Maintenance free motorcycles

Maintenance Free!                 

Picture a rider ploughing through the gutter at 22mph on a Suzuki FZ50.  He wears mittens, wellies and a fluorescent yellow jacket. Is he a biker, a comedian, or worse?  Well, since that rider was me, I thought my experiences would be worth telling.

In 1988 I bought an old Honda C70 for fifty quid.  A quick tour of the controls and off I sped into the darkness with no idea and no documents. But hey, twenty years ago you COULD do that SHIT! That tatty bike was liberating, and never skipped a beat.  I assumed all bikes were maintenance free.

Freezing night journeys tortured the hands body and soul.  At my destination I would kick at the door for assistance and greet my girlfriend with the smallest not -so- old- man in history. Had that bike stopped, jumping under the nearest truck would have been tempting. The Honda is lovingly etched in my mind for all time as SHG83IX. One day I looked in the back yard, and some bastard had pinched it.

I bought a T reg. orange and white Suzuki FZ50 for £150, essentially a woman's shopper bike minus wicker basket. The top box permitted the perching   of an unfortunate friend. The feeble FZ50 would do its one gear change at 11mph, and slipped between gears on the slightest incline. I affectionately nicknamed it “The Juggernaut”. I could stop it moving off on full throttle by keeping my feet on the ground. Top speed a thrilling 22mph.  Jeering teens on push-bikes would overtake me.  Hell I was famous on that thing!

The Suzuki suffered a daily 3.5 hour Runcorn to Manchester commute.  Right hand turns meant pulling over on the left to wait for a gap. It overheated and the exhaust melted off. One bleak morning, after being pounded for half an hour, the kick starter snapped off. Ninety pence used to fill her up. Sadly missed.

A £350 Yamaha YB100 was my first “proper” bike, and ignorant of gears and clutches I pushed it two miles to a field near my mums' house.

On my first ride I purposely slid it to the ground as it accelerated out of control.  I knew nothing of the kill switch or neutral back then. The problem was fixed and time for messing about over.  I pointed the bike towards Runcorn and learned to ride “on the job”. My heart was in my mouth, the wheels were in the gutter (a habit from the FZ50 days).  Beeps were heard from fellow road users, (egging me on I like to think)!  Exhilaration and fear merged, and never before or since have I felt more alive.

Back on planet earth I met up with a fellow biker endowed with blue flashing lights. The rear tire was balder than a baby's bum and producing documents proved difficult. However, it was “not in the public's interest” to “do me”!  I duly received a new two year licence. Back in the eighties they really knew how to look after people!

 The Yamaha was jet fighter material compared to the FZ50, and momentously I overtook a tractor on the A49.  The 2 stroke oil use was pushed to the limit and I was often seen limping to garages in pursuit of red bike medicine.

The YB eventually got passed to a friend who promptly wrote it off, along with the normal functioning of his arm.

Twenty years later I acquired a Honda Superdream CB250N. This machine was admired by many and deemed   “bullet proof”.  With no licence I couldn't ride it.    After years of road use I needed the CBT, lessons, the tests, the lot.....very humbling. The 125cc learner’s bike laboured around the test route with eighteen stones on board. The instructor had to wait at the top of hills. But my efforts paid off and I passed the test on a 500cc bike six weeks later. I ditched the anorak look and obtained appropriate clothing, which I noticed was “not designed for personal protection”?

 The Superdream showed signs of age and needed braided hoses, fork seals, chain and sprocket, battery, and more.  Ignorant of a fuel tank leak AND the fuel switch, I pushed the Honda up many a Fell in Cumbria and resorted at one point to having my wife follow me in the car with a spare can.

 “Treat it like an old woman and keep it indoors” advised the previous owner. Well, I couldn't be arsed, but did buy a cover from Argos, which promptly melted onto the exhaust. Handy! The bike struggled with harsh Cumbrian winter conditions and the throttle cable would freeze.  Recent training meant I knew about the kill switch this time round. The choke cable froze and was pulled out by its roots. When the starter motor seized, I came close to collapse running up and down jump starting. Eventually there was little going for the bike, and literally nothing on the bike going!

 It is with much regret that I acknowledge my part in its demise.

Honda shaft drives have been recommended to me as a next bike. These are apparently maintenance free!