It’s got to be one of the best feelings in the world, riding a bike that you have put together at speeds that are just breathtaking. Pushing hard into corners and........
I was born in 1964 and I rode my first bike at the tender age of 14. It was an old dirt bike I built at school with the help of my friends, eventually the school took it on as an after school activity. There must have been about 12 of us, we would run it until it broke and then rebuild it and start again.
I can’t remember my first thoughts of bikes or why but it was very early and for most of my youth it was all I could think about. I wanted to be the next Barry Sheen, school wasn’t for me and I hated every minute of being there except for sport, art and the bike club.
My first bike was a little Yamaha 100cc the air cleaner was bigger than the engine and the exhaust was massive but it was mine, in my head I was Barry, in fact in my little world I was better, much better. I was the first in the village to get a bike and the envy of all my friends. It wasn’t long before my mates joined me, Chris was the first followed by Tony. They were my best mates and now the world was open to us. Just small runs to start with, we had no idea about road craft or what to do in heavy traffic. The village was fairly quiet and the locals new who we were so what trouble could we get into ?
What started off as a bit of fun soon turned into a way of life. My first proper bike was an RD 250 ER in Yamaha blue with a racing seat and straight through racing pipes. It was all I ever wanted and now I could push the boundaries. You didn’t get lessons in those days and it was a one part test but that was some time off yet. I asked my Dad for a lift into Richmond to see the bike, there it was leaning against the wall in the garden of this old run down house. There was grass growing out of the engine and the tank had a dent in it the size of a skull. I bought it, much to the disgust of my Dad and we loaded it into the van. All I got in my ear on the way home was the fact I’d just sold a perfectly good machine to buy a wreck and it was a waste of money and over and over he told me it would never run.
I spent the next two weeks in the garage cursing and bleeding. The engine wasn’t as bad as it looked and just needed a good old clean to get rid of the years of dirt from in between the air-cooling fins that was now supporting the growth of the grass and moss. The carbs were massive or so I thought and I couldn’t work out what the large piece of plastic in between the pot and the carb was. I cleaned the air filter and reassembled the bike.
The tank was on the bench and was still in the repair stage. I couldn’t afford a new tank so I was filling the dent and re-spraying it as best as I could. I couldn’t wait any longer, I went into the house and emptied Mums Fairy washing up liquid bottle. After a good washout I filled it with petrol and attached it to the bike. I kicked and I kicked her over, nothing, not a murmur. Maybe my Dad was right and I had wasted my money.
Chris and Tony walked in to see what I was up to. After an hour of messing around and a lot pointing we tried again. She burst into life and scared the life out of me, what a noise. My heart was racing and I could feel myself shaking. I couldn’t get over the noise as my Mum came running in to see what all the excitement was.
She was rough, really rough but she was running. I spent the next few days working on the tank. I had to go to work with my Dad, it was the only way I was going to get to the bike shop in Bedale. I bought a set of black and white Yamaha tank stickers and I had a right good chat with lads in the bike shop. I didn’t realise at the time but these lads were going to be some of my best mates over the next few years.
I got the bike to Bedale and the lads worked on my machine, I was later to discover that the large piece of plastic between the carbs and the engine were the reed valves. A very special piece of kit with loads of potential for making your machine faster but first they had to work. The points were shot too. In those days you were only aloud around the back in the work shop if you knew the lads. Health and safety hadn’t raised its ugly head yet.
They started my bike up and she was singing, she was singing to me. I couldn’t get my helmet on fast enough to hide my girlie smile that was about to break my face in two. At this point I think it’s important to mention I knew nothing about power bands, I’d never experienced one or herd anyone talking about them. I didn’t even know they existed , needless to say I was about to find out.
I could barely get above 50 mph on my little 100cc bike, I rode her everywhere on full throttle. Because I could, it took time to get to full speed and it was nice and gentle. Don’t forget I was Barry Sheen and I could handle anything.
I learnt more over the next few months about bike riding than I ever have. I knew lots of nurses now too. I was on first names terms with Mrs Miller at the T-jct in Bedale. I was on my way into Richmond with the lads when this white flash past us and made my bike seem quiet and very slow. I was off, it was cool in those days to put your feet on the rear pegs, don’t ask me why it was the worst thing you could do, it made turning at speed very difficult. I knew the road into Richmond like the back of my hand but I could not catch this guy. Eventually we found him in the square, sat under the War Memorial. It was an RD 250 LC.
I past my test on the ER and started my search for my own LC. Over the next few years we all learnt to ride hard and fast, we lost a couple of friends on the way and we would all slow down for a while but eventually the run to Scarborough and Redcar was full on. The run to Helmsley from Thirsk and onto Pickering and a pit stop in Scarborough was my favourite; Sutton Bank was my nemesis and I hated it in both directions, however the run up to Whitby on the 171 was breathtaking in every sense of the word, by the time we had reached Redcar we all needed something to eat before the last leg home via Darlington.
Cutting my teeth on the RD series of bikes has formulated the way I ride today, I have fond memories of all my bikes. Keeping the front wheel down was a challenge to say the least, I love the smell of two stroke oil burning the buzz you get from controlling the power band as it cuts in just when you don’t need it. I’m in my late 40’s now and I seriously need to look at my style of riding. It hasn’t changed very much since I was an 18 year old lad.
"All men die, not all men really live"
Ed.
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