The fact that I'd brought to life a previously dead machine elevated my mechanical standing in the local bikers community, and I was erroneously assumed to be some kind of ace mechanic. This assumption was further bolstered by the fact that having discovered that the Velo had only one gear, I proceeded to strip down the infamous clutch and gearbox without the aid of a manual. Unknown to anyone but myself, this was entirely due to poverty stricken necessity rather than mechanical ingenuity.
Having reassembled the gearbox and ultimately the clutch, I then found I had three gears and on odd occasions four; my reputation was further enhanced. It was due to these episodes that an old friend I'd not seen since leaving school some twelve months earlier got in touch regarding a BSA A7 he'd bought. I was amazed he'd even considered a motorbike as he'd always been a scooter fan at school.
We passed the usual pleasantries, then he explained how he'd bought the A7, and had it running once, before it had expired on him; neither he nor his equally mechanically inept father could get the thing going again, He told me the bike had cost him £15, a small fortune to me then, and I agreed to have a look at it the next night.
Black and chrome, with plunger suspension, envy was in my eyes. No sparks were traced to no points gap and no fuel to an empty petrol tank - not bad going, huh? After borrowing some petrol from someone's car, the bike roared into life on the fourth kick. I smiled at the observers whilst I blipped the throttle like a true professional. It was then that I noticed a change of expression on their faces, they were now wide-eyed and staring, the smiles changed from joy to slack jawed disbelief.
I glanced down, first thought that the lights were on, then realised that it was flames. BSA in their wisdom had placed the actively sparking magneto directly underneath the carb which was leaking petrol faster than a Scot closes his wallet. There was a growing bonfire under the tank, the gearbox area and my right leg were ablaze. Being a true hero, I leapt off and the bike fell on the floor, whereupon the petrol cap fell out, thus allowing all the petrol to fan the flames very nicely indeed.
Panic ensued with everyone gathering handfuls of dirt and cinders, except for myself. I was too busy trying to put out the fire on my jeans. The bike was blazing well, the futile fire fighting attempts all but abandoned, when someone shouted "the tank's going to go up". Within seconds we were watching the inferno from a much greater distance. Fortunately, someone in a nearby house had phoned the fire brigade and within minutes they arrived and the fire was put out.
My mate was a bit put out, too. As the firemen and rubber-neckers departed we looked sadly at the once again dead BSA. After a few minutes silence we all helped push the bike to the side of the lock up, offered our condolences to the dejected owner and headed home, stopping on the way only to recount the incident in exaggerated animation and piss ourselves with laughter.
A couple of months later I had a fit of remorse and called at my school-mate’s house. There under the back window was the BSA in the same state as I'd last saw it. It transpired that he was going to university in a months time and was strict orders from his father to get rid of the burned wreckage and that it was worth £2 for scrap. Naturally, I offered £2 and the bike was mine.
I pushed the BSA three miles home leaving a trail of burnt rubber and wiring harness, whilst disturbing the peace with the pound of two bare wheel rims rattling along the road. On inspecting the bike it seemed that the damage was confined mainly to the carb/mag area and the back end. The front tyre had burned away when the petrol cap came off, but apart from that very little other damage to the front end. The carb was completely melted and was replaced with a scrap one of unknown origin, which appeared similar to the one originally fitted, jets and settings played about without too much finesse. The magneto was cleaned up, new HT leads fitted it produced a healthy spark.
The rear of the bike was treated to a used rear wheel and tyre, the seat recovered by myself in bottle-green pseudo leather robbed from an old three-piece suite. The wiring was replaced by cutting the harness in half under the tank and fitting new wires from that point, insulation tape and strip connectors being the order of the day. The oil and petrol tanks were swilled out and the oil pipes renewed. After the bike was painted in black enamel, it responded by starting after three kicks, shaking the walls of the garage with the racket from its silencer-less pipes. The finishing touches were a pair of alloy guards and megaphones from Pride & Clarke. The silencers were about as effective as a motorcycle ashtray.
Within a month of purchase it was on the road, having passed its MOT without any trouble (mind you, the guy who did the MOT used to test them from his shop window if it was raining). It soon became my regular transport due to the Velo shearing all the teeth on its fibre mag pinion (the cost of a new one the same as the original cost of the Velo).
I used the A7 for over a year and did occasional week-end trips from Bolton to North Wales, as well as a two week camping holiday fully laden, two up. I never worked out its petrol consumption or top speed due to a wildly erratic speedo but I estimated them at about 50mpg and 65mph due to the nondescript carb. Apart from the usual problems with punctures and oil leaks, the A7 never let me down. It was the kind of bike you could go out on at any time and in any weather, and it'd start within three kicks.
The only time it never got me home was when a myopic car driver hit me head-on, knocking the front wheel into the engine. As I lay in the road cursing the Ford Motor Co I could hear the bike still ticking over on its side. Two months later I received a cheque for £40 for the A7 and also got to keep the wreckage, which I sold to a mate who attempted to fit the engine into a Royal Enfield frame. Of all the British bikes I’ve owned, the A7 stands out as the most reliable and enjoyable I've ever owned. No speed machine, no frills, no dramas, and as far as my other bikes were concerned, no contest.
Len Morgan