CAFE RACERS
Epitomised by the rock and roll Biker image, the UK café racing scene is an anachronistic phenomenon. Generally associated with the bad media surrounding the 1950s and 60s, café racing actually began long before that debacle.
In post W.W.I UK, the turnpikes and coach roads were adapted to accommodate the increasing volumes of both public and commercial traffic. More flexible than the railway, and quicker than the canal-bound barges, the new road network allowed life to assume a faster, more convenient pace. It was on these roads that catering entrepreneurs established their businesses. Often husband and wife teams that lived on site, they created homely atmospheres in anything from a converted railway carriage to a bungalow. The traditional way-side meetings of riders naturally moved into the cafés. It was around such venues, in the 1920’s and 30’s, that the café racing cult was born.
Besides the café racing, impromptu road racing was practiced in other areas. The bikes and riders were the same, but most of their stories revolved around biking achievements, rather than any café-oriented experiences. Many younger riders would gather in disused buildings, and some used local parks, giving rise to signs forbidding the riding of bikes there. Parks are a natural gathering area during leisure time - it’s what they’re for - and the band-stands made natural focal points (and rain-proof shelters) when their formal entertainment purpose was over. It was commerciality that put cafés at the road side, so the formula for a café racing scene was dictated by economy and geography. Had there been no need for the cafés, it could easily have been named after some other venue, like ‘Lay-by’ or ‘Park’ racing.
Speed trials, often backed with a wager, were conducted by setting two riders on bikes some distance apart on a stretch of road, where the competitors would pass under their scrutiny. Others went round circuits that started and finished at a particular café, or between cafés. A few cafés started opening late, and enjoyed the company of their new clientele. Some would even support the alibis of rapid riders who were sought after by the police. In 1939, it was such riders who were referred to by Nitor, in The Motor Cycle, when he said: “Several bright sparks overtook...on the inside of a left hand turn, and shot past with violent acceleration. Safe enough...but not calculated to make the car or lorry driver over friendly to the motorcycle game.”
As some bikes were naturally faster, it meant that other less quick contestants had to take more risks. This kind of riding might seem outrageous, but flying on the ragged edge was all the riders of the lesser bikes had against their competitors. People’s amazement at their achievements made heroes of them and flattered their egos. From café to café, embellished rumours abounded, and rivalry created mini-events involving contestants from different establishments.
Tales of early hooliganism arose from disputes among the café clientele, concerning the fastest and bravest. Chance and fate contrived to kill many, some whose confidence had out-grown their sense of self-preservation, and others by the neglect of other road users. The lower volume of traffic at off-peak times minimised the risk - but not totally. There are stories of broken down vehicles resting unlit on dark roads, being struck by riders in a red mist.
Some riders discovered that they could gain an advantage by disobeying traffic signals. This set a precedent for increasing audacity. Getting away with it led to further antics, and for some, it became a necessary part of daredevil activities: the game of chicken was being born. When biking misfortunes involved damage to other people’s property, including innocent casualties (some of whom were killed), there naturally grew some displeasure towards street racing.
There were certain individuals who wished to prevent interference from the law, and their boyish pranks were often dismissed as youthful exuberance by the local constabularies. The police car’s petrol tank would be siphoned, cutting short any pursuit. To that end, a potato up the exhaust pipe created the same result. They could of course have contributed to the impedance of the police on more serious business, however they made excellent stories to while away the time sat in cafés.
Arguably, the roads were for the people. But many people in cars and other vehicles had forgotten that motorcyclists were people too. When motorcyclists had made every allowance and courtesy, only to be poorly regarded, some got past caring. They even came to treat the malefactors with the same chagrin showered on them. Car drivers believe they are the ones who’ve made the sensible choice. With bikes, the sensible argument has always vied with the antisocialism when they’re being criticised. At the end of their lives, sensible people can look back and say: “Nothing happened.” Those who decide to ride are not so anally retentive.
*
The choice of machine for the early café crowd was often pre-W.W.I, among the other affordable second hand bikes around in the ‘20s and ‘30s. These were a popular choice because the new bikes on the market were sometimes based on the stodgy, if reliable designs that had served the military; why pay more for the same? Many such bikes were available at auction, and some bidders, like my father and uncle, got lucky. They peeped under the canvas of an army truck at one sale, and found it full of bikes. They bought the lorry ‘as seen’ for around £20. The ‘as seen’ included the motorcycles that provided new mounts and yielded a fine profit.
Sports models such as the TT replicas - the famous BSA Gold Star (or Goldie), the Velocette Thruxton (originally the Venom, it was renamed after success at the Thruxton racing circuit), and Manx Norton among them - were bought by the moneyed. Being in the presence of such machinery implanted awe into the fibre of your being. The lean, business-like yet somehow beautiful appearance could transfix you. It’s something an enthusiast never gets over. When one or more of these bikes is fired up, you don’t just hear the noise. It reverberates in your chest and through the ground. Bearing in mind that each was new in its time, the power of their personas has to be admired for retaining that same enigma and becoming collectible over the years. Faster, more powerful bikes come and go, but when something like the Goldie comes along, its charisma bonds with the soul. And its performance is such a complete experience, you just don’t need to look over your shoulder any more.
For the rest, other bikes would be adapted, their engines being tuned, and any unnecessary items like lights and tool boxes were stripped off. Everything was sacrificed at the altar of speed. They were effectively bobbing the sort of bikes that their American cousins were trying to create by bobbing their hefty V-twins. Depressed post-war economies encouraged much special-building. Purposes vary, but there were three main themes:-
· The attainment of speed or other specialised performance.
· The assembly of alien parts to create a bike by the impoverished enthusiast - which is the alleged foundation for customised forms of bike.
· The expression of individualism - which included people wanting to improve a bike, or to repair a damaged bike.
These parts would be sourced in old sheds and scrap yards, and sometimes even the wrong ones were made to fit. Old pans have been converted into air-filters, seats made from old leather jackets and wood, and parts from old models grafted onto even older ones. These bikes became known as Bitzas (bits of this, bits of that). Ingenuity became interpreted as art, to create the third expressive category. Although their construction was initially purposeful, these bikes could look pretty wild. It became individual expression as people discovered that they liked, even preferred these non-standard alterations.
Tuning in those days involved the polishing of the combustion chamber internals, altering the carburation with bigger jets, and some changed the profile of the valve-lifting mechanisms. This allowed even more explosive mixture into the cylinder. Raising the compression by skimming the cylinder head also helped with the go. The use of the Brooklands Can silencer was popular, and W.G. Coram of Bristol offered the Zoom Zoom exhaust for Douglas machines.
Those short on budget found other ways to release the auditory tempest if not the horses, and lengths of copper tube were either inserted into existing silencers (to by-pass their effect) or replaced them altogether. Some would be slash-cut, their ends cropped at 45 degrees, either to the side or the floor. The sound would bellow out across the road or echo back up to the rider. A finely tuned engine often has a tendency to whistle, which is just discernible above the deeper exhaust and inlet tones. It was a practice among some to shape the ends of the exhaust pipes like a whistle. The tone depended on the bore of the pipe and the positioning of the cut, but the result was an incredible sound at some if not all engine speeds. Models with two or more exhausts sounded particularly demonic.
*
It was the intervention of W.W.II that suspended activities for the duration. The lean times that immediately followed this lead to a slow restart, and also to a repetition of the bike modifying theme. The routes taken by café racers (both pre and post W.W.II), were given names, just as the official racing circuits had names. Dangerous sections were named, like Murder Mile or Death’s Bridge. This meant that riders could inadvertently speak of places that only other riders would recognise. New clubs now emerged that might include either the name of a favourite road, or café, or be based on the area where members hung out.
The cafés eventually came under threat from coffee bars and milk bars. These had a glaring showiness, with chrome coffee machines and the then popular tubular metal furniture. Despite this brightness, that was meant to facilitate easy cleaning as well as create openness, their stark interiors were bleak and soulless. Cafés tended to be run down if not grubby, and the showy new establishments were a magnet to some. They were charged with an (Italianate) Americanism which some sought, as seen in movies or wherever. The youthful clientele would slouch around and adopt the mannerisms of the celluloid effigies.
Society’s lunges towards ever newer versions of modernism were eroding the roots of society, and creating a barren ground into which it was impossible for youth to take root. If you took too long over a drink, you would be asked to move along. For the more serious Biker, moving along wasn’t a problem, even though they enjoyed the sociability of cafés. But it’s a typical capitalist venture, to usurp another business - then oust some of the regular customers to remake the atmosphere...or as some would say, suck it out.
The attention paid by authorities and irate owners to the café scene was being caused by some who lived out the Angry Young Man ideology. Some of these late-comers were under the influence of the banned film, The Wild One. This ban had had a reverse effect to that intended by the censors. Just as a banned record becomes more desirable, banning The Wild One had made it a must-see, and made even greater heroes of the miscreant characters whom some now emulated. Films such as Rebel Without a Cause (starring James Dean) were also creating more of the misfit image for youths to copy. Some of them used bikes not only for ‘kicks’, but as an aggressive statement. Part of that statement was the test of personal courage and some took it too far. Unfortunately, to back off meant losing face in the gang context. So there was additional pressure, to which some succumbed.
Such as the head-on charges and other risks took the game of chicken to extremes, involving one-upmanship and sheer good (or bad) luck rather than just biking skill. The law of the jungle had become inverted, because many who were brave or foolish enough to try these stunts suffered horrific injuries and were even killed. Fortunately, there were many more that didn’t act out the survival of the fittest regime, who lived to ride another day. How you rode was more in contention than what you rode, but as ever, it was how you were regarded that gave rise to consternation. This was noted in a letter from a Ted Buckton to the Motor Cycle, in March 1963. He said: “The coffee bar Cowboy is no myth. He is very much alive and a nuisance to boot. It’s not the way you look or the bike you ride that makes you a coffee bar Cowboy, it’s the way you ride. We old un’s like ‘em...but only if they behave in a manner that will not result in acrimony being heaped on all motorcyclists.”
The cafés around London are predominant in biking histories and media records, even though the UK had similar biking contingencies everywhere. Names like The Tram, The Busy Bee and the Ace were among foremost southern cafés. They, like their counter-parts in other areas, played host to people who opted for the army surplus outfits popular at the time. As the cafés opened and closed (due to war or other disturbance) the clubs came and went. Just a few that had been started as clubs (rather than because of the venue) continued, whether or not the cafés were reopened or relocated.
One popular person on the southern café scene was the Reverend Bill Shergold, who first used a motorcycle to get round his parish. He later became involved with youths on bikes, and formed the 59 club (in that year) after giving a sermon to Bikers from the Ace café and elsewhere. He was surprised by the response he got when he invited them to church. Bikers in their hundreds clove to his club ideals, demonstrating an inherent love of life (and biking) over their misaligned reputation for lawlessness. When the Reverend eventually moved to a new parish, he thought his bike involvement was over, however he soon found himself organising the 69 club, and the later 79 club. Some riders presented him with a new bike, others gave him a chalice, as signs of their appreciation.
Before we leave aspects of religiosity, it seems apt to mention how Motorcycle Blessings have been a part of some biking scenes around the world. Some were held within church grounds, others at picnics out on the road. These curiosities were natural behaviour to some, whose beliefs are enriched, rather than abandoned in the saddle. These events continue in the present, with not just hundreds, but thousands of Christian Bikers gathering to share their faith.
*
The café bikes of the 1950’s, 60’s and early 70’s had become known as café racers by association, as their real identity was based on the race (replica) idiom. Clip-on handlebars were predominant, although there was a variant Ace bar design that resembled the drop handlebars found on racing bicycles. The chrome headlight and megaphone silencer were other modifications, along with aluminium (or later, fibre-glass) oil and petrol tanks. The megaphone shape naturally amplifies sound, however, its actual purpose is to allow exhaust gasses to expand and escape more rapidly, contributing to easier breathing. The seats would often be of a solo type, having a hump at the back to stop the rider sliding off. However, some retained a pillion seat for transport of ‘available females’.
Among the favourite marques was the Triumph-engined Norton, or Triton. The Triton was not just a motorcycle, but the catalyst in the further development of customisation. The McCandless-designed Manx Norton frame was the favourite choice for these specials. It became known as the featherbed, as a result of a comment made by racer Harold Daniell. He said that his machine was so comfortable, he could have fallen asleep on it. From the 1960’s onwards, the Triton became a mythical beast at the centre of much discussion and controversy. Who was first to build one, and why was it ever conceived? The legend is that the Triton was a brain-wave, whereby someone put the excellence of the Triumph engine together with the superior road-holding Norton frame to deliberately create the ultimate bike. However, it seems that it was more coincidental. Allegedly, the first ones were built as racers by John Viccars. He had simply discovered the availability of cheap Norton frames discarded by the Formula Three (F3) car racers. During the 1950’s, F3 racing had been popular, and the favourite engine to put in an F3 car was that from the Manx Norton. Those who raced them found that Norton were not prepared to sell separate engines, so they bought the complete machines, committing the frames to the back of the shed. Viccar’s successes on the Triton encouraged others to follow suit. Around this time, the road-going versions began to appear. There are stories about where the first one was seen, the most predominant placing it at the Queen of Hearts Café in 1959.
Over the years, several of the café racing crowd eventually took to the circuit and were successful. Eddie Brayne won the Gold Star at Brooklands, and others, both pre and post W.W.II followed their penchant for tuning engines and either worked in or ran their own bike shops. It was the alleged first road-going Triton that inspired Dave Degens to further enhance their popularity. He also enjoyed some racing success, and made Tritons available, built to order. Other expert Triton builders included Ian Kennedy and Paul Dunstall, who also began selling ready-made components such as petrol tanks, seats and engine-mounting plates as Triton-building kits.
Prior to the manufacture of special Triton parts, the motorcycling press regularly featured ‘How To’ articles on Triton building. There were many, who, on tight budgets, would draw round other people’s engine plates and copy them out of inferior metal, and put rather ‘dodgy’ bikes on the road. The popularity of the Triton created an industry built on the back of a biking fashion, and it was to be the first of many. It differed from the sales of bobber parts in the US, in that the Triton parts supplied were specialised for the genre, not adapted for it. Previously, the after-market had mainly consisted of accessories to bolt onto the bike. But now, people could go out and buy tuned engine parts and race-styled seats, petrol tanks, and exhaust systems. Rather than just nibbling at the edges, the enthusiast was able to transform their machines almost beyond recognition, without spending months, even years, rebuilding them in the shed.
There were also variants on the Triton theme. A few typical ones include the installation of the 1000cc Vincent V-twin engine into the Norton frame (called Norvin), the Velocette-engined Norvel, and the installation of Triumph engines into BSA frames (Tribsa). Eventually new models arrived like the Triumph Bonneville (Bonny) and BSA A10 Rocket Gold Star. These big (vertical) twins were taking over where the single cylinder machine had been the preferred configuration. Other firms followed with less expensive but no less enjoyable and reliable machines, like the Royal Enfield Constellation (Conny) and the unadulterated Norton Dominator (Dommy).
It was during the 1970’s that Italian firms like Moto Guzzi and Ducati were taking a greater hold. Triumph were by now creating factory versions of the home-made bikes. But as the café racing era drew to a close, it was Ducati’s 750 SS that was supposed to be the ultimate café racer. Also, Japanese machines were providing astonishing competition for the British, Italian and other makes. It was the Japanese manufacturers who had recognised (and re-created?) a market for race replica machines, that has continued into the 21st Century.
*
The police weren’t entirely ignorant of the fact that the not all bike riders (naughty and boisterous as they often were) were the instigators of the café scene’s bad reputation. Part of this problem (which the police recognised), lay with traffic patrol records. They indicated that the messes ending up in casualty departments more often occurred on routes to or from certain cafés. This suggests that café riders were accident prone if not reckless, but doesn’t discern between the Bikers and the hangers-on. Among the Bikers, it is alleged that the hangers-on were less capable riders, therefore more accident prone. Police pursuit (on machines such as the Triumph Saint, a version of the Bonneville) backs this to some degree. It often resulted in favourable comment from officers of the law. They even praised the skill of some riders, and were reluctant to press charges.
During the final years of the café cult, the more level-headed bike enthusiasts were opting to desert their favourite haunts, because unwelcome guests assuming their identity were despoiling the atmosphere, and creating an unwanted reputation. Part of this reputation came from media representation. Allegedly at the Ace café, someone had had the idea of record racing, where a particular route had to be covered in the time it took a song to be played on the juke box. Pop records were notoriously short, and even though the routes taken were also brief, the risks taken in that time often lead to disaster. It is alleged that the record race was popularised by an episode of Dixon of Dock Green (a 1950’s BBC television series about a local constabulary). Filmed at the Ace café, the programme had highlighted the record race, which it is said was unknown in other areas prior to it’s screening. Such activities or events (especially mediated ones) gave added kudos to the gangs who instigated them. Part of the contrived imagery was the allegedly suicidal version of the chicken game. It was this kind of one-upmanship that was the preferred system of showdown to actual fighting among some gangs.
Beyond the bad media and unacceptable riding, it was the café wrecking, such as happened at the Salt Box (near RAF Biggin Hill) and the influx of drug pushers that helped to kill off the atmosphere if not the business at many cafés. The enthusiasts sought alternative venues and some even kept quiet about them, to conserve a true biking atmosphere.
As the 60’s turned into the 70’s, the apparent disappearance of café racing in the UK was also put down to the restructuring of road net-works, particularly the introduction of more motorways. On these new roads, sanitised versions of the wayside halt were replacing the more homely cafés. It was such venues that had notices on the door saying: ‘No undesirables.’ The irony was that they weren’t the sort of place that attracted people who preferred apple pie to bullshit. Towards the year 2000, bars and cafés began adopting ‘50s motorcycle themes. Some of them Americanised hype, others were simply licensees and victuallers who have become known as ‘Biker-Friendly’. But the original roadside venue has become a rarity.
By the early 1970’s, the café biking scene was all but dead. However, the enthusiasm for bikes (fast ones included) rolled onwards. Curiously, some people in the US described themselves as café racers. More so, the Outlaw ideal incongruously emerged in the UK. It is however logical, as the same road-side conditions and biking ideologies existed either side of the Atlantic. These factors were simply travelling via Biker relationships and media. They bring to light the fact that café racing and Outlaw riding were convergent evolutions. They each existed within the ethos of the original fraternities - and were tainted from outside.