Readers’ letters from Motorcycle Sport, December 1974

An Irish Biker Mourns the Loss of a Loved One

Once upon a time I owned a British bike. What a beaut! A Royal Enfield 250 Single 57/58. (Note: I assume the writer was not sure of the year model of the bike.) Oh, the joy of owning that bike. Words cannot describe the satisfaction of being able to change a head gasket by the roadside... regularly. (Note: not an easy task, even in a workshop... even once!)

Or the joy of having £10 worth of fillings vibrate out of your mouth not 10 miles from the dentist, and what about Grannie’s Christmas watch that shook itself to oblivion after 50 miles? Oh, the memories!

Give me back the old days when ‘Men Wuz Men ‘n’ Bikes wuz Bikes’ and the people you met while stranded on the roadside or hitching to the nearest town for a new pushrod (or was it a gearbox – one of the things that makes it go anyway).

Or what about that nice copper that arrested me as a terrorist bomber in bomb-torn Dublin when my head gasket blew for the nth time? Yes, this is the stuff that memories are made of and puts hair on your chest.

And what character... a cantankerous kickstarter that launched me over the handlebars with nonchalant ease. And what about the way it shed anything non vital to movement as soon as the back was turned?

Oh, yes, almost human, and the colours, oh! The Colours! Black, dark black, or oily black. Beautiful!

Those were the days: the wind in your face and the smell of freshly deposited oil on your boots, your trousers and the front drive.

Oh, how I miss it now that I’ve got this terrible, impersonal, reliable, fast, flash, comfortable, three-cylinder (or is it four?) CB750 Honda (made of beer cans ‘n’ all) - imagine the bikes they could make if they had Guinness in Japan!

So, right on! V.S., Ontario, Canada, (Note: The writer is responding to a previous letter from a Canadian who evidently complained about soulless modern Japanese bikes and praised older British ones) if you’re ever in Ireland, give me a call and I’ll tow you and your British lump – whichever it is – home... to Canada!

Dublin P.K.