We left our hotel in Bournemouth a little later than I had ... to...We left our hotel in Bournemouth a little later in the morning than I had hoped for; to be honest I wanted to have

We left our hotel in Bournemouth a little later in the morning than I had hoped for; to be honest I wanted to have been at Sammy Millers by opening time, but as recent history had shown me my chauffer and his wife where not one’s to be pushed into a schedule that wasn’t theirs, The journey seemed tantalisingly slow, we navigated by using an internet sourced directions that didn’t some how fit, we finally drove past what looked like another tacky whistle stop museum in the English countryside side, parked in the front of a field was an old elevator with what looked like an old moped some how affixed to its top, soon the compulsory 180degree turn had been completed and we where heading back towards, what looked like tacksville museum. Swiftly we where heading down an single tracked road leading along side a low roofed brick building with a couple of old petrol pumps spaced out on the journey, we then swung right into a car park, towards the back of the car park was what looked like a petting zoo then some other tackyville attraction to one side, not the auspicious museum I had hoped for. We then entered the courtyard and I instantly recognised the lay of the land from pictures on the web site I had spent hours drooling over. A couple of horse drawn carts where placed around along with what appeared to be a Victorian Pushbike.

On passing through the courtyard I noticed a couple of bikes nonchalantly leaning up against a wall of what turned out to be the restoration workshop. Not just some bikes but BSA Trails machine and a very tidy Bultaco Trials machine.

Accompanied with

Then to add to the moment was a Triumph Tiger Cub almost complete and un-restored

I stood there looking at this machine as memories of spending hours and

hours working on my own fine example of this British motorcycle engineering of the sixties came flooding back, (I could almost spell the petrol on the thumb of my riding glove after having to “tickle the carburettor” to allow the thing to start every day!!).

I wondered if in a year’s time some other 55 year old would look and remember as I did then.

We then made our way up to the entrance of the museum to pay our entry fee and purchase a program/catalogue. The area surrounding the reception was a maze of nick-knacks, books, post cards and all manner of other gift items to be sold. Now I am no business or sales person, but all the selling training I have gone through always said not to clutter the point of sale, keep it clean and efficient, some how this area was a for runner of what was in store, it’s a case of break all the conventional rules, this is motorcycle heaven, no more conforming to society, its all just all for the bike, there is an age old Harley Davidson adage that says “If I had to explain it to you, you wouldn’t understand” So I cant say any more here.

Straight from rummaging under the counter comes our host for the day, a guy in his fifties still looking fit and well, his skin and complexion slightly tanned from weather exposure I would suggest, he was wearing a Ink blue full length dust coat, completely undone all the way down. Both the side pockets seemed to be bulging with something or other, may be some cleaning cloths, may be his cigarettes, who knows? Its top pocket semi bulging with array of pens, pencils and what looks like a small steel ruler, on the front of the pocket was an amateur attempt of a logo badge promoting the Sammy Miller Motorcycle Museum. Whilst the coat wasn’t clean, it wasn’t dirty either, just grubby from most likely years of wear with out the need to wash it. He had a very pleasant nature and obviously knew an awful lot about the museum and its contents. Very soon we had paid or dues and armed the obligatory guide book we where off in our own little world, soon all sorts pf marvels where there in front of us, row after row of two wheeled beauties, bikes from all parts of the globe washed up in this museum. But I was on a mission, there was only really one bike I had came to see and it’s was my

mission to find it. We drifted past the different areas and types of bike, past two beautiful Vincent’s, one a 1951 Shadow

And one a Vincent lightening both 120MPH bikes from 1950 and 1951

(before I was even born) We paid homage to founder of the Norton Motorcycle company, James Lansdowne Norton (1869-1925), looked and touched the famous 1953 ex works Norton kneeler,

Then able to look and, actually touch the first machine to lap a GP circuit

in excess of 100mph a 1939 495cc AJS Four cylinder, I am in heavan.

We drifted past sections named Triumph, BSA, AJS, Military, Ariel,

Matchless, Brough Superior, road racers of the 50’s and 60’s that’s with out mentioning a section of Japanese road racers with an actual Mike Hailwood Honda GP machine, or a collection of Rudge machines with a hand full of New Imperial motorcycles as well. In this nirvana I believe there was at least one Harley Davidson, but this was forced into submission by some magnificent

This piece of AJS mechanical wizardry, complete with supercharger and water-cooling was piloted around the Ulster GP circuit by Walter Rusk. At an average speed of above 100mph. What a man he must have been!!

examples Indian Motorcycles, along with a citation to the most famous Indian of all time Mr. Bert Munroe’s famous Indian. The Worlds Fasted Indian movie fame.

Every section we passed through contained more and more special motorcycles, and guess what? Some even leaked oil into the drip tray beneath each full sump, and some even smelt of petrol, testament to the fact these are not specimens in a glass case, these are examples of motorcycles that can still be ridden (in most cases anyway) and ridden hard, and so what if they blow up, most things can be rebuilt, if not better to have lived and loved than never to have loved at all.

As we meandered along one of the upper display arrears past a couple of genuine factory BSA Bantam trials machines form the 1950’s, we passed a guy, who was busy cleaning imaginary road grime from the bikes, its then it hit me, these bikes are all clean and freshly polished, not just the crowd pleasers but all the bikes are the same, all spotlessly clean and gleaming from having a tin of spray Auto-Glymm polish applied and then buffed off by hand, all bit a very old hand that belongs to a granddad who volunteers to come in two days a week and polish the bikes just to be up close to them, did he ever ride a bike? He didn’t tell, just content he can be up close to the bikes.

Half way through our first circuit of this museum we met up with our ever-

cheerful host as we passed into the second wing of the museum, and there in front of me was what I had sat in a metal cylinder called an aeroplane for 24 hours to see, the bike I had dreamed about all those years ago, the bike with so much history attached to it. I felt intimidated by its presence, I almost started to shake with excitement, I could feel a lump in my the very back of my throat, my voice quivered as I said to my wife, “That’s what I have come 12000 miles to see” “What!, that’s all we came to see? couldn’t you see something like that in Australia?” Was her retort, I strongly disagreed. Now I am known to be a hard, and miserable old man, but this bike meant so much to me. I walked up closer to it, strange how some things didn’t seem to mater right then, the kids, the grand kids all blended it to the back ground, here it is, GOV132 .

This sounds really weak and strange, but I reached out a hand to touch the twist grip and noticed that as reached forward my hand was shaking slightly, and I felt really small against this machine. They say that those who are lucky enough to see the famous painting The Mona Lisa say that here eyes follow you round the room, and that some pieces of fine art compel you to look at them from all angles, to me this was my Mona Lisa this was my Michael Angelo’s Sistine Chapel, this was my Picasso, my dream, all rolled into one collection of metallic components sat on two rubber circles, with a small amount of organic matter turned into lubricating oil and fire breathing petrol, or what you would recognize it as an Ariel HT5 trials bike. I looked at the machine from every angle and studied every nut bolt and washer on the machine. I could roll the twist grip; I could move the brake levers, I could move the gear lever, with its drilled out holes that where not quiet symmetrical, just looking at the lever I could feel Sammy with the lever on the drill press drilling each hole independently, the fact that the holes where not quite in line or symmetrical to the shape of the lever showed that some one crafted the lever, and that it wasn’t (the lever) something cut out from a laser guided high pressure water cutter.

Then I noted something that was just the piece de resistance, trapped

between the lower engine case and the bash plate was some unknown material, why was this material there? Well could one of two reasons, one could be sound deadening, as the bash plate being aluminium and directly underneath the engine would act like an sound board and increase any degree of engine noise the old Ariel may produce, or it could be there to soak up any oil that dared to leak from the ancient aluminium cases, or both.

Certainly there where signs of oil around the visible edges, but again this

didn’t mater as this was really living breathing motor cycle, it can, and is entitled to leak oil, its what its all about. I lost count of the time I spent just looking and

In all its glory the drilled gear lever, drilled by a man and a drill press. Not a computer guided laser cutter, the non-symmetrical pattern show character.

If you look closely at the edge of the crankcases you can see the ravages of cresting many a water-hidden hazards, or bouncing off the odd rock here and there.

gazing at the bike GOV132, I some how wanted Sammy Miller to appear and talk to me about it, discuss how the bike came to be, its development, how he set it up for such a varied amount of trials wins. But what I wanted couldn’t happen, I wanted the Sammy Miller of forty years ago to talk to me, so my imagination took over and soon I was talking to the man who worked at the BSA competition department and then rode GOV132 almost every lunchtime over a steel footbridge to the Small Heath sports ground to practice riding hazards just to keep himself fresh, even in the rain and snow, then in the evening ride the bike home to his digs, cant quite see modern trials riders riding the bike home after a days work. Oh but dreams are marvellous.

All to soon it was getting close to lunch time, and whilst the female

contingent of our party had dutifully cooed and arred at all the bikes and associated paraphernalia, their attention span for the bikes expired a couple of hours ago, our host in the blue coat had deduced the distinct lack of enthusiasm of the girls, so from a folder hidden under his desk he produced a quiz paper for each of them with some 20 questions and items to locate, all the answers where contained in the museum. Whoa what a good idea, this means we need to travel the museum boards again but this time looking for specific information, the decision was to taken have lunch first at the adjoining eatery then hit the bikes again. Soon we where sat outside in the courtyard bathed in the Dorset mid-day autumn sunshine in deep mid October, eating one of the better English ploughman’s lunches we had had on our journey. Whilst just sat their looking around I noticed the weathervane on top of the roof of the museum, the vane section was that of, a peak capped S. Miller navigating over what appears to be a pile of rocks, from a distance it appears not on GOV132 but either the famous Bultaco or Honda machines that Sammy had similar success as GOV132

Without inducing indigestion, we had soon eaten our meals and where

headed back inside, this time armed with the quiz sheets, plus experience gained during the morning sauté of where certain bikes where located in the labyrinth of heaven these buildings are. Soon we where looking for the oldest bike in the complex, what was written on the clock face? Where are the koala bears located in most sections? But the one question that I failed my Sammy Miller proficiency test on was, how many gears on the 1919 BSA sidecar? The sidecar just happened to be attached to a 1919 559cc BSA. So how many gears dose a 1919 BSA sidecar have? Yep that’s right, none, but super-sleuth here put down the three gears the motorcycle had, not quite 100% pass.

The time had come to leave, as much as this hurts me to say now, I was all “biked out” My head was spinning with what I had seen, I knew that in the darker times to come I would regret not spending more time at this heaven. But I consoled myself with the fact that if I had not come I would not have seen any of this, its that glass half full or half empty thing and my glass was half FULL. Whilst we had been circulating I had spied a painting of Sammy riding GOV132 over a rocky section in, what looks like the dales of Yorkshire, the bike is resplendent in its Aerial red and White livery fuel tank, I was unable to purchase a copy of the painting as the artist had recently passed away and the only copies left where being kept by The Sammy Miller trust, how ever I was able to sneak a photo of the picture, and after a little play with some photo smart programme, I came up with this.

Just as we where departing I decided that the girls and my fellow travelling

partner would have to wait a few moments form me, this was the only time I was going to get to talk to our host for the day, after the usual chit chat we got down to the real mans stuff, turns out the guy was a ex Peugeot Master Technician, who was a product of the apathy the rest of the world treat motor vehicle technicians with, he had obviously learnt his craft and then carried on learning until he got to the very pinnacle of his chosen profession only to find that despite all his increased knowledge and skill, his remuneration and standing amongst his peers was little different to those around who knew half as much as he. Disillusioned with his work and the fast crazy pace of his native London life, he decided to head for the Dorset countryside. Am I jealous of this guy? You better believe it. What a perfect lifestyle and job, I doubt he is not paid a great deal of money, but the job satisfaction, wow that would be worth it.

Then it was time to go, I had acted like a spoilt child using any excuse to stay a little longer, but my party was drawing me to the car park, but we had to pass the restoration workshop again, there parked outside was what to me was a picture of sheer beauty a, Triumph Tiger Cub in trials format. Just nonchalantly laid against the wall, this too good an opportunity to miss, so out came the camera and click went the electronic shutter,

What’s that sign on the machine? For sale ₤3,000.00, a quick conversion

came up with $97200.00 then transport costs home, hmmm but wait if I strip the engine out and remove the forks and suspension units I could pack the dismantled frame and forks into a suitcase along with the tireless wheels, handle bars and levers, that would just leave the engine and fuel tank, well those wouldn’t cost much to freight out to Australia, would they? Oh, and the mudguards. Then it came all to clear I didn’t have the spare$10,000.00 to spare, never mind the extra to fright other bits home, then what would customs say, but for 30 seconds the bike was mine and I was riding across the Victorian country side. Oh how the world is built on dreams, just have to go back to looking to swap the Xr450 for another 4-stroke trials bike. I just wonder if there is an Aerial sitting around in a shed in Frankston somewhere I could buy……………….