NORTON ES400 ELECTRA
Honda were building middleweight models with indicators and electric starters – why couldn’t Norton do the same? They did, in fact. Rowena Hoseason tells the tale
Honda were building middleweight models with indicators and electric starters – why couldn’t Norton do the same? They did, in fact. Rowena Hoseason tells the tale
My dream bike is a top quality, small capacity roadster. Not a budget bike, built down to a price, but a high-spec well-equipped allrounder. A proper motorcycle, one which is simply smaller in every respect than the brawny great barges which purport to be middleweights these days. I want all mod cons but in miniature: a compact machine which is easy to manoeuvre, has plenty of performance and can cope with crowded roads, and which is ready to rev at the push of a button. Oddly enough, Norton made just that motorcycle…
…almost 60 years ago. We can thank Joe Berliner for coming up with the concept. The US importer was struggling to sell Norton’s lightweight twins to his sophisticated customers. The average American wasn’t keen on kickstarting his mo’sickle so bought Honda’s Superhawk instead of Norton’s Jubilee or Navigator. In the marketplace that really mattered, the 305cc CB77 wowed well-heeled customers with 28bhp and an electric start from day one. That left Berliner struggling to sell a pair of lightweights which had been developed for a significantly different economic and social situation.
Cast your mind back to the mid-1950s. AMC owned AJS, Matchless, James, Francis-barnett and Norton, giving the company a complicated portfolio of competing and conflicting models – but also providing the potential to challenge the established dominance of BSA and Triumph in the home market. At that time in the UK, roughly 25% of all people who held a licence were motorcyclists as well as drivers. The Mini had not yet seduced trendy youth onto four wheels, and bike sales were booming. Motorcycles were still multi-purpose machines: practical transport for all ages, a lifestyle and leisure pursuit in a single package. Yet the times they were a-changing: the 250cc capacity restriction for learner riders loomed large on the horizon and America was already enjoying its consumer revolution.
With this in mind, it seems that AMC had a cunning plan. This involved
Although the Norton light twins are almost never compared favourably with their Triumph equivalents (the 3TA and 5TA), in fact the engineering is much more modern, not least because it was a clean sheet design rather than a 1950s upgrade of a 1930s original. It’s a clever and compact design, with a slim central flywheel keeping the width down and with very short pushrods splayed at a wide angle to keep the height down. Note also the lack of external top end fasteners and oil lines.
In common with AJS and Matchless twins, the cylinder heads are separate, and use eccentric spindles to adjust the valves. Wide joint surface areas mean that they shouldn’t leak, while the rocker supports are cast into the rockers to the covers are under no loads – plainly someone had understood how popular leaks aren’t. Pushrod tubes? Cast into the barrels, sir. Triumph never managed that…
The Electra was the first Norton to be fitted with a 6-start oil pump. The heavyweight twins had to wait for improved oiling.
The gearbox works as well as the bigger twins’ separate boxes, although they need their oil levels kept high to avoid wear, and do not share their oil with the engine.
Oh yes: there’s an electric starter, which is simple and robust, if occasionally temperamental. Take that, Triumph!
developing parallel product lines across their many marques, while modernising the horribly outdated manufacturing facilities they’d inherited. Yes, hallowed Bracebridge Street might’ve been home to generations of skilled artisans, but it was poorly equipped for modern mass production. Steering towards the brave new world of the 1960s, AMC would field affordable, utility two-strokes from their minor marques alongside four-stroke 250 and 350 singles from AJS and Matchless. That dealt with the ‘under 500’ side of BSA’S catalogue, so that the prestigious Norton marque could go head to head with Triumph’s new 3TA twin and possibly steal a march in the new 250 learner niche.
This strategy brought about the arrival of two new Norton twins, the 250 Jubilee and the 350 Navigator. It also meant that Norton’s own high-cam 250 single-cylinder prototype was shelved – a shame, because it performed well in early tests and certainly looked striking, with its widely splayed pushrod tubes (you might still be able to see it on display in the Miller Museum).
At its launch, the Jubilee was described by Norton as ‘a new conception from stem to stem, embodying the most modern trends in protective styling and practical design. Undoubtedly the most advanced motorcycle of the day.’
That description stretched the truth a tiny bit. The Jubilee’s novel unit-construction engine was combined with existing gearbox internals, chassis and running gear borrowed from other bikes in the AMC stable. Its lightweight front forks, pressed steel and tube frame, scrawny 6” stoppers and weedy Wico-pacy electrics were inevitably better suited to a svelte F-B or James two-stroke, because that’s where they started life. The Jubilee’s steering and stopping were never exactly exemplary, and the 250 engine itself wasn’t robust enough to cope with the negligent demands of teenage owners.
Most of the Jubilee’s flaws were addressed with the 349cc Navigator, introduced for 1961 and the very first Norton to be built on AMC’S Plumstead production line. At the second attempt, Norton built a decidedly fine lightweight four-stroke twin. The frame was strengthened, Roadholder forks arrived with a full-width hub and 8-inch brake, and power rose to 22bhp while the revs required to extract that fell a touch to 7000rpm. The Navigator weighed only a few pounds more than its 250 sibling, and is altogether a more substantial machine – a serious motorcycle, in fact.
‘Ideal for fast, comfortable touring’ said Norton of the Navigator. ‘There’s nothing quite like it on the British market’ agreed Motor Cycling: ‘The low centre of gravity and light overall weight combined with
other factors like wheelbase and fork geometry allowed it to be flung into any sort of bend.’the brochure suggested that the 350 was a ‘smooth, tireless worker.’
However, that didn’t actually help Joe Berliner, back in the US of A, whose showrooms were stacked with kickstart twins which were selling like cold cakes. He also wanted to close the performance gap between the 350 Navigator and the 305 Superhawk; the smaller capacity ohc machine was genuinely capable of breaking the ton, giving it a 20mph advantage over the larger ohv Britbike.
So Berliner presented the AMC board with a pair of electric-start prototype 400s, bored and stroked to 397cc, and he dangled an order for 3000 units to sweeten the deal. Given that incentive, AMC put the ES400 into production – although the Navigator’s stroke of 56mm was retained so the Electra had to settle for 384cc. The oversquare engine is similar to the Navigator’s but few of the internals are interchangeable – the crankcase is different, for instance, and the crank itself balanced for the Electra’s heavier pistons.
The result was 25bhp, still short of the CB77’S output but with max power available at just 6800rpm rather than the Honda’s 9000 revs. The Electra was also uprated with the 7-inch fullhub rear brake used by the heavy Dominator twins, bar-end indicators and – the vital component – a Lucas M3 starter unit squeezed atop the gearbox under the carb, transmitting its drive to the crank by chain. This is the same four-brush unit found on the Triumph Tigress and Sunbeam scooters and Velocette’s Viceroy, then later on Triumph 750s and other selfstarting superbikes.
On the later machines, which were physically much bigger, it wasn’t too tricky to fit a big battery that would provide the starter with enough amps. The Viceroy used two 6V batteries in series, hidden under its bulbous bodywork. We might observe that the Viceroy was far from successful and its poor sales were attributed to its weight and price. Perhaps someone at AMC might’ve learned from that lesson…
Like the Velo, the ES400 used two 6V accumulators, and these were never really vigorous enough to provoke the powerplant
from cold. If the Norton’s engine was warm then a flick of the switch was more than sufficient. ‘But it was hard to spin the crankshaft fast enough for reliable starting when the ES400 had just spent a night in the open,’ reported David Dixon in The Blue ’Un. ‘The best drill was to use the kickstarter initially and press the button for subsequent starts.’
Modern batteries easily overcome this impediment, but in 1963 the American audience was less than impressed. The Electra cost as much as most heavyweight twins, and its audience had already been introduced to the delights of an advanced, clean-sheet design – one with predictable push-button starting. Berliner couldn’t take the whole production run as anticipated and the unsold bikes were marketed in the UK in late ’63 for £291. Not only was this considerably more expensive than Triumph’s 350s (£30 more than a 3TA) but you could actually buy a Tiger 500 for that much money. Predictably, the British roadtesters were impressed by the ES400 but the buying public couldn’t really see the point.
The Electra’s power delivery, for instance, is efficient rather than exciting; bottom end acceleration was rated as ‘good without being startling.’ The first three gear ratios are slightly higher than on the Navigator, so to make rewarding progress you need to hang onto second and third rather longer than might feel comfortable to many riders familiar with traditional Brit bikes. It’s nothing like as dramatic as riding the cammy Superhawk, of course, but to transition from ‘smooth’ to ‘sprightly’ on the Norton you’ll need to push 40mph in second gear, and nudge 55 before changing up into top. Pressing on certainly consumes more juice; you’ll get around 150 miles to the three-gallon tankful of petrol with ‘sprightly’ riding. There was no reserve on the original fuel tap so early refuelling stops would be in order.
The gearchange configuration is pure old-school: one up and three
down. Gear changes under acceleration are smooth enough, but to go cleanly down the box you need cracking hand / foot coordination to blip the throttle at exactly the right moment. The clutch is lovely and light, but you’d be well advised to free it off each morning before attempting to start the engine, and if you’re used to slim British twins then it’s easy to bump your left leg against the sleek bulge on the primary drive side.
The indicator switch is clumsily positioned next to the throttle, so you have to drop the throttle to faff with the winkers. The starter button – which you don’t need to use on the move – is positioned on the other handlebar, a more logical place for the indicator switch. Things we now take for granted obviously weren’t obvious when these newfangled devices were introduced. And to be fair, BMW obstinately kept an indicator switch next to the throttle for decades, forcing owners to develop un-naturally flexible thumb joints…
If there’s one aspect you’d assume that Norton might get right it would be steering – and happily here the Electra entirely lived up to expectations. ‘Absence of top hamper contributes to effortless handling,’ said The Motor Cycle, ‘and the ES400 could be placed almost to a hair and cornered with utter confidence.’
The additional mass of the starter motor wasn’t noticeable in the saddle and the ES400 retains the Navigator’s confidence-boosting low c-of-g. Pushing the bike on B-roads would soon chamfer the footrest rubbers, and a keen rider could easily scrape the centrestand and footrest hangers. ‘Stability on slippery surfaces was remarkable.’
When new, the Roadholder front forks felt pretty stiff – they were originally specified for a machine which weighed 50lb more, of course. Softer springs were specified for the lightweights (see sidebar) but the result could still be jarringly solid. The forks soaked up road shocks at high speeds and kept the front end firmly planted, but the standard Girling shocks at the back were rather softer. This meant that the rear end could squirm through rapid, rippled corners.
You might also expect a machine equipped with Norton’s big brakes to stop on a sixpence, but both of the Electra’s drums ‘lacked bite’ back in the day and turned in some distinctly unimpressive stopping distances. Yet a full size 500 Dominator, which weighed 50lb more than the Electra and was also equipped with the same stoppers, came to a halt from 30mph in just 27ft… while the lighter 400 twin took 38ft to similarly decelerate.
This demonstrates the potential performance variation between individual brakes – it’s all down to how well the sls drum is set up. It may also reflect how carefully the factory prepared the flagship Dominator before passing it to the gentlemen of the press, and how they weren’t quite as dedicated in similarly ensuring that the ES400 was at the top of its game…
Although the Electra and Navigator are undoubtedly more robust than the 250 Jubilee, they’re not entirely owner-proof. Or as Norton so nicely explained in the owner’s manual: ‘Although of simple design and construction, this motorcycle is nevertheless a highly specialised piece of engineering and must in consequence be intelligently and efficiently maintained in order to provide unfailing reliability.’ Quite.
When you encounter an Electra in the metal it’s immediately obvious that this was meant to be a man-size machine. The riding position isn’t ‘compact’ (to use journo jargon) or cramped (which is how that concept typically translates to real life). There’s ample accommodation to expand to your full height thanks to wide bars with a sizeable rise. This isn’t a bike where you tuck in and merge with the machine, like a café-racing sportster. Instead you sit on the flat saddle, slightly elevated above the action – exactly like a good old-fashioned British all-rounder.
But here’s the thing. While the Electra’s steering, stopping and cog-swapping are exactly like an old British bike, the motor – the heart of any machine – feels much more modern. No big flywheels, not much low-down grunt. It’s cheerfully willing to rev but the rider has to be prepared to give it some stick to make rapid progress. To me, this feels curiously familiar – I owned a Douglas Dragonfly for many years, and that square-dimensioned 350 twin also needed lots of throttle to engage its enthusiasm.
And this brings us to the Electra’s peculiar personality disorder, its intrinsic dichotomy. Despite its tidy unit construction engine and electric starter, the Electra wasn’t a great technological leap forward. It didn’t propel motorcycle engineering into a new era. It did exactly what the British automotive industry has always been good at: refined existing concepts, developed proven ideas and bolted a range of tried-and-tested components together to produce something that was remarkably pretty good, given its impromptu origins. As Don Morley – one of the lightweight’s harshest critics – commented, the
Electra was ‘a very nice package.’
The Motor Cycle went further. ‘The ES400 provides a lot of fun and is certain of an enthusiastic following among those who want a 350 – with the plus of more power and luxury.’
Exactly. Not that the American market of the early 1960s appreciated it. They’d already adapted to reliable electric starting on a Honda – which weighed a little less than the Norton and had a few more horses in its stable. In the UK, learners couldn’t ride an ES400… and once they’d passed their tests they were so easily seduced by the siren call of a 650 sportster. The Electra was left high and dry for many decades.
Yet the Electra’s overlooked attributes mean that the ES400 is almost my ideal motorcycle, as described at the start of this story. It’s the luxury lightweight which is sadly absent from modern motorcycle brochures. Ample get-up-and-go combined with a high specification on a full-size platform. And who can resist the charm of the bar-end indicators? Not me, that’s for sure.