TALES FROM THE SHED

Frank’s been taken for a ride. Again and again and again…

Frank’s been taken for a ride. Again and again and again. This time he’s been playing hooligan with a sweet 650 twin…

Time passes. It does this at various rates, as you may already be aware. When a chap’s waiting for a clutch puller for a BSA to arrive – part number 61-3766, in case your memory is as clouded as my own enthusiasm – time can drag. A minute can feel like 66 seconds or so. Fans of interstellar distances and Dr Who time travel would of course be unfazed, though I doubt that the good Doctor wasted much time waiting for BSA clutch pullers to magically appear in the TARDIS.

The puller arrives. This is the second puller for the clutch, as the first to dive headlong through the RCHQ litterbox somehow had the wrong thread. At least, it wasn’t the thread inside the clutch. The second, however, had a rather more fine thread than the old one, and indeed screwed somewhat stiffly into the internal thread in the clutch. Delight unbounded, hurrahs several, things like that. I contemplated the clutch. The puller screws into the centre – in fact it was already screwed in, such is the meteoric pace of things in The Shed. And it works by a heroic chap tightening the big bolt in the middle, which acts against the gearbox mainshaft, pulling the clutch from its taper.

At this point, gentle reader, a chap is reminded that applying a spanner to a puller screwed into a clutch centre when that clutch centre is unrestrained by clutch plates – or indeed anything else – will result in the centre spinning merrily around and around while at the same

time declining to undo. This gets boring quite quickly. The answer is to use the special tool which locks the clutch – the same special tool that allows the big centre nut to be undone. This is very easy, very reliable and never fails.

Unless of course, the taper thing is seriously tight. Which it was. It was seriously tight because some enthusiastic previous owner had run the primary side devoid of lubrication – lubricants cool as well as lubricating, as of course you know. However, a chap is not entirely devoid of brute force to match the inevitable ignorance, and that chap – that would be me – applied a touch of the brute force to the puller’s bolt. It came loose at once! Hurrah! The puller fell out of the clutch centre. Its thread had stripped. Boo, boo, and boo more than somewhat.

So I have a pair of pullers. One has the wrong thread, the other has the right thread but that thread is stripped. These things are character building. Now I understand even more than I did previously why BSA owners typically ride almost anything else, while still loving their BSA machines in a manly, heroic and gently doomed kind of way.

Monty is the proprietor of Monty’s Motorcycles. Contain your amazement. Monty has a website, and upon that website he advertises many BSA and Triumph parts – they are very often the same, as we all know by now. He also advertises the inevitable clutch puller. I drop him a mail, enquiring tremulously whether his puller (which is actually for a Triumph) will fit the BSA? It will, he assures me. It is impossible to spot uncontrolled mirth via email. The ethers have much to answer for. I order a Monty clutch puller.

There is only so much drumming the fingers and whistling through clenched teeth that a chap – even a very patient chap – can cope with while waiting for the Post Office wheels to grind their way to delivering that urgent puller. Which is how I discovered that North Cornwall Motorcycles – you can probably guess where they are and what they do – had taken delivery of some of the new Royal Enfield twins. More! They’d registered one as a demo bike. More! They would be curiously delighted if I’d take it out for a gentle spin in the unseasonably warm weather of February. A chap should never disappoint anyone offering him a day out in blissful Cornish sunshine – especially if that someone had filled up the tank and had managed not to look worried as I rattled up and pretended to kick tyres.

Why would anyone kick tyres anyway? Life can be strange.

Here’s a thing. Only once before in the entire time that RC has been in existence has there been more interest in a modern motorcycle than there has been in the RE twins. Strange but true. Although almost all of us ride modern machines as well and more ancient varieties, and although there’s always a lot of RC interest in new retro models, Mash, SWM and the like, that is as nothing to the mighty effect the imminent arrival of a new Royal Enfield twin has produced. And as I am a minor fan of the Bullet in several of its many forms, I was as interested as anyone in the long-rumoured genesis of the RE twin – their first since the last of the original Interceptors bowed out in 1970. I am also a fan of those earlier big twins – the last of the line in particular, although due to age and infirmity and probably a lack of manly monsterness I struggle to start them with any confidence.

Anyway, that aside, there I was, clutching the keys to a shiny new motorcycle. It was a beautiful day. And there was a decent crowd outside the showroom, too, not all of it there to chomp down on a burger or two at the NCMC Kickstart Café, either. Why do I mention this? Because I confess to a certain nervousness when I need to kick up some hi-comp big twin in front of a crowd. Except … there is no kickstart, of course. There is instead only a button. So I press it. Heroically. And the engine is running. This is possibly even more rewarding than watching the skies for the arrival of a third BSA clutch puller.

Do not get overly excited at the appearance of the Interceptor in this Shed tale, however. This is only a quick spin – an hour or possibly two – and a proper full-length feature will appear in the magazine once we’ve had time to have a bike for a week or more. In any case, when opportunity knocks it is a bozo who fails to answer, and there’s only so much enthusiasm I can muster for fettling a 650 twin while the sun is shining ... so why not chase a few smiles aboard... a 650 twin?

First impressions? Not easy, to be honest. I gazed long and hard at the examples on the RE stand at last year’s NEC show, and although they were interesting, I was mostly unimpressed. Even bouncing about on the saddles failed to spark my internal ignition. Unlike the prototype V-twin which RE also displayed, which I thought looked like seriously serious stuff!

Things are different in the Cornish sunshine. Really. This is not a joke. The Interceptor – the genuine actual production machine – feels much neater when sat astride and resting on the tarmac, swinging it between the knees looking for the balance, feeling the poise of the machine. Decades of borrowing bikes to write about has made a habit of this, so although I probably looked a

little deranged as I sat at a standstill with the engine ticking over smoothly and very quietly beneath me, I didn’t care. Balance is easy. The seat height is reckoned to be 31½ inches, which is hardly low slung, and compared to the 28-inch seat on the bike I’d rolled up with it should’ve felt tall. But it does not.

The reason for this is probably that the seat is narrow, which lets the legs fall easily and almost vertically. Only you know whether that suits your own hips and knees, but it was fine for me. The result is that my feet were flat on the ground. Which is not the case with our own 1971 Triumph T100C, despite that boasting a seat height of just 30 inches. Interesting, huh? Or not, of course. Maybe you’d prefer to know the answer to the Wottleitdo Mister? question?

The legal limit plus 50%, possibly, officer. Were a chap to feel so immediately comfortable on a brand new machine that he’d give it a wide throttle, and were he sufficiently mechanically insensitive to ignore the fact that the engine had covered only a couple of hundred miles, then he might discover that it zips up to a suggested 90 or so with great ease. The acceleration is not in the litre-plus superbike class, as you’d surely expect, given that the Interceptor is not in fact a litre-plus superbike. It’s a bike to take to work and to the café and to the seaside and to … ride

anywhere you have an excuse to visit, really. Just like that. No difficulty involved. No stress, no tantrums and no fuss. Also hardly any noise. It is very quiet. Those silencers do their job well – and without looking like something stolen from a skip outside a drainage company, as do some of the silencers fitted to the singles.

I am a fan of the ‘cruiser’ riding position – in other words, I like my knees to be unstressed; I like my back to be decently straight and I like my shoulders to be relaxed. No café racer, me. The Interceptor’s bars are fine, decently upright, while the footrests bend the knees back … but not too far. You will instantly recognise that by taking the riding loads from arms and legs the rider’s mass is largely supported by the rider’s backside, so how did the slim seat perform? Really well. I think. In fact I didn’t notice it while riding, and hadn’t even thought about it until I started writing this. Which is a sign of a good seat.

So there we have an idea of how fast it is – other riders report that it will pull a ton, but only you know whether that’s important. And the riding position is relaxed enough, although only a rather longer acquaintance with the bike will provide a better impression – we hope to get the opportunity decently soon.

Given the engine’s modern engineering and prolonged gestation period, I’d hoped that it

would be good to use. Why‘hoped’? Because so many people have been looking forward to the bike for so long, and although it’s not exactly Made In Britain, the company make great play of the marque’s British heritage – and I’m an optimist. So? It’s a good engine. The way it delivers its power – all 47 notional bhp at 7100rpm – and torque, 52Nm @ 4000rpm, suggests that it should be a happy revver. Which it is. It needs to be, because those figures are rather more modern than ancient. For comparison purposes only, as we say, the Series II Interceptor ground out 52.5bhp @ 6500rpm, and… I can’t find a torque figure anywhere! How unusual. Must try harder.

However, the new twin’s very different. Gone is the long-stroke ohv engine, in comes an sohc with more modernistic architecture and a much shorter stroke. Out go the old Amal fuel drippers, in comes fuel-sipping injection. Chalk, gentle reader, and cheese. As we might hope for – that word again.

The Interceptor boasts six gears, as is so often the modern way, which really is a gear for all reasons. First is low, you’re up into third pretty rapido, and you’ll spend your A-road riding swapping between 4th and 5th – unless you want to press on hard, when it’ll be 3rd and 4th, or cruise in a sane and licence-protecting way, in which case it’ll be 5th and 6th … or simply 6th, which is very flexible. Which is another mild surprise; the engine is very flexible. It doesn’t plonk like a single … but it isn’t a single so why should it?

Although the bike feels very light – and it does – its mass is actually pretty standard for the capacity, and its steering and handling are first class. Do I need to say that twice? No; it really can be flung around. North Cornwall is packed with roads perfect for stretching a

motorcycle a little, and in February they are empty roads too, so I can confirm that I had a wild old time, pressing on and genuinely delighting in what is a decently complete and self-complimenting package.

Ground clearance? Fine. Tyre grip? Fine. Brakes? Fine. I’d prefer twin discs, but mainly because they look better. These have ABS and all the freedom to anchor hard on a loose surface that goes with it.

So it’s a pretty good motorcycle. It is in fact exactly what RC readers have been asking for since we started out fifteen years ago! It is also cheap, so reasons to consider one over, say, a Bonneville or a middleweight Japanese twin are many. The cheapness does insist that it has few frills … and I’ll save my thoughts on that until a later date. Meanwhile… I had a great time. And as soon as I can arrange one for a week or so I shall – and I’ll expect to have a great time again.

Returning to reality in The Shed, I discovered that Mr Postman had delivered the Monty Puller, as it shall henceforth be known. I applied the puller to the clutch. It screwed in easily, suggesting to my skilled eye that its thread was correct, and when I applied the spanner to the puller’s bolt the clutch popped off its taper. Ask yourself why it takes three attempts to acquire the correct, functional puller to do a simple job like this. There is no pleasant answer.

Postie next delivered a triplex primary chain, sundry washers and a nice set of cap-head screws for the primary chaincase. He also produced the odd bits and fittings necessary for me to return the chain’s adjuster mechanism back to the form suggested by the manual’s diagram. The adjuster on the bike fell to pieces while I was pulling off the clutch and the engine sprocket – as the chain is endless, rather like searching for spares, it all comes apart as one.

So then, that’s quite enough excitement for one month. And the wallet has taken the traditional pounding, so I need to wait a little while to save up to buy a set of clutch plates and… and… an alternator. This will not be entirely cheap, sadly. Meanwhile consider the clutch plates. Some specialists list plates which they claim to be thinner than the original BSA items. They would not say that were it not accurate – there would be no point to that. But cast your mind back and recall that one of the oddities of this clutch was that two plates had fallen off the back of the clutch centre and were jammed between the centre and the basket. Would this be possible with the original thicker plates? If so, was replacing the plates the reason why the clutch was to terminally roasted? I really don’t fancy buying three sets of plates before finding the ones which work…

Oh look, a café outside a bike shop. What a great idea. Another great idea is an Ariel Square Four, perfect for riding to a café on a sunny day

This is a Lucas alternator stator. It is completely ruined. New ones are not entirely free, of course

Clutch plates, as removed from the BSA. Observe how they are hardly identical and that the friction material has largely vanished. Brutally powerful, these BSA twins Observe the wear here. These plates have not enjoyed a quiet life. Was it a drag racer? We should be told!

let down only by a gearbox with The earlier Interceptor engine. A large device curiously awkward ratios… The new twin, gently exploded to provide clarity By way of a change, here’s a fully functional 650 twin. It’s a 650 and it’s a twin, otherwise it has little in common with Frank’s BSA

RCHQ is blissfully close to the Rebel Cinema, which provides hours of (mostly) harmless entertainment. The unfamiliar motorcycle is the new Royal Enfield Interceptor. Do not confuse it with Frank’s BSA

The last of the ancient Interceptors. Glamour photo too, please do not be offended

What’s within: a neat crank, a balance shaft and rather a lot of valves

An interesting engine, isn’t it? Although it’s an 8-valve ohc design it manages to be physically much smaller than the last RE to bear the name Interceptor

It’s certainly shiny enough, and even the oil cooler is decently unobtrusive

What the rider sees

Simple. Neat. Good fun, too

The correct puller did its job. The others … less so It all comes off in a set, as the chain is endless. Also entirely worn out…

Finally! Finally the primary drive is out. Now for the expensive bit: replacing the clutch plates and the alternator stator

NCMC had received ten new RE twins. They had one left by the time Frank dropped by. No wonder Mike is smiling!

RC readers get everywhere! Mick had already ridden NCMC’s demonstrator and was deep in thought about trading in his somewhat personalised RE single…