Man, people keep asking me why I bother with these ancient Indian bikes. Let me show you why they’re absolute gems. It all started when I finally snagged this rusty old Bullet last Tuesday.
Heard through a buddy about this farmer over in Sussex clearing out his dad’s old shed. Drove out there expecting scrap metal, swear I almost backed the truck right up to the heap. But then I spotted those curved fenders buried under tractor parts. My heart literally skipped a beat.
That First Brutal Assessment
Dragged the poor thing into daylight. Didn’t even look like a motorcycle anymore. Tank covered in chicken poop, front wheel missing spokes like a jack-o’-lantern, and the engine? Completely seized. Had to chip fossilized mud out of the cylinder head. Thought I wasted a whole afternoon just getting it onto the trailer.
The Hunt For Impossible Parts
Here’s where it got ridiculous. Needed:
- Original Amal carbs (rusted solid)
- Pre-1960 foot pegs (one snapped off in my hand)
- That stupid specific fuel tank badge everyone loses
Hit every swap meet from Bristol to Carlisle. Mostly junk. Found one dude selling badges at three times eBay price because he “knew what he had.” Almost walked away. Eventually traded him for helping restore his Royal Enfield sidecar rig.
Why This Slog Matters
Got the engine turning after soaking pistons in diesel for five days straight. First kick? Nothing. Tenth kick? Backfire that scared his sheep. Twelfth kick? That deep, lazy “pop… pop… pop” only vintage singles make. Neighbors complained about the smoke. Didn’t care. Felt like waking a dragon.
What You’re Actually Collecting
It ain’t just the bike. It’s hunting down that one shepherd in Wales who knows how to true those old wheels. It’s learning the exact shade of “Signal Red” paint by failing four times. It’s fixing eighty years of bad repairs just to hear that engine fire.
Yeah the new Japanese stuff rides smoother. Doesn’t mean squat when this Bullet rolls into a show and every grey-haired bloke there touches the tank like it’s holy. That’s why we waste weekends digging through scrap. These machines got soul buried under the rust.
