The year was 1990, and I was entering my first year at University. By way of celebration, I decided that I deserved a better ride than the execrable Suzuki A100 I had been smoking (literally) around on. My choice of steed would be limited by the fact that I did not possess a full licence, though, so when I happened across a Kawasaki Z440 twin harnessed to a Squire sidecar for sale I leapt in with both feet.
The vendor wanted £550 for the scabby, nine year old outfit. He pointed to the gleaming new MOT certificate; I gestured in the direction of the rust, bald tyres (with a new MOT... hmmm) and general decrepitude and offered £250, eventually riding away after £300 had changed hands.
First impressions were good... after the A100 the acceleration, braking and lighting seemed akin to that of a jet fighter. A bit of practice in a nearby car park saw me something like used to having the chair hanging off the left hand side, and the machine duly entered service.
The tyres were replaced with a Swallow (front) and a delightful square-section Avon (rear) obtained from the breakers for £8. Not long after this, the lights all failed. This was quickly traced back to the alarm, which had been installed under the seat; the numpty who fitted this device clearly had no recourse to either crimping tool or soldering iron, employing tape and Botchloks instead. The likelihood of anyone stealing this nail was slim at best, so the alarm was duly excised. The brake master cylinder was full of what appeared to be cold tea... this was changed for fresh DOT4, rewarding me with a much improved front brake.
The Z rattled along pretty agreeably most of the time. The original exhaust had long since rusted through, and a Piper 2-1 had been fitted in it's place, This sounded good, and didn't affect the carburation at all. Fuel economy wasn't bad at 50mpg, and the motor used very little oil. It's hard to gauge consumable wear as most of these items were shagged out when I got the bike.
As well as commuting to Uni, I had fallen in with a local bike club, and started attending rallies. The music - relentless heavy metal - really wasn't to my taste, but the beer and the girls were! On my way to one of these I had my first coming together. We were riding down a wet shale track towards the camp site when the bike in front of me braked suddenly. I reciprocated, causing the outfit to drift sideways. The end result of this was my becoming acquainted with a dry stone wall. Apart from cleaving off the right hand indicator all was OK, but this didn't stop me from hauling one of the cans of beer from the chair and draining it in three gulps!
I could also be relied upon to forget that the chair was there on occasion... turning left once I strayed too close to a parked Nissan and took the other indicator off on its rear corner. After checking to see that no-one had witnessed this, I fucked off with all due haste. Another, rather more dangerous, miscalculation on my part resulted in clipping the kerb with the chair wheel on leaving a roundabout. In a second the aforementioned wheel was up around my ear and I was fighting to get it back down again, while on the wrong side of the road. I have no idea how, but get it back down I did, seconds before passing a parked cop car. I had two counts upon which to be grateful that day!
Amazingly, the little Kawa presented no more problems in the time I had it, save for when some scrote stole my plug caps. My first year over, I spent the summer camping in Cornwall and sofa-surfing with various mates dotted around the country. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end...
The MOT expired. I surveyed the plot, with a view to assessing the odds of it getting another one - fat chance. Tyres, wheel bearings, swingarm bearings, chain and sprockets, brake pads, fork seals and rear shocks were all knackered. It would have cost as much as I'd paid for it to remedy all this and, coupled with the fact that I'd secured a placement job for the following year in Germany, I decided that the best course of action was to get rid.
Word quickly got around, and one of my mates offered me £150 for the chair, which I cheerfully accepted. I advertised the bike as spares or repair for £200 and, incredibly, the second chap to see it offered £150, meaning I'd had a year's motorcycling fun and frolics pretty much for free, which is fine by me! When I got back from Germany twelve months later, the Kawa was still sitting in the garden of the bloke I sold it to (it's probably still there now). I passed my test and bought a Honda Pacific Coast but that, as they say, is another story.
A Rider