I stood in that cold sea–container for a good two hours, listening to the rain do its best to puncture it and to Jon as he told me tales that made my life, which I’d previously thought was quite interesting, seem very dull. Equally dull would be to say ‘Jon Aston makes hardtail frames’ and nothing more. People don’t buy frames from welders, they buy them from someone who can stir in emotion, experience and a dedication to riding as inextinguishable as the Olympic flame. People like Jon Chickens with smashing stories to tell. Take that name, “My friend’s three year old daughter Amber dubbed me ‘Jon Chickens’ because I keep chickens. Please note the pluralisation I am not Chicken, I are Chickens. My fame, I believe, has now spread as far as the southernmost borders of Surrey and as far west as Petworth’. See.

The story of how he ended up here, doing this, is part of why an increasing number of his frames are seeking out chalky singletrack on the South Downs and back–siding booters in Wilds Park.

Like a lot of raggers, Jon considers a Bontrager as his first proper All Terrain Bike. Behind his eyes a million good times are being replayed and he says, “That bike is what it’s all about for me. Straight, clean lines put together in a devastatingly effective way. I hope I build frames people will love as much as I still love the Bonty”. But it nearly didn’t happen at all, but for a crash a few years ago. “I worked as a road bike frame builder for Enigma. I dislocated my wrist at an event I organised called the Big Dog, which is a six hour enduro in Brighton’s Stammer Park with a big party on the beach afterwards. I needed an operation and since you can’t build frames with one hand my career at Enigma was cut short. Looking back, that was a blessing because now it is just me and it can finally be all about the off–road”. But all the passion in the world isn’t going to sugar the pill that building frames on your own for a living takes expensive specialist equipment which is big, hard to find and very, very heavy.

Jon again, “I’d been after a milling machine for a year when eventually I came across Mike. Well into his 80s, Mike had made parts for F1 motorbike teams (the fore–runner to World Superbike) from his garage. He told me he’d raced flat track at Brighton’s Preston Park ‘when it was cinders’ and we talked for hours. He asked if I needed a lathe as well plus the machine tools he’d made. I said I’d love to take them but had no money or space which was when Mike said he wasn’t well and wanted to ‘get his affairs in order’ whilst he still could…’. He totally bought into what I was doing and sold me the three tons of post war motorsport history for scrap price because he knew they’d be used to put more smiles on faces after he’d gone. He gave me a month to find the rest of the money and another to find somewhere to put it. He even helped crowbar it for eight hours to get it onto the truck. I genuinely couldn’t have started without Mike’s help”. Jon stops mid flow and I realise the sound of the rain of the roof of the tin box we’re in is deafening. With a smile he asks me if I’ve got a bit of swarf in my eye. ‘Yeah, must be’ I say as I respectfully take my brew off the lathe’s top.>>