Riding with thirty Harleys to Columbus was not near the top on my list of "magic moments" I had hoped for or dreamed about. Though the racer was hard to start it was reliable enough to make the trip this could not be said for the 74's. I had visions of at least five of them breaking down on the way to Columbus and the entire trip taking three days and not the three hours it took us to get home from the BSA shop a few short months ago.

Leader for the ride to the National was Milford Humphrey on his 1935 Harley equipped with handlebar streamers and studded leather saddlebags. Milford was a nice man in his mid-70s who always came up and patted me on the back, if I had a good football game.

After much consideration I decided to go.... and my new girlfriend Claudia was able to convince her parents somehow that "everything would be all right," which unfortunately was not to be. She was two years younger than me, nearly 16, a wonderful person, and beautiful beyond words (imagine Elizabeth Taylor when she was young, except taller). I was very nervous about something, actually anything happening to her at the races, because I was starting to really care for her.

Not letting anything to chance I decided to "over prepare" and ride to Deshongs in Steubenville to have the bike checked and have the valves set. He told me the valves should be set cold, but if I waited a few hours he could do it. Waiting the time to have the valves set turned out to be one of the most unfortunate decisions I ever made.

The next day, I concluded the over preparations when Claudia and I installed the the Isle of Man 23 tooth front sprocket gearing for the trip to the races. The test ride revealed a first gear that would top out at near 65 plus mph, but the racer required heavy clutch slipping to get underway and was not able to pull fourth unless going downhill.

I decided to leave the "tall" gearing in place just in case the Harleys decided to make a break for it on the Interstate. I also did not want to risk testing Claudias patience with another day in the garage by asking her to help me again reinstall the stock front sprocket since we had just met the month before.

The departure was set for 9:00 am Sunday and my plan was to drive the car over to pick up Claudia and dad would check the Goldie out one last time. Saturday was spent polishing and waxing. Sunday morning finally arrived and as I was packing my small trip bag on the back fender I noticed the rear tire was flat. "Two hours for before departure and a flat...no way to get it fixed in time, in fact, how does the back wheel even come off?" I thought.

I ran into the house and frantically scanned the owners manual. A break, the racer had a quick change rear that does not require the chain to be split. By this time dad was up and involved. The tire and rim were off in moments and dad walked to the gas station with the wheel assembly as I headed off in the Olds to pick up Claudia.

She never looked better and as we parted her dad followed us to the car and said "had a real bike at one time in the 30's you know...an Indian." We jumped in the Olds and were back home in time to see the back wheel on and dad warming up the Gold Star. "Don't let anyone kidnap her," he said. With that we headed out to the meeting place at Dick Harris's house.

In the minutes before departing I felt like I belonged (even though the Gold Star was the only non-Harley in the group) as people I had not talked to or never wanted to talk to made a point of visiting with me. Soon, I realized these were not new found friendships, but rather guys checking out Claudia.

All the "small" bikes were relegated to the rear and once on the Interstate we formed a stagger formation. I rode between the two CH's and my worst fears materialized as Milford kept the pace at a steady 50 mph. Was it going to be a second and third gear ride all the way to Columbus?

Ten miles later we were up to 65 mph, then 75 mph and the Goldie began to feel good. The CH's were turning fast as we hit 80 mph. I gazed forward in the group and I could see Milford's handlebar streamers pointing straight back.

The first 74 pulled over a few miles later, but only one other rider stopped to help. A half hour later we pulled in for gas and were short three more of the "big" bikes.

Milford walked through the ranks surveying his remaining "troops" and stopped by me and said "your are going to see a few other Gold Stars at Columbus, you know."

"Great," I replied.

"Yep, a few will be in the National, since those guys from the west coast will be here and they like those Brit bikes," he added.

I knew all of this from reading the magazines, but also was aware that most of the Harley owners did not get the connection between my Gold Star Road Racer and Sammy Tanners's BSA Gold Star Flat Tracker. This would all change by the end of the day.

Once we were near the track it was an all motorcycle world. Twenty thousand motorcycles and bikers filled the street, the parking area at the track, all restaurants and side streets. At this moment in time, at this place in time, motorcyclists were the majority and we were in control. It was an experience nothing or no one could prepare; it was wonderful and exciting. As we headed toward the bleachers at the race track I could hear the exhaust note of other racing singles on the track. These machines were not sounding "slow."

Once seated, one of the CH guys nudged me and pointed to the track. "Looks like your bike, huh." Actually, he was pointing to Dick Mann on the G-50 Matchless, but I did not correct the oversight, after all it actually did look like my bike. The Harley racers also sounded good and ran even better. During the finals it was Carroll Resweber on a Harley with the G-50 thirty feet back, lap after lap after lap. By the end of the race program most of our group were very weary hearing and seeing BSA Gold Stars win or be near the front in each race. This day, I was proud of owning a BSA and really proud my bike was a racer. I was sure my dad would be happy also hearing of the Gold Star successes at the race.

On the Interstate on the way home every vehicle for the first twenty or so miles was a motorcycle, then fewer bikes, until finally it was just our group again. It was getting late and at the first gas stop I told Milford we were going home ourselves; I did not trust my lights and really did not want to get Claudia home after dark.

Five miles later the Goldie shook violently as a loud a rifle shot sound pierced the air. It was then I realized the back wheel was locked solid and we were slowly moving into the left lane of the interstate and directly into the path of a semi that was passing. Claudias grip tightened on my waist. This was sheer terror, I calculated all the options and I tried to prepare for being run over by the semi that had been following us for miles and elected just at this moment to pass. "God, Claudia how I could have loved you," I thought. The clutch was in before I could think it and the back wheel was rotating as the semi went by horn blaring just a few feet to our left. A twist of the throttle went unanswered and as we coasted to a stop on shoulder all was silent in the presence of the Gold Star for the last time.

I knew I had done something wrong installing the front sprocket to allow the chain to come off and lock the back wheel. A careless mistake almost had us both dead. We were both alive though and I realized for the first time, whatever the problem, it could be fixed, after all the racer no matter how special to me, was just a machine. Claudia asked me what happened and as we walked to the front of the Gold Star. Looking at the Goldie from the front made me realize it was far more than the primary chain. The case was split vertically nearly eight inches and peering inside the crack we could see the rod was broke in half. The frame was even bent from the stress of case cracking. The decision I made to let Deshongs set the valves when the Goldie was warm earlier in the week almost cost us our lives. Over preparing had almost ended it all.

Luck was with us because we had amazingly coasted up to a wreck truck that was picking up a car. The driver was friendly and told us he would come back and get us in a half hour or so. As the wreck truck disappeared from sight, our situation became clear, we were stranded with very little money and no way to make the return trip home of one hundred miles. I started worrying about Claudias safety as we sat beside the Interstate and waited for the wreck truck to return.

Soon he was back, the was racer loaded and we were on our way to Columbus again. After a few minutes, he knew our situation and told us "listen, I'll drop you off at the rest area and you should walk around and see if you can find a safe ride home." "Here's my card to prove you did have your bike towed," in case anyone asks. As I shut the door, he whispered softly "look for an older couple it'll be safer for her, tell them your situation, write when your have time and good luck."

We walked back across the Interstate, and into the unknown of the rest area. The first older couple we talked to agreed immediately to help us after she had a few words privately with Claudia. Soon, we were on our way home but the of events this day soon overcame us and we went to sleep in the back of their car.

The older couple left us off at Piedmont Lake (20 miles from home) and I walked across the road and called my father collect. I tried to think of something that could explain all of this away and considered telling him the bike was stolen, but when he answered I could sense the stress in his voice and I just blurted out "the bike blew up, can you please come to Piedmont Lake and pick us up."

The next day, my embarrassment of what happened deepened, but not one of the Harley guys commented over the circumstance. Most were very sympathetic and a few even offered to help rebuild the bike. Dad had made his point during the great "parents bike war" and when I finally told him about the locked back wheel and the semi, we both knew he could and would not help resurrect the racer. I was now on my own with the Goldie and that really was the way it should be.

I wrote a letter to the wreck truck driver, enclosed $20 and advised him I did not know when I could pick up the BSA.

I missed the Goldie, but as weeks turned to months it just was something I could not afford to solve and down deep was not sure I wanted to risk another trip home like the one from the Charity Newsies again.

Love and college were my life now and it was not until I hitched a ride to Columbus to visit a friend that I even thought of the racer again and only then because a ride left me off across from a Vincent shop north of Columbus. I decided to stop in and as I told the shop owner of my situation and he asked me for my name and mailing address. A few weeks later I received a note from him telling me he that might "fix" the Goldie if he could keep the remains of the motor.

I was confused, how could he fix the racer and keep the engine? That Saturday, I hitched back to the shop to find out. "Well, its simple" Harry said, "you order a used motor from England and I will install it in exchange for the blown motor." "How much for a used Gold Star motor from England," I said. "$350 plus freight of $60," came the reply. "Harry, I just don't have nor will ever have that amount of money, the entire racer only cost $375", I said.

"Let me think on it, Harry said and I'll drop you another note." I did not hear from him for months and really did not care since I could not afford to fix the racer anyhow. In late October another note from Harry. This one was again vague, but somehow uplifting. Another Saturday 90 mile hitch to and from the Vincent shop was in order, but somehow this time I thought the answer might just be a miracle, after all, if he did not have something positive to tell me why would he want to see me again.

When I walked into the Vincent shop the Goldie was parked in the corner. Harry had went down to get it and paid for the storage. It was dusty, dirty and the motor/frame condition far worse than I had allowed myself to remember.

I could sense Harry watching me as he waited on a customer when I went over and sat on the racer. I asked Harrys wife Sarah for a cloth to clean the dust and she told me "Harry's told me all about you, don't worry, he'll take care of this for you...he promised me he would."

After the customer left Harry asked me "can you come up with $100." "Maybe, well...yes I can, but I will need some time" I replied. "Here's the plan then if you agree," he said. "You order a used two cylinder Rocket engine from Pride and Clarke in England and I will install it and make sure your lights work in exchange for the remains of the Gold Star motor...what do you think?"

"OK, great," I said.

"One last thing, we will keep the costs down by using the stock Gold Star silencer you have at home, but you will have to buy the siamese upper exhaust and this will be an extra $15, OK"? "When will you need the money," I asked? I don't need the money at all, Harry said, "you're going to order the motor yourself from Pride and Clarke in England using this address and contact; then have it shipped here and we'll call you when your new bike is done."

I took the address and hitched back to college knowing I did not have a chance to I come up with the $120 to order for the motor and exhaust from England. At least the racer was not at the gas station, stuffed in a corner covered with gas.

I had no other options and could not fix the bike myself. Red and Slim were not interested in helping and even a note to Jody Nicholas the BSA factory rider resulted in the news that no spare motors were available in the USA and worse yet, he confirmed Harry's Gold Star motor price.

The response to my note came from Pride and Clarke came via Air Mail about two weeks later and simply said they could supply the following used motors complete with carburetors and alternator via surface shipping. The prices converted from pounds were as follows:

1957 Super Rocket Very Good Condition $105 plus freight of $45
1959 Super Rocket Fair Condition $80 plus freight of $45
1955 BSA 650cc (iron head) $65 plus freight of $45
Siamese Exhaust $22 (no freight charge, will include in motor crate)

Later that week I got my check for home to cover my eats for the next three months and ...I had a plan. The house I was rooming was next to an Italian Restaurant so I went to see the owner and his wife. "Louis, if I eat supper here everyday for the next three months how much would $3.50 Spaghetti diner be, I'll even pay in advance." "Ah, how about $2.25", he said immediately. "Here's my dad's check for the next 90 days and you will owe me $90 after the check clears, sound fair" I said. "Yes it's fair", he said, as he took the check.

A week or so later, I was able to send Pride and Clarke a check for $127 to cover the 1957 Super Rocket engine and Siamese exhaust. I ask them if they would have the freight be billed collect to Harry. Mr. Andrews of Pride and Clarke wrote back and advised me the engine would be shipped collect in two weeks and to allow for a six week delivery.

I was excited, but it was a different feeling from when dad bought the Gold Star in Groveport. I was doing this all myself and the only support I had was from the letters I received from Claudia.

The single spaghetti meal were the only eats I had each day, no breakfast or lunch, but Louis upped the portion and I never seemed to be hungry. I sold some of the stock Gold Star parts to a local dealer for spending money for weekends, but it was the monthly hitches home for good meals and my visits with Claudia that sustained me for the next three months.

The Gold Star matter was quiet until near Christmas when my landlady at college called at home and told me she received a message from "Mr. Harry Vincent, and that he was anxious to see or talk to me." I called Harry from the pay phone in town and told him I would visit as soon as possible. He seemed very anxious and not himself during the brief call, so I promised I be down as soon as I returned to college.

I worked in a mens shop in Wheeling during the holiday period to save money for gifts and the motor shipping charges. I was able to head back to college the following week with about $50. Once back, I decided to continue the spaghetti supper deal, but was worried because for the first time in my life I was having a problem with my weight.

I hitched down to the Vincent shop for the third time the first weekend of my return in January. No snow, but temperature in the 30's. The hitch was not without humor though as I had to explain to everyone that picked me up why in the dead of winter, I was carrying the new rear motorcycle tire I got from Red when dad bought the bike.

The Vincent shop was not open, so I had to knock on the front door of Harry and Sarah's house which was close by. Sarah answered the door and followed me into the living room. The warmth was welcome, but it was all the motorcycle trophies and photos that attracted my attention. "Sarah--who is this?" I asked. "You don't recognize Harry when he was young" she laughed. "Looks a little like you, don't you think?" "Sure does, I said. Harry walked into the room at that time and immediately I knew something was wrong, very wrong...he was so pale, thin and sickly. I knew why he called to ask me to come down as soon as possible now, it did not seem possible that he had become so ill in such a short period of time.

"I hope you will be happy with your Rocket Gold Star," he said. The lock to the front door of the shop was frozen, but we were soon inside. Harry walked over and took the sheet off BSA. The Super Rocket engine was a perfect fit in the Gold Star frame and I thought from the timing side it even looked better. I really liked the stacked rifle logo and the siamese exhaust and the stock Gold Star silencer just looked like the factory had made the bike. The bare primary side did not appear to different from the Gold Star and the front frame tubes which were bowed when the Gold Star engine blew were straight and repainted. The lights worked and the BSA hybrid now even had an ignition key.

Harry put an electric heater close to the new twin so it would start for my ride back to college and we left the shop to have supper. After supper we put the new racing tire on and Harry installed a set of swing arm bushings. "No need for rear wheel steering on this beauty, you know," he said.

I gazed over at the Gold Star engine on the workshop and based on the case damage, simply could not understand what value the motor had for Harry. "Harry, I told you I was short on the freight money I owe you, can I send it along over the next few months?" I asked.

"Sure," he said.

The bike started first kick without hassle or effort. I went to the house door to say goodbye to Sarah. "Please take Claudia's class ring as security for the money I owe Harry for the freight, I just don't want him to think I don't appreciated all he has done for me." I handed over the ring, shook her hand, then got on the Gold Star Twin and headed the sixty miles back to college.

The temperature had warmed to near 40 degrees, but it was so cold riding I had to stop every ten miles or so at gas stations to warm up and rest. No talk about how special the Gold Star Twin at these stops, good thing because it was too painful for me to move any body parts or even talk.

Once back to college, I cleared a corner in my landladies shed and covered the bike for the last time until late spring when I decided to surprise everyone and ride it home. Half helmet, goggles, work gloves and my small travel packed tied to the seat were ready and soon I am on my way for the first real trip on the Gold Star Twin. First impressions were of a much smoother and civilized motor, almost too nice compared to the single. Power seemed about the same or just a little better, but the throttle response was so different and civilized. For sure, there was far less gear shifting.

I was disappointed that no one at the gas stops actually noticed the changes from factory specs that had been made to the BSA. Surely, the level of interest in the bike would change when I got home given all the Harley guys were still in town and dad would be happy to see the bike running again; at least I hoped they would.

The Gold Star Twins arrival home brought a brief look out the window from dad. In retrospect he never recovered from the life threatening nature of the Gold Star locked wheel/semi incident. Until he died, I think he thought the Gold Star Racer would serve his purpose, then just go away forever. He loved me and was afraid for my safety. We never talked about the new RGS or any other motorcycle ever again.

The Harley guys really did not know or care about the difference between the new two cylinder engine and the old racing single. A few said "thought you blew that thing up last year?" Milford was the sole exception and declared Harry's work a "clean, clean job."

Claudia's reaction was one of excitement and happiness. We immediately went for a ride and I soon rediscovered just how great it was to go with her rather than by myself or with the Harley guys. For the next two years the RGS would be our main means of transportation and these hours on the bike with her were the most special times of my life.

The Gold Star was light and solid. Handling was superior to any other bike I had experience with at the time, including all Harleys, Vincents, BSA and Triumph twins. Care had to be taken to tighten down the friction damper or severe wobbles and tank slappers would result. I would have liked to have tried the Goldie against the Norton 99 in the turns of Route 9 due to the great magazine reviews the Norton had at the time, but never actually saw one of these Nortons on the road.

The brakes on the Gold Star were terrible, by any modern standard, but no worse than most other bikes of the time. Going fast meant downshifting into a turn and getting good braking from the motor, then cranking on as hard as possible on the apex. Unlike some modern bikes the Goldie would not get nasty when accelerating out of a turn hard, there was just not enough power.

Most riders in the 60's did not know about cornering at speed, and knees out racing style was not to appear for 15 years. The Goldie was strong in the tight turns in South East Ohio and was never passed by any other British bike or Harley. It never let me down on the road except for the "blow up" and the only problem I really had was when I cut a replacement full line too long and this pushed the float to the side and the bike would not start. Took me three days to figure it out.

Two years later, I needed money for my senior year in college and had to sell the RGS. It brought $235 from a man that lived in Belmont who was starting a motorcycle shop. The last two years had taken its toll; the beauty was still there but the close-up luster had worn thin. This was one tired, but dedicated-to-the-end motorbike.

A few weeks after this sale and two years after Harry had built the RGS, a motorcycle magazine featured next year's BSA models--including the "all new" BSA Rocket Gold Star. I smiled. The first RGS in the United States had not been made by BSA; it had been made by a craftsman who loved motorcycles, and a young kid who loved motorcycling.

It's still out there somewhere, and if you find it, let me know because I like to sit beside it one last time.

When I stopped to see Harry the spring after he completed the RGS, Sarah told me he had died a month before. I did not think about getting Claudia's class ring back that day and never did get it. Claudia understood.

Milford passed away in the mid-70's, but rode his 1935 Harley almost to the end. I visited his son in the late 80's; he still had the bike and it was in perfect condition. Even the streamers and leather saddle bags were still intact. I tried to find a battery for it without success.

In 1993, I stopped in Groveport and Red's BSA shop was now a coin operated laundry and a MacDonalds was across the street. I could not find anyone in town that remembered Red, Slim or the shop.

My dad passed away in the mid-80's. In retrospect, he never recovered from the life threatening nature of the Gold Star locked-wheel incident. Once I did see him checking out my 1980 Honda CBX six cylinder and my friend's Ducati 750ss Desmo that were parked in the garage during a visit home. That was the last time I saw the "smile" before he passed away.

A few years ago, I was in Belmont and found the old barn the shop was to be in, but it was abandoned. One of neighbors told me that a man was going to start a motorcycle shop there a long time ago but not much came of it. He did remember a bike with a two into one exhaust in the barn at that time; but what really happened to the RGS after I sold it is not known.

Gold Stars were not held in high regard by most motorcyclists in the early 1960's. Only once did anyone ever have enough interest to actually ask me any questions or continue a meaningful discussion about the bike and this man raced Goldies when he lived in England.

I had only one run in with a newer bike while riding my last Goldie in the late 1970's. The man I worked for while employed at Honeywell in New England had an RD 350. He invited me to go to the motocross races with him. Coming down a ramp onto 495 we had a roll on. All I remember was seeing my rear view mirror filled with blue two stroke exhaust haze as the Goldie pulled away from the the RD 350 in each gear. He was amazed and stunned, I was not surprised.

Over the years, I have had many people ask me to ride their Gold Stars to make sure all was well mechanically. I always refused. Ownership today no matter how satisfying, can never replace the unrestricted freedom forty years ago of winding the Goldie out to 7200 rpm then speed shifting through each gear without concern for collectablilty. I simply do not have the desire to "plunk" a Goldie around on a ride as if it were a trials bike or to have any "restricted ride" replace the memories I have of riding my Gold Star Racers the way they were intended.

I just returned from the AMA homecoming and was amazed when I saw older people stand in line to have their picture taken beside Gold Stars. I have to wonder where they were in the early 1960's when BSA had to discontinue the bike due to lack of sales. To the few who rode the Gold Star daily in the 1960's hauling a Goldie from show to show today without riding it seems a terrible injustice to both owner and bike, a fate only marginally better than that of my first Gold Star/RGS.

Listen to your heart--and your Goldie. A real ride will do you both a wonder of good. Don't know how? Then stop by my house near Gettysburg and ride behind me on one of my collectables. When we get back, you'll understand.

As for Claudia and I, we are still married and very happy. Occasionally, we go for a short 15 mph ride on the back roads near Gettysburg. It is not the same as it was in 1962 on the Gold Star or the Rocket Gold Star, but we still enjoy being together. The new bikes are just a little too reliable and we are just a little too old. The memories, though, of those early years, and of all the people we met while owning the BSA have not aged. Nothing will be forgotten, yet if we could roll back time, we would be the first to go.

Mike Brown
SE Pennsylvania
(717-642-5756 late eve) (717-730-950 days) (717-730-9504 fax)
mikeb@mail.cvn.net