The Norton Challenge is an excellent excuse to drag an old bike out of the shed and head off into the blue, looking for anywhere called 'Norton'. Frank Westworth's wheels turned east, towards Sussex...

February's Challenging ride ended on a bit of a grumpy note, with the fabled Mighty White rotatory Norton oozing oil from its backside and cutting out in the rain. Neither of these is a particularly desirable feature in a motorcycle, and so I fixed them. I fixed the oil weep by subtle means involving very little work, and I hoped that my second attempt at fixing the misbehaving ignition would be more successful than the first, which had involved stripping, cleaning and reassembling. And didn't in fact work. Sigh.

But, as is too often the way, I didn't have the time to both assault the spanners and get in a decent test mileage before March's Challenge dates, so decided that it was more sensible to drag out the Big Red Rotator instead.

Despite their both being Nortons of the rotatory persuasion, Big Red is a very different animal to Mighty White. For a start, the engine is liquid-cooled, which makes it somehow more stable, more civilised than most of the air-cooled engines, and it was never abused by the police and has taller gearing than the white ex-plod device. It also boasts real genuine proper Krauser hard luggage, the most comfortable seat on the planet, and entirely excellent weather protection.

The bad bit (why is there always a bad bit?) was that the last ride Big Red and I had survived together had been to Stonehenge for the winter solstice, back in Christmas week, and although I'd thrown a bucket or two of soapy water over it in some feeble attempt at reducing the layers of salty clag, it needed a proper sorting out if it was going to run reliably for a few hundred miles.

There was also a great opportunity here to try out the new brakes. If Norton Commanders (which is the dull official name for liquid-cooled rotaries like Big Red) have one real woe, it is that their brakes are a bit on the weedy feeble side. The entire front end was taken from the late 1980s Yamaha XJ900, and although these components have many virtues (like cheapness, easy availability, great strength and reliability) the brakes are feeble. And weedy. So here I must raise the glass of thanks to Tig, Hesketh and Norton pilot of considerable note, who gave me (yes, you read that correctly; gave as in free) a set of Billet stoppers from his own Norton Commander, which he was upgrading with a complete new front end.

Lots and lots of washing, then. Lots and lots of warm soapy water to remove the chill salty slime. And a tiny bit of polishing to pretend that Big Red is in something like well-maintained condition.

The Plan For March involved riding eastwards. This is not an area with which I am particularly familiar, although I know the countryside around Stonehenge decently well, sad old hippy that I am. Good roads though, and the day dawned dry and mild. Big Red has the world's most effective fairing, so you can almost guarantee great warmth and a lack of rain. Except last Summer, when I got rained on heavily every day of a week in Wales. So it goes…

Half a mile from the res, the Norton cut out. I swore. It cut in again. I hate this…

Half a mile further on, the Norton cut out again. It cut in again. I hate this, and I swore (loudly; none of this under-the-breath nonsense) that if it did it again I would call the AA and scrap the wreck. The Norton ran faultlessly for the next 450 miles. So that's OK, then. Number One Toolbox Tool; loud and bad language.

There's something magical about the ride out of the West; over the fringes of Dartmoor, bends vertical and horizontal; rotormotor howling away, as rotormotors do; pulling hard, shifting on the skinny tyres past Exeter, Honiton, and into Ilminster to fuel. For some reason I've never worked out, the Big Red rotator runs best on Super Fuel; sometimes it almost ticks over, but that's a sore point at the moment…

An aside: when rotary Norton engines get weary, they become hard to start. This one starts perfectly, hot or cold. It pulls very well, few blips or glitches. But it is reluctant to tickover. It has a tickover adjuster. I adjusted it. It still dislikes ticking over. I think it's attention-seeking.

But away from familiar lands and off along the A303, seeking that first Norton, in this case, Norton Sub Hamdon. Decided to ignore the village sign and smudge the Norton outside a public building. Handsome, isn't it? Can't remember what the building is. I should write these episodes up more quickly. Oh yes; it was a primary school. Good job I didn't get arrested.

Back to the A303 and the run for lunch at a familiar Little Chef; the one at Amesbury, conveniently close to the great stones of Stonehenge. The A303 is a great road on a rotatory Norton; fast and free-flowing. Just the job.

An aside: The Little Chef at Amesbury is familiar to you, too. Look at RC56, at the feature on the two Norton / Matchless 750 hybrids. The photos were taken in that very Little Chef carpark. As you can see; RealClassic pulls no punches when sorting out exotic photo locations.

But what's this? In the Chef carpark stands a very tasty Triumph. A RealClassic reader has ventured out for a cuppa and a chat,. Hurrah. While we're sharing that cuppa and that chat, a Sunbeam rumbles in. Another RC reader. How grand. It's always good to meet up and tell tall tales, and drink coffee, even if it is improbably strong Little Chef coffee. At least I don't fall asleep while riding.

Onward then; back into the road, and to pull up at a 'Norton' whose sign we pass en route to Kempton Park. It's near Micheldelver, in case you're interested.

Then it was time to head for the night's rest, pounding through a lot of vaguely familiar roads towards the entirely unfamiliar Arundel, where I was laying my head and resting my wheels. The sun sank, and so did the temperature. Norton Man feels no cold of course, and I can recommend the A272 as it twists and slides eastward and away from the setting sun. Some beautiful countryside. Some very grumpy drivers. Some interesting towns and villages. None of them called anything with Norton in their name of course. That would be too simple.

The next day, March 25th, was blowy and bright enough. Who could ask for more? Time to find the breakfast Little Chef at Fontwell, where I'd announced my intention to dine, and then down to Selsey Bill, which I keep hearing about on the Radio 4 shipping forecasts, and where there are a couple of Nortons. There's a Norton near Fontwell, too, although it's a shy retiring Norton and doesn't have a village marker. Wonder why? Were they all stolen by Norton Challengers? Beamed up by souvenir-hunting aliens? We will never know.

But there were lots of Norton This and Norton That; my favourites being Norton Glebe (some sort of macho bird, at a guess) and the Norton Hind Saddlery. Norton Hind is possibly a condition brought about by too many miles a-wheel, but I guess we'll never know that, either.

The Fontwell Chef has a carpark. It was full of bikes. What a fine crowd. Really remarkable. A surprise. Great conversation, many laughs, not all of them at my expense, which makes a refreshing change. But these things need to end, as things do, and a small clump on seriously unusual machinery headed down to Selsey Bill, Norton hunting.

We found Upper Norton, but not Church Norton, although we did park outside Norton Priory, which wasn't a priory at all; just a beautiful old house, in a strangely atmospheric landscape. Norton hunting is a great way to discover obscure places. Really.

Nortons hiding on eBay.co.uk

But then, that farewell wave and the long run westwards. Wild. Really wild winds. Swooping across the New Forest was wild; it really was. Tremendous fun (and wild); what motorcycling is all about in many ways. Stopped to take a few pics by the English Channel where she batters the Dorset coast, and could hardly balance the bike. It was perfectly stable while rolling, just scary in the clifftop blast. Better press on, then. The A3052. Great rider's road. Try it. Great place names. No Nortons. Of course.

Have you noticed that as you approach home so your speed rises? I was travelling at uncharacteristic velocities by the time I re-hit the A30 and A3079 and A3072. But it was all OK, because we'd managed lots of miles, seen some remarkable places and met a crowd of great folk.

Roll on next month; back to the Welsh Marches…

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Send your Norton snaps to RCHQ @ RealClassic.net and they may appear on this site or in the magazine. Don't forget to tell us who you are and which Norton you discovered (and any extra info about the place or your bike would be interesting too). Special prizes will be awarded for obscure Nortons, distant Nortons and just plain strange Nortons (people have already found Shenstone, Featherbed Lane and a garden gate!).