What are your favourite (or worst nightmare!) memories of when you very first got into Bikes?
It was the summer of '76 ... a heatwave .. I was on holiday in Cornwall with parents and siblings. Aged 15yrs. Me and sis hooked up with a motley crew of Bikers and had the BEST holiday ever! The parents were pretty worried at first ... they were not sure of the intentions of these hairy leather clad beasts ... but they were perfect gentlemen (though a bit noisy Lol) Happy Days :)
My 1st memory of biking was riding a Royal enfield 350 and changing gear on my mates farm . 2nd memory of biking was hitting a tree about 15 seconds later.
Worst memory was writing off my brand new 250 Super (wet) Dream, aged 18 and with the kind of bravery reserved only for the very young or the very stupid, I was going for fuel before going to my girlfriends. The roads in my town had just been tar and chipped and the Honda was on the standard Nippon-no-grip tyres, which for some reason didn't want to shed any chips in the treads. Off I set to the fuel station and approaching a beautiful sweeping left hander I was giving it the beans, (or as many beans as the wet dream had) the front end started to give out and I had the awful premonition of my bike all dented and scratched and my arse full of gravel rash, not a pretty thought. Thinking quickly, and seeing there was nothing coming towards me, I decided to cut across the road, mount the pavement via a drop kerb, regain control and exit via the next drop kerb without the sickening off I was destined for. All was well, until I hit the house brick someone had left on the path, this connection threw me totally off balance and straight into a brick wall at about 35 miles an hour. After hitting the lawn and not feeling the bike come crashing down on me , I jumped to my feet hoping to get back on the bike and ride off without any embarresing encounters with home owners and such, only to find the front end of the bike totally wrapped underneath itself with the wheel under the frame. The only good thing to come out of this was the headlight glass and mirrors remained intact, it seems Honda glass is wonderful stuff, I just wish they had made my bike out of it as well.
first memory was blasting down the canal walk at the age of 8 on my ickle honda c50(1977).worst memory must be waking up one morning to find my beloved honda cj125 missing off my yard two days after passing my test
1966 , mi mate was the proud owner of a Honda 50 sport. This was the motorcycle version of the stepthru. Pressed steel frame and forks , complete with a clutch. It was bright red. He charged people thrupence (3d) to ride it round the field at Lady Gilfords park.
I was hooked on bikes instantly. I was eleven. Forty eight years later Wilf and I still ride round fields together. We were both at Steve H's Dent weekend.
My earliest memory of bikes (and what got me into biking) was being sat on my dad's triumph thunderbird at the tender age of 7 and revving the balls off it (To my dad's horror) whilst laughing uncontrollably at the vibrations going through my whole body. I still love that feeling although nowadays I try (no really) to keep it below the red line.
I think I was about 10 at the time and one of my bro's had got an old scrambler and was racing it up and down the park beside us, needless to say I had to have a go it looked so exciting
And yes there I sped off thinking I was great n all and went flying straight into a bush but oh my what fun! And it had me hooked on bikes ever since.....
Ah, my Honda C90, registration HTB 88K. For the first time I could reach the distant but visible land of Wales under my own steam. The thrill of Mold, one might say, only it doesn't sound right. Not really.
Most excited when i got on my ex GPO BSA Bantam for the first time, it was short lived, i changed into 1st gear on a corner and went over the handlebars.
Being chased up the south circular road S.E.6 by the old bill in 1974. I was riding my mates GT250, underage and no licence. Fortunately got away and learnt my lesson
One of my earliest memories is of riding in the boot of my Dad's sidecar in the pouring rain. Forget where we had been. By the time we got home the water in the well was above my welly tops and, as I had a rubberised raincoat on, even my pockets were full of water. Dad drilled some holes in the floor after that.
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