things has retired to a bungalow near Brighton, and I picture them being currently manufactured by some kid with the craftsman-like patience of Johnny Rotten, when he was back in his prime. Or someone with a backyard stampmill in Taiwan.

But I digress. The Norton gets ridden a few more miles than the Triumph, mostly because it doesn’t sound as clattery and self-destructive to its internals on the open road. It’s also faster than the Triumph, never mind my new Sportster, if not as agile as either.

In fact, the Isolastic engine mounts-and the Norton’s general performance and road manners-make the Commando one of the few British bikes whose performance capabilities overlap somewhat with the modern era. Like Triumph and BSA Triples, it just managed to sneak into the age of the full-face helmet. I think of it as a budget Vincent, with brakes.

Which, I suppose, is also how I think of my Sportster. Or at least that’s what I’m unwittingly turning it into. With each modification, it seems to look more like a Black Shadow.

I guess you can never have too many British bikes, even if they’re made somewhere else.