Adelaide to Ballarat 1947 Motorcycle TT

It would have been Easter 1947 and the Ballarat Victoria Park TT. In those days it was for us the big event on the racing calendar, and while a large contingent of South Australian riders headed East in pre-war cars, and in some cases hired or borrowed busses or trucks, there was a large number of motorcyclists who made the trip as spectators.

The racing bikes were transported in home made trailers, almost certainly timber, with front or rear axles taken from ‘that old wreck in the back paddock’, in some cases the back end would be cut from an old buckboard and a towbar welded to the chopped off chassis. Some bikes travelled lashed on to the running boards of cars, or even sitting between the front fender and the engine hood, with a rolled up ground sheet or a tent for packing. Riding gear, spare parts and tools would be packed on the floor between the seats, and riders and mates would take turns at the wheel while the others curled up and slept through what was usually an overnight trip.

On this occasion I had just finished building a new home and the bike had been neglected. I found myself working late the evening before we left – fitting new rings and doing a valve grind on my only transport, a late 30s Cammy Velocette. It was a relief to get it running and our small amount of luggage lashed on to the makeshift carrier out over the back wheel. I had also been busy hinging a second pan saddle on to the back of the rider’s seat, it’s coil springs supported on the back mudguard stays, this to ensure a bit more comfort for my pillion passenger. We intended, as was usual, to travel in a group with three other riders, two of us with pillion passengers. As our new home was remote from the other riders we had arranged to meet them at Crafers in the Adelaide hills, on what was then the main road through to Melbourne, and so it was that the clock was set and we fell into bed. When the alarm went off at 4am, rain was coming down in torrents and we decided that there was no way that we were going to ride off into a violent storm, so it was back to bed till daybreak when the storm had passed and the sun was rising into a clear sky. A hurried breakfast then we were on our way on the rapidly drying roads, wondering if, or when, we would meet up with the other riders who we were sure would have made the same decision as we had.

As it turned out, such was not the case! They had met as arranged at one of their homes just as the storm had hit, so they had a cuppa and waited till the rain had passed, and then took off. Unfortunately after a few miles they ran right into the main body of the storm and daybreak found them at Tailem Bend, completely drenched by the side of the road, with the storm passed, trying to wring the water out of any clothing that they could remove. That is where we caught up with them, just back on the road, with sodden socks and shirts streaming out in the wind behind their bikes, while we cruised happily past them, nice and dry and warm! But the sun was on the rise and we were all together and well on our way, with the promise of a hot day ahead, but for them it was a miserable ride in damp clothing. When we reached Ararat they were happy to book into a hotel for the night and dry out while we rode on to Ballarat to our booked hotel room. They only had a short run down to Victoria Park the next morning.

After the day’s racing, we rode down to Melbourne to stay the night with an old wartime RAAF mate, and pick up an as-new Dusting sidecar that he had stored through the war years. Now with a young family, his beloved MSS Velocette had been sold to buy a second-hand car and I was glad to acquire the Dusting which we rigged to the side of my Velo for the trip home to Adelaide next day. As it happened the Dusting didn’t make it the whole distance, a blown tire on the back of the Velo at Dimboola, saw me changing the almost new (but actually quite a few years old!) tire from the sidecar to the back rim of the bike, the old blown tire being stuffed with wheat sacks from a nearby farm and refitted to the chair. All the gear in the sidecar, including the passenger, was transferred to the bike, and off we went again, but only as far as Nhill where the blown tire had started to disintegrate. So it was off to the railway station, pack all the gear back into the sidecar including the windscreen, button down the tonneau cover, then remove the whole plot from the bike there on the railway platform and book it on the next train to Adelaide!

I must say that I had some misgivings at having to leave the pristine, as new chair out on an open platform, miles from home, but it turned up at Mile End freight in a few days without a mark on it and nothing missing – a credit to the honesty and integrity of workers in those far off times.
Looking back to those days after fifty odd years, leads me to think that while we enjoyed the racing and seeing our local riders place well against the interstate riders, a large part of our pleasure came from the ride over and back. The longest trips that we could aspire to in those days of petrol rationing such as interstate travel was considered by most to be a railway journey. The roads in the post war period were pot holed and rough and for some of the distance on the South Australian side it was just graded limestone rubble. There were accidents – luckily never by any members of our riding group. Considering the condition of some of the old pre-war bikes that some of the adventurers rode, it’s a wonder that there were not more casualties!

I remember one occasion, the first Ballarat TT after the war in fact, where we were all preparing to leave on the trip. At the last moment one of the group who owned a complete wreck of a Norton with a sidecar chassis attached, with just a flat timber floor with 3x2 timber nailed around the edges (a motorcycle transport float common in those days) suddenly decided he had barely enough petrol tickets for the trip and really wasn’t financial enough anyhow – a good thing as we pointed out, as he didn’t even have a cap on the carburettor float chamber!

This trip we slept in tents in Victoria Park – I guess the tents travelled over with the race bikes in a truck. Anyhow in the early hours of the morning we were woken to the familiar ‘chug-chug’ of the Norton, and stumbled out of the tent with torches to pick out not only the half frozen rider, but another mate who had changed his mind by producing some petrol tickets and offering to help with the cost of the trip. He was huddled up in an old Army greatcoat and an old blanket, and had done the freezing trip through the night, laying out along the exposed boards of the float! Both Tommy and Jim are now long gone well before their allotted time, but they will always live in my memory as guys who really were the spirit of our time.