That Victim looks just like mine did except mine had an airfilter. I rode the hell out of it in the desert and on the freeways. Light, reliable and quick, it was inspiration to buy a Bullet years later. It let me down just once. All but one lower engine mount bolt disappeared miles from nowhere. I tapped twigs from a manzanita bush into place, lashing them with shoelaces and made it 30 miles home. I'd love another or an A10 or M20 if it came along.
Jawas remind me of lethargic, oily, heavy, plug fouling mediocrity. Like my bullet, only more so!
I've gotta guess that your autocorrect saw fit to change "Victor" to "Victim"--though it's arguably oddly fitting in my own BSA's case. It was a victim of BSA management's screw-the-customer myopia in its well deserved final days, unforgivably cheaping out in such a way as to knowingly and maliciously sabotage their products. Still, it was an oddly pretty little around-town thumper while it lasted, and like yours, it did give me a taste for those "El Primitivo" biggish 4-stroke singles too. Mine actually did have an air filter. If I have any pictures of it, they're pre-digital in a cigar box somewhere. It may well be that mine had been geared down sprocket-wise by a previous owner for more tractable offroad use, because even 50 mph felt like it was close to redlining it. Absolutely NOT a touring machine, mine. In contrast, my new-to-me 2005 Royal Enfield Bullet 500ES "Military" should be just the ticket for the leisurely type of chuffing around I am looking forward to, assuming I can get her
cockamamie crankcase breather rigmarole buttoned down, so it ceases spewing out all my multigrade irregularly from time to time...possibly in concert with certain cycles of the moon, tides or
Jersey Shore marathons.
As for Jawas, I never felt one way or the other about them. I recall having seen way more of them happily sput-sput-sputtering around Britain back in the early '80s than ever here in the Land of the Plastic Spork. Still, the "Socialist Workers Paradise" two-wheeler I always admired yonder, which I cannot recall ever having even seen in the States, was the East German MZ TS250. Sure, they were sort of dumpy-looking with their irredeemably goofy squared-off hardboiled egg shaped fuel tank, anorexic-looking wheels, and lumpy side panels, but they were still German-made, seemed essentially unkillable, and offered lots of honest and useful features and virtues, like those handy little levers to be able to easily adjust the rear shocks on the go without needing some special C-wrench tool, easily-adjustable footpegs and a whole host of other thoughtful niceties. They were super cheap (often enough to be had for a round of drinks) and hence pretty popular back in the day with British motorcycle learners, restricted as they were back then under their provisional licenses (or rather "licences") to a max engine size of 250cc for their first year on the roads. Accordingly. it was not at all unusual for an MZ TS250 (often called an "Oh Em Zed" on account of its logo) to change hands 5 or more times in as many years as people handed them on to others once they were free to get something bigger and frankly "better". Neglected, abused, ridden like they were hated (which they often were), they just kept dutifully chugging along. I've already got a 2-stroke in my '57 Zündapp Bella scooter, my former Berlin daily driver of the '80s, but I'd still happily give a good home to one of these frumpy old commie ugly ducklings: