The life and death of a C11
Following OBM’s recent pieces about BSA C11s and CHG250s, Bob Norman has been inspired to contribute his own experiences.
After delving into my old photo box, I pulled out an image of me and my mate, Jobbo, taken in about 1958. A year earlier I had yearned for a bike. My dad always had bikes, and he used to take us around in his sidecar hauled by a beaten-up Matchless V-twin Model X bike. I was smitten. So when I reached 16, Dad and I went to our local bike dealership and straight away fell in love with the C11G. We signed the various forms, wheeled it out, gave it a kick and it sprang to life. I jumped on the back as Dad took the controls, feeling really good as we chugged along, listening to the wonderful sound of the exhaust. Dad never actually taught me the art of using the clutch lever and throttle. My first attempt involved opening the throttle wide and then dumping the clutch in first gear. The front wheel pawed the air for about 25 yards and I held on for dear life. I was so terrified, but that didn’t stop me from trying again. I did eventually master the art, and I drove the bike with a two-way throttle fully closed or open (I drove mainly with the latter).
Buzzing along to the Busy Bee
A couple of weeks later, Jobbo got his B31 from the same place. Then we would go to the famous Busy Bee cafe, where all the bikers hung out. It was a well-known transport cafe in the day, just north of London and modern in that it had a huge glass front and large car park. Little did they know at the time that the M1 motorway was going to be built and therefore, most of the lorries would bypass it. It lasted for another 10 years, but, before then, me and my mates practically lived there. Now, the problem with Jobbo on a 350 meant I was forever thrashing my 250 to the limit. It’s amazing it lasted 18 months of this treatment. It was so reliable that I can’t remember ever doing any maintenance on it. But one day I recall haring after Jobbo on our way to the Bee when a loud bang informed me that my 250cc bike had given up. The engine literally exploded, leaving little bits all over the road. I was devastated. I dragged what was left of my poor motorised companion to one side and started collecting the bits of crankcase, flywheel, nuts and bolts in a bag. The largest bits were the size of walnuts, only very oily. Jobbo towed me home and when I was finally on my own, I treated myself to a little cry. Not long after having it all repaired, I part exchanged it for a mighty Gold Flash, but that’s another story.
What the well-dressed motorcyclist wore
If it wasn’t for the Second World War, us young motorcyclists would have had a problem. War Department (WD) gear was good and cheap, but it did have its pitfalls. Take boots for instance. Airmen’s furry boots were great for warmth but far from waterproof, and you couldn’t do much walking. I don’t suppose Lancaster bomber crews did much walking. The Army boots were good and strong, with a metal plate under the heel that protected it from the kick starter. The RAF sheepskin jackets were good, but they too had issues with water, plus they tore easily. Goggles, on the other hand, you could buy nice furry ones cheaply, and cheaper still were gas mask goggles. These were bought in a flat pack that contained six in total, some having dark tinting. I ended up with a black leather bomber-type jacket, not of the WD variety. This was made of a new material called PVC. This looked okay but it stunk of chemicals. But at least it was waterproof. I don’t think many leather jackets were on the market then, and the ones that were cost more than anyone could afford. Well, that’s my bit of C11G history done, and for those interested by the way, the G stands for generator!