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A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there existed a British Motorcycle Industry.It had been present at the birth of Motorcycling and had spawned many exciting developments along the way.
However, it had managed to push its head so deeply into the sand that the first thing it knew about any real competition to its existence was when it felt a deep, violating stabbing coming from its exposed rear.
Still its head stayed down and almost without exception, it withered and perished leaving little more than blue plaques on walls where once monolithic factories had produced great machines that thundered off of production lines.
Then, from over a distant horizon came a once familiar sound. At first, some thought it to be the ghost of Keith Moon keeping the beat on his Bass Drum. Others thought it was the sound of Thor and Woden battling it out in the heavens above.
"Dub-Dub-Dub-Dub" On and on it went. Getting closer and closer, - yet still oh-so-distant.
Then, from a garage forecourt, somewhere on the A38, came there came a plaintive cry.
"Quick, - Mother, throw some sand on the forecourt, I can hear an Bullet, and it's coming this way!"
Few had remembered that, at the closing of an Empire, the very technology that had caused the demise of the Industry had been exported to the only nation who could be trusted to keep the dream alive and carry on like the Sorcerer's Apprentice making the same old thing, in the same old way, because no one said to do otherwise.
However, it had managed to push its head so deeply into the sand that the first thing it knew about any real competition to its existence was when it felt a deep, violating stabbing coming from its exposed rear.
Still its head stayed down and almost without exception, it withered and perished leaving little more than blue plaques on walls where once monolithic factories had produced great machines that thundered off of production lines.
Then, from over a distant horizon came a once familiar sound. At first, some thought it to be the ghost of Keith Moon keeping the beat on his Bass Drum. Others thought it was the sound of Thor and Woden battling it out in the heavens above.
"Dub-Dub-Dub-Dub" On and on it went. Getting closer and closer, - yet still oh-so-distant.
Then, from a garage forecourt, somewhere on the A38, came there came a plaintive cry.
"Quick, - Mother, throw some sand on the forecourt, I can hear an Bullet, and it's coming this way!"
Few had remembered that, at the closing of an Empire, the very technology that had caused the demise of the Industry had been exported to the only nation who could be trusted to keep the dream alive and carry on like the Sorcerer's Apprentice making the same old thing, in the same old way, because no one said to do otherwise.
THE BIKE THAT INDIA FELL IN LOVE WITH
So many people are proud to be able to own a link to such a worthy inheritance but sadly many of them only get used as "Garage Ornaments" and for physiotherapy by over-polishing with "Magic Cloths" and potions.
This is the record of three variants of the saviour being taken on a 4500 mile expedition from the UK to the southernmost tip of the European mainland – Gibraltar,..........and then back again.
