The young man was sixteen years old and owned a rather aged Royal Enfield Ensign motorcycle. It was 1963 and the bike, which had been manufactured ten or maybe fifteen years earlier, was a 150 cc two stroke.

One evening he was sitting on the rather unimpressive machine, outside a pub called the Elm Park Hotel. Three other young men started chatting and asking questions about his bike. He started the engine and generously allowed one of them to rev it. Sadly one of the other gentlemen placed his foot on the decompression valve and pressed it. The resulting noise, reminiscent of a machine gun, and the orange flames encouraged his to stop the engine.
After a few minutes of pointless conversation he decided to take his bike to the cafe across the road. He kick started the machine, engaged first gear and attempted to ride away. Unfortunately the three young men were holding tightly to the luggage rack. He stalled and gave up. The other three laughed and laughed.
They would probably laughed a lot more if another motorcycle had not roared into life. The trio stared at their next victim and rushed across the road to seize his luggage rack. The rider slowly peered over his shoulder at the three clowns. Then he revved his 500 cc B.S.A. and pulled away. As he accelerated first one and then two clowns let go before he was going too fast. The third and largest clown hung on. The half dozen bikers, who were watching, were all impressed by the shower of sparks issuing from his hobnail boots as he was dragged five or six metres. At fifteen or perhaps twenty mph he, at last, let go and broke into a speedy run which terminated when he tripped over the curb and rolled to a stop against a garden wall. The young man on the Ensign grinned and wondered why, said clowns, had been unable to tell the difference between a 150 and a 500 cc motorcycle.

Posted: Saturday, April 29th, 2017 @ 11:05 pm
Categories: Uncategorized.
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