BSA Bantam

Eleven years ago I needed transport to commute thirty four miles to work every day. So my father kindly spent £65 on a 1966 BSA Bantam D7 for me. After leaving school, my last long beautiful summer holiday was spent partly on restoring this bike. I tackled this job in ignorance but was helped by a very practical, knowledgeable father who had a well equipped workshop even a lathe.

The bike was a very faded red (not rust) and as it was my first machine it exuded a lot of mystique and charm. The dormant hulk in my father's workshop was the start of my love of motorcycling. It looked a friendly little machine with its rounded tank and side panels. None of my peers had one so it was different, my peers had little Yamaha fizzers and Honda 50 things. I wasn't ahead for long, my friends quickly obtained larger bikes while I stayed on the 175.

The frame, side panels and other bits were repainted black while the tank and mudguards were sprayed blue with those small cans that empty so quickly. I still think the tank was nice, chrome sides with factory made dents for your knees and two chrome ribs circling over the top of the tank. The tank badge was lovely in itself.

I bought a new seat cover and a second hand rack, which a friend welded on some brackets to make it fit the bike. The feet of the stand were also re-welded so that the bike could stand up and a new return spring fitted to avoid it trying to stand up when riding. I should have bought a new battery as the bike went through three rectifiers. A new headlamp reflector and a check of the electrical output might well have saved me many bleary-eyed nights searching from cats eye to cats eye.

However, as it was my first bike I had nothing to compare it with, and stupidly thought that all bikes were like that! I did begin to wonder, though, when a couple of Japanese bikes (the large variety) purred gracefully past me one night, leaving me feeling as if I had taken root.

The performance of the bike, bearing in mind that it was ten years old and very basic in design, was satisfactory one-up at the time. Later though, due to lack of tune-ups, the ability to go fast (over 50mph) disappeared. Once I gave a colleague a lift and the bike just couldn't make it going up a  slight slope; my passenger was laughing so much he had tears running down his cheeks. He owned a brand new Suzuki GT185 two stroke twin and there was just no comparison between the two bikes. After the Jap bike was on its third set of exhausts (under guarantee of course - loose baffles) he began to suspect that my humble Bantam would outlast his Suzuki.

As I set off for work one icy British morning, my father prophesied I would come off the bike. I confidently replied I wouldn't. After a slow seventeen miles I rode into the car park at work in smug triumph. Through the gates, down a_ long straight bit, sharp left-hand bend - fate stepped in. The bend was Norwich's first unofficial skating rink. I spun round like a top, people looking down on me with puzzled expressions. And for my next trick... fortunately, both of us were unharmed except for a scruff mark on the top box.

The Bantam had imitated a merry-go-round by pivoting on its ultra thick footrest, built to Chieftain tank standards. The only other accident happened to the bike whilst parked. The centre stand sank down on one side and the bike toppled over. This damaged the headlamp. If the bike had to go over I hoped it would fall on the left side, as there was a minimum of equipment - no mirror, no_ indicators, no exhaust, but a wonderful non-folding footrest doubling as a crash bar in disguise.

The good points about the bike were as follows: it was cheap, I didn't worry about alloy/chrome, people were interested in it, I met a lot of people that way. Enclosed suspension lasted a long time. The steering yoke had a stout lug with a hole in it for a padlock as there wasn't any ignition key - indeed the ignition system had an emergency start switch in case the battery was flat; maybe that's why I didn't bother about buying a new battery. The brakes didn't seize unlike these vulnerable disc affairs fitted to even humble commuter machinery (it could have done with a twin leading shoe set-up, though...).

After about a year, I think, I sold the bike as I just couldn't keep up with my friends 125 machines, let alone the more common 250 of those days. The man who bought my Bantam came back two days later to tell me that it was going backwards! Suppressing hysteria, I managed to tell him that if he brought it back I'd fix it. The timing had slipped 180° and being a two stroke the engine had changed direction. The man, though, took it to a dealer to be fixed. He sold it a week later, making a profit, so he was happy. I too was happy with a new Japanese machine - for a while.....

Simon Hallett