NORTON COMMANDO Long-time love affair

IN THE BEGINNING

Picture this: teenager, elderly Panther stroker leaning on its footrest against a kerb, rider with nose pressed against the grimy window of Taunton’s Norton dealer. The sound of a sigh, then the same teenager, bump-starting the Panther and pop-pop-popping off in a smoky way home for tea. Repeat. Repeat every afternoon for a full school term. Same teenager, same Panther … and the same motorcycle behind the glass. Sales were slow. It was 1971 and the bike was a Commando, a red one, a Fastback.

LATER

The same teenager, some months older, parks his G12 Matchless outside Woods’ Transport Cafe on the old A38. The M5 is heading south, but hasn’t reached Bridgwater yet. As he separates goggles from spectacles, the gloomy drizzle is brightened by a bright red motorcycle pulling up alongside the sodden Matchless. It’s a Commando. A Roadster. It appears to ride through its own permanent puddle of sunshine.

LATER STILL

Teenager no more; our hero is heading south on the A6, riding his very own, very first Commando. An Interstate 750. In yellow. How can that be? Yellow? But it was cheap and it sounds fantastic. Apart from the awful knocking from the primary drive somewhere. But who cares? It’s a Commando. MCN Bike of the Year since forever. The knocking is very bad, but doesn’t get worse. Eventually our hero observes that the entire primary chaincase is moving separately to the crankcase to which it should be bolted. Bolted rigidly. Investigation reveals that the chaincase cannot be bolted to the crankcase because the threaded holes do not line up. This is because the drive-side crankcase half is from another Norton – an Atlas.

Lesson one in prolonged Commando