Copyright (c) 2008 GoodMotorcycles.com
Whenever I go past a church I get a bit of a nervous twitch. No, it's nothing to do with the BSA's handling, which is generally fine. Nor caused by its notorious electrics, which were long ago upgraded by some diligent past owner. It's just that it brings back memories of the time a fault with an old BSA twin caused me to miss my marriage ceremony. God was looking after me, as the woman turned out to be a right vulture when she married someone else. Riding a BSA past a church brought it all back to me!
I hadn't planned on buying a BSA C25, or any other motorcycle for that matter. Just a guy in work mouthing off about the half dozen old classics he had stashed away. I didn't even know he was into bikes. We had a good old argument about whether or not a BSA 250 thumper could be deemed a classic, the result being that it could - just - on its age. The next thing I knew I was invited around for a look. I hadn't been on a bike in twenty years.
The BSA was stock but a bit faded, 11000 miles on the clock and it still started up, albeit with a hefty bit of boot work. Just sitting on the bike, with the engine popping away, brought it all back to me. I suddenly wanted the bike with a yearning I hadn't felt since sighting my first girlfriend. I was allowed a blast around suburbia, which only deepened the longing. It was all so raw and aggressive after the car. It took me a couple of weeks and fifteen hundred notes to gain possession of the BSA.
His other bikes were big twins from the sixties and fifties, but no way he was going to part with them. I didn't mind, the C25 was more than enough for me. If I wanted fast cruising in comfort I still had the car. The wife viewed the BSA with suspicion, but a few blasts on the back convinced her I knew what I was doing and that it could be quite fun - at least when the sun was shining. She was also amazed at how quickly we could rush across Bristol in the rush hour traffic.
The BSA wasn't much good above 70mph, too much vibration as the revs rose. But it accelerated quicker than the cars, much to their drivers' annoyance - nothing like being put in their place by what appeared and sounded like a vintage relic. They went berserk on the throttle and clutch but the roads were so packed that the only effect of heavy acceleration was to back-end the car in front of them.
The first time it rained they must have rejoiced. It was suddenly hell on earth, as the water poured into all the openings in my civilian clothes and soaked me through in a matter of seconds. Had to go buy some decent clothing, more expense. I was just thinking it wasn't that bad, that I'd be home in a minute or two, when the motor coughed, stuttered and then switched itself off. This was almost as effective as using the drum front brake to lose speed. The cager behind went berserk as he had to squeal his brakes to avoid running over us.
I soon pulled off the road. Stood there, dripping masses of water as yet more poured out of the sky. What did I use to do in the old days, thought I? Clean out the points? No chance of that in this weather. I tried the kickstart, the damn thing fired up straight away. Conked out three more times before I made it home. Turned out, it wasn't the points but the HT lead gone all rigid, breaking down. The wife was almost hysterical with laughter when I turned up looking like a drowned rat.
Later, I discovered that another downside with wet weather riding was that the drum brakes filled up with water and all braking effort disappeared. In the dry, braking was quite reasonable, though I never pushed the bike up to its theoretical top speed of 85mph - I wanted to keep my fillings and figured my eyeballs would probably pop out. The engine didn't have any balancers, nor much sophistication. Due to its primitive nature fuel was only 50mpg, appallingly bad (worse than my cage) given the performance.
It was just as well that the engine braking was so strong, saved the day when it rained...it was also easy to lock up the back wheel if I was a bit slow on the throttle when changing down through the gearbox. The back tyre would scream, stutter and skid all over the shop until I sorted the revs out.
The gearchange was the wrong way round compared to modern Jap's but this wasn't a hassle for me because I'd never owned any, was instantly at home with the arrangement. Had given up biking before the Jap's took over the roads completely. Surprisingly, any number of people on Japanese bikes would wave, stop to have a chat and generally refrain from taking the mickey.
The way I rode the BSA its performance was the equivalent of a 12hp learner bike. Fine in town or for quiet meanderings down country lanes but a bit lost anywhere else, so I simply didn't ride anywhere else. Fine if you have a second vehicle, but not the kind of mount to use day in, day out, all year round.
The main limitation on the length of time I could stand on the bike was my clutch hand - the lever required an incredible amount of muscle and the engine never really had so much torque that I could just leave it in one gear. The gearchange itself, though, was marvellously smooth and precise unless I tried to use it without the clutch when the whole bike would lurch forwards. The drive chain always clanged away unless I was very precise with the throttle when changing gears. A good gearchange is a sign of a well put together engine.
The motor's a unit construction job with the expected two valves, pushrods and primary chain. Stories abound of it falling apart under the owner, especially the gearbox and top end, but it all depends on how the mill's treated. Thrashed and neglected ones, not surprisingly, don't last very well - as little as 5000 miles! But a gentle throttle hand combined with periodic doses of preventative maintenance adds up to a reasonably long-lived unit - say, 20-25,000 miles before the whole thing's worn out.
Whatever you want to say about the quality of old British bikes, C25's were somewhat built down to a price and its engine design was outdated even before it hit the streets. There are various upgrade bits available but these are expensive and too much hassle, if like me all you want to do is potter around happily.
Here, the C25 ain't half bad. It makes a lot of noise and vibration even when it isn't revved hard, giving the impression that I'm a real hero to be able to handle such a machine. An awful lot of fun can be had without breaking any speed limits and most cops are friendly, often giving me the thumbs up!
Would I buy another? Having praised the bike as being adequate to my needs, I must admit I would like something a bit faster and smoother - a 500 twin, maybe? But as an entry level machine back into the British bike game it's worth buying one. They turn up for as little as 500 notes, but in need of an awful lot of work. £1000 buys something with a good engine, sensible mods and lots of life left. £1500 should buy a genuine low miler. Anyway, try one out, see if you like it and report back to UMG HQ.
Pete Taylor
The BSA C15 was in trials spec according to the owner and an almost wrecked field bike according to my eyes. 'Needs a bit of a clean, don't it, mate,' was the vendor's explanation for the terrible state of the OHV single. 'There're several boxes full of chassis bits and, oh, the lights are over there. Worth a grand of anyone's money, eh?' Eh, no chance of that, I thought. A feeling reinforced when he eventually kicked the engine into life. Short of a metal band I'd never heard such a racket coming from the top end of a motorcycle.
I poked around in the boxes, finding several tanks, guards, wheels, frames, etc, even though most of them didn't look like they came from a C15. There was a dearth of engine parts, which might turn out expensive given the mechanical noises and way the bike lurched up the road. Back at the house, the owner gave it his best try, 'The mill's in trials spec, the full 20hp motor, mate, you don't get many like that, these days. I could come down to £800 for cash.'
In a fair, rational world he would've been pushing his luck asking for a 100 notes but the classic scene meant that money talked loud and there was always the chance that some Henry would turn up with more money than sense. We agreed on £525 if he'd deliver the stuff in the converted ambulance that was loitering in his drive. The lunatic proceeded to part the doubting before us by turning on the siren and keeping his foot flat on the floor. I've never done fifty miles on four wheels so quickly; and it's not something I want to repeat.
The C15 was introduced in 1958, was for that period a relatively modern, unit construction OHV 250cc single. In various forms, with lots of detail changes, it ended up as the 1970 B50SS, a machine that mirrored the decline of the British motorcycle industry by developing a mild, relatively reliable bike into a fearsome device that was lucky to last 5000 miles. The basic problem with these singles, as with the twins, was vibration and the larger and higher tuned they became the more vile was their basic nature.
I'd had some experience of the C15 in the past, and saw my purchase as a cheap way back into British motorcycling. The first thing I did was to set the valves, points and carb as the manufacturer had intended. That lessened the rattles to an acceptable level and made starting a mild exertion rather than leg or back breaking. If the timing's out slightly these motors can give a hell of a kickback out of all proportion to their size and power. Servicing is a 500 mile affair.
I rode it like that for a while, just to suss out that it was worth investing some time, money and energy in the chassis. The motor was gentle, lacking any real power band but running between 10 and 60mph in fourth without any problems. The engine buzzed continuously but it was low level stuff until 60mph when it turned into a pneumatic drill. The bike had Starfire forks with a TLS brake front wheel and a pair of recent Girling shocks. Handling was what you'd expect from an old Brit, taut, steady but light; a pleasure to use after my aged Honda Benly but rough roads were a bit spine rattling.
After a week I decided I was going to like the C15, set to work sorting out the best of the chassis bits and electrics. I wanted a classic British look, which meant cleaning up a lot of detail bits, using a teardrop tank and cutting back the cumbersome guards. I finished off the chassis in fern green and black, not a BSA colour but classically British. Once I'd cleaned the gunge off the existing chassis and motor, done a bit of painting and polished up the alloy, the cycle looked jolly neat, even if I say so myself. Apart from some new consumables the cost was minimal as I did all the work myself.
There followed a period when the C15 was afflicted with a myriad of electrical problems, everything from blowing bulbs to flat batteries. There were two causes of all the problems which confused me totally until I got to grips with the subject by reading several large tomes. The first clue was realising that the bulbs were blowing not because of excessive voltages but from vibration. Some new rubber bushes and a bit of old inner-tube solved that one. The charging problem was traced to the Lucas alternator which was partly burnt out, once rewound I was back in business.
My timing was good, the summer had just begun. Ah, I thought, balmy days, country roads and the unique beat of a British single. I wasn't entirely sure about the engine, had been gradually taking the BSA further from home on each ride. It was interesting to watch people's reactions, varying from incredulity to annoyance, the latter when we blatted through gaps in the traffic whilst some cager fumed in his expensive coffin.
The BSA's clutch turned troublesome when subjected to excessive town riding, gradually seizing up until the lever would not budge. Leaving the bike to cool down for thirty minutes, once the engine had stalled, would free it up but this was hardly the quickest way of getting from A to B and a couple of times I had to take the chain off to push her a short distance home.
On the odd downhill stretches I let the bike rev out in top gear, putting as much as 75mph on the clock, which is pushing things for a C15. As well as the vibes threatening to split the petrol tank and throw the pegs off, there was the open question of the lubrication system keeping up with the valvegear and crankshaft. The odd burst of speed is okay but sustained velocities are limited to around 60mph, which makes the bike a bit of a liability even on fast A-roads let alone motorways. Town and country roads were much more its natural arena.
The brakes and handling were way ahead of that kind of speed. BSA had somehow endowed the dodgy looking tubular frame with better stiffness than most Japanese 250s (at least of the seventies era). The other benefit of the detail work that BSA put into the chassis was wear of consumables that Superdream owners can only dream about. Fuel was a disappointing 70mpg but that was ahead of the vast majority of Japanese 250s.
Of course, the reliability of British engines is way behind the Japanese stuff, even when used mildly. I had lots of fun with the points changing the ignition timing as I rode along and finally they fell apart. I had to stop every five miles to bodge them back together every time they came apart again. I couldn't call this fun but managed to convince myself that it was character building.
Miles piled up on the BSA over the summer, but sensing the coming winter the top end went so rattly that peds were jumping out of their skins, fearing a runaway dustbin was going to knock them down. The valve guides were loose and wafer thin, the valves were halfway up in the head, one pushrod was bent and the rockers had lost all their hardening. What can you say? Crap design and too much vibration. I'd already bought a spare head, as I knew it was on the way out, which I'd set-up perfectly, everything refurbished and polished until you could see your reflection in it.
The bike didn't go any faster, didn't vibrate less but there was an unholy silence.....for about 250 miles until it started rattling again. That was the least of my worries as the bottom end had started rumbling. Judging by the way the C15 lurched every time I changed gears it was the gearbox falling apart rather than the main bearings on the way out.....in my more depressed moments (winter always does that to me) I thought it might be both!
There was nothing for it but to pull the motor out and split the cases. This is where British bikes become a little more complex than the Japanese ones as you can't leave the top end in place. At least all the screws came out with none of the alloy rot horrors of the Japanese engines. My worst fears were confirmed - shot mains, all the gearbox bearings loose with a couple of teeth missing off some of the cogs.
In all, I'd done 6000 miles in eight months of largely pleasurable riding. The chassis was impressive, the engine useful in the way of old British singles and the running costs were no more than a C90. The motor had probably done a huge mileage but even rebuilt ones don't last long. Now, the chassis has a GS125 motor shoehorned in and goes all the better for it. So much for British biking!
Graham Palling
When the BSA C15 came out in 1958 I wasn't too impressed. To my seventeen year old eyes it had no street credibility. Back then, the fast life was all about big Triumph and Norton twins, not some pudgy 250cc OHV thumper. I didn't buy one then. No way! But age and time does funny things to a man. In 1990, at the age of 49, I came across a 1959 example that had been restored some five years before.
The owner claimed to have only done 3750 miles in that time. I was mature enough not to quip that the lack of miles was because the machine was so awful. He reckoned that for 2000 notes the machine could be mine. The shark-like smile that accompanied such largesse made me realise that all might not be quite what it seems. The bike looked okay, although not pristine, and the engine clattered away without any of the tell-tale knocks, rattles or tapping noises. I refused to spend that kind of dosh on an old relic, however much nostalgia was pulling at my heart-strings. There's no fool like an old fool - I had no intention of becoming one. We swapped phone numbers.
At the end of 1990 I received a fairly desperate phone call from the owner. He needed the money fast, how much was I willing to pay? £500. There was a pregnant pause in which I swear I could hear his teeth grinding. The deal was done on the proviso I did the 60 miles to his house in York, with the pile of used fifties, that very day.
That was how I came to be riding the BSA home in a snowstorm. One moment there was a weak sun, the next a blinding blizzard. I was snug inside the Belstaffs but the poor old BSA was exposed to maximum abuse. After ten miles the engine ground to a halt in the middle of the countryside. No other soul in sight for miles around - no-one stupid enough to come out in that kind of weather.
One of the most curious aspects of the C15 design was that, until the mid sixties, a distributor was fitted. Really strange, considering there was just one cylinder. As this had become covered in a gritty paste, a mixture of oil, dirt and snow, it was the immediate suspect. I should point out that I had no tools, let alone a can of WD40. All I could do was ruin an handkerchief wiping it clean and quickly popping off the distributor's cap to let the water out. Three kicks later I was on my way again. It pays to smear the inside lip of the cap with Vaseline to keep the water out.
Six miles down the road a service station came into view. I pulled in, receiving shocked accolades from the owner. He reckoned I was a real hero to be out in those kind of conditions. Two Mars bars and tin of WD40 poorer I was set for the second half of the trip.
Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the old thumper was its relative stability over snow layered roads. Sporting cheap Avons and only a modicum of suspension travel, nevertheless I could progress adequately at speeds between 20 and 40mph. I much preferred shutting the throttle to using the SLS drum brakes over the treacherous conditions. If their sensitivity was better than anything you can buy these days (at low speeds) it would take only a momentarily locked wheel on the icy roads to leave me head-butting the tarmac.
Reaching home, the shivering fit took a while to disappear. The BSA thawed out in the garage, depositing a large puddle of water and oil. The next day it refused to start. I took the distributor apart - they were never highly regarded in the fifties, I much preferred magneto equipped bikes. The drive gear was chipped and worn. The ignition timing was before its time - i.e. variable! A refurbished distributor was purchased mail order; I spent two weeks worrying that they might've run off with my money.
Until April I did few miles on the C15. The weather was too nasty and I didn't trust the motorcycle. I finally ventured out for a sixty mile saunter. Immediately, town riding showed up its age. Clutch drag, the whole bike quaking at the bit whilst at junctions, had both rider and machine overheating. When the C15 overheats the vibes shake the tank and the valvegear rattles away merrily. To make life more interesting, the gearbox liked to lock up in third gear. The selector design was notorious! Someone brought up on modern Japanese bikess would've soon been in tears. I just grinned and bore it.
All was going well, if you can call a maximum velocity of 55mph good (top speed's 70mph but the vibes make that rather dire), until the front end started to rattle and shake. On smooth roads the C15 handled well and steered precisely. The refurbished suspension was almost as taut as a 450 Ducati. However, the BSA's tubular frame wasn't up to the standard of the Italian machine. When the road turned bumpy, the front end was shook all over the place.
That wasn't the cause of all the angst at the front end. The disturbance presaged the disintegration of the front mudguard. Before the front wheel jammed up I pulled over. I know a lot of myths, rightly or wrongly, surround old British bikes but the reality was that the commuter bikes were made from the cheapest metals available, often recycled scrap. Unless a great deal of care's taken when refurbishing cycle parts, rust can form under the shiny surface of the paint. Any weakness in the metal's quickly amplified by the vibes.
I was able to continue on my trek with what was left of the guard on the pillion. I hoped the police would be understanding and that I didn't get caught in any bad weather. I should've paid more attention to the engine, only realising that something was amiss by the excess heat streaming off the cylinder. A quick look in the oil tank revealed that it was almost empty. A bolt had fallen out of the gearbox casing!
This time I had a bag full of tools, bolts, wire, tape, etc. I was able to bodge a smaller screw into the casing and filled up with oil at a service station a mere 200 yards down the road. Sometimes you get lucky. Or not. Five miles from home the screw fell out again. Not being entirely daft, I checked it every mile; no further damage was done.
The loss of oil may've contributed to the agitating knocking/tapping noise that turned up less than 200 miles later. After some investigation with a screwdriver between my ear and the engine I decided that it was either the main bearings or big-end. This era of C15's had shell rather than roller big-ends, which didn't like high revs (the engine peaked at 7000rpm but 5000 was more like it) or high mileage. I had to have the crankshaft rebuilt to later, tougher spec.
The top end was okay and I don't really like mucking around with gearboxes. Of course, being vertically split, the whole engine had to come apart. I have done many rebuilds in my time, the C15 turning out a little finicky but no great hassle. I even succeeded, thanks to modern liquid gaskets, in making the mill oil tight.
The engine ran smoother, would even hold 65mph for a while. Fuel was good at 80 to 100mpg and consumables showed no sign of wear in the next few thousand miles. It was not a machine I felt I could trust, every journey fraught with possible engine termination. Early '92 I tried to sell the BSA for a thousand notes. No takers.
Around this time the seat disintegrated when the base rusted through. That happened when I was rolling along at 40mph. No fun to have a seat falling apart under you. The resulting wobble almost caused two cars to hit each other head on. The base was much more rust than metal, unlike the front guard which I'd managed to weld. A brand new seat meant for a Triumph twin was fitted.
I rode the bike to a couple of classic events, where I placed a for-sale sign on the saddle. Some interest, but mostly BSA buffs pointing out all the non-standards bits. Someone offered £350 but I had more than twice that invested in the machine. At one event I bought a whole engine for a hundred quid, a later model with coil ignition. Turned over okay but only because there weren't any piston rings in it. I was ripped off!
By the end of 1993 I'd done a grand total of 6000 miles on the bike. Lots of annoying little faults - bolts falling out, brackets cracking up and even the back wheel breaking half its spokes. The nipples had actual worn away their seats and were pulling out. I won't even talk about the electrics.
Early '94 I had the choice of doing a complete refurbishment or selling the bike before it stopped working. Rust kept poking out of the paint and chrome, whilst the engine was making some expensive noises. The BSA finally went for £375 and a pile of spares for £150. It wasn't a total disaster, with a sturdier engine it could've survived modern roads. I can't see myself buying another but can understand why some people might enjoy the experience.
C.B.
During one of those balmy summer days of recent years, I happened to visit a local classic motorcycle dealer. ''Have you any BMW's for restoration?'' For more than two years my ambition had been to regain the heady heights of Beemer ownership, which had all too easily been given up when the pressures of fatherhood became too great to resist. Working on the gross oversimplification that all BMW's are the same, I thought, find an old one, do it up and hey presto, BMW owner once again.
The local dealers were of the impression that the higher the mileage done by a BMW the higher its value. None of the expected UMG prices seem to apply in the North East. So, on the advice of said classic dealer, I had got into the habit of asking all and sundry silly questions, like, ''Got any hen's teeth, rocking horse shit, BM's for restoration at sensible prices?'' Needless to say, the answer was always negative.
Living in a demilitarised zone, as the good old North East has become, insurance has become almost impossible, even boring family men on BM's (hopes and dreams) are being quoted telephone numbers. Hail into view classic insurance, main qualifications seem to be a boring old fart driving a BMW.
After two years looking, the light was beginning to dawn that maybe I had set my sights too high. Running a CD175 had made the dream of power so attractive that I started asking a new question, ''What have you got for restoration?'' This new question seemed to have the required effect. A B40 in boxes.
The story went as follows: Boy-racer cousin breaks leg on B40 loses interest in bike, bought by uncle, given to son to repair; son becomes classic dealer and project remains on the starting blocks. Except that classic dealer continues to add to the storage boxes as suitable spares become available. A sum was agreed sight unseen. Since this was my fourth machine from the dealer, it was sale or return. The B40 duly appeared in the boxes in which it had lain since 1969.
Over the years I've cultivated a way of introducing my wife to my new projects. It goes as follows - don't mention the new purchase and then when the cardboard boxes are delivered act surprised and then try to hide the fact that you've just spent hard earnt cash on the contents of a scrap yard skip. Once again the ploy was successful but fate stepped in and determined that on the day of delivery I had committed myself to attending a fashion show at the local church hall. This form of self-inflicted torture shouldn't be attempted at any cost, for I spent the evening trying to remember which bits were in which boxes and generally itching to begin cataloguing.
I began the restoration with the obligatory Haynes manual and quickly discovered that aid was the wrong word. So leaving said book to mop up old oil marks and to correct wobbly table legs, I began experimenting bolting bits on here and there. With two of some things and none of some others, it was fun.
It should be mentioned that restoring old bikes brings the novice into contact with one of the strangest shadow worlds that I have ever seen. Almost everything is available but you have to know what it looks like and preferably already have one. This leads to the press being full of hopeful restorers asking for colour photographs, upwards to dealer work-shop manuals, to assist in restoration. Few can aspire to a dealer's parts list but one came with the B40. I happened to show someone a pre-restoration photo of the B40, he pointed to a part still in light grey primer and said, ''I didn't think those parts were chromed.'' Who says photos don't lie.
The B40's certainly not a BMW. A 350cc four stroke single it shared things like wheel arrangement and handlebar position in common, but the B40 had years of competent British engineering behind it. And several years of incompetent...but I won't dwell upon those. Quirky threaded bolts and certain parts that went on to be perfected by the Rising Sun only added to the immense fun of the project.
A unit construction engine that could be lifted by one hand added to the joy. The motor was supposed to have been overhauled just before going into the box. Using an engine endoscope quickly revealed the state of the piston crown and bore. A brand new oversized piston and honed bore shone back. Being essentially lazy, that guaranteed that the engine would receive no further attention.
The wheels were brand new, although I later discovered that the wheel bearings weren't. The restoration quickly made the bike take shape. From early motorcycle days all my bikes are painted Ford Red, and the BSA was to be no exception.
After several months of good engineering fun and a little bodging the bike was ready. The four miles to the MOT station (yes, I really am that boring) was great fun since I had forgotten to tighten the distributor down and the vibration increased until the oil in the engine fins smoked. It sailed through the MOT with only a slight glance at the contents of the forks, dribbling on to the road. No shiny chrome on these forks, so the first set of fork seals polished the rust off and lasted eight miles.
The difference between the B40 and my other machines was tremendous. To a Jap rider, the exchange of gearchange and brake took some getting used to. But what's a valve-lifter and how do you use it? This small lever lay under the handlebars and taunted me to use it. Thanks to a 1962 edition of a motorcycle book its mysteries were revealed. The actual method of use reads more like an ancient spell but it really does work. When a 350 single kicks back you know it really doesn't like you. Without modern things like timing marks, the procedure for timing requires knitting needles and a scriber.
The best thing is the way it delivers power. It may be no more powerful than a modern 125 but the one rev per lamppost engine tells everyone that it's coming. I used it for work during the summer months and that means through rain and shine. The average level of complexity found on sixties British machines is laughable to a modern Jap rider.
The presence of brake lights appeared to be optional for many years and by 1963 the brake light only worked on the foot lever and even then it was an aftermarket item. Most lightweight machines had hydraulically damped front forks as an optional extra. The less said about six volt electrics and selenium rectifiers the better. At the start of my restoration a friend told me that, when he had a British single he used to ride it to work six days a week and then spend the seventh replacing nuts and bolts that had fallen off and tightening those that hadn't.
When I came to ride one myself I had to agree that it was prone to vibration. During one journey the speedo turned around in its mount and several small bits fell off. Lots of thread lock and sealant cured most of the vibration problems, allowed me to continue. The more the B40 is ridden the more it appears to like it and the more it grows on you. When it was cold the external oil tank warmed up the back of the rider's leg nicely and the riding posture could only be described as superb. Maybe not up to the standards of a CBR600 but then who cares.
Remember the shiny new wheels? Soon after the MOT the bearings gave up the ghost and forced their rapid replacement. For many years I've been the custodian of my father's mighty box of bearings, hoarded over a life time of engineering. It occurred to the penny pincher in me to see if it held suitable bearings. A quick look revealed two full sets. Coated in filth and grease, a bath in paraffin allowed their true condition to emerge. All as bad as the ones I wanted to replace. That evening I severely berated my father for allowing me hoard his scrap for all this time.
If I'd taken the advice of the Haynes manual I would've gone to my local BSA dealer and procured replacements! Funny how the Yellow Pages didn't appear to list any. Out with the vernier and after consulting learned tomes I discovered to my amazement that the bearings were metric. By tea time I had the new bearings fitted and was once more mobile. It adds fun when any repair depends upon honest engineering skill and not just a wad of notes waved under the dealer's nose. Try to get a full gasket set for a Jap machine for a fiver.
Between performing minor engineering miracles I simply enjoyed using the bike. It has good handling, brakes and is quite nippy in town riding. The fact that the straight through exhaust (original fitting), warned everyone for fifty yards in all directions of my presence, helped negotiate traffic queues. On several occasions during summer evenings I negotiated dense traffic and saw heads turning round trying to locate the noise. But in its own defence its pleasant sound was reminiscent of better days gone by. At least that's what I tell the neighbours.
The real power of the B40's mixing it in the bypass rush hour. No-one does 70mph and since the vibration would probably destroy the machine I don't either. At the more uniform 40 to 60mph rush hour speed it's superb. Leave it in top gear and it cruises along nicely.
I even had the obligatory incident with a traffic policeman. Travelling home during the rush hour, I noticed, in my mirror a jam-sandwich overtaking me. It disappeared into my blind spot but didn't appear in front. Glancing to my right I saw him staring intently at the B40, then he smiled, waved and shot off. Who says all police are bad?
There is one major drawback to British bike ownership. From nowhere a stream of people descend upon the bike and talk of machines of yesteryear. I may know what a B40 is but all the other models blur into obscurity. I am thus forced to nod knowingly and hope they go away. But not before I ask if they still have one tucked in a shed somewhere that they don't want. After all, there's always room for another project.
Would I ever sell the B40? Yes, for enough money, but only so I could start on restoring another. To paraphrase a well known health warning: Riding a B40 is likely to develop and strange and irrational interest in classic British motorcycles.
Ray Barnett