Motorcycling in the 1970s Volume 2:: Funky Motorcycling! Biking in the 1970s - Part One

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INTRODUCTION

This series of books is, in some respects, a love letter to motorcycling. It has certainly been written from the heart. I started riding powered two-wheelers in the mid 1970s, on a fabulous little 50cc ‘popsicle purple’ Yamaha FS1-E, and straight away I felt that riding set me free in a way that was not only instantly joyful, but also meaningful and somehow magically transcendental.

I was also aware I was stepping into a great, flowing river of history, and I was deeply glad of it. I quickly became as interested in motorcycling’s past as its present; hungry to find out about the fascinating machines and singular people that made motorcycling what it was, and had been. And I began to explore what it was that set motorcyclists apart from the majority and made biking so uniquely enjoyable. As an avid rider and reader, I became a student of ‘the sport’.

Those thoughts and feelings have endured for nearly 40 years now and while I still find motorcycling in all its aspects as boundlessly fascinating as did my teenage self, it is the period in which I plunged in and joined the flow, the time when I was at my most impressionable and when my mind was at its most absorbent, that still holds the greatest interest for me today. The 1970s. The time when I fell in love with motorcycling.

The first book is a general history, briefly told, of motorcycling in Britain from its beginnings at the very end of the 19th century up to 1969 (interwoven to an extent with two-wheeled goings on in the USA and elsewhere). It charts motorcycling’s pioneering years, skips through two world wars, tells of social acceptability in the 1920s, hard times in the 1930s and growing ostracisation and decline in the 1950s and 1960s. It attempts to make sense of the motorcycling world order, and of motorcycling’s place in society and everyday life, and sets the scene for the larger, more detailed volumes which follow.

Taken together, Books Two, Three and Four form a comprehensive, in-depth history of the bikes and motorcycling trends and events in the 1970s. They tell the story of the arrival of the superbike, the continuing and inexorable rise of the Japanese motorcycle industry and, partly from an insider’s point of view, the wasteful, lingering death of its British equivalent. They tell of the thrilling and extraordinary sporting machines from Italy and of the bulletproof BMW twins designed in Bavaria. They tell of motorcycling culture and of two-wheeled life and lives.

In the 1970s, motorcycling became a leisure activity in a new and exciting way, there were more motorcyclists than ever before, or since, and dozens of new and ever more fabulous and technologically advanced motorcycles crammed the showrooms every year. It was the time of Jarno Saarinen and Giacomo Agostini and of Kenny Roberts and Barry Sheene. The time of Bike magazine, of Motorcycle Sport and Cycle in the USA, of Mark Williams, Dave Minton and LJK Setright in his pomp.

I argue that although the protagonists were largely unaware of it at the time, the 1970s as a whole can now be seen to have been a golden era in the history of the movement, a pivotal decade which represents a high point in the history of motorcycling that is never likely to be matched.

The final book in the series, entitled ‘The Magic of Motorcycling’, takes a sideways look at the 1970s classic motorcycle scene in the second decade of the 21st century and explores what it is that makes motorcycling so special to so many people yet an anathema to a great many more.

And a series of appendices list nostalgic, amusing and sometimes poignant reminders of the life and culture of the 1970s, reminding us of the global goings-on and domestic backdrop underlying the motorcycling scene and, of course, all lesser matters.

Books Two to Five all feature a short chapter containing potted biographies of the interviewees quoted in the text.

Altogether, this gigantic and far reaching but, I hope, always coherent tome, is an attempt to make sense of motorcycling and celebrate its apogee in the 1970s. I have tried to set down a great many facts in a logical yet entertaining way and, as well as aiming to be informative, I have strived to connect with fellow enthusiasts and devotees at an emotional level, and also to convey to non-motorcycling readers something of what is wonderful and fascinating about powered two-wheelers.

CHAPTER ONE

A FALSE DAWN

As the 1970s dawned, Britain was a country still overshadowed by the Second World War, and still paying for it. A country whose political elite included men such as Ted Heath and Tony Benn and Denis Healey who not only lived through it, but fought in it. A country in sad decline but still an important industrial powerhouse and a major world economy. A country where politics was still directly connected to the everyday. A country of nationalised industries, flying pickets (invented by Yorkshire miners’ leader Arthur Scargill in 1969), Keynsian governments and low unemployment. A country whose citizens stubbornly clung to the increasingly outdated notion it was still a significant world power.

Birmingham skyline, Aston district

(Birmingham University Archive)

By 1970 man had walked on the moon but in Britain most people still had flickering, grainy black and white television sets perched on spindly splay legs, and donkey jacketed workers still wore flat caps and mufflers and walked to the pit, factory or mill in early morning darkness carrying their steel snap tins and stopping off at the paper shop for a Daily Mirror and a pack of Senior Service.

Britain was a country of long, hot summers, milk at morning break, mini skirts, slam door trains, and Green Shield stamps. Of Burton Ale and Ind Coope bitter, of Spangles and Maltesers; a new world of Chopper bicycles, Subbuteo and Space Hoppers happily coexisting with an old one of blow football, Beetle Drives and Happy Families.

British motorcycles ruled the roads and white dog poo littered the streets (calcium from the bones and bone meal they ate). There was just one pop chart and three television channels. We listened to the same music and watched the same programmes. These things were cohesive. We really were all in it together. In 1970, Rolf Harris’s Two Little Boys was the January number one. The Stylophone brought electronic music to the people and everybody watched Top of the Pops. George Best was soccer’s only superstar and the FA Cup replay between Leeds and Chelsea at Old Trafford on April 29 would be viewed by 28.4 million people.

Central heating was a rarity in 1970, as were colour televisions. For now most people wore a warm pullover in the house and made do with a wall mounted two bar electric fire to heat the bathroom and a solid fuel open fire in the lounge, perhaps with a back boiler providing hot water. A copper storage cylinder containing an electric immersion heater was the most common apparatus for producing enough hot water for a bath.

Motorcycling in the industrial north of England (Roger Bennett)

There were three colour television channels at the beginning of the new decade, BBC1 and ITV having begun colour transmissions in November 1969, two years after pioneering efforts on BBC2, but only 200,000 colour televisions were in service in 1970. By 1972 there would be 1.6 million despite a high monthly rental cost of around £8 per month.

Returning home on a dark January evening to a cold, empty house, a frozen motorcyclist would typically be obliged to wait an hour and a half before the immersion heater could supply sufficient hot water for him to have a restorative bath (although Germaine Greer’s ‘Female Eunuch’ was published in October 1970, it is reasonable to assume our motorcyclist is a man). A television advertisement for water soluble salts urged us to ‘Relax in a Radox bath’ (Radox started life in 1908 as foot salts product that apparently RADiated OXygen) but in winter there would be leaf-like frost patterns on the inside of the bathroom window and a steaming steel tub cooled to room temperature in ten minutes, so a bracing dip was more often in order than a soothing soak.

Then, having earlier laid and lighted a coal fire, a skill in itself, he could sit, perhaps with an eiderdown over his knees as protection against curtain billowing draughts from the window and further cold blasts from under the door, and enjoy the close, flickering warmth of the fire and a boil in the bag Vesta beef curry (even he couldn’t get that wrong), while watching two or three hours of fuzzy, monochromatic audio-visual entertainment. The national anthem or screeching test tones would then drive him out of his chair to fill a hot water bottle and retire to an early bed.

In the early 1970s motorcycling was never shown on television, apart from scrambling, or motocross as it was becoming known, which was occasionally still broadcast on weekend afternoons. Even then, its slots could not be guaranteed; scrambling was always at the mercy of schedulers, who would drop events if horse racing overran or keep them back to use as fillers when horse race meetings were cancelled. In 1970, televised sport meant football, golf, and in the afternoons, wall to wall horse racing.

The Manx Norton. Still being raced in Grands Prix at the dawn of the 1970s (Venture Classics)

Grand Prix motorcycle road racing was at a low ebb at the start of the 1970s. Mike Hailwood had officially announced his retirement, aged just 29, and amazingly, the flat blat of archaic open megaphone British four-stroke singles was still to be heard in 500cc Grands Prix. They were competitive too, up to a point. Agostini would usually play at making a race of it for the crowds, then clear off to win on his MV Agusta, but there was often a British banger in a podium position and British privateer Godfrey Nash won the 1969 Yugoslavian Grand Prix at Opatija on a Manx Norton (it would be the last 500cc victory for a single cylinder machine).

It was a strange state of affairs brought about by Honda’s withdrawal from racing at the end of 1967. There was just nothing else available to take the fight to the MV Agusta factory in the sport’s biggest class. Manx Nortons and Matchlesses were bikes of 1920s origin, motorcycles from a past epoch, but they were reasonably fast and immensely stable, both while cornering and in a straight line, ignoring bumps and grooves and going where they were pointed. They were also practical and easy to maintain and repair.

They were fine racing motorcycles but the jackhammer beat of British singles ‘on the pipe’ would soon become consigned to the past and jargon such as ‘full chat’ and ‘on the mega’ was about to become an ancient argot. A language of the past.

Giacomo Agostini’s MV Agusta at Mallory Park, Leicestershire

(Roger Bennett)

In the smaller classes the technological battle of the 1960s was over. Ernst Degner’s defection from MZ had led to a mad race between all the big four Japanese manufacturers. Suzuki, Yamaha and, belatedly, Kawasaki built two-stroke racers with ever tinier pistons and ever more cylinders arranged in a variety of interesting configurations. These clever creations produced ever more power but in ever narrower bands and to keep them singing the riders had to play a tune using gearboxes with as many as 14 gears.

To keep up Honda produced exotic multi-cylindered four-strokes with minute, watch-like internals, one of which revved to an incredible 25,000 rpm, and for which bespoke gearboxes of up to 10 speeds were sometimes made overnight and flown halfway round the world for instant use.

The beginning of the 1970s was a quieter time. New regulations phased in between 1969 and 1971 limited 50cc Grand Prix bikes to one cylinder, 125s and 250s to two and 350 and 500s to four. And bikes in all categories were restricted to six gears. These changes killed the four-stroke in the smaller classes and Honda withdrew from racing in advance of their implementation. Yamaha scaled down its efforts, focusing a little more on making its racers easier to ride and a little less seizure prone, and on its long-term ambitions in the premier class.

Trackstar helmets, Phantom jackets and Tuffuns real scramble hide breeches, all on easy terms from D Lewis Ltd of London, Birmingham and Sheffield

In 1970 coloured leathers were no longer considered effeminate. In 1969 world 250cc runner up Kent Andersson wore white hide with red side stripes to match his red and white Yamaha and his helmet was also colour coordinated. But black leathers and pudding basin crash helmets were still standard wear and even some of the top boys would sometimes wear a cardie over their cardboardy black suits. In the 1950s it had still been possible to ride a bike from meeting to meeting in Europe and compete on it. By the 1970s one or two production racers were still doing this, although not in Grands Prix. The world had moved on. The modern way was to drive from race to race in a Comma van towing a touring caravan.

Was the weather better in the 1970s? It certainly rained a lot at the beginning of the decade. Magazine road test photography tended to be naturalistic. Bikes were snapped by bedraggled, Barbour suited testers parked in streaming gutters outside their modest suburban homes, or pictured by the staff photographer, picking their way through city centre puddles, lashed by spray from splashing trucks and buses, and always, it seemed, under flat despondent skies. The pictures were in black and white, but it was clear they accurately reproduced a grim, grey world. What summer? That was the lament then as much as now.

Six lanes of empty blacktop. The M1 motorway on a Sunday morning

(Roger Bennett)

Road congestion? While angry traffic gusted and blustered in town and cities, the roads outside these rumbling centres were often relatively empty. On the edge of conurbations, new age flyovers soared over suburbia and new underpasses dived under it, but the twanging ricochet of tyres over high level expansion joints, the phasey roar of exhausts in concrete cuttings and the woosh of trucks ramming air in and out of urban tunnels was cacophonous only in rush hour.

And on the half empty M1, flatulent Morris Minors infrequently pootled in the slow lane, Comma flatbed lorries grumbled by only sporadically, reps in boxy Ford Cortinas growled past but occasionally and the fast lane only very rarely swished with executives in Jaguar XJ6s and traffic patrolmen in new, shark-like Triumph 2000s. Many smaller roads were scarcely used. Some roads in Scotland and the rural north of England were deserted almost altogether.

Motorcycling in the 1970s. A whole new world of excitement …

In 1970 a few motorcycles were already being ridden for their own sake rather than as essential transport but then, much more so than now, motorcycling was a big part of everyday life for a significant number of riders. The idea that motorcycling would evolve into a self-indulgent hobby for executive types was still far from becoming a reality. In fact, as the country gradually became more affluent, more people were choosing four wheels and fewer were opting for two.

Motorcycling was in decline and under attack. In 1970 motorcycles made up just four percent of traffic yet contributed 20 percent of casualty statistics. ‘Is Motorcycling the Means to an End?’ was the droll title of a newly published effort by the Ministry of Transport’s Road Safety Publicity Unit which claimed motorcyclists were 21 times more likely to be killed than car drivers and 34 times more likely to be injured.

Compulsory passenger insurance for motorcyclists would become law in 1971, raising all premiums, and civil servants were known to be working on legislation to raise the minimum riding age to 17 (it would become law in December 1972, forcing 16-year-olds onto mopeds with unforeseen consequences). Motorcycle Sport magazine wrote of tedious legislation threatening ‘the game’, and a way of life. There was also still a resentment of the 70mph national speed limit introduced in 1964 and a lingering hope it would eventually be abolished.

Wax cotton two-piece, the practical uniform of motorcycling’s Old Guard

For most motorcyclists, bikes were not just for fun; they were a serious means of transport and not a particularly cheap or easily affordable one. Hire Purchase (HP) was a solemn undertaking. A big deposit was required and repayments were a slog. Dedicated riders had to work their way up to a big bike. Motorcycling’s Barbour suited Old Guard, the core readership readership of Motorcycle Sport Magazine, rode British motorcycles, often kept a vintage machine as well as a contemporary one, and socialised together at weekly club meetings. This was a 1950s scene still just about alive in 1970, although in steady and terminal decline.

These veteran motorcyclists saw motorcycling as a sport requiring skill, finesse and further commitment beyond paying for the machine. Home servicing made for personal involvement, a relationship with the bike, deeper riding satisfaction and pleasure in ownership. It made sense to understand how the machine to which you trusted your life functioned. And it was cheaper that way too.

New riders, although increasingly not drawn to clubs and societies, nor moved to master maintenance beyond the most basic procedures, were aware there was a tradition to maintain and through carrying out simple tasks and learning about motorcycling history from paternal old hands and greybeard scribes in the specialist press, were generally glad to be part of its continuum.

At the start of the decade, Britain’s surviving motorcycle manufacturers bemoaned the falling home market. And although still benefiting from the rapidly growing American biking scene, they were having to work harder than ever before to maintain their success. No longer could they sell bikes in other world markets without even trying; without, in some countries, even having proper dealerships. British firms, it seemed, looked only to the USA when devising export strategy and ignoring the colossal global non-enthusiast market that was the bedrock of the Japanese firms’ financial success would prove a huge mistake.

At home too, the repeated failure of Britain’s industry to overhaul its products and meet the needs of a changing home market meant no real effort was made to compete with the Japanese in the sale of small capacity machines. The industry was failing to attract young British motorcyclists to British marques and was thereby leaving the road clear for future Japanese domination.

The superiority of the products of the British industry had been taken for granted by more than one generation but things had changed. The Old Guard had biked British for a lifetime and to the Triton mounted rocker, begoggled and pudding basined, in badge bedecked black leather jacket, black boots, Wrangler jeans, white sailor’s sweater, white silk scarf and turned over white woollen socks, a pressed steel buzz box was no good at all.

But Japanese motorcycles were practical, reliable, rider friendly machines offering more than decent performance and easy maintenance. They appealed particularly to novice riders and the commuter and consequently new motorcyclists usually bought small Japanese bikes. In this way the Japanese manufacturers began long-term relationships with young British bikers.

THE RISING SUN

Japanese bikes were better looking than before, and they were getting faster and more exciting. Before the Japanese moved into the market, small bikes were generally considered mundane, underpowered and uninspiring. In the 1960s the British made ride-to-work two-strokes which surged and coughed and belched their way from home to factory, and back again if their owners were lucky. They were cheaply made, carelessly assembled, unreliable, smelly, oily, non-cooperative and much cussed. They were painted horrible colours and given embarrassing names.

These hapless machines were being replaced by smooth, nippy and reliable two-strokes from Suzuki and Yamaha. Bikes built using engineering lessons learned on their all conquering Grand Prix bikes of the 1960s. Steadier ride to work motorcyclists bought 250cc overhead camshaft four-stroke Honda twins (no pushrods, even in 1970) and the Honda Cub killed off the last of the scooters.

1960 150cc Francis Barnett Plover 86

(Andy Tiernan)

In 1970 Gerald Davison was a young manager at Honda UK. In the early sixties he had trained as an insurance assessor and worked for a time at south London motorcycle dealers, Taylor Matterson.

Gerald Davison: The British industry had nothing to offer. Every attempt they made to compete fell short because the quality wasn’t there. I can remember before I joined Honda, when I was with Taylor Mattersons, I used to test quite a lot of the new models that came out. We had a new Francis Barnett Plover and I had to go somewhere on it late in the afternoon. It got dark and every time I stopped at traffic lights the lights almost went out so when I got back I told the chap who had done the PDI on it whenever it stopped it almost lost its lights and he said: ‘Ah! There’s a back up battery.’.

And sure enough there was a little compartment and in there was a domestic Ever Ready U2 battery, two cells with long brass strips on it and I thought what kind of technology is this for a motorbike? Just so primitive and cheap. I was shocked. And you’ve got to match that with what was coming in from Honda at the time, the 125s and the 250s and the 450.

And it wasn’t just the Japanese because prior to the Japanese most of the small bike market was dominated by Europeans, either Italian or German. The NSU Quickly was a very high quality lightweight and of course there had been scooters coming in from Italy and every attempt the British industry made at trying to compete with those just fell flat. The answer to the NSU Quickly was the Raleigh moped which was a bicycle concept with a really poor quality two-stroke engine on it. It was just rubbish, as was the Ariel Pixie. When the Triumph Tigress first came out I had a look at one at a show and thought it didn’t look too bad but actually, once again it was terrible. The quality just wasn’t there.

Little Suzukis. Quality in abundance and easy on the pocket

The early Japanese lightweights weren’t lookers to start with; a bit humpty tanked