1902 Sunbeam Safety
Part 3

1902 Sunbeam Safety – part the third

I left mum visiting with Gran then drove the now familiar roads around the bay, not to the cottage but instead I parked the Jensen outside my pair of garages. Uncle Frank's behest and request was simple enough once you got past all the hilarity over names, essentially I've to ride one of his vintage bikes at some event or other. Well its not like it'll kill me to do it, first thing is to sort out the bike, hence todays visit to the garage.

The lock took a bit of jiggling to open, then I dragged the first couple of folding panels across, flooding the interior with light reflected from the whitewashed wall across the lane. Everything was as I remembered, the stacks of parts, the old wardrobes and of course the bikes. Clearly Uncle Frank had bought a lot of this stuff 'on spec', if he didn't someone saw him coming!

Whilst there were bits of perhaps a dozen old bed irons piled up only four bikes under the dust sheet looked anything like complete. Closer inspection had me regretting my rash promise, apart from flat tyres, one was missing a saddle, another pedals, the third had the chain hanging from the handlebars and the last had a front wheel bent well out of shape. If I'm to get one of these working I'm going to have to spend some serious time and effort – I know I promised but thats when I thought I could maybe just pump the tyres up and go.

It was as I looked over the steeds in dread that I recalled the workshop behind the cottage, wasn't there a bike in there? I guess its worth a look before I make a decision, that decided I closed up the garage and walked down to Number Four. I made myself known to the family just unpacking for their stay before going around back and along the garden to the outhouse at the end of the plot.

To be honest i'd forgotten about the workshop, not that it was there but just how spic and span it was. Once the fluorescent crackled into life I pulled the door closed behind me and wewent over to the workstand to inspect the bike firmly clamped there. Whilst a bit dusty it looked complete, I turned the pedal crank, after a stiff start it moved freely enough and when I worked out which was the right brake lever, that did its job too.

This is more like it. I found a roll of paper cleaning towel and set too to remove the layer of dust on the deep maroon paint and chrome. A few minutes effort and apart from the flat tyres it looked showroom fresh, I guess this is the bike Frank wanted me to ride.

I spotted an airline and after finding the power for the compressor soon had the tyres pumped. It might seem a bit over board but lets face it, my Uncle was ninety eight, I guess pumping tyres was getting a bit of an effort. Anyhow, air inserted I dropped the bike out of the stand, almost literally, it weighs a ton, before clambering aboard to get a feel for it.

Well I'm no expert but it felt okay so I did the old trouser in sock thing before wheeling the beast outside. Of course Church Lane is steep and narrow so I walked down to Brick Kiln Lane which runs across the hillside before mounting up for my first ride. My bike back in Howden isn't much, a £99 special from the garage out on the six one four, twenty one gears that rarely get put to work and tyres the local tractors would be proud of.
I pushed off and with a series of grunts got the pedals going round which allowed me to weave along the lane for fifty yards before running out of road. Which is where I discovered that the brakes are more of an idea than a working proposition. Luckily I wasn't moving very fast which allowed me to do a hasty dismount before I hit the wall at the end.

A bit of experimenting showed that at best the plate pressing directly onto the tyres would perhaps skim a bit of speed but there was little control with it. After a couple more passes along Brick Kiln Lane allowed me to get a feel for the handling before I decided to head back. I got the beast moving and swung into Church Lane.

Well the lane is steep, the bike heavy, my control still a bit sketchy and the car coming down caused me to panic. The brakes chose this moment to actually provide stopping power – of course and combined with a loss of forward momentum it was inevitable that it wouldn't end well. It wasn't a crash as such, more a slow speed comedy fall as I fought to keep the bike upright, the result was inevitable, me laid on the tarmac with the bike on top.

"So Missy, you sorted out this bike then?” mum asked as we left Gran's a couple of hours later.
"Will you stop calling me that and yes I have.”

Okay, you can laugh if you like but mum has taken to calling me Missy after all the business with names to claim my inheritance. First it was Georgina which was hilarious not, then it was Annabel, when I complained she started the Missy business. I mean, come on, I'm a grown man, so okay my documents name me as Georgina Annabel but mum's having far too much fun with it. My name is George!

"Just mucking Georgi, what about the costumes?”
grrrr!
"Thought i'd talk to the bike club bods first, its only a one off, maybe I can wear normal togs. Where are we eating?”
"After an afternoon with your gran i'd settle for a bag of chips.”
"We'll eat back at the hotel then,” we're staying up in Launceston again.

If I can get out of dressing up for this I will, I am not into theatricals at any level – I was third shepherd in the infants Nativity, the tea towel and sheet was enough for me. Once we got onto the A30 I put my foot down, the Interceptor eating the miles and drinking the go juice but for the journey down to Cornwall its more comfortable than the Fiat. It was just as well, we ended up travelling back to Yorkshire with the old bike in the back and several black bags of stuff from the wardrobes – mum was in charge of that so i've no idea what's in there.

Over the next couple of weeks I tried ringing the contact Uncle Frank had given me in his bundle of stuff but there wasn't any reply. Not to be put off I penned a short note which mum put in the post for me, if nothing comes of it at least i've made an effort. Internet? Well all that was on their website was a few pictures, no email or contact beyond what Frank had, talk about a secret society.
It was only a week later that my pie and mash was disturbed by the trilling of my mobile.
"You getting that?” Mum demanded.
"If its important they'll ring back.”
"And what if they don't, could be the girl of your dreams Georgi.”
I rolled my eyes, "Okay, okay, I'll get it.”
So of course it stopped as I picked the phone up.
"Well ring them back then.”
"I don't know who it is, no caller id.”
"You're hopeless, no wonder you don't have any social life.”
"Okay, I'm ringing, happy?”
"I'll put your dinner in the oven.”
Joy, dried up pie, such a gastronomic delight. I pulled up the number and hit dial as I walked through to the lounge.

The phone trilled four times and I was about to do my own end call when it was answered, "Fawkes.”
"Er, you just called me?” I squeaked, okay, my social skills are minimal.
"George Stephens?”
"Well technically its Georgina but everyone calls me Georgi,” I babbled out more information than was really required.
"Er Simon Fawkes, you wrote to me about the Veteran and Vintage Bicycle Club?”
"Oh right, yeah, Uncle Franks bike.”
"Sorry?”
"The reason I wrote to you.”
"Um, not sure I follow,” he admitted.
"Uncle Frank's bike.”
"Still not following miz Stephens, Georgina, can we start at the beginning?”
Did he just call me miss? Nah, don't be so daft, you're paranoid.

I drew a deep breath before starting again, "So my Uncle died in the spring and left me his house, a jensen and a load of old bikes.”
"Sorry about your uncle,” Simon told me, "Old bikes?”
"Yeah, you know, proper old fashioned stuff, bar brakes, think one has like solid tyres.”
"And you want to sell them?”
"No, well maybe but thats not why I wrote, I did try ringing but couldn't get through, anyway I sort of made a promise.”
"Promise?”
"Well rather rashly I said i'd give one his bikes a last run, you know, in his honour?”
"Ah,” Simon allowed, "I think I see where this is going now, so you need the Club's help to make this happen?”
"Got it in one Mr Fawkes, you're not related?”
"Distantly, we don't talk about him in the family. So what is this bike you have?”
"Not sure really, I can send you some pictures, you do have email right?”
"I might like old bikes but I'm not a Luddite.”
"Sorry, its just there's not one on the website.”
"There isn't? I thought Jean had sorted that out, well anyway, send me the pictures and in the meantime I'll look in the diary to see what we can work out. Oh can you travel, you're up in Yorkshire right?”
"Yep, we're right by the M62 so travelling isn't an issue, its only a one off after all.”

We ended the call and I returned to mum in the kitchen.

"That was a long call.”
"It was the guy from the bike club,” I mentioned, "Looks like I'll be able to fulfill my promise after all.”
"That's nice luv, you want your dinner now?”
it'll be well crozzled but after a day at Duplo I'm starving, "Please.”

I checked the screen again, finally, the last picture was attached. I moved the cursor into the message box and started typing.

Dear Simon

As we discussed earlier i've attached some photos of the bike, hope they
are of some interest. I think the brand is Sunbeam.

I look forward to hearing from you soon re the ride.

Yours
George Stephens

That should do, I hit send and sat back in the chair. Well Uncle Frank, it looks like you'll get your last wish after all.

It was two days later when I spotted a reply from notthatfawkes @ bikenet.co.uk, I clicked on the link and a moment later it popped up on the screen.

Dear Georgi

Hope this finds you well.

Thank you for the pictures, the bike is indeed a Sunbeam, a very rare one
at that! It seems that your Uncle found a 1902 Sunbeam Safety, one of
the earliest from that manufacturer, as far as I know there's only one other
survivor which is in a museum in Denmark. I'd certainly be interested to at
least see pictures of the other machines in your care, who knows what else
lurks!
Well thats the bike news, onto getting you on a ride. I've attached
a list of possibilities that don't involve too much travelling for you. Of course
we need to get you kitted out in appropriate costume, i've spoken to Jean
who is our expert on things fashion, she'll research things and will give you a
call in the next week or so.
Hope this meets with your approval, looking forward to meeting you and the
Sunbeam.

Simon

Well thats interesting I suppose, "Mum?”
"You don't need to shout.”
"Sorry, I got a reply from that Simon bloke, apparently Uncle Frank's bike is some sort of rarity.”
"He was certainly a dark one eh, he sorted you out a ride?”
"There's a list of possibilities, have to get the costume sorted I guess.”
"Thought you were going to wiggle out of that?”
"Seems a bit churlish, he's already got some woman researching it.”
"Remember i've got the stuff your Uncle had.”
"I'd best let you talk to this Jean woman when she rings.”
Mum smirked, "That might be best.”

After some calender checking we settled on the vintage and veteran vehicle meet up at Newby Hall just outside Ripon. Its the sort of thing we've ended up at occasionally for something to do, its quite nice seeing the old cars and so on, drop in a stately home and it makes a nice day. Its six weeks away so we should be all sorted by then clothing wise, Mum spoke to that Jean woman last night, apparently most of the stuff is in the bags of my Uncle left.

"We could enter the Jensen,” Mum suggested.
"I wasn't gonna use it.”
"And just how were you going to get the two of us, a bike and your costume in the Fiat?”
"Roof rack?”
"Don't be daft Georgi, we'll go in the Interceptor, there's loads of room in that and if we show the parking's sorted.”
I sighed, "Alright, we'll show the car too, anything else? The fridge is knocking on a bit.”
"Now you're being silly, we do need to sort out some stuff for your costume though.”
"We do?”
"Yes we do, Jean said we don't need to go to authentic underwear but it'd look better if at least give a nod to the period.”
"If you say so.”
"I do, i've found a place over in Wakefield that specialises in this stuff, you've got an appointment at ten on Saturday.”
"Appointment?”
"Well its hardly Marks & Sparks, its all bespoke.”
"Bespoke knickers, whatever next.”

I dropped another email to Mr Fawkes telling him of our plans, he confirmed that he'd see us there along with the other members of the club and their steeds. He suggested that I practice riding my own steed in costume, unfamiliar clothing could potentially get caught in wheels and chains which wouldn't do much for my dignity or honour my benefactor very well. Sort of makes sense, not that I could see how plus fours would get into the chain, but whatever.

We took the Five Hundred along the M62 Saturday morning, we were passing Knottingley before mum spoke.
"George?”
"Thats me.”
"There's something I need to tell you.”
"Oh? Did you see that idiot in the Audi?”
"Look we can go home, forget all this mallarky.”
"What mallarky?”
She took a deep breath, "Jean, Simon, they think you're a girl.”
"Don't be daft,” I scoffed.
"I'm not, apparently that old bike is a ladies model and somehow they got hold of your new name, one and one...”
"Make three, sugar. What about my voice?
"Hate to break it to you love but you can sound a bit girly, especially on the phone.”
"So this costume...”
"Is for a woman.”

"I don't suppose I could just wear mens stuff?”
"On a ladies bike? We'll go home and forget all this stupidity.”
My first instinct was to agree, turn us around and end it now. Something in my head was however telling me otherwise, that I should at least give it a throw, become Georgina in more than just name, it would bring a smile to the old mans face. Yeah, and i'd have the last laugh.
"Do you reckon I could pull it off?”
"As in pretend to be a girl?”
"Yeah, could I pass as a woman? I don't mean drag queen, just ordinary woman.”
She considered me across the car, "Well Georgina, we can give it a go, we've got five weeks.”
"Lets do it then, you said you always wanted a daughter.”

Brave words, maybe rash words. Its not like i'd even considered the idea until now, I might not be the manliest example of manhood but if you sliced me up i'd say 'man' through every slice. But if you are going to do something, do it well, and so we embarked on a mission to make Georgina a reality rather than just a legal dodge.

"Stand still” mum ordered.
"Well stop sticking pins in me and I will,” I replied with something of a whine.
"There,” she concluded, "Try that now.”
I sat back on the Sunbeam's saddle and grabbed the handlebars, "Seems okay.”

It's been quite an intense few weeks, mum's taken me in hand, i've been shaved, plucked, painted, and squeezed to within an inch of becoming Georgina. This evening is the final dress rehearsal so to speak, the first time we've put everything together.

"Try riding,” mater suggested.

It felt weird pedaling with all the skirts and underpinnings, even the button boots made it feel different to my previous practicing. You can't do much other than sit bolt upright when you have a corset on and I was distracted by the drop earrings hanging from my newly pierced lobes. All this effort for one day, but I made a promise and i'm gonna honour that promise.
I eased to a stop back at the car where mum was waiting, we've driven out to a dead end lane near Sandhall.
"Well?”
"Its okay, could do without these flippin' knickers.”
"We talked about that.”
"I know, doesn't mean I can't complain though.”
"Well your hair has mostly survived, we'll use more lacquer on Sunday.”

"Georgi?”
I span round, okay after a month of mum calling me Georgi or Georgina all the time I've got to the point of reacting to it.
"Hello?”
"Simon as in Fawkes, nice to finally meet you in the flesh so to speak.”
I took the offered hand and shook, "And you. Well do I pass muster?”
"I think you'll fit right in, come on, i'll introduce you to the others.”

That was all over two years ago.

"And following Michael we have the lovely Georgi Stephens on her 1902 Sunbeam Safety,” the MC enthused from the loudspeakers.

There was a lot more, i’ve heard it so often I simply tuned it out and concentrated on manouevering my behemoth of a steed along the roadway. It would be at lot easier of course if we weren’t riding so slowly for the audience to see us. Some people do battle re-enactments, others prefer to relive some strange war free version of the 1940’s, but for me, Michael and our cohort its vintage bicycles.

Yep, on any summer weekend you’ll find us demonstrating our steeds at events up and down the country, fêtes, carnivals, cycle races, even a wedding. The bikes are obviously the ‘stars’ of the show, polished and oiled to perfection but of course wearing modern clothing wouldn’t do them justice. So of course, whilst its not our ‘thing’ exactly, we do all wear period ‘costume’, from Fraser in his tweeds and deerstalker astride his Ordinary to me in the crinolines and corsetry of the early twentieth century.

As far as the rest of the club or anyone watching is concerned I am Georgi Stephens, but like a reverse super hero, during the week I return to boring old George, the forklift driver. I never have changed my name back, well its not like it affects anything and it could be a hassle if I get stopped in the Jensen going to an event. At mums insistence I have been out in girl drab a few times, that is just weird, I guess i'm just more comfortable pretending to be an Edwardian lady bicycler.

Maddy Bell © 25.12.2018