A FIFTY YEAR Dream
In the mid-1960s, I was a sixth-former at school but more of my time was devoted to poring over the fine detail of Motorcycle Mechanics than studying my set books. My weekly income, ten shillings earned as a Saturday morning errand boy for the Co-op, stretched only to running an aged, well-worn, rigid and teles BSA B31. One magazine article made a huge and long-lasting impression on me. It concerned a man who owned, ran and maintained an immaculate Ariel Square Four. The article concluded by saying (and I remember it so well that these words are almost a direct quotation) ‘Here is a man who wants, and actually gets, a motorcycle that is significantly better than the day it left the factory.’
Wow, I thought. What a tremendous position to be in. One day, perhaps…
Four decades and more . A wife and two daughters came along, and my career progressed. I could afford much better motorcycles: bikes. For a reason which I couldn’t put into words (although was it, perhaps, a touch of envy?), it irked me that it was not down to anything that I myself had done that they would effortlessly perform every task I asked of them. That magazine article continued to haunt me. One day, perhaps…
