It all started by accident. This old chap,
three doors down the road, had a sixties Honda SS125 stashed in
the back of his garage. Odd looking thing but it was all in one
piece and kicked over. A deal was done. I'd do his garden every
Sunday for the next two months in return for immediate possession
of the Honda. I was sixteen at the time and full of a mad kind
of enthusiasm for all things two-wheeled (this was 1985). A tatty
manual, a box of cables and some dead looking engine parts were
handed over.
New engine oil, new spark plugs, points cleaned
up and set using the radio trick (it clicks when the points open!),
cleaning off all the corrosion and polishing the paint produced
one still dead motorcycle. That exhausted all my meagre skills.
Dad's misspent youth on British tackle came in handy at this point.
His advice, heat the plugs up and get them back in the cylinder
head quickly. Several burnt fingers later, the engine was making
some promising noises but still wouldn't start. More heating of
the plugs, this time the old man doing a bump start. The bike
burped into life and Dad did a quick circuit of the area. Big
grins all round.
I had six months to go until I was seventeen,
put an advert in the paper for 350 notes, a new MOT secured with
suspicious ease. The bike was a bit faded but original, the spare
cables replaced the original ones which were rotted with age and
a set of cheapo Taiwanese tyres from the breaker took care of
the rubber. The electrics were dangerous, the brakes marginal
and the looks so odd that it was obviously a classic in the making.
However, cheap insurance and learner legality meant it went for
the asking price within two days of the advert!
I'd never had so much money before! Rather
than be sensible, wait until I was seventeen to buy a proper bike,
I wanted my kicks right then. In the form of an early FS1E, the
50mph model! Mother threw a tantrum but kept the bile for Dad!
The FS1E didn't actually run at that point, something to do with
a seized piston. A hundred quid to buy, another thirty notes for
used piston and barrel. The old barrel had corroded into the crankcase,
needed some real effort on the hammer to extract it. At this point
I realised that the crankshaft's bearings and seals were shot!
One rebuilt crankshaft later I was on the road.
The FS1E seemed bloody fast, even after some
runs on the 125SS, which needed time to wind itself up into a
frenzy. The Yamaha was all crackle, pop and snap. Its SLS drum
brakes were frighteningly lacking in power, slamming the anchors
on at 50mph caused massive fade. The bike locked on to its forward
vector when the brakes were on, despite weighing only 200lbs,
couldn't be shifted on to a safer line! This was a learning experience
I could do without, ended up cracking my crash helmet and scarring
my knees! Luckily, dad's old leather jacket still gave useful
protection and had loads of street cred, though it got me barred
from the local pubs (peasants) - I was quite a big lad for sixteen
and didn't usually have any problems.
The FS1E went through several used pistons
and bores, was beginning to rattle its big-ends by the time I
was seventeen. I'd got 11000 miles out of the little chump and
learnt the necessary survival techniques. If I'd been rich I would've
kept it as a memento of a misspent youth, but I wasn't so it had
to go to fund the next bike. At a nice profit, too!
The local rag turned up a non-running YB100.
Hardly the bike of my dreams but it was only fifty quid, bargained
down to thirty notes! At some point the engine had turned molten,
ended up one solid lump of alloy that not even application of
a welding torch could free up! Still, the chassis was in good
shape, newish consumables and a reasonable shine - it was only
five years old.
A trawl around the breakers revealed some nasty
dogs (canine and machines both) and silly prices, but stubbornness
paid off in the form of a partially stripped mill for forty quid
- at least I could see what kind of shape it was in. Some artistic
work with the file soon modified the ports and a degutted exhaust
gave it a delightful yowl - it wasn't the kind of bike that you
could put a spannie on, not unless you wanted to become a laughing
stock.
Good for 70mph, which was all the chassis could
take, not to mention the brakes which faded away to nothing. In
the first weeks I almost died a couple of times and decided the
bike would have to go. Sold it at a very nice profit just in time
to pick up a Suzuki B120 for forty notes. Ran, but not properly.
Sorted that with a new condensor (car part, less than a quid but
you have to run a wire out from the points). Sold that in a week,
too embarrassing to be seen riding around on it. But it got me
through the motorcycle test! I dressed up all sensible and ownership
of such a dull machine obviously emphasized my lack of insanity.
Once I got the bit of paper I did a wheelie in celebration; broke
the Bloop's chain in two!
My first motorcycle proper was an RD250. This
had been given the business - spannies, race carbs, wild porting,
clip-ons, etc. It would crack the ton without any effort, real
speed for a seventeen year old. I kept charging into corners about
20mph too fast, wobbling around on an eccentric line and then
giving the throttle what-for on the exit. One friend got off the
back, threw up, ran away, muttering something about never again,
never again... He was supposedly a hardcase.
The Yamaha had done about 50,000 miles, been
rebuilt many times and when it went it was a real flier. Unfortunately,
the plugs would oil up on a whim, it stuttered unhappily at low
revs and screamed insanely everywhere else in the rev range. Judging
by the way they took an especial interest in my progress, the
cops were absolutely wowed away by the Yamaha. They kept on handing
out these commendations!
Needless to say, didn't take me long to blow
the stroker up into a million little pieces. This happened several
times before I got wise, went through all the cash I'd built up
and in the end it was due for another expensive rebuild. Which
I didn't have the dosh for. A very addictive experience, though,
that first real bike! Somewhat wiser and a lot poorer it was time
to move on.
In 1987 the choice of cheap machinery wasn't
exactly excessive. I'd managed to get a job in a bank, meant the
availability of an easy and cheap loan. I should've know better
than to bother with dealers, but the lust was high and the money
burning a hole in my pocket. At the tender age of eighteen, working
in a bank defined the meaning of boredom and I needed some motorcycling
kicks. Enter a three year old Suzuki GSX400F.
Not the wisest choice of machinery but such
knowledge was rare on the ground back then. Determined to get
some serious mileage out of the four stroke four, I bought a workshop
manual and was religious about the servicing. With its marginal
sump size it's vitally important to do 500 mile services and the
valve clearances don't stay within their limits, need a look over
at a similar mileage. Having said all that, it was quite nippy
and able to put 110mph on the clock without much effort. And I
did about 60,000 miles in three years! Because I paid cash effectively,
I got a reasonable price off the dealer and didn't lose much money
when I came to exchange it for something bigger.
I'd done a bit of wheeling and dealing along
the way, somehow getting into buying dead Vespa scooters and doing
them up. Bloody horrible things but the motors were easy to work
on and spares ridiculously cheap. I even rode one into work during
the winter - good protection but a wobbly back end that skidded
all over the place.
Made a few hundred quid on each. Problem was
I kept getting these hot flushes for some serious tackle, kept
wanting to blow all my dosh on some superbike. Losing the job
at the bank was largely a matter of indifference, being twenty
in 1989 I still had my whole life ahead of me. An early GSXR750
beckoned, as did the Continent. The guy happily took the little
400 in part exchange, the reason for his grin evident as soon
as I did more than a few minutes on the big, state of the art,
Suzuki. An extremely fast but totally unforgiving plank.
The only way to ride the GSXR was at ten-tenths.
It wasn't as finicky as the old RD in the way it laid down its
power, but the riding position was excruciating unless there was
a 100mph gale to lean into. I didn't think the police officers
in London would understand this view. After a weekend with the
bike I decided it was entirely unsuited to a Continental jaunt.
Some work needed. This mostly involved tearing off the plastic,
fitting a handlebar conversion kit, a new headlamp and re-upholstered
seat. The old street-fighter route. The raised bars absolutely
transformed the beast, don't know why the factory didn't do it
from new.
Whatever expectations I had of the Continent
were soon ruined by the French plod who bankrupted me. They seemed
vastly amused at the 150mph I'd clocked up and happily robbed
me of all my money. The only other choice appeared to be machine
confiscation and a sojourn in jail. I always learn the hard way!
There followed a few weeks hard graft, working in a Nice bar and
fending off the attention of the waiters. They were all shirt-lifters!
Saved by a customer who was wild for the GSXR and insisted on
giving me a handsome profit!
Flush with the money, I bought this old Honda
CB450 twin. 1973 but still in one piece, purring away. I think
it was an ex-plod bike but it motored along faster than the GSX400F,
with a hammer blow of torque come 6500 revs. Economical, too,
doing 70mpg all the way down to Italy despite my keeping 80mph
plus on the clock. In Rome I sold the Honda to this South African
guy who reckoned they were valuable classics back home. I managed
to stop myself wincing until he'd handed over the dosh - that
accent summoned up visions of mass slaughter.
Being in Italy there was only one machine to
buy. Yep, a Ducati. An old style 750SS, as it happens. The deal
was buy cheap in Italy and make a huge profit in the UK. Took
me three years to get home. I fell for an Italian gal in a big
way, was also overwhelmed by the character of the Italian steed.
Pure lust ruled. Back in Blighty I was loathe to part with the
Ducati but eventually gave in. A massive profit but I felt really
gutted.
Older and wiser, the next half decade consisted
of despatching on a series of UJM's. The key, sell them just before
serious expense was invoked. I only messed up once, a CBX550 that
not only broke its camchain but merged its valves with the pistons,
effectively writing off the whole engine. Couldn't find a replacement
motor for love nor money. Ended up fitting an XS400 mill and riding
the bike into an early grave. Overall, though, I made loads of
dosh despatching and often made a profit on the bike despite putting
20-30,000 miles on the clock!
Several near misses and narrow escapes convinced
me that I was running out of luck as a DR. I ended up working
for one of the big London dealers, on commission! It's kind of
amusing to have to deal with people just like myself, coming in
with all sorts of dogs they demand huge part-exchange values on!
No wonder the sticker prices are so demented. I do a bit of work
on the side, as well, picking up the better dogs that we do take
in part-ex for low prices and then punting them out after a bit
of a tidy - the dealer can't be bothered with such minor pickings
but it all adds up.
The other advantage of working for a dealer's
trade prices - I'm now the proud owner of a Yamaha R1! And it's
bloody marvellous, I'm like a kid let loose in a candy store.
F.G.