I discovered the joys of biking only three years ago (I'm now 31) when my Mini was sold for scrap and I needed some cheap transport. I knew nothing about bikes so I went for,a clean looking H100, one lady owner, 10000 miles, two years old and £300. As soon as I'd squashed my large head into her small helmet and received some elementary instruction from the girl, I was off. Luckily, it was a beautiful, sunny afternoon.
Soon, with the wind blowing through light cotton slacks and a heavy woollen crew neck, I could suddenly understand just why some friends had enthusiastically waxed lyrical about obscure and seemingly stupid things like Dunstalls, Rickmans and the wind blowing over their German helmets.
I soon applied to take the test (some people must make a lot of money from the training thing) and looked forward to getting on a bigger bike, partly as an ego trip but also because after three months of hard use the Honda's engine appeared to be about to die.
By now the UMG was available, armed with its information and price guide I managed to reduce the price of a Suzuki 250 X7 from an optimistic £250 to a sensible £110. The owner was a large, 18 year old skinhead who was stretching the bounds of plausibility when he said it only needed a new horn to get its MOT.
I was so fired up after the test ride I decided to take it, even though the right indicator lamp came on with the brake lamp, the tank had a messy paint job of a graveyard and the Allspeeds were shot, all of which would make it a firm favourite with the police.
I knew I was going to have problems as I stood next to it two days later, massaging the over used muscles of my right leg. In fact, trying to kickstart the bike from cold was almost impossible - bump starting on a long steep hill was often the only answer. I eventually worked out that the K&Ns had weakened the starting mixture, a few adjustments of the carbs had the bike starting in one or two kicks.
There was plenty of noise and acceleration up to about 85mph before the redline came into view. Encouraged by this, I sorted out the wiring and got the horn working after sticking in a new battery. I checked the bike over, then went 25 miles to the MOT centre in the next town as my own was ultra strict and wouldn't have passed the bike if I spent hundreds on it. The mechanic prescribed new exhausts and some other bits before he could pass it.
I ordered new Allspeeds from a mail order company, after selling the H100 to my local dealer for £150. Off to the MOT centre again - this time the back tyre was on the wrong way round, the headlamp loose and some other minor problems. The journey back was murder with heavy driving snow cutting visibility on the motorway.
I was screaming with the cold when I arrived home.
Anyway, I fixed the various problems and started the journey to the MOT centre again - third time lucky, I hoped. Leaving a roundabout for the motorway, I started to burn off a cheeky car driver when the revs went off the dial and the bike slowed down. I thought the chain must have snapped, but on the hard shoulder I could see it was OK. The gearbox drive sprocket had come off its shaft and I had to hire a van to get the bike back home.
The next trip was also a failure. On the fifth trip to the MOT centre I finally received the certificate - I sold the bike to a boy racer for £40, a Pioneer amplifier and a nice four year old Kawasaki Z200, which I later sold for £180. All's well that ends well.
John Hopkin