In the 1980s when the Commando was just an old bike and I qualified as a young man I bought a very nice black 850 roadster off it's original owner for $500. I put new tires on it and a battery and it was ready to go.
I don't think I ever left a standing start without the rear wheel spinning or the front wheel in the air, and when I went up through the gears I would "speed-shift" by putting a bit of pressure on the shifter and slapping the clutch. One of the tickets I got with it was for having cords hanging out of my rear tire, a surprise to me as I had only bought it several weeks earlier. Soon after I started riding it the original mufflers fell apart, rusted from the inside out, and the remaining years I rode it with short open reverse-cone megaphones I think made by the MCM company. After a few hour ride at illegal speeds my ears would ring for many hours.
Passed a big line of slow cars on a two-lane highway, accelerating up to 80+mph and when I got towards the front of the line I see it was moving slow because two old white-haired people are leading with their left turn signal on to turn into a car dealership. In a hundredth of a second I decide to go for it and keep the throttle pinned, I am approaching as fast as the bike will go and the car is turning and closing off the highway ahead, by the time I get to it all that is left is the dirt curb, onto it I go lifting my right leg straight forwards touching the handlebar and up over the hood of the car, ZOOM I am past open meggas and all. I shake uncontrollably for several seconds then back to concentrating on the current traffic. When I get to my buddies house he asks what happened to my rear tail-light, I look and it's stem is bent back at 45 degrees. If I had not lifted my leg up I probably would have lost it, missed death by two inches.
Went on a few hour ride at night down Highway 7 and 11 to Stuebenville OH to a rally. Took it up to 100mph laid down on the tank and left it there most of the way, it was foggy and sometimes I steered by looking straight down at the line on the highway, missed all the cars and deer that evening.
When the sleeve gear bearing came loose in it's transmission I just swapped in another out of one of the 850 parts bikes I had and off to work trying to destroy the machine I went. I rode it to the quarter mile drags more than once, raced and then back home again. It would do right about 100 at the end of a quarter mile very easily even though our strip was slick off the line and the rear tire would often spin much of the way through first gear.
The ignition switch burst into flames once while riding because I had sprayed WD40 in it to try and clean it's contacts, I got home by shorting wires together with strips torn from an alloy beer can I peeled off the road.
Once while going up through the gears on a country dirt road the engine revved to the moon as if it had jumped out of gear, no gear worked though and I rolled to a stop, the rear chain was gone, nowhere to be found, then it started raining, I pushed it home up and down hills a number of miles, it was good to be young.
That small fuel tank and those Amal concentrics: I ran out of gas two years in a row on the same country tar and chip road in front of the same farm. I ran out of gas on a four-lane highway when the float-bowl screws fell out, I wired it back up with a coat-hanger twisted tight through the screw holes, dumped in some gas for a weed-whacker a guy handed me over the highway fence and got to the next gas station. I ran out of gas at 11pm on a limited access highway in the country in Ohio, coasted to an off ramp and pushed it to a farm. Scared walking to the farm-house that late with dogs barking and knocking on the door, getting them out of bed to ask for a can of gas, got it, got home. Lost my wallet by Buffalo NY while low on gas and hungry. Bought an Almond Joy bar to ward off delirium and put the rest of the change in the fuel tank, did not fill it so rode really slow towards home, Ran out of fuel and coasted into my front yard.
Eventually I had to miss a shift in a big way, the motor revved so high that by the time I thought to look at the tach it was still pegged, then it came down, I could tell the bike was hurt. After I shut it off it never started again, the valves were bent and it had no compression. It had lasted through a surprising number of hard riding seasons and rear tires I thought. I would have fixed it and kept riding it but someone offered to trade me one of a the few dozen 1966 Harley Davidson XLR factory dirt track racers even up for it and some extra parts so off it went.
Had to get 30 miles home on the 650 Manxman one day with ominous clouds threatening. Got onto the INterstate highway and pinned the throttle, it started to rain, then pour. Lightning was so close there was no delay between the flashes and the bangs. Cars were going really slow so I pulled all the way onto the left hand curb and took the bike up over the speed limit, again steering by looking straight down at the white line that was now off to my right because it was raining so hard there was no seeing ahead. I figured if someone pullled off and parked to wait out the storm they would have done that on the right side of the highway, luckily I was right that day.
The bike was good cheap fun and I have no regrets about my time with it and no desire for another one, I will finish out this ride on a featherbed.
I am sure it is still out there somewhere doing a good job for somebody.
