I was 16 and felt I could lick the world. I had the formula for starting my bike down to a T, school was out and I had remembered to go to the office and get a summer work permit in time and they even refered me to a part time job in a local TV shop. I was making decent money, made over a grand for the rest of the year, more than enough to have bought a new bike if I'd wanted to. I could have even bought a new Harley for that.
It was Saturday morning and the owner of the shop had let me know that he was going to be out of town for the weekend and the shop would be closed. So, I hiked over to my friends house where the Velocette was hidden, (parents didn't approve of motorcycles, especially after my stepfather broke his shin trying to start someones Indian while he had been drinking) rolled it out and started the startup. Right gas tap on, touch the tickler, let go when gas comes out the hole in the top of the float bowl. Now starts the Velo part. Kick the engine over slowly to the bottom of the compression stroke. Squeeze the compression release and kick slowly to the top of compression. Retard the spark, turn on the switch and kick really hard. There were few people in the world who could get a leg over a bike that weighed enough to kick a Velo 500 through compression, and I certainly wasn't among the chosen few back then.
I had to take the long way out of the area to make sure I wasn't seen by the wrong people. Out past the Starlight drivein, then down to Valley Blvd and west. On a whim, I turned left onto Garvey and found myself pulling into Ed Kretz motorcycles. Ed was well known for racing Indians and an occasional Triumph since as far back as anyone could remember. At one time, he and Sam Pariot had setup a semi official raceway south of where I lived so the locals could race without the hazards of doing it on the streets.
Now, I liked my Velocette well enough, but being a big lunger, it vibrated just a little too much and that was interfering with my social life. I walked into the shop, admired the new bikes, went out in the shed on the side to look at the used ones, and way in the back, there it was! I forgot to breath! Long, low and black with TT style pipes and a sprung solo seat! Ed jr, the guy who helped me get the Velo walked up and all I could do was point. I was afraid it was an illusion and it would go away if I spoke.
"Oh, that Triumph in the back. We built that for the original owner, it's a '49 Trophy but we built it into a 650 with dual Amals and really hot cams. I figure it's good for 58 - 60 horses, not bad for a bike that started with 34. (might have been 32 or 36 or even 28, I was too excited to listen close) Your Vello still in good shape?"
All I could do was nod, hard, almost broke my bloody head off.
"Tell you what. I was wanting to get at least $375 for it, but if your Velo is in as good condition as it looks, I'll trade for it and $75 cash."
At that point, Ed jr became my best friend ever and hero to boot. He knew very well I had paid $200 for the Velo 2 years before, and he was giving me $300 for it. Needless to say, a little while later I was on my way to Stans drivein to show off my new hotrod Triumph.
It was a lot faster on paved roads and vibrated a lot less. It could easily climb the steepest hill that I dared try at the oil field. The only dissapointment was that I could never quite top my best time with the Velo on a back trail. I guess there were advantages to that odd looking swingarm.
