Beachcomber's Tales from the day

Seriously on the mend - thanx for all the good wishes.

However, I've had a couple of weeks of enforced "take it easy" - so plenty of time to rethink that tale and to remember some little gems along the way.

This one is a bit of a Beachcomber notalgia selfish tale ... forgiveness invited.


Beachomber’s Tales from the Day - June 2013

“Five for Sunny Cornwall” [ Apologies to Enid Blyton ]

Here it is then – the latest of the tales, and in reality a gentle story of just how things were in the day – on an “ordinary” everyday level. No Norton engines dropped on pal’s backs, no sidecars parting company with the bike, no females mooning inadvertantly, or any other real mayhem – just how it was [ well maybe a little mayhem ! ].

Part 1 – The Plan

The year was 1963 and young Beachcomber was still a single man with 100’s of biker mates - most, if not all into the Café Racer scene.

At 19 years old, Beachcomber along with several of his mates had discovered the joys of circuit racing as a means of –

a. staying alive and
b. keeping the road licence !

As now, circuit racing was a relatively safe way to hoon around without the risk of being knocked off or worse by an errant car driver coming the other way. [ Sometimes – the same way ! ]

This was also the period of dabbling with racing [ and road ] sidecars as well as racing solos, and at the time of this particular tale Beachcomber was ”bikeless” as far as a roadgoing mount. The Tribsa was now an all out Racer, and the sidecar outfit was a pure circuit machine [ Kneeler ]. As far as day to day transport, it was down to the trusty JU250 van – which didn’t do a lot for the street cred, but was used primarily as race transport.

One Friday evening up at Ted’s caff on the Southend Arterial road, there was a group of five particularly close mates – Beachcomber, Bonneville Bob, Dommie Dave, Brian Rocket and Gordon Goldie – OK his name was Jerry, but that didn’t go with his 500 Clubmans’ Goldie !

It was a balmy Summer evening and for some reason the talk got round to having a group holiday for the 5. It wasn’t long before Cornwall was the suggested destination – quite ambitious in those days. NO Motorways, very few Service areas or fuel stations [ although plenty of little Caffs ] and of course NO mobile phones. From the Romford area that was a distance of around 250 – 300 miles each way. Not even a second thought about that today, but in 1963, that was considered a marathon.

The only fly in the ointment was that only FOUR had current roadworthy bikes, the JU250 was NOT an option ! Neither was the thought of riding pillion as each considered the others total loonies.

And so it was that on Saturday the boys all called round to Beachcomber’s garage to survey which of the two race bikes would be used !

In a fit of total selfishness [ by the others ] – it was decided that the outfit was the obvious choice – as the guys then had somewhere to stow tents, camping gear etc, without cluttering up their bikes ! after a serious round of fucks to all concerned, the deal was swung by the fact that they all agreed to pay for the fuel used by the outfit – IF their stuff could be stowed aboard. Job done then.

It worked out well - Brian Rocket agreed to make an auxilliary alloy fuel tank to go in the nose fairing of the chair and various other mods I’d been waiting for – were done. Remember, then as now the Beachcomber had no welding and few fab skills [ high quality anyway ]. A few new passenger handholds were fabbed up and welded in which would double up as luggage hold down points. As the outfit was rigged up for push starts, we decided that a kickstart might be a useful addition – until we realised that the kneeler tray was in the way – ah well, back to the push starts then !

There were no lights / horn of course – so those areas were both attended to – the horn by way of the old Clown’s type bulb horn. It was actually more like a bugle as it was liberated from Dommie Dave’s Dad’s vintage Bentley ! This was also in the days of serious Rally lamps [ for cars ] – Cibie being amongst the best – just so happened that Gordon Goldie’s dayjob was at a Speed equipment shop, which also sold Cibie spotlamps ! That in turn meant fitting a dynamo back on the engine [ 500 Triumph ] with a rudimentary wiring loom. The engine was fired by magneto, so that wasn’t a problem.

The lighting from the FOUR Cibies was nothing short of awesome, as all the others had to contend with the Prince of Darkness’ feeble lights. Remember this fact further along the tale.

Time for a trial around the block ……………………at just about this time Dommie Dave suggested that a registration plate of some sort might be a good idea ! A set of numbers from a “spare” Triumph bike was stamped into the frame and the relevant registration plates attached. With that done we headed out for a road test – only to realise we’d forgotten another little matter ………….. NO silencers, just two long tapering maggas – ah WTF, keep the revs down in town and we’ll be fine.

So with the transport sorted, the lads made their plans for having two weeks holiday. We had a dry run with the chair loaded up, and in truth, it handled a whole lot better than with no passenger at all ! All the mods worked well, and the auxilliary fuel tank [ 6 gallons ] was a work of art.

The only snag [ chair wise ] was that we had dropped right into one of the main holiday periods in the UK, and the roads to Cornwall consisted of “A” and “B” roads until you got to Devon, where they became “C” roads – not a lot better than tarmac’d farm tracks. No probs for the solos of course, they could weave in and out at will to get through the jams – but the outfit was essentially car width.

Because of this we decided to set out at night when we assumed the traffic would be lightest – it was.

Part 2 – The Journey

At around 7.0pm the group assembled at Beachcomber’s house for final checks on the outfit and the stowing of a few last minute essentials - mainly consisting of Brian Rocket’s Dad’s lethal home made Elderberry wine. At 8.0pm the journey began, initially through London and on to the main route to Cornwall. It was still play time as all the familiar roads were navigated – a couple of stops to relocate some of the load in the chair and then a final stop before the “countryside” appeared to fuel up and final oil etc. checks. Again, in these times – gas stations weren’t that plentiful in the countryside – especially if like Dommie Dave you had fitted a 3 gall Manx short circuit tank ! We suggested that he re-fitted his 5 gallon Manx TT tank – but he had stripped it down for painting ! Remember THAT further in the tale ! The others – Bob, “Gordon” and Brian had 5 gallon tanks, whilst the outfit had a total capacity of close on 12 gallons !

Needless to say the solo boys had great fun blitzing the outfit, which due to the short circuit gearing was as quick as the others up to around 70 mph, but started to loose out above that. It WAS however a genuine Ton machine – 105mph being it’s max on that gearing. The blitzing continued UNTIL real darkness fell – no universal road lamps at this time – in the countryside between towns there was virtually no street lighting at all.

Time to turn on the Cibies ! That turned the tables remarkably quickly, as the lads were then quite happy to sit behind the “pathfinder” outfit. All went without any real issues, and we stopped again for fuel just on the Devon border. We knew that the remainder of the journey would be on “B” and “C” roads, so we decided to realign the Cibies to give a wider arc of light, which would illuminate both edges of the road – with the two main units lighting up 100’s of yards ahead. We had just finished this task and were ahving last minute piss stops etc – when up comes the local plod ……………..

Was he impressed with the outfit ……….. the fuck he was. The next 30 minutes were spent with him crawling all over the outfit to try to find something dangerous / unroadworthy. We were doing quite well until he spotted the long tapering meggas. He was even less impressed with the fact that we had to bump start it – although there were no regulations saying you couldn’t. Harking back to an earlier tale – he decided to push his truncheon [ mini night stick ] up the exhausts declaring “ there’s no silencing in there”. That wasn’t so bad, except when he did that to the second megga, his fingers hit the still red hot metal and he dropped the truncheon, whereupon it slid neatly into the upswept megga !

He tried bits of stick an all sorts to retrieve it – all his efforts only serving to push it further down the pipe. Brainwave – “OK, we’ll start the outfit and with any luck it will blow the truncheon out”.

Rather than have to go back to his station and explain how he’d managed to lose it, he reluctantly agreed that as the only way. We then explained that in order to do that we would have to rev the engine excessively – WHICH WOULD OF COURSE MAKE A LOT OF NOISE. He could see the obvious trade off, and so the outfit was started, Did the truncheon come out ? Well yes it did – about 30 mph, smacking plod right in the solar plexus ! While he was still moaning and grasping his mid section we all decided that was a good time to leave – with the Grand Prix lump at 6000 rpm and making the most glorious yowling sound.

So the convoy got on the road again with the outfit at the head, literally lighting the way. Again all went without grief, until we suddenly realised that Dommie Dave was missing. We sent Bob back to find out what the problem was – he’d run out of fuel as he hadn’t filled up at the last gas stop! That’s when the outfit turned into a petrol bowser. We quickly disconnected the pipe from the auxiliiary tank fuel pump and had him gassed up and ready to continue. Again – with a suitable round of fucks.

The rest of the journey went without incident, all except one – a few near misses when the tailend Charlie “lost” sight of the pathfinder lights and nearly didn’t make a bend. Brian Rocket found himself as tailend Charlie and was just about losing sight of the pathfinder lights, when his own Prince of Darkness lights decided to go on the blink – literally. He arrived at an unsighted bend that all the others had made thanx to the Cibies, but he only saw it at the last moment. As luck would have it he was almost at a standstill when he ran out of road and slipped gently into a soft fern filled ditch. It was 10 minutes or so before we realised we’d lost him and turned back to find him extracating the BSA from the undergrowth. Amazingly no damage at all – not even a scratch on the paint!

And so we arrived at the campsite around 5.00am – totally knackered, but ready for the week of fun.

Part 3 – The week [ x 2 almost ] of Fun

We had arrived in a sleepy little coastal town of Fowie [ pronounced “Foy” ] and found a campsite that could only be described as - well, spartan. But it WAS exceedingly cheap ! At this period in the UK, 2 week Summer holidays were beginning to be taken by the “working man” [ never understood that term fully – but you lknow what I mean - Blue Collar – don’t understand .etc.,etc.]. Usually in an old pre-war banger of a car, or more and more likely by a Double Adult sidecar hauled by an old Panther or ex MOD BSA M20. People like “us” generally didn’t do holidays and it was 10 years or so in the future before the cheap flights and delights of Benidorm became the norm for young 20 somethings.

So to say the group – and more specifically – the bikes stood out, was a bit of an understatement. One stroke of luck was that the local plod Sergeant was a race enthusiast and spent HIS holidays at the TT.

After a plea to keep it down to a dull roar, we had free rein with the lack of silencing on the outfit, and various other misdemeanours. The 2 weeks [ cut to 10 days actually – see explanation ] went by without incident and all too quickly. We were introduced to the delights of Scrumpy Cider in the “Pirate’s Cove” pub by the aforementioned Sergeant on his night off in Civvies. And if you can’t have an after hours “lock in” with the local Police Sergeant – then who ? Nobody could remember much about the following day until late afternoon !!!!

We became quite friendly with the Copper, who was quite happy to chat about bikes and racing, and had in fact built an Ariel 500 single Hill Climb / Beach Racing bike. It wasn’t long before we were invited round to his garage to see the Hill Climber, and we even did some work on it for him ! As a thank you, he invited us to his cottage for an evening of TT films, which he’d taken over the previous 10 years or so – golden. The evening’s entertainment was augmented with a few gallons of his home made Scrumpy Cider – to those who do not know, that’s “rough” Cider that still has all sorts floating in it ! To round the evening off he produced a gallon flagon of home spun “moonshine” Apple Brandy …..the French call it Calvados. That was another lost day, as we weren’t even sober enough to leave his cottage until the following afternoon.

The bikes had all performed well on the journey down and through the first week, but then Gordon’s Goldie started making some strange noises – not engine related, so we just carried on regardless. We had all sorts of “normal” problems – Bonneville Bob’s lights failed completely and had to be jury rigged to produce main / high beam only, much to the annoyance of oncoming drivers on the narrow country lanes. The outfit had a rear wheel puncture, which was quickly fixed, and Dave’s Dommie decided to puke all the primary chaincase oil. It seemed that when we stopped on one of our coastal explorations [ he’d propped the bike up against a convenient rock as the sand was too soft to support a stand ] the rock had dislodged the rubber seal on the chaincase. Other than that, the bikes proved well up to the task. All the bikes were Café Racer styled complete with clip ons and rear sets, but there were no problems with wrists or shoulders, even when meandering at “normal” speeds down some of the country lanes.

We’d befriended a bloke on the campsite who turned up with an Ariel Square Four / Busmar outfit – complete with Wife, child and family dog ! This was a real throwback to pre-war style. He turned up on the site wearing a full length ex army Dispatch Rider’s coat, huge ex army guantlets, ex army boots and the obligatory pudding basin helmet and Mk 9’s. All this even though the temperature was in the high 90’s [ F ]. ! He’d also come down from the London area [ Croydon ], but it had taken him 12 hours !

We immediately thought of him as an “old codger” – but it transpired he was only 15 years older than our group. He was having a lot of problems with “pinking” and running on after turning the ignition off. We reset the ignition for him, but the running on still continued. We reasoned that the most likely cause was excessive carbon build up – IOW, he needed a de-coke ! The following morning we set to on the campsite and had the head off in no time flat – imagine that with your Gixer, Bandit, whatever !

Sure enough there was enough coke on the piston crowns / combustion chambers to run a small BBQ. While all this was going on, his Wife and child had whizzed off to the nearby beach – and she was absolutely gob smacked when she came back to see bits of the Squarriel all over the place. We even managed to anneal the copper head gasket over the camp fire and plunged into Wifey’s cooking saucepan [ NOT impressed ] and all assembled back up and running sweet as by lunch time.

As a reward the guy’s Wife made us a super meal which was stew made from local rabbit and potatoes and vegetables “liberated” from local fields. Made a change from our usual sausage and beans.

There was of course the usual bird hunting – which again at this time was NOT a foregone conclusion that you’d get your leg over. All the eligible female visitors were locked up indoors by their parents by 10pm – and most of the local girls [ men to women ratio 2 – 1 ] either had steady local boyfriends or were deemed not suitable talent. It was like being in a Monk’s retreat compared to our normal routine – and it was about that point we decided that we wouldn’t bother with holidays again.

The only real excitement was when the outfit almost got squitted by a large lorry – whose driver couldn’t see the knee high chair ! So we decided some sort of vertical warning was required. So a stop off at a seafront souvenir kiosk resulted in a shrimp fishing pole and net, with a suitably affixed Jolly Roger flag would do the trick. This was attatched to the sidecar mudguard and gave an additional 6 foot indication to lorry drivers that there was “something” there.

And so to …………………..

Part 4 – The Journey Home.

We reasoned that if we left a few days early [ OK the lack of horizontal jogging was getting to us ! ], we could again miss the return traffic and at the same time travel in daylight in order to actually see some of the countryside we had blitzed through on the way down.

The outfit was now a great deal lighter primarily as all the additional alchohol and food had been consumed. Ah yes, and one of the two tents we had was destroyed when a drunken Brian Rocket decided to dive on it to surprise those inside ! That also becomes significant later in the tale !

And so to the journey …………….. the plan was to get up early and get a good start before any traffic build up to give the chair an easier time. That all went for a shit when we were invited to a leaving party at the copper’s pub – ahhhhh Frank – that was his name, just come back to me. Another lock in had us drinking until 3 the next morning – boy those locals could party. So it was somewhat later than planned – around 11.00 am – that we said our farewells to Squarriel man and his family and set off back towards London. Another bonus – and a sign of the times – Mrs. Squarriel had packed a huge box of sandwiches and cake, fruit, etc. as her last thank you for fixing the bike.

The journey back passed without incident – until Gordon’s bike started a horrible misfire – not good on a single cylinder machine ! We struggled on for another 10 miles or so, until he eventually pulled up to see if we could make a repair. After a very brief inspection, it became obvious that the magneto was at fault – the cam ring that regulates the sparking advance had become damaged when the advance / retard cable nipple had broken off inside the casing and caused all sorts of mayhem. This was one fix we couldn’t sort without new parts. And we were still almost 100 miles from home. Remember – no mobile phones and in those days roadside recovery [ AA , RAC ] for bikes was virtually non- existent.

After 30 minutes of telling Gordon what a pile of shit his Goldie was [ not fair really as the mag was Lucas ! ], we realised that no amount of abuse and swearing would get the Goldie mobile again. We thought about – and dismissed – the possibility of one of the other solos going to a bike shop [ where? ] and getting a suitable part. Someone had the foresight to pack a tow rope amongst the “essential” equipment, but Gordon flat refused to be towed, having witnessed the previous towing farce with a pal’s engineless Goldie [ see previous tale ].

Then it came in a blaze of coloured light …………… strap the Goldie on to the platform of the outfit ! There was of course a lot more room on the way back – courtesy of Brian Rocket destroying one of the tents and us having eaten / drunk all the provisions we had taken with us. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Even with some ace tie down expertise by Dommie Dave, who HAD paid attention with his “Knots” badge at Scouts – a brief whizz up and down the road showed there was no way the Goldie would be stable enough to survive the journey home. Although the outfit was only 2 ft tall [ or so ] – with the Goldie on the platform, the whole plot became unstable. After some more thinking we decided to “chock” the Goldie up from each side with lumps of wood …………great idea – now for those “lumps of wood”, in the middle of nowhere. While we all debating the problem and possible solutions, Dave had broken out the camping axe and was busy destroying some of the local trees to secure the suitable “lumps of wood”. Eventually the Goldie was secured and deemed fit for the remainder of the journey home. That only left Gordon to choose a bike to ride pillion on ……………… It was a fairly obvious choice as Dave had a Manx seat to match his alloy race tank, whilst Brian Rocket had a single Taylor Dow race seat. That just left Bonneville Bob, who still retained a dual seat …..and who was probably the chief looney of the looney’s.

After a few miles, the extra weight and high COG of the Goldie was beginning to tell, so the convoy settled down to a steady 60 - 70 mph for the rest of the journey towards London, and beyond back to Romford.

Part 5 - The Obligatory Mayhem

Sanity reigned for 40 miles or so, until our new pathfinder got lost and ended up coming through London via the “London Bridge” – yes, THE London Bridge. We decided to stop off for a Hot Dog and Coffee and caused quite a stir amongst the London Bridge regulars when they saw the Goldie strapped to the outfit ! On the plus side, when we told them what had happened to the Goldie, one of the locals said he had a spare mag cam ring at home – some 15 minutes away. Half an hour later he was back with the part and another 15 minutes and the Goldie was back in rude health.

As “interlopers” in their local gathering it wasn’t long before tongue in cheek insults about our machinery started to get out of hand. Especially the outfit, where the banter was “ Where’s Chris Vincent”, and “ Probably a wannabe racer”, etc., etc. started to get under the skin. Dommie Dave was my sometime race passenger, so it wasn’t long before challenges were thrown out and accepted. First was a beautifully turned out Bonneville / Monza outfit that looked as if it had the legs. The route was explained to us and we had a brief SLOW recce to see what it was all about – and then the challenge was taken. As the outfit was essentially a racetrack refugee [ although they didn’t know that ! ] it was decided that the Bonnie would do a standing start, and we would push start my outfit. It was actually no contest – although we were giving away 150cc, my outfit was much lighter and nimble – plus Dave’s heroics hanging out and just brushing kerbs, cars, and street bollards.

Then up stepped a bloke with a 500 Goldie, which I just knew would be no contest for the outfit. This time it was agreed that the outfit should be running to even out the solo vs outfit race. Boy I wish I could have seen the Goldie guy’s face as the initial acceleration from the outfit – not to mention the deafening howl from the meggas left him floundering off the line and frying his clutch into the bargain. We were half way back along the route while he was still on his outward leg – we never did see him again that night !!!!!!!!

The “prize” was coffees and Hot Dogs all round for the Cornwall raid gang. The only problem was although the local guys loved the sight and noise of the outfit – local plod had been atracted by the racket and had driven over the bridge to see what was going on. The local guys saw what was coming and parked their solos all round the chair – hiding it from view – all bar that bloody Jolly Roger on top of the shrimp net pole !

The cops decided to turn a blind eye, especially when one of the locals turned out to be related to one of them and after they were treated to tea and doughnuts, they went on their way.

So there ended an action packed holiday – one that can NEVER be erased from the memory banks to become just another ……………………… Tale from the Day.
 
Maritime said:
Nice one as always. To bad the First Mrs. B burned all your old pics.

and without exaggeration there were 100's of pix of the 2 chairs, and my race bikes .................as well as 100's of my own and those of pals..........................am I bitter ?
 
Love the tales beachcomber and hope all goes well with the medication.

From the period and dates, you may have know my uncle, Roger Pocock and his mates who hailed from Southend. I think he had a Matchless at the time and like yourself has some great tales of a race outfit being used on the road
 
Pod70 said:
Love the tales beachcomber and hope all goes well with the medication.

From the period and dates, you may have know my uncle, Roger Pocock and his mates who hailed from Southend. I think he had a Matchless at the time and like yourself has some great tales of a race outfit being used on the road

Surely NOT the same Roger Pocock that was president of the Vanner's Club ????
 
Pod70 said:
That's him! He's currently in hospital recovering from a major op but is doing well

Please give him my best - our paths crossed frequently during my days as Founder / President of the Eastern Cruisers car club [ Romford ] and various forays with vans. We [ Americar] built a Rover Powered CF for Vauxhall / Bedford [ see pic ] in the early 70's and our Race support van was a CF with a small Block Chevy.

Small World eh ??????

 
Will do. Due to see him on Sunday. It's all his fault I got into bikes and custom cars/vans. Used to have a v6 powered 400e Thames myself
 
Czech It! said:
I just finished reading this thread (it took me a few days) but my god was it good! Keep 'em coming BC!

Why, thank you sir. I've had a bit of forced down time recently, and time to muse on my misbegotten past - or "Rose tinted Nostalgia" as we old farts call it !

Thousands of little anectdotes - not full Tales .... those "remember whens" that make you smile, or even chuckle to yourself. There's still a few full Tales worth the telling ..................

I have been VERY lucky in my life to have done the things I've done and met the people that I have - both well known and unknown to the World at large. And of course, there's Mrs B and my three wonderful Daughters

There have been very few bad or sad times - lucky.

As someone once sang "even the bad times were good".
 
I'm off to sunny Reichenau next month to host the "7th. Annual Beachcomber's Pig Roast"........ if you gfind yourself in Germany [ Saxony specifically ] the dates are 24th. / 25th. August.

Let us know if you are coming so we can allocate bedrooms [ first come first served ] after they've gone [ 9 ] it's down to indoor camping in the dancehall or the double bed settee in the lounge !

Maybe one more tale before I go .........................
 
so get this....... this kid rips me off $130 on a bag of guess who(starts with mary ends with plane) ...but it gets better... he meets me in the hannafords parking lot leaves his car there I give him a ride wait and hour he don't come back soo I go to the auto store buy an adjustable wrench (same lot as hannafords his car still there) he leaves his window cracked I reach in unlock it pop the hood take the battery disconnect any and all electrical connects plug wires etc... pop trunk take donut and jack (find 2 pieces of wood in my trunk) take off all 4 his wheels tires etc leave him with 2 pieces of wood the jack and donut....go home on craigslist Post up his home phone number with his facebook pic in the men for men section in craigslist ....now debating whether or not I should post the rest of his saturn in the free section


Haha ....no i'm serious

http://worcester.craigslist.org/m4m/3934710194.html

Picture taken 3 days later
 

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DesmoBro said:
so get this....... this kid rips me off $130 on a bag of guess who(starts with mary ends with plane) ...but it gets better... he meets me in the hannafords parking lot leaves his car there I give him a ride wait and hour he don't come back soo I go to the auto store buy an adjustable wrench (same lot as hannafords his car still there) he leaves his window cracked I reach in unlock it pop the hood take the battery disconnect any and all electrical connects plug wires etc... pop trunk take donut and jack (find 2 pieces of wood in my trunk) take off all 4 his wheels tires etc leave him with 2 pieces of wood the jack and donut....go home on craigslist Post up his home phone number with his facebook pic in the men for men section in craigslist ....now debating whether or not I should post the rest of his saturn in the free section


Haha ....no i'm serious

http://worcester.craigslist.org/m4m/3934710194.html

Picture taken 3 days later

Nice one ...... don't get mad get even ..as the sage said.
 
DesmoBro said:
so get this....... this kid rips me off $130 on a bag of guess who(starts with mary ends with plane) ...but it gets better... he meets me in the hannafords parking lot leaves his car there I give him a ride wait and hour he don't come back soo I go to the auto store buy an adjustable wrench (same lot as hannafords his car still there) he leaves his window cracked I reach in unlock it pop the hood take the battery disconnect any and all electrical connects plug wires etc... pop trunk take donut and jack (find 2 pieces of wood in my trunk) take off all 4 his wheels tires etc leave him with 2 pieces of wood the jack and donut....go home on craigslist Post up his home phone number with his facebook pic in the men for men section in craigslist ....now debating whether or not I should post the rest of his saturn in the free section


Haha ....no i'm serious

http://worcester.craigslist.org/m4m/3934710194.html

Picture taken 3 days later
No problem, he probably borrowed the car from some dude, who borrowed it from his great aunt.
She probably has it insured for more than it's worth. 8)
 
Yea 4 eyes I think it's his Moms Car ha ha......Any one need a set of 4 4x100 15 inch wheels and tires?

$130
 

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Back to bikes and back to the beginning ................... how the Beachcomber started out on the path that has brought us up to date. What it was like to be a fledgeling biker in the late 50's early 60's.

In the next few weeks ............ "The beginning of Beachcomber's Tales" .................
 
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