Derbi Senda 50
I'd never really thought about owning a motorcycle before I owned a motorcycle. In fact, I'd never really thought much about motorcycles. So it was a bit of a surprise to get a motorcycle for my 16th birthday.
In the summer between my GSCEs and A-levels I was working in Bristol at the newspaper offices. I think I was a bit depressed so perhaps Dad thought buying a bike might cheer me up - either that or he was secretly hankering after a bike himself. We saw some scooters in Fowlers of Bristol but I wasn't feeling very inspired.
Later we visited Richard Marson Motorcycles in Whittlesey, he specialised in the weird and wonderful and was something of a trailblazer (a bit ahead of his time perhaps). He was flogging a few obscure Iberian brands - Reiju and Derbi. I wanted the Derbi Senda from the moment I saw it. It looked like a much bigger bike and not at all the moped it really was. What's more - it could be quickly de-restricted by hack-sawing a washer which strangled the exhaust.
The Senda was my first bike, 'kick-starting' my life-long love of biking and, at times, even my livelihood. Unsurprisingly I've got a soft spot for the Derbi.
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| Me posing on the Derbi Senda in the back garden |
Derbi is a Spanish bike
maker specialising in stylish, small-capacity motorcycles. Until Derbi began exporting to the UK the choice was limited. Top of the pile was Kawasaki's AR50, already long-in-the-tooth and with outdated styling. I completed my compulsory basic training (CBT) on an AR50, so this was the first clutch motorcycle I rode.
Shortly after buying my Senda the Derbi brand launched a marketing drive and went racing in the 125 GPs with Japanese rider Youichi Ui. He bagged a podium in his opening season, and (as well as having the best name in the paddock) narrowly missed winning the championship two years on the trot - only thwarted by Italians Manuel Poggiali and Roberto Locatelli. I might have enjoyed a glimmer of reflected glory.
Shortly after buying my Senda the Derbi brand launched a marketing drive and went racing in the 125 GPs with Japanese rider Youichi Ui. He bagged a podium in his opening season, and (as well as having the best name in the paddock) narrowly missed winning the championship two years on the trot - only thwarted by Italians Manuel Poggiali and Roberto Locatelli. I might have enjoyed a glimmer of reflected glory.
Of course the Senda was no race replica but had convincing
motocross styling, nobbly tyres, liquid-cooling, front and rear disc brakes, meaty front suspension and race graphics.
The 50cc two-stroke
engine needed some brutal revving. On straight roads it would build up to
50mph. I used to spend more time staring at the digital speedo than the road, hypnotised as it danced between 80-81-80-81-82-81. I would contort my body into ridiculously positions in an attempt to become more aerodynamic. The speedo was Spanish and wouldn't show miles. I once saw 90kmh when I struck lucky with a howling easterly gale at my back on the A47. Usually I was about 5mph slower than the lorries and X94 bus, leading to some hairy moments.
I was more convinced in the off-road potential of the
Senda than its performance could deliver. Over confidence and a lack of talent led to a few tumbles. My worst spill was in the brick pits in Eye, I flew
down the slope of the quarry so I could keep the momentum up the opposite
gradient. I had overcooked it and the bike went flying and landed in a bush
with its engine running and rear wheel spinning. I landed on my arm and thought it was broken at
first. At this time other kids used to take dirt-bikes down the Eye pits (now a nature reserve (maybe it was back then too!)) and I
was a bit lucky they didn't steal it. I think mine was the only bike in the pits with
a number-plate, MOT and insurance.
On another occasion I crashed
with Sam on the back when I was riding too fast on the field path by the windmill. I didn't fully understand the delicate physics of a
motorcycle and pulled the front brake mid-corner... of course the
bike instantly washed out from underneath us. I was thrown clear but Sam’s left leg caught on
the footrest and he received a bruise.
The Senda had a seven
litre tank and it was quite thirsty with a range of just over 70 miles. Once I rode to
the Cadwell Park round of British Superbikes. The 120 mile round trip was soured when I ran out of petrol just the other side of Crowland. Dad was unsympathetic and has never really forgiven me. Unfortunately my
reputation as ‘the sort of person who runs out of petrol’ was reinforced a year later in a repeat incident.
I still remember riding the Senda through Peterborough with my friend Richard Allen on the back. The bike had no pillion footpegs so his legs dangled at the side, worse than that I only had one helmet and L-plates. It was the final day of term before the Christmas holidays and we were all in high-spirits. I was lucky I wasn't stopped by the police and Richard was lucky I didn't crash. Suffice to say I was extremely foolish.
The bike was surprisingly reliable for a high-revving Spanish two-stroke. I used to fill it with leaded petrol and occasionally topped up the oil, but aside from this it needed little maintenance. Once the clutch plates seized solid after I spent a morning on the back-roads behind the golf course practising wheelies.
The Senda didn't live in the garage but in the shed around the back of the house - at this time Dad still had his Lotus (although this would soon make way for a BMW F650). I quickly churned the grass leading to the shed into a quagmire. I also used to help myself freely to the petrol cans intended for the lawnmower. A blind eye must have been turned to this petty thievery.
The Senda even competed in a moped endurance race at Cadwell Park and crested (if not soared over) the famous Mountain. It was a strange event and I took it much more seriously than was intended. I started the first session, which even had a Le Mans style running start (of which I think I made a complete hash). I crashed at the hairpin four or five laps in, cornering too quickly on a damp, cold track with knobbly tyres. I bent the front brake lever but we managed to bend it back into shape. The rest of the team included Eric Rayner, Chris Coakley and Peter Hurford. I can still remember how excited I was sticking the race number to the bike and taping up the headlight and indicators.
I still remember riding the Senda through Peterborough with my friend Richard Allen on the back. The bike had no pillion footpegs so his legs dangled at the side, worse than that I only had one helmet and L-plates. It was the final day of term before the Christmas holidays and we were all in high-spirits. I was lucky I wasn't stopped by the police and Richard was lucky I didn't crash. Suffice to say I was extremely foolish.
The bike was surprisingly reliable for a high-revving Spanish two-stroke. I used to fill it with leaded petrol and occasionally topped up the oil, but aside from this it needed little maintenance. Once the clutch plates seized solid after I spent a morning on the back-roads behind the golf course practising wheelies.
The Senda didn't live in the garage but in the shed around the back of the house - at this time Dad still had his Lotus (although this would soon make way for a BMW F650). I quickly churned the grass leading to the shed into a quagmire. I also used to help myself freely to the petrol cans intended for the lawnmower. A blind eye must have been turned to this petty thievery.
The Senda even competed in a moped endurance race at Cadwell Park and crested (if not soared over) the famous Mountain. It was a strange event and I took it much more seriously than was intended. I started the first session, which even had a Le Mans style running start (of which I think I made a complete hash). I crashed at the hairpin four or five laps in, cornering too quickly on a damp, cold track with knobbly tyres. I bent the front brake lever but we managed to bend it back into shape. The rest of the team included Eric Rayner, Chris Coakley and Peter Hurford. I can still remember how excited I was sticking the race number to the bike and taping up the headlight and indicators.
Aside from racing, I commuted to school everyday on the Senda and also to Sainsbury's - where I was working on the
checkouts. Once, when the Senda was in for service, the dealer Richard Marson kindly loaned me a
Honda C90 which I promptly crashed on a roundabout in Breton. I broke both my wrists
and skinned my knees. Mette, my girlfriend at the time was following in her dad’s
Vauxhall estate, loaded with two German exchange students. She was panicking so
much she reversed into the stricken C90 and could barely drive with shaking. I remember the
German girls saying: “You must relax Mette, it hurts Tom when you drive like
this.” The poor C90 spent a lonely night by a roundabout on an industrial
estate. Miraculously it was still there in the morning when the dealer went to recover
it in a van.
In Casualty I was still high on
adrenaline and rather enjoying the wounded soldier act with three girls fussing
over me… but it was short-lived. The onset of pain coincided precisely with mum marching
through the automatic doors of A&E. Mette and the Germans got such a frosty glare
they soon scarpered and I was left to the thumbscrews… a minute or two later I was vomiting
in the disabled toilets in reception.
When my bones finally healed and I returned to two-wheels it was on an Aprilia RS125, but my Derbi days weren’t over just yet. A year later I sold the financially crippling Aprilia. In my absence Sam had been riding the Senda for a few months - mostly to visit his girlfriend Felicity Croft - but once he had passed his driving test the Senda didn't get a look in. I was back in the Senda's saddle for a few months until I bought a Suzuki GS500E.
We eventually sold the Senda for about £1,000 to a teenager in Eye. I rode it to his house for the final time and his eyes were alight when I arrived. It had been a great bike; crashed, thrashed and in no way trashed when I finally handed over the keys. I doubt the little 50cc engine survived very much longer.
Its biggest flaw? The bike was prone to carb-icing. It proved a difficult condition to diagnose. On days with a temperature of around five degrees the bike would lose power after six or seven miles and eventually stall. It could not be started again for 15 minutes, no matter how hard I kicked. After this it started fine and could be ridden. It was very frustrating when you were already running late for school. I used to smoke by the roadside, stamping my feet to keep warm and waving on passing Samaritans.
The Derbi had given me my first taste of freedom. I remember how excited I was when I looked at a map and thought 'I could go anywhere I want... provided it's not a motorway'. Of course, I never did go very far because 50cc and 50mph (flat-out) is hard work and progress is slow.
When my bones finally healed and I returned to two-wheels it was on an Aprilia RS125, but my Derbi days weren’t over just yet. A year later I sold the financially crippling Aprilia. In my absence Sam had been riding the Senda for a few months - mostly to visit his girlfriend Felicity Croft - but once he had passed his driving test the Senda didn't get a look in. I was back in the Senda's saddle for a few months until I bought a Suzuki GS500E.
We eventually sold the Senda for about £1,000 to a teenager in Eye. I rode it to his house for the final time and his eyes were alight when I arrived. It had been a great bike; crashed, thrashed and in no way trashed when I finally handed over the keys. I doubt the little 50cc engine survived very much longer.
Its biggest flaw? The bike was prone to carb-icing. It proved a difficult condition to diagnose. On days with a temperature of around five degrees the bike would lose power after six or seven miles and eventually stall. It could not be started again for 15 minutes, no matter how hard I kicked. After this it started fine and could be ridden. It was very frustrating when you were already running late for school. I used to smoke by the roadside, stamping my feet to keep warm and waving on passing Samaritans.
The Derbi had given me my first taste of freedom. I remember how excited I was when I looked at a map and thought 'I could go anywhere I want... provided it's not a motorway'. Of course, I never did go very far because 50cc and 50mph (flat-out) is hard work and progress is slow.
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| Dreaming of bigger things at the NEC Bike Show |
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