Buying Your First Classic

Should you buy a classic bike?

OLIVER HULME is your guide

Why buy a classic bike? It’s a good question – after all, modern bikes are invariably easier to ride and more reliable. They don’t (as a rule) leak oil or lose their electrics, nor do they need much attention between services.

On the other hand, there are plenty of good reasons for buying a classic. They are great fun to ride, have character and are usually fixable at home by a competent mechanic. But the ultimate reason is yours, and yours alone, which is all that matters. It could be that you are returning to motorcycles after a long break, perhaps because life, jobs, families and cars got in the way. But often it’s down to memories of halcyon days. As a classic dealer once said to me: “We are buying our own nostalgia.”

Looking Back…

You might remember the fun of those blasts to the coast in summer or heading for the hills with nothing but a tent and a Party Four strapped on behind. Late night dashes through the city streets, on some mission that felt so important at the time. But you’ll remember those winter rides too, when the wind cut through, icicles formed on your nose and the rain found its way through that battered wax-cotton jacket.

There were moments of perfection when the weather and road were just right, and times of heroic failure, of nursing an ancient Honda back home on one cylinder, or picking the gravel from fresh wounds, or hauling something out of the hedge you stuffed it into. Or the satisfaction of coaxing a bike back into life with the help of a couple of mates and a big hammer.

So that’s nostalgia, but perhaps you already live a twowheeled life, but the modern stuff doesn’t do it for you any more and you feel the need to get back to basics. There’s the challenge of finding just what you want, and the good news is that there’s an old bike to suit just about everyone. It might be a stinky Greeves two-stroke, a throaty old Norton, the slightly unhinged howl of a DOHC Kawasaki or the sheer unadulterated class of a Ducati or Moto Guzzi. It could be a bike you owned when young (or lusted after because you couldn’t afford it) – a candy purple Yamaha FSIE or a late ’60s Triumph Bonneville, maybe an original Suzuki Katana.

Or maybe you’re in your 20s or 30s, and just like the style and feel of old bikes. Modern bikes are a bit like an iPhone – they work perfectly, but don’t need much interaction. A classic motorcycle on the other hand, demands some input and effort from the rider, and the result can be a far more satisfying ride which transcends the everyday. Ultimately, it’s all about feeling alive.

A New, Old World

Many of the people I know who ride classic bikes tend to prefer the rough and ready to the soulless corporate offerings, and that extends to the dealers as well as the bikes. Traditional bike shops of blessed memory might have vanished from the high streets, but they’re still on the outskirts, keeping going in industrial units that aren’t quite big enough. These are the shops you’ll start to frequent, the ones with hard working owners, old bikes lined up outside and mechanics with long hair and grease on their foreheads. A few of the major modern bike dealers do seem to care about classics, often the ones that are flourishing , often with a handful of ’70s bikes tucked away in the corner of the showroom because the owner really doesn’t want to part with them.

Forget the past for a moment, though. One big attraction of classic bikes is that they look so stylish, and it’s a look that’s more popular than ever. That’s why so many modern manufacturers offer ‘retro’ motorcycles – I’m thinking a brand new Triumph Bonneville or Royal Enfield Interceptor. But park one of those 21st century recreations next to an original and it’s obvious which is the better looking. The same goes when you start them up – they are good facsimiles, but not the real thing.

My own experience of classic British motorcycle ownership arrived when I bought a very ordinary BSA Starfire 250 and took it to a major bike meeting. I parked up among a forest of new Harley-Davidsons, ZZeFR this, and GPxRR that before wandering off to grab coffee and a bun. When I returned the little BSA was surrounded by people discussing it, reminiscing about the bike they owned in the past, and wanting to know how much it cost, how hard was it to start and so on. Which motorcycle will turn heads? A fully-equipped new adventure bike might get a glance, but just watch the heads turn as a ’50s AJS 350 rumbles past. The regular star of my local bike night is a 50cc Raleigh Runabout...

In fact, meeting people – the social side – is one of the more important aspects of classic ownership. There are clubs like the VMCC, bike nights and gatherings all year round, friendships to be made and information to be gleaned. If you need help, someone will have the answer. You might end up down a one marque rabbit hole or find a fascination for ex-military machinery. Solo riders will always find themselves meeting some kindred spirit along the way, shows are friendly and convivial affairs, while jumbles are a great way to lose yourself for a few hours.

What is a Classic?

What then, to ride? I’ve had as much pleasure riding a 200cc Francis-Barnett two-stroke through leafy English lanes as I’ve had taking a 750 GPz Kawasaki on an A-road blast. They both have their moments, and their faults.

Speaking of Francis-Barnetts, can a pedestrian AMC commuter be considered a classic? Some say no, thinking a Falcon is too ‘grey porridge’ to be worthy of the name. If you call a Villiers-powered runabout ‘classic’ then surely a Honda CG125 or C50 stepthough qualifies too, just as much as a Vincent Black Shadow. In short, how do you define what a classic actually is?

When Titch Allen formed the Vintage Motorcycle Club (back in 1946), a ‘vintage’ bike was anything made prior to 1930, or as little as 16 years old. Later, the VMCC took on the 25-year guideline – anything 25 years old or more could be considered a classic, whether it’s British, Japanese, European, whatever.

If you accept that, then there’s plenty of scope. For some, a classic has to be British, and buying an old Brit bike is actually a good call. Spares availability is excellent and complete bikes are plentiful, so there’s bound to be one that suits your style, size and ability. There’s also a vast amount of knowledge about them, plus a forest of magazines, whole libraries full of books, owners’ club experts and individual owners with encyclopaedic knowledge.

But things are changing. Now, anyone under 60 probably grew up on Japanese bikes, not British ones. As a result, there’s rocketing interest in Japanese classics, which have their own magazines, experts and clubs too. And while the spares situation isn’t quite as plentiful, and is complicated by more variants (especially imports) you can still get most things at a price. Italian bikes didn’t change as frequently as Japanese models, which helps, and their ancillaries are often universal, which can be a boon. BMW flat-twin owners are among the best served of all when it comes to spares, and few would argue about an aircooled BeeEmm’s classic status.

Just for the Ride

Owning a classic motorcycle can change you as a person. Riding one, whether alone or with a group, can be transcendental when everything’s going well. Of course, there will be challenges too, in fact, moments of incandescent rage, but that’s all part of the territory. An old motorcycle will be simple enough to look after by yourself.

You’ll get used to taking it apart in the winter and putting it back together again in the spring. It may not run any better afterwards, but you’ll know more about it. And I find that doing things yourself and understanding how they work brings on a feeling of calm. If a modern bike won’t go (a rare occurrence, I’ll grant you), where do you start? If the carburettor float bowl on your old BSA is overflowing, then you’ll probably know from experience that the float is sticking, and what to do about it. You will break down, it’s inevitable. But even this can be a blessing. The old boy mowing his lawn will come over as you scratch your head and offer to help. And then you haven’t just satisfied yourself, but him too.

Kick starting (which applies to a shrinking proportion of old bikes now – most bikes less than 40 years old have push button starting) is becoming a lost art, though it’s really just a case of getting to know the technique your bike needs.

Then there’s the brakes. Drum brakes or discs from the 1970s will be nowhere near as good as you remembered or expected, while other road users will be able stop much more quickly than you can. No indicators? You’d better get used to hand signals. Pre-1975 British bikes have their gear change on the right, though Japanese and European classics are usually left foot. Although a right-foot shift might seem confusing at first, a little practice will stop you hitting the brake instead of the gears. Older British machines also have the changing sequence backwards, in a one-up-three-down arrangement, rather than one-down-three up. Except on Triumphs. Confused yet?

My First Classic(s)

I bought my Yamaha XS650 Special for £1000 in 1993 when it was 14 years old, and it is still in my shed after years of sterling service. But my first real classic buy was a 1969 BSA Starfire 250, bought at the VMCC jumble at Shepton Mallet five years ago. A running US import, the most complicated part of the purchase was getting it registered. The little BSA is lots of fun over short distances, but I don’t tend to ride it far as the riding position doesn’t suit me. The Starfire is famous for grenading in spectacular fashion, and this one did subsequently snap an exhaust valve, but fixing it was a breeze.

A year later I bought a splendidly dog-eared 1973 Triumph Bonneville on the phone (by accident, these things happen) from an HJ Pugh auction – I put in a silly bid which I didn’t expect to win and then did. So I changed the oil and the high-rise bars, blatted around on it for three months with no trouble at all and then I rode it 1500 miles to the Shetlands and back. It performed faultlessly all the way, using less than a pint of oil, most of which dribbled from an incontinent primary drive. As I never fail to tell people, the Triumph had in a past life had a starring role as a getaway vehicle in an episode of The Sweeney.

You return from your first short ride and give the machine a close look over. Is there oil or petrol leaking from somewhere unexpected? Could well be. Are there unpleasant noises coming from anywhere? Do the lights still all work, and if they don’t, does your local car accessory shop have 6v lightbulbs?

If something has gone wrong, consult the manual to see why it broke and decide you really should change the oil and tidy up the bodged together crimped-on wiring while you are about it. Check the battery is charging properly, and a couple of decent tyres might not go amiss.

This all sounds a bit like hard work, but that changes over time. Gradually, you’ll gain confidence in the bike and your ability to fix it. The rides become longer and the satisfaction greater, and you’ll discover skills you didn’t know you had.

So if you want a challenge, but don’t fancy taking up golf or running marathons, then a classic motorcycle is fabulous way of feeling alive. And with it comes great knowledge, new friendships and great comradeship, of the kind you might have forgotten existed. ■