The Autobiography of a Justified Rebel
August 2004
The possibility of living to be fifty has begun to solidify; I feel I have come to the time when I wish to unburden my soul, confess my sins and bore my old friends.
After leaving the Pink Penitentiary (1972) I attended the University of Malawi, briefly. Three years further on I was working on a drilling rig in the North Sea. Such was the nature of saving the world from an energy crisis that I wished I had taken Games more seriously. I recollect hiding in an upstairs gymnasium with Peter Gaussen and Julian Hartley. In one corner a frightfully handsome young man was pumping enough iron for all of us. I did manage to build up the stamina required for oilfield work.
I confess that I enjoyed the oilfield life at one time. It helped to subsidise a love of motorcycles and a memorable marriage. When poverty and end of marriage came I remembered the motorcycle that Richard Mongar had owned. I once travelled on the pillion of that machine to the Mongar Estate, I had faith in the name of MZ motorcycles. That was in 1982, I’ve owned an MZ ever since!
Around 1991 I helped to found an offshore oilfield trade union. Being a nuisance in the world of politics seemed to fulfill some inner need. At school I had tried to promote Peter Gaussen’s claim in the advisory election for Head Boy. In 1993 my efforts gained a measure of recognition. “Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. …” I retired from that line of work in 1994.
In 1996 I attended a re-union on that hill of painful and pleasant memories. I spoke to Ralph Berry, Jumbo Barker and Jane Carter, amongst others. Tom Robinson spoke very well on his mixed memories of “The School”. I can’t say I was keen to go to the re-union, but I was glad I had done so.
I have been leading a more sustainable life of late. I’m sorry that I missed the 2003 re-union. I am currently studying Spanish at Aberdeen University, with a view to visiting Latin America. One of the most influential motorcyclists in history was an Argentinian named Ernesto Guevara de la Serna. Perhaps Dave the Rave and I can organise a pilgrimage together!
Louis Mair
Previously published on anguswillson.com and pannage.com/fssw73/172
Monday, 30 January 2012
The Applecross MyZtery
The Applecross MyZtery
May Day in Applecross sets a Rider up for the rest of the season. It is a mystical, spiritual experience, the first swallow of summer, a black cat and a green gannet … Applecross is of course famous for its association with Saint Maolriahd (may-all-ride) one of the early leaders of the Club.
There is a tradition that Maolriahd studied on the continent under Saint Maolseid (may-all-zed) the legendary founder of The Factory. This tradition is pure folklore, evidence for the life of Saint Maolseid was lost during the Fourstrokeation.
It is, however, well documented that Maolriahd’s disciples played a major role in the Hidden Controversy. This Early Club schism takes its name from the Book of Zed teaching; “Thou shalt not hide thy talents under a stone.” The Factory has always maintained that transgression of this Law was a very naughty sin, the second worst category of sinning. The followers of Saint Maolriahd, and other respected Riders, believed and taught that hiding your talents under a stone was a mortal sin, the very worst category of blasphemy.
Whether you went straight to Hell with or without hope of remission is a distinction that has become meaningless to modern Riders. Yet documents that survive from the Muddle Ages bear witness to a lengthy and often bitter dispute on this point. Most Early Club historians are of the opinion that Saint Maolriahd died before the Hidden Controversy began. The Annals of Saxony record Saint Maolriahd’s teaching on polishing. This is believed to be genuine, and is still the doctrine of The Factory. “Do not disdain the Polisher, for the Polisher shall preserve the steed until the Rider hath need of it. Do not fear to polish in moderation, for the Rider is also charged with the maintenance of their steed. But be ever on thy guard against the error of excessive polishing, for the true Rider hath no need of show. In the Day of Judgement the wrath of the Great Designer shall fall heavily on those who fail to ride their steeds; the light from their eyes shall be put out.”
It is to be hoped that the Polishers of the latest 125cc and 1000cc steeds will have allowed one of them to fall into the hands of a Rider before next year’s Applecross Rally!
Louis Mair
Previously published in Thistledown
June 2004
May Day in Applecross sets a Rider up for the rest of the season. It is a mystical, spiritual experience, the first swallow of summer, a black cat and a green gannet … Applecross is of course famous for its association with Saint Maolriahd (may-all-ride) one of the early leaders of the Club.
There is a tradition that Maolriahd studied on the continent under Saint Maolseid (may-all-zed) the legendary founder of The Factory. This tradition is pure folklore, evidence for the life of Saint Maolseid was lost during the Fourstrokeation.
It is, however, well documented that Maolriahd’s disciples played a major role in the Hidden Controversy. This Early Club schism takes its name from the Book of Zed teaching; “Thou shalt not hide thy talents under a stone.” The Factory has always maintained that transgression of this Law was a very naughty sin, the second worst category of sinning. The followers of Saint Maolriahd, and other respected Riders, believed and taught that hiding your talents under a stone was a mortal sin, the very worst category of blasphemy.
Whether you went straight to Hell with or without hope of remission is a distinction that has become meaningless to modern Riders. Yet documents that survive from the Muddle Ages bear witness to a lengthy and often bitter dispute on this point. Most Early Club historians are of the opinion that Saint Maolriahd died before the Hidden Controversy began. The Annals of Saxony record Saint Maolriahd’s teaching on polishing. This is believed to be genuine, and is still the doctrine of The Factory. “Do not disdain the Polisher, for the Polisher shall preserve the steed until the Rider hath need of it. Do not fear to polish in moderation, for the Rider is also charged with the maintenance of their steed. But be ever on thy guard against the error of excessive polishing, for the true Rider hath no need of show. In the Day of Judgement the wrath of the Great Designer shall fall heavily on those who fail to ride their steeds; the light from their eyes shall be put out.”
It is to be hoped that the Polishers of the latest 125cc and 1000cc steeds will have allowed one of them to fall into the hands of a Rider before next year’s Applecross Rally!
Louis Mair
Previously published in Thistledown
June 2004
The Little White Van
The Little White Van
The driver of the big white van had seen me; he was starting to brake. I had the right of way as I was on the roundabout. Yet some instinct told me about a threat from the lane I couldn’t see, behind the big white van. I slowed even more; to my right two solid lanes of traffic were stopped, waiting to get on the roundabout. As I turned off the roundabout they would be free to move. I wasn’t looking at them but I may have been vaguely aware that they were not moving. The big white van had nearly stopped and as I dithered I was slowly turning back in the direction I had come from.
Then he burst on the scene from the inside lane behind the big white van. He was driving one of those anonymous little company vans and doing a fair speed. There was no screech of brakes, no swerving; a collision was unavoidable. By the time my left shoulder made contact with the panel behind the driver’s doorpost I was moving very slowly and almost in the same direction as my assailant.
I ended up sitting on my stalled bike very dazed and making an effort to remember the number on the number plate that was headed across the roundabout at a constant speed. The two lines of commuters were now in my line of vision, not moving.
Homicidal Van Man had a change of plan and started to brake as he left the roundabout. I pushed the bike into the side of the road as he got out to look at the company van. I walked straight towards him but was distracted by the lady in the nearest car. She said: “I have his number, if you need a witness I live in that house over there.”
By the time I passed the front of her car Van Man had walked back towards me and behind the cars in the inside lane. All traffic had ceased. As I turned into the “motorcycle lane” between the two rows of cars Van Man was appearing from behind a car. We approached each other like something from a Hollywood Western. I was breathing gently as I had been trained. I calmly asked the young man, “What did you think you were doing?” He was a little shorter than me but more heavily built. He stood with his chest square on, his weight evenly distributed on both legs.
I do not recall the exact words of his reply. “Sorry” was not one of them. I could feel the beady eyes of tinned lemmings all around. If I was to do any good I had to gain the attention of Van Man, without losing the sympathy of my wider audience.
My weight was on the back leg, my body at an angle to him. As I transferred my weight to the front leg my body turned while my head performed an arc that brought the front of my white helmet into contact with the centre of his forehead. I was left with the impression that I saw his legs begin to buckle. I actually must have felt this taking place. The last thing I wanted was to have him drop in a heap but he made a valiant recovery. It wouldn’t do to confuse the lemmings about who was the victim. I was still quite dazed from his opening attack. I couldn’t understand why my carefully moderated blow had had such an effect.
The cutting, sarcastic speeches that had been brewing in my left hemisphere were lost. I certainly had Van Man’s attention; he was definitely not talking; he was definitely listening. All I could manage was “Drive carefully!” He trotted off like the chastised little boy that he had become. The lemmings remembered their cliff-top destiny and I went to my work.
As I took my helmet off in the car park I was thinking how a younger me, or even a slightly late for work me would have been dead by now. I was still puzzled about Van Man’s reaction to what had not been intended as a hard blow. Then I saw the answer to that mystery. As is normal on an open face helmet there was a chrome stud in the centre of my helmet’s “forehead”. In my dazed state I had imagined I was wearing a white full-face helmet with a smooth front. The force of my light blow had been concentrated by the stud on a very small area. It was just as well that the lady in the BMW had taken the edge off my anger! So if you survive an assault by a homicidal Van Man have a look at the centre of his forehead. If you can see an 8mm circular mark, then I failed to improve his standard of driving!
© M. Tisehd 2003
Previously published in Thistledown, July 2003
The driver of the big white van had seen me; he was starting to brake. I had the right of way as I was on the roundabout. Yet some instinct told me about a threat from the lane I couldn’t see, behind the big white van. I slowed even more; to my right two solid lanes of traffic were stopped, waiting to get on the roundabout. As I turned off the roundabout they would be free to move. I wasn’t looking at them but I may have been vaguely aware that they were not moving. The big white van had nearly stopped and as I dithered I was slowly turning back in the direction I had come from.
Then he burst on the scene from the inside lane behind the big white van. He was driving one of those anonymous little company vans and doing a fair speed. There was no screech of brakes, no swerving; a collision was unavoidable. By the time my left shoulder made contact with the panel behind the driver’s doorpost I was moving very slowly and almost in the same direction as my assailant.
I ended up sitting on my stalled bike very dazed and making an effort to remember the number on the number plate that was headed across the roundabout at a constant speed. The two lines of commuters were now in my line of vision, not moving.
Homicidal Van Man had a change of plan and started to brake as he left the roundabout. I pushed the bike into the side of the road as he got out to look at the company van. I walked straight towards him but was distracted by the lady in the nearest car. She said: “I have his number, if you need a witness I live in that house over there.”
By the time I passed the front of her car Van Man had walked back towards me and behind the cars in the inside lane. All traffic had ceased. As I turned into the “motorcycle lane” between the two rows of cars Van Man was appearing from behind a car. We approached each other like something from a Hollywood Western. I was breathing gently as I had been trained. I calmly asked the young man, “What did you think you were doing?” He was a little shorter than me but more heavily built. He stood with his chest square on, his weight evenly distributed on both legs.
I do not recall the exact words of his reply. “Sorry” was not one of them. I could feel the beady eyes of tinned lemmings all around. If I was to do any good I had to gain the attention of Van Man, without losing the sympathy of my wider audience.
My weight was on the back leg, my body at an angle to him. As I transferred my weight to the front leg my body turned while my head performed an arc that brought the front of my white helmet into contact with the centre of his forehead. I was left with the impression that I saw his legs begin to buckle. I actually must have felt this taking place. The last thing I wanted was to have him drop in a heap but he made a valiant recovery. It wouldn’t do to confuse the lemmings about who was the victim. I was still quite dazed from his opening attack. I couldn’t understand why my carefully moderated blow had had such an effect.
The cutting, sarcastic speeches that had been brewing in my left hemisphere were lost. I certainly had Van Man’s attention; he was definitely not talking; he was definitely listening. All I could manage was “Drive carefully!” He trotted off like the chastised little boy that he had become. The lemmings remembered their cliff-top destiny and I went to my work.
As I took my helmet off in the car park I was thinking how a younger me, or even a slightly late for work me would have been dead by now. I was still puzzled about Van Man’s reaction to what had not been intended as a hard blow. Then I saw the answer to that mystery. As is normal on an open face helmet there was a chrome stud in the centre of my helmet’s “forehead”. In my dazed state I had imagined I was wearing a white full-face helmet with a smooth front. The force of my light blow had been concentrated by the stud on a very small area. It was just as well that the lady in the BMW had taken the edge off my anger! So if you survive an assault by a homicidal Van Man have a look at the centre of his forehead. If you can see an 8mm circular mark, then I failed to improve his standard of driving!
© M. Tisehd 2003
Previously published in Thistledown, July 2003
The Rad that came in from the Cool
The Rad that came in from the Cool
A friend of mine is a former citizen of Ostdeutschland, the country that we knew as Emmtsedland. He was a teenage schoolboy in Berlin during the last years of the Deutsche Demokratische Republik. His stories of motorcycling in a socialist utopia are not entirely what I expected.
East Germany had a system of vehicle type approval identical to the one in West Germany. For teenage motorcyclists the great challenge was to have a machine that looked different enough to impress your peers but not so different as to provoke the type of person who enforces type approval.
My friend explained how youthful enthusiasts would shorten indicator stems and mudguards. If you knew someone who was a good welder you had the possibility of cutting a section out of the silencer and shortening that as well. This did nothing for the performance or fuel consumption. It looked cool and it sounded different, therefore it was cool!
A popular modification was to hammer a long metal rod into the centre of the silencer. When the rod was removed there would be a subtle difference in the exhaust note. Once again fuel consumption went up and performance went down. The problem of higher fuel consumption was compensated for by back street deals on cheap Russian fuel. The only drawback being the high water content which would soon overflow from the water trap and swamp the carb!
Another innovative way of reducing motoring costs in Osten was to ride stolen motorcycles. As the pressure for change steadily grew, East German government employees were concerned about their future employment prospects and the value of their pensions. Towards the end riding on the pavements was treated with the same blind eye that ignored type approval and ownership irregularities.
The modification that tickled me most and was essential for street cred was a change of rear dampers. The front dampers from an ES with Earles type forks are longer than the TS/ETZ rear shocks. By changing to the longer shocks you made your bike look really cool. The damping and springing rates were totally wrong but why would a keen young kid care about that? The scarcity of ES machines in their homeland may be connected with this fashion!
All that and full employment too; we would have been defecting eastward if we had known!
© M. Tisehd 2003
The Rad that came in from the Cool - 2
I have a few corrections and additions to last month’s tale of teenage life in East Berlin. The period of relative anarchy did not end with re-unification. For about a year after the collapse of the East German Government their former employees, including the Police, were uncertain about their position in the new Germany. This encouraged teenagers to see how far they could push their luck.
In addition to a steady supply of cheap, and stolen, MZs young East Berliners had easy access to free cars. Incredible as it may seem to us, classic East German cars in good running order were given away! Many Trabants passed into the hands of young people and were soon reduced to scrap.
To return to motorcycles, I’m told that there was an East German four stroke called the AWO. It may have been based on a 1930s BMW and became part of Simson. Whatever their lineage, the fuel tanks of the rare AWO shaft drive singles could be persuaded to fit the TS. These handsome tanks were sought after by MZ style gurus, making the AWO an endangered species!
ETZ forks with a disc brake were regularly fitted to the TS model. The damping and springing characteristics could be stiffened by adding more oil to each fork leg. My friend was surprised at the capitalist fashion for pre-loading the fork springs. His MZ-eering qualifications are better than mine…
Some further specifications on modifying your MZ silencer with a rod of iron: it may be possible to improve the power output at low revs with little effect on fuel consumption, the secret is not to hammer the rod too far! As this practice would upset your MoT tester you are not to try it! I only record these experiments in the interest of historical accuracy.
I once explained to a girl from Zschopau how MZ riders in the capitalist world had regarded Pneumant tyres as inferior. She clearly did not believe me and said, “But they were the best!” Apparently there were four makes of tyres available in the old days. Pneumants were difficult to obtain as they mostly went for export!
I could tell you how TS frames were considered superior to the older ES frames. This had an effect on the surviving population of those beautiful ETS Trophy machines. I could tell you, but it’s too sad!
© M. Tisehd 2003
Previously published in: Thistledown
August & September 2003
A friend of mine is a former citizen of Ostdeutschland, the country that we knew as Emmtsedland. He was a teenage schoolboy in Berlin during the last years of the Deutsche Demokratische Republik. His stories of motorcycling in a socialist utopia are not entirely what I expected.
East Germany had a system of vehicle type approval identical to the one in West Germany. For teenage motorcyclists the great challenge was to have a machine that looked different enough to impress your peers but not so different as to provoke the type of person who enforces type approval.
My friend explained how youthful enthusiasts would shorten indicator stems and mudguards. If you knew someone who was a good welder you had the possibility of cutting a section out of the silencer and shortening that as well. This did nothing for the performance or fuel consumption. It looked cool and it sounded different, therefore it was cool!
A popular modification was to hammer a long metal rod into the centre of the silencer. When the rod was removed there would be a subtle difference in the exhaust note. Once again fuel consumption went up and performance went down. The problem of higher fuel consumption was compensated for by back street deals on cheap Russian fuel. The only drawback being the high water content which would soon overflow from the water trap and swamp the carb!
Another innovative way of reducing motoring costs in Osten was to ride stolen motorcycles. As the pressure for change steadily grew, East German government employees were concerned about their future employment prospects and the value of their pensions. Towards the end riding on the pavements was treated with the same blind eye that ignored type approval and ownership irregularities.
The modification that tickled me most and was essential for street cred was a change of rear dampers. The front dampers from an ES with Earles type forks are longer than the TS/ETZ rear shocks. By changing to the longer shocks you made your bike look really cool. The damping and springing rates were totally wrong but why would a keen young kid care about that? The scarcity of ES machines in their homeland may be connected with this fashion!
All that and full employment too; we would have been defecting eastward if we had known!
© M. Tisehd 2003
The Rad that came in from the Cool - 2
I have a few corrections and additions to last month’s tale of teenage life in East Berlin. The period of relative anarchy did not end with re-unification. For about a year after the collapse of the East German Government their former employees, including the Police, were uncertain about their position in the new Germany. This encouraged teenagers to see how far they could push their luck.
In addition to a steady supply of cheap, and stolen, MZs young East Berliners had easy access to free cars. Incredible as it may seem to us, classic East German cars in good running order were given away! Many Trabants passed into the hands of young people and were soon reduced to scrap.
To return to motorcycles, I’m told that there was an East German four stroke called the AWO. It may have been based on a 1930s BMW and became part of Simson. Whatever their lineage, the fuel tanks of the rare AWO shaft drive singles could be persuaded to fit the TS. These handsome tanks were sought after by MZ style gurus, making the AWO an endangered species!
ETZ forks with a disc brake were regularly fitted to the TS model. The damping and springing characteristics could be stiffened by adding more oil to each fork leg. My friend was surprised at the capitalist fashion for pre-loading the fork springs. His MZ-eering qualifications are better than mine…
Some further specifications on modifying your MZ silencer with a rod of iron: it may be possible to improve the power output at low revs with little effect on fuel consumption, the secret is not to hammer the rod too far! As this practice would upset your MoT tester you are not to try it! I only record these experiments in the interest of historical accuracy.
I once explained to a girl from Zschopau how MZ riders in the capitalist world had regarded Pneumant tyres as inferior. She clearly did not believe me and said, “But they were the best!” Apparently there were four makes of tyres available in the old days. Pneumants were difficult to obtain as they mostly went for export!
I could tell you how TS frames were considered superior to the older ES frames. This had an effect on the surviving population of those beautiful ETS Trophy machines. I could tell you, but it’s too sad!
© M. Tisehd 2003
Previously published in: Thistledown
August & September 2003
Kanuni MZ Test Day
Kanuni MZ Test Day
Greetings fellow lovers of the classical two stroke two wheel! John Ashdown plans to become the UK importer for Turkey’s world beating retro-bike, the Kanuni MZ. To promote these fine machines Mr Ashdown is hosting a test riding day on Sunday 10 December 2000.
We’ve all heard the rumours about changing to left hand threads to suit Islamic Law. Now you have the chance to see for yourself! Once you have tried them I’m sure you will agree that “…under the most different operating conditions these motor-cycles run to the satisfaction of their owners.” Or, as they say in Turkey, “The Prophet only rides his camel on Fridays.”
Further details from John Ashdown on 015…
Louis Mair
Previously published on MZriders@eGroups
December 2000
Greetings fellow lovers of the classical two stroke two wheel! John Ashdown plans to become the UK importer for Turkey’s world beating retro-bike, the Kanuni MZ. To promote these fine machines Mr Ashdown is hosting a test riding day on Sunday 10 December 2000.
We’ve all heard the rumours about changing to left hand threads to suit Islamic Law. Now you have the chance to see for yourself! Once you have tried them I’m sure you will agree that “…under the most different operating conditions these motor-cycles run to the satisfaction of their owners.” Or, as they say in Turkey, “The Prophet only rides his camel on Fridays.”
Further details from John Ashdown on 015…
Louis Mair
Previously published on MZriders@eGroups
December 2000
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