Volume 5, Issue 2: Fall 2009
Book Review
Riding Old Motorcycles
by Reg Eyre
Cornwall: Blue Hills Publishing, 2006
ISBN-10: 0-954900561
James J. Ward
Reg Eyre’s elegant little book makes two
assumptions. First, that riding
“old” motorcycles is a qualitatively different experience than riding “modern”
motorcycles, by which he primarily means current state-of-the-art performance
bikes. Second, that this
experience is inherently a more satisfying one—an opinion likely to be
challenged by anyone whose evaluative standards start with instant acceleration,
instant braking, high-speed stability and low-speed maneuverability, top-end
performance specs that can only be apprehended (on public roads) theoretically,
and, almost as an afterthought, ease or absence of maintenance. Not that Eyre isn’t prepared
to concede the technical superiority of the contemporary high-end sport bike. “The modern machines have been directly
benefiting from modern race technology,” he writes, “in that they have a large
tyre footprint, ignition systems which are electronically mapped and
controlled, fuel injection instead of traditional carburettors, disc brakes
instead of drums, frames which have been computer designed to minimise stress
forces and fairing designed to flow the air over and around the rider.” Further, today’s performance bikes have
evolved a riding style that is one step removed from the racetrack. “The aim appears to be to go as fast as
possible on the straight, brake heavily to the apex of the bend and once
straightened up, twist the throttle open for maximum acceleration.” But all of this doesn’t necessarily
equate with the experience of “ownership,” or at least “partnership,” between
rider and motorcycle as Eyre understands it. It is clear that he is using a
different calculus than the modern sport rider.
Ironically, Eyre’s own riding career began on a
distinctly modern machine, at least in the context of the times. This was a 1959 Ariel Leader, a 250cc
twin-cylinder two stroke with a pressed-steel frame and all-enclosing
“aerodynamic” bodywork that may have added a mile or two to its (by today’s
standards) modest top speed. Eyre
calls its performance “sluggish,” but adds that this may have proved an asset
as the front brake inspired no confidence and the clanking of the body panels
added to a general air of uncertainty. Although soon exchanged for a 500cc KH parallel twin, the Leader was
nonetheless the start of a lifelong affection for the marque, so that Ariels of
all sizes and specifications figure prominently in the book.
While a much better performer, especially after
Eyre fitted it with a VH engine rescued from a parts yard, the KH was
older—and noisier (all the bearings were “rattley”)—than the Leader
and initiated what became its owner’s backward progression through motorcycle
history. Before long it was joined
by a 1928 557cc Ariel Model B side valve with a hand throttle and an enormous
bulb horn that dominated the hand grips. This was later supplemented by a 1929 overhead valve
Model C with proper twist controls.
The book is organized in like fashion, with Eyre
moving against the calendar through the succession of categories—postwar,
post-vintage, vintage, veteran, pioneer—that make up the world of old
motorcycling. The chronological
and technical details of each of these are helpfully explained, as are the
sometimes arbitrary restrictions imposed by the Vintage Motor Cycle Club (VMCC)
and the confusion that attaches to the use of the word “classic,” which Eyre
deftly sidesteps by acknowledging that it is largely, if not entirely, a
subjective characterization, most strongly held in the mind of a prideful
owner. After a brief
digression to describe what he likes and doesn’t like about riding “modern”
motorcycles, with a ready admission that the standards of braking, handling,
and power delivery are “superb” and beyond anything provided by previous
generations of road bikes, Eyre gets to the heart of the matter with a series
of descriptions of as many of the fifty-odd machines he has owned and ridden as
he can fit into the same number of pages.
There’s an interesting comparison of two
post-vintage motorcycles manufactured in the same year, 1933, a 500cc Ariel Red
Hunter and a 500cc Sunbeam Model 9. The Ariel, Eyre writes, is a bike the modern rider would feel at home
with almost at once, while the Sunbeam, described as a “gentleman’s mount” with
a 3-speed hand-actuated transmission and, at best, “adequate brakes,” would
appear a lot older to today’s motorcyclist. The Ariel’s long-stroke single-cylinder engine accelerates
briskly and the (relatively) compact frame induces a feeling of lightness that
encourages confidence in negotiating turns. The similarly tall-stroked Sunbeam feels heavy just moving
around the workshop floor and on the road lets its rider know he is mounted on
a big (and long) machine. In the
veteran class (1907 through 1914), Eyre uses the example of a 1914 Invicta, one
of three known to exist, fitted with a 269cc Villiers two-stroke engine and
direct belt drive, to make the case for a complicated starting procedure and,
in a separate paragraph, for the art of “walking” or “paddling” that is
required to urge the bike along whenever an incline is encountered. In an understated aside that could
apply to several of the machines he profiles, Eyre notes that the Sunbeam
requires a “lot of human input” in order to keep motoring. Yet by comparison, the Invicta is
considerably more advanced than a 1910 Royal Enfield 300cc Vee Twin, powered by
a Swiss-made Motosacoche engine, with belt drive, no clutch and no gears, and bicycle
pedals whose function—beyond starting—quickly becomes
apparent. “Adjusting the
controls,” that is, throttle, choke, and spark, Eyre writes, “brings no
noticeable changes in performance.” On similar machines one would expect to richen the mixture and retard
the ignition when encountering an incline that causes the engine to
slow—but not on this early Enfield. “Light pedal assistance” is the solution.
Pausing to reflect on his experience riding veteran
and pioneer motorcycles, Eyre observes that “the most
important lesson to learn is that you cannot hope to be proficient in five
minutes.” The truth of this lesson
is made clear in the longest section of the book, describing the pioneer class,
machines made before January 1, 1907. Here the rule seems to be, the older the motorcycle, the more
concentration is required just to keep the thing running. Whereas the modern bike rider has
to be alert to road and traffic conditions, as well as to the more than likely
dumb move the automobile or truck driver ahead or alongside is about to make,
the rider of an early motorcycle—who after all is not going that
fast—has to cope with the absence of a clutch (you stop, it stops),
total-loss oiling, a primitive carburetor , no
suspension, and a high center of gravity that makes entering every turn a
source of trepidation. Unlike
present-day motorcycles, engineered to be impervious to virtually any
fluctuation in ambient surroundings, heat, cold, and above all rain can
confound an old bike’s willingness to start or to keep running once throttled
down. Add to this plug fouling,
oil misting, belt slipping or worse breakage, the rapid accumulation of an
abrasive film of road grit, and a proclivity to shut down unexpectedly, almost
always in disadvantageous circumstances.
Halfway between a bicycle and a (proper)
motorcycle, the pioneer machines win Eyre’s admiration for the
ingenuity—in a kind of backyard mechanic’s fashion—of their design
and the unique, if not idiosyncratic, character each of them seems to possess. A 1903 Dreadnought that was invited to
participate in the opening ceremony for the Channel Tunnel in 1994 earns the appellation “intimidating monster,” and not just because it
caught fire in front of Queen Elizabeth II’s viewing stand. Riding the same machine to a
first-place finish in the Banbury Run ninety-four years after its date of
manufacture, Eyre finds the Dreadnought ideal for covering long distances (with
its wide handlebars, long footboards, and comfortable seat)—providing he
showed it the respect it deserved. In contrast, a Large—admittedly, a make this reviewer has never
heard of—from the same year with a 300cc De Dion engine (assisted by the
obligatory foot pedals) caused Eyre no end of problems until a mechanic friend
finally managed to get the carburetion right. Thereafter, Eyre recalls, it “pulled like a train” with
power from way down low to a respectable top speed, that is, until the spokes
in the rear wheel disintegrated.
Eyre’s frequently amusing stories of the woes and
wonders of old bikes are unlikely to convert many of today’s sport riders, who
want to know that—should the right conditions obtain—they could
crack 150 mph with a snap of the wrist. On the other hand, the book serves as a useful reminder that the
evolutionary distance from a 1908 250cc Ariel with foot pedals and bicycle-type
brakes to, say, a 1938 Velocette KSS (the road-going version of the
track-conquering 350cc KTT racer) is arguably as great as that from the
Velocette to a 2008 Ducati D16 RR (Cycle World’s Best Superbike for that
year). Perspective helps, even at
a potential 150 mph.
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