Remember your first bike?

Remember your first bike?

Times of India
Dated 28 July 2016

Do you remember your first bike? In the days before liberalization and before India became a consumer driven economy, the whole country depended on just half a dozen brands of bikes to carry us over our pot-holed town roads and countryside. If you have seen more than five or six decades of sunrises the names Lambretta, Vespa, Bajaj Chetak, Rajdoot, Jawa, Yezdi and Bullet would come to your mind. For a moment there you could probably hear their faint sound from memory past and imagine the wind on your face. We remember these two-wheelers like dear old friends. Those were the days when we had to pay an advance and wait for years for a scooter to be delivered to us. Most folk purchased used bikes that passed from one person to another and were let go reluctantly, often because one needed the money for things even more important. Before the age of easy consumer finance, we acquired bikes with great fiscal difficulty, rode them with pride, cleaned them regularly, worshipped them, secured them with lock and chain and kept them covered with custom made bike covers. Our bikes played a central role in our lives.

Temperamental machines

Our bikes were noisy and temperamental. In the morning when we fetched the bike from the garage there would generally be a smear of machine oil on the floor. We did not have electric start those days and every morning starting the bike was an adventure. Some bikes started without trouble but most others were reluctant to get going. With brave heart and strong legs we kicked the starter pedal over and over again. Sometimes it came to life coughing and wheezing but just as we were about to take it off the stand it sputtered and died. Before fuel injection was the era of carburettors. This was where air and fuel was mixed before being delivered to the engine. If we smelt gas we could be sure that there was a “flooding” situation in the cylinder. What you had to do then was to kick with the throttle (accelerator) fully open and the engine would come to life miraculously. Many who owned the Vespa or its Chetak avatar did a manoeuvre that would make Captain Kirk of Starship Enterprise proud. They would tilt the bike by around 30 degrees and kick start it. An operation that generally got their bikes started thanks to something magical happening in the carburettor float chamber.

Announcing ones arrival

Two-stroke engines and permissive silencers made sure that our bikes were noisy. To many the sound itself was a cool macho add-on to the bike experience. However many parts of Vizag was quiet those days and the neighborhood was not too happy with the boom-boom–boom of the bike as the long haired neighborhood hero came home from a late afternoon beer session at the Pink Elephant Bar and Restaurant. Despite the advancement in the science of biological attraction one could never figure out why that boom-boom-boom beat attracted the fairer sex. But having chanced upon the phenomena young men tuned their bikes to deliver that sound in sufficient volume to announce their arrival to all who might be inclined to hear.

“Running lo set aiyee potundi”

Bikes were going through evolution those days. Lights were not bright, clutch cables would snap regularly, oil would leak from the oil seal at the kick-start getting the edge of our bell-bottom trousers dirty, brakes were unreliable and weird sounds would emanate from different parts of the contraption. When your bike went kaput you did not take it to the authorised service centre like you do now, you just took it to the friendly neighborhood workshop. This enterprise comprised a guru and a number of apprentices who learnt the trade and later went on to start their own work-shops. These shops did not have repair manuals, wiring diagrams and company spare parts assemblies like now days. Their tools of the trade were oily wrenches, oodles confidence, a stock of cuss words and plenty of ingenuity. When bike engines lost power mechanics got the cylinder head “re-bored” and put in oversized piston rings. When you ran out of the over sized rings option you could also get oversized pistons to breathe new life into your tired old engines. Bike technicians defined the spirit of the times, bold, inventive and resourceful. They would complete the job and pack you off with those reassuring words “running lo set aiyee potundi” meaning “it will get set during running”.

Bikes shaped the riders

These bikes also shaped the riders of the day. Bike mechanics were few and in great demand. They specialized in certain bike repairs. Most bike owners sat through the repairs because the minute they left, the mechanic would leave their bike and take up another for repairs. Being forced to spend several hours overseeing the repairs the bike owners themselves became knowledgeable about their machines. Consequently they could carry out basic repairs in a pinch. Changing spark plugs and adjusting the gap was one of the easy jobs. Spending time at the mechanic’s workshop the youngsters formed a sort of bike owner’s network, exchanging gossip about bikers, biking adventures, road tips and so on. It was a place where one could bid for a second hand bike or put up a bike for sale. Many would discuss how they could modify their bikes to look more appealing.

Easy rider

One of the iconic movies that came to the theaters in Vizag in 1970 was the Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper movie “Easy Rider” about two counter culture bikers traveling across America. The bikes had a long high handlebar which became a fashion in the West. One youngster in Vizag decided to copy the bike and modified a Jawa to look like the original Harley Davidson Hydra Glide bikes seen in the movie. The bike was a hit. A few years later in 1974 the movie “Electra Glide in Blue” came to Vizag. The movie featured a Harley Davidson Electra Glide police bike. One young man modified his bullet, painted it shining blue and named it “Pegasus”. Several less ambitious bike modifications were done including the placing of the “yezdi” bike logo upside down making it look like “ipzah”. Long before bikes became the utilitarian dad-driving-to-work machine it went through a phase of being cultural statement. Young men with attitude rode their bikes for pleasure and thrills in and around Vizag and further across country. Though they looked anti-social they were in fact quite careful, wearing helmets and generally riding at a safe speed.

Riding off into the sunset

When the new bikes started appearing and became widely available, with finance, it was an attractive proposition. Technology made them reliable and economical to run. One bike looked like the other, as the bikes changed personality, subtly so did the folks who rode them. Generations would soon grow older, sell their beloved bikes and purchase more reliable ones. Bikes with self-starters, scooters with auto-gear shift and bright lights made the biking experience more reliable, more predictable. No more did the young man throw on a weathered jacket and roar off to Lammasinghi or Paderu ghats on an impulse, feeling the wind on the face and taming the mercurial beast under them. A generation was riding off into the sunset and we did not notice them thundering by.