Posing my Royal Enfield with a tank

My Royal Enfield motorcycle with M60 tank.

 Royal Enfield's long connection to military service naturally inspires owners to pose their motorcycles in front of military hardware. These opportunities usually involve war memorials. 

So, yes, that's my Royal Enfield Bullet, posed next to a tank. It's not the first time I've managed to photograph my motorcycle close to a war memorial. 

It is, however, the closest I've ever gotten to one. 

In 2021 the Royal Enfield Owners Club (UK) created a calendar for 2022, with the months illustrated with photos submitted by members. Several of the months showed Royal Enfields in front of military objects, including a superb shot with a Spitfire airplane! 

I'm jealous. Not many Spitfires or Sopwith Camels are on display near my home in Florida.

I did manage to get a photo of my Bullet with a Korean War era Sabre jet; but the jet was mounted on a pylon, so it wasn't easy.

Other times I got a photo with a cannon.

Then, recently, I became aware of a tank on display in a nearby park, as a memorial to Purple Heart (wounded-in-action) veterans. Photos of it suggested it might be close enough to the street for me to get a photo with my Royal Enfield.

The tank is described as an M60A3TTS. It's the kind of tank usually referred to as a Patton tank, although the M60 was not officially named that. The name sticks because it shares a general appearance with U.S. tanks since the M46 Patton, which fought in the Korean War.

A prominent feature of the M60 (and the M48 before it) is the cupola atop the turret, giving the tank commander a miniature turret of his own, armed with a machine gun.

It's a distinctive look, making the tank popular with model builders, although in practice it was often criticized for making the tank taller and thus harder to hide on the battlefield.

In 1989 the US Army had a total of 5,400 model M60A3TTS tanks. The last of these left service with the National Guard in 1997, leaving plenty available for displays. (Some ended up in the ocean, as artificial reefs.)

The Military Order of the Purple Heart Chapter 674 received Oakland Park city permission to place a surplus M60 on display in Veterans Park, 3805 NW 21st Ave., in 1996.

Interestingly, it was expected to be not only a solemn memorial, but an active playground for children. And why not? It's impervious to damage. There are no "Keep Off" signs here.

But this meant that it eventually was positioned on a (safer) sand pad, not concrete.

In practice, the scale of the tank makes it uninviting to children — it's hard to get up onto it. But the loose sand makes the tank almost impervious to anyone trying to maneuver a motorcycle into position for a photo!

So, after riding the motorcycle to the tank on the sidewalk (no one was looking) I had to huff and puff to get the ideal picture. 

There was no good way to get the long barrel of the big gun entirely in the photo. Also the size of the tank reduced my motorcycle to insignificance in comparison.

So compromise was necessary. How did I do?

(By the way, the tank appears white. It actually is a very faded desert sand in color. The machine gun originally in the cupola is not fitted.)

Adults could learn from a child rider

When is a riding lesson not a riding lesson?

 I watched my granddaughter learn to ride a bicycle the other day. 

I didn't teach her to ride; the bicycle itself taught her. 

Watching this happen was a lesson. How much more could I learn about motorcycling, if I approached riding on two wheels the way she did: letting the machine show me how it works, instead of imposing my own mental textbook on it? 

My granddaughter is late in life to be learning to ride; a bit more than eight years old. I'd bought the bike for her more than four years ago, but it languished on the porch. The tires were generally flat. 

Her parents were wary of it, for good reason. They live in a neighborhood with no sidewalks, but plenty of cars parked on both sides of the street. It's very hilly. A young rider could build up a lot of speed going downhill to a busy intersection.

Riding on the street is a lot for a child to tackle, especially on the bare bones bicycle I'd purchased used. Cheaply made, in China, it has only a coaster brake on the rear wheel, and the ergonomics are poor.

It's a kiddie bike, but the pedal crank appears to be made for a larger bicycle. The young rider reaches for the bottom pedal, while the top pedal forces her other leg unnaturally high.

Worst of all, the bicycle has always had training wheels. These were necessary at first just to get the kid on the bike: they look like safety devices, but they function unsafely. They cause the bike to lean out of a turn, the exact wrong thing to do.

This visit, granddaughter had agreed to try out the bike in a safe park near her home. It wasn't an ideal excursion: she was in a skirt, when pants would have been safer. Her helmet was too loose on her, but no adjustment was welcome. And it was raining!

Yet, somehow, it seemed like the time to do this. So we went to the park.

She wobbled around an unused tennis court for awhile. When the bike leaned to the outside of a turn, that side's training wheel would actually "jack" the rear wheel off the ground, threatening a crash.

I pointed out that her problem was the training wheels, and she herself asked to have them removed.

Bingo!

I'd brought a pliers just in case this opportunity arose. Freed of the risk of being tipped over by the training wheels, the kid quickly realized that a little speed made the bicycle more stable.

This experience quickly extended to realization that sweeping turns, with a little speed, are more comfortable than slowing to a wobble and making a tight turn.

I struggled to keep my mouth shut for fear of spoiling this. She was learning at her own speed, faster than with any "tips" I could have offered.

It was marvelous to see. She eventually called for her parents to be summoned, to witness her proud accomplishment.

I had one regret: I really felt her father should have been the one to give her the initial push that would propel her into motion. I remembered my own dad giving me that fateful shove, and I remember doing it for my two daughters.

But this time there was no trotting alongside until I was out of breath, no worrying about what would happen if the kid went down, no heart-in-the-mouth final push on the bicycle seat.

None of that.

She and the bicycle just rode.

The Royal Enfield shines, but rider is rusty

 Never mind rust on the motorcycle: how fast does a rider get "rusty"? 

We'd been out of town, away from my Royal Enfield, for a month. The weather was perfect for a ride, so I suited up, planning to take the motorcycle to fill the tank. 

After a month away, getting some fresh gas seemed like a good idea. 

But I was rusty. 

No sooner did I kick start the Royal Enfield than I realized I didn't have my gloves. I was all ready to go. The motorcycle was running. I considered riding without gloves, just this once.

But thoughts of what a fall could do to my hands prevailed. Regretfully I switched off the motorcycle and headed inside the house to get the gloves.

They weren't where I normally keep them! I figured I must have left them in the pockets of my other jacket.

No, the gloves weren't there either. Never mind. I'd just use my spare pair.

But those weren't where I thought they'd be either. What the... ?

I realized that I would have taken the original pair into the garage when I went to get the motorcycle. And there they were, "hiding" under the edge of an upside down canoe, where they had fallen.

OK. Gloves on hands, I headed back to the motorcycle.

Mounting up I realized that the rearview mirrors were out of adjustment. They must have moved when I put a dust sheet over the bike before leaving town.

Damn, you know how I hate adjusting those mirrors!

Moving them loosens them and, with the vibrations of the motor the mirrors are soon swinging merrily backwards and forwards as the motorcycle picks up or loses speed.

Still, it had to be done. I took a chance and just barely touched them to make the adjustment.

OK. Finally! Ready to go at last.

Only as I let out the clutch did I remember that I hadn't first checked the tire pressures. I decided to chance riding anyway; it had only been a month since the last check; surely they'd be OK?

The throttle seemed to feel a bit unfamiliar, since I had only just struggled to remove and replace it before leaving town. OK. I guess this is the way it feels now. Get used to it.

At the first intersection my boot heel failed to find the neutral finder lever. You have to rely on muscle memory to locate it, and my muscles had forgotten.

This ride was getting a bit frustrating.

Traffic was heavy, and my dance with the neutral finder, so important in traffic, continued to go badly.

How could I have forgotten how to do this, in only a month!

OK, at last, here is the gas station.

I undid the gas cap and reached for the pump handle. I've added gas a million times, it seems, and never, ever, spilled gas onto the tank.

But, sure enough, this time, a teaspoon of petrol spilled across the tank as I brought the pump handle over the tank.

Damn! That's not good for the paint.

Gassed up and restarted, I headed towards home. No sense prolonging this experience.

Except, thinking about it, practice is actually what I needed.

A look at the Rickman Enfield from 1972

(Motacilla Photo/WikiMedia Commons)

 Maynard Hershon writes the "Back in the Day" section for Motorcycle Sports and Leisure magazine. The magazine has a rich archive of articles he can mine, dating back to 1962. 

As a reader, he first came across the original version of the magazine, as Motorcycle Sport, back in the 1970s. 

The magazine is published in the UK, but Hershon is American, and I sense that he shares my enjoyment for the oh-so-British perspective on motorcycles. 

Recently he sent me an item from a 1972 edition of the magazine, a review of the then new Rickman Metisse, powered by the Royal Enfield Series 2 750cc twin. 

Of course Hershon didn't write it. I don't know who did. There was no byline; British motor magazines had a tradition of anonymous articles, signed with pseudonyms, or initials, or not at all.

The Rickman Metisse reviewed in the magazine in 1972 is undeniably a collectible today, regardless of any flaws it may have possessed at the time. No one cares anymore how many miles per gallon it gets.

The anonymous writer's perspective and style are antiques as well, and just as priceless.

Maynard explains:

"The magazine was produced for lifetime motorcyclists, and for years the editors and writers were horrified by the new 'superbikes,' overweight, over-powered monsters. Eventually, the old magazine grew out of touch with the times and had to change, but handled the change well. I've been in there monthly since the mid-'90s."

Here's an example of what I call great writing, from the 1972 article by the anonymous author, on the Rickman Metisse. First comes the setup:

"The big Enfield engine's good looks have never, I feel, been properly appreciated. Surely it is one of the best-looking motorcycle engines ever produced. It is large, smoothly styled, yet not so 'bland' as to be boring, and with a weight and swell to the finning that give it an almost brutally powerful aspect... which must be a bonus in the looks of any motorcycle that does, in fact, happen to be an extremely powerful performer."

And then comes the kicker:

"Somehow this was never apparent when the engine was housed in the Royal Enfield frame."

Ha!

The Rickman frame doesn't escape unscathed either.

"Add the facts that the Rickman's seat is strictly average height from the ground, and the handlebar grips come rather far back, and you have all the ingredients for a thoroughly uncomfortable riding position for anyone except a motorbike-mad chimpanzee..."

And:

"Riding comfort is not particularly high, which can be blamed (if you think it is a blameworthy matter) on the firm suspension, and not particularly luxurious dualseat and the execrable riding position."

(So the ride is hard, but that's no discomfort, unless you happen to be seated on the motorcycle.)

The engine is "agricultural," and would be better with twin cams, the author reports. And then he writes that it "runs a little short of puff and flattens out at about 105. Still, who's grumbling..."

Who's grumbling! The author answers his own question by using ellipsis instead of a question mark there. Reader, are you so pedestrian as to think a mere 105 is satisfactory? Pity.

The whole article is a sly combination of pats on the back and jabs in the ribs.

And he never lets up, congratulating the Metisse for "no pandering here to effete pretty-pretty looks!"

The author makes it all seem effortless. No pandering here! Sure, the motorcycle is splendid, and well worth the money (insert ellipsis here) if you like that sort of thing.

Readers are left, really, to draw their own conclusions.

But, if they want to see a Metisse on their own, they are in luck, as the magazine posts not one, but TWO advertisements below the article for Elite Motors, sole suppliers of the Rickman, at Garratt Lane, Tooting Broadway, London.

That address, to American ears, must be the most Gilbert and Sullivan touch of all.

Sorry, Tooting is a real place (London's mayor lives in the district). The name is quite serious, and of ancient Anglo-Saxon origin.

No one knows for sure what it means, but it could be derived from an old meaning of the verb "to tout."