The Norton "Antichrist" Story

A new era has begun, the Norton 952 Commando draws from a rich history and promises to add to the soul of the Norton legacy – from the homepage of the “new” Norton Motorcycle Company, February, 2005.

A search of the Internet for the word “Norton” also turns up a link to one Joshua A. Norton who, in 1859, declared himself “… Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico”. Within a year, Emperor Norton issued a Decree dissolving the country of the United States and, a few years later, abolished both the Republican and Democratic parties for good measure.

Emperor Norton (circa 1861)

Although Norton 1 had nothing in common with the motorcycle of the same name, there are few doubts that he would have meshed well with the assorted riff-raff and strange beings that eventually unleashed this hellish, two-wheeled calamity on our planet. Here’s how it started:

In 1898, an Englishman named James Landsdowne Norton established the Norton Manufacturing Company (NMC). This has been described by some as the mechanical equivalent of the Black Death plague that decimated Europe in the 14th century A.D. The two most noteworthy happenings in the early history of NMC were its first, but certainly not last, bankruptcy (in 1913) and the death of James Norton in 1925. Were it that the former was as permanent as the latter.

Between 1898 and 1959, dramatic foreshadowing was occurring as tragedies such as the Great Depression and World Wars 1 and 2 took place. Meanwhile, over at the Norton factory, fiendish night-time design work had begun that would have shamed Grigory Rasputin. Sketches and mock-ups had come and gone and various models such as the Manx, the somewhat prematurely-named Dominator, the Spagthorpe, and the Atlas had been tested and subsequently crunched after having their key design failures extracted for future, grouped development considerations.

During the latter days of NMC’s half-life, a bizarre and evil group of subversives became inexorably drawn to the marqué including carburetor designer Theodore Amal (“tickle ‘er till she drips”) and electronics archfiend Joe Lucas (the Prince of Darkness). It is believed that a group of such luminaries conspired at vengeful length to thwart the development of the Ultimate British Motorcycle by creating a 2-wheeled devil incarnate instead.

Norton “Spagthorpe” Prototype

The BMW Montauk aside, it is conventional wisdom that the group succeeded and, in 1967, amidst great fanfare, the 750 Norton “Antichrist” (known in some circles as the “Commando”) was unveiled. Aside from the uncertainly-displaced Rotary and the Norton Target Drone Engine, this was to be the pinnacle of Norton prowess.

Your humble scribe had the great misfortune to actually own one of these specimens, although perhaps the word “own” is an overstatement as it may denote a superior/inferior relationship. Like an infirm grandmother with an adopted and foaming American Pit Bull, nothing could have been further from the truth.

As I discovered, the Norton Antichrist had several noteworthy design features including: a self-described “Combat” engine that exploded into hot metal shards when mileage inched passed the warranty mark; porous AMAL carburetors that occasioned more than 1 owner to attach a fire extinguisher to the closest available downtube; and, valves that had 2 states – “clattering like hell”, which indicated they were about to drop and cause grievous damage, or “dropped” which indicated that they had just done so.

Amal “Ol’ Dripper” Carburetor (“after fire” photo)

The Antichrist had a number of inherent “tricks” that, to the casual observer, appeared to defy the laws of nature. Amongst these was an ability for the engine oil to spontaneously seep through all mated surfaces and several that appeared, to the uninformed, to be solid. The bike also had a Joe Lucas (aka the Prince Of Darkness) -designed ignition system that worked perfectly except when kick-starting in front of a crowd, when picking up a female passenger, or during rainstorms if said machine was at the bottom of a valley at the time (thus ensuring a prolonged, stuttering, wheel-locking uphill bump start in either direction).

Other mechanical peculiarities included a kick-starter that was somehow able to pop off its splines when used in anger or which could, unaccountably, insert itself up the leg of bell-bottom hippie jeans when approaching a stop sign. One of the finest of all Antichrist riding pleasures, of course, was experienced when the throttle slide(s) randomly stuck wide-open.


Beginning Rider Adapting to Antichrist Throttle Mechanism (Norton legal files)

This modest machine had other crowd-pleasing abilities given its propensity to spontaneously blast great gouts of flame out of its barely-muffled exhaust system and its uncanny knack, when starting, of kicking back just when the rider’s heel was in close proximity to an ingeniously-positioned protruding engine mounting bolt. On random occasion, it could summon forth supernatural blowback through the intake that would blast one or both carbs off the manifold. This usually occurred at opportune times such as when inching past a police car after a session at the local pub or when heading a line of rush-hour traffic along a busy highway with a new chick on the back.

Many complained about the Antichrist, but there were several easy fixes for even the average backyard mechanic. For example, the perpetually-loosening header flanges could be quickly secured with 2 industrial-sized vice-grips permanently cranked deep into the metal of the header-fins and then brazed together via a length of rusty iron t-bar. Similarly, the carb blowback issue could be remedied with 12 feet of #17 gauge baling wire wound tightly about the cylinder barrel and then arc-welded in position.

Loss of operating fluids was offset by carrying pizza boxes down the back of one’s Belstaff jacket to serve as sidestand collection plates when parked. These boxes could also be used to create custom emergency gaskets during routine roadside rebuild sessions. In a complementary fashion, gallon-sized containers of replacement engine and transmission oils were readily available at Canadian Tire and imparted a sporting look to the bike when bungeed in tandem across the passenger seat.

(“Smokin’ ” Freddie Norton III (post-ride, arriving at work - 1973)

The seat of the Antichrist that was so obviously and easily removable could be inexpensively spot-welded to the frame rails to discourage, say, a passer-by during late-night bar hours who may be inclined to a bit of sport. In the same anticipatory vein, a few lengths of aluminium foil wound ‘round the handlebars could easily (and repeatedly) be used to replace blown fuses, lengths of fried wiring and the like. As well, when strategically packed inside the headlamp, said foil could almost double the perceived output of the Prince-of-Darkness-powered stock unit, assuming the dim yellow “light” was visible in the first place.

Not everything about the Antichrist was bad though. For example, many found it to be a good-looker when it wasn’t on fire. Equally, and assuming the “Isolastic” frame was properly shimmed and welded into alignment, it handled well enough to encourage a rousting good zap through the corners, as long as it was kept clearly in mind that dragging one’s boot soles on the pavement worked better than the OEM drum brakes. Its greatest attributes, of course, were the Norton Ad Girls, although both now must be over 78 years of age.

Field Trials - 1957 Norton “Sorceror”

One day you may be fortunate enough to see a Norton Antichrist abandoned at the side of the road or on rusting, seeping display at an estate sale. If so, you should remember this line from one British owner’s guide which says ... “The Norton Antichrist is arguably Britain’s most well-developed twin-cylinder motorcycle…”, and then think about the ones that aren’t.


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