From: sasmjw@unx.sas.com (Martyn Wheeler)
Newsgroups: rec.motorcycles
Subject: Right Coast Ride on a Spagthorpe (Part 1)
Summary: It was hidden behind the Aerostar
Date: 29 Jul 92 22:39:37 GMT
Reply-To: sasmjw@unx.sas.com
Organization: SAS Institute Inc. Cary NC


    What, me cage to the RCR?  Surely you must be mistaken, Ed!  I
know that a Ford Aerostar seemed to follow me around, and somehow my
Spagthorpe was always parked the other side where you couldn't see,
but *ME* drive a *VAN* to a *MOTORCYCLE* campground?  Obviously you
need to know The Rest Of The Story:

The Scene: It is Friday, in a garage in Raleigh, NC.  Someone
be-decked in a neon green Aerostich suit with hot pink accent panels
is bungying a six-pack of Newcastle Brown Ale to a piece of furniture.
As we come closer, we see that it is not in fact furniture, but a
motorcycle.  The mistake is understandable: it is a Spagthorpe
Wolfhound.

    I have always regretted that my father sold his old bike.  The
Spagthorpe Whippet is legendary among enthusiasts, of course, for its
innovative engineering and inestimable character.  I have been looking
for another one ever since I was old enough to spell "bike" and have
yet to see such a beast, although I have heard of several in various
stages of restoration.  I am blessed, however, with a stable of not
one but several modern-era Spagthorpes, on one of which I would be
attending the Right Coast Ride.
    Not many people are aware that the famous British marque was
revived in 1981 when Julian, Lord Spagthorpe, inherited his title at
the age of 24.  A keen motorcyclist himself, he saw an opportunity to
inject some character into what was becoming a rather bland industry,
and started a manufacturing operation in Peter Tavy, Devonshire.  His
bikes have certainly been distinctive, from the first model of the
Greyhound sportbike up until the present day.
    For the ride, I had selected the 1985 Spagthorpe Wolfhound.  Aimed
at the American market, it failed miserably owing to the lack of
dealerships, although I understand from my friend "Bulldog" that it
was fairly succesful in Zimbabwe.
    The concept was to build a long-distance cruiser, and the emphasis
would be on low-end grunt and endurance rather than top speed.  The
obvious engine configuration was a V-twin, so it was decided to take
the 347cc single from the Beagle, and join four of them on two meshed
crakshafts to produce what would be known as the 1400 W-4, although
the actual configuration was more like _|o|_, with the engine mounted
longitudinally in the frame.  The desmodromic valves only required
adjustment every 3000 miles, but for all but the front cylinder even
checking clearances involved removing the engine from the frame, along
with the primary shaft which ran alongside the rear cylinder and drove
the separate transmission.  This complexity may have been what
discouraged potential American dealers -- I can imagine Joe-Bob The
Motorcycle Mechanic's reaction to such a task! -- but for the owners
who persevered it was outweighed by the benefits of the machine.  It
had shaft drive, liquid cooling, disc brakes operated solely by the
foot pedal with an ingenious "hydraulic computer" to handle balance,
four-speed automatic overdrive transmission, and many luxuries not
seen on bikes even today.

    Anyway, enough of the bike...on to the ride.  Well, sort of ... in
fact we had to start by going to Charlotte, where my wife Susan would
be overseeing the operation of the Timing and Scoring computers.  The
computers would travel down in our Aerostar (oh! *that* must be where
you heard "Aerostar," Ed!), and Susan would stay in Charlotte for the
weekend while I trogged off into the Blue Ridge.
    The trip from Raleigh to Charlotte was uneventful, so I'll spare
you that.  We unloaded the computers at the speedway, and toodled off
to the motel where we collapsed for the night after a couple of beers.

    On Saturday, we woke bright and early (well, early, anyway) only
to find that the van had lost 15psi in the left rear overnight.  We'd
seen this failure mode before, on the front then, where a tyre just
lost pressure quickly with no visible damage.  Anyway, the solution
would be to buy two new tyres.  Ugh.
    Susan *had* to be at the track, so we went anyway, hoping the
20psi would hold for long enough to get there at the 30-40mph we felt
was about as fast as we could take it safely.
    It held.  We got there.  Both of us started work right away on
entering the data on the cars and drivers, and as soon as that was
complete I took on the unenviable task of finding tyres in an
unfamiliar town.  I pulled the van over to the Bridgestone truck,
topped up the air, and left the speedway for a tour of the Queen City.
    Western Auto: no Michelin XH4's in stock in that size, but the
computer shows two of their other locations do.  Call them: they
don't, not in that size, sir.
    Pep Boys: XA4's but no XH4's.  Make mental note and go on.
    Into Charlotte: pass Goodyear, Bridgestone, Yokohama, Firestone,
General.  No Michelin.
    Discover am leaving Charlotte.  Turn round.  Return to Charlotte.
    By a weird streak of luck, I find I am in the real downtown area
at the intersection of Independence Blvd and 3rd Street.  This is
lucky, because here is Kirby-Kale Tires.  They don't have what I want,
either, but one phone call later the nice lady has found them at
another place and her husband is off in his car to collect them.
Marvellous place -- the sort of place that has the owners' home phone
numbers on the door in case you need them when they're closed.
    To make a long (and hot) story short, I get the tyres (at a much
more reasonable price then I expected for a small business), and
return to the track.  Say "Hi" to Susan, tell her I'm off to the
mountains, a mere 3-4 hours behind my schedule.
    Oh well, at least I'm on the way now, and this is where the tale
of the RCR begins in earnest...

    The Spagthorpe, of course, had been sitting in the sun since early
morning, but fortunately the seat is not black but tan, and was still
tolerable even though it was now well into the heat of the day.
    I thumbed the starter, and was greeted with the unique rumble of
the W4 as it sprang into life at the first try -- fortunately good old
Julian didn't believe in Lucas electronics, and had gone to Bosch for
the wiring for his bikes, and for electronic ignition.  I certainly
was glad I didn't have to try to kick-start the beast in this heat.
    I retracted the electric/hydraulic centrestand, hooked the
selector into Reverse, and eased the bike around carefully.  The
Wolfhound is well known for it's tendency to drop suddenly and
unpredictably while reversing, and it is best to keep one's left foot
on the ground through the manoeuvre -- the right foot, of course, is
operating the only brake lever.  If you've never tried to keep a
Wolfhound upright while backing uphill, well, let me just say it's an
interesting experience.
    The time had come to leave.  Slipping the selector into Drive, I
eased on the throttle and rumbled out of the speedway onto NC-49.

    The plan was to take 49 to I-85, then pick up Route 16 going north
through Newton, Conover, Taylorsville, and thence North Wilkesboro to
pick up 421, from which I had directions to the campground already
tucked into the map pocket of the fairing.
    49 is boring.  I-85 is boring.  Fortunately, before long I had
turned off onto 16, which started out thoroughly unpromising but
improved rapidly.
    Route 16 is full of small towns with low speed limits, and there
was not much traffic but what there was crawled along and turned off
quickly.  At these speeds the Wolfhound loped along easily, always
ready for a quick roll-on to pass a recalcitrant cager.  The scenery
passed by with plenty of time to enjoy it, the fairing deflected the
air around me forming a quiet calm pocket, and when I switched on the
air conditioning I might almost have thought I was in an Aerostar or
something.  Eat your heart out, GoldWingers!
    After a short stop for fuel and a co-cola, I managed to follow 16
through Newton and Conover -- not a trivial matter -- and rolled into
Taylorsville.

    The road had been getting more interesting as I approached the
mountains, and the scenery had improved greatly by then -- but this is
where life in general started to get really exciting.  As I rode past
an Amoco station, I saw a Harley and a sidecar rig pulled over behind
a Geo Metro.  Not too unusual, but wait a minute!  That was a *Virago*
with the sidecar.  Aha!  That's a Denizen for sure!
    I made a quick U-turn and pulled into the parking lot.  Closer
examination of the bikes showed that they had Alabama plates, and the
combination even had a DoD licence plate frame!  Virago, sidecar, DoD
-- must be TheMoped!
    Just then the bikers emerged from the convenience store, and
started towards their rides.
    "Hi!" I said, "I only know one person with a Virago with a
sidecar."
    "And who's that?" asked one of the ladies, suspiciously.
    "Amy Swint."
    "Well, that's me," she said with a bright smile, "And this is my
husband Swane, and this is Hilary.  What are you riding?"
    "Oh just that thing," I said, waving my hand in the direction of
the Spagthorpe, but someone had parked a Ford Aerostar in the way and
so all they saw was the van.

    So, it was about 1:30 on Saturday, and four RCR people had met on
the road.  You know, it's really neat when you can just introduce
yourself to someone you've never met before, but you know they'll be
interesting fun people, with interesting opinions.  I like this.

    They had been following 18 from the west, but there had been a
detour onto 16.  Amy was planning to take 16 until they could pick up
on 18 again, then take that and follow the directions to the
campground from there.  She seemed confident, so it seemed reasonable
to let her lead.  She did warn me she was fairly slow, and that her
speedometer cable wasn't working, but I saw no problem with that.  The
worst that could happen is we get lost, and in this countryside and
these roads that would be no hardship.
    Amy started up TheMoped, Shane climbed on his Springer Softail,
and Hilary fired up the Geo convertible.  I walked over to the
Wolfhound, and took off after the three up the road.  My first group
ride with rec.motoists had begun.

[to be continued]

Martyn
--------------sasmjw@unx.sas.com----(Martyn Wheeler)----DoD #293--------------
SAS Institute, Inc: (919) 677-8000 ext.7954    H: (919) 839-0092 (Raleigh, NC)
            For sale: Autodynamics Formula Vee: $2500 obo
          "If you spin, you deserve to die" -- Mike Hawthorn