Paul Miles
Paul finds out that some enthusiasts don’t think the way we do…
Iwas sitting with a friend in a cafe, drinking coffee and eating pastries – you may have realised by now there’s a recurrent theme – it’s surprising I actually find time to ride when I’m out there saving you from all those calories by throwing myself onto the cake slice before you get there... Anyway; the conversation swung to bikes, as it tends to do of course and he mentioned that he’d fallen a bit out of love; not with riding them, but selling them. An unusual declaration for sure, but what did he actually mean?
It transpired that his son had asked him to dispose of his small collection of Japanese twostroke sports bikes, mostly from the 1980s and 90s and being retired, he stepped up to the task in hand. All these machines were ‘runners’ but my mate soon realised that they each needed a little fettling – the odd sluggish indicator, a dicky neutral switch, frayed clutch cables, you know the sort of thing. He now faced a dilemma, should he do what most owner/riders would i.e. fix these niggling faults prior to advertising them, or just leave them as found and adopt the standard dealer-type default description of ‘starts, runs, needs minor attention for MOT’.
Bearing in mind he was selling them on behalf of his son and felt duty bound to try and achieve the best prices, as well as feeling the unsaid obligation not to sell a fellow rider a right old turkey, he set about these small jobs. We all know, of course, there’s no such thing as a small job, so many days, a couple of hundred metres of wire and a bucket of connectors later they were finally running to his broad satisfaction and duly advertised for sale as working motorcycles, ready to be ridden home.
A few days later, he wondered why he’d bothered. There were many calls, they were desirable 30-40 year old classic stinkwheels after all, but the questions asked deviated wildly from the expected script. He was prepared for the “when were the rings last replaced?” type of question, but somewhat confused that the vast majority seemed more interested in the stamping of parts numbers invisible inside the fairings, or under the seat.
Being a defender of the true and righteous path of leaky old British bikes he found this forensic questioning of what were, after all, mass-produced Japanese motorcycles made with built-in obsolescence in mind, at first a trifle amusing, then ultimately irritating.
None of the buyers, as in zero, seemed even remotely interested in how well they ran, that the generators generated or the brakes were in good order, it was all about the perception of originality. They eventually found new homes and my friend was relieved to see them go.
Their sale, of course, set off an additional selling spree as he now realised his very own garage contained a couple of bikes that weren’t really being used much and their disposal would free up space and funds for another vintage machine (the true path).
Fortunately, he was on much firmer ground with selling his own, long-term owned British bikes from the 1950s; all were ready to go and he was able to recite chapter and verse on their mechanical histories. Traditionally, British motorcycle enthusiasts are less obsessed by originality than their equivalent fans of far eastern machinery, because the machines tend towards the worthy, as opposed to the exotic and with reliability being more critical than chromium plating.
Furthermore, the factories of the 1950s often utilised parts that were common to a number of marques – Lucas electrics, Dunlop rims and so on, so there is a lot of generic engineering on display. All of this means the sale of a BSA, say, is more about “how much oil does it leak/burn?” and less about the thickness of an almost invisible washer. Until now.
First up, he advertised his rather nice (if you like that sort of thing) Matchless Single. Owned for years, very clean, smoke-free motor, rebuilt magneto and dynamo, the sort of bike you just know would get you to where you wanted to go and then bring you home again. Lovely. First call: “Are the tank badges made of metal, or Bakelite?” My mate has no idea. It seems very important to the prospective buyer, it’s the only thing he’s interested in, so off he goes to check. “Bakelite, I thin…” as phone is slammed down.
Second bike, an unapproachable Norton with a similar script (rebuilt magneto, no smoke…), advertised as unrestored. Caller: “Is the paintwork unmarked and original?” My friend replies it’s pretty much unmarked but couldn’t attest to it being original. “You said its original,” caller screams. “No, I said it’s unrestored, as in, I’ve never restored it.” Phone slams down.
Two lovely bikes, begging to be ridden, in beautiful condition, unsold because one didn’t have a metal tank badge and the other unmarked 70yo paintwork. Not just the Japanese stuff, then…
Rider or polisher, let’s just have fun out there and not sweat the small stuff.
Devil in the detail
Paul and his friend discover that riding and the enjoyment of ownership isn’t enough for some buyers…