My first motorcycle was technically a moped a 1977 Yamaha FS1E which was a 50cc 2-stroke better known as a Fizzy. It looked like a proper motorcycle in that it wasn't a step-through and had neat if not very exciting styling. The Fizzy along with other offerings from various manufacturers filled a UK legislative loophole that allowed 16-yr olds to ride pedal-equipped mopeds of 50cc or less but God Help you if you actually tried to use the pedals! I tried it once and got about 30 feet before I collapsed wheezing.

Mum and Dad were pretty reluctant especially Mum but persistent pleading (and yes OK teenage whining) won the day. I bought the bike through the Classifieds and I’ll never forget the feeling of riding it back home along a farm track first, then country lanes then the local main road it pegged out at a (slightly optimistic) 45mph.

It gave me independence, and took me to my first proper job which was cleaning hire boats on the Lancaster Canal. I also commuted to school on it and within three weeks of buying it, I got knocked off and was pretty lucky to walk away.

I was riding home from school in typical weather i.e. cold and raining, and followed a new, shiny white Jaguar as it turned right onto the main road between Blackpool and Preston. Even once he was on the main road, he was travelling very slowly so I pulled out into the passing lane to overtake him. Without any warning or turn signal, he made a sudden u-turn right in front of me. I went straight into the side of him, just behind the front wheel, and straight over and across the bonnet minus the Fizzy. I landed helmet first, somersaulted and ended up sliding down the slick-wet road on my backside. I got to my feet and walked back. I was mightily upset - and the fat-cat stockbroker type in the driving seat could tell. I was as tall as I am now at 6 4, and swathed in plastic over-trousers, a massive bright orange kagoule (rain slicker), and orange full-face helmet he couldn't tell I was skinny as a rake and had muscles like knots in cotton. Anyway, as I stormed up, click went the door locks and up went the electric window, leaving me pacing up and down and gesticulating wildly until the police came.

Amazingly, my Dad just happened to be passing and we all ended up sat in the cop car. Not surprisingly, fat-cat did t want it taken any further and when I said I did, my Dad hushed me and said the insurance could take care of it (a fact that still rankles with me to this day).

But Dad just saw a rookie rider trying to fight it out with a more experienced (and prosperous) older driver and didn't think it would end well. Later - I was even more annoyed when my insurance settled knock for knock with fat-cat s. Bastards!

Now came my first experience with a motorcycle dealer and it wasn't a good one. They had my bike for weeks and weeks kept on saying it was nearly ready nearly ready. When I finally saw the Fizzy, I could have wept. The tank had had to be resprayed, and the colour match with the side covers was appalling. The replacement top-box was too small for my helmet and the crash bars which had saved my left leg from amputation were missing it was a nightmare.

You might think that would have put me off motorcycles for life but no, I kept riding..... and I’d love to have that Fizzy back again.