I was looking through some old copies of the C.O.C's Horizontal View magazine from a past life when I use to edit it and found this story - it still makes me laugh so I thought I'd share it.
A Beesa's Revenge - by Mike Cutler ( No relation!)
Some years ago my next door neighbour and I bought, for ten shillings, a very old V-twin BSA. We pushed it home. It weighed about 600lbs and 'home' was six miles, we were a bit tired when we arrived. The rusty monster was put into Phil's little lean-to at the side of the house, and we set to getting it started. I now know that this was sacrilege, the oil had probably been in the engine since 1930 and to start it without a strip and clean at least would probably wreck it. Then however, we were only 15 and pig ignorant.
The plugs were removed and cleaned (plugs in lots of bits - how strange). The carb was cleaned out and petrol was put in the tank. The spark tested, very weak. Phil cleaned the magneto slip ring by wetting a rag in petrol, poking it through the brush hole with his little finger and kicked it over! The resultant shock to the end of the little finger caused him to scream horribly, and whip the finger from the hole so fast that the rough thread stripped lots of skin and a piece of finger nail from the finger. we retired for first aid.
We returned an hour later and tried to start the bike. After about 1 1/2 hours of solid exercise on the kickstarter we admitted defeat. We were leaning on the wall wondering what to try next when Phil's mate Ron arrived. Now Ron was older, had a driving license and rode a C11 BSA and consequently he was of high status.
Ron said "I'll show you how to start it" He put the bike onto it's rear wheel stand, stood astride it, set the ignition to about half retard, set the throttle to about one quarter open, lightly 'tickled' the carb, raised the valve lifter and eased it gently through one revolution. He set it just past compression on the front cylinder and paused for dramatic effect. He then gathered his huge amount of muscle power and leapt into the air as if about to do a handstand on the handlebars. On reaching a height of about four foot above the bike he commenced to descend, striking the kickstarter pedal with great force. He then applied lots of muscle power and heaved the pedal down. Just at the instant that his knee straightened and his back straightened the BSA responded. It gave a sort of 'chuff' and kicked back.
The kick back lifted Ron into the air a bit like a Saturn V rocket, sort of slow at first but getting faster. He went straight up, banging hid head on a roof beam at the top of the lift (no helmets in those days).While he was going up the BSA had got into a sort of rhythm bouncing back and forwards between compression on the two pots. The kick starter pawl had stuck in and the pedal was going up and down at amazing speed.
Ron sort of crumpled up on, banging his head on the roof beam and came down sort of half folded. He completely missed the footrests and landed squarely on his 'goolies' on the narrow bit between the back of the tank and the saddle. The kickstart, still whacking up and down, then struck him several sharp blows on the shin. This unbalanced him and he fell off the left side of the bike. As he fell he scraped the back of his head on the brick wall, leaving lots of hair and skin on the rough bricks. Ron's weight pulling on one side pulled the BSA off it's rather narrow stand and it fell on him! I must say I thought this last blow was a bit unkind. The BSA had obviously won the fight and to fall on him when he was down seemed most unsporting. Ron, to give him his due, took it like a man. He had uttered not one single scream, only a strangled gurgling sound. I did think he might have some trouble deciding which part of his anatomy to hold, but he had no trouble deciding priorities.
Phil and I ,greatly weakened with laughing, took about ten minutes to lift the BSA off him. He crawled out of the lean-to clutching his marriage gear and moaning. He never did like that bike after that.
