Velocette tour to Ireland
Two weeks of fishing, camping and motorcycling in Ireland? What could possibly go wrong…
They say that motorcyclists are born and not made. It is certainly true of me. For as long as I can remember, motorcycles have held a fascination for me that persists to this day.
In the late 1950s, it has to be said my parents did not share my enthusiasm for two-wheeled freedom, and it took a great deal of nagging to persuade my father to agree to me having my first mount. It was not however my first choice – a very early Bantam which he considered unfit for my introduction to powered two-wheelers – instead, unbeknown to me, he purchased on my behalf from Pride and Clark a brand-new Mobylette Mobymatic, complete with livid tartan panniers.
I had no option but to endure his choice for nearly two years, until, while working in a London bank, a colleague told me he was looking to sell his Velocette Valiant. At last, the possibility of a proper bike to enjoy. I rode it in the morning for half-an-hour or so before going to catch the train to London and on my return in the evening, out it would come to be ridden again.
This state of affairs lasted about a year, during which time I did not take the best care of the little Velo, and I passed it on, so
I could purchase a brand-new Tiger Cub, my pride and joy, an affection which lasted several years. I used it for my daily commute to the train station dressed suitably for my job in the bank but was eventually forced to admit it was not suited to this purpose and reluctantly sold it to purchase my first car. Obviously, this did not get rid of my ‘bike bug’ and I was never without a mount of some sort.
Although always aware of them, I had never really considered a combination, but it occurred to me one day that one of these would solve a lot of the shortcomings of a solo, such as there would be room for extra clothing in winter conditions and it would, hopefully, be a safer ride. I also discovered that by removing the seating I could lie full length in the chair and so spend nights away tucked up in a snug sleeping bag.
Career change
My first combination was a Velcoette Venom with a child/adult chair that I acquired two weeks before planning a holiday in Southern Ireland. By this time, I had realised a banking career was not for me and was working as a landscape gardener for a local firm. This took me onto many building sites where the ground workers were mostly Irish. I became friendly with a number of them and the pictures they painted of their green and pleasant homeland persuaded me to plan a holiday there, together with my pal David.
We prepared as best we could for a camping, walking and fishing holiday. I bought a tent that could fold into a carrier, as it was made from an old silk parachute. Alas, it proved less than adequate, as when it rained the droplets passed through the material and filled the inside with a dense fog. Also, a stiff breeze would wrench it from its pegs to go floating away, much to the amusement of fellow campers!
David and I set off and made it to Killarney, in the south west corner of Ireland, where we found a most agreeable campsite, and here we were treated very well. The children of the site owner were fascinated by my bike and chair and would spend hours sitting on it and in it. At this time I was told there were no new motorbikes in Southern Ireland because of the very high cost of licensing. It meant that everywhere we went, we would find people examining the machine. One gentleman told me that during the war he had been a dispatch rider, but had never ridden with a sidecar attached. He also expressed a desire to purchase the bike but not the sidecar, telling me I could ride that back home after it was detached!
Our days were spent fishing the river in Killarney; it was full of trout and a few salmon. The big surprise however, was the eels living in the general rubbish caught in the legs of a nearby bridge. Eels of several
pounds weight could be caught on dead bait and provided exhilarating sport, not to mention their excellent eating qualities.
It was the middle of the second week whilst out on the bike that my buddy expressed the desire to have a go at riding it. After explaining the general principles, with special emphasis on the art of left-hand bends, we changed seats, and off we went. The road was miles from anywhere and quite deserted and I soon began to feel confident that David had the hang of things.
Crash
How wrong I was! I suddenly became aware that we were flying, leaves and twigs were sweeping past and I glimpsed the ground 10 or 12 feet below us, it was apparent we had left the road and we crashed through a tree growing in a meadow below the road. A branch knocked me off the bike and the next I remember was coming to a few feet from the upturned sidecar outfit. With difficulty, I righted it, after stopping the still-running engine. But where was David? Then, appearing from behind a large boulder, came a figure, crawling along and dragging his left arm, while mumbling apologies – David.
I walked over to him and it was apparent his shoulder was dislocated. It was lucky that we had got off so lightly, but this was not the case with the bike. The forks were bent and the sidecar was reduced to a smashed wreck. Although still in one piece it would prove to sway alarmingly when under way!
The first priority was to get David to a doctor, who we eventually found in Killarney. He relocated the shoulder and sent him away with a bottle of pills, with strict instructions not to drink alcohol. I am glad to say this did not apply to me, and, somewhat lacking in sympathy, I later went to the pub!
The first pressing priorities having been attended to, we returned to the bike. The mechanics seemed to be fine, but its handling was awful, though we managed to get to Killarney. Here, we found that no garage was willing to attempt repairs, so we faced the prospect of the ride back to Hertfordshire with much apprehension. We decided we had better cut short the holiday to allow for further problems arising on the journey and delaying us even further.
We duly made the trip back okay, despite the swaying sidecar and the handlebars and forks at alarming angles. The conclusion to this sorry tale is that the outfit was beyond repair and was fit only for the scrapheap. There it sadly ended its days, leaving me only a few spare parts fit for reuse.