Punishing is the only way to describe despatching in the capital city on an old BMW R60. I had owned the bike since way back and it had provided years of reliable service. We were growing old gracefully together. Then, sudden redundancy plunged me into the real world of motorcycling at its most furious.
As this all took place in winter there was no problem finding work in London. Most sensible people had either gone on the dole, off to Spain or found more appropriate work. I had all the necessary motorcycle gear, knew London pretty well and knew that the Beemer was still reliable, backed up by a large stash of spares.
The big problem was that the 600 was best suited as a long distance tourer and not a town bike. And I was 63, not 23, used to a relatively sedate 15000 miles a year. The first few days were really bad news. Every bone in my body ached like it had when I'd been plunged into National Service. The big difference was that the pains were still there when I woke up the next day!
The second day was much worse. It was ride a few miles, have ten minutes break, do another job, have another break. The controller was infuriated by these sudden radio silences and accused me of working for another firm. This youth, still in his teens by the look of him, needed a good slapping but I managed to promise to do better the next day. As I was only being paid for the jobs and mileage covered I don’t know what all the fuss was about.
The R60 has several problems with traffic. The most obvious being its gearchange which is politely termed agricultural. I should add that the bike has done over 130000 miles so anything you may have read about new BMWs need not apply. The box crunches through the gears and needs a foot covered by a heavy duty boot to have any chance of effecting a clear change... an hour in traffic causes the thing to seize up in whichever gear it finds itself. Depending on the gear, you can carry on with a single gear motorcycle or give the bike 15 minutes to cool off.
The carbs also have a habit of suddenly spewing out the fuel over my boots, often igniting in a small ball of flame... one pedestrian leapt about a yard in the air when the flames suddenly appeared next to his trouser leg and would have probably spent the next hour berating me had I not accelerated off sharply, the sudden gust of air usually being enough to extinguish the flames.
Power delivery is fine for low speed work if you ignore the shaft drive which judders in any gear above second at less than 2000rpm - in fact, I have taken to dumping the bike in second and riding on the throttle, it is still capable of taking off from a standstill in that gear if the clutch is abused. The latter sports modified springs and harder plates, so is a pain on the left hand but able to withstand much misuse. It's a bit jerky and I have inadvertently raised the front wheel a few inches off the ground on a couple of occasions - a great feat on a machine with such conservative steering geometry.
And that is another problem with the Beemer in town. Although by no means a heavy bike it has large tyres and a slow steering nature, as well as two huge cylinders sticking out. After a ritual abuse session from the master of my narrow universe (the DR boss not the wife), I rush out into the street all wound up for a rapid transit around the Great Capital, often to find that within minutes gaps that young whipper-snappers can easily rush through on 125s are not wide enough to allow the BMW to pass.
On a few occasions I have gone ape with the sheer frustration of being held up in traffic on a motorcycle. Hauling on the low, narrow bars I tried to plunge the madly thrumming, jerking Beemer around cars, up on to the pavement and down narrow, cobble-stoned alleyways. The usual effect of such actions is to jar my muscles and end up with the bike wedged in between cars whose drivers jam on their horns in a huge cacophony of noise mingled with the usual vocal abuse.
Taxi drivers are by far the worst. I can understand this to a certain extent, for they have to rush everywhere at a rapid pace to make ends meet just like DRs. Unfortunately, we don’t have the option of completely ignoring their existence, which is the way they like to treat motorcyclists. The only time they recognise our presence is when they crash into us... one of the lads in the office flipped his nearly new TZR into the side and over the top of one cab. He was thrown clear, OK until the by then enraged cabbie staggered out, took one look at his written off taxi and knocked the shit out of the DR. He still hasn’t been let out of hospital...
I have had quite a few scrapes with the black cab brigade myself. Once practically taking the complete side off a taxi with the cylinder head. I didn’t bother to hang around to argue the niceties as one glance at the beetroot red face of the driver, about to explode, was enough to convince me that a strategic retreat was necessary. Perhaps not a good example for the younger generation but I value my skin too much to risk a confrontation with some rabid youth, who's as likely to give me AIDS as beat me to a pulp.
The soft suspension is actually still up to absorbing most of the rutted, neglected road surfaces that serve the city. Speed is never so great as to induce the wallowing appropriate to such soft forks and shocks - indeed, the last time I broke through the motorway limit is so long ago that I could not accurately name the date. The few long runs needed to deliver parcels to places like Birmingham and Bristol were easily accomplished without any strain on the boxer, although I was berated in the usual manner for taking about twice as long as anyone else, including 125 mounted trainees.
Where the bike shines through is in low running costs. Even on worn Bings, economy is still in the 60-70mpg range, tyres around 15000 miles (old style Avons) and brake shoes once in a blue moon. The TLS front stopper has become a bit vicious in the wet but still has surprising power in town, where my bacon has been saved by it many a time. Oil changes are needed to the engine and gearbox every 700 miles to stop it misbehaving.
I have been doing this despatching for seven months now and actual mechanical failure of the ancient Beemer has not occurred. It's generator has required a new set of bushes, whilst the valves, carbs and points need weekly attention, but other than that and oil changes she has run splendidly, much to the annoyance of various DRs who need to change their Japanese machines every other month.
I have learnt to pace myself. I am by no means the fastest on the job and my arms and shoulders do still suffer some pangs, but I have got into the rhythm of the work now and the boss only flies into a rage at me about once a month. As he's doing about six different jobs in the office, to cut costs to get us some work, I can’t really hold a grudge against him for his apparent insanity!
When all’s said and done I don’t really enjoy despatching in London. The traffic is completely insane, about 90% of the cars ought to be banned just to give things a chance to flow more smoothly. The air is often vile and every time I go home, the flannel I use to wash my face comes off covered in black grime. I don’t know what harm the exposure to the polluted atmosphere is doing to my lungs.
I will keep going until I am 65 and that will be the end of it for me. Now that the winter is over I am at least able to enjoy the summer weather, which is a great bonus, although I am beginning to curse the way the engine throws up the heat off its massive cylinders. I earn a reasonable £300-350 most weeks, which is more than I was getting in my last job. If I had to factor in the cost of the BMW, or worse still a new bike, the net earnings would be a lot less but as I have no less than two dismantled R60s in the garage it's unlikely that I would wear the bike out even doing several times my normal yearly mileage.
James Cummings