Sunday 31 May 2015

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.

Wednesday 27 May 2015

…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

Friday 22 May 2015

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

Saturday 16 May 2015

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.

Wednesday 6 May 2015

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.

Tuesday 5 May 2015

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