One man (old) and his bikes #10

After a decade of riding motorcycles, I presumed that I would always have a bike of some sort and always be a biker. Life has an unfortunate habit of shitting on presumptions and put a stop to my two-wheeled gallivanting sometime in 1986. It was to be some years before I swung a leg over any kind of motorcycle. Five or so years of bike-less drudgery followed before I managed to get a job at a motorcycle dealership. At least this gave me the chance to ride a variety of bikes during the working day. Ironically, the pay was so bad, I couldn't really afford a motorcycle of my own. Eventually, I got hold of a well-used Honda CG12. What a bloody come-down! Not surprisingly, no pictures of me on or even with, this bike were ever taken! Despite their basic functionality, these bikes were brilliant as a cheap means of reliable transport. Mine was already old when I got it and had loads of miles on the clock but the little thing ran like clockwork. Always started first time whatever the weather and being a simple four-stroke single needed next to no maintenance. The suspension was adequate as the little Honda was never quick enough to stress it and the puny front brake was more than enough to cope with a top end somewhere around 55mph. There was probably a few more mph to be squeezed out of it if you wanted to lay flat on the tank but would you really want to look that much of a dick? Nevertheless, with less to go wrong, it’s obvious why this basic design of motorcycle is so successful in so many countries across the world.

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True to form, I soon started to push it beyond its very limited capabilities and almost crashed it a few times. Can you imagine the shame if you hurt yourself falling off a bike like that? Unless you wanted to bear the scorn of the entire A&E department, you would have say you fell down the stairs or claim it happened whilst engaging in some kind of manly pursuit. In fact, the embarrassment of just being seen on the little Honda was starting to grate. Whenever I pulled up next to other bikes, I would keep my helmet on while I walked away. I also made sure that I threw the cover over it as soon as I got home just in case the local kids started to take the piss. At least there was no chance any of them would nick it.

Whilst my funds continued to be so limited, the only “ upgrade “ I could make was to a Honda NS125, a buzzy little two-stroke single. Still not really a serious bike but at least it looked a bit more modern than the CG and had a little bit of go. However, like lot of this type of 125, it had had a hard life at the hands of novice riders. Its best days were past and it was never going to last the distance as well as the trusty old CG had. It also turned out to be one of those “unlucky” bikes which cause you nothing but grief.

As the NS was more likely to be stolen than the CG ever was, I started to use a padlock and chain to secure the front wheel whenever I parked in on the road outside my house. When I first decided to do this, I absolutely knew that it was asking for trouble and of course, it wasn't long before I tried to pull away with the chain still on. The first time this happened, it wasn't too bad. Yes, I fell off after going around in some kind of weird hopping half circle but at least no one was watching and the damage was limited to a clutch lever. The next time though, I really pushed the boat out. The wife and kids were at the window waving goodbye and they had a grandstand view as I pulled away with great gusto. The intention here was to impress with a bit of a wheelie. That was the intention, the reality was an undignified tangle of motorbike and somersaulting rider. My daughter, to her credit, looked suitably horrified but my son was laughing his head off and the missus just shook her head and walked away. Oh, and some of the neighbours happened to be walking by as well. To add to embarrassment, skinned knees and a strained groin, there was a fair bit of damage to the bike this time. I eventually picked it up and rode away with tears of pain and shame stinging eyes. It also turned out that there was a slight kink in one of the forks to go along with busted indicators, broken levers and a dent in the tank. This last bit of damage was possibly caused by my bollocks as they hurt for weeks afterwards.

Should have let my kids ride it instead

Should have let my kids ride it instead

To get the fork leg sorted, I would have to take it to an engineering firm on my bicycle as I now had no other means of transport. Instead of using a rucksack to carry the fork leg or some other sensible solution, I elected to carry it in one hand whilst holding onto the handlebars at the same time. This was only going to end one way. I knew it but carried on anyway as I’m obviously just plain stupid. As much as I deserved the inevitable disaster, it really didn't need to be such a massive fuck up. Somehow, the fork leg I was carrying got stuck between the bicycle forks and its front wheel so ass-over-tit I duly went. Face-plant, right in front of a street full of shoppers. At least they had the good grace not to openly mock but they must have been quietly pissing themselves. So now, I had a scraped face, bruised shins, and sore bollocks (again) and my bicycle was un-ridable due to a severely twisted front wheel. To top it all, the Honda’s fork leg had gone from slightly kinked to being bent beyond repair. I couldn't face the shame of pushing a bike with a wonky front wheel, carrying a damaged fork leg whilst wiping the blood from my beaten up face. It was just too pathetic for words so I simply abandoned the bicycle and walked the five miles back home. All in all, you could say things weren't going to plan.

It took the best part of a month to find a set of used NS125 forks, get the thing back on the road, renew the MOT and then try to sell the bloody thing. Of course, that would have been far too simple. During the time it took to find the forks, the rear shock linkages sized up which proved to be a real pig of a job to sort out. I'd like to blame a lack of suitable tools which was partially true but it was more down to my own mechanical ineptitude. At times, I seriously considered beating the tank flat with a lump hammer, smashing all the lights and then setting the whole sorry mess on fire. I didn't but by now, I truly hated the fucking thing.

Somehow, I got the job done and put the Honda up for sell. I wanted to recoup the money I had spent on it plus make a little profit as I fancied myself as a bit of a wheeler-dealer. The price I put it up for was far too ambitious and I only ever got the one call and the only bloke who did call never turn up to view it. He did swing by a couple of days later though with a couple of mates and a van! It was parked in the street outside of my house and of course, I had given him the address. I only knew it was gone when the cheeky fucker rang me and asked if I “still had the bike for sale”. When I said that I did, he took great delight in telling me that I didn't because he had “just nicked it”! Stealing someone's bike and then rubbing it in by calling to take the piss makes him a double cunt in my book and I would like to think that karma has since dealt him a mighty blow. I can't hold a grudge though as the insurance payed out a lot more than I was trying to sell it for in the first place. I used the extra cash to look for something bigger and better. What I ended up with though was yet another lemon.