Bought
in 1976 for £550, my first 'proper' bike. A 650cc parallel twin, she
was one of the last A65s registered, in 1973, and had the nicest lines of
all the BSA unit 650s I thought, despite the rather challenging green and
white paint job the previous owner had given her (when I took her to college
she was nicknamed 'The Bathroom Suite' by the other Brit bike owners - be
grateful only one colour picture survives - er... thank you Pete Isted!).
Oil
in a frame that didn't carry enough, she served me well for about 6 months
until I blew her up the first time. In traffic on the way into work I trickled
to the front of the queue at the lights where three lanes were about to reduce
to two. A truck and a bus on my left, a car to the right, I sit there in first
with the clutch in, the lights change, I drop the clutch
and the engine
bogs as the bike staggers forward, bugger that must have been second. Slip
clutch and give her more revs, engine howls, bike reluctantly moves forwards
some more, car and bus now converging on me so I pull in the clutch, stamp
right foot down to engage first, drop clutch, bike jumps forward like a goosed
kangaroo and I lose my grip on the left hand bar. Make
no mistake, for a 650 the A65 had a surprising turn of speed - a year or so
later I gave a friend on a then new Kawasaki Z900 a standing start drag (Double
Overhead Camshaft it said - dead impressive), and up to 65 the BSA was the
quicker. Today, though, I really wanted her to slow down but unfortunately
I couldn't release the throttle until I got a grip with my other hand. This
I did in probably less than a second, all the time watching the tacho go through
6, 7, 8 thousand rpm (power started to drop off here), to just before 9,000
when a loud and expensive sounding bang coincided with the power virtually
vanishing and my regaining control of both bars. By now I was 200 yards clear
of the other traffic, which promptly came past me. But she was still running,
albeit trailing a long plume of smoke, so I limped the ten miles or so into
work, bike sounding like the original bag of nails, where, in the car park,
she stopped dead - seized as solid as a Leyland walkout.
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Did
I say I wore an open face helmet? I could see a brackish plume rising in
front of me then arcing back to take me in the face, eyes, nose, mouth
it took a week's brushing to make my teeth feel clean again. So that meant
a cheap ally guard from a breakers yard. It wasn't until I tried mounting
it that it became clear it was for an 18 inch wheel, but hacksawing a few
inches off the back stopped it rubbing against the tyre.
Next summer I got her home and treated
her to a bit of love and affection, ahem. Siamese pipes, reverse cone megaphone
and new second hand gearbox. All quick and easy to fit, pipe reduced weight
and, most importantly, all cheap. Also fitted a smaller gearbox sprocket for
more acceleration (stupidly big job this as you've got to go through the gearbox
or split the crankcases to get at it). There was a tad of a misfire, too,
at high revs, so I fitted new condensors. I also fitted a new Zenor diode,
stopping the battery boiling,
and a new throttle cable. The original one of the one into two broke so to
get home I tied the inner to my belt and tried to control revs with my body
position. This didn't work too well at first as it was hard to stop accelerating;
judicious use of the kill switch got that problem under some sort of control
and I got home in one piece but put a new cable at the top of my parts to
get list.
All sorted I rode her back up to
Wales in September. And as I got on the M4 I realised she wasn't all sorted
at all - that misfire was still there and getting worse. By the time I
reached Swindon it was getting bad at 3500 rpm, so the rest of the journey
was spent at as close to 3500 as I could manage. It took a long time.
Back at the digs I replaced the condensors - still no luck. Carbs seemed
fine so reluctantly decided to whip the head off, once again in the open
air. All seemed fine as I examined the head, and then had a peak at the
piston crowns. Each inlet valve cut away had a neat half moon apparently
cast into it
oh dear. Yup, the springs had given up the unequal
struggle against constant over-revving, and in retrospect I think I was
pretty lucky not to drop a valve. Both were noticeably bent, both were
replaced, new pistons were sourced and the misfire finally vanished for
good.
So, what was she like to ride? Surprisingly
good, actually. About as fast as a 750 Bonneville and handled as well
(which meant a lot better than the contemporary Japanese bikes - Honda
CX500s, Suzuki Hustlers, CB200s etc). I remember one bike club run where
we took about half a dozen bikes (mine the only Brit) to the top of the
Llanberis pass, stopped for a cup of tea, then came down the south side.
Lovely twisty road, lots of open corners and reasonably steep. So I set
off last, kicked the BSA into neutral and switched her off, and coasted
down the mountain hands off, steering with body weight slowing with rear
brake and passing all the other Jap bikes on my way. Most enjoyable, though
it didn't really make up for the overall lack of reliable power - strictly
speaking she was no faster than a typical Japanese 250, and you could
guarantee that if you tried to keep up with one for more than about 10
miles something on the BSA would break or drop off: vibration over 4000
rpm was fearsome.
One benefit, though, of an overall
lack of reliable power, was that the brakes were never over-exercised.
This was good as they were bad. The rear was actually more powerful than
the front and it took me years on other bikes to get out of the habit
of relying on the rear and the gearbox to slow down. My A65 had the conical
(aka comical) hub twin leading shoe on the front, which on the face of
it should have been pretty powerful. But rather than a rod activating
the second shoe, a design that had worked perfectly well on a previous
generation of BSAs, Nortons and Triumphs, BSA elected to cost cut by having
the brake cable outer activate it by pushing against the cam as the inner
pulled the other cam. Cable outers can compress, of course, and when you
applied the brake that's exactly what happened. Retardation was minimal,
despite putting a fair bit of time and effort into mounting and adjusting
both sets of shoes to bite the drum simultaneously. And as if this lack
of power wasn't enough, it got very hot as well, despite an air-scoop
on the front big enough to swallow sparrows. I remember testing the front
brake after meticulously setting it all up: nice straight road somewhere
on Anglesey, up to 95mph, apply front brake. Slowly down to 75mph, then
it seemed to bite better and speed rapidly came down to about 50mph (though
not rapidly enough to provoke any howls from the front tyre). And then
it just faded away - lever came back to the handlebars, bike actually
felt like she was speeding up and again I had to resort to the back brake
to come to a halt.
Very solidly built though. I'd returned
to college minus MOT one September (I'd phoned from Hampshire to book the
MOT in Wales), and coming into Beaumaris the next day with a Welsh chum on
the back a car turned right as I was overtaking it. I swung right but couldn't
avoid it and bounced off the wing, up the pavement, off a wall all the time
trying to regain control as pedestrians dived for cover and Roland, my pillion,
clung on for dear life. And succeeded, parked up, inspected the damage (bent
left foot peg, scratched clutch and brake levers, sore knee), and limped back
to the offending car. Which was a mess. The foot peg had punctured the front
offside tyre, my knee had lightly creased the middle of the wing, and the
left handlebar and clutch lever had gouged the top of the wing, popping out
the headlamp which lay smashed on the floor. The driver was a tourist, from
Liverpool I think, and while none too happy agreed fairly quickly that we'd
come out even and to leave it at that; I was lucky that my pillion spoke fluent
Welsh (and very volubly once the shock wore off) so all the witnesses were
on my side. Just as well, because I suspected that had the law got involved
they'd've taken a dim view of my lack of MOT (the appointment had been for
the previous day and I'd not bothered to reschedule it, tut tut).
Electrics weren't bad either, 12
volts, car type sealed beam front (with no parking light), indicators
that worked and Lucas 'butterfly' switchgear, unlabelled which the press
at the time disliked but I had no problems with. Dip and full beam on
the left, indicators on the right and two push buttons on either side,
for kill switch (this was before the days of positive kill switches),
headlamp flash and horn, plus one spare. Funny thing with the headlamp
flash was that towards the end of my ownership the bike definitely went
faster with the flash on - I could feel a power increase as I pressed
it. Presumably something to do with alternator coils being pulled into
service, but I never got to the bottom of the problem as the bike was
stolen shortly after I moved back to England. Never seen again, a real
shame - but if anyone out there knows the whereabouts of SWL 877M, engine/frame
number A65L NG2255 (I'm pretty sure of that number), give me call. I'd
love to see her again and make up for my earlier treatment by lavishing
some proper care and attention on her! |
This
was the first of the many rebuilds and as I was due to go to college in
about a month it was entrusted to my brother - who did a fine job, though
she was never quite the same (but hasn't he come on!). The drive side big-end
had locked, piston bashed into flywheel, presumably after the threat of
9000 revs made her spit out the bearing shell. Timing side bush was also
well worn, but after a regrind all seemed well. I took her back to college
the following January (200+ miles to North Wales - it started snowing in
Shrewsbury and got steadily worse for the next 60 miles: on arrival I practically
had to be lifted off the bike I was so cold).
Then, of course, her troubles really
started. As my sole means of transport for the next three years I drove her
just about every day. Student grants weren't too generous then and offers
of cheap beer were, so maintenance as far as the BSA was concerned was limited
to buying petrol and bolting back on the bits I noticed coming loose - carbs,
for example, and foot pegs and indicators. And rear brake levers. And tacho
drives. And pannier mounts. And handlebars
actually, in retrospect,
it would have been cheaper overall if I'd spent a little time with spanners
tightening some of the bits I'd not notice falling off. Like the anti-drum
bar under the tank. I spotted this had fallen off, but my practised mechanic's
eye told me that the bar clearly didn't hold the tank on so had obviously
only been put there as a bit of BSA frippery. So I didn't bother to replace
it, and smugly congratulated myself on improving the power to weight ratio.
A few weeks later I started to occasionally notice a distinct smell of petrol
when I braked. The penny finally dropped just after I'd filled the tank and
stopped at some lights - huge smell of petrol and a cloud of steam from the
front of the bike. Closer examination revealed the steam to be petrol vapour,
caused by neat four star cascading from the split across the front of the
tank onto the downpipes. Fixing this with Araldite was the first of many maintenance
escapades that sort of worked in the short term but were clearly, even without
the benefit of hindsight, doomed to failure...
Next problem was the gearbox - the
dogs in second gear rounded, so the bike would just jump out of gear.
I put this down to my fondness for second - using all the revs available,
which meant ignoring the notional 6400 redline (hey - I knew power was
good up to 8000 rpm), she'd pull gloriously from around 35 to 70mph, making
second my favourite around town gear. I solved the problem by ignoring
second for a year, holding first to about 40 or so, then dropping into
third. Then, for the latter half of that year, I had dreadful clutch problems
- no-matter what I did to adjust it, give it thirty miles and it started
slipping, give it another 20 and it started dragging as well. Changing
the plates helped a little, but it wasn't until about the fifth time I
was sitting on the street looking at the dismantled clutch yet again that
I realised the basket had broken. I was wondering once more why the basket
didn't actually run on the bearings - there was a bearing plate that the
basket just sat on, not actually held or seated by anything, but by now
I was used to BSA's sloppy tolerances and dubious designs. Then, as I
looked and tried to match the components against the oil stained drawings
in my trusty Haynes manual, I realised the basket had broken - the middle
of it had fractured all around the bearing housing and what I assumed
to be a bearing plate was actually the centre of the basket, edges worn
smooth by miles of riding it like that. One basket later and the clutch
worked fine.
When the front mudguard brackets fractured
I tried the pragmatic approach - remove it. After all, Captain America in
Easy Rider didn't need a mudguard, did he? Well, no, but then he also didn't
have to drive every day in North Wales. Unusually, once I'd taken the broken
mudguard off, it didn't rain for over a week
and then it did.
Driving ten miles in an open face helmet
without a front mudguard in the rain is not something I'd recommend. It's
not the water that gets you (after all, you get that from rain). No, it's
the dirty water.
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