In 1952, Tudor demonstrated the reliability of its new Oyster Prince by placing it on the wrist of a competitor in the 1,000 mile Monaco International Trophy motorcycle race. At the time, it was the ultimate test of watch, machine and man. Some 65 years later, Tudor asked me to recreate the original test while wearing the new Black Bay Chronograph. As a motoring and adventure travel journalist, I leapt at the opportunity, and set about planning how this could be achieved. When I heard about The Great Mile, a 1,000-mile motorcycle rally from Castle Mey in the north of Scotland, all the way down to The Lizard in Cornwall, I knew this would be the perfect testing ground. Naturally, over the past 65 years, both motorcycles and watches have developed exponentially, but 1,000 miles is still a long way, and with the altogether unpredictable climes of the British Isles, I knew it was going to be long, tough, and undeniably wet.
And so I firmly fastened the Chronograph to my wrist, packed my kit into a duffle bag, strapped it onto a new 1,200cc café-racer Harley-Davidson Sportster, and made my way to the start line. As the longest motorcycle rally in the country for vintage and custom motorcycles, with upwards of 10 hours riding per day, I felt that this was the event to prove the Tudor’s worth.
As the flag dropped on the first stage, so too did the rain. My leather garments were saturated within minutes, and saturated they remained for 350 miles through the Highlands and into Glencoe. Yet watch, machine and man all made it through in good order and in good spirits. Day two saw us hammering through the Lake District, with Windermere and Coniston glistening in the sporadic sunshine, and the summer greens of the flora around hinting at their imminent metamorphosis. Waking early to clear skies on the penultimate day, we rode hard for 12 hours through Snowdonia and deep into the Brecon Beacons, before dragging our exhausted bodies to our tents, knowing that the following day would be our last. Thunderous rain roused us all early on the final morning, and drenched us within seconds. The Tudor’s saturated denim strap clung tight to my wrist as I rode stubbornly into the driving rain, through Exmoor and Dartmoor, and down to The Lizard, where the sun finally appeared, as if in appreciation of our exploratory feat.
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From torturous rain and howling wind, to warming sunshine and clear blue skies, not once did watch, machine or man falter. In an ode to the can-do British attitude of old, my comrades and I battled on to complete The Great Mile in four days, and did so in high spirits throughout.
“And the Tudor?” I hear you ask.
“Marvellous throughout, old chap, absolutely marvellous.”
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