In the Clutch

In the clutch

UP FRONT

David Edwards

MIDWAY THROUGH THE BIG SOCAL NORton club ride, my 1954 BSA hot-rod sat beside the road, not going anywhere. I’d been taking it easy, as this was the bike’s first real outing following an engine rebuild-turns out 18 years of breathing unfiltered smog had taken its toll on the classic 500cc one-lunger.

Dementia-free readers may remember the Gold Star special as the bike that graced this very page for 10 years before making way for the current Dreer Norton 880. It was purchased back in the 1970s, my bohemian junior college days, as an out-to-seed dirtbike whose owner was in the midst of a nasty, clothesin-the-driveway divorce. Cost me all of $100, which as I recall I had to mooch from my folks.

The Beezer was a complete kluge job, held together with equal parts caked grease and optimism plus a fine patina of oxidation, way beyond my budget and mechanical ability to get back into running shape. After I pulled it apart, the bike remained in boxes for another eight years until I made the move to Cycle World and a decent paycheck.

Long story short, I took the basketcase to my soon-to-be good friend Denny Berg, who informed me I had not the remains of a Catalina Scrambler but rather a mix-n-match assortment of various BSA pieces based around a very desirable 1954 motor, first of the “bigfin” Goldies. Going with the flow, we built a circa1960 custom. Turned out so well it ignited my interest in cut-downs, bob-jobs and early choppers that hasn’t faded to this day.

Anyway, halfway into last November’s post-rebuild ride, when an uphill forced a downshift from fourth to third, the clutch lever came into the handlebar with no resistance whatsoever and the gearbox caught a false neutral. Oh, crap, what’s gone wrong? Up went my left hand as I pulled onto the shoulder.

Trailing behind were CWs own Allan Girdler on his familiar old Harley XR750 street-tracker and Kenny Dreer himself, who with wife Lanie had come down from Oregon to take part in one of the country’s biggest classic-bike happenings.

Put on by the Southern California Norton Owners Club (www.socalnorton.com), the Hansen Dam All-Brit Ride-a.k.a. “Best Ride by a Dam Site”—is an informal 80-mile loop through the Angeles National Forest, just north of L.A. This year, egged on by perfect weather, some 600 riders showed up. It’s advertised as a Britbike event but all denominations and years are welcome.

“Sure, some diehards complain about the non-British bikes,” says event organizer Bill “Bib” Bibbiani, “but I tell ’em, ‘Hey you’re 75 years old with 13 old crocks in the garage. Who do you think is gonna buy those bikes when you die? Not us. Be glad there’s some young blood here interested in classic motorcycles.’” The man speaks the truth.

Anyway, a quick visual revealed my Goldie’s trouble, thankfully nothing calamitous. During the rebuild, the clutch cable was routed too close to the drive chain, which had sawed clean through it. I had tools in my backpack, but no spare cable. We were a couple of miles from the lunch stop, so I kick-started the BSA, got it rolling in neutral, jammed it into second gear and shifted it sans clutch to third and fourth. The plan after eating was to split from the group and ride freeways back to the Hansen Dam start point, thereby avoiding troublesome stop signs and intersections.

Luckily, at the restaurant we ran into a gaggle of other Hansen Dammers, including Executive Editor Mark Hoyer and his riding buddies on the day, Bill Getty and Mike Youngblood, all three Velocettemounted.

“Anybody got a spare cable?” I asked. No one did, but once they’d looked at the problem, there was no way I was leaving that parking lot without an operable clutch.

Getty, prime mover at JRC Engineering, a major distributor of classic-bike spare parts, looked at what was left of the shortened cable, removed it, cleaned up the ragged end and set about rerouting it so that it reached the gearbox’s clutch arm, all seemingly within a matter of seconds.

Youngblood, master fabricator and longtime Velo guru, rooted through his handy bag of spare bits (note to self: make one of these up before the next ride) and came up with a suitably small hose clamp. Dreer also got in on the act-talk about a surplus of mechanical talent!-and with the cable end folded over and clamped tight to the arm, I was back in business, able to complete the route. Thanks, guys, beer’s on me.

Girdler, meanwhile, was checking in with his wife Jan via cell phone.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Oh, couldn’t be better,” Allan replied. “We’re in the midst of real man stuff-12 of us all standing around trying to fix one bike.”

Hey, whatever gets you through the ride. □