It was the beginning of the legendary Ace Cafe, 1938, just before the Second World War on the outskirts of London, England,

a roadside diner catering to hungry truckers, travelers, and eventually motorcyclists, where 24 hours a day you could stop in for a plate of good food and take a break from the road.

It caught on quickly, the business grew, but just two years into it, the Second World War had begun, when an air raid bomb

meant for the nearby rail yard struck the cafe killing no one but completely destroying

the diner.

The dust had hardly settled before they had a temporary

building up and the Ace Cafe operating again and later they would rebuild it and

it would become an iconic gathering place for rebel teenagers looking for thrills after World War II.

It grew into a crazy scene like something out of the Wild West.

They would drop a coin in a jute box, run outside, jump on their motorcycles,

race to a predetermined turning point, and try to return before the song ended.

It was the beginning of what was called The Ton-Up Boys, a name for a seemingly endless stream of daring, even reckless riders that would push

their bikes over 100 mile per hour racing down public streets.

Many of those riders were killed in horrible crashes while they tried to outdo one another

and the tonne up boys and rock and roll earned the Ace Cafe a reputation as a rough and tumble

hangout for bikers and even with a bad reputation and the crashes they and as well as ate at the cafe. That was until motorcycle sales peaked at the end of the

50s. Then all that excitement fizzled away with the introduction of the

mini. A tiny car that was cheaper to buy than to Triumph Bonneville and kept you warm and dry in the cold weather.

It was sort of a shift in society, the thinking and ideals.

More people began driving cars, and 1969 the Ace Cafe became a memory.

Turning off the coffee makers and grill and locking the door.

It was the end of an era.

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