Many years ago a mate of mine had a motorbicycle that was a complete shed. He used it to commute to work from south east London to just off Old St. This shed was not only neglected mechanically (but refused to die) but legally as well, tax and MOT were but a distant memory. One day when coming over London Bridge this mate was using a bus lane to filter to the front of the traffic. A WPC in her little plastic box stepped out into the road and signaled for him to stop. Suddenly aware of his lack of legality he panicked and rode around her. The light in front was red, so now committed he filled his pants and hoofed it through the red as the road was completely clear. He realised that he now needed to get away fairly sharpish but had cleverly forgotten about police radios. Now riding enthusiastically towards Liverpool St Station another copper leaps into the road signaling for him to stop. He dinks around and carries straight on to the outer edge of The Ring of Steel. The final copper in plastic box is waiting. Same thing again. My mate's pants are now understandably bursting at the seams. He dumps the bike around the corner out of view behind a parked van, seconds later two bike cops appear threading their way through traffic at speed looking left and right. My mate has taken his crash helmet off and shoved it in his bag. He's walking towards work where he consumes about 20 ciggys in 10 minutes. There's more to it but suffice to say my mate never got caught. Fortunately the bike wasn't registered in his name. Funnily enough he's been really sharp about keeping his tax and MOT up to date since then.
Many years ago a mate of mine had a motorbicycle that was a complete shed. He used it to commute to work from south east London to just off Old St. This shed was not only neglected mechanically (but refused to die) but legally as well, tax and MOT were but a distant memory. One day when coming over London Bridge this mate was using a bus lane to filter to the front of the traffic. A WPC in her little plastic box stepped out into the road and signaled for him to stop. Suddenly aware of his lack of legality he panicked and rode around her. The light in front was red, so now committed he filled his pants and hoofed it through the red as the road was completely clear. He realised that he now needed to get away fairly sharpish but had cleverly forgotten about police radios. Now riding enthusiastically towards Liverpool St Station another copper leaps into the road signaling for him to stop. He dinks around and carries straight on to the outer edge of The Ring of Steel. The final copper in plastic box is waiting. Same thing again. My mate's pants are now understandably bursting at the seams. He dumps the bike around the corner out of view behind a parked van, seconds later two bike cops appear threading their way through traffic at speed looking left and right. My mate has taken his crash helmet off and shoved it in his bag. He's walking towards work where he consumes about 20 ciggys in 10 minutes. There's more to it but suffice to say my mate never got caught. Fortunately the bike wasn't registered in his name. Funnily enough he's been really sharp about keeping his tax and MOT up to date since then.