Barry Sheene’s Last Ride

I've had a handful of epic moments in the 31 years since I joined the staff of Motorcyclist. But racing against world champions Freddie Spencer, Wayne Gardner and Barry Sheene at the 2002 Goodwood Revival meeting on an original G50 Matchless—an ultra-rare racing motorcycle worth an easy six figures—probably tops the list.

As is usually the case with special stuff like this, you gotta know somebody. And in my case that somebody was longtime moto-journalist and good friend Alan Cathcart, who I'd hired to be Motorcyclist's European editor 10 years prior. Whenever I'd visit the UK for an event there—Isle of Man, races on the Big Benly CB750 at Silverstone or Mallory Park, GP or World Superbike races—I'd stay with Cathcart and his lovely family. I got to know them quite well over the years.

In the summer of 2002, Cathcart phoned me with some news. “Mitch,” he said solemnly, “I’ve secured you an entry for the Goodwood Revival. [Pause.] You mustn’t miss this. [Big pause.] Barry Sheene is sick [Sheene had recently been diagnosed with cancer], but I think he’ll make it. Freddie Spencer is confirmed, as is Wayne Gardner. You and Freddie will be the first Americans to compete at the Revival, which is an honor. You can ride my G50 Matchless, which I’ve just had prepped. What do you say?”

At first I thought Cathcart was referring to the annual Festival of Speed, which is an annual hillclimb event featuring historic racing vehicles held on the grounds of Charles Gordon-Lennox’s Goodwood House, just east of Portsmouth. But I misunderstood. Cathcart quickly reminded me that the Revival meeting was a real race, on a real motor circuit, one with loads of racing, WWII aviation and English history. Of course, there was also the fact that I’d be riding an honest-to-gosh GP machine, albeit one from the early 1960s. Couldn’t say no to that, of course.

A few months later I flew to Heathrow, grabbed a rental car and drove north to Cathcart's home in rural England. After a grand dinner with the family that night (I'd not seen them since my Isle of Man trip there two years earlier), Alan, myself and his son Andrew headed to Richard Peckett's shop the next day to grab the G50 (where it'd been race-prepped) and then to Mallory Park, where we'd do a quick shakedown to see how things worked. Aside from too-soft suspension the bike worked fine, and while I was clearly too big for it, the G50 and I got along okay despite the fact that it not only shifted backwards, but also on the right side. Ugh. Now I'd have two things to think about instead of just one.

On the way south to Goodwood I asked Alan how competitive his bike would be against the handfuls of specially prepped G50s, Manx Nortons, and other exotics that would end up filling the Revival grid that weekend. “Chassis-wise,” he said, “pretty competitive. Powerwise? Not so much, as it’s basically stock.” Of course, as I’d come to find out, the Revival would be more celebration than race, in ways that would only later reveal themselves.

The Revival meeting is a true time warp, an event that, if you didn't know better, you could easily think was plucked directly from the 1950s or ’60s and dropped into our current century. The circuit itself is an ex-RAF airstrip that was turned into a racing facility after WWII. It hosted many exceptional races with equally exceptional racers, including Geoff Duke, Graham Hill, Carroll Shelby, Jim Clark, Roger Penske, Innes Ireland, and Lotus founder Colin Chapman. Safety and noise concerns shuttered the track in ’66, and it lay dormant until Charles March—the “Earl of March”—put a plan together to resurrect the circuit in the mid 1990s, though with a historic bias. The first Goodwood Revival meeting took place on the restored Goodwood grounds September 18-20, 1998, 50 years to the day since the circuit’s opening.

The track surface, grounds and facilities are now modern, though the buildings, grandstands and such are done up in period colors and graphics, which gives the impression of a true event from the ‘50s or ‘60s. And because the vast majority of enthusiastic fans wear period garb, and since you can’t even get into the paddock unless you’re wearing a one-piece mechanics coverall or a tie, just walking around can give you the historical willies. Everyone gets into the act, and with all vehicles in the paddock being from the same period. You really can’t help smiling as you take in the scene.

Cathcart was aboard a 350cc Aermacchi, so my crew chief for the weekend would be my old friend Patrick Bodden, who also built and owns the Big Benly Honda CB750 I raced in AHRMA events for many years. As we got ready for practice I started to feel really apprehensive, and not only because it was raining. This G50, which Cathcart had bought in the early ’70s and raced in classic events into the ’80s, was a hugely valuable item. Crashing it by riding too hard, or by downshifting and high-siding at the exit of a corner due to shift-pattern confusion, would be ugly. Cathcart, though, seemed completely unfazed by the possibility, and I distinctly remember wondering how he did kept calm. I’d have been a wreck in his shoes.

That first practice session was interesting, especially when a guy in black leathers ripped by me at what looked like twice the lean angle and 20 mph faster in a quick, right-hand kink with an uphill/downhill crest at the apex. It was Wayne Gardner, of course, and I remember mouthing these exact words as he motored off into the distance, water spray flying off the back wheel: "That's why those guys are world champions."

Cathcart and I qualified 15th and 16th, respectively, right in the middle of a pack, and would start next to each other the following day. Spencer, aboard a million-dollar MV Agusta he simply could not crash, was a row or two behind us, while Gardner and Sheene occupied grid spots one and two up front. Alongside and just behind them would be a host of Britain’s fastest classic guys (on some of the trickest and fastest vintage bikes on the planet), including John Cronshaw (G50), Bill Swallow (Aermacchi), ex-GP ace Charles “Chas” Mortimer (Manx), Gordon Russell (Manx), Mick Hemmings (G50), Tim Jackson (Manx) and others.

At the start of race one on Saturday (Sunday would host race two) the classic guys—Cronshaw, Jackson, Swallow, etc.—went for it immediately and held nothing back. Sheene and Gardner waited a lap or two and then slowly moved to the front, trading places with one another and giving the crowd a helluva show as the classic guys chewed at their Avons from a few bikelengths behind.

I saw very little of this, of course, after bogging the engine at the start and finding myself about 15th at the end of lap one. With Cathcart a few positions ahead of me and in sight, I put my head down, not wanting to embarrass myself but also not wanting to turn his lovely G50 into a sugar donut. I passed a couple riders as I got the hang of the real race pace aboard the Matchless, and then passed Cathcart a few laps later for 11th. Cathcart ended up 13th when his clutch began slip late in the race, but both of us were thrilled at the end. Just being out there on that legendary circuit with those world champions, and with the large crowd waving from the grandstrands, made it a very special race for us.

For 500cc world champs Gardner and Sheene it was nip and tuck all the way, with Gardner getting past Sheene in the final corner, and winning by a bike length. There had been some good-natured talk at the riders’ meeting earlier in the day about putting on a good show for the crowd. I remember Sheene saying something like, “We’ve got to put on a show for the spectators. How about we all muck about for six laps? Then it’s every man for himself.” The torrid early pace by the locals mostly pushed that idea aside, though Gardner and Sheene’s run through the front runners ended up being hugely exciting for fans anyway.

Sunday’s race wasn’t all that different from Saturday’s—closely run and very exciting. The same guys blasted away at the start, with Sheene and Gardner slowly making their way to the front with several insane passes (from what I heard later, anyway). On the final lap, just as before, Sheene led the way, but this time Gardner made the pass early, on the long back Lavant Straight. But when Gardner got in too hot and drifted wide in the fast Woodcote corner several hundred yards before the chicane and finish line, Sheene got back by, and even Gardner’s wild attempt at another chicane-exit pass—as in Saturday’s race—wasn’t enough. Barry Sheene, with 2-1 finishes to Gardner’s 1-2 tally, had won the day, which somehow seemed wholly appropriate.

Cathcart and I ran together for the entirety of race two, he a second or two behind me, and me too worried about crashing to look behind me to realize it. We settled into a rhythm about a half-second quicker than we’d run the previous day, and were mostly unopposed, finishing 12th and 13th respectively, for overall weekend finishes of 11th and 12th. Spencer, unfortunately, didn’t ride on Sunday, choosing to fly home with his daughter, who’d broken her arm the day before playing in a local park. (She was fine.)

With his win, Barry Sheene won the Lennox Cup, the motorcycle trophy for the weekend, along with the hearts of the 30,000-some fans, many of whom were probably wondering if that would be Bazza’s final race. “It was great fun racing against Wayne today,” Sheene said later, a lovely wreath around his neck. “I hope to see him again next year.”

Earlier that morning I’d bumped into Gardner just after the riders’ meeting. “Just like yesterday, then?” I asked. He winked and said, “Yeah, but I very much know this weekend is for Barry.” As I watched them during the victory celebration, I couldn’t help but admire Gardner’s respectful and gracious gesture—if there indeed was a gesture involved. Gardner’s a great racer, but a gentleman, too.

Later that afternoon, with the sun diving toward the horizon on what was a perfectly warm and sunny late-summer day, Sheene invited Cathcart, his wife Stella, and myself for a ride in his turbine-powered MV Agusta helicopter, which was sitting nearby in the infield. Sheene flew brilliantly, and offered us a stunning view of the southern British coastline in the facing sunlight. An hour later were back on the ground, yakking about bikes and flying and, eventually, Sheene’s efforts to stall his throat cancer. It was a personal and touching ending to what had been one of the most interesting and rewarding weekends of my life.

It was also the last time I’d ever see Barry Sheene. He died six months later, on March 10, 2003.

As I’ve looked back on that experience, I’ve always felt that it was entirely appropriate that Barry Sheene’s final race took place at Goodwood. The place and the Revival itself are nothing if not a grand celebration of the great people and achievements in motorsport—and two-time 500c world champion Sheene certainly qualifies there. For him to have made his racing exit there—and to have won in such exciting fashion—is a great tribute, and one that thousands of fans will remember forever.

A year later, the Goodwood folks honored Sheene by naming the Lennox Cup the Barry Sheene Memorial Trophy.

How entirely fitting.

For more information about the 2016 Goodwood Revival, September 9–11, 2016, click on www.goodwood.co.uk