'Around the World in 40 motorcycles'

Royal Enfield and author on the way to the Forbidden Kingdom.

 When author James McBride asked me to sample his book "Around The World in 40 Motorcycles, Life on Two Wheels," I expected to read a memoir. 

In other words, a thoughtful history of the deep meaning of an individual's life, told in the whispers of truth we share only with our therapists. 

And, yes, "40 Motorcycles" is a memoir of an interesting life; but the therapy is provided by motorcycling. 

This actually is a book about what it was like for him to ride some 40 different motorcycles in exotic environments ranging from dangerous curves to dangerous women, spiced with casual consideration of how machine and rider handled each occasion. 

Just as the title promises.

Deep soul searching is present, but mostly absent. Absent, too, is self-consciously great literature.

It's really 44 chapters of entertaining tales from the road McBride could have shared first with buddies in a pub.

In fact, the one regret that I have is that I waited until AFTER I had read the book before watching one of his entertaining, short, "Author Talks" videos.

I urge you to watch one, to realize he speaks with a delightful accent, perfect for a story told over a pint.

It's like being at the arm of an experienced rider with many an exciting tale to tell. It doesn't hurt that the author has an adventurous spirit, lived an active youth, joined the Royal Navy to learn to fly, and went on collecting stories as a pilot and respected airline captain.  

McBride keeps the chapters short, and never bogs down, a technique that keeps the reader on edge, waiting for the payoff.

For instance, here is McBride as a young man, riding pillion on a rainy night at high speed, and a lorry comes around the bend, crossing into their lane.

"At 80 mph, in the tranquil beauty of a Scottish dawn, I braced myself for impact."

And so does the reader.

But first...

Well, the reader knows the book isn't going to come to a crashing end on Page 47, so we know he must survive. But how?

That's revealed, on Page 60, in a single short paragraph. Oh... that!

The writing technique works. The book is a page-turner.

A British page-turner it is, and McBride makes that clear immediately:

"British English spelling is used throughout (apologies to our American cousins)."

No apologies necessary, although this instance gave me pause:

"I spoiled the ship for a ha'porth of paint by covering the tank with a couple of aerosols of British Leyland red."

(Here's where it would have been nice imagining it said in his speaking voice.)

Cambridge dictionary definition of "ha'porth" is a half-penny's worth of difference -- hardly any. In American, he's saying he had cheaped out on getting the tank done right, and his savings hadn't been worth a nickel.

Fresh, young, and too brave in the early chapters, McBride looks back on the bravado and admits "Of course I knew it all at 25. WHAT an asshole."

He's no asshole, but truth is he never seems to have lost his ambition to have fun. Whether he's on cliff's edge on two wheels, or a naval flyer in a Harrier jump jet, or trying to figure out what women really want, McBride keeps the story moving.

And the motorcycles are always there.

The cover shot is of McBride with a Royal Enfield, and Royal Enfields are central to two hair-raising chapters. But I also enjoyed learning about all the other bikes I probably never will ride

And every story ends with the specifications of the featured motorcycle.

One last little nibble to leave you with: one bike he finds discarded, restores at his own expense, enjoys riding, and then abandons, all set for the next finder, with the key in the ignition!

That's just how "40 Motorcycles" rolls. Watch this video for a taste of McBride:

Wartime novel captured drama of escape from France

British Army and French civilians jam streets of Le Neubourg in flight from the German Army in June, 1940. (Geoffrey Keating Photo, Imperial War Museum Collections F 4722) 

 It is amazing that a Royal Enfield military motorcycle, abandoned by the British Army in its flight from France in 1940, was found and restored. Even more remarkable is that its rider was identified from the 1940 photograph of the motorcycle, made at the front as the Germany army broke through British lines. 

The rider was Lt. Geoffrey Keating, a War Department photographer, and the sequence of his photos in the archives of the Imperial War Museum makes it possible to sketch his escape route, although whether he made his way to the channel on the Royal Enfield is unknown. 

The little group of enthusiasts devoted to Royal Enfield military motorcycles of World War II can be justly proud of this find. It brings to mind a dramatic crisis point in history. 

Reader and Royal Enfield enthusiast Mark Mumford noticed my interest and suggested I read "Pied Piper," a novel depicting an escape from France in just that period.

The author is Nevil Shute. He also wrote "On the Beach" and "A Town Like Alice," novels that became notable film productions. "Pied Piper" is less well known, although it has been filmed.

As the title suggests, the main character is a man, elderly and British, who ends up with a collection of children in tow as he attempts to get out of France ahead of the Germans. Credibility stretches a bit as the children eventually come to include even a German girl trained to snap off stiff-armed salutes.

Never mind that. The book is itself a marvelous example of its moment in history. Written and first published before Pearl Harbor and the U.S. entry into World War II, it depicts the British as defeated but unshaken and always hopeful. Whether that is accurate or not is beside the point. It's marvelously stirring.

Which was the point: it's propaganda, and it's not propaganda aimed at a British audience (which might have been conscious of a more nuanced situation).

"Pied Piper" was first published not in Britain, but in the U.S., as a serial in Collier's magazine, running from Nov. 1, 1941 to Jan. 3, 1942. When the serial began America was at peace. As it wrapped up, the U.S. was at war, on Britain's side.

The best part of the book is as the old man, by now back in London but hardly safe there, tells his story to a weary officer seated in a comfortable chair at their club. The Blitz is going strong on this night, but the two men resolve to remain upstairs rather than go to the cellar.

Outside, bombs fall. One hits very near. The next shatters the club windows. The whine of the third bomb is now heard.

It bursts on the other side of the building.

"Straddled," the old man comments.

It's a wonderful moment, bound to excite Colliers readers with the calm courage of the British. The advertising message here is that the British will make great allies in the war to come.

Although he's writing in early 1941, as Britain stands alone (not even the June, 1941 addition of the Soviet Union as an ally is mentioned) the book gets quite right much history that is still yet to happen. 

Shute writes:

"Bad times were coming for France; he and his children must get out of it, damn quick. If the Germans conquered they would bring with them, inevitably, their trail of pillage and starvation, gradually mounting towards anarchy as they faced the inevitable defeat."

Considering the audience for all this is American, the book's confidence that the Americans will help is perhaps not surprising. The old gentlemen wants to get his collection of children to America, ultimately, where they will be safe with a daughter of his there. Naturally, people he encounters are skeptical of his audacious plans. He explains:

"They are a generous people. These children will be quite all right if I can get them there, because my daughter will look after them. But even without her, there would be many people in America willing to provide for them. Americans are like that."

But what about the money it would cost to care for so many children? No worries. America would not balk at the cost, the character assures us.

"'It's just the sort of thing they do do,' said the old man. 'They would pour out their money in a cause like that.'"

The old gentleman expresses confidence that, yes, America would accommodate even the Jewish kid.

Sheltering foreign children so easily was probably too hopeful to be true in 1941, and it's no sure bet in America in 2022. But the American heart still swells, reading this, and that surely was the author's intention.

Money is an all-purpose solution in the novel; the old gentleman has it and it enables many narrow escapes. He has the money, he assures one character, to fly a child to America on the Clipper (a huge expense in 1941) if necessary. Well. It's fiction.

Readers also have to accept as plot devices two comical British soldiers speaking in stereotypical Cockney, the customary brave and beautiful French woman, and the ever popular ruthless Gestapo officer. The children are somewhat wooden figures and eventually the reader begins to lose track of them as individuals.

Great writing? It is good enough. And it was all written, quite literally, in a good cause.

Recalling when Harley faltered and Brits raced ahead

Royal Enfield and Harley-Davidson are world leaders in marketing motorcycles of strong tradition, classic styling and vintage characteristics.

While Harley-Davidson often managed to build motorcycles that were, at least, state-of-the-art for their time, Royal Enfield survived half a century in India building the Bullet, truly a motorcycle out of the past.

My 1999 Bullet not only looks its age, its long-stroke motor, cable actuated drum brakes, neutral-finder gearbox, wire wheels and chain drive are right out of 1949.

In "The Ultimate Harley-Davidson," motorcycle journalist and author Mac McDiarmid gives Harley credit for inventing "Retro-Tech." What's that?

"It is the means by which modern engineering receives a post-modern styling twist which is uniquely Harley-Davidson, which can contrive to make a 1999 model look for all the world like a 1949 HydraGlide but function far better."

"The Ultimate Harley-Davidson" 2007 Edition.

He's talking about elements such as the "Softail" that gives a Harley cantilever rear suspension but lets it look like a rigid frame motorcycle. Harley's "Springer" front end looks like crude girder forks, but "benefited from more computer-aided design than any previous piece of Harley-Davidson hardware..."

Royal Enfield has unleashed its 650 twins on the world, bringing a new take on the famed Royal Enfield Interceptor and Continental GT of the 1960s. These new Royal Enfields look retro, but use thoroughly modern technology.

That same plan has worked for Harley — up to a point, anyway. I read the 2007 edition of McDiarmid's book, spotted by a friend in a resale shop. The book was written during high times for Harley.

"Today, the company is booming. Inspired styling and brilliant marketing, combined with modern manufacturing techniques, see Milwaukee's finest thundering confidently into the future," he writes.

Harley's confidence has cooled since then, victim of lessening demand as its Baby Boomer customer base ages out of motorcycling. Then, in July, 2018, came announcement of ambitious plans to reshape the brand with new products.

No mention of Retro-Tech. Instead there would be an adventure motorcycle, aggressively modern looking "pure performance" bikes in all sizes and even electric motorcycles.

The July, 2018 announcement was pitched to overturn everything you thought you knew about Harley-Davidson, and so powerfully worded that the company added this disclaimer at the bottom:

"While many statements use language that might imply a level of certainty about the likelihood that the company will attain these goals, aims and objectives, it is possible that the company will not attain them in the time frame noted, or at all."

So what is the value of a 2007 book that ends during a boom time? Well, it's naturally a history book, and Harley's long history is one of booms, busts and near miraculous salvations from brutal market changes.

Unless you already know it by heart, McDiarmid's retelling will challenge most of what you thought you knew about Harley-Davidson.

The earliest Harleys were singles, not twins, and the first production V-twin was plagued by troubles. Production was suspended for a year and then it came back as a better motor in a stronger frame. Getting it right — eventually — seemed to become a Harley tradition.

With dependable products production was soaring, even before U.S. entry into World War I. Then it really took off, leaving Harley-Davidson the world's largest manufacturer of motorcycles.

And then Ford cut the price of its Model T car to $395, the same as a Harley V-twin. Motorcycle sales collapsed and Harley sales would not return to 1920's level for 21 years — with another war.

Harley supplied the Allies with 90,000 motorcycles during the World War II. Meeting that demand was followed by a challenge of a different sort: with victory in sight the War Department slashed orders for 11,000 motorcycles, yet wartime limits on producing for civilians remained in force.

Workers' hours were cut, so they went on strike. Then the government dumped 15,000 war surplus Harleys on the market.

It gets worse. The military had favored Harley's already old-fashioned side-valve motorcycles over the more advanced Knuklehead of the 1930s. Harley's reputation for dependability now translated as "old, slow and obsolete," McDiarmid writes.

"Triumph — along with other British marques such as BSA, Norton and Royal Enfield — had a range of cheaper yet much more exciting and technically sophisticated models than Harley-Davidson (whose flagship model persisted with hand gear change until 1952)."

In response Harley tried to bully dealers into not handling the British brands. In 1952 it asked for a 40 percent import tax and quotas on the number of motorcycles the British could import. The government refused those requests, and told Harley to quit its abusive sales practices.

The Hollister "riots" of 1947 were considered a black mark for motorcycling at the time. Harley took the blame, seemingly worsened by the 1953 movie "The Wild One."

"Although the film's star, Marlon Brando, rode a Triumph Thunderbird on screen, many people still swear it was a Harley."

We all know now that the day would come when Harley-Davidson could exploit the bad-boy image of the outlaw gangs to sell motorcycles. But McDiarmid points out many things I didn't realize.

Harley was forced to merge with industrial giant AMF in 1968, often considered a dark year for the brand. But AMF invested millions, and sales more than doubled in the first three years.

The Japanese invasion actually helped Harley by expanding the American motorcycle market, triggering a "staggering increase" from 60,000 a year to more than two million by 1973.

Still, too few of these motorcycle sales were Harleys. The company again asked for tariff protection and again it didn't get it.

Instead, the government told Harley its problem was its obsolete model range. AMF lost interest and Harley executives arranged a leveraged buy-out in 1981. Independence was thrilling, but things actually got worse. The company lost $25 million in 1982. Again it begged for tariffs and, in 1983, it finally got them, to run through 1988.

The protection was for motorcycles of more than 700cc, right where Harley executives planned to put their efforts. But the bank backing the buy-out withdrew, leaving the company broke. Bankruptcy seemed certain.

It was time for another miraculous salvation and it came, in the form of gradually improving products and fast improving sales. Harley took back the big-bike leadership from Honda and announced that it wouldn't even need tariff protection for 1988. In that year, Harley introduced the Springer Softail.

Retro-Tech was here. The boom time was back, bigger, better and louder than ever.

Until, it seems, now. Time for a new book, but this 2007 edition still has value.

Harley's surprising history is the most interesting part of McDiarmid's book, but unlike many coffee-table size tomes it includes a useful Index, a Glossary (a "wrist pin" is not a wrestling move), and a guide to Harley-Davidson Model Codes.

There are separate chapters for Customs and Competition. Much of the book consists of separate chapters for significant models.

All in all, a great used-bookstore find.

New book explores Royal Enfield's pre-war history

Author Peter Miller with his 1930 Royal Enfield Model B 225cc side-valve, found very rusty in the loft of a barn and now maintained in oily rag condition. It "kindled an interest in Royal Enfield that would ultimately lead on to the writing of the book."

Peter Miller's new book "Royal Enfield The Early History - 1851 to 1930" is a big, handsome, hard-cover of 280 pages, richly illustrated. In most cases it was the first time I'd seen many of these illustrations.

The book tells the Royal Enfield story year-by-year, highlights interesting Royal Enfield personalities, contains a complete chronology of Royal Enfield through the period, and a comprehensive spread sheet of Royal Enfield motorcycle models of the day including displacement, bore, stroke and even cost. It finishes with a bibliography and a useful index.

The jacket describes Peter Miller as the owner of three Royal Enfields. Previous books by him cover the Welbike, Morgan three-wheeler, Brough Superior and The Famous James Military Lightweight motorcycle. Quite a range of very unusual machines.

If you're in the UK you can get the book directly from the author. Elsewhere get it from Hitchcock's Motorcycles or Royal Enfield Books.

"Royal Enfield The Early History - 1851 to 1930"
by Peter Miller.

Fans of Royal Enfield motorcycles will be surprised that the book includes a wealth of information about the Royal Enfield bicycles that got the company rolling. Farther on, there's attention to Royal Enfield sidecars and even commercial sidecar outfits. These were more important in Royal Enfield history than I realized.

I was frankly pleased to read in the forward of this formidable history of Royal Enfields that "Competition is discussed only when relevant to the ongoing story of the machine's development." By no means is racing ignored in this book but it never comes to dominate.

"I am not a fast rider," Peter wrote me, in an email, "and take greatest pleasure from pottering on early bikes to enjoy their individual idiosyncrasies and the challenges of riding them well.

"Early Enfield machines were well designed, well built, often innovative and a pleasure to ride. I believe they don’t receive the appreciation they deserve and would like to think my book might go some way to remedying this."

The very early history (back to the 16th Century) is dealt with quickly. That simplifies things somewhat, but Royal Enfield remains a complex story. Families of people with the same name complicate things.

George Townsend leaves the company on his death to his sons, George Townsend Jr. and half brother Foster Townsend.

It is Foster who brought into the company one of the early boneshaker bicycles, inspiring the needle making firm to think about moving into production of bicycle parts. By 1891 more than two-dozen different bicycle designs were being made, although some look nothing like you'd expect.

How about a geared front-wheel-drive bicycle with a backbone frame instead of the expected diamond shape?

Brace yourself for the curious three-and four-wheel machines that are coming, eventually with motors.

By 1910 there are a bewildering number of models, helpfully sorted by the book. The field-gun motif on the front sprocket of bicycles appeared this year. An oil-bath chain guard seems like a fine idea. Full-fledged automobiles are in the catalog and motorcycles are back in, after being dropped in 1906.

Gearbox, slipper clutch, cush drive, chain drive, oil pumps, patented "spring" handlebars, a flirtation with water cooling — innovations are coming fast.

"Much of my research for the book was carried out using the factory scrapbooks and photograph albums held by the Redditch Library," Peter wrote me.

"This proved invaluable as it provided opportunity to view photographs of prototype machines and to gain a greater insight into the development of the various models."

"There is considerable scope for error," he notes in the book, as the company's illustrations may be touched up, photos show only prototypes, changes are made during production and period brochures are usually undated.

And human beings keep coming and going.

And they are fascinating people. R.W. Smith was given a seat on the BSA board in 1907 but retired after two years for reasons of ill health. Yet he went on to become managing director of Enfield Cycle Company, a position he would occupy until his death a quarter century later.

Similarly, Albert Eadie is said to be in poor health in 1907 and resigns from the board of directors of Enfield Cycle. Yet he accepts appointment to the board of BSA, becomes managing director of its bicycle and motorcycle departments and lives until 1931!

"Albert Eadie and R.W.Smith were true pioneers of mechanized transport and don't receive the full recognition they deserve," Peter wrote in his email to me.

"They established profitable cycle and motorcycle manufacturing industries and produced early powered tricycles and quadricycles. They were unfortunate to fail in their ambition to become a major manufacturer of automobiles."

In the book, he writes that, in taking the Royal Enfield story up to 1930, he meant to complement the book by Gordon G. May, "By Miles the Best," which carries on from 1930 to 1970.

But he is unable to resist a peek at 1931 models (as these would have been designed in 1930) and even into 1932, probably because  — very unusually — Royal Enfield released a chart for that year showing performance figures and power curves for its motorcycles. It would have been a shame to leave that out.

He continues on to note the Birth of the Bullet in 1932, the death of managing director Frank Walker Smith (the son of managing director R.W. Smith) in 1962, the creation of India Enfield in 1956 and the demise of the UK based company in 1970.

But thoroughness is not the only joy of this book. I was delighted by diversions into unfamiliar areas.

The Townsend's saddle that combined the framework of the bicycle seat with its springs, for instance. Or the impressive Royal Enfield automobiles. Or the unknown (to me) connection between Royal Enfield and Motosacoche.

I finished reading the book and immediately went back and read it again.

Author takes on a project Royal Enfield Bullet and...

Author David Wittlinger details his struggles to restore a Royal Enfield Bullet motorcycle.

Author David Wittlinger and I share a vision:

"As I rode along an empty two-lane road I watched my silhouette float across the field next to me. If not for the outline of my full-face helmet the profile I saw could easily have been of a younger man motoring along a narrow English lane astride his 1955 motorcycle..."

I've seen that ghostly image while riding my own old Royal Enfield motorcycle, and felt its inspiration.

The same is true of much in Wittlinger's new book "Dodging Bullets," available through Amazon in paperback or digital format.

Subtitled "Resurrection of a Motorcycle," the book describes Wittlinger's decision to buy a used and inoperable 2007 Royal Enfield Bullet. He took the chance he might fail to get it to run, hoping to hone his mechanical skills and have fun doing it.

"Dodging Bullets"

He didn't fully know what he was getting into, but he was willing to face the challenges as they came. The plot deepens when it turns out that the Dreaded Previous Owner had attempted fixes that made the situation much worse. In effect, booby traps had been set for Wittlinger at every turn.

The fun is in being along for the ride as Wittlinger slams into one road block after another, meeting each one with ironic humor.

"Dodging Bullets" is a slim book and you sometimes expect it will end suddenly with the words "And then I gave up."

Of course, it doesn't. As the author points out, getting there is often more than half the fun.

Wittlinger credits the online forum members who helped him along the way, Hitchcock's Motorcycles and Pete Snidal's excellent manual on the old Royal Enfield Bullets. He even gives my RoyalEnfields.com blog a nice plug. (I have no connection to sales of the book.)

A sidelight for me: Wittlinger doesn't dwell on it, but particularly aggravating is that he can't find the Previous Owner.

Convinced to buy the motorcycle, he finds himself handing cash to a seller whose name isn't on the title. He is left with only an out-of-state title carrying the name of a person he never met . He was unable to track down this unknown woman, with a common name, who no longer lives at the address on the title.

It's hard enough that we live in a country with 50 different ways (51 counting District of Columbia) of keeping track of who owns a motor vehicle. Worse is that everyone seems to have their own way of cheating these systems.

I speak as a man once accused of selling a dangerous car to a teenage girl I'd never met, because the title date was altered by a man who pretended to be me.

If you own a Royal Enfield Bullet it's likely you too will find things in "Dodging Bullets" that make your ears burn with recognition. And appreciation.

Why Royal Enfield gave up on motorcycles in 1906

Royal Enfield's odd 1901 motorcycle. Its designer, far right, thought rear-wheel drive would cure stability problems actually caused by the front-mounted motor. With fuzzy thinking like this, Royal Enfield was out of the motorcycle business by 1906.

 

 Royal Enfield recently boasted on Facebook that "we have been continuously making motorcycles since 1901." That's not true. But we know what they mean. 

Royal Enfield's website is more careful, claiming motorcycle production only "since 1901." That is strictly true, although it implies motorcycle production has been continuous. It's the word "continuous" that is the problem. 

The first Royal Enfield motorcycle did appear in 1901. It looked more like what we would call a moped today, but back then it was almost as good a motorcycle as you could find. 

Only "almost as good" because another manufacturer had figured out that the motor belongs low in the frame, not way up in front of the handlebars — and those other guys had patented their discovery. Royal Enfield was stuck with a high center of gravity that could lead to wipe outs on dirt roads. 

The odd fact is that Royal Enfield had been building motor vehicles — three and four wheelers that looked a bit like cars — since 1898. If anything, the early company seemed more interested in cars than in motorcycles.

Proof of this is that, for 1906, Royal Enfield actually ended its new-born motorcycle production to concentrate on cars. No new Royal Enfield motorcycle would emerge from the factory until 1910.

It's all in the new book, "Royal Enfield, The Early History 1851-1930," by Peter Miller. It's a big, 280-page hardcover book rich with information and illustrations. I was delighted to receive it as a Christmas gift.

"Royal Enfield The Early History"
by Peter Miller.

The book is subtitled "Automobiles, Cycles and Motor Cycles." We all know Royal Enfield was an early maker of bicycles and today it is known for its motorcycles, still made in India after production ceased in England.

But the company's foray into the automobile business — and the way that disrupted motorcycle production — was for me one of the most confusing things about Royal Enfield history.

The facts are that Royal Enfield ceased motorcycle production at a time when too many companies were jumping into the business, chasing too few buyers. Demand for Royal Enfield cars fell too but remember, by 1906 Royal Enfield was an established builder of cars, and its cars — no longer mere quadricycles — were big, up-to-date, and handsome.

Its motorcycles, however, had only just come along and, although innovative, weren't fully developed. Royal Enfield couldn't seem to decide if they should have two speeds, or one; chain drive, or belt; air or water cooling. A photo of the 1905 Royal Enfield motorcycle in Miller's book looks like a steampunk's bad dream, with six prominent exposed sprockets.

By the end, only two models were offered.

"Neither proved popular with the buying public," Miller writes.

Motorcycles weren't making money. They were an easy business to give up.

Still, it probably should have been clear that making automobiles was a stretch for the Enfield Cycle Co. Ltd. as it was then known. As a bicycle maker it lacked heavy duty press and foundry equipment. Early car frames were of tubular steel but when automobile designs eventually called for pressed steel frames these had to be bought in, as did cylinder blocks, crankshafts, camshafts and crankcases. Even the bodies were made by outside suppliers.

Cars weren't making money for Royal Enfield either.

The company's chosen solution to this dilemma seemed like a gamble, even to observers at the time. The automobile business was spun off, as the Enfield Autocar Company.

The split had a physical component. The Enfield Cycle Company moved to a brand new factory on Hewell Road in Redditch, specially designed for cycle making, leaving the Enfield Autocar Company to the Hunt End works, which were being updated to make motor vehicles.

Although otherwise separate, with their own boards of directors (mostly the same people), both companies would continue to use the brand name "Enfield." Both would even use the "Made Like a Gun" slogan and logo.

Part of the deal was that the Cycle Company would refrain from building cars and the Autocar Company would refrain from making cycles.

The Cycle Company did well, as pedal powered bicycles were still money makers. But it didn't take long for the Autocar Company to crash. Its new 15-horsepower car attracted orders at the Olympia Auto Show of October, 1906, but it was February, 1907 before the Hunt End factory could fill the first order. The Autocar company went into receivership a few days before Christmas, 1907.

It was purchased by automobile maker Alldays & Onions, which moved production to its own works in Birmingham. "Enfield" cars would continue to be produced into the 1920s, but not in Redditch, and they would mostly be just upscale versions of Alldays & Onions cars.

In other words, the later history of "Enfield" cars involves Enfields produced by a completely different firm, one actually in competition with the Enfield Cycle Company. (Alldays & Onions made bicycles and motorcycles under its own name.)

An ugly moment came in 1913 when Alldays & Onions briefly produced the (literally) ugly "Enfield Autorette," a three-wheeled cycle car. There are photos of this strange conveyance in Miller's book.

Remember, under the 1906 agreement the Autocar Company, now owned by Alldays & Onions, had no right to produce cycles under the name Enfield.

When Enfield Cycle complained, Alldays & Onions got huffy.

In response, Enfield Cycle created an experimental cycle car of its own, the Royal Enfield Cyclecar, with four wheels — like a car — which only seems calculated to piss off the Autocar Company.

It was attractive.

In fact, compared to the ugly Enfield Autorette, the Royal Enfield Cyclecar was gorgeous, with a sleek body, full fenders and long running boards. Again, there are photos in Miller's book.

After this proposed car appeared in a magazine Alldays & Onions dropped its Enfield Autorette, replacing it with an actual car, the Enfield Autolette.

A decade later the story came full circle.

In 1924 Alldays & Onions went into receivership itself (partly the result of sinking too much money into the proposed Enfield Bullet, a car powered by a five-cylinder airplane style radial engine).  Out of this receivership the Enfield Cycle Company bought back the full rights to the Enfield name for a "very reasonable figure."

Not only was the Enfield name back with Royal Enfield, but the company now had the right to produce motorcars itself — although it was "not thinking of doing so."

Royal Enfield would return to making motorcycles for 1910. These were V-twins of steadily improving design, and they would make money.

"From this point the company would enjoy a period of sustained growth and profitability, which can be attributed to the manufacture of motorcycles," Miller writes.

All this drama and I'm only up to page 80 of his book. I look forward to many interesting stories in the chapters to come.

If you're in the UK you can get the book directly from the author. Elsewhere get it from Hitchcock's Motorcycles or Royal Enfield Books.

Revisiting British motorcycling, with Evelyn Waugh

Evelyn Waugh may have ridden a Douglas motorcycle,
like this one from the 1925 Douglas overseas brochure.

Before "Downton Abbey" conquered American television audiences there was "Brideshead Revisited."

Aired on PBS in 1981, the BBC miniseries based on Evelyn Waugh's 1945 novel "constituted the biggest British invasion since the Beatles." That was the opinion of The New York Times in 2011, 30 years after "Brideshead" appeared.

Americans loved the fashions, the style, the accents, the wit and the dissipation of its young protagonists.

I remember the furor over the miniseries, although at the time my wife and I couldn't watch much television. When we eventually streamed it, "Brideshead," and, by extension Waugh, certainly made an impression.

I didn't get around to actually reading any of Waugh's writing until just the other day, when I ran across a reference to "Men At Arms," his probably semi-autobiographical tale of wartime service in the British Army in 1940. I got the book and wasn't disappointed.

It's a wry account of an angst-ridden upper-class man anxious to get into the war so that he can bring significance to his miserable life by being killed.

Unfortunately he finds that it's a rather "exclusive" war — cannon fodder need not apply, at least not to a "good" regiment.

Looking to learn more about Waugh I found Duncan McLaren's book "Evelyn!" McLaren is a Waugh fan so dedicated that he recounts the author's life as a sort of travelogue, tracking Waugh's movements early in his development.

On his website EvelynWaugh.org.uk McLaren documents Waugh's travels by motorcycle, going to the trouble to map his rides. McLaren even figures out the true location of a striking 1926 photo of Waugh on his motorbike.

While Waugh is his real interest, McLaren's research becomes a delightfully appalling story of British motorcycling in the 1920s. Drawn from Waugh's diary, it's easy to read the account as Waugh's own joyful celebration of his disasters, incompetence and alcohol fueled fun.

Waugh's first motorcycle was a Douglas, purchased for him in Sussex Place, London. Told that it was best to learn by trial and error, Waugh spent an hour on the bike and the next day set out.

"Part of the lamp fell off, the front brake and stand broke off, as did the number plate," McLaren writes. "Apart from that the journey was hunky dory!"

The next ride would include a long walk to purchase a new tire. Returning at night without lights in rain and wind the motorcycle kept sliding. Of course by then Waugh would also have been well lubricated internally himself, making things worse.

His next trip was a bigger disaster. Rain, of course. Then a nut came off the clutch and it cost more than he wanted to spend to replace it. Then the bike just stopped.

Waugh took a taxi to a mechanic, who retrieved the motorcycle and told him he had sheared off a Woodruff key.

The repair was made but Waugh couldn't pay, so he left his silver hip flask as security. (First, of course, he emptied it.)

On his way at last he was misdirected and took a wrong turn. His lights stopped working and he rode in darkness until he could get more carbide for the lamp.

McClaren guesses that Waugh himself would have been so horrified by his experience that friends could convince him to sell the Douglas and buy a Francis-Barnett.

The story goes on, for mile after mile, and if the Francis-Barnett is a more dependable motorbike Waugh remains the most drunken of riders.

McClaren eventually compares Waugh to Mr. Toad of Toad Hall."

As Kenneth Grahame wrote of Toad, in "The Wind in the Willows:"

"...all sense of right and wrong, all fear of obvious consequences, seemed temporarily suspended."

So McClaren's step-by-step travelogue is both cautionary and highly entertaining. I recommend it to anyone who appreciates Waugh.

1977 article described Royal Enfield's return to Britain

Motorcycle Sport magazine tested the 1977 Royal Enfield Bullet.

The Royal Enfield reference book I turn to most often is Roy Bacon's "Royal Enfield, The Postwar Models." Bacon's book is entertaining as well as informative, as he often relies on the British motorcycling magazines of the time.

The magazine testers are often amusing, and their observations take you back to how it was in "those days." Failings that would disgrace a motorcycle today were taken in stride then. If a motorcycle came with a good tool kit, for instance, that seemed to excuse many flaws.

Recently I was fascinated to come across one of the original articles quoted by Bacon: Motorcycle Sport magazine's June, 1977 examination of the Royal Enfield Bullet.

By then the Bullet was made in India, and in 1977 had just been returned to English shores by an importer.

I spotted the magazine for sale on eBay.

Royal Enfield had been gone from the UK for almost two decades by the time of the article. The original item reveals there was still nostalgia in Britain for the Bullet.

"How many letters have been published in the pages of Motorcycle Sport decrying the demise of the traditional British single? How many readers have said that they would buy one tomorrow if only it were still made? Now comes the chance to put their money where their mouth is... straight out of the past comes a bike that is so unchanged, so traditional-looking and so economical that we are forced to take a step back and ask ourselves: has the motorcycle industry been wrong for these past 10 years?"

The magazine found that the brakes weren't very good, the kick starter didn't fold, and there was no lock to secure the steering while the bike was parked. (The writer guessed you might drill some holes in the steering head and use a padlock — can you imagine doing that today?)

The magazine worried that it was being too optimistic about the Bullet.

"It is difficult to decide whether we have been over-indulgent of the Enfield's faults in our delight at seeing a machine of such character back on the market."

But, ultimately, the writer found the Bullet from India to be "Ideal for the two-bike man and the enthusiastic commuter, we would say, and fun too."

This was not the final judgment. Bacon notes that:

"A little later, in January, 1978 Motor Cycle Mechanics also tested the Bullet and were less impressed by it, concluding that it was a nice machine but really ought to be in a museum."

The return of the prodigal motorcycle would have its ups and downs, and after 1977 the made-in-India Bullet was sometimes available for sale in Britain and sometimes not.

In modern times a revitalized Royal Enfield has became seriously interested in exporting India's iconic motorcycle to the world and Royal Enfields are back in Britain.

Royal Enfield says it intends to become the world leader in middle-size motorcycles, offering products that aren't too big, aren't too small, but are just what riders around the world really want.

Which is interesting; because the title of the 1977 Motorcycle Sport article envisioned the same sort of future. It read:

"1977 350 Royal Enfield: Suitable for maybe a quarter of the motorcycling population?"

Royal Enfield banks on tradition for success;so does that other Milwaukee motorcycle maker

"The Complete Harley-Davidson" tracks the brand through the decades.

For a motorcycle company so steeped in tradition, it may be surprising how difficult it is to keep track of Harley-Davidson evolution through history. There were a lot of changes!

So I was delighted when my cousin Sandy came across the book "The Complete Harley-Davidson, a Model-by-Model History."

The version she found is a 2004 book. Author Tod Rafferty includes plenty of detail for each year, along with beautiful color photographs illustrating the chronological changes he describes. This is a coffee table book, but it's packed with information as well as pretty pictures.

The book does give the American brand too much credit in one aspect, quoting another author this way:

"Harley-Davidson is the only motorcycle company in the world that gave its highest priority to tradition and succeeded."

HEY, WHAT ABOUT ROYAL ENFIELD?

Well, that quote, by Luigi Rivola, is originally from a 1977 book. The important qualification is "and succeeded." Royal Enfield's enormous success in India was not apparent in 1977.

So you can't put that statement down to mere Harley hubris.

In fact, much of my attitude towards Harley changed as I turned the pages.

The book gives the impression not of prideful stagnation, but constant improvement, within the V-twin tradition Americans came to love.

Even the very early, single-cylinder Harley-Davidsons were clean, attractive designs. The 1903 had an exhaust pipe with a graceful bend, fenders, brightwork and gold pin stripes.

The first V-twin appeared in 1909 but it was not a success. The twin returned in 1911, now — with mechanical valves — a success but still held back by its belt drive. Chain drive came in 1912, two-speed transmission, in 1914, three-speed gearbox in 1915, kick starter in 1916.

World War I created a market for military motorcycles and — apparently — olive-drab paint. Harley was still peddling olive-drab motorcycles to civilians until 1932!

The pace of mechanical improvements was steady right up to the Depression.

The front brake came in 1928 and the new 74-cubic-inch Model VL big twin appeared just two months before the Crash.

Costing $20 more than the model it replaced, the VL debuted with "a weak clutch, frail flywheel, poor lubrication, bad valve springs, inefficient mufflers and marginal pistons. Otherwise the motorcycle was fine."

To Harley's credit, "production stopped until new parts were made and shipped to dealers."

The economic downturn was one reason the firm's cheaper 45-cubic-inch (750cc) flathead twin would remain in production for 45 years. Something similar happened to Royal Enfield, when the 350cc Bullet motor long familiar in England moved to India, remaining in production there almost unchanged for 50 years.

As sales declined in the Depression, Harley-Davidson turned to styling improvements to attract customers. One result was that when the new overhead-valve Knucklehead motor arrived in 1936 it went into "the best-looking damn motorcycle they had ever seen."

The Knucklehead was "the right machine at the right time," Rafferty writes on Page 49. Harley-Davidson would face many more challenges in the 100 pages to come. But its motorcycles remained identifiably Harley in appearance.

The book ends the story in 1997 with an ironic, cautionary twist. The last line is this:

"With Harley-Davidson as partner, engine supplier and distribution network, the future of Buell's American sport bike looks uncommonly bright."

In fact, Harley's experiment with Buell sports bikes, begun in 1993, did not survive the 2009 economic downturn. That rare break with tradition did not work out.

Motorcycles of the '70s: A lost era for me

I got a lift on a Honda step-through in the 1960s and rode my brother's little Hondas in the 1970s, but family responsibilities then intervened to keep me off two-wheelers until July 4, 2001.

That's when I bought my Royal Enfield Bullet, and declared my personal independence from four wheels.

Street Bikes of the 70s.

In a way, I was picking up where I had left off.

Brit-style motorcycles (even if built in Japan) had seemed best when I'd quit riding. I was delighted that I could still buy a Royal Enfield (even if built in India) in 2001 and carry on, regardless.

I didn't think I'd missed anything.

But now along comes Motorcycle Classics magazine with "Street Bikes of the 70s," a compilation of articles from that era. Editor-in-Chief Richard Backus introduces it this way:

"When the overhead cam, four-cylinder Honda CB750 was introduced for 1969, the winds of change were already blowing hard. A milestone motorcycle, the CB750 represented the beginning of the end for the old order and the old way of doing things.

"The sporting British twin, for more than a generation the image of performance and style, found itself pushed to the back of the stage as sophisticated Japanese multis and more than a few groundbreaking Italian thoroughbreds reshaped the new motorcycle market."

Backus got his first motorcycle, a Kawaski, in 1976. He was 17, a full decade younger than I was at the time. He was left with "a particular love for bikes from the 1970s."

This was precisely the moment at which I had lost interest in the then new motorcycles.

Now, for the first time, I have I feeling that I did, indeed, miss out on something.

Motorcycle Classics is running a special. "Street Bikes of the 70s" is only $4.99 if ordered by Friday, Aug. 11.

This is not an endorsement: I haven't read it yet. If you have, let me know what you think.

Book review: 'Motorcycling in the 50s' carries you back

"Motorcycling in the 50s" is a book that ought to be of interest to every Royal Enfield motorcycle owner. Originally published in 1995, and recently freshly reprinted, it also is now available on Kindle.

Author Jeff Clew brings alive an era in Britain when the motorcycles that inspired today's Royal Enfields enjoyed their greatest popularity.

Clew should know. He was there, as a motorcyclist from 1946 on. In "Motorcycling in the 50s" he gives readers a feel for what it was like to be there at that time, in that place.

What we all want when we ride our Royal Enfields is to experience what it was like "back in the day." Riding a vintage motorcycle (or one barely removed from the 1950s, like the Royal Enfield) gives you a feeling for the experience, the author admits.

"Motorcycling in the 50s"

But Clew wants to add more: he wants to give a feel for the setting, the times. And he succeeds.

Britain was a nation on two wheels (or three, counting sidecars) in the 1950s. But challenges abounded.

Gasoline rationing didn't end until 1950 and returned after the Suez Crisis. Until 1953 the only gas available at all was "pool petrol" of a dismal octane rating. Oil had to be changed seasonally, as multi-grade oil was unknown.

Plenty of ex-War Department motorcycles were available for sale in the 1950s, but many of the exciting new models coming out of factories were "for export only" to help pay the country's war debts.

In any case, the buying public was conservative and price conscious, so Britain's most innovative designs (Clew cites fascinating examples) went begging.

War surplus riding gear was plentiful, but while dashing, was often not suitable. Ex-RAF gauntlets had wiring for heating, but the 6-volt electrical systems of motorcycles couldn't power them.

RAF goggles on the other hand were excellent, but expensive, as were ex-USAAF leather flying jackets. Leather RAF flying helmets were useless in rain.

Real motorcycling helmets (as worn by police) were used only on the track. If you rode home with one you strapped it to the motorcycle.

"It was not the done thing to be seen wearing a helmet on the public highway..."

Clew decries the image of danger and disrespect for the law motorcycling began to acquire in the 1950s.

Among other effects, it created public demand for limits on motor size for young riders. The sudden demand for 250cc learner bikes caught the British motorcycle industry with little to offer (Royal Enfield re-entered the 250cc market in 1954).

The resulting tide of sub-250cc foreign imports was the last thing the British motorcycle industry needed.

Despite the shortcomings and hardships "...we took it all in our stride and revelled in the much lighter density of traffic on our roads, when motorways were unknown."

Of researching the book, Clew writes, "...it was, for me, largely a trip down memory lane, recalling many happenings that, in one way or the other, have left an indelible impression in my mind. That I shared those memories with a whole generation of motorcyclists made this book possible."

He is the author of many books, including "J.A.P.: Vintage Years" and "Edward Turner — The Man Behind the Motorcycles."

You may wonder why I, an American, care about motorcycling in the 1950s in Britain, when motorcycling in the United States in that period would have been far different.

Well, my first car was a 1958 MGA. Driving cross country I realized "this car is not from around here." What would it have been like to drive (or ride) these British machines where they were intended to be used, I wondered.

Now, at least, I know what it would have been like to ride my 1999 Royal Enfield there in 1955.

World War II Royal Enfield is a Chinese Puzzle

What was a World War II Royal Enfield motorcycle doing in China in 1944?

It's probably every motorcyclist's dream to come across a vintage bike in a barn or even buried in a barn yard. Aside from its (possible) value, there's the fascination of wondering how the machine got there.

There's an intriguing mystery entitled "Chinese Puzzle" in the just released February/March issue of The Gun, magazine of the Royal Enfield Owners Club UK.

Brian Barr tells of riding across China in 1990 with friend Geoff. I won't spoil the wonderful story but, along the way, Geoff acquires a very used but still operating Royal Enfield Model WD/CO.

Brian's question is "how did it end up in China?" Is it possible the military machine, delivered by Royal Enfield to the War Office in 1944, was sent as military assistance to Chiang Kai-shek?

Could be. But surely you can imagine something more interesting, combining danger, adventure, romance and, of course, the Royal Enfield. You should write a novel about it.

Over the years novelists have contacted me for advice regarding a Royal Enfield motorcycle they want to use in their stories.

The late mystery novelist Paul Sussman kindly included an acknowledgement for me in his final book, "The Labyrinth of Osiris." I hadn't done much except put him in touch with blogger Jorge Pullin who provided information about the Royal Enfield Model J that plays a role in the book.

On another occasion a romance novelist contacted me to ask if a Royal Enfield Flying Flea, discovered long abandoned in a tunnel, would be a logical vehicle for an escape by her hero and heroine.

I had to point out that the Flying Flea was a single-seater, could not have outrun any pursuers unless they were on foot, and that any gasoline in the long neglected motorcycle would have evaporated over time.

It would be exciting to find a World War II motorcycle in an old tunnel. But you couldn't realistically expect it to start.

So, what is the best fictional explanation for the "Chinese Puzzle" posed by Brian Barr? Leave your suggestions in the comments below.

Royal Enfield mentioned in story of sea hunt for U-boat

A Royal Enfield motorcycle plays an incidental yet important role in Robert Kurson's 2004 book "Shadow Divers."

The book is the exciting, true story of how divers John Chatterton and Richie Kohler struggled to identify a Nazi U-boat they help explore off the coast of New Jersey in the 1990s.

The author recounts how "We met at Chatterton's house, where he had parked his vintage Royal Enfield motorcycle next to Kohler's late model Harley."

The book uses the reference to the Royal Enfield to set up the distinction between the courageous but careful Chatterton and the almost piratical Kohler. Though different in style, they became friends as they tackled the sometimes deadly task of finding something — anything — on the mystery submarine that would identify it.

The U-boat's grave lay barely within the reach of the scuba technology of the day. The wreck was badly damaged by the explosion that sank it, and was now a steel tube filled with jagged edges, piles of debris and wires reaching out to snag a diver. Time underwater had erased all the easy clues to its identity.

In finally proving this was the U-869, Chatterton and Kohler identified the final resting place of the submarine's crew.

Indirectly, they'd also bring recognition to the crews of two U.S. destroyer escorts who had been denied credit for the victory they'd scored in 1945. (This last wasn't verified until after "Shadow Divers" appeared — the full report appears on the U.S. Coast Guard website.)

After re-reading the book and enjoying it again, I wrote to Chatterton in 2012, to learn he had just moved to Florida and sold the Royal Enfield. He couldn't immediately lay his hands on any pictures of it.

"I do have a couple of pictures from when my wife and I were in the north of Thailand on 500cc Bullets with Himalayan Roadrunners," he wrote. "Actually, we got married on this trip, in Nan province.

"My wife and I made one trip from Kathmandu to Bhutan on Enfields, and another to the north of Thailand, where we got married. After the Bhutan trip, my wife bought me an Enfield I saw at the motorcycle show in New York City.

"Over the years, I have owned a Norton, a Triumph, a Kawasaki, a Yamaha, a Husqvarna, an Excelsior Henderson and several Harleys. I have a soft spot for the old British bikes."

Motorcycles must fill a relatively mild place in Chatterton's life, which has included service as a battlefield medic in Vietnam, hundreds of risky dives on other wrecks and cancer. He was at work under the Twin Towers when the airliners hit on Sept. 11, 2001.

"Shadow Divers" helped make Chatterton and Kohler public figures, and you may have seen them on the History Channel. You can read biographies of John Chatterton and Richie Kohler on their websites.

You can go along with Chatterton on a dive inside the U-boat on this YouTube video. I think you'll agree that his calm narration contrasts sharply with the clearly dangerous place he's exploring.

A Royal Enfield and a woman alone across India

Author Michèle Harrison and her Royal Enfield in May, 1998.

Michèle Harrison and the Royal Enfield Bullet motorcycle she dubs "Big Thumper" are the heroes of her book "All The Gear No Idea; A Woman's Solo Motorbike Journey Around the Indian Subcontinent."

It's available for Kindle on Amazon (and, with Amazon's free app,  for smartphone, tablet or computer as well).

The book begins as Harrison, a 30-something financial services worker in London, frustrated by what seems to be a series of laughably uncommunicative men, runs off to India, with a plan — sort of.

Having only just earned her motorcycle license, she buys a new Royal Enfield Bullet in New Delhi in October, 1997 and journeys on it for almost a year. She is so green at the beginning that she commits the most basic error possible on a Royal Enfield. I won't spoil the story, but perhaps you can guess what it is.

"All the Gear No Idea" is a bit of a happy-go-lucky travelogue, written in a breezy, conversational tone. But this is no weekend in the country. Harrison covers 17,000 miles.

There is the constant caveat that this is a woman traveling alone, perhaps up a dangerous road in bad weather with no certain idea where she will sleep this night. Harrison steadfastly refuses to acknowledge fear to people she meets — and perhaps to herself as well.

Occasionally it's only the fact that there are more pages to go that reassures the reader she will survive some new danger.

As she travels, Harrison finds herself often mistaken for a man, in part because she opts for a man's haircut to accommodate her helmet. But it's also because no one in the places she goes expects to see a woman traveling alone on a motorcycle.

She gets propositioned a lot, and occasionally gives in to a desire for romance. Notably, these two experiences have nothing to do with one another.

Her Royal Enfield Bullet is her most loyal and only constant companion and its dents and scrapes become a sort of diary of mishaps.

As she travels, Harrison gains affection and respect for her Royal Enfield motorcycle. But caring for its needs leaves her with a different set of conclusions than you might be expecting.

Harrison at the same spot, in October 2013.
What a difference the hair makes!

In the end, it's more important for her that she gains confidence in her own abilities to deal with life's challenges.

"I am increasingly worried that your audience will be very offended once they find out how badly I treated my gorgeous Enfield," Harrison wrote me when I asked a question about her book.

"I am sure you know by now why I called it 'All the Gear and No Idea.'"

Yes. But I noticed that, in the Epilogue, Harrison's final thought is, indeed, for that battered Royal Enfield.

"All The Gear No Idea" is hardly the last word on motorcycling alone across India and it probably won't be the final word on a woman doing it. Perhaps it's unfortunate that Harrison waited 17 years to publish what is, in effect, her diary.

The advantage is that time gives the author perspective on her own experience.

On Wheels, with George Bernard Shaw and friends

"On Wheels" takes reckless
driving to new literary heights.

Automobiles (and motorcycles) have their idiosyncrasies — the powerful roar of the Brough Superior motorcycle; the continuously variable transmission of the lowly DAF car. These make them either alluring or just plain interesting.

These are mentioned, but it's really the idiosyncrasies of motorists and motorcyclists that interest and amuse Michael Holroyd, author of a new little book entitled "On Wheels."

Holroyd is an acclaimed biographer, most particularly of George Bernard Shaw (in four volumes, a Shaw companion and a one-volume life). He is also the author of several biographies that are near novels, referred to by The New York Times as "a blend of biography and autobiography."

Basically, you get the lives of literary figures as told over beers by a particularly witty companion.

In "On Wheels" he shares delightful descriptions of his own struggles to master use of a clutch with tales of Shaw's (and others) many crashes.

An example:

"During the war, Shaw became a fiery motorcyclist, gingering up his two-stroke machine that would hurtle away, bucking him off sometimes and landing on top of him. He took hypothetical instruction from the village chemist at Ayot St. Lawrence on how to steer around corners, but could not bring himself to accept the theory that it was necessary to lean over at an angle while doing this."

Another motorcyclist and literary figure, T.E. Lawrence, appears here too, as a friend of Shaw's. Holroyd notes that "Bonerges," Lawrence's name for the most famous of his motorcycles, is the name of a loudmouthed character in a 1928 play by Shaw.

The connection between Lawrence of Arabia and Shaw is strengthened if Holroyd has it right that Shaw gave Lawrence the motorcycle Bonerges as a gift. On his blog The Vintagent, Paul d'Orleans writes that George Brough, builder of Brough Superiors, said Lawrence paid for his own motorcycles.

Maybe documentation for the gift is provided in a footnote in one of Holroyd's volumes on Shaw. The 104 pages of "On Wheels" don't allow room for attribution, and none is really required. We are really just along for the ride.

It's an enjoyable one.

Story of Royal Enfield journey offered as free download

Available from Amazon.

Ajit Harisinghani's book "One Life to Ride" is available for free download from Amazon until March 12. Hurry!

It is the story of one man's solo journey by Royal Enfield Bullet to the High Himalayas. I reviewed the book in 2012, writing:

"I had been thinking about how every time Harisinghani reaches a high point in his story he seems to pause and think. In part this practice is responsible for him having to travel alone instead of with the group he'd intended to join.

"Kind of neat, I thought; he is traveling at Royal Enfield speed. The author is accumulating something besides miles and altitude. Enlightenment? Well, yes, I think so. And I could use some of that."

Recommended.

(Here is the UK link for the free download.)

Royal Enfields and the golden age of British motorcycles

The golden age of the British motorcycle industry coincided with my childhood, and this is just the period addressed in Mick Walker's 2010 book, "British Motorcycles of the 1940s and '50s."

If you grew up in America imagining that British motorcycles were the sleekest, fastest, coolest machines on earth — as I did — you were experiencing precisely the feelings Britain hoped you would.

Walker's slim (just 64 pages!) pamphlet style book explains this brief moment in history in clear, 1-2-3 fashion.

Britain built more motorcycles for use in World War II than any other nation. Royal Enfield alone, one of the smaller firms, built tens of thousands (more about this below).

Battered and nearly bankrupt by war, Britain would continue this production in peacetime, shipping its very best designs to the United States, Canada, Australia and Europe (in that order, Walker points out). Foreign sales would bring in the cash to pay off wartime debts.

A sidelight is that the home market would not be ignored. Instead of new machines, the British buyer would get fully refurbished and repainted War Department leftovers, good as new and with a warranty.

The book reproduces a fine advertisement for ex-W.D. Royal Enfields in overhead valve, side valve and two-stroke models.

Imagine being able to buy a real Royal Enfield Military motorcycle
just out of the service, and at a bargain price.

The exported British motorcycles would achieve fame and fortune abroad, but here were the seeds of the industry's destruction: design problems, if they cropped up, would appear only months after production and on the other side of oceans.

I'm reminded of something Roger Bywater, one-time development engineer at Jaguar, wrote of a flaw that seemingly guaranteed that every single Jaguar XK engine sent to America would fail:

"No knowledge of this had seemed to penetrate the factory environment."

For British motorcycle manufacturers — as for Jaguar — an added problem was that many parts came from outside suppliers, such as Lucas, who were put under crushing pressure to constantly cut the price of their goods, even at the cost of quality.

Although "British Motorcycles of the 1940s and '50s" covers many British brands, Royal Enfield turns up repeatedly. It is instructive to see how Royal Enfield models fell into line with their domestic competition.

Of the little RE model, Walker writes: "In fact, in the author's opinion the factory should have gone a stage further and given the machine four instead of three speeds. This surely would have given the little Enfield a distinctive edge in the commuter sales war of the early 1950s."

It would have taken more than an extra speed in the gearbox to save the British motorcycle industry and Walker doesn't dwell on the end of the golden age.

In fact, he points out that sales of British motorcycles peaked in 1959, even before the full impact of competing motorcycles from Japan and wide availability of cheap small cars like the Mini.

Why, then, should it end at all, when the British motorcycle industry had done so many things right, including capturing forever the imagination of a young boy growing up in  Kirkwood, Mo.?

Walker gives us the answer in a single sentence:

"...the success of the British motorcycle had been due not only to its designs and production facilities, but also to its senior management — sadly a position that was to deteriorate from the mid-1950s onward."

Recommended reading.

By the way, Walker is also the author of the 2003 book "Royal Enfield: The Complete Story."

UPDATE: I originally quoted Walker's statement that Royal Enfield built 29,000 motorcycles during World War II, "mainly RE two-stroke." Graham Scarth, chairman of the Royal Enfield Owners Club, corrected me on this. He wrote: "The ledgers we have record nearly 12,000 Model C 350cc side-valve machines, over 25,000 Model CO 350cc overhead-valve machines and nearly 7,000 of the Model RE Flying Flea. There were (other) models produced for the military, but we do not have complete records for these. There will have been more of the Model C also, as there was an earlier ledger that the REOC does not have."

'One Life to Ride' a book about more than a Royal Enfield trip to the Himalayas

Lots of people ride Royal Enfield motorcycles into the tall mountains of India. Many are moved to write about the experience.

Their accounts on the Internet are exciting and, often, philosophical. The altitude seems to inspire thoughts of Heaven, while the roads invariably provide a brush with the afterlife. The adventurers post beautiful pictures that leave me gasping for breath even here in my home, at sea level.

At least two reactions are possible:

1. These guys are nuts, and

2. I'm jealous.

Not jealous enough to do it myself, mind you. Too far, I tell myself. Too expensive, I assume. The truth is I don't want to do it bad enough to be that uncomfortable. But, if you want to tell me about it, with beautiful pictures, I will read.

And then came Ajit Harisinghani's book, One Life to Ride. He graciously offered to send me a copy to review. I accepted, although I was skeptical that there would be anything substantial I could add to the lavish praise it has received. The book itself includes several pages of glowing excerpts from reviews.

But, I was surprised. Here is the story of one man's journey by Royal Enfield to the High Himalayas, but it is not just a ride out story and it is not a picture gallery. It is (why does this seem so exceptional these days?) a book.

Instead of scanning a computer screen on the edge of my stiff office chair, I was able to join my wife in the library, where an armchair awaited. I felt no pressure to mentally download the story and rush off to another web site. Well, this is cozy, I thought.

My feet may have been propped on an ottoman, but my mind was still geared for Google. I encountered this passage:

"With a pooja-thali in his hands and shlokas on his lips, he leads and I follow him all the way into the temple where resides the deity in full splendour. Ensconced on the left in a large niche sits the Elephant God Ganesha, adorned with ornaments and surrounded by his favorite modak ladoos which are heaped on plates and may become the prasad after the pooja."

What the hell? I am sitting here in an armchair, I can't Google all these Hindi words, if that's what they are. This book, I decided, needs a Glossary.

I sped through the book in several sittings, enjoying some passages, but always waiting for "the good part" to start. It never seemed to come. And, then, on Page 225, I found the Glossary that was there all the time.

That should have told me right then that I had approached the book with the wrong attitude. But it was not until several weeks later that I found myself drawn to it again.

I had been thinking about how every time Harisinghani reaches a high point in his story he seems to pause and think. In part this practice is responsible for him having to travel alone instead of with the group he'd intended to join.

Kind of neat, I thought; he is traveling at Royal Enfield speed. The author is accumulating something besides miles and altitude. Enlightenment? Well, yes, I think so. And I could use some of that.

I read more slowly, the second time, and made use of the excellent glossary. I'm glad I did.

One last note. With full respect for all those who conquer the high mountains on Royal Enfields, I would like to point out that Ajit Harisinghani's trip was somewhat exceptional in two important regards:

1. He did it alone: no companions, no travel agents (in fact, no reservations), and no support team of mechanics following in a truck full of spare parts.

2. He rode his own motorcycle, not a rental. That alone makes me want to go out to the garage and give my Royal Enfield a hug.

For more information on buying One Life to Ride, click here.