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A 383cc vertical twin with unit construction, electric start and made in Britain. Sounds good? Well, Norton had just one such device way back in 1963, a continuation of the much maligned Jubilee and Navigator models. Weighing a mere 350lbs was quite impressive but just 25 horses was matched by Japanese rivals of half the capacity. The smaller models had horrible cycle parts and dangerous gearboxes but by the time the Electra hit the showroom it had proper Norton forks, petrol tank and seat, plus Girling shocks, although the drums were only SLS and the frame still an odd mixture of tubular and pressed steel pieces that originated in the awful Francis Barnett.
The example I bought two years ago was rather worn and faded but basically stock, although after 67000 miles the engine had been rebuilt several times and part of the deal was a couple of boxes full of old engine bits. The electric start, mounted under the carb, refused to turn over a cold motor but was okay for starting a stalled engine in traffic. A lunge on the kickstart always sufficed from cold. The cacophony that the engine made could easily convince that the motor was moments off seizure but was normal for the range (at least that's what the past owner told me).
The engine is short stroke with a 66 x 56mm bore and stroke, peaking out at 7000 revs. It was immediately apparent that it shared the Honda 250 Superdream's gutless nature that needed the throttle twisted to get anywhere fast; and even when abused failed to get much past 70mph. Brand new ones might've made 80mph. In practice, it was impossible to do more than 60mph unless a frenzy of vibes could be ignored, more a result of wear and several rebuilds than any inherent design faults.
Ride quality was surprisingly good. Better than most ten year old Japanese hacks of a similar size. Part of this was down to the bolted up frame having extra bracing in the form of welded in plates, the original Fanny Barnet only having to cope with some lightweight stroker engine.......Norton obviously had to find a way to cut corners to get the Electra's price down to a competitive level with the Japanese 250s and 350s.
Fortunately, the suspension compensated for any remaining weakness in the frame (the geometry was good, as that was just a question of experience and therefore, in Norton's case, free). Roadholder forks and Girling shocks were well sprung and damped, though by modern standards suspension travel was poor.
On today's roads I found myself more shaken than stirred but the Electra had a precision in its steering accuracy that was enviable. Tyres were modern Avons (on nineteen inch front and eighteen inch rear wheels), undoubtedly aided the feeling of security. There was so little power from the motor that there was no chance of sliding the rear wheel in the wet, nor of churning through the tread in anything less than 18000 miles.
The chain was nowhere near as long-lived. The lack of full enclosure, the skimpiness of the chain and the worn gearbox and transmission shock absorbers gave the final drive a hard time. Within 50 miles it was flapping all over the place, needing constant adjusting. Even a new chain didn't fare well, being shredded to pieces in about 6000 miles. The sprockets looked in good shape but may not have been truly concentric but the rear wheel sprocket's quite complex and hence expensive to replace.
I use the Norton for commuting and fun (honest) during eight months of the year, November through to February deemed too nasty for motorcycling. If I was younger I might go right through the winter but, these days, the wife insists on running me back and forth to work in her Metro - it takes an hour against ten minutes on the Norton.
The Electra ain't ideal for traffic work. The clutch is heavy, the gearchange tremulous and the steering needs quite a lot of effort for such a light bike. Oh, the front SLS drum works most of the time but when a car driver suddenly does something silly, I end up with the lever back to the bars and my heart rate pounding away. So far, we've skidded to a halt in time, in one instance with a mere half inch to spare! The pedestrians clapped, both the bike and I of an age to summon up looks of amazement rather than fear and loathing.
To be fair to the old Brit twin, I've been much more frightened on a C90, an CZ 250 twin and even a CD175, which admittedly had cheap rubber. The truth was that the Norton fitted me well and tyres always had a reassuring grip, so any gripes could be submerged beneath the overall experience.
A bike of this age isn't going to be entirely perfect, one big gripe that I had was the carburettor, which liked to off-load fuel over the engine every other day. As fuel was a far from inspiring 55mpg I deduced that it was totally worn out and a reconditioned Amal was ordered, as they are no longer available new. This solved the fuel spillage problem and improved fuel to around 65mpg. Tolerable but still not very impressive for the CD175-like performance.
Because of the starter, the electrics are 12V instead of the earlier model's 6V. Norton used two 6V batteries, one under the left-hand side-panel, the other under the seat! This was complemented by a high power alternator giving almost double the earlier bike's pathetic 50W, making it possible to fit a decent (car) reflector in the huge front light nacelle which also contains the light switch and ammeter, although the latter was of the self-destruct (via the vibes) variety and never worked on my machine. Luckily, the Electra had sometime been rewired, including an electronic control box that eliminated the usual dubious Lucas rectifier and Zener Diode. The non-standard coils looked like they were off a truck but ensured that the engine rattled into life first kick and ran quite cleanly.
Quite where all the engine noises come from I'm not sure, although it's in good company as it was drowned out by a big Ariel square four, which redefined the meaning of a rolling dustbin at one British bike show I attended. I always had to say I had a Norton Twin as admitting to owning an Electra invariably resulted in a stream of contempt. The passing resemblance to the big twins in the chassis allowed me to motor around without being attacked!
But it was noisy enough to drown out the silencers. The valve gear is the usual pushrod and rocker, although the camshafts are set high in the engine and the pushrods are only a couple of inches long. Valve clearances were set by turning an eccentric shaft on which the rocker sat, 0.006 and 0.008 inch inlet and exhaust respectively, needing attention every week (200 miles). Even spot on there were a lot of rattles, which were joined by the gear whine from camshaft drive, the whipping duplex primary chain and god knows what else. After the first week I decided that earplugs were necessary.
The points also need weekly attention, party because oil was seeping into their compartment and partly because the condensor was allowing some sparking. But mostly because the points were a crap design! I've yet to find anyone who does electronic ignition for this model but if I do it'll be out with the cheque book in an instant. If the Electra ever grinds to a halt I look at the points first!
Oil leaks occur at the rocker covers, chaincase and cylinder gaskets. It disappeared at the rate of a pint every 75 miles, something I assume is normal as in 20,000 miles it never became any worse. I quite enjoy leaving a puddle on the (once) pristine drives of my richer friends. The wife of one friend rushes out with a plastic tray whenever I arrive. Very nice of her, I always pour the oil back into the tank! With a three gallon petrol tank and a range of almost 200 miles, I seem to spend more time putting oil in than fuel!
The gearbox (rather than the selector mechanism) and crankshaft are both quite well built, having withstood the past two years and 20,000 miles without any troubles. Judging by the smoke pouring out of the exhaust and the ceremonious acceleration it's just about due for a new set of pistons and rebore.
Conventional wisdom suggests that the Electra would fall apart within a few thousand miles. This might be true for the Jubilee and, perhaps, the Navigator, but the Electra was the last of the range with many upgraded components and the minor niggles that plagued the Jubilee ironed out. That makes it the best of the range and more than adequate as long as you don't expect startling performance.
Having said that, I've just bought a Jubilee plus three bikes in boxes at a price I couldn't resist. Luckily, the engineering mods to make the 250 run nicely are well documented.
F.H.
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Buying a 1954 bike when it was nearly 40 years old was fraught with potential trauma. The classic mania, even in the depression, meant that we were talking thousands rather than hundreds even for something rather mundane and far from standard. Why bother, when for that kind of money some fantastic high technology Japanese machine would be capable of hurtling me across the country at insane speeds and in total reliability? The truth was the old one of wanting to relive my youth a bit and enjoy a rather more relaxed pace of life.
That was the theory, anyway, what shattered it was a Norton ES2, complete with a few sensible mods to the electrics, and rather faded with time and age. Rather like myself really. The least relaxing thing I can think of is trying to start a 500cc single. I knew enough to put on a hefty pair of motorcycle boots, tickle the non-standard concentric Amal carb and give it a full bodied kick after getting over compression. If the motor was hot that usually got it running but if it was cold there was a fifty-fifty chance of the dreaded kickback. The lever comes back at an incredible ferocity with a violence that gave the impression I was trying to start a 100hp monster rather than a mere slow revving, 20hp single!
After the first day I was limping around, the shock having run straight up my thigh, almost dislocating my hip and shattering my spine. At the tender age of sixty it was a violence on a level with being attacked by a pack of skinheads. My wife gave me her book on Callenetics for sufferers of bad backs, which advised taking unlikely positions on the floor and stretching muscles in strange contortions but the relief on my spine was almost instant. This became a daily chore.
Once started the long stroke OHV engine ticked over at about 500 revs with each distinctive combustion explosion echoing around the immediate vicinity of my house. Curtains twitched as my neighbours wondered what the hell a fleet of tanks were doing rumbling down the street, not particularly relieved to see me wobbling off on an ancient motorcycle. The rusty megaphone seemed to have no effect on the exhaust noise.
My spine took another battering from the lack of suspension. I had one of the first models which actually had a swinging arm and rear shocks. Someone had fitted Roadholder forks and a TLS front drum, But age and wear had meant the suspension had been tightened up until it had as much give as a pushbike. A piece of road, that on a Jap bike appeared smooth, was like riding off road on the ES2. It took a couple of months adaptation.
The steering was thus very direct, the bike moving over each and every bump, requiring a lot of correction to keep it on the required line. After taking that into account, there weren't any real weaves and it never seemed to wobble at all.......Norton must've perfected the 370lb bike's steering geometry, at that time they were the best handling bikes around.
The riding position was very natural, better than most Japanese machines, but the seat was too wide and I felt perched high above the bike, although I am over six feet tall and have the same problem on many small Japanese machines. Any idea of comfort for more than a quarter of an hour, at any reasonable speed, was however cancelled out by the constant vibration put out by the motor.
ES2 speedos are famous for failing due to the vibes, so I had no idea of the real mileage of the engine, and no idea how great the contribution of the wear was to the levels of vibration. I certainly don't recall the same kind of foot numbing, hand shaking rumble from my youth. I was thankful for my false teeth as I'm sure a mouthful of fillings would've been spat out in short order. The vibes were linked to engine revs, with a relatively smooth patch at 50 to 60mph in top, then the kind of frenzy that made the tank feel like it was falling apart and the bars difficult to hold.
Top speed of the ES2 was supposed to be 80mph but the vibes made a nonsense of such velocity, the most I dared to do was a very quick push to 70mph. Once into top the bike would chuff along at 15mph upwards, making a real pleasure out of country roads. Once my body had adapted to the level of road shocks and vibes. Usually, I limited myself to 60mph, which had the effect of making the Norton very frugal, around 85mpg. Oil consumption more than made up for that, most of it spilling out of the primary chaincase and pushrod tubes, the tank needing a daily dose of lubricant.
Where I'd become bored with the civility of Japanese iron, every ride on the ES2 turned up some incident that threatened to have me tearing my hair out in sheer frustration or congratulating myself on my own cleverness in doing a roadside fix. I soon learnt to carry a large toolkit with all kind of essential bits, from Superglue to bales of wire.
The first thing to go was the primary chain, a clacking noise of metal grinding against metal. There wasn't any adjustment left in the chain, so I pulled the split-link off and took two links out of the chain with the link extractor I just happened to have in the toolkit (it was almost as old as the Norton). It's a pity no-one makes O-ring chains for these old Brits. Running the primary chain in such a state was a recipe for a broken chain and holed chaincase, especially with the strong single cylinder pulses, but I went easy on the gearbox, clutch and throttle, made it home in one piece. Primary chains last little more than 5000 miles, Norton realising this made the chaincase quickly detachable with just a single nut holding it on (hence the massive oil leaks). There are rubber belt conversions for the big twin and I could've probably converted one of these, but the expense and hassle are out of all proportion to the benefits.
The next problem was a rattling and tapping noise from the cylinder head and some exhaust smoke. I cantered home at moped speeds, wondering what the hell had happened now. Taking off the head was ridiculously easy as there was no awkward camchain to split, just a couple of pushrods to line up. There was a lot of carbon on the combustion chamber and valves plus valve guides that had gone loose in their seats.
I cleaned the head up, reground the valves and fitted two new guides. ES2 originals proved impossible to find but the local Brit bike shop machined some Triumph items to fit and stuck them in the head with hi-tech epoxy glue, observing that whilst they would never fall out I'd have to drill them out if I ever wanted to replace them. Whilst I was at it, I smoothed the ports out and checked the bore and crank bearings, which all seemed fine.
The engine ran a little better after that with a gallon of fuel often lasting for 90 miles. I think the most I did in a day was a 100 miles without suffering a breakdown. I very rarely went anywhere in the dark, the vibes invariably blew the bulbs and even though the lights had been upgraded to sixties standards they were very dangerous on country roads. I'd be blinded by some oncoming car then not know where I was going until my eyes became used, once again, to the pale glow put out by the lamp.
One time I thought the road was going in one direction when in fact it was going completely the other way. The first I knew of this was the front wheel skidding over grass, then the machine charging through a hedge. I was wearing an open-face helmet without glasses, instinctively put both gloved hands up in front of me to ward off the brambles, steering the ES2 with my knees.
The machine lost speed when I let go of the throttle but charged straight through the hedge, suddenly twitching the front wheel before I could get my hands on the bars as the ground turned rutted. Having the bike fall on my body sent a new wave of pain through my already battered frame but I managed to extract myself. The bloody Norton was completely free of serious injury, just a few scratches.
I also tried to avoid wet weather as well. Not because the chassis or tyres were unable to take it, the ES2 was actually quite safe in the wet except that the electrics soaked up the water, blowing fuses and the only reason the engine kept going was that it had its own self-contained magneto system. The voltage regulator was particularly prone to filling up with water, either shorting out or letting about three times the normal voltage shoot into the electrical system.
The engine itself seemed to keep running on and on with the fearsome reputation that these old thumpers used to have. They are so simple that it's not difficult to do a complete rebuild by the roadside. If I was young I guess I might've been able to adapt to the Norton, but it came as such a culture shock after years of civilized Japs, and was such hard work that after six months I soon became disenchanted with the whole experience, although I can understand the charm of the lazy torque and its essential simplicity. But it wasn't enough to sway me.
The final straw was when the clutch locked up solid. It had started becoming heavier with enough juddering to make a smooth take-off difficult. Using the slow and heavy gear lever without the clutch was akin to trying to walk through fast setting cement whilst someone hit a dustbin with a hammer. I left the bike in second and worked my way through junctions very slowly, the bike able to hold 5mph without juddering. I made it the eight miles home without stalling but had to jump three red lights. The clutch pushrod had welded itself into the gearbox shaft through which it more normally operated. I was so fed up, I sold it like that for a few hundred less than I originally paid.
George Ayers
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It was the hills I really hated. The engine took on a deep, desperate note, threatening at any moment to die a death. I often felt like leaping off and running alongside; the pedals weren't an option because the mechanism was broken. The little 50cc motor was tired, an unknown mileage done until after a couple of decades it'd ended up in my hands, a fifty quid diversion I couldn't resist.
The NVT Easy Rider was just better than walking or cycling, miles ahead of the dangers of public transport and for a couple of miles at a time just about adequate. In heavy town traffic the frightening lack of acceleration and mere 25mph top speed were no great hindrance. The thing was as easy to steer as a pushbike and narrow enough to put even C50's to shame.
Even in its tired state, the stroker still returned 120mpg, about a gallon of fuel contained in the large frame down-tube. The minimal nature of the frame showed some clever engineering on the part of NVT and must've been dead cheap to make. The sophistication of suspension at both ends was ruined by age and subsequent lack of damping. Progress over bumpy going could become a bit traumatic, the skinny tires dipping and diving with the ruined contours of the road. I often felt the need to put both feet down to control the heap.
Nevertheless, ruthless progress through the cars allowed me to reach work in a tenth of the time it'd take in a cage. Stability in between the bumps was much better than I had any right to expect, almost certainly down to the way the engine concentrated the mass right next to the ground.
I think the two-stroke motor was imported from Italy, it was certainly beyond the means of the British motorcycle industry to produce even a simple motor back then. The tiredness of the motor was evident in the smokescreen and rattles emitted, but it always started after a brief push and worked reliably if given a regular monthly going over.
That consisted of decoking the top end and bit of rusty steel box that was supposed to be the exhaust, cleaning the spark plug and setting the points. About two hours work in all. None of the consumables have yet to wear, a consequence of the mind blowing lack of power and minimal mass. That makes it one of the cheapest means of transport I've ever come across.
The only real limit is riding in the dark when the generator has trouble simultaneously running the engine and lights.....the throttle had to be revved to stop the engine cutting out at junctions when the lights flickered dimly. The high tech solution was a pair of bicycle lamps, a quite reasonable solution given that cyclists would quite often come flying past. I do wear a fluorescent bib just to make the best of a bad job.
Some might complain about the tiny drum brakes, but given the minimal speeds involved they seemed adequate to me and never gave any surprises in poor weather. I did have a problem with the front drum sticking on, but that was cleared up by the simple task of taking the front wheel out and emptying the accumulated brake dust out of the hub. Parking has to be carefully considered because bored kids find it highly amusing to let down the tyres or piss in the petrol tank....it's not the kind of bike that inspires much respect, you see.
As a town commuter the Easy Rider's not half bad. Fifty quid seems about right for one that's rusty and tired. I suppose that the odd immaculate one might claim classic status as part of British motorcycle history but I wouldn't pay silly money for one. They do the job in the same vein as a Skoda or Lada car and there ain't much more to be said about the damn things!
Adrian Mullins
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Big Norton singles have a lot going for them. Not least the way the long stroke engine manages to look so butch, and in the case of the ES2 so much part of the plot that it could be all carved from solid metal. Starting big, long stroke singles is an altogether different game, requiring hefty boots, a psychopathic attitude, a Zen-like indifference to pain and, of course, The Technique.
This varies from machine to machine, often varies, also, with regard to the day's temperature, humidity and wrath of the gods. Part of the technique is to start the kick at a certain point in the combustion cycle, usually just after compression so enough momentum can be gained to actually get past compression the second time around - if you fail to do that the kickback reward can turn you into a rocket man! But it's not merely starting the kick in the right place, there's also correct throttle placement (after tickling the carb and/or setting the choke, freeing the clutch and making sure nothing essential has fallen off or come loose), and picking up on the revs at the right moment.
If you've gone a bit soft in your old age, merely able to get a well slung together A10 into life on a good day, for instance, all this becomes a bit too much when bleary of eye, hung-over and generally dissipated you emerge into the cold of another winter's day. At this moment in time you think longingly of life with one of the glossies, being transported (in the comfort of a luxury van) down to the relative heat of the South of France to test the latest piece of exotica. Of course, you end up with an even sillier walk than you get from trying to start an ES2 of a cold morning.
It took me five days of frustration and frenzied activity until I got the hang of the ES2's starting. Having persevered thus, the machine seemed to shrug its shoulders and happily admit me to the exclusive club of people able to start these beasts first kick.
From its recalcitrant starting, heady exhaust noise, engine death-rattles and spine shaking vibration, it would be easy to conclude that here was a bit of a fire-breathing monster. Nothing could be further from the truth, though. Bedlam on wheels never equated to a startling forward drive, partly down to the need to dim the vibration as fast as possible by getting into fourth gear as quickly as possible.
Really low revs in top gear, just off the throttle, didn't deliver the expected juicy torque, instead gave the impression that the series of chains that comprise the primary and final transmission were whipping around in a frenzy of self-destruction. Rather like an old Honda 750 four, actually. The bike had been around the clock at least twice, so its show of either profound wear or half-hearted rebuilds was to be expected and tolerated if not praised.
Notoriously heavy were the flywheels of old British thumpers, thus opening the throttle a touch delivered stately rather than startling acceleration, but still well able to keep ahead of the rabble in low end cages. Thus was town riding tolerable enough, aided along by the kind of narrowness that a C90 owner would envy, though the position of the handlebars ends was exactly coincidental with that of many a cage's wing mirrors - either good fun or a minor annoyance depending on what mood you're in!
Two areas were lacking compared to modern bikes. Suspension travel wasn't sufficient to cope with the rigours of modern ruined and neglected roads. The bike didn't skate all over the shop, rather hit the rider with the full force of the wheel's deflection. Tiring rather than dangerous. Unlike the front brake, a SLS drum of reasonable proportions but execrable efficacy. It only worked at all when a wrist snapping amount of muscle was applied (and don't scream wimp, because I'm used to this kind of nonsense, thrive on it...), even then retardation was what you might expect on some old horror of a moped designed to get the district nurse from A to B at about 15mph.
Luckily, such was the bellow of the exhaust, at least in terms of modern machinery, that everything for half a mile around was subsumed by its lust for life; not even the most brain-dead of cagers or peds could fail to notice our unlikely progress.
Between 30 and 55mph, in top gear, the engine came awake to a degree that was tolerably enjoyable and moved fast enough to make a minor GTi player wonder what the heck was going down. It might just kill a Honda 250 twin dead. Progress to 70mph was less startling still but it was a speed that the motor would happily hold until the end of the world came, just so long as you were used to, and had a tolerance for, thumper vibration.
Economy was one of the bike's greatest plus points. Ridden mildly it would turn in nearly 80mpg; even when treated with unwarranted contempt better than 65mpg was possible. Such adventures on old, sometimes tired, Brits show up the negative progress made by modern Japanese machines in this area.
Beyond 70mph I did not much venture as the owner had threatened me that if the usual Malone treatment ensued it would be similarly inflicted on my frail frame. And we wouldn't want that, would we? A top whack of 80mph is probably possible but ultimately rendered pointless by the amount of accompanying vibration. Given the constraints of heavy flywheel and vibration it's actually an extremely difficult machine to thrash into the ground, given that one was financially and mechanically perverse enough to want to ruin such a splendid old classic (phew, those guys in Barbours outside have cleared off).
As to the handling, it was a sure-footed if slow turning old thing that was hard to throw off the road. Much more likely to hit something due to the front brake, which on examination was running a slightly warped drum - don't expect even a perfect one to give much improvement in braking, though, it really needs a good TLS replacement to sort it out. A common mod, well worth paying a bit of extra dosh for.
Switches and lights were the usual old crap which must've been replaced at least a dozen times in the course of the bike's life - the definition of perverse surely being old die-hards who refuse to fit any crap Japanese or even European electrical parts. It wasn't merely that the front light was on the dim side even on main beam, or yet that it shook in its shackles in an alarming manner, but that the insidious nature of the vibes meant there was a bigger chance it would blow than that it wouldn't. Disgraceful nonsense, and a curse on old English electrics.
Oil leaks were generally absent in this particular example, more down to modern sealants than anything else. An eye, nevertheless, had to be kept on the oil level as its ancientness meant quite a lot of lubricant was lost past the piston rings and valve guides. Of course, a brand new example, or lovingly rebuild one, might offer a touch more performance and a little less vibration, but this one seems typical of what you can expect on the secondhand market for around the £2500 mark. Feel free to buy one but don't expect me to cheer you on.
Johnny Malone
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I kept seeing this old Ford Cortina plodding down the road, seemingly without a driver. It was driven so slowly that even the Norton Electra could see it off! As I sped past, I looked over, saw some kind of midget eighty year old bint behind the wheel, eyes just peeping over the steering wheel. The old dear gave me a disgusted look and then tried to ram the car into the side of the bike. Senile bitch! I opened the throttle in third, the Norton managing enough of a punch to get me clear of the auto.
It wasn't always so easy to stay out of trouble. The chassis was in good shape, with a pair of old style Girlings and rebuilt Roadholder forks, but the 400cc OHV twin cylinder motor was rather tired, with a recorded 69000 miles on the clock. True, it was on its fourth rebuild (to my knowledge) but the last owner had used disparate worn parts, which meshed together with a certain desperateness.
In comparison to the 1969 Honda CD175, with which it shared garage space, it was slow! The Honda could be wound up until the valves bounced, whereas the Norton just vibrated like an ailing Jumbo jet if I tried to use the throttle in anger. No doubt a new engine, or even a properly rebuilt one, would be an entirely different ballgame.
Unfortunately, the Electra and its siblings (the 350 Navigator and 250 Jubilee) don't demand enough dosh to make the work worthwhile. And even when done well, a rebuild's unlikely to last for longer than 20,000 miles, often half that! Mainly because the original engine was designed down to a budget price and was never constructed from high quality materials.
Although it's supposed to have a weak top end and dodgy gearbox, my experience of the breed suggests it was the inspiration for the Superdream's built-in obsolescence, though comprehensive death of its engine internals occurs at much lower mileage than the Japanese offering. Probably because it lacks any kind of vibration absorption and the engine clatters away more intensely than most 500cc British twins.
Part of that may be down to a mismatch between the engine dynamics and the cheap and nasty pressed steel frame. The original 250 Jubilee was equipped with awful suspension that didn't do anything for the handling, but by the time the Electra emerged in the early sixties, it had been upgraded. Luckily, for the breed, steering geometry and weight distribution were a matter of experience and knowledge, could be instilled into the bike at zero cost.
For most of the time, then, the Electra's a fairly pleasant handling bike, albeit one that's burdened with butt-numbingly stiff suspension. Better that than the soft as butter, I-wanna-run-off-the-road stuff on the CD. The Norton was an order of magnitude more secure in the wet or when the road surface turned rough than the CD (both bikes running cheap and cheerful, square cut Taiwanese tyres). The large wheels on the British bike gave it a basic stability totally lacking in most modern Jap's.
The frame only showed its weakness when I summoned up the nerve to ride the Norton with unseemly haste. Effectively, that means going over 70mph. The twin would roar up to 90mph on the clock, but only with a downhill stretch and following wind. It was the kind of abuse that I only indulged once a year, just to convince myself that I still had the guts!
The swinging arm, or its bearings, would allow a little bit of weaving and wallowing above 70mph, that increased in amplitude in direct correspondence to the reading on the speedo. Once, the bike lost it completely, going into an almighty wobble that all but wrenched the handlebars out of my hands. It was one of those moments that reaffirmed my belief that I was too young to die. The wobble died out of its own accord, just confirmed that a large amount of silliness was involved in thrashing a bike like the Electra. Not to mention the ball-numbing, eyeball-jumping and hand shaking vibes.
In case you're wondering, the bike got its name not from the electrifying effect of the handling at speed on the rider but from fitment of an electric start. Yes, the largesse of the British industry knew no bounds back in their days of glory. My experience of the electric boot was that if it did manage to start the engine from cold, then the feat proved so traumatic that it would never work again! Just added weight, but easy enough to dump.
One good thing about the Norton was its cheapness (forgetting for the moment the cost of its frequent rebuilds!). Insurance was laughable, road tax free, fuel around 80mpg (probably half that if thrashed, though) and consumables as long lasting as a C90's. That was one good reason for keeping the bike on the road, as even the CD175 couldn't match its frugality.
It was also easy to ride, needing less rigorous use of the gearbox, which was also about ten times slicker than the Honda's, and being a much neater handling package. Not hard, I know! Some other good points - it would start first kick however foul the weather, the massive mudguards gave excellent protection and it didn't corrode away even when ridden through British winters (although I cleaned it up a couple of times a week).
Some of the bad stuff. It was a bit of an oil gusher, leaving a pool of lube when parked up and fuming like a stroker when started. Even much work on the surfaces of the crankcases and engine cases failed to stop the leaks. My guess is that the engine is actually being distorted a little by being used as a stressed frame member.
The exhaust often falls out of the cylinder head - quite amusing when some ped gets enraged by finding himself attacked by a noisy bike that has suddenly turned into a flame-thrower. If the nuts and screws aren't gone over on a daily basis things fall off, or merely destroy themselves when metal grinds against metal. To be fair, most of the components are quite thick steel, reflected in an all up weight of around 375lbs. Giving a power to weight ratio that doesn't compare favourably with other British twins.
The SLS front brake's barely adequate in modern traffic, but it can be upgraded to TLS but I make do with looking where I'm going. The rear brake's just right, though. Shoe wear is unknown and maintenance just the odd adjustment to the cable - compare that to the sheer horror involved with an old Jap disc brake.
Everything about the bike is really set up for practical commuting rather than spirited riding, though it's not unpleasant to potter down country lanes at 60mph, or so. Motorways and A-roads just leave the bike a sitting target for the more psychotic cagers, who can't understand why something so slow and old is still allowed out on the road. The few times I made it on to the motorway I ended up on the hard shoulder because I found that half an hour at 70mph made the engine overheat, lock up momentarily! Had to let it cool off and continue homewards at a dangerous 50-60mph!
As a British practical classic it's severely limited, wholly lacking the overall usefulness of the 500 or 650 twins. However, they are quite cheap, decent if non-original bikes turn up in the £500 to £1000 price range and they are definitely a step up from the Bantam, Tiger Cub or C25 hordes.
It all comes down to personal taste and what you want out of your motorcycling. I'm happy to carry on riding and rebuilding the Electra until the spare parts situation becomes too expensive, which given the pile of stuff I've got in the back of my garage is likely to be never. A lot the press (the UMG included) have been rather nasty to the breed, but I don't think they are that bad!
Rowan Jones