NORTON MODEL 18 22
Everybody knows the famous ES2, Norton’s handsome ohv single. Fewer folk are aware of the Model 18, its workaday stablemate. Frank Westworth encounters an old friend…
Everybody knows the famous ES2, Norton’s handsome ohv single. Fewer folk are aware of the Model 18, its workaday stablemate. Frank Westworth encounters an old friend…
It’s funny how things turn out, don’t you agree? There I’ve been, chattering away about the strange dilemmas which can infect the most resilient of us: such as whether to buy back a bike you sold off a while ago to finance something else. Chatter chatter chatter. The previous pre-owned machine was the Harris T140 Bonneville we featured on the cover a couple of months back. I decided against it. Not sure why.
One of the more amusing aspects of increasing decrepitude is that I tend to remember only positive events and their backgrounds. So I remember vividly the good times when justifying my recent acquisition of a machine similar to but different from two other machines of the same marque and model which I’d sold earlier. A long time earlier, in fact; both times to resolve a temporary liquidity crisis. I still can’t recall many bad memories of those previous ownerships – but lots of good ones.
However, that is not the same process as the one we wander through when an actual machine from our past reappears. It happened again, twice, in the last month or two. First, the Norton Commander which I bought new in 1992 or so reappeared. I enjoyed lots and lots of epic rides on that machine, but remember why I decided to sell it. It was simply too tall and bulky for comfort.
Almost immediately, a very nice man (official) remarked that he’d been offered a scruffy but sound Norton Model 18, and… hang on. Didn’t I have one, and didn’t…
It was the same machine. I stared at it, admiringly. Few old bikes are as handsome as a Norton 18, in my view. Although the ES2 is the more famous (and more famously priced, of course), the 18 is unafflicted by The Curse Of The Plungers, whereby an otherwise sane motorcycle factory decide to ruin the lines of their handsome rigid-framed motorcycle by chopping its rear chainstays and bending their tubes to carry a pair of cast-iron carbuncles containing a set of springs. This is a seriously feeble way of providing rear suspension, and I am not a fan of it. It also looks clumsy.
But the Model 18! Handsome or what? I stared. We discussed terms financial. They were acceptable. I wondered whether it ran. Of course it did. Time to rephrase my question: I wondered whether I could start it. My lack of success and confidence in the kicking department was the reason I sold it last time. A closer examination of the machine revealed that it was wearing a brand-new remote-float Amal 276 carb rather than the Concentric which had done fuellish things back then. It also boasted a receipt for a magneto rebuild. I was encouraged.
First kick. A simple routine involving the valve lifter. Stopped the engine and restarted it a couple of times. Easy. I bought it back. Which sounds simple, but I do have several grim memories of several grim occasions when a bike which started with the ease of perfection when I looked at it simply refused to start after it landed in The Shed. I believe this has something to do with trepidation, whoever she was.
Right. That’s the personal anecdote stuff done. What’s the bike like? In fact – what is it?
The history – of both the model and this particular machine – is easy enough
to relate, because Rowena wrote all about it in RC90, and although few of us have memories sufficiently effective to remember all that far back, I’m not a great fan of repetition. However! It’s a 1948 Norton Model 18, which as you know is a 500cc ohv single engine of considerable charm slotted into a rigid frame of considerable ability. So far so good? Excellent.
Another feature of this machine which appealed to us – Rowena and I – in the first place was its history, of which we have lots. It was rebuilt by one Derek Munton, who acquired the bike in the distant way-back as that fabled box of bits and built it. Time was, gentle reader, that a bike built up from a box of bits was viewed by riders as being perfect for actually riding, rather than for restoring or indeed for treasuring as some kind of historical artefact. I’ve always been a little bit confused by this, really, although I’ve sold several bikes almost entirely because I felt that they were simply too shiny or too rare amazingly low mileage for me to feel comfortable riding them. It might sound a little crackers to you, gentle reader, but we still have at least a couple of bikes which I don’t want to ride because it would somehow reduce their value. Not their financial value, but their low mileage and rarity just make me uncomfortable. Choosing to thrash about on a genuinely original piece of history, wearing it out and replacing worn-out bits with modern pattern items seems a little selfish when alternatives are available.
No such problems with this rather handsome Norton. Not at all. For a start, it’s not powered by its original engine, but by an ES2 unit from approximately the same year – early 1948 rather than late 1948 like the frame. And before you get excited (steady now…) I can reveal that the only difference between a workaday Model 18 engine and the super-sports ES2 engine is … the number stamped on the drive-side crankcase. Please do not write in and shout at me, because…
At one time we took the little RC silver van to lots of events, and at a long-ago Kempton Park jumble an otherwise apparently sane individual approached me and demanded that I correct Rowena about her assertion that ES2 and Model 18 engines are the same. He was loudly outraged about this. Really. This is always a little puzzling. He spoke loudly and at great length about how important it was for reference works like Realclassic to be accurate. I agreed. ‘A journal of record!’ he thundered in an imperious way. I confirmed that in fact the engines are the same – that Rowena was correct. He was more outraged. I feared he would suffer an embolism right there on the stand, but no. He simply knew he was right and that the engines are different. I suggested that he consult firstly the 1948
brochure, which says the only difference between the two models was the sprung frame on the ES2, and if that failed to satisfy his insanity then he could read the parts lists, which show that all the components of the two engines are the same. His outrage continued. I may have been rude to him. Memory can be pleasantly vague.
So, here we have a super-sporting ES2 engine powering the plainly pedestrian Model 18. In fact, what we have is a seriously spritely engine. You know how some motors appear to be keen, somehow? This is one of those. It gives the impression that it actually wants to get up a bit and go a bit. Not all engines are like this. It’s a great reminder of the way decently designed engines could work in those bad old days before fuel injection, catalysts, liquid cooling, air filters and silencers. This engine may only lay claim to a relaxed 21bhp at a possibly stirring 5000rpm, but it gives the impression that they are lively horses, keen horses. By modern standards, of course, they are quite loud horses, but hey; silence need not be entirely golden in the odd world of the old-bike rider.
By joyous coincidence, the engine’s performance parameters match the bicycle’s ability and indeed agility pretty much perfectly. They truly do suit each other, making for an oddly harmonious riding experience. Unlike, for apposite example, the AJS Model 16 over which I’ve been tearing my hair for what seems like years. In that machine, the engine seriously underperforms the bicycle, not least because the bicycle bits were designed to be capable of accepting 745cc of Atlas power. It steers fine and handles well, but keen and enthusiastic it is not. Not yet.
But as usual I’m getting ahead of myself. I know that you’re desperate to discover the engine’s technical specs, or something. It’s a long-stroke (100mm, the classic Norton single dimension) design, with a bore of 79mm to provide 490cc. There are a pair of overhead valves, operated by long, long pushrods, themselves prodded into activity by a pair of cams tucked neatly away inside the once familiar Norton timing chest. Both barrel and head are beautifully cast in iron, with the valves hidden modestly away inside an alloy rocker box.
I’ve already mentioned the excellent new carb and refurbished magneto, but failed to reveal that the dynamo so far fails to charge the battery. Oh well. The bike doesn’t need an MOT and I never ride at night by choice, so I’ll just ignore the low-tension side of things. Less tension that way.
Up front we are confronted by a pair of early ‘long’ Roadholder forks, and they work rather well. It’s possibly amusing to observe that although the AJS I mentioned earlier also boasts Norton Roadholder forks, they are nothing like as sproingy as those fitted to the Norton. This probably means that the Norton’s forks are totally worn out, though there’s no slop and the ride is actually very good.
Brakes? It has some. The rear is decent. The front is of the optimistic variety, and rewards – nay, encourages – forward planning. Lots of engine braking; long-stroke singles are very good for this.
As I’ve already revealed, the main reason I sold this bike before was that I had trouble starting it. Rowena, of course, had no such qualms or problems, being of sterner stuff
and youthful, so she wrote up the bike in RC90. Starting now, with keen and enthusiastic sparks and fuel supply, is excellent.
Rituals help with old long-stroke singles, so it’s fuel on. Half-choke unless it’s really cold outside, baby. Tickle until you can smell the fuel (which is just before you see it, which is too late) and then whiz the engine over a couple of time by employing fine co-ordination skills involving the kickstart and decompressor. And then, finally, let go the valve lifter, find compression, ease the engine over it and kick. Firmly. Long and swinging. Donk donk donk … every time. Almost every time.
Tickover so far has always been steady, slow and oddly comforting. The exhaust is clean of smoke, the engine clean of oil dribbles, and I’m clean out of excuses for delaying the riding bit.
Off the centre stand. And yes, when Derek Munton originally built the bike he opted for a good solid 1940s centrestand rather than the rear stand with which the bike was probably burdened from new. There’s nothing wrong with rear stands, not really, although speaking personally I’m way out of practice with them so get nervous when using them. The centrestand requires a certain amount of muscular effort, but hey; no pain, no gain, correct?
The Norton is tiny. It feels tiny too. The saddle is low, and bouncy with it, which is always a good thing with a rigid frame. You can chuck the bike about between your knees with your hands off the bar, should you wish to. It really is a fine reminder of how much entertainment and easy riding is available with a relatively small collection of horses leading the charge.
The clutch is very light, which brings us to the only truly comedic part of the 1940s Norton experience: selecting gears.
Take a look at the photos. The gear lever is a thing of wonder, as in fact is the selector side of the gearbox and its early positivestop mechanism. It was plainly a hurried development of the pre-war hand-shift devices, and is a peculiarly awkward bit of a fix. The lever is mounted high up in the box and is really rather long, making for a lot of travel before gears are changed – or indeed selected in the case of first gear. I have some familiarity with these gearboxes, mainly on WD 16H sidevalvers,
which typically used an earlier version of this box, and was only a tiny bit surprised at how easily I slipped back into that old 1970s habit of engaging first gear with the heel of my right foot rather than the toe. It may cause amusement among onlookers, but it works. First engages reasonably smoothly, and it’s time to feed out the clutch.
Once again, the bike promptly reminded me that when we last owned it, first gear was an enigma. It would select, then disengage itself as soon as power was applied. You could hold it in place and pull away with your right foot holding the pedal up, but that is undignified and could even do bad things to the gearbox. So we would pull away in second, which is easy, if a little less than brisk, second being a decent bit of a taller gear than first.
Possibly because of divine intervention by a Noted Expert, the gearbox now both selects and holds onto first gear. Apart from the flailing foot technique involved in gear selection, the box is remarkably normal. Gears select easily and cleanly and it doesn’t take too much practice to avoid the neutrals which Norton generously provided between each of the ratios. But it does take a little practice, making for comedy over-revving and the occasional panicky crunch as the earnest rider finally finds another gear. By which time it is entirely possible that so much forward progress has been lost in the flailing-about bit that changing up was pointless anyway. It is all very entertaining. As with other bikes of the period, the secret lies in forward planning. Forget racing shifts.
Do you remember those days when learning how a bike wanted to work took more than just five minutes figuring out how the digital informatics function? It is peculiarly involving, and rewarding too. How long is it since bikes were produced aboard which it was a challenge to move smoothly up and down the box without a slip nor two?
Apart from Jawas, of course, who maintain this unusual delight with obvious pride.
Enough of this. How’s the actual riding experience? It’s a hoot. Despite weighing in at a surprising 375lb or so, the Norton feels lighter than a modern 125. Cornering is a complete delight. The engine and its gearbox are completely matched, so you need to be pretty incompetent to be in the wrong gear for any normal circumstance, and it really is
remarkable how rapidly a chap regains familiarity with the noble art of employing engine braking unless a sudden stop is demanded. Try to avoid those moments. Consider your laundry bills. The brakes are of the gentle variety, as was the way in those days of wooden setts for urban road surfaces. Think sideslip and proceed with caution. You should soon get used to it.
But the steering! The roadholding! Throwing the plot about a bit never gets old on a bike like this.
A sensible cruising speed is probably best held in the mid-50s, at which velocities a chap can learn and understand all about the flowing riding style that fast lads (and the rest of us, probably) employed, making smooth progress by accelerating only hard enough to maintain normal progress and braking only when really necessary. Conservation of momentum is key. You can corner until the wide rubber rests touch down their steel endplates, too; the handling is excellent. So plan your corners and maintain velocity. Use the engine. Use the gears. Use the torque. Slip not the clutch.
For years Norton persisted with using a final drive chain which was less wide than just about anyone else’s. I’ve no idea why they did this, but in all honesty modern mileages (mine at least) are so low that it’s no longer the irritation it was when we were younger. Chains have an easy life on rigid machines, anyway, with none of that modernist swinging arm nonsense to alter your carefully set tension.
This is all sounding too good to be true, isn’t it? Snags? Although the engine is smooth, smoothness is a relative thing. Although the engine is lively, the motorcycle is not fast. By an indicated 60 it feels seriously unhappy – a 50mph cruise is realistic. On main roads you would be overtaken by everything else, pretty much, which for many people (myself included) would rule out a bike like this for journeys of any length. It was not always thus.
I have never managed to keep a dynamo lighting system working for long, and this one doesn’t work at all. Not needing an MOT is of course a good thing. But that’s it, pretty much. Learn to live with the remarkable gearchange (or change the gearbox – later items can be made to fit) and the relaxed brakes (or change them – a Commando fullwidth 2ls hub will slot almost straight in), and you will understand the reasons why these were such popular machines for so long.
And yes, of course the fuel tank should be chromed.
I only really suffered a momentary lapse of reason while considering owning this Norton for the second time, and that was basically the reasoning that I needed another motorcycle like that proverbial cranial cavity. Until I took it out again, when smiling set in. Serious smiling. It’s that kind of bike. I have previously sold many machines that were simply too good for me; too original, too shiny, too rare… This is none of those things. It’s hardly original; the frame has been rusty before it was painted; lots of the fittings are stainless and custom-made, and several of the parts had never been on the same motorcycle before this one was built up. I like that. What others might see as minuses, I see as a big plus. It’s entirely usable. It can go out in the rain and the salt as it blows in from the ocean. When either of us comes back from a ride we have a big silly smile wrapped across our features.
Who could ask for more?