A very special V-Rod
Lest we forget
A rolling testament of respect for those who saved our nation.
There are many bikes out there with impressive paintwork depicting bombs, bullets and the scars of war, rolling Rambo-esque testaments to mechanical machismo, fair enough in their own way but Colin Simms wanted something else.
Colin wanted this bike to be a moving emotional tribute to the efforts of those who pitted themselves against the sharp end of the Nazis' war machine with a resolve that is truly the stuff of legend. More than that he wanted to add context to the experience of war through incorporating images of family that humanised what many might view dispassionately as gladatorial combat divorced from reality.
Colin approached ace painter and mural maestro Ken Rothery with the challenge and a blank cheque approach to ensure that the result truly reflected his expectations. Ken has an impressive track record of stunning paintwork to his name but this project has taxed his skills and inspired his enthusiasm to a new level. Certainly in terms of complexity this was Ken's biggest challenge. To reconcile the softer elements of the project with the drama of the events which inspired it was always going to be a balancing act to prevent a naff outcome. It's an act which I believe the painter has achieved and not, you will be unsurprised to know, without a great deal of effort. The fuel tank/airbox main mural replaces an earlier one which was sacrificed when the Tower Bridge photograph was discovered. Being a no compromise project the superior image had to be the one and countless hours of work were sanded into oblivion in the interests of excellence. The paintwork is of course the prime feature of this custom project but the cunning modifications are well worth mentioning.
That tank, which on a V Rod is actually an airbox cover, was sourced from a Fatboy where it was a tank. The motive was to increase the canvas area for Ken's airbrush and some subtle but extensive re-working of the original has been performed. The result is a 'tank' that's aesthetically married to the leaner V Rod frame while somehow still utilising the bike's mounting brackets.
The rear mudguard is off a Harley-Davidson Deuce, purchased, like the tank, at Warr's famous bargain sale. It's been stretched slightly, and like the other non standard items, fits so well it looks like it's part of a stock bike.
The Cyclops headlamp replaces the stock item and suits the lean athletic image which the front of the bike conveys. The silencer heat shields have been drilled for effect and the stock seat has been covered in Royal blue leather with stitching by Eric at 'Trim Mania' (Tel: 01189 324 200).
The side panels, which don't feature on a stock V-Rod, have been added to provide more paint area, having been sourced from 'Twisted Steel' in the Reading region. One features the iconic image of a fighter plane over the White cliffs of Dover, the other, a simple dedication to 'The Few.'
The murals are all based on photographs, some of them found in a house owned by the mother of the girlfriend of Ken's mate Dennis. A book about Churchill was found there too, providing further source material for Ken's airbrush. The mother shares tank space with a Spitfire over Tower Bridge and a genuine WW2 poster. The front mudguard features both Winston Churchill and Colin's gran in 1936, while the tail provides a platform for Ken's Aunt whose husband was actually in the RAF. She shares this space with Squadron Leader Basil Gerald Stapleton, who besides being immortalised on the rear mudguard, also appears in the line up in the main picture, of which more later.
Being old sepia photographs from the era, the portraits complement the other images while imparting a human dimension to that side of war that blockbuster trailers ignore, the families back home.
The sides of that airbox/tank feature some subtle lettering that emerges from its background as the light changes. The fmous Churchillian quote 'never in the field .... floating out of the airfield scene with a ghostly transluscencce.
Since the National anthem was dropped by cinemas and Chistmas became anymas, we've been encouraged to apologise for everything British from Agincourt to cricket.
In this PC age in which the denigration of heroes by guilt-laden 'historians' has become a national blight, Colin's bike flies in the face of the detractors' flak like a squadron of Spitfires on full throttle. This isn't yer average self indulgent custom motorcycle, it isn't just art for art's sake, it's a monumental statement of deep-rooted respect. That's an ironically misused word these days in which those who most commonly demand it, least deserve it. This bike is a statement of respect that is truly in context.
Yes there are other custom bikes out there with military themes that inspire, excite and provoke while expressing sentiment and skill in impressive measure. None that I have ever seen however, reflect this level of human warmth within the context of such desperate conflict. To endeavour to summarise the pivotal significance of the air crews with words other than Churchill's would represent a pointless re-invention of the wheel. 'Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.' Hence the monica on the bike that is mirrored in the registration plate that tops off a project that should be listed as a national treasure.
Meeting the FEW
I've met plenty of celebs over the years and never been much phased by the experience but the day I met five Battle of Britain airmen was different. Do the arithmatic and you'll quickly figure that you've more chance of finding the fabled stash of Harley 45s under the Lincolnshire turf than meeting a real Battle of Britain survivor, but I did and I count it as the greatest privilege of my fifty something years of life.
Ken told me about the bike he was painting over a year ago and in April this year an opportunity to view it at a public event in Kent arose. I wasn't paying attention when Ken explained the nature of the event, so I was unclear what to expect beyond knowing that some kind of signing was going on. I turned up anyway and found Colin's bike in a marquee surrounded by sketches and paintings depicting WW2 aircraft in action.
It slowly dawned on me that the prime purpose of the event was to offer the public an opportunity to buy the art, the proceeds from which goes to fund war grave maintenance and care facilities for elderly airmen. To my growing incredulity I learned that five Battle of Britain airmen were sitting just yards from me, busily etching their autographs on to pictures. Pictures which mere mortals could buy for a fraction the cost of a Tracey Emin soiled tissue.
I don't mean to trivialise the experience with comic comparison but the opportunity bought home to me the graphic contrast between the froth and the real substance of life and what passes for value in our warped world.
Selecting a pencil sketch entitled 'Molders Match' depicting a dog fight above the white cliffs of Dover, I joined a line of folk waiting to have their purchases autographed. Tongue tied for suitable conversation I grinned like a half wit as Wing Commander Tom Neil reached across a desk and penned his name on the limited edition print.
"That's him in the Spitfire" he said, gesturing at a man to his right in a cloth cap.
"He's pulling your leg," said the other, scribing his name nonchalantly at the foot of the work. Unsure of what to say and anxious not to make an idiot of myself with some inappropriate comment, I worked my way down the line shaking hands and gathering signatures like a schoolboy at a movie premiere. Outside in the sunlight I read the printed text under the artist's name. "John C Freeborn, flying a 74 Squadron Mk 1 Spitfire, gets the better of the legendary Luftwaffe ace Werner Molders, during a fierce dogfight off the coast of Dover, 28th July 1940."
I looked again at the second autograph I'd collected - 'J C freeborn.'
'Christ almighty' I thought, I've met a legend, five of them in fact. I'd spoken to and shaken the hands of men whose exploits fueled the imagination of my formative years. Not their sons or biographers. I'd shaken the very hands that had controlled the aircraft that turned the tide of a conflict on which the fate of our whole world turned. It was surreal.
All plans for the day were shelved as I drank tea and waited for the signings to finish, after which all five signed the bike's paintwork and patiently lined up behind the machine in harsh sunlight as I fiddled ineptly with a camera.
Pics done and a little more relaxed now, I chanced some conversation. I asked Flight Lieutenant Terry Clark if he watched all the war movies of their conflict.
"Oh yes he said, not bad, bit too much Strawberry jam though."
Wing Commander Peter Ayerst was getting behind the wheel of his car, thrusting an arm out of the driver's window to waive cheerily as one sensed he may have done on many a more perilous occasion.
My conversation concluded with a remark by Squadron Leader Basil 'Stapme' Stapleton.
"Thanks for coming."
Thanks for coming? He's thanking me? Stone the crows! I tried to think of a suitable response.
"Thanks for saving the world," I said.
Stapme grinned at me over his handlebar moustache.
"We were just in the right place at the right time" he said."
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