I started my motorcycling obsession with a brand new BSA Bantam 175 D5 in 1958. To date, I've owned around 40 bikes, and much to the amusement of my long suffering wife there doesn't appear to be a cure for this affliction. As you can imagine, I've indulged in a fair amount of buying and selling over the years and the advice in UMG 61 holds true now as much as it did when I first took to the Queens Highway in 1958.
Then it was boom time for the industry. As far as the secondhand market was concerned it was almost all Brit stuff, with plenty of oil spewing engines that had been used and abused by ignorant, spanner wielding owners. The cycle parts were invariably subject to a constant spray of preservatives from the engine or transmission, so rust and corrosion wasn't much of a problem. The same couldn't be said for modern bikes but most of the rules of buying remain the same. Past issues of the UMG have been full of articles on buying bikes but what I needed was comment on the various problems encountered when selling bikes!
Some time ago I acquired a derelict Yamaha RD125LC. It had steering at both ends, a rear chain that resembled a well used washing line, front suspension that provided constant lube for riders' knees and a whole host of rider/owner bodges. The only redeeming feature was the near new chrome exhaust system. I knew exactly what I was getting. A heap!
So why on earth did I even give it consideration? Have I learnt nothing over the years? In my early years I would buy a bike for many reasons - apart from the nubile attracting qualities of the machine, economy and performance may have been considered. As the years and bikes passed by, I found myself running more than one bike at a time. The fun factor was, and is, always a key feature but I know that heaps equal large amounts of disappearing dosh and one usually gets to a point where expenditure is beginning to get near market value and then the project is almost like gambling. You can't stop...just a bit more cash and it's a runner.
That was the story but now it's a more high tech world, where electrical components can't be brought back to life with an application of DIY and every other part's the throw-away variety. Wheels and tyres can be a major problem. Alloy wheels can be a disaster area and the wide range of tyre sizes is surely the reason for the high cost.
In my experience pattern parts are okay for short term ownership but if the bike is going to remain part of your life for any great length of time, steer clear of them. Incidentally, can anyone explain why inner-tubes that I have bought have two flats on the valve stem. Do you know where I can buy an inflator to suit a valve stem with flats on it? Is there a garage in the land with such an inflator on the forecourt. Anyway, analysis for my reasons for being unable to resist the challenge of a non-runner are impossible to resolve.
Many hours and pounds sterling later, I had built up a fun hack that resembled a rocket-powered razor blade. Oh, to have had such a projectile when I was 18! The refurbishment of the Yam was an education. I concentrated on the cycle parts and in particular the front end. Nothing less than a complete strip/rebuild would resolve the problems.
The head bearings had been adjusted by a gorilla with a scaffold pole and the fork leg oil seals were no more than cosmetic. Bearings, seals and gaitors set me back more than I anticipated but I have to confess to being in a financial time warp (join the club - Ed) with my 1963 Triumph. There was more grit and gravel in the petrol tank than you'd find in a water treatment plant and it took a lot of go-juice to flush the rubbish out.
Rear wheel steering was caused by loose bearings. A trip to the local motor factor provided a little bottle of wonder juice which filled the gap between bearing and hub. Within minutes wonder juice had cured all the problems and after removal of a cupful of cancer dust from the brake drum I assembled the wheel complete with new Chinese no-grip rubber.
With nuts rounding, bolts shearing and screws snapping I removed bits and pieces for further attention. Various interesting trips to the breakers provided missing parts such as very expensive side-panels or, rare as hens teeth, centrestand. What I couldn't get hold of was a generator.
After a few grin provoking rides the motor had started to sulk and my old right knee was resembling jelly before the evil little stroker would fire up. An exchange stator from a West Country firm sorted out the aggro and from then on it was all go. After a time the noise, smoke and pushbike performance up to 6k became as exciting as an hour in a disco, so it had to go. So it was off to the local newsagent with an advert and a call to the county newspaper with a three-liner.
First caller was responding to the shop window ad.
''Still got the bike?''
''Yes I have.''
''What is it?''
Strange I thought, Yamaha RD 125LC seemed pretty specific, but I put on a friendly customer comes first voice and told him.
''Right, can I come to see it?''
I described the tortuous route to our humble abode and agreed an ETA. Arrival of the punter coincided with ETA, at which time Medallion Man climbed out of his rusty X reg Escort and strode purposefully up the drive to where I was - in the garage, having just installed a new 12 volt battery in the Yam.
Medallion man circled the Yamaha, grunting as he did so and jabbing his stubby, grubby forefinger at various components. I was doing the sales chat and eventually asked if he was interested.
''It's not the model I thought and it's too high a price,'' he said.
''What model are you after then?''
''A DT at around £350,'' he grunted. I felt like telling him to piss off but the size of his fist persuaded me otherwise. I ventured to suggest that he was wasting his time having already been told exactly what model it was and the price expected. With a final grunt he sloped off and disappeared in a haze of smoke and rust dust.
The next enthusiastic caller regaled me with tales of Yamaha ownership and the various RD models he had owned - and the fact that each one of them had scared the shit out of his Bonnie owning dad. Yes, I really needed to know all that, get to the point please. Meanwhile my tea was getting cold and my wife was making threatening noises, having slaved over a hot stove for hours. Enthusiastic caller said he would visit in half an hour. I had quite a few callers like that. They didn't arrive either.
The following day there were more calls, including a middleaged lady looking for a 125 to learn on. I stayed in several times for punters who didn't appear. Shortly after the expiry of the ETA for one of them, the phone rang.
''You selling a bike?''
''Yes, that's right.''
''What's wrong with it?''
All my pent up frustration exploded, ''What do you mean. There's nothing bloody well wrong with it and if you're going to damn well waste my time you had better piss off!''
Shocked, apologetic mutterings from the other end of the line followed by a request to come and see it. I explained that it wasn't really convenient, being early evening and getting dark but he could come if he wished. He explained that he was on the way to a wedding reception! Was he serious? I decided to put him off until Sunday morning.
Sunday morning dawned bright and warm. Still no rain to lay the dust which seemed drawn to the Yam's petrol tank. Ten o'clock was ETA. Plenty of time to get stuck into mucking about with our 22 year old VW camper van. The punter actually arrived on time! Good omen, I thought. Friendly enough young chap arrived in a 205 jam-jar with writing on it to remind him what it was and what the engine contained.
At least he didn't have a zero IQ hat on, although a reversed baseball cap would have gone well with the various earrings and oversize trainer boots. He accepted my apology for my outburst on the dog and bone, my brief explanation obviously struck a chord as he had recently sold his previous car. On uncovering the Yam I thought how good it looked in the morning sun. Perhaps I should keep it after all. But no, it's got to go.
He prowled around the Yam in a predatory mode. Questions revealed that he was a learner and wanted it to get to work. I suggested that he would have so much fun on the Yam he would never get to work. At tales of an indicated 90mph lit his eyes up but asked if a learner could ride such a projectile. I muttered something about a detune but they fell on deaf ears. Oh well, I suppose he knew what he was doing and
I left him to have a close look while I disappeared indoors to get the paperwork. On my return he said he'd have it. Didn't want a test ride or even to sit on it but he let me start it up for him!
Petrol on. Instant flood from leaky tap washer which I had been unable to get anywhere. Killswitch on. Hold choke out. Ignition on and kick with no throttle. Frantic noise and clouds of pollutants indicated life at first prod as usual. He was very impressed as I blipped it up to 5000rpm just to give him a feel for it.
Now for the haggling, I thought, as he confirmed it was a smart bike and he would have it. I invited him into the hub of the household and offered a drink, which was politely refused. He responded by pulling out his cheque book and pen, giving it to me, requesting that I fill in the details. What have we here, I thought. Visions of lottery money went through my mind as he asked if a cheque would be okay or would I wait for cash. I recounted tales of Dunlopillo cheques and explained that a cheque would be okay but that the Yam would not more until a CR appeared in out bank account. He went away to await my confirmation via the telephone.
Amazingly, he'd arrived on time, wandered around the bike, listened to my sales chat and didn't ask any questions or check anything. Fortunately for him, I am a mature wrinkly who believes in having everything on a bike spot on but not necessarily concours. Maybe something about me and the bike told him that he was getting a good deal or maybe his heart ruled his head and he allowed his youthful enthusiasm to get the better of him. I like to think that it was the former emotion that applied and all the previous agrro faded from my mind.
In conclusion. Attempting to refurbish a heap on the cheap is not the route to millionaire status and there seems to be an inexhaustible supply of time wasters out there. Tips for selling bikes should include getting the price right and extreme patience.
Oh yes, I missed something out. The DVLA had, for some reason, mislaid certain paperwork. I was rash enough to compare frame number with document number and promptly returned the document for a small amendment. That started an administrative nightmare over a period of months before, eventually, I was issued with a Q-plate. Very desirable and apparently it added to the street cred of the Yamaha.
And have I learnt anything? Doesn't appear so, because I now have an almost beyond help CD200 Benly. It's a tasteful green and brown colour. Not paint, mind you, mould and moss on just about everything; and rust where moss hasn't been able to grow...
David Brindley