By this time, engine parts started appearing by mail order from stateside (Bob Stark) so progress could be made in this department.  The reason why the engine was in bits to start with was that all the bearings were totaled.  The big end oil hole had been masked off by the flywheel through bad assembly at some time or even, possibly, by the factory!  

As a result, no oil had gotten through so it ran the lot dry, wrecking all working surfaces.  Also, to top it all, not a single nut or bolt came with the engine.  One big mistake I made was to purchase Whitworth bolts as UNC.  This meant I had to silver-solder threads up and re-cut them with the appropriate dies.  I had to turn down metric rod to make crankcase studs but, thank the gods, I was able to purchase head bolts.  One of the crankcase front lugs had snapped off and the heads looked like they had been taken off with an open-ended pickaxe!!!  To cope with the crankcase was just a matter of being brave, plenty of heat and 15% silicon rods.  I don’t know whether it was the heat or the fear of turning the cases into custard that made me sweat so much doing that job.  The heads – no chance – not a fin left in tact.  This was now a big problem – where the hell was I going to get some heads from?  Welding them was so impractical, second-hand ones weren’t much better than the ones I had; casting new ones was possibly the only way to go.  But what a nightmare with machining and all that!  

Desperation set in – that was until Christmas ’96 when, at the bottom of my bed, flown in especially from the States, sat 2 brand spanking new cylinder heads which my Natalie got hold of for me (behind my back!).  What a lucky chap I am.  Now we’re getting somewhere!  Not a bad Christmas for me that year – I got a good bonus from work too.  So off to the nickel-platers with all the engine parts after I had straightened them like flattened pushrod tubes and manifold nuts that had been undone with a cold chisel… but well worth the effort.  

The plating came back and the engine was finally assembled – some eight years after discovering a moldy old box of bits.  A multitude of springs, bearings, small bits and bobs were purchased from Alan “Old Indians Never Die” Forbes (Motolux) for the gearbox, clutch, distributor and engine.  What a helpful bloke.  And all was assembled in the much-modified A10 frame.  
  
The Next Big Problem: Where I Am Going To Fit The Oil Tank?  

The space under the seat, which is the traditional place for Brit frames, was now sporting the alternator (nicked from Natalie’s much-loved MGB GT under the pretense that it was definitely dead!  Well it was when it was in the MGB wasn’t it?!)     

The petrol tank only holds 2½ gallons of petrol because I made an instrument panel in it (Tiger Cub clutch cover, cut in four, cut and shut, welded, fitted with a Yamaha speedo to match the front wheel and a modified Ford MkI Zephyr light and ignition switch) – WHAT!!! My Cub? – Natalie.  So the only place left was the top tubes of the frame à la Vincent.  Out with the grinder again.  Weld up a box of 3mm plate and set it in where the top tubes used to be – simple, eh? 

After an early evening session in the cellar timing the ignition using the battery charger as my electrical source: Ping… I’ve got an idea that might  just work. With oil and gas, this  old warhorse might start. 
 
Natalie, who had just sat down to watch TV with the cat on her lap, got the fright of her life when World War III started up on open pipes right underneath her.  She jumped out of her seat with the cat clinging to her legs like Chris Bonnington on the North face of the Eiger, and ran screaming to the top of the cellar stairs, “was I alright and had the house collapsed on me?”  I was not flavour of the month when she spotted me jumping around the cellar shouting at the top of my voice “HE LIVES!  HE LIVES!”  The following string of expletives exceeded even her usual wide repertoire!  
   
THE GRAND FINALE  

To get the bike out of the cellar a strip down was needed which was OK because I’d done it several times for one reason or another.  As it needed a quick coat of paint, we went off to Halfords for a tin of Smoothrite and some paint.  A few cans of aerosol later the thing was bright red and all up for a ride on the road.  

I was quite familiar with the controls by now, as I had done about one thousand miles in the cellar (the sound of Steppenwolf in my head) so the time had come to ride for real.  

The engine was running well behaved in a stationary position in the back garden, although the exhaust was very loud as it was still on open pipes.  I judged it so because every time I started it up all the neighbours came running out of their houses and looked straight up in the air asking where the Doodlebug went!  At the rear of our house was a car park of about an acre in size – perfect to use as my test track.  

Sunday morning was a good time as the car park was usually fairly empty apart from a few cars belonging to the local churchgoers.  After warming the engine up and getting a steady tick over I depressed the clutch with my left foot, then surprised the old beast into gear, a little bit of throttle, let the clutch in and we shot off like a bat out of Hell (now I know what they mean when they talk about flywheel action!)  

The first lap around the car park was indescribable – Natalie said, “If you’d grinned any wider, your head would have fallen off!”  The sensation of riding something you have built yourself from discarded junk takes some beating, I can tell you.  Now, for the open road.  

A quick lap or ten around the car park produced an oil leak under the seat so I tied a bit of rag to the offending oil pipe thinking that will do for now.  So out onto the bypass we went, still grinning so hard it was actually painful.  

Whilst blatting along the road, a car pulled up alongside of me, with the chap gesticulating at the bike.  I gave him the thumbs up and nodded my thanks for his appreciation of my machine.  He mouthed back at me “NO!  LOOK YOU PLONKER” and pointed at my back wheel (or at least I think that’s what he said).  Oh dear, something must be up I thought and as I looked down, to my horror, the rag that I had tied to the oil line had wrapped itself around the exhaust and it was ablaze with a flame about two foot long behind me!  It must have looked like I had been shot down.  Fortunately, I was able to panic to a stop and discard the offending rag without too much damage to the bike.  So it was nearly from despair to building to disaster in eight years.  

Since then, I have had teething troubles but nothing too serious.  Steering and handling is surprisingly good enough to ride with no hands (not that I do, of course, Officer!).  It also goes well enough to surprise a few Sportsters that live around here as the whole thing only weighs 380lbs dry which makes it a bit lively out of the box even with tall gearing.  

Most people’s reactions are favourable although the odd one or two rivet counters have a problem with it, saying that I’ve destroyed fifteen good bikes to make one mediocre bike – that’s jealousy for you.  But one thing’s for sure, there aren’t too many like this one about.  One day, I will get around to finishing it.  As with all ‘specials’, are they ever finished?  

Is it for sale?  Don’t be silly…  

What about my next project.  Anybody got an old Four engine lurking around under a bench in the shed somewhere????  

To all who supported the project – Thanks, especially K, whose enthusiasm will be greatly missed.  
 
 

Next month: Step by step building story & construction pix!