This is a story about a motorcycle. It took about 20 years to live through, and hopefully a little less time to narrate. It is a story of hope, disappointment, frustration, despair, and finally of great joy.
It began around 1981 when I was approaching forty years of age and thinking more and more deeply about the great adventures and excitement that had come into my life through my association with motorcycles from a very young age. Firstly through my father who became a motorcyclist probably more through necessity than anything else. I always had the feeling that he would have liked to own a car but, because of financial circumstances, the first "car" was a 600cc BSA M21 with a child/adult sidecar attached. During this period following the end of World War II, I considered myself very fortunate indeed to be able to travel to distant places and see sights that very few of my peers did in those far off days.
When I reached my mid-Teens the seeds were well and truly sown, and I acquired and took pleasure from many motorcycles of various makes. I took part in clubman's events including Trials, Motor Cross, and Road Racing, and enjoyed every breathtaking moment until the intervention of marriage, and eventually children. Later I bought and renovated a cheap BSA Bantam, but gained little pleasure in this exercise. After seeing the reflection of a huge man riding such a small motorbike while passing a shop window, I was completely put off this venture, and the Bantam still languishes at the back of my workshop to this day.
Having children to bring up on very limited funds, the hunt for a larger British motorcycle, was proving difficult to say the least. By this time the Japanese had completely taken over the British Bike scene, and larger British Machines were very much sought after, and usually quite expensive and well beyond my embarrassing financial state at the time. During a chance conversation with a colleague, I heard about an A10 BSA that belonged to a man about to retire, and was used daily for his travel to work, it was possible that he might now sell it.
I went to see the old gent the following evening, and found him to be a most pleasant person. He had been employed for many years at a local coal mine, and was looking forward immensely to his impending retirement. The price he asked for the machine was reasonable, but the bike was an absolute wreck. For the last few weeks, it had refused to start, and was propped up against the house wall, exposed to the elements, which in this part of the world is pretty wet indeed. I paid for the bike, wished the miner a long and happy retirement, and made arrangements to return the following day with transport to remove the machine. A land rover was borrowed from a friend and I returned to collect the bike, The vendor was at work when I called, but had emptied the contents of his shed of spares that "I might find useful". As I gazed at this sad, wet motorcycle and the odd collection of bits and pieces that came with it, I began to think that perhaps the dream had begun.
When I returned home with my prize I tried to figure out how to go about the renovation that was ahead of me. The bike was, after many years of modifications, far from the original specification for that model. There was a large bracket welded to the frame, presumably to mount a non-standard sidecar at some time. The headlamp assembly and narcell was changed, and a half fairing was fitted. The seat had been altered to some home made device and the front and rear mudguards were now cheap aluminium replacements. Both the front forks, and rear suspension units had been stripped of their covers to reveal rusty springs in someone's vain attempt to achieve the sporting look. Generally the bike had been subjected to some mechanical butchery over the years, and this would have to be rectified. The spares that the chap had thrown in with the deal, proved to be a mixture of many bits for several different machines, indeed some were not even BSA.
The starting problem was easily rectified by the removal of rusty water from the fuel tank and carburettor, and cleaning of the points in the magneto. The engine sounded reasonable and after drying out the soaking wet sponge seat I took the bike for a short trial run. As soon as the oil warmed up, it was apparent that the big ends and main bearings were worn and noisy. The gearbox made some terrible rattling sounds, and sometimes slipped out of third gear under load, and the bike and I almost parted company on the first roundabout, when I saw for the first time the square section sidecar tyre fitted to the rear wheel. I decided there and then that I would use the machine for a while after fitting a second-hand tyre, whilst I saved some cash for the repairs. As the oil pressure was good I reasoned that for short journeys the bike would hold out well, and even in the state it was in, it was still a pleasure to ride this powerful British Bike.
In the six months or so that followed, the bike took me to work and back every day. I used it for trips to the shops, and took the kids for rides on what was for them, this strange machine. Inevitably, after a period of time, the noises became frighteningly loud. When 3rd gear was lost totally, I decided to strip the machine completely, locate and purchase the parts needed, as and when the cash became available (In hindsight, this was a big mistake. The motorcycle should have remained in a complete state until such time as the bits were available to carry out the restoration without delay)
During the months and years that followed, I removed and tidied up the welded on frame bracket, stripped off all the paint from the frame and coated it with primer. I managed to find a damaged headlight narcell at second-hand dealers some fifty miles away and carried out the necessary repairs and repainting. During this time I bought new rear suspension units, exhaust pipes, front fork oil-seal holders, got the crankshaft re-built and reground to take standard big-end bearings, and located a used gearbox some two hundred miles from home. I was lucky with the engine, as the pistons and bores were undamaged, and needed only new piston rings to repair the top end.
This labour of love came to an abrupt end because of massive commitments at work, and for over 2½ years the motorcycle project was put on hold. When I restarted I was absolutely devastated. A lot of the parts that I had bought for quite a considerable amount of money were now showing signs of deterioration without even having been fitted to the vehicle. Chrome plated parts like the rear suspension covers, front fork oil seals, headlight rim, exhaust pipes and silencers were by now severely pitted with the chrome peeling off in places. I was now deep in despair, depressed beyond belief, and no longer interested in a project that had become a living nightmare.
To add to the above tale of woe, the petrol tank deserves a paragraph of its own. When I purchased the machine, the fuel tank was somewhat dented, with a slight seepage of fuel around the base. As the tank is the centrepiece of any motorcycle project, I was determined to get it looking as fresh and as new as possible. The tank for this model started life with two chrome panels on either side lined with a gold paint line on the border between the paint and the chrome panels and badges with the BSA logo mounted in recesses in the chrome panels. When I removed the paint on the old tank the thing was rusted right through and in some places resembled a spider's web. The whole thing had been covered with all sorts of plastic and rubberised filler, and finished with a thick dollop of red paint. This tank was obviously beyond all hope. Many months were spent in a countrywide search for a replacement tank. I was told by a few dealers that this type of tank was also used on the BSA Gold Star models, and any tanks found in reasonable condition would be renovated and sold as Gold Star tanks for loads of money. I eventually did find a replacement in an autojumble in the county of Essex. It was painted silver and obviously repaired, with no chrome at all showing. To cut short a long and painful story, by the time it was repaired and re-chromed, it was away for well over a year and the eventual cost worked out at over £400. More than four times the purchase price of the motorcycle, and I still had to paint and line it myself.
The chrome-plated parts that I had purchased were not cheap, and in my opinion were not up to the job. I have discussed these items with friends in the engineering industry who formed the opinion that in days gone by all parts were first coated with copper, any pitting was removed by abrasion, extra coats of copper were then added and polished. The items were then plated with Nickel, and finally chromium. In today's world, the copper stage has been dropped and a quick coat of nickel then chrome should suffice. Since Chromium is porous this allows the metal underneath to oxidise and eventually lift the chrome plating. Perhaps I can be forgiven for thinking that the purpose of chromium plating was to protect the metal from corrosion, or am I just being old fashioned?
For a while now I had just given up all hope of ever completing this project, I was busy at work and bought a couple of fairly cheap Japanese machines. I must admit that I found them extremely powerful, and quite awesome to ride. I don't think I ever quite got used to the wrong way round controls, and having to play tunes with six gears, but they were motorcycles, and were certainly enjoyed. All the time I was riding these bikes there was the constant thought in my mind, I wish this were a BSA.
Throughout this period, my health was deteriorating. I was diagnosed as being diabetic and the osteo arthritis in my knees and hands gradually became worse. Eventually my doctor advised me to give up my work in the heavy industries that had previously been my life. For a while I was feeling a little bit lost, at having all this spare time on my hands. Then one day, my wife made the suggestion about restarting the BSA rebuild. We discussed it for days, and she even worked out a way to finance the project. It would be tight but we could manage it, just about!
It was with this new-found enthusiasm that I again approached this sad looking machine and all the rusty bits and pieces that surrounded it. I first built a workbench of a suitable height and starting with the bare frame began the task of assembling the beast. I had decided that I could not aim for showroom condition, but I would build this bike to be ridden, if some of the parts were slightly rusty or pitted, then so be it. This motorcycle will be used as much as possible and the concourse reconstruction would be left for generations yet to come.
Having lowered my sights and decided to accept things the way they were, instead of aiming for perfection, made the next few months a lot easier. I was given a tremendous amount of help and encouragement by a friend of mine, a very talented "precision" engineer in every sense of the word. In remarkably quick time the machine took shape, and despite a few problems with parts that would not quite fit, for the first time in many years it started to look like a real motorcycle. Each evening I would review what had been done and what had to be tackled in the next few days. Any bits and pieces would be ordered via the net, and this ensured a good steady pace of the work in hand. At this point, anxiety set in, and I became almost paranoid. Would all the work done on the engine by others be satisfactory? Would there be some major disaster when the engine was started up for the first time? How about the gearbox bearings I had made, would they be too tight? These questions haunted me as the machine progressed towards fulfilment.
I decided to take a shortcut towards starting the engine, and rigged up a temporary fuel supply using an old oil container with a soldered in petrol tap. The machine would be started on this temporary supply, and would allow me access to the valve gear without having to remove the tank again. It was with great trepidation that I climbed onto the bench, filled the carburettor for the fist time in many years, and set the air lever and Ignition advance/retard. The first kick produced a slight cough from the carburettor but joy unlimited as the kick-starter curved through its arc for the second time and the engine roared into life. Warm up was soon achieved, and with slight adjustments a nice steady tick over was achieved. As I listened to the gentle throb of this magnificent engine, I can hardly describe the feeling of elation that swept over me. I suppose it was probably comparable only, to seeing my children for the very first time.
The rest of the job was quite uneventful, the machine was lowered to the floor and the assembly completed. After the very first trial runs the length of the street I had the misfortune to damage the very expensive petrol tank. As I guided the bike back into the workshop it caught the door post and caused a nasty crease on the left side of the machine. Things have gone well since that day, The motorcycle passed its roadworthiness test, is now taxed and insured, and awaits only the lazy hazy days of summer before we can both explore the beautiful highways and byways of the Welsh countryside that surrounds me.