Go
to the Archive indexThe dangers involved in this gentle interest of ours might well be minor compared with scaling the north face of the Eiger but they can strike the cyclemotorist as quickly as a snapping rope. These dangers present themselves in many guises and as with all nasty surprises when least expected. Take the pheasant. It doesn't matter how many times that you check your tyres and brake blocks, if this bird leaps out of a hedge and lodges in the spokes of your front wheel your arrival at ground level will be near to instant.
The bee. You might well visit dozens of autojumbles until you find the classic helmet of your choice but if a bee smacks you in the eye a kite mark will be of little use, you might as well be wearing a bath hat. It's not just the kamikaze sense of humour that British wildlife appears to possess. Other hazards lurk. Those machines that you have been cossetting throughout the winter months are quite capable of spiteful behaviour. A mudguard stay breaking loose can be fairly interesting if, like mine, it causes the rear mudguard to circulate with the wheel and only stops when the number plate jams under the saddle. The effect is quite dramatic. With a length of mudguard jammed between tyre and tarmac it's like skiing in a scrapyard. My event happened on a bend. The first sign of trouble was when I noticed a saddle bag overtaking me on the right. Now it's amazing how quickly we subconsciously respond, no sooner had that saddlebag come into view than the handlebars had been tugged and opposite lock was in action. By all reports the Cyclemaster and rider drifted stylishly around the bend in speedway fashion without entering hedge or ditch before literally grinding to a halt.
The hazards of cyclemotoring aren't always strictly physical and might well be filed under "visual humour" due to their effect on those that might happen upon a cyclemotorist. Take for instance a certain couple who for the sake of this article we will call Lorraine and Derek.
They have a tandem with a Power Pak fitted to it. With the luxury of room for both pilot and navigator the route map is sometimes gaffer taped to Derek's back and read by Lorraine on the rear saddle. Now this works fine while riding but watch the faces of the locals when we stop for a pint and Derek strides to the bar with a map taped to his back.
The visual hazard is best illustrated by our old friend the route map roller, this beast being the cyclemotorist's equivalent of grannie's mangle, except that it's not your bodily parts that are in danger but your sanity. They are no doubt a useful item for the active rider, but please practise loading the thing at home before you proudly attempt its use on a run in public. To get the sheet of instructions loaded squarely and working in such a manner that it is of any use at all is an art form. They jam if not loaded correctly and as you struggle with it from your saddle a pothole or hedgerow awaits. If loading when damp, your instructions will cling to the plastic sheet and remain whereever they choose. Such things would no doubt have amused Charles Darwin who had noticed how animals and birds had adapted to their surroundings and changing environment. What then would he have made of us cyclemotorists who instead of making any progress at all have chosen regression as a hobby? What would his theory be concerning a pub car park full of cyclemotorists that stood entangled in their route map rollers? He could well have suggested that in order to get our runs off on time we brought along a chimpanzee and rewarded it with a grape each time it loaded a roller.
It's an odd fact but the observant rider is at more risk than the unobservant. The more observant being interested in the landscape, architecture and wildlife that he passes through and occasionally locating a grassy bank or bone crunching rut as his gaze is transfixed by a soaring buzzard or beautiful chimney, whilst the unobservant rider continues safely by just staring at the tarmac a couple of metres in front of him.
It's important to remember also that these gentle machines that we all enjoy do rely on a hazardous substance to make them work. This was well illustrated a couple of years ago when a Teagle was found to have seized at some point between its last run and the one about to begin. The plug was removed and a drop of fuel poured into the cylinder. Shortly after, the engine burst into flames when a stray spark from the HT lead caught us all by surprise. It was quickly extinguished but had it happened in a shed rather than out in the open the story could well have been different. The Teagle did start up however and with no ill effects, which says something for cyclemotors when they can go from seizure to bonfire and go on to complete a 30-mile run as if nothing whatsoever had happened. It's all part of their charm.
Is it just possible that there are domestic hazards involved with this love of ours? Golf widows and fishing widows are well known but is there such a term as Cyclemotor widow? I hope not and feel that might be the case, the evidence being that all of the wives and friends of our male riders seem a very nice bunch and those that don't appear on the days of runs often turn up at the Thames Valley BBQ and Christmas party. I've never met a rider who regularly showed signs of suffering from impressions left by culinary implements though there might well be those that would suggest that all people with such an interest as ours must have received a blow to the head at sometime in the past.
It could be a social hazard rather than the domestic type but how about the Thames Valley Group's Buzz and Bar-B-Q? I've just heard on our old wood burning wireless that they are hazardous. Now I'm not going to suggest that our summer scoff and quaff is a dangerous event but, according to a survey, the toxins produced by cooking 4 steaks, 4 turkey breasts and 8 sausages is the equivalent of smoking 22,000 cigarettes. Now it would appear that even the Thames Valley resident celebrity chef Dirk Cartier is putting his health and 3 Dunlop stars at risk for cyclemotorists. It seems that his plastic pinny and rigger boots are of little use here.
Most likely, everyone's top hazard to a decent run out is the just around the corner breakdown. Fouled plugs must be accepted but if the engine has been stripped, the rings and seals replaced, a de-coke given then all should be well for the future though as far as real insurance goes it's always worth swilling the tank out and fitting an inline fuel filter, and remember that cables can ruin a day out if broken or frayed. As far as the ignition goes changing to a modern condenser is a good idea as the old type deteriorate through age as well as use. With this all done you can go on a run with a minimum of tools. The one fly in the ointment being the unpredictable nature of the ignition coil. You may well be having a faultless run but stop to visit a bush and it is quite possible your machine will refuse to start for a week. The joy spoiler most likely being that innocent little coil of wire hiding in the magneto.
One of the most unexpected hazards that seem to come along with cyclemotoring is the addiction aspect. The early pleasure of that single machine that was regularly looked at and pampered will in many cases soon come to an end as it will be hidden behind all of your new aquisitions and piles of spares. This is quite normal and should regulate itself naturally after a few years. Being relatively cheap and small a decent collection can be assembled and contained in a fairly average shed. Be warned however that collecting can grab you tight: when a friend of ours looks into his shed he sees about 120 machines.
However many machines you might own, at sometime or other they will all have made you happy, despite the tribulations mentioned here. That happiness comes in many ways, from runs, the tinkering, the autojumbling and those met along the way. It can go further. As far as I can remember I've always spent a few minutes thinking of nice things before going to sleep at night and thus ensuring a pleasant slumber. When a lad those thoughts swung from fishing trips down the river Whitewater to building a new bicycle and later to more grown up thoughts about Petula Clark. Last night I dropped off thinking about front mudguard stays. Such are the hazards of cyclemotoring.
First published, February 2004