A Two-Stroke Terror

Yesterday started out as any other day might. Breakfast, catching up on emails over a cup of coffee and checking up on progress with the guys stitching up the latest jacket prototype. Then Matt called.

First, I think it’s only fair to give Matt a proper introduction here. As of today, Matt’s a photographer. He’s shot everything from industrial copper manufacturing to private airlines and financial institutions. Where his passion lies, is in all things wheeled. It only takes a quick scan of his Instagram feed to find work he’s shot for McLaren, Rolls Royce and Ferrari but where he really lights up is when he’s on a motorcycle.

I met Matt years back when he was Creative Director at a branding agency and I was heading up my digital marketing agency. He’d previously run his own agency in Liverpool for 6 years, then an opportunity took him over to Saudi before another job brought him to Bahrain. When I say met, actually it was a quick phone call to put a plan together after a mutual client had changed the entire design of a project less than 48 hours before it was set to go live. It wasn’t until years later that we actually met in person but even back then, I knew I’d found a kindred spirit.

“It wasn’t until years later that we actually met in person but even back then, I knew I’d found a kindred spirit.”

So, back to the story. I’d just got off the phone with the workshop when a message came in from Matt. “I think I’ve solved your motorbike problem.” The problem being that I’d waited 6 months for my bike to arrive in England, only to find myself back in Bahrain needing to build up a library of photos featuring the Lawrence in its natural habitat - on the back of someone riding a motorcycle. “Go on…” I said.

He fired over 3 links to 3 different Royal Enfield Classics. Interesting. They were all well priced but one in particular caught my eye. An olive green and black, 2015 Classic L with just over 1000kms on the clock for £1800. I figured Matt might be on to something so I arranged a viewing for the afternoon.

Now, word on the street is that Royal Enfield’s of this later generation are solid machines but I was amazed by the rust and corrosion across the entire bike, especially given that it had only covered 1186km. Literally everything that had been chromed was showing signs of distress. That might not effect the ride but it definitely gave me pause for thought. Other than that, it ran well, sounded fantastic and just needed a new set of tyres. I gave the owner an offer and am currently waiting to hear back. I’ll keep you posted!

When I called Matt to give him the lowdown he said “Ok great, well you gave him a decent offer. Guess it’s just a matter of ‘wait and see’ now. Oh by the way, I’m picking a bike up this evening.” Here’s the other thing you need to know about Matt. In the last year, he’s gone through at least 7 bikes - and that’s the ones I know about. From a Triumph Speed Triple, to a Ducati, to a BMW R nineT and more recently, a Kawasaki, he’s been on the search for ‘the one’ for as long as I’ve known him. So this wasn’t a surprise to me but what was, was the bike itself. A 1973 Yamaha RD250.

I don’t know what unicorns call things that are rare, verging on mythical, but this would be it. Bikes like this don’t exist in Bahrain and, if they do, they’re in collections kept behind closed doors. I wanted in so I offered my services as chauffeur.

I drove round, picked Matt up and headed over to meet the seller. When I picked him up, Matt was ready to rock. Boots and gloves, helmet and leathers - no trailer collection for this bike, no sir. So as we pulled up, Matt called to let the guy know we’d arrived, “Ah Matthew…You’re here? We did the registration change but, umm, Matthew? We couldn’t fill the tyres up.” Not the best start.

“I don’t know what unicorns call things that are rare, verging on mythical, but this would be it.”

We drove up to the garage and lifted up the shutter. Low tyre pressure aside, it was a thing of beauty. In just over 6 years and 1000kms, the Enfield’s chrome had somehow taken a battering. On this 48 year old bike, every single part was gleaming like it had just come off the factory line. So, after a bit of work on the brake and clutch levers to reposition them and to replace the old registration plate, we set off to find a garage to fill up the tyres.

There are worse places to drive than Bahrain, the roads are new and clean but there is a lot of traffic. And 9pm felt more like rush hour. A break in the traffic and we were off…or maybe not. The bike spluttered and popped and then…nothing. Switching over to the reserve got it going again but that garage was looking even more important.

We set off again with me driving in front and leading the way to the closest petrol station, constantly looking in my rear view mirror to make sure Matt was ok. We made it to the first place on the map, pulled in and…no air. Ok, fine, at least we can fill up with petrol. “Mark? Have you got any cash?” “Uhhh, no mate, nothing in my wallet.” Not great. Luckily a quick scrabble around the car and my pockets and we came up with enough for 3 litres and we were off to the next one on the list.

Now, the only way to get to the next station was to go through a major roundabout. This time, since the bike didn’t have any wing mirrors, I’d decided to follow Matt so I could protect him from anyone coming up behind. Already feeling a bit nervy about how skittish the bike was, things stepped up a notch as he pulled over to the curb and his lights turned off. I put my hazards on and endured the angry horns while Matt tried over and over to kick start the bike. Just as I thought it was game over, it started up with a plume of smoke out of the twin exhausts and Matt rocketed on to the roundabout between two trucks. I literally shouted out loud to myself “Holy f&*k!” as I did my best to follow him. I caught up about 500 metres down the road, followed him into a station with a tyre fitting shop attached to it and breathed a sigh of relief as one of the guys came out to greet us with a smile “RD250? There are so many of these back home!” - nice to meet a man of discerning taste.

“Just as I thought it was game over, it started up with a plume of smoke out of the twin exhausts and Matt rocketed on to the roundabout between two trucks. ”

So, with tyres filled up and petrol in the tank, we were still a good 20 minutes from home with a front brake that needed more than a little bit of attention and if anything, the traffic was worse. At this stage though, I think I was way more concerned than Matt. We pulled out of the gas station and it was like he’d found the warp speed button and wasn’t about to let go. Within 20 seconds he was totally out of sight. The last I saw of him, he was weaving his way through a traffic jam leading up to another roundabout. I decided he didn’t need a chaperone any more and swerved the traffic to hit the highway.

As I pulled into the carpark at home, my phone rang. Had I made a mistake? Had the bike stopped? Worse, had Matt been in an accident? Nope. I picked up the phone to the sound of the wind buffeting his bluetooth mic while he shouted “It’s amazing! It’s like a mini superbike! Oh my god!”

Hopefully for Matt, he’s found ‘the one’. There’s no question, it’s a lovely bike and I’m only a bit jealous. Ok fine, maybe more than just a bit.

As for the Royal Enfield, the guy accepted my offer but it was going to cost twice as much to ship it back to England when I left again. Shame - it could have been great!