For weeks I had been looking in the local bike shop window at a brand new, gleaming bike. A 1964 BSA Bantam. Ok not the most glam bike in the world, but to a 16 year old it just owesed freedom.
I lost count of the number of times I went into the shop asking how much it was. “£122 14/- 9d, just the same as it was last week” Jack the owner said without so much as looking up from a bike he was working on.
The bike shop was one of the old sort. No flashy sales gimmicks here. It had a counter at one end with posters of Norton, Vincent and BSA bikes all around it and a smell that you never forget, a heady mix of petrol, oil, grease and good old muck!
Shelves at the back were stacked high with spark plugs, inner tubes, tools, tins of Duckams 20/50 multi grade oil, bottles of 2 stroke, all the “stuff” that makes a bike shop a BIKE SHOP.
I spent hours in there. The funny thing was I never bought anything. Well not that funny I suppose cos I didn’t have a bike, but that never sempt to bother Jack. Months before, he had given me an old battered and oil stained bantam owners hand book. I thought I’d be given the world. I read it that much the print was almost missing, ‘n you could see through the paper.
As much as I wanted it, there was no way I could afford that brand new bike on the pittance of a wage I got as an apprentice twister in the local mill. I’d started there when I left school at 14 and been saving up as much as I could each week.
The boiler man at the mill had an old bantam for sale, “it’s a good runner, just needs a bit of fettling and it’ll make a good runner-bart for thy yungan”
“how much ‘da yer want fer it?”
“give ers tweny five quid an’ it’s thine”
So today was the bike day, I’d ridden it round the yard at work so knew how to set off, change gear and stop, but that was about it.
I handed over the twenty five quid and headed off home. I can still remember the grin on my face and the uncontrolled laughing as I drove down the road. I’m riding a bike, I’m riding MY BIKE, all mine and not even on the “never never”.
I got home and pulled it into the front garden. Right, let’s see what needs fettling on it. First thing give it a wesh ‘n get all the muck off it. Half an hour later and it didn’t look much better. Me thinks I need somat a bit more than a cloth? A Brillo Pad later and that’s more like it, a clean bike with a hint of shine on the chrome. I worked on it ‘till I couldn’t see anymore, put it under a cover, you didn’t have to worry too much then about things being nicked, and went to bed.
I didn’t sleep much; I was way too excited about going to work on MY bike in the morning. I was up at 6am ready to set off.
Off came the cover and I wheeled her out, I’d read the hand book so many times this was going to be easy!
First shake the bike.
The bantie was a 2 stroke, when you unscrewed the filler cap it had a cup that you measured the 2 stroke oil with. You added one cup of oil to a quart of petrol. When the bike had been stood the oil
and petrol would separate so you had to shake the bike to mix it up again. To anyone who didn’t know about bikes this looked like a cross between a pub fight and doing a tango on Come Dancing.
Next close the air intake, then press the ‘tickler’ on the carb to pull some petrol through until your finger gets wet. In the hand book it said “find the tickler button on the side of that carburettor, then using a finger “tickle” it until your finger gets wet. You will then be rewarded with a much better ride!” to a 16 year old then it meant nothing; you couldn’t get away with it now though.
Swing the kick start out, press down to feel compression then a good strong press with your leg. Whoosh, it turns over and – nothing. Feel compression again, press, still nothing. After half an hour of this it still wasn’t running, so it was Shanks’s pony again to get to work.
After work it was down to the bike shop to see Jack. I felt a bit funny asking him what could be wrong when I hadn’t bought it from him. “I’ll bet it’s the plug that’s whiskered up, then yer flooded the cases with petrol, you could have still been there kicking it and it wouldn’t have started. Best thing to do is put a new plug in and give it another try”.
“ar much are they?”
“ar much has tha got?”
“a tanner till pay day”
“looks like yer in bother then!” my heart sank, then, still with not a glint of a smile he said “look in that old box ower there, its full of old plugs that work, take one and give it a go”
I didn’t need telling twice, I rummaged through the box and found one that would fit, he showed me how to clean it so I didn’t get all the crap down inside the insulator, then off I went to give it a go.
Taking the old plug out I could see it was covered in oil and totally black, no wonder it wouldn’t start. In went the “new” plug, shake the bike, close the air intake, tickle the carb, pull the kick start out, feel compression then holding my breath, press down firmly. Whoosh she turned over – nothing -
kick it again, whoosh, then a ring-ding-ding she lives. I can’t remember how many miles I did on that bike, its way back in the dim and distant past when even eyesight was in black and white, but that started a love of bikes I never lost. Every time I get on a bike I can still feel the way I felt all those years ago when I was 16, the freedom, the wind, rain and sun on my face. Even getting wet and cold doesn’t matter.
I’m riding a bike, I’m riding MY bike and I’m still bloody grinning.
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