- Joined
- Jul 7, 2010
- Messages
- 356
I am sure my story is really not that unique but I’ll share it just the same.
I learned to ride a motorcycle at age 14. A friend had a BSA 350 and access to a 441. He put me on the 350 and let me ride up and down the street two times before jumping on top of that 441. Off we went on a two-hour adventure starting down through the local streets to ultimately access the nearby hills. Once on the dirt he would tell me which gear to pick, when to gas it and most importantly when to stay away from the front brake. I basically just followed him up down, what I still consider, some challenging terrain. We made it back safely and of course I had the biggest grin on my face . I can still clearly recall the thrill of my first ride on a motorcycle. Within the week I convinced my parents a motorcycle was right for me.
I learned a new skill set from that BSA, as it was my main transportation and trails bike for the next three years. I learned the basics of 4-stroke engines and how to troubleshoot it when I was having difficulty. That bike presented it share of difficulties! Mostly it was either an issue with the electrical or fuel system as compression was never a concern. I learned first hand that Lucas was the true Prince of Darkness ensuring that if my headlight worked, it wouldn’t be working for much longer. Most importantly I learned the joys of ridding and riding off road.
A CZ 250 replaced the 350 as I focused more on dirt riding. When I was nineteen or twenty a 71 Norton Commando became my main mode of transportation. That little jewel was a rocket and I never tired of rolling the throttle back. Fortunately I never got hurt or hurt any of my passengers, as I was that knucklehead kid with too much power in my hand.
So about 1975, I was living on the wet Half Moon Bay coast, and it was another foggy and wet summer which was not very conducive to riding. Another obstacle was my girlfriend who was taking up more of my time. So, it was mid fall and I was in the process of moving. The bike had sat idle for a month or two and my beloved Norton wouldn’t start. I keep kicking her over followed by attempts at compression starting her. This went on for the next hour until I finally got her to light. In my wisdom I decided to take her around the block in hopes of charging up the battery. Well the roads were still dirt then and I came around a corner a little too hot. The next thing I know I had high sided her and I was picking my self off the ground. My first attempt to lift her up made it clear my shoulder was jacked and I would soon learn it was separated.
So with the help of a couple of friends I completed the move into a true beach house in Pacifica. There was nothing between our little beach shack and the waves but sand. The Norton was tucked into the garage and covered up until I could afford to repair the damaged headlight and tachometer. Well, I had no spare money and the Norton sat for the next eighteen months, covered up until I moved again. When I finally uncovered her I was horrified! The same daily winds that; piled sand up against our beach shack, blew sand through the cracks of the double hung windows and into the house, and obscured our ocean view with a slick of salt on the windows had also did a number on my poor Norton Roadster. Everywhere her chrome was freckled with specks of rust and the once bright and shinny aluminum was as dull as the fog that did the damage.
I am here to confess my dirty little secrete, my roadster never recovered form her last say on that beach. I never got to kick her to life again or hear the rumble of her two big cylinders’ pumping through that sweet peashooter exhaust. So that was almost what 35 years ago. I never stopped riding but in the last thirty years, the one difference being, all my bikes have had pedals on them. FYI, I never stopped admiring my fellow Norton riders and my head will always turn to the sound of a Norton approaching
Back in July I found the Norton Forums and have become a Forum junky. Simply stated you all have reignited my lust for Norton’s and I am becoming obsessed with getting aboard a Norton again. I thought it was only fair that before I ask for your help that you know I was responsible for the death of my 71 Roadster.
Sorry I forgot to tell you what became of that rusty old 71. I was able to track her down; well actually I knew where she was all along. She is sitting downstairs in my garage right where I put her thirty two years ago. My time on these forums has encouraged me to give her the rebirth she deserves. I hope to get it started in the next couple of months and with your help I know I can get it done.
Gary
PS: I promises never to babble on like this again!
I learned to ride a motorcycle at age 14. A friend had a BSA 350 and access to a 441. He put me on the 350 and let me ride up and down the street two times before jumping on top of that 441. Off we went on a two-hour adventure starting down through the local streets to ultimately access the nearby hills. Once on the dirt he would tell me which gear to pick, when to gas it and most importantly when to stay away from the front brake. I basically just followed him up down, what I still consider, some challenging terrain. We made it back safely and of course I had the biggest grin on my face . I can still clearly recall the thrill of my first ride on a motorcycle. Within the week I convinced my parents a motorcycle was right for me.
I learned a new skill set from that BSA, as it was my main transportation and trails bike for the next three years. I learned the basics of 4-stroke engines and how to troubleshoot it when I was having difficulty. That bike presented it share of difficulties! Mostly it was either an issue with the electrical or fuel system as compression was never a concern. I learned first hand that Lucas was the true Prince of Darkness ensuring that if my headlight worked, it wouldn’t be working for much longer. Most importantly I learned the joys of ridding and riding off road.
A CZ 250 replaced the 350 as I focused more on dirt riding. When I was nineteen or twenty a 71 Norton Commando became my main mode of transportation. That little jewel was a rocket and I never tired of rolling the throttle back. Fortunately I never got hurt or hurt any of my passengers, as I was that knucklehead kid with too much power in my hand.
So about 1975, I was living on the wet Half Moon Bay coast, and it was another foggy and wet summer which was not very conducive to riding. Another obstacle was my girlfriend who was taking up more of my time. So, it was mid fall and I was in the process of moving. The bike had sat idle for a month or two and my beloved Norton wouldn’t start. I keep kicking her over followed by attempts at compression starting her. This went on for the next hour until I finally got her to light. In my wisdom I decided to take her around the block in hopes of charging up the battery. Well the roads were still dirt then and I came around a corner a little too hot. The next thing I know I had high sided her and I was picking my self off the ground. My first attempt to lift her up made it clear my shoulder was jacked and I would soon learn it was separated.
So with the help of a couple of friends I completed the move into a true beach house in Pacifica. There was nothing between our little beach shack and the waves but sand. The Norton was tucked into the garage and covered up until I could afford to repair the damaged headlight and tachometer. Well, I had no spare money and the Norton sat for the next eighteen months, covered up until I moved again. When I finally uncovered her I was horrified! The same daily winds that; piled sand up against our beach shack, blew sand through the cracks of the double hung windows and into the house, and obscured our ocean view with a slick of salt on the windows had also did a number on my poor Norton Roadster. Everywhere her chrome was freckled with specks of rust and the once bright and shinny aluminum was as dull as the fog that did the damage.
I am here to confess my dirty little secrete, my roadster never recovered form her last say on that beach. I never got to kick her to life again or hear the rumble of her two big cylinders’ pumping through that sweet peashooter exhaust. So that was almost what 35 years ago. I never stopped riding but in the last thirty years, the one difference being, all my bikes have had pedals on them. FYI, I never stopped admiring my fellow Norton riders and my head will always turn to the sound of a Norton approaching
Back in July I found the Norton Forums and have become a Forum junky. Simply stated you all have reignited my lust for Norton’s and I am becoming obsessed with getting aboard a Norton again. I thought it was only fair that before I ask for your help that you know I was responsible for the death of my 71 Roadster.
Sorry I forgot to tell you what became of that rusty old 71. I was able to track her down; well actually I knew where she was all along. She is sitting downstairs in my garage right where I put her thirty two years ago. My time on these forums has encouraged me to give her the rebirth she deserves. I hope to get it started in the next couple of months and with your help I know I can get it done.
Gary
PS: I promises never to babble on like this again!
