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03-01-2013, 11:29pm
My first dirt bike. Methanol powered GPZ1100 with Milk-Bar cams ('they stay open all day!').
![[Image: GPZmethanol.jpg]](http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t20/camel_geselle/GPZmethanol.jpg)
Nah, just gammin' it was a 1962 Bridgestone 50 step-thru. The GPZ came later.
![[Image: 1962Bridgestone50.jpg]](http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t20/camel_geselle/1962Bridgestone50.jpg)
Mate and I were gullible 14 year olds who bought it in good faith from the local Arthur Daley for five bucks. Couldn't find a throttle tube for the shitbox anywhere so we fitted a pushbike handbrake to act as a throttle. Took the LHS cover off to clean the points and didn't bother to put the cover back on. The flywheel was covered in curved fins to aid cooling..... Pile of shit still wouldn't start so we pulled the carby apart and refitted it. Unfortunately, I refitted the slide 180 degrees out.
At this stage I bet you're thinking that the holes in the swiss cheese are starting to line up.
It was a hot tropical wet season Saturday. We'd pushed that shit heap four times around the house trying to start it. Just as we were about to give up through exhaustion the cunnava thing fired and took off like a scalded cat. To make matters worse I grasped the handlebars to hang on, pulling the handbrake/throttle all the way in and making it rear on its hind wheel. It pirouetted around and, like a trebuchet, flung me across the front yard, but not before shredding my jeans and about a centimetre of skin as I dragged my leg across those screaming curved cooling fins.
f*** it hurt.
Even worse was the pain of doing it in front of a girl I was keen on. It didn't help that the neighbours were hosting a barby for The Bodgies MCC and they had a front row seat to the whole debacle. They were rolling around the lawn pissing themselves with laughter. This only increased when I lost my temper and called them all manner of foul things. It got worse for them when my Mum, on hearing the cursing, came outside and hauled me into the house by my ear. Between blows to my scone I could see grown men in pain gasping for breath before continuing on, roaring with laughter.
That was my first experience with motorcycles, travelled all of ten foot and was scarred for life as a result. That's all it took. I was hooked from that moment on.
Camel
Nah, just gammin' it was a 1962 Bridgestone 50 step-thru. The GPZ came later.
Mate and I were gullible 14 year olds who bought it in good faith from the local Arthur Daley for five bucks. Couldn't find a throttle tube for the shitbox anywhere so we fitted a pushbike handbrake to act as a throttle. Took the LHS cover off to clean the points and didn't bother to put the cover back on. The flywheel was covered in curved fins to aid cooling..... Pile of shit still wouldn't start so we pulled the carby apart and refitted it. Unfortunately, I refitted the slide 180 degrees out.
At this stage I bet you're thinking that the holes in the swiss cheese are starting to line up.
It was a hot tropical wet season Saturday. We'd pushed that shit heap four times around the house trying to start it. Just as we were about to give up through exhaustion the cunnava thing fired and took off like a scalded cat. To make matters worse I grasped the handlebars to hang on, pulling the handbrake/throttle all the way in and making it rear on its hind wheel. It pirouetted around and, like a trebuchet, flung me across the front yard, but not before shredding my jeans and about a centimetre of skin as I dragged my leg across those screaming curved cooling fins.
f*** it hurt.
Even worse was the pain of doing it in front of a girl I was keen on. It didn't help that the neighbours were hosting a barby for The Bodgies MCC and they had a front row seat to the whole debacle. They were rolling around the lawn pissing themselves with laughter. This only increased when I lost my temper and called them all manner of foul things. It got worse for them when my Mum, on hearing the cursing, came outside and hauled me into the house by my ear. Between blows to my scone I could see grown men in pain gasping for breath before continuing on, roaring with laughter.
That was my first experience with motorcycles, travelled all of ten foot and was scarred for life as a result. That's all it took. I was hooked from that moment on.
Camel