Seat ’n low

In common with many enduro- and adventure-styled bikes, the F800GS is a tall machine. Seat height from the factory is 880mm (35 inches), significantly taller than a typical sports bike or cruiser (a ‘standard’ Sportster is just under 28 inches, a classic Enfield Bullet about the same).

OE seat height is a stretched 880mm

On the move, it’s this very tallosity or tallishishness which gives the machine poise and presence but coming to rest can, occasionally, be tricky if for whatever reason you don’t quite get it right (as when following novice riders struggling with clutch control at a junction).

I’m six feet with a near 33-inch inside leg and I can flat-foot the bike most of the time but occasionally, say at rest on a road with adverse camber, it feels decidedly…well, not out of control exactly, but definitely a bit wobbly. I suspect in part it’s because I’m still getting accustomed to the machine but I’d be happier with a bit more reach.

BMW offers a number of suspension and other options to reduce the height but the simplest is the OE low seat. New, the low seat is a free factory option. As an accessory, it’s somewhere around 185 quid. Hmm, you can guess my feelings on that! Time for a look-see at the second-hand market…

To cut a long story short, two weeks rummaging on ebay turned up a low seat, professionally recovered in what some owners might consider an attractive black vinyl, and with a fiver starting price. I followed the auction, bid in the closing seconds and paid £80. A few days later, this arrived:

It’s that ebay moment: pleasantly surprised or cursing roundly?

Having just returned from a walking holiday with a wet rucksack and aching limbs I was in no mood to open the parcel possibly to be met by something I’d have to wrangle with the seller about (ebay buying being what it is…).

I left the box to languish overnight and unpacked the ruckie instead. Next morning, I set to…

Promisingly well-packaged

Revealed at last and – joy! – as described

Freed from it’s wrapping, the seat proved to be exactly as described: in good condition. I can’t pretend I like the vinyl (think: ’80s V-Max) though the finish certainly deserves the epithet ‘professional’.

Removing an F8GS seat is simplicity itself: the ignition key turns a seat lock on the nearside and the seat lifts up and away. I transferred the toolkit to the new seat and installed it – now for a try-out. Wearing Converse, I swung astride and… yes, left foot down flat and my leg bent, a significant improvement.

There’s a hint of 1980s V-Max about the recovered replacement seat

Even wearing Cons I can flat-foot the machine with bent legs

Okeh, hand guards and seat sorted. Next: crash bars from Adventure-Spec – the only sensible option!

Farkles! F800GS hand guards

Fark me! (Yes, cheap pun.)

Regular visitors to mondo will recall that I recently returned to modern two-wheeled motoring with a BMW F800GS ‘adventure’ bike – think big trailie, enduro etc – which was something of a sea change following several years astride 1950s ’cycles.

Having ridden the GS for a few weeks I can truly say it’s a great machine – probably the best contemporary bike I’ve ever owned. Wonderful handling, excellent braking, fabulous fuel economy, what’s not to like?

Well, a couple of things… Despite my being six feet with an almost 33in inside leg, the F8GS feels very tall – great when you’re in motion, tricky at rest. I can ‘flat-foot’ the bike by scooching my arse with a slight sideways shift and balls-of-the-feet is no problem so maybe it’s simply because I’ve put a lot of miles on the Enfield of late and the GS is a very different experience – like moving from a very small thing to…er, something quite a bit bigger.

Thing two, BMW deleted the ‘miles remaining’ fuel readout from the on-board computer’s software for the 2011 model, a fact which had escaped me until I scrolled through the options on my 2012 machine, pored over the manual, decided I was being stupid and asked how to invoke the feature at an online forum receiving the answer as above.

Bugger! Deleted following accusations of inaccuracy apparently. Yeah well maybe, but even a fuzzy indicator is better than no indicator especially for one who invariably forgets to reset the trip (ie, me).

But that’s it. I can’t fault the machine otherwise, it’s glorious.

There’s nothing I can do about the fuel option other than remember to use the trip, but I can gain a little more reach in the leg with the OEM low seat and I’m actively searching for a secondhand example. Other accessories: I’d like crash bars from Adventure Spec which offer spectacular protection in an off or if you drop the machine – a distinct possibility when out with novice riders cos they’re always making sudden stops and turns or else riding off somewhere they shouldn’t.

For the same reason I also wanted to get hand guards to save the levers and provide a little protection from the elements.

Time for a rummage.

First find was indeed hand guards, in this case the OEM guards from BMW, universally considered highly effective. Sold to me secondhand at just less than half the list price (yes, residuals are good – if you’re selling!).

BMW’s own highly-regarded hand guards, manufactured (I believe) by Touratech. 

These came with the large plastic ‘protectors’ but minus the wind ‘spoiler’ and despite a few scuffs are in pretty good shape (though one of the mounting bolts was bent suggesting a bit of a bump previously). Ne’er mind, they have life in ’em yet.

M8 stand-in bolt for the bent Allen screw as pictured above

Mounting is simple: remove the bar-end weights with a T55 torx bit (T40 on earlier models), and install with the the replacement end weights slotted to take the guard and a clamp at the other end. Without instructions and with no downloads detailing the guards at BMW’s website, I didn’t have torque values so I snugged them up good and tight but without hauling on them. I’ll check the fasteners in a week or two to ensure they’re tight.

Now to save 14 quid by making the spoilers…

Fitted, the guards look good but I wondered whether they might be big and clumsy on the move (I loathe bar-end mirrors for example) but not a bit of it. There’s some wind protection and they’re not in the least distracting.

Wonder if I can homebrew the spoilers from stout black plastic and thereby save 14 quid?

No dyce

Triumph, Harley and (yes!) Honda dealer Skip Fordyce set up shop in 1941 in Riverside, California after a career in daredevil riding during the 1930s. Within a few years and following a move to larger premises at 3698 14th Street, Fordyce was popularly credited with having America’s largest motorcycle dealership. The Fordyce Riverside Harley dealership was sold in 2013.

If ever the Devil’s plan…

…was made to torment man, it was you, Davida Classic, it was you…

(With apologies to Frankie Laine.)

Ladies and gentlemen, the Davida Classic, premium pudding basin and leather-neck lid for the discerning rocker about town, here in Phil Read guise.

Phil Read sports the original…

I love this helmet. I’ve owned it a while and it never fails to give me a rush of adrenalin. There’s nothing better aboard my ’53 Thunderbird especially when paired with Hinckley Triumph’s own 1950s fur-collared leather James Dean series jacket (though I had to take a sharp knife to the bicep patches bearing ‘Triumph’ and Dean’s signature respectively).

Yes, superficial I know, but for me the biking experience is best when the collar matches the cuffs – or at least when the outfit matches the bike – and when I’m riding a ’50s machine I wanna parade in ’50s clothing or a reasonable replica (though I would draw the line at tweed knickerbockers and a deerstalker if I was entered for the Banbury – no sense in looking like a twat).

Alas, the Davida meets no known laws of compliance other than those to be found in say, darkest Peru or possibly on the Moon. In other words, wear it and you risk giving, as Flanders might say, your noggin a floggin‘ and breaking the law to boot. Frankly, it’s your choice, as indeed, until recently, it was mine, but now, working as a bike instructor, I really cannot be spotted out and about wearing my fragile beauty and so, breaking my heart though it is to do it, the helmet is hereby consigned to a new owner.

NB in best pompous git mode, I do not suggest buying secondhand helmets is a good idea, it’s a very bad idea. However with the Davida providing little or no protection in the modern sense of the word, acquiring a pre-enjoyed example makes little difference other than possibly a mighty cash saving. As always, your choice.

In with the new

Something of a departure for me: BMW’s F800GS ‘adventure’ bike. Here in 2012 Triple Black guise.

Never had a BMW before but recently, to supplement my ever-dwindling journalism (the rise of the bloody internet, about which I made a killing in the middle-90s writing books and endless features, has now all but put me out of work) I’ve been passing the days part-time as a bike instructor. It’s fun and enjoyable work (yes, even when it’s raining) but a Chennai Royal Enfield in trials trim is not the ideal mount – slow, loud, at best only adequately braked and with no protection. Time to find something new…

Mine. Forgive the lousy pic – it’s pissing down and I don’t want to get wet

I wanted a sit-up riding position for obvious reasons which is where the RE scores to advantage. Push-button starting, good brakes, good fuel economy and sturdy construction were important factors too. For a while I considered a Hinckley Bonnie but frankly, I’ve grown weary of fake classics.

For that reason the cast-wheel Bonnie began to appeal over the wire wheel variety but there’s just something a bit…well, fugly about the bike that I can’t get beyond. Forgive me if your opinion differs but beauty, as is generally accepted, is in the eye of the beholder and this beholder can’t quite equate squat 17-inch cast wheels, a weird fork rake and the bulbous injected Bonnie tank with anything other than a bike that looks like it’s had a front-end shunt.

Okeh so BMW? Well, I’ve never had one and never wanted one. Despite loving Dougie flat twins I’ve never fancied the bottom-heavy breadth of a boxer twin – akin to marrying the top half of the cute-as-a-button Jessica Ennis with the lower quarters of…well, a big fat girl.

Loved by my students but it’s time to give the Bullet a breather

I do, though, like trials, trail and adventure-styled bikes and a rummage online (yes, the internet has its uses) led from the BMW Funduro of the late ’90s via the F650GS single through 650GS twin to the F800GS, 85bhp, twin discs up front, stunning fuel economy, great poise (underseat tank) and…well, you get the picture. It’s a bike you’d love or loathe but I love it!

And – joy of joys! – heated grips! OMG (as young people say) these things are fabulous! (Three exclamation marks in a single line – must be good right?) Yes, aftermarket heated grips are available but generally wouldn’t be sufficiently powered by the types of bike I usually ride and plus, they’re chunky and unwieldy. The BMW grips, allied with hand guards, will keep my dreaded nemesis the evil Dr White Finger at bay.

For a mad moment I also considered the KTM 640 LC4. A lovely bike and dirt cheap, but maybe just a tinsy bit outré for an instructor?

KTM LC4: cool, but not quite the thing when instructing

Oddly enough and despite my expectations, all of my students have heaped praise on the Bullet. It’s a real talking point, and lots of students ask for permission to sit on it which I readily give. At about 40mph in third it’s gloriously on song and despite the exhaust note being heard over the two-way radios, no-one has objected.

But now all that’s just so much fossilised carbon burnt under the bridge. Now it’s onwards to the F800GS…

SoCal so cool

Not that it looked quite like this when I was last in southern California visiting (among other things) NAMM at Anaheim and the Fender museum in Corona (some bastard nicked the camera at LAX before I’d downloaded the pics), but the quality of light is instantly recognisable as overwhelming and unforgettable, the wide streets stretch arrow-straight for miles, the palm trees grow like weeds at the roadside and everywhere, in all things, California speaks with a unique voice.

…and whitey’s on the Strand

Last time I saw Gil Scott-Heron was in 1984, he didn’t know me but I knew him. Years spent soaking up the lyrics to Johannesburg and The Bottle gave me a kindred attachment that meant watching him do his stuff during an afternoon gig at the South Bank in London was like watching a favourite uncle say, (and not the type who likes to give ‘special’ cuddles to nephews) or at the very least, a mate.

It was a good gig in glorious sunshine with my actual mates and my best girl at my side and there are few finer ways to spend a weekend. We bootlegged Gil’s set holding up a huge ghetto-blaster containing probably 120 D-sized batteries and no-one told us off – cool. And afterwards we wandered along the river and watched The Kids doing their stuff aboard BMXs and playing rollerblade hockey in the underpass.

Not one had a beard.

Or a tattoo.

The only pic I can find from the day though I shot lots of GSH

It’s a different world now and a better one frankly, and it’s different and better because of voices like Gil’s, chipping away at injustice.

Gil Scott-Heron d. 27 May 2011

I want to say that later we went back to the bikes, my baby scooched up behind me and we headed south at never less than 80mph to watch the waves lap over the pebbles at Brighton. Hmm. Actually we walked up to Trafalgar Square, drank Sam Smith’s in The Chandos and Molson in The Maple Leaf, wandered along to The Coal Hole for a last wodka and boarded the Central Line at Charing Cross back to Leytonstone.

Not quite rock and roll but a good day.

Thanks Gil, mate.

NB Gil’s appearance was part of a day organised by the then soon-to-be-disbanded GLC led by Ken Livingstone and featured bands including Billy Bragg and The Smiths (fulfilling dates booked before they were famous). The event was also notorious for some pretty stiff fighting with neo-Nazis. Read more about it here

One million years BC

Mine, of course, looks just like this

At least, not quite a million years but a bit before public internet access…say, 1930s to the end of the 1950s, a time when biking lore passed on informally by word of mouth, father to son, club member to club member, neighbour to neighbour. Tinker with your bike and you could be sure of a dozen blokes just like you, young men with their first or second two-stroke or else family men with something smart but practical from BSA or a well-used chair-hauling possibly side-valve big thumper from Panther, Norton or war-surplus Triumph, being ever on hand to help.

And failing that, there was always the Blue ’un and Green ’un and their many spin-off tomes dedicated to every aspect of motorcycling and bursting their bindings with practical and useful advice.

Such tomes – but let’s call ’em books so that I don’t come over like someone writing for the truly awful rubbish that comes out of the Morton’s empire (‘tomes’, ‘custodian’ and all the other bollocks which is their stock in trade in the hope of a. sounding competent, b. authoritative and c. avoiding the wrath of the nut-counting readers) are presented here, Two Stroke Motorcycles and The Motorcyclist’s Workshop.

Each is a glorious paean to the possibilities presented by taking pains with your motorcycle, the kind of works nowadays described as a ‘bible’ – The Bike-builder’s Bible and the like. Then, (published in 1920 and 1931 respectively, my editions are reprints from 1946) they offered simple and widely-disseminated motorcycling standard practice, the kind of instruction every boy experienced from school onwards, working with hand tools, basic mechanical engineering practice and so on, reproduced in book form to provide a handy all-in-one reference with hints, tips and wrinkles sprinkled throughout, rather than as a bridge for the gaping chasm of knowledge plainly visible today.

(But that’s to sound like one of those elderly curmudgeons on YouTube, indulging a predilection for faint but detectable racism and damning everything made after 1970.)

In a nutshell then, all that you wanted, consolidated into a handy little package to be enjoyed at a moment’s notice – Konnie Huq in book form.

A wealth of good stuff and this is just the start

Couched in the stiff but friendly argot of the time, to read a copy is to revisit the rainy afternoons of your childhood spent in the company of the Fat Owl of the Remove, Wharton, Nugent, The Bounder, Hurree Jamset Ram Singh and the rest.

I adore it, you might find it ponderous and lacking a sufficient quantity of swear words. What is not lacking is the good stuff in the form of practical techniques to tackle everything from a plug swap to an engine rebuild, selecting and using hand tools to housing them in a suitable self-build workshop and finishing off with tuning for speed and efficiency.

From building and organising a workshop to polishing and balancing
flywheels and checking alignment. The above is still the accepted
method though I’d put a clock on the other side too, to check relative run-out

It’s my experience that when working with workshop and technical guides from the first half of the twentieth century, it’s tempting to go further than your ability might otherwise allow and this should be smartly reined in. These books – and the Iliffe guides are no exception – make pulling apart a motor and merrily attacking its innards sound like an everyday operation. It is, but only if you have the underlying ability gleaned from a young life spent in the company of men in stores coats clutching Moore & Wright mics with the smell of oil and metal never far away, otherwise it’s all too easy to bite off more than you can chew.

Worth reading then, and worth buying to read, but watch out for prices on eBay and pay no more than a fiver or so. Published by the million on cheap paper but with an underlying quality of presentation they survive well today.

NB You can read more about Iliffe and its history here and here

Riding The Bullet – Radio 4 documentary detailing the Royal Enfield Bullet

Sit back, listen and enjoy the dulcet tones of BBC Radio 4 on a journey through the history of the much-loved Royal Enfield Bullet… Riding The Bullet presented by Steve Carver.

Production notes: first broadcast on 13 July 2005, I recorded the documentary from the radio during a repeat on 23 July 2011.

Good times, bad times

Gimme some of that…

Ironic that it’s the bad times – squatting at the side of the road fixing a puncture – which make the good memories right? As a student in the 1980s, living on a grant in central London, my primary mode of transport (other than the CZ combination documented elsewhere at Mondo) was a scrap of cardboard and my thumb. The card bearing a destination – 'Further' to paraphrase Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters – and my thumb frantically flagging down passing (unfortunately male) motorists generally interested only in the contents of my Levis than any desire to whisk me from A to there.

And of course it’s the trips that went horribly wrong that are the most memorable. I certainly won’t bore you by recounting them here, suffice it to say that the next time you’re crouched in the dust poking an unsuitable tool into a flat tyre in a bid to pry it from a recalcitrant rim, bear in mind you’re making memories. Good memories.

Sticking it to the…er, man

Know what really pisses me off? I'll tell you what really pisses me off: anti-tamper. That’s what really pisses me off!

At least, it’s fair to say I become somewhat annoyed when confronted by a fastener for which I have no sensible tool or method of attack.

In fact, over the years, I’ve collected together a small armoury of what our transatlantic cousins call ‘doodads’ (or maybe that’s just Stewie of Family Guy) – the bent spanners, screwdrivers twisted through impossible angles, sharpened files, bolts with other bits welded on…well, you get the idea. The adapted tools to get you out of a tight corner when your strip-down grinds to a halt cos the best Haynes can suggest is a factory tool part number.

Such a doodad is presented here: the Keihin anti-tamper pilot screw man sticker designed to stick it to emissions regulatory bodies, the reincarnated Triumph and Mr (or possibly Ms) Keihin, manufacturers of carburettors – ‘the man’, all.

Doesn’t look like much but it’s the mechanical manifestation of fuck you…

You’ll remember in an earlier outing at Mondo I mentioned the Hinckley Bonneville Scrambler, a handsome machine that, for various reasons (and in my opinion) was frankly, shit.

Saddled with a pair of Keihin carbs, the bike couldn’t be left for more than a few days without silting up these instruments and refusing to start or else run properly – I’m exaggerating, but only a little… Worse, when attempting to adjust them you’d encounter idle mixture screws located in plugged recesses and then, having prized out the plugs, topped with anti-tamper D-shaped heads requiring a special bit (available, but not in your local tool shop).

I rarely require an excuse to buy a tool of any description but I baulk at the unnecessary necessity of it, if you get my drift. A simple slotted screw would work perfectly and these D-shaped horrors exist only because some git in charge has decided that you can’t add to the world’s store of atmospheric hydrocarbons by messing with the mixture, probably while signing off the document passing it into law in the back of a four-litre limousine with bullet-proof glass.

Fortunately, if your Hinckley Bonnie variant (or Keihin-equipped bike) is stuck for want of a bit of tweaking and you can’t find the necessary tool under ten quid, making one yourself is as easy as acquiring a bit of copper pipe…

…6mm OD copper pipe that is. A few centimetres is all you need so toddle off to B&Q and buy the smallest quantity available. Cut a length about 40mm, slide one end onto the jaws of a pair of needle-nosed pliers and, using a small hammer, tap a flat on one side. Gently does it, cos you want to retain the shape but add a flat thereby creating a D profile.

The finished tool

Squish the other end to give you some means to turn the tool. I drilled the squished end and added a small set screw with a couple of nuts to make using the tool dead easy.

That’s it. Remove the plugs/cappings if they’re in place, shove the tool up the orifice and turn the mixture screws to your heart’s content. I won’t offer likely settings because your bike/experience will differ.

And now it only remains to paint your fuel tank with the stars and stripes and you’ll be just like Captain America, sticking it to the man…

Balance of power

Jacob Bronowski: speccy smart-arse, boyhood hero

If you’re a particular age and of a scientific/engineering bent you’ll certainly remember Jacob Bronowski’s much-lauded (and much-mocked) early-70s book and television series The Ascent of Man in which the learned but somewhat theatrical prof charted the development of humankind principally, in its technology.

All of which is a somewhat laboured introduction to what might cheerfully be called The Ascent of Manometer, the next stage in development once you have the technology: namely, a multi-cylinder motorcycle with more than one carb.

I know, I’m wittering. Essentially, if your machine has two or more carburettors, at some point you’ll need to balance ’em – in other words, set them up so they pass equal mixtures to their respective cylinders. How will you know when the carbs require balancing? The bike will have a lumpy and uneven tickover, unresponsive throttle, possibly overheating on one cylinder… in a word it’ll run badly! And if it’s running badly, sync’ing the carbs will improve the situation and provide a complete cure if that’s the core problem.

Spend money or plump for the Blue Peter approach?

To do it you’ll need an expensive vacuum gauge or a cheap(er) device called a manometer (detailed explanation here). Better yet, for a bike with two carbs you can homebrew a manometer  as easy as acquiring a length of plastic tubing and some ATF, brake fluid or similar. And what’s more it’s every bit as accurate.

Yes, really.

Anyone familiar with the carb’d Hinckley Bonnie and variants will know that the Keihin carb is a sensitive instrument which doesn't take kindly to time spent languishing in the garage – during a winter lay-up for example. For a (very) short while I owned a Hinckley Scrambler which, while an undoubtedly handsome bike and with a rorty exhaust note when fitted with TORs to rival any genuine or ‘reissue’ lookalike Brit machine, hated to sit for more than a few days and was, frankly, a big pain in the arse (I traded it for a far superior Harley 48).

Pretty bike Triumph, but no cigar…

The machine needed constant fettling and other than the front brake which was, frankly, shit, the twin Keihins were its weakest point.

Anyway, here’s what you’ll need: between four and six metres of plastic tubing with a 4mm bore and a litre or so of ATF (or your choice of brake fluid, old thinish oil or whatever you happen to have lying around). You might also require some kind of clamping to squeeze the tubes and lower the pressure drop reaching the fluid, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Fold the tubing in half without kinking it to form a long loop. Hang it up somewhere with the open end uppermost and, using a funnel, pour in the ATF until you have around 0.75m in the tubing on each ‘side’ of the loop.

Loop the tubing without kinking it

You’ll find that a quantity of the fluid gets trapped at various points in the tube but if you leave it hanging for a while the fluid will settle at the lowest point. Ideally, you should mount the manometer on a rigid backing to facilitate ease-of-use. Mine’s attached to a surplus length of modular shelving bracket which, with cable ties through the brackets slots, is ideal for the job.

The finished instrument here mounted
on a length of shelving bracket

Now arrange your bike so that air can flow around the motor and the exhaust fumes escape (ie stand it outside or at the very least, open the garage/shed door). A large domestic fan pointed at the motor will help keep it cool.

Have a look at the carbs on your bike and familiarise yourself with the location of its vacuum nipples and adjustment screw(s). If there aren’t any nipples you’ll have to remove the balance pipe which joins the carbs and connect your tubing (possibly with some duct tape) instead. Check your workshop manual for details. The Keihins score in the balancing department with accessible nipples and only one balance screw.

I’m being deliberately vague at this point because your experience will almost certainly differ. However the nub of the process is essentially the same for all machines.

At the vacuum nipples, pry off the tightly-fitting rubber caps and attach the open ends of the tubing. Switch on the fan and start the bike. Immediately, you’ll see the fluid in the manometer zoom up one side or other of the loop. If it travels so quickly that it looks like reaching a carburettor, switch off the bike and clamp the tubing such that you reduce the draw on the fluid. You’ll probably find that the tubing must be squeezed until it’s almost flat and it might be a good idea to do this at the outset and release pressure as needed. Now you know why it’s best to have a good length of tube in the loop: it gives you time to react before the fluid reaches the motor.

A clamping arrangement to squeeze the tubes and reduce
the pressure is useful. Mine’s made from one of those
adjustable feet from an office desk and a piece of brass tubing

At idle, turn the balance screw slowly so the fluid begins to rise in one side (thereby falling in the other), reversing the screw where necessary to bring the fluid to roughly equal heights in the tubes (ie within a few mms is fine). Be gentle and turn the screw slowly and by tiny amounts.

When the carbs are balanced, stop the motor, remove the manometer and (very importantly) reinstate the rubber caps on the nipples. That’s it. Quick, dead easy and it cost you at most, a couple of quid.

Get you, just like a real mechanic! Gaffer a few well-thumbed nudes torn from Nuts on your garage wall and you’ll be that man my son.

Tomos carrier update

Tomos carrier: just needs a rub down and paint

Quickie update with a pic or two of the (almost) finished Tomos carrier. I’ve been super-busy of late but short of filling, filing and a lick of paint, the rack is finished.

Six quid saved, hurrah!

You can see what a mess the flux-cored welder makes…

Nowhere to go but everywhere

“I realised these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming of the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives…”

Jack Kerouac, On The Road

RERCN Tibenham Run

Bleak, grey, flat: hmm, must be Norfolk

If it’s Easter Monday it must be the Royal Enfield Riders Club Norfolk’s Tibenham Run, a piggy-back ride-out to the VMCC’s Shakedown event at Tibenham Aerodrome.

Rightly famous for its many mediaeval churches, Norfolk is also awash with ex-WWII airfields, of which Tibenham, about 15 miles south of Norwich, is one. The site was used  during WWI by the Royal Flying Corps before becoming home to squadrons of American USAAF bombers during the Second World War. Actor James Stewart flew 10 missions from the station and Tibenham was also used as a location for an episode of Dad’s Army: Round and Round Went the Great Big Wheel. Now, like so many other pensioned-off aerodromes, it’s home to a gliding club.

Actor Jimmy Stewart rattles out a tune at Tibenham c.1944

Shakedown marks the beginning of the VMCC Norwich calendar and involves timed speed trials up and down the runway. There’s generally a good turn-out despite what always seems to be a rotten day weather-wise.

This year was no exception: good numbers, great bikes, freezing temperatures. My ride began with a bimble across the byways of south Norfolk interspersed with a blat along the B1113 to meet up with others of the RERCN and then on to Tibenham where we arrived to a steaming mug of coffee in the canteen and a healthy turnout lined up outside.

Here’s a selection of what was to be seen:

Wherever vintage bikes are gathered…

…there will you find old blokes poring over them

Steam-punk Panther with electric start…

…home-made frame, exhausts

and forks, and…er, pretty much everything else

Lovely old CD175 in ‘enjoyed’ condition

’59 Velo Viper…

…yours for six grand

“I see a handsome four-cylinder stranger in your future…”
The Japanese really knew how to make and sell a multi