When I was working for Feeney San in the mid nineties, our shop mechanic, Phil Rowen and Little Bob, his swinger, were in the hunt for the Australian Speedway Sidecar title . . . . Phil was an ace spannerman and cracking pilot on an outfit, he and Little Bob were well in the hunt for the season's championship until one ugly get off in Newcastle . . . . . that saw both of em in hospital for weeks on end, they managed to jag second if I can remember correctly . . . .
Man, those things can fly, multi pot Jappy powerplants screaming into the redzone, super low centres of gravity and just the one gear, fearfully exciting racing, closely contended, crazy fuckin swingers climbin all over their rigs and the bloke on the 'bars going crosseyed as he focuses on the next apex . . . . I'm sure it's still a total rush these days, so if you get an opportunity go and check it out, hook in . . . . I love the smell of dirt in the evening . . . .
The Vincent thing is quite a sore point for many of the HRD officianados and purists around the world to this day . . . . more than a handfull were cut up to go flat trackin and why wouldn't you ??? A truck load of torque, ooddles of neddies when set up correctly and a unit construction motor that required only basic surgery to seperate the crank case from the box . . . . as speedway hacks, they were a dominant force in the U.K, Aussie and the States for twenty five plus years . . . .
The downer being that the supply of unbastardised Vinnies went from readily available, never cheap though, to scarcer than rocking horse shit within about a decade, without a doubt helping to force their value ever skywards . . . . I say 'give a shit' . . . . a racer's gotta do what a racer's gotta do, fuck the period correct party poopers, the Black Beauties went out with their lungs screaming, not sittin in some sterile shed, gathering dust or being polished to death with actual road miles a distant memory . . . . like Mr Young put it, "it's better to burn out, than to fade away . . . . rust never sleeps"
Man, those things can fly, multi pot Jappy powerplants screaming into the redzone, super low centres of gravity and just the one gear, fearfully exciting racing, closely contended, crazy fuckin swingers climbin all over their rigs and the bloke on the 'bars going crosseyed as he focuses on the next apex . . . . I'm sure it's still a total rush these days, so if you get an opportunity go and check it out, hook in . . . . I love the smell of dirt in the evening . . . .
The Vincent thing is quite a sore point for many of the HRD officianados and purists around the world to this day . . . . more than a handfull were cut up to go flat trackin and why wouldn't you ??? A truck load of torque, ooddles of neddies when set up correctly and a unit construction motor that required only basic surgery to seperate the crank case from the box . . . . as speedway hacks, they were a dominant force in the U.K, Aussie and the States for twenty five plus years . . . .
The downer being that the supply of unbastardised Vinnies went from readily available, never cheap though, to scarcer than rocking horse shit within about a decade, without a doubt helping to force their value ever skywards . . . . I say 'give a shit' . . . . a racer's gotta do what a racer's gotta do, fuck the period correct party poopers, the Black Beauties went out with their lungs screaming, not sittin in some sterile shed, gathering dust or being polished to death with actual road miles a distant memory . . . . like Mr Young put it, "it's better to burn out, than to fade away . . . . rust never sleeps"
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