Feeling bored last October I decided to do something a bit more positive with my month's wages instead of the usual throat and belly lubrication sessions. I had £170 to spare, so after pondering various notions, such as trading in my 1979 YB100, buying new bits for an 18 yearold, knackered CB250, a cheap flight to a warmer climate or buying that Hi-Fi, decided on something completely psychopathic - I'd tour Ireland on my Yamaha YB100.
I'd bought the bike from a certain cowboy dealer in May '88 for the scandalously high sum of £355. The salesman, a Volvo driver, assured me that the bike was in exceptionally sound condition for its age and would be very reliable, thereby justifying its price tag.
Some months later I met the previous owner who, to my extreme disgust, informed me that he had happily parted company with the bike to the same shop for £120 trade in......I had just been an 18 yearold with a fistful of tenners and head full of dreams. Never trust a creep with glasses and a Volvo.
The YB is a basic little commuter with a simple two stroke single engine, pressed steel frame, SLS drum brakes and a fully enclosed drive chain. It's been around for ages, previously popular with ancient commuters, with learners restricted to 125cc machines it's a cheap way for a youth to get on the road. Thus, many are thrashed to within an inch of their life and its says a lot for their basic robustness that they seem to keep going on and on.
Anyway, I tightened the chain, cables, nuts and bolts, changed the oil and spark plug, put a small tool roll together, donned my brother's waterproofs and started the first leg of the journey, 130 miles from Edinburgh to Stranraer. It felt good as I buzzed along, humming a familiar Stepppenwolf tune....the last 15 miles were a nightmare. No street lights or cats-eyes, pitch darkness, a million artics covered in huge dazzling lights coming the other way (presumably off the ferry) on the narrow, twisty, hilly road and my totally inadequate headlamp which cast a feeble spot of light six feet in front of me.
I had no praise for the direct, 6V lighting, so popular on these types of commuter two strokes. You can probably imagine how I felt - put it this way, I was glad I had packed some spare underwear in my rucksack.
I tied the bike securely to a post on the vehicle deck of the ferry and went in search of the bar. Winning £75.25 on the fruit machine boosted my confidence sky high, so I was all set for the next two and half weeks which, according to my rough estimation would see me cover 1500 miles. The sea was calm enough and the machine and myself survived the passage unscathed.
Arriving in Larne at 2am, I ditched the L-plates and hit the motorway to Belfast, B & B and sleep. Again, the lack of lighting inspired the occasional bout of fear and loathing but there was little in the way of traffic. Of all the relatives I had in Ireland, why did they all live in the south? I forked out £12 for the night and a burnt offering that was supposed to be breakfast. The next week went reasonably well, considering my means of transport.
The little Yamaha sort of hummed along flat out most of the time, a few vibes and lots of wobbling and weaving making sure I didn't fall asleep. The excess mass had used up most of the suspension travel so I was thrown about a bit over bumpy going and it sort of bounced through corners. Just as well that it was never able to develop excessive speed. Despite being thrashed, left outside overnight and generally neglected it still started up easily.
Despite wearing two layers of clothing, three pairs of gloves and socks, two scarfs, leather jacket and waterproofs, I froze every mile of the way. Especially my feet and hands. I remembered reading in the UMG about a guy who kept his hands warm by holding the cylinder head with his leather gloved hands. Well, I discovered I could warm my hands alternatively by the use of my unique cruise control system (a sticking throttle cable), and bending down to the mildly inclined from the horizon engine.
Passing motorists appeared shocked by my strangely postured body, but it was better than ending up with frost bitten hands. The agony bits of my body thawing out had to be avoided if at all possible. During the second week minor problems started. She cut out regularly in the wet and petrol leaked profusely from the overflow when the petrol tap was on (even if I was riding). I sorted the latter out by bending the tab in the float bowl upwards a touch.
The clutch cable snapped the same day when I was about 50 miles from a bike shop. Clutchless gearchanges weren't exactly smooth on that bike so I bought a replacement from a friendly shop in Dublin. The four speed gearbox was never entirely precise, at the best of times, although the ratios were reasonably spaced given the flat power curve of the motor.
I lost my front mudguard later that week. It just fell off one morning and, to my horror, was crushed by a tractor behind me. So the next two days (which just happened to be wet) were pretty infuriating as the almost constant spray of water/mud/cowpats soaked my chest. However, a Drogheda breaker gave me a mudguard for free. Nice folks, the Irish.
The most annoying thing about the whole holiday was the exhaust pipe popping off on the hour and half hour. This was very embarrassing, especially in the north, as the noise from the open exhaust port sounded distinctly like machine gun fire. My gloves still bear the burn marks from those unfortunate incidents. I eventually bought a tub of filler and packed it into the stripped screw-on sleeve. It actually held for the rest of the trip.
Other isolated incidents proved to be minor setbacks. A front tyre puncture was easily repaired and the rear stoplight blowing simply meant I had to always have a couple of spare bulbs. Adjusting the chain every few days, replacing the spark plug once, spraying WD40 everywhere and waterproofing the spark plug cap (with cling-film and sellotape) kept me going without too much trouble.
I averaged roughly 80mpg and cruised, with large rucksack on my back, a larger bag tied to the seat behind me and an improvised tank bag, at speeds between 40 and 50mph. On one steep hill near Killarney, aided by a hurricane, I hit a staggering indicated 67mph! I also achieved a world first amongst YB100 riders, yes, a high speed wobble! On second thoughts, perhaps it was caused my by shaking in fear and trepidation of the 97cc two stroke engine exploding.
With all the weight, the brakes had become interesting. Normally, they could be relied on to pull the machine up quickly a couple of times a day, but as the 185lb machine was carrying almost its own weight in excess baggage the brakes had become more a sop to eagle-eyed cops than a useful part of the machine's equipment. I had to search far ahead before using the anchors.
Town riding was normally a cinch, but with the top heavy feel endowed by the luggage a bit of care was needed to pilot the beast through the slow bits. Acceleration was still sufficient to give car drivers pause for thought and few appeared inclined to get into races, perhaps a consequence of the dangerous appearance of the heavily loaded machine. One thing I found particularly pleasing was my exhaust blowing a small hole. This seemed to do wonders for the acceleration and made the bike sound like a DT125.
The immense feeling of satisfaction experienced when riding along an open South West Ireland road on a sunny morning is something which can't be explained in words. It is something which must be experienced first hand. Whether riding a BMW or big Jap I am sure the feeling must be of the same type. Freedom.When I returned home I'd covered just under 2000 miles and the bike was in more or less the same condition as when I left. I was not that surprised that such an ancient hack had done so well, it just goes to show that it's not the machine that limits one's adventures but the mind.
Fergus Cooney
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I had been looking for a decent 100cc bike for months. Lots of spotty kids trying to off-load thrashed and neglected examples but few sensible commuters selling their barely used, regularly serviced pets. I was determined to get a good buy this time, having in the past been ripped off too many times. After a long phone conversation, the owner telling me he was selling his YB100 to buy a new one, I felt I might be on to a winner.
When I turned up at his house I saw this polished YB100 outside, which I assumed was the new 'un but in fact it was the five year old one for sale. I almost handed over the 200 sovs there and then without even a test ride. The pensioner had done only 14000 miles, just wanted to have some kind of bike to remind him of his youth. He claimed to have had no trouble with the YB, which I could believe as the single cylinder strokers are basically reliable bikes. I could find no problems on the test ride and didn't have the heart to try to talk him down on the price.
The bike pinged up to an indicated 60mph on the way home with absurd ease. Thereafter, it needed much abuse of the strange four speed gearbox to extract any extra speed. You press down to change up and neutral is not between first and second, but where you'd expect to find first. The gear lever was the toe and heel type found on C50s, which saves on shoe wear once you stop trying to curl your foot under the lever. Having complained thus, the change was very precise, neutral was easy to find at a standstill and the gear ratios well matched to the machine's power delivery.
Handling was pretty much what you'd expect from a pressed steel frame commuter. Safe enough but a lot of wallowing from the poor quality suspension. Handling was basically neutral, the bike so light it could be flicked out of dangerous situations whilst braking in corners does not upset things. The brakes are the most dangerous feature of the bike. The tiny SLS drums lack power, suffer fade and don't even respond well in the wet. The front brake cable appeared to be made of rubber at times, lots of fiddling with the adjusters needed to maintain even a semblance of braking.
The engine features a rotary valve with the carb under cover on the right side of the engine. On the left, the flywheel magneto contains the contact breakers, although to adjust the points you have to remove the flywheel, which is perhaps the most tedious bit of maintenance you're likely to encounter on the YB as it needed attention every 1500 miles if power and economy were to be maintained. I soon found the other chronic problem with the YB100. After about 300 miles the engine started to run very roughly. Shit, I thought, I've gone and bought another bloody dog. The local Yamaha dealer solved the problem in a moment, the motor merely needed a new spark plug. With that fitted good order was restored. The engine eats plugs like a Kawasaki triple, the most I've made one last is 600 miles, the least 150 miles. The canted forward nature of the engine means it only takes a few moments to change a plug.
I also found the engine needs a decoke every 5000 miles or so, gradual diminution of performance, until it can no longer gasp up to 50mph, being all the evidence needed for this. Again, just undo four cylinder head nuts and exhaust clamp and whip the top end off, couldn't be easier. After cleaning off all carbon, with just the single piston I was able to fit the cylinder without needing a piston ring compressor (which was just as well as I didn't have one). There appeared to be no wear in any of the piston or crank bearings.
Apart from these things, in three years I clocked up an impressive 29000 miles in addition to the original 14000 miles. Even with over 43000 miles on the clock, the engine still started first kick and was capable, under favourable circumstances, of doing 70mph. I left the engine stock, I knew I had a good one and didn't want to ruin it with childish attempts at tuning.
One problem that didn't go away was the lighting. The 6V system ran direct off the magneto, so at tickover the lights flickered dangerously - if the engine stalled the lights went out altogether! Even with some decent revs up the front headlamp was only barely adequate as a warning device. On unlit roads I had to pull in behind a car and stay on its tail until civilisation was reached. It really hurt my eyes to peer over the bars into the gloom on deserted roads, I often came near to running right off the road. I tended to avoid riding at nights whenever possible.
I never fell off the bike, although there were a couple of near misses that had me staining my underpants. These occurred in town when some jerk did a sudden, unexpected manoeuvre but I always managed to twitch the Yam out of harms way. The YB is brilliant in town, sneaking through the traffic like a stealth missile. If all you do is ride in heavy traffic then a bike like this is all that's needed. In fact, it's faster through London's chaos than many a large four cylinder motorcycle.
The mere 10 horses and substandard suspension make the bike a bit of a liability on fast A roads, let alone motorways. The high bars, that are great in town, act against the machine on the open road, you can almost feel the engine tearing its heart out as the bike thrums along at 65mph fighting the aerodynamics of bloody great barn door, trying not to be picked up and tossed aside my some half awake car driver. Both the bike and myself ended up nervous and twitchy after a long ride on a fast road.
Comfort was fine for a 25 mile coummute through town, but a different matter if you wanted to do 200 miles in a day. Believe me, it's not an experience you'd want to repeat. The YB is a small motorcycle, something which becomes all too obvious when the cramps set in after the first 50 miles. Running along for hour after hour at 50 to 60mph becomes as mind numbingly boring as the seat becomes backside numblingly hard. I should have felt relief at reaching my destination in one piece but I was out of my mind with horror at the thought that I would have to ride back the same distance that very day, partly in the dark!
The engine survived such abuse with hardly a complaint, feeling happier away from town where constant low speed running soon takes out the spark plug. It likes to have an occasional fast run to clean out its lungs. There was a slight vibration at some revs but so minor it hardly merits mentioning. The last time I did a decoke, there was still no sign of bearing wear whilst both bore and piston were still in fine shape. Can't fault such an engine on longevity.
The only sign of wear has been a slight increase in oil consumption. Petrol varies between 75 and 110mpg depending on how long ago the engine was given a tune-up and decoke. The full chain enclosure gives a chain life of at least 25000 miles - it hardly ever needs any attention. Similarly, the tyres don't seem to wear very rapidly, but as I've never bought a new set it's hard to put a meaningful figure on it - 15 to 20,000 miles I'd guess. Yes, an ideal bike for a miser.
I guess the bike's due for some major trouble soon so I shall have to think about trading in for something newer and, perhaps, bigger, although the horrendous increase in insurance rates means that even going up to 125cc would merit a huge increase in outgoings. Still, I've saved a fortune compared with using public transport, not just on fare costs but also because I save a couple of hours a day in commuting time which means I can do more overtime. If I end up buying a newish YB100 don't be surprised.
Jack Cummings