The Vincent Liberation Front

The Vincent liberation Front

Values are going through the roof on one of the most coveted British bikes of all time, meaning fewer and fewer are actually getting ridden. One man does his part to keep the Vincent myth in motion.

GARY INMAN

PING WENT THE E-MAIL ALERT. IT WAS MY FRIEND DAN: "LAST night there were four HRDs on UK eBay—the cheapest was £35,000, and the owner boasted it had only run 500 meters in the last two years. A crying shame. Time for the Vincent Liberation Front?"

"Funny you should say that," I replied. "I've just ridden this very liberated Vincent."

There's something in the áir.Except fora period of the 1960s and into the `lOs, Vincents have been expensive motorcycles. But now they're beyond that: They have attained mythical sta tus. Shadows regularly trading for

$80K-plus. Stoic, beard-and-tats types get all teen fanboy at the briefest glimpse of a Stevenage Twin. But here's the news: It's just a motorcycle. And if you don't ride it, it's not even that anymore. An increasing number of Vincents need lib erating. Collectors be damned. One man not bunkered by the investment opportunities of the

Brit motorbiking icon is Simon Mills. A lifelong Twin freak, he bought a Ducati Darmah when he was 18, at a time when next to no one bought Ducatis. He's been riding and modifying Italian and German Twins for the 35 years since. So why the switch to black and British? "I watched a TV show about the beach racing and speed record attempts that took place on Pendine Sands, Wales," says Mills. "A famous 27-liter aero engined car nicknamed `Babs' crashed there, killing John Parry-Thomas, the record-breaking driver. It was decided the driver and car would be given a Viking-style burial right there on the beach. Eventually, the car was dug up

and restored, and the man who led the project lived near me. It got me interested in the whole scene. Brough had a Pendine Special, and I went to a meeting of the owner’s club on the Sands. I’ve always loved Brough Superiors, but the only one I could afford was an SS80 and they’re a bit boring.”

With Brough out of the equation, inspiration shifted to the stripped-down, salt-flat racers of Rollie Free and Marty Dickerson. “It all made me want to build a big, raw, British V-Twin.”

This bike is the result. The starting point was a 1954 Rapide that was in the final stages of restoration. With what Mills had in mind, it was pointless for the former owner to finish the job.

“I’ve built it using 1950s bodge engineering,” says Mills. This is the polar opposite of what Falcon did with its incredible, maniacally overthought “Black” Vincent. A “bodge” is British vernacular for an engineering fix performed by the clueless, ham-fisted or just plain rough. There isn’t a lot of mechanical sympathy involved. “It’s punk rock,” Mills reckons.

The Englishman has built some truly beautiful bikes and some that look like they were designed in the dark by an eight-year-old who has drunk a bathtub full of Kool-Aid. This project, though mild by his standards, is certainly a looker.

Simon removed the long alloy mudguards, replacing them with cut-down ’60s Ducati Scrambler fenders and

ditched all lighting and alternator (bikes don’t need lights to be road-legal in the UK). The big seat and 2-into-l exhaust went, too.

Incoming was a sprung chopper saddle and pillion pad; BTH Magneto for spark; Amal MKII carbs; Godet-style twin pipes (with VW Beetle muffler tips slid in to baffle them); drilled clutch cover and off-the-shelf rearsets, again bodged to fit.

“It’s 70 pounds lighter than standard,” Mills points out. “It’s a Vincent hot rod.”

It’s also a hot rod anyone with an adjustable spanner and a hacksaw could knock up.

I’m the son of a former Vincent owner. It was bought brand-new from the fac-

four-stroke I’ve had to kick.

Phil Vincent’s clever “lock-up” dry clutch feels remarkably smooth, and the carburetion is spot-on from idle. The riding position is radical, though. The sliver of seat replaces a couch, while the footrests have moved north. It’s a very racy position and would be more acceptable if it weren’t for the kickstart/rightknee interface. “Yeah, I have to think about that,” Mills admits.

Gearshifts can’t be rushed, but the Vinnie pulls up to 80 mph better than any bike closing on its 60th birthday has a right to. That might have something to do with some of the Black Shadowspecification internals of the bike Mills calls a “Rapide Plus.”

I thunder around British backroads for two hours. The knurled gear-lever tang makes my boot look like it’s been chewed by a hyena, and the right-hand carb’s bellmouth keeps sucking on my

tory but sold when my eldest brother was bom, a long time before I arrived on the scene. The last bike my dad owned, and one I can remember, was a Honda Cub. That’s what having five kids can do to your biking life! This is the first, and perhaps last, Vincent I’m ever going to ride.

Starting technique is straightforward: Pull the decompression lever, two or three kicks, then release the lever and give the kicker another swing. The 1 OOOcc Twin starts more easily than any

trouser leg. I think the Vincent likes me. I know I love it. I’m so glad it behaved.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. I really would like my own, but I only want one like Mills’, not a standard one or a “rolling work of art.” But it’s hypothetical. Collectors have screwed the game for nearly all of us, driving prices higher than ever. If we’re lucky, we’ll still get to see these things in the wild, ridden as the maker intended. Viva the Vincent Liberation Front! □

"The knurled gear-lever tang makes my boot look like it's been chewed by a hyena, and the right-hand carb's bellmouth keeps sucking on my trouser leg.

I think the Vincent likes me."