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body, and few creature comforts. And the little 1964 Allstate
trailer? It was purchased new for $138 at a neighborhood
Sears store by a gentleman who used it sparingly before retiring
it in the side yard, where it sat for nearly a half century.
It’s not unusual, really, that such vehicles would be side-
lined, squirreled away or forgotten over time. There must be
millions of such cases across America. But what’s eerie is the
common denominator of these four: Family men just like us
bought and used the machines during their prime, and as they
aged out of the game, they still retained them — right to the
bitter end.
Which raises a question: Why do we connect so indelibly
with machines, keeping and protecting them long after they can
serve any real purpose for us? Some may call this hoarding,
but I call it honoring. And so, in honor of their former own-
ers, car racer friend (and classic motorcycle enthusiast) Randy
Pobst, photographer Seth DeDoes and I decided to combine
them for a trip to The Quail Motorcycle Gathering. The inspira-
tion for this came from racer John Morton’s excellent book Inside
Shelby American, where he describes using a Jaguar XK150 as
a tow vehicle for his Lotus Super Seven race car during the
early 1960s. “If a Jag can tow a car trailer, why can’t a Healey
tow a bike trailer?” I thought. So we hatched a plan, and
as Sergeant Friday drawled in Dragnet, “The story you are about
to hear is true.”
Matchless resurrection
In the mid-1960s, a lifelong California motorcyclist retired the
aforementioned Matchless G80 desert sleds. A street rider, tour-
er, trail rider, and Catalina Grand Prix competitor, he had owned
many bikes, and more would follow after the Matchlesses were
propped against the rear wall, ready for hibernation. This was a
fairly ordinary occurrence back then, as old bikes stored easily as
better ones came on the market. More extraordinary, though, is
that they would not see sunlight again for nearly a half century.
When I first heard about the bikes in 2012, a rumor described
some old Matchlesses in a garage near the Pacific Coast. But
this one was true and the bikes were indeed real: a 1955 G80 CS
and a 1954 G80 CS wearing a Velocette front end. A suspiciously
bent frame downtube suggested that long ago, the ’54 had rid-
den into something immovable. Fortunately, a parts bike was
included, and it had the correct fork.
Even in their mothballed state so many years on, clearly
the bikes were worthy of resurrection and a return to action.
Fortunately, a dedicated group of riders organically formed
to bring the Matchlesses back to life, while preserving their
“as-found” state. But why not clean or restore them at the
same time? With every passing year, more bikes get restored,
leaving less original examples and fewer portals to real connec-
tion with — and understanding of — moto-history. In originality
lives the story, and to some, the story is what really matters.
Plainly then, these Matchlesses, sitting in a suspended state
(some might say decay) for nearly a half century, clearly still fully
possess “their story.” And so, to me, honoring the owner and his
life meant doing what he surely would do, were he still alive and
able: (1) Make them run. (2) Go riding. (3) Respect the rest.
For the Matchless Resurrection work party, some brought or
shipped parts they had squirreled away. Racer Jimmy Allison
from New Mexico sent a Lucas competition magneto for the 1954
model after the original seemed lost for spark. L.A. Matchless
guru Don Madden brought factory manuals and a sprocket to
juice up the ’55’s performance. And FIM Land Speed Record
holder Ralph Hudson brought a wealth of mechanical knowl-
edge and focus.
What transpired on a cool fall day was like a Matchless
Woodstock, except that no one was in it for the money or music
or fame. It didn’t need explaining, and it didn’t need selling;
it was just understood that these two old bikes were some-
how more than just two old bikes.
At a local shop, we arranged ourselves in little teams