From nerv Mon Aug 30 09:54 DST 1993 Subject: no subject (file transmission) To: freiss.pad Date: Mon, 30 Aug 93 9:53:41 DST From: Dr. Stuart Savory X-Mailer: xmail 2.4 (based on ELM 2.2 PL16) Status: O .sp 4 Hi Bikers, this a netcopy of my biker novel "Howl of the Mountain King". It is shareware, not free! To read send five dollars (in an envelope) to: Stu Savory Amselweg 4 D-33165 Lichtenau GERMANY Your contributions go toward a worthy cause (like me building a Triton!) Ciao, Stu Savory .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Howl of the Mountain King .sp 2 .ce Dramatis Personae .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Professor Gander : Professor of Mechanical Engineering at the Technical University of Dresden, East Germany, during the early Fifties. Father of the Trabant and Wartburg two-stroke engines. Extremely brainy but rather authorative in manner. .P Pietrov Ismailovitch : Russian KGB Spy, who defected from the UK during World War Two. Finances likely technical High-Tech projects at Stalin's behest for propaganda purposes. Blackmails Professor Gander into building the two-stroke four racing motorbike, and Wolfgang into racing it. .P Wolfgang Wittmann : One of Gander's students. A natural talent as a racing motorcyclist. Not as bright as he would like to think he is. Boyfriend of Dagmar. .P Dagmar Hennig : A pretty and precocious young librarian at the university. Falls in love with Wolfgang & vice versa. .P Werner Kowalski : Professional speedway rider, brought in by the KGB to act as Wolfgangs motorcycle-racing trainer. .P Geoff Duke : Contemporary racing motorcyclist. World Champion during the early fifties. .P Ernie Claggs : Striving british reporter, specialising in motorcycle racing stories. Always craving for a scoop. Spent his wartime duty spy-hunting for MI6. .P "Spinky" Adams : Proprietor of a newspaper stall near to Clagg's lodgings. Rough and ready cheerful cockney who turns into a real friend for Claggs. .P Ernst Leverkus : German cub reporter, just learning the ropes. Scoops Mr. Claggs on several occasions. .P Mrs. Williams : Landlady of a bed-and breakfast house on the Isle of Man. Initially authoritarian, but a heart of gold. War-widowed friend of Ernie Claggs. .P Alma Joy : Mrs. Williams' bulldog bitch. .bp .sp 4 .ce 33 Chapter CONTENTS Page .sp 1 1 Uncle Joe's Dresden Dream 1 2 Powerhouse Plans 9 3 Bracebridge Street Blues 17 4 Bavarian Blue 26 5 Horex Imperator 34 6 Starting Small 44 7 Tricks of the Trade 51 8 The Arcore Angle 59 9 Testbench Tuning 68 10 Flight of the Eagle 77 11 Framing the Four 84 12 Learning the ground rules 92 13 Toeing the line 100 14 Hanging is good for you 107 15 Stopping and Steering 115 16 The Singing Saw 122 17 Getting it all together 130 18 Froede's flying four 141 19 The Italian affair 149 20 Mugello Madness 156 21 Around the Ring 164 22 It's all uphill from here 171 23 Island Impressions 180 24 Tourist trophies 186 25 Practice makes perfect 196 26 On the road to Ballacraine 205 27 The Road to Governor's Bridge 214 28 Junior 225 29 Senior 233 30 Gotcha ! 243 .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter One .sp 2 .ce Uncle Joe's Dresden Dream .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Professor Gander walked happily home from his laboratory at the Technical University of Dresden.He had just finished writing a research paper summarizing his measurements "On the optimal economy of two-stroke engines" to be submitted to the Academy of Science in Moscow. It was to be his second publication in 1952, he thought as he posted it in the mail box on the corner of the street where he lived. .P "There was a man here from the KGB for you!" gasped his wife as soon as he entered the hallway, "What's it about, Manfred? What do the KGB want with you, you're just a harmless scientist, no military secret work, and a registered member of the party." .P He sat down heavily, suddenly grey. "I don't know, I don't know" he whispered ashenly."What did he say?" .P "It was just twenty minutes ago. He drove up in an old Wehrmacht Mercedes, the kind they confiscated after the war was over. He just asked where you were, and said you were to help him on KGB business. Oh dear, it's like the Gestapo nightmare all over again.". She was almost weeping. .P "There, there. Don't get upset.There's no point, he will be back soon, and then we'll hear facts. I haven't done anything wrong, not even by the rules of the party." .P "Your lab-assistant Wolfgang is waiting in the living room, he came half an hour ago on his motorbike, you know, that old green Elefant. The KGB told him to wait here while they went to fetch you.But he doesn't know what it's about either." she added. The professor went into the living room, where Wolfgang cowered nervously on the dark wooden chair in the corner. .P "What do they want,Professor?" he burst out. .P "I don't know...." he began to reply as there came a single hard knock at the door. "But we'll find out soon" he finished up. .P A small neat man in a black leather overcoat entered the room and sat down at the table too, without asking. .P "Good evening Professor" he said quietly. "Let me introduce myself, I am Pietrov Ismailovitch from the KGB in Moscow. My friends call me Ismail. First of all, let me put your minds at rest. We need your scientific help on a propaganda project against the capitalist world; since we want to keep it secret as long as possible, you will be bound to silence, but since you are a loyal party member, and have a beautiful wife and baby daughter whose well-being is no doubt of continuing interest to you, we are sure of your cooperation". He smiled meaningfully. "Wolfgang here, I am sure really only wanted to borrow 'his' motorcycle, and return it later to the war-torn ruined shed where he found it. It is after all, as war-booty, the property of the state." He smiled meaningfully again. .P "Professor, you have a very good scientific reputation. Since you have been working for the state's program to rebuild the nation you have done research for the Ministry of Transport." he read from the notes in the dossier he took from his small brown briefcase with the hammer and sickle embossed below the massive lock. "You were designated the task to design engines for small personal cars, making them both easy to produce in a war-torn economy and of course cheap to run, given the scarcity of fuel." he continued reading. "You produced the engine for the Trabant and the Wartburg, both two-stroke twin engines of astounding simplicity. Your newest research results, which you posted in the way home tonight, will no doubt show a 24.3% increase in their fuel economy by redesigning the gas flow through the cylinder head." he added drily. .P "Yes, yes" said the professor resignedly. The KGB was very well informed as usual, so they must have been watching him for some time. Probably the new Polish janitor who cleaned out his paper-bin in the lab with such industrious regularity, he thought. .P "The capitalists are making considerable advances in their technology as you know." Ismailovitch continued. "The Politburo has decided that we will not only compete with them in terms of military atomic technology, but we will also show them up by beating them hollow in areas of their popular interest. The Politburo has decided that a Russian will be the first man to orbit our planet !" he bragged. .P "Well I can hardly help you there, my expertise is only in internal combustion engine design, and at 19 years of age Wolfgang's sole real ability seems to be riding a motorcycle at a speed at which mere mortals whiten with fright." .P "Exactly, my dear Professor. You see, my office has been assigned the task of demonstrating that our socialist technology is not only better in interplanetary rocketry, but is also better in the much more earth-bound realistic world of motor racing. So with you two, we have an ideal combination. You will be funded secretly by the KGB to build a racing motorcycle, and Wolfgang will ride it for the greater glory of all socialist peoples." He finished triumphantly. .P "Wow!" shouted Wolfgang, jumping to his feet in excitement, early fear now forgotten, "A real racer for me to ride!" he caroused gleefully. .P "Calm down, Tovaritsch!" Ismailovitsch ordered. "You will undergo serious theoretical and practical training, we cannot afford to have you ruin the socialist effort by crashing the machine due to sheer youthful hot-headedness." he added sternly. "Professor, you have all winter to build the machine, we expect you to compete next season. You will build a Senior machine, that is of a half liter capacity. Despite the good cause however, we have only limited funds available, and no factory help due to the secrecy of our project; this means you will have to hand-build just two engines, one as a spare, and one frame. Your laboratory is secluded enough, so that the necessary secrecy can be maintained." .P "The KGB will provide as much information as possible about competitors' motorcycles, starting with BMW." he said smiling knowingly. .P "Well that seems a very interesting suggestion, Comrade, uh Ismail, but of course I cannot guarantee success" the Professor put in cautiously. .P "Then you have failed to understand" said Ismailovitch, suddenly Gestapo-like in a steely tone of voice "This is not a suggestion, it is a requirement! And success is a requirement too, if you want to continue your luminous academic career. Alternatively, you could design new sleds in Siberia, and Wolfgang could push them through the ice." Sadistic sarcasm snarled stonily into his steely voice. .P "However, let us look at the bright side of things" he said, changing to a winning smile. "You are an ambitious person. Think of the international acclaim you will earn, let alone the glory of serving your state; you might even be granted membership of the Academy of Science in Moscow; and Wolfgang a Hero of the Soviet Union." He was waving the invisible carrot now, rather than baring his teeth. "Good lady, please bring us some glasses for a toast to begin this project" he added, suddenly pulling a cold bottle of Stolichnaya vodka from the official brown briefcase. .P "Prost, as you say in Germany" he proffered "I shall return each week to hear your progress report. Any bills for material you shall have sent to the Ministry of Transport, to Room number 007, my word is my bond" he added laughing at his insider joke. "Just for safe keeping, I shall take your passports and identity cards with me now" he finished, stood up, collected the proffered documents and left, stuffing the remains of the vodka back into his briefcase. .P "What a detestable man!" cried Mrs. Gander "Just the way he smiles sadistically while making those not-so-veiled threats of his, his name shouldn't be Pietrov Ismailovitch, it should be 'Comrade Smiley'!" she added. .P "Now now my dear. Agreed he is a nasty little man, but the idea is very tempting indeed, very tempting indeed. Just think of the academic fame it would bring me; why, I might even be asked to join the Academy of Sciences in Moscow as he said, if it works out all right. After all, why shouldn't it, a two-stroke is better than a four-stroke any day, if only because it gets twice the opportunity to produce power" he mused. .P "Well I think it's a good idea too" Wolfgang butted in "I could get to race with a real chance instead of just flailing about hopelessly on the Zundapp or even a more modern Horex Imperator. And while we build the racer, maybe Ismailovitch could arrange such a Horex Imperator or an NSU Rennfox for me to practice on. Then I would at least know the major german racetracks before racing in real earnest, because it always helps to know where the road goes.So please, Professor, let's do what he wants" Wolfgang pleaded. .P "It's not as simple as that, Wolfgang" replied the Professor "You would be changing from a long-stroke single to a much more powerful two-stroke with a narrower power-band. We will need more gears, you will have to change gear much more often, and if you are going much faster, as I fervently hope you would be, then you would need to brake much earlier, so that all the braking points you learn on a Horex are going to be much too late for the more powerful two-stroke." .P "Hold on just a minute!" his wife interrupted "This isn't a fait accompli you know! You heard what he said: there is no room for failure. If you build such a machine and it's not fast enough, or if Wolfgang falls off by being too impetuous, then I for one don't fancy spending the rest of my days in Siberia. Let's just call it off, the risk is too great!" she pleaded. .P "I don't think that's feasible" her husband added "Ismailovitch made it quite plain that we don't have a choice. He even took our passports, so that we couldn't even flee, for example to America, even if we wanted to. Wolfgang's suggestion is probably the best. Let him practice while we build the engine. The facilities of the university's casting foundries and their engineering workshops are good enough to build the parts we design in small quantities. And we can give a small number of the brighter Diploma-students specialised research areas to work in, that way they can contribute to the project without realising where the project as a whole is leading, which keeps them out of the clutches of the KGB, and let's them earn their diplomas while taking some of the work off of us." the Professor said thoughtfully. .P "Great! I knew you'd agree" cried Wolfgang "I'm going to rush off home now and read up all about the foreign victory bikes.I've kept all the cuttings about Geoff Duke's wins on his Norton in a scrap book you know!" he enthused. .P "Yes,I rather thought you might have done that." replied the Professor drily. .P "Well there's little point in reading up on Wiggerl Kraus' and Schorsch Meier's bikes and their wins in Germany since the war, because they were riding the pre-war supercharged BMWs and the FIM decreed in 1946 that supercharging wouldn't be allowed any more." replied Wolfgang knowledgably, having missed the Professor's good natured sarcasm. "So they only raced nationally with them, and we Germans weren't allowed to race internationally up until 1951" he finished breathlessly. .P "Tell me about BMW" said the Professor, his curiousity having got the better of him. His wife left the room disgustedly, seeing that the two men were implicitly committed to the racer project, despite her warnings and pleadings. .P "Well during the war some of the BMW people hid the supercharged racing bikes in cowsheds on private farms. Then they appeared 'miraculously' when things had settled down after the war. Basically they have a double-loop welded steel frame holding a horizontally opposed one-piece boxer engine, four-stroke of course. Long-stroke 72mm stroke and 66mm bore. Twin cams. Cardan-shaft drive. The first telescopic front forks. Supercharged, they give probably 40 kiloWatts at the rear wheel on petrol/benzol, going up to about 65 kW when run on alcohol for the pre-war record attempts. George (Schorsch) Meier and Wiggerl Kraus are the riders." Wolfgang recited with the unerring memory of the true fan. "Since 1949 BMW has been developing a normally aspirated version, and now, in the autumn of 1952, they reputedly have a new model in testing for next year, but it's an undercover project that nobody knows much about. It's being kept under wraps, even the press aren't allowed to see the new racers." .P "Well I expect that Ismailovitch has means, however devious they may be, and will inform us next week about the new BMW as he hinted before he left" commented the Professor drily. "But do you think their new machine will be at all competitive with the ubiquitous Nortons ?" he asked. .P "Maybe, maybe not" replied Wolfgang "Norton have introduced a new frame design which they call a 'Featherbed'. Its much better than their old 'Garden Gate' frames. The Nortons can out-handle any other machine these days, probably including next year's new BMW. You know, Professor, it won't be enough for you just to build a more powerful engine" he added thoughtfully "An awful lot depends on the way the frame handles. The 'Garden Gates' are said to have handled like a camel with a hinge in the middle, compared to the 'Featherbeds'. That's why Geoff Duke is much faster on them than on the old frames, even with basically the same engine. So we're going to need a stiff frame too. Plus the fact that on all the photographs in my scrap books for 1951 and 1952 that chap geoff Duke simply leans further into the corners than the other riders do, which makes him quicker in the curves too. I'm going to have to learn to lean over that far or further too, if I want to be as quick or quicker through the corners than Duke." he summed up. .P "Thankyou Wolfgang" said the Professor snapping the old exercise book shut in which he had been taking notes. "It is getting really late now, we've been talking for hours. My wife has probably gone to bed already. So you ride on home, sleep well, and I'll see you in the university's labs tomorrow at nine. Goodnight. And remember this is a secret project, despite your excitement, so don't go blabbing to your friends!" he admonished. .P Wolfgang Wittman chugged home on the old green Zundapp a very excited young man, knowing he would be unable to sleep that night. Arriving home, thinking 'What will the future hold?' he thumbed through his scrapbook of motorbike racing press-cuttings 'Words and photos by Earnie Claggs' before, overexcited, he nodded off to sleep on the couch, dreaming of future glory. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Two .sp 2 .ce Powerhouse Plans .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Nine o'clock sharp on a bright and crispy autumn Tuesday morning. Wolfgang braked the Zundapp to a halt, careful of the thin film of hoar frost on the southern side of the road which was still in the September shadow of the university buildings, and parked it hurriedly outside the grey anonymous doors of the engineering faculty. As he entered the lab he saw that Professor Gander had exceeded his usual punctuality and already had a beaker of 'Muckefuch Ersatz-Coffee' bubbling over a Bunsen burner. .P "Great, I'll have some of that too" said Wolfgang "It was chilly on the bike this morning, I should have put a sweater on under my woolen greatcoat. I'm brass monkeys, I can tell you!" .P "Right, sit down and drink this mugful, that'll get you unfrozen. Then we'll think about the project, OK?" .P "I wouldn't know where to start Professor. I started to read my collection of articles by Earnie Claggs, the english motorcycling journalist, but they are all about the Nortons and Freddie Friths KTT Velo of course. All four-strokes of course, I don't think Claggs knows what a two-stroke is!" Wolfgang expostulated. .P "Well,Let's consider the basic design issues first" said Professor Gander."What kind of machines do the current winners ride, like that chap Geoff Duke you talked about last night?" .P "They are mostly single cylinder air-cooled four-strokes. I know," said Wolfgang proudly "because I read Claggs' race reports. Then AJS has a twin, which has such overheating problems that they cast the cylinder head out of silver for optimum heat conduction, and cast a lot of cooling spines rather than fins onto the head, which is why it's nicknamed 'The Porcupine'." he continued breathlessly "And there are rumours that the Italians are building four- and even thinking of an eight-cylinder engine." he finished excitedly. .P "Thankyou Wolfgang," said Professor Gander drily, "but I was thinking more of two-stroke engines which is where our university's expertise lies...." .P "The DKW is a three cylinder 350 cc machine, if Ismailovitch could swipe their plans, we could build a 466cc four just by adding a cylinder. And if we overbored it a little, we could get it up to a half a liter.The 350 only delivers 23 kiloWatt however, so a four might reach 30 kW." suggested Wolfgang. "That's not enough to be competitive" he went on "the four stroke single 350s like the AJS 7R deliver about 26 kW and a good five hundred probably 33 at the rear wheel." .P "There is no way that I am going to steal the plans from Ingolstadt" thundered the Professor in reply, his academic pride thoroughly offended "We are quite capable of producing a better design here at Dresden, even better than the state's MZ factory at Zschopau" he seethed as he mentioned his arch rivals for the claim to local academic fame. .P "All right, all right. Calm down, it was only a suggestion" sulked Wolfgang. .P "Yes, well....Harrrummph. Let us consider some theoretical issues then" said the Professor, calming down. "Simple dimensional analysis shows us that, ignoring friction, the more cylinders the better. For a given swept volume, the torque delivered should be proportional to the brake mean effective pressure (known as BMEP) times the area over which it works. this means that the effect is proportional to the cube root of the number of cylinders..." he lectured. "However, all we have as a starting base is the 600cc two- stroke twin from the Trabant car design, which delivers only 18 kiloWatt; and the university's dynamometer only goes up to 30 kW. If we want to aim for over 60kW, in order to have as much power as possible in hand over potential opponents, then this has several consequences. First, and most obvious, the Trabant engine is not a suitable starting point. Second, the DKW research at Ingolstadt, as I know from their published research papers, indicate that Schnrle's sculpted piston-head to control the gas flow is a dead end. Third, the MZ engineers at Zschopau have shown that asymmetrical port timing as achieved by a side-mounted disc valve if much better than the symmetrical piston-controlled inlet port of our Trabant design. And finally we are going to have to use a single- cylinder test-bench set-up, in order to stay within the limitations of our little dynamometer. So, given that the disc valve design needs free access to one side of the crankcase (in order to mount the necessary carburettors), we are left with the only logical choice of a square- or Vee-four engine. Really of course it must be two parallel twins each with it's own crankshaft, so that each crankshaft has a disc valve on the left and on the right. We will need to have a central gear train to couple the two twins, a chain drive would allow too much backlash. The next consequence is therefore liquid cooling, so that the rear two cylinders to not overheat from the heat produced by the front pair. And a 90 degree angle between the cylinder banks for good balance." .P "Well that's that then" chirped Wolfgang "A water cooled disc-valved 90 degree Vee- four. Nothing easier to knock up in one short winter!" .P "Don't be sarcastic, laddie." replied Professor Gander. "Deep thought, rather like playing chess, will save us a lot of experimentation. This could be the base for a whole series, a 125cc single, a 250cc twin and a 500cc four. Maybe even a sleeved down 350cc three to show up DKW" he crowed, eyes alight with enthusiasm. "I'm going over to the library now to read up as much of the current research literature as possible; you can start by setting up the drawing boards and overhauling the dynamometer!" .P So while Wolfgang busied himself in Gander's laboratories, the Professor himself put on his old war-time issue grey greatcoat and walked the five hundred meters through the still frosty autumn air to the university library, rebuilt after the infamous fire bombing of 1945. There he met Dagmar, the pert little blond librarian with the upturned snub nose and the most amazing bright blue eyes, who had her heart set on his lab assistant Wolfgang. After listening to his requests, Dagmar went and got him a couple of standard textbooks on internal combustion engineering and the research papers published by the DKW engineers from Ingolstadt in western, capitalist, Germany. DKW had restarted in Ingolstadt after the war because the original Auto Union factories (Audi, DKW, Horch and Wanderer) had been confiscated by the russian conquerors and cannibalised, so DKW had no works any more in eastern Germany. .P Professor Gander first read from an internal combustion engineering textbook 'For reliable operation, the average speed of a piston in its cylinder should not exceed 17 meters per second, for short term use such as record attempt engines, twenty one meters per second is the absolute maximum.' If the bore of the cylinder is the same as the stroke (a socalled square cylinder) then that would be just over 54 mm for 125 cc, he calculated using his slide rule. That would give 10000 rpm for 18 m/sec. Now for a square 500cc single, that means 86mm bore and stroke, that means 6270 rpm for 18 m/sec. So for a 90% short stroke, that is a still healthy 90% stoke to bore ratio, that would give 10000 rpm at a conservative 17 m/s average piston speed, with a stroke of 50.6 mm. So at 90%, the bore must be 56 mm giving a swept volume of 498cc. If the same torque can be achieved as the 500cc single, then the extra revs alone give us 60% more power. So if the Manx Norton gives about 40 kiloWatts, or 54 PS as they call it on the english scale, then we should get 64kW or 85 PS which should make us at least 20% faster on the straights, he mused. He then turned to read the DKW research papers, and set about interpolating and extrapolating the power and torque curves given there, and trying in his mind's eye to correlate them with the different shapes of the dome-shaped pistons, patented by Schnrle, as shown in the appendices of the DKW papers. After three hours, he gave up, perplexed. The main factor appears to be that it is important to swirl the fresh mixture entering from the transfer ports, and to make the fresh gas form a jet, separating it from the old, spent gasses rushing out of the exhaust port, he mused. The problem with the dome-shaped pistons is that they both reduce the possible compression ratios, and lead to a rather contorted shape for the combustion chamber at the point when ignition takes place, he thought. So what one really needs is not these engineering reports, but rather some aerodynamic knowledge about the hot gas dynamics. .P "That's it" he squealed, "I'll go to the aerodynamics labs and talk to Grasmann." .P He grabbed his coat and, without bothering to put it on, ran across the road to Grasmann's office. Ignoring the sign on the door 'Institute for jet engines and gas dynamics, Diplom Engineer Grasmann. Do not enter without knocking!' he burst into Grasmann's office and immediately started explaining the problem in a hasty torrent of technical words. .P .P "I planned on using an exponentially expanding megaphone" said Professor Gander, "but your advice would imply that I close it off with a wall and a small exit pipe, rather like the DKW research indicates." .P "I don't know that paper, show me" said Grasmann. .P "Here it is. But just a moment, you said that would only work at one resonant frequency. So it would be better to have several restrictions at various positions, or to alter the length of the pipe as a function of the speed of rotation of the engine. But that sounds mechanically complicated. It might be better to design the exhaust for the best frequency, say my 10000 rpm I calculated earlier, and then have some kind of sleeve valve to raise and lower the exhaust port position in the cylinder (as a function of engine speed),to stop the productive hot gases leaving the cylinder too early at lower revs. After all, the MZ research on disc valves indicates that they produce a lot of peak power, but are rather weak on torque lower down. Their torque curve is not flat like the four-strokes' are, but has a pronounced peak, which makes the power delivery even peakier, since power equals torque times revs." lectured Professor Gander. .P "That sounds good" said Grasmann "Also if you use an exponential expansion starting at the exhaust port, then you should probably not use a vertical cut-off plate like DKW, but rather close the megaphone off with a reverse cone leading into a small diameter pipe. The reverse cone will help to spread the resonance effect across a wider range of engine speeds, so your engine won't be as 'peaky' as the MZ results show, but will still resonate at peak revs properly. Lend me your slide rule, and I'll use these DKW tables and some Me262 numbers of my own and, let me see now. Ummmm, just a minute, there, that's it, I suggest these dimensions for your exhaust pipe for you to achieve peak power at 10000 rpm" he said, pushing an old used envelope across the table to Professor Gander. On the back of the envelope he had scribbled his gas flow equations and the resulting numeric solution for his suggested exhaust pipe. .P "Thankyou. I'll get Wolfgang to weld up an exhaust chamber to these sizes, and we'll try it out on the dynamometer when we get started. We are going to build a little 125cc single first, and tune that on the brake, before building the four." Gander explained "So it'll be a couple of months before we are ready, but I'll keep in touch and tell you of our results." he said hurrying off. .P "Just be sure to give me credit when you publish your research results paper" called Grasmann after the rapidly disappearing back "Because, I'm leaving the university next week to go to work for the race department of Adler, in Frankfurt. So we may not see much of each other in the future" he explained, little realising what parallel paths their research would follow over the coming year. .P Back in his lab, Professor Gander saw that Wolfgang had set up two drawing boards on the well lighted side over by the big bay windows that looked out across the campus towards the library. He had even clamped one of these new-fangled neon strip lights along the top each drawing board, obviously with the intention of working nights as well as by daylight. Not a bad idea with the short winter days ahead, he thought. The dynamometer had obviously been cleaned, for it glistened with an oily sheen and the big brake pads had been renewed while he had been in the library. Wolfgang was reading another of Claggs' race reports about Geoff Duke's victories that past summer. .P "Just as well that one of us can read english" remarked the Professor sitting down to write down the results of his discussion with Engineer Grasmann in his grubby little exercise book. Then he gave Grasmann's sketch to Wolfgang and said "Our collegue Grasmann is leaving us to tune two-strokes for Adler in Frankfurt. But before he leaves he calculated this new type of exhaust system for us. He calls it an acoustic resonance pipe. Seeing as you've already set up the drawing boards, why don't you redraw his sketch as a proper blueprint?" he offered "Meanwhile, let me read some of those Earnie Claggs' race reports, to see if he says what other racing machine constructors are doing for next season." .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Three .sp 2 .ce Bracebridge Street Blues .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Ernie Claggs sat quietly in front of his battered old travelling typewriter flexing his intertwined fingers and staring at the still-barren sheet of paper in it. No inspiration today, he thought, the muse has fled me. He fiddled with his pipe, a Meerschaum 'acquired' as war booty during his time with MI6 working in counter-espionage in Germany during and just after the war. The delicious smell of Black Russian Sobranie tobacco, or 'evil old socks' as his landlady called it, rapidly filled the room, causing the landlady's cats to leave in high disdain. The 1952 racing season was drawing to a close, and as a freelance writer he needed to produce material to sell to the motorcycle press over the coming winter if he was to be able to pay the rent. And there were always other writers, like Vic Willoughby or Bob Whatshisname eager to improve their journalistic reputations by writing articles that took the bread from his mouth, he reflected almost bitterly. "What I need," he said aloud "is a longer story that I can serialise, with enough emotional content that even the sports pages of the gutter press buy my copy". Silence echoed its empty reply loudly through his head. "Like a temporarily dumb cat" he punned to himself "No mews today!". Earnie was a great one for puns. The cat has left the room so I can write now, his brain continued, no mews is good muse.It was his greatest joy to invent subtle hidden puns that would explode several minutes or even hours later in his readers' minds. He had enjoyed the work at MI6 because it had involved hidden secrets too. "In an ideal world, I would be a comedian, not just a journalist" he mused. Still no inspiration Idly he read the label on the typewriter. "Smith" it read. .P "Eureka! That's it!" he shouted aloud "Gilbert Smith. Managing director at Norton! He's upset with Geoff Duke, I know. I'll do a piece on the Bracebridge street Nortons. Interview Smith, Joe Craig and Geoff Duke and needle them about their relationships and plans for the 1953 season." He ran down the stairs through the hall, forgetting to put his jacket on, but automatically grabbed his weather-beaten old 'Sherlock Holmes' deerstalker and trotted over the road to the bright red call-box. At Norton, he got through to Gilbert Smith's secretary and arranged an interview for the following morning, and a further one with Joe Craig for the afternoon. Then he trotted, still excited by the flash of inspiration, on down to the station and bought a return ticket to Bracebridge Street for the 'morrow. Satisfied, he trotted back to his digs and , self-satisfied, made himself a cuppa and relit the pipe which had smouldered forlornly to a finish in his absence, dropping ashes into the typewriter. "Just as well the landlady didn't see that" he thought "or I would have been subject to a half-hour tirade on the dangers of fire." The thought of the word fire sent shivers down his spine. He had been an official MI6 observer on board a Lancaster that night in '45 when they had bombed the hell out of (or rather into) Dresden. His conscience still plagued him every time he thought of the fire-storm. Irritated and feeling guilty, he blew the ashes out of the Smith and inserted a virginal sheet of white bonded paper into the typewriter. .P "First I need an attention-grabbing headline, to make the readers sit up and pay attention, then I should write some background material about the 1951 season, and Duke's success on Nortons" he said to himself scanning through his old notes. Never throw anything away was his motto: one that had made his filing system famous within MI6. His tea grew cold. Then he sat down in front of the typewriter again, and, guiltily remembering to extinguish his pipe, began to write: .sp 2 "Will Geoff Duke leave Norton? Fast fighter favours factory fours!" he wrote in doubly spaced capital letters at the top of the sheet. That'll get 'em hooked, he thought, now for the deep background meat for them to sink their teeth into, before we get back to the intrigues! .sp 2 'Geoff Duke, our lancashire lad, is 29 now. He'll be 30 next year, maybe to old for motorbike racing. And Norton aren't too pleased with him now. Geoff joined Norton in January of 1948. Gilbert Smith (Norton's managing director) promised him support for the 1948 Senior Clubman's TT, but the ACU rejected his entry on the basis of inexperience (sic!). Accepted for the 350cc Manx Grand Prix, he was leading the race (on his very first island tour; eat your hearts out, TT-selectors!) when forced to retire due to a split oil tank. Joe Craig, Norton's team manager and chief development engineer was much impressed by angle at which young Duke cranked the garden-gate Norton through Brandish Corner. This led to a place alongside the works' team under Steve Lancefield's Management in 1949 ; Joe Craig liasing with BRM who had been given the task of building the ill-fated straight four for Norton, a task at which they failed terribly. Of course our Geoff won the Clubman's TT, despite having only an International Norton instead of a factory Manx. His fast cornering speed saved the day when, forgetting the International's abominably small front brake drum, he almost overran the Governor's Bridge Corner. Having been thrown off in the Skerries 100, which put him into Dublin hospital for a week, he turned up for MGP practice week with his leg still in plaster. Plucky little Geoff Duke won the 1949 Senior MGP of course, no questions asked! .P .P In 1950, Smith put our Geoff in the official works team. With Artie Bell and our Geoff, Norton bagged no less than 21 world records at Montlh‚ry. Duke, a bright lancashire lad, recognised here the importance of wind resistance on top speed. So he trotted on home to St Helens, where the local tailor, one Frank Barker, sewed him an extremely close-fitting one-piece lightweight leather racing suit. This was Duke's invention, which was soon adopted by other riders in the following seasons. If only Duke had thought to patent the idea, he would have been a richer lad by now. As it was, Barker changed completely from regular tailoring to the sole business of making racing leathers for riders. Norton were as tight-fisted as ever, and didn't even want to pay for the repairs to the broken rear axle of the Montlh‚ry transporter, because the van was Duke's private property, they claimed. No wonder our Geoff was somewhat p*ss*d off at them. Barker made Duke a pair of pull-on close-fit racing boots too, having seen how the wind pressure caused normal boots to flatter in the wind. Geoff had to pay for these out of his own pocket too, no wonder he's upset with Norton now. .P Joe Craig had built new Nortons for 1950, with a duplex looped McCandless' frame, which Harold Daniell nicknamed "The Featherbed" due to their vastly improved handling over the earlier garden-gate frames. The name stuck. Daniell, who was 41 that year, came third in the Junior TT. A local paper ran the headline 'Britain's fastest Granpa prefers a featherbed.' Our Geoff won the Senior TT, but Norton still scolded him because his tank was run dry as he crossed the line. .P At the Belgian grand Prix in Spa Duke had his first encounter with the all-new Gilera italian four. Of course the far more powerful four-cylinder Gilera just ran away from the Nortons and Les Graham's AJS Porcupine on the straights. Our bright Geoff though tucked in behind the Gilera for an aerodynamic tow along the straights, and then whipped out of the shadows to take them on the inside of the corners, using the superior road-holding of the featherbed Norton and the no less famous Duke angle-of-lean. However, it was all to no avail, as the Dunlops on all the works Nortons shed their treads. The same thing happened at the Dutch TT, throwing our Geoff off. At the Italian GP Les Graham's AJS ran away from the Gilera fours, which were sliding around like overpowered drunken pigs in the wet. .P At Monza, Masetti on the Gilera four which Taruffi had tuned specially, could pass our Geoff on the straights whilst sitting bolt upright. All of us watching journalists knew then that the days of the Norton singles were numbered. Imagine having a Norton frame for the Gilera; the handling would be magnificent and the power unbeatable. BRM still hadn't come up with a reliable car engine, let alone the four-pot for Norton. I think Monza in 1950 set the seed of doubt in our Geoff's mind. .P Last year (1951) Norton acquired a new Polish research engineer with some revolutionary ideas. His invention of the squished form of cylinder head together with a flat-topped piston gave the Nortons about 30% more power. The 350 for example now delivered 36 of the gee-gees at 8000 revs instead of only 28 ponies at 7200 rpm. True to form our Geoff won the Junior TT at record-breaking speed. For the Senior another italian four appeared, the then new and unproven MV four, with Les Graham (ex AJS) in the saddle. Lucky for the Norton singles, the MV four, so obviously superior on power, retired with valve-gear trouble at the end of only the second lap. At Spa-Francorchamps the Italians however got the unpleasant surprise when Bill Doran's twin AJS Porcupine ran away from them with the fastest practice lap. Duke however won the race for Norton, again by their combined cornering virtues. To Norton's annoyance however, he no longer wore the plain white Cromwell helmet with the Norton Logo written on the front. Instead he had a stripe down the centre and an oval on either side. No Norton Logo. Aha, we journalists thought, has there been some kind of disagreement? .P At the Dutch Grand Prix in Assen it poured with rain during the 350cc race and the entire Norton team fell off. Geoff looked rather chastised after a heated discussion with the Norton team management. Sneaking into the pits at that time I saw that he had tried to saw some cuts into the treads of his tyres, presumably to make them less prone to aquaplaning. If Norton had seen this I guessed I knew why Duke had got it in the neck! .P In France and in Monza the Gilera fours again just ran away from the works' Nortons. Although Duke became sportsman of the year for being the first rider winning a double world title in the same year, and Norton, through his efforts won the Manufacturer's championship, Duke had stated publicly that a British four was needed for this 1952 season. And BRM, and thus Norton failed to deliver! So Duke left Norton and set up a motorcycle business in his home town in Lancashire, although he refused to tell us journalists exactly why; everybody was keeping their lips sealed! .P This year, Duke raced cars several times for Aston Martin, but, I surmise, Smith had cajoled him into still riding for Norton, because he still appeared for the Norton team, despite the lack of the promised BRM four-cylinder engine. While the 350s are still competitive (Duke won the Swiss GP, The Isle of Man TT, the Dutch TT and the Belgian GP), the Senior 500cc bikes were outclassed. Duke retired in the Swiss GP and on the Island, and had to be content with second place in the Dutch TT and Belgian GP. The Bracebridge street machines could no longer take the more competitive stress of the Senior class, it seemed. Damaged cylinder heads and exhaust cam trouble, bad carburation and disintegrating clutch bearing cages are all witness to these problems this season. And Reg Armstrong was very lucky when winning the Senior TT that his primary chain waited until the very moment he crossed the finishing line before disintegrating and just plain dropping onto the road in front of the chequered flag! .P Trying too hard at the race in Schotten (Germany), our Geoff threw Number 84 down the road away in a big way and subsequently spent a three months in hospital. Norton were not pleased, as this seriously reduced their chances for the whole season, just to put it mildly.' .P Ernie Claggs peeled the sixth sheet of foolscap out of his trusty travelling typewriter and lit his pipe again, which was cold by now. "That'll get Smith and Duke talking. Maybe I'll give it to them to read just before I interview them. Then the sparks will fly. With any luck I'll get a scoop on the resulting verbal punchup." he said aloud to himself, gleeful in anticipation. "Now to bed, and tomorrow to Bracebridge street to hear them sing the blues!" he chortled. .P "Good Morning, Mr. Smith, thankyou for granting me this interview" said Ernie looking around Gilbert Smith's office at all of the photographs on the walls and the trophies on the shelves. "My name is Earnie Claggs, and I'm a free-lance motorcycling journalist...." .P "I am aware of that, Mr. Claggs, you do have a popular following you know, and our PR department keeps a scrap-book of all newspaper and magazine articles in which the name Norton appears you know. We did prefer your articles when they just straightforwardly reported our Norton successes you know. Polemic attacks about being outclassed by Italian designs is hardly conducive to the prosperity of the british motorcycle industry, as I'm sure you realise." .P "True, Mr. Smith, true. But it they also happen to sell better to the local and national non-trade papers, which happens to be my business. As long as you continue to win, you effectively get free publicity through my articles. So it's up to you really." Claggs explained sweetly. "However, let's not get off on the wrong foot. I just want to know about your relationship with Geoff Duke, and if he is going to be riding Nortons next season. After all he did grant me an interview while he was still in plaster, and he seems to think the Norton singles are no longer competitive....." .P "Geoff Duke is a part-owner of a motorcycle business in St. Helens in Lancashire. He is not an employee of Norton, as I'm sure you are aware, Mr. Claggs. It is my opinion that he spends too much time attending motorcycle club dinner/dances and too little time keeping fit for first-class racing! And I have told him so to his face!" Smith exploded. .P "Mr. Duke tells me he believes social occasions to be part of his obligations to your factory" Claggs said smoothly, pushing Smith still closer to the edge. "He says that he is forced to make desperate attempts to pass the Gileras in the corners, as for example in Spa and in Assen, and that constantly having to have to corner on the limit caused the terrible crash he had in Germany this summer." .P "No comment. I believe it was just a lack of concentration, after all he was leading at the time; the Gileras are unreliable you know." said Smith coldly. .P "The half-liter Nortons haven't been particularly free of breakdowns either" Claggs interjected "And the fours are obviously faster. Duke is on record as having said he needs a four to win next season in 1953. Where is the new water-cooled four-cylinder engine whose development you farmed out to BRM?" asked Claggs, skilfully disguising the rumour as a fait- accompli part of the question (a technique he had learnt in MI6). .P "Harumph..., Ah, well you see BRM are having trouble developing their 16 cylinder car engine, so they haven't been able to devote all the resources we expected to our four. But our four will just be a quarter of their two-liter 16 cylinder car engine. So if - er I mean when - they get that working over the coming winter, then our four would be immediately available" said Smith, on the defensive now. .P "Duke doesn't believe that. In fact a little bird called Austin Munks tells me that Duke has been talking to Commandatore Gilera, and that Ken Kavanagh wants to stay the number one rider at Norton and doesn't want Duke back here ?" suggested Claggs slyly. .P "What! Talking to Gilera behind my back !?!" stormed Smith, red faced again, "If that is true, then there is no place for Duke in the Norton Team!" .sp 1 GOTCHA ! thought Claggs silently but triumphantly, his scoop well and truly secured, more so than he had dreamed the day before, as he had extinguished his smouldering typewriter paper. .P The very next morning the headlines in the 'Birmingham Mail' screamed the Gilbert Smith quote at the astounded fans around the race-track at Silverstone. Not the least surprised being Geoff Duke himself who was busy practicing there on a 350 Norton! The Smith interview had paid off handsomely, thought Claggs as he saw the complete 'Duke/Norton'-story appear in the trade press the following week. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Four .sp 2 .ce Bavarian Blue .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P The Professor and his wife sat quietly at home, watching the new-fangled black and white television that the Soviets had introduced to demonstrate the superiority of soviet technology. It was a rare privilege to own one of the new TV sets, and the Ganders enjoyed the associated status it gave them. Normally there was a waiting list of over a year for delivery of the new-fangled machines, but since the Professor had agreed to partake in the research project as proposed by Pietrov Ismailovitch, the burocratic hassles that they were used to, seemed to have lessened, he reflected. His wife had remarked over dinner earlier that, although she still had to queue up at the shops as usual, they seemed to be better stocked, at least they had no longer run out of meat at the butcher's shop when she got to the head of the queue, as had often happened in the past. And they greeted her by name now, and not just as an anonymous number in the queue. To himself, the Professor recognised the correlation for what it was, not just the whims of pure chance nor a sudden general improvement in the state's economic plan for 1952. His subconscious mind also nagged him with the saying 'What is suddenly given, may be even more quickly taken away.'. Although he had started into the project last week with heart and soul, he realised at a deeper level what influence Ismailovitch wielded. .P "The glorious people's soviet republics achieved another symbolic victory over the despicable capitalist nations" shouted the television announcer, "Today in Novo Zimlaya, a nuclear device was tested which exceeds my a factor of three the megatonnage of the largest explosion that the abominable Americans have ever produced. The evil forces of capitalism must be aware of the people's right to defend themselves. Long live Joseff Stalin. Long live the U.S.S.R". The sound of the russian national anthem swelled up, followed by the anthem of the Democratic Republic of Germany, played somewhat more quietly. Still more propaganda, he thought sickly. In the west they had advertisments instead of propaganda he knew, wondering what was really better or worse. 'Between the devil and the deep blue sea' replied his subconscious mind. .P Tap, tap, tap. A short and subdued triple rap of the door knocker interrupted his thoughts. "Probably Dagmar at the door, looking to see if Wolfgang is here, having failed to find him at home in his flat" he said to his wife, levering himself out of his chair and turning the sound of the television off, leaving the propaganda announcer gesticulating wildly, but now somewhat ridiculously. .P "I doubt it" she replied "Wolfgang stays late every night in your labs now, working on that nasty man's project. He hasn't mentioned it to Dagmar of course." .P Professor Gander went to answer the quiet raps at the door. .P "Good evening, Comrade" said Ismailovitch from the shadows, "I have some information for you." .P "Ahh, Errr, Umm... well you'd better come in then" he replied with ill-graced annoyance. "Darling, it's Comrade Smile... ah,er, Ismailovitch. Why don't you go upstairs and leave us alone." he finished lamely. .P "Goodnight madam, I am sure you will sleep well. One usually does on a meat diet and a full stomach" he hinted meaningfully. "Let us sit down and drink a Stolichnaya together, my friend" he continued, talking to the Professor "then I will give you some information as I promised last week". .P Professor Gander went and got some glasses and silently accepted the proffered vodka. Ismailovitch slid a cardboard folder out of the briefcase and laid it quietly on the table between them. .P "Prost, comrade" said Ismailovitch "Let me read your project notebook, that old exercise book you keep.I will return it to you tomorrow morning at your laboratory in the university at nine o'clock. Be there on time. Wolfgang should be there too. I will have a solo machine for him to practice on, and an instructor for him. Then he won't need to ride that old Zundapp sidecar to work each morning. This evening you will also read this dossier. Do not copy out of it, and return it to me tomorrow morning too." .P "What's in the dossier?" asked the Professor, eyeing the white and blue folder suspiciously that lay silently on the table between them. .P "Why its the file on the BMW bikes and their development department of course, just as promised you." replied Ismailovitch, feigning hurt in his voice. .P "Ah yes, of course, you did say something about BMW. But I don't expect it to be very interesting. After all the BMW is a four-stroke you know and we are building a two-stroke as we agreed with you. Apropos two-strokes, my collegue Diplom Engineer Grasmann is leaving the university and turning his expertise to tuning two-stroke engines for Adler in Frankfurt am Main. It would be more useful if you could get information about Adler for us. And why shouldn't I copy relevant parts from this dossier, you surely don't expect me to remember it all photographically?" The Professor had plucked up courage and was querulous. .P "You may make notes if you wish, but be sure to use your own phraseology. we wouldn't want your notes to be recognisably part of the report" said Ismailovitch, visibly in a huff because the KGB folder had not been received with the awaited respect. "And remember you are working for me, and not the other way around" he barked,smiling tightly and icily, then swallowed both their vodkas, and stuffing the bottle back into the dilapidated brown briefcase, left the house rapidly but as quietly as he had arrived just ten minutes previously. .P The Professor looked at the dossier that Ismailovitch had brought with him. It was a white and blue plain cardboard folder containing about five sheets of paper. There were no indications on the folder of its KGB origin. The folder was simply closed with a plain piece of string. The string bore a seal of red sealing wax. There was nothing stamped in the wax in the way that state documents were usually sealed. Gingerly, he broke the seal. No alarms sounded, no bells rang. Reassured, he took out the five sheets of paper. Carbon copies. Paper not watermarked. Roman alphabet used,written in german but without any umlauts. So the typewriter used had been neither german nor russian, he deduced. Silently he began to read the contents of the dossier: .P "Report on the racing motorcycle development plans of the Bavarian Motor Works (BMW)", he read. "The racer development began 1935 under Schleicher and Hopf. Horizontally opposed twin, crankshaft along the axis of the bike, attached directly to an engine-speed single-plate clutch, which in turns feeds a four-speed foot-change gearbox driving a cardan shaft to the rear wheel. The front of the crankshaft bears a gearwheel driving two shafts via crown-wheels. The shafts turn overhead camshafts which open the valves via trailing cam-levers. Two valves per cylinder, closed by hairpin springs on a closed cambox. A second gearwheel, twice as large, drives the magnetos sitting on top of the engine. BMW will stay with this same engine concept for the forseeable future, even for the non-supercharged engines. However, this year (1952) BMW introduced a new frame and suspension system. No symmetrical vertical short-travel springs at the rear any more. Now they have a sprung rear subframe with long-stroked and well damped springs holding it. The subframe rotates about an axis just behind the gearbox. This axis is borne by the frame proper. The new front suspension system has a long-armed leading link Earles' fork instead of the telescopic fork of previous years' models. The petrol tank is voluminous and hangs deep down to just above the magnetos. During this season, the frame was changed again. It is now (suspiciously?) similar to the successful 'Featherbed' frame that Norton introduced. Experiments are also being made with fuel-injection, instead of normal carburation. The current racing version injects the fuel into the front of the trumpet shaped polished inlet. There is a still secret version in their research laboratories that injects the fuel into the inlet tract just in front of the throttle. This throttle no longer has a circular cross- section, rather it is a thin flat sliding plate on the lab's prototype. .P The research department is also developing a production racer, but we estimate that they are at least eighteen months away from completion; it may not be available until 1954. For the unlikely event that development be completed in time for it to compete next (1953) season, we append such data as are available: .P It will be named RS53 or RS54, depending on the date it is made available for sale. Carburettors instead of fuel injection, the latter being regarded as very experimental. BMW plan to build 25 of these racers, to give the up-and-coming riders (such as Riedelbach) a chance too. The engine has a 72 mm stroke and a 66mm bore. The current compression ratio of the sole prototype is 8 to 1, and secret test runs on the dynamometer show 34 kW at 8500 rpm already. We expect that a higher compression ratio will be used (since higher octane petrol is available than the 'pool' petrol of the immediate post-war era. The power will rise accordingly, but since the piston speed is already 204 meters per second, the engine cannot be made to rev much faster without causing reliability problems. For comparison the 1952 Manx Norton has a bore of 79 mm and an extremely long stroke of 100mm, so even at only 6000 rpm it also has 20 m/sec average piston speed. .P This machine weighs barely 130 kilograms. We have taken full- frontal photographs and calculated the frontal area. We therefore estimate that this machine should be able to reach an unstreamlined speed of 195 km/h, depending on the stature of the riders. The BMW works riders this year were Walter Zeller, Hans and George Meier (separate dossiers on these men can be compiled if necessary). Zeller is the rider favoured by the factory; we expect other accomplished riders such as Wiggerl Kraus to retire from active racing soon, either this winter, or at the end of the coming season. .P There are also rumours that, because of political infighting within the company, BMW has threatened to withdraw support for a works team and most of the racing research department if they do not consistently beat the Nortons over the next two seasons. We think this is a very limited period of grace for such a new machine, bearing in mind the very experimental nature of some of the BMW technology. A small group is working on a very advanced long-term project for a short-stroke (64mm) large-bore (70mm) engine. Theoretically this should turn over at 9000 rpm and, if we extrapolate that improvements in the quality of the fuel will permit compression ratios of ten and a half within two years, then this engine might deliver 48 to 49 kiloWatts. .sp 1 Summary: since we expect Norton to produce a short-stroke engined Manx Norton for next season, with better cornering clearance than the BMW, we do not expect BMW to be a serious threat to Norton in 1953 or even 1954. Remember also that Norton riders such as Geoff Duke already know all of the international racing circuits, and because we Germans were banned from international racing until this season, the BMW riders still have to learn them. This only serves to emphasize our opinion that BMW will not be very successful in the senior class (500cc)." .P Professor Gander looked around absentmindedly for his old exercise book in order to make some notes before he came out of his daydream and remembered that Ismailovitch had borrowed it. Going to the chest of drawers in the corner of the living room he took out a single sheet of poor quality paper from the meager stock his wife had deposited there, and sat down at the table, asking himself what the essence of the contents of the folder was. The KGB were very thorough he thought, but the details of their four-stroke engine wasn't going to be of any use to him, other than giving him a lower limit for the power his own engine would have to produce. No, he thought, if these dossiers are going to be of any use, then I will have to tell them what kind of data we need. .P Thumbing through the five thin sheets of the closely typed report he began to take telegram-style notes which he would transfer to his project notebook when it was returned to him: .P First, a longitudinal crankshaft is a bad idea due to the gyroscopic forces caused by such an arrangement which will cause the bike to lean over depending on the engine speed, and as a secondary effect will cause the rear suspension to rise on each gear change. Second, we must investigate why they think the Earles' fork is preferable to a telescopic fork. We will perhaps need the assistance of a physicist here, he thought, seeing as how suspension systems are not my speciality. Third, we should stick to carburettors, fuel injection is too experimental in the short term; on the other side, the idea of flat-slided throttles will reduce the overall width by perhaps 4 centimeters, which is important as the carbs jut out of the sides of the disc valves. Fourth, keep the weight well below 130 kg, and minimise the frontal area of the bike. Finally Wolfgang should study the riding styles of the famous riders to see what they do better than their less good competitors. .P Well satisfied with the action-list he had just written, the Professor started to put his pencil down. Then he smiled inwardly and pencilled in a final note before going to bed: Sixthly, keep a duplicate copy of all notes, just in case Ismailovitch decides to borrow the exercise-book 'permanently'. After all it was Joseff Stalin himself who had said "Trust is good, but mistrust is better". .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Five .sp 2 .ce Horex Imperator .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Tuesday's sun arose wearily, as if it was itself damp and chilly. A thin layer of altostratus cloud had shoved itself between the sun and the Dresden skyline during the night, following the high cirrus ice clouds of the previous afternoon. As the sun fought to gain altitude in the bleak autumn sky the clouds thickened and lowered, presenting the promise of rain. Wolfgang looked out of the window after an early breakfast, and recognising the approaching warm-front for what it was, took the black waxed-cotton Belstaff riding suit out of the cupboard.Being careful not to sit anywhere on the upholstery, he sat instead on the tiled floor of the hallway while he pulled on the trousers that he had freshly waxed the previous evening, mindful of the approaching winter season. A freshly waxed Belstaff can cause black marks on the chairs and thus black looks from landladies. Then he would be the one with the black marks, and it would take weeks to get back on speaking terms. He pulled on the old army issue boots that he used for riding, and standing up, donned the jacket. He put a small hand towel around his neck before doing up the neckstrap of the Belstaff. The english riding suit was very waterproof, he mused, but the towel stops the drops that ran down his Cromwell helmet from running down inside his collar. .P "Going to rain today, is it ?" asked his fellow-lodger, coming into the hall " Because you only put that lot on when you're expecting a downpour. And you're not usually wrong, so I'd best take an umbrella too." .P "You do that" laughed Wolfgang "There'll be that interminable drizzle all afternoon and rain all night before it clears up tomorrow". He walked outside to his trusty old Zundapp sidecar outfit, peeled the silvery-grey waterproof cover off, and stowed it in the sidecar boot. Now for the morning ritual of persuading the stubborn old donkey of an engine to fire. .P Wolfgang repeated the procedure silently to himself, like a pilot reading off a checklist. Ignition off. Turn over the engine on the kickstarter a couple of times to break the cold oil seals and move each valve. Petrol tap open. Choke closed. Throttle closed. Tickle the float one-two-three-four seconds; that's enough or she'll flood the sparking plug wet and then we'll be here for at least another ten minutes.Using the kickstarter, bring the piston up to top-dead-centre (TDC) against the compression. Make sure it's the right TDC by listening whether the carburettor inhales; you don't want to be on the exhaust stroke! Remember to pull the ignition timing-point lever back to the 'retarded' position ( that saves a bruised ankle). Check that the gears are in neutral and turn on the ignition. Open the throttle about one quarter to one third. Final checklist item: pray! With a mighty leap on the kickstarter the engine blubbered reluctantly into its usual grumbling, uneven throttle-closed running: Blub, Blub, Bang, Bang, Blub, Bang, Brrm, Brrrrrrrrm, Brrm, Bang, Pop, Brrrrrm, Brrrrrrm. .P As the engine warmed Wolfgang offered quick thanks to heaven that the Zundapp had started without more than its usual unwillingness, and pulled on his left glove. It was not without reason that he had nicknamed the outfit "Oremus", he thought. And the local catholic priest had thought he was a devout lad for doing so, without divining the real reason. .P Opening the choke, Wolfgang chugged off to Dagmar's house to collect her. Bundling her into the sidecar he drove first to the library, where he dropped her off. Then he continued to the research institute, parking the machine just inside the wide sliding doors of the machine hall. He deposited the Belstaff in the sidecar which he then locked. .P "Good Morning Professor" he said as he walked breezily into Gander's office. "Oh, and morning to you Comrade Ismailovitch" he added, suddenly noticing the two men sitting across from the Professor. .P "Punctual as usual, Wolfgang" smiled Ismailovitch "May I introduce Werner Kowalski. He's here to teach you to ride the racer." .P "But I already know how to ride a motorbike, I've been doing it for over a year on the Zundapp, I don't need teaching!" protested Wolfgang. .P Werner smiled silently, then in a voice of infinite gentleness said "You ride well Wolfgang. Very well indeed. But you ride instinctively. I'm just going to give you some hints and teach you some of the basic physics of riding. Plus, Pietrov here has obtained some advertising films from the Shell Oil company, so we'll be able to see world class riders in action and study their styles. As soon as we agree that you are up to their standard you can be sure that I will withdraw. Once you're past the basics you will develop your own style anyway, and I will neither obstruct nor be obtrusive. I'm just here to help." .P "Well that's all right then" said Wolfgang, mollified by Werner's gentle tone. "But we'll need something to practice on while the racer is being built, and not something as lame as my old Zundapp." .P "Exactly" replied Werner "Come with me, Pietrov and I have a little surprise out in the back yard." .P All four of them clattered downstairs, led by an eager young Wolfgang; Werner smiled to himself, inwardly satisfied that Wolfgang's initial resistance had been lessened. .P There in the yard, strapped onto a car-trailer stood a gleaming Horex Imperator. Or what at appeared to Wolfgang's first impression to be a Horex Imperator twin. Then he noticed that it just resembled the roadworthy series-bike. But there was no lighting system. And no stands. And twin megaphones instead of silencers. And a hunch-backed bucket seat. And an open,dry clutch instead of the usual enclosed wet clutch. And short clip-on handlebars. .P "It's a 'Renn-Imperator'" he breathed, eyes wide. "I've only ever seen photos, never seen one in the flesh. I'll bet it goes like clappers. Let's go out to the aerodrome and try it out around the perimeter roads" he pleaded. .P "No, Wolfgang" said Werner smiling quietly "We'll do that this afternoon. I have to give you some background information first, and get you acquainted with the machine before you go haring off into the wild blue yonder, or more likely into the hedge at the first corner. This isn't a comic strip you know!" .P They all went back upstairs and Ismailovitch, grinning unusually, offered to make some coffee. Werner began to talk in his quiet unhurried manner: .P "The Horex factory is in the Taunus woods at Homburg, to the north of Frankfurt on Main, not all that far from the Adler works you know. Karl Braun from Karlsruhe was German national sidecar champion as early as 1935 on a Horex parallel twin, with Badsching in the sidecar. After the war Horex introduced the 'Regina' model at the end of the 1949 season. The Regina is a modern bike, with sprung rear wheel, a duplex frame not unlike the Norton Featherbed, a front brake drum that fills the whole width of the axle and a telescopic fork up front. So the handling is quite good, although not up to Featherbed standards, it's a whole lot better than the KR35 used to be. Sch”n raced the 350 Regina single at Eilenriede in 1950, overtaking all the imported 7R AJSs,but the float chamber broke off due to excessive vibrations, so he didn't finish. But the 350 single collected an impressive number of wins on local tracks." .P Ismailovitch reentered the room, accompanied by a fantastic smell. "Fresh coffee, comrades, courtesy of the black market" he announced proudly. Professor Gander enjoyed a taste he hadn't had for the last eight years, wondering awhile about the dubious contacts that Ismailovitch had. Wolfgang, who had never tasted it before, just complained that it didn't really taste like 'Mucke-fuch' at all; much too strong. .P "As I was saying, before we were so pleasantly interrupted" said Werner, smiling over the brim of his cup "The 350 was a mayfly, just for the 1950 season, because the chief Horex development engineer, Oelerich, together with Schlachter and Reeb were secretly building a 500cc square- headed double overhead camshaft twin with large-finned aluminium cylinders, and hairpin valve-springs. Mr. Norton himself still held the patent on desmodromic gear, and, although none of his motorcycles used desmodromic valve control, he wasn't about to license his patent to any potential competitor ( although he is known to be negotiating with Mercedes Benz who want to use desmodromic valve gear in their Silver Arrow racing cars." .P "Tell us more technical details, especially about the motor" interrupted the Professor. .P "Very well" continued Werner "Their experiments last year led to the use of a reverse cone at the end of the megaphone, this had the effect of spreading the power band wider. Pietrov tells me that Grasmann has suggested a similar idea for your two-stroke. The twin delivers at least 34 kiloWatt and is geared for 193 km/h down the straight. And that is without the delphin fairing they developed." .P "What is a delphin fairing?" interrupted Wolfgang. .P "It's a piece of aluminium hammered to provide a streamlined airflow around the handlebars, steering head and front of the tank. The cylinders are left exposed for cooling reasons, so the riders legs are still out in the breeze. However, there is a small perspex screen on top and a downwardly curved extension on the front that replaces the mudguard. This mudguard-cum-fairing has the same profile characteristic of a porpoise or a delphin, and that's where the nickname same from. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the Horex rider can tuck himself down behind the screen, his arms inside the fairing, and so keep out of the wind. And that makes the bike a lot faster; reportedly they can pull two teeth higher on the rear sprocket along the straights of the Avus in Berlin." .P "Aha, the drag coefficient is decreased" murmered the Professor, taking notes avidly in his dilapidated old exercise-book which had been returned to him earlier. "You still haven't told me enough. What's the bore and stroke, and how fast does the engine turn over?" .P "It's 65 by 75 mm, and it turns at 7000 rpm, Professor" interjected Ismailovitch " And if you don't believe me , you can measure it yourself, because the machine that Werner just described is the one that's lashed onto the trailer standing in the back yard." Professor Gander was speechless. .P "Wow!" breathed Wolfgang "34 kW, that's 45 PS as the english count! That's getting competitive with a Manx Norton! And that's for me to practice on? Little old me? I just can't wait; lead me on, when do we start?" .P "Calm down, Wolfgang said Werner. We all know that a Horex can run away from a Porsche sports car for example. But you just said some very important words, so I'd like to repeat them back to you, and the implications thereof." .P "What words?" .P "Little old me. Practice. 45 PS. And when do we start. Those are important words Wolfgang" said Werner earnestly."There's no use going at this project as if you were a jokey cartoonist who merely races as a hobby, this is serious business. Firstly, little: It's true you are little, one meter sixtytwo to be exact and you weigh about 60 kilos. I weigh eighty kilos in my leathers and am one meter eightyone high. So both in terms of potential acceleration you have a twenty kilo advantage, and in terms of top speed as limited by frontal area you have a potential advantage too." .P "You race too?" exploded Wolfgang incredulously. .P "Well yes, Wolfgang, otherwise I wouldn't be here to teach you; there would be no point." explained Werner quietly. Continuing he said "The second word was 'old'. I'm 46 now Wolfgang, and getting slower with age you see, being more careful, less risky. You however are still in your teens. And although you have a great natural talent, you still take too many risks. So my job is to make you simply aware of what you are doing at all times on the race track. That way, any risks are calculated ones, based on deep situational knowledge and my experience. Not risks taken in youthful hot-bloodedness. So the next word was 'practice'. And you are going to need lots of it. But you also need to get really fit. Despite your meagre 60 kilos, you probably couldn't run a kilometer in less than three minutes" Werner smiled sweetly but knowingly. "Racing a motorbike is sheer hard physical work demanding a great deal of uninterrupted concentration and powers of observation. It's not just sitting on top and turning a twistgrip like it is on the Zundapp you have 'acquired'. .P Wolfgang turned light pink, whether from embarrassment or guilt, only he knew. .P Werner continued: "The next word was 45 PS. You must realise that if we are to win, Gander's design mus produce about 70 KiloWatt or 90 PS. After all the Gilera four stroke fours are up to around 70 PS. we can ignore the Nortons with their measly 50 PS. And that is a whole new dimension for you. You've been used to that Zundapp with twenty, maybe thirty PS. And we have to train you for 90 PS. So the Horex is just an intermediate step. It will get you used to a solo motorcycle and 50 PS, now that 'Oilyfoot' Oelrich has tuned it. But then you'll need another giant step. doubling the power again perhaps. So there's no point you learning exact braking points or what gear to be in on what corner, because Gander's two- stroke will be different again from the Horex. But the Horex is a necessary intermediate step." he admonished. "Finally, when do we start, I suggest right now, before the rain starts this afternoon. The Horex has raced one full season, so it is well run in, even if rather unreliable. Let's just drive the trailer out to the aerodrome and ride it around the perimeter track." .P No sooner said than done. At the seldomly used aerodrome they unloaded the Horex and warmed it up carefully. .P "Wolfgang, just drive it around, being careful not to drop it due to the gravel on the inside of each corner. When you've got the feel of it wave as you go past us, and Pietrov will use his stopwatch to time your laps. I will walk around the inside of the track, to see how you take the corners." Werner said "And if you go too fast too soon, or if you drop it, I will personally beat the living daylights out of you!". .P Wolfgang rode off for the first lap.And a second, and a third. Then he began going faster, now that he knew where the corners were. Lap six, and he almost overshot the righthander at the end of the long straight; the Horex' brakes weren't really up to the power if the engine and had faded slightly. Lap seven was slower being more cautious. At the end of lap nine Wolfgang waved at Pietrov as he passed him and really started piling on the coals. .P "I'll show them, with their emphasis on training" Wolfgang thought, "I've got the hang of this now, I'll show them how to race this Horex!". Lap ten: Two minutes and sixteen seconds. With a flying start Wolfgang tucked himself behind the flyscreen on the little aluminium 'Dolphin' and peeled off two minutes and fourteen seconds for lap eleven. During lap twelve he frightened himself again as the Horex' drum brakes faded a little, and turned in two minutes and fifteen seconds. Then he toured on, slowing down for a final circuit and stopped next to the excited trio abeam the trailer. .P "How was that " he beamed "fantastic, hey. Soon got the hang of it didn't I?". First spots of rain began to fall. .P "Not bad at all, Wolfgang" said Werner "Although you are taking the wrong line in places, braking too early and ignoring the road surface conditions too. But we'll soon get that sorted out, just a few months practice I promise you......" .P "What?" exploded Wolfgang "You loudmouth! Call yourself a trainer? If you and your old pot belly can do any better I'll eat my helmet!" he screamed angrily, alternating between red and white facial colours as he remembered how near he had been to sliding off. .P Werner said nothing.He just got on the Horex, put on his helmet which had been lying on the trailer, bump-started the engine again and nodded to Pietrov who had the stop-watch. Then he took off like a scalded cat, rear wheel spinning slightly, throwing up a little plume of rainwater. Rainwater flavoured with burnt rubber. As he changed up, the front wheel could be seen pawing the air before he disappeared from view into the first lefthander. The high whine of 7000 rpm dropped as he screamed past after his first lap, spraying a high wet plume behind him. .P "Two minutes ten seconds" said Pietrov with a straight face, "And in the wet from a standing start". Wolfgang looked incredulous. The second lap was two minutes even. Wolfgang looked chastised at the cold ticking evidence of Pietrov's stopwatch.The final lap was one minute fifty-eight. Wolfgang was mortified. Werner rolled the Horex quietly up to the trailer after his three laps and killed the engine. Apart from the creaking and cracking of the engine cooling you could have heard a pin drop. The rain was pouring steadily now. .P "As I was saying, Wolfgang, you need to improve your style a little. And that takes practice,practice, practice." .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Six .sp 2 .ce Starting small .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Back in the university laboratories Professor Gander first of all made a hot cup of coffee for everyone, on the excuse that everybody was chilled by the rain and thus needed warming up. Really of course, he was hungry for Ismailovitch's fresh ground black market coffee. Secretly he spooned some into an envelope to take back to his wife, where he would brag that he himself had bought it on the black market. Silently the three of them, Wolfgang, Werner and himself sipped the dark smooth liquid blackness. .P "Ahhhh." sighed the Professor appreciatively, finishing his cup, "Now to business. Yesterday we decided to go for a two stroke disc-valve four. But for economic reasons, as well as ease of tuning, I think we should build a 125cc single first. This would have the advantage that we can test and tune it on our existing dynamometer. And we won't get any masking effects due to minor inequalities in the cylinders. Yesterday I read up on the necessary background information. I have decided that we shall build an oversquare cylinder, that is, the bore larger than the stroke. I suggest 56 mm bore and 50.6 mm stroke. That gives us 498cc for the four, and lets the engine rev reliably at 10000 and rev on up to 11500 if necessary. Our collegue Grasmann, who incidentally will be leaving us soon to tune two-stroke racers for Adler in Frankfurt, was kind enough to give me the benefit of his experience and has suggested a preliminary design for what he calls an acoustically resonant exhaust chamber." .P "Whoa, that's much too fast for me Professor" cried Wolfgang "Everybody else uses long-stroke small bored engines. Allegedly it gives them more low- and mid-range torque. Why do we have to go off into the unexplored territory of large bore short-stroke oversquare cylinders?" .P "It's a matter of logical necessity my lad" he replied condescendingly. "You see there is a known limit at which metal may rub against metal. So the average piston speed dictates the speed at which the engine may turn. And the more power strokes per minute the better. So shorter strokes make for more revs which make for more power. Now since the engine will be turning over faster, we have much less time to get the burnt mixture out of the cylinders and to transfer the fresh mixture from the crankcase into the combustion chamber. So the more ports we can have in the cylinder wall, and the wider the transfer ports are, the more mixture we can pump through the cylinder in the limited time available." .P "I understand" replied Wolfgang "Do go on, please." .P "Now the exhaust gases are under high pressure, so they more or less take care of themselves. Because the disc valves feed the mixture directly into the crankcase, we don't have to sacrifice any of the circumference of the cylinder for inlet ports, so we can dedicate most of it to transfer port area. However we will still need to have about eight or nine posts in the cylinder wall to stop the piston rings expanding out into the port areas under the pressure of their own springs. Because then they could jam in the ports and ruin the engine. So I suggest we use a single wide exhaust port, with a bridging post down the centre to stop the piston rings entering the port. That leaves us with room for seven transfer ports, separated by posts to keep the piston rings in place. And we'll splay the two transfer ports that are next to the bridged exhaust port slightly away from the exhaust ports. That will keep the fresh gas swirling in the cylinder longer with less chance of it sneaking out the side." .P "Talking of pistons and piston rings" Werner interrupted "It seems to me that it would be desirable to keep the oscillating masses as low as possible, so we should keep the pistons light and have as few rings as possible. Perhaps we don't really need two compression rings at the top and an oil scraper at the bottom. After all, on a racer we are not particularly concerned about a somewhat higher oil consumption." .P "True, true" continued the Professor, now in full flight of his technical dreams, and not easily stopped. "That is an excellent idea Werner, I might almost have said it myself" .P "You will, you undoubtedly will" said Werner sotto voce, smiling to himself. .P "We can choose then, between cast-iron cylinder liners which have the advantage of not being so sensitive to differential thermal expansion as aluminium liners; and alternatively aluminium liners, with the problems I just stated, and which would need to be nikasil-plated to achieve the necessary hardness. The cast iron cylinders probably need two rings, and with the aluminium liners we can probably get away with having just one, which would keep the pistons lighter as you suggested. I have another idea too: if we plate the pistons with molybdenum then we get a smooth finish and the necessary hardness and don't need to spend time running the pistons in." "Let's go for the single piston ring in a nikasil-coated aluminium cylinder then" said Werner "After all the engine is going to be liquid cooled so that should minimise any potential thermal distortion problems." .P "Yes. That's decided then." said the Professor, rapidly entering notes into his precious exercise book. "Grasmann also gave me a theoretical idea for the exhaust port. Something he's never tried out though. He suggests that we put a sleeve valve around the cylinder and use it to vary the position of the edge of the exhaust port depending on the engine speed." .P "Well that's not a particularly bright idea," interrupted Wolfgang scathingly "as any fool can see. If we use all of the circumference of the cylinder for transfer ports, then there are going to be so many cut-outs in the sleeve valve that we won't be able to guide it properly. Plus, if we connect that sleeve valve to the twistgrip then its position won't vary with engine speed but with the butterfly valves in the throttle." .P "Oh dearie me, oh dear." wailed the Professor "That's right." .P "I've got a suggestion" Werner put in gently "We could use a semi-cylindrical valve, twice the diameter of the exhaust pipe. Put it directly adjacent to the normal exhaust port. Then we could use the pulses from one of the new electrical rev-counters and rectify them to provide current for a little electric motor to open the valve as a true function of the engine speed. It wouldn't need to work over the whole range, I guess the top quarter of the rev range, above 7500, we will need the valve fully open anyway." .P "That sound terribly complicated," replied the Professor doubtfully, "and probably liable to vibration problems, you know how sensitive electrical systems are to vibration. Why I remember during the war ....." .P "Well then" Werner butted in, blocking off the boring reminiscences before they could get established. "I'll make you a deal. I'll build such a set-up with an electrically controlled semi-cylindrical valve in the cylinder head. And if it doesn't work like Grasmann says it should, then we'll replace it with a straight feed-through into the exhaust pipe, OK?" he said brightly. .P "Er, um, well yes. I don't suppose we can go wrong there, seeing as how it leaves us both options open. And Grasmann is a bright fellow after all, so there may be something in it. Okay" the Professor agreed, jotting yet another design decision into his dilapidated little exercise book. .P "Good, that's that then." breezed Werner briskly. "Now what about the inlet side?" .P "Disc valves we said" put in Wolfgang, more to show that he was still there and paying attention rather than in the hope of making any really constructive contribution. .P "Yes Werner. Disc valves." smiled Professor Gander gently. "After all they give us the potential advantage of asymmetrical inlet timing. But we don't really know either exactly when they should open, nor when they should close. And MZ haven't published the results of their research. I know, because your girl friend Dagmar tried looking them up for me in the library the other day. And there weren't any; MZ play their cards very close to their chests and keep it all a factory secret. I suppose we could ask Ismailovitch to try to find out. But we'll make up a half a dozen different discs, no lets say nine, with three different opening angles and three different closing angles and try them out ourselves. And if we put them on a finely splined shaft, then we can even vary their absolute angles finely too. That's probably faster than having Ismailovitch spying for secret results. After all, he had the BMW dossier more or less up his sleeve when we started. Let's see how long it takes him to find out data about the Adler machines. Besides the KGB is probably better able to collect data in the capitalist part of occupied Germany than in the soviet occupied zone of our DDR. And there's no way we want to go and ask the Stasi anything!" .P "Well OK" replied Wolfgang "and even I can understand that we need to pre-compress the mixture to force it through the transfer ports. The piston does that as it comes down. So to get a good compression we need to minimise the volume of the crankcase. So that means making the connecting-rod as narrow as possible and putting full size, narrow-clearance flywheels on the crankshaft instead of the bobweights you used on the Trabbi design. If we keep the piston skirts short too, then we can reduce the length of the con-rod which helps keep the crankcase volume small" Wolfgang said brightly, happy that he was able to contribute to the discussion again. .P Werner chipped in "Actually, when I referred to the inlet side, I was thinking more about the carburation, you know. We want to be able to lean the bike over hard, Professor, without having an unnecessarily high centre of gravity. This means minimising the width of the engine block. The corollary of that is that the carburettors must have very short stubs leading to the disc valves, almost no length at all in fact. And the inlet horns for the carbs will either have to be very short too, of we bend them forward through ninety degrees to get an additional ram-air effect at high speed." .P "Yes, I've recognised that problem and made some notes the other day" said the Professor flipping back in his notebook. "The average gas velocity dictates that we aim for 26,27, or 28 mm diameter inlet diameter at the carburettor throats. And the butterfly valves for the throttles are superfluous. we can cut down on overall width by using a flat slide, like on the BMW injectors. However neither Amal nor Dell' Orto make a flat-slide carb, so we'll have to make it ourselves. I'll put one of the students on the job; Michael can build them after he has finished the tyre friction measurements. He can build it in 28 mm and put constricting rings in if we need them smaller." .P "Okay. And the output side ? what about Grasmann's suggestion?" Wolfgang asked the Professor. .P "Ah yes. You're good at welding lad. Much better than I am. Here's Grasmann's sketch. You weld up an exhaust system like this over the next few weeks and we'll try it out. In the meantime I'll spend the next few days drawing up the blueprints for the motor incorporating all the decisions we made today. As I said, we'll build a 125cc single first and tune that, before we go on to the four. Werner, would you arrange with the university's experimental foundry facilities for them to cast the motor block in aluminium for us? Reserve some time with them for next week for us, I'll need a week to do all the drawings probably". .P "Will do, Prof." replied Wolfgang "But I need some data from you for my own purposes. This engine is going to have a very narrow power band, even compared with the Gilera. After all, it's oversquare, short stroked and uses that acoustic resonance trick to get more peak power. Now the Norton uses four gears. And the Gilera reputedly five. So if I'm going to design the gearbox for the four I need to know how many gears you think we'll need. And I'll need to know the maximum power output each gear needs to transmit, so I can decide on the width of each cog." .P "I guess we should have seven or eight gears, and we might achieve 90 kilowatts one day" said the Professor after some thought. .P "No way I can keep count of eight gears" interjected Wolfgang quickly. .P "He's right you know. With too many gears any rider will probably lose count. Anyway eight gears each capable of transferring 90 kW would make the whole assembly far too wide. I suggest six as a good compromise. With six you won't lose count, and I can build the box narrow enough. Besides if the idea of the exhaust port variable timing valve works as well, then that should spread the power somewhat." .P "All right then. Six. Now let's all get to work. we want to have the single running on the brake by the end of this month!" .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Seven .sp 2 .ce Tricks of the trade .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "First things first" said Werner to Wolfgang and the other three students assembled in the lab. "As you all know, the cornering speed of a motorcycle depends on the radial acceleration that can be achieved. The theoretically possible radial acceleration obviously depend on the coefficient of friction between the rubber of the tires and the various types of road surface. We need to measure that. Anybody got any ideas how? That can be a degree project, but we need answers quickly." .P "I have a suggestion" piped up Michael, one of the brighter students. "I'll get half a dozen planks, take them down to the Department of Road Maintenance at the town hall, and ask them to coat them with the different types of tar, bitumen,asphalt of whatever they use. They can do it whenever they're out repairing the roads; they do that each autumn anyway before the winter ice ravages more potholes. And I'll cast a concrete slab myself. Then we'll suspend the Horex from a crane and lower it onto one of the coated planks. We then gradually tip the plank sideways until the Horex starts to slip, and measure the angle of the plank where the slip starts. Because that's what we really need to know. The angle, I mean" he finished excitedly. .P "Good idea Michael" Werner responded enthusiastically "You go off and get started. I'll ask comrade Pietrov to acquire different makes of racing tyres, and then you can do comparative measurements. The second problem though is to make the rider aware of how close he is to the maximum possible angle of lean. So we have a psychological problem and we need reliable means of measuring the lean angle when travelling at speed on possibly uneven surfaces. That's the purely mechanical problem; anybody got an idea ?" .P "Yes" replied Dieter, another of the students. "We can do two things. We can build a small accelerometer and mount it next to the revcounter in the riders field of view. We graduate the scale expanding it tangentially giving the angle of lean. Or we could attach a stiff piece of thick wire, probably a piece of welding rod would do, to the Horex front down tubes. We bend the rod downwards at about 45 degrees. Depending on the length of the rod we use the lower end will start to scratch the road surface earlier or later. The rider hears the scratching noise and knows when to stop leaning. Depending on the angles that Michael measures, we can make the rod a little bit longer, so that it warns us just before break-away would occur." he suggested. .P "Well maybe" said Werner "However, your accelerometer will probably be rather susceptible to bumpiness of the roads; you see it's not just a problem in theoretical physics, we have to consider the real world" he explained gently, to avoid undue disappointment on Dieter's part. "The rod sounds like a better idea, but you will have to bear a couple of things in mind. The rod will wear out at the lower end, and it must me stiff enough not to get bent back, but not thick enough to lever the bike off the road, like a side-stand sometimes does. I suggest you shape the lower end of the rod into a semicircle pointing backwards, that way the lowest point of the rod gives the acoustic warning, but has no real leverage on the frame. Try both ideas, Dieter, to see which is more practicable. Personally I think the rod will be the better idea, because the angle a rider leans over is mostly a psychological problem. So we make your rod long at first, and when Wolfgang can scratch it consistently without getting nervous, we shorten it. By repeating the procedure we can train you for large angles of lean near the limit, and consistently, without fear setting in Wolfgang. And Dieter can maybe patent the idea if it turns out to be good. You know, beginners only bank over about twenty degrees, riders on public roads about thirty, and racers like Schorsch Meier and Geoff Duke about forty to fortyfive. Wolfgang was leaning about thirty to thirtyfive degrees out at the aerodrome the other day." .P "What about us?" asked the other three students who had been silent until now "What should we do?" .P "Well one of the secrets of high speed racing is out- cornering the others. And that's not all done by angle of lean. The later I can brake for a corner, the longer I keep a higher speed, and so my average speed rises. Wolfgang was braking too early at the aerodrome, probably because he's more used to the weight of the Zundapp than the Horex which is lighter. So Bernie, you think about building a maximally efficient brake, one that doesn't get out of true continually like the simplex drum brake on the Horex. And that doesn't fade after repeated applications from two hundred km/h" Werner said. He went on "Then of course there's the suspension problem. I mentioned bumpy roads earlier. And some of the more difficult racetracks like Brnn in Tcheckoslovakia, of the Nrburgring and worst of all the Isle of Man, are more like a sequence of molehills attached to each other than like a smooth piece of tarmac, when taken at speed. So Henry, you think please about making a torsionally stiff frame. One that doesn't wave about at the slightest breeze, like the garden gates used to do. But avoid transgressing any possible Norton patents on the 'Featherbed'. After all, if they patent that this winter, and our frame is similar, we may not be able to use it. Let alone the legal hassles. Finally there's the front fork for Joe to think about. Do a comparative study of the telescopic fork, leading- and trailing-link forks, Earles types and of course girder forks, Joe. Go for maximum sensitivity but without causing wheel patter. Then suggest the best compromise. Build it, and then we'll attach it to your collegues frame, and I'll test it as soon as it's ready." .P "And I?" asked Wolfgang "What should I do?" .P "You are going to be a very busy young man" smiled Werner "You have to get yourself really fit. You have to learn to lean over another ten degrees of so. You have to learn to read road surfaces. You have to learn where, and how much, to accelerate and to break. And since your Diploma will be in engine tuning you have to help the Professor on the rainy days, in his lab. I will be teaching you what I can, and designing the gearbox, which is something I know a little about." .sp 1 - - - - - .sp 1 Michael came back a week later from the town hall's roads department. He had spent the week holding thick planks under various steam-rollers at different points around the district where different types of road surface were being laid. He now had a splendid collection of surfaced planks. He had also built a little wooden frame and had cast a concrete plank himself, using the same concrete mix recipe that the Autobahn people had used. It was correspondingly heavy. The Horex was suspended by ropes and pulleys above the first plank. The side of the plank was held up by stone blocks at the edge. Michael measured the angle with a protractor. Forty degrees. The Horex was lowered gently onto the planks and stayed put, not sliding sideways. Michael pulled on the rope, raising the Horex and moved the stone blocks at the side of the plank inwards by a centimeter. The protractor showed forty-two degrees. He lowered the Horex again to see if it slid.It didn't, so he repeated the procedure, his biceps muscles beginning to ache from hoisting the bike up and down. .P "Let's see" he mused, talking quietly to himself "We are going to try four different tyre manufacturers, Dunlop, Avon, Pirelli and Metzeler. Each produce two different racing rubber mixes, one with tread for wet,rainy, roads and the treadless ones for dry roads. Four times two is eight experiments. Then I'm going to need to try all angles, say between forty and fiftyfive degrees, in one degree steps. That's fifteen steps. Eight times fifteen is a hundred and twenty. Then the same again with the planks wet. That makes two hundred and forty. Then the same again with say ten percent above the manufacturers tire pressure recommendation and ten percent below. Three times two hundred and forty is, let me see, seven hundred and twenty. And in practice under real race conditions the tires warm up of course, due to their natural flexing and the hysteresis "S"-curve of the rubber,so I really ought to warm the tires before I do all of this. By the time I've hauled this heavy Horex up and down seven hundred and twenty times, I'm going to have a magnificent biceps if not a pulled back. So I'm going to change to pulleys with a higher ratio." .P Next morning Michael changed the pulleys and borrowed a gas-flask powered radiant heater from the university janitor and positioned it just below and in front of the rear tyre. Then every time he raised the Horex he turned the wheel one eighth of a turn, so that the warm section of the tire was lowered onto the plank. Of course heating the tire in this way meant that he had to spend a quarter of an hour heating it uniformly first and then adjusting the tire pressure. He had been out on the previous afternoon to watch Wolfgang's second practice session at the aerodrome, and had taken the opportunity of measuring the tire temperature at the end of ten laps. He began the onerous repetitive muscle-tiring task of taking the seven hundred and twenty measurements. .P "Three minutes on average per experiment" he said quietly to himself "That's twenty an hour. That's a hundred and twenty each day, allowing for set-up time, breaks, interruptions and lunch. So I'm going to be here bored to tears here for at least a week. And probably weak." he punned. so he went upstairs and borrowed the radio from the Professor's office, just for some distraction whilst he went through the chores repetitively. "I had expected a scientific research project to be a stimulating intellectual challenge" he confided to Werner at the end of the week, "but that was just sheer backbreaking hard work! Anyway here are the tables resulting from the measurements. And a bill for four gas-flasks from the janitor for us." .P "I'll send that to Ismailovitch to pay" promised Werner. .P Just then Dieter came into the room holding a small silver coloured tube proudly before him. "Here's the accelerometer" he said happily. .P "Tell us how it works please" smiled Werner, recognising that Dieter was bursting to tell them anyway. .P "Well I got hold of a piece of five millimeter bore copper piping from the janitor and chrome-plated it inside and out because I didn't want it developing verdegris in the wet. Then I went and got a four point nine millimeter steel ball bearing from the stores and weighed it. So I looked for a spring with a progression rate of about a tenth of that weight and an outside diameter of less than five millimeters. This means that the steel ball compresses the spring about ten centimeters normally and another ten centimeters when subject to a two gee acceleration. Two gee acceleration is what you would get if you could crank the bike over in a smooth curve at a sixty degree angle of lean. At fortyfive degrees of bank the steel ball deflects the spring just over four centimeters, that's the square root of two minus one" he added. "Then I cut a slot down the length of the tube, so that I could see the ball and cut off the spring where it emerged from the top of the tube. then I put in the ball bearing and marked the deflection due to its weight. Then I took it all apart again and soldered the ball bearing onto the spring, and then the spring into the tube. Knowing the static deflection," he finished up triumphantly, "and using a table of secants, I was able to calibrate the nonlinear scale in degrees of angle of bank, and engrave the scale in the tube on either side of the slot. So now we just attach this vertically next to the rev- counter on any motorbike, and the read-out tells the rider the angle of lean he's using!" .P "Not a bad try Dieter, but I doubt if it will work." said Wolfgang."You see the bike jumps about a lot, its not at all a smooth ride. And even if our new bike does handle a lot better than the Horex we will still have a problem because your device isn't damped in any way." Dieter looked crushed. .P "The idea is basically good, Dieter" put in Werner consolingly "But Wolfgang is right. You need damping. And with the slot in the copper tube it won't hold oil to dampen the spring. I suggest you put the ball-bearing and the spring into a glass tube, maybe an old large test tube would do the job. Make sure that the ball-bearing is a reasonably close fit in the tube, and then fill the tube with a thin oil to dampen the motion and stop the ball bouncing around a lot. Then we will have to rubber mount the glass tube next to the rev counter; the calibration stays the same of course. You may have to experiment with different kinds of oil until you find the right viscosity." .P Dieter left the room, visibly cheered up again. .P "Well, lets look at these friction tables of yours Michael" said Werner. .P "It's easier to look at the graphs I've drawn" put in Michael helpfully "As you can see, amongst the treadless tyres, the Avon performed consistently better than all of the others. And when I tried the hardness test with the blunt point indentation nail, the Avon proved to be built of a softer rubber than the others. Dunlop was the hardest. In the wet there isn't as much difference. The treaded Avon is harder than the treadless one, and is much of a muchness with the Pirelli rain tyre. Of course none of the treaded rain tyres hold the road as well as the treadless ones, but that was only to be expected." .P "Yes, that's true" said Werner "But Wolfgang, this is something you need to learn. Look at the table for the Avon here, for different road surfaces. Smooth Blue bitumen is twenty percent worse than the concrete. And the concrete is worse than regular asphalt. The best surface if the rough asphalt with the quartz stone chippings embedded in it, that's nearly twice as good when dry as the wet smooth blue bitumen. So you see, just like I was explaining last week, you need to be able to read the road, you have to recognise far ahead of the bike when the surface changes, and recognise the new surface for what it is. Especially in the wet, just look at the difference in these numbers in the wet!" .P "Yes, I see now" said Wolfgang thoughtfully. .P "Well done Michael, and thankyou for the backbreaking weeks work. We see that we should use Avon tyres, and we now know when they start to slide. So we can use Dieter's accelerometer and/or the bits of welding rod to warn us before breakaway.Of course, if the manufacturers produce new, softer tyres in the meanwhile, we will need to repeat the experiments, the results could change." Michael looked at him disgustedly, if looks could kill, Werner would have been fried on the spot. Werner continued, wrapping up: "Of course what is more important is that we now have the cornering clearance limits for the frame. The Professor is building the motor for minimum width, but it will still be a lot wider than a single is. So these cornering angles, with the suspension fully compressed, and the width of the engine dictate the height at which we mount the engine in the frame, and the size of tyres we use. So you can get started on the frame design now, Henry!" he finished. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Eight .sp 2 .ce The Arcore Angle .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P 'The Motorcycle' appeared every Thursday. Price sixpence. Earnie Claggs marched briskly down the road from his digs to Mr. Adams' newspaper stall. Crisp autumn leaves stiff with the white faery coat of autumn's first hoar frost crunched underfoot. What a beautiful day he thought. He was almost trotting now, in eager anticipation. He expected to have at least half a column on page three due to his scoop on the Norton/Duke split. Even the first October sun smiled cheerfully upon his fortunes, he thought. .P "Good Morning, Mr.Claggs. Done yersel' proud this time, haven't yer" greeted Mr. Adams as Claggs hove into view. "Full page spread inside and yer big 'eadline on the front page. Yer our star reporter now. They'll all be wanting to read you every week now. That there Vic Willoughby and Bob Whatshisname are probably green wiv' envy. Just look at this. 'ere I'll even give it yer, yer don't have to pay when yer makes wiv' scoops like this'n! Look 'ere!" Adams was bubbling over with enthusiasm. He had even written about it on his chalk-board outside the stall. "Local journalist scuups front page. Read all abaht it. Get yer' paper from me stand 'ere!" .P "With headlines like those which your chalk board bears, Spinky old lad, you could be a journalist yourself. Mind you, we'd probably have to spend a year or two teaching you grammar and spelling first" teased Claggs, smiling. He took the proffered copy of 'The Motorcycle' and scanned the front page delightedly. .P "An' yer 'ad ne 'eadline in the Birmingham News a couple of days ago! Yer'll be winnin a Pulitzer prize yet, yer will!" enthused Adams. .P "Calm down, Spinky. The problem is going to be following this with more good quality stuff." Claggs said soberly. .P "Nuffin' to it Guv. Yer just phones Duke nah, an' asks 'im wot 'e finks abaht Norton, an' wot 'e is gorna do nex' year. Like I mean, wot bikes 'e ridin' then. 'Cause , sure as my ole ladies got chilblains, it ain't a Norton, I'll tell yer!" .P "I'll do that, Spinky, right now." replied Claggs and trotted off back to his digs. .P He made himself a cup of tea and thinking carefully, painstakingly wrote down a list of questions he wanted to ask Geoff Duke, just to make sure he didn't forget any of them, should he get carried away on the phone. Then he put his coat back on again and walked across the road to the bright red call box and dialed directory enquiries, asking for the St. Helens number. Noting it down for future reference, he dialed carefully. .P "Hallo, Pat Duke speaking, who's there?" a woman's soft voice answered quietly. .P "Er, this is Ernie Claggs, Mrs. Duke. I'd like to talk to your husband Geoff please." .P "Well you've just missed him. He left for the airport about a half an hour ago. Can I help you, you're the journalist that wrote about his squabble with Gilbert Smith in the Birmingham News a couple of days ago aren't you ?" .P "Yes, Mrs. Duke. That's me. You can help by telling me where to find him. And why aren't you flying with him, after all the racing season is over, you two could have a fine holiday" suggested Claggs, probing by a combination of blind journalistic instinct and MI6 methodology. .P "Well I can't fly now, because I get sick in the mornings, being pregnant. And the doctor doesn't think pregnant women should fly, in case it damages the baby. And I'm not allowed to tell you where he's going, Geoff gave me strict orders not to talk to journalists. And it's no use calling his motorcycle shop, because they're not allowed to talk to you either!" .P "Well congratulations, Pat, what are you going to call the baby?" asked Claggs while he rapidly tried to think of a way out of this impasse. .P "Well it depends of course, but if it's a boy we'll probably call him Peter. But that's really none of your business. So goodbye Mr. Claggs" she said shortly, hanging up on him. .P Claggs ran down the road and arrived puffing at the travel agents just past Mr. Adams' news-stand. As he ran past, he saw Adams laboriously rewriting his chalk-boards, tongue stuck out in the concentration necessary to achieve better grammar. Breathing heavily, he asked to borrow an ABC all-airlines timetable. Leafing through rapidly, he looked at his watch thinking: 'If Geoff Duke left home a half an hour ago, he's at the airport by now. And he must be flying abroad, because he if he were going to see Bert Hopwood or Doug Hele at BSA he would have driven his own car. And for AJS maybe taken the train. So Italy is a good bet.' .P Sure enough, there was a direct flight leaving for Milan within the next hour. "Gotcha!" shouted Claggs aloud, startling the girl behind the counter who had lent him the book. Quickly, he gave her the book back, and ran back down to the call-box, calling to Mr. Adams as he passed "Spinky, you spell 'scoops' with two 'Oh's not with two 'U's, old lad!". .P Scrabbling in his pocket for change, he decided on the almost traditional indirect tactic of MI6 again and phoned the airline. "Good Morning, Alitalia, this is Duke's Motorcycle Shop" he lied "Our boss, Mr. Geoff Duke,the famous racing motorcyclist, is flying with you to Milano today, and we think he may have forgotten one of his cases. How many pieces of luggage has he checked in?" he asked innocently. .P "He's checked three bags, sir. Mr.Duke is in the V.I.P lounge. Would you like to talk to him ?" Gotcha! thought Claggs. With three bags he's staying at least a week, if not two. .P "No that will not be necessary, he's got all three with him then. This must be someone else's bag. Just wish him a pleasant journey on behalf of the lads and his wife". Claggs hung up victoriously. Now he just needed to be in Milano to see what Duke was up to! .P Unfortunately, Claggs hated flying. Ever since that wartime night attack on Dresden in the Lancaster, with the black and orange flak hitting the 'plane and tearing great holes in the side he had vowed never to get in an airplane again. The Lancaster had limped home on the proverbial wing, three engines, and a prayer (Oremus). It was Claggs first, and he vowed, only flight. Never again. So he had a problem. "However if Duke is staying at least a week, then I can drive down there, and telegram my copy back to the papers if I find anything out" he said to himself. He walked back to his digs, carefully avoiding the fresh tar where the West Indian road repairmen were fixing the pavement. One of them was working ahead of the others, chalking on the loose paving stones which ones were to be tarred. On the flagstone in front of the big blue police box the west indian had chalked "Tar dis!". 'Who would be able to use the police box?,' thought Claggs idly in passing 'with all that hot asphalt outside; probably only somebody in urgent need of the doctor.' .P Back in his digs, Claggs rapidly packed a suitcase and put his trusty Smith Corona portable typewriter into the car too. Then he explained to his landlady that he would be abroad for a week or two, and paid her in advance. Suddenly he had a bright idea. He looked up the names of all the italian racing team bosses in his carefully kept filing system. Mr. Piero Taruffi of Gilera and the other two from MV Agusta and Moto Guzzi. Then he wrote a short telegram for each of them 'Please ask Mr.Duke to call Pat at home immediately on arrival'. Then he went down to the post office and arranged that the telegrams be sent to the Alitalia desk in Milano to lie there 'Poste Restante' before Duke's plane arrived. .P The drive down to Milano took him nearly two days. The channel crossing had been rough, due to an autumn storm rolling the ship a lot on the short trip from Dover to Calais. .P As he drove through France, Claggs green colour began to fade and his stomach stabilised again. "Still, anything is better than flying" he consoled himself". He drove over the St.Gotthard pass, which was still open and turned left in Bellinzona, towards Locarno.The trip over the alpine passes was beautiful, the weather being much warmer on the southern, italian, side of the Alps. He drove appreciatively past the serene beauty of Lago Maggiore, almost blindingly blue in the afternoon sun. Turning left towards Milano airport in Sesto Calende took him through Gallarate, the home of the up and coming MV factory of Count Agusta. Although he idled slowly past the test track, little Minox camera at the ready, his luck was out. MV were not testing their fours that afternoon. .P "Ah well, on to Milano airport" he thought, hoping that the idea with the telegrams had worked. At the Alitalia counter he asked innocently "I'm a friend of Mr.Duke. Are there any old telegrams still here, from the day before yesterday, for example addressed to Piero Taruffi?" .P "No sir. Mr. Taruffi collected his telegram when he collected Mr.Duke. But there were three telegrams concerning your friend Signor Duke, however the other two gentlemen never showed up. But we made sure he got the message through Signor Taruffi!" the girl replied proudly. .P "Gotcha!" thought Claggs. "So he's visiting Gilera at Arcore!" he chortled to himself. One of the old MI6 trick had worked for him again. He drove on further to Arcore and took a room on the small guest house opposite the appartments for visitors that Commendatore Gilera provided for his guests. .P Claggs woke up late the next morning, having missed the opportunity of seeing who walked down the road from the visitors' appartments opposite, past the baker's shop to the Gilera works. He cursed as he realised what a golden opportunity he had missed, but blamed it on his tiredness after the long drive. If the truth were known, Claggs was a perennial late riser. His landlady had often stormed at him for nearly missing breakfast, "You'll miss your own funeral, Mr. Claggs, you mark my words!" she used to say before serving him burnt toast, overdone eggs and the bacon fried almost to a crisp. She knew he always took a long lie in, especially on Saturdays and Monday mornings. .P He decided to walk down to the Gilera works and ask to be shown around, like a normal visitor. He wouldn't tell them he was a journalist unless they asked directly. So he waited patiently at the gate until ten o'clock and then joined a small crowd of fourteen to eighteen year-old schoolboys accompanied by their teachers, who had arranged for a guided tour of the factory. He pretended to be a teacher accompanying the group and walked in with the guided tour, effectively gate-crashing the factory that the Commendatore liked to keep closed to inquisitive journalists. .P As they walked around the factory they progressed closer and closer to the centre of the works. Suddenly they heard the roar of a four cylinder engine on open pipes as it burst into song. The boys got all excited and wanted to rush out to the test track to see what was obviously one of the works racers being tested. Claggs was dying to go take a look too, but he daren't open his mouth in case the guide realised that he was an english cuckoo in the italian schoolboy nest. So the entire group gnashed their teeth impatiently while the guide boringly explained what the various drilling machines were for. Meanwhile the sound of the four rose and fell as the machine lapped the test track rapidly. Once the engine wailed in pain as the rider missed a gear and selected a false neutral instead. But, Claggs knew, Gileras often missed gears. Just like Nortons had done when they changed from Sturmey-Archer to Burman gearboxes. But this one was a lot better. It only missed a gear once he counted on twelve laps. The engine died. After a minute it restarted. Meanwhile they were approaching the exit, and the teachers had bribed the guide (by appealing to italian national pride) to let the schoolboys watch the racer from behind the wire netting fence inside the factory grounds. Claggs slipped his little Minox camera into his pocket as they went past the gate guard. .P As the Gilera flashed past, Claggs recognised the helmet the rider was wearing. It was Alfredo Milani, a works rider. What a disappointment, he had been secretly hoping to get a photo of Duke practising on the Gilera. That would have been a scoop. .P "Oh well, I'll make the best of it while I'm here" he said to himself. He pulled the miniscule Minox spy camera surreptitiously from his coat pocket and snapped off a couple of shots of the Gilera as it came straight towards him on the approach to the corner. After only three laps Milano pulled up to a halt next to the mechanics at the trackside just 50 yards away. The whole school class rushed down to peer through the fence at the bike, and Claggs went with them. Hiding amongst the schoolboys he managed to get two or three surreptitious shots of the bike, broad side on. He couldn't understand what they were saying of course, but Alfredo Milani was waggling the gear-change lever approvingly and smiling happily. Claggs however had noticed that the lower corners of the crankcase had been scratched away, and there were scratch marks on the outer exhaust pipes, as if they had been grounded. He heard Milano say something about going to Monza for a real test tomorrow before he was forced to follow the school group being shooed out of the gate by the guide. As they left he noticed a Lancia Gran Tourismo car belonging to the Commendatore driving out through the factory gate. Unfortunately he couldn't see who was in it. But there was a white Cromwell helmet lying in the back window. And the helmet was emblazoned with the red rose of Lancashire! .P "Gotcha!" thought Claggs excitedly, for now he knew Duke was here! .P He was awoken next morning by the sound of the factory coffee-break hooter. Nine-thirty. Dammit, dammit, dammit, he thought, getting dressed in a hurry. Skipping breakfast he drove as quickly as possible to the banked Monza circuit, but was too late. He saw the Commendatore's Lancia being driven by Piero Taruffi leaving the circuit and followed it to Milano airport. "Dammit" he thought "Duke's leaving. And I haven't got a real story. And the paper comes out on Thursdays, which means they need my copy be noon of the day after tomorrow." .P He rushed back to the hotel, packed, paid, and set out on the long drive back to Britain. .P Back home, after a tiring drive, he still had no time to sleep, because he still had to write his copy and develop his little photos. So he disappeared into the little darkroom he had built under the stairs (with the landlady's permission) and developed the film, blowing up the enlarged prints. The scratches on the pipes and the lower corners of the crankcase were quite clear on the broadside photo. On the frontal view the rider's helmet was clearly visible and identifiable as Alfredo Milani's. So he couldn't cheat and simply allege that he had seen Duke riding the Gilera. But he had seen the red rose helmet there. And he knew that Milani hadn't caused those scratches! Suddenly he had a brainwave. He picked up the frontal view of the Gilera as Milani had dashed towards him, braking for the corner.Then he went and got the protractor out of the landlady's son's school geometry box. And measured the angle at the front tyre between the road surface and the exhaust pipes and the crankcase. Now he new what to write! .P Mr. Adams was waiting for him on thursday morning, excitedly waving the paper again. "Yer scooped again,guv. Look at the front page of The Motorcycle 'ere guv." he cried. .sp 2 .ce "The Arcore Angle" blared the headline "is 42 degrees!" .sp 2 .ce "Geoff Duke secretly tests Gileras in Italy!" .sp 2 .ce "Final photographic evidence, .ce Our Geoff is a scratcher! " .sp 2 "If the answer is fortytwo, Mr.Claggs, what was the question?" asked Mr. Adams universally. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Nine .sp 2 .ce Testbench Tuning .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Five weeks had fled by. In Dresden it was a cold but dry November morning. Professor Gander had walked cheerily from his house to the university. "Today's the day!" he thought "Today's the day". Finally, on the previous evening, all of the parts for the little 125 cc single were ready, with the exception of Werner's semi-cylindrical engine speed dependant exhaust valve. But true to his promise, Werner had turned a straight through non-functional part of exactly the same external diameter on the lathe and had then milled half of the cylinder away. Late last night he had left the two of them, Werner and Wolfgang, assembling the engine. Today they would make the first engine run on the dynamometer. On his office desk he found the note. "We were here until 3 a.m. So we'll be a little late, due to sleeping in. Expect us around ten. Don't start without us. PS: We know you've still got a little of that black market coffee hidden away somewhere, saving it for a rainy day. We think the rainy day is here today. So break out the rest of the coffee you mean old b*****d and let's celebrate the first run of the new engine at ten o'clock!" .P The Professor smiled wryly. They had guessed correctly. But only he knew where the coffee was hidden. He had hidden it very carefully. In an old jar in the chemistry cupboard labelled 'Iron filings and iron oxide'. The coffee was mixed in with a plentiful supply of iron filings, so that it looked like the real thing. Only in the unlikely event that someone had actually opened the closely stoppered jar and smelled it would they have known that there was coffee in it. Now he wrapped a piece of filter paper around the bar-magnet he had brought with him and dipped it into the jar, which he shook. The iron filings clung to the paper around the magnet and the coffee stayed in the jar. If a few iron filings were left in the coffee, they would be filtered out when he boiled the coffee, he thought, pleased that his secret hiding place had worked so well. .P As ten o'clock approached, he made the coffee, so Werner and Wolfgang were greeted by that magnificent aroma as they arrived punctually. .P "Thankyou, Professor" said Wolfgang with a perfectly straight face "What a pleasant surprise. We got everything ready last night, so we can start straight away". He turned the exhaust gas extraction fans of the dynamometer on and filled the tank around the braking paddles with water. Then he took the atmospheric readings and read them aloud for the Professor to enter into his notebook. "Temperature 18 degrees celsius here in the labs. Relative humidity 69 percent. And air pressure 1013 hectopascal." .P Then he started the little engine and let it warm up. When the water jacket had reached operating temperature he turned on the cooling fans in front of the radiator. Then he opened the brake so that the engine was running without any load and slowly revved it up. The little cylinder revved all the way up to nine thousand rpm, albeit with some coughing and spluttering, before bogging itself down. Nine thousand was the absolute top whack. .P "I've deliberately jetted the carb somewhat on the rich side" Wolfgang said, we don't want the little monster to seize on its first real run! Later we can jet it properly and then it should rev faster." .P Letting the engine return to idle again, he took the latch off the torque brake of the dynamometer. "Tell me each thousand revs up to seven thousand and each five hundred thereafter" he said to Werner, opening the throttle. Werner watched the rev-counter like a hawk and called out each number. Wolfgang fixed the throttle wide open and read off the corresponding torque readings from the dynamometer. The Professor wrote both figures down in his notebook under the atmospheric data. At the end of the first run they shut the engine off again and drank the last dregs of the remaining coffee while the Professor excitedly drew the torque and power curves on millimeter graph paper. .P "Only eleven kiloWatts" he said disappointedly "That's fourteen point six horsepower, according to my slide rule. So on the four that would be only fiftyeight horses, ignoring coupling losses". .P "That's great" yelled Wolfgang "That's not disappointing at all. The Nortons only have about fifty horsepower, like the double-knocker Horex Imperator twin we have. Even the Gileras only have about sixty to seventy horses according to Claggs' latest article from Arcore. And that was just our first run; we'll be able to improve that in no time!" Excitedly he unscrewed the sparking plug to look at the colour of it's points after the full-speed cut-out. "Jet black!" he cried "I told you I'd set it too rich. Now I'll jet it down somewhat and we should get more power." So saying he screwed a smaller jet into the base of the carburettor an dropped the needle one notch. Then they repeated the whole procedure. Now the engine revved to nine thousand three hundred and gave twelve point five kilowatts. Wolfgang pulled the plug again. Lighter now, it was still a dark greyish-black colour, still not the grey-white they were looking for. Wolfgang chose a smaller jet, and they ran a third test. "The plug's the right colour now," said Wolfgang "so the mixture is just right for optimal power now. How much power did we get Professor?" .P "Thirteen kilowatts on this equals sixtynine horses on the four, ignoring coupling losses, and we've only been going one day!" the Professor replied, crowing triumphantly. "We'll call it a day now, after all it's seven in the evening, time just flies. Tomorrow and the day after, we'll work our way through the different disc valves, experimenting with the inlet timing." .P By the end of the week they had found that an angle of 150 degrees on the disc valve gave then the best power. The engine was bordering on sixteen kilowatts and peaking at nine thousand seven hundred revs. Then it was as if it had run into a rubber wall. There was no way it wanted to rev over ten point two, even off load. The power curve was getting peakier all the time. On the following Monday they decided to experiment with Grasmann's exhaust system. Unfortunately he had left for Frankfurt to work for Adler at the end of September, so they were on their own. .P "It's as if the exhaust is strangling the engine at high revs" said Werner "Grasmann said the acoustic shock wave should push the escaping fresh gas back into the cylinder. But if the pipe is too long then fresh gas is escaping into the exhaust pipe; and if it's too short then there is still burnt gas in the cylinder. So I don't know whether to shorten it or to lengthen it. And the engine is very peaky too, we'll need a wider power band even with six gears in the box. Between seven and eight point five it coughs and splutters and there's a marked power drop. The mixture is obviously wrong there. I think it's being affected by Grasmann's resonances. Ideally I'd like to look inside the engine and see if there's a stochiometric mixture" he finished. .P "Stocky ow what ?" asked Wolfgang. .P "Stochiometric, lad. It means a 14:1 mixture of air and fuel for optimal burning. It's what you measure indirectly when you looked at the colour of the sparking plug after a full-power chop. But I've got just the thing for Werner. I saw it in an advert in Motorcycle new and sent off for a sample. And they sent me one. It's called a ColorTune plug." the Professor explained triumphantly. .P "How does it work ?" Werner asked curiously. .P "It's just like a normal plug, except that the isolator is made of glass. That makes it very fragile of course, and means you can't run it under full power for more than a few seconds. But it has one decided advantage that more than compensates for all it's fragility." replied the Professor "Because the isolator is made of glass, we can see through it and observe the colour of the burning mixture. Now we know from watching a simple Bunsen burner here in the labs, that the stochiometric mixture burns with a pure darkish-blue flame. As the mixture gets weaker, ie more air and less petrol, the flame turns first to bright blue and then to white. If the mixture is too rich, then it burns with a yellowish-orange flame; as we also know from the Bunsen burner." .P "So we just put this plug in the warm engine instead of the normal ceramic plug and look at the colour of the flame ?" Wolfgang asked uncertainly. .P "Exactly. Just exactly that. But never give it more than a few seconds, of the glass might crack, and I've only got this one plug" replied the Professor smugly. .P No sooner said than done. Werner watched the flame colour as he revved the engine up into the power band. At about seven thousand revs the flame turned bright blue before returning to dark blue at nine thousand. Approaching ten it turned darker again, even turning black when the engine refused to fire any faster. At low revs it was orange. .P "The mixture is too rich when the throttle comes off the idle stops he said, then it goes too weak, then better, then almost out. So we need a carb needle thinner in the centre to richen the mixture there, and we need to shorten Grasmann's exhaust pipe, because it's not pushing all the fresh gas back into the cylinder as he promised it would." Werner said, as the Professor took notes. "How long is the pipe supposed to be, according to Grasmann?" asked Wolfgang suddenly getting an inkling of where the problem might lie. .P The Professor thumbed through his notebook until he found where he had glued Grasmann's original sketch into it. Silently Wolfgang took the proffered sketch and carefully measured the actual pipe too. .P "Just as I thought" crowed Wolfgang "It's seven centimeters too long. Because I welded this pipe right back when we started. Then Werner came up with his variable exhaust valve idea. And we put that in between the cylinder and the pipe. And the valve is exactly seven centimeters long!" he finished triumphantly. .P So while Werner was working on the lathe, turning a carburettor needle to a a smaller diameter at the half way point, Wolfgang carefully cut six centimeters off the top of the exhaust pipe, leaving one centimeter for fine tuning later. Then then ran the ColorTune test again and the flame colour stayed dark blue all the way up the scale, and moreover, the engine didn't cough mid-range. Then they put the normal plug back in and reran the power tests on the brake. .P "A fantastic day's work, lads" said the Professor finally "The engine now delivers peak power at ten thousand two hundred revs and revs freely up to nearly twelve. And we get almost exactly eighteen kiloWatts. That means ninety-six horsepower on the four! I think we've deserved to open a bottle of Schnapps! Let's go down to the pub, and then start again tomorrow at nine." .sp 2 .sp 2 .P "I don't understand this, Professor" complained Wolfgang "Yesterday, when we ran the engine on the brake we were getting 18 kilowatts, and today its only seventeen. And before you ask,yes, I have checked the air pressure, its still 1013 hectopascal, and the air inlet temperature is still 18 degrees Celsius and the relative humidity is still around the 70% mark. Perhaps the dynamometer brake is not reliable, that would be disastrous!" .P "What have you changed? Tell me everything, even the tiniest detail. Changes don't usually occur by chance, you know." .P "Nothing at all, really. I just took out the sparking plug to check its colour after the last successful full-power run yesterday. But the colour was OK, so I just screwed it back in again. Nothing has changed." .P "Did you use a new copper washer when re-seating the plug? Because a different thickness might have changed the position of the spark-gap within the combustion volume, perhaps it is higher now?" .P "No, I used the same washer as yesterday." Wolfgang answered. .P "Well take out the plug again and show it to me, maybe we can see a difference." The Professor and Wolfgang both inspected the plug and checked its gap carefully with their feeler gauge, but found everything in order. Then they reran the dynamometer test at full power, and lo and behold, they were back at 18 kilowatts again. .P "I just know I measured 17 kW on the first run this morning, I'm not too stupid to read the gauge correctly, and anyway here is the plotted trace from the first run; it shows seventeen too" said Wolfgang. .P "Well lets think it through carefully....." said the Professor, brows already furrowed in concentration as he pored over the blueprints of the engine. .P "Here's a possibility" he exclaimed suddenly, brightening up. "The threaded hole for the plug has two threads, like all bolts do. They start the plug on its spiral track into the cylinder head exactly 180 degrees apart, diametrically opposite. But, unlike a normal bolt, a sparking plug is asymmetrical. So that when the plug is tightened down with the same torque, the bent-over ground pin faces the other way. So the vertical part of the ground pin may be blocking the gas flow to the spark-gap, depending on how the gas swirls in the cylinder." he finished triumphantly. .P "Well if that is the cause" said Wolfgang "we should just mark the plug base and the cylinder head with a scratch in their aluminium, of a wax pencil line, so that we know where the plug is now. Then we reinsert it with the 180 degree offset, and measure the performance again." He put a small scratch onto the plug base and the cylinder head, unscrewed the plug, and carefully rotating it by a half a turn, screwed it back in again and reran the test. .P "Down to seventeen Kilowatt again, you were right" he crowed. .P "Well that's both good news and bad news" said the Professor frowning "Because it means that our performance data is very dependant on the gas dynamics within the cylinder, more so than I had believed. We will have to experiment with the area of the transfer ports and their final tilt angle, to optimise the gas flow. In the mean time, since the ground electrode of the plug was obstructing the gas flow to the spark gap, I suggest we do two things: First, file a U-shaped valley into the ground electrode of the spark plug in order to get more mixture between the spark gap, and second: change to an ignition coil of higher secondary voltage." .P Wolfgang had soon made the suggested modifications and reran two separate tests to establish their respective effects. .P "Filing out the plug to a U-shape gives us about a quarter of a kilowatt more, just on the reproducability limits of the dynamometer" he said, "and the new coil doesn't buy us anything." .P "What about your clever valve then; is it ready yet?" the Professor asked Werner. .P "Surprise, surprise, yes it is. I just finished building it while Wolfgang was filing the plug and changing the coil. So I'll just pull out the dummy section and fit the valve. It'll take about twenty minutes, so you two have a cup of coffee in the meanwhile" .P "We're back on Ersatz-coffee, I'm afraid" said the Professor "Ismailovitch hasn't shown up for about six weeks now, probably having problems getting the Adler data" he added sarcastically. .P Wolfgang fitted his special valve in the exhaust system right next to the cylinder head, and they reran the torque and power curve measurements on the brake. .P "It's as expected. No increase in peak power of course, because the dummy we had in there previously allowed full flow too. But the torque curve is raised at lower revs, so were getting more torque and more power lower down; the power curve is less peaky and so the power band is wider. We're getting seventeen and a half newton-meters of torque at nine thou, and eighteen and a quarter kiloWatts at ten point two. That means that we can just keep the pot on the boil with six gears, as I had hoped." .P "Great. Let's call Ismailovitch and ask where the Adler data are, why they are taking so long, before we tell him of the tremendous progress we've made ourselves." Wolfgang suggested mischeviously. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Ten .sp 2 .ce Flight of the Eagle .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "Good Morning, Comrades." greeted Ismailovitch gaily as he walked into the laboratory. "I trust you have been keeping well here in Germany, while I was away." .P "Yes, thankyou. You were gone so long, we thought you'd been called back to Moscow. It's been six or seven weeks since we saw you." mocked Wolfgang slyly. Ismailovitch chose to ignore the intended slur, as he was brimming over with good spirits. Pulling the inevitable bottle of vodka from his brown leather briefcase, he said importantly "Line up the glasses, Comrade Kowalski, and I'll tell you a little of my trip." Wolfgang dutifully did so, and prepared to listen with all ears, as it was a seldom occasion when Ismailovitch said more than was necessary. .P "You see, I am an important man now, due to Comrade Stalin's new technology program. So when the Israeli government sent a delegation under Shimon Persky from their defence department to discuss sharing technological research, all the sub-project advisors of our technological offensive were called back to Moscow for the discussions. Persky changed his name to Peres when Israel was founded as a nation state in 1948 of course. Probably in honour of the famous Polish author Jizchok Lejb Perez, who was one of the three classical yiddish authors last century. There was a political upset however which caused the Israeli delegation to leave in a huff. So we never even got to talk to them after all." Ismailovitch concluded by taking a hefty swig of the vodka and shoving his glass over to Wolfgang to be refilled. .P "What sort of upset?" asked Werner curiously. .P "Well Peres had this fixed idea that he wanted to ride through the streets of Moscow to the meeting in the Kremlin in a traditional sleigh drawn by three horses. He's basically a romantic soul, I think. But we got wind of that idea, and Comrade Joseff Stalin flew into a rage, and insisted that since this was an advanced technology conference, then the Israelis had to ride in the latest russian cars, instead of the old-fashioned horse drawn sleigh. Peres got upset at his dictatorial manner, especially since he had set his heart on the sleigh ride. So he got in a huff, and insisted that the whole delegation leave immediately." Ismailovitch continued. .P "I see" smiled the Professor wickedly "And all because Stalin didn't like the idea of Peres' troika!" .P Ismailovitch laughed at the pun at first and then scowled as he realised that the Professor had learned a considerable amount of russian in the few weeks since he had seen him. He wouldn't be able to make unintelligable telephone calls any more whilst the Professor was around, he noted. Amazing how the man could pick up a new language well enough in a few weeks to be able to make puns in it; very sharp brain that man, he needed to be watched, decided Ismailovitch. .P "Yes, well, enough of me." Ismailovitch said sharply "Here's the dossier on Adler that you asked for. Read it and return it to me tomorrow. I shall call at nine o'clock here to collect it. Is there anything else you need ?" he finished brusquely. .P Wolfgang and Werner hadn't understood the joke, but new it had misfired badly, because the atmosphere had become formally icy again. "We want to start building the frame soon. So we would be most grateful if you could smuggle us some Reynolds 531 tubing from England please. I've written down the different sizes we need here." said Wolfgang politely, proffering the sheets of paper. .P "I'm sure our russian tubing is just as good as english tubing" he replied grumpily, grabbing the vodka bottle back off the table and stuffing it into his briefcase. "I'll see you tomorrow then, and then I'll let you know if we can get you your damn Reynolds tubes." He stamped out, visibly annoyed, without even waiting to hear their progress report. .P This time the dossier was in a pale metallic-green coloured folder. Same kind of paper used, and the same non- german typewriter. Professor Gander opened the seal carefully and began to read slowly, sipping his remaining vodka the while: .sp 2 Adler is a principally a typewriter company and manufacturer of small cars, he read. Adler was originally established by Heinrich Kleyer in 1880. From 1901 to until 1906 they built motorcycles, but they were a flop. During the last war then built Maybach engines under license and gearboxes for tanks. When the war was over, the opportunistic Adler management began to look around for new products to market. So when the motorbike market took off in 1948 Adler became involved, cautiously at first. They built a 100cc two-stroke single and three years later put two of those cylinders together to make a 200cc twin. They now are making profits on the little road bikes and are thinking of investing more. They are thinking of building a real racer and have therefore employed Diplom Engineer Grasmann to work in their research and tuning department. .P "I know that" thought the Professor irritably, "It's technical details that I want." .P Grasmann used to be one of the experts at Peenemnde, the Nazi rocket research base during the war. He is a leading expert in the area of gas dynamics and tuned gas flow systems. At Peenemnde he worked of jet-engine gas flow problems. .P "I didn't know that" he thought. "Kept his hat under a bushel did Grasmann, just as well he gave us some tips before he left for Frankfurt." .P We expect that Grasmann, who has with Adler only a short while, will be able to increase the power output of the Adler engines significantly. On the other hand, the Adler director Hermann Friedrich is mainly interested in proving to the buying public that the Adler bikes, even in standard trim, are capable of beating the opposition. Due to his insistence on reliability and quality above all, he may inhibit Grasmann from too much experimentation, insisting instead that he stay as close to the series model as possible. In the long term we expect there to be a personality conflict here, since the aims of the two of them differ significantly. .P On the other hand, Friedrich is aware of the advertising power of racing successes. He has acquired the services of young Walter Vogel, the ADAC gold-medal winner, as the main Adler works rider. The other Adler riders are Steindl, Bilger and the Kr„mer brothers, Klaus and Ulli. These riders had considerable success in the Six Days competition this year, despite the little sixteen inch wheels which are characteristic of Adler machines. Now Adler are known to be preparing to attack the road-racing scene next season; we believe they bear watching. .P Our agents have observed Walter Vogel testing a most scurrilous machine through the lanes near the Adler factory. As a basis he uses the standard 250cc parallel two-stroke twin. This has a square engine of 54mm bore and stroke. It breathes into piston controlled inlet ports through a single Bing carburettor of 22mm diameter. The standard machine delivers twelve kiloWatts at only 5600 rpm, according to Adler's advertising material. Our agents report that Vogel has replaced the single Bing with two Amal carburettors of the same size, so that each cylinder has its own Amal. By this simple change he has acquired 17 kW. However, this simple change is not the scurrilous feature we mean. .P There are a number of interesting features on Vogel's Adler. First and most obvious, is that he doesn't use a normal saddle. Instead he has a straight padded block that goes all the way from the hump-back at the rear of the seat straight up to the steering head. For obvious reasons, the locals have immediately nicknamed his benchrest 'The flying sofa". Also, Vogel uses clip-on handle bars mounted so low that they are below the petrol tank. Together with the traditional Adler 16 inch wheels, these scurrilous features give Vogel's "flying sofa" a very small frontal area. This decreases the wind resistance, and makes Vogel's machine faster than others of similar power. .P The frame is a solid duplex loop, giving good roadholding from what we could see. However the front suspension is rather unorthodox. a very short leading-link fork is used with a tape-roll coiled spring near the axle. As the fork bounces, the coil-spring rolls a steel tape tighter or looser as required. We think that this may overheat and become unreliable under racing conditions. We expect Adler to change to a short leading link Earles type fork soon. .P During the short while he has been here, Grasmann has been experimenting with the length of the inlet ports. He had also brought with him when he arrived plans for an expansion chamber exhaust system of his own design. Of course, none of this experimentation meets with the approval of the Adler management, since it is obviously non-series (especially Grasmann's bulbous exhaust system). However Grasmann is obviously on the right track; in the pub of an evening he recently bragged that he was consistently getting over 22kW (30 bhp) out of the 250 twin, despite retaining the transfer ports and the piston-controlled inlet ports of the series engine. He claims it revs now at 7500 rpm. The technology commission in Moscow believe however that it is exactly the piston-controlled inlet port and the small transfer port area which will limit further development. Adler will not get much more power out of their engines unless they change to disc valves, thus releasing all of the circumference of the cylinder wall for transfer ports. Grasmann may be unable to persuade the Adler management to make this radical step. He would also have to change over to water cooling in all probability, in order to keep the engine reliable. we do not believe that the Adler management would support such a radical departure from the series appearance. .sp 2 Summary: We expect Vogel's 'flying sofa' to be moderately successful in the 250cc class at an amateur level. It may even be successfully entered in the 350cc class by boring an engine out to 252cc. Certainly Vogel is a fast rider, and the small frontal section helps on top speed. However, for company internal political reasons we do not expect to see a five hundred four (ie: two 250cc engines in tandem), nor do we expect the Adler management to permit Grasmann to make the radical redesigns necessary to become world-class in the 250cc class where over 30kW will soon be needed. .P Professor Gander felt a mixture of excitement and relief when he had finished reading the Adler dossier. Excitement because he saw that not only were his own basic design decision indirectly confirmed by the dossier, but also because there were several good ideas that they could use themselves, and relief that Adler would not prove to be a serious competitor in the senior half-liter class; after all he had great respect for Grasmann's abilities. He noted in his old exercise book: Minimise frontal area; use small 16 inch wheels if possible (but the width of the disc valve four may cause cornering clearance problems here); mount the handlebars low down; pad the top of the tank so that the rider can lie on it, maybe the rider can even kneel in the bike rather than sitting on top of it, that would reduce frontal area; there is need to keep suspension units cool, to avoid them fading as they get hot. .P Nine o'clock came the next morning and Ismailovitch returned, once again in good spirits. The Professor handed the Adler dossier back to him and said: .P "There are some good ideas in that report, your agent made good notes. We now know that Adler will not be a serious competitor. But they have the right idea of making a serious effort to reduce the frontal area of the bike. For example with the little sixteen inch wheels. I would be grateful if you could get us say half a dozen sixteen inch wheels from an Adler dealer in western Germany. If they have any seventeen inch wheels in stock bring those too, because we don't really know yet what our cornering clearance is going to be. And remember the Reynolds 531 tubing for the frame. We've almost finished tuning the testbench single now, and are getting over eighteen kilowatts from it!" he said proudly "So we can reckon with at least seventy kilowatts for the four, that's twice the power the Nortons have. So we are satisfied now, and we'll start to build the four next week on Monday morning straight away. And then we'll need the frame and wheels soon after; there's no holding Wolfgang back now, he's out at the aerodrome on the Horex almost every fine day with Werner. And Werner has got him down to two minutes six seconds per lap already, just by using the 'scratch-rod' construction to improve his feeling for the angle at which he cranks the Horex over in the corners. Why don't you come out to the aerodrome after the weekly progress meeting on Monday? Tuesday morning is usually used for intensive training, if the weather is half-way good." .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Eleven .sp 2 .ce Framing the Four .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Monday was a cold November morning. A light fall of wet snow sloshed dirty slush through the Dresden streets as the research students filed into the Professor's office for the weekly progress meeting. The snow dampened the sounds from the street outside. .P "I trust everyone had a good weekend" began the Professor "I have invited Comrade Ismailovitch to sit in on our little meeting. That saves a separate meeting later with him, after all, tempus fugit, time is running from us. However we've made good progress on the testbench engine, about which I informed Ismailovitch here last friday afternoon. So I think we're ready to begin constructing the four cylinder machine. But let's hear everybody's status report first. Wolfgang? Would you like to start? Youngest first." .P "The little single runs well on the testbench. However, for the four I have some bad news" he surprised them bluntly. "Grasmann's resonantly tuned exhaust pipe idea simply won't work" said Wolfgang "There isn't enough room to fit his huge exhaust chambers to the rear cylinders and still keep a 90 degree angle for the Vee of the cylinders. And we want to keep 90 degrees to help balance the engine, you said. Even if we went to a 135 degree Vee between the cylinders they would hardly fit between the water jackets for the front and rear cylinder pairs." .P "Now don't panic" Professor Gander said "Let's just sit down quietly and think the alternatives through. Now because we chose the side mounted disc valve design for the inlet valves we are restricted to two cylinders per crankshaft; the cylinders can be identical as long as we can mount the disc valves optionally either on the left or the right side of the crankcase. So to build a four cylinder engine we need two crankshafts, that is we have basically two parallel twins. So we are going to need a gear train between them to keep rigid timing between the twins. Now we also need room for the liquid-cooling jackets and, as you correctly point out, also sufficient room for the exhaust system." "Therefore we are left with the following choices" he continued "first, we could use a 180 degree angle between the cylinders, giving us a flat-four rather than a Vee-four; advantage, Grasmann's tuned exhaust pipes would all fit, since there would be plenty of room; disadvantage, we would have two separate cooling systems spread wide apart, and the engine would be much too long. Our second choice would be to go for the 135 degree angle for the Vee and then take the exhaust pipes from the front cylinder pair under the engine and the pipes for the rear cylinders up and over the rear cylinders. Advantage, compacter engine size, disadvantage, hot exhaust pipes directly under the fuel tank and seat.And still a widely splayed cooling block. Obviously we can't run the pipes around the side of the engine block for two good reasons, not only would that make access to the engine at pit stops difficult, but more importantly as you will no doubt have read in Claggs' article from Arcore about Duke's test ride on the Gilera, it limits your cornering clearance. Neither alternative is very attractive." .P "True, true" said Werner "But I have a better idea. You said we would make the cylinders symmetrical, the left and right ones. So why don't we just turn the cylinder heads through 180 degrees for the rear twin, and then the exhaust pipes for the rear cylinders can go straight out the back, and the front pair under the engine as you suggested, to give good cornering clearance. That way both pipe systems don't get in each other's way, and what is more, the cylinders can be really close together so that they can even share the same water jacket for cooling!" he crowed triumphantly. .P "Brilliant, my lad. Just brilliant. We can even take that idea one step further and have the whole rear twin rotate the other way around from the front pair. That way we save an intermediate gear train; we can just gear both cylinder banks directly together. And we also don't need a counterbalance shaft any more, because the primary out-of-balance forces cancel each other. So we drop our first idea of a widely splayed Vee-four, and make a two-crankshaft contra-rotating square four instead, sharing the same water jacket. That keeps the engine really short, and it keeps the hot pipes away from the fuel tank. Eureka!" he grinned happily. .P Wolfgang joined in enthusiastically : "And if we tilt the whole engine forwards that would be even better. There would be a natural thermosiphon effect in the cooling system and we could tuck the gearbox partially under the rear crankcase, making the unit even more compact. Plus, we could perhaps get at the front plugs without lifting the tank!" "Well that's all reasonably clear then, at least in my head" said the Professor wrapping the engine discussion up. "Now the next thing we'll need is a frame to hang it in. Remember the emphasis Claggs puts in all his articles about the importance of having good handling. A frame that handles badly can lose more time than a powerful engine can win for you. Plus the fact that the more powerful the engine is, the stiffer the frame need to be." .P "Why's that" asked Wolfgang, curious as ever. .P "Don't be stupid, my lad. It's logically obvious. The engine drives a gearbox. Usually asymmetrically through a primary chain system which is some distance on the left side from the centre axis of the bike. And the longer secondary chain from the gearbox to the rear when is of absolute necessity also off the centre axis. Therefore a more powerful engine applies the torque it develops along these off-centre chains. The leverage caused by the distance between the chains and the central axis of the bike thus pulls the frame to the left when the throttle is opened, producing more torque, and releases this tension when the throttle is closed. Therefore, more powerful engines need torsionally stiffer frames. Q.E.D" the Professor replied testily, crushing Wolfgang's naive curiousity. .P Werner gave Wolfgang a sympathetic smile, as if to say "I think the old man got out of the wrong side of his bed this morning. Academics are never people who take other people's feelings into consideration." Instead he smiled meaningfully at the Professor and said tactfully "That was a good question of Wolfgang's. Perhaps Henry should be the one to provide the answers. After all, he's been working on the frame design for us." .P Henry blushed and looked acutely embarrassed. He embarrassed easily, and began to stutter now: "S-S-S-Sorry. B- B-but I h-h-haven't b-b-been able to make m-m-m-much p-p-p- progress" he said, blushing redly. .P "That's all right, Henry" put in Werner quickly to calm him down "That's quite understandable, since we still aren't clear about the dimensions of the engine". He shot a steely, warning, glance in the direction of the Professor. "Please go on, and take your time. Just tell us where the problems are. Seven heads think better than one." .P Henry looked at him gratefully and began to speak normally, his stutteredembarrassment disappearing as he warmed to his subject: "Basically, the Norton have the right idea with their 'Featherbed' frame he said. It's a splayed duplex oval with a separate rear sub-frame for the rear suspension. There's no patent on the rear sub-frame idea, and it's probably the best way to go. It does however have a potential disadvantage. Because there is a spring on both sides, albeit both of the same rate, and albeit well damped, there is the possibility that when the rear wheel hits an off-centre bump the springs may compress differently. If they do that, then of course the wheel cants over somewhat and the bike starts a wobble until it straightens out again. Plus the fact that if one side sticks then the wheel cants over even more and may even cause the chain to jump off its sprocket." He looked around to cautiously see the effect he was having, it was one of his longer speeches. .P "However, I have an alternative solution. Actually I borrowed the idea from a design be Phil Vincent" he said apologetically. .P "Well done. A good student always acknowledges his sources" put in Werner encouragingly. .P "The Vincents use a very stiff rear axle in a solid subframe. The subframe then has a single spring, cantilevered centrally, connecting it to the actual frame. And I think that's what we should do too" he said defensively "After all, that makes it easier to change the rear wheel if we ever have to do so during a pit stop." .P "That sounds a very good idea, but you must leave good access to the central spring as well, so that we can change the pre-compression and the damping easily." said the Professor, writing the design decision into his notebook. "Now what about the main frame?". Henry, who had cheered up due to the praise he had received, started to look somewhat crestfallen again. .P "That's where the p-p-problem is." he stuttered "Until I know h-h-h-how wide the engine is going to be, I don't know how high to position it. And we have to d-d-d-decide on what s-s-size of wheels to use." .P "I'd better check what sizes of racing tyres Avon can supply, there's no point you chaps choosing piddling little 14 inch wheels and demanding Avon tyres, if all they make are nineteen and twenty inch tyres" put in Ismailovitch, speaking up for the first time that day. .P "I want to use 16 inch wheels and Michael's experiment told us to use Avon tyres. But we may have to go to seventeen inch wheels depending on the ground clearance issue and on whether Avon even make 16 inchers" the Professor put in. .P "Well OK, but if you use different wheel sizes at the front and back that will affect the steering head angle. So I need to know pretty soon. I've read all the published papers on steering geometry I could find, and I recommend between sixtyfour and sixtyfive degrees. Of course I also need to discuss the fork trail with Joe, here, but I calculate we should have about eleven centimeters of fork trail." Henry said, his natural embarrassment gone now that he was on well proven ground. .P "If we use a duplex frame like the Nortons, it will make the engine more inaccessible. And there's the potential patent problem. From the point of view of torsional stiffness, we should use as large diameter a tube as possible for the main backbone of the frame, and weld that to an upright post at the rear which carries the bearing for the rear subframe. Then we weld lugs onto the frame so that the engine itself becomes a load-bearing element triangulating the frame, after all, the engine's going to be a pretty massive lump of metal too. That way the frame is light and stiff. We can rubber mount the engine if there is too much vibration, but a square four two- stroke is almost perfectly balanced so that should not be a problem. This design leaves the engine and gearbox accessible from all sides, it will be easy to change plugs etc while the engine's still in the frame. And the crowning glory is that we can use the large diameter down-tube as the oil-tank" he crowed happily. .P "Rubbish!" put in Ismailovitch "What do you need an oil tank for on a two-stroke ?" Even I know that you mix the oil in with the petrol, and that saves the weight of carrying a tank full of oil like the for-strokes have!" .P There was an embarrassed silence, then Werner explained gently in his usual tactful manner: "Er, Hmm, no comrade. You see, that idea works on little roadgoing two-strokes, but on a racer it's better to have a separate oil supply. You see, when you close the throttle on a two-stroke with oil mixed into the petrol, you cut off the fuel supply but also the oil supply to the engine. And you close the throttle when you are braking or when going downhill on a racer, whereas you might leave it partially open on a normal little road bike. This would mean that while the highly-stressed racing engine is still turning over quickly, you have deliberately shut off the oil supply. I think you will agree that this might cause a little reliability problem." he laughed "So we have chosen to have a separate engine driven oil pump. That way the engine gets oil depending only on the speed at which it is revving. So no reliability problem. And no weight problem either; you see with a petroil mixture we would still be carrying the oil with us, and would need a still bigger petroil tank. Now with Henry's idea we can have a smaller petrol tank, and we don't need a separate tank for the oil, because we'll keep it in the frame." .P "I understand now" said Ismailovitch sheepishly, knowing that he had been firmly put into place, "But what about the brakes and the front forks? How are Bernie and Joe getting on?" .P "We'll discuss those tomorrow afternoon after practice" said Werner "It's stopped snowing and the slush is melting rapidly. Now that the cold-front has passed we should have good weather tomorrow. In the meantime, let me tell you what I've calculated for the gearbox." The Professor got out his old exercise book again which had just started to pack away, so that he could take notes. .P "Now that we know what the spread of the power band will be, and that the variable-timing exhaust valve idea works...." .P "Exhaust valves ? On a two-stroke ? Preposterous!" put in Ismailovitch, then shut up rapidly as he saw he was about to put his foot in it again. .P "As I was saying" continued Werner drily "The asymmetrical mounting of the 150 degree opening of the disc- valves helps to spread the power band too. So we will get about sixty kilowatts between eight and ten thousand revs. That's a two thousand revs wide powerband. So six gears will be adequate. And I've chosen an initial set of ratios so that bottom to top covers a speed ratio of just over two point five to one. Depending on the overall gearing obtained by selection of the secondary chain sprockets, that gives us 80 km/h in bottom and 200 km/h in top at peak revs. It means we'll have to still slip the clutch in the hairpin bends and on the slow corners, but it gives us the best overall power connection when changing up from gear to gear. By using the gears which couple the front and back cylinder pairs to drive the gears centrally, I even save the need for a primary chain. So that saves weight too. However it means that the Professor and i are going to have to sit up together the next few nights to design an integral casing for the combined engine and gearbox unit. Still that'll make a change from going jogging with Wolfgang every evening go get him fit. Apropos fit: I suggest we all go home now as it's getting dark already. Then we'll be fit for training tomorrow out at the airfield. See you all there at eight please, goodnight." .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twelve .sp 2 .ce Learning the ground rules .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P At eight o'clock the winter sun was barely up, but Wolfgang and Werner had been for their early morning jog. This time they had run the four and a half kilometers around the airfield perimeter road that they used for training. It had taken them over a quarter of an hour. But two months earlier it had taken Wolfgang at least twenty minutes, and he had been panting heavily then, often stopping with a stitch in his side too. Now Wolfgang had lost about three kilos and lapped the airfield perimeter track in under sixteen minutes without running out of steam. He could run away from Werner now, who was noticing his age. As they ran around the road, Werner insisted that Wolfgang run along what he believed to be the best racing line for a motorcycle, rather than following the runner's natural instinct to take the inside of the corners. Usually they jogged through the park near the university, but today Werner had insisted that they meet at the airfield at seven thirty and run through the dawn. .P "The purpose of all this, Wolfgang, is that you learn to read the road surfaces" Werner puffed at the end of the first lap. "What you think is the ideal racing line is wrong in some places, due to the effects of the road covering, little bumps or holes and mainly changes of camber. So as soon as I've got my breath back a little we'll run around on the line I would take, and I'll explain what I read from the road surface as we run. You know my motto: The best way to learn a race track is to walk or run through all the corners on foot first." Wolfgang was breathing easily again by now, so after five minutes for Werner to get his breath back again, they set off around the perimeter track once more. The others still had not arrived at the meeting point. It was ten to eight, and the sun was just above the horizon, shining weakly along the main straight. The track was dry now, there being no trace of the previous day's slush. It had melted away, and the cold front which had come through the previous afternoon and evening had brought a wind which had swept the skies clear and dried the road. It was a crispy cool morning, not one for standing idly around. .P "You've been doing well with the pieces of welding rod attached to the front of the frame, they've improved your feel for the corners no end. We'll raise them the final two degrees today, then you'll be cornering at what Claggs referred to as the Arcore-angle, the same angle of lean that Geoff Duke uses. And we know that he cranks it over as far as the Gilera will go, scratching the crankcase of the bumps in the corners where the suspension compresses. The Horex can be leaned over slightly further because its narrower, being a twin, whereas the Gilera has its four cylinders in line, just like the MV Agusta." said Werner as they jogged down the straight towards the first left-hander. "The trouble is," confided Wolfgang "I just know I'm riding nearer and nearer to the limit. And the welding rod idea is good for training, but it doesn't warn me when I'm approaching the best angle of lean, only when I actually reach it. And that may be too late. When we were here the other week practising, and the track was still a bit wet from the rain of the previous day, I had one really wild lurid slide. The back wheel just started to drift out. It really gave me quite a scare!" .P "Yes, I noticed" replied Werner drily "I saw the slide, but you got it under control again, even if the Horex did shake its head as if in disapproval. But your lap times went up again by two or three seconds for the rest of the morning. However the most important thing is that you know why it happened. .P "But I don't know why it happened!" cried Wolfgang, turning his head to look at Werner as they jogged "I think what I really need is some device to tell me my angle of lean. It's a pity Dieter's idea with the accelerometer didn't work; but it was no good, the ball either just jumped up and down all over the scale due to the bumps, when Dieter used a thin oil for damping the ball; or else it moved too laggardly to be any real help when he filled the tube with a thicker oil. It just plain didn't work!" .P "Then I'll tell you why you slid last week, we're just coming up to the place where the drift started now anyway. So this is a good time to explain" said Werner gently. "You were lined up here, on the right, braking for the lefthander. You had changed down correctly and were looking ahead as far as possible through the curve, which is the correct thing to do. Then you peeled off to the left just here." As Werner spoke, the runners gradually moved over towards the middle of the road, aiming to clip the apex of the curve on an ideal racing line. "Notice that the road surface is convex in cross- section. That's to let any water run off the surface. Now on this airfield perimeter road there is hardly any convexity. But when you ride on real roads, like the Nrburgring or the Isle of Man, this effect plays a significant role. Mentally, you probably think of the road normally as being flat. But when you crank the bike over it's different. Your eyes take their hints for the angle of lean from the horizon. But on the outside of the curve here you actually have an adverse camber. So your real angle of leaning maybe five degrees or so more then what your eyes are telling you. It's a fact you have to bear in mind, however it wasn't the cause of your drift-cum- slide last week. Now stop here, while I catch my breath" Wolfgang stopped too, grinning, self-satisfied at his own increased fitness. He was fitter than Werner now. .P "As you moved the bike across to the left, you were increasingly cranking it over. That's basically correct. As I just explained, the adverse camber works against you up until the middle of the road. After the middle, the camber works for you. Your actual lean-angle will be several degree less than what your eyes are telling you as they refer to the horizon for angular information. So you could actually lean over more on the inside of the curves, Wolfgang!" .P "Well maybe, but I was sliding anyway!" protested Wolfgang. .P "Yes I'm coming to that" replied Werner "You see the centre of the road is marked with a dotted white line. They used to be painted on, but nowadays they melt a special white plastic onto the surface when them steamroll the tarmac on. And because it's in the middle of the road its flat, not convex. So the water doesn't run off it. And it was still wet when you went over it; you were well cranked over and your back wheel went across the white stripe. The white stripe is more slippery than than the tarmac, especially when wet, so the back wheel just slid outwards. When it reached the drier tarmac it gripped again which saved you from sliding all the way off." .P "Aha, I see now" replied Wolfgang, starting to jog again "So all I have to do is to make a special effort to cross the dotted lines in the centre of the roads between the white dashes instead of on them!" .P "Exactly" replied Werner "It's paying attention to those little details that makes you a safer and, incidentally, faster road-racer." They jogged on through the apex of the lefthander. .P "Now the other thing to notice here is that the corner loosens off as we go around it. What I mean to say is that on the exit to the corner, it has a larger radius than the entry. That's generally a safe corner." Werner continued "What's really evil is when the corner tightens up on you as you go around it. Then if you've entered it too fast, oh dear! Because you would need to crank over even more. And if you're already cranked over hard, and the corner tightens up on you, you'll be sliding down the road on your precious backside or off through the hedge here before you can blink an eyelid!" .P "I know, I know" said Wolfgang "The next righthander here is just like that. They jogged their way into the corner. .P "Now there are two things to notice here" puffed Werner "First, that the corner tightens up on us. That means that we should make the apex point later than we think. It also means that we should brake harder, to avoid being too fast for the tighter second part of the corner. The other thing is that there is a slight rise in the road leading into the corner and the road then drops away slightly just after the exit. Of course, it's hardly significant here; being an airfield, the road is pretty flat. But when you later race on hilly circuits like the Isle of Man or the Nrburgring you'll have to take rises and falls into account as well. At Ballaugh Bridge on the Island, you'll even take off and fly for a few meters. Even at the brow of Bray Hill, just after the start on the Island you can become airborne. Then you have to watch that the engine doesn't overrev." he gasped. .P "But what I really wanted to point out was that firstly, in the dips in the road your suspension will compress and so you'll have less cornering clearance. And secondly, over the brows of the hills and the rises you also have a problem. Although the suspension extends so that you have no ground- clearance problems, you will have less weight on the wheels. So they can't carry the cornering forces any more maybe. So going over a rise or a place where the road drops like in that corner we just ran through can cause you to lose tyre grip and start to drift too!" .P "That's another fine mess I'd have gotten into!" quipped Wolfgang, who was an enthusiastic Laurel and Hardy fan. His girlfriend Dagmar had even complained once that every time he took her to the pictures, it was to see a Laurel and Hardy film! .P They were coming up to the place where the perimeter track crossed the end of the runway before it went into a tight ninety degree lefthander followed immediately by a fortyfive degree righthander. "Normally I'd have finished braking earlier and peeled off across the runway threshold into the lefthander already" said Wolfgang "But what with the snow and slush yesterday they must have cleared the snow and gritted the runway, because there are two lines of gravel across the perimeter track, here and here too, more or less along the edge of the runway. So I'll have to brake earlier and harder today, to keep more upright across the gravel, or it'll cause the wheels to break away too." .P "Very observant Wolfgang, well done. You're learning rapidly" puffed Werner, falling behind Wolfgang somewhat "Wait for me!" he called plaintively "This isn't a race you know, it's just a morning jog. And your on the wrong line anyway!" .P "What do you mean, wrong line! This is the apex of the corner, exactly at the fortyfive degree point, the middle of the lefthander!" replied Wolfgang testily, waiting there for Werner to catch up. .P "Ah yes, that's as maybe" said Werner colloquially "But there are two curves here. So you can't consider them independently of each other. You've got to think of them as a combination. Now look at the right hand fortyfive degree curve coming up ahead. Where is the optimum entry point for it ?" .P "Hard over on the left of course, that's obvious." said Wolfgang surprised at the simple question. .P "And if you take this ninety degree lefthander as fast as you possibly can, where does that put you ?" .P "Hard over on the right" replied the crestfallen Wolfgang. .P "Exactly, my lad. So you have to consider combinations of curves and the effect they have on each other. Look where I'm standing now, this is the real apex to for. And you should take the first corner a little slower which will let you line up for optimally for a maximally fast righthander. And the faster you enter the straight that follows the better your average speed. If you come into the straights slowly you're going to lose precious seconds irrecoverably. And no amount of Duke-like scratching on the corners is going to make up the lost time!" Werner lectured sternly. They jogged down the back straight in silence. .P "Now look at the road surface carefully on the final corner here" Werner began again "Just past the point where you want to peel off there is a pothole about half a meter from the side of the road. So brake a little longer, maybe three meters, going between the side of the track and the pothole, then peel off." .P "Yes, I saw it" replied Wolfgang "And the surface changes from asphalt to concrete where we cross the taxiway to the other runway threshold. And concrete is more slippery than asphalt, I remember that from Michael's experiments. So I need to be careful when cranked over here." .P "Well done, you learn fast." replied Werner "And on the exit to the corner, it changes back to asphalt again. But not smoothly, notice where the bumps are and try to steer between them. that'll save you getting a fright if the Horex shakes it's head at you." .P "And another thing" he continued "Just look at the shape of the asphalt here!" .P "The shape? What shape? What do you mean, shape?" asked Wolfgang puzzled. .P "Look, the asphalt is in whirls here, and here, and here. That means that it has melted on a hot day in summer." Werner explained. "It's cold today so it doesn't affect you. But if we were racing on a hot summer day there would be melting tar on the ideal line here. You see? So it's best to go a little slower here in summer and stay on the inside of the melting tar on the exit line." .P "Wow, I've learned a lot of details this morning" said Wolfgang thanking Werner as they jogged up to the cars where the others, who had arrived punctually at eight o'clock, were waiting. .P "Where have you two been? You're late, what have you been up to?" asked the Professor. .P "Learning the ground rules, Professor, just learning the ground rules" replied Wolfgang drily, as Werner regained his breath. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Thirteen .sp 2 .ce Toeing the line .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "Good morning everybody. I suggest we have a little breakfast before we start" said Dagmar, giving her Wolfgang a peck on the cheek. It was the first time she had been out to watch him practice, and had brought a snack for them all. Two thermoses full of the fresh, almost satanically black strong coffee that the Professor had provided for the express purpose of this breakfast. She had also fetched warm crusty bread rolls from the baker's shop, thirteen for the price of twelve, as they opened at seven that morning. She had been first in the queue. The rolls were filled with sliced liver sausage and looked mouthwateringly good. Wolfgang had worked up an appetite through his early morning jog, as had Werner. In fact Werner was almost slavering as he saw the bread rolls and as the three of them huddled together for warmth out of the wind in the back of the Professor's car, started scoffing his roll rapidly, even before the others had taken theirs from the paper bag. Crispy crumbs flew from Werner's chin as he jammed the roll impatiently into his mouth. .P "Delicious" he cried "Any more where that came from ?" .P "Yes" smiled Dagmar, laughing at Werner's still unsated hunger. "Since Ismailovitch isn't coming this morning, as Michael tells me, you can have his roll too. But don't fill the car with crumbs" she said, casting a glance at the Professor, who was looking somewhat disturbed by all the crumbs in his clean car. .P "Thanks" said Werner scoffing the proffered second bread roll just as rapidly as he had eaten the first. Crumbs flew in all directions. "If Ismailovitch isn't here, where are the new racing tyres from England that he promised us for practice this morning?" .P "Don't worry, I brought the tyres in the boot with me" said Dagmar. .P "In that case" put in Werner, his mouth now empty again "We must christen you 'The Avon Lady' ha,ha,ha." .P "You've been watching too many american films again, Werner" she replied "And judging by the mess you've made in this car, we'll nickname you Werner Crumbs from now on instead of Werner Kowalski! I suggest you try to brush the crumbs all out of the car before the Professor gets mad at you.And Wolfgang dear, now that you've finished too, you can help Michael change the tyres on the Horex." .P Wolfgang complied with ill grace, grumbling that Michael could have done the change in the warmth of the university labs, last night. But Michael replied that they had only just collected the tyres that very morning from Ismailovitch. So they levered the treaded german tyres from the Horex rims and carefully put the new Avons on instead, remembering to powder the inner tube a little to avoid any possible abrasion problems. Michael took a small stiff brass wire brush from the pocket of his dark blue VEB overalls and scuffed the surface of the tyres. .P "Why are you doing that ?" asked Wolfgang "The tyres are supposed to be smooth. They are racing tyres after all." .P "Yes but they're new ones" replied Michael. "And I know from the experiments I did that new tyres don't have as much friction as older ones; not until they are run in anyway. So I reasoned that there is probably some chemical difference at the surface of the mold they are made in. Probably some chemical put into the mold that lets the manufacturer get the finished tyre back out of the mold easily. So instead of us having to ride the Horex around carefully for the next half hour or so, I thought that I would just scuff the surface off with this wire brush and roughen up the tyre a little. Saves running it in, you see." .P "Top marks, Michael, that's well thought through" said the Professor, who had been standing off to one side, but still listening surreptitiously to their conversation. .P Meanwhile Werner had finished cleaning out the car, ridding it of the crummy evidence of his too rapid breakfast. He beckoned to the Professor and said "I need to talk to you." They got back into the car, sitting on the front seat. .P "Wolfgang is getting better all the time now." Werner began "In fact he banks the Horex over almost as far as it will go, until he hears the welding rods signalling that he's leaned over to their limit. Now on the Avon tyres, after a half a dozen laps to get them warm, he'll be able to crank over a couple of degree further. And that will put him damn near the limit where the Horex grounds on the corners. The exhaust pipe touches down first, not the crankcase, as it does on the Gilera according to Claggs' tale from Monza. And last week Wolfgang had a little slide. It frightened him a bit, so he backed off the throttle and was promptly two or three seconds slower. Now we don't want him surprising himself again, and maybe losing confidence. During our jog this morning I explained some of the fine details to him, so he'll be lapping even faster today.With the Avon racing tyres he's going to be inside two minutes for the first time anyway. Of course we can set the welding rods to warn him before the pipes touch down, but in a real race they won't be there. The scrutineers wouldn't allow them. And just this morning Wolfgang was complaining nervously that he wanted some kind of early warning. But Dieter's accelerometer idea didn't work. So what do you think we should do?" .P "I don't know I'm sure" replied the Professor thinking hard. "But what makes you so sure that the exhaust pipes will touch down first, Werner?" .P "Well it seems obvious, after all they are widely splayed. They are not tucked in tight under the engine, like they are on the photo of the Adler that was in the dossier." Werner said. .P "Apropos photos" said the Professor abstractedly "I took some head-on photos of Wolfgang going through the lefthander here on full chat last week. I was really interested to see what his frontal area was in the corners, if he sat up, and if so how far. But he really stays tucked down, even in the corners, brave lad. Now I've got a whole sequence of photos here, look." .P "Show me them" said Werner. .P "Here he is travelling along the main straight. Taken with the Leica telephoto lens, but he's still far away that's why it's so small. I need to enlarge it more to measure frontal area. But he's well tucked in, reducing the air resistance as far as possible. Now in the second photo he is at the end of the main straight. He's sitting bolt upright for maximum aerodynamic braking. Just look at the way the telescopic front fork of the Horex compresses, I think we need a stronger spring in the forks, they might be bottoming if there are any bumps where he brakes. the track is not exactly as smooth as a mirror." said the Professor reflectively. .P "And that would cause the front wheel to jump about a lot, which isn't exactly encouraging when you're about to crank her over for a corner" put in Werner drily. .P "Exactly what I was thinking" the Professor continued "Now look at this third photo. It's really close up, because I was standing on the outside of the corner with the telephoto lens still on the Leica. It's a full-frontal shot that I intend to use to check frontal area in the corners. He's well tucked in there, accelerating just out of the apex. But look down in this corner. You see, it appears to me that the ends of the footpegs would touch down first, slightly before the exhaust pipes. The footpeg is only a few millimeters off the ground her, look. So you were wrong; the exhaust pipe won't touch first; the footpegs will. And the crankcase is narrow enough to be well out of harm's way." .P "But that's it" cried Werner "that's just what we need!" he shouted excitedly. "Look. All we have to do is put a spacer between the frame and the footpegs and then shorten the pegs. That way, the toes of the riders boot will be the widest part of the machine. So you just crank the bike over all the way, until you just feel the side of the sole of your boot touch the surface of the road. And if its wet, you deliberately ride with your feet on the outside of the pegs and the toes splayed outwards, that way you feel the road earlier!" .P "Hold on, now" interjected the Professor "You said that Werner was nervous anyway. Don't you think that physically touching the roadway will alarm him even more?" .P "Maybe. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll temporarily put as many spare washers as I can find between the frame and the footpegs. Then I'll go out and try the idea myself without telling Wolfgang, on the pretence of running the tyres in. That way, if the idea doesn't work, I just take the spare washers out again and we forget the whole idea. But just this morning, while Wolfgang and I were jogging, we discussed the problems of using visual horizon-reference clues to choose the bank-angle, especially when the camber of the road changes rapidly, like through a corner. We agreed that we needed a reference mechanism that took the road camber into account. And the rider's boot can be it. It'll be a tactile sensor clue rather than visual one. And more reliable too!" Werner crowed happily "And if the idea works, I'll even have the evidence to prove it, scratch marks on the sole of my boots. And having the evidence will also prove to Wolfgang that it's a safe and reliable method. So he loses his fear of cranking it over possibly past the limit!" .P So saying he jumped out of the car, and went to help Michael and Wolfgang with the tyres, who were just finishing centering the axles after putting the wheels back into the frame. He suggested: "You two go into the car and get warm again. I'll just check the bike over and then put my leathers on and trot the Horex around for a few laps to warm the engine and the tyres. then Wolfgang can put his leathers on and give her a try too. there's no point you going first Wolfgang, you're still stiff and blue with cold from working on the tyres here." The two of them complied thankfully and were given a hot coffee by Dagmar in the car. .P Meanwhile Werner made the minor modifications to the Horex, while the engine was warming. Then he took the Imperator out onto the track and did two slow laps of about two minutes twenty each, just to warm the engine and the new tyres. As he passed the car he saw the professor clicking his stopwatch. Opening the throttle he put in a lap at two minutes five, without touching his boots at all. "The new Avons grip the road well", he thought, "no feeling that they were anywhere near their limits". He eased off when crossing the runway threshold, remembering the two lines of gravel they had seen during the early morning jogging session. As he approached the car again he saw the Professor standing there with his stopwatch and decided to pour on the coals. Down the straights of course he would be somewhat slower than Wolfgang could be, his bigger build causing more air resistance. He braked late for the corner and cranked her over hard. Down, down, down the bike lay. "Will this never end" he thought nervously, "I must be near the limit now". .P Suddenly he felt it. His bootsole side was grazing the asphalt lightly. The welding rods still hadn't touched. He leaned over a little more. Now the rods were audibly scratching, he could hear them through the leather sideflaps of the Cromwell helmet. His boot was grinding the road hard now, and he had to move his foot slightly inwards, so that the sole of the boot just kissed the road surface. "It's working" he thought "The automatic tactile sensor! His own foot!". Confidently he swept into the righthander which lead into the back straight. Slam! he cranked the Horex over hard until he felt the road sliding past beneath the sole. The welding rod was scratching loudly too. The Avons held the Horex fast in their tenacious grip. As he flashed past the car at the end of the lap he gave the Professor a thumbs up sign. He saw Dagmar looking at the stopwatch and jumping up and down with excitement. After another two laps of grinding his boots he flashed past the car, then braked to a halt and rolled back slowly to the excited waiting group. Pushing his goggles up he saw them grinning happily. .P "One minute fiftysix! Three times in a row! Those Avons really grip the road well, just like I said they would!" shouted Michael as he approached. .P "Come on. Get off, Werner. It's my turn now" demanded Wolfgang excitedly. .P "Hey, just a minute.Calm down. I have something to show you first....." .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Fourteen .sp 2 .ce Hanging is good for you .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "You mean to say you use your foot to feel the road ?" asked Wolfgang almost incredulously. .P "Yes, and I assure you it's the most natural thing in the world." replied Werner reassuringly. "Look, Dieter's welding rods are still attached to the front down tubes of the Horex. So I just rode around as fast as usual, until the welding rods started to scratch in the corners they usually do, as a warning that I'm near the limit. Then I turned my feet slightly so that the toes pointed outwards about twenty of thirty degrees and then I could feel them scratching the road too. It's just as safe as the welding rod idea, and the tactile feedback is better than straining your ears above the roar of the Horex's engine to hear the rods scratching." .P "His bootsoles are scrubbed away at the sides. Look!!" squealed Dagmar, alarmed. .P "Exactly, my dear, what's on the road gets scraped off." That's the whole point of the idea. And he's never been as fast before. One minute and fiftysix second to beat, Wolfgang." put in the Professor, knowingly manipulating Wolfgang by appealing to his chauvinistic sense of competition in front of his girlfriend. .P Wolfgang eyed Werner's boot dubiously. "Well if it works for you...." he began. .P "Then it'll work for you too, my lad" the Professor said positively. "It's all in the mind, you know. You said to Werner that you wanted some kind of direct sensor, and here it is. Give it a try!" he appealed. .P Wolfgang looked at Dagmar. She looked at Werner, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Give it a try." she said. .P The Horex was still warm from Werner's fast, one fiftysix lap. It bump-started easily. Michael took a piece of white chalk and drew a line all the way across both tyres, from rim to rim. Wolfgang set off around the track and after three laps to get himself mentally warmed up started scratching the welding rods in the corners too. Gingerly he moved his boots to the outside of the footpegs and turned the toes slightly outwards. There! His heart pounded with excitement as he felt the left boot scratching across the tarmac. He picked up the bike for the straight and as the next corner approached he lay the bike over as swiftly as he could until the little welding rods scratched. Simultaneously he felt the road rushing past his bootsole. Gaining confidence, he moved his toe in a little. The rods were scratching very loudly now. The Avons stuck to the road like glue, no drifting feeling there like on the old original german tyres. As he flashed past Michael for the fifth time, he saw Dagmar leaping up and down and clapping her hands in excitement. Michael gave him a thumbs-up, so he must have been lapping well, he thought. At the end of the next lap he pulled up to a stop next to the excited group. .P "Well done" Werner thumped him on the back, and Dagmar flung her arms around him. "One minute fiftysix seconds too! It's a dead heat!" she squealed. .P The Professor beamed happily; Wolfgang's psychological barrier had broken, to be replaced by a new self-confidence. Wolfgang turned to Dieter and said: .P "Don't misunderstand me old chap, but I think I could go faster without your pieces of welding rod now. So take them off please. And Michael, your choice of the Avon tyres was just right. they stick like glue, no queasy drifting feel at all!" Dieter got out his toolkit and unbolted the pieces of welding rod from the frame, reflecting that they were almost worn all the way through anyway. Michael scanned the tyres for his chalk stripes. The central portions of each stripe had been worn away of course. But there was still a stripe several millimeters long ascending from each rim. The rightside stripe was longer than the left. He showed Wolfgang. .P "Look here Wolfgang, the remaining stripe shows you just how much rubber is left untouched. So you can be sure there's plenty left." .P Then Wolfgang bumped the Horex into life again, and after a warmup lap was soon circulating rapidly again. He felt much more confident now. On the corners he could slam the Horex over until he felt his boots start to touch and then, moving his feet inboard a little, could lay the Horex over cautiously maybe another five or more degrees. Five laps later he was down to one minute and fiftyfour seconds, beating Werner's best time by two whole seconds. he stopped again after another three laps, heart beating wildly, but supremely elated. .P They all clustered around, all trying to embrace him and shake his hand simultaneously. .P "I concede to the better rider" said Werner without malice, smiling from ear to ear as if his face would split at any moment. "The right chalk stripe is still a bit longer than the left one" remarked Michael "And your right boot is hardly scratched compared with the left one. Most peculiar!" .P "Not at all peculiar." interrupted the Professor "Most obvious. Think harder lad!" .P "?" .P "It's an anticlockwise circuit, so almost all of the corners are lefthanders. In fact there are only two righthanders on the track. So Wolfgang has had more practice at lefthanders than at righthanders. Once he gets through the righthanders as fast as the lefthanders your chalk stripes will be the same length and his bootsoles will be worn equally." he explained sonorously. .P "What a pity. We don't have a circuit with more righthanders!" sighed Dagmar. .P "Stupid girl! Wolfgang merely has to to drive around this track in the other direction!" the Professor said scornfully. .P "Yes, well. That makes it a whole new track." put in Werner, hastily pouring oil upon the troubled waters. "Wolfgang,you take it easy at first, because the same track will be totally different, with a totally different line, when taken clockwise." .P Michael chalked a stripe across the tyres again and refuelled the Horex from a jerrycan he had brought with him. Wolfgang bumped the Horex into life again and put in twenty laps in a clockwise direction. Finally he was down to one minute and fiftyfive seconds here too. He had his feet tucked onto the pegs next to the frame now, but could feel the road whistling past his boots. Occasionally he heard a slight scratching noise too, which was peculiar because the welding rods had been removed. He pulled into the side of the road, returning to his friends, and explained the problem. .P "Well there's still a centimeter to go on the Avons" protested Michael, looking at his chalked stripes."You could lean over even more, as far as the tyres are concerned." .P "And the bootsoles are worn equally now" chipped in Dagmar. .P "Aha" cried Werner "There are slight scratchmarks on the exhaust pipes. look. You're leaning the Horex over to the limit now. be careful though, you don't want the rear wheel stepping out on you if the exhaust pipes ground too hard." .P "I don't understand" said Wolfgang "After all you were lapping at about the same speed and your boots were touching down just the same as mine. They're worn away just the same as mine are. But you didn't ground the pipes. What am I doing wrong?" .P "Nothing" said the Professor, after a few moments of deep thought. "You are doing everything right in fact. But Werner is bigger than you are. He takes a size fortyfive boot. And you take a size thirtynine. So your feet are smaller. So you can lean the Horex over further for the same amount of leather rubbed off your bootsole. Which is why you can scratch the exhaust pipes while Werner doesn't. QED!" .P "Then were stuck, as far as the Horex is concerned. We can't corner it any faster for fear of grounding the pipes too hard." said Wolfgang. .P "Yes. Err, no. Let me think." said the Professor. They all waited respectfully. You could almost see and hear the cogwheels grinding. "Eureka. I've got it. The cornering speed dictates the angle between the bikes centre of gravity and the point where the tyre meets the road. And the grounding exhaust pipes limit the angle between the vertical axis of the bike and the roadway. Now those are two different quantities, which until now, we had only thought coincided. QED!" .P "?" .P "Say that again in layman's terms, Professor" objected Werner. "I, for one, didn't understand a word. And I doubt if anybody else did either." .P "Oh don't be so stupid" exclaimed the Professor, irritated that none of the others saw what now seemed so obvious to him. "Wolfgang merely has to move the centre of gravity of the rider-bike combination towards the inside of each corner. That leaves the bike itself more upright and thus less likely to ground. And if he then scratches around until the pipes just graze the road, then he'll be faster of course because the axis of the centre of gravity will be even shallower. QED" .P "Huh?" puzzled Wolfgang. .P "I think he means you should hang your bum off the saddle and into the corner, darling" said Dagmar in a precise if somewhat impolite manner. .P "Hrrmmmph. Err, exactly" replied the Professor, surprised at the rather common way in which she had paraphrased him. .P "It's not difficult at all." she chirped "Look, when we drive the Zundapp oufit fast, I hang off the side of the chair or lean across the pillion behind you, depending on whether it's a lefthander or a righthander. And you lean your body in the same direction too" she went on excitedly "It's exactly the same principle as we use on the outfit, darling. It's a wonder no-one thought of trying it before, any old fool could think of it. It's obvious". .P The Professor looked rather offended at being implicitly referred to as an old fool. Before he could make an acid reply, Werner, the perennial peacekeeper, jumped into the breach. .P "I doubt if it was really possible on those old hard tyres we had!" he said "It's probably only feasible on the new soft rubber compounds they mix in the tyres at Avon. And of course it's a potentially dangerous idea. We don't know when the Avons will lose their grip and start to slide." .P "Oh but we do" interjected Michael "That's what all my seven hundred and twenty experiments were about. I know the critical angle from my tables. And I think we can safely assume the load can be asymmetrical. Let's lay the Horex over until the pipes start to ground and measure the angle, then I can see from my table how many more degrees the axis of the centre of gravity could lean. Here, grab hold everybody and lend a hand." .P So everyone, infected by his enthusiasm, held the Horex over at an angle while he took his measurements. After a considerable amount of fiddling with his slide rule he looked up at Wolfgang in awe and said: .P "V-max is equal to the square root of the product of the radius of the curve, the acceleration constant little-gee and the tangent of the angle of lean from the vertical. That translates into just about fifty degrees of lean, maybe slightly more. And Claggs wrote that Duke grounds the Gilera at fortytwo degrees." .P "That means that you can lean so far off the bike Wolfgang, that if you stretch your inside knee out to help the centre of gravity shift, the knee will almost scrape the ground!" said Werner visibly awed. .P "Sounds dangerous to me" said Dagmar fearfully. .P "To me too" replied Wolfgang "Before I try that I'm going to cut up an old Zundapp tyre and slip a piece of the rubber over my knees to protect them. I'll glue the rubber onto my leathers. I'll give it a try, but not as extremely as that, today. I'll just lean my bottom halfway off the seat and lean my head and shoulders into the corner too.After all Schorsh Meier and Geoff Duke sit straight as cast iron ramrods in the middle of their bikes and keep both knees on the tank. What's good enough for the is good enough for me." .P "Yes, but you could be better" chimed in the Professor, once again appealing to Wolfgang's competitive nature. .P "Okay, I said I'd try it. But don't expect any miracles!" Wolfgang bump-started the Horex back into life and warmed the engine carefully. Michael redrew his chalk stripes, adding a horizontal stripe at the position where he had calculated the adhesion limit to be. Dagmar shut her eyes and prayed as Wolfgang let in the clutch and roared off for his warmup laps. .P Three laps later he started moving around on the bike as he took the corners. It felt most unusual, and sometimes, when he moved too heftily, the Horex would shake it's head as if in disapproval. Gradually he learned to make his movements fluid rather than abrupt. Suddenly after seven laps Michael gave him a thumbs up signal. Wolfgang knew now that he was as fast as before. After another eight laps of sharp practice he decided to try as hard as possible. He hung off the saddle in each corner as far as he dared. he couldn't possibly be faster, he thought, after all, his bootsoles had scarcely touched the road once. As he pulled to a stop after a slowing-down lap they all applauded respectfully. .P "One minute and fiftytwo seconds" Michael said awefully into the silence following the applause "One fiftytwo." .P "But I hardly felt my boots touch down at all" protested Wolfgang, surprised at his own speed. .P "Well you wouldn't. The bike stayed more upright you see" explained the Professor "And Michael's chalk stripes aren't worn away as much either, which confirms it. This hanging off is an idea whose time has come, thanks to the stickiness of those tyres." .P "I don't know about that, but it is certainly hard work. I'm bushed. Let's go home." said Wolfgang tiredly. .P So they loaded the Horex on the trailer and headed back home. Dagmar asked Wolfgang "Are you for or against capital punishment?". .P But he missed the joke, not having seen the message she had chalked victoriously onto the back of the trailer: .sp 2 .ce "Hanging is good for you!" .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Fifteen .sp 2 .ce Stopping and Steering .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "Well last week was probably be the last chance we had this year to practice on the Horex. The way that snow is falling so thickly, it'll probably lay there through 'til mid- February" said Wolfgang disconsolately, wandering around the laboratory. .P "Look on the bright side, lad" put in the Professor "Henry can get on building the frame. Werner can finally get on with cutting and hardening the gears for the unit gearbox. I'm doing the engine drawings for the four, so we should be able to do the castings in December; and by the end of January we should be able to put all the pieces together for the first time!" .P "Really?" asked Wolfgang perking up "How is Joe getting on with his fork design ? I haven't seen him for over a month now. I know Bernie has built several different kinds of braking systems to try out, because he borrowed my Zundapp last weekend (on what appears to be a semi-permanent loan) in order to try them out. He said he didn't want to try the maximum achievable braking out on a solo machine first, for fear of locking the front wheel and falling off. So he's mounting his different kinds of brakes on the front wheel of the Zundapp outfit. The sidecar keeps him upright, he says, so he's not afraid of clamping the anchors on as hard as possible." .P "Well they're both downstairs in the machine-shop now, so I'll make some of that black-market coffee for us all, sort of as an excuse, then you can go down and invite them up here for coffee. That way they can tell us how they're getting on, without waiting for the Monday progress meeting, where that insufferable little KGB bastard keeps sticking his nose into our research project" suggested the Professor, revealing a glimpse of his real opinion of Ismailovitch. .P While the Professor was boiling the water, Wolfgang ran downstairs and fetched the two students, Bernie and Joe. They were grateful for the invitation, appreciating the exquisite taste of real coffee beans, and gladly lugged their various bits and pieces of hardware upstairs, to show off proudly how they were doing. .P Bernie finished his coffee first and then held a photo out for them to look at. .P "Remember this ?" he asked rhetorically "It's a photo of the Horex Imperator I took on the day it arrived. Now look at the front wheel. See? There's just the normal road-going drum brake.The drum has a diameter that's far too small for racing, I believe. but it's all I had to start with. The brake gets hot of course, so there's a little scoop at the front for fresh air, and a cut-out at the rear to let the warm air out. However, theoretical considerations tell us we need as large a drum as possible, and as much force on it as possible. But look at the photo; the brake cable pulls just one lever which turns the lower cam. The cam pushes both brake shoes against the drum. One leading edge and one trailing edge. The trailing edge has a natural tendency to leave the drum surface, so it's not as effective as the leading edge. So my first idea was to put another cam between the other ends of the brake shoes, and attach a lever to it, just the same as the first lever. Then I put a rod between the two levers and turned a thread on one end of the rod, so that I could use a screw arrangement to adjust the effective length of the rod. That way I could make both cams turn to push the brake-shoes onto the drum simultaneously. So now I have two leading edges and two trailing edges rubbing on the drum." .P "Well what practical effect does that have ?" asked Wolfgang, curious and thirsty for knowledge as ever. .P "Well I tried it on your Zundapp. Several times I braked as hard as possible from a standard 100km/h..." .P "Which is about as fast as that old heap will go" interjected Wolfgang. .P ".....and measured the braking distance." continued Bernie. "Then I put this duplex levered brake on and repeated the braking, on the same stretch of road, just to make sure that the results were repeatable. After all, remember what Michael's measurements showed, vis-a-vis the different adhesion coefficients of different road surfaces. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I converted the braking distances from meters into deceleration figures, and they had improved from 4.2 meters/sec/sec to 5.4" .P "Well that's good....." began the Professor, but there was no stopping Bernie now, who had warmed to his subject. .P "Then I reasoned that if two levers were better than one, then four would be better than two. And the Horex hub has a constant diameter, it's not a cone like on the Nortons or the 7R AJS. So I put a second braking plate on the left hand side, not just one on the right. Of course, I had to turn the levers through 180 degrees on the cams, but I now had four braking shoes. That got me from 5.4 to 6.3 m/sec/sec." .P "Well that's good....." began the Professor again. .P "But I had a problem." continued Bernie, now in full steam "The 6.3 was only there as long as the brake was cool. If I made several measurements immediately after one another in short succession so to say, the brake faded and the numbers were worse than before. So I milled out bigger slots in the brake plate and put a larger inlet scoop on and added a small extraction scoop as well. Of course that improved matters somewhat, but what we really need is a much bigger diameter hub together with brake shoes of the appropriate size. And that would mean building a new wheel with shorter spokes and no end of other hassles, and I haven't got around to that yet. But I found a better solution." He stopped, and gestured for another cup of coffee, keeping them all on tenterhooks while it was served to him. .P "Well go on, then" said the Professor, irritatedly. .P "I went down to the library" continued Bernie, realising he had them hooked on his suspenseful tale "where Dagmar was a great help, a great help...". Wolfgang looked at him jealously .P "And she dug out all the old TT race reports, some of them complete with photos, starting in 1907 even. And believe it or not, the sidecar winners in 1923 had a totally unconventional braking system. They had an early form of disc brakes, and that in 1923 even, would you believe. They won the race, according to the reports of the time, because they were able to brake harder and thus later than all the others. But the technology of the period meant that they weren't always reliable. And the brake cables often shed their nipples, probably due to the higher tension on the cables. And those old race reports gave me an idea...." he paused, letting them suffer in silence while he slurped at his coffee. "So I went down to the scrapyard (doing my scrapyard thing) and got a rear wheel to try out the idea and an old hydraulic disc brake from the remains of one of those scrapped aircraft from the war....." .P "Why a rear wheel?" interjected Wolfgang, perennially curious,"That would make the braking test incomparable, surely?" .P "No, I put it on the front of the Zundapp, but the rear wheel already had a solid disc chain sprocket which I could use as the disc brake without having to build a whole new wheel..." .P "Clever" murmered the Professor, „ sotto voce . .P "Of course its still a bit of a jury-rig with the hydraulics. But yesterday I was able to measure it...." .P "Well tell us then. There's no more coffee anyway" put in the Professor in his blunt academic manner. .P "....and I measured six point seven m/sec/sec" finished Bernie triumphantly. .P "Wow" praised Wolfgang "and that's on the old Zundapp. Just think what it could be on a lightweight racer!" .P "Congratulations, my lad!" said the Professor thinking rapidly "You could even put a second disc on the other side of the wheel. That would probably give you seven m/sec/sec.There is an additional advantage of course. The unsprung weight of the front wheel will be much less than with a big heavy quadruple-shoe drum. So the roadholding would be improved, because the fork would have less work to do. Apropos fork" he said, changing the subject "How are you getting on, Joe?" .P Bernie looked rather upset at having his carefully orchestrated victory snapped away from him so quickly, but he was used to the Professor's academic brusqueness, knowing that it was based on genuine intellectual curiousity rather then on any wish to slight him, so he smiled lopsidedly and let Joe begin to talk. .P "Thankyou Professor" began Joe politely "I too took advantage of Dagmar's services" he said, teasing Wolfgang. .P "We went through all the literature on the pros and cons of different kinds of suspension. I started with the traditional kind of girder forks, like those used on the Velocettes and the Vincents. Then I read up on long leading links (like BMWs) and short leading links (like Adler) and even trailing links before progressing to telescopic forks." .P "But almost everybody accepts that telescopic forks are the non-plus-ultra these days" put in Bernie, still rather sour "So what's the point of us choosing anything else?" .P "That is the purpose of the exercise" put in the Professor sharply "You do not achieve an academic reputation just by slavishly copying everybody else, but by establishing objectively what the optimal solution is!" .P "Yes, well" said Joe, embarrassed for Bernie by the sharpness of the Professor's tone "The literature said that the advantages of telescopic forks are, first: a long stroke for the springs, second: relative lightness, third: low inertia around the steering axis and finally, cheapness of construction." .P "And what are the disadvantages?" asked Wolfgang, his innate curiousity getting the better of him once again. "High breakout friction (due to the oil seals), serious lack of stiffness against twisting and bending moments, and of course that terrible tendency to dive deep down under hard braking." .P "Which alters my carefully designed steering geometry" Henry said, speaking up for the first time that day. .P "I thought you'd lost your voice, you've been so quiet today" continued Joe "Ideally, we want a front fork which separates the function of steering from that of suspension. And the leading link forks are a better bet in that direction, if only they would work in a straight line rather than an arc. I have built a prototype leading link parallelogram fork downstairs, and here are the blueprints, look." There was silence while they all studied Joe's blueprints. .P "But you've got the lower parallel fork levers coming out horizontally above the wheel and attached to frame downtubes." protested Henry "But our frame doesn't have any front downtubes, it's just a large diameter pipe running front to rear." .P "Yes, well you could weld two small tubes running down from the steering head to the cylinder head. You've got to hold the cylinder head somewhere anyway, so a small subframe could hold the fork as well." replied Joe. "As you see the top parallelogram levers hold the top of two stiff diamond-shaped rectangular section boxes whose other end hold the axle. Then there is a single central damped spring that runs from just above the wheel up to the cylinder head. The handlebars connect to the box-frames via universal joints, so that the steering is separated from the suspension, just as I wanted it to be." .P "Yes but what does this buy us? wouldn't it be easier just to use the Horex's telescopic fork?" asked Wolfgang. .P "It gives us a very high degree of steering precision and a much reduced stiction of the suspension." replied Joe "But the major advantage is that, due to a clever calculation of the relative lengths of the parallel levers (if I may pat my own back) there is almost no dive-effect even when braking hard. For safety's sake, I left a slight dip in there, so the rider gets some tactile feedback about his braking, but its only a centimeter of two and not ten or twenty or more centimeters like the Horex's telescopic fork" he finished triumphantly. .P "That's great!" enthused Henry "Just to show my thanks for you leaving my steering geometry the way I designed it, I'll even accept adding a small sub-frame at the front of the cylinder heads." .P "Just be sure to leave plenty of room for us to get at the spark plugs and the front rotary exhaust valves though" put in Wolfgang, just to dampen the general euphoria that was spreading through the office "Because, even if the bike does handle well as a result and brake well with Bernie's new- fangled disc brakes, we may still need to get at the engine in a hurry at pit stops! Now I admit that I didn't really understand yet how Joe's forks are supposed to work, so I'll reserve my rider's opinion until I can try them. Why don't you try putting your prototype fork onto the Zundapp to test it, that way we won't have to wait until spring to see how it works." .P "And I have a minor suggestion too" added the Professor. "You are going to have to build a proper hydraulic system anyway, instead of that jury-rig you've got for the brakes now Bernie. And during the war, I remember, they had hydraulic problems when the rubber hoses expanded under high pressure. So I suggest you use smaller bore thicker-walled hydraulic hoses encased in a flexible steel cover. That should stop the brakes feeling soggy." .P "Talking of feeling soggy," put in Wolfgang "How about some lunch, we've been talking all morning! And if we go for lunch early, the place won't be full, and we avoid having to listen to Ismailovitch talk all the way through three courses. He's coming at one o'clock with some new information for us he said." .P "Let's go to that little caf‚ just past the last college." suggested Bernie "You know, I mean the restaurant at the end of the university." .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Sixteen .sp 2 .ce The singing saw .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P On the dot of one o'clock that same Friday afternoon Ismailovitch trotted into the Professor's office, almost running. .P "How about some lunch then?" he enquired breezily first "Then I can tell you all about this new dossier. Where's the Professor, eh?, eh?" .P "I afraid we've just eaten. At that little catholic caf‚ on the corner. The Professor's just paying now, and saying goodbye and thanks for all the fish. He'll he here in a moment, sir!" said Wolfgang, keeping a straight face. .P "Huh! I don't think much of that. You know I always like a long lunch and a chat. You could have waited for me! We'll I don't care. I'm going for lunch anyway! You'll have to read this on your own then!" cried Ismailovitch, storming out of the door, almost bowling the Professor over as he entered, and thrusting the new dossier into his hands. .P "What was all that about?" asked the Professor, taking off his grey war-issue woolen greatcoat. .P "Life, the Universe and everything" replied Wolfgang "But mostly, complaints about missing his lunch." .P "Well they've got lots of fish left at the caf‚, but they've stopped serving lunch, and the fuse for the lights has failed again." said the Professor. .P "Well then, he can skip lunch and make a long dark teatime of the sole then." suggested Wolfgang. .P "Well let's read this new dossier before he comes back in an even fouler mood" said the Professor, sitting down at his desk to read the report aloud to the gathered team. His team. Handchosen. .P This time the dossier was in a silver and blue cover and instead of being looseleaf, the contents were held together in a four ring binder. No umlauts again, the same non-german typewriter had been used, he thought as he scanned the first page. .P "Whereas the the DKW and Auto Union factories in Zschopau were in the soviet occupation zone after the war," he read, "the factories were dissembled in 1945 and the machinery sent back to Mother Russia where it could benefit our glorious planned economy better. However, in the capitalist occupation zone DKW set up shop again in 1949, in Ingolstadt. DKW had always built two-strokes and continued now in the same vein, albeit without the benefit of a pumping cylinder. From the beginning in 1949 DKW have had a racing department; it is headed by the engineer Erich Wolf. Wolf has been developing the sculpted-head piston designed by Schnrle; the research papers are well known, and need no further expansion here. His first engine was a 52mm by 58mm 125 cc piston-ported single developing 8 kW at 6500 rpm; new design features includes dual narrow megaphone exhausts. Of more interest are the larger engines. First we discuss the 250cc parallel twin. It uses the same cylinders and heads etc as the air-cooled 125, a four-speed gearbox is fed via an open clutch. The duplex frame however, is a totally new design with telescopic front forks, sprung rear fork and large drum brakes. Wolf has achieved asymmetrical inlet timing by using an engine-driven cylindrical valve. The engine delivers 21 kW at 10000 revs and is extremely light, being built of Elektron. In fact the whole machine only weighs 85 kilograms! Last year Rudi Felgenheier won the 1952 WM in the 250cc class in Solitude with this machine, so it is worth taking DKW seriously! .P Parallel to the 250cc twin Wolf had been developing the drawings for a 350cc three. December 1951 to be exact. This engine is very unorthodox. it has a horizontally split crankcase which supports the two outside cylinders which lean 15 degrees forwards and a central horizontal cylinder. The inlet ports are all piston controlled, the idea of the asymmetrical timing valve from the 250cc twin having been dropped (probably due to its innate gas-flow restrictions, we believe). The cylinders are 53mm by 52.8mm giving 116cc each, that is 348cc in total. Three Dell'Orto carburettors each of 28mm diameter feed 1:20 petroil to these cylinders. The engine turns over at to 13000 revs, which led to problems finding a suitable ignition system. Finally Wolf hit upon the idea of using the Bosch magneto from a six-cylinder BMW 328 car, gearing it down to half speed. This means that there are two HT wires per plug. There is a five-speed gearbox. We estimate that the engine delivers just over 23 kW now, but since it was built in just a few months, and Wolf does not a dynamometer available, we expect that with suitable tuning it could deliver up to 35kW. This would make it competitive with the 500cc machines, inasmuch as the naked machine weighs barely 90kg. DKW are experimenting with streamlining, as is shown in the accompanying photos. Because of the indescribably loud whine of this high-revving engine, it has been nick-named 'The singing saw'. .P The factory riders are Ewald Kluge and Sigi Wšnsche. Kluge won a double victory in the 1952 german national championships on this three. However, the three has some thermal problems, and so may not last the distance of such long races as the TTs on the Isle of Man. We expect these two DKW riders to compete in the 350cc Junior and 250cc lightweight successfully this year. Unless thermal problems crop up on the longer courses, we expect them to finish in one of the first three places. .P However, DKW do not plan to build a 500cc four. So if they choose to compete in the senior 500cc class it would have to be on an overbored (say 354cc) three. Then they would be only just competitive as far as engine performance is concerned. So the DKW management will most probably choose not to pursue this option. .sp 1 Summary: DKW has very competitive two-stroke engineering. Herr Wolf, although a shy and retiring man, is a very bright development engineer. It is worth keeping an eye on DKW. However, they will not represent a threat in the senior 500cc class." .P "Well that's a relief to know" said Wolfgang into the silence that followed the Professor reading the dossier. The Professor pulled out his note-book and wrote: .P "Schnrle pistons are a dead end. Streamlining is worth investigating in more detail. Check up on Michael's progress as soon as possible." .P "You know, Wolfgang, you're really riding fast now" said Werner reflectively. "There's not much more I can teach you. Especially about riding. But racing is more than just riding well. There are some tricks you need to know; we should discuss those. And there are the formal rules, like the flag code. Anybody who wants to become a racing rider must know the code off by heart." .P "So tell me, I'm always thirsty for knowledge" replied Wolfgang. .P "The best known flags are the ones everyone knows from films of races" explained Werner "The chequered flag of course, for the finishing line; and the national flag of the host country as the starter's flag....." .P "Not to be mistaken in the case of Mother Russia with the red flag which tells everyone to stop immediately, the race has been canceled" quipped Dagmar. Wolfgang was often surprised at the depth of knowledge his girlfriend possessed. 'Probably due to her being a librarian and having time to read all manner of things' he thought. .P "Exactly" said Werner patiently, knowing that Dagmar was just trying to impress her Wolfgang." Yellow means caution, there is danger of some sort or another; usually a crash ahead." .P "What about oil on the track? Isn't that a yellow flag too?" asked Wolfgang. .P "No, there's a special flag for oil on the track. With red and yellow vertical stripes. But if there has been a crash, and the doctor's car or an ambulance, or any slow vehicle for that matter is on the track, then a white flag is shown. A blue flag means that another rider is behind you trying to overtake." Werner went on. .P "And a white and blue flag means you're now entering Bavaria!" quipped Dagmar irrelevantly. .P "Oh shut up, will you, this is serious" Wolfgang reprimanded her. She flushed, realising she had gone too far. .P "Green of course, means the track is clear again. Incidentally, if a yellow flag is shown, then you're not allowed to overtake at all. Finally, if you have committed some gross sin, they will show a black flag together with your race number. That means that the bike with that racing number has been disqualified and is out off the race. Pull off immediately. That's also why it's important to remember what your number is in any race, especially if you start in several classes on different bikes in the same day. In fact I often chalk it on the tank top, between the filler cap and the steering head, where it won't rub off easily. Now can you repeat the flag code to me?" Werner finished. Wolfgang did so without hesitation. He learned easily. .P "Now the other code to learn is more flexible, because it's just a matter of agreement between you and your signaller." Werner continued. "I'm talking about the box signals from your pit attendant." .P "That'll be me!" piped up Dagmar enthusiastically, anxious to get back into Wolfgang's good books. He grinned approvingly. .P "Actually, on long circuits like the Nrburgring and especially the Isle of Man, you'll need an additional signaller about half way around." Werner explained. "It's also most important to keep the information short and simple, but sufficient. After all the pit boy....." .P "Or in this case, girl !" put in Dagmar. .P "Or girl" Werner smiled "will have to rub off the chalk from the blackboard and rewrite it every lap. And on a short circuit that could mean every minute!" .P "Well what data should we have ? First my position in the race?" asked Wolfgang. .P "No. Just remember that in a race with a large entry field the first thing you need to do is to be able to identify your own signalling board. So right at the top, on it's own we'll write your race number." Werner recommended. .P "And I could put a coloured border around the blackboard, so you could see more easily which is yours. Black, red and gold when were abroad, so you see the german colours." suggested Dagmar. .P "Good idea" praised Wolfgang. Dagmar blushed coyly. .P "Hrrrmmmph." Werner cleared his throat before continuing, loathe to interrupt this exchange of dewy-eyed looks. "Then in the second line on the left we write your position in the race. And on the right we'll write the number of laps still left to go. On a short circuit it's very easy to lose count if you're doing 30 laps or more. It would be very embarrassing of you pulled off the track with one lap still to go, or if you didn't grab a chance to overtake on the last lap because you thought you still had another two or three to go!" .P "Oh yes, I'll say. Especially if I'm riding easy!" .P "Then on the third line we'll write your lead to the nearest second over the rider who is following you, followed by an arrow. If the arrow slopes upwards at 45 degrees your lead is increasing, and if it's sloping down then it's decreasing." Werner continued. .P "And if it hasn't changed we'll draw a horizontal arrow" chirped Dagmar brightly. .P "Exactly" Werner went on "And if there is a fourth and final line, it will show your time behind the man in front of you, and the arrows will show the tendency." .P "But with our bike, there should never be a fourth line on the blackboard !" interjected the Professor with undue pride. .P "Hubris, hubris! Be careful!" warned Werner goodnaturedly. .P "OK, let's try you!" squealed Dagmar and dashing to the blackboard wrote: .sp 1 .nf 16 4 15 +7 / -3 -- .fi .P "Let me see," said Wolfgang "That means I'm riding with the start number sixteen, and I'm in fourth position with another fifteen laps still to go. I'm seven seconds ahead of the fifth man and have successfully pulled away from him on the last lap. However I'm still three seconds behind the third placed man and haven't managed to gain on him on the last lap at all." .P "That's right" squealed Dagmar joyfully, hugging and kissing him in her excitement. .P "Alas, not quite." Werner dampened their ardour "You see, the pit boy..." .P "Girl!" .P "....won't have had time to calculate the differences and write them down in lines three and four. So those numbers actually relate to the lap before last." .P "Ah yes. Obvious." put in the Professor "I have understood it all too. However, remember that our two-stroke will be a very thirsty beast. So in the longer races we will want to signal him to come in for fuel on the subsequent lap." .P "True, true. So just wave a petrol can at me, next to the blackboard. And for long races have a drink of water waiting in the pits for me, and on summer days when there are lots of flies about, a clean pair of goggles too." Werner suggested. .P "We can do even better" put in Dagmar gaily "I'll sew a piece of chamois leather on the back of your gloves' forefingers. Then you can wipe your goggles as you go along too!" .P "Talking of going along" suggested the Professor "Why don't we all just go along home now. It's nearly three o'clock and that detestable little man will be back soon, as miserable as sin. See you all on the dot of nine tomorrow, OK?" .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Seventeen .sp 2 .ce Getting it all together .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Christmas had come and gone, and now January was drawing to a close too. The ground was still frozen hard, almost as if, when the soviet occupation troops had entered Dresden on the eighth of May 1945, they had brought the Siberian permafrost with them. Snow lay whitely over the houses and streets, hushing the noise of what little traffic there was. No-one particularly wanted to drive through the snow, for it innocently covered treacherous sheets of ice beneath, on the road surface. Michael walked to the laboratory, treading carefully, and thinking wryly that the last six months of his life seemed to have been ruled by the twin concerns of adhesion and slipperyness. First, last autumn, in 1952, he had done over seven hundred backbreaking measurements to measure the adhesion of tyres on different road surfaces. The Professor had been pleased with the results, and had assured him of good marks for the practical part of his Diploma. Since Ismailovitch's visit at the beginning of December Michael had been following up the idea of streamlining which had been brought up in that December discussion. Now he was ready to show the team his results. .P "Hallo Michael, where have you been?" asked the Professor pointedly as he entered the office. The Professor was a stickler for punctuality. None of these 'academic quarter- hour' delays for him. his lectures always began spot on time, and woe betides any unfortunate undergraduate who showed up late. "I have been standing up here on this dais at the front for seven minutes and twentytwo seconds,now" he would say "And as far as you are concerned, it has been to no purpose, because you have missed what I was lecturing about. So, young man, as a lesson you yourself will now remain standing for seven minutes and twentytwo seconds for no purpose. And I don't want to hear what you have to say either; it couldn't possibly be of any interest. No you may not sit down until the time is up!". Then he would continue lecturing where he had left off, scowling the while at the unfortunate embarrassed latecomer. Most students were only ever late once, after this public humiliation, Michael had noticed. .P "I've been investigating the coefficient of friction between rubber and wet ice as lubricated by old slush" said Michael with a straight face as he pulled off his wellington boots and put on the dry shoes he kept especially at the lab during the whole winter. .P "Ah, well that's alright then" said the Professor, not realising he was having his leg pulled. "No great sense of humour there" thought Michael. In fact the only joke that Michael had ever heard the Professor make had been a russian pun that only Ismailovitch had understood. And even he hadn't thought it funny for long. .P Michael walked up to the blackboard and turned to face the assembled team before he began talking. .P "As you all know, over the last two months I have following up on this streamlining idea. Some of the photographs that were in the various dossiers we saw last year showed us what other teams were doing in this area. Norton, as you know, have always raced their motorcycles 'naked', if Dagmar will excuse my choice of word." .P "The bike is naked, not the rider" put in Wolfgang hurriedly as Dagmar blushed. .P "Exactly. Now as you know, now that Duke has left Norton for Gilera, Ray Amm has replaced his as the works rider." Michael continued "But the Norton four still isn't ready, according to Claggs' newspaper reports, and so the Norton singles are considerably lacking in power compared with the Gilera fours. Now there are rumours that Norton are taking this seriously and are building an aerodynamically optimised streamlining for Ray Amm. They are not only concerned with minimising the coefficient of drag but also even with minimising the frontal area of their bike. Allegedly it had quite small wheels and a flat tank, so that Ray Amm will actually kneel in it, rather than sit on it......" "Most uncomfortable, I'm sure" interrupted the Professor. .P "No way. There is no way I'm going to scrunch myself down into a kneeling position. I've been carefully learning how to feel for the road with my boot, and that has turned out to be a very sensitive instrument. If i were to have to kneel, then my toes would point straight down, and I couldn't angle my feet about on the pegs to adjust to the road conditions. No way" Wolfgang objected. "Yes, I realised that" said Michael, somewhat nettled "But let me finish please before you voice your objections. After all I've thought of most of them myself!" .P "Now Adler just have a bulbous little fairing around the steering head. It holds a flyscreen, which is no longer flat, but is a curved piece of perspex that the rider can see through. The little fairing comes around the side and encloses the riders hands and arms, keeping them out of the slipstream. It's probably worth between three and five kilowatts in terms of equivalent engine power. Anyway, the Adler with it on pulls one tooth higher on the sprocket than the Adler without it." .P Michael passed around a photo, before continuing: "Now DKW can't seen to make up their minds. They have a large petroil tank due to the thirst of their 350cc three. And the tank is sculpted so that the riders arms can lie flat along the side, on a padded part of the tank. The top of the tank is sculpted and padded for the rider's chin. Otherwise there is no streamlining. Now some of their people must have been watching what Moto Guzzi are doing with full streamlining. Because on this other DKW photo the front wheel is completely covered and the streamlining goes all the way back to the riders feet; the top third of the rear wheel is faired in too." .P "It looks like the bike from the first photo had driven at full speed into the open end of a dustbin!" burst out Dagmar. .P "Ha, ha ha" everyone rolled about laughing."That's what we'll christen that kind of fairing" shouted Wolfgang above the general merriment " Dustbin-fairings! Ha ha ha!" .P "Finally, there are the so-called 'blue-whale' or dolphin fairings, in two slightly different variants. They both leave the front wheel free, wrapping around the front down tubes instead. However the former version omits the mudguard from the front wheel and has this long nose on the front of the fairing. That saves unsprung weight on the front suspension. The latter keeps a mudguard on the front wheel and thus a smoothly curved front with no nose." .P "Blue-whales, naked, dolphins and dustbins! What funny names!" exclaimed Dagmar. .P "But which is best?" asked the ever-curious Wolfgang. .P "The dustbin has the smallest drag coefficient" replied Michael. .P "How did you measure it ?" asked the Professor, knowing full well that that the aerodynamics faculty had their wind- tunnel booked out for months ahead, and there was no way Michael could have used it. Besides, he didn't have the necessary budget. .P "Well the wind tunnel was too expensive of course, and not available to me anyway" Michael answered "so I remembered how the Wright brothers did it, and copied that idea." .P "Go on please" said Wolfgang, once more thirsting for any scraps of knowledge. .P "Well I went down to the toy shop and bought this plastic scale model motorcycle. It's a Manx Norton model made by some american company. Then I got some stiff white cardboard, glue and plasticine too. I mounted an old bicycle wheel horizontally and fixed the model bike to one rim. Then I mounted a fisherman's spring balance on the other side of the bicycle wheel. I got in the Zundapp sidecar with this contraption. Then Dagmar drove the Zundapp at a constant 50 kilometers per hour down that long straight road on the way to the Zwinger, while I noted the reading on the fisherman's spring balance. We took an average of five runs in each direction, to take headwind components and minor speed variations into account. Next day I cut some of the cardboard roughly into the shape of a delphin fairing, and rounded the corners off with plasticine, so that the profile was the same as in the photo that I showed to you. Then we drove the outfit up and down the road again. In the afternoon we stuck a 'blue- whale' nose on the front of the dolphin and copied its photo profile in turn with more plasticine. The following day I had made a cardboard model of the 'dustbin' fairing and smoothed the profile with plasticine like before. Then we drove up and down the road five times each way while I took the measurements." he explained triumphantly. .P "That's the censored version" crowed Dagmar delightedly "Because the last run was only done four times, and then we got nicked by the Vopos for creating an unnecessary disturbance and behaviour very likely to cause a breach of the peace. But when I took my helmet off and smiled nicely at the policemen and shook my tresses at him, he let me off with a caution, because I'm a girl!" .P Wolfgang didn't know whether to look disbelieving of this tale or to look jealous. And if jealous, at whom? So he gave up trying and joined in the general laughter. .P "Well anyway" explained Michael "That's how we did the comparative measurements; but I don't have an absolute number for the drag coefficient, I just know roughly how much better it is than for the naked machine. The dustbin is by far and away the best, but we'll have two problems with it. First we'll probably need to include some air scoops for cooling Bernie's disc brakes and to feed cool air to the engine's radiator. And secondly I would suspect that it will make the whole front end of the machine susceptible to gusts of crosswinds. But I don't expect there to be any significant coefficient of lift, making the front end lighter." .P "Well we shall soon see" replied the Professor "The workshops have finished all the engine castings. Werner has finished hardening the gears, Henry's frame is ready as is Joe's very unconventional front fork. We got some sixteen and seventeen inch wheels from an Adler dealer and smuggled them here. So as soon as Bernie has mounted his dual disc brakes and laced up a new set of spokes we can put it all together. Unfortunately we can only run the engine in on the dynamometer, we can't take any performance measurements, because our dynamometer is too small and weak to cope with this hairy little monster. But the weather forecast says that the first week in february should be fine and dry, if still a little chilly, so we'll take her out to the airfield next week for her virgin gallop." Dagmar blushed coyly, and cast a short arch glance at her Wolfgang. .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 2 A week later the weather was indeed bright, fine and cheerful. The trailer behind the Professors car was now laden with two racers, the Horex and the still unnamed experimental two-stroke four. Werner unloaded both machines and they bump- started the Horex first and warmed it up. "Now here's what we'll do!" said the Professor, suddenly very authoritarian in his thinly disguised excitement. Comrade Ismailovitch will stand at the far end of the main straight with a flag." .P "The red hammer and sickle of course" put in Ismailovitch, just to remind them of who was really running the project. .P "Of course" said the Professor aloud whilst thinking to himself "This little erk really does get up my nose; he tries to humiliate me at every turn. If it weren't for my academic prowess, he wouldn't have his precious racer today. and then he wouldn't be an oh-so-important burocrat in Stalin's technology program!" .P "Michael will stand four hundred meters towards this end of the straight. When the red flag falls he will start his stopwatch, stopping it when Wolfgang races past." .P "Yes sir!" said Michael, mockingly. .P The Professor missed the humour as usual and continued "That will give us a figure for the acceleration. At the one kilometer point Dagmar and myself will be standing 100 meters apart. The difference between our timings will give us the top speed, and Dagmar's time will give us the acceleration over the standing kilometer. Joe here will ride along afterwards on the Zundapp and collect your timings, writing them down for us." .P "I hope Bernie's brake works fine, because there won't be much room left to stop. This main straight isn't all that long you know." objected Wolfgang, as he put his leathers on. .P "We will do ten runs with the Horex first. That will give us both some comparison figures and will get us used to doing the timings. Then we'll average the last five runs or so. Luckily there's no wind today, and of course no gradient, so that runs in one direction will suffice!" finished the Professor. .P Joe piled Ismailovitch into the Zundapp's sidecar and Michael on the pillion and drove off down to the other end of the straight. Wolfgang let the Horex roar its deep-throated roar of defiance from the twin megaphones and set off after them. He knew the Horex was geared correctly for this job, but he had his doubts about the two-stroke to follow. .P They lined up. Ismailovitch raised the red flag. The timekeepers all raised their left hands to signal that their watches were ready. Wolfgang opened the throttle until the Horex was showing seven thousand r.p.m. Then he nodded to Ismailovitch.The flag dropped. With a gutteral roar the Horex was off the mark, front wheel bouncing slightly. Wolfgang rapidly snicked into second, then third as the revs peaked. He was just changing into fourth as he flashed past Michael. Fourteen seconds dead. Then on past Dagmar in top and as he passed the Professor he clamped the Horex drum brakes on hard. Two and a quarter seconds exactly between Dagmar and the Professor. Makes 160 km/h. Joe collected the timings and did the calculations on his slide rule. .P "14 seconds for the 400 meter standing start, 29.1 for the kilometer and a top speed of 160. Not particularly good" he said glumly. .P The Professor had by now realised that the stopwatches provided a resolution of one twentieth of a second. This meant a difference of three and a half km/h in the measured top speed. And because it was two different people pressing the final two stopwatches, even if each varied by only a tenth of a second, the two timing errors could add to a fifth of a second, giving a measurement error of 14 km/h. Which was why he wanted ten measurements. That would cut the expected standard error by a factor of three. So they could trust the final figure to within five km/h as far as top speed was concerned. .P So Wolfgang rolled easily back to the start, letting the brakes cool and repeated the procedure ten times. Joe calculated the final averages and the standard deviations. This let him check the measurement errors. "Fourteen point one seconds, twentyeight point four and 164 km/h " he announced .P "Now for the two-stroke.!" .P Everybody was visibly nervous as Wolfgang clambered aboard the two-stroke, and it was push-started. The engine spat and crackled tinnily as it warmed up. Wolfgang sat and watched the thermometer as the water temperature slowly climbed into the green. "It's a funny old frame, this is Henry" complained Wolfgang "I feel as if I'm about ten centimeters further forward of where I sit on the Horex!" .P "That's true" said Henry "Actually it's nine. But it's necessary. I used the engine torque figures the Professor gave me and knowing your weight, I calculated the moment arm you would need to stop the bike flipping over backwards due to its acceleration. According to that number, you should sit even further forward. But if you do, and Bernie's brake decelerates as well as he says it does, then clamping the front brake on hard would lift the back wheel in the air, and maybe throw you over the bars. So you can't sit that far forward. Now I've made the wheelbase as long as possible while still having a highly responsive bike. After all, being steady as a train on rails isn't going to help you through the twisty bits! This bike is so much more powerful than the Horex you'll have to go easy on the throttle and brakes to avoid being thrown off as if it were a wild mustang!" .P Wolfgang looked very thoughtful as he rode gently down to the start. On the way he gingerly tried the brake a few times until he felt he had the measure of it. The flag was raised. Wolfgang revved to six thousand. the flag fell. Wolfgang dropped the clutch as he had always done on the Horex and the the two-stroke staggered off the line and the engine died as the revs fell into the basement. .P "Damn and blast" thought Wolfgang "I forgot that there's no flywheel effect and the engine stops when you snap the throttle shut. I'll try again just on the bottom of the power band." .P Flag up. Seven thousand revs this time, and slip the clutch. the flag dropped. He bounded off the line and the revs dropped again until he slipped the clutch getting them back to eight thousand. The power came in with a rush. the front wheel pattered lightly over the ground as the scream off the four rose onto song. second, then third,then fourth. he seemed to be spending all the time changing gear. Into fifth past Michael and just into sixth past Dagmar. Then brake, careful now, Bernie's right, that brake bites hard! .P Joe chugged up on the Zundapp with the times. He waggled his slide rule a couple of times. "Thirteen point two for the 400 meters, then twentyfive point one and 187 km/h, great!" he enthused. .P "No he bogged it down on the start and later he chickened out and shut off as he passed me" said Dagmar "Top speed can be even higher!" .P Wolfgang was none too keen on his beloved characterising him as chicken, and determined to use all of the revs next run. .P Flag up. Ten thousand, and feed it as the flag drops. the stroker screamed impatiently for release, he let the clutch go too fast and the front wheel came up and over, throwing him off. The engine died as the bike lay on it's side unharmed. Wolfgang dusted himself down, checked that nothing was broken and gave everyone the thumbs up sign. "What a monster!" he thought "I'm going to have to keep it about nine thousand and really slip that clutch to get off the line OK" .P Flag up. Nine thousand. Flag down, and the stroker screamed off the line, front wheel just about two centimeters above the asphalt. Change into second, front wheel temporarily regaining the road. Again it lifted as the stroker sang up through the power band. In third, the same. In fourth the front wheel decided to stay down, albeit lightly. fifth and sixth as he flashed past the Professor. "Twelve point three, twentythree point five and 205 km/h" Joe crowed, doing a little dance with his slide rule. .P "This straight is too short" said Wolfgang "I need to be geared lower for better acceleration and higher for top speed. But we don't have the other sprockets with us. So I suggest we leave it at that as far as the 400 meters are concerned. Now if Michael will put his dustbin on the bike, I'll do a couple of laps to get the feel of it and then do a flying start for top speed. You two should stand about three hundred meters apart for better accuracy. Bernie's brake is fantastic, so there'll be no problem braking for the corner. .P After the dustbin was bolted on, he did exactly that. .P "Two hundred and twenty eight km/h!!!" crowed Joe, almost beside himself with joy. Wolfgang was flushed with excitement as he finally dismounted. "What a monster" he shouted "What a monster! I can't wait to tell Werner tonight". .P Dagmar was subdued; she had seen how close to uncontrollability the bike was, and feared for her man. Even the Professor was grinning though and, delving into the boot of his car, brought out a bottle of vodka he had 'borrowed' from Ismailovitch for the occasion. He was very relieved too, because the 125cc single had siezed solid on him as he was testing it on the dynamometer late the previous evening. .P "Comrades, the time has come to train on a real racetrack" declared Ismailovitch "But we still need to keep it secret from the press. So I have arranged with our comrades in the communist party in Italy to use the little known track at Mugallo, near Rome. That's at least a two day's drive from Britain for example, which should keep that ace reporter Claggs off our backs. It will take a few weeks to set up though, so you must practice here in the mean time." .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Eighteen .sp 2 .ce Froede's flying four .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "Mornin' Mr. Claggs, Sir. Still a bit brass monkeys for the last Thursday in February innit?" .P "Good morning to you too, Mr. Adams. It is rather parky, I'll tell you. Give me a Daily Express please and this week's Motorcycle." .P "You ain't gort annyfink innit this week, guv'nor. You losin' your touch are yer? Where's yer 'Gotcha' scoop this week eh?" said Adams, teasing Claggs. .P "Sadly that's true, dear chap. There isn't all that much to write about in the winter season. It only really starts to look up when the racing starts again in March." .P "So what does yer do inna winter then?" .P "Well some of the time I stay at home and write historical perspectives of the last season, you know, for the boy's annuals like Eagle or Beano. And in November I go through all my photos and pick out the best, most dramatic, twelve. There's a calender publisher that always does a bike racing calender. So that brings a bit of income too. Then I travel around a little to visit the various works racing departments to see what they're doing for the next season. Sometimes I get a scoop there. But after that interview with Gilbert Smith they hardly let me into Bracebridge Street any more. I practically know that they are building a short-stroke double-knocker engine for the Manx Nortons this year, but they won't let me in to even see it, much less photograph it. And now Ray Amm is their top rider, and there are rumours that they're building an extra low streamlined job for him. But again, I haven't got in to see it." .P "Shut the door in yer face, 'ave they eh?" said Adams sympathetically. .P "Well sort of. Anyway I'm off to West Germany for a couple of days tomorrow, so cancel my daily papers please and save the weekly ones until I get back." .P "Cor, you're the lucky one. All that travellin'. Yer could take me wiv' yer to one o' them races. I ain't 'ad an 'oliday these past four years, I could shut up shop for a week, or 'ave my lad do the paper rounds. E's nine now, yer know. But yer won't get me gallivantin' abroad ter Germany. I 'ad enough of them Krauts in the war, I can tell yer!" .P "Certainly. You're most welcome. Why don't you come to TT week in the Isle of Man then. That's not really abroad; they speak english to a man." .P "Why that's nice o' yer, guv! I'll do that. But what yer gonna be doin' wiv them 'uns then. Eh?" .P "?" .P "Yer knows what I mean. 'uns! Krauts !" .P "Well I'm off to visit the NSU factory. There's a rumour they've got their four cylinder 500cc job running properly. So I'm going to take a look at it if I can." .P "Well 'ave a good trip then. I'll keep yer weeklies. An' I'll come to the Island wiv yer in summer, guv." .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 2 Claggs had taken the early evening ferry from Dover to Ostend and driven across Belgium in the night. Now as dawn broke he approached the border post into Germany. Grey coated border guards stared silently at his passport, oppressively. Claggs hadn't been in Germany since the war, but the oppressive atmosphere of the dank and dark little border hut and the silent guards looming largely in the half darkness cast his mind back to February of 1945. .P During the war Claggs had been with MI6, in the secretive role of what had since become popularly known as a 'Spycatcher'. On that dreadful night of the thirteenth of February he had been the MI6 observer on the fire-bombing of Dresden. He shivered as the border guards waved him through, remembering that night. .P The Lancaster had stood looming silently in the darkness, one of hundreds. Underneath the lefthand, pilot's, side window a fitter had painted "Revenge for Coventry". On the other side, under the copilot's window it read "Vengeance is mine". With a full load of incendiaries and the MI6 observer on board the Lancaster had rumbled ungainfully into the night. As they approached Dresden just past midnight he had seen Dresden burning brightly in a self-feeding firestorm. "Welcome to the second St.Valentine's Day massacre" he had thought. .P He suppressed the terrible vision of the flak hitting the Lancaster as he drove slowly south-east. He'd never fly again. .P Two nights later he had been parachuted behind the german lines to drop into the outskirts of Dresden. His mission was to report on the damage done by the fire-storm and to see what had happened to the two MI5 agents Millowitz and Williams who were actively helping the resistance and sabotaging what they could. The fire-storm had wreaked terrible havoc. Buildings were gutted. Corpses, blackened beyond all hope of human recognition, still lay haphazardly around. It smelled of smoke and pestilence. Claggs had to stop the car, retching, as he remembered. Never again, he thought, those poor civilian sods in Dresden, fried to a crisp. .P He had blackened his face and rubbed soot into his stolen Wehrmacht greatcoat, so as not to be suspected as a newcomer. Finally he had found the ruins of the house where Millowitz and Williams had had their secret headquarters. He had shovelled the fallen timbers and stones aside with his bare hands and gained access to the cellar. Williams' corpse lay there, a bullet hole through the back of his neck. Suicide or had they been caught in that blackened cellar ? No sign of a pistol. But the coal cellar door bar on the inside hung loosely. Millowitz was gone. So was the short wave radio and Williams' typewriter, both little Minox cameras and all the explosives. Most importantly, the code book was gone too. Claggs had staggered back up out of the cellar, vomiting. Burnt children had followed him down the street wailing and begging. Finally as dusk had fallen, he had hidden in a wood and radioed his report to London, warning them to change the codebooks as soon as possible. London answered enigmatically, ordering him to stay in Dresden as long as possible and continue to help the resistance. Most importantly he should try to recover the codebooks. With no other leads to follow he tried to find Millowitz. Members of the resistance claimed to have seen Millowitz occasionally during March and April. Finally, when the soviet troops captured the city on the eighth of May, Claggs had headed west by night, sleeping in woods and barns during the day, until he had reached the advancing american troops' lines. .P Upon his return to London he had been severely reprimanded for his failure. It seemed that Millowitz had been a double agent for the russians, and had defected that February night, taking the short wave radio and the code-books with him. MI5 and MI6 had been very distraught, not trusting the communists at all anyway. And now they could listen in to the MI5 radio and decode all the messages too. .P As he drove his car into the brightening dawn, Claggs wondered what had become of Millowitz; whether Millowitz had even shot Williams in the back of the neck? he suddenly asked himself. He knew that he could never go behind the iron curtain to track Millowitz down. The soviets surely knew that he had been an MI6 spy; it was too dangerous. So he would never be able to visit the factories of AWO/Simson or MZ to see their works racers, he reflected idly. But the overpoweringly oppressive feeling that Claggs had, was one of infinite guilt regarding the civilian population of Dresden, who had been decimated in that dreadful firestorm of which execution he had been part. Guilt, eternal suppressed guilt. .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 2 "Willkommen bei der NSU Rennabteilung, Herr Claggs. Welcome to the NSU race department. We will show you around in just a moment. But first I would like to introduce you to a collegue of yours." said Herr Niegtsch, the general manager. .P A tallish thin young man stood up from the couch where he had been sitting and shook Claggs' hand heartily. .P "This is Ernst Leverkus, a young cub reporter, just starting in the motorcycle press. I think this is one of his first assignments." .P "Pleased to meet you" said Leverkus pleasantly "I hope that one day I will become as famous a trade reporter as you are Mr. Claggs. Your name is a household word in the trade." .P "I'm sure you will. Just keep you nose to the grindstone and never ignore your instinct for good copy" replied Claggs politely. Inwardly he was seething though. Didn't the NSU PR department know anything? Didn't they know that he had wanted only exclusive interviews and an exclusive tour of the racing department? Young Leverkus could scoop him, maybe. Stupid press department buggers, he thought, smiling outwardly at his host. .P "And these three gentlemen are Dr.Froede, our chief designer; Herr Riehm, one of our race mechanics; and last but not least Herr Fleischmann, one of our works riders. They will show you both around. Now you must excuse me, business pressures you understand." said the general manager leaving the room. .P "Show me the four, that's why I'm here" said Claggs directly, still annoyed at young Leverkus's presence. .P "Patience Mr. Claggs. Let me give you a little background information first." replied Dr.Froede. "It all began in Bern in 1949 where our chief constructor Herr Albert Roder first saw the AJS Porcupine twin and the italian Gilera fours at the Swiss GP race meeting. By the beginning of 1950 he had drawn up the blueprints for our own four, one version with a supercharger and one without. This meant that when the FIM decided in Madrid in May of that year to allow us germans to race again internationally and at the same time banned superchargers from use beginning with the 1951 season, we were ready for the challenge. Now let's go next door and look at the four, before you explode with impatience." .P "Here it is" he continued proudly "It's a transverse inline four with a horizontally split engine cast in Elektron for lightness. Gear driven DOHC. Four 20mm Amal carbs and a four speed gearbox. It gave 38kW - that's 50 hp for your anglosaxon readers - at eleven thousand revs in that first version." .P "Tell us about this peculiar looking front fork" asked Leverkus inquisitively. .P "Sure. Notice the widely splayed front down tubes on the frame though. That makes for good stability, even if it does make the engine look wider. Actually it's only half a meter across. Now the fork" said Dr.Froede, coming to the point "is indeed unconventional, young man." Claggs scowled inwardly. .P "It's a long trailing link type. This large block of rubber prevents the fork diving too much when the rider brakes hard. Notice also that we have twin levers on the front brake drum, for better braking. NSU have built the best racers for this 1953 season" he claimed. .P "I'm not so sure about that" objected Claggs "I don't recollect Mr. Fleischmann here being particularly successful last season! What do you think?" he asked, turning to confront Fleischmann. .P "Well yes, there were problems." conceded the rider. "First we had a broken carburettor jet. Then the high frequency vibrations shook the float-bowls causing mixture problems. Then they shook the main engine bolts loose so the gaskets blew through. Then the gearwheels driving the valve train jumped out, holing the crankcase. And the whole engine leaks oil like a sardine can or one of your english ladies." he confessed. .P "The valve gear train problem was just teething troubles then?" punned Claggs. .P "Yes" replied the chief designer, missing the pun completely "I'm sure we've got it all working right now. After all we use one of the cylinders of the four in the 125cc Rennfox with good success. And two of the cylinders run in the 250cc parallel twin, giving 25 hp at 9500 revs." .P "If you're so good, then you'll surely be racing in the TT with some famous riders in the works team ?" prompted Claggs, fishing for information in the old MI6 style. .P "We will probably decide to enter Werner Haas and Bill Lomas in the TT, to see where we stand." he confided "But that will not be official until the end of the month." .sp 1 "Gotcha!" thought Claggs. .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 2 On the drive back across the continent Claggs took a couple of days off and spent a pleasant weekend in the french Elsass area. Arriving home, he typed up his story and walked across the road to post it. Then he went on to Mr. Adams' newspaper stand to collect his weekly papers and a copy of Punch which Adams had promised to put aside for him. .sp 2 "'Allo 'allo. Yer been asleep 'ave yer. Missed the boat proper dint yer. An' after cartin' yersel' all the way across Kraut country too...." Adams greeted him contemptuously. .sp 2 "What, What?" .sp 2 "Only two watts, my you're dim" joked Adams, before realising that Claggs genuinely didn't know what he was talking about. "Yer 'as been scooped. An' by a Kraut too. Look here!" Adams said holding out last Thursday's copy of Motorcycle. Claggs stomach lurched as he saw the headlines: .sp 1 .ce 3 "Froede's funny forked four flops" "German cub reporter Ernst Leverkus scoops NSU" "Lomas and Haas to premier at the TT for NSU" .sp 1 "Gotcha!" teased Adams, sarcastically. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Nineteen .sp 2 .ce The Italian Affair .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Rain dropped depressingly on a dreary, damp Dresden. The first of March had dawned dank, wet and rainy. But the team were excited by internal sunshine. True to his word, Ismailovitch had arranged with his cronies in the italian communist party for the use of the Mugello circuit. Busily, they loaded the Horex and the two-stroke onto their one and only trailer and tied a tarpaulin tightly over the bikes, keeping them safe from rain and prying eyes. Just before seven o'clock Ismailovitch came into the university courtyard, sure that the physical labour was past. .P "Well have a good trip, and be back within a week please. Then we shall write a detailled report for the comrades in Moscow. And remember, don't talk to anyone about our project, least of all reporters!" he ordered. .P "Aren't you coming with us?" asked Wolfgang in surprise. .P "No" Ismailovitch smiled his warped smile wryly "For reasons that have to do with my occupation, it is best if I do not enter capitalist countries myself. It's better I stay behind the iron curtain, as I'm sure you'll appreciate." .P "We certainly appreciate you not coming with us" thought the Professor to himself. He hated Ismailovitch with his sadistic smiles and ratty little face. "I can appreciate that" he said ambivalently. .P "I shall accompany you through Checkoslovakia to the Austrian border. I can ease your passage through the borders." .P "But we can't all fit into the Professor's car, especially with all the luggage." protested Dagmar. .P "Then, young lady, you two can take the Zundapp outfit. I'm sure it's quite weatherproof" he said, smiling sadistically. .P "Hmmmph!" Dagmar snorted in disgust, realising they were in for a long soggy ride. .P Meanwhile Werner had packed both sets of racing leathers, his own and Wolfgang's. Both were cut in the new one-piece style introduced by Geoff Duke. Now he studied the maps and pencilled in the route using a blue wax chinagraph pencil that he had seen aircraft navigators use. .P "From Dresden we drive to Prague. We'll have breakfast there. Then via Jihlava to Vienna, for a late lunch. Then...." .P "Why not via Linz ?" objected Wolfgang, who had always been top in geography in school. He needed no map, his memory serving him fine. .P "Because that way we would have to cross the Alps, as it is we shall largely go around the eastern end of them. The passes may still be closed at this time of year. And the car has a lot of weight to pull. As I was saying, from Vienna via Graz and on through the corner of Yugoslavia to Venice. >From Venice to Bologna. Then across the Appennines on the road to Florence we turn off left to Borgo San Larenzo and then we are there!" .P "Yes, at two or three o'clock in the morning!" protested the Professor. "I hate missing my sleep. And you and Wolfgang will need to be top fit tomorrow for practicing." .P "I suggest you stay overnight in Yugoslavia." put in Ismailovitch. "That'll at least save you from spending too much capitalist money!" .P "And then make an early start into Italy. That sounds much more reasonable." the Professor found himself to his surprise actually agreeing with Ismailovitch. No sooner said than done, and the little convoy set off south at seven- thirty. .sp 1 As they rolled into Mugello the next morning, the sun shone a bright italian blue-skied welcome, but they felt rather tired nevertheless. It had been a long trip, and it was nearly noon. A small committee of men wearing red neckerchiefs greeted them heartily as they pulled up behind the grandstand- cum-pit area. A short stubby overweight man stepped out from the welcoming committee, and introduced himself in broken russian: .P "Comrades, welcome. The stalinist section of the marxist- leninist group within the Po valley communist party welcomes you. I am the mayor from there. My name is Guisseppe Peppone. We have arranged these caravans for you to sleep in. They are well stocked with pasta and Milan salami as well as best Barolo wines. You will want nothing these two days. Unfortunately, we cannot speak german, only italian. My russian is bad, the village priest, damn his soul, had to translate this speech for me. My men and I will be here to help you; we shall discourage any journalists!" he finished, glancing significantly at the pile of what looked suspiciously like Cosa-Nostra-style shillelaghs. .P "Spacebo,Tovarisch" replied the Professor in his equally abominable russian accent. It was obvious that communication would be reduced to sign language thereafter. Suddenly he broke into hilarious laughter, as he pictured them trying to discuss dialectical materialism in sign language. Good that that detestable little rat Ismailovitch wasn't there to translate. .P Wolfgang and Werner began unloading the bikes from the trailer, checking the oil, and filling the fuel tanks with the petrol which the italian hosts has thoughtfully provided. Meanwhile Dagmar had disappeared into one of the two caravans and began to cook the tagliatelli for lunch. After lunch the italians each picked up a shillelagh and surprisingly a little first aid kit and distributed themselves around the race circuit, guard and potential ambulance men at the same time. Werner silently admired their disciplined organisation, due in no small part to Peppone's bullying them. .P Meanwhile he and Wolfgang had jogged around the track while the italians were dedicating themselves to two big two- liter bottles of the hefty red wine, despite the strong sunshine. Werner warmed the motor of the Horex slowly, the twin reverse-cone megaphones blatting their throaty challenge at the empty rows of seats in the silent grandstands. .P "I'll just ride a few easy laps to learn the circuit, Wolfgang. Mainly reading the road surface." Werner said, donning his old Cromwell helmet. Then you can do the same. That way we'll both learn the road surfaces first and the best lines through the corners.Then we'll take the two-stroke for a slow canter around afterwards, concentrating on where the braking points should be and where to change gears; after all, the brakes are much better than on the Horex and there are six gears instead of four, due to the much narrower power band." .P Werner got astride the now-warm Horex and let the clutch drop. A clockwise track , he thought, so it's more righthanders than lefthanders. Accelerating slowly past the boxes he kept over to the right of the track and, as the track itself bent slightly right found himself riding along the left kerb, having turned the slight curve kink into a straight line by this manoever. This would be the fastest part of the course, he thought. The second curve was a sharp righthander to be taken in second with a useful advertising hoarding on the left side, indicating where to start braking. The subsequent left-right kinks could be taken with a constant throttle position. Coming out of the righthander, which needed to be taken very close to the straw safety-bales lining the corner, he hit the bumps just as he changed up. The Horex drifted naturally out to the left hand side of the road as he accelerated, so he had to force it over to the right for the entry into the next left-right kink. Again there were significant bumps on the exit. A short straight led him into a steep downhill righthander with the by now usual skiffleboard bumps on the exit. At the bottom there was immediately a really evil lefthander with a severe adverse camber. This led to a short uphill section leading into a sweeping righthander. Unfortunately the road had been repaired several times here, just where the ideal led through the apex. He would have to be careful that the wheels didn't step out of line when he was in a hurry here, he thought. Braking shortly, he peeled off into the second righthander which followed. This time the skiffleboard was on the apex of the corner rather than the exit. Variety is the spice of life!, he thought. An uphill straight took him over the rise into a left-right kink which required second gear in the middle. After this kink a short straight again led him into a tight second-gear righthanded hairpin where the sun had melted the tarmac at some time in the past, and had left a rather wavy surface. The following shallow left right kink could be taken in third. A somewhat longer straight led him into a tight lefthanded hairpin which opened out easily into the long main straight back past the pits. Werner did ten laps to learn the road surface and the sequence of the sixteen corners, six lefthanders and ten righthanders, with only one really long top-gear straight, past the pits. Then Wolfgang went out and repeated the procedure on the Horex. Dagmar was egging him on, by practising herself, with the signals-board she had nursed all the way from Dresden in the sidecar. So Wolfgang made sure that his penultimate lap was just a shade faster than Werner's, just to impress her. Then they took the wraps off the two-stroke and warmed the engine until the thermometer showed a healthy water temperature. .P Werner set off first. As the stroker came onto the powerband the front wheel lifted slightly and the wailing howl began. A wailing howl that the italians had never heard before. Soon they were standing at the trackside with their fingers in their ears, but fascinated nevertheless. No-one needed a stopwatch to perceive that the stroker was appreciably faster than the Horex down the main straight. Werner experimented with different braking points and made mental notes of the gear-changes and where he made them. As he had suspected the stroker only got into sixth gear towards the end of the main straight. The hairpins either meant overrevving in bottom gear or having to slip the clutch in second; the bike wasn't geared properly for the Mugello circuit, he decided. His penultimate lap was a real scorcher, just to show Wolfgang who was king of the road! .P "It's fourth gear past the pits, then fifth and sixth. The next corner, both hairpins, the tight kink behind the pits and the the righthander immediately after the top if the rise are all second gear corners. The rest of the circuit is all taken in third and fourth gears. I'm afraid we're geared to high here!" he told Wolfgang. "Mind you don't catch your shoulder, or your right knee if you're hanging off, in the straw bales in the second righthander. After the top of the rise you can brake really late. But the main thing to keep in mind, my lad, is that you have no engine-braking on this bike. It's not like the Horex which has plenty of engine-braking, being a four-stroke. And the stroker has no flywheel effect either, so it's easy to drop out of the power band in the hairpins; you'll have to slip the clutch a lot there." .P Wolfgang went out and put in his training laps. Twenty this time. And of course he couldn't resist putting one over on Werner in friendly rivalry, by hanging off hard and squeezing a whole second inside Werner's best time. Dagmar was beside herself with pride for her Wolfgang, and hugged him fit to burst his ribs. .P Finally tiredness caused the riders to call a halt for the day. The Professor wrote the air temperature, pressure and relative humidity in his notebook and unscrewing the sparking plugs, noted down their colours. A little too white, maybe, should have been greyer. But he had no larger main jets with him, having left them in Dresden from sheer academic absentmindedness. .P The italian communists offered to fill the bikes up with petrol, so that they could get a good look at them. Excited italian and german jabber, mutually incomprehensible, surrounded their evening table of salami and spaghetti. With buckets of Barolo of course. Then the italians went home for the night, promising to be back at eight o'clock next morning. .P That evening Dagmar took advantage of her first absence from her parents' watchful eyes at home and crept quietly into Wolfgang's bunk. The Professor was snoring loudly and Werner, who was with him in the other caravan, decided to pretend to ignore the subdued squeals that drifted again and yet again across through the warm night air. As drifted off to sleep Werner had a premonition in the form of a deeply religious dream of Armageddon and the Second Coming. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twenty .sp 2 .ce Mugello Madness .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Bright warm sunshine streamed in through the steamed-up little windows of the caravan. Coffee, best italian expresso coffee, wafted across to the other caravan and waved its aromatic black olfactory flag under the noses of Werner and Professor Gander. Instantly awake, the Professor sniffed hungrily at the morning air. Werner still tossed and turned in black, foreboding nightmare's clutches until the Professor gently shook him awake. .P "Are you all right ? Have a bad dream did you? Never mind. It smells as though Dagmar is making breakfast for us. Just sniff that coffee aroma will you!" he said. .P Flakey pastry croissants, parma ham, mortadella, olives and flakey, hard parmigiano cheese decorated the little folding table as they squeezed into Wolfgang and Dagmar's caravan, following the delicate winding trail left my the coffee aroma on the light morning wind. Wolfgang yawned tiredly, as did Werner. But for different reasons. .P "You both need a couple of cups of strong coffee, by the looks of you, before you go out and practice racing this morning!" scoffed the Professor. .P "And eat this all up before the italians come, otherwise they will scoff all the grub and drink all the coffee, before we can say Jack Robinson judging by the way they polished off the wine bottles yesterday evening. Do you know, I put fourteen empties outside the door last night. They were two liter bottles, and there were only eleven men with Peppone!" said Dagmar. .P "I had a most peculiar dream" said Werner, still yawning. "I was in purgatory. And there were twelve little red devils trying to boil me in oil. Despite my great resistance, they manhandled me into the pot above the fire. But there was no oil in it!" Then I woke up, drenched in sweat. And the same dream recurred three times during the night. I hardly slept a wink. What do you think it means?" Werner asked. .P "I think it means you shouldn't have eaten so much cheese and drunk so much Barolo, before going to bed!" suggested Dagmar, bright eyed and bushy tailed. "The italians only left because you collared the last bottle without offering to share it!" .P "Apropos, italians" remarked the Professor "where are they ? They promised to be here at eight o'clock, so that we could start practice early. We're late getting up, and it's nearly nine now. Where are they?" .P "Here they come" Werner pointed to the road behind the pits, where a group of men approached. "Who's he? He's new." .P As the group approached in unaccustomed silence, the team saw that their numbers had swelled. There were now thirteen of them. They were now lead by a big muscular man wearing clerical garb. Peppone stood near the back of the group, vainly trying to disguise an almost luminously shining black and blue eye. The men's shillelaghs were apparent by their very absence. The big man introduced himself: .P "God be with you, you heathen communists. " the priest began in quite fluent russian. "Welcome to Italy. Since I provided my good friend Peppone with a russian speech yesterday, I managed to persuade him to let me accompany him on his little outing this morning. After all, curiousity is a god-given gift." His sparkling eyes took in the single still- made bunk on the right side of the caravan, but he said nothing. Dagmar blushed nevertheless. .P "I'm afraid breakfast is finished, Father." she apologised. .P "Then we had better begin." he replied "Do you want me to bless your bike?" .P "That will not be necessary" put in Werner frostily "This is a machine produced by the people's communist technology. It needs no superstitious hocus-pocus!" .P "Very well" the priest replied politely "By the way, you do realise that the words you used 'hocus-pocus' originally came from the latin mass 'Hoc est corpus'! Even good communists can't escape the influence of Our Lord!" .P Peppone interrupted him "Are you done, camel?". The priest turned on him very rapidly for a man of his build and said: .P "Sooner shall a camel shall pass through the eye of the needle than one of your communist rabble enter the kingdom of God. Now get to work!" .P Slowly, and with surly, subdued mien,Peppone and his band spread themselves around the circuit while the burly priest push-started Wolfgang on the two-stroke.After the engine was warmed, and the water in the radiator had reached a satisfactory temperature, Wolfgang donned his trusty helmet and goggles and set out on his warming-up laps. Dagmar was busy working the triple stopwatches on her clipboard and then writing the lap times onto the signalling blackboard she had bought with her from Dresden. .P After seven laps Wolfgang was lapping at the same fast speed as on the day before. Screaming, howling, wailing, the big two-stroke put the fear of God into Peppone as Wolfgang rapidly prodded the pedal and changed down through four gears at the end of the long straight past the pits. Peppone had never seen anything so fast in his life; 225 km/h, he thought, little realising how accurate his estimate was. The priest stood behind the safety planking on the exit to the first lefthander. From there he could see how Wolfgang clambered about on the bike coming out of that first second-gear lefthander. Out of the slow corner, right knee still almost scraping the road, Wolfgang picked the bike up vertically and accelerated hard for the left-right kink, tucking his legs in behind the dustbin fairing. Then he positioned the bike in the middle of the road, and keeping the throttle wide open, hung off left for the lefthander. Through the corner, he flicked the bike over in what seemed like the blink of an eyelid. Now he whipped it over hard right and took the righthander with his shoulder clipping the straw bales, before suddenly heaving the bike upright to negotiate the bumps on the exit safely, with nothing more than a slight nodding of the steering head. Werner, who was standing next to the priest to watch Wolfgang's line through the kink said, in a voice both bitter and tinged with admiration: .P "He's learnt fast. He's got talent alright, he hangs off further than I've dared up until now. Look, Father, he's even managed to scratch the knees of his leathers in the corners!" .P The priest nodded somberely, realising how dangerously close to the limit Wolfgang was riding. As Wolfgang pulled into the pits, sweating, they walked back to the pits, not speaking. Dagmar's blackboard spelt it out. Almost two point three seconds faster than yesterday. Werner felt sick from apprehension, he knew he had to match those times or lose face. .P Turning his back on the crew, he put on his old Cromwell helmet and hid his ashenly white face behind a short yellow scarf. He didn't even bother to check the bike first as was his wont. Without looking at Wolfgang or congratulating him, he revved the engine hard and took off like the proverbial scalded cat, front wheel pawing the air, and bobbing as he changed up. .P Scratching hard, but remaining true to his knees-on-the- tank ramrod style, he felt his bootsole wearing through as he whistled over the bumps coming out of the corners, engine wailing unevenly as the rear wheel stuttered up and down. A piece of straw from the bale on the third corner has worked its way down into the neck of his leather and was distractingly itchy. After six laps he was within one second of Wolfgang's time. But had felt the rear wheel drifting a couple of times. Sickly, he new inwardly that his ramrod style was just not as fast as Wolfgang's hanging off. Still he scratched harder, trying for all he was worth. Second, third, slam the throttle open, lean left, fourth, pick it up, brake hard. Lay it left, watch for the bumps, open the taps.... .sp 1 Suddenly, with absolutely no warning the engine siezed! .sp 1 Werner was canting hard right for the third corner. The rear wheel snaked blackly over the tarmac. Werner grabbed for the clutch. Too late. Sickened he saw the railings on the left flashing towards him. He saw the priest and Peppone standing there dive for cover. Smash! Werner hit the railing. Hit it with the back of his neck, just between the Cromwell and his leathers. .P Blood poured out of his nose, mouth and ears, soaking into the leathers. the twostroke spun lazily straight on through the kink, protected by its dustbin fairing. As Peppone reached him, Werner was dead. .P Everyone ran as fast as they could to the site of the accident. Too late. Peppone held Werner's wrist feeling for a pulse. He shook his head sadly, unable to say anything because of the language problem. Dagmar's face was ashen. Wolfgang was quietly, desperately, being violently sick. The Professor stared whitely at Werner's head as it lolled unnaturally at almost a right angle to his neck. The priest fell to his knees and started to pray. Peppone's men doffed their hats and knelt too. .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - - - - - .sp 2 It was a very sad little procession which drove the long drive back to Dresden. The surprisingly almost undamaged two- stroke, with only scratches down the side of the dustbin was strapped onto the trailer next to the Horex. The Professor drove the car for a couple of hours, following Werner on the Zundapp outfit with Dagmar in the sidecar. Then Dagmar drove the outfit while Wolfgang took his turn at the wheel of the car. Thus did each of them get a chance to rest physically. but nothing could switch off the fearful horror in their minds. On the seventh of March they arrived home in Dresden and went immediately to bed to sleep. Werner's corpse would be shipped home in a coffin by rail; the big burly priest had arranged this for them. .P The next morning the Professor sent Michael to inform Ismailovitch. Michael returned with the message that Ismailovitch had been called hurriedly to Moscow two days before, and would not return until that afternoon. Sad of heart, the Professor and Wolfgang began dissembling the bike to see why it had siezed. .P "Here are the sparking plugs, they're a healthy grey though, so the mixture was spot on. that couldn't be the problem" said the Professor. Werner removed the rear filler cap, the one for the petrol tank. .P "Plenty of petrol too" he remarked. Then he unscrewed the front filler cap, the one in the large diameter main frame tube which served as an oil tank. Shining a torch in, he couldn't see anything. So he unscrewed the line from the integral tank to the oil pump. "Dry. Totally dry!" he exclaimed "Not a drop of oil in it!" .P "How could that have happened?" asked the Professor, bewildered. .P "I think I know" replied Wolfgang, ashenly. .P "?" .P "The italians said they would look after the bike, refuelling it. But they'd never seen a two-stroke before. Or if they had, it probably had a petroil mixture. They didn't know we have a separate oil supply. So they didn't check the tank. And neither did we the next morning, thinking the italians had done it. My God, how stupid can you get! That little slip cost dear Werner his life!" Wolfgang explained bitterly. .P The Professor, looking ashen too, drained the radiator and lifted the cylinder head. Sure enough, two of the four cylinders had siezed. No oil. "No oil. That was what killed Werner. Just like in his dream. And the twelve little red devils were the italian communists. His dream came true, sadly" said the Professor disbelievingly. .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 2 That afternoon Ismailovitch strode grimly into the university and strode up the stairs to the Professor's office. .P "Sad greetings, comrades" he began "Where's Werner?" .P "Don't you know? Didn't you get Michael's message?" .P "What message ? I've come straight from the airport from the Moscow plane." .P So they explained to him that Werner was dead, and how it had happened in Mugello. Ismailovitch listened without moving a muscle of his granite face. Then smiled sadistically (as always) and said: .P "We've decided to cancel the whole project anyway!" .P "What?" shouted the Professor and Wolfgang simultaneously. The Professor saw all his hopes of fame and an increased academic reputation disappearing. he was instantly furious with Ismailovitch. Wolfgang, who had been seriously bitten by the racing bug, and who realised they had an almost undamaged world beating bike standing behind them was angry too. .P "You can't do that to us" shouted the Professor "Not after all our research and sheer hard work! Besides we owe it to Werner to win in his memory!" .P "Oh but we can" smiled Ismailovitch sadistically. "You see, my sad news is that Comrade Stalin also died in the fifth of March, just like Werner. That was why I was in Moscow. The technology committee has decided to stop all civil propaganda projects immediately. And that includes yours!" he leered. .P "?" .P "The supreme soviet has decided to concentrate our efforts on demonstrating military superiority. We plan to demonstrate our hydrogen bomb on the eighth anniversary of Nagasaki. There will be no more work done on this project. return the bike to working order, repair whatever damage it has, and then I will have it shipped to the science museum in Moscow. Good day to you, ex-comrades." he ordered gloatingly, as he swept out of the room. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentyone .sp 2 .ce Around the Ring .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Werner's funeral took place on a wet and windy day, drizzle driving down on the few mourners. Ismailovitch didn't even put in an appearance, allegedly being in Moscow on 'company' business. There was a short state ceremony and a round of drinks for the few guests afterwards. Wolfgang, Dagmar and the Professor however, spent no time moping around afterwards, for they had decided to ignore the instructions of the absent Ismailovitch. That same day they sent off entry forms for the forthcoming race at the Nrburgring in early May and the TT on the Isle of Man in June. During the rest of March they repaired the stroker to fighting form and spent April tuning the single on the dynamometer. Finally the results of their tuning activities were transferred to the four. Polished ports, asymmetrically mounted disc-valves and a choice of sprockets for the chain gave them power aplenty and a flexible choice of gearing for a wider range of circuits. .P Finally the Mayday weekend approached and they loaded the stroker onto the trailer and the three of them set off via Checkoslovakia to the Nrburgring in the Eifel mountains of West Germany. Fortunately they still had six-month exit visas entitling them to visit Mugello in Italy. Declaring at the Check border to the East German guards that they were going to Italy avoided problems with the iron curtain and got them out of East Germany without any hassle. Then they turned west and entered West Germany, lunching in Nrburg on the famous sizzling little brown sausages. Driving through the afternoon brought them to the Nrburgring at dusk. There they took up quarters at the Sport Hotel near the grandstand. At dinner, they were befriended by Jochen, a racing car driver staying at the same hotel, who was fascinated by their saxon accents. When he learned that Wolfgang would be racing at the Ring, but had never been there before, he offered to drive him around in his sports car before the roads were closed for official practice beginning at noon the next day. They arranged to meet for breakfast and went for some sleep, well earned after their long drive to get there. .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 2 Breakfast consisted of cold cuts and instant coffee, decidedly average, Dagmar decided. "Tell me about the Nrburgring." Wolfgang requested. .P "Riding the Nrburgring is like fighting a dragon, the way it snakes through that green-lined hell,laddie", Jochen warned Wolfgang. .P "C'mon will you, be serious" Wolfgang said selfconfidently, "Just tell me the facts, and I'll ride it. The circuit isn't built yet that I can't race!" .P "Okay. It's 20.832 kilometers winding through 72 curves, rising up through 292 meters, through the green pine forests around the ruins of the Nrburg castle. It demands as much concentration than the Isle of Man TT circuit because the surface changes more often. I warn you, take it easy as long as you are not used to it!". .P "Well then let's drive around it in your car first, so I can memorise the sequence of the curves, their camber and surfacing" said Wolfgang. .sp 2 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 2 "Well those eight laps in the car gave me a pretty good idea of where the road goes, so Professor, please get the bike warmed up now for the official practice, while I get my leathers on" cried Wolfgang enthusiastically. .P The Professor went back to the pit area and checked the bike again carefully, especially looking at the gearbox sump plug, axle bolts and and fairing attachment bolts, all of which were split-pinned against the fearsome vibrations that could occur on some of the rougher parts of the ring such as the cobbled Carousel. He bumped the bike after two short steps, and warmed it carefully until the cooling water had reached 80 degrees and the thermostat cut in. .P "OK Wolfgang, starts are at ten second intervals, you're number thirteen in practice, so get on the bike now, there's only two minutes 'til it's your turn." he said. .P Wolfgang hit the kill switch, stopping the engine. He pulled it back onto the compression, selected second gear, held the brake lever and leaned his weight heavily onto the clipons. The clock ticked on. The timekeeper raised his flag, signalling five seconds to go. Wolfgang counted silently up to five, tensing his leg muscles. At five he heaved forwards, releasing the brake a split second later as the timekeeper's flag dropped. One step, two step, "Oh God, let it fire first time" he prayed silently. On the third step he leaped sideways into the bone hard saddle and simultaneously dropped the clutch. Bang, pott,pott, bang bang,Yeeeeooowwwww. The big two- stroke came to life after a hideously tense initial misfire. Wolfgang declutched, swinging his right leg over the saddle and dropped into first gear while bringing the revs up to seven thousand to get into the power band. He eased in the clutch gently to avoid stalling the engine and kept it on the boil as the front wheel reared into the air. While the pipes came onto resonance, he headed for the first hard lefthander after the starting line, which points steeply downhill. .P Wolfgang's mind was running like clockwork now, a dictating machine playing back (at double speed) the instructions which Jochen had given as they had toured the circuit in his sports car. .P "Enter slowly,using as large a radius as possible, using all of the road" he remembered. "After the lefthander drift diagonally over to the left, reaching the kerb at the white cross marker, then peel off right for the '66er' righthander, keeping a constant radius. Now 200 yards straight ahead, ironing the slight lefthander into a straight line, which lines you up nicely for the Hatzenbach 'S'. Clamp on the anchors about 25 yards short of the Halt-sign, flick left then immediately right, clipping the kerb at the apex of the righthander. Open the taps, accelerate hard, but don't drift out too much to the left; the middle of the road is about the right place to be when abreast of the red-and-white tires at the side of the road marking the slip road used by the safety vehicles and ambulances to enter the circuit. This is the key position and the slowest stretch through the Hatzenbach curves. Now flick left then right, changing rapidly from one side of the bike to the other. Keep as far right now as possible, since this makes your line nearly straight. Peel left just before the apex of the last of the Hatzenbach left curves, blasting the taps open while drifting wide to the right kerb, all the while aiming for the "Hoheneichen" village signpost. Peel off right at the signpost then pick her up smartly before diving into the sweeping downhill lefthander. Line her up on the left side of the road and aim for the red 2 kilometer milestone on the left. That's Hocheichen, easy as falling off a log!" .P Wolfgang heard Jochen's rumbustious laughter echoing through his mind as he headed for the Quiddelbacher Heights. .P "Charge blindly up the hill now to the Quiddelbacher heights, the one in six climb hides the road ahead from your view." The bike leapt over the brow of the hill, shaking its head in disapproval. .P "Hold her close to the left kerb until the bordering kerbstones end near the "E" painted on the tarmac, then peel off right, blending the two following right curves past the airfield into a single smooth motion. Now pick her up and dive down into the left hand drop diagonally by leaning slightly left. Very fast now on the approach to the swedish-cross, on the left hand side as you come over the brow. Aim for the big white boarding on the right, even though you temporarily lose sight of it when diving through the dip. Lean left after the board is passed, braking hard for the Aremberg corner, and peel off very late at the draincover on the left for the tight righthander of Aremberg. Wind the taps fully open now, aiming for the lefthand bridgepost. Keep left under the bridge then aim diagonally right for the little wooden hut at the side of the road, piling on the coals." .P Wolfgang felt the rhythm of the circuit pulsing through his veins as he aimed for the entry into the Fuchsr”hre. .P "The Fuchsr”hre (foxes' pipes) is one of the fastest parts of the Ring. When you are abeam the little wooden hut on the right, aim for the left side of the brow of the hill. Then courageously keep the bike upright in a straight line whilst diving down to the deepest point of the Fuchsr”hre. Ignore the left side of the road as it jumps out at you, and keep straight down the hill, until abeam the last kerbstone before the very bottom. Now lean her slightly left to drift through on the black asphalt stripe at the left side of the road at the very bottom of the hill." .P As the slope changed from the one in nine downhill to the one in ten uphill, Wolfgang felt the G forces pressing him down on the bike, and felt the bump as the suspension bottomed under those Gee-forces. He just remembered to pick up his chin off the tank first, in order to avoid knocking himself senseless, as he passed the four and a half kilometer mark. Then he let the bike drift over to the right past the 5 kilometer milestone, lining himself up for the first lefthander heading into the Adenauer Forest. .P "Peel off left at the end of the right side-marking stripe, the first lefthander is as easy as pie. Clap on the anchors at the exit as hard as possible, front tyre howling and rear wheel on the point of lifting off the tarmac, until reaching the yellow coloured square painted on the road. Leaning right now, pour on the coals accelerating hard, but keeping the front wheel on the road through the righthander. Despite all instincts to the contrary, keep on the right past the twin safety railings until you can see all the way through the following "S" of the Adenauer forest. Curve fluidly left then right through the 'S', accelerating hard while drifting out of the forest on the left side of the road.". Jochen's instructions echoed within his skull. .P "Now change over to the right as you dive down into Metzgesfeld, and keep right as long as possible (at least until abeam the white triangle on the righthand side of the road. This allows you to take the following two lefthanders as a single radius curve, effectively ignoring the short 50 yard straight between them. You will need to brake slightly for the second of these lefthanders, so you may want to pick her up on the short straight to brake, but it is probably better to stay fluid and take them both in one line, braking while leaned over on the straight. Now downhill into a slight righthander, aiming for the white and yellow circle painted on the asphalt as the peel-off point for the Kallenhardt righthander. Kallenhardt corner has a dangerous adverse camber, so be sure to clip the right apex as closely as possible before letting the bike drift out to the right as you accelerate out while still leaning hard right." .P Wolfgang took the next two slight lefthanders in single radius for more speed. The dive down into the Wehrseifen he took by relying on memory alone, because one cannot see through the snaking corners at all. The main thing , he realised, is to keep a constant smooth radius while diving down again into the first righthander and aiming for the white and yellow coloured paintspot on the tarmac at the apex. Drifting out left, he aimed for the second colour spot. From there he could see the entry into the corkscrew left-right combination of the Wehrseifen. Picking the bike up and braking hard, he aimed for the '114' signpost on the righthand side of the road. There he flicked hard left, scraping his left knee on the tarmac, and then flicked right again, drifting over to the left as he accelerated hard out of the righthander. Staying left until the road surface changes, he then moved diagonally across to the right aiming for the big white hoarding marking the entry to Breitscheid. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentytwo .sp 2 .ce It's all uphill from here .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Breitscheid is the lowest point on the course, it's all uphill thereafter, apart from the odd dip or three. Now Wolfgang could hear Jochen's imaginary tape-recorder feeding him instructions like a metronome run amock: .P "Enter the Breitscheid lefthander, keeping about a yard out from the left kerb and then let the bike drift out to the right under the bridge." Dagmar stood on the bridge waving wildly in encouragement at him. "Once under the bridge aim for the left kerb opposite the slip road exit on the right and, once across the white line which crosses the racetrack just after the slip road to Breitscheid village, peel off right up the hill, breasting the rise just after the well- cambered righthander of Ex-Mhle." .P "Open the taps wide now, accelerating hard up towards the mine at Bergwerk. About 100 yards before the corner lean slightly left and ease her through the slight lefthander keeping the power on. Stay close to the left kerb until reaching the triple safety railings, because not until the last possible moment can you see through the subsequent righthander, the steep bank on the right blocks your view. Wheel over right then drift out to the left as you climb up the slope before moving over to the middle of the road again for the full power hill up toward the first part of the Kesselchen (Little Pot)." .P The Kesselchen starts with a steep uphill lefthander, where Wolfgang kept the engine well into its power band, lest the steepness of the hill made the motor think it needed a new rubber band! After all the racetrack climbs over 600 feet in the three kilometers from Breitscheid to the Karussell(Carousel). In the lefthander just after the mine entrance the bike leaped over the first brow of the Kesselchen hill. By using all of the road, Wolfgang turned the next shallow left and righthanders almost into a straight line. Clipping the kerb on the left past the '132' post, still keeping straight on uphill again, he aimed for the cobblestones on the right of the road. Peeling as late as possible off left into the blind lefthander of the second part of the Kesselchen, he clipped its kerb then kept as far over to the left as possible to take the brow of the next hill on the left before leaning the bike slightly right for the fast righthander known as Klostertal (Monastery valley) leading down through the dip. There he aimed for the left side of the next brow which leads into the hidden sharp righthander before the Karussell. .P Wolfgang's mind heard the hints as a stentorian stream of instructions as he raced the bike up the hill. .P "Be careful!, Do not go too far left across the brow, because the just over the top of the hill the kerbstones jump out at you just where you want to anchor up for the tight righthander. Drop all the way down into second gear and take the curve smoothly with a constant radius which lets you pick the bike up in the middle of the road and accelerate briskly up the hill to the Karussel in a straight line." .P Wolfgang twisted the grip a little too far and the front tire grabbed the air. "Since you can't see the entrance to the Carousel at all, the best thing to do is to aim for the little white '143' sign straight ahead on the right hand side of the track." .P The Carousel is a steeply banked concrete lefthanded hairpin for which one needs to brake sharply, and drop down into second again. The changing surface, from tarmac to concrete gets very slippery in the wet, and there may be leaves on the surface too, so it bears watching! .P Jochen's voice continued in his head : "Because you are looking far ahead around the hairpin, and are banked over abnormally steeply, the G-forces compress the suspension so that it bottoms out. It is very easy to become disoriented here. You should pick the bike up to an upright position about five yards before leaving the concrete oval, aiming for the white point at the top right corner of the last concrete pad as you accelerate hard, leaning right again for the shallow righthander just after the Karussel, and following the right hand kerb uphill towards the Hoher Acht (High Eight).This is the highest point of the circuit.It comprises three curves of varying radii." .P Wolfgang took the first left-right combination tangentially before braking hard and then laying the bike down as far as possible for the slow righthander. Then he drifted over to the left kerb for the snaking passage through the Wipperman, past the '154' signpost and keeping as straight as possible let the track snake around him past the slip road for the rescue vehicles, aiming for the telegraph pole before peeling off left to line up for the righthander. There he picked the bike upright and cranked it over to the right halfway down, before diving down into the dip, aiming to just clip the righthand kerb on the brow of the following hill. The bike leaped boldly over the brow of the hill and headed steeply downhill while Wolfgang changed over to the righthand side of the track by aiming for the Eschenbach village entrance sign." .P Jochen's sharp warning rang through his brain here as he feverishly tried to remember where the road went here : .P "Now follows an adverse camber lefthander where the kerb juts far out into the road; afterwards flick the bike right sharply before crossing diagonally to line up for the righthander at Brnnchen (Little Stream). After this you can slam the grip all the way open , accelerating uphill along the short straight until reaching the gravel pit and cobblestones on the left, then brake sharply to the end of them and peel off right for the Eiskurve (Ice Curve)." .P "Don't peel off too early though, or you'll screw up the entry into the Pflanzengarten which follows. The trick is to peel off late for the lefthander, then drift out to the right, accelerating up the hill until the '169' signpost whilst aiming for the left hand side of the road across the brow of the hill. Brake hard and change down a gear or two, easing the brakes as you leap the brow, and then clamp the anchors on again. Now you can take the following right-left-left combination in a smooth curve. Accelerate sharply out of the second lefthander, peeling off left again at the '174' sign. Pick her up sharply now, to avoid being cranked over on the jump. Wheelie over the jump and charge down the steep downhill slope keeping as straight as possible, letting the road snake around you. Peel off right as you come down out of the Pflanzengarten and then move over to the left on the following short straight. You will want to be hard on the left side at the point where the road surface changes. Brake here and change down then wheel gracefully right, aiming for the 'No Parking' sign on the right of the road. Once there, brake hard again and flick left through the blind lefthander, opening the taps again quickly after taking the bump on the approach to the Schwalbenschwanz (Swallowtail)." .P Jochen continued, virtually telepathically: "If you screw up the Schwalbenschwanz, you ruin your lap times; it's a very difficult part of the Nrburgring. Stay right on the downhill approach, peeling left onto the concrete ovals on the inside of the lefthander. Accelerate, leaving the concrete pads on the left and stay left as long as is possible leaning right into the righthander of the Galgenkopf(Gallows' Head). Aim to stay to the left of the white painted cross on the tarmac before peeling right for the exit. Keep at least a yard and a half from the rightmost kerb though, because the inside of the corner is very bumpy, and could catapult you off before you knew what had happened. Stay right on the approach to Antonius' Bridge, not peeling off to the left until the beginning of the white stripe on the right of the track. Aim now for the left kerb just under the bridge and let the bike drift out to the right towards the '200' signpost." .P Taking courage, Wolfgang ignored the three curves between the zoo and Hohenrain, and just let the road snake past his straight line. He braked hard and change down twice for the chicane, right and then left past the entrance to the pits, wheeling hard right for the 90 degree corner leading to the finishing line and the grandstands. There he pulled to a stop next to his smiling team, himself quite out of breath. .P "Well done" shouted the Professor in delight "that was over two seconds inside the existing lap record! If the officials had timed it, it would count as the new lap record! Just keep up that speed in the race, and we've as good as won" Now let's quickly pull a tarpaulin over the bike; we don't want the press to see and photograph everything. If Ismailovitch gets wind of our practicing, he may show up and prevent us from racing. And we owe it to Werner to win here." .P Puffing and panting, the gentlemen of the press ran the 300 yards from the beer tent or the timekeepers' hut, depending on how seriously they took their profession. The first to arrive was a tallish, thin young man. Still breathing easily he said: "Leverkus is my name. Who are you. No-one has every seen you race before. What a wild style! You're all over the bike. Not clean, like Schorsch Meier at all; it looks like a monkey having a fit, a real shake-a-leg style. And the bike, what is it? Is it a new version of the DKW three you're trying outside the works team? C'mon, gimme a scoop before the others get here!" .P The BMW , Norton, Gilera and NSU team managers puffed up, looking extremely disturbed. They were still thirsty, if only for information about this unknown competitor. .P "No comment" said the Professor, as the other reporters arrived, panting. "You saw us practice, you saw how we easily broke the existing lap record unofficially, and tomorrow you will see us race. In fact you will see us win! Then, and only then, will we give a press conference!" Disconsolately, the disappointed pressmen wandered back to the beer tent. A couple of photographers tried to pull the tarpaulin off the racer, which quietly ticked to itself as it cooled off. But Dagmar hindered them at their machinations. One left, but the reporter for the Sun naturally asked Dagmar to pose for him someday on page three, before she grew much older. .P Later in the afternoon Ernie Claggs arrived from England, having overslept as usual and missed the early morning ferryboat and been forced to take the eight o'clock boat instead. .sp 1 Race day dawned bright and sunny, the sun streaming through the green pines lining the track of the Nrburgring. As eleven o'clock approached the Tannoy called for the senior race: .P "Attention, Attention, please. Will the riders for the senior, 500cc, race please collect their machines from the Parc Ferm‚. The race will begin at eleven fifteen. Thankyou." .P Wolfgang donned his leathers and, carrying his trusty Cromwell 'pudding-basin' helmet walked off with the other riders to collect their bikes. Meanwhile the Professor and Dagmar entered their box in the pits and prepared the signalling board. The Tannoy crackled into life again, like an asthmatic geriatric elephant clearing its throat: .P "Attention, attention. Bike number thirteen, from Dresden in East Germany, is withdrawn from the start by decision of the race safety committee. Two teams have protested that the rider's wild riding style, as he demonstrated it in practice, is basically too dangerous for the other riders when the track is full. The safety officer has upheld this decision. I repeat, number thirteen is disqualified." .P "What?!?" screamed the Professor, dreams of fame and academic recognition for the long hard winter spent designing and building the racer fast disappearing, like the South Sea bubble. "They can't do that to us! Not after all our effort!". Dagmar looked wide-eyed at him, herself almost in a state of shock. Wolfgang ran up, distraught. .P "They won't give me the bike, they say we've been disqualified! What's going on here?" Dagmar began to cry, tears of frustration and disappointment. .P Leverkus, the cub reporter, ran up to them. "Don't just stand there! Come on over to the judges tent! We've got to stop this horrible mistake. It's a dirty political trick pulled by some other team, who saw themselves outclassed in practice! Come on, run, we only have ten minutes before the race starts!" .P The judges in their tent were adamant. "You're riding style is too wild. Clambering about all over the bike like a drunken monkey! Knees hanging out in the breeze and scraping the tarmac. You're a danger to the other teams. We uphold the protest. Go away and learn to ride in a decent style like Duke and Meier do!" .P "What do we do now?" cried Wolfgang dejectedly. .P "There are international representatives from the FIM here. I saw them this morning." replied Leverkus rapidly. "There are enough here for a quorum. Let's get them together and have them overrule the local race-judges' decision! If the FIM accepts your style, Wolfgang, then the local club will be bound to their superior decision! Wait here, I know them all." .P So saying he ran out of the tent towards the VIP balcony in the grandstand. The clock ticked on. Twelve minutes past eleven. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. The starter's flag dropped on the senior starters and the race was on. Wolfgang, Dagmar and the Professor were forced to watch the race frustratedly from the sidelines. Of course, a four-stroke won. Its times were nearly three seconds per lap slower than their stroker had been. .P Sadly Leverkus told them what had happened. "One of the FIM people had gone to the toilet. So they didn't have a quorum. By the time he came back the flag had dropped. What a pity for you! However, every cloud has a silver lining. They will confer over lunch and make a decision then. At least Wolfgang will then know if he may compete in the TT on the Isle of Man in a fortnight." .P Two hours later, a hastily convened lunchtime meeting of the FIM members present rejected the protest, and explicitly left the choice of riding style up to each rider. .P However, the Dresden team were now in a dilemma. They had played their trump card vis-a-vis Ismailovitch. He would read in the press that they had been fastest in practice. If they took the bike home he would confiscate it. For the museum in Moscow, as he had threatened. If they didn't take it home, they would need to hide it from the press and the competition. Time was pressing anyway for the TT. Practising in the Isle of Man started a full week before the actual races, and the senior race was traditionally the last one. That meant that they could go directly to the IOM, without returning to Dresden. That solution would keep them out of Ismailovitch's clutches and give them plenty of time for acclimatisation on the Island. Ismailovitch had said that he would not leave the Soviet block. He would think they had defected. Back in the UK, Claggs turned in a normal run-of-the-mill race report as usual. On Thursday he was flabbergasted to see how young Leverkus had scooped him with the headline: .sp 1 .ce 3 "Secret stroker runs rings round recent record!" "Wild Wolfgang wins sympathy, but excluded by political protest!" .sp 1 .ce "Watch the Dresden team beat all TT aces hollow!" .sp 1 As he scanned the headlines at the newspaper stand, Mr. Adams leant over and very quietly, but very sarcastically said: .ce "Gotcha!" .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentythree .sp 2 .ce Island Impressions .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Steaming, stamping through the last big waves, the "Mona's Queen" steam packet sounded her siren song, announcing her imminent arrival in Douglas Harbour,I.O.M. Mr. Adams was still being seasick after the rough passage. Ernie Claggs held him fast as he vomited over the side of the ship. .P "Gawd, I feels terrible, guv" he complained "I wish I was rather dead and roastin' 'ot in 'ell. What's that over there then? The end of the universe?" .P "No, That's just Douglas, Adams!" Claggs informed him good-naturedly. Proudly, the 'Mona's Queen' boomed her song, echoing it back and forth from harbour wall to smokestack. Her pride was no wonder, Werner discovered by reading the placard on the upper deck, for predecessor and sister ship Mona's Queen II had sunk a german hunter-killer U- boat by swipes of her paddles! Another sister ship, "King Orry III" led the surrendering German High Seas Fleet into Scapa Flow in 1918; it read. Manoevering with years of practice, smokestack whistle sounding sibilantly, the steamer edged accurately up to the dockside. Pedestrian passengers, mechanics, riders and fans streamed down the gangway as the side-loader crane delivered the precious bikes, four at a time, onto Victoria Pier, to be collected by their anxious owners, some still a pale shade of green and grey from the rough crossing from Liverpool. On the Isle of Man, the weather had taken a turn for the better, the driving, whipping, drenching rain had stopped, and they saw the sun bravely peeking through the rapidly disappearing clouds. "Welcome to TT week!" boomed the man with the megaphone, "Welcome to our island paradise, for a week of fun and exciting races.....". He must have been a fairground barker before the war, Claggs thought, and probably a regimental sergeant-major in it, to judge by his stentorian tone. .P At last their racer was unloaded together with the crate containing the backup engine and other spare parts, and they organised one of the old Morris cabs to take them up the hill to the guest house which was to be their stay for the next two weeks. Of course, the bike wouldn't fit in the cab, so while the Professor rode ahead with the spares, Wolfgang got a slow tow from a friendly sidecar-driver, Jeff with his girl-friend Ann on their 600cc ultra-long-stroke single Panther Ray. Everything flowed. Even the traffic flowed smoothly. By now the sun was shining brightly, and Douglas showed itself from its best side as they proceeded at a fast walking pace along the Loch Promenade. .P Clip clop, clip clop. A brightly painted horse drawn tram jingled quickly along the promenade, the tourists leaning out of its open sides to gaze curiously at Wolfgang's still- shrouded racer in silent tow behind Jeff's Panther. The black- blinkered piebald mare drawing the red,white and yellow wooden tram shied as the Panther backfired as they passed; but the weight of the fully-laden tram kept it in the tracks, and they proceeded along behind safely. Which is more than can be said for the racer! It was all right for Jeff and Ann with their three wheels, but the racer skitted about on rain-oiled tram rails and slimy horse-droppings. .P "If I drop it when we cross the still-wet points ahead, at least I can use the tires to manure the roses!" Wolfgang thought silently! They turned left up Broadway and the Ballaquale Road towards the Glencrutchery road, turning left again onto Bray Hill, where the Professor greeted them us anxiously in front of Mrs Williams' guest house. "Of course! He can't speak a word of english!" Wolfgang remarked to Dagmar. "No wonder he had a problem trying to explain who he is and what he wants in his best high german and/or russian to that battleaxe guarding the front steps." .P Mrs.Williams herself,no doubt,stood squatly foursquare on the top step, arms folded, fierce face frowning disapprovingly at the Professor with his wooden crate and oily cardboard box of spares just dumped on the pavement where the cabby had left him. Mrs. Williams looked not at all dissimilar to the british bulldog bitch standing next to her, growling almost subsonically. .P "Are you with this old geezer?" she challenged, "I don't want no oily bits and pieces in the house you know". The dog bristled, as if to add emphasis. .P "Hallo, you must be Mrs.Williams" Wolfgang said cheerily, choosing to ignore the brusqueness of them both. "We're the team from Dresden, that's in East Germany you know." he added helpfully. "We're booked in with you for a fortnight as we said in our letter last month. This is Professor Gander, our chief designer and mechanic. This is my girlfriend Dagmar, and I'm Wolfgang, the rider. You can call me Wolf though." The bulldog bitch suddenly turned tail and slunk back into the house. .P "Ha,ha,ha" laughed Mrs.Williams breaking into a smile at once, "Our old bulldog used to be called Wolf too, and he used to beat the living daylights out of her as a puppy, if she as much as stepped out of line one inch. So she'll be very friendly to you now, with a name like that." she said. "I gather your Professor friend doesn't speak any english,then" she added, "so tell him to put his oily cardboard boxes and the wooden crate into the garage. You put your bike in there too, and come on in for a cuppa, the Prof still looks green from the Liverpool boat." she laughed,thawing noticably. .P "Now you drink your tea lads" Mrs Williams said."It'll get your tums straightened out in no time." she added. The dog took off at a run for the front door and three seconds later the doorbell rang. "Got a sixth sense, that dog" she said proudly, going to open the door. The letterbox flap was pushed open and a voice shouted through it: "Gotcha, Mrs.Williams!" .P "Ah, Mr.Claggs, welcome back to Douglas." she cried. "This is Mr.Ernie Claggs, the independent journalist you know" she announced importantly, "He always stays here, he knows quality when he gets it! This is Professor Gander, he don't speak no english, but you'll be able to speak german with him, Ernie, after your wartime reporting escapades. And this little chap is Wolf, who rides for him." she added, making the introductions. .P "Down Alma Joy, down girl" laughed Ernie,"I know you haven't seen me since the last Manx Grand Prix, but that's no excuse to chew my ears off! You will have to get used to the dog too, Mr. Adams, she's either defending the house from invaders or licking up to the guests to see if she can get any table scraps" he explained. "What Mrs Williams means by 'quality' is that I'm basically a very lazy person, and by lodging here at the top of Bray Hill I can get up late and only have to walk a hundred yards or so to get to the pits to watch the early morning practicing" he laughed. "Mind you, walking past the cementary in the dark when its foggy does tend to wake you up and keep you on your toes too" he grinned." I always have the front upstairs room too," he added "so that I can 'report' on progress of early practice, even if I don't manage to always get up in time" he said, laughing sarcastically at his own laziness. Wolfgang introduced the three of them. Claggs thought he had seen them before somewhere but he didn't know quite where. Mr. Adams decided to go to bed early to sleep his sea-sickness off. Claggs, however, was still curious about the three foreigners and asked jovially: .P "Where does your team come from then?" .P "Dresden" .P Claggs felt sick at once as that old heavy grey guilt flowed over him suddenly. Firestorms raged through his mind and blackened corpses twitched through the narrow lanes of his memory, as if eight years were but a day. Guilt twisted his stomach. Forcing a smile he suppressed these black thoughts and decided that the best way to shed his feelings of silent guilt was to befriend these three Germans and show them as much as the beauty of the Island as possible. .P "Now there's no practice tomorrow, and you've got the rest of the day, all afternoon and evening to set up your bike, so let's meet after breakfast tomorrow and I'll show you around the island a little, since it's your first time here" he invited. .P "Apropos breakfast," Mrs Williams butted in "Breakfast is from 7 until 9 a.m., served after morning practice, but you can make yourselves a cup of tea any time with the immersion coil in each room. It doesn't matter if you make a lot of noise getting up for practice," she added "because the bikes go streaming down Bray Hill past the front door on full song anyway. Lunch is from noon 'til two, except on race days, when you get a packed lunch instead to take with you, and dinner is at eight in the evening. That'll be seven pounds a week full board, cash in advance, no rebates for missed meals, and if you want high teas at five o'clock it'll be a pound and five shillings extra" she said in a brisk businesslike tone, holding out her hand. They all paid up meekly, and she relaxed visibly. "I've got to make ends meet you know, after my 'usband died in the war." she said apologetically. .P Claggs twitched spasmodically, but the Official Secrets Act still forbade him to tell Mrs. Williams that her husband had been a spy for MI5, and had died in that selfsame firestorm that haunted his memory. .P Professor Gander had a strong cup of tea to soothe his slightly seasick stomach and then changed into his dark blue VEB overalls before going into the garage to check the bike over. He had left the same grade plugs in as he used for the Nrburgring, just cleaning them now. He jetted the four carbs slightly richer, just to be on the safe side, and checked that both forks had identical amounts of oil in them. Tire pressures OK, gearing set a tooth higher on the front sprocket at the gearbox, because the Island is faster than the Ring. Then with nothing else to do, he went for a short walk before dinner, visiting the Manx cattery in Nobles Park just behind the TT grandstand, and admired the tailless beauty of the new litter of sandy coloured kittens. Upon returning to the guest- house, he was, as a consequence, sniffed over suspiciously and thoroughly by the bulldog Alma Joy, before being allowed to take his place at the table for dinner. .P The next morning dawned bright and clear, the good weather remaining after the cold front passed yesterday. Mrs. Williams' standard breakfast had everything the english dearly love: a choice of kippers, golden-smoked haddock or bacon,egg and black sausage, followed by toast and jam or cheese, all washed down by copious pourings of the ever-present tea. All this was too much for the German contingent of course, who were more used to a plain roll and "Muckefuck" (Ersatz Coffee). While the three of them ate their way steadily through this mountain of food, Claggs went out into the Port E Chee road where he had parked his rental car, an new Alvis. He had to park in the side road, of course, because the German bike was in the garage, and for obvious reasons one is not allowed to park on Bray Hill itself at any time in the next two weeks. Now to cap it all, the Alvis just would not start for the promised tourist ride around the island. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentyfour .sp 2 .ce Tourist trophies .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P " Guten Morgen Herr Professor " Claggs said, greeting the older man as he came out of the house. Wolfgang grinned and said "The Professor is going to buy a phrase book this morning and a dictionary, so watch out, he's so bright that he will be speaking fluent english by the start of race week, you mark my words". .P "Well then, lets walk down to the central promenade," Claggs suggested "because the car has given up its ghost for the time being and he can buy a phrase book at the bookshop just along from the casino. Then we'll saunter along Queens promenade past the bottom of Summer Hill until we get to the Manx electric railway terminus. You know, where the horse tram terminus is too. We'll take the electric railway to Ramsey today, that's a nice outing. Mrs Williams is arranging to have the rental car seen to." .P Arriving at the terminus, they bought their tickets through a window so tiny that a hand could just reach through to pay or to pick up the tickets, but it had to be the same hand. The window itself was in a quaintly rustic ticket hut occupied, to judge by the querulous tone of the occupant, by a close relation of Mrs. Williams or her bulldog. .P "Take a Day Return," he said "but get off at Laxey for a trip up the Snaefell mountain this morning before it clouds over, then have lunch in Ramsey, and on the way back, get off at Groundle for a trip on the Groundle Glen railway. Make up what passes for your minds quickly please, there are others waiting too you know, and the next train is due to leave in just two minutes. I haven't got all day!" he finished pestily. .P The suggestion was good, even if they had been bullied into it. So they clambered aboard Tram Car Number 2, which proudly bore its own cast iron plate proclaiming it to be the oldest (1893) electric tramcar in regular use in the world (Eat your heart out San Francisco!). The old red and yellow tramcar towed an almost equally ancient trailer car, which in turn bore equally proudly its own cast iron plate. This declared it to be the royal trailer car Number 59 used by King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra in 1902. .P "Well, we're in right royal company here" thought Wolfgang, while translating the cast iron plates for the Professor who was laboriously looking up the words in the phrase books and dictionaries he had bought from the little bookshop on Queens Promenade. The narrow gauge (3 feet) train started out silently on its seventeen and a half mile trip to Ramsey, no puffing smoke, no stinking horse dung, what a wonder of technology the original passengers must have thought back in 1893. Clack - Clackety-clack clack as it passed over the points going through the little station of Onchan Village. .P "You know, William Bligh got married in St.Peters church here in 1781 before his notorious sailing a few years later on HMS Bounty" remarked the Professor in german. Wolfgang burst out laughing, and said to Claggs "He remembers everything he reads, doesn't matter where, or what it was about, his head is full of facts gleaned in the hope of being able to string them together someday; he's got a photographic memory, I swear." .P The tramcar, fully laden with TT-week visitors out for their Sunday ride, groaned its way up the steep hill out of Douglas, following the King Edward road and clattering across the points leading to the old tram workshops, climbed up to the former terminus at Groundle, before diving into the peaceful countryside leading to Baldrine. Winding through the sharp curves the tramcar moaned and squealed as the wheels acoustically documented that they had no differentials on their axles as they wound their sinuous half-hour way through the magnificent scenery up to Laxey. After crossing the breathtakingly beautiful Glen Roy viaduct, the tram rolled into the wooded glade that is Laxey station. .P "All off, as is going up the Mountain." called the driver, "Connection leaves soon, look sharpish, ladies and gentlemen, you can always look at the water wheel when you get back, because there'll be an hours' wait then." .P "Why we are we must a new train taking?" asked the Professor suddenly, trying out some of his newly acquired english vocabulary which he had been studying the last half- hour. .P "Because the line up the Mountain its rails further apart is having." laughed Claggs. .P "Why laughing you are?" demanded the Professor, visibly annoyed. .P "Well," said Dagmar in german, her librarian's training coming suddenly to the fore "English syntax takes the subject noun first, then the verb, then the object phrase. So it sounded very funny, because you used our german syntax, although you got all the words right." .P "Aha" cried the Professor mollified by her cautious explanation." I should have said 'Why we must take a new train?" he added triumphantly. .P "Nearly right" answered Claggs,"just put the verb in front of the pronoun in questions giving 'Why must we take a new train?'. But I must compliment you on how quickly you learn." he added ingratiatingly. .P "Well I have read now for 32 minutes, and am on page 88" claimed the Professor proudly. .P "Bigheaded old Egghead" thought Claggs to himself, as they clambered aboard the Manx Mountain railway for the four mile trip up to the 2036 feet summit of Snaefell. .P The driver rang his bell jauntily as the car staggered off up the hill, pantograph bouncing at the bumps. Again he rang his bell as they approached the Bungalow on the TT circuit. .P "Don't want to frighten the living daylights out of the motorcyclists here" the driver explained," because this is where we cross the TT circuit, and some of the lads come out of that first lefthander with their heads down! This is a good place to watch the races," he added "because you can cross over the race track via that little wooden footbridge on the left there." .P "As you can see, the summit's in cloud already, so you can have a walk around here if you like" he continued. "I'll pick you up again on my way down; you won't be able to see anything from the top today." .P Wolfgang jumped on his suggestion, leapt off the right hand side of the tram, and was soon to be seen walking through the Bungalow lefthander, studying the best line across the tramlines where they cross the TT circuit, and the best line through into the following righthander under the bridge. .P "The best way to learn a circuit, is to walk through each corner" said Claggs quoting young Leverkus. .P Afterwards they took the returning train down into Laxey, arriving at the rustic timbered station with its bright, almost luminous, green sign on top as it nestled in what at first glance appeared to be just a romantic clearing in the woods, a sylvan glade rather than a railway station. After a breakfast snack at the beehive shaped refreshment stall, they walked off to see the famous Laxey Wheel. Whitewashed walls and whitewashed aquaduct, topped by bright red railings and a HUGE waterwheel, the Laxey waterwheel is an impressive site. .P "This 24 meter diameter, 2 meter wide water wheel, built in 1854, is one of the largest in the world." read the Professor aloud from his guide book. "The chibbyr water is good for the eyesight, it says, but chibbyr isn't in my dictionary; what does chibbyr mean Herr Claggs?" he asked complainingly. .P "It wouldn't be in an english dictionary,Prof, because its a Manx word, just meaning 'water wells'. There are two languages here on the island, although the old Manx tongue is dying out I'm afraid.Let's climb up onto the top walkway, and look at the wheel close up, then we will have to head back to the station to catch our next connection to Laxey, or miss it." he said. .P Returning to the station, they still had five minutes in hand, and so were able to sample the 'Olde-worlde Charm' of the station's waiting room, before getting aboard the tramcar- trailer in order to continue on to Ramsey for lunch. .P "Winding its picturesque way past the little corrugated iron shelters at stops called Dreemskerry, Ballajora etc, the tram scenery changes from waving green pastures to spectacular 200 meter drops to sea level from the Bulgham bay cliffs, from whence you can see across to Cumbria on a clear day." quoted the Professor again from his tourist guide, thoroughly enjoying himself as he extended his vocabulary rapidly, even at the expense of a rather idiosyncratic gutteral pronunciation. Passing Bellevue as the last of the corrugated iron stops, the tram ambled gently downhill into Ramsey station, well hidden amongst the shops of the town centre. .P "We'll go to the four-star Grand Island Hotel for lunch!" proclaimed Claggs grandly; "You are of course my guests today." he added hastily, as he saw Wolfgang looking furtively into his wallet as if he had been born and bred in Scotland rather than East Germany. .ce 4 "Licensed Restaurants * Table d'hote menu * A la carte available * Lunches * Buffet Bar Meals * Afternoon Teas * Dinners * Open Sundays * Advance reservations advisable * Egon Ronay" .P read the Professor carefully from the placard outside the door."What's an Egon Ronay, Herr Claggs?" he asked, "Those manx words aren't in my dictionary, even if I did buy the biggest dictionary they had in the shop." he complained. .P "No chance,Professor, because it's the name of an up-and- coming food critic, who has established a name for himself as a travelling gourmet, and who then writes newspaper articles about the food he is served, and then annually collates the articles into an atlas of Britain, recommending to lesser mortals where they should go to eat out." replied Claggs patiently. .P "That sounds like a good job, better than being a Professor at the Technical University of Dresden." Gander added, eyeing the chalk-boarded specials listed next to the door."I think I should try my hand at it; I'll be our gourmet critic for today." .P They entered and sat in the Bay room where an obsequious waiter immediately arrived, bearing three huge menues, the size of a wandering albatross. And we're talking wingspan! .P "By the time we've read all this, we'll be hungry again." remarked Wolf. .P "In that case sir, may I recommend our specials; we have a scottish week now. I suggest scots pea soup for starters, then either grouse, red deer venison or haggis, followed perhaps by whisky flavoured cheese and oatmeal biscuits." .P "Is scottish pea soup the sort with only one pea? " joked Wolfgang. .P "No sir," the waiter said, his smile freezing,"our chef takes stone mushrooms, you call them Steinpilze in Germany sir, and lets them soak for a quarter of an hour in a quarter liter of tepid water, then boils mealy peas for 10 minutes in this water, to which he has added a vegetable puree, adding salt and fresh cream to taste. He then adds a finely diced hard-boiled egg and ladles the soup onto your soup-plates, adding finely cut strips of oak-smoked scottish salmon and a dollop of whipped cream before serving." he specified minutely. .P "Well that sounds excellent" said the Professor. "It will be so described in the 'Egon' Gander guide to eating out in Dresden." he joked. "For aperitif, we shall each have a glass of Tokay, but with the five Putonos rating please, not the three." he added, warming to his role as the pretentious foreign gourmet."Now tell me what means 'Haggis'?". .P "No don't" cut in Claggs quickly,fearful of the detailled description to be expected from this well-informed waiter. "We will all have the Haggis, with tatties and neeps of course; I'll explain it to him as we eat" he added slyly. "And we'll take the biscuits and cheese afterwards as you suggested." .P The scottish broth came steaming to the table, accompanied by a hefty Tokay, and was eaten appreciatively by the trio. Then came a fearful wailing from the direction of the kitchen door, causing the Professor to leap startled from his chair. .P "Sit down,man" hissed Claggs, "It's only the traditional pipes". Another waiter, wearing the kilt with a bejewelled Skean Dhu sticking out of his knee-length woolen socks, marched into the room, blowing mightily into the bagpipes, whose drones were so loud that all the diners' conversations stopped at the spectacle. Following him, the head waiter proudly bore a large steaming haggis to the table, as the pipes wheezed their dying tones. .P "Fair fa, ye honest sonsie face, great chieftain of the pudden race...." intoned the piper. .P "What? what?, I don't understand." said the Professor, still somewhat aghast at all the commotion. .P "No wonder." laughed Claggs, "It's a scots poem from Robbie Burns, I'm sure half the words aren't in your english dictionary, no matter how thick it may be. Just get stuck in, and I'll explain as we eat." .P "Why is wearing a patterned dress?" asked the Professor, too loudly. .P "Hush! It's not a dress, it's the kilt. And that's not a pattern it's a tartan. In fact it's Black Watch" replied Claggs equally loudly. .P "That's a good name for a timepiece, I must remember that!" said the young entrepreneur Clive Sinclair, dining at the next table. .P The waiter served the three of them with plentiful helpings of tatties and neeps before carefully cutting into the large grey barrage-balloon shaped haggis, and spooning a large portion onto each plate. .P "The Haggis (latin plural is Hagges)," intoned Claggs with a straight face, "is an extremely rare small rotund animal, about half the size of Mrs.Williams' bulldog, which is native only to the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, and has never been seen alive by a Sassenach. The left legs of the Haggis are considerably shorter than the right legs, enabling it to adopt a level stance on the sides of the hills, albeit at the expense of only being able to proceed around the hills in an anti-clockwise manner, known in the Gaelic as 'Widdershins'. Here Gaelic is very like your german tongue, 'Wider dem Sinn' also meaning in the reverse direction with respect to the face of a clock. When they get old, they sometimes have fits of giddiness," he fabulated "causing them to fall over and roll down the hills to the shores of the Lochs, where they are caught, often by the local poachers, and smuggled into the guid scots kitchen. This of course is illegal" he added in all earnest " because the WWF has declared them to be a protected species". .P "Is that so?" asked Dagmar innocently. .P "Gotcha!" chortled Claggs, pleased at having duped them. .P "I don't believe a word of it," said Professor Gander, "there are no legs on this, it was just oval-shaped and tied together at one end when they brought it in. I am an extremely observant person you know, I notice such details. But its delicious, whatever it really is" he said, finishing his plateful. .P "Well now you have finished, I can tell you the truth. The haggis is really a sheep's stomach filled with oatmeal,tripe and innards ...." .P "Stop!" cried the Professor "I'm not sure I really want to know that. I preferred the highland hill animal version. I think I'll give up this idea of becoming the german 'Egon Ronay' gourmet-reporter." .P "More of a gourmand, judging by the speed you scoffed that." murmered Dagmar sotto voce . .P "Dessert gentlemen, is oatmeal whisked with cream and thinned with whisky" interrupted the hovering waiter. .P "No, we'll go straight to the biscuits and cheese please. And a cup of coffee, to stop us falling into a post-prandial sleep, and some Glengarry biscuits too, not just oatmeal ones" ordered Claggs. .P "After that magnificent meal, we should go for a digestive walk; we've got two hours before the train returns to Douglas." suggested Dagmar. A short walk brought them a view of the swing bridge across the old harbour and led them to the town hall. Wolfgang of course insisted in walking west along the Lezayre Road on the TT circuit until opposite the grammar school, so that he could then walk back into town, investigating the braking point and racing line through Parliament Square. Then, at his insistence, instead of window- shopping, they walked south along Queens Pier and turned right up May Hill towards the Ramsey Hairpin, so that he could study possible lines through the corners and the type of road surface in the Ramsey hairpin. .P "That's enough of a good thing now, Wolfgang." said Claggs, "Now let's take a short look into the Elfin Glen, just south of the Hairpin here; it's really quite beautiful at this time of year, very sylvan, lots of leafy shade and babbling brooks just like in the famous poem." After this short excursion they returned via Albert Tower through the woods and past the bowling green to the station to board the waiting Electric Train back to Douglas. .P Half an hour later they got off at Groundle Station, just two miles short of Douglas, for a short ride on the touristicly attractive Groundle Glen narrow (2 ft.) gauge Railway. The green coloured "Polar Bear" locomotive, a miniscule 1896-built 2-4-0 tank engine rather reminiscent of "Tommy", its bright brass dome gleaming in the sunlight,chuffing black smoke and steam from its coal-black smoke-stack, rattled impatiently through Glen Coan past the pleasant stream bordered with larch and lime trees (interspersed with the occasional beech) and wheezed, whistling to a stop well before the terminus. .P "Have to stop here folks," apologised the driver, leaning from his spick-and-span foot-plate "The landslip ahead made the line unsafe ahead. Anyway there ain't no sea-lions any more at the Rocks, seeing as how they was evacuated for the duration of the war and was never brought back.So we'll just chuff slowly back to Groundle Glen. If there's any young gennulman what's got his birthday today, he can come and ride with me on the footplate." .P "Me, me, me" came several cries at once, and other children started to wail at the missed opportunity (it not being their birthdays); so with the fire well stoked up and three eager young lads crammed into the minute cab, the tank engine shoved the six cars at walking pace back up into the glen to the station. A half hour walk brought them back their B&B with ravenous appetites, just in time for Mrs.Williams to serve their evening meal. "I think I'll skip dinner, so as not to have a full stomach for early morning practice tomorrow. Goodnight all" bid Wolfgang. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentyfive .sp 2 .ce Practice makes perfect .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Yeeeeeee-Waaaaaaaaaah . The dawn battle cry of the big two-stroke echoed back from the sleepy houses lining Bray Hill. Used to the bass thunder of the four-stroke Manx Nortons, and KTT Velos breaking the dawn silence of each Manx practice day, Ernie Claggs awoke with a start, banking his head on the brass bedstead of Mrs.Williams' "Best Bed and Breakfast in all of Douglas" guesthouse featherbed, and starting the dog barking. .P "Cripes - what was that ???" he thought, the echoes still bouncing back and forth. Yeeeeeee-Waaaaaaaaaah , replied the echoes. Claggs's early boyhood piano lessons prompted subconsciously - that's exactly a six semitone drop in the note, whatever it was! Schoolboy physics flashed through his still-only-half-awake mind - a Doppler shift of a semitone is equal to 24 miles per hour; so six semitones means 120 miles per hour. And the note was nearly an F. Which translates to a fourstroke four turning over at nearly 20000 rpm. "Even the Gilera doesn't turn over that fast!" his fully awake subconscious mind said. "So it's a two-stroke four turning at nearly ten thousand revs doing over a hundred and twenty miles per hour through the grey half-light of the Manx dawn!" His concious mind wanted to roll over, pull the covers over his ears, and go back to sleep. But his subconscious prompted him guiltily, "We're missing a scoop again, through oversleeping!". Ten seconds passed while Claggs was in two minds, then the traditional thunder of a longstroke Manx Norton passing his window persuaded him that there was no chance of being able to go back to sleep. Now every ten seconds would bring the delicate sound of thunder as the fourstroke singles flashed past, interspersed by the occasional higher pitched wail of a twin such as the AJS Porcupine. .P "Mr.Claggs ! Mr.Claggs! you're missing practice!" shouted Mrs.Williams from the bottom of the stairs. "The Germans have been up,out and gone this past half hour!" .P Reluctantly Claggs heaved his still sleepy body out of bed, fell over the dog (which had gone back to sleep) on his way to the bathroom and decided to get dressed. In another 25 minutes they'd be around again and it'd be light enough for a photo, he thought, shaving rapidly. Father Bill, the East End priest who was also staying at Mrs.Williams' guesthouse bumped into him on the stairs, and offered to accompany him to the grandstand, or rather to the cocoa-tent. "In the cocoa- tent you'll be able to meet all the riders after practice, the mechanics and the team managers. So you can get all the information you need for your column, Mr. Claggs." said Father Bill. .P "Thankyou, Father. Tell me, who are these three boy scouts you brought with you to watch the racing?" .P "Vic and Malcolm are from East Anglia, who are brothers, are the younger ones, and the oldest is Michael. Michael Hailwood.They're from my youth club." .P "And how many members are there in your youth club?" asked Claggs politely as they walked rapidly through the back roads taking them to the cocoa tent. .P "Fiftynine" replied Father Bill."But I hope one day it will be thousands; all the young East End motorcyclists in fact." .P "I'm sure it will, Father. Just watch out for any transsexual Transylvanian transvestites amongst the fiftynine, though. That would be a horror show!" .sp 1 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 1 Meanwhile, Wolfgang was screaming the stroker at nearly top speed along the Sulby straight, over nineteen miles from the starting line. He had nearly dropped it at Quarter Bridge on the very first lap. Due to the length of the race and the huge thirst of the stroker they had mounted a much larger tank on the bike. Wolfgang had insisted that Dagmar fill the tank. He wanted to practice with a full tank of fuel, to ensure that he had a feel for the bike under real race conditions. What with the weight of the extra fuel making the bike top heavy, and tyres that were still cold, plus moisture on the road under the trees, he had had a rather lurid slide towards the straw bales on the exit of Quarter Bridge. Now he had his confidence back and was really flying. Coming up to Sulby Bridge he cut the engine and coasted to a planned stop alongside the Professor on the right hand side of the road at Ginger Hall. The Professor grabbed a plug spanner and attacked the right side of the engine, while Mr.Adams, who had volunteered to help, took over the left side plugs. Wolfgang sat resting astride the bike, holding it upright. Soon Adams had his plugs out too, and the Professor compared the colours of all four plugs carefully. As a result, they exchanged the main jets on all four carburettors, to get a greyer plug colour, since the Professor thought the plugs a shade too white. Satisfied they gave Wolfgang a beaker of Mrs.Williams' early morning tea, straight from the thermos flask, and then piled into the rental Alvis which Adams had conveniently borrowed, knowing that Claggs would sleep through practice anyway. The Alvis headed off across country through the internal roads leading through Tholt-Y-Will to the Bunga- low. Wolfgang gave them a ten minute start and then, bumping the stroker back into life, set off through Glen Duff towards Ramsey at a fair speed. "Not too fast" he thought to himself, "because you don't really know where the road goes yet. It must take three years to learn this circuit really well." As he came tearing down the Schoolhouse Road towards Parliament Square in Ramsey he noted with amusement that the local bobby fled his post behind the signpost in the middle of the road and took shelter in the fire station. The wierd high howl of the stroker had obviously put the wind up him, as well as every dog in Ramsey; they were all howling back, the policeman noticed! .P Heading up the slope of May Hill, Wolfgang misjudged the hairpin and shot straight ahead up the escape road. With difficulty he got the bike turned around, its lock-to-lock turning ability being rather poor, and, waiting for a convenient gap between other riders, got back onto the circuit somewhat unnerved. "If I do that in the race I'll lose at least twenty seconds or even more if the engine dies on me!" he reprimanded himself. Through the Gooseneck and along the Mountain Mile he regained confidence and sped up again. He regained full song along the Verandah, passing the Nortons that had slipped by during his Hairpin incident with ease. Coming into the Bungalow, he shut off the engine again and coasted over to the right hand side by the slip road, where the Professor was waiting. .P The two of them repeated the sparking plug ceremony while Wolfgang had another beaker of tea to warm him up; although the pushing and pulling and heaving in the slip road at Ramsey hairpin had warmed him up too, he thought wryly. "Why we gotta do this twaice guv'nr ?" Adams asked the Professor, making a special effort to speak the Queen's English, so that the Professor would understand him. .P "Ginger Hall, and even more so Ramsey, are down near sea level. The air is thicker there. The Bungalow here is about 420 meters higher. That's 1400 feet to you. So the air is thinner. So with the same carburettor jets the mixture should be richer here, because the same amount of petrol goes through the jets. So the plugs should be greyer here." the Professor replied in pedantic detail, as if talking to a first term student. He unscrewed the front right plug. "Here, you see, it is good and gray. We don't want it to be black here, that would be too rich a mixture. On the other hand, we don't want white plugs at sea level, because the engine might sieze." .P "I see" replied Adams, blinded by science. Wolfgang grinned quietly to himself, seeing that dreamy academic look in the Professor's face that he always got when called upon to give a through scientific explanation. .P "All the plugs are a healthy colour, Wolfgang. So I suggest you complete this lap. Then do another one if the starter doesn't flag you off at the pits. We won't need another plug check today." said the Professor, well satisfied that the twostroke was performing well. Wolfgang bumped the bike into life again, took a last swig of hot tea, and set off rapidly up towards Brandywell. The bike is really flying, he thought as he cranked it through Creg ny Baa and Brandish Corner. Screaming downhill through Cronk ny Mona at top speed he watched the rev-counter carefully, checking whether the bike was correctly geared. "Ten thousand seven hundred. So I'm undergeared." he said to himself "We need maybe one or two more teeth on the rear sprocket.That should do the trick. Don't want to overrev it." .P At Governor's bridge, a really tight double hairpin just a kilometer or so from the finishing line, the four went off the boil. It had dropped out of the power band on the first slow hairpin. Wolfgang concentrated so much on slipping the clutch to get the revs back up that he was overtaken on the inside. This caused him to nearly overrun the second hairpin, and he stalled the engine! "Oh the ignominy, the shame!" he thought as he pushed the bike uphill out of the corner to get a clean run to bump-start it again. The second lap went much better, he could even remember where some of the corners went. the second lap was inside 30 minutes. The timekeepers had given up on his first lap of over 48 minutes. No-one had bothered to tell them beforehand about the two planned stops. One of the timekeepers even thought that maybe he had missed Wolfgang who had perhaps put in two extremely fast laps of 24 minutes each! Finally, as he came around on his second lap, all the bikes were being flagged off the road, and the "Road- Open"-car was just leaving along the Glencrutchery Road. .P He pushed the bike along to their pit and leaned it up against the wall while going into the cocoa tent to get warm. Dagmar was there, chatting pertly to Claggs and an extremely tall, thin, seriously faced man who introduced himself as Francis Beart. .P "Hallo darling" chirped Dagmar gaily "Back already? You must be frozen, I'll get you a cup of hot cocoa. But first you must meet Mister Beart here. He and Mister Claggs have been asking me all about our bike, so I was able to tell him all I knew!" she sprouted, innocent of who Francis Beart was. .P "Well, I'll be pushing off then." Beart said, retreating hastily. .P "Didn't you know that Francis Beart is the famous Manx Norton tuner?" Wolfgang almost shouted at Dagmar as she returned with his steaming mug of cocoa. "I bet you've gone and told him everything. So next season we can expect to see a twostroke four from him as well! Stupid bitch!" .P "Oh dear, no! I'm sorry" she wailed. .P "No real harm done" put in Claggs soothingly "She couldn't tell him important technical details, because she doesn't know them. I know, because I was taking notes" he added, laughing sheepishly. "Mind you, that notebook of the Professor's that she was talking about is probably worth its weight in gold. No, more like the weight of your bike in gold! You don't suppose he'd lend it to me for a story, do you?" he asked plaintively. .P "That's a relief. No. The Professor keeps it a secret to himself. There's only one copy, and Ismailovitch has that in Moscow." Wolfgang answered. .P "Moscow? Dagmar didn't say anything about Moscow. What have the Russians got to do with this?" asked Claggs, his reporter's bloodhound instinct sniffing. .P "Er, I meant Dresden of course. Ismailovitch is a russian friend, no, more of an acquaintance really, in Dresden. He keeps a second copy in case we lose this notebook, that's all." replied Wolfgang, keeping his little lie as near to the truth as possible without actually revealing that Ismailovitch was from the KGB and had financed the project. .P Just then, Adams and the Professor entered the tent, the roads now being open to public traffic again. Rapidly, Claggs changed the subject, realising that this was a hot topic. He would chase up on it later, when he got the Professor on his own. Meanwhile he still needed a story (or three) for practice-week. After all, race week would take care of itself. So he asked: .P "Wolfgang,why don't we sit down after practice tomorrow ? You can give me a rider's view of a lap of the TT circuit. That'll be interesting for my readers, and you can even be anonymous. You don't have to give away any secrets; and beside you owe me. I bought lunch yesterday!" .P "Well, OK. But why don't you ask Geoff Duke. He's much more famous than I am. That would give you a larger readership. He's over there talking to his wife, Pat, the dark-haired young woman in the white pullover with her back to you. .P "Duke doesn't talk to the likes of me. Not after the story about him leaving Norton and his secret test ride in Arcore for Gilera.he thinks I would pull too much information from him, maybe." explained Claggs ruefully. .sp 1 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 1 In Moscow, Ismailovitch was getting it in the neck from an extremely angry KGB general. "Comrade, we have seen this newspaper story from the Nrburgring last week by young Leverkus. Although the british press missed it, because the bike didn't actually race, it is obvious that the Dresden team are outside our control. I told you to stop this project. I told you that on the day after Comrade Stalin died. You have ignored my orders....." .P "No, Tovaritsch" pleaded Ismailovitch, white visions of Siberia floating agonisingly through his mind "I conveyed your orders to them when I was in Dresden just two days later, as they came back from Italy with Kowalski's corpse." .P "Then they are ignoring my orders, Comrade Ismailovitch, or else they have defected. Either way, it would be bad propaganda for us. So you will go to the Isle of Man and 'persuade' them not to race......" .P "But Comrade General, you know we agreed at the start, eight years ago, that I should never visit Britain again....." .P "I overrule that agreement. This is more important. You must stop them from racing. Do you understand? You will be safe from the British authorities. You will have a false passport. And they think you're dead anyway, missing in action. Posthumous medal and all. So you will leave in the morning. Here is an airline ticket to Paris. And from there to London. That way no Englishman sees you fly in from Moscow. Then you take the train to Liverpool and the boat to Douglas. Rescue this situation, comrade, or you will have a long visit to Siberia!" .P "Da,Tovaritsch" replied Ismailovitch, crushed. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentysix .sp 2 .ce On the road to Ballacraine .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Four AM on the tuesday morning of practice week. The alarms rang in several of Mrs. Williams' guest rooms, with the result that the bulldog was rudely awoken. It started to bark, more out of resentment at being awoken than anything else, with the result that the whole house was soon awake, even including Claggs. Wolfgang awoke groggily, thinking that this was very definitly a heathen ritual, having practice each morning as dawn broke. Dagmar was over at the washbasin being sick again. .P "Are you all right?" he asked, concernedly "You can't still be seasick. We've been off the boat for three days now, and even Adams has recovered, and he was really green." .P "No, dear" she said, looking at him with her big eyes shining "I hardly know how to tell you. But I think I'm pregnant! I've missed my last two periods and it's the morning sickness this is." .P "What ?!? But how? I mean we've always taken precautions..." .P "Except for our first fantastic night in that caravan in Mugello in Italy, dear. That must have been when......" .P "Damn! No, I don't mean that" Wolfgang said hastily as he saw the tears welling up in her eyes. "It's just a shock that's all. Us being parents, I mean. What are we going to do?" .P "Well you could ask me to marry you!" she suggested sobbing. .P "Of course! Naturally. We can talk to Father Bill from the room next door. We'll be here two weeks. Maybe he can do the banns and everything quickly, like in Gretna Green. A baby. Wow. Me a father, who'd have thought it? Well, darling Dagmar, you will marry me won't you?" he proposed. .P "Of course!" she cried happily falling into his arms. .P "Good, that's settled then. You talk to father Bill in the meanwhile, because I've still got to go out and practice for the race now" he said, matter-of-factly, leaping out of bed and reaching for his clothes. .P The mechanics were up first of course, checking the bikes over one last time before practice. Wolfgang went for his morning run, to keep fit, and jogged down to Quarter Bridge. After his lurid slide there the day before, he wanted to check it himself. He even went down on his hands and knees at Quarter Bridge, just seeing how wet and slippery the surface might be. Then he jogged back up to the pit area. .P Sleepy eyed riders were arriving and going to the cocoa- tent for a strong hot coffee. At 5 AM they would need all their wits about them, the TT circuit being the most difficult in the world. Dagmar was there, talking seriously to Father Bill. Wolfgang shook hands with him briefly and then struggled into his one-piece black leathers. .P "Mind you don't catch anything in the flies!" she said archly. .P Wolfgang pretended to misunderstand. "I don't think there'll be many flies about at this time of the morning. Flies are more of a problem in the afternoon. They crash into the perspex of the fairing and then smear out, blocking the view through the screen after a while. So have some alkaline soap in the pitbox on race day to give the screen a quick clean while we refuel." he suggested to Dagmar. .P "Well have a nice ride, dear" she winked. Grabbing hold of Father Bill she shepherded him off to their box. Adams and the Professor had left in Claggs' Alvis for Parliament Square in Ramsey, where they could hear the state of the race over the Tannoy system. Manx Radio, transmitting on 219 meters wavelength, broadcast the state of the race, which was fed into the Tannoy system. They had commentators at Ballacraine, at the long leap over Ballaugh Bridge and at the Bungalow. This year, Claggs had the honour if being one of the guest commentators for Manx radio at the Grandstand, abeam the finishing line. The Professor would be able to signal Wolfgang from Parliament Square, so that he knew where he stood in the race. Dagmar, operating their pit, would signal him from the Start & Finish line. On race day, they had decided yesterday, Adams would be in the pits to help with the refuelling, and if necessary change plugs. They had decided it would be pointless to attempt any larger repairs during the actual race. .P Wolfgang tucked a set of softer plugs into the pocket of his leathers and shoved a plug spanner into the top of his boot as all the other riders did. Then he warmed the engine carefully and joined the left side queue of riders behind the starter. Today he was near the back, with a number in the fifties.The starter was a portly man, well wrapped up against the early morning cold, and wearing a set of ex-WW2 Army headphones for ear protection. At ten second intervals he dropped the Union Jack. The two riders at the heads of the queues to his right and to his left heaved their bikes forwards and, usually after a few steps, leapt into their saddles, bump-starting the engines into life. The delicate sound of thunder echoed back , in the pink flawed sunrise, from the empty Grandstand as the Manx Norton engines fired. Nothing was as warm each morning as any unfortunate rider whose engine failed to fire! Francis Beart, that magician amongst the tuners, who always kept his tuning tricks to himself, watched the starts silently, a sorcerer full of secrets. .P As his turn came, Wolfgang heaved the twostroke forwards and after three short steps leapt into the saddle. The engine, still warm, caught immediately. Lifting the clutch he revved high into the power band and, slipping the clutch, accelerated hard down towards Bray Hill. .P Just over a quarter of an hour later he peeled of hard right into Parliament Square. The bobby had taken cover earlier this morning, he noticed, looking for the Professor's board. Good, he had made up three seconds on Duke. Ten minutes later, past the pits, Dagmar signalled joyfully that he had gained a further two seconds. On the second practice lap everybody's bike was lighter, and the average lap speed increased. Still, at Ramsey he was now ten seconds ahead of Duke on time, even though well behind him on the road. As they were all red-flagged off at the finish he had made his lead good to thirteen seconds. .P In the cocoa-tent afterwards, Dagmar was jumping up and down with excitement. "You made the fastest practice lap today!" she squealed delightedly. Reporters crushed around them, begging for information, but Claggs came quickly down from the commentators' box and shooed them away. .P "Wolfgang has promised me an exclusive account of his laps today, you lot. So bugger off!" he roared impolitely. Grabbing Wolfgang by the arm he almost dragged him back to Mrs. Williams' guest house for breakfast and the promised blow-by-blow account. .sp 1 Breakfast smelled fantastic, the appetising aroma of frying bacon flooded the hall as they opened the front door. .P "You did well today laddie, so there's an extra portion for you. You've earned it!" Mrs Williams cried, bustling in from the kitchen. Huge field mushrooms, fresh from Manx pastures added their intricate flavour to the curly danish bacon done in the same pan. Two eggs, sunny side up, and a round of fried bread covered the other side of the plate, separated from the bacon and mushrooms by two lincolnshire pork and thyme sausages. Claggs drooled as they sat down at the table. Wolfgang had a huge hunger from the exacting exercise of his acrobatic ride around the Island. And Dagmar was eating for two. So by the time the Professor and Mr. Adams returned, the other three were finishing off with a large cuppa. .P "Now then, we'll set up the tape recorder here, Wolfgang, and then you can give us a corner by corner account of your fastest lap of the day." Claggs ordered. "Use the present tense, as if you were actually still riding, that makes it more graphic for my readers. Don't worry about your english, I'll polish that up during transcription. Just tell it naturally, as if a film were running through your mind". .P Wolfgang leant back and closed his eyes in concentration as his mental film began: .P "A hard push and three steps are all I need. The four fires immediately and slipping the clutch I bring it onto song. The howl is really impressive after hearing all those fourstroke singles potter off. I snatch a glance at the tall clock tower on the right, just after the white and yellow timekeepers hut, so I can check my lap times in case I miss the signalling boards.After all there are sixty or more signalling boards in the pit lane and its easy to read the wrong one. Up into fourth under the first footbridge, its yellow Dunlop sign flapping in the early morning breeze. Leaning left across the traffic lights and flash under the second footbridge, the one with the white Dunlop sign flapping on it. Keep left on the approach to Bray Hill and pick my chin up off the tank, because the approach to Bray Hill is incredibly bumpy. Aim for the notorious manhole cover on the right. Doing about 140 miles per hour down Bray Hill. Flash past Mrs Williams' boarding house, no time to wave. Charge hard up the hill. the bike takes off over the brow of the hill, both wheels in the air. So make sure it's upright! Careful now with the adverse camber on the lefthand side of the road on the approach to Quarter Bridge. It means I must take the first little lefthander slower than I would otherwise do. The road gets really dark here, especially in the early dawn, due to the trees hanging over both sides of the road." Wolfgang paused to sip at his cup of tea. Claggs remained silent, in order not to break Wolfgang's train of thought. .P "I change down from fourth to second, braking the while. Hard over on the left, I release the brakes next to the Michelin tarpaulin on the stone wall on the left and peel off carefully right. Quarter Bridge has a very slippery surface and what with tyres that aren't really warm yet and a full tank making the bike top-heavy, I don't want another slide. Wet leaves can catch you there too. Clipping the apex, I aim for the sandbagged wall on the left on the exit, using all of the road. Accelerate hard up to Braddan Bridge, the straight is quite short. Actually it's not really a straight, but I can take it more or less in a straight line while the road weaves about around me. It's rather like the Nrburgring in that respect. Going into Braddan I drop down from fourth into second, engine wailing in protest. Braddan Bridge is a sharp left-right 'S'-curve.I noticed it has the most beautiful white-painted iron railings. Blasting out of the righthander I almost shot into the churchyard on the left on the exit, because the front wheel lifted, and I temporarily lost steering control." .P "Go on" said Claggs quietly. .P "Then there's any easy straight into Union Mills, with the taps wide open. I drop down into fifth for the fast sweeping lefthander, it's flat out in fifth. Actually I can't really tell how fast I am going into Union Mills. The road is so wide, I lost all impression of speed. For the next lefthander I drop into third, taking it slowly, with the respect it deserves. Through the village at Union Mills, which is basically a right-left 'S'-combination, I aim for the white house on the right. The one with the chimneys on both end-walls. Then I tuck myself well in behind the dustbin for the long straight leading to Glen Vine. I expect that there will be problems on a windy day there, because there are no trees now, only hedges left and right. So the dustbin might react to sidewind gusts; I guess we'll see when it happens. I've never ridden this bike in windy weather, let alone with the dustbin fairing on." Wolfgang said ruefully. .P "For Glen Vine I move over to the left side of the road and drop down into fifth for the righthander." .P "How many gears do you actually have?" asked Claggs, curiously. .P "Six." put in the Professor, still tucking happily into Mrs Williams bacon, egg and everything else breakfast. .P "Glen Vine is a really long fast sweeping righthander. In fact, if I'm not careful, I'm still leaning over 170 meters after the corner. And that can be dangerous, because there's quite a bump there, causing the bike to take a leap again. Tuck in again for the long straight between the few houses on the way to Crosby. Keep on the right, but be sure to miss the drain-grate near the kerb. Then peel off left, doing about 130 mph. Flash past the village pub, its golden yellow sign squeaking as it swings in the slightest breeze. If I frighten myself too much on the Glen Vine jump, I thought, I'll pull off here for a pint!" .P "No beer when racing! You know that!" reprimanded Dagmar sharply. .P "It was only a figure of speech" replied Wolfgang weakly. .P "As long as the figure is Zero, no problem" she rebuked. .P "Anyway.As I was saying. After the pub it's uphill. I go over the brow of the hill on the righthand side to avoid the leap. The centre and lefthand side are more steeply browed, so it's easy to get into a wheelie there. The approach to the Highlander is fast. In fact the Highlander is one of the fastest parts of the circuit, I am pulling nearly ten thousand revs in top gear here." .P "Yes" broke in the Professor proudly, "One of the motorcycle newspapers had two timekeepers between the Highlander and Greeba Castle. They timed you at over 230 kilometers per hour! You were the fastest bike in practice. And all due to my engine design!" he claimed, turning to face Mr Claggs. .P Claggs smiled, recognising the naivety of this man's burning ambition and desire for recognition. "Be assured, credit will be given where credit is due" he replied. The Professor relaxed. .P "You was at the 'ighlander, guv'nr." Adams prompted. .P "Were!" put in the Professor pedantically "Grammar, Mister Adams!" .P "Yes. After the lefthander I follow the rightside kerb over the rise. Then as soon as I see the telephone kiosk, I clap on the anchors hard for the corner. After Greeba Castle I come up to the six mile marker at Appledene. Appledene is a real corker of an 'S'-bend I can tell you. First it's a lefthander then I try to flick the bike over hard right. Because the tank's still full, that's harder than it sounds. Then there's a lefthander past one of those traditional white Manx houses on the right.The road from Greeba Bridge here to Ballacraine is all much of a muchness; there's nowhere really significant to choose as a braking point. For Ballacraine I have to stomp on the gear lever as if my leg had hiccoughs. All the way down from sixth to second. The engine howls as I line up left for the righthander past the Ballacraine Hotel. There's a little hut with a big glass top on the lefthand side of the road, but I don't know what it is." Wolfgang finished. .P "That's my collegue" said Claggs proudly "One of the Manx radio commentators. And the hut is full of boy scouts with stop-watches and clipboards, to help him note all the times. Ballacraine is about seven and a half miles from the start, and it's the first chance we get to compare the times. The boys have to be accurate to within the second, with no time to sneak off for a pee!" .P "That's a good idea. Stop the tape recorder. Mrs Williams tea is pressing on my bladder too hard. I'll be back in a minute; someone hold the bulldog please, it always seems to think people need help in the toilet." Wolfgang said. They all waited, laughing goodnaturedly, until Wolfgang came back. Mrs Williams came in and said: .P "I've put the kettle on again, if anyone wants more tea". She was most offended that everyone rolled about laughing. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentyseven .sp 2 .ce The road to Governor's Bridge .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "No more tea,thankyou, Mrs Williams" said Wolfgang politely. Claggs ssshhhhed everybody into silence and turned the tape-recorder back on. Wolfgang collected his thought, reran the approach to Ballacraine in his mind's eye, and began again: .P "As I was saying, I aim for the Manx Radio hut on the left, braking hard and stamping down through the gears. If the brakes failed I could shoot straight ahead on the road to Peel. But I peel off right, past the Ballacraine hotel which stands proudly in what appears to be the middle of the road on my left and let the bike drift out left towards the sandbags in front of the hotel wall. Over the top of Ballaspur. Then a lefthander past a whitewashed wall on the right. Then I dive into what appears to be a black hole, where the trees come together overhead. This is only for 3 or 4 seconds though. Now keep a look out for a white house on the left. drop down one, into fifth, braking in a straight line for the first lefthander at Doran's Bend. Drop down another gear into fourth for the tight righthander and all the way down to second for the lefthander. I brake early and enter the righthander at Laurel Bank early too. Line up left alongside the sandbags and throw the bike over hard right. It's dazzling here when the sun shines right into my eyes as I round the corner. Up into fourth gear flashing past the Shell garage, I keep tight left on the lefthander. This lines me up nicely, going under the telephone wires, for the double right kink. This way I can ignore the short straight between the two right kinks, and take them as one sweeping curve, using all of the road. A quarter of the lap behind me now." Wolfgang paused, reluctantly accepting another cup of tea from the omnipresent Mrs Williams, who insisted that he needed to keep his whistle wet. .P "I take the lefthander here with the taps wide open, but chop the throttle shut, knocking the box down one gear for the approach to Glen Helen. For Glen Helen itself, I stamp the gear pedal all the way down into second, gently accelerating through the two lefthanders......" .P "Why only gently?" asked Claggs, curiously. .P "Because the corner tightens up on me. Next I approach Sarah's Cottage, another little whitewashed bungalow on the left. Sarah's Cottage I start wide in second for the righthander. then left and right again, changing up into third. Because it's quite bumpy, I change up at 9000 revs instead of ten, to stop the rear wheel jumping about sideways under too much power over the top of Cregwillys Hill. I'm about ten miles from the start by now, I guess." .P "That's perfectly correct" interjected the Professor, who had been following Wolfgang's lap description on a little track map issued by the IOM tourist board. .P "Through Lambfell I charge along the Cronk-y-Voddy straight until abeam the house on the right hand side of the road. The surface is very bumpy here, and the Velocette riders tighten up their manual friction-controlled steering dampers here. Just past the house, the road turns slightly right and drops away downhill. I take the righthander flat out before dropping down into fourth past the eleventh milestone on the approach to Drinkwater's Bend. I take the first righthander quite slowly here, because it lines me up nicely for the double lefthander which follows." .P "Is that Handley's Corner?" asked the Professor, having taken his finger off the map as Mrs Williams held another hot steaming cup under his nose, blocking his view of the map. .P "Not quite,Professor. Handley's corner comes up next. The road has a very tall camber here, like riding on an inverted Vee. So I use the camber on each of the corners to best advantage. There's a left-right-left combination first, followed shortly by another left-right-left. This last lefthander is also the bottom of a dip. The forks bottom out and the left side of the bike scrapes along the road here, I can actually hear something scrubbing the road. Maybe we need to use stiffer or more progressive springs, what do you think Professor?" Wolfgang asked. .P "I think that might be a very good idea." replied the Professor drily. "Unfortunately we left the progressive springs in Dresden. And what with the highly unconventional nature of our suspension, I don't think Girling or Koni will have anything suitable here on the Island. All the other bikes have telescopic of Earles' type forks up front and twin jam- pots at the rear. We're the only people with a central monoshock." .P "Pity." Wolfgang continued "It makes the run up to the Barregarrow Crossroads rather frightening. I dive early into the crossroads corner because the exit is disturbingly narrow. The lefthander takes me through the bottom of Barregarrow, using all of the road now. The straight is very bumpy and rather short. I only just manage to get the bike up into sixth gear before it's time to brake again. I brake really late, and I mean reeeeaaallllyyy late for these corners, taking them all in third. The first corner is a righthander. Then I deliberately try to miss the first little lefthander, because this leaves me nicely lined up for the next one. I sweep hard right here for the second, longer, lefthander. It's a fast one, and I almost clip the left side kerbstones before letting the bike drift over to the right hand side of the road for the Douglas road Corner into Kirkmichael village. It's a righthander. I now drop down into third gear for Kirkmichael village itself. I can see the church over on the left behind the houses as I sit up for the corner. Stone-walled houses line the little village streets, and I can hear the magnificent howl of the four pulling nearly ten thousand in third through the village before I change up into fourth gear." .P Wolfgang took a sip of Mrs Williams tea, but nearly burnt his lips, so he set the cup down and added some more milk before continuing: .P "There's a really evil set of 'S'-bends, Birkin's Bends, coming out of Kirkmichael. A little left one. Then a slow righthander letting me line up for the really fast lefthander past the Shell garage. On the approach to Rhencullen there's a nasty little rise which causes a leaping wheelie just where I want to peel right. So as soon as the front wheel regains terra firma I throw the bike hard right to line me up for the lefthander at Rhencullen. Now I really have to pick the bike upright very quickly, because there is one hell of a spectacular jump immediately after the corner. During the race I expect there'll be quite a few spectators there. Through Orrisdale it's as if someone had turned the lights off. You come out of bright sunlight into pitch blackness. the trees grow together across the road. It's like diving into an unlit tunnel at 130 mph! Terribly frightening!" .P "Wow" breathed Dagmar, biting her fingernails nervously. .P "And in this tunnel effect, there is a righthander hidden in the darkness. But just when you think you've gone blind the trees drop away and you find yourself flashing along between green grass banks in bright sunlight again. Anyway, that puts sixteen miles behind me at Bishopscourt. Alpine Cottage is a righthander that I take in fifth.Later in the day, I'm told, this stretch is full of flies, so it's best to keep down behind the dustbin fairing. There's a left-right 'S'-Bend follows. Then I use the 30 mph signpost as my braking point for the infamous leap at Ballaugh Bridge. I pump the pedal all the way down from top gear until, abeam the little parking lot on the left, I'm in second gear and heading straight for one of those Manx Radio commentators huts on the righthand side of the road. Peeling left I keep leaning left until level with the white-painted iron railings of the Ballaugh Bridge itself. Then I heave the bike upright for the long leap itself. Now I have a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. If I land on the rear wheel I'm going to jerk the chain and the transmission gear. If I land on the front wheel I'm going to bottom the forks and maybe get into a tank-slapper. So I try to land level on both, not always successfully I might add. One time I leaned right too early for the righthander after the leap, and found myself heading straight for the bright red GPO telephone booth behind the wall there." .P "Oh!" wailed Dagmar, starting to bite now on the nails of her other hand. .P "However all went well" Wolfgang continued "and I took the righthander leading to the straight down the Ballacrye road, throttle wide open, changing up into sixth. There's a nasty little jump along the Ballacrye straight so I keep two fingers on the clutch lever, just to be on the safe side. There's a very slight righthander then another straight on the approach to Quarry Bends. I take the righthander in either sixth or fifth gear, changing down quickly to fourth for the lefthander. The steep camber helps me through the lefthander. Then everything goes dark again. The trees meet on the middle of the road through Quarry Bends proper. The righthander on the exit is extremely bumpy, the engine wails as the rear wheel leaves the ground intermittently. Now it's straight and the throttle's wide open past the Halfway Post, through Sulby village and past the pub on the left. After Sulby Crossroads I charge down Sulby straight, the engine wailing as we leap from one bump to the next. I stay in the middle of the road, giving myself plenty of leeway if the bike starts a tank-slapper here. There's a slight righthander past the houses where the road is much smoother. I keep hard left for the approach to Sulby Bridge, thinking it ironic as I use the end-of-30-mph- limit sign as my braking point." .P "Yes that is rather funny" commented Claggs as Wolfgang paused to see if his tea was cool enough to sip by now. It wasn't. .P "Immediately after the Sulby Bridge righthander, there follows the lefthander at Ginger Hall. Very bumpy here too. Up over the hill I change up early to stop the rear end doing a tap-dance of its own over the bumps. I line up right for the left-right-left combination, taking it in third at low revs to keep the bike stable. At Kerrowmoar I'm up through fifth into sixth. Basically i aim in a straight line in my mind's eye, and let the road twist and turn around me, just like on the Nrburgring. For Glen Duff and Milltown it's down through fifth to fourth gear for the lefthander and then third for the righthander. The next left is even tighter, and i drop down to second, being very gentle with my right hand on the twistgrip, because the road can be very slippery here. In Milltown there are two lefthanders taken in fifth, where there's a high kerb that positively seems to jump out at any unwary rider. After Glentramman I sweep right using the steep camber as much as possible and then flick left again, watching out for another high kerb on the left. Lezayre is in fifth, just getting into sixth before the approach to Schoolhouse Corner going into Ramsey. There's a nasty bump almost exactly where I want to brake for Schoolhouse Corner, so I'll have to change my line there; I take it in third. There's a quick but rough straight now going towards Parliament Square." .P Wolfgang sipped his tea again. Still a little too hot. .P "I stay hard left, braking hard past the Esso garage, and dropping all the way down into first. Past the sandbagged signpost, where the bobby often chickens out and trots off to the safety of the fire-station. I'm slipping the clutch on the two-stroke here, because I don't want the engine to go off the boil, or even worse, actually stall on me. Of course, the Manx Norton boys have no such problem here, they just potter around the corner in first, clutch dropped. Right. Then aim for the Ford dealers on the right side of Parliament Square and lean hard left for the lefthander. Mind the sandbagged telegraph pole on the left on the exit though. Accelerate under the little metal bridge across the road up towards May Hill. Twentyfour miles behind me now. For May Hill I drop down through third to second, braking straight ahead, aiming for that wonderfully gabled house on the left before the corner itself. May Hill is a deceptively slow righthander, leading to a left-right-right combination where I can use the camber usefully. This leaves me charging uphill in the darkness of tree-shadows to brake sharply for the almost invisible Ramsey Hairpin." .P Wolfgang paused. The tea was drinkable now. He enjoyed the unaccustomed flavour. Dagmar had almost run out of nails to bite. .P "Well go on then, don't keep us on tenterhooks!" she said. .P "Brake hard here. Because otherwise you overshoot up the slip road, and can spend an eternity getting the bike turned around. What's more you lose all your concentration!" Wolfgang warned. "Right, right, left, right past the Waterworks. The road is very dark under the trees. And slippery too. I drop through second down into first for the tight,bright,righthander....." .P "Bright?" interjected Claggs. .P "Yes, You come out into the sunlight there and it can shine right into your eyes. Next is a right-left combination, and I let the bike drift right on the exit until in the shadow of the long stone wall on the right. I accelerate hard through another right-left combination towards the Gooseneck. here I drop down all the way to first again for the tight righthander of the Gooseneck. Then the road gets smooth, there are no trees left or right, just bleak grass on the climb up the Mountain. Bumpy though! Up the Mountain climb there is a lefthander followed by a righthander. The latter I take as fast as possible, and then get tucked down well behind the fairing for the Mountain Mile. The road just twists about me, Nrburgring-style again. At the end of the Mountain Mile there's a double right kink. there I brake hard for a triple lefthander. By actually ignoring the first lefthander though, the three turn into one sweeping glorious curve that seems to go on forever! There's a beautiful view of Snaefell rising on the right incidentally." Wolfgang finished his tea noisily, and Mrs Williams took the hint and went to make another pot. .P "That puts you at about the Three-Quarter Way post" put in the Professor, finger now restored faithfully to the map. .P "Exactly. It's still quite bumpy past the Mountain Box and the Stonebreaker's Hut, but I can take the two right kinks almost flat out." Wolfgang continued. "Two lefthanders then lead me onto the Verandah. The Verandah has four righthanders taken in fifth. I make a point of counting them, because the first time I tried taking them on first-lap memory, and nearly ran of the road. And this bike isn't exactly a grass-tracker or a scrambler!" .P Dagmar anxiously finished her last nail. .P "The following lefthander has a steep adverse camber, so I must always be careful. There are three right kinks now leading towards the Bungalow, but I stay in the middle of the road, so that I can get over far right for the first lefthander of the Bungalow. There's another commentator's hut there too, near where we did the plug checks in first practice. I sweep into the Bungalow from right to left, clipping the kerb, and picking the bike upright where it leaps across those bumpy railway lines. I'll never understand british understatement, referring to those railway lines across the road as 'level'-crossings!" .P Claggs laughed wryly at the thought, as did Mrs Williams returning with a fresh pot of tea. "Then I lean sharp right under the footbridge, and wind the taps open uphill towards Brandywell." "Spectators tell me the wail of the four approaching the Bungalow along the Verandah and then disappearing out of earshot towards Brandywell has to be heard to be believed. It's like a solitary bagpiper in the Glen, stuck on one rising note they say!" Claggs remarked excitedly. .P "I can imagine!" said Wolfgang "After all, the road climbs 1400 feet from Ramsey to Brandywell, so the engine's working really hard!" .P "That's what I built it for!" put in the Professor proudly. .P "At Brandywell I take the righthander somewhat slower, and then crank her over hard left at the end of the right-side railings. This takes me past the thirtythird milestone in third gear, and I whistle through three lefthanders lining me up for a fast approach straight down into Windy Corner. Hard right here. Right,left, left kinks and right again before braking in a straight line and dropping down into second gear through Keppel Gate. Then downhill past Kate's Cottage, a little white house on the righthand side of the road, with just one tiny little upstairs window on the approach side." .P "Hmm, probably a result of the window taxes, introduced one or two centuries ago." remarked Claggs, almost academically. .P "Yes, well, Kate's Cottage is a slight lefthander, and I have to slacken off on my right hand, I don't dare take it at full bore. the road gets very bumpy again here. There's even a bump on the straight down towards Creg-ny-Baa where the bike actually takes off for a couple of yards! As soon as I can see the Tannoy system on the right, I clap the anchors on, aiming all the while for the white and yellow house on the corner. Actually the lower, yellow, part is a Girling advertisment painted onto the side of the house. In the middle of the Girling ad, there's a shuttered window in the house, and the guy leans out watching the riders approach!" .P "Brave him!" put in Dagmar. .P "Indeed! I keep left and drop into second before peeling right through Creg ny Baa. Then it's full chat past the little Grandstand on the left and downhill towards Gob ny Geay. This is the fastest place. The bike actually overrevs slightly. Maybe ten and a half thousand revs here, over 150 mph probably! Very fast anyway. So I brake early and drop down into second for Brandish corner. It's a lefthander with a straight afterwards again. Then it's down two gears again for the righthander at Hillberry. Some of the other bikes get brake fading here." .P "Because they have inefficient drum brakes with little cooling!" the Professor began to explain, his academic tone starting to drone. this caused everyone to say "Shhh!" to him. .P "Cronk ny Mona, about at the thirtysix mile mark, is a triple lefthander, that I take in fifth gear. It reminds me very much of your british threepenny bits, it's got little straights and slight kinks!" Wolfgang joked. "After the three lefthanders I watch out for the red and white sign in the grass bank on the left, using it as a braking point for the tight righthander at Signpost Corner. I take it in second gear, but there's a slip road going straight ahead, should anyone miss the corner or chicken out due to brake fading or whatever. Then I accelerate down to Bedstead corner, changing up through second third and fourth to fifth. Bedstead is quite rough again. So its second-third-second again. Then I charge steeply downhill towards Governor's Bridge. It's very dark again under the trees on the approach, and if you go straight ahead it'd be over the stone wall to any early grave! No place for the brakes to fade or fail, I'll tell you! Governor's Bridge is a right and lefthand pair of hairpins, worse than at Ramsey. I have to go down to first gear and even then slip the clutch, just to keep the engine alive. Because if I killed the engine I would have to bump-start it again uphill! So I'm careful there. So that's it Mr.Claggs! It's just a short half-mile sprint from there back to the Grandstand and the finishing line. Did you get all that on the tape?" Wolfgang asked solicitously. .P "Yep. Gotcha!" replied Claggs happily. .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentyeight .sp 2 .ce Junior .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Ten. Ten days had passed. Five days in practice week. Ten practice sessions. Three laps each. Thirty laps of racing practice. And Wolfgang had spent ten days with Mr Adams, who drove Claggs' rental Alvis around the track when the road were open. Claggs was out collecting snippets of information for authentic TT background. Wolfgang sat up front on the left. Passenger. Memorising the road for all he was worth. Four laps daily. Times ten is forty. Plus thirty laps of real racing practice. Makes seventy. And Wolfgang still felt unsure about where the road went after some of the corners. He wanted to be able to reel the whole circuit off in his mind, like a silent film. Every evening he played Claggs' tape recording back, or read the transcript.Now it was race week. Tomorrow would be the Junior, 350cc race. And two days later the Senior TT. Wolfgang sat up in bed, reading the transcript of his tape- recorded interview which Claggs had typed up afterwards. .P "Wolfgang, darling" Dagmar interrupted dreamily "what are we going to call our baby?" .P Wolfgang put the transcript down with a silent inner sigh, concentration shattered like a fallen house of cards. We are going to need our parents' help to look after it while Dagmar is in the library and I'm finishing university, he thought to himself pragmatically, so it'd be best to name it after one of their mothers. .P "If it's a girl, we'll call her Suzanne, after your mother!" he suggested definitively, without revealing why he had chosen that name. .P "Oh, how sweet of you! Mummy will be delighted!" cried Dagmar clapping her hands over her head. "And if it's a boy?" .P "Um. I'm not sure. Perhaps Joseff, after my father?" .P "Oh no Wolfgang darling. People will think he's named after Joseff Stalin. And he's dead these three months. Not Joseff. Please. Something out of ancient German perhaps?" .P "Do you want him to be famous? Then we'll need a name ending with 'mar'. Waldemar, perhaps? Do you like that?" Wolfgang asked tenderly. .P "No. Famous wood? No. Famous fighting sword? Ageemar? Or do you spell it Agimar? I'll have to ask the Professor, he knows any amount of things like that. Remembers everything he reads. What do you think of Ageemar as a name? It's ancient germanic all right." she said. .P "I'd prefer something a little more everyday. Like George!" .P "No that's too plain!" Dagmar protested. "You chose the girl's name. Suzanne. Suzy for short. So I get to choose the name if it's a boy. And I want Ageemar!" .P "Okay. I agree. Ageemar it is" said Wolfgang, anxious to avoid tears or a fight. "And what'll that be as a short nickname?" .P "Probably Agee!" she laughed "But I don't know what the usual abbreviation is. Ageemar/Suzanne. Suzanne/Ageemar. Agee/Suzy. Suzy/Agee. Both sound all right. Yes, that's fixed then. And Father Bill has said he can arrange to marry us next Monday morning. We'll have been here two weeks on Saturday, but we didn't put up the banns until Monday. No weddings on a Saturday or a Sunday. So it's Monday then. Just don't you go falling off on Friday so that we have to wed in hospital!" she teased. .P "No way! If I'm going to marry a girl as pretty as you, I want to be fit for the honeymoon" he teased in return." And for good luck, we'll name the bike after the baby....." .P "Before!" she corrected. .P ".....and I'll paint both their names on the fairing first thing tomorrow!" he promised, turning out the light. .sp 1 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 1 Monday morning, the day of the Junior race, dawned wet. Ismailovitch stepped off the steam packet. He had been held up over a week while the KGB forged him a British Passport. An alleged british subject, living in Paris since the war, press reporter for the Life Magazine. He was George E.E. Goose, independent journalist, going to cover the TT races for Life Magazine. As he collected his new passport from the KGB office and mugged up on his cover story background, he had punned wryly to himself: .P "Ah, sweet Mr. E.E. of Life, at last I've found you!" Now he felt distinctly nervous, on british territory for the first time in nine years, something he'd promised himself he'd never do. But Siberia was worse, he thought. Now the problem is going to be finding the damn Germans, he thought. Damp in his grey gaberdine, he walked up the hill to the ACU office. Showing his press pass he said: .P "Hello. I'm doing an article for Life magazine on european riders from the continent. Can you give me a list of them all, and tell me where to find their digs?" he asked innocently. The ACU press officer, pleased at the surge of interest from the continent, gave him the list he wanted. Ismailovitch smiled to himself and walked up the hill towards the Glencrutchery road and Bray Hill. Turning left at the high school, he pulled up his gaberdine collar and pulled the brow of the damp trilby down into his face. The rain had now stopped. He walked slowly down the hill, studying Mrs Williams guest house intently but indirectly, as he sauntered by. There. The Professor was standing in the garage next to a bike, filling oil into the main frame. "That's the two- stroke!" Ismailovitch almost shouted internally, exulting that he had found it so easily. He walked by more quickly now, to avoid raising any suspicion. He needed a plan. Any plan. As long as it stopped the Dresden team from racing in the Senior. Back at the ACU office he asked: .P "Where's the parc ferm‚ ?". The ACU official looked up, surprised at this journalistic ignorance. .P "We don't operate like that here, Mr. Goose, sir. The Junior bikes were stored overnight in their owner's or rider's garages. Then we scrutineered them early this morning, well before the race starts. After the race we take the heads off the first three placers....." .P "?" .P "I mean the heads off the cylinders of the first three placed machines, not the riders!" laughed the ACU official "Then we just check that they are indeed less than 350cc." .P "And the Senior?" Ismailovitch asked. .P "Just the same procedure, but on Friday morning." .P "Don't the Seniors get any more practice?" he asked. .P "No sir" replied the ACU man "Practice was all last week. Today is the Junior race, Wednesday the Clubman's, and Friday the Senior and Lightweight TTs." .P Ismailovitch had his plan now. No chance of stealing the two-stroke. The Island was limited territory, no getting off it. And such a racer was too obvious a machine to hide. You could hide a stolen Manx Norton just by changing the racing numbers, he reflected. No he would wait until they were all out watching the Junior racer, then he would sneak into Mrs Williams garage and nobble the bike in some non-obvious manner. No point just stealing the sparkplugs, he thought, it would need to be more subtle than that. Pleased with himself he set off quickly up the hill, to get there before the roads were closed. .P The Dresden team tumbled laughing out of Mrs Williams guesthouse and headed down towards Quarter Bridge to watch. Claggs was up in the commentators' box opposite the main Grandstand. Here he would be a guest commentator on Manx Radio, 1368 kiloHertz, 219 meters.The house was empty now Ismailovitch saw, even Mrs Williams had gone down to Quarter Bridge with them. The 'road-closed'-car roared past, effectively isolating Ismailovitch from any snoopers. In the distance Ismailovitch could hear the Junior riders warming their bikes in the paddock, and by riding them up and down between the pits and Governor's Bridge. Then silence. Music began. The parade of the brass band, national flags, and riders pushing their bikes past the spectators and especially the VIP boxes to the start, began. Silently Ismailovitch used his KGB toolkit to open the simple lock on the garage door. Silence again. Then the rising crackle of paired thunder as the Union Jack dropped for the first two Junior 350cc machines. Ten seconds later, the next pair, chosen by lot, bumped their machines into life. They knew that if they could catch the riders before them on the road, then they would ten seconds ahead on corrected time. Only the small field of Lightweights (250cc) started all together. Ismailovitch took off his gaberdine and thought hard. He needed a very subtle means to nobble the Dresden two-stroke. Something that even the scrutineers wouldn't notice. Or even several things, so that if one was found, the others might be overseen. Working rapidly, he took a bucket from the shelf. First he drained all the coolant from the radiator and threw it out the garage door into Mrs Williams flower bed, where no-one would notice. Then he carefully loosened all the fairing screws, so that they were only one turn in. That way they could vibrate loose, causing the dustbin to drop off. That would either throw Wolfgang off or at least cause him to retire, thought Ismailovitch, smiling his sadistic ratty little smile. Now all the bikes had started on their first lap and relative silence descended. He could hear a faintly familiar voice on the Tannoy system at the Grandstand in the distance. And a peculiar sort of snoring noise near the garage door. Probably somebody left a radio on, and that's the sound of the Nortons at Ballacraine, he thought shrugging his shoulders. .P Approaching the bike again, he began to drain the oil from the main frame tube. He intended on replacing some of it with hydraulic fluid he had found in a can on the garage workbench. The oil tank was empty now, drained into the same bucket as before. Quietly he poured the oil down the drain on the garage floor. Then he reached for the can of hydraulic oil. Clang! The bucket fell over as he tripped over it. He froze. Not a sound, even the snoring noise had stopped. .P Grrrrrr! Grrrrrr! Ismailovitch spun around. The entrance the garage was blocked by a bulldog. A british bulldog. A british bulldog bitch, furious on two counts. First, at having been awoken. And second, that someone was on her territory. In her garage. Messing around in her domain. Two white fangs protruded from the lower jaw. Her neck hair rose. So did Ismailovitch's. The growl was almost subsonic now. Grrrrrrr! Ismailovitch's pulse was racing. Sweat poured suddenly down his back. The bulldog approached slowly, deep bass growl rising almost to a crescendo. Grrrrrr! Ismailovitch new he was caught! Grabbing the tin bucket from the floor he hurled it at the now lunging bitch and leapt over the bike as the bitch charged him underneath it. Racing for the garage door, he made it just in time to slam the garage door in the bitches' face. Thud! Thud! Thud! He heard the bitch ramming the inside of the door, barking furiously at him. The door wouldn't hold much longer. Ismailovitch took to his heels, leaping fences on his way through neighbouring gardens. .P "Dammit" he gasped to himself as he vaulted the last fence, "My raincoat's still in that garage. No way I'm going back though. At least there's nothing in the pockets and no label to identify me. I'll by another just like it before I go back to my digs, so nobody there will notice. But they'll see the bikes been nobbled, and be on their guard. Dammit. Damn that bulldog bitch! Damn her!" .sp 1 .ce - - - - - - - .sp 1 "Whatever's happened here?" demanded Mrs Williams, as she saw her whole front flowerbed had wilted. Furious barks came from the garage. "Poor Alma Joy has shut herself in the garage!" she cried, I could have sworn I'd left her out in the front garden here." She ran and opened the garage door. .P "Oh! Naughty girl! Sit! I'm sorry, she appears to have eaten the Professor's raincoat. Naughty girl!" Mrs Williams said. The bulldog slunk away in obvious disgrace. .P "No. That's not mine. Mine's black, not grey. And Wolfgang doesn't even own a gaberdine. Well well. There's a mystery!" the Professor said, searching his mind for any plausible explanation, but not finding one. .P "Hey, you didn't even finish filling the new oil." said Wolfgang. "And the lower oil tank drain screw is still open!" You are an absent-minded old thing, Professor! I'd better give the bike a once over myself. Just in case you've forgotten anything else." .P "I'm sorry" the Professor apologised. .P "And the radiator drain screw is open too. I could lose all the cooling water and seize the bike as a result!" said Wolfgang angrily. .P "I'm sorry" the Professor apologised again. .P "No. I'll check the bike myself. Alone!" said Wolfgang "And you can stay in the pits with Dagmar during the race! You'ld probably forget to take the signalling board with you to Ramsey, or forget the signal code, or even forget to signal me at all in your absentmindedness. I'll ask Mr Adams to signal me from Ramsey, and teach him the signalling code tonight! Just go away and leave me alone, I don't want you messing my chances up after all this!" Wolfgang finished furiously. .P Claggs breezed up the garden path "Ray Amm has won the Junior race, Wolfgang. Seven laps at an average speed of just over ninety mph! And he's really confident now! Usually I add four or five to the Junior speeds to get a guess for the Senior speeds. So you're going to have to average at least ninetyfive to beat him!" .P "I'll set the bike up myself, then I have every chance of beating him!" said Wolfgang, looking at the Professor significantly. .P "Tea's ready!" called Mrs Williams. "Everybody have a nice cuppa, and we'll all calm down. Come on Alma Joy, my girl, Mama forgives you. Nobody knows whose coat it is anyway!" .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Twentynine .sp 2 .ce Senior .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P Friday morning brought bright sunshine, superb weather for the Senior race. Wolfgang had a very light breakfast, and drank almost no tea. "After all, Mrs Williams, it's seven laps. Waiting in the start queue and then seven laps means three hours elapsed time. And I can't afford to stop at the gents' in Ramsey!" Wolfgang joked. Then he collected the bike and pushed it off towards the paddock. Mr.Adams packed the signalling board into Claggs' Alvis and set off for Parliament Square. Claggs set off self-importantly for the commentators' box. Ismailovitch watched them pass from his position behind the cementary wall. He had been unable to get at the bike during Wednesday's Clubman race, because the Dresden team had been out at Jurby airfield, unknown to him, doing last minute practice. Dagmar and the Professor started setting up the tools, fresh oil,goggles and fuel in their box. Then an officious ACU man showed up, telling them that only one assistant was allowed during the race, and demanding to know which of them it was. So the Professor went up into the Manx Radio hut and sat next to Claggs to watch the race. .P Three commentators sat in the hut. Bob Holliday, racing journalist, H.W.Louis of 'The Motorcycle', and Claggs were to take turns at the microphone. Geoffrey Hughes and his film team crowded into the hut for some quick footage, but Bob Holliday shooed them out. Claggs was already speaking excitedly into the microphone: .P "That was the morning cannon you heard firing on the hill folks, so it's just thirty minutes to go to the start. I can see into the paddock from here. There's Les Graham, 1949 World Champion, putting on his helmet now. Hiding the bald spot and the receding hairline are we Les?" Claggs called jovially. Les Graham turned and shook his fist at the Bourn Tannoy loudspeakers in mock indignation before bumping the MV into life. .P "The man with the black wavy hair taking a long last drag of his cigarette is young Reg Armstrong from Dublin, winner of last year's Senior race. He'll have the number One today! There's Nigel Spring, the Velocette team manager talking to two BSA managers, James Leak and Tom Whittington." Claggs knew all the famous, and some of the less famous TT personalities by sight. .P "I hope you hear me now in the Grandstand" Claggs bellowed. "The riders are all starting their engines now and warming them up by riding back and forth between our position here at the start and the Governor's Bridge hairpin. Fifteen minutes allowed for warming up folks. Meanwhile, look out for this fast little black car, KMN 453. That's the 'Roads- Closed'-car folks, starting out now, he'll be back here in half an hour or so. Going out the paddock gate now past the bobby and the white wooden fence is a Norton still with it's roadworthy numberplates on. KOJ 581. I can read it from here through my binoculars!" Claggs paused, handing the microphone to Bob Holliday while he sipped his tea and reminded the Professor to keep quiet as a mouse if he wanted to stay in the Manx Radio hut. .P "Warmup time is over now, and the parade is about to begin!" he resumed as Bob Holliday handed the microphone back after his short stint. "Here comes the parade now. Brass band playing loudly up front. Then two boy scouts carrying flags to the left and right of the riders. Reg Armstrong as last year's winner, on Number One, pushes his still warm Gilera four out in front. He's going to have the advantage of clear roads ahead. Then the trade bosses. The man with the slicked down black hair and the centre parting is Douglas Terry, president of the manufacturer's association. On his left, the man with the wide forehead and little fair mustache is Phil Vincent. On his right, wearing the perennial trilby and the little black- framed spectacles, is Mr.Smith, managing director of Norton. Now come the riders and their mechanics. There's one man watching today with mixed feelings from the sidelines, Dr. Steve Derbyshire. He was young Geoff Duke's pit attendant when he won his first TT on a Norton back in 1950. And our lad Geoff is out on a Gilera for the first time in a TT today, keen to show his old team a clean pair of heels. And I'm sure that Steve Derbyshire doesn't know who to cheer for! There's a boy scout with a national flag next to each of the foreign teams. So Duke has an italian flag parading next to him, as do the Guzzi team. The black-red-and-gold flag is the surprise entry from East germany with their two-stroke four. The man who built it is sitting next to me now, and biting his fingernails to the bone, I can tell you!" Claggs confided. .P The Professor grinned, embarrassed, and sat on his hands as if everyone was watching him. .P "Young Wolfgang has his pretty girlfriend Dagmar as his mechanic walking next to him, helping him push the bike. He's well down the starting field, having drawn a bad lot, so he'll be trying to catch Duke and Armstrong on the road to stay ahead on time. You can read an exclusive interview about lapping the Island on this two-stroke in yesterday's Motorcycle News. By me of course!" Claggs bragged. Bob Holliday and Harry Louis gave him dark, reprimanding looks for this unfair advertising. .P "Now the Lieutenant Governor, Sir Jeffery Brummit, has finished making small talk with Armstrong and has raised the Union Jack. The flag drops and the shot fires simultaneously on the dot of the hour. Armstrong's Gilera fires after two steps and he's away. Open roads in front, no holding him now! Now they all follow in pairs at ten second intervals. two and three. Four and five. Six and seven. Eight and nine. ten and eleven. Twelve and fourteen, no number thirteen of course in case anybody is superstitious! Number eighteen is Les Graham on the much revamped MV Agusta. Just listen to that four cylinder fourstroke go wailing off down Bray Hill! Jack Brett on a works Norton is number twenty. Bill Doran, Rod Coleman and Robin Sherry all on AJS 'Porcupine' twins. Kavenagh on a works Norton there. Now comes Ray Amm, who won the Junior 350cc race on Monday on a Norton. Amm even tried a low-slung kneeler design in practice, but found it too difficult to get used to. He told me maybe it was OK on a smooth circuit, but on something as bumpy as the Isle of Man it just about took all the skin off his shins!" Claggs gasped for breath before continuing. .P "Listen to that glorious sound now. Number sixtyseven is our lad Geoff Duke, hot favourite today, getting away on the big wide Gilera four. Commendatore Gilera is standing up in the VIP box now waving his hat and most probably shouting 'Go! Go! Geoff!' in italian. Duke didn't even complete a single flying lap in practice, due to fading shock absorbers. Just a few seconds later, the Dresden two-stroke four. Just listen to that wail as it comes onto song; Wolfgang will be having a wail of a time today!" The whole Grandstand groaned at the pun. "And now over to Ballacraine." .P "Well Ernie, the road leaders went through here already, but we've got the stopwatches going on them, to measure the corrected time. So it's over to Ballaugh Bridge to catch the road leaders there!" "Some magnificent jumps here at Ballaugh Bridge this morning, and Armstrong's really flying! Les Graham just went through on the MV, these fours have almost no flywheel effect, so the engine really wails up the scale when they take off. Here comes Geoff Duke on the Gilera now, coming out of the Alpine cottage righthander flat out. NO! he's all over the road! The Gilera really isn't handling well at all! Duke's sitting bolt upright now and wrestling with the handlebars to stop this high speed weave. He's as white as his helmet, that must have frightened him more than a little..............." .P Claggs turned his microphone off and went outside for a short smoke, before the leaders came around again. The Professor borrowed his binoculars and scanned the Grandstand opposite, looking for the VIPs. Suddenly he stiffened, sure he had seen Ismailovitch skulking down near the front of the Grandstand. He rushed down the steps and warned Dagmar not to let anyone in the box, just in case! Then he ran back up the steps and began loudly: .P "Mr Claggs, there's ......." .P "Shhhh!" three commentators ordered at once, looking at him blackly "We're just going on the air again. The first man's just coming through Governor's Bridge for the first time!" The Professor subsided, troubled. .P "Gotcha!" screamed Claggs in to the microphone, pressing his stopwatch. "First lap, from a standing start in twentyfour minutes and twentyone seconds. That's exactly ninetythree mph" he said, reading the speed off from his pre-prepared tables. .P "There goes Les Graham, just listen to that MV four as Les changes into fifth past the Grandstand here. Now here comes our lad Geoff Duke! That puts him just over fifteen seconds ahead of the MV on corrected time. Duke will be chasing Ray Amm on the road now as well. And here comes the two-stroke, folks just listen to that howl, like all the devils of hell are locked up in that engine, and howling to get out. There he goes, flashing past us down towards Bray Hill. Wait, what's this? There's a column of black smoke coming from somewhere down Bray Hill. The marshals are waving the yellow flag. Somebody must have crashed! Now the white flag. There goes the fire engine and an ambulance, down the hill, out of my sight. Now the red-and-yellow striped flag too, oil on the track. Ladies and gentlemen, there appears to have been a serious accident somewhere between us here and Quarter Bridge. We don't know who is though! So over to Ballacraine, for them to tell us who's missing." .P Both Claggs and the Professor were biting their nails now. But the Professor, who had seen the smoke start to rise while their two-stroke was still in his view ran down the outside steps to the pits to reassure Dagmar. .P "Here at Ballacraine, we are waiting and looking" Manx Radio said, hooked into the Tannoys for everyone to hear. "There goes Armstrong's Gilera. Amm's Norton. Duke's Gilera too. Now nothing for a long time. That high pitched howl approaching now must be the Dresden twostroke four changing down for the hotel corner; he changed down five times! He must have a six-speed box! And his fairing's gone! The two-stroke has no fairing on now ladies and gentlemen! And he's over sixty seconds later than we expected; he must have crashed too and lost the whole darn dustbin! No sign of the MV either here. It most likely was Les Graham's MV that crashed on Bray Hill. Ladies and gentlemen, Les Graham's MV Agusta has not shown up here at Ballacraine! Either he's retired or it was he who crashed on Bray Hill. We'll try to find out for you. Meanwhile over to Ramsey for their position reports." .P Claggs new he had only about a quarter of an hour, but he dashed along past the treelined wall and the cast-iron lampposts to the next marshal. There he tried to phone the Bray Hill and Quarter Bridge marshals to find out some news, but both lines were blocked. At Nobles Hospital no-one new anything more either. In the meantime the Ramsey commentator had taken the air: .P "Here's Ray Amm coming into Parliament Square now. And Geoff Duke on the Gilera is barely two seconds behind him on the road. That puts him some thirty seconds ahead on corrected time. But Amm has got his rhodesian lather up. He's using all of the road, damn near went into the Ford garage yard on the exit. The little cockney chap who is signalling for the germans today even ducked involuntarily. Duke's sitting in his slipstream though now. so he'll catch Amm's Norton on the seven mile climb up to the Bungalow I expect. Over to the Bungalow for their report...." .P "Here at the Bungalow we're waiting full of tension. We can hear them coming along the Verandah now. And it's Duke's Gilera in the lead, with Amm's Norton tucked in close behind, getting a tow in Duke's slipstream. And Duke fumbled the gear change going into the Bungalow, and the Gilera dropped out of the power band. Amm lost no time in squirting past, taking advantage of Duke's misfortune. They're off up to Brandywell now. And listen, will you to this glorious howl. It's the two- stroke four of young Wolfgang, pulling nearly ten thousand revs along the Verandah. He must be in fourth or fifth though, because without his dustbin fairing he must be geared completely wrongly for the circuit. What a magnificent sound. Ladies and gentlemen, the howl of the mountain king ! And he's really scratching hard, using that lurid riding he has, hanging off the bike on the corners, trying to make up the time he loses due to being misgeared now for the straights. Back to the finishing line now for their report on the progress of the race..." .P Ernie Claggs was still gone. Bob Holliday took up the mike: .P "No news of Les Graham yet, folks, sorry. While we wait here, just think of the bravest man on the circuit today, our Alf! Our Alf puts on his white coat with the diagonal 'Dunlop' sash, and a northerners' flat cap to keep the sun out of his eyes, and goes out on each race day, come rain of shine, to stand at the bottom of the slope on the approach to Governor's Bridge. There he stands with his marshalling flags in his left hand and blithely waves the riders into the righthand hairpin with his right hand. If anybody has a brake failure, they'd probably take our Alf with them over the stone wall behind him. A big hand for our Alf everyone!" Holliday was a professional, and could keep the chat going for hours on his own if necessary. It was well over thirty minutes before Claggs returned with father Bill, both of them looking ashen. .P "Sad news, ladies and gentlemen. I have the sad duty to tell you that Les Graham crashed and the MV burnt to an unrecognisable mass of wreckage at the foot of Bray Hill on lap two. Les Graham was killed instantly. This is a sad day for motorcycle racing. Father Bill here will ask you to join him in a short prayer..." Claggs said sadly. After the prayer he resumed: .P "Now back to the race. As the end of lap three approaches we hear the wavering notes of three machines rounding Governor's bridge. What a noise, sound like somebody missed a gear, probably Duke again. The Gileras are known for their dodgy gear boxes. Here they come. It's Ray Amm first, pulling in to refuel. Then Duke. Duke flashes past, he must be aiming to refuel at the end of lap four. And the big thirsty two- stroke pulls in to refuel too. Folks, Ray Amm just lapped in only twentythree minutes and fifteen seconds, for a new lap record speed of 97.4 miles per hour. Three seconds faster than Duke, and four faster than the german team. And Amm is off again already, refuelled and new goggles in under twenty seconds. The germans need longer, the big two-stroke drinks a lot more fuel and so refuelling takes longer. Now Dagmar is topping up the oil tank, while Wolfgang changes to fresh goggles. He gives the Professor a thumbs up sign, the engine is running well even if he has lost his fairing somewhere between here and Ballacraine.Now he's off again. Thirtyfour seconds. He lost nearly a quarter of a minute on Amm's Norton and over half a minute on Duke's Gilera! Over to Ballacraine for their report on lap four..............." .P "And at Ballacraine were waiting again for Duke, stop- watches ready" the Manx Radio reporter said, tension mounting in his voice. "And waiting. - - - And here he comes, nearly twenty seconds late! No! it isn't Duke, it's Amm. With the two-stroke in his slipstream, thunder and wails as they change down for the corner. And Duke is missing, Geoff Duke was missing here at Ballacraine!" .P "At Ballaugh, the upstart two-stroke is just one second behind Amm...." .P "Here they come into Parliament Square now. And Ray Amm has the bit between his teeth, because the two-stroke can't get past despite having at least thirty horsepower more. He wisely stays inside Amm on the exit corner, to avoid being hit if Amm's rear wheel breaks away in a drift. That means he misses seeing his signals. Amm's signalling post is up near Ramsey hairpin, so maybe they'll both see that...." .P "Here at the Bungalow we are waiting to hear this hammer and tongs scrap again, for the fourth time. Meanwhile we have news of Duke. He dropped his Gilera at Quarter Bridge and it split its petrol tank. So Duke has retired at the beginning of lap four, rider unharmed, but the Gilera looks a bit of a mess. he was probably trying too hard and grounded the crankcase or something like that. Now here they come, wailing and thundering respectively. The fourstroke still leading by about one second on the road. But Amm has to refuel this time....." .P Back at the Grandstand, Claggs had left the box to Louis and Holliday and, borrowing a bicycle, headed down to Quarter Bridge using the back roads, in order to get a personal interview with Geoff Duke. He just made it back to the commentators box in time for the end of the last lap, puffing and panting at the uphill climb, and very disgruntled at not having managed to find Duke at all in the crowds of spectators at Quarter Bridge. He took over the mike after regaining his breath: .P "Ernie Claggs here again folks! You can almost here a reverent hush of expectation at the Grandstand, as we wait for the unfazable Alf to flag the leaders through Governor's bridge up to the finishing line here. The boy scouts manning the position board have their headphones jammed on tight over their short-back-and-sides, waiting with us for the first information. Ray Amm lost only eighteen seconds refuelling in the pits, but that puts the Norton single still well behind the two-stroke on corrected time. Here they come now. The howl of the two-stroke rises to a crescendo as they flash across the line, Wolfgang can't use fifth or sixth really effectively so he revs high in fourth. Here's Amm now. Jack Brett's Norton too. And Armstrong's Gilera four. So on corrected time ladies and gentlemen, the revolutionary two- stroke wins! Amm's Norton second, Jack Brett's Norton third, and the Gilera four of Armstrong a close fourth. What do you say to that Professor?" cried Claggs, almost ramming the mike down the Professor's throat. .P But for once in his life the Professor was speechless. He tore open the hut door and ran to fetch Wolfgang and Dagmar. .P "Sorry folks, he took off faster than his own engine. But we'll be right back in half a mo' !" .bp .HF off .sp 4 .ft B .ce Chapter Thirty .sp 2 .ce Gotcha! .R .KE .sp 2 .vs 14p .ft R .P "Fantastic! A fantastic win for young Wolfgang from Dresden in East Germany." shouted Claggs into the Manx radio microphone, beside himself with excitement. "His first time on the Island, too! A superb ride, on a really overpowered bike. What's bad, is the sudden surge of power when his two-stroke four comes onto song. Then the rear wheel can slip very easily even on dry roads. And believe you me, when the power on that beast comes in, in comes in with a vengeance! Fantastic! None of us here today who saw and heard this heroic battle will forget the howl of the twostroke four on full song. And here he comes now, folks, the King of the Mountain, our hero of the year, Wolfgang!" .P "Hallo, Mr Claggs, Sir" said Wolfgang, suddenly tongue- tied. .P "How does it feel to win the senior TT on your very first visit to Mona?" asked, pushing the microphone into Wolfgang's weary face. .P "Right now, I feel very cold and tired" began Wolfgang. .P "Oh you poor dear I'll go and get you a warm cocoa" put in Dagmar, much to the delight of the Manx Radio listeners, since the microphone picked up every word said in the hut. .P "Shhhhh!!" whispered Claggs, finger in front of his lips "We're broadcasting live!" .P "Well the bike was top-heavy on the first lap of course, and it's not as easy to throw about as featherbed-framed Manx Nortons are, or for that matter even the Gileras. So Geoff Duke was faster through the 'S'-curves I expect. Reg Armstrong, Dickie Dale, and of course Duke all had a lot more experience than I did. And, what is especially important in the wet, the power on the Gilera comes in more smoothly...." .P "Ah, but they have less of it!" put in the Professor, excited but momentarily disgruntled, his pride being knocked. .P "Shhhhh! Your turn will come!" whispered Claggs. .P "I guess the Gilera has about 60 horsepower, but we have about ninety" Wolfgang said in a matter-of-fact tone. .P "Ninety! That's incredible!" interrupted Claggs. .P "No, that's in the rear wheel" bragged the Professor, almost bursting with pride. None of his academic collegues would be able to ignore him now, they'd all be toadying for a piece of the fame. .P "But the Gilera is too wide. The Arcore angle is fortytwo degrees. You wrote that yourself. And as I chased Duke through Kate's Cottage, which is notoriously bumpy, I could see him grounding the pipes and even the sump,hard, causing his rear wheel to step out. He nearly lost it there twice, because his Sturcher shock absorbers had overheated and gone soft on him." .P "And I've gone soft on you! Here's your hot cocoa" Dagmar chipped in, forgetting again that they were on the air. .P "Shhhhh" .P "Les Graham and Carlo Bandirola were out on the new MV Agusta fours too. But their ground clearance was even worse. And Les had those stupid, useless Earles' forks. You know, the long leading link kind. Graham had Number 18 for the MV, Ray Amm's Norton was Number 61 and Geoff Duke's Gilera was 67. So my main opponents all started ahead of me. So if I could catch them on the road, I'd be well ahead on corrected time. At the end of the first lap I was just one second down on Duke and gaining. Going into the second lap was when the trouble started. Going through the bottom of Bray Hill I was distracted my the smouldering wreck on the right hand side of the road, which turned out to be Les Graham's MV. I just heard he died in the crash; a great loss to racing, it makes us all sad. Especially we riders get depressed when we see such sights." .P "A great loss indeed" said Claggs into the microphone reverently "There will be no great celebrations tonight". .P "Anyway, being distracted by the MV, I hit that notorious manhole cover, or drain cover, or the kerb, whatever it was and the bike went into a real tank-slapper. I braked as hard as I could with the rear brake, but when I was down to about forty miles an hour it just slid away from me across the road into the stone wall on the left. I was alright myself, but the dustbin fairing was dented in so far that it blocked the steering. So using a penny that I borrowed from a spectator I unscrewed the dustbin and threw it over the wall. Then I remounted my now naked bike and continued....." .P "What an incredible piece of luck. And ingenuity. Plucky too." shouted Claggs into the microphone "We all wondered what had happened. When you came past the commentator's hut here at the Grandstand at the end of lap one, everything seemed OK. Then the commentator at Ballacraine said you were almost two minutes late, and riding a naked bike. He hardly recognised you, with only the number stuck on the back of your leathers to go by!" .P "Yes. I knew I'd lost a lot of time, but not how much. So went like a scalded cat. Duke was one minute eighteen seconds ahead of me according to Mr Adams signals at Parliament Square in ramsey. By the way, how did he know which one was me, no fairing means no number!" .P "The Manx radio commentators at Ballacraine and Ballaugh Bridge reported you passing, using the number on your back. So I expect he timed you from Ballaugh Bridge. Besides, he could also look for the bike with no front number" explained the Professor, getting that dreamy look again, as he always did when theorising. .P "Gradually I made up time on Amm and Duke. Dagmar had added their numbers to our the end of the appropriate line on our signalling board. That way I knew who the opposition was." Wolfgang paused and drained off his cup of cocoa, which he had been using to warm his hands, on one long pull. Then he held it out silently to Dagmar for a refill. "Going down Bray hill for the fourth time, taking care to avoid the manhole cover, I was chasing Duke by about 400 yards. I could just see him ahead. Coming through the slow Quarter Bridge righthander, I saw Duke's Gilera sliding down the road towards Braddan Bridge, petrol pouring out of a split tank. Duke, who was apparently completely unharmed, was running down the road after it. It looked hilarious, until I saw the molten tar and the loose granite chippings which had thrown him off! But I managed to keep inside them, Duke must have gone wide, and giving him and the Gilera a wide berth, howled off towards Braddan Bridge." .P "More cocoa coming up" interjected Dagmar. .P "Shhhhh!" .P "At Ramsey, Mr Adams signalled that I now was lying third. Ray Amm, on his Norton, was going at it hammer and tongs in first place. So fast, using all of the road in the corners that he had pieces of grass from the edges caught in his footrests! And Jack Brett, also on a Norton, was second. Of course the Suzy/Argee was geared totally wrongly without its fairing, so fifth and sixth were no use and I was practically down to only four gears....." .P "Suzy/Argee?" asked Claggs. .P Wolfgang blushed. "Er,yes. That's the name we gave the bike. You see Dagmar and I are going to have a baby. And if it's a girl, we'll call her Suzanne, or Suzy for short. And if it's a boy, we'll call him Ageemar. That's an old german name from the middle ages meaning 'the famous sword'. So to give me good luck in the race, Dagmar and I painted the baby's possible names onto the bike last night. It worked, as you see" he smiled self-consciously. .P "Well folks, ain't that great story" Claggs almost screamed into the microphone, "If the baby howls anything like it's namesake, Grieg will write music about it, Pier Gynt called it 'The Howl of the Mountain King!' How about that? What happened then, Wolfgang?" .P "Well the Suzy/Argee was still giving ninety horses or more, so I could out-accelerate and out-brake the Nortons. And my riding style gave me more clearance on the corners......" .P "Yes, Siree!" cried Claggs, by now almost swallowing the mike in his excitement. "What a wild style, folks. He hangs more off the bike than on it. The only rider today with scratchmarks not only on the side of his boots, but on the knees of his leathers too!" .P ".....so I was able to overtake them both and here I am, first." Wolfgang said, drying up suddenly. Claggs, an experienced reporter, recognised what had happened, and turned now to the Professor who was champing at the bit to get a word in edgeways. .P "Now here's the man who designed the engine, Professor Gander. He's been learning english very quickly here on the Island, so have patience with his accent while he tells us about the engine..." .P "Jawohl!" the Professor began excitedly "She is a four cylinder twostroker. She makes seventy kilowatts at ten thousand revs....." .P "That's about ninetyfive horsepower" put in Claggs, helpfully. .P "Exactly." the Professor continued. "The engine is oversquare, 56mm by 50.6 mm giving 498cc. Watercooled. Two discvalves on each side. Nevertheless, better cornering clearance than the MV or the Gilera. And all my own design. I, Professor Gander, have........" .P "But building such a machine is not cheap, and you have no factory support. So who pays the bills?" asked Claggs. .P "Ahem. Er. Um. Ahem. Our eternally smiling collegue Ismailovitch. In fact I saw him here today, watching from the Grandstand across the road." replied the Professor, broken off in full flow. .P Putting his hand over the mike, Claggs said "Great let's get him up here to talk too. Point him out to me Professor, here, use these binoculars." .P "Over there Mr.Claggs, just pushing his way out of the gate!" .P Claggs grabbed the binoculars and refocussed them to suit himself. "By George! 'Smiley' Millowitz! The man who defected in fortyfive! An MI5 mole!" .P "No, sir you are mistaken. Not a mole, more like a rat! That is Comrade Ismailovitch from the KGB!" asserted the Professor forcefully "I know that little rat anywhere!" .P "What? Here, somebody else take this mike. Carry on broadcasting. Professor come with me. We must run to the harbour before the first boat leaves!" .P They ran across Nobles Park. Panting heavily they ran through the appropriately named Marathon Road and down Mona Drive along the Promenade to the docking ferry. Gasping for breath, Claggs grabbed the chief constable, whom he knew from his MI6 days, and explained the situation. The Professor, gasping for breath too, verified the double identity and saw his sorely missed chance for revenge! As the first passengers came up the gangplank the two of them hid behind a convenient lifeboat, where they could signal the chief constable. .P Ismailovitch approached, unwittingly. Claggs pointed. The chief constable stepped out from the police booth, guarding the retreat to the gangplank, and said: .P "Comrade Ismailovitch? Or should I say Millowitz? Double- agent of the KGB! I arrest you for high treason!" .P Ismailovitch/Millowitz turned ashen grey as the Professor and Claggs stepped out from behind the lifeboat and both intoned simultaneously: .sp 1 .ce "Gotcha! " .bp .HF off .sp 4 .R .KE .vs 14p .ft R .P .ce SUMMARY .P This is a spy-story for avid fans of motorcycle roadracing, and/or it's a heroic motorcycling tale for enthusiasts who like to keep track of what the secret services are up to. By any account it's a technically oriented fantasy based on accurate historical facts of the early fifties. .P Professor Gander, who is Professor of Mechanical Engineering in Dresden (East Germany), is blackmailed by the evil russian KGB man Pietrov Ismailovitch into building a world-class two-stroke racing motorcycle in order to demon- strate the technological superiority of Stalin's Russia over the decadent West. Ismailovitch also blackmails our young headstrong hero, Wolfgang (a student of the Professor), into riding the racer, seeing as how he has a natural riding talent anyway..... .P Meanwhile the erstwhile english sportsreporter Ernie Claggs, abetted by his local cockney newspaperman friend Spinky Adams, goes for scoop after scoop...... .P .ce etc, etc .P The book makes extensive use of literary and musical references for puns, which the reader will enjoy tracking down. For the technical enthusiast, it provides a wealth of detail about the post-war racing scene. For the avid motorcyclist, blow-by-blow lap descriptions of the Mugallo circuit, the Nrburgring, and the Isle of Man TT circuit can provide valuable mental training. The author is an engineer himself and a keen motorcyclist, so much of the racing detail comes from indelible personal experience. .bp