Pazon - Ignitions with a 7 1/2 year warranty

About our site

Hi, I'm Debbie, partner in PAZON IGNITIONS, and this is our story.

Horses and software, what a way to start a career in producing ignitions for classic bikes

The road to classic bike passion
Designing ignitions for classic motor bikes became a passion for Andy after being employed in several jobs, from software engineer on microcontroller systems to working on radar and communications equipment for the Ministry Of Defence.  He landed a job at Boyer Bransden back in 1990 and very quickly ended up involved in the software development on several ignition systems.

4 Legs to 2 Wheels
In the meantime I had a career training horses for competition, my attention to detail was noticed by Ernie Bransden, as his wife has horses, and offered me a job.  So I went from 4 legs to 2 wheels, and found to my astonishment that I loved it.

Sparks flew at first sight
This is where Andy and I met, it was sparks at first sight (pardon the pun) where we soon rose to director level, but felt classic bike owners deserved a better product and we could not achieve this at Boyer Bransden.  So in 2004 we went out on our own.

Taking the big leap
Taking this leap seemed second nature to us and we've never looked back.  Andy now produces ignitions systems on the cutting edge of technology, as bikers deserve the best.  These classic bikes are treasures and should be looked upon as such, so keeping them on the road gives us a great sense of achievement.

The big move
This is the next big adventure for Pazon Ignitions, moving from the UK to the other side of the world: New Zealand.  This move has allowed us the freedom to follow our dreams, to grow Pazon into the kind of company that every classic bike rider deserves.

Of course, moving to New Zealand - one of the most beautiful countries on the planet - has allowed us to own a little piece of paradise.  Sheep are a must, not ours of course -we’ve borrowed our neighbours. You can't have land in New Zealand and not have sheep on it.  It's a given, and what fun they are.  I (that's me Debbie) didn't realize they have personalities too.  We have a little orphan called Wingnut.  I know you shouldn't name them, but she’s a gem.

She is like a wild street kid, getting into mischief everywhere she turns.  If there’s a fence to go under, you’ll find her on the other side, as the grass is always greener.  I've never seen a sheep so independent; she has a mind completely of her own.  She’s an odd looking thing, but a complete joy to watch.

Getting away from sheep for a moment and back to bikes, our slice of paradise will allow us to build our own workshop, giving Andy the time and the space to develop new systems.

New team members
Wingnut has become part of the Pazon team, and we are now also taking on full-time staff.
This will of course allow us to give you better service and a quicker response times to your orders.
All of us here at Pazon, that's me Debbie of course, Andy and newest member of staff Peter (and not forgetting Wingnut) wish you safe, happy and reliable riding.

If you would like to read the full Wingnut story, I’ll let our neighbour tell you herself.

So over to Susan Moore-Jones……

Wingnut The Unconquerable
by Susan Moore-Jones

There have been lighter moments in winter’s damp gloom. One of those was Wingnut, so named for her remarkable ears, which seemed to be intended for an animal at least twice her size.

Born of a Suffolk (Blackface) mother and a Dorset father, Wingnut had the diminutive head and shoulders of her mother’s breed while inheriting the ears of her father’s.  The resultant elfin look ensured she was instantly enchanting, which made it all the more distressing when her mother became terminally ill.

 Wingnut The Unconquerable
Unrealised by us Wingnut ceased to receive milk and took to eating grass long before her little system was fully ready for the transition. Consequently she was undersized with a little pot belly and when her mother eventually died despite the vet’s efforts to cure her, I decided, against my husband’s sensible advice, we should bottle-feed her.

I duly purchased at huge expense, a special lamb-formula milk powder and a teat. Wingnut however, had long ago eschewed milk and treasured her independence. She had no intention of being babied and fed from a bottle. The wide green pastures called. The crook, which I managed to hook around her neck at least three times, proved no barrier to her freedom. A few twists and agile leaps and she was off.

Young Metrosexual Male Relative, staying for the weekend with a couple of his friends, helpfully swapped designer leisure shoes for gumboots, designer jeans for overalls and, accompanied by his similarly camouflaged friends, sallied forth confidently to capture the lively lamb. Two drains, three fences and four paddocks later, a desperate rugby tackle did actually capture the lamb and the severely humbled young men returned to the house to remove muddied overalls and boots.

Meanwhile I imprisoned one hot and bothered small lamb in the chook house and set off to heat the bottle of milk. Far from relishing the milk as I expected, Wingnut chewed the rubber teat, spat out the milk, and bleated pitifully to the rest of the flock to come and rescue her. In typically ovine fashion they ignored her pleas and continued to apply all their attention to the grass in front of their noses.

After managing to get perhaps a few tablespoons of milk into her tummy (the rest in her wool and on the grass) I decided, in the light of her pitiful calls, it was best to fit a collar and leash so she could be tethered amongst the flock while still being able to be captured for feeding until she got used to coming when called for her milk. Searching in my husband’s workshop I eventually located a suitable leather strap with a buckle, punched some holes to fit it to her tiny neck and added a length of strong twine to complete the tether. The collar fitted well and looked quite smart. With the twine I tied her to a fence which bordered a shelter where she could keep dry. Next I decided some hay for her to lie in would help her to keep warm as all the other lambs had mothers to snuggle up against. Off I trudged back to the barn and returned carrying a great armful of hay in front of me.

During my absence Wingnut had resigned herself to being on a leash and was sitting down resting after her Olympics-qualifying performance. One look however at the monster coming towards her, all bushy and huge and probably intent on devouring her in one mouthful and she was through the fence, dragging her leash . Off she dashed at truly astonishing velocity, powered by raw terror.
The end of the leash was reached, a slight check as the collar pulled, then broke and Wingnut, realising she was free of any encumbrance, leaped in the air and high stepped with alacrity off into the paddock, triumph and pride in every fibre of her woolly little being. Never have I seen such expressiveness in a sheep!
I would not have robbed her of that moment of supreme triumph for all the milk powder in the world.

It was at that point I decided the catching was more traumatising to her than the feeding was worth.
Wingnut formed a liaison with another independently minded youngster and together they specialised in grazing grass growing on the other side of the fence, guiltily struggling back through to the right side whenever they saw us coming!  Recently I have noticed this has ceased and guess it has now become too difficult to squeeze through as they have grown.

Although noticeably smaller than her peers, Wingnut continues to this day to forage alongside the rest of the sheep, secure perhaps in the knowledge that her pluck and personality have ensured for ever, her safety from the freezer.

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