Frank Westworth

Frank starts to be honest to himself about certain machines

THIS MOST PECULIAR OF YEARS HAS SEEN terrible things done to my previously decently large store of parts. The Shed contains a lot of them, parts, that is, and lots of them are what we currently refer to as 'new old stock'. In other words they date from the time when the bikes were at least vaguely current and have never been previously used. NOS (you can work that out) has become some sort of bizarre mantra, suggesting that they are rare golden nuggets panned from the old bike timestream by wise, nay prescient, chaps bent on preserving our motorcycling heritage. Which may of course be true, however. ..

I've been practicing Pointless Rebuild Therapy for several months now, and this has confirmed what I had always feared to be true: lots of the parts packed into 1950s, 60s and even 70s famous marque packaging are just junk. Sad but true.

Here's another only mild surprise: the older the parts, the more likely they are to be of decent quality. For shining example: I have recently been retaining my battered sanity by hurling both abuse and spanners at a most glorious AJSwhich is the same age as I am, almost exactly. Weird, huh? To be effective, PRTneeds to involve endless messing about fixing things, but not actually with a genuine intention of getting the bike back on the road. Just hurling those spanners and that abuse to produce a runner, not necessarily a rider.

And why? Where is the reasoning in that? Because I remember why I stopped riding the old AJSin the first place. Although it is cheerily charming, chock-full of character and charisma, it is also very slow, poorly braked and steers precariously, and its dual seat and jampot rear 'suspension' combine in a spinethreatening way to make every decent ride a sales opportunity for any passing chiropractor. I replaced the 1953 AJSwith a 1966 AJS,which was impossibly better in every sense. And I have not become younger nor fitter since 1984 or so. Trust me on this.

Happily, I was able to source almost every part of the old Ajay,which demanded replacement from my buried piles of parts, most of them NOS.There is a huge satisfaction involved here. I stared sadly at the deeply corroded studs, which hold together the front engine plates. They're original, cadmium plated, and their nuts are seized solid. They also look vile. A furtive scratch of the memory cell suggests that I bought a set from Happy Hamrax in the late 1970s for this very bike and have lugged them around through several house moves, only two of which were caused by divorces.

I park my Howard Carter replica archaeologist's hat at a jaunty angle and begin the dig. It doesn't take long to unearth that exact bundle of bits, still in their oily brown paper wrapping. They are still as-new, still caddy plated and still have their AMCfactory nuts and beautifully chamfered washers. Of course I don't fit them. They're too good for that. They can wait until I restore the bike, possibly in 2053 to celebrate our joint centenary. Meanwhile, I strip out the corroded originals and clean them up. This takes days, and is almost as satisfying in a PRTsense as reclaiming the 1953 petrol tap, which I've also accomplished at the cost of only several hours and a pair of NOS replacement corks. All is joy.

A little while ago, and for no sane reason, I rebuilt a 1971 BSA.As my youth was indeed satisfyingly mis-spent, I also have a lot of NOS spares for that, mainly because in 1973 or so dealers were just throwing them all away. I can reveal that most of them are scrap and do not fit. I can similarly reveal that there is no spanner satisfaction in re-discovering this sad fact several times.

Which would have been less of a concern in normal autumns, where a chap could don his autumn anorak (and if anyone gets that reference, claim your £5 note from the Editor) and delve deep into those piles of random bits you can only find at autojumbles. The problem here is plain; as I write this there are almost no jumbles on the horizon, and none of the famous few are near me.

Oh well. This is plainly A Sign. It is plain that I should dig out another 1950s AMC relic and perform another almost pointless resurrection. And why not? Pass me the hammers ...

''Althoughit is cheerilycharming,

chock-fullof characterand charisma,it is also very slow, poorly brakedand steers precariously,

and its dual seat andjampot rear ' suspens.wn' combinein a spine-threatening

way to make every decentride a sales opportunity for any passing ehiropractor" Nights are drawing in; time to don that autumn anorak...