Buying and Selling

It all started by accident. This old chap, three doors down the road, had a sixties Honda SS125 stashed in the back of his garage. Odd looking thing but it was all in one piece and kicked over. A deal was done. I'd do his garden every Sunday for the next two months in return for immediate possession of the Honda. I was sixteen at the time and full of a mad kind of enthusiasm for all things two-wheeled (this was 1985). A tatty manual, a box of cables and some dead looking engine parts were handed over.

New engine oil, new spark plugs, points cleaned up and set using the radio trick (it clicks when the points open!), cleaning off all the corrosion and polishing the paint produced one still dead motorcycle. That exhausted all my meagre skills. Dad's misspent youth on British tackle came in handy at this point. His advice, heat the plugs up and get them back in the cylinder head quickly. Several burnt fingers later, the engine was making some promising noises but still wouldn't start. More heating of the plugs, this time the old man doing a bump start. The bike burped into life and Dad did a quick circuit of the area. Big grins all round.

I had six months to go until I was seventeen, put an advert in the paper for 350 notes, a new MOT secured with suspicious ease. The bike was a bit faded but original, the spare cables replaced the original ones which were rotted with age and a set of cheapo Taiwanese tyres from the breaker took care of the rubber. The electrics were dangerous, the brakes marginal and the looks so odd that it was obviously a classic in the making. However, cheap insurance and learner legality meant it went for the asking price within two days of the advert!

I'd never had so much money before! Rather than be sensible, wait until I was seventeen to buy a proper bike, I wanted my kicks right then. In the form of an early FS1E, the 50mph model! Mother threw a tantrum but kept the bile for Dad! The FS1E didn't actually run at that point, something to do with a seized piston. A hundred quid to buy, another thirty notes for used piston and barrel. The old barrel had corroded into the crankcase, needed some real effort on the hammer to extract it. At this point I realised that the crankshaft's bearings and seals were shot! One rebuilt crankshaft later I was on the road.

The FS1E seemed bloody fast, even after some runs on the 125SS, which needed time to wind itself up into a frenzy. The Yamaha was all crackle, pop and snap. Its SLS drum brakes were frighteningly lacking in power, slamming the anchors on at 50mph caused massive fade. The bike locked on to its forward vector when the brakes were on, despite weighing only 200lbs, couldn't be shifted on to a safer line! This was a learning experience I could do without, ended up cracking my crash helmet and scarring my knees! Luckily, dad's old leather jacket still gave useful protection and had loads of street cred, though it got me barred from the local pubs (peasants) - I was quite a big lad for sixteen and didn't usually have any problems.

The FS1E went through several used pistons and bores, was beginning to rattle its big-ends by the time I was seventeen. I'd got 11000 miles out of the little chump and learnt the necessary survival techniques. If I'd been rich I would've kept it as a memento of a misspent youth, but I wasn't so it had to go to fund the next bike. At a nice profit, too!

The local rag turned up a non-running YB100. Hardly the bike of my dreams but it was only fifty quid, bargained down to thirty notes! At some point the engine had turned molten, ended up one solid lump of alloy that not even application of a welding torch could free up! Still, the chassis was in good shape, newish consumables and a reasonable shine - it was only five years old.

A trawl around the breakers revealed some nasty dogs (canine and machines both) and silly prices, but stubbornness paid off in the form of a partially stripped mill for forty quid - at least I could see what kind of shape it was in. Some artistic work with the file soon modified the ports and a degutted exhaust gave it a delightful yowl - it wasn't the kind of bike that you could put a spannie on, not unless you wanted to become a laughing stock.

Good for 70mph, which was all the chassis could take, not to mention the brakes which faded away to nothing. In the first weeks I almost died a couple of times and decided the bike would have to go. Sold it at a very nice profit just in time to pick up a Suzuki B120 for forty notes. Ran, but not properly. Sorted that with a new condensor (car part, less than a quid but you have to run a wire out from the points). Sold that in a week, too embarrassing to be seen riding around on it. But it got me through the motorcycle test! I dressed up all sensible and ownership of such a dull machine obviously emphasized my lack of insanity. Once I got the bit of paper I did a wheelie in celebration; broke the Bloop's chain in two!

My first motorcycle proper was an RD250. This had been given the business - spannies, race carbs, wild porting, clip-ons, etc. It would crack the ton without any effort, real speed for a seventeen year old. I kept charging into corners about 20mph too fast, wobbling around on an eccentric line and then giving the throttle what-for on the exit. One friend got off the back, threw up, ran away, muttering something about never again, never again... He was supposedly a hardcase.

The Yamaha had done about 50,000 miles, been rebuilt many times and when it went it was a real flier. Unfortunately, the plugs would oil up on a whim, it stuttered unhappily at low revs and screamed insanely everywhere else in the rev range. Judging by the way they took an especial interest in my progress, the cops were absolutely wowed away by the Yamaha. They kept on handing out these commendations!

Needless to say, didn't take me long to blow the stroker up into a million little pieces. This happened several times before I got wise, went through all the cash I'd built up and in the end it was due for another expensive rebuild. Which I didn't have the dosh for. A very addictive experience, though, that first real bike! Somewhat wiser and a lot poorer it was time to move on.

In 1987 the choice of cheap machinery wasn't exactly excessive. I'd managed to get a job in a bank, meant the availability of an easy and cheap loan. I should've know better than to bother with dealers, but the lust was high and the money burning a hole in my pocket. At the tender age of eighteen, working in a bank defined the meaning of boredom and I needed some motorcycling kicks. Enter a three year old Suzuki GSX400F.

Not the wisest choice of machinery but such knowledge was rare on the ground back then. Determined to get some serious mileage out of the four stroke four, I bought a workshop manual and was religious about the servicing. With its marginal sump size it's vitally important to do 500 mile services and the valve clearances don't stay within their limits, need a look over at a similar mileage. Having said all that, it was quite nippy and able to put 110mph on the clock without much effort. And I did about 60,000 miles in three years! Because I paid cash effectively, I got a reasonable price off the dealer and didn't lose much money when I came to exchange it for something bigger.

I'd done a bit of wheeling and dealing along the way, somehow getting into buying dead Vespa scooters and doing them up. Bloody horrible things but the motors were easy to work on and spares ridiculously cheap. I even rode one into work during the winter - good protection but a wobbly back end that skidded all over the place.

Made a few hundred quid on each. Problem was I kept getting these hot flushes for some serious tackle, kept wanting to blow all my dosh on some superbike. Losing the job at the bank was largely a matter of indifference, being twenty in 1989 I still had my whole life ahead of me. An early GSXR750 beckoned, as did the Continent. The guy happily took the little 400 in part exchange, the reason for his grin evident as soon as I did more than a few minutes on the big, state of the art, Suzuki. An extremely fast but totally unforgiving plank.

The only way to ride the GSXR was at ten-tenths. It wasn't as finicky as the old RD in the way it laid down its power, but the riding position was excruciating unless there was a 100mph gale to lean into. I didn't think the police officers in London would understand this view. After a weekend with the bike I decided it was entirely unsuited to a Continental jaunt. Some work needed. This mostly involved tearing off the plastic, fitting a handlebar conversion kit, a new headlamp and re-upholstered seat. The old street-fighter route. The raised bars absolutely transformed the beast, don't know why the factory didn't do it from new.

Whatever expectations I had of the Continent were soon ruined by the French plod who bankrupted me. They seemed vastly amused at the 150mph I'd clocked up and happily robbed me of all my money. The only other choice appeared to be machine confiscation and a sojourn in jail. I always learn the hard way! There followed a few weeks hard graft, working in a Nice bar and fending off the attention of the waiters. They were all shirt-lifters! Saved by a customer who was wild for the GSXR and insisted on giving me a handsome profit!

Flush with the money, I bought this old Honda CB450 twin. 1973 but still in one piece, purring away. I think it was an ex-plod bike but it motored along faster than the GSX400F, with a hammer blow of torque come 6500 revs. Economical, too, doing 70mpg all the way down to Italy despite my keeping 80mph plus on the clock. In Rome I sold the Honda to this South African guy who reckoned they were valuable classics back home. I managed to stop myself wincing until he'd handed over the dosh - that accent summoned up visions of mass slaughter.

Being in Italy there was only one machine to buy. Yep, a Ducati. An old style 750SS, as it happens. The deal was buy cheap in Italy and make a huge profit in the UK. Took me three years to get home. I fell for an Italian gal in a big way, was also overwhelmed by the character of the Italian steed. Pure lust ruled. Back in Blighty I was loathe to part with the Ducati but eventually gave in. A massive profit but I felt really gutted.

Older and wiser, the next half decade consisted of despatching on a series of UJM's. The key, sell them just before serious expense was invoked. I only messed up once, a CBX550 that not only broke its camchain but merged its valves with the pistons, effectively writing off the whole engine. Couldn't find a replacement motor for love nor money. Ended up fitting an XS400 mill and riding the bike into an early grave. Overall, though, I made loads of dosh despatching and often made a profit on the bike despite putting 20-30,000 miles on the clock!

Several near misses and narrow escapes convinced me that I was running out of luck as a DR. I ended up working for one of the big London dealers, on commission! It's kind of amusing to have to deal with people just like myself, coming in with all sorts of dogs they demand huge part-exchange values on! No wonder the sticker prices are so demented. I do a bit of work on the side, as well, picking up the better dogs that we do take in part-ex for low prices and then punting them out after a bit of a tidy - the dealer can't be bothered with such minor pickings but it all adds up.

The other advantage of working for a dealer's trade prices - I'm now the proud owner of a Yamaha R1! And it's bloody marvellous, I'm like a kid let loose in a candy store. 

F.G.