Cursed by the Mechanical Gods (part 2)

"Motorcycles don't leak oil, they mark their territory." - Unknown

Continuing to delve into my questionable vehicle history. Please see Part 1 here.

More photos of a stricken BMW for your amusement

I don't think tyres are supposed to look like that...

Some will no doubt claim I'm bad at maintaining things, others insist I'm just unlucky. Personally I think I just have a natural talent for breaking anything mechanical. Whatever the reason it has not deterred me and I continue to lust after the next car or bike, spending many hours trawling eBay for the next vehicle to strand me at the roadside and empty my bank balance.

Yamaha YBR125

Because who needs to go over 60mph right...?

After turning 24 and having missed being on a bike since selling my NSR125 to fund learning to drive, I decided to bite the bullet and do my Direct Access motorbike test. Having redone my CBT I needed a leaner bike to get some practice on, in between lessons. Fortunately I found a tidy looking YBR125 for sale in Abergavenny and I would soon be back on two wheels. In order to make the drive over to collect it worthwhile, we decided to carry on over to the Brecon Beacons for a brisk stroll up Pen y Fan. As it was November there was snow on the ground in the mountains but fortunately the roads were clear despite the freezing temperatures.

Not exactly motorcycle weather

Our walk was cut short by the rapidly fading light and it was pretty much dark by the time we got back to the car park. This issue was compounded  by the frankly abysmal headlamp on the bike which left a little to be desired.

No matter, I set off into the gloom, praying that I would make it back down into the valley before the road began to ice over! Racing down twisty mountain roads on a severely under-powered bike, by what was essentially candle light, was certainly an exhilarating experience! The adventure didn't stop there though, being on L plates I was barred from crossing the Severn Bridge and had to go the long way round. This was without a doubt one of the coldest journeys of my life and I even resorted to wrapping my hands around the warm engine whilst stopped at traffic lights in an effort to get some feeling back into my numb fingers. 

At least motorbikes are easy enough to fix yourself

Despite the arduous conditions the bike was faultless and made it home without incident. In fact in the short time I owned the bike, the only breakdown was caused by a punctured rear tyre. My Dad came to the rescue and we soon had the bike loaded into the back of his Transit van, who needs the AA!? 😂

Suzuki Bandit 600N 

Look how shiny it is!

Spoiler! I passed my bike test and haven't looked back since (except to do lifesavers obvs... 😉). Eager to step up to something with a little more power I was soon the proud owner of a shiny red Suzuki Bandit 600, my first 'proper' bike! This was possibly the most reliable vehicle I've ever owned and the only times it ended up in the back of Dad's van (you may notice a theme emerging), was when we collected it and when I crashed it (more on this later).

Norway is pretty (pretty expensive)

Having my bike licence was my ticket to freedom and within a week of passing my test I set off on route to the land of the Vikings, Norway! Unfortunately the weather decided to remind me of some of the realities of motorcycling and after debarking the ferry in Calais at around 7am it started raining. And kept raining the whole way through France. And Belgium. And Holland. In fact it didn't stop raining until after I arrived in Osnabrück that evening. A quick blast up the unrestricted Autobahn the next morning soon dried me out and I made it to Hamburg in no time, where I found a lovely riverside campsite to spend the night.

Unfortunately this was where the first of a few spills occurred. The exit to the campsite was up a slight, gravelly slope onto the road and struggling with a heavy overloaded bike I dropped it. Luckily the only real damage was to my ego and the bike only suffered a few scratches. With the help of a friendly German I was soon on my way again, heading North through Denmark and over The Bridge (great TV show btw, highly recommended) into Sweden. I eventually made it to Norway which is one of the most beautiful countries I've ever visited and somewhere I definitely want to return. Especially given that my trip was cut short as I very quickly ran out of money (Norway is beautiful but cheap it ain't!).

Motorcycles and Ice Cream

Shortly after returning from my little jaunt around Europe I joined the Wiltshire Bikers for my first ever rideout, a lovely tour around the many White Horses of Wiltshire. Well at least it was lovely until I stupidly decided to try and keep up with some of the faster riders on a narrow country lane. Taking evasive action around an oncoming horsebox I very quickly ran out of skill and stuffed the bike into the verge, throwing myself straight over the handlebars and into the ditch. A few of the other riders stopped to check on me which is more than can be said for the horsebox which had already disappeared round the corner. Luckily I got away without even a scratch, which is more than can be said for the bike. A broken clutch lever and bent gear shifter meant another phone call to Dad to recover the stricken bike.

Not my finest hour

Once the bike was home new levers were duly ordered and my wonky headlight bracket was bent back into shape. Definitely battle-scarred but back on the road and ready for the next adventure! 

Shiny new bike bits

This was to be a French road trip the following summer with a group of mates, following the coast down to the twisty mountain roads of the Pyrenees and Andora. 

Really not a fan of gravel...

Predictably I didn't even make it out of the country before I hit a patch of gravel and threw the bike down the road once again. On inspecting the damage (scuffed leathers, a small petrol spillage and yet more battle scars for the bike) I counted myself lucky and cracked on with the rest of the trip, keeping quiet about that particular spill until I was safely home.

One hell of a trip

Mercedes Vito

The filter hides the rust

After the untimely demise of the BMW I was left with only a motorbike for transport, great fun but not the most practical of situations. I therefore decided that as my primary need for a car was to move things about (crashed/broken down motorbikes for example...) it made sense to get a van instead. The possibility of a camper conversion was also particularly enticing and was definitely part of my reasoning.

Everyone said I should buy a VW Transporter, there is a reason so many people have them and I definitely liked the idea of a pimped out T4. However after seeing the price of them and deciding I wanted to go against the flow I settled on a Mercedes Vito, partly because the versatility of double sliding doors seemed greatly appealing. They were reknowned for  rust problems but how bad could it be..?

Got wood?

After much hunting I found what I was looking for. It needed a bit of welding and a new exhaust but at £900 it was surely a bargain. To tell a long story short it was very much not a bargain...

Amazingly my DIY carpentry was probably the strongest part of this van

Initially I was thrilled with my new purchase, it was hugely useful shunting all sorts of stuff about, my bike fit perfectly in the back, and with the addition of an airbed I could sleep in it anywhere! After wrestling with broken exhaust bolts and getting the rusted sills welded up I excitedly set off to B&Q to buy plywood and get stuck into the conversion. Alongside this I purchased a salvaged side door and a new front wing to replace the rather rusty ones currently adoring the right side of the vehicle. Unfortunately removing the old body work revealed yet more corrosion and on closer inspection it was revealed to be fairly catastrophic. The work needed to keep the van on the road was far from economically viable and the van was sadly scrapped. My brief foray into the world of #vanlife was over, substantially poorer but hopefully somewhat wiser...

I know riding off into the sunset is a bit of a cliche but...

At the ripe old age of 27 I've now been breaking down at the roadside for a full decade. As a result I've owned more than my fair share of unreliable vehicles and therefore two entire blog posts is still not enough to detail all of my many little disasters. If for some reason you're still reading then please watch out for Part 3 when my misfortune continues...