OUR CLASSICS
Rupert’s pushing hard for the finishing line. Will he have it finished in time to ride it to the Classic TT?
Frantic prep of the Enfield for its Classic TT trip, plus C50 silliness
After seven years of stop/start progress, there was no avoiding the job I dreaded the most – rebuilding the Enfield’s four-speed Albion gearbox. Oily cogs are not my thing, but until they’re done I couldn’t finish the primary drive side, bolt on the carb, add the footrests and finish the ’bars, headlight and speedo (all ready and waiting to go on).
I’ve got John’s Meteor Minor factory manual, but the best companion for an Albion firsttimer is tucked away on the Hitchcocks website. It’s a fourpart magazine reprint by Don Morley, and Don clearly has stripped these boxes many, many times over the years.
The gears were in decent nick except for first on the mainshaft, which had knackered dogs. A new one, claimed to have been made by an OEM, was a mere £15. After two or three trial assemblies, I realised there were also some bits missing: a shim behind first gear on the output shaft, an oil thrower on the layshaft, and another shim in the selector mechanism. I bought these, plus a new output-shaft oil seal and felt washer, for £16.38 from Hitchcocks. They were all in stock too, and their freely-given advice was very helpful.
Rebuilding the ’box involves spooning in 700ml of special soft grease, bought from Hitchcocks years ago. It’s lovely stuff, and with luck it won’t leak everywhere. However, the work forced me to confront Enfield’s parlous engine/ gearbox mounting system: the ultimate bracket on a bracket. Hardly any of the bushes and bolts lined up and the spacers were miles out. You could see where the holes had worn oval in the 1960s with the engine jiggling about. Two days later – two days! – I had a new set of accurately-made plates and spacers, plus fasteners, and an empirically-derived best order of assembly. With one fat extra spacer bracing the main frame tubes, the whole thing should be much stiffer than standard.
I was bleating about how long this had taken to Jim Hodges, who built the Enfield’s engine in 2016, and is keen to keep abreast of progress. “I think you’ve spent the time well,” he said. I felt a bit better.
‘FEW BUSHES AND BOLTS LINED UP AND THE SPACERS WERE MILES OUT’
In the workshop next door, college lecturer Scott Campbell was busy making a pair of steel side panels, based on his fiveminute Rice Krispies cardboard template. But without an English wheel, getting a smooth curve was proving a little tricky.
I suggested he made whatever was possible, and I must say the result is helping the bike develop its own brand of steam-punk beauty. The first panel went through three edges and two fronts before it was right – a process of at least ten hours. The next one took five. Meanwhile Simon Martin, motorcycle fabricator turned vintage Bentley restorer, had been making a signature piece for the bike: a headlight bracket, with nun bars. Yes, you read that right. John Robinson, the bike’s late owner, derived great amusement from the existence of nuns, especially if they were WWII German paratroopers in
disguise. Simon knew him well. Along with the headlight, Simon brought his fabulous TIG welder for another day’s concerted effort.
We used Scott’s workshop because I’d lost the key for mine, and anyway we were making a right old mess. With me acting as gofer, Simon kicked up the rear frame loop, cut down the rear mudguard, modified both seat mounts to fit it, made a battery box which doubled as a third mudguard mount – two jobs for one component, very un-enfield! – and added some lockstops.
You might be thinking: ‘Is that all?’ To which I’d reply: Just try doing that in a week. Or a month – not forgetting to work out where everything will go, how pretty it needs to be, and how it will fit in (or not) with everything else. Prototype work is really hard. While Simon was re-imagining the back end, Scott was finishing off the fixing system for the side panels, based on a peg-and-screw design from a Morini 500 I used to own. The button head fixing is repeated elsewhere on the bike. (I can’t believe how much I’ve spent on fasteners.)
New day, new challenge: the front mudguard. Scotty and I came up with something inspired by Simon’s headlight bracket, and while I tried to earn some money next door to replace my rapidly dwindling supply, Scott made the fabulous thing you can see in the pics. He even turned up the following day to make the rear rack, which I feel John would have wanted. This uses an ingenious design by Simon – he’d made four top-hat bushes with M6 tapped holes, which Scott welded into holes in the rear frame loop. I then made up four little towers which screw to the bushes, leaving Scott to add the tube work.
At some point in the above melee, the seat arrived from Get Leathered. They’d done it beautifully, to my exact design (£100 plus post). Trouble is, I’d made it far too big, and it
looked all wrong next to the Bullet tank. I tried the original Meteor Minor tank (hideous), and a Hinckley Bonnie one (beautiful but expensive, and hard to fit). I think I’ll have to get the seat cut down. The ’bars are a nuisance, too. With a disc brake, I need an eight-inch straight bit either side for the modern levers, which none of my four sets of ’bars can muster. The whole point of this project is a riding position with good control and comfort, so I have a way to go yet.
I have decided that trying to finish a bike to a deadline is like opening a wall-mounted cupboard and being hit by an avalanche of golf clubs. Is the Enfield going to be ready for the Classic TT? To be honest, I’m not sure. Nor is my mate Dave, who’s dealing with his own conveyor belt of setbacks as he restores his 1980 Bonnie.
We’ll keep trying. But idiot schemes like this are as much about friendship as the bikes.