Most of my Motorcycles &
I
Peter A Guala
Copyright © Peter A Guala
Smashwords
Edition
Chapter
1
Born in England near Bristol at the tail end of the second world war. My early years are mainly memories of bombed buildings and a rebuilding of lives and families. My own father was a US serviceman who married my mother but then returned to the USA alone when the war ended.
Mother and
I then travelled to the States joining my father when I was two years
old, returning to England without him when I was four. My earliest
memories are vague but I do recollect the sea voyage back to England
quite clearly aboard the Queen Mary. By this time, 1948/49, England
was well on the road to recovery and I remember the hustle and bustle
of Bristol, the cars and in particular the motorcycles. We used to
visit my uncle and aunt occasionally in a small Gloucestershire
village named Iron Acton. I used to love these visits as he was a
mechanic and I used to enjoy being in his shed and playing with all
sorts of bits and pieces. I used to constantly ask him questions, no
doubt to his amusement and perhaps sometimes annoyance! Over the next
eight years I learned a great deal about engines and motor vehicles
from these visits.
My
fascination towards motorcycles increased and I used to watch the
riders on the preponderance of both pre and post war machines to be
seen on the roads back then. Living at one time in Downend near
Bristol I used to often see a local guy riding a new Harley Davidson.
This was a rare sight indeed and I was fascinated by the look, sound
and bright colour of this machine. It had a bright blue and white
tank with mudguards to match. With its fat 16” whitewall tyres,
fishtail silencer, chrome plated flexible exhausts and big
semicircular footboards. Plus it sported a bicycle type pedal as a
kickstart, which at that time seemed so cool to me. But most of all I
just loved the sound of that mighty 1200cc ‘V’ twin engine.
I made a commitment to myself then, as a six year old, that I would one day own one of these machines, complete with whitewalls and leather tassels around the seemingly huge seat that almost looked like a western saddle. Apart from the sound of the engine exhaust I also noticed it made very little engine noise, unlike the clatter and rattle of many other British singles and twins of that era. Plus there was a noticeable lack of oil leaks that seemed to be the norm on most other makes at that time.
I learned much later that Harley, even at that time, used cam ground split skirt slipper pistons with very small clearances, together with hydraulic lifters and roller bearing cam followers. Very advanced for a motorcycle engine and one of the main reasons that it was so mechanically quiet. Something that still applies to most Harley Davidson machines to this day
Moving away from that area I soon forgot my ambition to own a Harley and started to notice the more sporty and classic British made bikes that were now coming back into production. With names starting from pretty much every letter of the alphabet. From buzzing two stroke singles and screaming twins, leaving their tell tale blue oil smoke trail, through to four stroke singles (thumpers), twins and mighty four cylinder machines that just purred with power. It was a great time to be a boy and I used to spend hours visiting motorcycle showrooms, studying every marque in detail and collecting as many brochures as possible to add to my knowledge and ever growing collection of motorcycle bits and pieces. I also spent a lot of time daydreaming about these wondrous machines, in fact I still do!
At ten years old my father came back into our lives and we once more went to live in the USA, again for two years and again we eventually returned to England without him. This time I remembered much more of my time over there. We lived in Long Island and also Manhattan where there were heaps of wonderful ‘yank tanks’ but at that time few motorcycles. So apart from learning a lot about US history at school and watching colour TV for the first time, with 20 odd channels to choose from, my love of motorcycles took a back seat. I spent much of my spare time in a wonderful American Indian shop in the Manhattan bus terminal. I became a blood brother to a close Sioux Indian friend , something that was extremely special and also a very significant event in my wonderful life. As in all lives, much, much more happened, but that is another story.
Now back in England as a twelve year old my interest in the two wheeled machines came back to me with a vengeance. I was now big enough to ride a motorcycle even if not legally old enough. From this time forward my life became very much one that had motorcycles involved. From then until the present my main story unfolds. The events to follow are all true and not embellished.
Chapter 2
I now lived, with my mother, in Highbridge, a small Somerset town. Over the next three years we lived in this general area and I got to know and love this part of the world. I had a great aunt who lived in Burnham-on-Sea who I used to love to visit plus we occasionally went by bus to visit my uncle and aunt in Iron Acton. So life was good in many ways. Being both an adventurous and somewhat entrepreneurial young man I had several part time jobs after school and on weekends. One of these was in a bicycle, wallpaper and paint shop in Burnham. I convinced the owner that I could not only repair bicycles but could also rebuild spoke wheels. I went on to teach myself spoke threading, lacing and building bicycle wheels, something that I continued to do for many years on bicycle, motorcycle and ‘wire’ car wheels. I worked there mainly after school on weekdays and became a well known ‘bicycle’ mechanic in the district. One of my other ‘duties’ was to trim wallpaper that had been purchased. This was done on a hand operated machine that cut off the edges ready for hanging.
Apart from
‘caddying’ at the Brean Down golf club, where I could earn very
good money, I spent a lot of time working on a farm just out of
Highbridge. My work involved everything from occasional milking cows
to helping in the abattoir. One of the perks was that I got to find
and keep any chicken eggs laid in the hay stack by some of the many
chickens that wandered all over the farm. At the back of the hay barn
was a set of stalls for animals, in one of these stalls, covered in
dust and grime, was a post war Triumph twin. From memory I am sure it
was a 500cc Speed Twin. It belonged to the farmer’s son, Roger, who
was around 30 years old then. He liked me, as did his parents, and it
was only a short time until I got his permission to clean up the
Triumph. The deal was that if I got it looking good and also running
again! he would let me have a ride on it. In retrospect I doubt if he
ever dreamed I would achieve the ‘running’ part of the deal.
Looking back now I wonder how I did.
After some hours, spread over a few days and weeks of spare time, I had that Triumph gleaming like new. It was at this time I bought my first tube of Solvol Autosol metal polish. The start of a life-long partnership with that polish, in fact I still keep a tube in my workshop today. Well eventually it looked like the day it had left the factory. Possibly even better after the Solvol treatment of the normally quite dull alloy cases on the engine and gear box. Roger was duly impressed but to seal the deal I had to also get it running. At that point in my life I was not aware of what could prevent an engine from running if it had fuel in the tank and compression in its cylinders. Well I kicked and I kicked and I kicked. In fact I probably started the wear and tear of my knees at that time doing so much kicking. One thing is for certain, I turned that engine over so much that it eventually did fire up and roar into life. Very much to the amazement of Roger, and his parents. The deal was now done!
Being a man of honour Roger hopped on and beckoned me onto the pillion, I was there in a flash. This was my first ever ride on a real motorcycle. Looking back both he and I must have been totally mad. Into Highbridge and fill up the tank with the ‘best’ and off we went. At some stage I think Roger had forgotten I was on the back, or else he was trying to impress me, as we hurtled along the country roads at breakneck speeds. The thrill I felt as we went through the bends, combined with the roar of the twin and the wind in my hair, was magnificent. I had been re-born and the Gods were with me, looking back I think the Angels were there also. After what seemed like an eternity of bliss we turned back into the farm driveway and parked the Triumph. I stood back and was just amazed at the thrill this machine had just given me. The first in a great many two wheel escapades and adventures that were yet to come.
Now I turned up the heat on poor Roger, the deal was that ‘I’ would get to ride the Triumph. That meant me being in control, not on the pillion. Again after some thought he agreed, but the deal was now that, I could have a ride in one of the larger grass paddocks with him as pillion. In fact I needed him as pillion as my legs were not long enough to reach the ground to support the bike at rest. This next part was set to happen a few days later and only if the weather and grass was dry. Eventually the day came.
Setting off on the pillion Roger took us to a large grassy paddock a few miles from the farm. Once inside and the gate closed behind he gave me instructions re changing gear etc, all things I claimed I knew already. So starting the trusty Triumph he then moved to the rear of the bike so I could get onboard. One foot on the footrest and up and in place only to have the engine die. Off I get and the procedure is gone through again, once more as I sit into the pilot seat the engine dies. After at least three of these aborted starts Roger wonders what is going on and takes a closer look at events. As I climb on I grab the handlebar and at the same time press this shiny little button. Oh! now how was I supposed to know it was the engine emergency kill switch? My first big slice of humble pie. After some pleading Roger agreed to let me try one last time. Success, into first gear, out with the clutch, on with the throttle and away we went. This was how heaven must be. I was in control and there was no stopping me now.
Unlike my bravado when I was pillion Roger was clinging onto me and at the same time was shouting in my ear for me to slow down as we were approaching a spoon drain. What the hell was a spoon drain? I asked myself, as I went into and through it. Wow that was some thrill, I had been airborne coming out of the dippy, but like all dare-devils, I just hung onto the handlebars and kept the throttle open. I then noticed that Roger was no longer holding on to me. In fact I also noticed he was no longer even on the motorcycle! Once more my Angels were there with me. Remember this was my first ever time to ride a motorcycle, and my feet didn’t even touch the ground. Well I executed a large 180 degree turn at considerable speed on the grass and sped back towards the spoon drain. There was Roger, sitting in the grass, staring glassily at the sight of me speeding towards him. I loved it and continued to ride around the paddock for a few more laps before taking any notice of the abuse he was shouting at me. Finally I realised I had to stop and to do so without hurting myself seemed important now. So I slowed right down and rode right up to poor old Roger, killing the engine as I came alongside. He grabbed the bike and, like a well rehearsed scene from a movie, I stepped off in all my glory with my ego fully intact. That was the last time I ever got to ride that particular motorcycle! For many years after I had a dislike of Triumphs for no really obvious reason, there is a message in there somewhere I am sure.