Quite a few of these refugees have come my way over the years, including a completely original Velocette MOV 250 given to me by a school friend whose parents simply wanted the infernal thing out of the garage where it had slumbered for decades.
But these days, abandoned motorcycles are rare, like hacksaw blades that last more than one cut, or mail-order shoes that fit perfectly straight out of the box. So when I was contacted by a chap who said he wished to dispose of some motorcycles that he had stored for nearly forty years, my ears pricked up. “What sort of motorcycles?” I enquired, trying hard not to appear too excited, and fearing the worst. But the answer was not the expected – the front half of a Royal Enfield Flying Flea, the (cracked) left crankcase of a 350 AJS, or a Honda Step Through that had spent the last half of its life in a fishpond.
“They are Zündapps; German bikes from the ‘fifties”. I am sure my sudden intake of breath was audible, but I responded in a quasi-disinterested voice, “That sounds interesting.” I had only the owner’s word and a couple of very poor photos to go on, but it was enough to arouse the spirit of adventure. “Bring a trailer,” he had said, “A big one.” A few weeks later, I headed out of Sydney in a ute with a car trailer borrowed from a trusting mate, accompanied
