In those days you could ride a 125cc machine without the need of another test.
I was 18. An 18 year old with not much nouce.
I bought that bike with saved money and my first few wages.
I worked for a chap who was running a building company from his home in Dobcross. The home when I started was mostly a building site. By the time I left his employ it was worth 10x what he had payed for it, just over 4x if you include the money that it took to get it habitable.
I can't say I had much to do with the work, I answered the phone, mostly fobbing off people who wanted to be payed, ordering, filing and inputting to computer the receipts for the past 3 years.
The bus service to work was rare going to Dobcross and took about 2 hours with a change in Oldham, so the boss would pick me up or get one of the current subcontractor to collect me, so the journey was only 20 minutes.
The boss was excelent at collecting me in the morning, on time. Finishing and going home at 5 was an issue. It would mostly be 7 by the time we set off The boss though, "Well you'll not be getting home while 7 anyway, eh?" I wanted more independance.
I wiped my bank account, buying the MZ125. To me, at the time, it looked like a proper bike, BSA style. Note that the picture here is not the bike but as close as I could find mine was silver.
This beast was kickstart, something I swore from then on, never to get again. I found the job of starting her up so difficult that I took to leaving it at the tops of hills, or at least on quite flat areas.
The one time I stalled it and tryed to bump start on the road, I lost my reach on the clutch. not wanting to stall again, I tryed to chase the bike so that I could jump on, rather then letting the throttle die. I lost control and bounced off a large concrete plant pot, trapping my finger on the way down.
I was lucky, I guess. Casualty was just around the corner in Oldham in those days. This was while the Oldham Royal, which at the time of writing contains the current casualty department, was still being built.
Another memorable epesode was coming home from work. On the way, my usual route over Grains Bar, the snow plough had not gone beyond Grains Bar Road, from the Shaw side. The Snow was compacted and 3 feet deep.
I had a little go at lifting the bike over the 3 feet! Then after about 10 minutes I decided this was not sensible and took the alternative route, the one that matched the bus service in fact.
Okay I was about an hour late into work, the boss understood, especially as I was the only other preson who made it in that day. I was unable to bring the bike all the way up to the house as the road leading up was too slippary.
In the evening it was time to set off home. I plodded down to the bike, which looked fine. and I was on quite a steep hill, so starting would be a doddle.
By the time I had hit the bottom of the hill, the engine was still not running. I tried kickstarting, still the same. I was lucky, there was a car repair garage at the bottom of this hill, which became houses. I pushed the bike in and asked if anyone could help.
As we all know folk that work on cars dare not touch bikes. I was yet again lucky. One of the chaps knew bikes and was willing to take a look for me. I was frozen, and I even got a cup of tea, while he pulled my bike apart for me.
The dignosis was that the engine was flooded. I'll say it was. The chap poured out about half a pint of petrol from the engine casing. I had left the pertol tap on, as I usually did but being parked on the slope had caused the liquid fuel to go into places it had no right to.
Said engineer fired up the engine, while, still feeling miserable, I asked "How much?" he had spent about half an hour fiddling, but said they had had nothing to do all day and not to worry about it.
I ask "Are you sure" and I now have to find a way to trace the chap should I ever become a millionaire... ...I wounder if I should allow for inflation before I start search..?
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