stories

Lineslinger said:
I have to believe there is a good tale behind this photo, but I have no clue other than maybe beer or pot or both were involved.
It looks like the socket wrench got trapped at some point during their "project"...maybe.


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Been there, done that with a brake shoe adjusting scanner. The second I heard the thing bouncing off the road then hitting the car, I knew exactly what I’d done. 🙄🤭
PS….no beer or pot were involved.
 
  • Haha
Reactions: baz
Back in my bike shop days I had several customers that would sit on a roll-around, watch me work and tell stories. Stories were an integral part of the whole bike shop experience. There was the lad that told me about riding his Fastback around the Deep South and getting picked up for vagrancy. He spent time picking peas on the county farm. There was 70 year old Jack Hatfield, who looked like Errol Flynn, and who rode a Moto Guzzi. He told really interesting stories from his time in WWII. (These were not combat stories per-say but were more like lifestyle antidotes and coping strategies.) Then there was Bill Knox, a local college professor in English letters. He rode a Norton. He used to recommend books for me to read and I was never disappointed. By his own admission, he was completely mechanically inept but he explained that he was like a patron of the arts. He couldn't make great art but he knew what he liked. He became over joyed when he watched me fit the transmission back into his Commando. We would ride together in years to come and he was always a fascinating companion.
 
My Mk3 Seeley frame is a bit interesting. The reason I got into motorcycles was the adrenalin rush I got from watching air combat movies during WW2. Motorcycles are the next best thing. There was a guy , I think his name was Peter McRitchie who was flying a Mosquito in the raid on the Amiens Prison during WW2, He was shot down just before he got to the prison and spent the rest of the war in Colditz Castle. When he returned to Australia, he started Melbourne Heat Treatment. His son Grant Mc Ritchie was into motorcycles. He bought the Seeley frame to build a Seeley Commando, but bought an H2R Kawasaki instead. My mate bought the frame and fitted a 750SF Laverda motor. Due to a couple of minor things, the bike was not successful, so it was sold and pulled apart, through ignorance. I bought the rolling chassis.
But the thing I find interesting is the mentality of Grant Mc Ritchie and his father. I was told by my father that during WW2, the air force liked to recruit motorcyclists.
Eric Winkle Brown also mentioned motorcycles, when he was talking about flying during WW2 - similarities ?
 
Big_Jim59 said:
Back in my bike shop days I had several customers that would sit on a roll-around, watch me work and tell stories. Stories were an integral part of the whole bike shop experience. There was the lad that told me about riding his Fastback around the Deep South and getting picked up for vagrancy. He spent time picking peas on the county farm. There was 70 year old Jack Hatfield, who looked like Errol Flynn, and who rode a Moto Guzzi. He told really interesting stories from his time in WWII. (These were not combat stories per-say but were more like lifestyle antidotes and coping strategies.) Then there was Bill Knox, a local college professor in English letters. He rode a Norton. He used to recommend books for me to read and I was never disappointed. By his own admission, he was completely mechanically inept but he explained that he was like a patron of the arts. He couldn't make great art but he knew what he liked. He became over joyed when he watched me fit the transmission back into his Commando. We would ride together in years to come and he was always a fascinating companion.
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Two of my mates got done for vagrancy in Queensland in the 1960s. They were forced to work around the town for a few days. They had to actually do a jail-break - jump on the bikes and roar out of town.
 
I grew up in Queensland under the Joh Bjelke-Petersen rule of late 60/70/80s where GOVT Ministers, police corruption ran rife, brown paper bags full of corrupt dealings, illegal gambling dens, police officers drunk on duty and my local police head detective was the biggest corrupt officer of my local station, we use to call him pin head as he looked like a pin head, he ended up becoming police commissioner in later years, but in our early days he controlled the drug dealing in our local area (his son was a junkie).
Yes we lived in a police state at the time, but the good thing there was no tolerance with protesters and if they shut down roads the police would go in with battens drawn and they didn't muck around, they were dragged off by the hair and off to the cells batted and bruised even the women.
There was one Minister called Russ Hinze, he was a big fat pig, he was the Minister for everything, racing/gambling/main roads, you name it he was in charge of them all, his family had their hands in everyone pockets and nothing got built in Queensland without the brown paper bag full of money, ahhhhh the good old days, a few times in my younger days being pulled over by the cops on my Norton where the officer was so drunk he couldn't get out of the car or write a ticket for that matter and the good cops got nowhere in their rankings, Joh would get voted in with only 30% of the vote with his Gerry Mander voting system and he has a saying about the media "I feed the chooks", the National/Country party ruled, but they all fell down hard in the end, but Joh walked away untouched, his trial was rigged.

Ashley
 
I was working on Glenn’s green Fastback in some capacity and as I worked he related a story to me. It seems that Glenn had been working in some capacity which led him to have a large sum of cash. This might have involved him working offshore. I was never clear on this. He decided to take his Norton (the one I was working on) for a tour before settling on a new course of employment.

He was riding around and enjoying the hospitality and charm of the deep south. One evening he fell into the company of some local lads who led him astray with drink. He woke up in jail the next morning having been picked up for drunk and disorderly. Glenn said that “he was not concerned as his pockets were tight with cash and he could pay any fine.” Later that day he was brought before the magistrate. The charges were read and he ask how much the fine was. The next thing he heard shocked him to his core. “Ain't no fine Boy! Pea picken’ time, 90 days county farm!” He said “my mouth was gaping like a catfish gulping air” as they were taking me out of the courtroom.

He said that they were true to their word. He spent the first 30 days picking peas and beans. Then they found out he had construction experience and he spent the remainder of the time building roads and bridges. When his sentence was up they took him back to the town where he was arrested. Gave him his clothes, his bike, plus $20 and told him “don’t come round here no more.” He said “I don’t! To this day I go around that state if I have to travel.”

He never told me what state this was but a few names come to mind.
 
Not a lot about motorbikes other than a friend who sold his collection, but funny if not on the receiving end. About 35 years ago a good friend, Tom had a large collection of vintage and veteran bikes, including several 2 stroke velos a couple of which were probably the sole survivors. He was a gardener, and occasionally a truck driver with Wollongong City council and for some time had been looking for a few acres to live on. In order to help fund the property he sold off his bike collection, several of which were purchased by former world 500cc champion Wayne Gardner, and he purchased a rural property in Jamberoo. Being rural there was no town water but the property had a 20,000 gallon underground water tank. Tom had borrowed a lot of money for the property. When he first moved in he ran out of water within a couple of days, so he managed to borrow the council water tanker truck from his employer to take home over night to fill his underground watertank. But a couple of days later he was again out of water. After gaining access to the water tank manhole Tom climbed into the tank and found al large crack, so in desperation he purchased a 3000 gallon corrugated steel tank and sat that on the top of the concrete tank and spent the weekend connecting it. That would have to do him until he could afford to get the underground tank repaired. Back to work and again he borrowed the council watertanker overnight to fill the tank. Early the next morning his dog started barking incessantly. Tom went to his front door to yell at his dog to stop barking, but unknown to Tom, the dog had a red bellied black snake cornered against the door. When Tom opened the door, the snake being in an agitated state immediately struck but only managed to bite Toms trouser leg. Tom flung the door shut, and with his heart beating hundreds of beats per minute he ran to his bedroom to grab his 12g shotgun which was at that time kept under his bed. With a cartridge safely in the chamber, but his heart still pounding, Tom went back to the front door and opened it slowly to find the snake was making its escape across the lawn. He ran outside, shotgun at the hip and fired at the snake. He missed the snake but managed to put about 50 holes in his new watertank. When Tom told me his sad tale, all that I could do was laugh.

ando
 
Grandad said:
Stories or a lack of ……

In 1988 I bought a ten year old BMW R100RS and in the seat compartment was a new unused condom the packet of which looked the age of the bike

Seems this bike and it’s owner had led a sheltered life
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which reminds me that during WW2, near Stevenage , England, there was a centre set up to develop devices to get at the enemy. One of these was the limpet mine: the prototype used an old aluminium saucepan, but then a time delayed fuse was required (to allow the diver to escape ). Story is that while sucking on a dissolving sherbet lemon sweet, a water soluble fuse was developed, and a condom was used as an experimental waterproofing cover for another component….
 
I have just discovered that an ex-Vincent employee lived at the top of the road here, but sadly died a year or so back. That could have provided some great stories!
 
Fast Eddie said:
Simple. Get bikes of the same colour and girlfriends of the same size.

Them Germuns are very logical you know !
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In my limited experience we all attracted to a certain body type/ look …. goes both ways supposedly …. makes for smooth relationships , haha!
 
ashman said:
I grew up in Queensland under the Joh Bjelke-Petersen rule of late 60/70/80s where GOVT Ministers, police corruption ran rife, brown paper bags full of corrupt dealings, illegal gambling dens, police officers drunk on duty and my local police head detective was the biggest corrupt officer of my local station, we use to call him pin head as he looked like a pin head, he ended up becoming police commissioner in later years, but in our early days he controlled the drug dealing in our local area (his son was a junkie).
Yes we lived in a police state at the time, but the good thing there was no tolerance with protesters and if they shut down roads the police would go in with battens drawn and they didn't muck around, they were dragged off by the hair and off to the cells batted and bruised even the women.
There was one Minister called Russ Hinze, he was a big fat pig, he was the Minister for everything, racing/gambling/main roads, you name it he was in charge of them all, his family had their hands in everyone pockets and nothing got built in Queensland without the brown paper bag full of money, ahhhhh the good old days, a few times in my younger days being pulled over by the cops on my Norton where the officer was so drunk he couldn't get out of the car or write a ticket for that matter and the good cops got nowhere in their rankings, Joh would get voted in with only 30% of the vote with his Gerry Mander voting system and he has a saying about the media "I feed the chooks", the National/Country party ruled, but they all fell down hard in the end, but Joh walked away untouched, his trial was rigged.

Ashley
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There is a book titled 'Sydney Noir', which is worth reading. It mentions the link between corruption in Queensland and corrupt police in New South Wales. There is a tradition of corruption in NSW which dates back to the convict days. It is noticeably different to Victoria. I think the only convicts in Victoria were locals who had done wrong. But I love Sydney - it has a really nice feel about it. Nice place to visit.
 
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