Norton Commando returns from the grave

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As demoralizing as the burned-up hulk had been, the inventory of clean, shiny components offered the promise of new life. Things were looking up. The Crispy Critter was evolving as the Phoenix, destined to rise from the ashes!

Come together, right now

In August 2007, I put everything back in my pickup and drove north for a Norton Colorado tech day at Bob’s house. This time the bad juju was gone. An air of sunny optimism (and all the shiny parts) drew spectators and willing hands like a magnet, and by the end of the day I had a rolling chassis with engine and transmission in place. It was nearly a motorcycle again!

Back home, I chipped away at the project. Winter returned, the bears hibernated and I wheeled the bike into our utility room while my wife wasn’t looking. I ordered Teflon-insulated wire in several colors and strung it every which way, fabricated a new instrument panel and fitted various subassemblies. Finally, I got my bodywork back from the paint shop, exquisitely executed and well worth the wait.

At some point I realized that if I really tried, I could get the bike running in time to celebrate the second anniversary of the fire. I began putting lots of hours into it, made another trip over to Dolores to work in Doug’s shop, bought more parts, and grew steadily more confident that a March 11 startup was in the cards. Back in the utility room, I finished up the wiring, assembled the primary drive and attended to details.

The Phoenix rises

When the auspicious day arrived, I loaded the Phoenix into my pickup and headed to Eric Bergman’s house in Golden, where half a dozen Norton Colorado members gathered to witness the first startup. Elation and trepidation battled for dominance as I poured high-test into the tank. A lazy oil leak and a loose chassis fitting or two reminded me that attention to detail isn’t always my strong suit. Had I neglected to snug up an important bolt? What would come back to bite me?

Because of an imperfect electronic ignition and inadequate battery, the startup did not go quite as planned. There’s not much in a motorcyclist’s life that’s more frustrating and demoralizing than repeatedly kicking away at an engine that refuses to come to life. And what can compare to the righteous glory of a high-compression engine (I’d opted for JE 79mm, 10.5:1 forged pistons, the same ones Kenny Dreer used in his 880s) that fires off on the first kick? These are the highs and lows of vintage motorcycling unknown to those who came up during the push-button era. I kicked and fiddled for hours. Trepidation won the battle, but elation won the war. Before the sun went down on March 11, I enjoyed my first brief ride on the newly resurrected Phoenix.

Over the next couple of weeks I sorted out the ignition with Jim’s help. Dustyn Bustos of H.e.l.l.s. Tooling in Denver built me a fine new seat, hand-stitched in saddle leather, from the Corbin Gunfighter that was on the bike when it burned. A phoenix bird is beautifully hand-tooled behind the bumstop. After a bit of jetting work, the bike was ready for a good romp. With just 300 local miles on the clock, I headed south with Jim to the annual Norton Flog in Silver City, N.M. During the 700-mile trip to Silver City, my engine fully broke in, spinning happily and pulling effortlessly at the least provocation. On our way back, we detoured into Arizona to enjoy the Coronado Trail, with some 450 turns in 100 miles! By the time I returned to my mountain home 1,600 miles later, the bike and I were good friends once again, and my rear tire was toast.

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