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skootdawg · 6 years

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1918 Indian Twin Board-Track Racer – An Original American Superbike This original 1918 Indian Twin Board-Track Racer is a good reminder that back in the early 20th century, American motorcycle manufacturers were one of there world-leaders in the design and construction of racing bikes. In 1911 the Indian factory racing team took 1st, 2nd, and 3rd at the Isle of Man Tourist Trophy – beating the best in Europe at their own game, on their own turf. The Indian Twin Board-Track Racer The Indian Motocycle Co. originally started out in 1897 manufacturing bicycles like the “Silver King”, “Silver Queen”, and the “American Indian”. Company founder George M. Hendee was joined by Oscar Hedstrom in 1900, the two men were accomplished bicycle racers and manufacturers, and they teamed up in Middletown, Connecticut to build a prototype 1.75 bhp “moto cycle”. The popularity and sales success of this simple motorized bicycle was immediate, and in 1903 Hedstrom set the world motorcycle speed record of 56 mph – triggering global newspaper headlines and doing absolutely no harm to Indians sales figures. The first Indian V-twin appeared in 1905 as a factory racer, it won countless races, set speed and endurance records, and became famous in its own right. By 1907 when the first consumer version of the Indian V-twin was available, the factory had a hard time making enough of them to keep them on showroom floors. The competition between Indian, Excelsior, and Harley-Davidson in the 1910s was utterly fierce, and by 1915 Harley-Davidson had eked out an advantage. Indian responded by re-engineering their V-twin with a flathead design in place of the original F-head design, roller bearings were used, and a range of smaller improvements were included. This new “Powerplus” 998cc V-twin was ridden by Indian works team racer Erwin “Cannonball” Baker from from Vancouver to Tijuana – covering 1,655 miles in 3 days, 9 hours and 15 minutes. This trip was known as the “Three Flags”, and Cannonball set a new record on the Powerplus Indian. The Indian board track racing motorcycles built by the factory were defined by their bright red frames, gleaming engines, and the prominent “Indian” logo on the fuel tank installed between the frames two top tubes. These motorcycles would travel around America racing on the gigantic wooden board track racing stadiums, reaching speeds in excess of 100 mph with no brakes, no helmets, and no suspension. Today these early American board track racing motorcycles are rare, and hugely collectible. Their simple, beautiful styling became the foundation for many of the racing motorcycles that would be developed over the following decades.

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thephantomcasebook · 6 years

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Wanted to spend another week with Chapter four of “The Wayfaring Stranger” so here’s a Preview.

County of Grantham March 1936

In the Season of 1936 there were many topics of fascination that percolated through London. The Spanish War, the coming grandeur of the Berlin Olympics that the Third Reich was planning, and of course, the Grantham County Power Plant. It seemed a strange topic, all things considered, but it was the details that most people were interested in. It was the first, fully modern, electrical plant in all of Yorkshire, which was a feat in itself. But the more interesting aspect had been that the power coils and generators, which cranked out a much more powerful and efficient charge, had been designed by Ms. Sybil Branson herself.

Never before had such a thing been attempted by a grown woman, much less, by a girl who was yet to have even been presented to the king … which ever brother that might be these days. There were many that doubted the validity and safety of these mad plans presented. Some called it the very apex of what it is to spoil a child. What qualifications did Sybil Branson have to take on such an experimental task? They warned Lord Grantham of the perils. He being, not only the grandfather, but one of the patrons of the new plant, along with his daughter Mary and Grandson George Crawley, who also had his reservations.

But George’s troubles were for other reasons than a lack of faith in his best friend.

It had been an uphill battle for the girl. She worked long and hard on her plans and blueprints, living in the quiet exclusivity of Crawley House, away from the distractions of Downton Abbey life. There were many long nights, George hunched over the study table pouring over medieval maps and texts, while over at his desk a lovely girl scribbled her formulas and calculations. She sipped coffee, pencil behind her ear, soothing her doubts in the smiling picture of both her mommy and mama on George’s desk. Every time she had misgivings about the enterprise, feeling that George wasn’t voicing some objection, if only to spare her. She only had to see the two women that were everything to her, and remind herself that if they could be revolutionary in their time, than so could she. The only thing she wished was that there was someone to tell her she was on the right track. The old professors, like all good Englishmen, were afraid of change. The board of directors was biting their nails in anticipation, good or ill, of the young girl’s designs.

Her family wasn’t any help either. George had some idea of what she was talking about, but recused himself of opinion, much to her anger. Donk pretended he knew about what his gorgeous genius was talking about. And mama just smiled and blinked, making it seem all so encouraging by kissing her on the cheek with as much enthusiasm as Lady Mary Crawley showed anything. But Daddy didn’t hear a word. Tom Branson would soon glaze over at his daughter’s passion, spending more time glowing proudly at his rare and special girl rather than the plans spread out before them. God, in those moments, had he wished Sybil had been there to see what a marvelous creature she gave her life to bring into this world. But when he began stroking her hair, the girl would only huff and bump his chest with her shoulder in chastisement of his distracted mind.

When the time came to present to the board, she was going up against two other firms in the whole Empire. She fretted all night, wondering what she should wear. She had kept her Aunt Rose, Mrs. Baxter, and Granny up half the night, raiding her, Aunt Rose, and even their Granny’s wardrobes for just the right clothes. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, she came into her room to find that Mama and Anna were laying out a new outfit for such an occasion. Lady Mary told the girl, with great arrogance, that she might not know how her daughter’s “Contraptions” might work, but she jolly well knew how to dress for success. Both her mama and Anna swore it as “the ticket”, the secret weapon she needed to get over the top. It was true that when she stepped out of her daddy’s car with Thomas Barrow, her temporary assistant, there was not a snappier looking young engineer in the world. With legs born for those high heels, body meant for that satin skirt, and combination of sun glasses and hat that oozed young and professional.

When she arrived with Donk’s suitcase, rolled blue prints under arm, and coolly confident smirk, she was the talk of the Ripon office building.

The words of the day were affordable, modern, and easy to maintain. Sybbie, with Thomas’s help, presented her new machine to the world. Every weapon at her disposable was used on the board. She smirked at Donk, used Mama’s familiar turn of phrase to entice her. She near abused her credit as a daughter of a ‘working class bloke’ on those who valued such things. And for everyone else … well, Sybil Branson had been and would always be quite the fetchingly beautiful thing. But it was her charm that won the day, for it was considerable and inebriating once she got going. A girl raised by Ladies Cora and Mary Crawley was born to turn heads with her wit and social skills that rivaled the queens and princesses of old. But in the end, she found that the only hold out was George. He sat quietly, forefinger curled under nose, thumb under chin, elbow propped on the arm rest. He was a sphinx, unreadable, hardened to every trick employed by the lovely and fashionable girl. And when she was done, soaking in the standing ovation with a relieved smile, her heart sank to see that George was the only one still sitting, the weight of the world in his eyes.

For two days, the girl showed up to wait outside the deliberations. She paced the hallway, idly played a walking game of hopscotch with the linoleum tiling, and sat with her hand intertwined with Thomas’s in her lap as they stared at the door. But on the final day, suddenly, the door flew open to the sound of George matching shouts with their Donk and a waspish Lady Mary.

“Then, I’ll see you in Hell!”

The Earl and his pale and sleek business woman daughter looked shocked and deeply insulted at George’s final retort to Lady Mary’s parting words. Sybbie was also shocked watching a dark and furious George stalking away. His goggles were already on his forehead, while he shoved his hands into his long and supple leather gauntlets in disgust. Suddenly, papers and plans fell to the linoleum floor of the Ripon office building when Freddie Moorsum pursued the younger man down the hall. His glasses were obscured on a face in distress. He walked fast after George, though he was unable to keep up with the young racer.

“You can’t walk away, M’Lord! The county, the boys, they’re all counting on you to hold those toffy, high society, bastards, accountable! If you walk away from this you’ll damn yourself and it’ll haunt the county for generations! You know I’m right, you fool! Come back and fight damn ya! TAR YOUR HEELS COWARD!” He roared at the young man that disappeared around the corner, bumping a secretary whose files and papers went fluttering everywhere.

“Sir, I believe His Lordship is quite done with this conversation …” Thomas Barrow, ever the butler, and ever the guardian of Downton Abbey’s nursery, no matter how old the former occupants had gotten. He halted any further pursuit of a clearly enraged Master George.

“Get off me, Chump!” The pencil of a man with parted dark hair and his mother’s face under glasses slapped the svelte and athletic butler’s hand off his shoulder. He then turned to Sybbie who was watching in silent confusion. “Congratulations, and long live Morgana Le Fey, Queen of bones!” He snarled at the girl.

“I think that’s quite enough of that, Mr. Moorsum!” Lady Mary Crawley said with a dark look of rancor as she exited the room. It looked as if she might have left the conference room in order to go after George to continue their argument in private. But in his absence, and very outraged that someone would talk to her daughter in such a manner, Mary was cold and angry when the rest of the board exited.

“You’re all fools! You are all damned fools! They’ll die and all for a young girls pretty smile and tight arse in silk!” He shouted.

“How dare …!”

“Barrow, might you escort Mr. Moorsum out!” Lord Sinderby immediately bared Lord Grantham, who had made to aggressively stride forward in defense of his cherished and beloved little girl.

But there was not a hint of remorse in the man’s eyes for saying what he had. Somehow he thought, even for the friendship of his late mother, that Lord Grantham would see things clearly. Instead, he was infatuated with his genius granddaughter, believing that she could do no wrong. He took it as a slight and a betrayal to his mother’s memory.

“This way, sir!” Thomas Barrow’s hands were made out of iron in his angry grip on the lapels of the Engineer.

“You fools! The whole lot of ya! You’re all fools!” He raged in tears as he was dragged away by Mr. Barrow, Lord Sinderby following to make sure the accoster of his niece and nephew was truly gone.

For a long moment the raven haired young woman watched with a frown as her competitor disappeared with the strong arming Thomas, and a glaring Uncle Atticus with his hands behind his back. When she turned back her Donk looked incredibly rattled by the whole situation. But when she asked what had happened, Lady Mary only told her not to worry about it. But the girl saw that her mama’s eyes were cast down the hallway to the sound of George Crawley’s Indian Motorcycle revving angrily in the distance. They all flinched when they heard him speed off in a terrifying lit.

Sensing the trouble that was entering the girl’s mind, Lord Grantham ensured her, unconvincingly, that it was just the usual “Greek Drama” of the losing side of these local contract disputes. However, she had certainly not thought that George was one of these sore losers. But when she voiced this opinion, no one said a word for a long moment. Till, Lord Grantham assured his granddaughter that George wasn’t not on her side, it was only a question of something else entirely that had nothing to do with her. But she could tell that whatever George and Freddie Moorsum had fought with them over, for the last two days, had penetrated their Donk’s mind. And his heir’s point of argument, in particular, was entombed at the very center of his thoughts. Possibly, it even found incredible validity in the receding tide of the infighting. But Lord Grantham only smirked when catching Sybbie’s tenuously inquisitive eyes.

The old man took her in his arms paternally.

Suddenly, a big, toothy, grin came over the young woman’s pallid face when her grandfather whispered the word “Congratulations” in her ear while in their deep embrace. When she slipped back in his arms, mouth agape in shock, the old lord only nodded his head. It was just in time for Atticus and Thomas’s return. The girl gave a squeal and leapt into the butler’s arms, shouting to the roof tops that they did it. But Barrow only smoothed the girl’s hair back and corrected that she was the one who did it. To that the man got a kiss on the cheek. In fact, they all did, even those who were not her family. But when Lady Mary, half-teasingly, reminded her daughter that an excess of joy was as vulgar as an excess of tears, the girl jovially pounced on her mama. She swept her off her feet, pelting her entire face in a cascade of kisses in her arms as she rushed down the hall. The girl looked like a Hammer Film monster with its bride as she shuffled awkwardly with her mama in her arms. Before turning the corner, a resign but clearly annoyed Mary made a motion for everyone to follow.

When they got back home from Ripon, both family and staff were there to throw Sybbie a surprise celebration. The girl had never been so touched, getting suddenly weepy to see her granny standing with Marigold, Rachel, Aunt Edith, and Aunt Rose, along with all the faces of her happy childhood. All of them there to cheer and celebrate what she thought, at the time, would be her greatest accomplishment in her entire life. There was cake and punch, and a celebratory dinner planed with all of her and Marigold’s new friends for later. Her Donk stopped the festivities, momentarily, so that he might say a few words of his genius granddaughter. But all he could find in the moment, looking at her with such love, was that her mommy would be proud. She would be so very, very, proud of this day.

It was the only thing that Sybil Afton Branson had only ever wanted to hear all of her life.

#Downton Abbey #George Crawley #Sybbie Branson #Mary Crawley #Robert Crawley #Sorry for the Length #George has long hair because he just came back from years in Depression America #He is an extremely disheveled teenager #With a lot of issues with Mary and Robert

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