Beachcomber's Tales from the day
- Thread starter beachcomber
- Start date
BLSully
Been Around the Block
I joined DTT just to say I loved reading this thread so far. I am a 'young gun'... 28 years old, and have been riding since I got my license at 16 on a 79 KZ750. Right now I ride a Vulcan 1500 because the wife likes to ride with me, but there are plans for a 'cafe style' bike as the next toy. Something small... CB360, KZ400 kinda thing.
Thanks for the great stories guys....it's inspirational for sure, and I will wait patiently for more
Thanks for the great stories guys....it's inspirational for sure, and I will wait patiently for more
Just started writing the next one up - I'm having a quiet chuckle to myself [ OK 2 LARGE Brandies later ] - and just a little emotional as it involved a very good friend who was sadly taken from us far too soon - RIP Gerry.
BLSully said:I joined DTT just to say I loved reading this thread so far. I am a 'young gun'... 28 years old, and have been riding since I got my license at 16 on a 79 KZ750. Right now I ride a Vulcan 1500 because the wife likes to ride with me, but there are plans for a 'cafe style' bike as the next toy. Something small... CB360, KZ400 kinda thing.
Thanks for the great stories guys....it's inspirational for sure, and I will wait patiently for more
Sully - get that Cafe racer on the go believe me, that's where the "Tales" begin, you won't regret a minute.
Anyway as promised the latest will be here very soon.
Sooner than that even ........................
Beachcomber’s Tales from the Day.
“The Electricity Board, the Motorcycle Express Delivery and Gerry Lucas [ RIP ]”
This tale follows on from the incident with the Chief Engineer on the first day at work.
A little backgrounder – the Electricity Board was a Public Utility company and encompassed all aspects of electricity supply both domestic and commercial. The role of the Drawing office was two-fold – for mechanical work and construction, and also for the drawing and upkeep of maps detailing where the utilities lay in the ground. The branch I worked at covered rural Essex – and the biking lanes and caffs.!
I was initially employed to work on new sub-station and overhead pylon projects – until one day a senior cartographic draughtsman had a very serious accident at work [ touched a live 16Kv cable ! ] and left that department without cover on one of the busiest regions [ very rural ] of the Board’s territory. As I was the only qualified Draughstman who also had a driving licence – I got the nod.
Basically it was the job of the draughtsman to call on the work gangs and sketch up what was in the open hole – all utilities and of course whatever the electrical work was. Normally this would be concluded by mid-day when the draughtsman would return to the office and update all of the relevant maps for future reference. You also got to drive round in a very handy 5cwt van – in this case a 105E Anglia.
Now then, for somebody whose hobby was motorcycles, this was a heaven sent opportunity! It wasn’t long before I befriended the work parties – previously unheard of as an “us and them” attitude still prevailed. One guy in particular became a good friend – Gerry Lucas, who had just bought himself a 3 year old Norton Jubilee. Gerry was an ace DIY’er – give him a lump of wood and he was in his element – but mechanics and his Jubilee in particular were a no go zone! It wasn’t long before I was sorting out small problems on the Jubilee, and Gerry was busy re-modeling my Maisonette. So my mornings out would inevitably see me calling into the various motorcycle shops to collect spares and collecting / delivering odd bikes I’d been working on.
I always used to catch up with the guys when they finished their morning scheduled worksheets [ afternoons was for emergencies ] when they met up for tea and toast at ……….The Woodlands Caff !
We’d sit there shooting the breeze for an hour or so before I headed back to the Drawing Office to draw up the maps.
Due to my shopping rounds I was late one day and arrived long after the gang had closed up the hole and moved on! I caught up with the lads at the Woodlands as usual, where the foreman of the gang I’d missed produced an excellent sketch of the work he had carried out that morning. It turned out that they all kept immaculate records of their work – as much for their own use as anything else. It then occurred to me that I was totally wasting my mornings when I could simply call into the caff at mid-day and copy all the sketches! A deal was soon struck with the guys in return for a round of tea and toast – I got the sketches. In turn that meant I could use the mornings – and the van for my own purposes.
This went on for months and worked like clockwork – I’d get the sketches and they’d get tea and toast – perfect. Then one day Gerry phoned me and told me that his Jubbly had broken down on his way to work and he’d had to abandon it. That all worked well as his day started at 8.00 and mine at 9.0. After collecting the van and my morning’s work I simply whizzed off to collect Gerry’s bike and took it to my garage so I could work on it. These vans were quite distinctive – Bright Blue with “Eastern Electricity Board” emblazoned on the sides. Being only a 5cwt. Van – the Jubilee hung out the back and I had to tie the doors shut …..ooops.
The Norton’s problem was down to Joe Lucas – Prince of Darkness – the main headlight switch had virtually fallen apart and caused a small fire inside the headlamp! I had promised Gerry that I’d have his bike finished for the evening, so I got stuck in. Time ran on and before I knew, it was mid-day – when I should have been at the Woodlands collecting the maps. Remember this was the 60’s – no such thing as mobile phones !!! I did manage to get a phone call though to the caff owner and fortunately for me, Gerry and his gang had been hanging on for my return and I arranged for them to collect all the relevant maps and I arranged to meet them back in the workshops.
By this time [ 1.30 ] I was way too late to return to the drawing office without an excuse and was wracking my brains to come up with a plausible excuse. I know – a puncture. I called into a hardware shop and bought a packet of 6” nails – they’ll do !
Do you know how hard it is to deliberately puncture a tyre? After the fourth attempt the nail went in and the tyre went down. I was sitting there all smug when I realized that they would expect me to fit the spare and drive back. Damn …………….OK let’s have TWO tyres punctured. After that was done I rang the Drawing office up with the bad news, pre-empting why I hadn’t called them earlier [ 2 o’clock by now ] by saying that the van had gone off the road with the 2 tyres punctured. Oh, and a lorry had shed a load of nails in the road which I couldn’t avoid. When the mechanics came out to rescue me they brought along an envelope from Gerry – with all the mornings maps in.
As a result of that little stunt – all Board vans carried TWO spare wheels !
So, an “incident” was avoided – Gerry got his bike back that evening and I survived to be able to continue my mini - motorcycle business !
Within a year I had moved on from the Electricity Board and it’s hide bound ways – it WAS still in pre-war mode and it would not have been long before I was back in front of the Chief for chinning someone else.
My friendship continued with Gerry and his family for several more years, until one day he was sadly taken from us well before his time [ 32 ] with a massive heart attack. RIP Gerry mate, this one’s for you.
Beachcomber’s Tales from the Day.
“The Electricity Board, the Motorcycle Express Delivery and Gerry Lucas [ RIP ]”
This tale follows on from the incident with the Chief Engineer on the first day at work.
A little backgrounder – the Electricity Board was a Public Utility company and encompassed all aspects of electricity supply both domestic and commercial. The role of the Drawing office was two-fold – for mechanical work and construction, and also for the drawing and upkeep of maps detailing where the utilities lay in the ground. The branch I worked at covered rural Essex – and the biking lanes and caffs.!
I was initially employed to work on new sub-station and overhead pylon projects – until one day a senior cartographic draughtsman had a very serious accident at work [ touched a live 16Kv cable ! ] and left that department without cover on one of the busiest regions [ very rural ] of the Board’s territory. As I was the only qualified Draughstman who also had a driving licence – I got the nod.
Basically it was the job of the draughtsman to call on the work gangs and sketch up what was in the open hole – all utilities and of course whatever the electrical work was. Normally this would be concluded by mid-day when the draughtsman would return to the office and update all of the relevant maps for future reference. You also got to drive round in a very handy 5cwt van – in this case a 105E Anglia.
Now then, for somebody whose hobby was motorcycles, this was a heaven sent opportunity! It wasn’t long before I befriended the work parties – previously unheard of as an “us and them” attitude still prevailed. One guy in particular became a good friend – Gerry Lucas, who had just bought himself a 3 year old Norton Jubilee. Gerry was an ace DIY’er – give him a lump of wood and he was in his element – but mechanics and his Jubilee in particular were a no go zone! It wasn’t long before I was sorting out small problems on the Jubilee, and Gerry was busy re-modeling my Maisonette. So my mornings out would inevitably see me calling into the various motorcycle shops to collect spares and collecting / delivering odd bikes I’d been working on.
I always used to catch up with the guys when they finished their morning scheduled worksheets [ afternoons was for emergencies ] when they met up for tea and toast at ……….The Woodlands Caff !
We’d sit there shooting the breeze for an hour or so before I headed back to the Drawing Office to draw up the maps.
Due to my shopping rounds I was late one day and arrived long after the gang had closed up the hole and moved on! I caught up with the lads at the Woodlands as usual, where the foreman of the gang I’d missed produced an excellent sketch of the work he had carried out that morning. It turned out that they all kept immaculate records of their work – as much for their own use as anything else. It then occurred to me that I was totally wasting my mornings when I could simply call into the caff at mid-day and copy all the sketches! A deal was soon struck with the guys in return for a round of tea and toast – I got the sketches. In turn that meant I could use the mornings – and the van for my own purposes.
This went on for months and worked like clockwork – I’d get the sketches and they’d get tea and toast – perfect. Then one day Gerry phoned me and told me that his Jubbly had broken down on his way to work and he’d had to abandon it. That all worked well as his day started at 8.00 and mine at 9.0. After collecting the van and my morning’s work I simply whizzed off to collect Gerry’s bike and took it to my garage so I could work on it. These vans were quite distinctive – Bright Blue with “Eastern Electricity Board” emblazoned on the sides. Being only a 5cwt. Van – the Jubilee hung out the back and I had to tie the doors shut …..ooops.
The Norton’s problem was down to Joe Lucas – Prince of Darkness – the main headlight switch had virtually fallen apart and caused a small fire inside the headlamp! I had promised Gerry that I’d have his bike finished for the evening, so I got stuck in. Time ran on and before I knew, it was mid-day – when I should have been at the Woodlands collecting the maps. Remember this was the 60’s – no such thing as mobile phones !!! I did manage to get a phone call though to the caff owner and fortunately for me, Gerry and his gang had been hanging on for my return and I arranged for them to collect all the relevant maps and I arranged to meet them back in the workshops.
By this time [ 1.30 ] I was way too late to return to the drawing office without an excuse and was wracking my brains to come up with a plausible excuse. I know – a puncture. I called into a hardware shop and bought a packet of 6” nails – they’ll do !
Do you know how hard it is to deliberately puncture a tyre? After the fourth attempt the nail went in and the tyre went down. I was sitting there all smug when I realized that they would expect me to fit the spare and drive back. Damn …………….OK let’s have TWO tyres punctured. After that was done I rang the Drawing office up with the bad news, pre-empting why I hadn’t called them earlier [ 2 o’clock by now ] by saying that the van had gone off the road with the 2 tyres punctured. Oh, and a lorry had shed a load of nails in the road which I couldn’t avoid. When the mechanics came out to rescue me they brought along an envelope from Gerry – with all the mornings maps in.
As a result of that little stunt – all Board vans carried TWO spare wheels !
So, an “incident” was avoided – Gerry got his bike back that evening and I survived to be able to continue my mini - motorcycle business !
Within a year I had moved on from the Electricity Board and it’s hide bound ways – it WAS still in pre-war mode and it would not have been long before I was back in front of the Chief for chinning someone else.
My friendship continued with Gerry and his family for several more years, until one day he was sadly taken from us well before his time [ 32 ] with a massive heart attack. RIP Gerry mate, this one’s for you.
joeybaggadonuts
comin in hot, hit em wit it
Wow, great story beachcomber
When I went to Ireland in the 60s the first thing I noticed was the "them and us" attitude. Like you say it was hand in some respects. The one thing I liked about it was "them" rarely knew what "us was doing. My last job here (SoCal) was a bit like that. I was doing plant maintenance as a one man band. Everything from electrical to telephones. Not that I always knew what I was doing but I'm a great believer in the old saying "If you can't dazzle them with science, baffle them with bullshit". The previous maintenance guy had left and they didn't bother to replace him. In the fie years he was gone the place went to hell.
My first project after taking over was lighting. Approximately 50% of the lights were out. Not just lamps but the ballasts were dead. Not a big deal if your boss isn't so tight he squeaks when he walks. He did a deal with some guy or 400+ "slightly" used ballasts. He traded a little mig welder for them. They were fine except that the lamps had to be rewired in order to make them work. No big deal but the powers that be were suitably impressed and after that they tended to leave me alone. I had set up in a corner of the warehouse and was almost free to do what I wanted. I had projects to do but in between I was free. An awful lot of the sidecar got built in that corner. I called it unknown sponsorship.
Them and us can have its advantages when used right.
My first project after taking over was lighting. Approximately 50% of the lights were out. Not just lamps but the ballasts were dead. Not a big deal if your boss isn't so tight he squeaks when he walks. He did a deal with some guy or 400+ "slightly" used ballasts. He traded a little mig welder for them. They were fine except that the lamps had to be rewired in order to make them work. No big deal but the powers that be were suitably impressed and after that they tended to leave me alone. I had set up in a corner of the warehouse and was almost free to do what I wanted. I had projects to do but in between I was free. An awful lot of the sidecar got built in that corner. I called it unknown sponsorship.
Them and us can have its advantages when used right.
Like you say Hoof - work the system !!!
Actually your tale reminded me of my first ever job as a trainee Draughstman - not so much bike orientated [ although I used my AJS 250 to commute ! ] as a Kart story.
Similar vein to your Sidecar build, but at 17 I was an arrogant sob [ what do you mean -nothing changes! ] and was convinced that everything around me was to be taken advantage of.
Not bike orentated, but with indulgence I'll write that one up - if that's OK with you guys ?
let's call it -
"How to work the system - start young"
Actually your tale reminded me of my first ever job as a trainee Draughstman - not so much bike orientated [ although I used my AJS 250 to commute ! ] as a Kart story.
Similar vein to your Sidecar build, but at 17 I was an arrogant sob [ what do you mean -nothing changes! ] and was convinced that everything around me was to be taken advantage of.
Not bike orentated, but with indulgence I'll write that one up - if that's OK with you guys ?
let's call it -
"How to work the system - start young"
beachcomber said:
Wasn't it? I like to think of it as the "Rolls Royce" syndrome. How many racing bits were made in the Rolls Royce workshops unbeknownst to "them"?
Basement rat
Over 1,000 Posts
I have an idea of the "Them and us". Military traditions haven't evolved much... The Officers are very much "them".
Uncle Billy
Luck: When preparation meets opportunity.
In 1965 when I was 23, I quit college and enlisted in the US Air Force. After basic training in Texas, I was assigned to a training base in Biloxi, Mississippi for training as a radio communications technician. The war in Viet Nam was warming up then, and rumors abounded. The scuttlebutt was that Air Force radio operators had a limited life expectancy there, crawling about in the jungle with a radio to "spot" for air strikes by approaching close to the enemy. None of that was more than 0.02% accurate, but who knew? Thus my attitude was one of "what the hell, I'm going to die in the war anyway". At first opportunity I bought a motorcycle- a 1965 Triumph Bonneville. I had been forbidden any contact with motorcycles while at home, so this was in part a statement of my independence. During the ensuing year that I was stationed at Keesler Air Force Base on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, about as far into the cultural "south" as one can get in the US. I was one of a group of local "townies", most of whom were illiterate, and at least one other USAF trainee that formed a motorcycle "club". In truth it really was a gang, with little respect for the law or social conventions, my rationale being to pack as much into what remained of my life as possible. The answers to why an outlaw motorcycle gang was picked as the venue for that enterprise are to be found elsewhere. In any case, we had "colors" and rode as a pack, getting into the sort of mischief best described elsewhere as well since some of it was outside what was lawful. During the last few days of my training, when orders were being distributed for our first duty assignments, I was shocked to find that I wasn't going to Viet Nam after all. I had been suspicious that the rumors didn't apply to me, the specific training I had undergone had no application out in the jungle with a backpack radio and M-16 rifle. My training prepared me for duty in permanent radio installations on Air Force bases, and my first assignment was with a radar squadron about 8 miles from home back in New York state! What a relief! And leaving Keesler Air Force Base, and Biloxi, and the gang, and Mississippi, and in fact the entire Confederacy all were a source of boundless joy for me.
I packed my uniforms and what other meager gear I had- one large duffel bag and a couple of smaller packs- on my Bonneville and set out northbound for home with the other bike gang Airman on his Triumph, similarly packed and joyful, the trip being about 1250 miles. It was early March when the nights were often freezing and the days not much warmer, conditions which got worse as we progressed northward. Travel was slow with many stops for hot coffee and the warmth of anyplace indoors, and countless efforts to stay as warm as possible, none really very successful. We rolled newspaper around our legs and lined our jackets for insulation; I tied a cigar box lid to the front brake lever to act as a windbreaker for my throttle hand, but at 80 mph it would push the lever far enough to drag the brake, so that didn't work. I found some relief by tightening the screw on the throttle housing that would keep the twist grip where I put it instead of rolling back to idle, and laying on the tank, putting both gloved hands on the engine for warmth and trusting the bike to steer itself at 80, which it did- I loved my Triumph!
We planned to stay in motels along the route, and were successful in finding warm beds for three nights after days of freezing our hands and faces in the wind chill of 40 degrees ambient temperature and 70 or 80 miles per hour of windstream, northbound on US Route 75 and making distance very slowly.
But on the 4th night when we got off the highway and into a little town in Tennessee after dark, there was nothing open, not a soul in sight. It was a one-stoplight town which "rolled up its sidewalks" at 6 pm, and offered no place for us to take a room. It looked like we were going to have to camp out for the first time on our trip when a car behind us lit us up with a spotlight and lit up our surroundings with flashing red lights. It was the town constable, who gruffly demanded our driver's licenses and ordered us to follow him. We did, to the police station, where he told us to empty our pockets on his desk. After we did that he took us through a door to a row of jail cells. He gave us towels and soap and ordered us to take showers while he stood by, a shotgun nearby. The warm water was wonderful! Then he locked us in a cell with two bunks and told us we'd be fed shortly. In a half hour or so he came back with a tray with bowls of stew, fresh baked bread and hot coffee, which we ravaged in short order. We found out later that the constable had a contract with a lady in town to provide meals for the jail, and she made them as though they were for guests in her home and not for jailbirds. The bunks were warm and comfortable so we slept like the dead. She did as excellent a job with breakfast the next morning, after which we were taken from our warm, comfortable cell and our pocket contents were returned. The constable told us he wanted us out of town in 15 minutes after he released us, there were to be no motorcycle bums in his town. In those days the only experience most people had with motorcyclists from out of town- our driver's licenses and license plates were from Mississippi- was with Marlon Brando's movie "The Wild One" wherein a rough, disrespectful gang took over a small California town. We sure looked like those guys did, disheveled and windblown, mostly because our faces were so windburned we couldn't shave. We told him we couldn't hang around at all, we had to be on duty in a few days.
He said, "Duty? What duty?"
We said, "We're in the Air Force and on our way to new assignments. Our leaves expire in a few days so we have to be on the road ASAP", and showed him our ID cards and leave papers.
He said, "Why didn't you tell me you were military?? I wouldn't have hassled you!!"
We said, "Thanks for the room and board!", saluted him in the best military fashion, and hit the road.
I packed my uniforms and what other meager gear I had- one large duffel bag and a couple of smaller packs- on my Bonneville and set out northbound for home with the other bike gang Airman on his Triumph, similarly packed and joyful, the trip being about 1250 miles. It was early March when the nights were often freezing and the days not much warmer, conditions which got worse as we progressed northward. Travel was slow with many stops for hot coffee and the warmth of anyplace indoors, and countless efforts to stay as warm as possible, none really very successful. We rolled newspaper around our legs and lined our jackets for insulation; I tied a cigar box lid to the front brake lever to act as a windbreaker for my throttle hand, but at 80 mph it would push the lever far enough to drag the brake, so that didn't work. I found some relief by tightening the screw on the throttle housing that would keep the twist grip where I put it instead of rolling back to idle, and laying on the tank, putting both gloved hands on the engine for warmth and trusting the bike to steer itself at 80, which it did- I loved my Triumph!
We planned to stay in motels along the route, and were successful in finding warm beds for three nights after days of freezing our hands and faces in the wind chill of 40 degrees ambient temperature and 70 or 80 miles per hour of windstream, northbound on US Route 75 and making distance very slowly.
But on the 4th night when we got off the highway and into a little town in Tennessee after dark, there was nothing open, not a soul in sight. It was a one-stoplight town which "rolled up its sidewalks" at 6 pm, and offered no place for us to take a room. It looked like we were going to have to camp out for the first time on our trip when a car behind us lit us up with a spotlight and lit up our surroundings with flashing red lights. It was the town constable, who gruffly demanded our driver's licenses and ordered us to follow him. We did, to the police station, where he told us to empty our pockets on his desk. After we did that he took us through a door to a row of jail cells. He gave us towels and soap and ordered us to take showers while he stood by, a shotgun nearby. The warm water was wonderful! Then he locked us in a cell with two bunks and told us we'd be fed shortly. In a half hour or so he came back with a tray with bowls of stew, fresh baked bread and hot coffee, which we ravaged in short order. We found out later that the constable had a contract with a lady in town to provide meals for the jail, and she made them as though they were for guests in her home and not for jailbirds. The bunks were warm and comfortable so we slept like the dead. She did as excellent a job with breakfast the next morning, after which we were taken from our warm, comfortable cell and our pocket contents were returned. The constable told us he wanted us out of town in 15 minutes after he released us, there were to be no motorcycle bums in his town. In those days the only experience most people had with motorcyclists from out of town- our driver's licenses and license plates were from Mississippi- was with Marlon Brando's movie "The Wild One" wherein a rough, disrespectful gang took over a small California town. We sure looked like those guys did, disheveled and windblown, mostly because our faces were so windburned we couldn't shave. We told him we couldn't hang around at all, we had to be on duty in a few days.
He said, "Duty? What duty?"
We said, "We're in the Air Force and on our way to new assignments. Our leaves expire in a few days so we have to be on the road ASAP", and showed him our ID cards and leave papers.
He said, "Why didn't you tell me you were military?? I wouldn't have hassled you!!"
We said, "Thanks for the room and board!", saluted him in the best military fashion, and hit the road.
Nice one Uncle - must be a load more of you guys with "tales" ??
yep, decided to write up the next one based on my first ever real job after I left school - coming soon.
yep, decided to write up the next one based on my first ever real job after I left school - coming soon.
"My first ever real job" Haha! I delivered papers from 12 years old to 14 years old. 102 papers a day, seven days a week for $30 a month. Then I got a "real" job in a grocery store at 39 cents an hour!!!! But I hadn't left school yet. I was saving for my first motorcycle. A C11G BSA. And I actually wanted it! God I was innocent then.
Hoofhearted said:
yea with you an that Hoof - paper round at 11. That was in the days when I used to get up at 5.00am ride 20 miles just for the hell of it [ Dawes Clansman pushbike ], straight back to the paper shop, do my round and then home change and catch the school bus at 8.00 for the 45 minute journey to school !
The pay was 1 shilling and sixpence for 6 days and an extra sixpence for Sunday. That was 1955 when the average shop floor wage was £10 / week.
I soon realised that was a mug's game and got a Saturday job at the local hardware store. That paid almost double [2 shillings and sixpence - or "half a dollar" as it was known ] and I used to double that at least in tips. Petrol at the time was around 1 shilling and sixpence a gallon, so my money didn't go far for my weekend blasts around the woods and trails.
If you're smart you won't go find out. Dreadful gutless machine (at least mine was).
I may be wrong but if I remember the C10 and C11 were rigid and C11G was a plunger and the C12 was a swing arm. I'm very open to correction on that. It was a long, long time ago and anymore I don't really care. The memory keeps telling me dreadful. Run away!
crazypj
Split personality, I fake being smart
C10 is side valve, rigid or plunger
C11 OHV plunger or SA? (G?)
As far as I can remember, it was basically a C10 with OHV top end
C12, I think, had the points in 'distributor' behind cylinder instead of on the cam end and only came with BSA 'heavyweight' style forks and swing arm frame? (I guess we could Google it, but this is more fun, as you say, it was a long time ago and doesn't matter anyway ;D )
C11 OHV plunger or SA? (G?)
As far as I can remember, it was basically a C10 with OHV top end
C12, I think, had the points in 'distributor' behind cylinder instead of on the cam end and only came with BSA 'heavyweight' style forks and swing arm frame? (I guess we could Google it, but this is more fun, as you say, it was a long time ago and doesn't matter anyway ;D )
A partial solution. I was working out in the garage tonight but it just got too cold (relative). So I started fartin' around on the computer looking a BSAs. You have to be really stuck to do something like that. C10s came with an OHV engine either rigid or plunger. C11s came with a plunger and a wonky three speed gearbox. C11G was a plunger with a "better" four speed box. Now that that has been solved and my tea has drawn I'm going to watch the news with a cuppa.
