Around the world in 600cc – Robert Edison Fulton Jr and the Douglas T6

Robert Edison Fulton Jr: 40,000 miles on a Douglas T6

Setting off for a globe-trotting trip on a motorcycle is pretty old-hat nowadays – revolutionaries enlarge their aura, celebs get TV shows off the back of it and the rest hope for a tiny flame of recognition to illuminate a sense of personal achievment, but probably just get moaned at by the wife when they return home (it's largely a male phenomenon).

If you can be arsed to look, there's a Wiki page devoted to long-distance bikers here

The celebs go with a back-up truck and crew, the rest do it unsupported but on modern machines more than capable of the journey (notable exceptions include Ted Simon on a Meriden Triumph and Nick Sanders who covered 38,000miles on a 1990 Royal Enfield Bullet) but it's to the pioneers we must give the greatest praise, wobbling off on machines that'd be hard-pushed to get you across town, piled high with crappy or else makeshift camping equipment and dressed in big shorts and pith helmets, saying fuck to safety and trusting to an innate sense of superiority and a high-handed manner with the natives.

One of the first – and definitely the first and only one mounted on a Douglas twin – to circumnavigate the globe was Robert Edison Fulton Jr, an American who, aged 23, was on the verge of returning home after a year's post-grad studying in Europe but decided instead to set off around the world on a motorcycle, recording the trip on 4000ft of 35mm motion picture stock and writing a book on his return, the somewhat obscurely titled One Man Caravan (Harcourt, Brace & Co, New York, 1937).

Fulton's account places him at a dinner party in London in 1932 during which, when asked what he planned to do now his studies were at an end, responded completely out of the blue: "Go around the world on a motorcycle!"  surprising himself as much as the other diners. If we can credit it, also at the party there happened to be a man who had recently taken over the failing Douglas motorcycle company of Hanham Road, Kingswood. A bike was promptly offered and accepted and with just a brief period of practise riding, Robert rode off into the sunset and the start of 40,000 miles – London to New York. Hmm…

Fulton astride the Douglas with his own annotations

It could be true, but there's that uncomfortable coincidence which sets the brake on belief. Certainly, Jeff Clew's The Douglas Motorcycle, The Best Twin (2nd Ed, Foulis, 1981) dismisses Fulton with little more than a paragraph on p121 citing the would-be world traveller's petitioning Harley-Davidson's London HQ for a machine and being turned away with a flea in his ear before approaching Douglas. There, Eddie Withers offered the young man a machine. What's more Clew reveals Fulton's 600cc T6 began the trip as a combination (with Withers as ballast until Douglas put down its collective foot) but the chair was abandoned following an accident in Belgium and it continued as a solo – none of which is mentioned in Fulton's book.

Fiction then? Well there's certainly a gloss of self-promoting hyperbole throughout but I think otherwise the book is a true account at least as Fulton saw it. Alongside, Fulton released a movie documentary of the trip entitled Twice Upon a Caravan which is narrated by the author, widely available on DVD and genuinely enjoyable.

The movie of the book of the ride…

1930s mobile phone (actually a clockwork cine camera)

With  a little help from his friends… the T6 as a combination

Fulton's attitude to those he met was in fact, quite enlightened

The very latest in protective motorcycling leisurewear (for 1932)

Fulton takes a toss… one of many

Signed edition

My copy of the book is a signed first edition published in 1937 and despite some misgivings over at least some of the 'amusing' anecdotes contained therein (at best apocryphal, at worst fiction) it is nonetheless a thoroughly enjoyable read, stuffed with photographs (many, I think, stills from the movie), delightful woodcut maps and pen-and-ink sketches, drawn by the author.

What it isn't, is a book about Douglas, the T6 flat twin, or even motorcycling, and those looking for a bike book to while away the dark evenings until the season begins again will be disappointed. As Fulton says, the bike exists only to carry the man and to enable him to get closer to the action. For him, it has no intrinsic value or attraction.

No 1930s journey would be complete without a naughty monkey

But if the prospect of derring-do astride 6hp, with white knees flapping in the wind and a Smith and Wesson .32 revolver stashed between the crankcase and bashplate is your idea of high adventure seek out a copy. It has gone through several contemporary reprintings.

Incidentally, Robert Fulton had illustrious antecedents (his father was the president of Mack Trucks) and a productive life beyond this journey – Google him for further info.

The author and Douglas still together in his late 80s

Impetuous Youth or, The Tale of the Tardy Royal Enfield Panniers

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a recently acquired Royal Enfield 500 Twin, a pocketful of readies and a romantic interest two counties distant, must be in want of some panniers.

It's where we find BP Neal, sometime in mid-1953, weekly riding the 160-mile or so round trip in all weathers between his parents' home in Southampton, digs in Chippenham and workplace in Hanham Road, Kingswood, Bristol, with nothing better than a wartime pressed cardboard suitcase to house a week's worth of work- and leisurewear strapped to the pillion saddle. Highly unsatisfactory.

Panniers then, are the answer. Top quality panniers, waterproof (to a degree) and complete with mounting frames and stout straps. You have the cash, and the shortages of wartime are beginning to fade – go on, treat yourself!

Try telling that to Messrs Jenkin and Purser Motorcycles of Southampton (and choice locations across the South and West). No amount of cajoling will speed the process of acquisition: the panniers are on back-order from Royal Enfield and that's that.

Ah, but impetuous youth! Does he return home, pockets jingling but resigned to a lengthy wait? Not a bit of it. BP decides that if RE won't come to him he'll go to RE – well, write a letter, anyway. That letter is lost in the mists of time but the reply, on official RE headed stationery, isn't. And here it is…

"Unaccustomed as we are to being chivvied by
demanding youths…" RE responds to BP

The Service Department at Royal Enfield responds with charming and kindly formality yet, between the lines, there's a faint but detectable hint of chagrin as they seek to assure that every effort is being made and the J&P order will be executed without delay – it's maybe not all they'd like to execute!

But on this occasion the man on the Clapham omnibus wins the day. How can we know? The camera never lies…

As fine a set of spanking new panniers as ever graced an RE 500 Twin

Panhead primary palaver

A few months sitting in the corner of the garage going nowhere and my 1956 Harley-Davidson FLE panhead needed love. Working through the service I came to checking and adjusting the primary chain. Panhead primarys run inside 'tins' – pressed inner and outer covers which, despite a cork gasket, aren't oil-tight and aren't meant to be. There's no oil bath, instead, a feed from the motor's oil pump drips lubricant onto the chain as the bike runs – a bit like a Scottoiler on a drive chain. The feed rate can be varied but it's not exactly sophisticated. NB Forgive the lousy pics here – I'd rubbed a greasy finger tip over the lens without realising it…

Panhead primarys run in pressed inner and outer covers
which are decidedly non-oil tight

Sitting unloved does nothing for the health of the primary chain and, sure enough, rotating it and checking for free play through the inspection hatch, there were a couple of tight spots tighter than a very tight thing – hmm…

With the cover off it was obvious what was amiss: the chain had a murky reddish brown hue to rival the hull of an abandoned trawler. Given the hit-and-miss oiling arrangements it's not surprising Panhead primary chains are notorious for rusting and this one, despite being quite oily, was also rusty. I oiled it and rotated it this way and that for a while but it was clear that nothing useful could be done with the chain in place so it was time for a 'tear down'.

Removing the chain is a relatively simple task presupposing you can shift the nut holding the motor sprocket in place. They come in two sizes and on my bike it's 1-5/16". There now began a tedious saga of sourcing a suitable socket (which I thought I had but didn't) the bottom line of which is: don't trust the given size of an impact socket (the hex type with corner relief, not bi-hex) but measure it first with a vernier before handing over your hard-earned. I'll spare you the boring details but may document it another time.

After a tip-off from a posting on the HDRCGB forum I turned up a 33mm impact socket at, of all places, my local Halfords. Own-brand and under a tenner. It fitted fine and, with a bit of muscle from an impact wrench I borrowed from Geoffrey Chaucer, the nut was off in a blink. One tip: use a jam bar (ie a length of flat steel bar) between the motor and clutch sprockets (which has a left-hand thread) to stop the crankshaft turning when you apply force. I use an old Dunlop tyre lever which is a perfect size and shape.

With the nut off it's possible to lift away the sprocket and chain from the crankshaft and work it out from the under the lip of the inner primary and over the clutch basket. Mine was stretched and came off without even loosening the tranny.

Chain and motor sprocket removed

Examining the chain, it was obvious that two links about three inches apart had siezed. My usual strategy in this case is to get the offending link 'spitting' hot (ie not hot enough to change the metallurgy) with a blowlamp and drench it in oil, repeating the process until the link frees, but neither link would give in. Next I waited until my wife was out and then boiled the chain on the kitchen hob in a pan of thick chainsaw oil for 15 minutes but still to no avail. Bollocks! Time to shell out for a new chain.

Only to be attempted with the wife out or otherwise occupied…

Diamond is good but expensive, Tsubaki cheaper and not bad. Hello Tsubaki. About 60 quid plus postage for a 428-2 chain. Offering this up it was clear a battle was looming. I freed off the tranny bolts and adjustor but even with the gearbox moved fully forward I had to use a lever to work the sprocket with the chain back on the shaft. The trick when using a lever, of course, is not to bugger up the threads…

Tsubaki 428-2 – around 60 quid

New chain in place

Use a jam bar when tightening the sprocket nut

Anyway, 10 minutes of cursing, levering and cursing some more, and the thing was back in place. Now comes the adjusting. As mentioned above, early pan primarys are adjusted by shunting the tranny to and fro which also affects drive chain and clutch adjustment. Later models have a shoe.

Non-standard tranny adjustor can just be seen sticking out
from the rear of the mounting plate

Being rigid, the secondary chain has about a half inch of play and setting it is a simple matter of freeing off the axle nuts and turning the adjustors an equal amount to loosen or tighten the chain while maintaining wheel alignment. It's simple but a bit of a palaver! And when all that's done and both chains have their regulation half inch, everything's good and tight and the tins reinstated, there's the 'mousetrap' clutch booster to wrestle with and that device is the mother and father of all palavers! (Actually, dead easy when you know – a how-to will appear here in a future instalment.)

Reset the mousetrap, adjust the rear chain and the job's a good ’un!

Still a few jobs to do but the old pan is once more readied for fun!

The Black Rider – all aboard for derring-do in deepest Dorset!

It's 1953 and America is thrilling to, and not a little disgusted by, the gloriously anarchic, devil-may-care outlaw bikers as depicted in The Wild One, all dusty open roads, Perfecto black leather, hep jive talk and road captain hats worn at dangerously rakish angles.

Banned in Britain of course. Our roads are damp or frosty even in summer, leather is largely for the patched shoulders of roadmenders' donkey jackets, road captain hats are for bus conductors and we don't like 'slang' at any price, especially not the transatlantic variety, and those who try it come off as agonisingly awkward and uncomfortable (presaging British porn of 50 years or so later).

What we do have in common is a love of motorcycles and especially, but not exclusively, the Triumph variety. So fast forward a year to 1954 and here's the Brit answer to biker movies: The Black Rider, a pale and sickly cousin if ever there was one, featuring a sprinkling of c-list contract players of the day (with Lionel Jeffries and Kenneth Connor in early roles the exceptions), a thin plot about spies and miniature atom bombs guarded by a ghostly monk astride a BSA Bantam and a 'handsome' leading couple mounted on a lovely Triumph twin.

"I say Jerry, that's a damn fine mount", "Thanks old boy,
and the bike's none too shabby either!"

In fact, the movie's not half bad and anyone nostalgic for a lost era of helmetless ’50s outings will certainly spend an enjoyable 90 minutes in the company of cub reporter (and erstwhile army dispatch rider) Jerry Marsh as he foils the unpleasant plans of a lot of beastly foreigners bent on mischief with remotely-triggered atom bombs.

Set in the fictional Swanhaven, the locations are actually Swanage, Purbeck and Corfe Castle in Dorset and there's plenty of biking action including classic 1950s club trials and gymkhanas and a lovely insight into the 'compete sunday, ride to work monday' ethos of the day, when the luxury of two bikes was an impossible dream and you simply used your road-going machine with an entrant number stuck over the headlamp. Oh, for a return to what our American cousins cheerfully call: 'run what you brung'!

The glorious English countryside…

…and motorcycles, what could be better?

"Spotted any bleeding-heart tree-huggers Bert?" "Not this morning Sid,
I'd give it about another 50 years..."

"I'm afraid I've run over a few dozen small animals and decimated the
wild flower population Sid…" "Don't you worry about that Fred,
it's all good clean fun!"

The movie features a range of bikes including an Enfield Meteor, various Triumphs, BSAs, AJSs and Ariels, an Excelsior Villiers 250cc twin, and two scooters which I'm guessing are Douglas-built Vespas.

Douglas Vespa and Excelsior twin side by side

Egg & spoon race ’cycle style

There are some interesting registrations to be seen too including a brace of Warwickshire WDs on consecutively-numbered machines PWD17 (Jerry's Triumph) and PWD18, and a sprinkling of Birmingham OCs and OKs.

Jerry and his MC club chums prepare to foil Johnny Foreigner's wicked ways

Watch it here

NB Thanks to the forum members at Enfield parts supplier Hitchcock's for locating the source of the movie.

The capacity to see beauty (…in a Royal Enfield Model CO)

Kafka said that. At least, the bit which doesn't include the Royal Enfield Model CO. Understandable really. He (Kafka) offered it as the defining quality of 'youth'.

Shown here, a youth and a Model CO. It seems pretty clear who can see the beauty in what.

Bought in 1947 by my father-in-law BP Neal, then aged about 18, the machine is a demobbed and civilianised CO that looks to be in a highly polished and certainly highly appreciated condition.

"Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty…". Apposite really.

Royal Enfield Model CO parts list 1946

Dated November 1945 and priced at a bob, the Model CO parts list was just the accompaniment to a newly-demobbed Redditch ohv 350cc itching to be loved and civilianised. It's fair to say most went for ride-to-work hacks or else to youngsters dreaming of Triumph twins…

Here it is, 53 pages including covers in glorious grayscale (click on a page to enlarge it).