5. Rob's Mk.VIII KTT
Coincidentally, mentioned in the bit about the Model go (previous page) is my wanted ad about looking for a vintage sportster. Among the replies was a chap local to me in Lincolnshire, with a KTT Velocette. Well, this was above and beyond my hopes and expectations ... And price limit. Anyway, I subsequently bought the KTT later on ( a long story, involving family loans, mainly from my aunt) but the vendor, Rob Drury, and I became friends, and still are.
A year or two after we'd bought the Mk.I KTT ( a truly fine machine) Rob called and said: "Do you fancy riding my prewar Mk.VIII at Dijon?" Er, yes, please! So we put in place a plan and off we trotted to France; Rob, another guy, John Goodhall, and yours truly, all in Rob's van, with three Mk.VIII KTTs (Rob had another and
John had one too) and Rob's KTT-engined Beasley Velo, for good measure.
To me, a Mk.VIII KTT represents the pinnacle of
'TT' -type 1930s race machines, a marvel of machinery and a thing of beauty. To have the opportunity to be entrusted with one; I was flattered and a little bit apprehensive. Especially as by the time I was sat on the Mk.VIII, ready to go back on track, the sum total I'd ridden it was up the pit lane.
Thing was, even by that little distance, I knew I'd be alright. In fact I was pretty happy. It was so wonderfully easy to ride; just, essentially, like a Venom. Even the petrol tank was the same. It seemingly had no ill traits.
Anyway, we sat in the holding area, Rob, John and I. It was John's first time out on his new Mk.VIIItoo. Rob (who'd raced his Velos and also a Manx for some years) was in charge. "Right. We'll let everyone go first, then we'll just have a gentle ride round, I'll show you the lines, follow me .. :'
So we sat and let the pitlane clear. Then Rob set off. Like a scalded cat. By the time we'd got to the first corner, we'd already caught half the mixed bag of pre-1940 machines out there, whereupon he just took a wide line around the sweeping corner, and sailed around the unpredictable, sprawling field, overtaking them all. Not for me, I thought, while I think John felt the same and we circulated somewhat more circumspectly.
Still, I started to find my own groove, becoming more accustomed to the frankly utterly charming Velo, which was a racer seemingly devoid of bad manners. What a lovely bike to ride.