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If the pace of modern life is getting too much for you, then a 50 year old Gold Flash might just come to your rescue. Alex Woodard has indeed been rescued, and in so many interesting ways... Where will I be rescued from this weekend? This is my beautiful big Beesa, a 1953 A10 Golden Flash in optional black with plunger suspension. This stunning machine has taken me to some interesting places, but rarely conveys me back home afterwards. It sat proudly on the picture-postcard village green in Ringmer, for example, attracting admiration and interest, but not actually going anywhere. The gear shafts had broken free of their restrictive bearings and bushes, composing themselves in one solid formation. No other gears
So after realising my predicament and sailing around in just the one gear for a time, I pulled up in a setting that befitted the machine's elegant lines and telephoned for assistance. A local couple brought me tea and whiled away the time. A middle-aged man on a frightening 1300 Japanese projectile stopped to natter. It later transpired he was a National Lottery winner. Then the rescue company arrived at precisely the time they promised and loaded the BSA onto a huge flatbed truck. The ride back to Central London was less fun than the ride out.
The BSA also sat rather proudly on a little green near Hampstead Heath. All the kicking in the world wouldn't get it to restart after it had stopped. Somehow none of this mattered because, once again, the machine had found itself a proper setting in which to experience mechanical failure. I simply sat on a park bench, quietly glowing inside, as busy Londoners paused for more that the usual second to gasp or question. A magneto fixing had slipped, throwing the timing wildly out. The rescue company once again arrived promptly. But this time they attempted roadside repair. Pure folly. I am assured by my most able mechanic that the cure was very easy to effect, but this guy had no chance. The BSA looks like no other machine he'd ever worked on and he probably wouldn't have recognised a magneto if it shocked him.
I'm not sure where I'll be rescued from next. But I don't intend to stop riding the BSA because of these mere niggles. The machine has been lovingly restored and was probably kept in a collection for some years. I convince myself that if I ride it often enough, it will come together as a reliable motorcycle. In the meantime, I merely need to convince my bank manager to keep footing the bill. In the grand scheme of things, his pettifoggery seems wholly inappropriate.
Rescue or Roadside Repair? Opinions? |
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