Dad wrote up his experience of the 1963 Dragon Rally for one of his bike clubs:
It was 1962, I was 18, and Boxing Day was boring…as usual. So, I was out riding my BSA A7SS (500 twin) with an old school mate who had an A10SR (650 twin); when it started snowing. This, at least, was more interesting than dry roads (boring again), so we stayed out until it was time to return for our evening meals. For those of you who are too young to remember the winter of 62-63; it snowed…and it snowed…and it snowed; and it didn’t clear fully until April where I lived in the north west suburbs of London. The BSA was my only transport so I used it for my daily commute to GEC in North Wembley. I enjoyed the challenge (well you do at that age) and it taught me a lot about riding in slippery conditions, as well as the need to look out for sliding cars! Again, for the information of those who haven’t ridden bikes of that age: in comparison with modern bikes, the centre of gravity is much lower, the power delivery is much gentler, the tyre pressures much lower and they are considerably lighter. So, I wasn’t really a hero, just a teenager who “knew he was invincible”!
At that time I was a member of the Sunbeam Motorcycle Club and a group of us had decided to go on the Dragon Rally which, in those days, would attract about 5000 motorcyclists from all over Britain and even some from as far away as Germany. The aim was for us to ride our bikes to camp in a field somewhere in Snowdonia. This was always arranged to take place in February so as to increase the likelihood of bad weather. (For “bad” read “exciting”.) OK it all sounds stupid but; when you got there the atmosphere was fantastic…we had all proved our dedication to riding no matter what the conditions were like! On the Saturday evening there was a headlight parade round the local lanes followed by a sing song round a huge camp fire using a song sheet with motorcycling lyrics set to well know tunes. I went for four consecutive years: but 1963 was the best!
Although the motorway network was very limited then we were able to use the M1 from Watford as far as junction 17 where we took the M45 to Coventry before picking up the A5 and following it all the way to Llangollen, then north over the Horseshoe pass to Abergele and into the grounds of Gwrych Castle. The roads weren’t too bad until we entered Wales, where the snowploughs had built up banks of snow on either side that were way above our heads and roads were completely covered with rutted, packed down, and frozen snow. Fortunately we had already had plenty of practice at riding in those conditions so nobody fell except me, and then only after I had put the bike on its centre stand and tried to walk down the slope I had just ridden up! We had a great time and slept well despite the sub zero temperatures.
On Sunday morning we set off for home at 10 in the morning. It was cold; but otherwise OK, so we made good progress until we reached the north of Birmingham when it started snowing. By then it was getting dark (no motorways remember) so we stopped for a meal at the Blue Boar services just south of junction 17 on the M1.
When we returned to our bikes they were covered with a 4 inch thick layer of snow and we set out on the really scary part of the weekend. I think it’s called a white out, so we decided not to ride together. It was snowing so hard that all we could see was the white of the road (no salt remember) with the ruts left by previous vehicles. Occasionally we would see the shadow of a bridge as we passed under it, but little else. I decided to just keep to a steady 50 mph and concentrate on following a fairly consistent rut. All went well for many miles but then “my” rut divided into two and the back wheel didn’t pick the same one as the front. I repeatedly tried to bring the wheels back in line but the swerving was increasing in spite of Eric (my pillion passenger) keeping perfectly still. I knew there was a lorry some distance behind so I decided to throw it down on the hard shoulder. What actually happened though was that, due to the fresh snow there, I was able to get the bike back under control and continue. After what seemed an age we arrived at the southern end of the M1 and pulled into the “Busy Bee” transport café (another bikers hangout which was almost as popular as the Ace). With a warm cup of coffee helping us thaw out I congratulated Eric on his steady nerve and he said, “Dick, I never realised that being frozen with fear was what actually happened”.
By the time I had dropped Eric off and returned home it was midnight; I was exhausted and slowly (and painfully) thawing out. An exciting and eventful weekend had come to its conclusion but all I could think of was crawling into a nice warm bed; and going again next year!
