100 miles on a motorcycle that is over 100 years old? Let me think about it…
Words: Rich Orriss
Photos: Rich Orriss
I have for a long time wanted to do the Pioneer Run – the true Pioneer Run for pre-1915 veteran motorcycles. I sat in a sidecar for the 2025 run – an experience I will never forget – but having seen all of the old veterans thumping down to Shoreham, I wanted part of the clan. But there had been that one problem… I did not have a suitable machine from the veteran era.
For some time, I had been on the hunt for THE bike. I wanted one-cylinder (I feel that my mechanical mindset is suited to the one!), a machine that had an association to competition, and character (so that future dinks and dents are unnoticed!). I knew that this was quite the ask but in the back of mind I had a vision of the bike. It was not to happen for some time, until one day, when it all started to work out.
In 2025, on a warm summer afternoon, a neighbour popped around to ask if I was ok. I was a bit confused at this point. I was told that there was a crashed Sunbeam around the corner and the assumption that it was mine – it was not, and so I went to probe. On a roundabout, stood a 1914 Sunbeam with fresh scars down its side. There was no owner and so after hours of enquiries, I traced it back to Bill. Bill had been the unfortunate casualty of a front tyre failure, which decided to break free from the rim and make a bid for freedom on the approach to the roundabout. I rescued the bike with the help of a friend and was able to reunite Bill with the Sunbeam when he returned from hospital. A few months later I was invited around once he had put plasters on the machine.
The Sunbeam was all fixed up and as I went to leave, Bill stopped me in my tracks to show me one of his other bikes. I about turned and Bill escorted me into another shed. As I did, I was taken aback. There it was – the absolute dream machine. A 1912 Zenith 500 Gradua. A bike that was banned in competition back in the day as it was too good!
I think I did well to hide my excitement and left it with Bill that he spare me a thought if he ever decided to part with the bike. I drove off without too much hope. Then one day, I had an email from Bill. I collected the Zenith – still trying to stay cool, calm and collected – and took it back home for inspection. The bike had not been started in over fifteen years, but all it really needed was a new carbon brush to fire up the spark. I took it a mile around the block, before I settled on the imminent Pioneer Run.
It pains me to say that Bill was killed in a motorcycle accident only a couple of weeks after I collected the Zenith. Bill was pleased that the bike would be used, and so the Pioneer Run would be done, on the Zenith, in his memory.
I rolled in at 06:45 to a crisp Pioneer Run morning, the kind that wakes you up whether you like it or not.
My old mate Adam wasn’t far behind, arriving red-eyed and looking like a man who had done battle with the M5 through the night and very nearly lost. Having driven up from Devon on a heroic hour’s sleep, he managed to park up his pick-up, unload precisely none of his energy, and immediately fell asleep in the driver’s seat while his Douglas sat patiently in the back. It took a firm knock on the window to bring him round, at which point Adam slid out of the truck and we lifted the bike from the flat-bed and onto Terra Firma. The Douglas ‘TT model’ – one of only three known to be made – was primed for some antics.
Around us, the place began to stir in that slow, deliberate way unique to the Pioneer Run – machines being wheeled into life, the smell of fuel and oil hanging in the cold air and the occasional sharp crack as an engine caught and settled into an uneven rhythm. There is however a quiet urgency to it all; riders fuss over taps and levers, check belts and give their pedals a tentative swing as if reacquainting themselves with something faintly unpredictable. You can feel it building – not the noise necessarily, but anticipation. These are not motorcycles that tolerate haste and yet the clock is ticking, the road down south is waiting and, in a few short minutes, the whole procession will lurch, cough and clatter its way down to Shoreham.
Petrol in the tank, oil topped up and I was ready. I cannot lie – I was mildly anxious about the day ahead, particularly as I had only had the chance to take the Zenith around the block since it arrived in the shed. Not only were there the mechanical worries, but the Zenith is unlike anything I have ever handled. In order to fire up the J.A.P. I have to run next to the bike while holding in the decompressor – let the lever out – wait for a bang – and then leap onto the saddle and hold on for dear life. The first time I tried this I nearly ended up face to face with a tree.
Then there is the Gradua. A lever on the tank is wound in and out by the rider. This expands or contracts the front pulley, which alters the gear ratio. The enables anything from low “climbing” gearing to higher “cruising” speed. At the same time, the rear wheel is moved forward or backward in the frame to keep the belt tension correct. The result is a continuously adjustable ratio allowing the rider to fine-tune power and speed on the move. A few rattled competitors back in the day felt that the Gradua afforded Zenith with an unfair advantage, and as a result many clubs banned their motorcycles from their hill climbs. Zenith was quick to identify the publicity value and took the word ‘Barred’ and used it as their trademark. There is a “neutral” when the front pulley is wound all the way out, but this really does take some practice – wind it the wrong way and you end up belting straight through the junction that you were meant to stop at!
Adam and I rolled the bikes up to the start line, and it was official – we were off. Well almost. The Douglas cracked into life immediately, while the Zenith decided that it would wake up on its own terms. It took several runs back and forth to fire her up – a sincere thanks to the chap who helped run and push and officially became the bikes temporary horsepower! I had lost Adam by this point.
I rode forth and started to focus on the controls, which were still not second nature. As Richard Hammond once said in reference to an old motorcycle, “It’s like trying to play the piano while falling down the stairs.” But it all started to click into place and as I settled down and the bike thumped down the road, I looked down to see one bolt, then another bolt, rattle out of the petrol tank clamp. This opened up a couple of small holes that allowed petrol to hop out and splash down the rear of the bike.
I came to a halt and, with limited options, picked up the phone to David from The Timing Chest who was around the corner in his van. David is never without a rubber glove and this time it came in handy! Pieces of rubber were turned around a couple of bolts, which closed the holes, and a cable tie was wound around the tank to keep it in place. I was very sceptical as I was only about five miles into the run. I will be honest, I felt a bit defeated – I decided to knock it on the head. I started to ride back to the start line, but then I thought of Bill. What would Bill have done? I met the next roundabout, spun around and continued to head south towards Leonardslee Gardens – the Pioneer pitstop.
I was able to catch up with a few more veterans and trudged forth to Leonardslee. The Zenith is a bit of a fickle beast, but once you’ve got the hang of it, it’s an absolute treasure to ride. Stopping and starting can be a test, but on the open road, once the Gradua is wound into high gear, it thuds along without a care in the world. And when you are in a pack full of veteran motorcycles – each one with its own voice – it all becomes quite special. Belts whir, chains tick and the old motors fire with that slow, deliberate cadence. No two motorcycles sound the same but in a pack, they make a kind of mechanical chorus. We are far from fast, but that’s not what its about. Every now and then, I would turn to look at another rider, wrapped up from the chill, managing their own collection of levers and controls in a confident but mildly confused manner – it was comforting to see that it was not just me!
I passed a few more breakdowns on route – this included David and Johan Coonix. The brothers had come over from Belgium with their 1909 FNs, and one of the bikes seemed to be a bit poorly – I had a nervous thumbs up and I continued south – more on their escapade later!
By the time I rolled into Leonardslee Gardens, there seemed to be a palpable shift in the day – a kind of exhale if you like. Bikes were propped up, some still chuffing as if reluctant to stop, others surrounded by small knots of riders already deep in conversation. Quite a few spectators had turned up as well, clearly mesmerised by the collection of old machines – to be fair, what we had produced was a rolling museum that had arrived at a garden centre under its own steam.
For me, it was a chance to look at the other Zenith on the run – a 1912 V-Twin owned by The Belgian Bullet – Hans Devos. In fact, both of our Zeniths were once owned by the same chap – Mike Sherwin. Mike was a well-known character in the old-bike world for many years and Bill was his sidekick who inherited the Zenith that I now own. The old bike world is a small world, and that is a bonus – as I returned to the Zenith, I had an envelope left on the saddle with some handy “how to” documents. It was from the marque specialist Tony Donnithorne. I was able to catch him before I left – the information and experience that comes from these old boys who know the game is second to none and so appreciated.
I was very thankful and then I realised that most of the field had done one. There were a few old bikes left on the stoney carpark and so I tucked in to the end of the procession as it wound its way out of the carpark – Hans ahead of me on his V-Twin Zenith and Adam behind me, beaming from ear to ear on his thunderous Douglas with the almightiest pipe!
It took about three minutes and 10 seconds before I had lost Hans and Adam, and so I carried on to Shoreham with the hope that both were ok. Hans was, Adam wasn’t. A mechanical failure meant that he had to retire short from the finish, but David was there to swipe him up with his van and rubber gloves.
I was one of the last to make it over the finish line, but I didn’t care. The Zenith had proven itself and I hope that Bill was looking down to see it. Shoreham was awash with old motorcycles – it was better than any museum you could think of, and with the new vintage class (1915-1930) it had an eclectic mix of machines.
The last to roll in to Shoreham were the Coonix brothers, each on a 1909 FN. One brother had crashed when the front fender broke loose and became caught up in the wheel, the other had had an issue with the engine which involved a roadside swap for one spare in their backup vehicle! If there is an example of dedication, then there we have it.
The awards were presented – the most impressive being Andy Brown on his 1902 Clement Garrard who won the “oldest combination of bike and rider” award at 206 years! This is him on the bike at Brooklands.
The bikes trickled out of the arena and into their backup vans. I had one problem – my car was back at Epsom. I hopped back on the Zenith and thumped back North, this time on my own.
While the procession down south had enabled me to ride with other likeminded riders, the journey north was an opportune moment to reflect and learn a bit about the intricacies of an old Veteran. I came up with a short list of self-recommendations:
- avoid built up areas that require lots of stop-start
- avoid national speed limit roads, and if you end up on one, tuck in as best as possible!
- try to mask any frustration on approach to a pedestrian crossing when said pedestrian pushes the button at an approach of 10 metres, with no other traffic in sight
- avoid running along the road with the motorcycle when the police pass – this will raise attention, and almost undoubtedly make them stop you thinking that it has just been nicked!
- avoid steep ascents – this resulted in me running next to the bike while in gear, up a hill… probably not the best for rider or machine!
I made it back to Epsom, exhausted. I have no idea how the old Zenith did make it – the belt was covered with oil and petrol, and the valve lifter had rattled loose. But who cares. It did make it and I am so chuffed that it did. Until next year! Cheers Bill.
Thanks to the Sunbeam Motorcycle Club and the team behind the Pioneer Run for putting on a fantastic event.
an article by The Girder Club
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