- Joined
- Mar 30, 2008
- Messages
- 241
This is a long post. Don’t even begin to read it unless you have the time, are bored, or unless you are a really demented Norton fanatic.
As I was perusing this forum, the question occurred to me as to why I love my Norton Commando. I must love it. Given that I have owned it over ten years and ridden it less than ten times (all in one year by the way), I have every reason (by rational standards) to have become frustrated and dumped the machine. I am going to attempt, in anticipation that some will have the patience to read my scribing, to describe why I have never given up on this machine.
First, a little (a lot of) background. I have been a ‘motorcyclist’ for approximately 39 years (I started fairly young). I’ve never considered myself a biker, considering that to be an ego thing. I’ve owned a number of motorcycles over the years with my current stable numbering eight (I think). I have six street bikes and two road race bikes, all of which are in various states of entropy (look it up). My pride and joy is a Manx racer which I built with a friend over a two year period. I have owned Honda’s, Suzuki’s (including a Hyabusa), Puch’s, BMW’s, BSA’s, Triumphs, and even an NSU (which I still have) and various other machines. My longest term project, however, has been my Commando. I’m also a frustrated mechanical engineer by nature. I’ve been an amateur mechanic my whole life (since I was seven), worked part time as a mechanic while in high school, and have restored several motorcycles, one of which won several concours awards.
I obtained my commando over ten years ago from a friend. He excitedly told me about his acquisition one day at work and showed me pictures. I quickly responded that if he ever wanted to sell, to give me first refusal; it didn’t take a month. After a frustrating couple of weeks, during which he discovered that the bike was completely unreliable, he placed a “yellow sticky” on my desk with a price. I bought it. It was a complete rolling bike (that ran when it wanted to) along with parts from another Commando. The bike was clearly made up from various parts. The original engine was out of the chassis (with a thrown rod) and the one in the chassis was a Combat engine. There were also various parts from another machine that was apparently wrecked and ‘piece part’ salvaged. I think the Combat engine came from the wrecked bike.
When I bought my Commando, my friend told me that it would occasionally start, then would run for an unpredictable amount of time, after which it would quit and not start for an equally indeterminate period. When it felt good and ready, it would start again. I figured that the problem was likely electrical, but soon found other problems when I got it home. A casual inspection of the machine revealed that I could pull the rear wheel approximately three inches from side to side with minimal effort, beginning my education of swingarm/cradle dynamics and what happens when the isolastics turn to powder.
So, I disassembled the bike with the intent of repairing the swingarm cradle and replacing the isolastics, leaving the engine as a unit as well as the gearbox. However, as anyone who has done this knows, it never stops there. I have no idea what I have spent, but I replaced bearings, implemented enhancements recommended by the Norton Owners Club, painted the frame, added electronic ignition, installed a single Mikuni, replaced the wiring harness, exhaust system, etc, etc, etc. I also found an attractive set of fiberglass Fastback bodywork and incorporated it. I began to search e-bay for Commando parts and found an endless supply of wonderful parts and accessories. I also discovered that the wiring harness from the points was worn through and the source of the problems that the previous owner (PO) experienced.
Then one day I actually had it assembled. It started on second kick and ran relatively well. My first ride was a revelation. The bike rode like a racebike. It had a wonderful sound and revved very freely, accelerating with an eagerness that I’ve only experienced with modern bikes (without the wonderful sound) or in my racers. The “woobow!” sound had me feeling like a teenager with a balanced and blueprinted 69 Camaro (another part of my life).
The next time I rode the bike, it quit one block from my house (is this sounding familiar?). Initial troubleshooting revealed a non charging electrical system and battery so low that it wouldn’t trigger the Boyer ignition. Oh yes, I also had a number of serious oil leaks. Did I mention that I consider myself to be a fairly competent mechanic? I began to doubt myself.
I sorted the electricals and experimented with crankcase ventilation to reduce the leaks. Oh yeah, did I mention that the thing wet-sumped horribly? I installed an anti-sump valve from Commando Specialties (doesn’t he have beautiful stuff?) and followed recommendations from this board to install a Yamaha crankcase ventilation valve; yes, I’ve been a lurker.
The bike then started reliably and I rode it a few times before the next challenge materialized. When I would go out in the morning for a ride, I’d often find that the carburetor was so fouled that the slide was stuck and the idle jets obstructed. I’d remove the carburetor, blow it out with solvent and air, then go for a ride. It was the blasted fuel going bad, I figured. However, I discovered that the new formulations of fuel had attacked the fiberglass in the fuel tank and produced a slime that fouled the carburetor. What to do?
I recalled that I had a steel Roadster tank in the attic. So, I retrieved said tank, treated the rust therein (Caswell) and sent it off to my local painter. Fickle as I am, I removed the Fastback bodywork and prepared the bike for the new Roadster tank. But, what about the seat? The Fastback seat won’t mate to the Roadster tank. …The next acquisition was a Corbin gunfighter seat to match the newly painted tank, which, by the way, matches my beautifully painted side panels (which I didn’t mention above). I picked up the tank today and man is it gorgeous. Again, don’t ask me how much I have in this bike. I don’t want to think about it.
So as I post, my Commando is sitting in my garage with a beautiful tank and seat and a really ugly front fender. It’s an original Stainless Steel front with a bit of “patina’ as the ‘esthetics’ are prone to call it. I have arranged to fix that as well much to the chagrin of my wallet. As I said, don’t ask.
So, back to the question that prompted this post…or is it a rant?; why have I kept this motorcycle and why do I love it?
My Norton Commando is a quintessential English motorcycle (I’ll dispense with the politically correct UK ‘British’ nonsense). It has a certain charm that I cannot explain. The few rides that I’ve taken have me craving more. As I mentioned, the performance is unique among English classics (in my experience). The sound is a drug. The acceleration and willingness to rev is sublime. It has some components that are classic works of art such as the foot peg arrangements, the beautiful gearbox casings and of course, the accessory case. The remaining bits have a classical line to them that speak volumes to me. I can sit in my garage with a beer an just enjoy the look of it as others would a work of art. Maybe I’m a simpleton, but I’d rather sit and admire my classic bikes than any ‘so-called’ work of art that I know of. It’s a unique motorcycle unlike the shrink-wrapped ‘classics’ that many buy off the showroom floor today. Anybody can buy a classic today; not everyone can keep a genuine article running (which I must say I only aspire to do). It speaks to my soul.
Ultimately, there is also a certain challenge to it. I refuse to let a single machine defeat me mechanically. I am absolutely committed to fettling this English pile of bolts into a reliable and enjoyable machine. I suspect that there are others who suffer from this affliction. You struggle along with me.
As I was perusing this forum, the question occurred to me as to why I love my Norton Commando. I must love it. Given that I have owned it over ten years and ridden it less than ten times (all in one year by the way), I have every reason (by rational standards) to have become frustrated and dumped the machine. I am going to attempt, in anticipation that some will have the patience to read my scribing, to describe why I have never given up on this machine.
First, a little (a lot of) background. I have been a ‘motorcyclist’ for approximately 39 years (I started fairly young). I’ve never considered myself a biker, considering that to be an ego thing. I’ve owned a number of motorcycles over the years with my current stable numbering eight (I think). I have six street bikes and two road race bikes, all of which are in various states of entropy (look it up). My pride and joy is a Manx racer which I built with a friend over a two year period. I have owned Honda’s, Suzuki’s (including a Hyabusa), Puch’s, BMW’s, BSA’s, Triumphs, and even an NSU (which I still have) and various other machines. My longest term project, however, has been my Commando. I’m also a frustrated mechanical engineer by nature. I’ve been an amateur mechanic my whole life (since I was seven), worked part time as a mechanic while in high school, and have restored several motorcycles, one of which won several concours awards.
I obtained my commando over ten years ago from a friend. He excitedly told me about his acquisition one day at work and showed me pictures. I quickly responded that if he ever wanted to sell, to give me first refusal; it didn’t take a month. After a frustrating couple of weeks, during which he discovered that the bike was completely unreliable, he placed a “yellow sticky” on my desk with a price. I bought it. It was a complete rolling bike (that ran when it wanted to) along with parts from another Commando. The bike was clearly made up from various parts. The original engine was out of the chassis (with a thrown rod) and the one in the chassis was a Combat engine. There were also various parts from another machine that was apparently wrecked and ‘piece part’ salvaged. I think the Combat engine came from the wrecked bike.
When I bought my Commando, my friend told me that it would occasionally start, then would run for an unpredictable amount of time, after which it would quit and not start for an equally indeterminate period. When it felt good and ready, it would start again. I figured that the problem was likely electrical, but soon found other problems when I got it home. A casual inspection of the machine revealed that I could pull the rear wheel approximately three inches from side to side with minimal effort, beginning my education of swingarm/cradle dynamics and what happens when the isolastics turn to powder.
So, I disassembled the bike with the intent of repairing the swingarm cradle and replacing the isolastics, leaving the engine as a unit as well as the gearbox. However, as anyone who has done this knows, it never stops there. I have no idea what I have spent, but I replaced bearings, implemented enhancements recommended by the Norton Owners Club, painted the frame, added electronic ignition, installed a single Mikuni, replaced the wiring harness, exhaust system, etc, etc, etc. I also found an attractive set of fiberglass Fastback bodywork and incorporated it. I began to search e-bay for Commando parts and found an endless supply of wonderful parts and accessories. I also discovered that the wiring harness from the points was worn through and the source of the problems that the previous owner (PO) experienced.
Then one day I actually had it assembled. It started on second kick and ran relatively well. My first ride was a revelation. The bike rode like a racebike. It had a wonderful sound and revved very freely, accelerating with an eagerness that I’ve only experienced with modern bikes (without the wonderful sound) or in my racers. The “woobow!” sound had me feeling like a teenager with a balanced and blueprinted 69 Camaro (another part of my life).
The next time I rode the bike, it quit one block from my house (is this sounding familiar?). Initial troubleshooting revealed a non charging electrical system and battery so low that it wouldn’t trigger the Boyer ignition. Oh yes, I also had a number of serious oil leaks. Did I mention that I consider myself to be a fairly competent mechanic? I began to doubt myself.
I sorted the electricals and experimented with crankcase ventilation to reduce the leaks. Oh yeah, did I mention that the thing wet-sumped horribly? I installed an anti-sump valve from Commando Specialties (doesn’t he have beautiful stuff?) and followed recommendations from this board to install a Yamaha crankcase ventilation valve; yes, I’ve been a lurker.
The bike then started reliably and I rode it a few times before the next challenge materialized. When I would go out in the morning for a ride, I’d often find that the carburetor was so fouled that the slide was stuck and the idle jets obstructed. I’d remove the carburetor, blow it out with solvent and air, then go for a ride. It was the blasted fuel going bad, I figured. However, I discovered that the new formulations of fuel had attacked the fiberglass in the fuel tank and produced a slime that fouled the carburetor. What to do?
I recalled that I had a steel Roadster tank in the attic. So, I retrieved said tank, treated the rust therein (Caswell) and sent it off to my local painter. Fickle as I am, I removed the Fastback bodywork and prepared the bike for the new Roadster tank. But, what about the seat? The Fastback seat won’t mate to the Roadster tank. …The next acquisition was a Corbin gunfighter seat to match the newly painted tank, which, by the way, matches my beautifully painted side panels (which I didn’t mention above). I picked up the tank today and man is it gorgeous. Again, don’t ask me how much I have in this bike. I don’t want to think about it.
So as I post, my Commando is sitting in my garage with a beautiful tank and seat and a really ugly front fender. It’s an original Stainless Steel front with a bit of “patina’ as the ‘esthetics’ are prone to call it. I have arranged to fix that as well much to the chagrin of my wallet. As I said, don’t ask.
So, back to the question that prompted this post…or is it a rant?; why have I kept this motorcycle and why do I love it?
My Norton Commando is a quintessential English motorcycle (I’ll dispense with the politically correct UK ‘British’ nonsense). It has a certain charm that I cannot explain. The few rides that I’ve taken have me craving more. As I mentioned, the performance is unique among English classics (in my experience). The sound is a drug. The acceleration and willingness to rev is sublime. It has some components that are classic works of art such as the foot peg arrangements, the beautiful gearbox casings and of course, the accessory case. The remaining bits have a classical line to them that speak volumes to me. I can sit in my garage with a beer an just enjoy the look of it as others would a work of art. Maybe I’m a simpleton, but I’d rather sit and admire my classic bikes than any ‘so-called’ work of art that I know of. It’s a unique motorcycle unlike the shrink-wrapped ‘classics’ that many buy off the showroom floor today. Anybody can buy a classic today; not everyone can keep a genuine article running (which I must say I only aspire to do). It speaks to my soul.
Ultimately, there is also a certain challenge to it. I refuse to let a single machine defeat me mechanically. I am absolutely committed to fettling this English pile of bolts into a reliable and enjoyable machine. I suspect that there are others who suffer from this affliction. You struggle along with me.
