I am a transplanted British subject and I think it must be in the genetic code or possibly the London fog that permeates in the brain. I have owned four Norton bikes and four AC

Cars. It seemed to all begin while growing up in Houston, Texas. I started watching my brother fettling, I love that British term, with cars . I built a Schwinn bike fitted with a Whizzer belt drive screwed to the rear spokes and a Briggs and Stratton engine mounted on a piece of angle iron between the down tubes. Freedom to roam all over without pedaling was a joy to behold. I graduated to a Western Auto Doodlebug as we called them. Power came from a 1 horse cast iron Briggs with a milled/sanded down head. We were kings by the time we had a twist throttle and a clutch. Moved on to cars from there and after migration to California it was time to do college. In Texas, I had an opportunity to drive an almost new Triumph Bonneville that belonged to a friend of my brother. I couldn’t believe he let me drive it but I never forgot the lovely sound it gave off and how beautiful it looked with its white and blue paint scheme. To this day I desire a Bonneville but always seem to end up with Norton. Anyway, when I graduated college I said to my brother who finished about the same time as me, “Let’s go to England and buy motorcycles and ride around.” OK he says, “What are you going to get”. “Triumph Bonneville of course”, I replied. Well my brother was a pretty savvy car guy having graduated from a 55 Chevy to ordering a full spec 64 GTO. He researched bikes for a few weeks and says to me: “Norton is the best bike going and that’s what I am getting.” Off we went to jolly old England.

 

Spent four days going to every motorcycle dealer we knew about. Not one Bonneville to be had. We had not ordered ahead of time and they had shipped them all to the US. Day four, after an hour ride on the tube to North Finchley, we arrive at what I would call a cottage industry dealer who is supposed to have Nortons. He takes us out into the back yard and opens a rickety wooden shed. There lined up side by side are about 6 Norton Commandos. My brother says he will take the Yellow one and I choose the Flake Blue one. This is 1970 and we do the deal at $900 each. Come back tomorrow and they will be prepped and ready to go. We returned the next day and the fellow was just finishing up fettling with them. He was a nice fellow and I think he could barely refrain from breaking out laughing when we asked if he would go and fuel them up for us before we left. You see neither one of us had ever owned a motorcycle or ridden one to any extent. We wanted to take no chances and get right on the M1 and head north.

Needless to say, riding those machines was a thrill extraordinary. Ended up in Amsterdam, got a free ride on the MS Rotterdam cruise ship to New York. Got the bikes a week or so later. Rode to Houston, Texas then on to Los Angeles to complete the odyssey. The bikes performed flawlessly for over 5000 miles. The only repair done to my bike was the kick starter pawl replaced in Houston. Love that fettling. Sold the bike after a while for $1000. Continued on the trail of life.

 

Briefly had an Interstate when my daughter was a toddler but had given up the thrill by that time. Fast forward to mid life crisis and my buddies driving big Hondas. Started looking for that elusive Bonneville again. Still never had a good ride on one. E-bay comes to the rescue and the hunt is on. Found prices for Bonnevilles to be extravagant.

Again, I never came close to scoring that elusive prize. Found a cherry unmolested 71 Commando in Sacramento and rode it home. I now live in the East Bay of San Francisco.

Paid $3500 for another consolation prize. Got another 73 Commando, last of the 750 versions, but sold it after fettling with it for a while. Can only ride one at a time.

So, why did I buy a Norton? My brother told me it was better. And it seems a Bonneville is just not meant to be. Besides that, every time I ride out, I think about the big ride. I think about the smells of the road, of being frozen to the bone, hungry, where the next gas station is, when the next town will come up, and all the other sensory remembrances of being aboard one of the finest big British twins ever made. Besides that, my buddies on the Hondas cannot begin to keep up when the twisty bits come up. And finally, I love fettling with my Norton.

 

 

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