This week has been great. The topics on the list have been informative and
entertaining. I know more about the '70 MGB now than when when I owned it
15 years ago!
Deciding what the best car that I have ever owned would be impossible since
all of them have their own unique set of good and bad features. You are
usually attracted by the plusses and sell when the minuses outweigh the
enjoyment you get from those good points. Thinking back, I don't believe
that I have ever kept a car on the road continually for more than three or
four years. I have had some longer but a lot of that time has been waiting
a rebuild while I drive something else.
Picking out the worst of the lot is a bit easier, however. The worst
excuse for a transportation device that I ever owned was a 1970 BSA B50 500
Victor Special. My uncle was a BSA dealer for a short time and alway rode
441 Victors. When I was 15, I was finally ready to graduate from my string
of H**das and buy a real motorcycle. I found a nice 500 that had been used
as a TT racer and had about 2000 miles on it. It was in track form but
came with all the street stuff in a box. It also had the very desirable
580cc big bore kit. The princely sum of 450.00 was agreed to and the beast
was mine.
My brother and I went to pick up the bike. It was at a dealer / flat track
operator about 60 miles away. Although I knew these things shook, I was
not ready for the punishment of driving the animal at highway speeds. The
pegs shook so bad that you feet would go numb within 30 seconds. My
brother and I took turns riding it home with our feet crossed on top of the
gas tank because it was rubber mounted and shook less.
Also, the pig proved to have a tremendous appetite for oil. We consumed
about 2 quarts on the ride home. It had a lot of power though. It was kind
of neat that when you took off from a stop, it wouldn't leave one long
black tire mark but a lot of short little marks each one signifying when
the one coffe can sized cylinder fired.
After a few weeks, it became obvious that something would have to be done
about the oil consumption. I pulled the top and found that the oil control
ring was broken. The bore was bad, too so we ended up putting a new
cylinder liner and rings in the beast. The rest seemed OK so we stuck it
back together. I rode the bike that summer and, in the dirt, you didn't
notice the vibration that much because you were too busy dodging trees and
such. I did have a lot of power but it was a little heavy. It was also a
very tall bike and it was kind of scary leaning it into corners.
The next spring, it was time to bring the beast to life. Over the winter,
the oil had leaked down from inside the frame and collected in the engine
and primary case. The clutch was soake in oil and started slipping. Since
the kick starter works through the clutch, if the clutch doesn't grab you
can't start it. Plus once it started slipping under power, the disks
warped and it wouldn't disengage cleanly either. I tightened the clutch
springs as far as I could and rode it without a clutch for a while. I broke
the kick starte off and machined a new one out of stress-proof. Then we
started to hear the death rattle which was a miracle in itself because
there was so much mechanical noise anyway plus you coud here the exhaust
from half a mile- high compression thumpers sound wonderful- much better
than those two stroke pieces of garbage.
Well the bike came apart again. Unfortunately, I was out of cash and time
since the B had just needed a rebuild also. The bike was put away in boxes
for the next five years.
When I was in college I brought the parts with me and started to restore
the beast. I got it completely apart and had primed the frame before I
realized that I couldn't go to school, party, work and restore BSA's
without flunking out of school. Back into the boxes it went.
About four or five years later, I was newly married, had a real job, and
was expecting our first child. Once again the BSA boxes were gathered and
the restoration started anew. The painting was done. George Helm, the
dealer that I bought it from in the first place, was still in business and
was entrusted with the specialized work of installing new crank bearings.
Luckily, I had bought new rings earlier because replacement parts for the
big-bore kit could not be found. I got the bike to rolling form and the
engine mostly assemble befor my first daughter was born. Once again the
restoration was put on hold.
Two years later, my brother is working in the cities and he and I make the
commitment to finish the task. The bike is painted and bolted together and
looks great. A competition clutch is found that will withstand the torque
of the beast. I even took the time to machine the custom kick starter so
that it look original rather than like a chunk of cold rolled.
The moment of truth. Fill it with fluids. Tickle the carb until there is
just a wisp of overflow. Find the compression stroke for the engine whick
is abvious because you can jump up and down on the starte and it won't
budge. Pull the valve lifter and turn it over just past tdc. Jump on the
handle for all your worth leaving the throttle closed or you'll flood the
pig.
Kaboom! One big pop followed by a couple of chugs. Slowly open the
throttle and the engine catches. Suddenly you are overwhelmed by the noise
and vibration. Just like old times.
Now that I was older, however, it was tougher to overlook my labor of
love's shortcomings. It shook like a pig. It leaked oil out of every
orifice the worst being the return holes from the head where a steady
cascade of Castrol 20-50 merrily smoldered constantly. It would only go
about 50 top speed befor it sounded like it was going to tear itself apart.
I ended up riding the thing about 50 miles over the next five years. It
came apart twice more in an attempt to fix the oil leaks. It carried its
oil in the frame and if you let it sit it would drain down into the engine.
The only way to truly know how much oil was in it was to drain the engine
and frame and refill the pig. Then you would know for about 15 minutes.
Although I never had any problems, it was a pig to start. I remember one
time I had ridden it around the block a couple times and had just shut it
off. My brother wanted to try it too so he went over to start it. I
verbally walked him through the routine. He spent about ten minutes
kicking that pig and not so much as a pop. He finally got off, sweating
profusely, proclaiming that it must be flooded. I went over, gave it one
kick and it fired right off.
I picked up the BSA buyers guide because I was looking at getting a street
bike. They rated my bike as a one star. They said it vibrated too much
and tended to loose there big end bearings for no apparent reason. They
said that they were reasonably fast but that owning one was a hazard to
one's wallet. You usually don't see such bashing in a book written to
praise a marque but I guess you can't dress up a pig.
I ended up buying a Sportster for my street bike. I advertised the BSA and
sold it for 950.00 to an Englishman who took it back to the mother country.
I guess that there is a vintage motorcycle racing class over there that,
if you want to win, you ride a B50. Either that or his he had a dust
problem with his driveway and was looking for an automatic oiler/ foot
messager.
It was an absolutely horrible excuse for a motorcycle but I was still sorry
to see it go. I had owned it for 20 years, rebuilt it twice, tore the
motor down four time, ridden it about 150 miles total, and spent more on it
than I got back. But it looked really good and the sound would cause the
dead to dance.
Regards
Bill Eastman
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