The history of the ace

I was lucky enough to travel down to the Ace recently with my mate Bill. Now, Bill grew up just up the road in Watford, and he’s now well into his seventies. The man has seen it all. But the coolest bit? Flicking through one of the official Ace Cafe published books they have there, and right there on the pages is Bill himself. An original, bona fide Ton-Up Boy.

Seeing him standing there in the place he used to run ragged back in the day makes you realize this isn't just a cafe; it's a living history book. People spend thousands of pounds these days trying to buy the vintage look and the biker lifestyle, but old-school boys like Bill lived it for real when it was loud, dangerous, and pure grease.

You can argue about carburetors, frame geometries, or custom paint jobs until you're blue in the face, but there is one absolute truth every single rider agrees on. You simply cannot go wrong with a massive, dripping bacon butty and a steaming hot cuppa from the counter. It’ll see you right every single time. It’s loud, it smells like grease and unburnt fuel, and sharing a brew there with a bloke who actually helped build the whole bloody legend is exactly how motorcycle culture is supposed to feel. Proper job.