Born Again Bikers a View from the Pillion

By Jean Duncalf

From a unique perspective 'A View from the Pillion' relates Jean's hair raising and fun filled adventures as she endures blizzards, howling gales, freezing fog, downpours and blistering heat whilst perched uncomfortably on the pillion of a motorcycle. Read about her exploits as she travels to rallies in Britain and in Europe. The breakdowns, the spills, the moments of terror, the discomfort and the laughter. Travel with Jean on the Alaska Highway and share the excitement of encountering bears and other wild life only yards away. Cross Canada East to West alongside vast lakes, through mountains and across prairies. Revel in the sun and scenery along the Cote d'Azur as Jean and Lionel ride along the beautiful coast road in the South of France or negotiate the swoops and curves of the traffic free roads in New Zealand. Learn a little about the history of the places they pass through. Meet the many fellow travellers and enjoy the stories they have to tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467891110

Book preview

He Flew Through The Air

Almost fifty years ago the local teenage motor cycling fraternity congregated on a regular basis at a nearby country pub, the Golden Pheasant. Here they had a few beers and discussed the relative merits or otherwise of varying machines. Much the same as they do now and no doubt still discussing the same things. On one particular occasion, when I had been taken along on the pillion, one of our friends arrived on his latest purchase, a 500cc Single Cylinder Ariel of 1940’s vintage. He was quickly surrounded by an admiring crowd and being a generous sort of chap he was soon urging his friends to give it a test run. The country lane ran straight for several hundred yards, passing the Pheasant before disappearing up and over the railway lines. It was an ideal situation and before long several of the lads had given it a try. ‘Go on Lionel – give it a blast.’ Taking up the challenge Lionel slowly pulled on his gloves, adjusted his scarf and goggles and kicked the engine into life – this was going to be good! With a casual wave he set off down the road in a blast of smoke and sound.

Reaching a point about 500 yards away he turned to face his audience. He sat revving the engine, waiting a few moments as if for a starting flag. As the throttle was opened the bike leapt forward, increasing in speed as it surged through the gears, the motor throbbing. At a death defying 75mph Lionel roared triumphantly past the admiring crowd in a haze of exhaust fumes and spurting oil, his mind filled with visions of future glory as a champion racer. Turning to glance at the road again, his elation quickly became horror as the humpback railway bridge loomed only eighty yards in front. As impossible escape routes desperately presented themselves, to be equally desperately discarded, the eighty yards became forty, then twenty, as still frantically trying to throttle back, change down the gears and apply the brake all at the same time the protesting Ariel reached the top and was launched into space. Looking up in disbelief, the driver of an oncoming car watched as the airborne machine sailed past his window with Lionel stuck to it like glue, his clothes billowing in the wind and scarf streaming behind like ribbons. With his life flashing before his eyes, moments passed with a dream like quality until, several minutes and all of fifty yards further on, he touched down, unbelievably still on two wheels and still travelling in a forward direction. Falteringly bike and passenger drew to a trembling halt and waited a while before turning to drive at a slightly more sedate pace back over the bridge.

‘Great bike! Terrific ride’ were his words as he dismounted. I wonder if I was the only one to notice the unsteady gait and chalk white face as he reached for his pint with a trembling hand.

Many years later we visited the Calgary Stampede where one of the attractions was Evel Kneivel (the stunt motor cyclist) jumping over seventeen trucks. Lionel turned to me ‘I know exactly how he feels’ he said in a heartfelt voice.

Old Bikers Never Die

My story begins in the late fifties when Lionel and his best friend Ray became the proud owners of Lambretta Scooters. Lionel had saved painstakingly for his but Ray in his usual impetuous way bought his on the ‘never never’. The 125cc Lambrettas cost £150.00 were white but very soon embellished with blue side panels. It was only recently that I was told that they had to have a paint job because Ray came off so often his was covered in scratches. With this new found freedom they felt invincible and couldn’t wait to drive off into the sunset. The world was their oyster but reality intervened and they settled for Tunbridge Wells to visit Lionel’s unsuspecting uncle. The journey from Cheshire took twelve hours and was accomplished with only one minor mishap when rushing to take shelter from the rain Ray drove straight into a ditch.

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The first set of wheels

Soon they were back home and cruising the local area hoping to impress the girls, not difficult as they were good looking lads. I felt very smug when Lionel chose me to ride pillion. This was the start of our partnership and I often wonder, was it the man or the wheels that attracted me. We had great fun together on the Lambretta. Sunny weekends would see us on our way to Prestatyn or LLandudno in North Wales, singing at the tops of our voices as we bowled along the road at 45 miles an hour. That was on a good day with the wind behind us. Sometimes we went to Bolton le Sands in Lancashire where we could roar at ‘top speed’ along the sands. Each weekend the machine was stripped down, de-coked, and polished to within an inch of its life. All this whether it was needed or not!

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A style icon on the Ariel Colt

Within twelve months we progressed to a 200cc Ariel Colt. Lionel’s peaked helmet and white trench coat with turned up collar didn’t seem quite right for this machine and were soon exchanged for a leather flying jacket and space type helmet. Much more dashing! Possibly the wellies with turned over tops were not quite so dashing but leather boots were beyond our means. Now we really felt like bikers and joined the enthusiasts at Oulton Park, to watch Bob McIntyre, Mike Hailwood, John Surtees, Derek Minter and sidecar aces Max Deubel and Bill Boddice. Friend Ray with Wendy riding pillion usually came with us to the race meetings. He was always in the lead, as his bikes invariably went faster than ours, but he had no sense of direction. We got used to pulling over on the side of the road to wait patiently for him to realize nobody was following. Eventually he would roar past us with a friendly wave and we continued on our way.

But despite, or maybe because of, the ritual de-coking, the Ariel proved to be a bit of a slug and a sporty 250cc Royal Enfield Crusader Sport caught Lionel’s eye. We had far more street cred on this bike and I loved the classy chrome and burgundy tank. With its dropped handlebars, it was a little goer even with two up. Unfortunately Lionel came off worst in an argument with an Escort van and was taken to hospital. I was able to travel with him in the ambulance which was very lucky, well I thought so but I’m not sure that Lionel did, as I was able to prevent the doctor from cutting off his beautifully hand knitted sweater. Well I had only just finished it! Poor Lionel he manfully endured having it dragged over his head. I don’t think I’ll ever live that down. Luckily he was not badly hurt and after an overnight stay he was sent home. We only had one other minor accident when we skidded on a patch of ice rounding a corner. Lionel and the bike slid along the road in opposite directions and I just stepped neatly off.

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Not dressed for motor cycling

A regular bikers’ run in those days, which is still the same today, was from Macclesfield to Buxton in The Peak District over the ‘Cat and Fiddle’. Geoff on his 500cc Ariel had set off several minutes ahead of us but we were hot on his tail. He glanced round and unable to believe his eyes, when he saw us so close, turned again and promptly shot up the bank and ended up in a heap on the road. With a bit of assistance he was soon back in the saddle again with no harm done. Ray was always having minor tumbles including once parting company with his Norton Dominator and sliding several yards down the road on his backside. Coming to a halt he jumped up unhurt and produced a three foot rule (he was a joiner) from his back pocket. All the numbers had been scraped off! Another friend was not so lucky when he ended up in hospital after a collision. We had the unenviable task of breaking the news to his mother. Luckily his injuries were slight.

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Friend Ray on his Norton Dominator

We never felt the same about our Enfield Crusader after it was repaired so it had to go. Our next choice was a new model. The 350cc Norton Navigator, very smart in blue and cream. We kept this until marriage and then children took over our lives and it had to be exchanged for four wheels. A sad day!

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With a little more street cred on the Norton Navigator

During this period Lionel purchased a 1929 Douglas speedway bike in a sad state of disrepair. This had been owned and ridden by Freddie Davenport, a speedway champion, who had won the Gold Cup at Belle-Vue in the early 1930s. After languishing in pieces in our garage for over twenty-five years, it was finally restored to its former glory. With the family grown up and flown the nest our interest in biking was revived. The Douglas was not a road-going bike – it had no brakes or clutch – so we reluctantly exchanged it for something we could ride together. The Royal Enfield had always been our favourite bike but we looked in vain for a Crusader. Eventually we heard of a 500cc 1959 Royal Enfield Bullet that was for sale. It had the familiar chrome and burgundy tank and we decided to go for it.

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1929 Douglas – the machine that revived our interest

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Royal Enfield 500cc Bullet

So here we were in 1992 taking to the road again as ‘born again bikers.’ Part of a growing band enjoying the open road and the camaraderie of fellow enthusiasts. Age of bike or rider no bar to the membership of this nationwide club. Inevitably we soon felt the need for a bigger bike or rather Lionel did. A machine that would cope more easily with a double load. Softer suspension would be a bonus too. After a lot of enjoyable searching we eventually settled on another Royal Enfield. A 750cc 1962 Interceptor with a metallic blue tank. The only problem was we couldn’t bring ourselves to part with the Bullet so now we have two. As soon as the sun appears we polish up one of the bikes, don our leathers and are off for a spin.

The Lyme Park Sprint is a good day out. Vintage and Classic bikes of all makes are timed over a given distance and with full power attempt to reach the finish at the top of a hill. Seated on the grassy banks lining the course spectators peer through the clouds of smoke from the exhausts and cheer the riders on enthusiastically. At Three Sisters, a small circuit in Lancashire, more racing takes place including motorbikes and sidecars. This was always exciting especially on a small track with lots of bends. Our visits to Three Sisters were notable for the fact that we always lost our way both going and coming home. I think they moved it each year.

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An addition to our stable 1962 R E Interceptor

We also went to a lot of Scrambles, mostly local but also a larger event at Hawkstone Park in Shropshire. A Classic scramble is still held at this venue and recently we thought it would be fun to go and see how much it had changed in the intervening forty years. The answer to that question was ‘not very much.’ The same bikes and even some of the same riders were there. In fact that day one of the main events was won by Terry Challinor a pensioner who we remembered from our earlier visits in the sixties. Unfortunately our sixties Interceptor did not have such a good day as Terry Challinor. We had only travelled a few miles when the engine stopped. Well practiced at this we pulled