At Last I Get a Bike by Ian Giles – the story of a young man buying his first bike, a BSA 250cc, in 1958

At Last I Get a Bike

Me on my new BSA 250cc in 1958

I returned home to Kingswear from the RAF in the summer of 1958. I soon began to think about buying a motor-bike, which I thought was something I should have done a long time ago.  How I got to know about the existence of a motor-bike shop in Torre  (a suburb of Torquay) is long forgotten, suffice to say; one day I caught a train and after about thirty minutes arrived at Torre station. On leaving the station I made my way on foot to the shop, which was only a short distance away.  It was a large old-fashioned shop, in a long street of large old-fashioned shops.

I went inside, the bell tinkled as I closed the door behind me and entered this once genteel place.

Peering across the floor, I raised my arm to shield my eyes as I tried to pierce a shaft of dusty brilliant sunlight, slanting down from a skylight somewhere above. The elegant wooden panelling had seen better days, the once polished mahogany, now dull and neglected.   I carefully threaded my way between tightly packed rows of bikes, and very nearly lost my balance as I stumbled into a sparkling chrome and maroon specimen; I steadied myself to regain my feet and could not help thinking what a beautiful bike it was.

I had literally stumbled upon just the sort of bike I was looking for, it was a 250cc BSA, in sparkling chrome and maroon and had streamlined fairing complete with windshield and leg shields, it looked almost brand new, but was in fact second hand.   Without looking any further I sought out the man and paid him the required deposit there and then, and arranged to pick it up the following week.  There was a definite spring in my step as I headed my way back toward the station.

I returned the following week as arranged.  As I had not ridden a motor bike before, my plan was to push the motor bike the short distance to Torre station, where I would put it on a train and travel to a station nearer home, from there, I would get off the train and ride the few remaining miles home on a quieter stretch of road.  I bought the tickets and waited for the train, which was not long in coming; when the train stopped I consulted with the Guard who instructed me to put the bike in his van and then suggested I take a seat in the adjacent carriage, but I decided to remain in the van with the bike, simply because I did not want to be parted from it.  The Guard, seemingly satisfied with this arrangement flagged away the train on its way to the next stop, Torquay.

Twenty minutes later, the train squealed to a halt at the sleepy country station of Churston, where, with the Guard’s help, the bike was soon manhandled on to the platform; with my thanks still ringing in his ears he stepped nimbly into his van, and signalled right o’ way.

The train pulled silently away down the track, the heat of the afternoon muffling the sound as it rounded the curve out of sight, wisps of fading white smoke the only evidence of its’ brief stay.

My bike and me were the only movement to be seen as I pushed the bike along the warm platform, I squeezed through a wicket gate, and made my way across the car park, already I was hot with the exertion of pushing the bike over the gravelled surface; I made my way to the exit and was soon on the Kingswear road.  It was a perfect autumn day with almost no traffic.

I was excited at the prospect of getting on my bike for the very first time.  I had never driven a bike before, so it was essential I should familiarise myself with the controls.  Sitting astride, I kicked the kick-start and twisted the throttle, it started immediately, emitting a suitably satisfying roar, which soon settled into a steady tick-over; gingerly engaging first gear and letting out the clutch, I tentatively moved off.

My Bike – BSA 250. c1958 – location the top of lighthouse beach steps

Dressed casually in a sports jacket and open neck shirt I opened up the throttle and was soon travelling at a respectable speed, I must say, I was feeling very confident and relaxed, the speed being such that a refreshing breeze was now blowing through my hair, cooling me down, all adding to the sense of freedom I imagined motor cycling to be all about.   By now I had a further three miles to go; gaining confidence and comfortably seated astride my charge, I breasted Hillhead and took the left fork to Kingswear; from here it was all down hill, literally.  I was King of the road, at least of this road as there was no other vehicle to be seen; by the time I passed the creek I was feeling on top of the world, two minutes later I was at home polishing and admiring my new steed, dreaming of journeys to come.

Very near to my home next to the Ship Inn, was a substantial low wooden building used for general storage, I arranged with the owner to store my bike there for a small weekly sum, I found it very handy for me to keep it there.  I cannot remember who owned the building ‘though the name Tribble (the local builder) obstinately keeps coming to mind.

End.