For reader John Stevens it is BSA’s humble Bantam, read why here.

For years, my friends - mostly bikers - have told me that there is nothing like going fast on a bike to give you the ultimate thrill. What a load of cobblers (or words less polite but having the same meaning of disbelief.) To me it’s not what you ride or drive, it is how it rides.
Which brings me to this short but true story. I hope you get a laugh from it because I certainly didn't.
Not being the greatest rider in the world, but having ridden mainly trials and scrambles when younger, I still ride today (I call it scrambles not motocross because, when I did it, believe me, it WAS a scramble.) Which brings to mind another myth. Practice. I got worse with it - especially trials. I now find it better not to walk the course but just dive straight in, shut my eyes and trust in the bike, the reason being that the bike always seems to make it out of the section with or without me on board! Anyway, back to the story.

A while ago I bought this little pile of crap, sorry, slip of the pen - Bantam, from a very nice couple on the east coast. I bet you're looking at these pictures and thinking “what a lovely-looking combo". But, as we all know, looks aren't everything. I was told by this charming couple that the outfit was used as a munitions carrier in one of our overseas conflicts during the 1950s.
Now, bearing in mind it was originally powered by a 125 (now a 175), what great feat it must have been pulling itself along, let alone a boxful of bullets/grenades plus a rider. The empty box weighs as much as the bike. Just imagine you're up to your neck in it, running low on ammunition and some officer shouts: “Don't worry, lads, Tommy's on his way on the Bantam." Now to me, that would seem a perfect time to fix bayonets and either run or surrender. Or go and fetch your own ammo. Anyway, I digress.
The ‘bike’ arrived in large bits on a trailer, unseen by me and collected by a friend. He really must start wearing glasses (yes, we are still on speaking terms). Having shovelled it out of the said trailer, I set about the task of checking what was there and what wasn't. Much to my surprise it seemed complete - bar the engine - which I finally found inside the wooden box. Silly me - I should have looked there in the first place.
I then gave the engine to my friend, Mark; he has built a few engines for me in the past. When will I learn? Incidentally, if anyone out there has lost a few neutrals from their gearbox, I know exactly where they are. Mark’s put them in my gearbox. What a plonker.