The phone rang, an excited voice said, “Marty, I’ve got this neat BSA for you. The business and dead cheap. Useful for offroad work as well.” It immediately conjured up visions of big thumpers, that would rock the world with their torque. I said I'd be there yesterday and got the Jap crap (sorry, a very nice GB500 Honda) out pronto and tore the five miles to his humble abode.
What a disappointment. A somewhat tatty stroker, its only real concession to off-road work the front guard mounted under the fork yoke. The engine looked big enough to be a 125 but my spirits fell further when it turned out to be a mere 50cc. I don't want a bloody moped, I screamed at him, grievously insulted.
After I calmed down a little, I had a quick spin on the BSA Brigand. The exhaust wailed and smoked, it tore up to 45mph then refused to go any faster. It seemed OK for a fifty, its tattiness the reason for the £75 price. I was warned that the motor might go at any time but the chassis looked like it could take a bigger engine if the worst happened.
There were also Boxer and Beaver models, both based on the same chassis and Wop 50cc mill, as well as a 175cc Tracker, which looked very similar. Basically, the last gasp of the BSA company which had once been the biggest motorcycle producer in the whole world.
I came back the next day with the money and rode away, thinking of ways to sell the bike at a vast profit. The only way to placate the wife who went berserk at the thought of yet another motorcycle clogging up the garage. A mile, or so, from domestic bliss, the motor coughed, spluttered and died a death. I soon diagnosed that there wasn’t any spark at the plug and this was because the cap was loose. I got home but it turned out the whole electrical system was rotten.
It was all pretty basic and fixed up with bits I had in the garage. I tore the thing down to the frame for a quick clean and paint, leaving the motor alone. A weekend's work had it all in reasonable shape luckily, all the consumables had plenty of life left, the spares situation being desperate.
The clutch and brakes were incredibly heavy for such a tiny bike. The latter explained by the tiny drum brakes that looked like they had walked from a heavyweight push-bike. The gearchange was odd, to say the least, jumping out of gears without any warning. I soon learnt that the motor needed to be wound up all the time, the slightest hill or wind could have it down to 20mph if it fell out if its power band - this made the jumping gears a pure bit of nastiness. It was much improved when I changed the gearbox’s oil.
It was also easy to oil the plug when slogging away in town, giving me all the excuse I needed to imitate a juvenile delinquent. The bike was almost as light as a bicycle and usefully narrow for charging through gaps in the traffic. Just keep it wound up and all was well. It was better to twirl the bars than try to hit the brakes when someone got in the way.
A useful enough commuter if you're into that kind of thing, with about 100mpg even when thrashed. When starting became a twenty kick affair I whipped the cylinder head off - decoke time. Needed this every 1000 miles, a bit of a pain but I did use the cheapest stroker oil.
I went off the bike when my leggings caught on the back brake lever and I ended up with the bike in my lap. None of the amused peds rushed forward to help and I threw my spine out extracting myself from the mess, almost unable to kick the engine back into life. I guess, in retrospect, it was quite funny.
I should've taken the hint and sold the bike for £200 when offered the chance, but I found it useful for popping around town and the BSA’s decal received utmost reverence from the general populace. Better than a C90, and the like. The next little contretemps was the chain breaking and trying to take out my leg. Instead it just scarred my boot. The sprockets looked a bit hooked but I couldn't be bothered replacing them as well.
Against my better judgement, I decided to take the BSA for an off-road ramble. The Taiwanese tyres were like plastic on the grass, the thing skidding all over the shop until I was deposited in a large puddle... well it looked like a puddle but was a hole about two feet deep! The monster from the swamp had nothing on this kid. The bike had just slid along the damp ground, escaping any damage whatsoever, save for a couple of inches of deeply encrusted mud turning it temporarily into rat of the year. This ended my offroad excursions. Apart from the tyres, the all or nothing power delivery wasn't suited to dirt work.
One major hassle with such a light bike was that side-winds would try to scoop it up and throw it across the carriageway. Leaning at acute angles into the gale worked, but all it took was a temporary respite in its force (say, a tree in the way) to have the Brigand threatening to fall flat on its side and give me a nasty dose of gravel rash. Not even riding as slowly as an OAP helped, the thing was just flung around viciously, making it a toss up if I'd be back-ended or play chicken with oncoming cages. I kept a keen eye on the weather forecast.
One amusing incident happened when I was charging down this bit of country lane when the level crossing gates suddenly started to descend. I swear to this day that there was no warning whatsoever. Flat on the tank I wobbled over the track, feeling the breeze of the descending barrier on my neck. Another inch and I would've lost my head. No point trying to pull up in a hurry with those useless brakes. I could’ve fitted a better front end but that kind of investment just wasn't worth it.
By the time I'd done 3500 miles, added to the exhaust smoke were clutch rattle, piston slap and a knocking noise from the bottom end. But it still ran just as fast as before, so I just kept a hand over the clutch lever in case the worst happened... I’d picked up an old DT175 engine that looked like it would fit in the frame for when things got seriously out of line.
As if sensing my lack of faith, I suffered a spate of breaking cables, which I fixed myself, though it could have been a laugh to go into the local dealer and demand a new set. The bike was giving every indication of coming to the end of its life, the mileometer reading a mere 19400 miles.
I thought I’d give the advertising game a try, put it in for £275 and had about a hundred calls. I admitted that it was a bit tired but it didn't put off a few chaps who came charging across country to have a look. It was, when all was said and done, a BSA! They have minor cult status and £250's a fair price for a bike just in spares value - and that’s what I got for mine.
The new owner didn't want to know about the DT engine, even though it was no less foreign than the Wop mill fitted to the Brigand. I was very pleased with myself and even the wife was nice to me for a couple of days.
Martin Fine