Motorbikes
For quite a long time I'd been interested in motorbikes before cars. My brother,
Gareth, was the first to get one, though. He had a moped, an Italian Gitane
(?), which was some animal. It would do about 60 on the open road, which is
fast enough when you're only 16 and never driven anything faster than a pushbike
before. It was a nasty thing really. The clutch had 2 positions, in or out,
nothing in between.
It wasn't until I went to university that I got my own motorbike. This was
a Yamaha DT125, a 125cc trail bike, registration USO 204S, and cost around 500GBP.
This was to save on paying and waiting for buses. It was good fun getting off-road,
but nothing too serious. However, it wasn't too good out on the open road, being
2 stroke and only 125cc it would get bogged down quite quickly if there was
a head wind. I didn't have any problems with it, I got someone else to bend
it for me. Enter my friend Gordon Streets (alias Grodo, see the SK
page), whom I let have a shot of it. Bad mistake. He came walking back after
having gone over the handlebars while trying to go up the kerb at an angle,
daft galoot! Anyway, he paid for the repairs, and we're still friends...
It was replaced with another Yamaha, this time an XS250, twin cylinder road
model, registration TAS 89T. Far better for scooting back and fore than the
DT125, and I had it up to 85mph one time, which was more than fast enough for
me. It was on that one that I most nearly came a cropper...
It was in December when university had just broken up for the Christmas holidays.
As was the norm in those days I'd signed on to get social security payments
over the period, and had registered as unemployed. About 4pm the job office
phoned up to say they actually had a job going and could I go down right away.
Well, it was dark and wet and had started raining again. I'd got most of the
way there when a car turned right from the middle of the road, right across
my path (remember this is in Scotland where they drive on the left). I hit the
brakes immediately to he rewarded with... nothing. Ahh, the effect of water
on disc brakes! It's the scariest feeling in the world to know your going to
hit the car and there's not the least thing you can do about it. I remember
thinking that I was going to go flying...
So, I piled into the side of this car. If the car had turned squarely, I would
have gone straight over the handlebars of the bike. If it had cut the corner
I would have bounced off into the oncoming traffic. Between the two there's
a point where you don't do either, and that's where we met. The bike just stopped
and I stepped off the side.
Although I'd stopped, the car didn't and continued off down the hill (this
is at Station Brae, down the side of the Dalrymple Hall for any Brochers tuning
in...). I started shaking my fist and then ran after it, leaving the bike in
the middle of the road! (I don't really remember this, but Gordon was walking
up the road and saw the whole thing and told me after it was the funniest thing
he'd ever seen!) The car stopped around the corner, I yanked the door open and
gave this woman a load of invective about bikes and accidents and stopping.
Anyway, we went back up the hill where Gordon was directing traffic, swapped
names and addresses, and Gordon helped me get the bike off the road. As it turns
out he'd been going for the same job, so he went off to tell them I wouldn't
make it while I went up to my father's office to arrange transport for the damaged
bike. I do remember being a bit agitated, but I must have been so pumped with
adrenalin that I just couldn't keep still. My brother happened to be there at
the same time and they both thought it was really funny the way I kept virtually
bouncing off the walls with energy.
The final part of the story is that we got one of the flatbeds from the works
and hauled it aboard. So there's me and my brother on this truck, the dead bike
between us, heading for the house. I didn't see her, but we passed my mam at
the top of the street, and, fearing the worst, she actually ran home. Now, my
mam is not exactly petite, and I have never seen her run anywhere, but she ran
down the road that day!
The story has a happy ending, though. The woman agreed to pay for all the damage.
I came out of the adventure with a squashed pinkie on my left hand (must have
got trapped between the clutch lever and the car). Nothing else. Amazing! And
I was taken down the road to look at cars. The bike got repaired, but I'm afraid
that it was never the same after that, and I sold it soon after. I would say
that I've never been on a bike again, but that's not quite true, as I pillioned
Morb a couple of times (which is even scarier!).
