A recycled story

Apologies for recycling this story. I'm just waiting for a riding day and I'm bored.

FIRST REAL BIKE

The year was 1948 or so. I was down. Growing up in a family of four sisters, no brothers, a
homemaking Mom and a sick Dad, I was watching all my buddies buy new Matchless's or AJS's
from the local neighborhood dealer. Nelson Preston. I had just sold my beatup 1935 Harley 45
flat head because it was essentially junk, having passed through a number of owners, me being
the last, the ole' side valve was tired and so was I.
There was no way that I could afford a new British bike to keep up with my buds. I had to be
content with riding pillion on one of the Limey bikes purely as a favor on the part of the
owner, a sort of unwanted baggage.
A few months passed and I watched summer slowly change into cooler weather, the riding
season was just about over in Indiana. While at my deepest point of what was to be later
called PMS, (although I didn't have one to park), I got a call from one of my friends, Vic.. "Hey
Wayne, I know where there's a Matchless for sale!" Yeah, sure, like I could afford it. "C'mon let's
go look at it anyway" I agreed.
As I recall, we jumped on Vic's latest, a brand spankin' new advanced model 1948 Matchless 500
thumper and rode over to Pauline St. in Ft. Wayne. A little old lady ( at 19 I considered all ladies over 50
as old) came to the door and when we asked she said sure she had a motorcycle for sale. Her
husband had died and the bike was gathering dust in the shed in the back. "Would you like to
look at it?" I thought, might as well but with no money I was stumped. We went back to the
shed, opened the door and switched on the hanging light socket with a bare bulb in it.
The Matchless was there, with a grey patina of dust., and it seem to move in the glare from the light.. I remember walking up to it and actually shaking. Could this be the answer? Where would i get the
money. The Bike didn't speak to me. It just waited for my decision. It was a 1946 Matchless 500cc
single It was the first of the postwar factory output and I suspected that if I were to scratch the black paint I would find British olive drab underneath. It had a blank British license plate mounted on the front fender, an aftermarket windshield and a luggage rack with some leather bags draped over it.. It had only 3,000 miles on the Smith speedometer, and it sat very still on its hardtail frame, no coddling rear suspension for this "Flying M', it exuded a "take it or leave it" attitude that really got my attention.
I asked the lady if I could sit on it and maybe start it. She said "Sure"
By now, I was very much used to the Matchless drill, having rode everyone’s bike except my
own.
I retarded the spark, I tickled the Amal carb, and for good measure, I "strangled" it, the English proper name for choking.

I eased the kick start through to bring the big piston up on top dead center and then used the
compression release to move the piston partly through the exhaust cycle, and then I kicked. The
engine started thumping and kept on thumping as I advanced the spark. While Lucas was the
Prince of Darkness, that impulse magneto couldn't have been made by him, it was 100% reliable for it woke up the
engine which immediately started producing thumping horsepower. Now I'm really shaking. I
want this bike but no means on this earth to buy it! I reluctantly pulled the compression release
to stop the engine (there was no ignition switch in those trusting days).
“How much", I managed to croak. She evidently was waiting for that question. I'll sell it to you for
$250.00 with a chattel mortgage. No money down, no interest, two years to pay. I started shaking again. I couldn't believe it! I said yes. We made the arrangements and I rode it the next day. This ole Matchless seem to shrug off the stale gas that I had no business forcing through that Amal carb in my eagerness
but dumbness to hear it run.
I really learned the joys of wind in your face, the freedom, the banking and turning that goes with
the rhythm of the road, and the unique companionship that goes with motorcycling. I created many
memories, rode many miles, including riding the BRP before it was completed, and that humble
single cylinder Flying M never let me down as long as I got out the Wentworth wrenches
at the end of the day and tightened every fastener. As far as riding at night, I won't talk about that, Lucas, you know.

Postscript.

Today, 63 years later I look back on my life. With the exception of a few years after my Army discharge and marriage, four kids and one grandson later, 46 years of married life, and the wife’s passing 9 years ago, I find that motorcycling has been a good part of my life. I’m now an old fart like RJ (poetically speaking, I’m in the Autumn of my Years, sounds better to me), and I’m still motorcycling some on a Vstrom 1000 which replaced my tried and true Valkyrie. The Vstrom is easier on my knees but the Valk was the best ride that I ever had..

This story has been recycled but I hope to have some new escapades on the Strom and maybe write about it. After all, we can’t live in the past.

Wayne, Solo1