My A7ss was a goodie (Reg 708 KAR -anyone got it?), twin carbs, swept backs, clip-ons, etc. I rebuilt the motor mid 1967, fitting A10 valves raising the compression marginally turned it into a pretty good street racer. The thing back then, was when you were going over the Cellar at Windsor, to be able to take the bridge, a fairly sharp left hander at 70 mph. I’m sure other readers will recall the residents of Windsor standing on the pavement, waving their arms about frantically to make the leather boys slow it down on a Sunday.
I took part in many a “chicken run” from the cellar, looking back now, it’s amazing more of us weren’t killed. To ride from the Cellar over to Maidenhead or Camberley, not at erratic speeds, but to decide a speed before you left and to the best of your ability, keep the needle near enough “on the button”, was one of my favourite pastimes.
I recall winding the throttle on during one of these trips going out of Windsor towards Datchet, my future wife on the back, overtaking a car, and knowing full well the car coming towards us would make us want to “breath in”. The widest part of the bike at the rear end were the pillion footrests and as I overtook that car doing something like 85 mph (watchful of the other vehicle coming towards us) I would have bet the footrest was going to snag on his bumper, it was that close, but there for the Lord go I; we made it that day and continued on our way. I remember sitting up on the Western avenue/Uxbridge roundabout with the motor running and in gear waiting for a sports car to race down to the Denham roundabout most Sunday mornings, back then. If a tyre had gone at those speeds it would have been bye-bye world.
Another like minded chap at the time was John Velo; a group of us on the way back from the 59 to the Ace on the North Circular one night were caught by a red traffic light. This was it, the adrenalin, the sheer excitement that in the next few seconds I was gonna blow John’s Velo away when the amber light showed (sod the green one!) I glanced at the Velo thumping at the lights that night, rearing to go. In a split second I saw a rear tyre covered in oil and directly in front of the rear wheel, oil was being pumped onto the road at an alarming rate. The lights were about to change, John gave me his knowing smile, as he clicked into gear. Thankfully our eyes met, he saw the horror in my eyes, the violent shaking of my head and what could have been another North Circular Ton-Up boy’s death was averted that night.

The A10 was playing up one evening at the Bee, and I had no way of running the young lady home that I was going out with. I didn’t like to ask Roger, didn’t want to put him out to much – but he agreed which I thought was right decent of him at the time – a good mate – had to be my best mate.
So there we are me with a bucket full of clutch bits including the plates minus cork inserts feeling quite sad; Roger starts the Matchless, the girl gets on, he shouts that he’ll be back in half an hour. The time passed: come five thirty in the morning and on my tenth coke, I had the feeling that someone was being had (not the girl of course). I managed to get a lift home and was tucked up in bed by 7 am only to get up for work at 7.30 am!
I didn’t see Roger down the Bee for a week and when I did, of course the young lady was the light of his life – well, what the heck – who needs her, I’ve got my Beeza running like a dream.
That evening we set out for home, first job, to drop off his young lady. “All you’re gonna see on the bend at Bushey is sparks from my footrests, I’m gonna go!” Roger shouted to me, as we kicked our bikes into life.
Roger overtook me coming into the bend – to make it he would really have to earhole it, but no, he went up the nearside bank – being dark all I saw, as I braked frantically were, as Roger promised, sparks and a headlight beam searching out the blackness as the bike tumbled over and over that night.
Once I had stopped my motor there was an eerier silence, the road being lit by a cloudy moon.
His girl friend, lying flat, Roger with his left arm under her head, had adopted the position of a person that would be praying to Allah with his behind up in the air.
I got the gist that neither one of them was in pain, he was comforting her, kissing he gently on the forehead. The clouds partially covering the moon cleared; there I was looking down on my best mate, but hold on! That’s his bum staring up at me – his clothes that should be there was missing – shredded from him during his slide down he road – I roared laughing, partly I suppose through the nervousness of the situation, he sheepishly turned his head to look up at me and at the same time must have felt a draught, he grinned his big grin, just for me – his best mate and said “you know what I am don’t you?” “yes”, I replied.

After my soul destroying saga with the Bantam at the Busy Bee I had vowed to return on something larger, of course back then you could ride anything as a learner but to go over the 250cc limit you had to have a combo, (a sidecar attached). So there I am with my new acquisition, a four port Ariel Square Four with the biggest sidecar in the world – honestly you could have fitted Les Dawson and all the Roly Polys in it and still had room for his piano.
Sheer days of fun, to load that monster up with the “boys,” yelling and shouting our way to the Bee on those warm summer evenings must have been an eye opener as we sped along from Uxbridge, seven up and flat out at 73 mph towards Denham. The times that I couldn`t stop that thing and bumped up amongst the flowers on the Denham roundabout was a regular event, or to approach left handers to find you’re not in a “pulling gear” to get you round the bend and end up in some poor sods garden after chickening out was also a regular occurrence much enjoyed by my death wish passengers.
The poor old gal eventually seized, was I up for a rebuild? no, I just dumped it in a field north of Watford. I was then seen buzzing around on another Bantam but this one was a racing Bantam, close box, high comp head, rear sets and clip-ons.

Saturdays usually meant the afternoons were spent at Pride & Clarkes to drool over bikes that I’d never own, and one that I did purchase from them that I wish I hadn’t owned. I got it “on the book” for £109 a Royal Enfield Super Meteor, I remember the day vividly from getting off the train at the Oval through to riding it home, well halfway anyway, it was such a heavy bike. I knew in the back of my mind as I pushed that heap of junk around the local counties that I will never ever buy anything other than a BSA in the future….
Then I bought an S7 Sunbeam, super to ride, so smooth with it`s fat tyre’s and unique hydraulic seat, but as for speed it was about as flat as a witches tit, eventually one of the conrods decided to exit the crankcase during a hammer home from The Manor at Camberly. I remember a chap called Mick calling at my house for the Sunbeam to whom I had offered it for free. As he pushed it up the path and out of my life I called out and said” how about half a dollar for a packet of fags, least you could do Mick”. He flicked me the half crown, I felt pleased that I actually got some money for it, mind you it was a bargain,,,13 pence!!!!
Anyway let me set this scene, the deal for (yet another) A10 combo has been struck, the money handed over, the previous owner telling me to check the oil, chains and tyre’s regular, I agree excitedly, we shake hands and I’m off again. I remember this bike quite well, (later square barrel plunger), removing the sidecar body and with slats of wood and u bolts, transforming into a somewhat uncomfortable magic carpet for my many eager friends that wished to try their hands at sidecar racing around the north circular. Goodness me, what would the old William say if they saw a sight like that today, me hanging into the chassis and my passenger leaning and clinging on to a somewhat rusty mudguard as we tackled yet another left hander,,Chris Vincent lives!!!! A trick of one particular passenger was to exit the chassis before it came to a stop, by stepping off as if it was a bus service, mind you by the time I parked up he’d be seated in the cafe with the coffees already purchased. His name was Roger, his folks said I led him astray at times, he was in a right bad smash back then on his Matchless, I must tell you about it….

I’d heard of a café where all the “boys” used to hang out and decided that it has to be the place for me, so all the gear on tank of two stroke and off I sped on the Bantam to of all places, The Busy Bee, north of where I resided. They reckoned that hundreds of Ton-Up boys gathered there on a Sunday afternoon. When I got there, I could see no-one, an empty area so I park the little Beeza, and sit on the wall out front and wonder.
Eager me of course, too early in the day; then they started to arrive, thundering into the Bee, making the most of the sound of their bikes as they changed down 4th, 3rd, 2nd, 1st with white scarves trailing in the wind, pudding basin crash hats, feet back, clip-ons, some solo, others with a girl in tow. This is the Biz: all powerful stuff to me – but hold on! Look where they are parking their bikes, all around my Bantam, loads of them, they’re smoking fags chatting and laughing and drinking coffee. The time is getting on, it’s getting late – how long before I pluck up enough courage to go forth and remove, somewhat red faced my little Bantam from this wild looking crowd, who would, for the crack throw me and my bantam into the woods opposite, just for a laugh.
I decided to sit it out until the majority had left the Bee that evening – to escape before the next wave arrived, muttering that “my kid brother had left his bike here somewhere, tut, tut just imagine riding one of these”, with that I knocked it of its stand and pushed it down the slope into the pub car park next door.
I was free, I started it up clicked it into first and sped off into the sunset vowing that the next time I turn up there at the Bee I would do it in style.
To be continued…..