Derby County: Dream team - a bike and the Rams

Dave Humphries' helmet with his Rams' logos on it

IT’S not often you catch Murray Walker in silent mode but, for one brief moment in 1966, while giving his regular TT reports on BBC radio, he paused and told listeners he would let them hear the screaming sound of Mike Hailwood’s approaching 250cc Honda six.

I don’t think our little tranny radio’s speaker was ever the same after that experience.

That year, the TT was put back to August following a seamen’s strike. And just a few weeks later, I witnessed the spectacle of Hailwood and the delicious noise of a Honda six, first-hand, at Mallory’s Race of the Year. It was a truly awesome sound.

That word is considerably over-used today but, from 1966-68, when an even more dominant 297cc version was built, the combination of man and machine was just that – awesome.

I still try to go off to a classic meeting when a very rare and fragile “six” is in town, just to listen again to that evocative sound. Only now, with the arrival of the new breed of multi-cylinder MotoGP machines, has there been a comparable exhaust sound.

In the years leading up to 1970, there were several interesting diversions that would occasionally lead me away from watching bike racing. It was, after all, the swinging ‘60s.

One that I can safely write about here – with great pride, too – was the arrival in Derby of a very brash young man called Brian Clough. It would have needed something rather special to completely drag me away from watching motorcycle racing. That Mr Clough and his brilliant team very nearly succeeded is a fitting tribute to the great man.

I always had a passing interest in the game of football, having been to a few Man United games in order to see the great forward line of Best, Law and Charlton in live action. But, when Brian Clough arrived, like the rest of Derby, I was bowled over and swept along on a magical roller-coaster ride that challenged every inch of my passion for motorcycling.

Thankfully, I was able to combine motorcycling and football, along with an innovative item that showed my support for the team.

Shortly after buying my very first motorcycle from Wileman’s – a green, Triumph 500cc Tiger 100 – at the grand old age of 21, I painted one of my crash helmets blue and white and stuck Ram’s decals on it with the words, “Derby County”, proudly displayed on the chin-guard.

I was then as likely to ride to Villa Park on a Saturday as I was to Oulton Park on a Sunday, or, of course, to soak up the wonderful atmosphere at the Baseball Ground.

Parking a motorbike, safely, near to some football grounds could be a bit dodgy, as witness a conversation I had once with a group of scruffy looking young kids at Maine Road, Manchester.

“Look after your bike, mister, for five bob; otherwise, we’ll smash it up!”

After that, I started to leave my bike at nearby petrol stations, handy for refuelling for the journey home, anyway, and gave the attendant the money instead.

The Tiger 100 was a surprising purchase in many ways. I could easily have bought the biggest and fastest motorcycle in Wileman’s showroom, if I had wanted. Perhaps, all those years of waiting had mellowed me a little?

I had never argued with my parents about having a bike of my own. I just accepted their parental guidance as well meant for my safety.

There was, however, one desire I definitely still had to fulfill and that was to go over to the Isle of Man to watch the TT races.

It had never occurred to me that I could have gone to the TT in the golden era of the ‘60s as a foot passenger. I just took it for granted that to go to the TT you needed a bike and I simply didn’t have one.

So, with my younger brother, Paul, as pillion passenger (later, he also developed a mild interest in motorcycling), we said goodbye to the 1960s in somewhat nervous style as we watched the Tiger 100 being winched, alarmingly high, above the River Mersey, to be placed securely onboard the midnight ferry sailing to Douglas.

I was totally captivated by the island scenery, the boisterous atmosphere at night time and the TT racing. But the thrill of riding around the famous course for the first time was one to savour and one I would never tire of in later years.

It seemed I knew every bend and corner as the famous names I had long read about flashed by, one after the other. Bray Hill, Quarter Bridge, Union Mills – this was truly heaven on earth. I knew then why the TT was the Mecca for all bikers and was delighted to be one of them.

Although the Tiger 100 was my first big bike, I had in fact bought, not long before it and without my parents’ knowledge, a very cheap Bantam with a view to taking up racing.

Bought from near London, it came up by train. My dad collected it for me from Derby station and, strangely, he didn’t seem too concerned when I told him what I had planned.

Armed with a book on tuning Bantams for racing, I stripped the engine down and set about enlarging the transfer ports to the desired dimensions. Engineer, though, I am not and the Bantam languished in our house cellar for some time.

It was about this time that a chap called Chris Carter opened a little bikers’ bookshop down Uttoxeter New Road, which I was always popping into. Chris went on to become a race commentator and now runs a newspaper aimed directly at bike-race fans.

The Triumph, meantime, fulfilled its purpose of taking me to work, race meetings, football matches, the TT and one memorable trip to Skegness to collect my brother from a family holiday earlier than expected so that he, too, could watch Cloughie’s marvels.

The desire to go racing probably wasn’t as strong as it had been in my youth but, on occasion, I would still ride just a little too close to the danger zone on public roads – witness my brother’s yells to slow down on those glorious, flowing Lincolnshire bends.

I was, it seemed at that time, content to carry on with life as it was.

This would all change, quite dramatically, in late 1970 when I got very friendly with a slightly younger group of fellow postmen, most of whom had also been telegram lads like myself.

To a man, they were all very outgoing and enjoyed life to the full. But the key factor was that they were all bikers!

For the next four years, our lives would be a heady mix of bikes and beer.

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