Copyright (c) umgweb.com 1998
I had known the original owner of the Rickman Enfield 750 for ages. He was one of those characters who you think will stick with bikes for the whole of their lives and then one day you see them in a suit driving a new Ford Orion. He had just married a girl half his age who abhorred motorcycles, so the the Rickman was sitting in his garage awaiting a new owner. Sensing the possibility of a bargain, I admitted that I might just, possibly be interested.
Rickman were well known in the seventies for production of rolling chassis that improved the handling of such things as CB750 and Z1 fours. For a while, they also used a similar chassis to house Royal Enfield’s Mark 2 Interceptor motor, being able to pick up a large quantity of engines when Enfield were in the final throes of disappearing from the motorcycle world.
Enfield had always been slightly in advance of the other British manufacturers but never hit the big time sales wise. The 736cc motor followed common British practice with pistons moving up and down together and pushrods actuating the valves. It differed significantly in having the oil contained in a sump cast integral with the crankcase, although it was not quite the wet sump design so popular with the Japanese as oil was still pumped around the engine in the conventional British manner.
Its most significant difference was a hefty forged crankshaft supported by a large roller bearing on one side and an equally impressive ball bearing on the other. Enfield went to great pains to diminish vibration by dynamically balancing the crankshaft, although ultimately it could never offer the overall smoothness of an engine with pistons that move up and down alternatively, let alone rival Japs fitted with balance shafts.
At first glance the engine looks like it is a unit type but in fact the gearbox is a separate item that is bolted on to the back of the crankcases. Primary drive is by duplex chain, albeit a fairly skimpy 3/8" one, to a fairly conventional clutch and four speed gearbox that dates back to the forties in its inspiration, if that is the correct word. It later turned out to be heavy and slow but very precise in action.
The relatively tall engine (it has a bore and stroke of 71x93mm) sits well in the duplex Rickman Metisse frame. The 1974 example with 28000 miles on the clock sitting in my friend’s garage still looked good, the nickle plated frame but slightly tarnished and the big red GRP tank only slightly scruffed. The heavily lacerated seat was another but minor matter. The bike had some quaint Rickman features such as high bars but mounted individually on the forks as per clip-ons and the rider’s footpegs welded on to the exhaust down pipes, something so strange that I have not seen it before or since.....I had a go at trying to start her.
After three lunges I gave up. Running on 9:1 compression pistons and the racier of the cams that Enfield made available for their twins, not to mention a pair of bellmouth 30mm Amals, made the Interceptor a bit of an animal to get going. My friend had her running first kick, much to my dismay and disgust as he’s about half my weight. There was no choke mechanism fitted to this particular bike, much blipping of the throttle was necessary to keep the cold engine going.
First impressions once aboard the Rickman were that it was a bit high off the ground - you felt perched on it rather than part of the machine - and that the vibes were worse than a Bonnie, mainly caused by the way the petrol tank rattled away merrily. Engine noise was something else, it sounded just like a dog CX500 with the camchain tensioner gone missing. First gear was on the tall side and the extremely heavy clutch had to be slipped whilst the throttle was blipped. Although there was a rev counter fitted it didn’t work; after the first few hundred yards I realised that the speedo was in the same state (I was assured that there were some spare cables around somewhere).
It didn’t even feel as good as a Bonnie chassis wise, there was an edgy and twitchy feel to the machine as I gently growled around suburbia.....on returning I found out why, both tyres were down to the bare carcass. I wasn’t that impressed to be truthful, but when he said I could have it for 400 notes if I got the money to him that day I couldn’t resist the deal. He threw in a large box of spares, too.
I took him on the back to my bank where the exchange of cash for documents took place. After sorting through the box I found replacement speedo and tacho cables and then immediately headed for the nearest bit of dual carriageway to see what she would do. 86mph! The engine was running decidedly off tune, nowhere in line with its claimed 56hp at 6750rpm. The bike was geared to do a theoretical 125mph at 7500rpm in top (fourth) gear but it could pull no more than 5000 revs.
The rattle appeared to be coming from the camshaft drive area. The Enfield has two cams mounted just above the crankshaft, both cams driven by the same bit of chain running off the end of the crankshaft. Enfield didn’t use a tensioner as such, but a fourth gear was mounted on a slotted plate and took up any slack in the drive train....in my case the chain was so shagged that the gear was adjusted to its fullest extent. I removed the chain and took out three links and then riveted the chain back together, it being of the endless type. It was a lot of hassle to get everything lined up as per the manual but I managed it eventually.
I knew I was on the right track straight away. The motor burst into life first kick with a surprising eagerness and the vibration level was much more tolerable at tickover. Out on the dual carriageway, a much more impressive 110mph was quickly attained before I chickened out as the bars had started jumping about. I just wanted to make sure there was some worthwhile go in the motor to make spending out on the chassis a decent investment.
There was a hell of a lot that needed doing. The bike had single discs at each end, neither of which worked very well. The rear brake was especially disturbing as nothing seemed to happen for ages and then the back wheel would lock up. Not that surprising when you consider that the brake lever actuates a master cylinder placed half a yard away on the swinging arm which then compresses fluid through a couple of yards of aged pipe to the disc on the other side of the bike. The front had a bit more feel but was less powerful than many a TLS drum I’ve used.
An expensive pile of new bits from the only dealer I could find who stocks parts for these ancient discs helped out but I am still less than happy in the wet and have been thankful many times for the large dollop of engine braking that’s available. Give me a decent set of drums any day! Once I sorted the discs, polished all the engine and chassis alloy, lockwired several loose nuts and bolts in position, replaced the tyres with a set of Avon Venoms and had the seat recovered, I had a basic machine that was in sound shape.
Much to my surprise in the past three years and 21000 miles nothing major has gone wrong.There are several problems with the bike, though. The most obvious is the oil seepage, most of it out of the primary chaincase, one of those quaint bits of design which is held on by just one screw. Brand new from the factory it might have worked until the first time it was removed, but after 17 years there’s no way I can stem the tide. It also leaks, though less copiously, from the gearbox casting and timing gear cover, as well as a very slight seepage from the head gasket (actually a steel ring rather than the usual copper gasket).
The more serious problem is vibration. Maybe something in the engine is a little too worn out, but it vibrates badly enough to make things drop off. The most sensational was the complete headlamp which was held in position by what remained of the wiring loom (I’d had to do some radical mods to get the 12V system working in the first place). I even had one carb fall off, leaving the hot engine awash with petrol. Any bolt or nut that has fallen off once is put on the next time with a spring washer, Araldite and finally wired in position - this seems to work eventually; in the last 5000 miles nothing has come adrift.
The motor runs best between 3000 and 5500 revs where vibration levels are on a par with a 650 Bonnie. Higher revs results in massive vibes through the feet, hands, knees and backside. There is a bit of an art in matching engine and frame characteristics, evidently not one perfected by Rickman. Or it may just be that my engine isn’t as well set up as it should be.
I am little disappointed by the chassis, it’s no better in stability than a well set up Bonnie and less agile. There again I haven’t got around to refurbishing the suspension yet, the front forks managing to be harsh and spongy at the same time, the single sided disc twisting the legs when used in anger, the GRP front guard offering no rigidity (and the universal clips holding the guard on are prone to loosening off).I have managed an indicated 120mph without being thrown around too much, so the geometry is probably about right.
It will breeze along at 80 to 85mph in a vaguely contented manner without any apparent problems and do 50 to 55mpg most of the time, so it’s quite practical. The rear tyre lasted 13000 miles, the front hasn’t worn out yet, which compensates for drive chains that don’t last more than 6000 miles. Speedo and rev counter cables don’t last for more than 5000 miles.
Maintenance is a bit of a pain as the valves and points need attention every 750 miles, which is as good a moment as any to change the engine oil. The duplex primary chain has been remarkably stable in its tension needing no adjustment, although they are hard to get hold of. The carbs stay in balance for anywhere between 400 and 900 miles, mostly down to the vibes - it’s easy enough to know when they need doing because both clocks blur vigorously at tickover when they are slightly out.
It’s nicest moments are when you are doing 55mph in top gear and decide to open up the throttle. Typical of long stroke engines, there’s this gut wrenching dollop of torque that makes your hair stand on end and thrills you so much until the engine starts entering the heavy vibration zone at around 95mph. On fast B roads and slower A roads you hardly need to touch the brakes, you can just lose speed by rolling off the throttle, delighting in the sound of a big twin on the overrun. Its worse moments are after half an hour in town when the engine starts to overheat. Clutch drag makes it impossible to change gears or get it into neutral and it’s very easy to stall the motor.
The engine sounds rough, the chassis feels nervous and waves of heat and vibes shudder through the machine. Tickover goes to pot and you’ve got to rev it to five grand with the brakes half on and an aggressively slipped clutch threatening to make an engine rebuild imminent. The best thing to do is to turn the motor off and go buy a pint for an hour or so.
Of course, actually getting served in a pub is no easy task. Forget any ideas of sartorial elegance you might have harboured. You get absolutely filthy riding the Rickman, the mudguards are so minimal that you are drenched the moment it rains and the engine pumps out oil over your feet and legs. Of late, the petrol has started seeping out of the GRP tank as well, so after five minutes you stink of four star. I did meet one owner who claimed my bike was a mongrel because he had an alloy tank, although I told him his must be the mongrel and mine original.....I’m not a Rickman Enfield fanatic and have no idea of the truth of the matter, I just want a petrol tank that doesn’t leak.
It’s cost me seven hundred notes in total, too many hours of work and a lot of sweat to get into its current condition. I do like the beast but it’s not one of those great love affairs. I’ve ridden too many British bikes to be that easily seduced and if anyone offered me two grand for it (the price I see them advertised at) they could have it tomorrow. No problem.
Arthur Williamson
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Foolish things happen when the boredom sets in. The local rag had an advert for a Royal Enfield 500 twin. I didn't have anything better to do. The old codger wheeled the bike out. I had trouble stopping myself from bursting out laughing. The Meteor Minor looked smaller than a Superdream. Looked like it had not been touched for a couple of years. Odd bits of stray wire were hanging out, oil was everywhere and it didn't look like it would run. The bike appeared original but very tired.....it was, after all, over 30 years old.
The old guy tickled the carb, freed the clutch, fiddled with the switches and then leapt a few feet in the air before plunging down on the kickstart. The old brute chugged into life, rattling and blowing out oil. The silencers sounded deep but flat. It wouldn't tickover, needed the throttle blipped.
It might have seemed like a small bike but it felt like each ounce of power had to fight its way through the combustion process. The chassis buzzed ferociously, and as I eased up the road, the whole bike wobbled. It wanted to veer off to the right and when I tried to change up to second the box refused to move.
An approaching junction made me grab for the front brake. Nothing from the SLS drum. I squeezed until my fingers felt like they were going to break, produced a little bit of retardation. Not enough, we rushed across the busy junction to a flurry of horns. I survived but it was a near thing.
I quite liked the brutal, basic feel of the OHV twin. The price was low enough to be able to sell the bike at a profit if I decided it was too much of a heap to live with. The deal was done. Riding home I was careful to slow up way before junctions and kept the engine running between 2000 and 3000 revs, where vibes were not too horrifying.
The gearbox did work, it just needed massive pressure from my foot to make the lever shift. The owner had warned me not to use the extra lever, which was supposed to find neutral automatically, but instead permanently locked the bike into neutral. Very quaint.
A quick tidy up, cleaning out the dust from the drums and an oil change had the Royal Enfield ready for some serious motorcycling. Or not. The bike ground to a halt five miles from home. The magneto had fallen out of its mounting. The screws were still there, on the ends of their thread, so it was just a matter of tightening them up. Four miles later the right-hand footrest came loose. I decided I'd better return home via the accessory store (a couple of tubes of Loctite).
Performance was nothing to write home about. I'd owned 250s that had more go. It would waft up to 65mph, start shaking its head wildly and resolutely refuse to break the 70mph barrier. The engine felt more than tired, spewing out oil all over the place and sending out such excessive vibes that I found my vision blurring after just ten minutes.
I gave the engine a service. The valve clearances were way out and proved difficult to set up as the rockers were loose. I had to take two links out of the primary chain. Had great fun trying to stop the exhausts from leaking where they went into the head. Two tubes of Araldite did the trick. Took most of the bolts and screws out and fixed them in with Loctite.
Went for a twenty mile ride, not really enjoying myself. All the controls were extremely heavy, causing my muscles to ache, as did the pressure I had to apply to the bars to stop the Minor veering right off the road. The frame could have been bent but it looked so minimally vintage that it would have been dubious even when equipped with a mild CB125 single engine.
Coming home, after being unavoidably delayed by the charms of a country pub, darkness swiftly descended. I had already tested the lights, so had few qualms about turning on the huge headlamp. Its size didn't add up to much, with a dip that illuminated the front guard and a main beam that so startled and annoyed cagers that they immediately switched on their own main beams. I soon worked out that the best chance of survival was to find a car to tag along with.
Two miles from home main beam blew, dip lasted a few hundred yards, leaving me with the pilot light. I don't know when it went, but the rear light had also blown. The horn didn't work, either (how he'd got a new MOT I don't know), but that didn't matter as the bike made such a racket it could be heard from a quarter of a mile away. Subsequent rewiring and rubber mounting of the lights made no difference to the frequency with which they blew.
Every time I rode the bike something went wrong. It was crying out for a complete strip down and rebuild, but I was not going to spend thousands to resurrect a bike that would not be able to burn off the £250 CD175 that shared garage space with the Meteor. I will admit that under all the grime the Enfield engine was relatively advanced for an old British twin, but the clock read 82000 miles and that quite simply spelt trouble.
I would quite happily get on the CD and do 300 miles in a day with no worries about reliability. I was reluctant to do a tenth of that on the Enfield. Apart from anything else, that was enough to empty the sump of oil. I'd guess that half of it was burnt off, the rest leaked out of the crankcases. It got so bad that the back tyre often got a soaking, which led to some uncontrollable weaves.
I don't care how much the old codgers go on about on how well British bikes handle, my RE was infinitely inferior to the CD175. Just looking at the frame you can see where the accountants decreed that the absolute minimum of metal would have to suffice. It seems just adequate to holding up the mass of the Minor and its rider.
The swinging arm feels especially loose, with the back wheel twisting all over the road even at 50mph. The tyres were ancient, square section Avons that probably didn't help, but I used similar stuff on the Honda without anything like the same horrifying antics.
Its relatively low mass and some low rev power might've made it useful in traffic had not the clutch dragged so much that half the time the motor stalled dead. The starting technique was another piece of ancient mariner lore...... when the controls were set right, all it needed was a hefty kick - hefty in the sense that it needed at least 12 stones worth of mass to turn the motor over.
This made for some interesting antics when the engine stalled, as at some point both my feet were off the ground! It's just as well that I've got quick reactions. I never managed to emulate the old codger by starting the bike first kick but got it down to two kicks on some occasions. Once, I stalled the motor in town, took ten kicks to start again; received a round of applause from the assembled mass of pedestrians. Embarrassing!
I had the Enfield for six months in all. I did patch the chassis up as I went along, so the bike took on a gleaming appearance, apart from the oil leaks, the more the motor wore out. This was pretty much what a lot of the rogue dealers did, so I was in good company!
A few times everything seemed to gell together and I could appreciate what all the fuss was about. There was a narrow range of revs, that equated to 55mph in top gear, where the mill almost smoothed out and the handling settled down. I had, anyway, come to automatically compensate for the strange veering tendencies.
But, usually, I had to suffer vicious vibes, a graunching gearbox and traumatic handling. I can only say I was very happy when I off-loaded the Enfield at a very large profit.
Hugh
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More or less last of the breed, 1974 Rickman 750 Interceptor. In reality powered by Royal Enfield's final version of their big twin. 735cc of OHV vertical twin butchness. The nearest the British motorcycle industry ever came to a modern motor. The big lump of engine alloy looks major league neat. Oil actually kept in the engine sump and a bolted up gearbox, though still burdened with a chain primary drive and pushrods.
The Rickman chassis, though well finished, looks and feels a little wrong around the tank/seat interface. A mess dictated by the frame design rather than any intimate knowledge of ergonomics. A little sad, that, as most British bikes were at the very least comfortable to sit on and ride for long distances, once you became used to the vibration.
Despite a dynamically balanced crankshaft, there's no getting away from the fact that the engine's basically two 350 Bullet pistons hammering up and down together. The Rickman chassis appeared to amplify the shakes rather than damp them out at certain revs, though the older version in the true-blue Enfield chassis couldn't be said to be an exercise in perfect harmony.
To an extent, the extreme grunt punched out by the mill put the vibration into the background, at least when accelerating desperately forward. Definitely quicker than a Mk.3 Commando or most Bonnies but in no way up to the spirited zap of a Combat-engined Norton. In real road riding that's pretty damn quick, fast enough to scar the pants off GPZ500S riders, anyway.
Handling's pretty much what you'd expect of a British bike with a decent frame and geometry. Taut and together, but bounced about a bit by the rougher roads. No speed wobbles and a lack of serious weaves, but plenty of effort needed on the bars to swing it through the curves. Depending on how you've been brought up, you either dismiss it as a bit of an old barge or thank god for the lack of flightiness, go into stiff upper lip mode when the roads turn rough. I know which I prefer anyway.
Where the bike's let down is that it fails to make the rider feel part of the machine. More like perched awkwardly atop the chassis, with some sharp edges from the GRP tank cutting into upper thighs and a seat that was both soft and squirmy. No easy way around this, unless you want to risk taking a welding torch to the rear sub-frame, which given the high quality, and therefore difficult to weld, tubular steel employed ain't a good idea.
So much enjoyment of riding a British machine comes not from its outright performance but the way the rider becomes part of the machine. True integration of man and motorcycle, so to speak, that even makes the sometimes fierce vibration fade into the background. The only way this happens on the Rickman's when using the throttle to the full, when that hefty push in the back, fast disappearing road out front, concentrates the mind on the available kicks.
The bike came with strangely high bars and matching forward mounted pegs that contributed not one ounce of pleasure to the high speed jinks. Given a certain natural tolerance to high rev vibration, the Interceptor could be ridden fiercely and safely between 80 and 120mph, though the ultimate reading of 130mph on the clock required an unusual lack of mechanical sympathy.
However, the pain from the riding position combined with the vibration and lack of comfort from the seat, meant that whilst short bursts of acceleration were kind of fun (if I ignored the impression that I was just about to blow up someone's pride and joy), any extended exposure was likely to lead to rapid physical decay. Ending up shaking like an amphetamine addict, staggering around with blurred vision and dropping the keys due to shaking hands, after a mere half hour of abuse doesn't exactly recommend a machine as perfection personified, does it?
I tried to explain this to the owner, who had told me the bike would take any abuse I meted out without complaint, but he didn't see the funny side of registering 8750 revs on the tacho, nor was he overjoyed with the rattling clutch. We parted not exactly on the best of terms, with threats of legal action thrown in the UMG's direction, which given its perilous current finances wouldn't yield the fare for a bus ride across London.
In fact the RE's gearbox was a particularly nasty piece of work in desperate need of a rebuild, as I'm sure the company wouldn't have let them out of the factory in that state. Not unless they were off-loading old stock prior to closing the factory gates on the world. Many old Brit's are burdened with stiff enough gearchange actions to break modern footwear, but the Enfield's change combined heaviness, slowness and noisiness into a new art form.
It wasn't quite as bad as a worn box in a sixties Honda, mind, but it was a close run thing. I didn't really mind the shoulder dislocating lurch on engagement, what bothered me much more was the way the box would slip into a screaming, grinding false neutral on downchanges so that the back end, suddenly unwound from the lack of power, responded to by snapping off to one side.
Transmission lash was another bugbear that intruded at all times other than when accelerating. Again, many a Honda's even worse, but British bikes of this era had usually evolved such nastiness out of the design, though no doubt the hasty combination of Enfield engine in Rickman chassis might've contributed a little to the lack of sophistication. I could not take this analysis any further as the close knit Enfield community had apparently heard of my heartless abuse of one of their brethren's pride and joy, refused all entreaties for a quick spin on another example of the breed.
I'm nothing if not open minded, can readily admit that the gorgeously finished example, which sported 87000 miles but had benefited from a recent rebuild, might not be entirely typical of the breed in its engineering abilities. However, there's no getting away from the fact that it has naff ergonomics, intrusive vibration and a distinct lack of long distance comfort. On the plus side, handling, braking and acceleration is as good or better than the vast majority of other British twins. And with that butch engine as its centrepiece it must be one of the most attractive around.
Whether that's all enough to make you part with five grand, or so, for an exceptionally excellent one, I'll leave for you to decide (it isn't on my must-have list). There are cheaper ones around but spare parts are expensive by the standards of British bikes and it's such a rorty old brute that it's difficult to discern the good from the bad with regards to the engine. Much better to pay the going rate for a decent example and have someone check the motor over thoroughly before doing the deed.
I can't help but think that a mildly tuned and well sorted Mk.3 Commando would have the legs on the Interceptor and be a much more useable device to boot. Coming back to my A10, life was much slower but about ten times more pleasant. Yes, I must be getting old and senile but at least it's nice to do a few hundred miles in a day, arrive at my destination with all my senses intact.
Johnny Malone
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Back in the early sixties, when I was still a teenager, Royal Enfield launched the world's biggest vertical twin, the 692cc Connie. I was completely infatuated with this machine. I stood in awe in front of the showroom, bathing in the reflected glint of its chrome, alloy and paint. It seemed so much more rugged than the big Nortons and Triumphs of the day. I wanted one but all my pocket money would run to was a tatty bicycle...
By 1992 I'd run through the whole gamut of motorcycles - from nasty British thumpers, through interesting twins to top of the range Japanese fours, but I'd never actually owned a Royal Enfield motorcycle, though I never forgot the impression that first Connie made. I had a laugh over the Indian Enfield 350, though I should probably have cried!
One really hot summer's day, I decided to visit the Motorcycle Museum in Brum, from my home in London. No problem for the fine CBR600. The only hassle with modern bikes like the Honda is that they make 100mph feel like 60mph on the motorway; hence loads of interest from the police. That was the only excitement I got out of riding the CBR, dodging the plod!
Parking up at the museum, the ground seemed to shake and the air tremble. My god, an earthquake in Birmingham? Nope, half a dozen or so Royal Enfield twins! Fate had finally caught up with me. And there she was, a bit worn around the edges, dribbling oil on to the car park like a good 'un and making enough noise to cause a breach of peace! A 1962 700 Connie!
The owner seemed a little taken aback by the enthusiasm of a panting replica rider. I was all over the machine like a fourteen year old virgin over the school scrubber! Even though I would probably have swapped the Honda for it, he didn't want to sell but telephone numbers were exchanged.
That was bad enough. But the museum itself was replete with hundreds of old British bikes, perhaps a bit too well restored for the liking of real enthusiasts, but nevertheless evoking memories and plain outright lust. Amazingly, the security there is very minimal despite the massive temptation put before visitors to leap on the bike of their dreams and ride right out of the window, like a poor man's James Bond!
The poor old Honda, the total epitome of modern technology, was slaughtered on the way home out of utter animal frustration! Almost a year went by before I was able to buy the RE. I'd gone to see several other Brit's but somehow they didn't make it. I paid £2000 for the bike, which despite the oil leaks had a proper engine rebuild - the only time Enfields don't leak oil is when there ain't any in them! The owner could have ripped me off but he was more concerned that the bike go to a good home than with extracting the maximum amount of dosh from me. This happens quite a lot in British bike circles!
I kept the Honda, as I use a bike for commuting, day in, day out, and I figured a 32 year old motorcycle might object to such continuous use. Even if the Enfield was quite advanced for its day. For instance, there wasn't an oil tank as such - the crankcase had a separate oil compartment, though it still worked like a dry sump engine rather than the Jap's wet sump set-up. The good thing about this was the lack of oil lines to break and oil tanks to fracture.
Similarly, the engine wasn't unit construction but neither did it have a totally separate gearbox. The Albion four speeder was bolted up to the back of the crankcases. This meant the frame could be relatively minimal, the combined crankcases/gearbox part of its structure.
Dry mass was around 410lbs, power was 51 horses at just over 6000 revs, top speed 115mph and fuel around 50mpg - according to the magazines of the day. As well as being a big vertical twin, it's a long stroke one with a bore and stroke of 70x90mm. What this means effectively is that you don't rev a Connie over five grand for more than briefest of moments when caught up in a necessary bit of acceleration!
The reason you don't take a big Enfield above those revs isn't that it's going to explode into a million pieces (though it sounds and feels like it) but that the amount of vibration it puts out tends to wreck most of the cycle parts and leave the poor old rider in a terrible shaking fit. Even the compliant testers of the day complained of disintegrating exhausts and panels when it was speed tested!
Enfield went on to increase the engine size to 750cc, but along the way they learnt a lot about dynamically balancing the crankshaft and toughening up the main bearings so that they could withstand the onslaught. The 700 came with an 8:1 compression ratio and twin Amal Monobloc carbs, a specification that was considered hot for the day but didn't do any harm to the amount of torque the long stroke twin put out below 5000 revs.
When I had my first real ride on the bike I was mightily impressed by the way it'd pull off on a whiff of throttle and seem to thump down the road with implacable energy, giving the impression of being able to ride straight through erring cages! I had a taste of the vibration when I mucked up the gearchange (everything's the wrong way round), but second and then the upper ratios were eventually attained. The gearbox more precise than the Honda but having a long throw and heavy feel that would destroy trainers.
There's something majestic about sitting on a big British twin in a tall gear, slowly opening the throttle and letting the torque flow in abundantly. In terms of the stopwatch, acceleration's pretty pathetic but in terms of the excess of sensations it's well mean! It might seem odd, if not downright insane, to suggest that a 50hp twin can make a 100hp four feel bland, but that's what it does!
There's a great difference between leisure rides on sunny days and doing long distance touring or even the daily commute. Even below 5000 revs the Enfield's never smooth and remote, which in small doses is all part of its charm, but a hundred miles, or so, left me cursing rather than praising the bike and wishing I'd done the run on my Honda.
No more and no less, it was simply that the vibes had ground their way into my body, leaving fingers, feet and butt in a rather bad way. Rather a large number of bolts had also come loose. No doubt, if I hadn't been seduced by Japanese technology along the way, my body would eventually have adapted to the pleasures of big twin vibration. I think I'm too old to change, now.
As to the handling, that was also a rather mixed bag. Smooth roads with some curves in them were a real pleasure. The suspension was tauter than the Honda's, the bike securely planted on the road, with a better riding position for sub-80mph speeds! Whilst one was instantly at home on the CBR, it took a little time to gain confidence in the Enfield, but that effort made, the reward was some exhilarating journeys through the British landscape. There was a lovely feeling of blurring the space between rider and his environment which had absolutely nothing to do with the vibration (it was just as well that the bike couldn't be ridden at crazy velocities because above 70mph the mirrors blurred into uselessness).
The picture changed rapidly when the road surface turned rough. I'd been spoilt by the sophistication of the Honda, and suddenly finding my spine and arms viciously attacked by what I'd thought were previously benign roads was a bit of a shock to the system, though the excellence of its riding position allowed me to absorb more of the forces than I would have thought possible.
Not only did I get a battering but the chassis took on an hinged in the middle feel, causing the bike to weave and waver all over the shop whenever I tried some spirited cornering. By the way, having become used to riding the Honda on the edge of its tyres, this ain't something that should be repeated on an old Brit because the thing will fall right off the edge without any warning. I nearly came a big cropper when I got carried away.
In some ways I preferred the Connie in the wet! Just using minor revs in a tall gear and a light hand on the controls gave it a more settled feel than the Honda, which was either too bland at the lower end of the rev range or far too acid in its laying down of power higher up the range. The Enfield's engine braking was also powerful and progressive in the wet.
Just as well, as the wholly inadequate drums filled up with water at an alarming rate and refused to work altogether in heavy rain! That's what I thought at first, but just like the old disc brakes with their lag, the way around it was to gently pump the levers all the time to clear the water out! The previous owner had warned me about the brakes, reckoned there was an art to looking ahead that would soon be learnt! Most of the hard boys in the sixties soon upgraded to TLS brakes, some of them almost taking up the whole space in the wheel!
I soon got used to the muscle needed on the Enfield's brakes in the dry but sometimes forgot myself on the Honda, whose twin discs reacted to a full fist's worth of effort by howling and going into stoppie mode! It was amazing to leap on the Honda after the Connie, to be cossetted by its sheer sophistication (in ride and lack of vibes) and the lightness of its controls.
It's undoubtedly unfair to compare these two bikes, but interesting nevertheless. Though huge strides have been made in design, reliability, top speed and handling, something seems to be have been lost along the way. The difference being that the Honda's only kicks come from power, from the maximum use of its speed and handling; a brilliant, leading edge concoction, but one that for most of the time's severely limited by the laws of the land.
And then we have the Enfield. Its primitive design and subsequent vibration in reality limit it to a maximum speed of 90mph, though it feels much happier at 70 to 75mph. And yet such is its harmony at such low velocities that it impinges, communicates its ease, with the rider, who suddenly finds no need to go wicked on the throttle. The Connie feels totally at home riding sedately and securely through our countryside, as long as motorways are avoided.
The other thing is, the most curious sign of negative progress, the Connie turns in 65 to 70mpg when treated with respect, doesn't seem to wear any of its consumables and can be fettled in an hour with the bare minimum of tools. And it's well made enough to survive another 30 years, doubtless with a few rebuilds along the way. A rather serious but fun bike!
J.D.