Copyright (c) umgweb.com 1998
There are some British bikes that the moment you ride them you know are right. Whilst doing some research for the Good British Bike section I came across this example, a working bike with numerous mods. The owner was keen for me to have a ride despite being a devoted UMG reader. His ulterior motive was the need for a quick injection of money. He knew I loved the peculiar torque of the Commando engine which through a couple of mechanical tricks he'd more or less replicated. As well as a shocking dose of power there was also sublime smoothness. A notoriously difficult trick to achieve on a big twin in a Slimline frame.
I was sold on the babe. It was the best Norton twin I'd ever experienced. Fell for it just like that. The 650SS was externally road weary, could've done with a good wash and paint job. The fundamentals were fine. The frame, tyres (universal Roadrunners) and brakes (TLS front) were well up to modern roads. I tried to haggle but the grin gave me away and I ended up parting with thousands rather than hundreds. Readers who expect me to take my own advice will just have to put it down to extreme lust over an extraordinary example of the British breed.
A brief acquaintance with any motorcycle can be intoxicating, long term's an entirely different ballgame. Mere days or weeks can turn a thrilling experience into hell on earth. More so with many old Brits than most bikes. The Norton's proved the exception in the past month's riding. Even to the extent of neglecting the Speed Triple in its favour. In part because the local cops had taken it into their heads that ton plus speeds could not be tolerated and every time I went out on the triple I was paranoid about stake-outs and road blocks.
Riding an ancient looking Norton twin was sufficiently confusing to have myself dismissed as of no consequence despite the fact that I could push the old dear up to 125mph! The Slimline frame, recently rebuilt short Roadholders and newish Girlings were not fazed by such excess. A new Triumph held the road more securely but was a much heavier device to throw through the tighter bends.
The big problem with the Slimline frame was that it gained its strength through using high grade steel in relatively thin sections, which was fine for strength but did nothing for the absorption of vibration. When the 650SS became the 750 Atlas the engine tried to shake the frame to bits when used in anger. Using typical British logic, this obviously meant that the frame needed to be replaced rather than the motor. Enter the Isolastic mounts and Commando line.
My particular engine was particularly smooth, only threatened the frame when taken to silly revs. Then a gravelly, graunching vibration took hold of the whole chassis. But tall gearing meant that fourth would never reach such heady heights. Also, that the clutch needed a little slip on take-off. The combination of heavy gearing plus the concentration of power and torque below 6000 revs gave the mill a relatively easy time.
There was more to this smoothness than mere gearing, though. The engine was a mix of race components and stock. The crank was dynamically balanced and fitted with Superblend bearings (the uprating of the crankshaft for the 750/850's was minimal) with extra metal welded and machined into the crankcase for added support. Con-rods, pistons, valve rockers, valves and pushrods were all race items, lightened and polished.
The lightening of reciprocating masses went a long way to explain the smoothness. The engine being conveniently separate from the gearbox, some rubber mounts from a Kawasaki had been robbed and fitted in extra thick alloy engine mounts. The pistons were high compression ratio, the cylinder head gas flowed but the cams stock. This is as much intelligence that I could gain from the owner, who enthused that he wanted to combine smoothness with high efficiency and Harley type torque. I have no idea how much work this took but this 650SS surely shows up how wrongly developed was the Norton twin.
Further aids to smoothness were electronic ignition and a belt primary drive. The latter alone effects a miraculous modernity to the stock four speed transmission which actually snicked home with a greater precision than my Speed Triple's box. Such conversions are expensive but stock chain primary drives on old Brits (and Harleys, if we want to be nasty) are so fearful that it's a compulsive purchase for anyone into serious riding.
The 650SS had alternator output and a functional magneto which was kept as backup in case the electronic ignition unit failed. It was a matter of ten minutes work to replace the one with the other. The electrics were 12 volts, controlled by a Japanese rectifier/regulator of unknown providence. The front light was strong enough to take country roads at up to 70mph and the horn had enough of a bark to scare artics out of the way. A modern fuse box complemented the system, which proved totally reliable - a remarkable feat on a thirty year old Brit.
The only sign of age was an oil leak that left a good dribble when the bike was left standing for more than five minutes. One of the joys of vertically split crankcases. After I'd cleaned off the road dirt the alloy and chrome turned out to be excellent but the paint was a faded mixture of black and light grey. I felt inclined to pay for a quick cycle part respray, the engineering hidden within the alloy seemed to demand it. Old bikes like this insist on the odd bit of tender loving care.
Maintenance consisted of valves, carbs (I'm looking for an SU conversion), oil, bolts, drive chain and polishing every month. I did find that oil consumption was high and that occasionally the oil would hide in the sump making me think I'd run the thing dry (but I was aware of this trait from past misadventures). I always carried a litre bottle in case I ran out.
I did push the bike to high velocities, anything up to a ton as a cruising speed, with brief bursts to 120mph when circumstances demanded. Other vehicles viewed the appearance of a speeding relic (the bike not I, although I don't know....) with dismay but I thought it was a great game to play with the traffic and tarmac on a thoroughly ancient motorcycle.
There were dangers, as well, or maybe they were a part of the visceral thrill of such adventures. Repeated hard stops from high speeds, as when attacking a series of bends, caused the TLS drum to fade. Not to nothing but the heated, distorted drum took the edge off the braking. Both shoes and linings were to racing specs, therefore rather harsh in action with none of the gradual softness in the wet of the stock brake. A huge amount of muscle was needed to stop in a hurry, which made for some amusing antics when I did the same trick on the Speed Triple. Stoppies rule!
If the brakes made life interesting in the curves, the aged chassis gave pause for thought when hurtling along at speed. Unwanted but persistent visions ran through my mind, of brake hubs or the high tensile steel of the frame cracking up. What was left of my body being scraped up by the ambulance crew. Old bikes do that to your mind after a while.
Anyway, part of the monthly service was to check over the chassis for any cracking. Bloody huge pot-holes, sleeping policemen and the odd thrown brick or marauding dog do stress these old frames but I suppose if they can survive the Isle Of Man it can survive anything I might throw at it.
One shocking thing about blasting about on the 650SS was how cheap it was to run. I'd just about accepted that flat out work on the triple would only give 30mpg and was expecting 40 to 45mpg rather than the 60 to 65mpg the Norton turned in. I can only assume it was down to the gas flowed head, polished components, lack of noise and pollution controls, efficient cylinder head shape or just the mere luck of a combination of favourable features. No-one believed me when I mentioned this trait, so I don't expect you will either. But there you go!
Flat bars and rear-sets gave a comfortable ride, except for the bumps that the short travel suspension let through. Leaping back on the Speed Triple I thought I was in luxury city. Well, after 30 years you do expect a little bit of progress!
A typical ride consisted of a hard thrash of 200 to 300 miles, then a wander around some part of the UK's heritage (the more depressed areas have the youngest women in the shortest skirts and sexiest stockings; a phenomenon I wouldn't mind doing a doctoral thesis on if someone cared to come up with some dosh) or a bit of dodgy business, and then another thrash home along a different route. 400 to 600 miles in a day did no harm to the bike and left me feeling as fit as a racer on a run of luck.
The only incident of note, a potentially catastrophic one at that, was when the return oil pipe came adrift. That happened in town, where the Norton was happy save for the need to slip the clutch below 10mph, some helpful pedestrian leaping up and down as he ran alongside pointing at the bike. I thought he was another classic admirer, perhaps a Norton fanatic enraged by the non-standard nature of the beast. Eventually, I gave in, looked down at the back of the bike to see oil spurting like blood out of an artery.
The pipe had actually broken but the ped said not to worry, he lived nearby and had a workshop where we could fix it. I can't see civilians rushing to help someone mounted on Japanese machines but then they probably wouldn't do the same trick.
Towards the end of the first month of ownership I had a go on a RE Continental 250 single, another nice example of the breed. I wanted to buy this as well but two bikes in the hallway was more than enough and three would've verged on the greedy. Still, the lightweight RE made both the Norton and Triumph seem rather pudgy. I began to start plotting to lose 50lbs from the 650SS, a bit of madness with the electric drill, 2-1 exhaust, GRP cycle parts......nah, spoil the whole balance of the bike, keep it as it is.
After all, the past owner had gone to extreme lengths to sort the bike out. Stock Norton twins after 30 years, or more, of wear and dubious rebuilds are something of a lottery. That's true of all British twins but the 650SS engine wasn't the best of the bunch, the BSA's being stronger if stodgy and the Triumphs smoother and more powerful, but a well sorted example of the breed installed in the clever and almost sublime Featherbed chassis can work out as a quite extraordinary experience. Good searching, mine's not for sale.
Johnny Malone
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Over the past ten years, my biking had become a little familiar. The R80RT had travelled far and wide, the Supa 5 kept taking me to work without any problems. In short, I was bored with reliable, mundane bikes. What I needed was an injection of enthusiasm. The Jap toy rockets didn't appeal any longer - did they with anyone for very long? Then the idea came to buy a reliable British motorcycle, something pre-1960 as I had some experience of these in my early biking days.
I finally settled on a 1955 Norton 88 Dominator, after much searching amongst overpriced, overrated and over polished machines. The example in question seemed fairly original and mostly reliable after a brief test ride. For those unfamiliar the '88' was the first Featherbed framed roadster, combining the Dominator 500 twin engine with the famous tubular trellis that was much copied by both independent frame makers and the Japanese.
The first longish run revealed the usual problems with British bikes. Oil leaks, general bodging and neglect, leading to all sorts of fettling jobs. For example, the cylinder block had a crack in it where the pushrod tunnel was located. This was drilled and sleeved. The carb had been adjusted by some cretin, had to be stripped and rebuilt using some old parts I had in the shed.
The magneto had been set up all wrong and wouldn't fire when hot. Readjusting the points and cleaning the brushes put this right. The dynamo had to be overhauled as there wasn't an oil seal. This was done professionally for all of £50, which seemed reasonable. Other sundry jobs got the bike working okay and off we set to North Wales...I've now had the Norton for eighteen months and have had no mechanical problems yet.
The bike's no road-burner but will quite comfortably keep 65-70mph on the clock. The vibes aren't the problem they are on bigger stuff in a higher state of tune, so nothing has vibrated loose or fallen off. We've travelled to Wales a few times, visited the Peak District and the Dales, all in all around 3000 miles. The handling's very stable, braking's excellent with an eight inch drum out front.
Some friends have commented on the wideness of the tank and seat but for myself it's no problem. Actually, quite comfortable. When everything comes together, the weather, the scenery and the right frame of mind, the glorious growl of the twin's tremendously exhilarating.
The bike's not a machine which you can just get on and ride - it needs regular maintenance. And I mean regular - every month! Checking oil levels, primary chain, clutch, bolts, etc. Starting's a first kick affair, once you learn to overcome the resistance of straight 50 oil.
Fuel consumption's at least 60mpg and usually more, 70mpg not impossible. It's great in top gear, loads of grunt for overtaking and steep hills. The maintenance chores are actually quite easy as everything is a pleasure to work on. Over the past few runs I've noticed some play in the front forks when braking hard - perhaps next winter I shall rebuild with new spares - yes, new spares are available from the excellent Fair Spares in Cannock. I even picked up an original instruction book/workshop manual for a fiver at an auto-jumble.
On occasion I've roared past sedate pilots on fancy Jap machinery, much to their dismay. And surprised more than a few in the rain with the stability of the bike. Also, due to the very sensible mudguards very little spray gets over the machine or the rider. The only downer I've experienced so far was in joining the local classic scene which was thoroughly boring - being dominated by fanatical collectors not riders, who always turned up for meetings in their cars and turned out for runs on their BMW's, VFR's and Ducatis.
All in all, though, the Norton will probably stay in my possession for some time. A lot of pleasure can also be had in polishing the alloy, forks, cases, etc - it really does come up well. Next project, when money allows, is a pre-war Sports 250 - if I can find one.
S.L.
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I was suddenly bored with the whole Jap bike scene. Buy a big Jap four, ride it for a few weeks and then find myself bored out of my skull with the experience. Just too bland and reliable, the searing acceleration insufficient to maintain my interest for very long. And they were expensive beasts to keep in fuel, pads, chain and insurance.
It was the latter, more than anything else, that perked my interest. £75 rather than £750. Being a mean bugger that got to me. I could have gone the classic Jap route, but, come on, those old dogs are just accidents looking for somewhere to happen and I figured values could fall by 50% overnight. No backbone to them.
So it had to be British. I wanted something with a bit of blood and guts, decided on a 650 twin, narrowed it down to a Norton, BSA, or Triumph. Hardly original thinking but I left the final choice to whatever turned up within a reasonable distance of my house. I did visit some dealers but the bikes were priced so high that I just walked out with an air of utter contempt.
The first Triumph I went to see was a bitsa. God knows I'm no expert, but the flowing lines of a sixties Triumph were totally missing due to the mismatch of cycle parts. The owner protested his innocence and went on to confirm his low status by utterly failing to start the machine. I reckoned a hundred notes was about right rather than the £1500 demanded but he didn't concur.
My wife told me off, said I should expect twenty, thirty year old bikes to be in a bit of a mess. I gibbered away at her, showing her the high gloss tones of the bikes in the classic magazines. In one of their ads there was a picture of an immaculate Norton 650SS for £3000. Trouble was it was 200 miles across the other side of the country in somewhere called Leeds.
The other half wasn't even suspicious when I suggested a day trip there. I dropped her off in the town centre whilst claiming to be hunting for a parking place. Barrelled down to the owner's home, was suitably gobsmacked by the excellent state of the rebuilt bike and had a quick blast round his housing estate. It certainly had plenty of blood and guts! A cheque was written with the promise of returning next week.
The wife knew nothing about the deed until the following week when I pronounced that a bike had been found and I was going to pick it up. She looked up from her knitting, shrugged, dismissed me as if I was some kind of errant schoolboy.
Riding the Norton home was a revelation. The owner had enthused about upgraded and uprated engine components, dynamically balanced crankshaft, lightened rocker gear, blueprinted engine, etc. What struck me first, though, was just how good was the Slimline Featherbed chassis. Not just that it held its line well and was a delight to flick around but also that the Avon tyres communicated their grip on the tarmac in a way that was most reassuring in the slightly damp conditions. I felt at one with the machine and totally at ease after only the shortest of introductions. No wonder the past owner had been close to tears when he handed the machine over with the injunction to take good care of her.
The engine was entirely different to anything else I'd come across. It was a gruff old bugger that communicated every nuance of the combustion process to my feet, hands and butt. The rev counter was largely redundant, as it was very obvious which of the four gears I'd engaged. Real vibration, the stuff of legends, didn't come in until 6000 revs, which, annoyingly, was when there was a surge of power that took the tacho right up to 8000 revs when the instruments tried to leap out of their brackets and my feet fell off the footrests. I'd been told in emphatic terms to keep the revs below 6000 except for brief blasts of acceleration. In top, 6000rpm equated to 110mph (the gearing was taller than stock), so no great hassle.
Although there was that concentrated surge of power at 6000 revs, the engine could pull strongly from tickover, that lovely thudding torque that gave the impression of awesome engine power and tried to shove me off the seat like the great hand of God was descending. The bike much preferred to be slung into fourth and then slog it out on the throttle.
That doesn't mean that the gearbox was a bummer, just that the whole bike felt more relaxed and natural when ridden that way. The gearbox wasn't quite up to the standards of, say, the slicker Suzuki's due to a rather long, heavy action but it was infinitely better than the vague stuff Honda still fit to some of their bigger bikes. False neutrals were unknown. The clutch, though, was one of those types that reacted to excessive town riding by dragging, making me screw out the handlebar adjuster on the clutch cable (which would then cause slip when the engine cooled).
It would also lose a lot of oil in town. Not a continuous evacuation, though the primary chaincase weeped like it was in mourning for better days, but sudden spurting out of the engine breather tube which had been routed on to the left side, so that ped's would get a surprise drenching! Fortunately, the Norton was thin enough to make a rapid escape even through the densest of traffic.
One other hassle was the TLS front drum which I found difficult to adjust. It was either fading away to nothing or locking up. It certainly lacked the defensive capabilities of even the most mediocre of modern disc brakes, causing me to whack into a couple of ped's who materialized out of nowhere. How they didn't hear the rorty beat out of the stainless steel silencers, I don't know.
As with most British bikes of this era, an upgraded front end is but a cheque book and phone call away. Commando's might not have very nice engines but their front forks and disc brake are excellent. But I was reluctant to take the machine that far away from stock. Instead, solved the problem - to an extent - by dumping the racing shoes for standard fare. A much more reliable and predictable front brake was the result.
Readers are probably waiting with baited breath for the tales of the great engine blow up, so much a part of British biking. Well, forget it (touch wood!). Don't get me wrong, the big twin cylinder engine isn't the kind of device that allows neglect. Tender loving care is the name of the game. Every day go over the engine bolts, and do the same to the chassis every week. It doesn't take long and costs zilch. Every 500 miles, or even sooner, do the valves, carbs, points, check timing chains, etc. There are electronic ignition kits available but I found the old-fashioned system reassuring, as long as it was looked after.
So there was this strange bonding with the bike, needing more care and attention than the wife demanded, though a lot less dosh - running costs were amazingly low, with tyres that didn't wear out, chains that seemed indestructible, fuel that lasted for 55 to 60mpg, and only the weekly pint of oil a notable drain on resources. As it has a separate tank there was never any need to change it, just keep filling up as it leaked away (well, you should change it sometimes but I haven't done enough miles yet).
After five months and 4000 miles I ain't bored. No way, it's such an emotive experience, making the pilot so much more a part of the ride. Pretty much like a Harley, I guess, but with lots more speed, handling and practicality for UK roads. Good stuff!
H.T.
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This was my second Atlas, not what's known as learning from experience. The first I'd owned in the late sixties. Kept the bike for about nine months until I finally tired of the exploding engine. Build quality was minimal. In its favour there was an excess of power and torque, plus the fine handling Featherbed frame. Not enough to compensate for an engine that had its roots firmly in a mild 500 twin. The Commando replacement held even less appeal.
So zoom forward nearly thirty years to a sunny July day. And what should I spy in downtown Leeds but an immaculate Norton Atlas. As it happened, the biking bug was calling me back to the clan after a five year's absence. I had in mind a used Honda CBR600 or some other fine bit of Jap technology - you know the sort of thing - smooth, reliable, sophisticated, masses of power...so why the hell did I feel such pangs for the venerable Norton?
Unfortunately, the owner turned up before I could leave the area and dismiss such thoughts from my mind. When I revealed that I'd owned one in the sixties he was all over me like a rash. Did I want a go? How can you turn down an offer like that. Expecting the worst, I was surprised at the ease with which the bike kicked into life, its smoothness and the kick the mighty 750cc mill gave.
The owner explained that it was running later Superblend bearings, electronic ignition, belt primary drive...an almost endless list of minor and major modifications to take the bike about as far away from stock as you could get and still call it an Atlas. Needless to say, I fell for the bike and, as luck would have it, he was willing to take five grand for it, knowing that I would look after the machine like it deserved.
When we turned up at my house the wife hit the roof, not seeing the funny side of spending all our spare cash on an old British motorcycle. What about our holiday, she screamed. We can go touring on the bike, I offered. Something about dead bodies was then mentioned. The owner, a life long bachelor, looked on amused at these going-ons, offered to pull out of the deal if I wanted. Fear tugged at the pit of my stomach at the very thought.
Domestic harmony was further threatened when I revealed that the machine would have to be parked in the hallway. The Atlas wasn't the oil gusher of old but it did leave a few drops of lubricant on the Axminster after a hard run - and it would burn quite a lot of oil off, so a wary eye had to be kept on its level.
Part of the engine mod's was a milder state of tune, basically all the blood and guts concentrated in the first 5000 revs. Even with all the engine mods, high revs still meant plenty of vibration, so it made perfect sense to have all the power and torque below five grand. The way the bike was set up it didn't really need a gearbox - it'd lunge forwards whether in fourth or first. Nevertheless, the gearbox was typically Norton slick, although the clutch lever was very heavy, likely to annoy effete Jap riders.
All this power was contained by the Featherbed chassis. The suspension was a little primitive, relying on taut springing rather than excessive travel to keep the bike under control. Masses of feedback from the tarmac made the bike very safe in the wet, even though that gorgeous torque could scrabble the back wheel.
Steering was out of this world. The trick with the Norton's geometry was to combine light, almost delicate steering, with a feeling that the machine was running on rails. This on old, large and thin tyres that if fitted to a modern Jap bike would doubtless have it all wired up, becoming a high speed accident looking for somewhere to happen.
The Norton's duplex loop of high tensile steel tubing was surpassed by more modern designs with less curves and a more direct connection between steering head and swinging arm mount, but Norton made the best of the available technology and fine tuned the chassis with regards to weight distribution, geometry and suspension compliance. The Slimline Featherbed frame was way ahead of the game in the sixties and still easily up to modern roads, surpassing in general ability any number of middleweight Jap's. Obviously, the Atlas lacks the power to make it as a contender in races with the 600's but I surprised quite a few Jap riders on things like GS500's, GPZ500's and GS550's.
The Atlas weighs in at about 400lbs, a lot of that weight concentrated in the twin cylinder mill, which is at once relatively narrow and mounted low. Modern Jap fours, being both wide and burdened with long travel suspension, can't hope to come close to the Atlas's low centre of gravity. As anyone who has studied bikes knows, a low centre of gravity makes sorting out the handling that much easier. Hence the bike's combination of easy handling and rock-like stability, despite the limitation of decidedly old-fashioned components.
The flow of torque, the ease of handling and the sheer togetherness of this particular example (which is surely better than anything the Norton factory ever managed) allowed the bike to career, caper, across the landscape at surprisingly high velocities - an average of 90mph over a favourite stretch of fast A-roads surely says it all!
An indicated top speed of 120mph could only be lightly touched upon because of the aforementioned vibration, and had I spent my working life dealing with pile-drivers, I might even have been able to push the bike to as much as a 130mph. But I hadn't and I didn't really want to end up with the con-rods poking out of the crankcases (just one of the venerable twin's weak spots when thrashed).
Town work was less exuberant, the bike feeling a bit unsettled at low speeds, bits of chassis wavering fiercely due to some resonance at low revs. It just didn't feel right to thrash the engine hard in first or second, although when the need arose that marvellous torque allowed drag starts that had both cagers and hot-shot replica riders wondering what the hell had just gone down. The blessed roar of stainless steel reverse cone mega's popped their eardrums right out of their heads! Marvellously evocative, although no doubt some would think it an arrestable offence (not least she who must be obeyed).
What of maintenance and the fabled bits falling off? 500 mile sessions are obligatory but by no means time consuming or difficult. And, yes, after a hard ride I have to go over the bolts, but it's not a problem because I also like to polish her up to a mirror shine - it just seems like the decent thing to do. I don't ride the bike in winter, though, not because it couldn't cope - these bikes were made in England for all this country could throw at them, after all - but because it makes more sense to use the CG125 I've recently acquired.
Actually, things are getting a little out of control. I've also bought a 650SS Dominator in a couple of boxes and a dirt cheap 850 Commando. I told the wife that the front room's conversion to a workshop was only a temporary aberration. Yeah, sure!
Dean Richards