Yards And Yarns

[Shano]

I recently read Rod Coleman's book The Colemans, a must-read for anyone who is interested in NZ's motorcycle history. One of the things I learned was that Paul Fahey started out on motorycles and typically, was a very handy rider.

But there was a passage in there that astonished me. It is a testament to the toughness and tenacity of our original motor racing enthusiasts. To me, the stories in this forum often show that these attitudes were still alive well into the 70s, maybe further.

I wonder whether this is still the case. It's a very different sport now, compared with those early days....

I offer the following (and sorry about the length) which is from the book and is a story told by Len Perry, one of this country's greatest ever motorcycle riders.

It's called My Toughest Days and highlights how hard these old roosters were.

It starts with the New Zealand TT, which like the Isle of Man was held on the Island of Waiheke. Len was riding a Velocette KTT in the lead when he was knocked over a bank by another rider he was overtaking. When he stopped he had lost his right footrest, as well as all the springs in the seat – he rejoined the race and did the last 15 laps sitting on the steel seat mounting tube. He finished the race “minus a great deal of skin on the parts where you sit.”

After the race he immediately returned to Auckland by ferry and started preparing his bike for the NZ Lightweight Grass Track Championships at Awapuni Racecourse, New Plymouth, the next day. (Even with modern vehicles and roads, this would be a difficult journey.)

He stripped the bike, removed the brakes, converted the motor to alcohol, and loaded up his old International Chevy at 2.30am. He picked up a couple of mates and away they went. About half way there they Chevy’s head gasket blew but they struggled all the way there – arriving too late to do any practise.

He was leading the race when his back tyre failed and he mowed down 35ft of the horse track’s inside railing, including the last post which he took out with his body. “I lay very quiet, as I was not too sure what was broken.”

The doctor found nothing broken but admired the huge post-shaped bruise across his legs and stomach - so Perry returned to the track. The other riders thought they were seeing a ghost, they were sure he had died. What was left of his Velo was about 3ft long.
They loaded it into the Chev and got permission to replace the headgasket at the local Chev dealers. While working on the engine he passed out across the mudguard and woke up freezing cold in the early hours of the morning, finding that he was locked inside the workshop.

They headed for Auckland in heavy rain and as they went up a steep, mud and gravel hill section they were pushed off the road by an out of control car coming down, rolling three times before coming to a rest against two trees that had saved them from a further 70ft drop into the river.

They couldn’t climb back up the cliff and had to be rescued by being hauled up with a rope. A tow truck hauled the Chev up using a three-part purchase around a tree and a log scarfed into a drain.

The Chev’s roof was smashed in but it still ran, so, filling it with gas, they again set off to Auckland, huddled in the truck and lashed by the freezing rain, driving through the night.

“I carried on to my work. When my boss saw my smashed up car, rain stained face and bloodshot eyes he said go home before you fall down. Perry slept for 12 hours straight. The only other sleep he’d had was when he passed out on the Chev’s guard as he replaced the head gasket....