Bicycle, photographs & story by Bruce Robbins

I have to confess right at the start that I was looking for a Hobbs of Barbican frame when I stumbled across my Flying Scot track bike.

Having been convinced of the merits of fixed gear bikes by that persuasive old fox Sheldon Brown, I had already got my hands on a 1950s Claud Butler frame that lent itself quite neatly to a single speed conversion. However, my father used a fixed gear Hobbs bike more than 50 years ago when he was in his early twenties and, out of pure nostalgia, I fancied putting together a similar machine. (Incidentally, before I learned to appreciate fixed gear cycling, I asked my dad why he made do all those years with just one gear. "Only lassies need more than one gear," was his answer. But didn't you have to get off your bike on steep hills? "Only lassies get off their bikes on hills". Apologies to all the lassies out there who could probably grind me into the ground.)

Hobbs bikes were never that common in their hey-day and are even rarer now. My inquiries eventually led me to the home of a club racer who apparently had an unknown bike of approximately the right age hanging in his garage. Could it be an elusive Hobbs? Unfortunately, the chap, Frank Coupar, had died some months previously and the bike turned out to be a Scot.

This bike, as is the case with many old cycles, came with a considerable background and it's a history that imparts a heavy burden on the new owner.

Frank, who lived in Dundee on Scotland's east coast, just a forty minute drive from Bob's Stonehaven shop, had owned it from new, covering many thousands of miles on it.

As was the custom before car ownership became widespread, he would use his bike to take him to the race or track meet, strip it of mudguards, brakes and anything else deemed unnecessary on the day, compete and then put it all back together again for the ride home. Despite being a genuine track bike, it therefore had drillings for front and rear brakes and clearance for mudguards.

It was, according to his wife, his pride and joy and he would think little of "just popping out for a hundred miler". Although the bike is now mine, I can't help but feeling that it will somehow remain Frank's. Certainly, that's the way I'll always think of it.

Over the years, the Scot, it must be said, had suffered quite badly. Fifteen years of dust had settled on the upper surface of every frame tube and component, providing a nice, retentive "sponge" for any moisture that might be about - and we get plenty of that in Scotland.

As a result, much of the paintwork was eaten away and everything else was either rusted or corroded. My delight at discovering a 51-year-old bike that seemed completely original was quickly tempered by the realisation that many of the components were beyond economical repair.

The front Conloy Asp wheel rim was holed from half a century's use; the Lyotard rat trap pedals were badly rusted; the severely corroded side pull brakes were different models; the Chater Lea cranks had rusted through in places and been given a quick spray with some silver paint, presumably to keep up appearances at club meetings, and the Brooks Sprinter saddle, with the usual scuff marks around the edges, had also started to curve inwards at the sides as it dried out, rendering its normally slim profile even more emaciated. The GB brake levers were not a matched pair, either.

I began to build up a picture of a bike that had been used with just a front brake for many years, hence the wear on the front rim, and had then had a rear brake added, probably for touring as the racing years passed.

It was obvious, then, that unless I could source identical replacement parts, some of the bike's originality would have to be lost. While it would have been possible, eventually, to accumulate the proper bits, it was at this stage that I decided to stick closely to the spirit of the bike rather than slavishly trying to restore it to its works specification. With a 1960 Cinelli Super Corsa in my shed awaiting a complete restoration, too, there was already no shortage of things to do to pass away the long winter nights.

Those parts that were serviceable were the rear wheel with high flange British Hub hub, Strata seatpost, and the track bars and Ambrosio stem.

When it came to the frame, drastic action was needed. It looked as if it would need a re-spray and so nothing would be lost in trying to give it a bit of lustre. Bob described how he had brought a GB stem back to life by rubbing it with very fine sandpaper and metal polish so I thought I would give it a go.

Using 1500 grit paper and metal polish, I scrubbed away at the paint surfaces and managed to smooth most of the rough, pitted marks. After a good bit more rubbing, the surface began to take on a shine and further polishing with car wax had it, if not quite gleaming, then at least a bit shinier and protected from the elements.

Black marks that had eaten through most of the paint layers still remain and the frame is very obviously old and well-used but it's a patina that fits the bike's age very well indeed. The down tube and seat tube decals are still there and reasonably complete although the enameling in the head badge has faded quite badly.

I started to rebuild the bike using the Chater Lea cranks, stripped of their silver paint, and a pair of SR (not Super Record!) pedals but I wasn't entirely happy with this combination! The Cinelli had brought with it BSA cottered cranks and inch-pitch chainring and a pair of Campagnolo Record track pedals so these were cleaned up and pressed into service. The chrome-plated cranks came up like knew after being rubbed with scrunched up aluminium cooking foil and metal polish by my ten and eight-year-old boys, Cameron and Finlay. I never cease to be amazed at what lurks beneath the layers of muck often to be found on old bikes (or wee boys for that matter). The Chater Leas might be put back on after they have been rechromed - a process that will cost about £15-£20.

A Brooks Pro saddle and Modolo brakes/levers that also came in a sack of parts with the Cinelli were transferred over, too. I had intended to use these brakes on the Italian bike but their drop was too great and a bit strange that they wouldn't fit a 1960 road bike but were okay on a 1950 track machine. Had the Scot come with matching brakes, I would have used them but the front was a Coureur Plus while the rear was only identified as a "Hiduminium model". The Ambrosio stem polished up reasonably well with the same tin foil/metal polish approach but the track bars, too deep and narrow for comfort on a road bike, were ditched.

A pal, who has a vast collection of vintage bikes, built up a pair of wheels using my high flange Campagnolo hubs and Fiamme sprint rims taking the rear wheel from the Scot as payment. He was also able to supply an inch-pitch chain and rear sprocket. The 46-tooth chainring and 10-tooth sprocket give it a 62-inch gear.

I quite like brightly-coloured bikes but the Scot is a fairly uninspiring metallic blue so I plumped for blue cork handlebar tape to tone in with the blue Bluemels mudguards and black Brooks saddle.

After much soul - not to mention wallet - searching, I decided to stick with the original paintwork, certainly for the time being. It's shiny-scruffy but, right now, I prefer that to a new enamel finish. If I do eventually have it painted, it will probably be to kill off any rust that re-emerges.

As it is, the bike is a dream on the road. The steeper angles, possibly helped by the inch-pitch set-up, mean that it is much more responsive than my Claud Butler. The gearing is probably a little low for flattish terrain but fine for the hills around my country home. The Scot is the first bike I've had with tubulars and, in all honesty, I can't say I've noticed a great difference. Still, it's a track bike so I'll stick with them and hope I don't get any punctures!

It's now the turn of the Cinelli to get some attention but another Flying Scot is looming on the horizon. It's a 1950s road bike, again used for many years by a club racer, and would make a lovely companion for the tracker if the owner can be persuaded to part with it. Italy's finest may have to take a back seat yet again...




Bruce Robbins