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Purchased as a pile of of boxes, it took a couple of months to reconstruct the 1967 250 Continental GT. I'd paid a fair whack and was much relieved to find the owner's claims to have refurbished most of the machine turned out to be true. Royal Enfield's single cylinder 248cc OHV motor was a gem for its time. Being short of stroke (70x65mm), high of compression ratio (9.5:1) and reasonable in delivery of horses (21hp at 7500rpm) made it a fast bike for its day and still one capable of confounding car owners in town.
Apart from a few missing chassis parts, that were easily cobbled together from bits in my garage, the rebuild was the kind of easy job that anyone who has worked on bikes for a while could contemplate. The motor came as a complete unit and was not stripped down, I figured that there was no point repeating someone else's work. Even the paint had been done (bright red on black), so it was really just a spanner job on my part.
The engine refused to start for a while. I checked the obvious things to no avail. The spark was there, strong and blue. The swept back exhaust has to be removed to access the points. The ignition timing was miles out. Once I set this up the engine started making encouraging noises when kicked over but only finally made it into full life when push started up the road.
You could tell that the bike was a sixties relic straight away. The noise out of the apparently straight through exhaust was about as anti-social as you can get, short of lobbing grenades into neighbour's gardens. What a glorious racket. I could just about hear another racket coming from the cylinder head. This was much diminished once I'd reset the valve clearances.
Starting was always a problem. There was no choke, but the carb had to be flooded until fuel was running all over the engine. After freeing the clutch, it needed about eight to ten kicks before agreeing to burst into life. Every so often the engine would give an almighty kickback. The force was strong enough to break an ankle if you did not know what you were doing or could launch the rider off the bike. I often fancied I might end up zooming through the air, a human missile that would splatter down on the neighbour's glass conservatory! The latter shook violently whenever I blipped the throttle to keep the engine running whilst it took five to ten minutes to fully warm up.
With an appropriately large grin, I climbed on board. The gearbox proved rather finicky. Initially, the lever had a short, precise throw that was a pleasure to use. As the engine warmed up, though, the change became very crunchy, especially on the fourth to fifth change, with the lower gear often doing a disappearing act. Second to third there was a large gap in ratios, but third to fourth, and fourth to fifth, were much closer, so it was possible to ignore fourth gear altogether. Neutral often proved impossible to find and as the miles wore on the bike would often slip out of third gear as well.
The cafe racer riding position took its toll on my back and arms, but the bike was delightfully easy to swing through the bends. The low seat height and short travel suspension meant the centre of gravity was very low. Taut suspension and less than 300lbs of metal meant it felt more like a 125 than a modern 250. The engine growled ominously at low revs, buzzing all the way up to 8000rpm in the lower gears.
Riding the bike in isolation it felt fast and furious, but in reality even something as mundane as a Superdream 250 would leave it standing on acceleration. Top speed was a filling loosening 85mph (on the clock), a practical cruising speed only 65 to 70mph. The bike was hopeless as an out of town cruiser and using a motorway was only viable as a means of suicide. Luckily, where I lived access to decent B roads is almost immediate.
The engine rewarded thrashing by throwing out huge quantities of oil. At lower revs oil leaks were much more moderate as Enfield had fitted a complex series of engine breathers to take some of the truth out of their Royal Oilfield nickname. Waves of heat came up off the engine when the full power was used, I had to change the oil every 400 miles. A careful check had to be kept on the ignition timing as it would often retard, causing the exhaust downpipe to glow red hot! This may have been the poor quality of the points (probably patterns) or just the fierce vibes....whatever, stripping off the exhaust every couple of hundred miles did not endear the bike to me. I once had the timing go off after doing 120 miles on a sunny afternoon. I wasn't even thrashing the machine, just enjoying myself burning along at 50 to 60mph down deserted back roads. I had to grapple with a red hot exhaust with predictable results. When the exhaust flange stripped its thread I was even less amused. Fixed with that good old standby, Araldite.
Admittedly, the bike never broke down to the extent that I had to call on the AA. Old British bikes were designed with roadside repairs in mind. The GT even had an emergency ignition system which would allow you to start the machine with a dead battery. The cynical might remark that this is merely because the electrical system was so unreliable. The ignition switch, with a laughably unsophisticated key, did manage to fall off. I didn't even know about it as the switch hung there still attached to its wires.
The Conti had quaint SLS drums at each end. They were quite fierce stoppers from 30mph, but used from higher speeds they rapidly overheated, causing very bad fade. It's no joke to find retardation suddenly disappearing. As using engine braking when downchanging rapidly usually caused the gearbox to erupt into a series of false neutrals (and some horrible noises), I soon found that it was possible to muscle the bike around intractable obstacles.
I had some very close encounters with cagers. I once had the delightful experience of seeing a Metro driver clutching his heart as he had edged his car out into the road assuming I would have the sense to slam on my brakes. I did, but after the initial bite the braking just disappeared. To the car driver it seemed as if I'd suddenly speeded up. There was just enough space between the Metro and oncoming traffic into which to violently swing the Conti, but it was a very close thing. I bounced past him, catching his panicked eyes and spasmodically jerking body.
Doubtless, some knowledgeable reader will know of an obscure cure for this braking malaise, involving strange combinations of brake shoe and lining materials, but the lack of effective braking did much to diminish the enjoyment of riding the Enfield. As did the knowledge that the 6V lights put out only enough illumination to serve as a vague warning to oncoming vehicles....using more than 5000 revs caused everything electrical to blow, though I never did work out if this was due to the frenzied vibes or the Lucas alternator and rectifier putting out too many volts.
The result of these problems and a few other minor quibbles was that in three years I only did 4600 miles. My Japanese roadster, by way of contrast, clocked up 65000 miles in that same period. As a practical means of transport there was just no contest. I will admit that on sunny days when the bike was running well I did come back home with a large grin on my face. The RE goes around country bends like nothing else I've tried, makes a magnificent noise and is just about fast enough to keep you from dozing off. Despite its low mileage and relatively mild use, the engine exhibited a couple of problems that are common to the breed. After a year and a half, the oil ring on the piston went, giving the machine a two stroke like appearance whenever revs went above 3000rpm. The piston only lasted 2000 miles after that - I was forced to fit a Crusader piston as the GT item was unavailable at any price. This made starting slightly easier but reduced top speed to under 80mph. New parts are extremely expensive, on a par with Japanese bits. And the gearbox finally went so bad I had to pay someone to fix it. £200 poorer it's still not perfect, being very heavy in action, but it doesn't slip out of gears too frequently.
Good points were fuel economy of 75 to 95mpg, long lasting consumables, handling and the stunning appearance. That doesn't add up to a lot, but then anyone who expects an excess of practicality, or god forbid speed, from an old British bike has their head buried in the sand. Even though classic prices have nose-dived I'd still make a fair profit if I sold the bike, whereas my Japanese machine is now worth next to nothing. Which just goes to show how curious is the classic scene.
Thomas Hill
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The only old British bikes that I could afford were rats. That left the intriguing possibility of the Indian produced Bullet, a mildly updated version of the old fifties thumper. Could nostalgia be blended with a touch of practicality? In India, I'd read, they were viewed as top notch, the machine to have. Over here, even British bike enthusiasts dismissed them as not the Real Thing.
There are two capacities available, 350 and 500cc, the latter merely a bored out version of the smaller bike. Logic indicated that I should go for the 350 version, the excess vibes of a big thumper being more pertinent than any extra power. However, in the real world of Manchester Enfields turned out to be as rare as Vincents and when a one year old 500 turned up I grabbed it with both hands.
The 500 has a bore and stroke of 84x90mm, develops 22 horses at 5400rpm whilst maximum torque is reached at a startlingly low 3000 revs. Starting, if like me you had an history of old British bikes, was easy. A combination of a relatively modern carb and electrics saw to that. Mind you, I wouldn't like to leap on the kickstart wearing trainers but as someone who values his ankles I always ride with motocross boots. From cold two or three kicks were needed, from hot just one.
The controls were heavy but smooth. Again, those used to old Brits will have no troubles but effete riders used to the sophistication of Japanese bikes will end up with swollen wrists and ankles. Persevere, your muscles will soon adapt. The handlebars were a curious throwback, halfway to being ape-hangers. The bend didn't rest naturally with my body. After two days they were replaced with a flatter bar from, I think, a sixties big Triumph.
That was my only immediate complaint. The exhaust was only mildly subdued, the effect of the Enfield running through traffic being to send waves of noise and vibration reflecting off the tin boxes. Despite 12V electrics the horn made only a mild impression, so the combination of engine and exhaust noise was jolly useful.
Torque thumped in from tickover, the bike quite sprightly off the mark. It was hilarious to watch some caged pinhead's astonishment as I took off from the lights. I often played with him, let him stay alongside up to 15mph before I knocked the box up to second and tore off up the road. The engine seemed willing to pull to 6000 revs but by then the primary vibration was churning out, turning the bike into a moving massage machine. It could be held at those revs for about five minutes until my eyesight went.
There were always some sensations coming from the engine, it could never be called smooth but at more moderate revs there were no nasty effects upon my aged body. After a while, the engine mutterings went into the background and the bike and I adjusted to each others whims. Every week, though, I went over the chassis, tightening up all the screws and bolts!
It might not look it but the Bullet's a light, compact machine. Dry mass is just 370lbs and the wheelbase a mere 54 inches. Modern Jap singles for all their high technology are rarely able to match these figures. The Enfield is thus able to combine reasonably stable handling with manoeuvring that needs little effort, though first experiences suggest that it's slow turning. I think it's the big 19' wheel that's reluctant to start the turn.
Suspension travel is not generous, a problem on our bumpy country roads and pot-holed filled city streets. Perhaps they ought to do a trail version! The only good point arising from the lack of movement is that it still holds a reasonable line - probably down to the lack of suspension travel allowing the engine to be very lowly mounted. Circles within circles.
I'm not sure if the limit on banking over was coming to the edge of the tyres' tread or the undercarriage meeting the tarmac. The couple of times I did it, by entering the corner about 20mph too fast, the whole bike felt like it was going to wobble off the road. I held the tank in a death-grip with my knees, flicked her back up and used the wrong side of the road to take a survival line. The footpegs (with hefty rubbers) don't spring up, just dig into the ground.
Braking was better than I'd expected, the front sporting a 7'' TLS drum that looked like it'd been inspired by a sixties Honda. Repeated thrashing through hilly country would make it fade eventually but that was riding against the character of the machine. The Enfield was all about relaxed, pleasant cruising, sticking the box in top gear and using the grunt to power ever onwards. I often found that engine braking was sufficient for losing moderate amounts of speed. The rear drum was a touch on the weak side but it didn't seem to matter. Drum brakes are nice because they don't seize up or have any delay in the wet, and also the shoes last twice as long as disc pads.
It's possible to put 90mph on the clock but 70 to 75mph is the most I'd like to hold for any length of time. A few times I pottered down the motorway slow lane without causing a massive pile-up but it left me feeling a bit edgy, the whole purpose of the bike was negated. One pillion complained about dead feet after ten miles at a constant 70mph, although their extra mass didn't make any difference to the performance.
Comfort, with the non-standard bars, was pretty good once I'd become used to all the road shocks getting through the taut suspension. The seat was well padded and shaped, the riding position held me in the optimum stance for absorbing shocks without wrecking my spine and the gentle thrumming at sane cruising speeds didn't affect my body. I was quite happy doing 250 to 300 miles in a day.
Unless it rained. Then I found that the tyres would slide under the slightest provocation and the engine would cough and stutter under the onslaught of a typical English spring. With a thumper when one cylinder cuts out that's it, finito! The ignition was coil and battery, benefited from a new HT lead and cap. I also found that the spark plug rarely lasted more than 2500 miles, which was probably down to the rudimentary plunger type oil pump, oil being contained in the sump at the bottom of the crankcase, although it was in fact a dry sump lubrication system. A mishmash unique to the Enfield range but at least it eliminated such quaint British habits as broken oil tanks and sheared supply pipes.
Another unique feature was the neutral finder, a separate lever on the gearbox that when given a good boot would knock the box into, er, neutral. The gearbox didn't seem to need this as it was precise if heavy enough to need a good pair of motorcycle boots. Clutch drag was the only thing to spoil the transmission (if you ignored the frequent chain adjustments), making town riding rather awkward if the Enfield was stuck in heavy traffic for more than 45 minutes. At such times there was enough heat coming off the engine to boil an egg.
One other quaint habit was the way it'd stutter into silence when the fuel ran out. The fuel tap is well located but small and fiddly when wearing motorcycle gloves (compulsory fare with the heavy controls). The first time I was caught out, I was so distracted by the fiddling that we nearly ran off the road and some blind twerp almost back-ended me.
With over three gallons in the main tank it was dead easy to forget when I'd filled up as it'd go for over 200 miles. This was one amazingly economical machine that could do as much as 85 miles on a gallon of petrol. True, it'd go down to 60mpg if it was really thrashed, but as that wasn't practical, I was getting around 70mpg for most of the time. Reserve was good for 20 miles - I found that out the hard way and had to push the beast all of four miles before a cager stopped and gave me a lift to the gas station and back. He'd owned a real Bullet in the distant past and I didn't have the heart to tell him that mine was made in India rather than nicely restored - besides, he might've made me walk back.
Servicing is easy enough, although the primary chaincase is held on by a single nut and easily warped. I give the engine a good going over every 500 miles, less than an hour's work seems worth it for the peace of mind.
The clock read 7000 miles when I bought it, has had 8000 miles added with no serious problems. I've just bought a bigger tank with a neater shape and am working out how to tidy up the mess of boxes and electrics under the seat. It's one of those bikes that calls out for a bit of serious attention to detail and a mild bit of customization.
They are cheap (mine cost seven hundred notes), distinctly cheerful and just about up to the vagaries of modern traffic. They are also functional, tough and robust (in India whole families crowd on to them).
Rob Howells
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1978, I'm eighteen and looking for my first bike. With a misplaced sense of patriotism I wanted a British bike and I found a Royal Enfield Continental GT. Couldn't afford a lot of dosh but it came cheap. 12 years of abuse had left the GT in a sorry state, seat held on by bungees, oil leaks, etc. But it sounded great to my untutoured ear, a non-standard hi-rise pipe ended in a reverse megaphone of the straight thru type. Mine for £65, full fairing thrown in.
Living in Somerset, I needed transport to go to and from the pub, college, something to pose on, pull women and generally get around on - all the usual reasons.
For those not familiar with the GT it's a single cylinder four stroke, pushrod two valver - mostly alloy lump with integral five speed gearbox. The engine's a stressed member of a minimal frame, the rolling chassis consisting of basic forks, spoked wheels and standard twin Girling shocks. The SLS brakes were rather a mixed bag; useless at the back but excellent at the front.
The front brake sports drilled alloy discs, same as the racers of the day, to cool the drums in theory but more of a pose than anything else. Fully faired the GT looked ready to race, the big red tank, scalloped for the knees, flowed with the white fairing, which was a tight fit around the engine; clip-ons and rear-sets completing the image. I really felt a part of the machine, crouching down doing about 70mph it was easy to imagine doing 120mph as the exhaust note flattened out to a heady roar.
Mine's a '66 model, which came without an MOT. For those in the know, it will come as no surprise that the engine was shagged. Two days after the MOT it went BANG! Stopped dead a mile from home. The big-end had gone! I'd done about fifty miles and was faced with a complete strip. My old man, who'd run BSA's years before, correctly diagnosed the problem and helpfully left me to get on with it!
At around 300lbs it was light to push, but what a lousy start to motorcycling. On the bright side I was impressed by the handling, the taut feel of a sound chassis, wads of feedback and plenty of cornering verve. Seemed possible to kiss the tarmac when cornering - I'd fitted folding footrests as an early warning device. Much better than falling off.
Couldn't wait to get rolling again. Crank off for a regrind, new shells, stripped and repainted the frame and back together ASAP. I was a bit cavalier with the engine rebuild, there were bits which should've been binned but lack of money over-rode good sense.
With a consistent oil slick following me everywhere, I proceeded to thrash it to hell and back locally, enduring the well known fix-it-as-you go ethos. The first few years were very much a learning process. I learnt how to ride in the dark and stay alive! Naff 6V Lucas electrics were dumped for Zener Diode, heatsink and 12V battery. I also learnt how to bodge snapped cables, to ride without a clutch, give correct hand and finger signals, etc.
One entertaining feature was the engine's breather, a huge pipe came out of the top of the engine and ran the length of the bike - spraying innocent peds with a fine mist of 20/50. The bike was noisy enough to be pulled by the cops but it never happened - I discovered down the pub that the local cop had a 350 Enfield, so maybe he was sympathetic.
Consumables - tyres lasted for ages even when riding hard. Started with Avon Roadrunners but then moved to Pirelli, as they had better grip in the wet. Petrol was between 60 to 80mpg, depending on wrist action. Loads of oil went west, both burnt off and leaking out. Wasn't impressed with the chain, stretched rapidly and needed an adjustment every other week. Best chain spray I've tried is HHS2000.
The gearbox's well known for false neutrals but if set up right a firm boot will find its way. It's got its own oil supply, which was changed every 500 miles. The motor made about 20 horses, ran well at speed but the Amal Monobloc was so worn it wouldn't tick over. Solo, performance was good, but not so stimulating with a pillion, especially big or fat bastards.
I didn't ride the GT much at night because the lights, even in 12V form, bordered on the dangerous. Until '83, after a second rebuild sorted most of the gremlins, I didn't trust it for long journeys. The real solution to these problems was buying a Kawasaki KH250 which came up cheap. I had to suffer a lot of abuse from mates, accused of blatant hypocrisy having previously cursed Jap iron. I didn't care, I had the best of both worlds. I was learning!
Further traitorous acts included fitting a CB100N seat to the GT, more comfortable than the original hump-back effort which had piping that chaffed my groin. After a year in Canada in 1981 I dusted the GT and did the Reading festival in '82. Me, the girlfriend, camping gear and a gallon of oil seemed sensible. The RE didn't miss a beat but the lady didn't enjoy the ride and took the coach home. I don't think she was wild about heavy rock either. Still, the important thing was that the bike ran well.
I reckoned the motor would rev to 7-8000rpm; didn't know for sure as I never fitted a rev counter. I preferred to listen and be guided by the noise and vibration. Easy to rev but you had to be careful with the gearbox. The easy power made it a fun bike to ride, along with a strong frame and taut suspension. Cheapness of running costs, and even engine parts, has been one of the major factors in keeping the bike for so long. Plus a bit of nostalgia...first bike, passed my test on it, etc.
One other moan - the centrestand was an all alloy job which had worn down to the point where it failed to lift the rear wheel off the ground. A steel sidestand welded on solved the problem.
Top speed was an indicated 90mph. Couldn't hold it for long, too uncomfortable. Cruising was good at 50 to 60mph. Stopping not bad but looking ahead definitely necessary. I was lucky in the early days, not so much traffic gave more time to react. I've come off several time due to going into bends too fast and had my fair share of myopic, deaf motorists. Never seriously hurt and the GT is relatively unscathed, having spun down the road a few times. Aren't car doors flimsy.
Somerset was not the place to be for work in 1983, so I got on my bike, as Tebbit said, found work in Surrey by starting a gardening business. The GT went with me, once I had the dosh underwent careful major surgery. Lots of lapping of surfaces cured a most of the oil leaks. The GT was reliable for the regular trip home, about 100 miles.
I bought a CB400F for serious use, three years and never broke down. I was living with a girl who was heavier than me, so two up on the GT was a bit impractical. Bought a £350 Z650 next, meeting a guy who was running a GT in the process. His bike was in nice shape but he was afraid to ride it hard as he'd paid out serious money. They're not worth crazy dosh. The only other one I know of is in Glastonbury, an even oiler heap than mine. We would occasionally roar around locally, being antisocial.
The next eighteen months or so were brewing into an impending disaster. The girlfriend wanted to move back to Somerset and marry me. I foolishly went along with this except the marriage bit. We bought a property and it all fell apart. She grew fangs and a broomstick and since I'm allergic to bloodletting I left with the GT, Z650 and trio of saucepans. My cat left her a week later and hasn't been seen since.
Enthusiastic riding was starting to take it out of the GT, so the Z650 became the main transport while another strip was done. Piston slap and cam rattle indicated serious wear. Swapped the barrel and piston for ones I'd picked up years before. The small-end had gone so I got a local firm to press in a bronze bush where none had existed. Working on the engine was a doddle. Recorked the clutch plates and replaced the rear wheel bearings. Ignored the cam rattles. The swinging arm was okay but I recommend fitting grease nipples to avoid monthly stripdowns.
I'd only done about 35000 miles to date. The frame was in good nick, the only rust evident on the front wheel rim. Chrome was still good on the rear wheel due to oily crap off the chain. All the above was done just in time. A tax bill from the self-employed days, which would've been joint with the witch, robbed me of the Z650. A real bummer. At least I wasn't planning a Continental jaunt. Ha, bloody ha! In late 1989 I left the dead to their own devices and went despatching on a GS550.
I finally binned the GT's Amal, fitted a KH400 carb. The GT ticked over like new! Top end was stifled but at least it ran very smoothly with no real difference in economy. The GT's a head turner wherever it goes and it's always rewarding to ride when on song. It's grown on me and I can't think of a good reason to sell it. Ownership has taught me a great deal about mechanics, problem solving and how large hammers can relieve frustration.
Joining MAG Tauton stretched the GT's legs but not mine, I'm happy to say, but after an enjoyable run to Avebury stone circle, the mains started to rumble. The final strip revealed that a replacement engine was desperately needed. The cams were flat, the gearbox dead, primary chain gone, seals leaking...She still ran in that state but had taken to seizing in 5th gear - embarrassing at speed.
By then I'd just married and got a new job, didn't have the time or inclination to sort the engine out. I'd had a good run for my money and most of the parts were binned. The GS550 was sold to a would be despatch rider in Exeter and it wasn't until early '93 that I began to look at the rolling chassis with something like longing.
Needed a new engine, something different to breathe life back into the old girl. I bought plates from Unity Equipe in about '88 for the Trifield conversion but prices for late 500cc Triumph twins are silly - experience would now dictate pulling it apart to check it over with all the usual hassle. Anyone who's done the job will tell you that it's not as straightforward as it seems.
After a lot of research a suitable Jap engine was found and, with no damage to the rolling chassis, inserted along with the whole electrical system. 12 years of running the GT along with various Jap iron culminated with the best of the two countries engineering efforts being brought together in one excellent handling, reliable package. It's unique, the best of both worlds...
M.V.Eaton
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Being the proud owner of a fairly big van has its drawbacks, mainly on a wet freezing night when one of my mates rings me to ask if I will pick up him and what's left of his bike from some part of the country, or in one case the local police station. On such occasions many offers are made, from money, to filling the tank with fuel, needless to say most promises given are soon forgotten. However, one bloke I helped lived up to his rhetoric and came to my house a few days later with several boxes containing the disinterred remains of what he called a classic just waiting to be put together. Nearly two years later I was the proud (sic) owner of a 1959 Royal Enfield Crusader Sport; two years of locating parts, an oil strewn garage and an empty bank account.
I ended up with a motorcycle that wouldn't look out of place in a classic show except for one problem, I couldn't start the bastard. After nearly breaking every bone in my leg I enlisted some help. This bloke was a pain in the arse except for one redeeming feature, he started the heap after ten minutes of fiddling with the timing (I never did master the art...).
The Crusader Sport was a single cylinder machine of 250cc and it shared the same major components as its many brothers. Its main claim to fame was that it was the fastest 250 road bike when first introduced - don't forget we are talking learner legal back then. On an interesting note, one the Sport's brothers was called the Continental, styled and built after the factory asked some apprentices what they wanted to ride - not a bad idea!
After some form filling and a visit from a DVLC inspector, an age related numberplate was granted and duly fixed in place. There followed the quickest MOT that I've ever seen with the tester just giving the bike a look, and writing out the ticket.
On the road, the RE went round corners like it was stuck to the tarmac, feeling stable and secure, inspiring me to greater heroics than I ever thought possible. It was not long, however, that all the problems of British bikes of this era became evident. Bolts coming undone, oil leaks and just to add insult to injury, my hard won numberplate complete with rear light was ripped off by some spotty git and is probably still hanging on his wall as a trophy.
Someone also tried to lever off the tank badges but failed. I smacked the sod around the head with my crash helmet and left him in a heap on the pavement. Then one fine spring day, as I was hurtling round a tight left-hander, I was thrown off, and watched in horror as the machine slid with a vengeance towards the ditch by the side of the road. Stopping just short of the edge where my battered body met up with it. Apparently, people in the know saw the prongs off the main stand. As mine was new it was intact and dug a furrow out of the tarmac before digging in and sending me ballistic.
As my finances improved I bought a new GPZ500S, and the same thing happened, only this was the bellypan that had the back wheel off the ground and me in the hedge. Anyway I fixed up the Crusader and rode it all over the place. Then it blew up in a big, final way and I was the one on the phone to a mate with a van to come and pick me up.
After a large number of new parts were fitted I had become very wary of riding to the end of the street on the thing and concentrated on the Kawasaki (much more civilised). Only had the odd run on the Brit. All in all, the experience taught me a lot, like leaving the Enfield parked in town and coming back to find several old boys huddled around it, talking about past heroics. I once went to a well known beauty spot and had a coach load of ancients out on a day trip huddled round for a good hour whilst their other halves were taking in the scenery and casting pitying looks at their partners. Then there's the dickheads who try to tear it apart or nick it.
On the technical side the engine had a bore of 70mm and stroke of 64.5mm, sported a compression ratio of 8.75:1. It sipped petrol from a single Amal Monobloc carb at about 75mpg, vibrated like buggery and pissed out oil as if I had shares in BP (just like a true classic). The petrol tank held about five gallons of leaded and leaked through the cap when full. The seat was comfortable for at least twice the distance between fill-ups. The gearbox was solid and reliable, with its four speeds well placed. The top speed was between 75 and 85mph depending on where the speedo cared to point, and the bike went round corners as if on rails.
Being self-employed my fortunes go up and down alarmingly and on an enforced lay-off something had to go. The Crusader had long been admired by a guy who buys and sells all manner of goods, and after some hard bargaining I rode round to his lock-up and left the bike there, walked several miles home in a very dark mood.
After a few months, out of curiosity, I contacted the bloke to find that he'd exported the bike to Japan where's there a booming market for old British Iron. I nearly pissed myself laughing at a mental image of that one - talk about getting your own back.
My overall experience with this machine wasn't all bad and apart from minor irritations the bike did perform quite well. It was never going to rip arms off with the acceleration or cruise at high speeds, but on the plus side, when it blew up and I removed the engine I took it to a friend of my dad's who is well know throughout the area as a Vincent fanatic. Together, we took the little engine apart. He was well impressed by the engineering within. I think with a bit of careful rebuilding and good quality parts you could make a very usable bike.
There is a big market in spares in these old bikes and all I had to do was pick up the phone to get the bits to me the next day. A word of warning, though, it's always best to appear in person at these stores to check the selected bits very carefully, there are a lot of crap ill-fitting spares. Fit them at your peril. It seems that I fell into this trap when I first rebuilt the Enfield.
But then I've always been impatient, which is why I'm able to tell you this sorry tale because I've come off the GPZ again and now have a few weeks before the various lumps of plaster are removed. Christ, those OE tyres are crap (you should've read the Used Guide - Ed). The Kawa's also very bent but repairable. You would never believe me if I related here how it happened just suffice to say that it involved a bend in the road, a pothole, a large horse and the side of a Toyota. Nuff said...
PJD