Norton Owners Club NSW



The Hunter Valley Norton Owners Club's Top of the Valley Run (TOV) was originally conceived as a run designated to the older (non Commando ) Norton in an effort to encourage members to drag their clunkers out of the shed and get them going for that now special run of the year. Since the first TOV back in 2000 there has been a varied roll up of bikes to the run. All bikes are welcome, so we take all comers, but the old bikes get preferential treatment, so it's them that set the pace. Quicker bikes can go ahead, but they have to wait till the clunkers turn up and are suitable rested at stops along the way. This year we had an almost 100% roll up of older bikes, all bikes were British. My 1946 Model 18 Norton, Bog's 1953 ES2, Lindsay's 1953 Ariel, Stan's 1954 ES2 and Maso's 1954 Triumph Thunderbird, shadowed by Red on his ultra late model Triumph Sprint. The Sweeties had intended to turn up as they usually do, but rang their apologies through early Saturday morning as late week family commitments and the dreaded flu had well and truly caught up on them. The usual meeting points were arranged. Maccas at Rutherford at 8:00am Sat morning to leave by 8:30, then meet at the pub at Denman at 10:00, then get on our merry way asap. Weather was drizzly all week, but as those in the know, knew, the weather stood a good chance of being dry further west in the upper Hunter. Ladies blouses and those looking for a feeble excuse not to get out of bed would have used the inclement weather as a poor excuse to crawl back deeper under the donna. I was first at Rutherford with the Model 18 on the trailer. Dave and Lyn fronted not long after with the Guzzi and Thunderbird tucked inside the Merc Cruiser. We 'coffeed' for 20 minutes and took off for Denman. Rolled into the carpark at Denman to be greeted by Bog & Shane, Lindsay, Stan and Red. Before too long we had the bike clobber on and were thundering our way across the roads west of Scone through vineyards, coal fields and horse paddocks. The day was overcast & cool, a couple of wet patches on the road the only hint of rain. Perfect Brit bike riding weather. We roared out of Denman toward Sandy Hollow and took, not the first, but the second turn off to Wybong. These roads are perfect bike cruising roads and double perfect old bike cruising roads. Undulating across beautiful countryside, sweeping around curves that allow an early fifties 500 single to stay right on the power and just lean. The only complaint would be the condition of the road surface. Those who have the luxury of suspension both front and rear may not appreciate this as much as those who have a rigid framed girder forked bike hopping and bopping from bump to bump. Cross the New England Highway and out along the road to the Linga Longa Pub at Gundy for a break and refreshment. These roads are fairly straight and flat with the odd sweeper. The old bikes can open up and literally thunder along. The Brooklands Can on my Model 18 was fairly bellowing as we sat on 60mph most of the way. All the bikes had very similar performance and were able to sit together in close formation. The harmonics from the four single cylinder bikes' exhausts rising and falling as the slight hills would bring the note on with a sharper, crisper staccato bark causing cows to flee from the fence and horses to look up in surprised wonder. Farmers would hear us coming across the country side, look up into the sky, then back down to the road and give a wave and a look of puzzled bewilderment as they watched the squadron of old British singles fly slowly past. Cresting a hill and the sharp staccato note would drop off to the dull rumble of overrun as the bikes coasted down hill, motors now being pushed along by the downhill rolling effect. A chance for the motor to relax, not having to drive that big piston so hard with hot fire. A chance to get some cool air around the cylinder fins and cool off and enjoy the splash of oil around the vital parts. The downhill overrun sucking oil down the valve guides on the model 18 leaving a blue haze for those behind to enjoy and realise the mechanical technicalities for some motors not being quite the same as others. Back on the throttles and the harmonics start to throb again as across the flats we go heading for another sweeper, not letting the right hand back off we lean in and blast along over the old rattly wooden bridge and past the cutting where the staccato rhythm bounces off the rock wall directly back to reverberate around inside our helmets for us to enjoy. It's an entirely different world travelling along with other like bikes of this capacity and technological age. Roll to a stop outside the Linga Longa, "tump, tump, tump" as the singles idle and one by one give that "choosh, choosh, choosh" sound as the decomp levers cause the engines to come to a silent, almost eerie stop. A couple of ales as we relive the last stretch of road and relate the performance of our bikes.

With Mercedes 4WD's, Peugeots and other European exotica parked outside the pub, we don't Linga all that Longa because this is not just any old horse country, it's big dollar race horse country and the Linga Longa Pub prices reflect just that. So it's only a brief stop for the poor motorcyclist. We're off to the Victoria Hotel at Moonan Flat for a counter lunch and another good squirt over these great roads. Moonan Flat is a typical tiny forgotten Australian town. It's got a petrol pump, a pub and a couple of houses. There is a low level concrete bridge over the river that's built in a fashion that says it gets flooded often. An old rickety wooden pedestrian suspension bridge would offer access to the town on the other side in the event of a flood. There is not much left of the town, just a few houses, but it's clear there once was a reasonable population here as the streets are all marked out in the checkerboard pattern that indicates an attempt at order sometime in the distant past. Moonan Flat is right at the base and in the shadow of this section of the Great Dividing Range. It's a dramatic change in geography that takes the winding dirt road directly up the ridges and spurs to the dingo fence at the top of the Gloucester Tops. Along the road in many places there is not a lot of timber coverage, just open paddocks on the steep slopes, this only emphasises the steepness and rapid climb rate as well as the scenic beauty. From the top you can continue down the eastern side of the range to Gloucester and the coast. But, none of this is for us. Tuck into a monster hamburger with chips and a couple of ales and some good yarns at the Victoria. A big black cloud starts to edge it's way over the mountain trying to take us by surprise, we're old hands at watching the weather so we quickly wind up our chat, kick our trusty mounts into life and scamper out of there. Back across those fun rolling sweeping roads through the evergreen horse paddocks and out to the New England Highway and back down to Muswellbrook to refuel. 110 miles to the first fill up and some quick maths says the Model 18 is pulling around 55mpg belting along at around 60mph as much as we could. Through Muswellbrook and back across to Denman where Shane and Lyn are waiting. We've had a great days ride, bikes idle into the car park "tumpa, tumpa, tumpa" and "chooh, choosh, choosh" silence. About 145 miles for the day, across all sorts of country, across roads that couldn't be better for these old bikes if only for the road surface. The road surface is pretty poor in a lot of places, You wouldn't notice too much on a modern bike, but, the rigid rear on the Model 18 stepped right out as we hammered around a sweeper at one place. The furthest and scariest I've had it step out. My upper arms are almost sore from hanging onto the handlebars. Every time the girder forks hit a bump and come upwards, the handlebars go downwards, constantly vibrating ...oh for the good old days!!! That night we have the TOV presentation dinner at the pub in Denman. Trophies are: Bog gets Best New Battery, Shane gets Best Modern Bike, Lyn gets Best European, Bob gets Oldest Bike, Lindsay gets Best Non Norton, Dave gets Best Twin and Stan gets best Presentation. The glass beer mug trophies are christened with Port. Time for bed. Sunday morning we are woken by the cleaner banging around everything he can possible find. It's either a bit overcast or there is high level fog!!! Bog breaks out the barbie and we breakfast on bacon and egg rolls and coffee. Get the bikes out and clobber on and we are away for an early morning ride to the Sandy Hollow Railway Tunnel. I haven't been here since I was a kid. The tunnel was dug out and built for a railway line at least fifty years ago, but was never used until the last few years. It used to be a road that you could drive through, but now has coal trains going through it. The ride was nothing short of excellent. Once again across rolling sweeping countryside to the face of a steep range. Up the face of the range meant get into it riding with sharp 25klm switchback hairpins needing big rev down changes on the slow changing upright box to keep with those late model singles with the better laydown gearbox change mechanisms. Second and third gear blasts up over the ridge and down the other side and find the dirt road that leads off to the tunnel. A short walk to the tunnel and Bog tells about the old days when he used to come up here camping with his mates years ago. Time to get going and race back up over the spur and back across the flat country to Sandy Hollow where we stop for a coffee. As always the old bikes attract attention and once again the old blokes relate their youth and the younger ones are in awe of how these things actually work. Bog and Lindsay haven't turned up and we are starting to wonder if one of them has broken down when they suddenly roll in. While negotiating some rough potholes over a section of dirt on a detour around a bridge repair, Lindsay's Ariel jettisoned it's left footpeg causing Lindsay to get a bit out of control and head bush. Both Lindsay and Ariel recovered decorum, gathered up aforesaid items from the roadside and after checking all was in order, Lindsay proceeded with his foot resting on something else. All was well except for an old broken bolt. Over a cappuccino, we chatted with a Buel rider from Sydney and a local on a big new four cylinder Honda. No hint of old Norton barn finds in sheds on farms so we head back to Denman. That's it folks, pack the bikes back onto the trailers. Just over 200 miles of roaring around the countryside with great company on great motorcycles .....does life get any better. Back to work tomorrow, but the vibrating arms and sore bum will keep a smile on my face for a while to come. Wonder what the others did under the doona on such a fantastic couple of days, naah ...don't go there! Bob P.S.: No Model 7's this time, the power plants had only half as many cylinders, but the frames on the two ES2's and the Model 18 are the same as were run on the Model 7, so the atmosphere was certainly there. We do have Model 7 lurkers in the club, just wasn't able to drag them out this time!!

HVNOC Top of the Valley Run 2007 - Another True Story