My ES250/2

I'd never much cared for motorbikes until I saw one of Joe's MZs. It was built from brand new parts and stood, never having seen oil nor petrol, in his living room. Red and black, it looked so cool that I decided then and there that it was my destiny to ride a bike just like it.

A while later, after having owned a smaller MZ for a couple of years, (the plan was to then pass my motorcyle driving test) I was sitting on the train to Milton Keynes in order to buy my new MZ ES250/2.

I was met at the station by a fat, taciturn biker. The bike had been standing for years but it seemed to ride just fine. I bought it for £400. As I say, I intended to pass my motorcycle driving test but had not yet at that moment. This meant that it was illegal for me to ride a 250cc bike but I planned only to take it back to Whitechapel and keep it there until everything was above board.

I was concerned that it had been standing for so long and I was concerned that I hadn't a valid driving licence nor insurance and the bike had no MOT certificate. The sky was a blanket of low grey clouds, stretching in all directions for as far as the eye could see, threatening rain. But how peculiar it was to ride the bike. It felt so different to the one that I was used to. And the headlamp shell was fixed which gave a strange impression, as though the handle bars were static.

It was the first time that I rode on a motorway, yet another thing that I was prohibited in doing without a full motorcycle licence, and the feel of the bike, the ominous clouds and the illegality of it all made me very uncomfortable. And then the engine started to sound odd. It sounded slightly scratchy and clunky and the noise grew worse. I knew that a two stroke engine, as the oil mixed with the petrol aged. was liable to have bearings become pitted when left standing. At first they bear up but, as the work of the engine wears them, they begin to break up. I knew this because it had happened to me driving once from Southend to London (a disastrous adventure which is a story in itself) and it would actually prove to be the case. It was some consolation that I was just arriving at services. I rode the bike around the garage forecourt there and it was obvious that there was no going on.

A kind lady at the Little Chef restaurant allowed me to store the bike in a small bin area in their car park, a sort of open air wooden shed. My father bailed me out, as usual, and he hired a trailer with which we picked it up. Weeks had passed and they were beginning to think about getting rid of it they said.

I loved it so much. People remarked on it wherever I went, tourists took photographs standing beside it and people from the former East Germany would shout 'MZ, MZ!' as I passed. It is, by far, my favourite thing that I have ever owned. It is standing at my parents' house. So if anybody wants to buy a motorbike.. It would be sad to see it go but perhaps one day I will be able to ride it again and I will buy it back off you. It has a nice registration plate number, huh?