I was made in a factory in Penang. I was one of a
number of 100 c.c. motorcycles that was sent down to
Kuala Lumpur to be sold. So I found myself waiting
patiently in a shop for someone to buy me.
A few weeks later, a man came and bought me for
his son. The boy was barely seventeen but his father was
rich and could afford to buy me. I was chosen mainly
because of my beautiful red colour and that I could go
My young owner was a reckless rider. He rode me
carelessly all over town, putting me in grew danger. Many
times I thought for sure that it was the end but somehow
he managed to escape.
However, he tried one stunt too many. On that
fateful day my owner took me out on a reckless ride. His object was to overtake
every vehicle in front of him. After a few near misses he finally made a mistake
and he slammed head-first into the back of a lorry. I slid uncontrollably under
That was the end of him.
I was salvaged from under the lorry, repaired and sold again to a middle-aged
man who delivered newspapers for a living. So for the next five years I was made
to run thousands of kilometres carrying loads of newspapers.
The hard work took its toll on me, and
despite several repairs, my owner decided that it was time to retire me. I was
too worn-out to be of any use anymore. So I was sold to a motorcycle shop where
the owner stripped me of my parts.
Today I am nothing but a bare frame without any wheels. I await the day when
I will be sold for scrap. That would be the
end of me.