Hero Worship Heroic Fail Racing Classic Motorcycles

CLASSIC MOTORCYCLE racing is my life’s passion; like everyone else involved, it’s the love of beautiful machinery that draws me to it. This obsession with magnificent old bikes is why even former world champion riders can’t seem to stay away from race meetings. It was many years ago in 1983, at the now defunct Amaroo Park Raceway, north west of Sydney, that I met one of these champions, John Surtees, the only man to win world championships on two and four wheels.

Okay, so ‘meeting’ one of my heroes involved only wandering in to his pit bay, chatting about Cammy Nortons and asking him to autograph my program. But there he was, the great man, in stifling 118 degree January heat fielding all manner of dumb questions from all manner of dumb fans. 

In between his gracious PR work, he was taking to the track in his traditional all-black leathers on his impressive Cammy Norton, giving Aussie race fans demonstrations of the smooth, fluent style that made him a multiple world champion all those years before. But these were no leisurely parade laps, no sir! It was real racing, against the crème of the crop from Australia’s classic racing scene.

The grids were full of genuine factory production racing machines; it seemed every bloke and his brown dog had dragged the Manx, Matchless G50, AJS 7R or KTT Velocette out of the shed just so they could tell their grandkids they’d raced against the great John Surtees.

And, by and large, they were all soundly thrashed by the great John Surtees on his immaculate Cammy Norton. All, except for one rider, Tony Gill, who, with a masterful display of riding, prevented John Surtees from winning every start. 

Gill was no slouch; he did win Daytona some years later on a 500 cc Honda twin, but at Amaroo Park against Surtees in 1983, he was riding the Corish Ariel. Gill’s mount was a plain old pushrod single cylinder Ariel 500 cc in a Featherbed frame. Tuned by the late Keith Corish, the Corish Ariel was freakishly quick, and in the last race of the day, Gill beat the former world champ fair and square.

Like every other bugger there, I wanted to race against Surtees too, but the odds were against it. My Triton, the infamous ‘Slob 650’ was quick, just not in the same class as the 500s — literally. Luckily for me, the organisers had thoughtfully entered their star attraction and his 500 cc Norton in just one of the Unlimited races. Yippee! I got my wish without having to buy a 500 cc mount.

As that race was called to the dummy grid, I was amazed at the number of Unlimited machines which had turned out and wondered how many of the reserves simply wouldn’t make it onto the full grid. The grid marshals and officials were always so frightfully efficient and would whizz through the events with very little downtime. That’s why I was a touch concerned when I noticed Surtees lounging on the other side of the Armco fence of the dummy grid. His leathers were undone to his waist while he guzzled ice water and amiably chatted with one of the Aussie race fans.

Fifty-odd machines were revved anxiously, awaiting the opening of the boom gate that would allow us under the tower and onto the track.

Through my flipped-up visor, my eyes stared imploringly at Surtees and the race fan with whom he was conversing. The telepathy worked and the race fan finally looked over to me. While blipping the throttle, my clutch hand alternatively and frantically pointed first at my bike, then Surtees, then the ‘next race’ number board on the tower, and then on to the race fan’s program. His facial expression turned into a quizzical ‘Hang on, I think that lunatic is trying to tell me something look, and scanned his program on what was most probably the appropriate page. He then tapped Surtees’ shoulder and pointed out the bleedin’ obvious.

John Surtees’ facial expression changed rapidly from a picture of English geniality to one of “Oh crumbs!” It was a look not entirely unlike that of a space shuttle astronaut who’d just pressed the wrong button.

The seven-times World Motorcycle Champion and three times World Driving Champion made a clean break and began the 200 metre sprint to where his Norton stood idly in the pit bay. He was frantically trying to pull his racing suit up as he ran when the siren went off, and the dummy grid moved off almost as one, eager to start the race against the champion of champions. Sadly, that champion of champions had just realised the futility of his mad sprint and gave up the chase.

I don’t remember where I finished in that race, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t on the podium, but what really riled me was missing out on a chance to ride against one of the greatest champions the world has ever seen. Now that would’ve been something to tell your grandkids.

As things transpired, not getting that chance wasn’t the main reason for my lingering disappointment. See, a few months later, at the same racetrack, I was riding the same Triton in a similar all-powers race, which mixed the 500s in with the Unlimiteds. Tony Gill was on the Corish Ariel and the crème of the crop of Australia’s classic racing was there too. Up until that time, it was the most fantastic race I had ever run. Tony Gill on the Ariel led the race from start to finish, while little old me and my ‘Slob 650’ Triton hounded him the whole way; the rest of the field stayed behind. The Triton had plenty of top end; enough to start reeling in Tony as we steamed up the long hill, but lacked the handling and brakes (and I lacked the skill and bravery) to capitalise on the situation through the fast left-hander over the crest of the hill.

So there I was, I missed out on racing against John Surtees, but on the same bike, at the same track, I came second to Tony Gill. Now remember, Tony was on the same bike he was riding when John Surtees came second to him.

I won’t for one minute suggest that puts me in the same league as John Surtees, but I know this much — I’ve never missed a race because I wasn’t paying attention to the ‘next race’ boards on the control tower.

Road tales by Kelly Ashton