from ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD
In the summer of ’76, our Gary did a regular ride out west to his home town. Now seemed the time to relive it, with the sound of Freebird ringing in his ears...
‘I WANTED TO RECREATE THE SPIRIT OF ’76 ON MY TIGER TR7V’
Ipulled on my leather jacket, picked up my Bell Star and keys, then went into the corridor to be greeted by the noise of screeching guitars from a room along the other end of the building. The soloing went on and on as I found myself walking past the stairway to my bike – and closer and closer to the music. The door was ajar, so I knocked, to be greeted by a grimacing, bearded dude – probably thinking this resident was going to bitch about the noise. “Who on earth is that?” I shout. “Skynyrd.” He rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Lynyrd Skynyrd? Southern rock? This is Freebird, off their first album – but I’ve got all their albums here...”
He picked four album sleeves off the bed and proffered them one at a time, like prized trophies from his collection. I loved music, but my knowledge was limited to British metal and West Coast rock back then. This southern rock was the perfect blend of blues, rock and country, with mental screeching geetar solos. Hell yeah!
That chance meeting with the Skynyrd fan was a defining point in my life. We stood around talking, listening to tracks, him telling me about bands like The Allmans, Molly Hatchet, The Outlaws, Wet Willie and Barefoot Jerry, before I hit the road on my Bonnie. I wish I could remember his name. I’m indebted for the education! That was the summer of ’76. My weekly ‘commute’ home took me from near Marlow, Buckinghamshire to my home town of Devizes, Wiltshire, along the blissfully quiet winding roads of the old A4. But that Friday evening my head was full of Skynyrd as well as the throaty rasp of my American-spec Bonnie. Forty years on, I’m still discovering new southern rock bands (check out Cadillac Three and Whiskey Myers for starters) and just over a year ago was lucky enough to get my hands on ’76 registered, American-spec Tiger 750.
So, on the 40th anniversary of the bike first hitting the road and that great summer, it seemed timely for me to revisit my roots. I was thinking of it as the One More From the Road tour – named after the Skynyrd live album that came out later in ’76.
The plan was to recreate the spirit of ’76 and my ride from near Marlow to Devizes. It’s no monster road trip, just something
I did every week all summer and, thanks to the incredible weather, is indelibly logged in what’s left of my memory banks.
I hadn’t had the chance to ride the Tiger much since getting it on the road last year with a 162-mile ride home from Wiltshire after my mates Andy, Ian and Rob had done a serious fettling and blinging job on it. Then I went to Founders Day on it, scaring myself witless after discovering the single disc’s pitiful retardation qualities when confronted by a back-lane-blocking tractor – even though the system had been serviced. When I got home, I discovered an exhaust pipe had fractured along the balance pipe stub weld.
The boys addressed these issues, which meant new exhausts (sans that ugly balance tube) from Ace Classics. Looking for
something to improve on the standard front brake (10in plated disc, two-piston caliper), I contacted Norman Hyde for some advice. He offers a range of brake conversions – discs and calipers – but recommended a 12in floating steel disc (with alloy extension to relocate the caliper) and wet weather pads.
He reckoned that would improve braking enough to warrant a fork brace, as without it the increased stopping forces would twist the stock forks. The total cost was £468.79 – but it’d be worth every penny if it could restore my confidence in braking efficiency. Ian fitted all the new parts and stuck on some chunkier Dunlop K70s to replace the skinny TT100S. Andy test rode it to confirm the improved stopping power. I picked it up just before this ride. I started at the old RAF Medmenham camp, near Marlow. I barely recognised the place. The only familiar landmark was the original Danesfield House, used by the RAF from 1941-77 (during WWII it was home to the RAF’S photographic interpretation unit), albeit now looking grander as a luxury hotel and spa.
So off I rode, in the direction of Henley-on-thames along the A4155. The one aspect I was delighted to find that hadn’t changed was the lovely switchback series of bends that links Marlow to Henley, a town once famous for its Brakspear Brewery (it moved to Witney in 2002) and some kind of regatta, which apparently has enjoyed a ‘Royal’ tag since 1851. The lightweight Triumph is a joy to flick though the series of corners, though I was still wary of the new front brake as I hurtled towards the first 90° turn.
After Henley the next part of the journey through Reading was always miserable – and nothing’s changed, apart from the obvious increase in traffic. It would probably be easier to filter on a café racer than a bike with my dirt track-spec bars, but at least I had brakes to rely on when I got chopped by a couple of Tonka toys.
The route was not fully free of traffic until I’d escaped Newbury, but as I rolled out onto the A4 I found I could relax a little and just enjoy the Triumph on the open road. Back in ’76 I can remember starting every single ride with my T140 Bonnie thinking that I should treat the motor with more respect. So it would be 60mph... which would creep to 70, then 80, then flat out.
I never did have any willpower (or mechanical sympathy). But that’s how we all rolled back then, right? Teenage tearaways. From Newbury that meant the motor was running pretty much flat out for mile after mile, because the old A4 is super wide so there was never an issue of getting stuck behind what little traffic you’d encounter (most of the traffic was on the M4 that had been opened between Maidenhead and Swindon in 1971).
My T140 never complained, no matter how sustained the abuse, but it meant some of the open bends took a bit of concentration to negotiate and it felt like fun. But today I’m sticking to my sedate 60mph limit on the Tiger and the road is nowhere near as twisty as I remember. Still fun, but the delight is that there’s little traffic so it’s a time to savour the Triumph and the scenery.
One section is so straight, I fancy a bit of a diversion and venture off-piste down some cool little back roads, in the process discovering Chilton Foliat, a delightful village nestling in the Marlborough Downs alongside the Kennet river. They’re the kind of roads I never had the time to worry about when I was kid, hell bent on getting home in time to join my mates in the pub. I wish we had time to discover more today. Next time perhaps...
I stop in the market town of Marlborough – not on the main drag, which is full of cars and vans, but off a small side road, just around the corner from Marlborough College (established 1843). It’s rather nice how every time I park up someone descends on me to talk about old bikes.
The last stretch of the A4 that I ride, from Marlborough to Beckhampton roundabout, is the best. Lots of undulating, fast swooping corners. Well, they’d be corners it you were doing 180mph dressed as a Power Ranger on a sportsbike. On the old Triumph it’s just bend-swinging on a super-wide ribbon of road set in a glorious landscape of rolling hills and ancient burial mounds. It’s said that this area is the heart of prehistoric England and
‘WITH LITTLE TRAFFIC IT’S TIME TO SAVOUR THE TRIUMPH AND THE SCENERY’
we’re a stone’s throw from the Neolithic henge monument containing three rings of stones at Avebury and the long barrow at West Kennet. We also pass Silbury Hill, the man-made prehistoric chalk mound whose original purpose is still unknown.
From Beckhampton the A4 turns towards Calne and Chippenham, but I’m heading to home town Devizes along a sixmile stretch of the A361 and it’s straight, narrow and full of traffic. I’d get this done as fast as I could as a kid. The Bonnie used to fly and I could almost taste that first pint of 6X (from Wadworths brewery that’s been in Devizes since 1875). I’ve been off alcohol for the past ten years, so I stay chilled and enjoy the scenery , the quiet hills disturbed by the racket made by the Triumph’s non-standard upswept drag pipes.
There are several long barrows alongside the road on this stretch – and near Devizes the views open out across the hills, with the spire of St Mary the Virgin visible in the village of Bishops Canning, nestling in the Vale of Pewsey.
As I roll into Devizes and pass the Crammer pond, I’m reminded of the legend behind the name of a bike club we started back in 1977 – the Moonrakers MCC. Legend has it that smugglers hid contraband barrels of brandy in the pond from the excise men, then used rakes to retrieve it. One time they were caught red-handed, but told the excise men they were trying to rake out the ‘cheese’ that had fallen in, indicating the reflection of the moon. The excise men, thinking all Wiltshire folk were simpleminded enough to attempt such a foolish act, laughed at them and went on their way, leaving the smugglers to their illicit hoard.
Devizes Market Place was a focal point for my mates and I back in the ’70s. This was the finishing line for countless street races from the ring of outlying village pubs we used to frequent. There used to be a burger van there every night and I’m sure the old boy who ran it used to rub his hands in glee as a dozen of or so of us would arrive and slap in the order for cheeseburgers – foul things, burnt to a crisp, dripping in grease, a bit like the guy who served them. And people bemoan the yellow arches...
Devizes is another famous Wiltshire market town – the first recorded market was in 1228. The marketplace has been remodelled in recent times, but thankfully the fountain and the Ruth Pierce memorial still stand. Devizes had the largest corn market in the West Country and on January 25, 1753, Ruth Pierce of Potterne (a nearby village) agreed with three other women to buy a sack of wheat – each paying a proportion. When the collected money came up short, Pierce was suspected to be the culprit, but when this was put to her she protested that she had paid and said that if she was lying, she wished she might drop down dead. At which point she dropped down dead.
On my arrival there are no bikes in the specially designated ‘motorcycle parking’ bay, but back in our day we’d fill it – it was our special place for trading tall stories about the ride we’d just had and showing scrape marks on sidestand mountings or fresh oil leaks from over-stressed motors.
Today there have been no heroics, no scrapes, no oil leaks even – just a cool, lazy ride in the country on a great little bike. I love how the TR7 is so responsive to any kind of input from me, and that fantastic sound coming out of those pipes. My little One More From the Road ride had been all the more poignant that I was able to do it on my own 1976-reg Tiger.
But such a short haul that I used to do in one go, was made into a long day by the necessity for photo stops. I reckon that even if we had set Freebird playing when we left Medmenham, it would have finished well before the time we rolled into Devizes. And that’s despite the fact, as Patterson Hood of the Drive By Truckers says in Southern Rock Opera: “Freebird is a very... very... long song.’
‘DOING IT ON MY OWN ’76 TIGER MADE THE RIDE MORE POIGNANT’