The rumbling little Honda C70 expired in a spectacular manner. And it almost took me with it. We were bouncing along a congested city street when the front wheel hit a huge pot-hole. The suspension was so shot and loose that the bars were twisted out of my grip. I had time to hurl some abuse at the bike. Then I was thrown off into the path of a red bus. How he avoided running me down I don’t know, but he did. The C70, meantime, scraped the side off an Escort, ending up under its rear axle.
I had half my shirt torn off and a painful amount of skin burnt into the gravel. Plus a few bruises after ricocheting off the side of the bus. The poor old Honda and Escort were locked in a fatal embrace. Both were written off. As I had no insurance it seemed like a good time to disappear into the surging crowds.
After a painful visitation to the hospital it was time to bring out my reserve bike. What could be worse than an ancient, decrepit step thru? An equally old and wrecked MZ 150. That it still ran was a testament to Iron Curtain engineering. I had spent some excessive time welding the rear subframe. Also, the wheels had been painted matt black. Other than that, it was just as you'd expect an 80000 mile stroker to be.
I had not done too many miles on her up until then. The gearbox being restricted to just second and third had not inspired much favour. Top speed was a tank buzzing 50mph. Acceleration just about able to keep up with an invalid carriage. Brakes totally lacking in predictability. A huge cloud of blue smoke clung to the machine whilst the engine ticked over. Those were just the good points!
I was soon piloting this device on my daily commute into work. I kept telling myself that the twenty kicks needed for starting was a good form of exercise. This was whether the motor was hot or cold. Something to do with an aged spark plug that had corroded into the cylinder head. The engine made such a racket I hardly ever heard the exhaust. It sort of pinged, rattled and knocked at the same time. Much amusement was had watching peds leap out of the way as I crawled along the gutter. They probably thought a dustbin was rolling down on them.
The first day’s commute went well enough. I ignored the rude gestures and shouts from onlookers. The second day the points closed up, causing massive explosions in the exhaust. Some poor copper hit the deck in panic, thinking the IRA had arrived. By the time he was afoot again I had ridden the bike behind a lorry, out of sight. A safe distance away I spent an hour sorting the problem. My mates in work reckoned it would be safer and faster to walk.
Two weeks and 400 miles later, the engine vibration and noise reached ferocious levels. Riding home from work in the dark I was not surprised when all the pitiful lights blew. I carried on regardless, but three miles from home the MZ ground to a halt. The engine was seized solid. After waiting half an hour for the alloy to cool it freed up. Starting needed about fifty kicks. By the time I arrived home I was a physical wreck.
After many years of hacks the breed was really beginning to piss me off. Because so many people were resorting to them as cheap transport there was a huge shortage. For ten to twenty notes it was all but impossible to pick up anything that ran. My disillusionment lasted for about a week. Forced on to a pedal cycle I was reduced to a nervous and physical wreck. Every car driver appeared totally affronted that I was able to use the road for free. Only years of motorcycle trained I reflexes saved me from death.
Salvation came in the unlikely form of an old Raleigh moped. A neighbour dug out this mechanical horror from the back of his shed. Grease covered and complete, he assured me that it still ran. Really nothing more than a small bicycle with an engine attached to the back wheel. I spent a weekend pedalling furiously up and down the back lane. The new spark plug I'd fitted was duff!
The Raleigh managed about 30mph on the flat. Up steep hills I had to pedal like a madman to keep the momentum going. From a standing start it was also necessary to pedal. I soon learnt to ride it like a bicycle, keeping up the momentum. It squirreled through incredibly small traffic gaps. Small kids would run alongside, trying to pull me off. Everyone in work thought I was mad but it was incredibly cheap to run. About 150mpg! I used it for about two months until a motorcycle dealer offered me £250 for it. Apparently in certain circles they are collector's pieces. No accounting for tastes.
As I'd swapped it for an old set of ladders I was well ahead on the deal. Someone in work was selling a Suzuki B120 for a tenner as it was a non-runner. The piston rings were seized up and broken but the bore was still usable. The bike had sat rotting away for a couple of years, so there was a lot of rust and perished rubber. I ignored all that and put the bike into the usual commuting chores. All the way to work there was a terrible graunching noise. The bike lurched and grated, like the transmission was about to fall out. The full chain enclosure hid a rusted taut chain with no sign of oil. I used some grease out of the garage at work. Hoping it’d free up whilst I toiled away for ten hours.
The ride was just as bad homewards. Nothing for it but to strip off the chain, replace it with a length I had in my garage. I ignored the missing teeth on the sprockets. Transmission was much improved after that. Seven punctures in the next five days convinced me of the need for a newish set of tyres and tubes. They cost more than I'd paid for the bike which threw me into a despondent mood.
As week followed week various bits rusted off or perished through. I discarded those which could not be fixed with Araldite or a welding torch. Or replacement with the bits of old motorcycle that littered my garage. There was very little that I could say about the B120. It was a typical hack that required a lot of effort to keep going and wouldn't top 50mph. Brakes, handling and starting ability were all in heart attack country.
I suppose you could say the B120, and its like, were never boring to ride. The death grip on the bars and ever present knowledge that the engine was going to lock solid saw to that. The B120 escaped that fate. Its demise was unique in my hacking experience. I had forced the bouncing bike up to 55mph on a late night foray into the countryside. The lights were pathetic, of course. Combined with a cloud suddenly obscuring the moon, we never saw the sharp bend. The first I knew of our leaving the tarmac was the bike butting me in the balls. Then the front wheel dug in throwing me over the bars. I landed in a huge clump of brambles which closed in around me. It was extremely painful extracting myself. The bike had torn itself apart. The frame had snapped, the two halves flung way. apart. There was nothing for it but to stagger the three miles home.
I had planned to persuade a neighbour to use his car in a rescue mission the next day. When I awoke I nearly fainted when I saw my image in the mirror. I was transformed into a monster. Huge red pimples had formed where the brambles had broken through my skin. Which was pretty much everywhere. My face was bloated beyond recognition, I could have made a fortune playing the elephant man in the movies! The doctor was summoned and he assured me I would recover in a few days. I never left the house until my features were back to normal.
I still had a hundred notes left and tracked down a Honda CG125 for £75. Rough but running, this 1981 example had been around the clock at least once. The owner reckoned the engine was out of a later model but did not know which. True to form, top speed was about 50mph and the heap bounced all over the road. I soon found out that the death rattle from the engine was serious. A pint of oil was needed every 50 miles and fuel was only 45mpg.
After eight days of mild use the engine locked solid, the back wheel skidding along the road. We slid to a halt in a tangled heap of flesh and metal. I pushed the brute home after removing the chain. Every bolt I tried to remove snapped off. Even the rear wheel spindle sheared off when I tried to undo the nut. The whole thing was rusted and corroded beyond restitution. I felt really ripped off... in hacking terms £75 should have bought a device that would last for years!
Another MZ came along, this time a ratty 250 that refused to run. An ETZ, that like the CG had been around the clock. Mine if I took it away! That was more like it! I had a spare engine in the garage. I stripped the two motors and used the best bits from each. Simple and good quality engineering made a pleasant change from the Japanese crap. Still, most of the bits had seen better days.
The resulting creation only needed ten to twelve kicks to start, ran up to an astounding 65mph and handled OK if all you were used to were ancient hacks. Mine had so much slack in the suspension it could only bounce all over the place. Disconcerting rather than underpant soiling. The drive chain kept falling off which added to the amusement and unpredictability of every trip. This was eventually traced to a non-standard rear wheel that was way out of alignment. A couple of spacers put the chain to rights.
There were other problems. There always are! The fuel kept cutting off - a decades worth of crud in the petrol tank. The perished wiring caused small fires and blew bulbs. The front wheel bearings were on the way out and the guard kept falling off. Nevertheless, with the usual bodging, over six months were done.
Failure was the simultaneous demise of a number of chassis and engine components. It was too expensive to fix (tyres, pads, shoes, crankshaft bearings, pistons, etc). It joined the large pile of junk in the garage. I was forced to use the pushbike for the next three weeks. I was so desperate that when a horrible C50 was offered for twenty pounds, I grabbed it with both hands. This was dog slow, about 25mph down a hill with a strong following wind. Fuel was okay at 85mpg and oil consumption was reasonable in hack-land at a pint every 120 miles. It was the handling that really got me. I am used to old motorcycles but the way this thing bounced all over the road really tried my nerves. I think it was down to the shot linkages in the front forks. Or maybe the worn Cheng Shens that floated over the road as if it was ice.
I soon decided that I was riding a death-trap and that my days were numbered. I even took to the pushbike again on several occasions after I'd really frightened myself. Trouble was that the engine continued to whirr away and I was loathe to give up before I had to. Which perhaps explains why a year later I’m still bopping about on the terrible C50. I did fit a set of slightly less used tyres and put some washers and grease in the linkages. To no avail. I have fallen off at least twenty times. The thing is so slow and light that I have just stepped clear of the bike. The poor old C50 has rolled, slid and on one occasion somersaulted down the road.
Cars have been seriously damaged but the tough little Honda just shrugs it off. Usually, the motor is still running, so I just step back on and keep going. The C50-90 range must have the toughest engines in the world but the rest is crap. The pressed steel frame eventually rusts through from the inside out. To be truthful, I can’t wait for that to happen to mine, but until it does I’m stuck with the ultimate hack!
Bert Willows