McQueen's Machines Part Two

Once again, the phone rings. This time it's my pal, Gerry, the owner of Metisse Motorcycles. Gerry took over the Metisse factory several years ago and has been making limited edition motorcycles featuring restored Triumph motorcycles mounted in exquisite frames. Metisse was founded by the Rickman brothers, now in their 80s, and since the 50's has made special "oil in frame" frames. We worked with Gerry several years back to launch the McQueen Desert Racer, a limited edition replica of Steve's classic bike.

Now Gerry's got a new bike, featuring an engine designed and crafted by Metisse. Would I like to visit and ride a prototype? I just have to get myself to the UK.

It's eight a.m. when the plane begins its descent into Dublin.



I had a brief overnight stay in Dublin before heading to Heathrow, and decided to make the most of it. First, check in at the hotel to drop my bags off.









Fancy schmancy for sure, and I've lucked out. It was the cheapest digs I could find, and a few miles outside the center of town. I ordered the smallest room, but the super cute receptionist set me up in their largest suite, complete with a personal expresso maker. The luck of the Irish, to be sure.

I set out for the heart of Dublin, not hopeful that I could locate a place to rent a motorbike or a scooter.





It was Sunday, and try as I might, I couldn't locate anything to rent. Maybe next time I'll call ahead, but now I'd have to set out on foot, and seeing as it was now lunch time, I made my way to Grafton Street.

OK. You beat my comment by about 500 milliseconds. Good stuff.

I'm not 200 feet into Grafton St when this window catches my eye.



It's Bewley's, a classic Irish cafe.



I step inside, grab a nearby window seat, order up a soup and soda bread, and look around. My window seat is perfect for people-watching.









The waitress, a cute Irish lass with red hair, brings lunch.

Afterwards, I mosy around the shopping district and check out the street scene. Dublin is alive with activity.











Lots of scooters abound, but only few motorbikes are visible.



I decide that since I am in Dublin, I'll head over to St. Patrick's Cathedral and say a few prayers for OM's wretched soul. I head over but start to wonder whether OM is Catholic or Protestant. Hmmmm, what to do? Well, I'll visit both, as surely he'll need all the help he can get.





After saying my peace, I step out and nearly get sideswiped by a horse drawn cart. OM must be Catholic.

Several blocks later, I arrive at St. Paddy's.















I light a candle for the Irish b%$#&@d. A few minutes later, and to hell with his soul. It's time to raise a pint. I head out to locate the Guiness factory, allegedly a short walk away.

Dublin has these great markets of old, with cool history behind their gates.

Another mile of walking, and I've arrived at the pearly gates.



But they won't have me. I'll have to spend some time in purgatory first. Again with the horse drawn carriages....





The inside of the Guiness factory is now a tourist attraction, and I'll have to navigate the various floors before I can have a pint at the altar.









I'm now on the fourth floor, but no closer to the beer down there.





At last, I reach the libations. And there's no one there to stop me from pouring pint after pint.

Time for a Guinness? Beat me by less than a minute. I knew it.

Nice pictures and RR Dave. :yahoo:

Hudson said:

... but start to wonder whether OM is Catholic or Protestant.

Click to expand...

Bastard.



(I'll let Beemerdons finish the tongue-lashing.)

I could NOT be more envious, HudMan. Strolling around Dublin. Breathing in the sweetness.

You're living the life, Dave.

You just prop me up to that bar and I'll think I've died and gone to heaven.

The time to stumble around the working class neighborhoods of Dublin is certainly NOT after having a few pints, but I fail to heed my own advice, . Grafton Street is nifty, but I want to see the "real" Dublin. I need not worry.







Color abounds in the greyest of landscapes.



























It's getting towards supper, so I wander into a store. If only we had this at our corner market.











Later that night, I wander the streets, soaking in the night views and getting ready to head out to Heathrow.



Dublin is fantastic, and I'm thoroughly enchanted with the Irish. So friendly. So full of mirth, with a slight smile and a hint of something mischeivous. I have to get back to Ireland and spend more time, especially in the country.

But not this trip.

I've got to see a man about a motorcycle.

Oh, the English. So polite. The signs on the curb to "look left" or "look right." They even chided me at the tube when headed into London from Heathrow.





The next morning, I was up bright and early and waiting outside England's oldest motorcycle apparel maker.



I'm a big Motoport fan, but nothing says "nerd" like wearing a bright high viz mesh jacket while riding on a 1956 Matchless Cafe. Or a Bonneville. Nope, time for a proper jacket.

Nothing at Lewis Leathers is off-the-rack. First, you select the right size from one of their many models.





Then, try it on for fit, and select your hides, options, etc.





And then wait. Quality takes time.

And that coat had best be period correct or ....

It was lunch time when I got finished, so I set out looking for a proper pub and some proper English grub. Found it just up the block.





After lunch, it was time to head out to the trains for the hour long train ride to Oxford.







Unless you accidently choose the local Oxford route, and not the express. Then you are looking at nearly a two hour trip.



An hour later, I arrived in Oxford. Luckily Gerry had taken the time to catch up on his sleep. It was dark when we set out and arrived at the house. His sweetheart had waited until we were close to the house, then popped the meal into the oven. By the time we arrived, a wonderful dinner was waiting.



The next morning when I awoke, I discovered that the "cottage" I had arrived in at night was this amazing converted barn, located on an amazing 66 acre farm set in the Cotswalds, with 14th century ruins located at the rear.









I wanted to explore the whole farm, but we had only until the afternoon when I had to catch my return flight. Stupid, stupid me for not finding a way to steal a few more days to enjoy this paradise. Next time, perhaps, and with my sweetie to keep company. We headed out for Gerry's factory.



Gerry drove around the farm into the town to visit the ruins. The town was a classic quaint Cotswald village.





We stopped at the church behind the property. It dates from the 13th century.









The ruins were just behind the church.









Inside the church, the Lord responsible for the original structure was buried in this cool tomb.





Stunning to think this is in your back yard and enjoyed by all in the village.

Nice jacket Dave, good thing winter is just sround the corner and you jacket should be ready by Spring. :yahoo: Great pictures!

Let me tell you a bit about Gerry Lisi. A true self made man, and a rennaisance one to boot. One of the finest persons I have ever come to know.

Gerry's dad was an Italian prisoner of war, who survived the death marches from the deserts of Africa to South Africa, where he was shipped to Oxford to serve out the war in a detention center. After a year, he was allowed to work on a local farm, where he tended the sheep and gained the trust of the local villagers. He eventually learned how to thatch the straw roofs around Faringdon, a craft he passed onto young Gerry. For twenty years, father and son worked long hours, and gained a strong reputation, to the point they could command significant sums to thatch a roof, and were in high demand.

In between roofs, Gerry became a mechanic, working hours at the local Austin plant, and learning all about engines. Many years later, after running his own business, he was able to save enough to buy the farm next to where his dad served out his prisoner work-relief. He turned it into a golf course, and successfully ran it.

Gerry's interest in motorcycles stemmed from an early age. The son of the farmer that owned the land his dad worked on as a prisoner, was a successful motocrosser in the 50's, and a young Gerry Lisi learned to ride on the farm. When his thatching business became successful, it allowed Gerry to enjoy motorcycles, and that love ultimately led him to become a customer of Pat French, the prior owner of Metisse. When Pat grew ill with cancer, it was Gerry that kept the Metisse business alive, and who ultimately purchased the assets after French's death.

Oh. And he sings opera, well enough to regularly serenade weddings by request.

You can see why I admire what Gerry's managed to accomplish. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

On the way out of town, Gerry passed his former apprentice who now follows in Gerry's steps, thatching roofs. He was hard at work on a local house.



We headed out to the factory, a short trip away.



Getting closer to town, Gerry veered off the road to show me the church where they film Downten Abbey.



It was still early and town was just starting to stir.







We arrived at the entrance to the factory, and my pulse began to quicken.

fuck me Dave its a bit long winded even for you!!!!!!!

R

Ok Fairlaner. I'll get to the motorcycles now, seeing as how you give a rats ass about anything else.

Arriving at the factory, the first bike I see is a custom Metisse built for a customer that is planning to circle the globe.



Once inside the factory, I get the A to Z tour on how these bikes get built. Gerry starts with the frame construction, pointing out the steel that will be measured, cut and formed into shape.



The pipes are formed using a special jig, and pressed into place to mark the weld spots.





Every frame is hand assembled this way. Harry, a young chap whose skills bely his age, scurries around the jig, carefully placing pipes and marking the weld spots, and moving faster than my camera can autofocus.







Harry then completes the welds, hanging the frames up for inspection, finishing, and ultimately plating in nickel. Harry is a true artisan, and his welds are perfection.







Metisse means, literally in French, a mongrel or half-breed. So historically, a Metisse consists primarily of the frame combined with a donor engine, traditionally a Triumph 650, but including pretty much any engine ever made. All around the shop are examples of transplants, ranging from single Matchless thumpers to Harley V-Twins to Nortons to BSAs.







Gerry's even playing with a Rotax engine from a BMW.



There's almost nothing that hasn't been stuffed onto a Rickman frame.

All around the shop are various examples, including a custom bobber that Harry's building for himself, and assorted classics.