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SILENCER SATURDAY #44: Suppressors That Are NOT ALLOWED In The US

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Please ensure you follow all the instructions contained in the message. Bulk Buy Discounts Order 3 or more and enjoy the savings. Bulk prices will be shown in the shopping cart. Wholesale Inquiry Product Name. Customer Note. Customer Name. Country: United States. The train weekly season ticket would have cost almost exactly the same as my wages, not including the luncheon vouchers.

So I would have worked all week for a free lunch a day. Instead, I commuted, using the A4 while watching the building of the short stub of M4 from Chiswick to Maidenhead. Naturally, this became a "lap", whose time was to be reduced daily. Which lead to my first major breakdown. You've guessed it, the fibre timing wheel lost all its teeth.

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I replaced it with a "go-faster" manual conversion set from Geoff Dodkin in Queens Road. It didn't go any faster, but neither did it strip as I commuted through that summer, and the next two, and in-between from Reading to my university in Newcastle for three years. The M4's first section arrived, and the Darlington by-pass. Every spare penny went into the bike.


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I now wanted rear-sets, a TT carb, and Clubman's piston. The rear-sets came first. The engine was very loose by now, particularly the piston, and shortly afterwards when I was almost exactly half way between Reading and Newcastle I was cruising with my head down and the engine singing on nearly full revs when there was a classic bang.

But I wasn't covered in oil and couldn't see into the engine so at first I couldn't work out what had happened. After I drifted to a halt the engine was still running, though with even more rattle and smoke than before. I set off steadily and gradually increased speed until I was cruising back above When I got to my digs in Whitley Bay I stripped the top-end in the landlady's back yard and found the cause of the bang.

The whole of the skirt of the piston had broken off, dropped down and disintegrated; with an appropriate noise. Every cloud etc, I now had to buy a piston so it might as well be a Clubman's. On the concrete floor of the yard I stripped the bottom end and removed every fragment of alloy. Or so I thought. I had even removed the crankcase filter plug and cleaned that. With the new piston although probably in the same, worn, gouged bore…. I expected it to be stiff, but it took a real heavy boot to get it to turn over for the first few rotations.

It then started readily, but no oil came out of the timing cover union. I re-primed the feed pipe, still no oil movement. When I removed the timing cover I discovered that a tiny piece of alloy had been carried up into the oil pump at some stage - probably while I was cleaning the crankcase filter.


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This jammed the return gears, which converted the oil pump spindle drive pinion into a cutting tool that turned all the threads off the brass driving worm….. I cleaned out the brass debris, obtained a new worm, borrowed a torch, stripped and reassembled the oil pump in my fingers and put it all together again. And resumed commuting to college, home and work for two more years. And fitted a black seat cover and even a black tank cover. A mean machine indeed. I did this for mile after mile, in all weathers. Once left a Bonneville behind after a dozen miles of the M4 because with his 'bars he couldn't "get down to it" for long enough.

I spent one summer "tuning". This consisted of shaping and polishing the ports, including cutting off some of the protruding valve guides so as to let more gas flow past, and removing compression plates. After such a major "tune" I went out to check the new top speed. I used to do this on the narrow but reasonably straight B road between Pangbourne and Theale.

Maximum velocity was usually achieved going though the crossroads after Tidmarsh.

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It felt faster, but nothing would get the needle past 88 mph. Suddenly it did, the needle flicked from 88 to mph, but it now had a 90 degree bend for its last quarter of an inch. One of the little black screws holding the dial down had unscrewed itself and the needle tip was initially up against it. It was also while commuting from Reading to the City that I had my only other full breakdown in 45 years of Velocette'ing. After the fast A4 section from Maidenhead I had to trundle through Reading.

The clutch cable seemed to be stretching, such that the clutch would barely disengage. If the traffic hadn't been heavy I'd have made it home, but when eventually I was forced to stop I couldn't get into neutral with the engine running so it stalled and that was that. It was the sleeve gear ball-race retaining ring unscrewing itself. Thus the clutch assembly both tilts and moves away from the gearbox, and away from the release mechanism. That's why you really mustn't be too squeamish when tightening then staking the alloy into the slots of the ring.

A new sleeve gear bearing and oil shims etc were needed, but first I removed the gear clusters to check if they had suffered. They had indeed, but not so much from the incident, nor from the many miles we'd travelled, but from corrosion. Most of the gear wheels had the black stains, pits and gouges of corrosion damage. While this can be just a symptom of old age and a hard life, mine was from a simpler sort of corrosion. Rain and petrol had used the slotted clutch cable stop as a route into the gearbox.

I recalled draining the gearbox in my schooldays and thinking it was strange that half a pint of water came out first. I had had the same amount of water come out of the oil tank when I changed its oil, and thought that was peculiar too, since that meant each time I started the engine it was initially lubricated by water. That, I think, was condensation from a two mile journey to school throughout winter. Ever since, all my Velo's have had a rubber shroud around the clutch cable and tower.

The problem was that I needed to get to Ayr two days later to compete in a rifle-shooting competition. So I took the Friday off work, borrowed dad's car, and went to Hall Green to buy the parts. On Friday evening my dad held a torch while I put the gear clusters back in following the instructions in the Red Book for the first time.

There was no time for a road test, so I set off the next morning from Reading for Scotland. What does give me a shiver is that I just slung my rifle across my back. The danger wasn't that it was loaded - the bullets were in my pocket - but I think a tumble might have been painful. I got to Ayr late the same day and lodged in someone's tent In the winter of I started work in the West End of London and rode the Northern Line for a while.

Just occasionally I would go for a spin, but work and a new wife left little time. In the early spring of I was invited to a close friend's wedding in Newcastle; 11am on a Saturday. I was working late on the Friday, so I wrapped my suit in plastic and stuck it on the pillion then set off at dawn around on a fine but frosty morning.

The first traffic lights in Camberwell were red, but with no traffic around I reckoned I wasn't going to get to the church on time if I stopped for such things. The engine was singing also clattering and I just tucked myself in if only to try to keep warm and held it at full-throttle for most of the near miles. I used the A1, and on the A1 M past Darlington the needle just hovered gently between and for mile after mile.

The engine felt so happy that there seemed no reason not to do so, and I know exactly why a Venom or Viper can be expected to average over mph for 24 hours. I think I arrived at am, changed into my suit in a public toilet and walked to the church as if I had just come from the hotel with the other guests, but earlier. Soon it became obvious that the valves and mutilated guides needed replacing. I took the head in to Geoff Dodkin and he said that the head was just about recoverable. I think he might also have made a comment about what some idiot had been doing to it.

While he was working on the head I looked more closely at the barrel. A bit rough, so I took it off and found a very tired piston inside. I took the barrel to Geoff and asked for a rebore. Then I had a closer look around the bottom end. Every moving surface was very loose, to put it politely.

So I took the rest of the engine to Geoff and asked him to make me a new one. He said if I'd brought it all to him in the first place he'd never have started, but since he'd now done the head he'd better continue. I left before he asked who had done the countersinks in the head for the new-fangled o-rings me, with a hand drill and a wood countersink or fitted the oversize stud in the corner of the crankcase mouth me, in situ, with a hand drill followed by hand taps, which is why it was ever so slightly tilted.

Once back on the road I resumed my abuse. With a good job I could now afford to replace cosmetic items such as the rusty exhaust pipe. I no longer thought the seat cover and tank bag looked cool, but I still couldn't afford proper Velocette replacements. I don't think Velocette ever made one to fit that tank. Very nice, and room in the hump for a spare tube, etc. Then, although I couldn't afford a new steel tank, I could afford a "Brealey-Smith" fibre-glass racing tank. I do wish I'd taken a proper photograph of the bike in this era; but the tank and seat are still in the roof-space along with the other redundant parts, at least until I get the hang of e-bay.

See below for the only photo I can find of this configuration. In we went to the TT for the first time. That is, BTB, me, and my late wife Anastasia. We did need at least one suitcase, so there was nothing for it but Anastasia would have to go by train to Liverpool. I took her to Euston with the suitcase balanced on her knees between us, and most of me on the tank. I waved her goodbye and she boarded the train with the other enthusiasts. I set off up the A5 etc and they were all duly impressed that I was waiting for her by the barrier in Liverpool.

We had a lovely holiday, and after that she wanted her own bike. We went back to the TT every year until the year we couldn't because our first son was born on Senior Race day in June , to many sarcastic comments about my planning ability. On one return steamer trip we shared a lunch table with Geoff Dodkin who mentioned he had a good Commando Fastback in the shop. I bought it, and a year later ordered a new Interstate from Gus Kuhn.

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The R90S spent not just more miles but more time at over mph than under. Almost the perfect motor-bike, apart from the gear-change in 1st and 2nd.


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After a lady driving through a red-light instantly removed not one but both pots from the R90S I fully restored BTB and started racing with the Classic and Historic and, of course, Velocette Clubs. I got my National licence on it, and lost count of the number of times I was asked if it was wise to risk such a valuable machine.