1971 BSA A65 Thunderbolt: Brit Built Twin of Mighty Renown

Fresh out of the boxed crate ex Birmingham factory, UK, the BSA badge stood out distinctively. In bright White it was pure English,. Especially when it contrasted with the British Racing Green petrol tank. One could already smell the oil and grease that housed the engine and transmission assembly. I did.

After the straw packaging had settled, Gino, my Italian mechanic and friend, emerged fresh from the clutter. At that moment, his countenance shone. His voice cracked with joy. “You makka good choice. But not a Moto Guzzi.” Fair enough. He, like all Italians, had a distinct preference for Ferrari Red. That color predilection even extended to their motorcycles.

Gino was not finished. He continued his soliloquy. Gino had more to wisdom to convey. “Bruh... Stay off the main highway. You like to race. Take the first country road exit. There’s a good one. About a mile east.”

As was my wont, I thanked him for his well timed advice, as well as for his spirited warnings. We shook hands. Gino ambled back to the mechanics bay. Not before saying ‘Ciao’ once more.

Time for the walk around tour. The A65 was a beauty, even at rest on the side stand. At 650cc, the Brit parallel twin had power. Plenty of it. And much to spare. More important, the two megaphone silencers emitted a wondrous exhaust roar. With its white frame – new look from the Birmingham design engineers – it was distinguishable from all other Brit 
twins, especially Triumph. This model also had a neat feature: engine lubricant was housed in the frame. No oil tank. That feature proved handy, when performing maintenance.

My bike’s finish was immaculate. White metal brackets accented the head lamp. Before deciding on green, the Lightning model in Dutch orange beckoned. Nah,,, How could I!

Before throwing a leg over the black saddle, some pre first ride inspection was required. Tires – to the touch – felt fully inflated. Popping the cap, plenty of gas swished around the tank. Both front brake and clutch levers responded firmly to my grasp. Rear brake felt hard. 

The moment had arrived. Turned the key. The A65 roared its approval. Punched it down in 1st gear. Now in 2nd gear the bike leapt forward. Headed down the highway heading east. Took Gino’s advice. Turned at the first right. The secondary country road was all fresh, clean blacktop. With the engine nearing mid-range torque, the 3rd gear change came with explosive force. With the bike leading, and me hanging on, we barreled down the straight path. Miles of pure open road lay ahead. Quick glance on the speedometer revealed 70 mph. Changing up to 4th gear was tempting. Glanced at the rev counter. It revealed that plenty of 
RPMs remained in the power band. Gave punching up to 4th gear a miss.

Trouble ahead…

So far, I had not encountered oncoming traffic. Except for the one vehicle directly opposite me. The Black and White cruiser was clearly recognizable. My rear view mirror revealed the cherry top now flashing wildly. When smoke from the screeching tires dissipated trouble revealed its red face. The policeman made a full, frenzied U-turn.

Game on. Officer in hot pursuit…

Chances were good. He did not have me on radar. The gun would have been visible. It was not there though. My tank had plenty of fuel. Next town was 8 miles east. So, I could out run him… Easily. Problem was, he would catch up once I got bogged down in local traffic.

An ethical question arose: Should I stop… Or should I go… Fast?

Unbidden, the ‘prudent man concept’ flooded my thoughts. Even as a 20 year old, I was already well endowed with much wisdom. Thanks, to my parents’ caring guidance.

Veered the bike right… Stopped on the road’s shoulder. Switched the engine to ‘off’. Set the A65 on its side stand. Had my driver’s license, title registration, and insurance cards all at the ready. Waited…

The Black and White cruiser pulled in behind me. It stopped well short of my position. Officer got out. With deliberate strides he closed the gap. He walked around the bike, first back-to-front. Then repeated his inspection, front-to-back. Officer hardly give me, with documents in hand, a brief stare. His abrupt pause caused me concern. Parting words…

“Rear tire looks low. Better get that checked out.”

Without adieu, officer climbed back in his Black and White. The cruiser’s tires spun the gravel hard. Dust settled matters. Vehicle and driver fled the scene after another U-Turn.

Got me thinking… Better check the back wheel. To the touch… Well, tire was rock hard!

 So ends the charming encounter of a misspent youth. In the interim, me and my BSA A65 tandem thundered on.

Montresor