There are very few supposedly humorous stickers I've seen in the rear windows of cars that actually make me laugh, or even smile faintly beneath my helmet at traffic lights. One did however catch the eye recently and quite made my morning. On the back of a clapped out Citroen 2CV were the words, 'Thank you for not laughing at my car.' Despite the fact that I loathe and detest this particularly nasty mode of transport, there was no denying that the driver and I shared a peculiar affinity born from knowing that the rest of the world thinks you're a nerd of the first order.
Up until quite recently, I owned and regularly rode an MZ150. There, I've said it. At last, I've had the courage to come out and admit it in print. Why? Having sold my usual rubber burning Jap bikes to finance a disco business, I found myself in need of a cheap bike, because first and foremost I was a biker. Waiting until I had a grand or more profit from the disco, was like waiting for the popular press to stop inventing stories about Eastenders. Eventually, I amassed the sum of £200 and deducting tax, insurance and running costs figured I'd about £100 to play with.
Standing outside the shop of a local dealer was a red MZ with 12000 miles on the clock and a little rust around the crust. It was a dry, warm Spring day (you remember them?), perfect for bend swinging and side stand scraping (even if MZ150s don't have that luxury). I sat on the flat, uncontoured seat and examined the £120 price tag, realising that it was possible to have my cake and eat it at a price. No, we're not talking LSD here - we're talking humiliation. The swallowing of pride simply to be back on two wheels.
There were advantages apart from price. The huge tank, while looking appalling has a 3 gallon capacity and economy was high on my list. The rattling engine and blue exhaust smoke dampened my ardour somewhat, but a quick test ride and the fact that I'd been buying bikes from the same dealer for some time (and they were usually reliable) convinced me that purchase was in order.
This very organ lists the MZ150 as handling OK and running with minimal attention. In 12 years of biking, I don't think I've found a machine that instilled more confidence that you were not going to fall off quite as this one did. It stuck to the surface of the road in a way that would have made Araldite proud. Rear end twitch simply did not exist, helped, of course, by the low rate of acceleration.
Pouring two stroke oil into the tank was a bit of a hit and miss affair, measured by turning the filter cap upside down and decanting one capful for each gallon of two star. The resulting blue smoke screen may have been useful in a James Bond movie, but pulling away from the traffic lights on a wet Monday morning was a hot contender for my most embarrassing moment. The only time I positively enjoyed riding this two wheel pollution machine was when I left a marching band of nature loving protesters coughing and spluttering in my wake, as I whizzed past local dye works that w throwing out only slightly more filth than the MZ.
Quite why MZ installed a speedo was a mystery, the needle wandered 20mph in either direction and a rough guess at the speed was only possible by averaging the two speeds. The tacho worked well while the cable held, but after it broke for the second time I didn't bother to replace it. The other major gripe was the lighting. The word pathetic does not even come close. The headlamp would have disgraced a glow-worm with indigestion. Still, there were compensations. It never refused to start whatever the weather.
The pop, rattle and blat from: the exhaust turned heads in the high street and made car drivers take notice. On a good day it'll do 70mph, although vibes made 50/60mph much more pleasant. Economy was a joy with 120/130mpg on a long run, although the seat made more than 40 miles tough going. The rear shocks were shot (enough wallowing to make Captain Birdseye sick) and replaced. The front forks leaked oil but it didn't seem to make much difference.
After 10000 miles, and no real trouble, I felt I had definitely had good value for money, a lot of fun and was a wiser man. I shall always have fond memories of this ugly duckling of the motorcycling world. If you yearn for the open road and the bank manager looks at you like a piece of used toilet paper, then an eastern bloc designers nightmare could just be an answer if you can take the strange looks and the lack of respect from other road users.
Mike Alexander