The Matchless Twin did indeed prove a willing mate for over two years, responding to my modifications without distress or real failure in any way. Then one Sunday afternoon in the summer of 1950, while out for a ride, I spotted another motorcyclist, Mac McCowan, whom I had already known for quite awhile. I had expected Mac to be on his Triumph, but he was out on his newly acquired Vincent Black Shadow. The bike looked absolutely ferocious, the most riveting and formidable machine I had ever seen. It really staggered me! We stopped for a chat, I on my lovely sparkling Matchless, and he on this kick-ass destroyer, all black except for the many bits of stainless steel and aluminum (chrome plate was largely absent). Two more differing images could not be imagined, the one a blaze of color and chrome, pretty--the other somber and purposeful, clearly designed for speed and winning, as pretty as brass knuckles! While I looked over his new bike, Mac told me that he had purchased this machine from a Mr. Lester Perkins who, being in the Navy, had it delivered to him in Norfolk, where he was stationed. Although Mr. Perkins really did appreciate its features and great power, he developed, shall we say, a fear of being injured at the rate of knots he often found himself traveling, so he parted with it. (Something he regrets to this day. I know, as he still lives in the area and stops by to visit with me and admire my own Vincents, and has as much as said so.)

I timidly asked Mac if I could have a ride on it, and-- wonders never cease-- he agreed! With some trepidation and self doubt I sat astride the beast and felt all of its controls to familiarize myself with their feel and location. After a few moments I declutched, selected low gear and pulled away to the offbeat rhythm of that massive Vee-Twin. O Joy, so smooth and beefy was its response that in the space of a few heart beats it seemed I was into top gear and had discovered a new meaning to the term "cruising." Speed! The Vincent's easy manner of devouring road was apparent; one could almost count the exhaust beats as the trees rushed by, as if towed by some great elastic force. I felt little of the constant vibration experienced in every bike heretofore ridden, and the suspension coped with road conditions in a manner almost insular and indifferent, so little effect did irregularities have on one's forward progress, while in perfect control and absolutely without waver or handle bar flap.

We then turned onto what we called "the five mile stretch"-- our favorite road on which to race. Behind me I heard my Matchless, already screaming while I was riding along on this easily cantering great stallion. Chancing a rearward glance, I saw Mac smiling and bating me to "have a go" at it while the opportunity beckoned. Ahead the five mile stretch lay like some heavenly promise. Already in third cog, I rolled on the throttle as I slid further back and gripped the tank between my knees. That great willing motor had me in moments pulling past eighty, where with clenched teeth, I momentarily eased the clutch and thrust in top gear. The air rushed in a torrent about my helmet and torso as the speed steadily marched upward, all the while to rock steady bars and dead straight purpose. The bike galloped forward leaving a barely heard thudding exhaust beat behind, and a crouching Mac on that wailing Matchbox. I stole a glance down at the huge speedo where it indicated my speed at a few ticks beyond the ton--100 mph plus! And I was still nearly upright and still had unexplored throttle left in hand! The ease and lack of effort required to achieve such levels of performance was absolutely incredible.

Holding station for awhile to study the sensation I finally began to back off, slowing to what felt to be a walking pace and still found my speed to be about 70, so deluding was the sheer effortlessness of the forward motion, an effect I was to experience many times in ensuing years while on my own Vincent.

Stopping as we neared the built up area, Mac and I again swapped machines and nodded our goodbyes, whereupon I pulled off on the Matchless which suddenly seemed to have shrunk in stature, power, and meaning for me. It was simply dwarfed in comparison, every facet of performance coming up short when compared to the Vincent. I vowed that moment to have a Vincent of my own someday, and as fate moved the chess pieces it was not long in coming.