"I wanna be a ton-up boy"

by Ol'thumper

After reading the super stories and various antics on the site that your members got up to I thought I'd put quill to parchment and offer you my little story from the 60's.......

Everything began when our next door neighbour bought himself a car, a vauxhall 14 if my memory is correct. Unfortunately the poor old chap was then lumbered with his former mode of transport, a B33 combo. What he needed to find was a youngster that would appreciate the old workhorse which had served him so well in the past, whether to carry him to work so reliably or to go visiting "auntie Vie" with the family at weekends, a youngster that may wish to delve into the mechanics of such a trusty steed. "Well blow me down" he must have thought, "that youngster is living right next door to me", him with the studded leather jacket, the fifteen year old that spends all his time in his shed making and painting push bikes.
So we struck a deal, only the lord knows where I got the five quid from though. As for delving into the mechanics of the trusty steed, forget it...I had the chair off in a jiffy, the half fairing, panniers and those un-cool mudguards all had to go. After a few evenings work, a tin of black paint, cheap alloy guards and a trials handlebar and levers set I was ready to go, only problem being I was only fifteen and couldn't "go" anywhere. I was limited to wobbling up and down the garden path or thumpin' along the alley at the back of our house. The woods were nearby and they held a magnetic attraction, I would "thump" down the alley then wheel it down the road to the woods. Once there I was Sammy Miller, around the trees, in the ditch or up on that mound. As time went on it got more difficult to cut the motor at the end of the alley, for there in front of me was a road, a real road with not a noddy bike in sight. Before I knew it I was hurtling along that road, the entrance to the woods were to my left, I should pull in, but no.... I don't want to be Sammy Miller anymore, iv'e done that,,,I want to be a ton-up boy, head down, bum up and away.
Neighbours would pop out to watch me going up the alley, some had kind words for me others tended to be a little grumpy..There was one old chap that stopped me for a chat which led on to me being given another old bike. I remember it well, it turned out to be an oil in the frame, four valve Rudge 250cc grass tracker that ran on dope, boy did that fly! The picture was complete now...not only did it run on dope but it had a dope riding it too. I only managed to get it running a few times but it scared the life out of me. I was nearing the magic age of sixteen, time to be legal and get on the road proper. The b33, Rudge, Corgi, Cyclemaster (with cow horn handlebars) and the Dragonfly had all suffered, died and been disposed of, it was time to move on,,, time to be a ton-up boy.
Possibly like your good selves, quite a lot of time was spent window shopping, my face wide eyed, with my nose pressed up against the local dealers window gazing and dreaming of owning that lovely Bonneville or that red tanked Super Rocket, so much so that on one occasion at Miles Motors in Uxbridge the guv'nor approached me and told me to get off his window, he'd just had them cleaned and didn't want the contents of my runny nose blurring customers views of his showroom. I suppose the truth was that I was earning a fiver a week and wouldn't be able to make the repayments on one of these beauties for quite some time to come. It was only a matter of time, I made it in the end.
Just to round off my story, I had a fetish for collecting tea spoons...every cafe I visited, a spoon found it's way into my pocket, was taken home, labelled and displayed in my bedroom. Some plastic, some metal, the collection must have got to around twenty five before disaster struck...my Dad said they were stolen property and they should be returned, I didn't agree (although he was technically right) so he took them while I was at work and threw the lot on the garden bonfire. I wish I still had them today, I wonder if that one that had the chain on it survived the bonfire, I had to use pliers to get that one....that would have been an Ace spoon to own today. I stood at the Ace counter many a time as most of us did and stirred my tea with that...the Ace spoon.
keep ridin', Ol' thumper.