Motorcycles On-Line

Yet More Hacking!
Berni moped, CB150, NSU Quickly

Berni's Balls

Odd Italian moped



A Berini - that’s what it was. No, not a Biryani, that’s a hot Indian dish - a Berini is less than lukewarm, and Italian to boot. Which is a good thing to do to Italians, providing there are no Mafia connections, but I’m digressing already. (Actually, if Indian restaurants had been around then, I may well have nicknamed the bike Poppadum - the Poppa because it was a two-stroke and the Dum what I was for buying it - but I’m digressing again, I think, and my doctor says I must take these pills if I have too many attacks of digression in one article… there - that’s better!)

Not many readers will have even heard of it, let alone ridden one, but it was my first straddle (of any kind!), back in those early Sixties days. Now, in my defence, I would like to say that I was still at school, all my friends - well, the more well heeled ones, or those with older brothers - had access to such missiles as Tiger Cubs, Captains and the odd Bantam, and I was desperate for anything that was a runner and affordable.

This combination was difficult to locate on pocket money - a 2 speed Excelsior might have fitted the bill had not some other desperado beaten me to it - but eventually a neighbour’s son announced that he would be selling his Berini for little more than the price of 20 Gold Leaf (he was wrong - it was a lot more, when ciggies were about two bob for 10, but I’ve started digressing again, doctor).

Thus came into my possession 49cc’s of raw two stroke Italian power, 1959 vintage, and let me tell you, I was impressed! Yes, well, okay, I know it was a moped, but it had proper motor bike style forks and a big headlamp - from the front, it could easily have been mistaken for a real bike. From the rear… perhaps the rear carrier and the sturdy stand did rather destroy the image, but they were so strong that one could sit on the back of the bike, lean right forward and make brm-brm noises… I did not know then that this was going to be the bike’s best feature! What the hell, it was a powered machine! The open road was mine!

The first ride! Strange choke and throttle combined - push a lock button and twist the wrong way. Choke on. Pull in clutch - cunning ratchet engages so that bike can be pedalled away. Reach maximum leg rotation speed (doesn’t take long!) and release clutch lever, when engine fires, twist throttle the right way and off ya go! Easy. Hmm. Six goes later, I remember to turn on the petrol. Classic error!

Cough, cough, splutter…it’s gonna work…. yes - here we go…off up the road at unprecedented speed - no idea what it is (no speedo) but it feels fast! God, it’s so noisy after a push bike, and the sensation of wind in the hair (no helmets then, of course!) is just, well - exhilarating ain’t the word!

Starting accomplished, but what about, er, stopping? Aarghhhhh! Drum front brake, but the lever meets the handlebar before the linings meet the drum - whoops! Back brake, then. Aarghhhhhh! The Berini employs a coaster hub - a crafty device, in that it allows one to pedal away, freewheel at all times when riding, and by pressing backwards on the pedals, the rear hub brake gets applied. Or not.

Incredible, eh? You don't see 'em like that today, and that’s because the sodding things don’t work as brakes, and never did - which is probably exactly why you don’t see 'em like that today… discovering these engineering inadequacies on the road is not recommended. The old push-bike trick of putting feet down in dire emergencies (which all stops were!) I only tried once, and I still have the scars where the pedals dug into my legs.

Other interesting Berini features included a chain which would wrap itself around any part of the rear wheel in preference to the sprocket, and two generally treadless tyres (probably original - whitewalls, though, just like a Ford Zodiac!) A combination of these features and a bumpy level crossing left me with a flat, a jumped chain and a 3 mile push home. This was probably what I deserved, as I was not really interested in anything other than top speed.

The book said up to 38mph, but without a speedo, how could I tell? So - I bought one, fitted it, went out and prepared to send the needle off the clock. And so I would have done, had the clock stopped at 19mph. 20mph - that was it, however long I waited! 20? I must have fitted it wrong. The gearing is out. Nope. A kid on a racing bike chooses this moment to pass and disappears into the distance - I check to make sure I haven’t got the back brake on! Oh, the shame of it! Something has to be done!

Well, on dismantling the engine - carbon was everywhere! The rings were gummed up, the ports were down to about half their designed width and there was an interesting depression in the top of the piston - long reach plug hitting it? With a variety of furiously non technical tools (e.g. pin and crochet hook) most of the deposits were withdrawn. Take the rings off - bugger - broke one!

Now - how to get spares for a Berini in Peterborough? Some chance! Even then, no one had ever heard of one! My brother eventually tracks down a potential supplier, and - yes - they can get a set. Cost a bomb, and only three weeks delivery - some things don’t change! They duly arrive - now for the grand refitting. Hmm - not that simple. Can’t get the barrel over the rings...

Pause for thought. Teenage brain says - heat expands things. Therefore - place barrel on lighted gas ring for several minutes until hot and then try again. Barrel is duly heated to considerable temperature, thus making it impossible to pick up. Teenage thought two - use mother’s washing tongs to pick up barrel. Teenage thought three - how to stick back three broken cooling fins from hot barrel now lying on quarry tiled floor of kitchen. No Araldite in those days, of course.

Oh well, sod it! Lose temper and force barrel over rings and tighten everything up. Now for the performance test! Pedal, drop clutch, engine catches and …wow! Acceleration as never previously experienced propels me towards the horizon. A good 35mph on the speedo without getting flat on the tank - more than enough to put any kid on a push-bike well and truly in the exhaust fumes!

And so it is for a short while…..I can even break the speed limit! With rare enthusiasm, I decide to treat the machine to a repaint in fetching two tone blue. It looks the bee’s knees to me, (no dogs had bollocks, then!) and so it should, considering all the time I spent in a dark shed in November after school doing it. Others are strangely unimpressed.

The Berini is not too happy either, and makes its feelings known with strange chuffing noises which would not have embarrassed Thomas the Tank Engine, and a serious lack of power. Investigation reveals a stud pulled out of the block - must have been the strain of those unaccustomed extra revs! Major disaster. I wish now I hadn’t put the bloody speedo on it!

Now, I am sure it would have been a simple matter to insert a helicoil, but I didn’t know then they existed, and my brother’s engineering degree clearly didn’t extend to such matters. Anyway, the thing still ran, after a fashion, and would do its original 20mph, albeit with much chuffing and clouds of smoke. I somehow convinced a purchaser that a tune up was all that was needed, and so exit Berini, stage right, smoking.

The price was only equivalent to 15 packets of fags, (and if you think that’s a disastrous deal, you should hear about some later ones!). Anyway, it was time to contemplate my two wheeled future. Of course, what I really wanted was an Ariel Arrow, which came with something which today would have been called street cred and was still within the learner limit of the day. But how to overcome parental opposition and lack of funds...

R P Brown

Honda CB150

Rescued and resurrected


The old sixties Honda CB150 was shoved into my hands for free. This was the bike on which the infamous CB125 and the later CG125 were based. My aunt had unearthed the thing from the back of her garage and decided I could have it. What was left of it, anyway. Basically, an engine, frame, forks and set of rusty wheels. The rest of it had fallen apart over the decade it had been salted away.

The only good thing was that the corrosion hadn't made it into the engine, still a sniff of lubricant left on the moving parts. A testament to the design, the internals still looked shiny. I quickly put the motor back together, added fresh oil and made up a feed for the petrol (old oil tank plus fuel line) as the original tank had rusted inside to the extent that it dribbled out petrol.

After several kicks the motor blasted into life on the open downpipe! Okay, so that worked. Next in line was sorting out the chassis. I soon gave up on the front end, fitted a modern set-up from a GS125. A used petrol tank for a fiver had me smiling until I realised the tap was shot. A saddle off something unknown; ditto a couple of mudguards. Cheap tyres, used cables, home-made wiring and a few other things soon had the machine ready for the road.

What I hadn't realised at this stage was just how shot was the gearbox. Talk about more false neutrals than working gears! Having read various tales about old Hondas on the site (where else?) I knew that a bit of practice would help. Took me a whole month before I mastered the change, although I still manage a couple of false neutrals a day.

Performance was on the pace with the restricted learners. It was also very light, dead easy to take step-thrus when rushing through gaps. Gasped a bit on the open road, many cagers trying to nudge me out of their way. Definitely most at home in the daily commute. I did quite enjoy charging down narrow country roads even if the bike would wobble and weave a bit above 50mph. The most I ever saw on the clock was 76mph. Fuel was amazing, 100-110mpg!

The CB150's very rare, even the later CB125's are becoming hard to find, most worn down by the miles and a couple of decades of corrosion. However, they aren't considered classic motorcycles, therefore when bits do turn up the prices are usually very silly. I bought a whole CB125S chassis, which lacked any deeply embedded rust, for 25 quid!

I soon fitted the motor and electrics into this. The first time I tried to stop I nearly killed myself. Used to the GS's strong disc, the puny SLS hub from the CB125S was a total pile of crap. I had the lever back to the bars before any hint of braking developed. Just to add to the panic, slamming the throttle shut produced an almighty backfire as the header pipe wasn't seated fully in the exhaust port.

I twisted the bike through the converging cars and lived to tell the tale. First thing, then, was to fit the GS's front end on to the new chassis. That was a lot more practical, it's amazing the difference a good brake makes to a bike. You can ride both safer and faster.

Less easy to sort was the Neanderthal vibration. The frames looked identical but there was obviously some minor differences because it vibrated more than in its original home. I didn't want to use the old frame because there was a suspicious amount of rust around the shocks' mounts! The engine's actually a stressed component of the frame, so no way I could use rubber mounts. What I did do was tighten the engine bolts down using a very long lever on the wrench!

That got the vibration down to a tolerable level up to 60mph, thereafter it buzzed away ferociously. The handlebars were just plain vanilla steel items with no weights in their ends, so a sort through the local breaker's prize collection of discarded bars produced something the right diameter with weighted ends. That helped a hell of a lot. As did a couple of thick footrest rubbers off a Tiger Cub from the local Brit bike emporium. The owner cursed me when I revealed I was going to fit them to Jap iron!

The bike was still pretty useless as a speed tool but it was now capable of the odd burst of velocity without threatening to reduce me to a blubbering wreck. The wobbles were sorted with new swinging arm bearings, though they proved short-lived. As a commuter it was brilliant and very cheap to run. So much so that I've kept the bike even after buying much more interesting tackle - not just as a winter hack, through heavy traffic it can't be beaten; neither can its economy.

James Wright

Quick Step

There are very few NSU Quickly's left, they are all over forty years old! Those that made it into the seventies were mostly written off by mad sixteen year olds (thank God - Ed) who were then limited to mopeds. For a short time the only alternative was the Raleigh Wisp and Puch Maxi, until the Japanese came out with FS1E's and SS50's!

There were two basic versions of the NSU Quickly. The better was the dual seat, three speed model that could be persuaded up to 45mph on a good day. The two speed, single seat version, that I own, is good only for 35 to 40mph and has even weirder handling than the three speeder (impossible! - Ed). Readers will be shocked to learn that I use this valuable classic for pottering back and forth to work every day. About three miles each way through such heavy traffic that its lack of top speed doesn't matter. Its 150mpg is much more impressive, the single cylinder stroker motor running efficiently at low revs.

One of the most entertaining aspects of the Quickly was the starting procedure. This consisted of pedalling furiously with the decompressor valve pulled in until the exhaust started banging and the valve could be released. That wasn't the end of the procedure, though, because it needed a bit of pedalling to get the speed up to about 5mph before the bike was willing to work under its own power! It was an interesting way to lose weight.

There was a proper clutch and two speed gearbox selector on the left-hand side of the handlebar, just like a scooter. The large gap between the gears meant it had to be revved furiously in first before being slammed into second with a typical Teutonic lurch. Selection was much better than the three speeder, the latter needing daily adjustment of the cable to avoid having three neutrals and one gear! The scooter type change becomes quite natural after a short time.

Less instinctive was the braking. There were no footpegs, just pedals like a pushbike. The tiny rear drum was operated by moving the pedals backwards. This meant they always had to be positioned perfectly, the only way to get any braking was to stand on one pedal! It was just possible, at low speeds, to lock the back wheel up under such abuse. This was just as well because the front drum looked and worked like it came off a heavyweight butcher's pushbike! It might work well once a week but then chronic fade set in.

The big, narrow wheels always felt precarious even on the smoothest of roads. The bike felt rigid framed, over bumps I wobbled around on the sprung saddle in an approximation of being on a ship's deck in a howling gale. Potholes tried to unwrap the trailing link front forks and knocked me right out of the seat. As I took the same route every day I soon learnt which were the difficult sections and could slow down or ride around the worst bits.

The bike was light and usually wasn't flung too far off line. The huge front wheel liked to stay upright, corners were either taken at 10mph with pushbike type handlebar inputs or by leaning off the bike whilst keeping it as upright as possible. Any attempt at acceleration in bends was met with a total vindictiveness, the bugger would run wide, twitching instinctively for the front of any oncoming cars that happened to be in the immediate vicinity.

This was a strange trait in a bike that by its very nature was aimed at old codgers or first time riders. It took me about six months to become used to it, making allowances for its lack of braking and strange handling. Car drivers were another problem. In their eyes the NSU looked so pathetic that it's proper place was in a museum, or failing that in the gutter. The horn was a pathetic squeak that was dependent on engine revs as there wasn't a battery fitted and the generator used most of its power to fire the engine. The lights were augmented by a couple of pushbike lamps as they dimmed so much at low revs that the first cars would know of my existence was the crunching noise when they hit me.

Even in broad daylight they tried to ignore my existence. Louts in GTi's were the worst. They saw such a lack of machoness in my choice of mount that they assumed they could negate the laws of physics by driving straight over me! I ended up swerving into the gutter too many times to count. About the only thing I found that would shake them was borrowing my son's gear - a fearsome Darth Vader helmet and padded leather jacket that doubled my bulk!

That wasn't the end of my troubles. Riding a bike that was over 40 years old, even one that had been rebuilt a few times, was sure to show up a few signs of age. Like, pulling out the tap one time the whole assembly came away in my hand. The petroil came flowing out; luckily the engine was cold. There was no chance of buying a new tank, so the local back street bodger had to weld in some new metal, drill it to suit a Honda tap.

Lubrication came from mixing oil in with the petrol. Oil was heavier than petrol so it would eventually settle on the bottom of the tank. Before starting, the bike had to be shook furiously for five minutes! Once under motion the vibes provided plenty of agitation but as soon as I parked up the tap had to be switched off. The alternative was a great flood of fuel coming out of the carb!

The crude lubrication system meant that the bike was always pursued by a fog of pollutants. Also, every 500 miles or so it needed a decoke. The top end was torn off (four nuts) and the silencer removed. It was about an hour's work to remove all the carbon on a good day. On a bad day one of the cylinder studs would come loose in the crankcase. Araldite or helicoils were the only way to fix this. Every decoke required a new head gasket. I made these up myself, although occasionally I would end up with a blown gasket and a gasping engine that needed pedal assistance.

On a really bad day, about once a year, the piston rings would go. I had a few spare sets as well as a couple of cylinders and pistons - I'd phoned around some of the more established cycle shops because there was a period when they were selling mopeds as well as pushbikes and it was surprising what old stock they had tucked away. NSU parts are a bit like hens teeth and if something serious, like a crankshaft, were to go I'd be in deep trouble. I'd have to ride the spare bike - a Raleigh Wisp that makes the NSU feel like the height of luxury.

In its favour, the NSU has better mudguards than most modern motorcycles and costs next to nothing to run - it's so frugal that I often run out of fuel and have to resort to the pedals. The gearing tops out at 5mph in pushbike mode, which is as frustrating as it is tiring and I often think it'd be quicker to jump off and run alongside. At least it provides some much needed amusement for the car drivers stuck in huge traffic jams. Readers will wonder why I bother. Basically because it's there and I may as well use the thing. It's just adequate for city commuting (the Wisp certainly ain't) and I rather revel in the complete uniqueness of the Quickly.

Jeremy Ridley