Tales from a Motorcycle Saddle.

  "One Man and His Velo"

Day 6: Brum and Beyond

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Thursday, 4th July 1991

Having awoken at 6 am, I remembered that Derek and I had planned a busy morning which included visits to the Bird in Hand Public House at Henley-in -Arden, York Road in Hall Green, the local press and the Police H.Q. The window was open and I could tell that the day was going to be a warm one again. My first task after breakfast was to carry out the usual checks and then I followed Derek to the Bird in Hand Public House at Henley-in-Arden, just a few miles away. As soon as we pulled away I was grateful I had attempted this trip alone. Accompanying someone would have altered the structure of the journey completely. In the few miles I followed Derek that morning, I found myself constantly watching the back of his Honda, despite leaving a large distance between us.

The exterior of the Bird in Hand has not changed much since 1948 when it was used as the location for the L.E. release to the Press. It has been the destination of many L.E. enthusiasts over the years since. Now it was my turn. Derek took four photographs and we headed back to his house in the bright morning sun. I followed him about fifty yards behind. He passed, without incident, a young lady in her twenties who was walking on the nearside towards us. He passed unnoticed but, as soon as I approached, her little dog -I did not recognize make or model- suddenly charged at me, yapping like fury and standing on its hind legs, being restrained by its lead. The owner's face was one of horror; in the two seconds it took me to pass by she did not know whether to reprimand me or her noisy companion. Why should Derek on a Honda RS250 have no effect but me, on an L.E. Velo make this little hound so mad? The only conclusion I came to was that, as my elderly machine whines, there was an extra whine inaudible to the human ear, but not the canine. Is that feasible? 

From Derek's home I telephoned the Police H.Q. apologizing for my non-appearance yesterday. Unfortunately the photographer was not available and the helpful press officer suggested I sent my details and a  photograph to her. Derek then had an idea that the local paper, the Solihull Tmes, might be interested in my trip. A call to the office proved him correct but, once again, no photographer was available and could we therefore supply a black and white print? It was back on the bikes and off to a chemist. "Sorry, only colour films." The photographic shop sold us a monochrome film and offered a 24 hour developing and printing service, unusual in these days of colour domination. On leaving the shop, I discovered Derek was speaking to two gentlemen who were looking at the Velo. One was very familiar with the model even identifying the Olicana screen. He revealed he had some Velo tools and new parts such as Miller contact points which are as rare as the ubiquitous hens' teeth. Many Velos now run on Ford Cortina points, conversion carried out by a Club member for a very small fee. The Vulgar Velo has had said conversion done and also sports a Honda ignition coil, Honda flasher unit, Suzuki indicators and Yamaha mirrors. Originality Rules! Having said that, all alien parts, except the coil, have been fitted without drilling, so the bike could be made original without too much effort. Derek took the name and address of this past enthusiast and it was off to Hall Green.

At the York Road sign I parked the Velo and Derek took the camera again. As I removed my helmet, a well dressed elderly gentleman in a blazer with a badge on the breast pocket that Derek recognized, walked by. "The factory's closed," he told me. "You won't get any spares there today!" On the site of the old Veloce works that closed in 1971 now stands a Lucas factory. Now, we all know that Lucas produce car components, don't we? What I did not know was that this was Lucas Aerospace whose Security did not take kindly to our taking photographs without their permission. Sorry, Sirs. Photo session over, we returned to the camera shop have our attempts at photography developed and printed. I gave Derek £5 with the collection slip and he said he would collect the next day and take to the paper with my details.

Before I left, Derek asked if he could take the L.E. down his road and back. Normally, I would have said No but making excuses for the knocking gearbox and the topheavy load, I watched my Velo disappear and return a minute later. "Very smooth" was his first impression of our favourite bike. At 12.30 I said Goodbye to Joan and thanked her for their hospitality. I followed Derek out of Shirley and to the A435. This was a dual carriageway which we rode along for a couple of miles before Derek halted at a junction. We said our farewells, shook hands and I headed South, with Land's End approximately 320 very hot miles away. Despite my reluctance at leaving I felt a sensation of relief and contentment as I settled down to the next stage of the journey. The sun was high, very hot, and the little radiator was giving out an intense heat that made my feet and ankles most uncomfortable. The screen was doing an excellent job of keeping the wind off, just when I needed it most. So still is the air behind the screen that it is possible to blow the rain off the end of one's nose forwards. My route on the A435 took me through Evesham and down to Cheltenham. At one roundabout I concentrated on the traffic coming from the right and failed to notice on the left, a stationary police officer on a BMW. I caught a glimpse as I entered the roundabout and saw he had a broad grin on his face. I wondered exactly what it was he was grinning at.

At Cheltenham I headed towards Gloucester and found the A38 so, with the Severn to my right and the M5 to my left, I continued towards Bristol. By now my face felt as if it was taking a beating from the sun and sun tan lotion was the one item I did not bring. Around ten miles south of Gloucester, I came across Cambridge. My navigation may be suspect but not that suspect. Cambridge, to me, lies about 40 miles north of Chelmsford, in Cambridgeshire naturally, but here it was in Gloucestershire. My apologies to the inhabitants of Cambridge, (the smaller) for not knowing of your existence. I called into a small shop. The proprietor stocked sun tan oil, Ambre Solaire, at almost £6 for a small bottle. I declined the offer and bought a choc ice instead. I feel sorry for independent grocers trying to make a living, but £6 would have bought overnight accommodation and food or 250 miles worth of petrol. I departed, my upperclothing reduced to a shirt and a partly open anorak. The wind was behind me and the road open. An entry in my log just reads, HOT! Sitting behind the radiator was akin to sitting in the sun with a fan heater blowing on my legs and feet. I tried moving my feet back on the running boards and out into the airstream but I only succeeded in scuffing my boots on bends and roundabouts. With its low ground clearance and good roadholding, I have almost become a "scratcher". Several times the outer edge of my sole or the centre stand has grounded as I took a roundabout, with the result that I jerk my right foot up, knocking the gearlever into neutral. That leaves me with a hand indicating my direction, a screaming engine and no drive. The answer is to fit indicators and slow down, which I have now done. A local bike breaker wanted £30 for a Honda coil and a set of indicators. I declined and found the same at a bike jumble for £6.

This is how many L.E.s are run, on a shoestring. Insurance for me is £28 a year and road tax was £20 until the last budget when the Chancellor of the Exchequer announced there would be no increase of taxation for cars. Subsequently I, and many other motorcyclists found out the next time we came to retax our other motorcyclists, found out that although cars remained the same , we had to fork out an extra 50% to keep our machines on the road. Yet another black mark for our elected Government.

The tail wind was reducing the airflow around me, the sun was baking me and the radiator was giving me cause for concern because of my feet. They were uncomfortable, it is true, but I did not want a repeat of what happened three months earlier. Mother-in-law was particularly keen to visit Lourdes, at the base of the Pyrenees in Southern France. After exploring different possibilities we came to the conclusion we would have to drive. To cut a long story short, the six day, 1700 mile trip was a success, except that on the last two nights I suffered extremely hot feet in bed. Upon our return my feet became swollen, so badly that even socks were too tight. For two days I suffered a rash and my doctor was unable to say what the problem was. Doesn't one's heart sink when a second opinion is called for! Antibiotics and a week with my feet up were prescribed and the cure worked. Causes were suggested such as: "picking up" something in a shower (possibly), sitting for six days in the same position (doubtful, I have travelled further and longer several times before) or having the car heater blowing on my feet (it was March). Therefore I was concerned about the ambient temperature around my feet at the moment. The last reason for calling a halt to the trip was going to be fat feet! I need not have worried, all remained well, but another week off work did have an appeal! I found Bristol tiresome, difficult, busy and hot. Despite avoiding the very centre of the city, I was caught up in slow, busy traffic from endless junctions and roundabouts to more endless junctions and roundabouts. Perhaps a more direct route would have been through the city centre as ring roads can be a long way to travel a short distance.

At 4.30 after 113 miles I stopped for a rest in   a layby, opened a small orange juice and went to find some shade, a necessissity more than a luxury. These small orange juices were ideal but would not have been sufficient for for cycling. The Crane brothers in their book "Journey to the Centre of the Earth" described their thirst when cycling. At some stops they would consume up to one gallon of fluid. Doesn't sound too healthy to me.  I checked the water level in the radiator and topped it up. Unlike a car's cooling system this one has no pump to circulate the water or thermostat to regulate the engine temperature. It relies on convection -the fact that hot water rises -to circulate the water. Therefore, if the water in the radiator falls below the level of the two top hoses, the water does not circulate. Early '50s Fords, such as the Prefect, were the same.

I stayed on the A38, heading towards Bridgewater. The Mendip Hills were to my left and I passed within four miles of Cheddar, where we took my parents for a holiday a few years back. It was early October and the sun on the hills above Cheddar Gorge was as hot as today. I knew I should not complain. Wasn't this what I wanted three days previously as I shivered in Scotland? I remember thinking that maybe I should invest in a rebuilt radiator, as in thirty years a great deal of corrosion can take place in the copper tubes. This is what happened in Spain in my six year old Ford Escort Van. All was fine until we reached a hill or traffic. The following year also saw me in Spain, this time with a new radiator and a temperature gauge that stayed on NORMAL. The Velo's gauge read higher than usual but appeared not to be detrimental to its running. To its credit, it never showed any signs of overheating, even when I became traffic bound. At Bridgewater, I took the wrong turning and found myself heading towards Minehead. Instead of retracing my steps, I continued until saw a TAUNTON 10 MILES sign to my left. This was a minor road and, after two miles, I came upon a freshly resurfaced stretch. For ages, but possibly only a few miles, I travelled in first or second gear. A K model BMW came towards me, the rider not taking his eyes off the loose surface for a moment. Several car drivers were ignoring the speed restrictions and flew past, sending stinging and rattling stones in all directions. This surface ended and, with some relief, I was back on the previous worn, but preferable road surface. This new route led me into a wood. What bliss! It was cool, dark and damp. I stopped on some mud at the edge of the road and munched an apple. It was not a layby and many vehicles passed by too closely in the headlong rush for home.

At Taunton I was back on the A38 and running parallel with the M5. I felt a littled tired which surprised me. I had only spent six hours in the saddle and usually tiredness did not come until later. At 6.45 I came across a campsite near Wellington. The village was Uffculme, not Uffacombe as I wrote in my log. Reception was an ex-mobile home where a young lady with hair reaching her waist carefully and slowly booked me in and wrote a receipt for my £5, the most expensive site of the trip. She was extremely well spoken and all of ten years old. She told me I could erect my tent wherever I wanted on the left and I chose a corner, my nearest neighbour a German registered motor caravan at least 50 yards away. A Mr Mapplebeck came over to look at the Velo and dipped in his pocket to give me £2. A short time later the temporary site manager also came over. In his early thirties, he had neither seen or heard of an L.E. Velocette before. The site had no milk and I was recommended to go to the garage just down the road. The Velo felt lighter without its load and I tried riding with no hands. The bike stayed straight with no hint of handlebar shake, confirming that it was the weight on the back that gave it the wobble before. The garage was one of these excellent establishments built for the traveller where almost anything is available. Except petrol from the Number 5 pump, that is. After putting thirteen pence worth in, I tried pump six and filled the Velo up. With a pint of milk in a pannier, it was back to the site, tent up, into the shower, out with the stove and by 8.30 I was finished and ready to relax.  

On the way to the shower block  I had noticed several large caravans, some of German manufacture, with the same semi permanent look as the ones at Meickle Ferry (No ferry)  One awning had a full size fridge and cooker visible and a large colour television in the van. Open All Hours was showing, one of the BBC's better comedy programmes. In the dark, Arkwright was putting the stock from the pavement back inside the shop at the end of the day's trading, probably reminiscing about the day's events.

When we owned the Saunders Corner Store that I used to run at weekends, my favourite part of the day was at the other end. At 8.00 am I would unlock, put the swing sign on the pavement and stand for a moment taking in the fresh air, often with the smell of the sea if the wind was in the right direction. This was why I felt sorry for the independent grocer in Cambridge. Everyone told us how wonderful the shop was when we opened it. My wife did an absolutely superb job in stocking it, but it was a "penny" business. Our turnover soon reached what we had hoped for but we learnt the truth of the saying "Turnover is vanity but profit is sanity". The losses due to "sell by" dates, theft, bricks through the window, requests for credit and even loans, the long hours etc, etc, made us decide to quit while we were still behind. The shop was open for a mere fifteen months, it took a further twenty-four to sell the shop and two flats, during which time I fell foul of a cowboy builder (how naive can one be?) and, to add insult to injury, I ended up with a County Court judgement against me, as I was ultimately responsible for the builder's actions, or lack of them to be precise. This period in our lives taught us much and, despite the negative issues, there were some positive ones. One was that we became good friends with our neighbours and it was through Beverley that I became the owner of the Vulgar Velo as it had been owned by her grandfather.  He did own two and as I write (1991) the other has just come to light in someone's garage, it never having been collected from repair, ten years previously!

The shower block at this site was unfinished and, frankly, very poorly built. The quality of workmanship was shoddy and it appeared that work on it had come to a halt some time ago. Perhaps they employed the same builder as I did. I wandered back to the Shell Garage to use the telephone. I had to use the card phone in the restaurant which was no problem as I always carry a B.T. phonecard, except that this was a Mercury cardphone. Never having met one of these before I had to read the instructions twice and feed in my Barclaycard. The minimum charge was fifty pence which, although I did not time it, seemed to give me a fairly lengthy call. Father-in-Iaw told me that Lynn was out. It was Thursday evening which meant Fellowship Group. He asked me again when I was likely to reach Land's End. I estimated 11.00 am to noon, as I was 160 miles away. I then rang my parents and then my cousin with whom I had stayed five nights ago. Doesn't time fly when you enjoy yourself! I ambled back to the site, noticing the pub car park next to it was full of XR3i's, 205 GTi's and other hot hatches. Maybe we motorcyclists should not complain about being "pigeon holed" when I'm doing just that with car types. My fears of a disturbed night were unfounded though. I sat on the stove box and wrote my final postcards, a cup of tea beside me. At 10.00 pm it was darker than it had been in Scotland and, after checking my route for the following day, I listened to the radio through an earpiece for a short while. I learnt from Radio 5 that men suffering hair loss are more virile. It has been proved scientifically but did not say how. With that amazing piece of knowledge, I settled down for another good night's sleep.

Mileage completed today: 188   Total so far: 1598

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