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The following memories come from Jim Dale in Scotland

3 :: It will have to GO !

These words were murmured  by me one lazy summer evening, while waiting yet  again for the engine on Ian’s 250c.c. B.S.A. C10 L side valve to cool down enough To allow “mechanical adjustments” to be made so that our uncertain progress home could  be resumed. The air around us smelled quaintly of thick black pipe tobacco (us) and burning rubber (the bike). There was no need for alarm, but why Ian had chosen to make a cylinder head gasket out of an asbestos/rubber compound only he knew - until I asked him that is. “Fair keeps away the midges,” said Ian. Great I thought, everyone should lug around an overheating B.S.A. with the patented Mackay fry head joint, but perhaps it was the Co Op bogey roll which we both smoked. The reasoning behind the choice of material was simple when explained. It was available. It was free. As the rubber content was consumed, a nip down all round the cylinder head nuts onto the asbestos should ensure a gas-tight joint. That anyway was the theory. This was our third stop on a ten mile round trip, two up as my own wheels had temporarily ceased to turn, and the evening trip was to find a spare part to get me mobile again:  I couldn’t complain. “Downhill all the way now,” continued Ian, ever the optimist, as we stirred ourselves for action.

Just at that moment I became aware of the presence of three young lads, all on mopeds, who had passed us, but come back to see if  we were in trouble. After they had established that we were OK, I asked one of them if he had the time. Turned out it was nearly a quarter to ten, and we had left Kilbarchan at nine o’clock - a distance of all of four miles. I commented to Ian that we had made good time tonight, as one of the trio shone his headlight on the B.S.A. badge on the tank, and exclaimed that his uncle had  owned a B.S.A. but it didnae look like that. I had to agree with him as the pale blue of the cycle parts merged with the silvery aluminium of the applied engine finish giving a shimmering aspect to the bike as it lay against the banking.

The boys departed back to Paisley, heads being shaken in disbelief, but not before the cylinder head nut ritual had been quickly gone through, and I had explained that this was necessary before every journey.
A push, rewarded with a chuffing noise indicated that we were once more under power and off we gently went towards Uplawmoor. The title of this piece was me referring to the power plant as a whole, Ian (having faith in his head gasket) being certain that the wheels would turn, eventually.

As fate decreed, shortly after this I was out for an evening run round Beith on my 1939 G.T.P. Velocette, and picked up an O.H.V. 250 C.C. C11G B.S.A. engine for £1.00, brought it home tied to the top of the tank and delivered to a not-in Ian (out at a dance).  But I left it where he couldn’t miss it, or rather his wife Agnes didn’t miss it with her ankle, but that is another story.

J.S. Dale
12th June 2004

1 :: A very thin shoestring & The Bike that clicked
2 :: He who waits & Travels with a sidecar

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