I don’t know who was coldest. The rumbling MZ or myself, shivering like I was about to crumble into a thousand pieces. Whose damn fool idea had it been to buy a motorcycle in January, anyway? Especially one so distant, needing a 50 mile trot through the country covered with an icy, foggy mist. The only consolation was that as the only one idiotic enough in the country to venture outdoors I had managed to grab an ETZ300 in prime nick for 300 notes, not bad for a three year old in 1990.
On that trip home I was to learn a lot about MZs. On Kraut tyres I found the handling exceptional over very nasty going - the tarmac was either treacherously damp or just plain icy. The riding position was so natural that I was soon as one with the machine. Progress was often down to walking pace. At times necessary to put both feet on the deck as I kept thinking the bike was surely going to flip sideways, but it never even came close - I had to wait until a bit later until we violently slid down the road.
As my hands and feet began to freeze solid I began to thank the gods that the little two stroke single was lacking in a serious powerband, necessitating much mad clutch and gearbox action... instead, I was able to leave her in fourth for most of the time, gently rolling on and off the throttle as required. The well oiled and totally enclosed final drive was snatch free even at walking pace - had it been in the open air I felt sure it would have seized solid before I'd got half a mile down the road.
It was that kind of day. I tried to fill my mind with Zen thoughts of hot, balmy beach times and roaring fires but failed dismally to convince, first, my extremities and then my whole body that they were not about to expire from exposure.
The concerned owner had offered to fit a full fairing for an extra fifty quid, but I had dismissed this wimpish offer out of hand... not that I had fifty quid to spare. I now cursed the government for my reduced state of affairs and in my mind, in a way totally lacking in Zen, burnt various ministers at the stake. But even this failed to warm me up.
The first problem emerged after a mere 22 miles. The front disc, Brembo caliper and all, seized solid. I had already found that it was tremendously powerful, as likely to send the wheel into a wild skid over the unkind surface as to bring me to a gradual, safe halt. So I had mostly relied on backing off the throttle and the rear brake, which had as much a wooden feel as my seized up from the cold leg, resulting in some quite spectacular slides. Such was the inherent stability in the chassis, though, that all I had to do was back off for an instant to allow the machine to flip back on to the straight and narrow.
Unfortunately, the front brake had seized on when I deemed it necessary to give it a tweak to lose some speed rapidly. Thus, we howled to a stop with frightening rapidity. MZs are tough buggers, there was no damage to the machine after it had slid down the road. Myself, I was so frozen solid that even if I'd broken a leg I doubted it would've registered! It was hell kicking the bike back into life but I somehow managed it, after taking off my glove and wielding the MZ’s copious toolkit.
A few dabs with my boot persuaded the front caliper to fly off, bounce off the forks a couple of times until the hose fell off. The front tyre took a dosing from the escaping fluid but didn’t melt on the spot. Thank God!
The journey continued with no other accidents despite or perhaps because of the lack of a working front brake. I was frozen in position, swearing my head off like a drunken seafarer, shaking so much that I couldn’t get hold of the ignition key when I finally rolled to a halt in my drive. Bike and I fell over in a heap and were only rescued by concerned neighbours, who were very understanding about the way their fence had collapsed on to their garden after being belted by my fast descending head.
Rather than put me off MZs for life, that first ride seemed to serve as a bonding ritual. Thereafter we formed a mutual admiration society. God help any wretch who laughed at my bright orange Iron Curtain wonder machine. I didn’t ride the bike again until late March... there was insurance and tax to save up for. But I cleaned and polished the Orange Pig, as I had affectionately christened her, and fixed the brake back on.
Come spring we were out on the road and ready for anything. In this case a daily grind into the office. Ten miles of horror (on always late buses) was turned into pure joy. The bike might not have much by way of power, although 25hp wasn’t that bad, but it was light (300lbs) and handled brilliantly. This down to a combination of stiff frame and taut suspension, the kind of combination mostly absent on Japanese commuters. The bike could, for instance, run rings around Benlys.
What I really liked was the precision of the front end, the feeling that the bike could be steered to within a millimetre of the required course. This soon led to a large amount of madness, as I pushed the ever so narrow MZ through increasingly small gaps in the traffic at a terrific pace. On dry roads the power of the front disc enabled amazingly rapid cut and thrust actions that left bigger bikes rolling about in my wake like stranded whales. The trip that had taken over an hour on the bus could now be done in less than ten minutes on the bike.
The time gained was put to good use, doing overtime to earn some much needed extra money.
As the summer months came on, the bike was used for running around at the weekend and in the evening. It didn't take too kindly to pillions, losing most of its acceleration and going very light at the front. I have done a couple of long trips, about 450 miles in a day. Comfort is better than could be expected, mostly down to the well balanced riding position which is as comfortable in town as it is at an 80mph cruise, which for most of the time is the practical top speed.
The second accident involved an ancient Ford Cortina that deemed it necessary to do a sudden U-turn across four lanes of traffic. We both thought that it was the other’s fault so a loud shouting match developed. The slob was about twice his proper weight and sported a horrible baseball cap which I promptly knocked off his head with a quick right hook. He didn’t get up in a hurry.
I had time to ride the MZ away, despite the fact that the forks were bent and the wheel buckled. Handling was strange, a determined grip and lot of counter-steer necessary to stop the MZ running off the road. New bits were cheap and available over the counter.
The next winter I fitted a full fairing. That one experience of poor weather had been so bad to convince me that it wasn't wimpishness but the only way to continue riding through the cold and wet months. The fairing was an ancient Rickman without a decent line to its name but it provided total body protection in the worst gales the country could hurl at it.
Handling went to pot, mind you, above 65mph but I could live with that in exchange for feet and hands that didn’t die a death after a few miles of winter riding. The bike was also badly affected by sidewinds with the huge chunk of GRP fitted. The fairing was torn off with the first hint of spring.
In the past two years there were only the two above mentioned tarmac encounters. The MZ has clocked up 19650 miles of such reliable running that there's nothing, in typical UMG style, traumatic to report. I could complain about the fuel economy, I suppose, around 45mpg, or the lack of speed for motorway work, but that would be churlish given that it has otherwise done everything demanded of it and cost next to nothing in consumables.
Spares now cost a lot more and new prices are reaching Jap levels - if I wanted to sell the MZ now I'd make a good profit on the deal. But I can’t bear to part with her!
John Slade