The Jawa 350 twin looked like it'd spent the last couple of years in the sewer. So did the owner. And I wasn't far off myself. We all had a happy if smelly time getting to know each other. Most of the gunge was down to all the oil blowing out of the silencers. At a standstill it'd blow back, covering the rider and machine in a layer of oily grime! Which then picked up everything from dead insects to ice-cream wrappers thrown out of cages! At least the grime gave me a protective layer of waterproofing. Who needs Barbours?
The exact age of the Jawa was unknown - no doc's and the numberplate was illegible. Would've been a brilliant disguise for speeding if the bike wasn't limited to about 40mph. Limited by age, advance wear and, er, total fear. The latter from the bent frame and soggy suspension conspiring to turn the bike plastic. To call it a speed wobble would've been a massive understatement but it was reasonably stable up to 40mph. As long as you had some serious muscle.
Ideally suited for Central London commuting (not that I had anywhere to go in a hurry, being an old hippie...)? The clouds of pollution and rasping silencers didn't seem to go down too well. The lack of brakes meant I gave any number of cars a glancing blow. With a set of engine bars right out of a cager's worst nightmare. The previous owner had welded on some spikes... judging by how effectively they damaged cars they must've been made out of hardened steel.
The lack of working electrics also made life interesting. A couple of newish looking wires sufficed as an ignition circuit, the engine stopped by stalling it. The lights and horns were still attached to the machine but the only time I tried to get them working the wires started smoking. Bicycle lamps and a bulb horn were fitted, the bike making enough noise to alert cagers and peds (and Mr Plod) that some kind of vehicle was about to appear.
An excess of pot-holes soon had the wire wheels breaking up. Not surprising, given the level of rust. As the forks and shocks looked equally shot, a foray into the nearest breaker was made. It pays to look as if you are totally broke, the guy found the bike and I so hilarious he let me have a huge pile of Jawa stuff for a tenner! Okay, you can buy a whole bike for that but most of the cycle parts were in good nick!
The bike that emerged was a study in contrasts. Looked half decent from a distance and braked very nicely but handled and ran like a total pig. However, I sold it off at a minor profit before the engine seized... the new owner's still running the thing ages later! They are sort of tough and resolute but totally horrible at the same time.
Its replacement was a so-called classic. A Honda CD175, circa 1972. The owner evidently didn't know about the elevated status of the little twin, selling it as a non-runner for thirty-five smackers. A cleaned set of points and new plugs had it running. A pretty somnolent beast even when in prime condition, mine coughed and spluttered come 50mph. Putting the choke on gave it a sudden burst of speed, the straight-thru mega's to blame.
Another begging session with the breakers, one complete rusty CD exhaust system for a fiver. Some patching with Gum-Gum, the bike now ran to the expected 65mph. I rather missed the choke induced power pulse as it's delivery was totally bland. The gearbox was four forward ratios and about ten neutrals. The usual anti-theft device!
Rust was eating up various bits of the chassis, though the huge guards were rendered in an indestructible plastic that outlives the rest of the bike. Whilst I enjoyed the sheer looks of horror produced by the Jawa there was nothing about the Honda twin that inspired, other than its general toughness. It had to go, a month was enough. As it was a modern classic a large wedge was taken from a born-againer who wanted to relive his misspent youth. Strange fella.
A rat SR500 was next, 200 notes. The engine ran, the frame was straight, the rest was total crap. Most alarming, the petrol tank leaking! Didn't stop the owner giving me a quick test ride on the pillion. Neither was he worried by the bald tyres and total lack of brakes - slamming the throttle shut had my helmet hammering into the back of his. The engine dropped oil, spat out of the filterless carb and kicked back with a vengeance... my kind of bike!
I got him to ride it to my house, the tolerance of the cops would've been sorely tempted. They used to look at the Jawa in a bemused way and give up, wondering if it was actually a motor vehicle. A couple of days fettling had the bike ready for the road, mostly sorted from my own stash of spares... an XJ550 front end went straight on and some artful welding sorted most of the chassis out, including the petrol tank.
The SR500 ain't a fast motorcycle. Not if you get the stopwatch out or study the clock (pretty useless in this case because it never moved off zero). From the saddle, though, there was so much vibration and engine noise that it was like being atop some monstrous tractor. The bike ran better below 5000 revs than above but was really so worn that it wanted a complete rebuild.
Nevertheless, it crunched along for 4400 miles until the engine seized solidly. Luckily, only moments after leaving the house. SR motors are becoming rare on the ground but MCN turned up a runner for 150 sovs. I pulled the old one apart, the only bits that were salvageable, a couple of gearbox cogs. The replacement motor ran okay in comparison to the old one but had an even crunchier gearbox and at 7000 revs started to spit off bolts!
After painting everything in heat resistant matt black, I had a viable street rat that could run with some mates' choppers without them taking a knife to me. Compared to these rolling horrors, the SR went around corners as if on rails, but was usually put in its place by some young hot-shot on a derestricted 125.
Maintenance consisted of throwing in the cheapest oil as it burnt off or leaked out. The engine ran for 9000 miles, rarely pushing the bike over 60mph, until I sold it off for 500 sovs. This went to the girlfriend who'd dropped a kid and spent most of her time screaming abuse at me. Along the lines of my caring more for my motorcycle than I did for she. As it was quite true I could never bring myself to deny it!
Lack of cash meant that twenty quid went on a dead C90. The only problem with the bike was a rusted-solid final drive chain - commuters! You can wheelie these things if you get the braking right! Great fun until the clutch breaks. Handling was terrible and braking laughable, even compared to past horrors, but I was able to swiftly scream through the traffic at a pace that had riders of bigger bikes all annoyed.
In a dream world, I'd like something like a CB500S, nothing too exotic but a bike that would do everything I'd want and not give me any problems. In reality, I'm not willing to work my arse off to pay for some new bike, prefer the freedom from being an old hippie. Even if it means riding along on old wrecks that most people would run a mile from, there's still lots of fun to be had.
The exact age of the Jawa was unknown - no doc's and the numberplate was illegible. Would've been a brilliant disguise for speeding if the bike wasn't limited to about 40mph. Limited by age, advance wear and, er, total fear. The latter from the bent frame and soggy suspension conspiring to turn the bike plastic. To call it a speed wobble would've been a massive understatement but it was reasonably stable up to 40mph. As long as you had some serious muscle.
Ideally suited for Central London commuting (not that I had anywhere to go in a hurry, being an old hippie...)? The clouds of pollution and rasping silencers didn't seem to go down too well. The lack of brakes meant I gave any number of cars a glancing blow. With a set of engine bars right out of a cager's worst nightmare. The previous owner had welded on some spikes... judging by how effectively they damaged cars they must've been made out of hardened steel.
The lack of working electrics also made life interesting. A couple of newish looking wires sufficed as an ignition circuit, the engine stopped by stalling it. The lights and horns were still attached to the machine but the only time I tried to get them working the wires started smoking. Bicycle lamps and a bulb horn were fitted, the bike making enough noise to alert cagers and peds (and Mr Plod) that some kind of vehicle was about to appear.
An excess of pot-holes soon had the wire wheels breaking up. Not surprising, given the level of rust. As the forks and shocks looked equally shot, a foray into the nearest breaker was made. It pays to look as if you are totally broke, the guy found the bike and I so hilarious he let me have a huge pile of Jawa stuff for a tenner! Okay, you can buy a whole bike for that but most of the cycle parts were in good nick!
The bike that emerged was a study in contrasts. Looked half decent from a distance and braked very nicely but handled and ran like a total pig. However, I sold it off at a minor profit before the engine seized... the new owner's still running the thing ages later! They are sort of tough and resolute but totally horrible at the same time.
Its replacement was a so-called classic. A Honda CD175, circa 1972. The owner evidently didn't know about the elevated status of the little twin, selling it as a non-runner for thirty-five smackers. A cleaned set of points and new plugs had it running. A pretty somnolent beast even when in prime condition, mine coughed and spluttered come 50mph. Putting the choke on gave it a sudden burst of speed, the straight-thru mega's to blame.
Another begging session with the breakers, one complete rusty CD exhaust system for a fiver. Some patching with Gum-Gum, the bike now ran to the expected 65mph. I rather missed the choke induced power pulse as it's delivery was totally bland. The gearbox was four forward ratios and about ten neutrals. The usual anti-theft device!
Rust was eating up various bits of the chassis, though the huge guards were rendered in an indestructible plastic that outlives the rest of the bike. Whilst I enjoyed the sheer looks of horror produced by the Jawa there was nothing about the Honda twin that inspired, other than its general toughness. It had to go, a month was enough. As it was a modern classic a large wedge was taken from a born-againer who wanted to relive his misspent youth. Strange fella.
A rat SR500 was next, 200 notes. The engine ran, the frame was straight, the rest was total crap. Most alarming, the petrol tank leaking! Didn't stop the owner giving me a quick test ride on the pillion. Neither was he worried by the bald tyres and total lack of brakes - slamming the throttle shut had my helmet hammering into the back of his. The engine dropped oil, spat out of the filterless carb and kicked back with a vengeance... my kind of bike!
I got him to ride it to my house, the tolerance of the cops would've been sorely tempted. They used to look at the Jawa in a bemused way and give up, wondering if it was actually a motor vehicle. A couple of days fettling had the bike ready for the road, mostly sorted from my own stash of spares... an XJ550 front end went straight on and some artful welding sorted most of the chassis out, including the petrol tank.
The SR500 ain't a fast motorcycle. Not if you get the stopwatch out or study the clock (pretty useless in this case because it never moved off zero). From the saddle, though, there was so much vibration and engine noise that it was like being atop some monstrous tractor. The bike ran better below 5000 revs than above but was really so worn that it wanted a complete rebuild.
Nevertheless, it crunched along for 4400 miles until the engine seized solidly. Luckily, only moments after leaving the house. SR motors are becoming rare on the ground but MCN turned up a runner for 150 sovs. I pulled the old one apart, the only bits that were salvageable, a couple of gearbox cogs. The replacement motor ran okay in comparison to the old one but had an even crunchier gearbox and at 7000 revs started to spit off bolts!
After painting everything in heat resistant matt black, I had a viable street rat that could run with some mates' choppers without them taking a knife to me. Compared to these rolling horrors, the SR went around corners as if on rails, but was usually put in its place by some young hot-shot on a derestricted 125.
Maintenance consisted of throwing in the cheapest oil as it burnt off or leaked out. The engine ran for 9000 miles, rarely pushing the bike over 60mph, until I sold it off for 500 sovs. This went to the girlfriend who'd dropped a kid and spent most of her time screaming abuse at me. Along the lines of my caring more for my motorcycle than I did for she. As it was quite true I could never bring myself to deny it!
Lack of cash meant that twenty quid went on a dead C90. The only problem with the bike was a rusted-solid final drive chain - commuters! You can wheelie these things if you get the braking right! Great fun until the clutch breaks. Handling was terrible and braking laughable, even compared to past horrors, but I was able to swiftly scream through the traffic at a pace that had riders of bigger bikes all annoyed.
In a dream world, I'd like something like a CB500S, nothing too exotic but a bike that would do everything I'd want and not give me any problems. In reality, I'm not willing to work my arse off to pay for some new bike, prefer the freedom from being an old hippie. Even if it means riding along on old wrecks that most people would run a mile from, there's still lots of fun to be had.
Gary O.