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V.S.O.C. Newbie's Tale
It started for me in 1956, age 6, standing on my Grandmother's front
porch in Dallas and watching as a clutch of bikes came screaming down
Bryan St. with a noise like the end of the world - it was wonderful. My
grandmother was giving them the evil eye and pursing her lips into a
tiny sphincter of disapproval. She looked like she'd swallowed a wasp
but I knew right then what I wanted to be when I grew up...one of those
guys with their shirt streaming out behind them, Brando-style cap jammed
on their head and cigarette clamped in their mouth, astride a monster
motorcycle. I knew better than to admit this to adults of course. When
asked, I wanted to be a pilot, or a marine biologist if I was feeling
precocious.
My dreams of owning a Harley were severely interfered with by my family
moving to the UK in 1963 but by 1967 I had bought my first Britbike, a
lovely BSA C15 SS (or so the guy claimed)' the SS being a special with a
higher comp. ratio. He was a police motorcycle mechanic but there was
nothing about any SS on the V5. It certainly looked good, with all black
and chrome livery, chrome crash bars and a chrome visor on the headlamp.
See, I was already trying to have a cruiser. Stupidly, I sold this bike
to go on holiday or something equally daft and that wasn't the last
time.
Next came a little Honda 125 twin (CB125) with a pair of mini cow-horn
bars. Revved up, it went like a startled goat. It had had a hard life by
the time it got to me but a little cash (in the days when there were
little motorcycle shops all over the place) and I was on my way. I
probably thrashed it more than necessary while I had it and the guy I
sold it to, no lie, rode it all the way to Morocco and back, two up. He
said he saw the pipes turn white hot by the head as he was wheezing over
the Pyrenees on the way back. He stopped of course and managed to avoid
a total seize-up but it was a spent husk of a bike when he pulled into
Hatfield.
Moving back to Dallas, I equipped myself with a nearly new 350 Honda
twin pretend dirt bike (CL 350). It was fine for tooling around town but
I rashly agreed to ride up to Oklahoma City for the weekend and wished I
hadn't... Eventually that bike would end up mashed when a white
Cadillac, running a red light, presented only a choice of where exactly
along it's side I would bury the Honda. Over the top and into the
traffic coming the other way. It was bad. In and out of hospital and
operations and that for two years, plus another 12 months before I was
out of a body-cast and able to stagger about Frankenstein's
monster-style. One leg ended up about 1.5 inches shorter than the other
but it never occurred to me that I wouldn't get another bike.
I was in London by now and I couldn't get my leg over an actual
motorcycle, so I bought a Honda step-through moped. My morning trips
across London could often be conducted at full-throttle all the way,
buzzing in between the stationary traffic on the Euston Rd. This was
followed by a Honda 90, still able to step through and a fair bit more
speed. This bike came west with me and we settled in Bath. I sold the 90
to a mate and got a fairly new MZ 250 which served me well for a few
years until I sold it to etc. etc.
Next came a rarity, a Bantam Cub, a mash up between a Bantam frame and a
Tiger Cub 200 cc motor. It was a product of the dying days of both BSA
and the then Triumph motorcycle company. The motor was basically too
much for the frame and the front brake had a tendency to make the front
forks twist when applied in extremis. I got a friend to make me up a
brace in mahogany, bolted tight around the forks to keep the steering
straight. They smirked at the MOT station but they passed it!
Eventually I gained an "other half" and although she was riding a Moto
Guzzi 250 twin when I met her, bikes took a back seat then, ha ha, to a
car. It was 15 years before we ended up with somewhere I could keep a
bike and I made the first of many, many investments in a 1960 AJS 350 cc
single Model 8.
I kept that bike,
gradually fixing everything (!) that was wrong, for the next 15 years,
riding it whenever I could until I got to the stage where now, aged 62
and well-crook, I realised it was time to fulfil my childhood dream (as
well as to buy something with an electric start). I sold the AJS for
about 25% of what I've spent over the years and bought myself a
beautiful 2005 silver gold XVS 650 Dragstar Classic.
It's kind of wonderful that
we can still buy affordable bikes that look like they did in the
fifties. It might have taken a while but I'm really very happy to be
here.
Thanks,
Carr Hayslip
VSOC Member 6727
Centre 17, Wilts.
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carr hayslip's tale 