1955 J.A.P. Speedway Short Track Pierre Mion - 1-Page Vintage Motorcycle Article

Description

1955 J.A.P. Speedway Short Track Pierre Mion - 1-Page Vintage Motorcycle Article
Original, Vintage Magazine Article
Page Size: Approx. 8" x 11" (21 cm x 28 cm)
Condition: Good
The author, Pierre Mion,
in the saddle of a po-
tent J.A.P, Class A
Speedway bike. Engine
develops over 40 hp,
with bike weighing only
140 lbs.
A Ride on a J.A.P.
WHILE in Pool, a small town on the
southern coast of England, I had
the opportunity to see a Speedway
race, or as we know it, Short Track.
To me this sport had been long dead,
but there before my admiring eyes
were the legendary “Iron Men” of the
past broadsiding their J.A.P. equipped
bikes around a flat, cinder, one fifth of
a mile track. The grandstand was
jammed and the fans were obviously as
enthusiastic about the events taking
place as any Dodger fan at the World
Series. After the races were over I de-
cided I must try this sport myself or
I would leave England a babbling,
frustrated, maniac. I lept over the
grandstand wall and into the pits al-
most falling on top of the man I
wanted to see. The Pool team manager
looked at me a little startled and
good naturedly said, “Great Scott old
man, you don’t have to pin me down;
I’m not leaving this place for a bloody
hour.” I apologized, and rather over-
enthusiastically explained why I
wanted to see him. He was a bit wary
at first but upon producing my A.M.A.
competition license and a battered
photo of myself in leathers seated on
my Norton he warmed up. He told me
where to go and who to see, so on the
following Sunday I went over to a
nearby town called Ringwood to prac-
tice with the “Ringwood Turfs” team.
Stepping off the bus, carrying a
small bag loaded with racing gear, I
hurried out to the track. There I was
met by the manager of the Ringwood
team who told me he had received a
phone call from the Pool manager and
had a “kit” (English term for Speed-
way racer) waiting for me to try. I
went into the club house and quickly
changed into my leathers and strapped
on my hot shoe, which I found out later
was of practically no use to me. Emerg-
ing from the club house I saw my
mount waiting for me looking like a
stallion who knows its rider is mount-
ing for the first time. To be honest I
was darned nervous for there around
me were the old experts waiting to see
me pilot this contraption. The front tire
was the size of a bicycle’s, the back
not much wider, the saddle was a bi-
cycle saddle, the frame no heavier than
a bicycle’s, and the fuel tank held about
two quarts of “Dope.” (Their term for
hot fuel) But powering this seemingly
flimsy contraption was a 16.1 compres-
sion ratio, 47 hp, overhead valve, 30 cu.
in., J.A.P. engine. The bike had only
one gear and a clutch, and no foot peg
on the left side. Unlike my familiar
290 pound Norton this kit weighed a
mere 140 pounds and looked little more
than a Schwinn bicycle with a high
powered racing engine slung from its
spindly frame.
I climbed on and after being pushed
to a start to take a few slow laps
around the cinder track. Then I opened
the throtttle and the surge of power
that followed and the deep throated bel-
low .from its exhaust pipe told me in
an instant that what I had in my hands
was no back yard masterpiece. Flying
into a corner I exercised what I had
been instructed to do and slid my
weight well forward cocking the han-
dlebars away from the turn and ap-
plied full power. The back wheel slid
out and in a rakish angle I skidded
through the turn sending up a shower
of cinders. After a few more laps I
tried the now not so favored style
of dragging the toe. This placed my left
knee about two or three inches from
the cinders. The remarkable feature
about these machines is that the
frames are so designed that it is almost
impossible to overslide and with the
weight balanced properly and a sensi-
tive throttle touch they can be held in
an even slide indefinitely.
Although my performance was
rather sloppy the team manager asked
me to return and practice and after
two or three weeks join the team. I
came back a few times but soon my
wad of Pound notes grew considerably
smaller and I had to return to Paris.
However, my intense curiosity had
been satisfied and one look at the toe of
my left boot will tell you that this
type of racing is no picnic.
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