"One Man and His Velo"
Day 7: Surprise Surprise!
Friday, 5th July 1991
I already eagerly await On The Level, our club magazine, and I shall be buying a few parts, e.g. plugs, correct hoses etc. Having covered a grand total of 150 miles on an L.E., I feel as if I have been riding one for years. It no longer seems slow, in fact, I enjoy being out of the traffic race. My father-in-Law swears blind they are fast bikes, and refuses to be convinced otherwise. When I enquired as to why he was so unshakeable on this point, his reply was "The coppers on them always caught me!" The deafening induction roar of the C.Z. always lets me know how much throttle it is receiving. The L.E. has so little induction noise, I have had it flat out up a hill without realising it. It gave no impression of working hard, it held 40 m.p.h. two up, up a long drag and actually impressed my wife with its smoothness. Ireland, here we come. Problems? None really. I overfilled the sump by mistake; the Velo responded by depositing the excess oil over my right leg and foot via the breather. I have to re-learn to use my right foot to change gear, so far I have only stamped once on the gearlever to brake, and twice vice versa on the C.Z. I am looking forward to meeting other L.E. owners and seeing other machines. I like mine because it looks 'original', some may even say tatty, but it is 28 years old and has 37,000 miles on the clock. If we make Ireland on it in April '90, (not definite yet) 0.T.L. will hear more from me. Incidentally, can any South Wales owner suggest where I can leave my car and trailer for a week? On our last visit to Ireland by push bike I spent the whole week worrying if the car was going to be waiting for us when we returned. Thank you for welcoming me to the Club. I hope to be a member for some time. Happy Velo-ing!
We did not make Ireland, a bereavement prevented that, but hopefully there will be another year. At Exeter, I reached the A30 and the Velo seemed to speed up even more. The wind was stronger than before and I cruised at 50 m.p.h. on the level and downhill and 40 m.p.h. uphill. The road is wide, sometimes high in places and is a good fast stretch of road, being dual carriageway in places. The high points offered good views of small fields and innumerable shades of green. A new computer presentation program at work boasts 1.6 million shades of colours. All would have been required to reproduce the greens in the morning sun. I was grateful it was Friday, not Saturday. The West Country has always been a favourite holiday area of Britain and Saturday has been the traditional travelling day since the British started taking their holidays there. The 1950s were the final years before mass car ownership shifted holiday makers from rail to road. Steam trains are an evocative stirrer of memories. Names like the Atlantic Coast Express and Devon Belle are pure nostalgia in themselves, and the green liveried Great Western Kings and Castles with their chocolate and cream coaches have been filmed, photographed, painted and modelled by many. For my earliest holidays, road transport was used. I can recall staying with my grandparents near Christchurch in Hampshire. The place must have moved for it is now in Dorset. The mode of transport was coach, the Royal Blue Express service. Whilst barely into double figures, I could draw the coaches with draughtsman-like precision and I knew all the drivers' controls.
The model I knew best was the Bristol MW6G with Eastern Coach Works body. No, I am not blessed with a photographic memory for vehicles of thirty years ago, but they did play such an important role in my holidays that nearly three decades later I bought, on impulse, a book whilst on holiday near Llandudno. "A History of Royal Blue Express Services" by R.C.Anderson and G.G.A. Frankis is obviously not everyone's chosen bedtime reading but proved immensly absorbing for me. What an L.N.E.R. 2-6-2 Class V2 means to a steam enthusiast is the same as a 1964 Bristol MW6G with the later ECW body to a coach enthusiast. Having gained my Public Service Vehicle Drivers Licence and my Certificate of Professional Competence in the Operation of Passenger Carrying Vehicles, I fear I must be content to dream. I would not want Saunders Safeway to go the same way as the Saunders Corner Store.
Back to the A30. Traffic was not heavy and the Velo and I bowled along merrily. I tried unsuccessfully to recall the Ford Motor Company's commercials from the early 50s, or was it the 40s, or 30s? The words of a song were shown at the bottom of the screen whilst a Ford was seen travelling along empty roads, "... bowling along the empty highway ...the rhythm of the road ..." All terribly trite now but it probably boosted Ford's sales then. I entered Cornwall at 9.40 after rising up to Liftondown. Presently a sign warned me "TIREDNESS KILLS. TAKE A BREAK". This seemed a first rate idea so the next layby saw me sipping another orange juice. When we owned the shop we took a case of twenty four with us on our coach holiday to Austria. They were most popular. I had covered seventy miles this morning, thirty-eight in the last hour. I had expected more, with the wind assisting me in this manner. I reminded myself that it was going to be a slow joumey home, which I expected to begin in three or four hours, but what is that saying about the best laid plans of mice and men? The riding was still enjoyable after all these hours and miles and at no time had any part of me cried out: "Stop! I want to get off". I had time to think about different subjects and, this morning, it was Dreams Come True. My sponsor form described it briefly.
The cost of the week long trip will be borne by the rider. Sponsorship is being sought at a sum per 100 miles travelled. Please take note, this is no pristine superbike but an elderly (and slow) much used example of an ex-Police "Noddy" bike -the Velocette LE. Produced from 1948 to 1970 the LE was sold in large numbers to the Police Force where it earned its well known nickname. It has a 192 cc horizontally opposed, side valve, twin cylinder watercooled engine, four gears and shaft drive transmission. Although once capable of 100 m.p.g. and 55 m.p.h. the expected fuel consumption is 90 m.p.g., the cruising speed 40-45 m.p.h. This equates to approximately 60 hours in the saddle! The person attempting this is Tim Saunders, a relative newcomer to the world of the LE Velocette. If you would like to help a Dream Come True please add your name to the accompanying sponsor form, and return it to Tim Saunders, Danbury Palace, Chelmsford, CM3 4AT .Departure day is Saturday 29th June 1991, so please have all forms completed and returned by 25th June. Remember, we may have the resources and the future to make our own dreams come true -some youngsters haven't. Thank you. Dreams Come True Charity is a registered charity, number 800248
The local paper printed a small piece and three weeks later again, this time with details and photograph supplied by the Chelmsford Police Press Officer. It is a pity my name became changed somewhere en route. The majority of the forms were returned to me before I left, at which time the total promised was well below £1000. Upon my return, my plan was to photocopy all distant sponsors' forms and return them with a pre-typed covering letter. Some people had sent money with their forms and therefore were sent thank you letters. What impressed me were the amounts I was being sponsored for, and the number of people who took it upon themselves to ask their friends, family and colleagues to support someone they had never heard of, in raising money for a charity that is not the most well known. A temporary member of staff at work gave a form to his mother who collected £60 and a colleague of a Club member promised me his winnings at the next dog show he attended. Several forms promised £60 to £80, which I found most gratifying. I was hoping for £300 -I had been promised three times that amount.
The miles were disappearing rapidly and I was soon in Penzance. I headed for the town hoping to pass a motorcycle dealer. A few minutes earlier I had noticed the ammeter on the headlamp shell reading + 6 amps instead of the usual + 2 and I needed a new headlamp bulb. Until I found one I used main beam, knowing that 6 volts and 30 watts should not dazzle anyone in daylight. I did not find a dealer and presently found myself riding along the harbour. Graffiti in a Gents wished a Happy Christmas to all their readers. A few days previously I overheard this conversation between a man and his young son while he waited for his son to vacate a cubicle: Son: "Dad. There's writing on the wall in here." Dad: "Really?" Son: "Yes, but I don't know what it means." Dad (nervously): "Good." Son: "Shall I read it out?" Dad, probably breaking into a sweat: "NO!" Son: "Why not? Is it rude?" Dad: "It could be, SO BE QUIET!" Silence reigned, much to the father's relief. He smiled as I left. Penzance was cooler and more cloudy. Land's End was eleven miles away and I set off to complete this important stage of thejourney. Hamish Brown, towards the end of his six months Groat's End Walk with his dog Storm, says he felt "more depressed than cheered" as he approached Land's End. As I am a home loving Cancerian that surprised me as I assumed he would be glad to have finished his hill walking and return home. I was not depressed but I definitely felt sad. Very sad if the truth were known.
The last few miles were completed slowly as signs such as Sennen, Minach and St Levan appeared, made friendly and familiar through the books by Derek Tangye. My wife owns thirteen, telling as they do the trials and tribulations he and his wife Jeannie endured in their attempts to farm the hillside after leaving their superficial high-life in London. I received an especially cheery wave from a young German couple on a small motorbike and I wondered what spurred them on to do so. I actually felt a tear forming and could not understand what I had to be so emotional about. After all, the real journey's end was to be back in Chelmsford, over 300 miles away. I gave myself a good talking to and rode on. With the speedometer having registered 1,754 miles since I left Chelmsford and 1,030 since John O'Groats, I arrive finally at Land's End. In front of me were the white painted buildings and nearer, the stonewall each side of the entrance gates. There was some activity to my left which I ignored as I wondered how I could depart without paying the £5 entrance fee. The road was one way so I could not turn round. I had no interest in seeing again the excellent museums and "audio visual experience" we had visited the previous year. I know the secrets behind the experience as I subscribe to Audio Visual magazine and £5 does represent good value. My idea was to return to Penzance, buy a present for Lynn, phone home and then head for home. Best laid plans, etc? I glanced to my left and saw that the activity was two young ladies jumping up and down like cheer leaders holding a banner between them that read:
WELCOME TIM FROM JOHN O'GROATS TO LAND'S END HERE TODAY
I led the way to Penzance, the gear box knocking badly in first gear up the hill from Sennen Cove. At Penzance we parked near the harbour. It was late afternoon as we walked, me rather heavily in my Frank Thomas boots, to the town centre, where I obtained some money from a bank dispenser and the girls some scrumpy from an off-licence. Four hours had passed since lunch and it was considered time for a cream tea. I sat with my pullover draped over my left shoulder as I had succcessfully been targeted by a seagull. The same thing happened in London by a pigeon when I was small and my father told me off for getting in the way. Back at the vehicles I changed my shirt, ordered my wife to DRIVE CAREFULLY and we departed with my arrival time home expected to be 6.00 pm Saturday. At 6.30 I left Penzance with about two hours of riding ahead of me. Instead of retuming on the A30, I travelled along the A394 which took me to Helston and towards Falmouth. I joined the A39 to Truro and six miles later found me on the A390 to St Austell. Dusk was drawing in quickly and it was time to stop. A further six miles later I came to a 1 in 10 hill which I took at 20 m.p.h. in second gear. It was quite long and it was a relief to reach the top and ease off. I found a site near Lostwithiel, a pleasant well hidden place some way from the main road. The fee was £3.80 (rising to £4.20 tomorrow I was told). No milk was available and, once again, I was advised to go to the garage just down the road. This time it wasn't just down the road but down that hill as well. Closing the throttle at 50 m.p.h. makes the Velo sound like a truck being held back by the exhaust brake. I took the opportunity to buy some four star- Velos run better on unleaded but at the risk of recessed valve seats -and a pint of milk, UHT again. We groaned and knocked our way up the hill again and returned to site to find pitch 82. The female proprietor had described where it was but I could not find any numbers. There weren't any, someone told me.
I chose a suitable pitch and, under an extremely threatening sky, I started to erect the tent. A chap with a dog walked briskly over and told me that there was a thunderstorm on its way. He informed me that the Scilly Isles had had it bad and it was now headed this way. Working as fast as possible I put the tent up as the first drops fell. Occasional flashes of light in the distance were getting closer. The wind was increasing and for the first time I ensured that every tent peg was fully in. The trees were waving madly and the flysheet whipped with a crack as the wind occasionally tried to remove it. I threw everything I needed in the tent and what I did not need was put in plastic and strapped to the bike. The light was very poor by now (9.15) but I did notice the Velo was leaning towards the tent. I rammed the signboard below the stand and threw myself in the tent. I arranged things carefully to avoid the inner tent touching the flysheet and then proceeded to pump the airbed up. Lack of room dictated I had to operate the footpump with my hands whilst kneeling on the airbed. This took at least five minutes during which time the tent was lit by orange light from the storm. I had chosen a good spot to pitch. The rear of the tent was three feet from a thick hedgerow that had a strong wire fence running through it. A sapling was growing in the hedge and combined they provided an excellent windbreak. The front of the tent faced downwind and I was able to keep it open despite the now very heavy rain. I lay there eating an apple and a biscuit watching the wind buffet the trees. The lightning lit up the sky from a distance, but at no time did I actually see a flash of lightning. The storm was not yet overhead.
The open end of the tent provided a cool breeze and the storm was an exciting and stimulating experience. I lay there for an hour, just enjoying it. The rain was heavy but not torrential. By 10.30 I needed to pay a visit somewhere but I did not know exactly where to go. I put my shoes and anorak on and sprinted across the field into the next and then thought that wearing my crash helmet would have been a good idea. I shared someone's large golfing umbrella while he told me which way to go. The toilet block was exceedingly well screened, a good idea by day but a bad one by night. A little path lined with conifers led me to the laundry, another to the Ladies, the next to the gas cylinders and the fourth to the Gents. Sprinting back to the tent I was stopped in my tracks by a brilliant flash that lit the field like a floodlight. I continued to the tent, went headfirst in and kicked my shoes off. My wet anorak I laid open on the sleeping bag and I resumed my former position. There was an uncanny quietness which I could not comprehend. The rain was now stopping. The storm was passing by, having spared us its worst. I remember being disappointed but perhaps it was for the best. I played with the radio for a while and at 11 pm decided the storm was well on its way and settled down for the night, noticing my unopened carton of milk by the door.
Mileage completed today: 226 Total so far: 1,824