Back in the late 1970s when the world was new, or so it seemed to me, I rode an 850 Commando and a battered but usually reliable A10 650 combo fitted with a very practical wooden box sidecar. This was also very uncomfortable. Or so my girl friend told me, but that's another story.

I had recently spent an evening in Salisbury drinking in the then excellent bikers pub The Royal George, and was talking to a chap who had a spare Commando cylinder head that he would sell for a fiver. I didn't need one, but one should never pass up a bargain, so I agreed to return the following weekend by which time he would have collected it from wherever it was. I decided to take the combo just in case there were more parts to be had. So Friday afternoon I was riding to my garage to fit a new rear chain. On changing into third gear there was a loud clank and the old chain, out of which I had been determined to get as much use as possible, broke and locked the gear box and engine up.

Never mind it's only a short push. At the garage I fitted the new chain OK, but as I rode away I heard a horrible knocking in third. The shock of locking everything solid had been enough to break one of the teeth off a 3rd gear pinion. Never mind I still had 3 gears and so the following morning off I went with 2 friends, Eoin and Jane, on their Norton 650 SS, to make a weekend of it.

The ride down to Salisbury from my home in Marlow, about 80 miles, was very uneventful. I had kept the solo gearing so without a passenger I could cruise around 60 mph. Coming off the roundabout just short of the Royal George there was an awful clattering from down below and the engine wasn't connected to the back wheel any more. Funny, I thought.

After a beer I removed the primary chain-case, which isn't a pleasant job on a combo that involves much leaning over the seat and cursing. Fortunately I always carried a full tool-kit in the sidecar box. I The chain was still in one piece but the clutch had come off the mainshaft, which had been spinning around being driven by nothing. The peculiar clutch centre nut lost its threads on retightening so I had to have another. Asking everyone in the pub surprisingly failed to locate one, but all was not lost as I had one in the garage back at Marlow, 90 miles away. The minor logistical problem was solved by Eoin and Jane returning with the keys to my garage and Commando to give to another Friend, Pete, who would come to the rescue on my Commando with the spare centre nut.

By 10.00 PM I was getting a little worried, and a little drunk, when in walked Pete announcing that It was a bit silly of me not to have supplied the key to the lock & chain through the Commando back wheel. I thought better than to ask him how he got it off or where it had gone. Armed with the replacement nut the primary drive was assembled by torchlight and it was during the reassembly that Pete asked what had happened to the tab washer. I had wondered what BSA had put a flat on that peculiar nut for.

So off we went, and then we weren't. A few miles down the road just outside Middle Wallop the nut came undone again. By the light of a streetlamp off came the brakelever, footrest, chaincase and back on went the clutch followed by the chaincase footrest and brakelever and we were going again - for about 5 miles. This time I didn't bother with the footrest and breaklever. The next time I didn't even bother with the chaincase. In Basingstoke around 1.00AM the nut came undone again, and this time the clutch centre had sheared the woodruff key and we were stuck for the night. We found a school garden tool shed to sleep in just off the road but as I had only 1 sleeping bag that Pete claimed, I didn't get much sleep First thing saw us off on the Commando searching for a bike shop that would have just the special square sectioned, rounded at both ends woodruff key in stock. We found a trial bike shop but surprisingly the only key they had was too long and not rounded. Back at the bike we managed to cut the key in half with wire cutters and a brick, and with mole grips rounded the ends a bit on a kerbstone. The key wasn't even square but rectangular in section so the clutch centre wouldn't sit on the shaft squarely meaning it wouldn't disengage properly. But never mind, if I pushed it along a bit from a standstill before I banged it into 1st. we would be OK.

This time we made it back in one go. With the clutch jammed almost solid, only 3 gears, no back brake and my foot resting in the side-car box, cursing every traffic light and Zebra crossing I roared into Marlow around lunch time. Greeting us was rapturous applause from the throngs of applauding people lining the High St. Free beers they shouted.

No not really, but I felt we had deserved it. The moral of the story is put it together properly in the first place

Coming home from the pub last night, I'd nearly reached the junction at the end of my road when on changing down my foot slipped of the footrest. This didn't seem right. At the junction I had a quick look down. We don't have street lights in my village but there was enough light to see a stream of petrol shooting out from the petrol tap.

The plunger had fallen out, so after killing the engine, quick as a flash I put my thumb over the hole where the plunger should have been & my finger over the screw hole. That fixed it. But what was I going to do now? I've had the old girl for a few years now but still can't ride it using only my left hand.

I looked into the petrol tank & saw that most of the petrol had already left anyway, so I took my hand away & pushed the remaining 100 yds. home watching the last £2 or £3s worth disappear.

I had to leave my boots & jeans outside as they stank of petrol & have a shower as I did as well.

The moral of the story is again to put it together properly in the first place.