Tall Tales...what ever made me buy a norton?

Thanks for the answers...and for at least giving me the idea I hadn't stopped the thread because of subject matter. As for the story...it's true.
There's a lot of things we go through in life, and some of them we might think we'd like to change, but life doesn't make that possible. I really wouldn't want to. It would change also, all those things that came later, the things that are really important, like a wonderful second wife and three good kids, and years of enjoying a neat motorbike. This thread should be used by anyone that wants to tell a story ...and believe me...most of us have one to tell, and it is good that we can find an audience for it.
I live in a country that doesn't speak my mother language to any great extent, and sometimes it can get difficult to find someone to just BS with. I've been here since 74 and I guess I saw this thread as a way to talk to people with a similar interest about things. There are no other Norton owners in my area, and sometimes I might feel I'd like a bit of company...and the Internet has done the trick. If we all think about it, we have all experienced something of interest involving our Norton, and I personally would be very interested to hear about it. All the other, technical threads, are important....but the human side of our Norton experience should be too.
I hope that a few more of you get the time to contribute....or someone who has already contributed gives us another chapter in the story....any bit of input would be nice. Doesn't need to win the Pulitzer Prize. And...don't let my rambling scare you off. I'm not trying to take the stage here...just trying to have and share, a bit of fun.......so give me a bit of completion here......my Norton story has just started with my roommate's race with the cops......

hewhoistoolazytologin

A ripping good yarn as they say!

..."fear will apparently start a Norton every time...."

Truer words were never spoken.

And Lucas was obviously fearless!

No one else seems to be picking up the ball...so I will drop another chapter on all you poor suckers.....

A day or two later...he took me to the garage where my newly acquired motorbike was stored. Needless to say...he had sold it in a moment of craziness, and I had bought it in my own moment of recklessness...but neither one of us had the nerve to ask if the other one wanted to back out of the deal. The pipes were all a mess, the tank had a big dent in it, the bars were bent and the foot pegs were almost useless but he said it could all be fixed. Maybe at age 23, this is the normal way to look at things. Everything can be fixed.

We pushed it out of the garage and he started it up. That settled it. No Mofa sounded like that. My questions about whether I wanted it or not, had evaporated.

Have you considered what I was doing? Not me. I had bought a 750 to replace a 50cc Mofa. I had never ridden a motorbike in my life and wanted to jump on a Commando and ride off into the sunset. Unfortunately, I was about to find out that some things just don't work the way you want them to.

I spent at least a month pouring over the latest "Gus Kuhn" catalogue out of London (see.... http://www.vintagebike.co.uk/Bike%20Dir ... s-1971.htm ) and ordering parts to replace the ones my buddy had left strewn about the landscape.
Being however that I was stupid enough to leave it outside overnight, someone had decided that they needed the seat more than I did. Now I had no seat. One of the members of the unit had a Kawa and talked me into letting him take me to a shop to buy a new seat. Naturally no one bothered to give me the scoop on this guy. He drove one of those new 3 cylinder 750, 2 cycles...correct me if I say it was a Z1. An ungodly thing that had a header system on it that was so loud that the Commander ordered him not to run the motor within the compound. You could hear him downshifting on the exit ramp of the Autobahn, evenings, and that was a good 3 miles away. This guy who drove this thing was apparently not very good at driving it either, but I didn't know that. Who was I to judge. So off we went down the Autobahn. Within a mile, I knew what the fellows in the unit had not told me...this guy was out of his mind. We were two up on this thing, he had it up over 120.... went down the white line between two tractor trailer rigs doing at least 60 mph more than they were...the open face helmet I had on was full of air like a sail and chocking me to the point of pain and all of a sudden the bike made an explosive sound and lost half its horsepower within the snap of a finger. One of the truck drivers that we had just roared between and scared the daylights out of was blowing his horn...and steam was blowing out of one of the truck radiators. The truck with the big hole in the radiator. We must have still been doing a good hundred and the bike was running rather strange, but we kept going. At the bike shop, we discovered the baffle was missing from the header...that must have been why the truck had steam pouring out of it. No wonder the driver had been shaking his fist.
He did drive bit slower on the way back to the barracks...the bike ran like crap, but I swore I'd never ride with him again. One night he came back and told everyone that the bike had been stolen. No one believed him or course, and it was generally thought he had just crashed it again, but he did get the insurance money. He was shortly thereafter transferred and we didn't see him again, but strangely, a year later, a farmer turned up with the wrecked bike on a trailer. They had found it when they cut the corn, in the middle of a field. Go figure.
So.... finally, I was ready to give it a go. Naturally half the unit showed up to see me start the thing...including the fellow who still had pictures of him and Sonny Barger, http://www.sonnybarger.com/ ,in his wallet. His first comment was that a little "s_it" like me would never be able to get the Norton started, never mind a real bike, like his Harley.
And ...just to prove his point, he tossed me the key to his bike and told me to prove him wrong. All I can say is that if fear will start a Norton.... worry about losing face, will start a Harley.

There's an old saying that says you have to beat em, to join em. Must be true...because we were suddenly thick as thieves. Wonders will never cease. He was an OK fellow, as it turned out later.

By that time the crowd had thankfully decided they had something else to do.....my new friend included, and I was left alone to start the Norton. The kickback sent me over the bars and I landed on my chin on the cobblestones. I remember lying on the ground hoping no one had seen what happened. God must have been watching.......no one did.

Naturally I didn't have a licence for a motorcycle and no one had bothered to explain to me much about the controls, brakes and gear lever...but that all came out in the wash. There was a small road around the corner and I gave it a try. Needless to say...it was a bit heavier than a Mofa....but the principle was the same. If I could ride a Mofa....then this other thing shouldn't be much of a problem. "Piece of cake", thought I. Little did I know.

I had made myself an appointment to get my motorcycle licence and even got a plate on it too. Hadn't driven it but about 3 or 4 hundred meters since I bought it...but who worries about stupid things like that.
..The testing place was across the city and somehow, I made it there. The fellow comes out the door, and points down the street and says.. "Go down there, turn at the light, turn left at the next light and turn left at the next one.... I'll be waiting". This fellow must have been related to the fellow that gave me my car drivers' licence. That one, sat me behind the wheel of an "Automatic". I'd never seen one before and asked where the gearshift was. "don't ask stupid questions" was all I got. Naturally at the first red light, I put my foot on the "clutch" (brake pedal)...and the tester went almost through the windshield........he got so upset that he signed the paper and booted me out of the car. This driving tester had the sense to not even ride with me. I went around the block and he signed the paper. I now had a motorcycle licence and nothing could stop me. A quick ride down the Autobahn...a race against a Mercedes, God...I was in heaven.
On the way back to the barracks, there was a traffic light and I had to stop for the light. I was in the front of the line, and what did I do?...I stalled the thing out when the light changed. A line of cars behind and I had to put the side stand down and kick it started right in the middle of the road. Horns blasting. People yelling and I threw it in gear and rode off. You guessed it. The side stand was still down. It didn't take too long before I myself became aware of this, when it hit the pavement and the rear wheel left the road. I didn't dump it, but it should have made me think
About a week later, I tooled up to the big mountain, north of Frankfurt and saw a bunch of bikes parked up there and stopped. The bikes were all Guzzis and such and I was invited to drive down with them to get a beer in town. I felt like I had MADE it.
It had just turned dark and I was the last one out of the parking area, following them down the mountain. They all knew where they were going, and I didn't, so I had to really keep up with them, or they would lose me. There I am...flying down the mountain and all of a sudden, the taillights ahead disappeared. They were losing me!!!! Panic twisted the throttle and I roared through the night. Suddenly, I noticed that the road somehow went in a strange direction that required me to look over my left shoulder to see where it went. Bummer.......All I remembered at the moment, was that the one person that had offered me good driving advice had told me to never use the front brake. He said, the wheel would lock up and I would go over the handlebars. Naturally this was important to know in such a critical moment......so I pushed on the rear brake for all I was worth, locked the rear tire up, aimed the bike to make sure I avoided the nice little white pole along the road because it would surely dent up my bike...... and went straight as an arrow into the ditch.
To say I remember what happened when I went into the ditch, would be a lie...I don't remember kissing the speedometer or denting the tank with the family jewels, I don't remember a thing, until some jerk started shaking me and I came to. My face felt kind of funny. Nothing so unusual about that, but there were cops all over the place and an ambulance and flashing lights, too. Some medic was trying to steer me into an ambulance, but, all I could see at the moment, was my poor bike lying there on the ground with the front wheel up in the motor, the forks twisted like Pretzels, the tank smashed and glass everywhere. The fellow again ordered me into the ambulance and I told him to jump in the lake. Adrenaline must be a wonder drug indeed, because I remember bending over the bike and picking it up onto its centre stand while the Medic stood there and just stared. After all....I couldn't just leave it lying on the ground.
That taken care of though, something told me I'd better get into the ambulance..........

hewhoistoolazytologin

Unfortunately, what's happening here reminds me of that catchy song done by Billy Idol years ago called "Dancing With Myself", or maybe the old tune "Silence is Golden".
I've had a lot of fun putting down some of this stuff on paper, for a couple of reasons. One is that I've never bothered to do it before. Another is that my kids might get a kick out of it someday. But the main reason is that I hope it will make someone besides me, laugh.
My own foolish antics happened so long ago that, today, I see no reason to be anything other than amused by them...and I had hoped that some of you readers would be too. But it's now getting rather lonely out here alone on the dance floor, people.
Dumb stuff I did or witnessed years ago, doesn't in the least make me feel guilty, or uncomfortable, but silence does. I get the feeling I'm doing something improper, here. Someone do me the favour of helping with this thread.
Put something down on paper and send it in.

Dancing with yourself has it's purpose and pleasures, but most of the time, it's more fun if you have a partner....

hewhoisstilltoolazytologin

You originally started this thread prompting people "What made me buy a Norton ?"

Those with the spare time & inclination posted a brief reason, like myself.

Now, you seem to be wanting to tell the forum about your life since buying your norton. That's all good, most of us would have had similar episodes like falling off our bikes n seeing a bit of hash etc.

In the time I have been on this forum, people mostly seem happy to help if you post a question RE: problem with your norton. Some even love to argue the point, like myself

My guess is people come here looking for help & answers to questions about the norton commando motorcycle. Others get a kick out of helping.

If you are enjoying telling your story, who gives a dam if no one else wants to dance with you. You have to keep going now, you can't give us one or two chapters & stop. I want to hear the whole story wherever it may lead.

well......at least it wasn't a "shut up...you're boring us to death".....

Point taken.

hewhostillfeelstoodamnedlazytologin

hewhosname is toooooolong totype !

So what happened next ? you were carted off in an ambulance last chapter.

There is an interest, you only have to look at the number of views in comparison to other topics posted.

The Interstate Advantage

Ok, I'll have a dance hewho.............

My younger brother had just brought his first "bike", a Suzuki GT250 2 stroke. I had an Interstate Norton 1972 model combat at the time.

My younger brother hadn't ridden his bike that much, but wanted to navigate the "Mt Nebo" road which is kinda twisty I took his girlfrined on the back of my interstate & headed off at a very sedate pace as it was night time. It was a beautiful clear night & I kept a check on my mirrors to make sure he was not far behind.

We were travelling along nicely enjoying the few curves & sound & feel of the norton. We go aorund one particular sharp bend & I check to make sure Peter is still behind. mmmmm, no headlight.....what has happened ?
After a minute or so, I do a U turn & head back. All we see is my brother cralwing back up over the edge of the road without his bike :!:

Of course I could see he wasn't hurt, so I am laughing my head off at his predicament. He doesn't think it is funny at all though & starts going off at me.

Anyway, I tell him sorry but it looked so dam funny. Turns out his bike is caught up in all these lantana roots some 20 metres down the "cliff face". I guess that is what stopped him ging a lot furhter down.

We couldn't free his bike to drag it back up so I said you will have to get on the back of mine to get home. You couldn't do that with a roadster :!:
These days the coppers would lock you up & take your license from you.

We made it home 3 up without getting pinched by the coppers & took a car back next day & towed it up with a rope.

I still smile about it these days & can still see him crawling over the shoulder of the cliff & roadway He was more embarassed than hurt.

I guess you had to be there 8)

My Norton

Attention: Boring story content forthcoming!!!!!!

Mom said "NO MOTORCYCLES' when i was a kid: so on day two of my first leave after Navy Boot Camp in 1970, I bought a little Yamaha trail bike....... she didn't have a stroke and I later heard that when I went to Viet Nam, My dad was tooting all over the plae on it.

When I got home from that sunny southeast asian tourist destination, I bought a completely UGLY 68 BSA lightning: black rustoleum paint job, peanut tank with wires hanging out, megaphones and Z bars: It was my intent to restore it back to original (I was in love with those chrome beezer tanks from the first time I ever saw one.....still am)

whatever redneck that owned it before me beat the snot out of it and it had major problems, so I sold it to another redneck and bought a 72 Triumph Daytona. We were in the shipyards for a year after returning from vietnam (USS Chicago) so me and my trusty triumph rode on every road in southern california: Only a couple of close calls. and only one breakdown (1000 miles from nowhere in the desert, of all places) ... man, I loved that bike.............. and Yeah...... that brit twin sound is music to my ears.

so I go back overseas and sold my bike because I was headed home halfway through this cruise........

after I got home and was out of the serviceI was jonesing for another brit bike. but the love of my life would have none of it............

My buddy had a combat commando that I just loved and rode on many occasions (somewhere around the late 80's) , and went to sell it for a 8%(*&%^ harley: I begged him to hang on till I could get the scratch up but alas, it was gone.

so.....................time passes and I'm talking to the same buddy about the fact that I finally got the wife to cave in on getting another project bike....... he says (hey, I have a 71 commando... you want it?) YEAH!!!!! I do!!!!!!!

He brings it up from virginia: the original rustbucket parked against a barn for 20 years........but the motor is almost ready to go back together, and I have the cobalt blue House of Kolor paint /clearcoat almost ready to shoot..........

AND.................. I have my eye on another one 8)

Karl Hoyt

2 more good stories!! Tarzan in the trees and someone elses girlfriend on the back.....both too risky to do too often...and getting the "joneses" for a Norton. Haven't heard that phrase for years...but it brings back memories indeed, in all it's meanings. Good job, both of you! As Arnie said once...!I'll be baack!

Hewhocan'tbebotheredtologin

Norton "gene"

When I was in college, riding a Honda 305 Super Hawk (CB77) there was a guy who had gone to England and bought a new Commando fastback and brought it back. At the time (about '69) a new Commando cost $1439 here in the States, but only about $900 in London. The difference would easily cover a month there including r/t airfare. So the next summer I sold my Super Hawk, got a r/t ticket for $225, and wrote to a few London dealers. Mr. Spencer from Pride and Clarke wrote back that they had a used Norton for about $700. My "fallback" would be a new Commando. When I arrived at the shop the bike was actually a Dunstall 750 Atlas, about 2 yrs old. Full racing faring, clip-ons, rearsets, Cibie halogen headlamp - just fantastic. I rode that bike over to the continent and made a nice loop up to Denmark, back down thru Brussels, ending in Amsterdam. Found a shipper who would crate the bike and get it on a flight back to NY.

I kept that Norton for about 2 years but it was a handful to keep running properly. Eventually I sold it to a fellow from CT. Since then I've had many other bikes, presently riding a BMW K1200LT (about 25K miles per year!).

Last summer I was looking at eBay and decided to bid on a Commando. Can't remember the details, but I lost the auction in the last minutes. That really got my determination up, and the next interesting one I won. It was out in Long Island (less than 200 mi from Phila) so I rented a truck to go collect it. It was an Interstate, ran pretty well, but needed some minor attention. Really enjoyed my rides on the bike, and also started to enjoy some wrenching. A few months ago I came across a cafe style "Kit" a guy in Canada was selling, also on evil-Bay. I dropped out of the bidding but the reserve was not met. A few weeks later I wrote to the seller and we agreed on his reserve priice, and over the next couple of months he shipped all the parts, in 4 separate shipments. Most of the fitting effort was re-working the front end electics, making a new junction box, as the headlight is a "pancake" style, no room for any wiring.

Now I have a bike which is very similar to the one I bought in London 35 years ago! So I think I must have a Norton "gene" like many others on this site.

Stuart Ostroff

Pictures of my poor Norton flashed through my head. The siren wailed. After a long ride, we got through the city to the military hospital. Can't remember much of the first moments at the hospital, but what does stick in my mind is me sitting in a chair with some doctor or dentist ordering me to open my mouth so he could get his work done. He was angry because they had called him in, when he was off duty...my accident was not a "good mood" maker, evidently.

He proceeded to use pliers to remove bits of what were left of my teeth from what was left of my mouth. This happened thirty years ago, and I still think of this every day when I look in the mirror. Ten teeth later and about 25 stitches to put my lip and chin back in place, and he was done. It was over rather fast, guess his wife had supper in the oven...not that I needed to be worried about eating supper for awhile, I looked like the mummy in the movie when he got done.

They gave me a bed to sleep in and called the unit to let them know I was there. Needless to say....I didn't sleep so well.

The next day they sent a nurse around to get information as to who to notify about my accident and she wanted the address of my parents. I had, for some reason, considering this was the military, a choice about this......and I don't think any of you would have had them notified either. Not after the big song and dance about cycles, that I had always gotten from my father. Something told me an "I told you so" wasn't what I wanted to hear at the moment.

That moment lasted a whole lot of moments, actually. The wounds eventually healed up pretty well and either my father never noticed, his glasses needed to be replaced, or then again, maybe he was just not willing to ask, so he never knew about the accident. My mother just found out about it in the course of a conversation, last year...all she remarked was that maybe it was for the best that she hadn't known about it.... wisdom evidently comes easily at 74.

I spent about 5 days in the hospital enjoying the wonderful food they served me through a straw and on a Friday, I got released back to my unit.

The first thing I heard when I returned, was that it had been going around that I had tried to commit suicide because of getting divorced. I guess everyone just runs out and buys a motorcycle so they can run it into a ditch and kill themselves. If I had been interested in that, I'd have just let my workmate take me out riding on his Kawa. Saved a whole lot of money and time. Even my roommate was thinking this stupid stuff and feeling guilty because he had sold me the instrument of my destruction. We discussed it over a beer though a straw and he finally understood that it was just an accident, and he felt better.
While I was in the hospital, he had bought a motocross bike, and, being sure that it would make me forget about looking like a horror film remake and going through a whole year of no teeth; he invited me to go with him, in two days, to see him in the motocross races. Sounded good to me.
By the way...that year without teeth....not to be recommended. Imagine being 23, lonely for a girl to pass the time with, feeling ugly and not being able to smile...take my word for it, I could have attracted more pretty Frauleins if I'd had a tee shirt that said something like "I have the clap".

Saturday went by and Sunday arrived and we took a ride down to the airbase where they ran races every couple of weeks during the summer. Some of the other fellows in the unit also ran bikes in the races, so we weren't alone. Sort of looked like a unit gathering. There were racers from all over, Germans, Dutch, French...in addition to all the service members who raced. The military supported the racing scene pretty well, back then, sponsoring motocross, drag racing on the airstrips and even stock car and dirt track races. There were hundreds of people at the motocross races and there was lots to see and hear...besides the races. Like, at most races...there are always a few people who have machines for sale, too.
My dad might not have liked motorcycles, but he did allow my sister to get a horse. Besides the fact that we had to clean up after it ourselves...we constantly had it preached to us, that if you fall off....you get back on. Didn't matter how bad you were hurt, broken leg or not, you had to get back on and ride it home. Orders from above, so to speak.

I found myself, years later, telling the same thing to my Daughter...she had a car hit her and her Suzuki a couple of years ago...plates and screws in her leg....and guess what....she borrowed her brothers bike, last week.... Some things our parents teach us, stick......good kid.

So...to continue with the story. I took a look around the pit area at the races and wouldn't you know it....some guy had a bike for sale. Not a Norton, mind you....but a 360 Yamaha Enduro. Two days after getting out of the hospital....depite getting plenty of stares, what with all the bandages on my face...I took it for a spin. Not that I needed to. It was already too late, already decided. A done deal.....I was back on the horse. I'd like to hope even Dad would have been proud.

This purchase did nothing to quiet down the nasty rumours about my sanity that were going around the unit...but it did have one unexpected result. There must be some unwritten law amongst the "real" bikers that says you haven't earned your wings until you have had a crash. Even the fact that I now had a Yamaha, didn't tarnish my reputation with my best buddy the Harley driver. He invited me to go in a couple of weeks with his club, to a big biker party/rally.

Now.... this helmet that I had worn when I had the accident, was an open face helmet. There are, I'm sure conflicting views on the dangers/virtues of each type of Helmet, but I had already formed an opinion about that. A very strong opinion. All I needed to do was look in the mirror and think that if it hadn't been an open faced Helmet, I'd maybe be able to smile and attract girls. The military ran a good sports shop back then and it was rather expensive, but I bought a Bell Star 120, full faced racing helmet for myself. That done and later that evening, after a couple straw assisted beers, it seemed like a fine idea to get a big hammer and settle the score with that open faced Helmet. We lived and worked on a very small compound, with the cobblestone courtyard in the middle, for parking and such. Me and my room mate got a sledge hammer out of the shop and started to have a go at playing hockey with this helmet. It didn't take long before a number of people were out and watching the fun. Playing Hockey with the thing had just been an afterthought...I actually wanted to put this helmet to rest. Finally, the game of Hockey, became a game of smashing this helmet with the hammer. There were maybe twenty people in on this and it was great fun. Amongst the players was a fellow that had a car that he had been having troubles with. Beer and other assorted chemicals make for strange logic and before anyone could stop this fellow, he took the hammer and walked up to his car and started in on it. . Within moments, every body joined in, more came out of the barracks and it became quite a show, people throwing rocks , jumping on the roof...smashing windows. Group sex...so to speak. Thank God no one thought to torch it. The car eventually ended up on the roof and we all ended up the next day in front of the First Sergeant. Somehow, the next morning, the sight of the car on its roof, in the middle of the compound, when he arrived, didn't please him. Not the fact that the car was demolished, mind you...but the fact that we hadn't called him to help...spoil sport if you ask me.

hewhoisagaintoolazytologin

The Norton Bug

Some really great input on this subject. I joined the Marines in 67. In 1970 after my second tour in Viet Nam, I was stationed in Puerto Rico. My first bike was a Triump 500 Trophy. I had it only for a few months when I found a small shop in the Northern part of the Island that was selling Norton's and MotorG's. I opted for the 1970 750 Commando Highrider, canary yellow with the banana seat. I paid $975.00 for it cash. My last Norton I owned was a 1973 850 Commando Roadster, Black with gold lettering. I purchased it in Worchester Mass. Bought it on a Saturday, road it on Sunday and early Monday morning it was stolen-- never to be seen again. Being a young Marine, not a lot of available cash I did not have insurance on it yet as was going to get it on Monday. 30 some years later after riding Harley's and still do, I purchased another 750 Highrider and a 73 850 Black w/gold letters Norton. Both have been well reconditioned. Have some minor quirks in both of them but then whats new! I try to ride each bike at least 50 miles a week to keep em loosened up. semper fi

It is Mothers Day here...don't know if it is where all the rest of you are. Stuck in the house for most of the day as if you look out of the window, it looks like the gates of hell have opened up......not a day for a putt around the block. Been several weeks now, since I got it up to put more of this down on paper, but now appears to be the time to go for it...forgive me.


It had come to the point where I was informed that the time was right to go and collect my bike from the nice folks that had carted it away from the scene of my imitation of the human cannonball. It wasn't a job I was looking forward to. This whole accident thing and the memories of it, had been a constant companion for the previous couple of weeks and even today, it won't let me go. Last week, in the year 2005, my kind dentist said that some work has to be done to bring damage back under control. Nice bit of a bill I will have too, if I can pay it. About three thousands dollars, just to redo the repairs which were made back then. See what I mean? I am not allowed to forget this stuff.

Anyway......my roommate and I got the truck from the First Sergeant and made a trip to the gas station that had done the towing. Two "grown" men spent a few minutes with tears running down our faces, before we got up the nerve to try and get it on the truck. The attendant at the gas station was kind enough to help with a forklift; it just wasn't up to being rolled up a ramp. The forks were all bent, the rims flattened, the tank all dented, but the thing that sticks in my mind, was the speedometer, it was stuck at about 50 mph and the glass was broken. The worst part though, was that it had red stuff all inside the broken glass, and a nice set of teeth marks in the chrome rim. I will never forget seeing this...one of those pictures that will stick in the mind forever.

We got the thing tied down and got it back to the compound, where I had found a place to store it till I figured out what to do with it. The only thing I did to it was to remove the speedometer, and put it on our desk in the barracks room as a paperweight.....my souvenir.

The day to ride to the rally with the Harley guy and his club arrived. Needless to say, it did feel a bit funny, to ride with them down there, with their Harleys...but it didn't seem to bother them too much. I was considered "OK" because, after all...I had had a crash and I was respected for it. Goes to show how strange the human can think. I had to keep the Yamaha at full tilt to keep up with them on the Autobahn, and if there is anything more unstable feeling than "Knobbies" at high speed, I don't know what. Even you guys who tell how awful the K81s are, have got to admit, they beat the heck out of knobbies...or?

We eventually arrived down in Nurnburg where the "Iron Horses" were having their party. These parties are attended by a lot of different clubs and it looked to be interesting. Actually, I can't remember much of the rally itself...could have been that I had too much to drink, but I don't recall doing anything too stupid, so I may have behaved myself. What I do remember, though, was going somewhere in the city to get something to eat. I cruised all around, by myself. I couldn't speak German, and I was hungry as hell and eventually on some cobblestone street, in a fit of temper, I gave the throttle a full twist to get my aggression out. Now, on the Norton, I had already found out that a good twist of the throttle would, at slow speeds, cause the rear wheel to spin. Makes lot of noise and, if you are heading straight, not too dangerous, and it sure looks "cool". So there I am, hungry, angry and with the throttle twisted. Big mistake. The front end came up and I suddenly had my hands full with something I had never done before. How I didn't have it come up and over, on me, I don't know, but somehow, amid honking horns and a roaring motor, I got it back down on the ground. How I ever managed to produce three children, years later, I don't know. Man, did it hurt.

In the mist of pain, I made an important decision. That bike had to go. Wheelies weren't my thing. I wanted my Norton back. I walked kind of funny for the rest of the weekend, but the others just thought, I had had too much beer and they all wanted to buy my another...sort of like the "Dog that bit you" theory. I didn't bother to explain that there was another reason for my stride..the beer tasted too good. After that weekend, I got invited several times to visit them at their clubhouse, but I had other things going on at that time, and I only went once, I think.

With the decision made that the Yamaha wasn't safe to ride, ole Mister Safety Minded, started to look for a road bike. I wasn't fussy, anything to ride till I could get my Norton back in shape. Within a couple of weeks, I had sold the Yamaha and from a female lieutenant, had bought a 2-year-old Honda 250. It was a nice machine, green with pin striping and although it didn't have the brute power of the Norton, it certainly drove nice and stayed with its wheels on the ground. I had a good summer, getting a room off post to live in, and put a lot of miles on the Honda. I was putting a good 600 miles a week on it because what I did, was, every Saturday at the crack of dawn, I set out and at each intersection, I picked left, right or straight, and went. I took a map with me, but never looked at it. By Sunday noon, I had ended up somewhere I didn't even know where it was, even Holland or Belgium and then....I looked on the map to find my way home. Saturday night, I always found some trail off in the woods, and camped beside the bike, out of view of the road. Totally illegal and called "wild camping", but something I had always not worried about as a boy, and there was no one to ask anyway. The weather played along with this for the whole summer...it was without question, the best summer I can remember. That Honda had 50,000 kilometres put on it in a year, and never complained. I changed the oil, though, weekly, at only two quarts, and oil being cheap back then, it seemed the thing to do.

One Saturday, though, as I was preparing to leave, I got a visit from a friend in the unit. He came in his car and asked me if I would like to see the "Rhein in flames", a firework spectacle they do down at Heidelberg every summer. It sounded like fun, so I threw myself into his car and we took off to the military recreation centre. This friend did a part time job at the Rec centre, to earn a bit of money and we parked there. In the parking lot, were two buses full of people, wives and kids and such. He points to one of the buses, and says, "You take that one, and I'll take the other".

Now, I'd thought we were going together, but it was still early and I was still somewhat asleep, so I didn't question this and just got on the bus and sat in an empty seat. The bus in front started to move, but we still didn't have a driver, so ours stayed put. The bus in front stopped and waited for us, and then my buddy got out and came back. He comes in the bus and says to me that I must have misunderstood. I had to sit up front...where the driver sits. This confused me a bit, as I'd never sat in the driver's seat of a bus before, but it didn't take long to figure out what he was trying to tell me. There I am, in a bus full of women and kids and I'm supposed to drive. Too proud to mention that I didn't know how to even start the thing, I had to ask him. We got under way. This bus thing wasn't so bad, if you could ignore all the screaming kids and stuff. It all went fine till the first right that we had to make, at the intersection where I had forgotten to put the kickstand up on the Norton. The fact that you sit way ahead of the front wheels makes driving a bus a bit of a different from driving a car. I didn't think about this and went around the corner like I would in any car. I didn't take the light pole out, but the rear wheels did jump the curb and do a few meters on the sidewalk. The bus rocked back and forth, all aboard were screaming and I managed not to hit any of the pedestrians on the sidewalk. This thing about corners, I learned fast.

We made it through town to the Autobahn, and on the Autobahn, it was a piece of cake. We got all the way down to Heidelberg, before the next problem set in. I had to parallel park this monster. Amid the sound of 20 different people giving 20 different directions as to how much room I had in back and on the sides before I totalled the bus in back or in front of me.... we all got it parked. The bus gave me a cheer and we all went to see the fireworks. It was worth the effort to see the show, it was really spectacular. After the show, we all piled into the bus again and got home without incident.

On Monday morning, I was informed that the First Sergeant wanted to see me. Oh, Sh_t...what have I done now? It was just amazing, the sources of information that this First Sergeant had, but I hadn't even considered that he might want to talk to me about the bus ride, although several other small things did occur to me.
He caught me completely off guard. "Did you enjoy the fireworks"? He asked. Uhh...yes, "Top". "How did the ride go"? "Fine, Top." "Did you have an accident"? Uhhhh...no, Top. "Good, I think it's time you get your licence....isn't it"? "Uh.....yes , First Sergeant.....". "Be at the testing point at 2 O'clock, today. Do I make myself perfectly clear"?

Guess who wasn't late for the appointment......................................

Hewhowisheshedidn'thavetologin

Well, My dad bought me my first bike, (a yamaha GT80) when I was eight. and I'd owned bikes consistently until I was about 22. Always Japanese bikes. Anyhow, sold my bike at the time, a VMax, to pay for a ticket to Alaska and quit riding for about eight years. Just before my 30th birthday I found myself with a few extra bucks in my pocket and an inkling to start riding again. It just so happened that a friend of a friend was looking to sell a couple of bikes he had in storage; a race prepped '86 GSXR 1100 and some other bike called a Norton(?). So, when I went over to buy the GSXR there was this old MkIII sitting behind it. All I can remember is that I suddenly felt weak in the knees ogling the contours of the engine cases and these calipers that looked like polished fists. When I came to I found myself the proud owned of a slightly rough Norton Commando. Took me about a day and one very sore kicking leg to get it fired up after it had been sitting in storage for about four years...and coming from a background in Japanese bikes it took a lot longer to get in tune with the way the Norton 'operates'. Almost three years and thousands of dollars later, after a total rebuild that started out as a top end job I am one with my Norton. It's a sickness. Can't imagine how I ever lived without it.

Debbie, and any other female readers...forgive if I offend...no intention to do so...but a funny story, is a funny story...be forgiving.


I had a lot of fun with this 250 Honda and no doubt, I would jump if I saw an identical one today, but the fact that my Norton was still broken, made me think of what I could do to get it back in shape. There were a number of them around because at that time, there was a dealer downtown and he had sold quite a few. Soon there appeared one for sale by another service member and I went to take a look at it. How I afforded all these things, I wonder myself these days, but when you have no family and responsibilities, you can afford to stick all of your money in such things. Fellows used to stick all their money in their Hotrods too back then, today, I couldn't do this sort of thing.

The fellow showed me his bike and it was also a 72, like mine. Green fibreglass tank, but that didn't bother me too much. He said it had a handling problem and I had to give it a try and see what I thought. Ever drive one of these machines with a front Isolastic that has no rubbers donuts in it? This thing wanted REAL bad to go into the next building. It was all over the road. No wonder he wanted to get rid of it. I took it back and asked him what was wrong with it. He had no idea, but just wanted to get rid of it, too dangerous. Yours truly had though, some idea what was wrong and when he asked if 200 dollars was too much, I said no, it was fine. I bought the bike and got it back to the barracks somehow. Within a couple of days, I had installed new buffers in the Isolastic and had it on the road at a cost of about 6 dollars worth of parts.

So now I had another Norton. I had stripped all the usable parts out of the first Norton and to this day, they sit in my garage...frame and all. The motor from the second one started to blow oil, so I did change out the motors and put in the motor from the first one. This bike is the one I drive today, and that motor still goes like stink. Rings replaced and now new valves, but the bottom end has never been apart.

The Honda became simply an extra storage problem, so I let one of my workmates talk me into selling it to him. It hurt to see it go, but not as much as it hurt a couple of days later, when he totalled in against a telephone pole. I had babied the thing, and he had nothing better to do than wreck it. A friend of mine in the states, had the same thing happen to the Chevelle SS396 he built. That car was a true monster of a car and the slightest touch of gas would spin the rear wheels. His Chevelle ended up also on a telephone pole, on the kid that bought it's, way home...but at least my Honda didn't take the driver with it to the big junkyard in the sky, all he got was a broken arm.

Evenings became a search for something exciting to do and I started to frequent a Disco that was run in the basement of a Cafe out in the woods north of the city. All the bikers hung out there, including my buddy with the Harley. I used to turn up there and he would be there with his cronies and his very pretty wife. Now there is a law somewhere that says that "real" men don't dance...so this guy wouldn't take this striking wife of his out on the floor... he detailed me to do it. I had no complaints about this at all...and if I was made fun of by him and his buddies, that's fine too...she was beautiful. Now "real" men don't dance, but evidently they do sing, when they have a few beers in them. There was naturally a microphone down there near dance floor and this ladies nice husband had a favourite song. Bachman Turner Overdrive did a real great song called "You ain't seen nothin yet" back then and he knew every word. I must say he did a respectable job on it too, just picture a big fellow with his club "colours" on taking the stage and belting out this song, with every word and stutter down pat....wonder if he ever sang it for Sonny Barger...maybe.

This Disco served very good beer. This became a problem for me, as I had a real taste for it. The problem never arose in the Disco though; I'm a good-natured guy. The problem arose in the parking lot. Hopefully none of you well behaved readers have ever taken a Norton off the centre stand at Midnight with way too much beer in you. I was expert at it. I took it off the centre stand, and let it go right over. Night after night. Most of the time it went over away from me, but not all of the time. The only thing that was consistent was that the blinker light that was mounted on the end of the handlebar smashed. I had those round blinker lights they used to build BMWs with in the 50s and 60s. Here they are called "Ox eyes" and aren't really worth much as lights, but look cool. Enough reason to mount them on your bike, surely.

Now after this had happened a couple of times and I had to make a trip to the BMW dealer in the city to get a new one, I came up with the bright idea of how to save myself a lot of trouble. I just bought a case of them. After all, I was replacing a couple a week anyway...saves gas and time just to buy bulk. So that problem was solved. The bike never got too damaged by falling over, as the light took the brunt of the fall, but one night, as I made my calculated way home, I scraped the whole exhaust system on the corner at the bottom of the hill. I somehow didn't drop the bike, but it disturbed me enough to make me decide to not get so bombed anymore when I had to drive it. It wasn't so much that I began to think I might get hurt...it was more that the bike would...amazing priorities we have sometimes. The rest of the case of blinker lights is still out there in the garage....they are antique now and must be worth a bundle, and I haven't had to replace one in thirty years.

One evening, as I was behaving myself at the Disco, I was approached by the head of another of the local clubs. I was asked if I had any interest in coming to meetings and maybe becoming a member of the club. I must admit this made me feel like a million dollars. For about six months, I made regular visits to the club and got to know everybody. Lots of rallies and lots of rides somewhere in the evening to some disco or such. After six months, I was voted into the club and became the only American in the club...got my colors and all. It forced me to learn German. By general agreement, all members had stopped using English when speaking to me, after about the first month. This was a test, to see how I would react, and if I could deal with it. Now there are two ways to learn a language, one is to go to school and another is to listen and make a try at mimicking what you hear. In my case, the latter was what happened and to this day, my German isn't all that perfect, but I can make myself understood. There were also a couple a very good reasons to learn German that we must consider here. One...I wanted to be accepted, that you can understand. The other.... girls. The girls wouldn't look at you if you tried to hit on them with English...but just a couple of words in German...and they became friendly. So, I learned enough German to get by and I got accepted into the club. I still have contact and will go to the 30 year party in two weeks.
My life was shaping up, a bike, friends and maybe a girl or two...not bad.
In the meantime, I had been made the assistant to the Harley fellow, who was the mail clerk for the unit. This meant we had to go across the city every day to the central mail distribution point. We always took the pickup truck the unit had for such things and it was a long trip through heavy cross-town traffic. Now there is a section of Frankfurt called Sachenhausen, famous for the clubs and nightlife. I have only been there once in the evening, but it left an impression. In the daytime it looks totally different, just a congested area of a big city. We, never the less, had to travel though it on most days, to pick up the mail and bring it back to the unit to distribute.

On one very hot day, about noon, we were on the way back from picking up the mail and we drove, like usual, through Sachenhausen. The day was so hot; that we were ready to die in our uniforms and we had the windows down to get the most out of any breeze that came along. Now there is a very big intersection there with two lanes of both sides and a traffic island between them. The light turned red and we had to stop. From the right, there appeared one of the prettiest girls you could imagine, with a baby carriage, who crossed in front of us. Blond, long hair, beautiful figure, about 19, and simply the stuff dreams are made of. As, I said, she passed in front of us and got to the traffic island next to us. We both just sat there with our jaws open, watching and as the pedestrian light went red, she stopped about 3 feet from my buddy's window. The baby began to cry.

Now this was a very hot day, with gusty wind blowing little clouds of dust about. The young lady needed to tend to the crying child and bent over the baby carriage. As she was facing away from us, this was a pleasant distraction for us both. The distraction got though, much more pleasant when the gusty wind came into play. Her summer dress was rather short to start out with, but when it ended up blowing over her head, the situation got even more interesting. Evidently, she wasn't the only one who though it was just too darned hot outside...she'd decided not to waste effort on panties. Now, this all took place about two feet from my buddy's window and he had the window down. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, but he was a good boy and left them there. Within moments, the light had changed, the line of cars behind had decided it was time to blow horns and the young lady had discovered the position she was in. With a quick movement, she flipped her dress back down where it no doubt belonged, gave us both a very nasty look and crossed the rest of the road.

For some strange reason.....we had missed the green light..........

I struggle to remember last week never mind 20 years ago.

From an early age I'd always read the bike mags and drolled over the Bonnie and Commando. When finally in 1982 I bought my first bike understandably I went Japanese. I had a spill and wrote off my pride and joy, a GPz550 which left me bikeless and peniiless. I went up to Oldham in northern england to visit a friend (bandages around my head, arm in a sling) and naturally (of course..) walked into the local bike shop and saw this 1972 750m Combat steering at me. 625 pounds, no history, no nothing. Picture saying to the salesman whilst all strapped up "Can I take her for a test ride?". Needless to say he told me to bugger off.

But you see, once bitten.... love is blind. So I bought the dog and rode her home the following week. She broke down 3 miles shorty and I pushed from there. My passion cooled faster than the engine but when on song sweeping through the small countryside lanes of northern England listening to the exhaust note from the peashooters and feeling that wonderful torque.... she becomes the most beautiful girl in the world.

Just to add! Norton commando is to me the top of the classic bikes and it has been a long hard slogg to finally own, ride and be very proud of. I have owned about 10 bikes over the years and up until the 1973 850 cc Norton commando fastback became available, it was BSA's for me and I will always have one of each in the garage! Yes you can work on Nortons yourself and BSA (No computer & EFI stuff), they sure sound like a decent motorcycle, and allways attract a comment or glance when out and about. It is amazing those who have owned them in the past or have wished too. And those that did I intend to keep their dream machine in fine running order. :wink:

Just a bit of a sideline here on my never-ending saga of buffoonery......during most of the time my story takes place, I was, as I have said, a member of a motorbike club in the city. This club still exists and has gotten over the years quite large and perhaps even influential in the biker scene here. I had been out of this scene for a number of years, but last year, I ran into their website and I couldn't resist..... I made contact.

This past weekend was the 30-year party and naturally I attended. About ten of the other original members also attended and naturally numbers of present members from chapters that nowadays extend all the way down into Italy, along with members of quite a few other clubs. An interesting weekend.

Due to a show of interest on my part and the fact that I have found the present members of the chapter I belonged to back then to be quite in order, I was offered and accepted the updating of my "Colours", which I still own, from 1977, to allow me to wear them to events and such and received the rank of "honorary" member. This is quite fine with me, no mandatory meetings, I can come by when I want, and I have gotten too old to be interested in partying at some other clubs' rally every weekend, anyway. I think a few times a summer would be more in line with what time and interest I have for such things today.

So I did enjoy the weekend and meeting all sorts of old friends and new, and having all sorts of people gawk at the strange and unusual machine that we all here in the forum have a common interest in. All my old buddies seemed to be amazed that I still had my old bike and that it was still running, after all those years. The party went quite well, a good time was had by one and all.... and I came away with lots to tell my wife about.... although for some strange reason, she seemed not to be too thrilled when she heard that the local chapter of the Angels showed up too.....

Hewho…,

What is the name of the Club? Motorcycle clubs and their colors fascinate me for reasons I can’t seem to explain.

I’m in the process of designing a motorcycle club name and logo. The name I’ve come up with is Rasputin’s Revenge and the logo is a double-headed eagle. I’m not quite sure what I will do once I finalize the “colors” but it’s been fun to think about and work on so far.

Peter Egan of Cycle World and Road and Track fame started a club called the “Slimy Cruds.” I think they are only in Wisconsin. I’ve often thought about asking permission to start a Texas chapter but the initiation process is probably too gross, like having to eat the hind leg off a dead rat.

Jason
Rasputin’s Revenge
Houston, Texas