Wednesday, October 29, 2014

The Urban Terrorist

Communists weren't the only terrorists Malaysia faced in the 1970s. The bike below, a 1964 Norton Dominator, was the first bike I owned anywhere. It didn't take long before I had a set of air horns fitted.

I remember one evening, winding through a crowded Penang street when this Honda step through kept getting in my way. It was ridden by an Indian gentleman with, lets say, his rather well-fed, sari clad female companion behind. I hit the horn and she started climbing off the step through.
There is one picture missing from the next sequence but one day I might find it.


I bought the Honda SL350 soon after I arrived to race in the scambles (Moto-X). The next shot shows it in the early days of competition at a grass track meeting in Ipoh - note still fitted with standard mufflers. The next is the second step in the transformation to a real terror machine - mufflers removed. More noise, not sure if it did anything for performance.


Two more steps completed the transformation to urban terrorist machine. First, fit megaphones. Second, gear it down. What a machine.
Redlined at something like 10 1/2 or 11 and did it get there quick. And did it roar. I used to put cotton wool in my ears under the lid. The noise was not restricted to the race track.
The bike remained registered all the time I owned it - even though with lights, indicators etc stripped it may not have been road legal. And I rode it to scramble meets.

I clearly remember the day I came up behind this car on the way to the track. Dropped down a couple of cogs and man did it roar. Kids in the back seat turned to see what was behind with looks of terror on their faces.



Who knows how many other people I caused to wonder if their time on earth was up?
OK, I admit it, I was nothing but a hoon. Did I enjoy doing it at the time? I'll keep you wondering if you can't fathom it out yourself.
Am I tolerant of young hoons today? No way.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

The Hitch Hiker

It was in that time between receiving my posting to Butterworth in 1971 and departing Williamtown that this event took place.

Col Winter, the proud owner of a Toyota Crown 2600, Stan Jarosinski and I decided on a trip to check out one of the wineries in the Hunter Valley. Two details that have long escaped my recollection are the name of the winery and the other bloke who came with us, although it may have been an Instrument Fitter Heinrich Hermann.

On the way we picked up a hitch hiker – from memory a young bloke not much older than us. As we chatted he asked after our destination including, of course, the name of the winery. Before we came to the end of our trip our passenger asked us to drop him off. I still have a vague recollection of a long drive leading to a large house.

As we drove on we joked among ourselves at his parting comments: ‘I fix you up later.’ ‘Later’ we thought. How could he ‘fix us up later?’

 We are arrived at our destination, dispensed with the formality of a tour of the winery, and headed straight for the bar to sample the wares. Obviously we were unskilled wine tasters, for there was none of the pour it into the glass, raise it in the air and gaze at it for a while, sniff it, or allow the sample to rest on our tongue before spitting it out and washing our mouths out with water. We followed a simpler process.

Not long after we arrived we noticed our hitch hiker friend appear on the opposite side of the bar. He pointed us out to the bar staff, muttered something to them, and disappeared. Needless to say, from then on we had trouble emptying our sample glasses.

Came the time to depart and our friend appeared again. This time he ushered us into another room. There he gave us an empty cardboard box – maybe more than one – and helped us to fill it with a collection of the firm’s produce, and not just the cheap stuff.


He certainly did ‘fix us up later.’