HomeInformation motorcycling heroes

Lawrence of Arabia - John Surtees Agostini and Phil Read Phil Vincent Kurt Donath Frank Gennari

T. E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia)

 

"THE ROAD" By T E Lawrence

The extravagance in which my surplus emotion expressed itself lay on the road. So long as roads were tarred blue and straight; not hedged; and empty and dry, so long I was rich. Nightly I'd run up from the hangar, upon the last stroke of work, spurring my tired feet to be nimble. The very movement refreshed them, after the day-long restraint of service. In five minutes my bed would be down, ready for the night: in four more I was in breeches and puttees, pulling on my gauntlets as I walked over to my bike, which lived in a garage-hut, opposite. Its tyres never wanted air, its engine had a habit of starting at second kick: a good habit, for only by frantic plunges upon the starting pedal could my puny weight force the engine over the seven atmospheres of its compression.

Boanerges' first glad roar at being alive again nightly jarred the huts of Cadet College into life. 'There he goes, the noisy bugger,' someone would say enviously in every flight. It is part of an airman's profession to be knowing with engines: and a thoroughbred engine is our undying satisfaction. The camp wore the virtue of my Brough like a flower in its cap. Tonight Tug and Dusty came to the step of our hut to see me off. 'Running down to Smoke, perhaps?' jeered Dusty; hitting at my regular game of London and back for tea on fine Wednesday afternoons.

Boa is a top-gear machine, as sweet in that as most single-cylinders in middle. I chug lordlily past the guard-room and through the speed limit at no more than sixteen. Round the bend, past the farm, and the way straightens. Now for it. The engine's final development is fifty-two horse-power. A miracle that all this docile strength waits behind one tiny lever for the pleasure of my hand.

Another bend: and I have the honour of one of England' straightest and fastest roads. The burble of my exhaust unwound like a long cord behind me. Soon my speed snapped it, and I heard only the cry of the wind which my battering head split and fended aside. The cry rose with my speed to a shriek: while the air's coldness streamed like two jets of iced water into my dissolving eyes. I screwed them to slits, and focused my sight two hundred yards ahead of me on the empty mosaic of the tar's gravelled undulations.

Like arrows the tiny flies pricked my cheeks: and sometimes a heavier body, some house-fly or beetle, would crash into face or lips like a spent bullet. A glance at the speedometer: seventy-eight. Boanerges is warming up. I pull the throttle right open, on the top of the slope, and we swoop flying across the dip, and up-down up-down the switchback beyond: the weighty machine launching itself like a projectile with a whirr of wheels into the air at the take-off of each rise, to land lurchingly with such a snatch of the driving chain as jerks my spine like a rictus.

Once we so fled across the evening light, with the yellow sun on my left, when a huge shadow roared just overhead. A Bristol Fighter, from Whitewash Villas, our neighbour aerodrome, was banking sharply round. I checked speed an instant to wave: and the slip-stream of my impetus snapped my arm and elbow astern, like a raised flail. The pilot pointed down the road towards Lincoln. I sat hard in the saddle, folded back my ears and went away after him, like a dog after a hare. Quickly we drew abreast, as the impulse of his dive to my level exhausted itself.

The next mile of road was rough. I braced my feet into the rests, thrust with my arms, and clenched my knees on the tank till its rubber grips goggled under my thighs. Over the first pot-hole Boanerges screamed in surprise, its mud-guard bottoming with a yawp upon the tyre. Through the plunges of the next ten seconds I clung on, wedging my gloved hand in the throttle lever so that no bump should close it and spoil our speed. Then the bicycle wrenched sideways into three long ruts: it swayed dizzily, wagging its tail for thirty awful yards. Out came the clutch, the engine raced freely: Boa checked and straightened his head with a shake, as a Brough should.

The bad ground was passed and on the new road our flight became birdlike. My head was blown out with air so that my ears had failed and we seemed to whirl soundlessly between the sun-gilt stubble fields. I dared, on a rise, to slow imperceptibly and glance sideways into the sky. There the Bif was, two hundred yards and more back. Play with the fellow? Why not? I slowed to ninety: signalled with my hand for him to overtake. Slowed ten more: sat up. Over he rattled. His passenger, a helmeted and goggled grin, hung out of the cock-pit to pass me the 'Up yer' RAF randy greeting.

They were hoping I was a flash in the pan, giving them best. Open went my throttle again. Boa crept level, fifty feet below: held them: sailed ahead into the clean and lonely country. An approaching car pulled nearly into its ditch at the sight of our race. The Bif was zooming among the trees and telegraph poles, with my scurrying spot only eighty yards ahead. I gained though, gained steadily: was perhaps five miles an hour the faster. Down went my left hand to give the engine two extra dollops of oil, for fear that something was running hot: but an overhead Jap twin, super-tuned like this one, would carry on to the moon and back, unfaltering.

We drew near the settlement. A long mile before the first houses I closed down and coasted to the cross-roads by the hospital. Bif caught up, banked, climbed and turned for home, waving to me as long as he was in sight. Fourteen miles from camp, we are, here: and fifteen minutes since I left Tug and Dusty at the hut door.

I let in the clutch again, and eased Boanerges down the hill along the tram-lines through the dirty streets and up-hill to the aloof cathedral, where it stood in frigid perfection above the cowering close. No message of mercy in Lincoln. Our God is a jealous God: and man's very best offering will fall disdainfully short of worthiness, in the sight of Saint Hugh and his angels.

Remigius, earthy old Remigius, looks with more charity on and Boanerges. I stabled the steel magnificence of strength and speed at his west door and went in: to find the organist practising something slow and rhythmical, like a multiplication table in notes on the organ. The fretted, unsatisfying and unsatisfied lace-work of choir screen and spandrels drank in the main sound. Its surplus spilled thoughtfully into my ears.

By then my belly had forgotten its lunch, my eyes smarted and streamed. Out again, to sluice my head under the White Hart's yard-pump. A cup of real chocolate and a muffin at the teashop: and Boa and I took the Newark road for the last hour of daylight. He ambles at forty-five and when roaring his utmost, surpasses the hundred. A skittish motor-bike with a touch of blood in it is better than all the riding animals on earth, because of its logical extension of our faculties, and the hint, the provocation, to excess conferred by its honeyed untiring smoothness. Because Boa loves me, he gives me five more miles of speed than a stranger would get from him.

At Nottingham I added sausages from my wholesaler to the bacon which I'd bought at Lincoln: bacon so nicely sliced that each rasher meant a penny. The solid pannier-bags behind the saddle took all this and at my next stop a (farm) took also a felt-hammocked box of fifteen eggs. Home by Sleaford, our squalid, purse-proud, local village. Its butcher had six penn'orth of dripping ready for me. For months have I been making my evening round a marketing, twice a week, riding a hundred miles for the joy of it and picking up the best food cheapest, over half the country side.

Top

John Surtees is truly unique in motorsport.

Riding for the celebrated MV Augusta team, he won seven World Championships between 1956 and 1960.

Then - with nothing left to prove - he made the transition from two wheels to four, winning the Formula One World Championship with Ferrari in 1964. To this day his feat of winning World Championships on two and four wheels remains unparalleled.

The versatile racer - who also drove for the Lotus, Cooper, Honda and BRM works teams - was equally at home in sports cars, winning the 1000km races at Nürburgring and Monza for Ferrari as well as the 1966 CanAm Championship in the Lola T70 he helped develop. He also designed, built and raced his own Team Surtees single seaters in F1, F2 and F5000.

During his remarkable racing career he won 290 of the 621 races he entered and claimed a further 103 podium finishes, recording 48 fastest laps and 100 record laps along the way.

Top

GIACOMO AGOSTINI AND PHIL READ

Giacomo Agostini and Phil Read (right) who between them won 22 World Championships. Take a look (below) at the bikes and see the pre-disc brakes, then checkout the speeds they achieved. Agostini was the MV Agusta man throughout his career while Read achieved on some really difficult Japanese machinery.

 

Read flying

Top

Philip Conrad Vincent 1908 - 1979

Inventor of the legendary Vincent motorcycle

Philip's parents owned a large cattle-farm some 300 miles from Buenos Aires in Argentina and it was customary in many circles at the time for an expectant mother to return 'home' to have her baby, to ensure British nationality for their offspring. So it was that Phillip Conrad Vincent was born in Fulham on 14th March 1908.

Educated first by his mother and at a British Prep-school in Argentina, he then came to live with his uncle John Vincent in High House, Horndon-on-the-Hill. John was a veterinary surgeon who, with his brother, an agricultural engineer, was involved in the local Orsett Agricultural Show, and these two gentleman are commemorated by name in 'Vincent Close' in Horndon.

An extension was built onto the back of High House, the ground floor of which became a schoolroom and Phillip, his two sisters, Marjorie and Gwendoline, cousin Mary Kirk, (and four local children considered 'suitable' companions) were all educated there together until Phillip went off to Harrow School, returning to Horndon for holidays. He said he found this time in his life very cold and damp after the warmth of Argentina.

It was whilst he was at Harrow that he first encountered motorcycles and was smitten. He started working on his mother to acquire one, but it was not until Christmas 1924 that she capitulated and a 350-cc. Side-valve BSA was purchased second-hand from Gamages in Holborn and delivered by train. The die was cast. Very soon he was experienced in all aspects of motorcycling - riding, falling off, pulling to pieces, fettling, modifying, polishing and all the stuff boys of all ages enjoy, aided and abetted by Mr. Barton, the family chauffeur. Soon, of course, he wanted bigger-better-faster; he became convinced he could design more efficient frame and forks, and he is reputed to have made preliminary sketches for these in his bedroom at High House (top floor, right-hand side as you face the house) whilst still at Harrow.

By the time he went up to Cambridge in October 1936, to read Mechanical Sciences at King's College, he had completed several drawings and before long, he rented a workshop near his lodgings and was building a motorcycle to his own design - at age 18.

Rather unsurprisingly, Philip's heart was not in his studies, and after hours of serious conversations with Vincent Senior, it was finally agreed that Philip and King's should part company and that father would finance him for a trial period, to see if he could 'make a go of it'. The prototype 'Vincent Special' which he built seemed reliable and performed satisfactorily, and another serious conversation was called for. The result was the formation of a company with family friend Mr. Frank Walker (an engineer who happened to be a motorcycling enthusiast) as Managing Director to act as a steadying influence.

In 1928, H.R.D. Motors, (a company headed by the famous racer Howard Raymond Davies) came onto the market, and very soon the assets were acquired and a new name appeared: The Vincent H.R.D. Company was born. Suitable premises were found in Stevenage (including a barn said to date back to 1660), which were to remain 'home' to the marque until closure in 1956, when the buildings were incorporated into a school campus.

In June of that year, production got underway, and between that date and the closure of the Works, some twelve-and-a-half thousand Vincent's (road going and sporting) passed through the gates, collecting on the way a very impressive array of National and World records in all aspects of sport. It was in about 1935 that Mr. Vincent's own engine design began to be incorporated.

During the 1939 - 1945 war, production was of course turned over to other lines, such as Vincent-engined target aircraft with particularly economical fuel consumption, lifeboats (designed in-house to be waterproof and dropped by parachute), half-a-million mines for the Royal Navy, three quarters of a million fuses for the rockets mounted on Spitfires, gear-changes for tanks (another in-house design), small parts for Mosquito aeroplanes etc.

Post-war, items other than 'pure' Vincent's were produced in an effort to diversify, including rotovators and mowers, industrial stationary engines, water-scooters, 'clip-on' engines for bicycles, lightweight motorcycles for other manufacturers etc, and these items , like the motorcycles themselves, have become much sought-after by collectors.

In 1948, the Vincent-H.R.D Owner's Club was formed - the first international one-make Club independent of a manufacturer - and in 1999 they held their Golden Jubilee International Rally in the Isle of Man, when a total of 234 Vincent motorcycles from a total of 17 different countries took to the famous circuit - how proud P.C.V would have been, but sadly he passed away in 1979. His ashes are interred in the family plot at St. Paul's Church, Horndon-on-the-Hill.

It is with much pride that members of the Vincent-H.R.D. Owners Club associate themselves with Thurrock Council in the affixing of a Thurrock Heritage Plaque in his honour at High House on 21st July 2002 and we thank the current owner, Mr. Graham Thomas for his willing co-operation.

Based on information obtained by the Vincent Owner's Club (Marie Webber) and Thurrock Museum :

Philip Conrad Vincent was sent home to England by his parents. They lived in Argentina. Here in Cambridge he finished his mechanical engineer studies. He had decided to become a motorcycle manufacturer. 1927 he was ready with his first cycle equipped with a 350 cc MAG engine. Philip went together with Frank Walker and when HRD was for sale they bought this firm. In the 1930s Vincent-HRD was a well established company. 1931 another partner entered the firm. It was Philip Irving. This new partnership showed up a 500 cc engine with high camshaft and pushrods which were parallel with the valves. This was a new way of construction and was presented 1935. Now rapidly a series of new models were sold. Among them a 1000 cc. After some introductory problems all were solved till WWII. After the war new models came and were called A, B, C, and D series. Vincent won lots of victories and dominated the race tracks. Although people bought less motorcycles and the economy became bad. After cooperation with NSU the production ceased 1956. Vincent was sold to Harper Engineering with the promise that they should for all future time produce spare parts.

 

Top

Kurt Donath

At the end of World War 2, under Director Kurt Donath, BMW gained a manufacturing licence to produce pots and pans, agricultural equipment and bicycles but behind the scenes, company management was working on plans to return to motorcycle production.

In 1946 BMW was given approval to produce motorcycles up to 125cc. Work began on the creation of a two-stroke Boxer and the R 10 was quickly developed to a running prototype. Donath, believing that the capacity restriction would be lifted to 250cc, had Alfred Böning and his engineering team secretly begin work, away from Munich, on a new motorcycle.

This would be a difficult task as all the production plans and technical drawings were either destroyed or located at the Eisenach plant, which was in the Soviet-controlled sector and out of BMW control. A pre-war R 23 was located and it was disassembled and every part measured in order to produce new plans.

The restriction on capacity was increased to 250cc and work on the new model continued at an increased rate. Designing the motorcycle was only the first step; there were other problems to encounter such as sourcing production equipment and the raw materials needed for manufacturing, as both were in short supply and rationed. Donath went about gathering all the much-needed machinery from businesses in worse condition than BMW.

In March 1948 the R 24 was unveiled at the Geneva motor show and the initial reaction from the press, public and motorcycle dealers was positive. In May the R 24 was again on show in Hanover and by the end of the exhibition there were over 2,500 forward orders for the new single. There was now a sound economic basis for the rebirth of BMW.

The R 24 looked very similar to the R 23 but there was considerable redevelopment in the M225/1 motor and - for the first time - a four-speed gearbox. Much of the technical improvement came directly from the wartime R 75 as well as the two-piece rocker cover, giving a clean and up-to-date style. The 12 hp R 24 was a quality motorcycle.

The first R 24 was not destined for life in a museum. There was a draw from within the BMW workforce to see who would own this historic motorcycle. The winner was Mr Erdinger but unfortunately nothing more is known of him or the fate of the first R 24.

The R 24 was the most expensive motorcycle available in Germany but by 1950 when the R 25 replaced the model, 12,020 had been sold. It was an undoubted success and paved the way for the return of the Boxer in 1950 and the restarting of car production in 1951. December 17 is indeed a day to celebrate.

Top


Frank Gennari and the Founders

We couldn't leave out the Blue Knights heroes could we? Frank was the International President when the Blue Knights came to the UK and has been a great supporter of the 'European connection' in the club. Many remember him handing out patches at Edale. A giant personality, like him or loath him he just cannot be ignored! He is also one of those Blue Knights who always provide a superhuman level of hospitality. Again and again over the years he has provided help and assistance to people from all over the Blue Knight World.  I can't say he is slowing down as he grows older, (aren't we all) because Debbie would hit me (again) but the club would be smaller and less interesting without the things he has supported over the years

 

Frank is on the left, and of course, we shouldn't ignore our founders either, (who are not in this photograph! The Founding Fathers were: Joel Rudom, Bill Robinson, Doug Miner, Ed Gallant, Mike Hall, Chuck Gesner, Wayne Labree, Chuck Shuman . Without this happy band there would have been no Blue Knights.

Top