YUF98

In about 1981 I ran out of luck.

My motorbike got pinched and I crashed a couple of cars. My girlfriend left me and I had no means of getting around other than my old racing bike or the bus.

Someone offered me YUF98, a 20 year old Triumph 350 that was about 90% complete

The 10% that was missing didn’t stop it from being rideable. Twisting a couple of wires together, tickling the carburettor and kicking the engine over a few times would get it to run. It was dead slow, and noisy, and the brakes improved with use as all the rusty linkages freed up. I strapped a rubber hooter to the handlebars to get it through an mot and I covered the seat with a plastic bag so I didn’t get a wet arse every time I sat on the tatty bit of sponge that was once a nice saddle.

It had old cracked tyres and when I first had a puncture discovered the inner tube already had 19 patches. The nylon front tyre had next to no tread, and cornering in the rain was terrifying.

I soon learnt how to get the best out of it, and enjoyed zooming around London and hours of tinkering to make it better.

I got to learn the thrill of the breakdown, they were common. I met lots of people whilst I was stuck, I got lifts, spanners, tea, use of a phone. All sorts of lovely things happened and I always did get home. Eventually.

One day I had a little incident with a Volvo driver. As a result a police motorcycle rider pulled alongside and pointed to the kerb. I went to pull over but for reasons I don’t understand even now, I rode off.

I turned sharp right at the lights in the pouring rain and immediately left and then twisted through the terraced streets of north London. 5 minutes later as I approached Lordship lane there was a cop stood by a motorcycle in the road ahead.

He was waiting for me. A moment later and a second cop was behind me. The cop who’d pointed for me to pull over.

Whilst one of them took down my details the other went over the bike. In addition to the offences of failing to stop and careless riding there were plenty of others relating to the state of the bike.

Worn out tyres, leaking oil, seat not properly attached, broken light lenses, lights that didn’t work without twisting wires together, and which when they were wired in caused the engine to die. Then he came to the hooter strapped to the handlebars. “Does this work?”

It did but the rubber bulb had come off. The only way to make it make a sound was to blow through it. I pulled down the chin of my crash helmet leant over the handlebars and blew through the reed. It squawked. “Defective hooter” he muttered as he added it to the list.

By this time I’d acquired a nearly identical bike which also ran, but the 10% missing from that wasn’t the same 10% as was missing from YUF98. I had planned to make one good bike out of the two, but now I had an incentive. That night in my flat I fixed the bike up. The donor had much better wheels and tyres and brakes. It had a couple of switches which replaced the oily wires. And it had a rubber bulb on the hooter.

The next morning I rode to work and they were waiting for me. I pulled up and they went over the bike and were obviously impressed. There was nothing to report. I almost got a pat on the back.

An overnight transformation!

On both days I was late for work. On the first day very wet, as well as very late, and my excuse sounded so ridiculous. The next day only a bit late but dry, and with a similarly ludicrous tale.

The following day I rode my bike as sensibly as I knew how. I left home very early so wasn’t in a hurry. As I approached the traffic lights where Bounds Green road joins the North Circular Road the traffic was heavy. Rather than ride down the opposite side of the road I chose to stick with the cars. I was well early. I really didn’t want to be late three days in a row. And I really really didn’t want to attract any more attention.

The road goes down hill, all I had to do was let go the brake when the cars moved and the bike rolled forward. I came to a narrow gap between a car and van and there wasn’t space to ride through, so I waited. The lights ahead turned green and the traffic set off but the car on the left didn’t move. Neither did the van on my right. The lights went red again. And then green. The van driver couldn’t move because he was behind right turning cars. The driver of the car on the left had nothing to stop him. I could see no reason why the car didn’t move but I was chilled. And then lights turned red and green and still no movement. I let my bike coast a bit closer so I could try and squeeze by.

I glanced at the driver as I passed. There was something very wrong. I jumped off my bike which fell against the side of the van. I grabbed the car door and tried to talk to the driver. He was gasping for air. His eyes were bulging. He was wrestling with his seatbelt. I don’t think he even saw me.

The noise of my bike hitting the van caused the van driver to jump out. As soon as he saw what was going on he told me to call an ambulance. I ran across the North Circular road to a call box. There was no handset. Just wires.

I ran back, in my boots and leather jacket. Up the hill to the scene. Already several people were out of their cars and helping. The poorly driver was flat on the floor.

The van driver and a woman were on their knees crouched over the poor chap. It was a scene of great drama.

Out of breath I said the phone didn’t work. Someone pointed up the hill to the underground station. I kept on running. The scene was awful, there were people trying to help and more people looking on. I was running up the hill towards the tube station when I spotted a very familiar motorcycle approaching. It was a police motorbike and the cop riding it knew me. He’d stopped me twice in the previous two days.

I was gasping for air now and flagged him down. He looked at me running away from a scene in the middle of the road ahead of him. A man lay on the ground, people surrounded him. And on the floor was YUF98, lying almost flat, but held up by the side of the van. Before I could even utter a word he said “I hope you haven’t killed someone”.

Within minutes an ambulance came and the poor man was put inside and driven away. The cop took some notes from people around. It dawned on him that I hadn’t actually done what it looked like I’d done.

I arrived at work late yet again. And again I had this bonkers tale by way of an excuse.

Fortunately I didn’t get sacked and I spent the day in a bit of a daze. Late in the afternoon who should walk in through the shop door, but the cop. Incredibly he validated my entire story, but sadly told me that the driver had arrived at hospital dead. He thanked me though, and left.

Along my route to work was a hump backed bridge over the New River. I always approached it with full throttle and would try and fly over it. One day just as I took off the same cop reached the top of the bridge going in the opposite direction.

Once I’d got over the bridge I did a u turn. And so did he. We passed each other again in the same place. I had to pull over. I was laughing too much, I looked over my shoulder and sure enough he had come after me, and stopped alongside me. “I suppose you think that was funny” he said as tears rolled down my cheeks.

The next time I met this cop he came back into the shop, out of uniform, and carrying a large plastic bag under his arm. He asked if he could show us what he’d made. He unwrapped a round copper shield which depicted an eagle in flight. He had hammered this from a flat sheet into a chintzy ornament. It was his hobby and it was quite good, if a little niche. That was the last time I ever saw him.

Eventually I made one really nice bike and one pretty ratty one. YUF 98 was always the ratty one.

I didn’t mind friends riding it and one day John asked to borrow it. He came back later in the day. He’d been stopped whilst on Green lanes. A motorcycle cop pulled him over and asked if Mr Lawson knew he was riding his bike.

A few weeks later the charge for my reckless riding came through. There was only one item. Defective hooter. He’d let me off all the other crimes. A £30 fine and no points on my licence. NACAB.