Vincent HRD owner’s review,  10,000 kilometres

Vincent HRD owner’s review, 10,000 kilometres

Vincent HRD owner’s review

10,000 kilometres

By Dan Talbot

Mercury is the God of eloquence, merchants, travelers, thieves and wisdom.  I’m not sure why the Romans threw thievery in there but, in his defence, Mercury was the father of Cupid and one of the Olympians so that must give him some kudos and may help explain why I am so taken by Vincent motorcycles.  It is little wonder Vincent emulated the Isle of Man TT trophy of Mercury rising upon a motorcycle wheel as their tank motif.  Mercury takes front and centre when I’m sitting on my Vincent gazing upon the beautiful work of master engineers from the middle of last century.  He reminds me of how lucky I have been.  

Over two years and some 6,000 miles (10,000 km) down the track of Vincent ownership, I figured it was about time to write an update on where I am at with my 1948 Vincent HRD Rapide.  There has been a few trials and tribulations associated with my machine but this was perhaps to be expected due in a large part to me purchasing a motorcycle that had covered only a few miles since it was restored.  At this point it would be useful to read my earlier piece introducing the Rapide back in 2019.

Fresh of the docks in Melbourne (the bike, not me). As soon as I was able, I flew to Melbourne to check out my Vincent, the realisation of a 40-year dream.

When I took delivery of my Vincent I (foolishly) expected I would be able to get it registered and ride off into the sunset.  Naturally this never happens with a new restoration and it has taken quite a lot of fettling to get things right.  Aside from the obvious frustrations that will unfold below, bringing my motorcycle into a ridable state has been a tremendous learning curve, that I am only beginning to climb.  There’s an adage out there that says “Norton, making mechanics out of motorcyclists.”  I won’t argue with that, my Norton problems are well and truly documented but one could easily transpose ‘Norton’ with ‘Vincent.’

My Rapide arrived with Mikuni carburettors.  Mikunis are a very good hardware and I’ve used them to great effect on other British motorcycles I’ve owned, including my Triton.  The Triton has a massive, Mikuni pumper carb and she flies.  Again, there was lots of trial and error in getting that machine running correctly and some of the lessons I learned in tuning the Triton’s old pre-unit Triumph engine would later be applied to the Vincent.  I had dreamed of owning a Vincent for over 40 years and during that time had devoured countless books, magazines and, more recently, online resources.  I could close my eyes and vision the machine I would one day own and never once did it have Mikuni carbs.  On my Rapide they hung there like transplanted dog’s bollocks and I just couldn’t get my head around them.  I needn’t have worried too much, the Mikuni’s had a built in obsolesce in that the bike was not running very well under their stewardship. It was an easy decision to dispense with them.

Not for aircraft nor Vincent.

 

A friend sent me a pair of Amal Mk2 carbs he had removed from his Vincent when he bombed it out to 1200cc.  At one litre, Holger’s Vincent ran well with the Amals but when he went for the big-bore kit he opted for a pair of larger, pumper carbs which left the Amals looking for a new gig, enter the awakening.  The rub here is that Amal Mk2 carbs were made under licence to Mikuni.  So here I was, removing perhaps the world’s most reliable carburettors from my motorcycle to replace them with a dodgy British imitation.  Mad, I know.  It didn’t work either.  I persevered with the Mk2’s for far too long but could not get the machine running right (nor could some experts well versed in the art of motorcycle tuning).  I even changed the ignition from Pazon to Trispark, but that didn’t help either.  Eventually, a friend offered me a pair of brand-new, unused Amal Premier carbs apparently jetted for a Vincent twin.  They worked a treat but not without some radical changes to the manifolds.

For a time, I hoped Amal Mk2 carbs were the answer. Sadly after a great deal of time and money neither myself nor people ‘in the know’ could get these carbs working. They were subsequently set aside.

 

The solution came in the form of two brand new Amal Premier carbs.

The Mikunis and Amal Mk2 use rubber sleeves to hold the carbies to the manifold stub.  The carbs held in place by worm drive clamps.  The Amal Premiers, on the other hand bolt up to manifolds, which in turn bolt to the heads.  Such is the design of the Vincent engine, the two manifolds have subtle differences to accommodate the correct angle for the carb to sit at.  That is, each manifold has a different angle.  In fact, the manifolds had enough angles to confuse Pythagoras.  Now, I am no mathematician, but two manifolds, each with two surfaces, equals eight possible combinations, there may as well have been 800, there was no way I could get the rear carb to sit correctly.  Eventually, I went off on a ride, a long ride, with my wonky carb.  Sitting at a pub having a lunchtime beer, a fellow enthusiast voiced what I knew to be true, “that doesn’t look right.” “No, it doesn’t.  Hold my beer.”

 

Amal carb listing.

Off came the carbs again and more moving and swapping of the manifolds took place, this time with about six very experienced classic motorcycle enthusiasts present, two of whom owned Vincents and they too were stumped.  I made it home but, in the end, out of shear frustration, I cut the manifold in half, reset and marked where I wanted the flange to sit and trotted off to a welder.  The result was infinitely better, but still not quite right.  I needed balance.

Aside from Zen, what I needed was for the carbs to open and close at the same time.  I decided I needed a pair of mercury gauges.  Seems reasonable, a factory decal of Mercury riding upon a wheel sits in the middle of every Vincent fuel tank.  Whilst waiting for the delivery of my mercury gauges, in a nod to Heath Robinson, I used a makeshift setup that involved placing a long meat skewer under the slide of each carb (I can hear the moans, but stay with me).  I set the Amals to raise and lower the skewers in unison.  Then I had it – a perfectly running 1000cc V-twin engine!  Off I went.

I can hear the groans from here. That said, my rudimentary carburetor synchronising tools worked. Eventually I had a perfectly running V-twin engine.

About 20 kilometres from home I lost second gear.  There was no grinding or crashing coming from the gearbox so I headed off home.  Gear selection was hit and miss but I made it.  Having arrived home, I hit the computer and found out what the problem was.  I set about rectifying the wayward gear selector according to the brightest and best mechanics google turned up and promptly lost all my gears.  Long story short – I turned to the Paul Richardson’s 1955 book Vincent Motor Cycle Maintenance.  There is a four-stage process that takes one through the correct setup that, on this occasion, was lost because of a loose bolt on an internal adjustment device called a ‘pawl,’ but mostly referred to by the Vincent Illuminati simply as ‘G59.’  I was beginning to understand everything in Vincent nomenclature was defined by part numbers.  To this new owner, it’s equal parts civilised and alien.

And that’s how it’s done.

With my gears sorted, I ventured out again, but not before having a crack on a forum about Vincent letting the work-experience kid engineer the gear selection mechanism.  I was rigorously chastised by the Illuminati putting me firmly back in my newby box.  The mere act of turning up on a forum signals one’s vintage along the road of Vincent ownership and I was called out as inexperienced (true), incompetent (in my defence, I was mobile) and inorganic.  I’m not sure where that last one came from, maybe someone thought I was a cyborg, or, maybe spell checker jumped from ‘ignorant’ under the furiously tapping, albeit arthritic, thumbs of a Vincent enthusiast.   In any event, 6,000 miles later and there’s been no more troubles from the gear selection, save the occasional jumping out of third gear, so my crack at the work-experience kid was probably not warranted.

The next big thing was the clutch.   My Vincent was fitted with a late-model, replacement clutch manufactured under the banner of V3.  The V3 clutch is a gem.  It simplifies what was a complicate servo unit that the faithful will defend to their last breath but those of us who actually want to put miles on their Vincents invariably turn to an after-market clutch.  Soon after I got out and about on my Vincent the V3 began slipping.  The problem was eventually found to be the lockring, hang-on, the G45, that holds the gearbox main-shaft bearing in place.  This allowed the main-shaft to gradually drift to the left against continual adjustments by me to the clutch in a futile attempt to lessen the slipping.  When the lockring finally came all the way out I lost any semblance of a clutch and the bike had to be trailered home.  That the gearbox suffered no lasting damage seems to confirm Richardson’s 1955 assertion they are ‘unusually robust.’

A brilliant piece of Vincent kit manufactured by Paul Alton in France.

I’ve touched on the ignition above.  The changeover from Pazon to Trispark was driven by equal parts experimentation and frustration during early ownership of the Vincent.  In hindsight, it probably wasn’t needed.  Pazon is a perfectly good product, and so too is Trispark, but they rely on a power source.  My ignition preference is the magneto.  A magneto generates its own spark so the engine does not rely on a battery.  Back in 1948, when it was new, my Vincent had a magneto and I would like to revert back to one, albeit a brand-new, modernised unit.  However, the bike is running beautifully at the moment and in the back of my mind there’s a voice saying ‘don’t dick around with things that functioning as they should.’ I’ll probably stick with the Trispark and enjoy continued reliable ignition.  With the Trispark being dependent a charged battery I ditched the original, dodgy generator in favour of a new Alton unit.  If any of the Vincent Illuminati are still with us they’ve just spat their Cognac out – all over their computer screen.

With the Alton in situ only the truly strident rivet-counters would recognise this as a modern generator.

The Alton 12-volt generator uses permanent magnets, like the old dynamo on my pushbike when I was a kid.  In an automotive application it works a treat, maybe even too good.  After a particularly spirited ride with a couple of chaps on modern sports tourers a few months ago, the battery gave out.  It was suggested to me the Podtronics regulator could have been faulty (as they are apparently known to be) and at continued high speed riding, with the generator pumping a full 150 watts into the battery for over an hour, may have cooked the battery.  That ride brings me to another topic – speed.

Once the bike was fully sorted, the next problem I found was the speedo to be faulty.  As it turns out, the after-market, twin-leading shoe brakes were fowling the speedo drive.  Repositioning the drive gear corrected the intermittent nature of the reading but the speed was extraordinarily high and I needed to recalibrate the speedo.  To do that, I fitted a small GPS speedo.  The GPS revealed: when the speedo was showing 70 mph, the GPS was showing 112 kph. And when the speedo was showing 90 mph, the GPS was showing 145 kph.  I won’t go on out of fear of incriminating myself but you get the picture.  The speedo was accurate, I was actually traveling at the speeds indicated by the 72 year-old speedo!  On the 72 year-old motorcycle.

On a final note, the bike has a great hunger for rear tyres.  It may be the modern compounds are too soft, or combine bike and rider is on the heavy side but, on average, I have been getting about 2,000 km per tyre, which is not very good.

So, there we have it, up to today.  The major gripe I have now is oil leaks.  The Vincent is like a recalcitrant puppy leaving puddles wherever it goes.  There is a fix at hand but I won’t go into that just yet in case any of the Vincent Illuminati are still reading.

I’ll have that beer now.

I thought the speedo was reading on the high side. Calibration with a GPS proved not. I was actually going that fast!

The tank decal had to be replaced with a more authentic HRD item. At the same time, the tank was given a new coat of clear. This was the result.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Vincent HRD explanation. 

Phillip Vincent was undoubtedly a very talented individual.  Some folk may have noticed the cantilever rear suspension fitted to my motorcycle.  Vincent first came up with this design whilst still in school, no doubt sketching his future motorcycle design when he should have been paying attention to his teacher.  By the time Vincent was 20 he had convinced his father to buy him a motorcycle company. Howard Raymond Davies was both a motorcycle builder and racer who could boast Isle of Man Senior and Junior TT race wins on his own machines.  Vincent Snr purchased HRD in 1928 and, in a nod to the famous origins of the HRD marque, Vincent retained HRD on the motorcycles up until 1949 when they dropped the three-letter moniker for fear of being confused with that other famous V-twin: Harley Davidson aka HD.

Banner picture by Jeremy Hammer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Buz Norton, Part V, the final instalment

Buz Norton, Part V, the final instalment

This piece has been a long time coming.  It is 20 months since I wrote the part IV and well over two years since I first introduced the project.  I could come up with a host of reasons why it’s taken me so long to write this but I feel it’s because I don’t want the story to end.  The restoration of the little Norton has evoked emotions in me of both pleasure and pain.  The pleasurable moments were shared as the motorcycle took form and came back together.  The painful was the hideous disease that had robbed Chris of the ability to carry out the restoration himself and would ultimately rob him of his life.

Chris was already quite ill before I was tasked with managing the restoration, I say ‘manage’ because my job was to bring together, coordinate and work with the various experts who contributed to the restoration.  During my brief times with Chris, I occasionally had a glimpse of the man that was so popular and loved by so many.  As one who dabbles in mechanics and holds a strong interest in modern and classical engineering, I am impressed when I meet people who excel in these fields.  Chris was one of these people, his field was electrical engineering.  Unlike mechanical engineering, electrical engineering holds an esoteric, almost intangible commodity in the invisible force it possesses. Let me have a clumsy go at describing the nexus between nature, physics and engineering, with a touch of the metaphysical thrown in.

Greek mythology asserts before creation there was chaos.  Without electromagnetism chaos would continue to reign.  Our very presence on this earth if only possible because of electromagnetism, it holds us together and our planet together.  Think of the Taoist Yin Yang symbol which illustrates perfectly the positive and negative forces that are responsible for our collective being.  More than just electricity, we can use ancient Taoist principles to demonstrate engineering of strong/weak, hard/soft, heavy/light.  Engineers of today still grapple with these principles when designing the machines that we live with each day, motorcycles being a perfect example.  The Buz Norton is strong, hard and heavy yet it comes with an inherent fragility of fatigue over time.  This is what makes riding restoring and riding classic motorcycles so appealing.  Every ride is an adventure, arriving home at the end of the day with the motorcycle still running is a triumph of man over machine.

What we have attempted to do with the restoration of the little Norton is preserve the engineering of the fifties.  We rely upon the skills of the original designers and trust in their choices when meeting the challenges of functionality, economy and technology.  We have taken the motorcycle to irreducible pieces and examined each piece, deciding whether it stays or goes.  Experience tells us what can stay and what can go.  Luck tells us that we occasionally make mistakes in these choices and the machine will occasionally fail.  Without constant attention failure is inevitable.  And that’s where your humble narrator comes in.

I have made some tremendous friendships since embarking on the restoration of Buz Norton and, if that little motorcycle is to remain fresh and mobile, it will take regular maintenance and fettle.  I look forward to maintaining the friendships with equal joy that I do in maintaining the motorcycle.  For now, the bike runs quite well and will head down the road in fine style, however, the inherent fragility is up around the bend.  We just don’t know which bend.

Sadly, Chris passed away soon after restoration of his motorcycle was commenced by us.

 

Some of the experts involved in the restoration of Buz Norton.

 

Three generations of the Busby family stand with their motorcycle.

 

Something old, something new. A modern Newby belt drive saved the Busby family a few dollars and will last for many miles. Best of all, there’s no oil to leak out of the tin primary chain case cover.

 

Restorers Dan Talbot, Ray Buck and Bernie McCormack and other members of the Indian Harley Club of Bunbury, Western Australia.

 

Family and friends of Chris Busby celebrate the completion of the Norton restoration in October 2020.

 

Another Perkolilli special vehicle takes shape in WA.

Another Perkolilli special vehicle takes shape in WA.

Some time ago, actually, a long time ago, I wrote a piece about a race car intended to hit the red clay pan of Lake Perkolilli that was under construction by my friend Graeme.  In the story I promised to revisit the car when it was finished.  I didn’t.  Let me finish it now and also introduce the next car under construction by Graeme.

Both of these cars are based upon the Ford Model T platform.  Graeme loves the Model T with a passion.  He is also a qualified mechanic and somewhat of an amateur engineer.  Add a dash of artistic flair and you can begin to appreciate the skills this man possesses.

So, back to Graeme’s black T.  Graeme’s racer was created in the format known as a “Gow Job,” which apparently comes from “gowed up” (Hiedrick, 2014).  These home-built speedsters typically started with a Ford 4-cylinder, presumedly due to the ubiquity of the humble Model T.  Hiedrick states these engines had a top speed of 55 to 60 miles per hour, which, as the owner of a veteran 4-cylinder Ford, I find rather ambitious. “To increase this top limit, a gow job mechanic would remove anything unnecessary – fenders, bumpers, windows – to improve the power to weight ratio” (ibid).

Last time we saw the black gow it was devoid of wheels and paint. To recap, the racer is powered by a 3-litre, 4 cylinder, mounted on an original Model T chassis that has been lowered some 10 inches.  As is often the case with projects from the distant past, Graeme only had bits and pieces of a body.  For the pieces he was missing Graeme used his unique CAD (cardboard aided design) templates to first fashion the required part and fit it against the body before creating the panel in metal.  All the bright metal in the accompanying photographs has been fashion by Graeme, by hand.

Here’s one he prepared earlier. Another journalist referred to this car as a “Gow Job” which sent me searching for the meaning of such a term.

 

Beautiful from any angle.

Naturally, the black gow was finished and triumphed at the 2019 Perkolilli event. That event was covered by me in another publication (because they pay more than I do).  It can be viewed here.  The racer clocked a top speed of 126 km/h on the chopped up red dirt.  Not bad for an engine built in 1925 with 20 horsepower.  Graeme is going for broke now with an engine which he is hoping will yield a top speed of 160 km/h – which is the old ton, or 100 miles per hour.  The ton was quite elusive in the nineteen twenties so racers had to be resourceful to break it, frequently breaking the engine and/or car in the process.  In true racer endeavour, Graeme has built an engine which I suspect will give the ton a good nudge.  More about that engine later, for now we shall look at where the 2019 Perk engine is going.  Enter Green T.

The narrow Aston body fits the Model T chassis quite nicely, although the cockpit remains a little cramped at this point. Note Graeme’s cardboard aided design.

Boat-tail rear.

Green T started out, as the name suggests, as a Model T.  Actually, a conglomeration of Model T parts Graeme has collected over the past few decades.  A glace around his very well organised shed suggests he could build several more.  As alluded to above, the race-proven engine will be mounted into one Graham’s expertly fabricated, lowered and modified race chassis.  It will then be fitted with an Aston Martin body, more particularly a body from an Aston Martin.  It is unlikely the body was actually made in the Aston Martin factory but it has seen service on a very special Aston Martin racing car that was brought to Australia for the 1928 Australian Grand Prix.

The Aston was a lithe, alloy-bodied, open wheeler GP car from 1922 or 23 (it’s not exactly clear).  It was powered by supercharged 1486 cc side valve engine of Aston Martin’s own design.  Incidentally, Lionel Martin’s partner in their fledgeling automotive manufacturing business was Robert Bamford.  The name Aston Martin comes from a celebration of the success Lionel Martin enjoyed at the Aston Clinton Hill Climb in Buckinghamshire, England driving a car of his and Bamford’s creation.

The men went into production and began selling small numbers of their cars, possibly as few as 55, three of which are known to have been brought to Australia.  One of the three cars was purchased by Mr John Goodall and evidently had a successful history of racing in Australia, including being driven by Mr Goodall on the first Australian Grand Prix, a 100-mile event at the Phillip Island circuit in Victoria in 1928.  The car failed to finish in ’28 event but was entered again in 1929 and 1930, finishing third in the latter event, which by that time had grown to 200 miles.

In 1977 the car was purchased from the Goodall family by Mr Lance Dixon.  It turned out much of the alloy components of the engine had been melted down for armaments during World War II.  However, another engine, from one of the original three cars imported back in ’27, was located by Mr Dixon, powering, of all things – a boat.  The engine was fitted to the remnants of the Goodall car and a body was remanufactured out of steel.  The small race car remained with Mr Dixon up until 1982 when it was purchased by Mr Peter Briggs for display in the York Motor Museum and, later, the Fremantle Motor Museum.

Under Mr Briggs’ ownership the car under went a full restoration which included a new aluminium body.  The builder of the body flew from Perth to the UK with the sole purpose to measure and record one of the original GP Astons to ensure  authenticity of the reconstruction.

Peter Briggs’ Aston Martin after it had been returned the original style of the all aluminium body. Photograph by Mr Holger Lubotzki.

The steel body was stored first behind the York Motor Museum before being moved to the Veteran Car Club of Western Australia parts store in the Perth suburb of Wattle Grove.  And that’s where Graeme found it.  So, to take stock, we have enough parts to build another Perkolilli racing Model T, a body from a famous Australian racing Aston Martin and a very talented mechanic slash engineer.  Some twelve months ago, Graeme began construction of Green T, the name paying homage to another famous racing Aston known as “Green Pea.”

With the same owner now since 1958, this well-known 1922 Aston Martin is affectionately known as Green Pea. It is of similar pedigree to the car imported by John Goodall in 1927.

The Aston body T has been cut, tucked and moulded into the what is clearly going to be a very special race car.  To be honest, the body looked a bit odd on the Aston Martin chassis.  It sat up high, was cramped and carried odd lines that departed somewhat from the racing stance of the original Aston Martin machines.  Graeme has widened the car and remanufactured the cowl, both raising and lengthening it.  The result is two humans can now comfortably sit in the car (including yours truly who is 6’ 4” in the old scale).  These mods have added style and flair befitting a car of the era.

The Aston competes at the York Flying 50 C1982, prior to its aluminium upgrade. Note how high the body sits and the way the passenger is skewed to the right. Graeme has overcome both of these issues.

 

Again, the Aston still with the steel body fitted.

 

Early days of fitting the body to Green T.

Widened in the beam, Green T will now comfortably seat two full size human beings.

 

Norton Singles (cylinder) Run, Donnybrook, Western Australia

Norton Singles (cylinder) Run, Donnybrook, Western Australia

“Norton owners like nothing better than pulling their engines apart on Sunday afternoons (Donald Heather Man. Dir. AMC 1954-60).

With the greatest respect to Donald, some Norton owners actually prefer to be riding their machines, such as those who gathered in Donnybrook, Western Australia over the 13th and 14th of March, 2021.  In excess of 40 Norton owners assembled for two days of riding, nattering about and admiring Norton motorcycles.  Not just any Nortons mind you, this was a gathering of Norton motorcycles with only one cylinder.  These folk think nothing better than riding their motorcycles on a Sunday afternoon however, given the last Norton single was manufactured in 1964, there’s plenty of afternoons spent pulling engines apart.

Donald Heather’s utterances were nothing more than motherhood statements designed to appease investors who, in 1960, were growing nervous with the lack of future direction the exhibited by the company.  Rumours of unreliable and fallible machines were quelled by Heather as he fought to hang onto his lucrative position.  The remedy proved to be a series of twin cylinder machines and, presumedly, the appointment of a more passionate and dedicated executive who would remain faithful to Norton’s heritage.  However, by then, it was too little, too late.  Norton twins were a fine machine but the company only managed to hang by its bootstraps.  Gone was the racing heritage and successes that defined Norton’s early years.

 

1910 was Norton’s second year with his own engine. Only seven of these machines are known to exist in the world, here are two of the seven at the same event in Donnybrook, Western Australia.

 

Norton Motorcycles was established in 1898 by James Lansdowne Norton.  Norton was a gifted engineer but a poor businessman and the company fell into receivership early in its life.  This would signal the future for a manufacturer who was more concerned with performance and reliability than returning dividends for shareholders.  Competing with the liquidity of Norton Motorcycles, was James Norton’s health.  He fell ill as a young man and was left with a malady of premature aging, earning the young engineer the nick-name “Pa.”

Pa Norton was only 55 years of age when he passed away and sadly did not live long enough to witness the legacy of his creation – namely the most successful single cylinder motorcycle of all time.  I can hear Ducati riders spitting their Chianti back into glasses everywhere.  Whether, or not, Norton is the greatest motorcycle of all time is an argument best left for campfires, dining room tables and Christmas day punch-ups with the brother-in-law.  What can’t be disputed is single cylinder Nortons are achingly beautiful motorcycles with performance to match.  It’s no accident Norton dominated racing across the UK and Europe for the first half of the twentieth century.  Ten Senior TT wins between 1920 and 1939 and 78 out of 92 Grand Prix races are impressive statistics in anyone’s language (including Italian).

In 1924 Pa Norton, suffering advanced cancer, was wheeled up to the main straight of the Isle of Man TT circuit to witness his motorcycles take out two TT trophies that year.  Pa received the great chequered flag of life on 21 April 1925 and has been venerated ever since.  By many people, including me. My trials and tribulations are well documented on this site and elsewhere, but, still I remain a faithful follower of the brand.

 

Muz and Rocket, two Norton enthusiasts the author is honoured to call friends.

 

This brings us neatly to the inaugural Norton Singles Run, hosted by the Indian Harley Club of Bunbury, Western Australia.  The run, hatched by Norton enthusiasts Murray, Peter and Kelvin, was scheduled to take place in February was postponed when WA went into a Covid-enforced lock-down, throwing plans into disarray.  Had it not been for the Covid factor one would expect many more motorcycles, however, by any measure, the inaugural event was a huge success.  The line-up of machines on display was breathtaking.  ‘Line-up’ is probably the wrong word, getting this mod to form anything resembling an orderly assembly simply for a photograph was not on the agenda.  These blokes wanted to ride Nortons, talk Nortons and look at Nortons.  Consider, there are seven 1910 Norton motorcycles know to currently exist in world.  Two of them were present at the Norton Singles Run.  1910 was Pa’s second year of production with his own engines.  Up until this time he had been using proprietary units from Swiz and French manufacturers.  It was a Peugeot V-twin engine that powered Norton to victory in the first ever Isle of Man TT races in 1907.  That was the last time Pa Norton would dabble in twins, as far as he was concerned future victories lie in the simplicity of singles.  The rest is, as they say, history.

 

Another profile of the pair of 1910 Nortons. This one by Alan Wells.

 

One of the lovely ES2 Nortons that were in attendance at the inaugural Norton Singles Run in Donnybrook, Western Australia. Photograph by Alan Wells.

 

Another ES 2, this one from 1935. Pic by Alan Wells.

 

A line up of achingly beautiful Norton motorcycles. These ones are from 1924 to 1926.

 

Event organiser, Kelvin, wasn’t letting crutches prevent him participating in the ride.

 

Greg on his stunning ES2.

 

The 500cc 1910 Norton was getting along at a fair clip. Here she has just climbed a hill that would have a modern motorcycle looking for a lower gear – which is not an option for Andrew, he only has one.

 

The South West of Western Australia provided the ideal location to get about on vintage and veteran Norton motorcycles.

 

Manx silver, as far as the eye can see.

 

Saturday lunch stop was the Wild Bull Brewery in Ferguson Valley, Western Australia. A highly recommended venue.

 

Event organizer Murray on his 1929 CSI Norton 500, photograph by Des Lewis of Mondo Photography.

 

Norton Singles Run by Des Lewis of Mondo Photography

 

Norton Singles Run by Des Lewis of Mondo Photography

 

Norton Singles Run by Des Lewis of Mondo Photography

Honeycomb The Truck. Our 1938 Australian body Chevy truck

Honeycomb The Truck. Our 1938 Australian body Chevy truck

Forgive me readers of the ‘Shed for I have been a bit slack of late.  It has been some months since I last put my pen to paper, so to speak.  In my defence, I have been a wee bit busy writing a 100,000-word thesis which is now with examiners in the UK.  So obscure was my topic, we couldn’t find people qualified enough in Australia to pass judgement on my doctoral scratchings.  Anyway, back to the shed.

There has been a bit on, the most significant being we have a new inclusion to the ‘Shed.  On Christmas Eve, we picked up a 1938 Chevrolet half-ton truck.  In trucks terms, it’s very small, more like a flat-bed ute.  It is licensed and running, but needs some serious work.  The little truck was built in Australia from an engine/chassis imported from Chevrolet USA and built up according to Australian demands, which, at the time were many.  Clearly, however, power wasn’t one of them.  Driving the little truck 60 kilometres to home was laborious.  She was flat out doing 40 miles per hour and for a time, I became more of a nuisance than the mortal enemy of motoring enthusiasts everywhere – the caravan.

The Chevy has been purchased by Catherine for her honey business and will become both a practical and promotional vehicle for Wedderburn Honey.  Affectionately known as “Honeycomb,” the first order of business is restoring the bodywork, followed by giving her longer legs (the truck, not my wife).   Both of these undertakings are easier said than done.

In terms of the first undertaking, as I write, all the tin-wear is off the chassis and is with the painter.  The guards have been finished and the running boards are almost done.  The cab is a bit trickier but for a truck of some 82 years of age, it’s in remarkably good condition.  I trust the photographs accompanying this story will add credence to my assertion.  Some folk will look at the photos and quickly start bleating about patina and leaving it as it is, and so on.  Let me stop you right there.  My wife and I are of the opinion ‘patina’ is a euphemism for being too lazy to go to the trouble of panel and painting.  Aside from this, the so-called patina in the photographs is not original.  Unearthing body panels revealed the original colour, an olive gold, and it is to this we hail.  Giving the car some beans is equally fraught with complexity.

At a time where every man and his hound are putting V-eights into classic Chevs, we are breaking with tradition and sticking with the straight six, or “Stovebolt” as they are affectionately known. The original, 1929 Chevy sixes were held together with bolts that apparently looked like they had been lifted from wood-burning stoves, hence the name.  Stove bolts have long since been dispensed with, but the name has stuck with the venerable donk and now there is a renaissance of the humble Stovebolt taking place across the USA which, one would expect, will arrive here in due course.  And we’re ahead of the play because we’ll be running a stonking big Stovie.  A 292 in fact.  The 292 cubic inch engine will be coupled with a Muncie four speed truck box – Catherine insisted on a truckie’s manual gearbox and it is her truck.  Behind the gearbox will be an Aussie Holden, one-tonner diff with a 3:1 ratio.

Whilst we’re on Holden.  Our truck originally arrived in this country in February 1938 as a knocked down, Chevy engine and chassis.  In the decades preceding the Great Depression, the craftsmen and women of Holden body works had earlier busied themselves with making saddles before progressing on to motorcycle sidecars.  In true ‘necessity is the mother of invention’ Holden turned to automobile bodies during World War One and emerged with a workforce skilled in auto body construction.  The rest is, as they say, ‘history.’  We possess a little piece of that history and here it is.

Be sure to check in on our Facebook page, Honeycomb the Truck, for more frequent updates on the progress of our restoration https://www.facebook.com/Honeycomb38Chev

The interior of our ’38 truck. Basic, bare and beautiful.

The venerable Chevy Stovebolt six. This one will be replaced with an engine that will propel us down the highway at the same speed as the rest of the traffic.

Body by Holden.

Unmistakably Chevy. The ’38 still bears the plates of its former home, Kulin, in the Western Australia Wheatbelt.

We would like to think the timber that makes up the buckboard rear of Honeycomb is original. We plan on re-using as much of it as we can.

Disassembly of the little Chevy truck commenced within weeks of her arriving at our home. Note the shades of the original olive gold beginning to emerge, having been hidden since the last re-paint.

Catherine finds a nice place to hide.

Word from our body and pain man filtered back home “Keep Dan away from that gas-axe.” Evidently I was burning away more than just rusty old bolts.

As we whittled away various body parts, the value of a life spent in the wheatbelt become apparent. Rust was minimal of an 82 year old lady.

By 1938 brass was so last year. The world was turning onto chrome plating and beautiful brass was being hidden. Not any longer. We have revealed quite a few brass pieces that have been covered by pain or chrome. They will be polished and displayed in all their original glory. This hubcap is an example.

A sneak preview of things to come. Some pieces have already begun to filter home.

Still in the Stovebolt family this larger engine will give the little Chevy the long legs she needs.