Girder Goldie
This Gold Star was built by a man who’s owned a few and wanted to make one that was more rideable and more fun. Sacrilege or superb? You decide...
There are so many amazing bikes on the classic scene these days – but I doubt you’ll see anything in 2017 even half as ingenious, mischievous and properly assembled as this girder-forked BSA Gold Star created by Jim Hodges. Jim’s a design engineer who’s been building British bikes for 40 years. With his machine-shop garage and profound understanding of prototyping, Jim is simply not limited by skill, equipment or vision – the things that keep most of us firmly on the ground. His superb Featherbed Trident was on the cover of
CB’S August 2013 issue, as was his 650 Triton in January 2015. These aren’t bikes which replicate how it was done in the old days – they are oil-tight marvels whose design and styling flaws have been systematically solved without spoiling the spirit of the original. Not so this Goldie. Yes, it’s built with the usual care and upgrades, but any homage to the DBD34 club race legend has gone out the window.
“If anyone says anything good about the Gold Star’s ease of control, they’re lying,” says Jim bluntly. “I’ve had a couple of them, and I’ve built a few. You fight with the gearchange, fight with the GP carb, fight with the terrible riding position. The bars are too low, the seat’s too high, the footrests too far forward. There are too many levers. But they are iconic. I think they look good – really aggressive. They just don’t ride well.
“Once you’ve seen one Gold Star polished up, with its silver tank and its clip-ons, you’ve seen them all. And that’s all these guys do – polish them, take them to shows and then tell everybody you can’t do that with them. So this is a bit of fun, really.”
While life’s imperfections have turned most of us into grumpy old men, Jim is one of those people who are simply amused by everything that’s crap and annoying. You could say this bike is shaped as much by laughter and humility as by engineering skill. It’s actually in its second incarnation. The original was built two years ago, in a headlong rush, for a TV programme. “But it was really bodged!” Jim laughs. “It wasn’t good at all! I was just throwing it together.” A highlight of the programme was cutting a Brough Superior tank in half to narrow it for use on the BSA.
“I used to have a Brough years ago; I was having some work done on the tank and my brother said: ‘I could make one of them’. I said: ‘I bet you couldn’t’. Anyway, he made one. So for the TV we pretended it was a proper Brough tank and cut it in half – just to piss people off, basically. Neil [of Staffordshire’s Made in Metal] welded it back together.
“We finished building it at about 2am, then got up at 8am to test ride it. The petrol was leaking and the chain was slapping about like mad, so we fixed the tank, made a chain tensioner and got to London at about
‘IT’S SHAPED AS MUCH BY LAUGHTER AND HUMILITY AS ENGINEERING SKILL’
midnight. The next day they filmed it in thick London traffic for two and a half hours and it didn’t miss a beat! It was amazing! The brakes didn’t work, which they still don’t.”
Having built several Goldie motors, Jim knew what he wanted with this one. “The engine is a standard DBD34 Gold Star, completely rebuilt, but with a fancy Nova five-speed gearbox. It’s ace – it makes the difference between riding the bike and not riding it. A standard Gold Star gearbox is hideous; the gapping’s really bad. Then we’ve got a 32mm Mikuni carburettor, a Pearson wet clutch, electronic magneto, and Alton electric start and alternator. So as Gold Stars go, it’s a very good set-up.”
The frame started out standard, too, but it’s changed where the bottom right tube obscured the oil pump. “It’s just a generic frame that BSA used for everything, so to get the oil pump in they just squashed a kink in the tube. I think it looks ugly, and I also think the engine looks really nice. I chopped out the kink and brought the tubes round, so the engine is still a stressed member. It looked OK at first, but then it looked slightly too open. So I added the bash plate, which for some reason gives it a flatter look.”
A similar issue dogged the battery box behind the front wheel, which is loosely based on the shrouded magnetos on some Broughs. The curved top is designed to look like a casting, but it’s actually machined,
formed, welded, ground and polished. “When I bolted the battery box on in the garage it looked great. Then I took it outside and it looked too high, so all I’ve done is add the second curved cover below. It takes your eyes off the fact that the box is square.”
You will have gathered by now that this bike is almost entirely home-brewed. In fact Jim admits that “almost every single nut, bolt and spindle is home-made”. So are the engine and gearbox plates, gearbox adjusters, clock surround, seat, chainguard, numberplate carrier, rear frame loops, handlebars, adjustable rear brake pedal, steering damper knob, front linkages and damper cover. “Any serious welding I get Neil to do. And the girders were CNC machined from solid by a mate. I drew them up on a fag packet. All you need is the centres and a shape, and I asked him to add a 12mm relief.”
Jim’s choice of electric start shows how one damn
‘A STANDARD GOLD STAR GEARBOX IS HIDEOUS. THE GAPPING’S REALLY BAD’
thing leads to another in special building. “The starter motor needs about 300 cold cranking amps to turn the engine efficiently. That takes a monster battery, but there’s nowhere to put it. I got a lithium battery instead, which is tiny, but they need charging properly. That’s why I went from a dynamo to an alternator.”
The electric start itself uses a solution Jim’s developed on other Goldies. “Normally you set the throttle, pull in the decompressor, press the button, then drop the decompressor again when it’s spinning. Never bothered me, but some owners have trouble with the hand-eye co-ordination. So the decompressor cable is off a Lambretta, with an inline brake switch. When you pull in the decompressor lever, it switches on the electric start. Once it’s spinning freely, you let off the lever slowly and the engine fires.” Which it does – as effortlessly as a modern bike.
Tickover on the Mikuni is instant and reliable – moist unlike a Goldie’s GP carb. For antique reasons Jim has fitted a heli-coil throttle, which is a sort of barrel next to the twistgrip with a helix at the back. It means there’s no return spring – the throttle just stays wherever you leave it. Fortunately the engine is a complete pudding
‘IT’S SMOOTH – NOTHING LIKE THE BLOOD-FROTHING TRAUMA OF A UNIT BSA TWIN PICKING UP ITS SKIRTS’
below 3000rpm. That in itself is a strange feeling, as most classic bikes come with baggy clearances and little quirks you need to compensate for. It is very odd to ride one that feels 100% taut and brand new, while simultaneously doing that old thing where opening the throttle a lot or a little makes absolutely no difference.
The riding position, while essentially a cruiser set-up, is a colossal improvement over a standard Goldie. But the front feels odd. I notice what feels like little steering geometry changes as I go through junctions and low speed corners. Nothing’s tight or notchy; Jim carefully shimmed and set up the girder pivots, and we can see them working perfectly. The motor is brand new, but Jim assures me revs are allowed. From 3000-6000rpm the bike starts driving forward properly, and the thrust from 5000 is handy enough to pass cars on A-roads. It’s pretty smooth – nothing like the blood-frothing trauma of a unit BSA twin picking up its skirts. And the clutch and gearbox are delicious, changing as smoothly as a decent modern box. The brakes are fine, too.
Back at his place, I ask him: “Where did you get the geometry for the girder forks, Jim?” “That’s a very good question,” he replies slowly, and bursts out laughing. It’s impossible not to join in. “It’s a typical American bike,” he says as we leave. “Strictly for blatting around and posing on.” That’s true, but it undersells the raw mechanical pleasure of riding it. And the endlessly unfolding delight of trying to understand how the whole thing was designed and made.
It’s my Classic Bike of the Year, no question.