Old Brits and Jap Dogs

As a daft youth of sixteen I climbed aboard my first motorcycle - a BSA Bantam. Thirty one years later I’m still riding bikes. My mates keep telling me that I’m a daft old fart and should give up biking or I will never draw a pension. My wife just gives me strange looks, usually reserved for Skinheads and Punk Rockers. However, biking is in my blood and no amount of common sense, pleas or threats will break me of the habit.

I have never owned a new or even newish motorcycle. I prefer to spend my money on petrol, ale and women built for comfort. I could never see the logic in owing a HP company large amounts of cash for a flash machine when, with the aid of an impact driver, file and a socket set, I could keep an old dog running and enjoy doing high mileages and still have the readies to lubricate myself as well.

So, you see, over the years I have perfected the art of recognizing the type of bike that suits my requirements. Now before the purists amongst you throw up in disgust, send me threatening letters and assault me with bound editions of Back Street Heroes, please hear me out. I can hear the cries of what a wally, I’m not reading any more of this rubbish, etc., etc., when what really annoys everyone is that for the cost of the average rider’s helmet I cover 10000 miles a years. My gift, of course, is my ability with an impact driver, hammer and Hermetite, not to mention my eagle eye for a potential bargain. Every bike I’ve ever bought has been sold at a profit after I’ve made them reliable and oil tight - great stuff Hermetite.

First, I would like to say a few words in defence of old British bikes. Many of the hacks who write about these machines have had no practical experience of them and are only obtaining their information from old, over the hill bikers, whose brains are long since addled from a combination of strong drink, vibration and oil fumes.

How can you judge a motorcycle of thirty years of age, unless you were around and biking in that period? Bikers then had very powerful right legs and a rugged left hand. I rode quite a few of the old British bikes so think I am well qualified to write on the subject - both from the practical point of view and with regard to my vast bodging theories.

Most of the old Brit bikes ran well and managed great distances with a little bit of maintenance. Tales of unreliability often came from idiots who never checked anything and thrashed the life out of the motor. The vibration factor that everyone complained about only became really apparent after the manufacturers Started extracting more and more horsepower from engines that were originally designed to run in a soft state of tune. Ride a softly tuned bike built in the mid fifties and you'll see just what I mean. I can honestly say, with my hand on my credit card, that I never had any real problems with the British bikes that I owned and rode.

In the fifties and sixties I rode around on a 650 Bonnie, a nice smooth engine until they uprated it to 750cc (ahem - Ed). 1 remember drinking in the pubs in the late fifties and early sixties with other bikers of that period the heady atmosphere, the stories and most of all the camaraderie are memories I still cherish. Those were the days when if you broke down, you only had to wait a short time until someone stopped to help out.

There were a lot of us on the road then, and we always helped each other. Not so today, I’m afraid your average Jap biker would whizz by in mortal fear that he might get an oil stain on his expensive leathers. Years ago, when a British biker stopped to help, the usual procedure was to inspect the bike and then light a fag. There was much scratching of heads until a solution was found. This, of course, explains why all us middle aged bikers now have bald patches on the top of our heads.

Standing around in pubs during the fifties and sixties, the conversation usually started with such mundane subjects as punctures, plugs, points and, er, women. However, as the night wore on and the beer became stronger (they never gave you the strong stuff until after 10pm) the stories became more meaningful. Suddenly, from out of an oily jacket pocket a piston with a hole burned in it was produced by a misty eyed biker. This vision soon aroused the interest of everyone and the biker began his tale in a voice trembling with excitement and the effects of strong ale.

A tale about oil, vibration, lust/love (I could never tell the difference) - he told of a trip to Brighton with his girl friend Doris on the pillion, for a bit of innocent fun (if you believe that you shouldn’t be allowed out on your own). On the way back, whilst heading out of Guildford and climbing towards Bagshot, he noticed the bike losing power and one cylinder smoking. However, he pressed on and made matters worse by giving Guildford its first taste of smog. Luckily, a garage loomed into view, so he stopped to purchase a gallon of oil to get him the twenty miles to Windsor. He then noticed that the bolts on his petrol tank had come loose and dropped out - he persuaded Doris to let him have her suspender belt to act as a strap for his tank. They arrived back in Windsor covered in oil with the bike limping along on one cylinder. Soon afterwards Doris left him for a creep with a van...

Many such stories were told to a glassy eyed audience accompanied by belching, breaking of wind and gazing through pint mugs. Of course, in the early seventies, along came the first generation of Jap bikers, and a sorry lot they were; they had no such stories to relate (wonder why - Ed). They just stood around listening to us and holding their helmets (we never bothered and had to be forced by law to wear them - a fall on the head would have done little damage to a Brit biker.

One night a Jap biker tried to join in by mentioning a burnt out CDI unit, but was soon put in his place by the local hard man who told him to, "Bugger off, we're talking about motorbikes not transistor radios." Many Jap Dogs, with a bit of care and regular oil changes are quite reliable and cheap to buy and run. The term reliable, these days, means that despite abuse and neglect, the bike will keep running. From what I read in the press, unless a modern bike is able to corner on the rims, do at least 120mph and be unburstable and idiot proof, it’s regarded with disdain - I’m afraid that both testers and modern bikers are in danger of becoming boring snobs.

I was drinking at my local the other night and observed some bikers stood at the bar discussing their HP debts. I had already viewed their machines outside the pub, none of them under 900cc. I introduced myself to them and thought that I would be accorded some respect due to my advancing years and experience, but they took one look at my oily jeans and combat jacket and gave me a look reserved for Jehovah Witnesses.

One of them did speak to me, he didn’t seem a bad sort of chap: until I mentioned that I’d owned a Honda CB500T for the past four years - the effect was electric - two of them choked on their pints and one fell off his stool, there were looks of horror and disbelief on their well washed faces. The CB500T had a few faults, but I rebuilt it my way and it’s been a reliable bike for the past 37000 miles and was purchased for the cost of a rear tyre. I’ve just acquired an XS650 twin for next to nothing as a non-runner - it took me an hours bodging to get her running and out on the road I'll do a rebuild over the winter. I’d love to buy a British twin, but I’m not willing to pay the silly money idiots, who hardly use ’em, shell out. Nostalgia has taken over from common sense.

Wally Bodger