Memories by Alf Engers

Cycling and Other Memories

~Alf Engers

For many of us old codgers the 1950’s were our golden years for cycling; but the cycling is mixed with so many other memories of our lives back in those days. Not long after the war many things were still scarce with chocolate only coming off ration in 1947. In my father’s bakery there was a demand for sweet things. Jam slice was probably the favourite and at Christmas chocolate logs. How times have changed. Yet personally I don’t remember seeing many fat kids then, unlike today when fast food is probably the reason for obesity and also many other modern illnesses. These notes come from various times in my life, and have not been arranged not in any special order.

The Barnet Club and its Characters

My first cycling club was The Barnet CC and the club boasted a host of top riders, the most prominent being Ted Gerrard, National Road Race Champion at eighteen. The club had a road-race side and a time-trial side, plus bike polo in which Percy Baker was the top man.

I was twelve when I joined The Barnet which was in the main a road racing club. If you were a junior then you were not able to compete until you were sixteen years old which for me was too long to wait so I did my first Time-Trial on the F4A course Hertfordshire close to home and recorded a time of 1-12-56. Around this time if you beat the hour you were considered to be super good, so it became my ambition to beat the hour, and I remember meeting my Uncle Len who showed me his bike, single gear fixed and bamboo sprints. I told him of my ambition and he said “You'll never do that.”

There was fierce rivalry amongst clubs in the area. The inter-club race with the Ealing Manor was as closely fought as a national championship. The winter, which we called the social season then, culminated with the club dinner plus the receiving of trophies.

The club had a few real characters, like Harry Wilson (Harry the Horse) famous for his training rides to Wales with bricks in the saddle bags. Harry’s most famous ride was a top three in the Christmas morning 25 with the temperature six degrees below freezing with him only having on a race jersey; they don’t make them like that anymore. I joined the boys at the pub in Elstree afterward which was a tradition to sing bawdy rugby songs. 

Come January this was the start of some serious off-season rivalry between club mates. Meeting at Henleys Corner on the North Circular was the start for the traditional Swindon ride. I remember coming into Swindon in the lead group, unusually for me because I always got dropped with John Woodburn. John was on the usual winter fixed wheel bike, and this time I changed gear and left him which subsequently inspired John to try gears and he became national 25 mile champion. The Hertfordshire loop was also a favourite ride attracting large bunches of riders and culminating at the Marshmore Café. The A10 was a single carriageway and if you stood at the Cambridge roundabout the road on the left is the newly built road. Although my interest in racing at that time centred on the road my hero at this time was "bling" Fausto Coppi. There were three sub hour twenty five milers in the club John Scribens the fastest with a club record of 58-40 the others being Brian Rusling and Wally Rowe.

Disaster Strikes

But my cycling career was halted in its tracks when I was only fourteen, as on the return from an evening 10 with my race wheels on sprint carrier in front, I pulled away from traffic lights pleased that I have just recorded a personal best time of 24-50 thinking of a junior NCU junior championship when the next thing I remember was flying through the air. A car had turned across my path and I hit it. As I lay on the ground members of the North London club came along and went around to tell my parents. In hospital I remember seeing the x-ray of my shattered knee cap and being told we will have to take the whole lot out. All I can remember saying was "Will I be OK by the weekend for racing ?" The doctors said "It will take a bit longer than that!" They operated the following Monday so from Thursday evening I had a very uncomfortable time. After I spent six weeks in hospital and looked forward to having the plaster cast removed. I had a shock as when the cast was taken away one leg was leg was two and a half inches thinner than the other.

Beginning Again

This could have been the end of my cycling, but I was totally determined not to let that happen. Riding was very painful at first, but as soon as could I got back on the bike. I put the saddle right up to stretch the knee joint as much as possible and rode round and round a local block. Soon other kids joined me and we were riding in a bunch. I suppose I just wanted to race, however someone phoned the police and we were stopped from doing this. Later I found out about the training ride around Regents Park where you could have a bunch of thirty riders going around at race pace. I remember seeing notices in café windows stating "No cyclists served." Riding around North London there were still cleared bomb sites. This was my introduction to cycle racing speedway. Groups of kids like myself formed unofficial clubs and competition was fierce. Club names like the Tottenham Kangaroos, Hawbush Hammers and my own club Archway Stars come to mind.

Gradually I progressed and got down to a long 1-3 on the Farnham Alton course also called the Wind Tunnel. I began to dream of a sub hour ride, and my mates all had training schedules that included rest days. I decided not to have any rest days and was warned by my club mates that I would soon burn myself out, but I carried on regardless. Later I convinced myself that I was ready to give the 25 a real shot at getting under the hour. The chosen event was the Eastern Counties Association on the E1 in 1956.  This course was a favourite venue for East Londoners. 

Getting Under

Clubs had their own club huts for riders to stay the night because there were not many cars then. I was given a number nine spot with the event starting at six am and as I waited at the start more than a little bit nervous I was dismayed that there was no time keeper who subsequently came along forty five minutes late. At last I was off and had convinced myself that this was it, it had to be now. My single gear 78” fixed seemed to be OK, traffic was non-existent, and it was cold. I was now in my own world alone, several riders in front of me had not started and I did not know where I was until I saw riders coming back the other way from the turn at Stumps Cross. My lifelong friend Alan Shorter shouted "Fifty seven minutes," with about two miles to go. He also shouted you can do it if you try, which I did to the point of not being able to stand up after the finish 59-26. I was ecstatic. The event was won by Eric Beauchamp in 57-50 who I had the great pleasure in meeting nearly sixty years later.

National Junior Road Race Champion and a Punch-Up

Later in the year I turned my attention to the road with the idea of competing in the new National Junior Championship event to be held in a park in Nottingham. As we arrived there early I had a look at the circuit which consisted of a long straight, sharp left up a hill round a long bend and downhill back to the straight. I did not know any of the riders apart from Jim George who had won on the Isle of Man. The day was hot and I started to get heat stroke. I threw water over my head to try and feel better. I think at one stage I tried to put the gear in the back wheel. Some laps later I found myself in a break with the other three riders one of which was Jim George the favourite. 

It was obvious that the other riders knew each other well with Ken Haden from a local club. Finally to my great relief I held the break at the top of the hill. Jim George’s mother had run up from the finish and shouted “You’ve got it Jim” to which I patted him on the back and said “You’ve got it” and he said “No - what about him ?” meaning Ken Haden, I said "No, you can beat him." The four of us turned onto the finishing straight and two of them slowed down to a walking pace just like match sprint. We got within 200 yards of the finish and I had to change down. Suddenly one of them jumped and I did the same. However one came up onto my shoulder. It was close but I thought I had it which I did. Afterwards Ken Haden came over very miffed and said "That was a surprise wasn’t it!" I said "Well I have won five races so far this year and have beaten the hour," and he said "We've never heard of you!"

Later I was to find having the jersey was a blight. I overheard a group of riders telling someone else, "Kick his injured knee." I have also seen written on the roads, "Go Home Engers." The worst abuse was at ride near Wellingborough when a rider threw his bike at me. As we lay on the ground I said "What did you want to do that for?" and he said "We can’t all be national champions." Later at the hospital he said, "I should never have said that," and he apologised. We shook hands and I said "That’s OK mate." but this was the shape of things to come for many years.

Adventures of a Young Time-Triallist

Those of us of a certain age may remember with great affection the racing in the 1950’s. There was the private and confidential RTTC, The National Cyclist Union for track and road-racing, while the BLRC (British League of Racing Cyclists) were the rebels. I first joined the Barnet Cycling Club in 1952 aged 12 years old. It was a mix of road men and time trialists. The clubroom was at the Green Man Pub in Barnet and there was always a ferocious tear up going home from the clubroom with the finish under suicide bridge Archway. In the 50’s everyone idolised the Italians. I called myself Engers Elle because at the back of my mind I thought that this would help to make me like my idol Fausto Coppi.  At the clubroom one night I arranged to enter a 25 on what was then called the N4 course, which now runs parallel to the A14. My club mate Eric Sim we called Bartali, I have no idea how he got that name, maybe it was because he was so unlike Gino it just stuck.

 We met at 12 noon on Saturday to ride the 40 plus miles. We both had our sprints on carriers at the front of our bikes which was normal then as not many people had cars at that time. Our digs for the night where in a village called Lowick which is near Thrapston. When we arrived we introduced ourselves to our host an elderly spinster and inquired where our beds for the night were. She indicated a vertical ladder against the wall and we climbed to find a double bed with a bolster which felt as if it was filled with sand. There was a jug and basin – who needs hot water! Remember we were kids on an adventure so this was all part of it. Later we had dinner which was egg and bacon followed by treacle tart – all this for 10 shillings per night.

Our host then relayed to our eager ears all the local village gossip which centred on the Vicar who it was alleged had misappropriated the overdue library book funds (more on this later). I also inquired about the location of the toilet, which was at the end of the garden but was told to be careful of the bees as they don’t like any type of perfume or cologne. Oh dear, I had the then fashionable Brylcreem on my head. I waited until it was dark hoping that the bees were asleep and crept down the garden with my flickering Eveready torch. I went in, yes there were newspaper squares, to use which would be familiar to us war time babies. Strange, as I could hear running water. I shone the torch down the pan and I realised that the thunder box was actually perched over a running stream. And so to bed, was it cold or was the bed damp? I am not sure.

Following breakfast in the morning of cornflakes we went to the start of the race. The only sound was the familiar 5-4-3-2-1 punctuated by the clacking of shoe plates on the road and a distant mewing of cattle. In those days a poor performance was often attributed to being held up by a herd of cows. The actual race for us this day was unspectacular but as my companion Bartali said something to talk about when the glasses are full on the table. 

As Bartali and I started to ride back home there riding in the opposite direction towards us was the Vicar. We booed and whistled loudly, the poor man must have been confused by such a reaction and proceeded to go head first into the hedgerow. As we rode further along home club riders riding the other direction shouted encouragement and inquired about the result of the race. This would not happen today – where has the spirit gone?

A Deep Memory from a Small World

It was not long after the war and for years everything was in short supply. As a child I can remember air raid sirens and V1 rockets which came overhead and dropped when the thing ran out of fuel. On one particular night the siren went off most people raced to the underground station or other shelters near to them. For us we just got under the table made out of steel. As a working bakery we stayed put and heard the drone of the doodlebug and it stopped. There was a second’s gap and then a terrific explosion. I looked out from under the table and saw a light bulb jumping up and down and then the whole ceiling came down on us and we were trapped.

Gradually my father dug away at the bricks that had fallen to one side of the table and said "We will be alright so long as it doesn’t catch fire," which was not that reassuring to my mother and me. As time went on there was a tiny speck of light in the rubble and I could hear shouting to which my mother said "We're here!" and eventually we were dug out. Looking about I could see firemen trying to put fires out and saw that the whole of the block 6-8 houses and our bakery shop were gone as was the two bakers and cat killed in that one air strike. Alan Shorter who lived in Milton Keynes for a while in retirement told the story to another retiree who was an ARP worker at that time. The gentleman asked for our name which old Al told him and believe it or not he was one of the men who dug us out on that day. Small world indeed.   

Life in the Fast Lane - and Living Dangerously

Getting to and from racing in the 1950’s was a major challenge. When my mates and myself were wanting to get to events Alan Shorter had acquired a number of old cars for this purpose and we arrived in places like Stapleford Tawney and Dunmow. Everyone contributed to the cost of petrol and I had a particular affection for the old shooting brake as when you went around a corner we all had to move to the left or right of the car because of the lack of suspension. Remember there was no MOT needed until later in the 1960’s. 

The purchase of several cars followed a pattern until one day Old Al acquired a Standard 8 new van which was several hundred pounds cheaper to buy unpainted. "Not a problem," Al said, "Gus Bull (a club mate and painter) will do it for me," which actually never happened in the end.   Gradually over the years Old Al’s cars got better and better until one day a Ford Zodiac painted red and black was acquired on the never never. This car had become a legend and on the way back from a race on the A1 Old Al was determined to do 100mph. Edged on by myself and another rider we called Toddles, the car made its way down a very long slope on the A1 and when nearing 100 mph Toddles and I noticed that the bonnet catch had come open. At this point I pleaded with the almighty for all my sins. All I wanted was to get home and change my underwear.

In Pursuit of Glory in Scunthorpe

I had been to the national championships before so I thought I had seen it all. however I should have expected the unexpected at the Scunthorpe Team Day. The stadium was once a nice track, but on this particular day as the go- karts with the annoying noise which seemed to hit a nerve with riders, not to mention the smell of the fuel, and along with that the hot dog van with the smell of dehydrated onions, small children blowing toy plastic trumpets and of course the women’s hockey match taking place on the centre green it was bedlam. We were told to be on the track as there would be a gap when the girls finished playing and we could start the proceedings with a warm up. OK, there was a fifteen minute gap and the entire meeting got onto the track at once. Some fifty riders in all so naturally this was asking for accidents to happen and our team captain hit a hockey player and appeared to have concussion. Anyway the racing proceeded and it was the usual format for the track, the fastest team verses the slowest. I think we were the fastest so the next round was comparatively easy. Then we made it to the final and were up against the Birmingham who had two national champions competing. We had in our team, the Polytechnic, Ian Alsop Olympic tandem sprinter, Sean Banister, a very good track man, Alan Rochford and myself not in any type of condition at all. As we lined up I thought that this was a done deal. 

The gun went off and we kicked off the gear being 88 inches which did not help me. All of a sudden we were ahead of the Birmingham and next thing I was flying through the air and did not know what had happened with team mates on the ground dazed. I was then told that Ian’s bike had in fact broken in half. I got up and Alan Rochford was put on a stretcher and we were all taken to hospital. At the hospital Ian was OK, I had multiple grazes on arms and knees. Then after five minutes the double doors burst open and our manager Brian Maybanks said "If youre not back on the track in fifteen minutes they will give the trophy to the Birmingham." I got up bandaged with blood seeping through and down my arms and legs, Ian was OK, Sean managed to avoid the crash and Rochford got up from the stretcher with not a graze on him. Back on the track the crowd loved us and the sight of blood. I swung up the track with one and a half laps to go and with riders being dropped I had to re-join the line and was off after our manager shouted for them to ease. Fortunately the Birmingham at the last banking had the same scenario however they did not have a manager calling for them to ease for the third rider. We all sprinted to the line with two guns going off and neither team knowing who got it. We managed to win by the flying seat of our pants.

My Career in Showbusiness

As social secretary of the Barnet I wanted to ensure that the chaos that had ensued at the last year’s dinner did not happen again. Christmas pudding served with mint sauce was just one example of bad service, and after some very harsh words with the management of the Red Lion I was assured that everything would be rectified and I would rebook for the following year. I had decided to put on a pantomime with Barnet members playing the parts in Alice in Wonderland. Principle actors were to be Acker Bilk played by whoever it was. Straight away there was a problem due to the said actor breaking his leg days before playing football. After a drink or two John Harvey took the part but only problem was he had no idea of his lines so when it was his turn to speak he took off his bowler hat and uttered the script that was concealed therein. The whole thing was organised by myself with help from Eddie the Greek. I have no idea how that title came about or how he came to possess spot lights for filming although I could guess, as I can remember seeing Eddie in the East End of London in a flashy midnight blue gabardine suit with a knitted tie. 

Things were going along OK and I had written a part for Alan Rochford as a RTTC observer who had to keep coming on stage and spoiling things. Yes I know this sounds familiar however unfortunately on one occasion he tripped over a wire on the lights and they came crashing down. The audience loved it and probably thought it was part of the plot. The next actor to come on was Alan Shorter dressed as a fairy with frilly skirt and carrying a wand. I had another member who told me he was a chemist and could make a device so that when he came off stage it would make a brilliant flash. At the right moment there was indeed a flash which was in an ashtray on the floor and everyone in the audience fell about laughing. Only thing was the flash did not go out and continued with a firework display while I chased the ashtray across the dance floor stamping on it and trying to put it out. 

I Saw History on the Bath Road 

The Bath Road 100 was always a very popular venue for camping spectators and riders alike. In1956 when Ray Booty made 100-mile history, I was there myself with Alan Shorter. As we stood there at Newbury old Al said "If he’s going to do it he must come now," and there he was. It was an honour and privilege to be there and witness it all.

There was always quite an atmosphere with all us non racing boys larking about which led onto a visit to the local pub were lager and lime - being the drink of the day - was consumed. On the way back to the camp site I said "Look there’s Len Thorpe's car." I peered in and there was Len asleep on the back seat. Somebody (me) said "Let’s give Thorpey a shake." We shook the car up and down so badly I saw his travel alarm jumping up and down on the dash board. His car door burst open with Thorpey shouting out alarmingly. I’m sure he would have killed us - if he could have caught us that is.

Club Tension 

The Barnet CC used to meet at the Green Man pub once a week. Within the Barnet there was a time trial and a massed start secretary so to enter any races you had to go to the appropriate secretary. During one meeting a tense atmosphere ensued after a set to between club mates. Old Al said something and Harry Wilson said shut up Al. The reply back was shut me up!

Pennies From Heaven

The club organised a club run to the Monument in London and you must remember that far back you could walk to the top which Ted Gerrard, myself and a few others did to check out the view across London from highest vantage point. I cannot be sure who it was although I suspect it was Ted, dropped a penny coin over the side. I heard a shout when it hit Eddy Brown on the head down below. It must have felt like a ton weight - not funny today but to us then we all thought it was.

Luck on my side      

Riding a 50 mile road race (TT?) with the start in Pangbourne Lane and it being the promoting club’s jubilee year there was staggering prize of £100 to the winner not like the usual £2.50 everyone came to know. I rode but not with a lot of heart being more eager to poach the stream nearby for trout. It did not come as a surprise to learn that club mate John Woodburn had won the event by a considerable margin. Unfortunately in his haste to record a fastest time he had gone to the wrong side of a traffic island at the end of Pangbourne Lane and was disqualified. Of course I was unable to restrain myself from laughing as I was now indeed the winner. I'm sure Woodburn never forgave or forgot this his entire life. 

The Battle of Paris

During a period of non-racing (suspension) in the 1970’s I worked part time in a local cycle shop and came to know a father and son both keen cyclists. The father had a penchant for vintage bikes. In the 1950’s the Gestapo otherwise known as the RTTC banned the bike makers from advertising their names on bikes so to combat this some manufacturers made distinct looking bikes, for example the Hetchins with curly rear stays or Bates with curly front forks. This particular person concerned was headmaster of a local private school and had acquired a vintage Paris bike. The only way I can describe it is that in place of there being a down tube, there was an oversize tube running parallel to the top tube. One Saturday his wife was going out shopping and she asked him to trim a large plant in the garden. Unfortunately he misunderstood and cut it down completely. On her return she saw what had happened and a furious row insured during which she tripped on his Paris bike. The wife then threw his bike down the garden and in retaliation he went inside a kicked her Singer sowing machine as hard as he could and broke his big toe.

Almost the Sting of Death

In my cycle speedway days my team the Archway Stars had made a track on a bomb site at the Nags Head Holloway. Many happy days were spent there practicing cycle speedway on only left over bikes lying about. The more serious teams had Wally Green bikes probably the equivalent of a Pinarello today. At one of these meetings I noticed a couple of young kids throwing rocks up at an old tree. I heard a scream and we all went over to see what the matter was. There one of the young boys about ten years old was completely covered in wasps from head to toe. We all started shouting for help and from one of the houses close by came an off-duty policeman. He had lit a newspaper and went all around the boy who by this stage was terrified waving the flames as close as he possibly could. With the flames so close to the boy a lot of the wasps left him alone however he was still greatly stung. An ambulance was then called and the boy did survive all due to the swift action of the off duty policeman. 

Melting Moments

With my profession being a single-handed master baker I had finished one job in the bakery and was cycling my way to the next at the early morning time of 4.30am. As I passed through Kentish Town in London I glanced toward an old bakery shop which had closed down about ten years previously. To my amazement I thought I saw a baker standing in the shop and the shop window was full of bread and cakes. I thought I must be dreaming it’s all getting too much for me, but no I have to go back and investigate. As I stopped outside the shop on my bike and looked in there was indeed a life size baker who was all white like everything else was in the shop. I looked again and everything appeared to be made of wax. Very strange. I continued to pass the shop early morning every day for a week and every time the baker and bakery goods appeared to be melting until in the end everything had indeed melted away. After making enquiries I found out this display was a project from the local polytechnic students. Make a display and place a Bunsen burner at the back of the shop and watch it slowly melt away. This apparently was called Art. Puzzled? Yeah, me too. But now I know that Art is anything you can get away with.

Tandem Terrors

Tuesday night for a lot of North London riders meant Paddington Track which sadly is no longer there with all that’s left of the site being a grassy mound and a lot of memories for riders like myself. As a youngster I had seen world champions at Paddington and as usual the track was buzzing when out of the blue I was approached by a sprinter by the name of Lionel Taylor. Lionel explained that there was a track meeting at Portsmouth track with a tandem omnium with I think £100 first prize. I told Lionel who sadly is no longer with us that I had never ridden a tandem. "Not a problem," he said, "nothing to it", he would go on the front and all I had to do was ride. Now I knew how Lionel rode on the track, as he would go through a gap even if there was not one there. He went on to say "I have a tandem, so what if I bring it to Paddington and we can have a practice ride to see how we get on before the Portsmouth meeting?" I arrived at Paddington the following week to find Lionel waiting with the tandem. I noted that the bike had been hand painted and the tyres I think were Dunlop No7s, possibly pre-war vintage. "Have you got a pump?" he asked. "No," I said, "I have come straight from work in the bakery." "Don’t worry," he said, "I'll ask the park keeper," who fortunately had a pump. Unfortunately it did not have a connector but finally he got the tyres up and we eventually got on the track.

Paddington track was a shallow track and riding round at a moderate pace everything seemed OK. Are you nervous Lionel asked? "No," I lied hoping he didn’t see my knees knocking together in fright. The following week as arranged I was to meet him again at Paddington track. We got up on the track with a bit more speed and it was then I recognised another rider who I knew named Mike Dingledine. Mike was famous for doing all his training on a boat on rollers as he was a purser by profession. I remember he had a time- trial bike he called Aquarius because it rained seventeen Sundays on the trot when riding TT’s. As we caught Mike up on the track Lionel somehow ran into him with no great damage being done apart from my confidence hitting zero. 

The week went by and the Portsmouth venue was never very far from my mind. Portsmouth track was average, about 600 yards plus I think. If you were a spectator you needed binoculars to watch the riders disappearing out of sight. I looked at the program and I saw Ian Alsop and Geoff Cook were also riding this same day. I walked around praying for rain, but alas nothing was forthcoming. I heard the PA requesting tandems to the start and still no Lionel appearance which gave me a sense on great relief. All of a sudden Ian Alsop came over to me and said "Geoff isn't here, so ride with me", to which I said OK as I was short of a partner also. I got onto Ian’s tandem at the top of the track and as I did Lionel appeared out of breath. I said "Sorry I thought you weren’t coming," but obviously he was very upset. Anyway Ian and I kicked off. The back wheel on the tandem had not been tightened up and I slid down the bank leaving some skin behind. I think that Ian had been in a panic with no partner turning up and had just forgot to tighten the rear wheel. Ian and I actually won the event largely due to his expertise alone.

So ends my first and last tandem experience which I still to this day try my hardest to forget. A friend tells me that "tandem" is a Latin word meaning "at length" in the sense of "finally"; how you get from "finally" to a bicycle made for two I have no idea, but "finally" it definitely was for tandems and me.     

The Weird Little Things That Stick in Your Mind...

A Loaded Number

At the start of a race on the 254 (where?) I noticed two riders in deep conversation and laughing. Naturally I went over to them to investigate and said what‘s the matter. All the frame numbers were laid out on the grass awaiting collection from the riders. The two pointed to a lead number which they had made and they substituted at the start for one of their team mates. A conversation ensued between them all and I heard one bloke say you have got to use the number otherwise you won’t be able to ride the event. I can only speculate as to the outcome having resolved the matter resolved peaceably.

The Case of the Vanishing Biscuit

In the 1950’s cycling clubs organised club runs and trips away were the norm. I can remember one such occasion when twenty of us went on an overnight run to Dial Post in Sussex. A fair amount of banter went on after dinner and when it came to the desert I handed the plate around of milk chocolate penguin biscuits. When it came to my turn being number 20 there was nothing left so I confronted the proprietor of the place who insisted that he had provided 20 biscuits. After a huge argument he provided and extra biscuit. Naturally no one owned up to taking it until some 20 years later John Woodburn admitted that he had taken two.

Shoelaces

With my cycling mates following an early morning time trial we stopped at a café for breakfast. All was going OK until Alec Bird as usual went to sleep at the table. One of the group noticed this and tied Alec’s shoe laces together. The ensuing result was that everyone thought it was hilarious apart from Alec falling flat on his face multiple times.

Mangled Wheels

At the finish of a national 50 most of the team were seated at a café. All of a sudden Frank Dickens ever the joker came in and said to John Arkwright, "I've just driven over your wheels." Arkwright laughed until he got outside and found that Frank had indeed driven over his wheels.

Wheels Away

Race preparation was well underway outside Alan Shorter’s Luton shop. The race destination was some 20 miles away on an A1 course and as usual it was windy and wet. Dave Hull was about to put his bike together at the race start. "Where are my wheels?" he asked – no one answered and it became obvious they were still sitting on the pavement outside the Luton shop. 

Were they still there when we got back – what do you think?

The Wells Wonder

Cycle races on the A1 to me always seemed to be windy. I remember one occasion when I was off early and my chief rival for the race was Pete Wells. Pete was a good rider and at one time he asked me to give him a training schedule. I thought, "He's hard enough to beat, I don’t think I need to encourage him further!" This particular morning I waited at the start having ridden already. Pete’s number was called and no Pete to be seen. Ten seconds to go 5-4-3-2-1 and Pete flew through the start at a flat out pace. Gerry Ashley the organiser said he’s disqualified! What could I do, so I let him get nearer to the turn and then told him he was disqualified!

Time Seemed to Stop

Another race on the A1 and as usual it was cold and windy. I was off early and I had my friend and club mate Frank Muir with me to give me times on Pete Wells who I noted at the start was on white strip number 2s. These were the lightest tyres about at the time and were only used for championships. The latex inserts were tied on with string and the white tread overheated so you had to put the tyre on the right way around. Obviously Pete was going all out for the win this particular time.

Frank got me time checks on Pete which were all favourable, and from past experience Frank knew what unfavourable checks would mean to me. I climbed off at the finish and while we waited I noticed Frank seemed more nervous than usual. When Pete finished Frank gave a sign of relief and mopped his brow. I asked "Whatever is the matter mate?" and he explained that he caught his trouser leg in the gear shift when he got out of the car to shout out times. On doing so the stop watch then went flying across the road and stopped working!

Pennies From Heaven

The club organised a club run to the Monument in London and you must remember that far back you could walk to the top which Ted Gerrard, myself and a few others did to check out the view across London from highest vantage point. I cannot be sure who it was although I suspect it was Ted, dropped a penny coin over the side. I heard a shout when it hit Eddy Brown on the head down below. It must have felt like a ton weight - not funny today but to us then we all thought it was.

Flight Right

It was a bright summer’s day and I decided to go out for a cross country mountain bike ride. Generally speaking this is not my favorite type of ride as I basically lack the mountain bike skills and seem to fall off at regular intervals. Anyway I soon found a typical well-worn dog walkers path and after a few encounters with said dog walkers I sailed forth unimpeded.

The dog walkers’ track went left but I could see a path straight ahead going through a rape seed field. Good I thought now having got the place to myself trying to execute various bike maneuvers with disastrous consequences. Up ahead I could see a green field with a gap of about forty yards to the next rape seed field with remarkably well kept grass. I thought obviously a fire break.

As I rode on I came across a large black barn with a very large padlock and I wondered what’s in there. Over to my right was a forest with a flag pole and as I got closer I realized it was a wind sock. Yes, I was on someone’s private estate attempting to hone my mountain bike skills on their exclusive landing strip. With that I sprinted away as fast as I could maybe even 10mph.