My Bike History
Even modest bikes can open up a whole world of adventure
The Early Days
I’m not really a life-long biker, although I’ve had licence for over 40 years. Like many people, there was a long motorcycle hiatus once my first company car appeared. It was not a love affair initially, more a practical way of getting from where I lived in Oxford to Thame where I worked. I’d misread the job offer letter. As the newbie I was expected to work for 6 months before getting proper wheels. This came as an unwelcome surprise at the end of my first day and that week was spent commuting on the bus.
On the Saturday I went into the first motorcycle dealers I could find and came out with a new, blue Honda C90. Its maximum speed, downhill and with a tail wind, was just over 40 mph. Its exhaust pipe rapidly turned iridescent dragonfly blue from the heat of full speed commuting during the week; every weekend it raced me up to Stoke and back to see my (now) Mrs.
Once my shiny new Ford Escort 1.3L arrived I’m afraid that Soichiro Honda’s finest was left to languish in the garden. I sold it with about 5,000 miles on the clock and ever since I’ve wished I still had it. Apart from parting company with a rear shock absorber bolt on a roundabout in Walsall it never faltered.
During my brief affair with the C90 I managed to take and pass my motorbike licence, which was a more sensible thing to do than I realised at the time. I was in possession of a bit of paper that would allow me to ride a superbike, if I’d been mad enough to do it. The sensible introduction of compulsory bike training (CBT) nine years later in 1990 made my all-too-simple route impossible now. I remember the examiner didn’t even follow me on his own bike, but sent me round a suburban route and kept popping up at junctions to see how I handled them. For the emergency stop I saw him hiding behind a tree ready to jump out. If John Cleese had been the examiner it couldn’t have been more farcical.
The shiny new licence never really got used as I moved through a succession of Ashes to Ashes 80’s and 90’s company cars, though sadly never as far as an Audi Quattro.
Back to Biking
In the mid 2000’s I returned to two wheels in an unusual way. I’d had a classic MG Midget and a Lotus Elise, both of which had to go when my daughters started to drive. I was starting to hanker after an entertaining alternative and thought vaguely of doing the cliched born-again biker bit.
My friend Chris had had a stroke. Bizarrely he decided that a practical way to regain his balance would be to buy a Vespa scooter and learn to ride it.
I thought it would teach me to stay upright and in a straight line.
It didn't. In fact, poor Chris could only turn left with it and was limited to one way trips round the block. He soon abandoned his scoot and it gathered dust in his garage. Fortunately, Chris made a remarkable recovery (he’s still a far better golfer than me). We were chatting some years later and he mentioned his somewhat faded Italian style icon: ’ Would I like to buy it?’
Since its fuel system had basically melted away to mush he had it trailered up to Derbyshire and there began a series of rebuilds which finished up with it never working properly. I’d buffed out the scratches and banged out the odd dent from where Chris’ rehabilitation strategy had conspicuously failed. Up to 35mph it went ok but the moment I opened the throttle fully the engine bucked and jolted like a startled rabbit. But I’d fallen in love with being on a powered machine again and the Vespa found a new and unwitting home in a dealers in Ripley. In part-ex they had a little-used but fully functional Honda Forza 350 which found its way back to my garage.
Ripley is also the HQ of Derbyshire Police. I thought a Bike Safe course might be a good idea if I was on a machine with four times the capacity of the C90 and infinitely more than the Vespa. I booked myself onto one.
The following weekend I rocked up on the Forza at the security hut manned by a serious-looking bobby. Out came the clipboard and I was about to give him my name when he said:
“You must be Mr Oliver.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re the only one riding a scooter”.
You know the bit at the start of a course where everyone sits round in a circle and says who they are, why they’re here and what they’re riding. Well, that was excruciating. The good-natured ribbing never stopped and I began to feel that the gloss was coming off my new purchase quicker than its 0-30 time. I realised that the world of two wheels divided into two distinct camps. One being ‘proper bikes’ and the other, scooters.
The Forza wasn’t quite a one-night stand but wasn’t far off it. The machine had rock-hard rear suspension, a weird riding position and left me with back-ache every time I did more than 5 miles on it. It had to go and I realised that if I wanted to do more than just pootle around, I needed something bigger. Besides, hadn’t I got a licence that would let me do just that?! It was time to go shopping…