THERE’S a trick to kicking a big bike into life. Ask me, I once owned a big old Yamaha XT500 which turned winter into summer as I kicked and sweated and swore while hunting for that sweet spot that would stir the reluctant motor into purring happiness.
We don’t get a lot of fat-tyre bikes in South Africa and that’s a strange thing indeed.
IT’S nearly ten years since I sold my last motorcycle. “She” was a pretty Irish-green BMW R60/6, a 1974 classic Boxer-engine, smooth-talking banger with a rumble in her heart and a crisp throttle.