Doing the Tring Thing
I’ve been doing my favorite ride since I came south in the late 1980s. St Albans, shared house, MZ TS125, 32-mile commute. Paid 40 quid for it, posting four crisp 10 pound notes through a letterbox into the seller’s eager hand: “I’ve got three savage dogs and the wife hates strangers.” Fine. Didn’t fancy finding out who of that foursome was the most savage, so I rode off on my newly acquired MZ.
The bike died after six months and was replaced by a three-year-old MZ ETZ250 from Flitwick Motorcycles. A bigger bike meant greater explorations,
