Close call for a motorcycle test examiner

In 1962 I went to the Guildford test centre to take my bike test. I rode a Jawa two-stroke, the one whose kick-start lever reverted to the gear lever when one took one’s foot off, having fired up the bike.

The test course was a public road figure of eight. The examiner gave the instruction to “Stop when I show my clipboard” – jumping out from behind a tree before he did so.

I jammed on both brakes only to have the nipple pull off the front brake cable. I crashed the gears from third to first, thereby locking up the rear wheel.

The examiner was standing in the road, legs apart. I slid to a stop with my front blade type numberplate six-inches from his prized possessions, the smile on his face rapidly deteriorating into a look of horror…

I had the foresight to push the brake lever into its normal place so he didn’t notice the breakage, which would have meant a retest due to mechanical failure. After answering a few Highway Code questions, he passed me, and I’ve been riding ever since!