I have learnt everything in life the hard way. Not being able to fly, having a bank that bounces cheques, that having a little willie gets no sympathy and, worst of all, that there is no such thing as a cheap BMW. That serves the bastard right, I hear you cry - he's probably some old git with piles, a dog called Disraeli and lives in Yorkshire. Well, almost correct but not quite.
The MZ was tired and emotional, another season on the salt strewn roads of Last Of The Summer Wine country had finally done it in. It was winter hacked to extinction and like an old blind pony I was going to release it to the status of Sunday morning thrashes in a nearby quarry site. With a little bit stashed away for the inevitable oil filter and furry dice I had a bulge in my pocket and 500 quid in my hand. I needed something with presence, prestige and a bad attitude,
Several tea chests later I had wasted enough time with: The Bewildered ('He left it here years ago, I'm not sure what it's worth'); The Terminally Nervous ('Alright then you can have it for £50') and The Belligerent ('Look, if you don't want it f..k right off'). Who are these people? Why would they think I would give them £500 for a box of Lambretta parts?
I rang round. The news on the grapevine was that N & N, the local breaker, had just returned from the Smoke with a wagon (as in lorry) full of tasty salvage. Naturally, I was last to find out and arrived to see the very final item, a bashed but working CX500, complete with fairing, panniers, colour TV, etc going out of the door, escorted by a smiling dummy who'd paid £400 for it.
Before I could leave one of the owners pointed to a shrouded thing in the corner. I whipped off the cover to reveal the dirtiest bike I have ever seen, the things in the tea chests were out of the Bike Show by comparison. It was an ex-cop, twin shock R80, circa 1982, that had been stolen from the law and pushed into a gravel pit.
It was mine for a mere 400 notes, complete with scuffed panniers still full of old Durex and associated products. It fitted the bill a treat, as it could be made to have presence, prestige and an attitude, just like a Raleigh Wisp. I reflected for a moment, panicked at the thought of not having a bike for an indefinite period and gave him the money. Why do we do it? Why not just give it to charity or someone with large breasts and a sense of humour?
I'd bought the bike for a variety of reasons, including work in all weathers, with a bit of a trot out to Skipton and maybe even the Lakes on Sundays, and the possibility of gratuitous sex in Sunderland one weekend in four - this would probably mean an average mileage of 8000 a year. As only The Man With Two Willies would contemplate risking gratuitous sex once a week I decided to go the whole hog - I joined the BMW club.
Yes, it's true they do have a ladies section, wear Gortex underwear and consider anyone not riding a BMW as being beyond the pale. They also have the best tool library outside of Bavaria, a jolly useful magazine with a letters page straight out of Practical Basket Case Monthly and...er, a social life that is best described as Terry and June. In short if you're after true love, gratuitous sex or even just a quick shag give this side of the club a miss, hire yourself a clutch-puller and use plenty of Vaseline.
Plates on a former cop bike are no guide to condition - a ratty D reg is often the same money as a tidy Y reg. Due to the renewal policy of each force, age varies between three, five or even eight years. During this time the bike could've been to the moon and back (motorway duties) or Ealing Broadway (escort only). Without having a spy in the camp it's difficult to know the exact mileage your chosen BM might've done due to the policy of fitting zeroed speedos to bikes awaiting disposal. Clever sods!
I spent the next three months sorting the beast out, as with any real adventure not knowing where you are going is all part of the fun - allegedly. Not being clever enough for a total rebuild I left the frame intact and divided the work up into motor, electrics, suspension and bodywork. The balanced view from an old man at the BMW club was that the motor was sound and that I should throw the rest away as the cops service them very nicely but do bugger all in the way of decent cleaning - as with most things in life he was only partially correct - the motor needed chucking as well.
That initial diagnosis was correct. Basically it was shagged, needing a rebore, perhaps new mains and certainly new rings. After much discussion, phone calls and a trip to several local specialists, I felt it would be better to part exchange the existing lump for a secondhand replacement for £300. I then had a motor with a bit more life than Jimmy Saville on steroids and one that would, even with my tiny penis, get me north once a month for gratuitous sex.
Considering the age, wear and tear on a cop bike, it's surprising that anything still worked - especially the wiring harness. I stripped it out completely, sprayed it with Gunk and meticulously cleaned each and every connector. After a further inspection I breathed a sigh of relief, no need for a replacement harness, all wires intact and in place. As I was now becoming a familiar sight at the local BMW breakers, various bits were offered to me quite cheaply, including a nearly new coil and plug leads for a tenner.
The beast needed some serious work in the suspension department, including rechroming of the stanchions, new fork seals and replacement springs. Luckily, the shocks were okay. New wheel bearings, pads and shoes were also fitted. The wheels themselves were in good condition, unlike the tyres which required junking in favour of a pair of mail order Continentals.
A prime reason for the initial purchase had been to buy a bike already fitted with a fairing. Yes, I'm a softy - see you on the M62 in November without one? The RT fairing as fitted to the bike was filthy and scratched badly in several places but all in one piece and cleaned up a treat, although why someone had carved porker on the inside lower left bit puzzles me to this day. The police panniers are too small for touring but alright for tools and a small bit of overnight kit.
The bill for the cheap BMW after three months of hard work and hardly any bodging came to £920 including what I paid for it! I now have a tattoo on my bottom that reads, There Is No Such Thing As A Cheap BMW!
However, what I do have is a bike with presence (with the fairing and a dayglow jacket most cagers move over quickly), prestige (well, in my eyes, anyway) and a bad attitude (it still looks mean, hombre, ready to nick you for just being there). It returns 40mpg, costs me a £100 fully comp and lives outside all the time now, as the garage is full of winter projects.
The day of the MOT arrived and went without fuss. The following Sunday I went out to Skipton to give it a go on the bypass with my mate on his R100. Whipping up the box to an indicated 90mph, the bike ran smoothly but of course this was not fast enough for the inevitable Sierra driver who arrived, flashing at our little convoy to move over. As Lardarse waddled past, grinning in the way that only these people can, I noticed a fleck of white in the mirror, flashing my mate we slowed and awaited events.
Within seconds a white police K100 was alongside and then gone. A mile up the road the Sierra was pulled over and the book was out. We waved happily which caused the driver to splutter and point, the cop ignoring both him and us except for booking Lardarse. I decided that this was one lucky bike, with presence, prestige and a bad attitude.....
MZ