Question: Who would want to buy an immaculate Yamaha SR500 for two grand? Answer: No-one. Some old boy of a Brit bike enthusiast had picked up a nearly new one for a song and then stored it away, hopeful that the prices of old Jap bikes, especially ones that could loosely be termed classic, would go the way of sixties Triumphs and Nortons - that is, up! It came as a nasty shock to find hordes of cheap imports and the prices of new Jap bikes falling rapidly. Thus are dreams of easy money shattered, though the half dozen Brit bikes that shared garage space with the SR were well tasty and worth more than the house!
So he could afford to take a hit on the deal. I went into a sob story about being mad on motorcycles (he just looked at me as if I was mad) and desperate for something reasonable. Surely he could recall being an enthusiastic 21 year old and seven hundred notes was about right? I'd already been given a blast on the back - to my CG125 trained mind, there was plenty of power and speed. I definitely wanted the beast, especially as classic insurance would drastically reduce running costs. After lots of muttering, he agreed to sell the bike for 850 quid.
It was only when I took the saddle for the first time that I realised how heavy were the vibes. The inverse of the little Honda thumper, that had female pillions complaining bitterly as their feet were buzzed off the footrests. Looking the bike over, later, I found that the pillion pegs were some ultra thick rubber items, probably off some old Brit. Why the silly old bugger hadn't done the same trick to the rider's pegs I don't know. The bars needed quite a tight grip to stop it wandering all over the shop and the suspension felt queasy over the country lanes.
On the good side, I broke through the 95mph mark and the bike was a relaxed 70mph cruiser, the vibes suddenly smoothing out at 65-75mph. It took about 45 minutes to ride home, got off the bike feeling both elated - such speed! - and a bit shaken up - literally; ran my tongue over my back teeth to check that the fillings were still there: at 95mph the Yamaha attained pneumatic drill status.
All polished up, with nary a chassis blemish, the bike looked like a proper motorcycle should. Started out the next day with a broad smile which turned to dismay after ten manful kicks, the SR gasping hopefully but not firing (pretty much how I felt, as well). I suddenly envied Brit bikes riders who at least had the joy of tickling their big Amal carbs and the reassuring trickle of petrol when they were primed. The SR just stood there looking innocent.
I wasn't a complete novice, the CG has embarrassed me a couple of times and I'd picked up loads of tips reading the UMG... Out with the spark plug - it seemed solidly embedded in the cylinder head but a sharp tap on the plug-spanner with my largest hammer did the trick. Old Japs, however well kept, do have a lot of alloy degradation and it's dead easy to strip things like plug threads, either taking 'em out or putting them in. On the CG, taking off the clutch cover had left half the threads stripped!
I wouldn't have been surprised if the bike's authenticity went as far as having the original spark plug. As I didn't live near a store selling replacements, it was lovingly heated over the kitchen stove - I had to wear my helmet to drown out mother's nagging! She never got over the time I'd deposited half a sump's worth of oil in a black bag, which promptly flooded out the dustbin! Juggling a hot plug, screwing it back in straight, and making rapidly with the kickstart had me sweating but two kicks later the windows and milk bottles were rattling in harmony with the Yamaha's glorious beat - I think some of the baffling must've rotted internally, I'm sure they weren't allowed out of the factory that loud!
A new spark plug was rolled in, starting a one to three kick affair. For two weeks, then it demanded another one! Looking closely at the HT lead and coil, bits of insulation were flaking off. Looking even closer, the whole wiring system was dying a death! Old age gets to us all in the end. Explaining the pathetic front light - not even up to CG standards - and useless squeak out of the horn. Some bits and pieces were collected from the breakers and lots of nice new wiring bought. Replacing wire by wire was tiresome, to say the least, but it was the cheapest way out of the impasse, much preferred to riding around on a bike that could conk out without any warning or catch alight.
I managed to wire the indicators up so that one on each side worked simultaneously - hilarious - but apart from that it was all working okay after about a week of pissing around. The headlamp was now slightly brighter than the CG's, which meant it was still dangerous to ride down unlit country roads - god knows what the cagers thought, they could probably hear me coming from miles away, imagining all kinds of terrifying vehicles about to pounce only to be confused by a mild glimmer off in the near distance. Even direct earth wires didn't help.
The breakers were visited again, a Cibie unit knocked in. I could see again! For seven days and nights, the fierce vibration blowing up the front light and plunging me into deepest blackness in what was left of the Essex countryside. Fortunately, urbanisation meant I didn't have to wait long for some street lighting. And Mr Plod who almost ran me down. He was actually shaking with fright - it might've been rage, or even both - and went into a long rant about juvenile delinquents. Even after I explained what happened, he didn't want to know. Being a sadistic bastard, he made me push the bike the half mile home, making sure I kept my crash-helmet on!
We live and learn, at least I wasn't booked, though the old dear gave me an earful about having police cars with their lights flashing in the street. The old light was resurrected and careful route planning to avoid dark country lanes undertaken. Some hyperbike owner's probably rolling around in hysterics at the thought of having to plan your route to take into account the bike's lack of ability but that's what budget biking comes down to.
Despite the lighting problems, the bike was pretty versatile. It would thump through town, giving ped's heart attacks and keeping the cagers at bay - the noise a definite safety factor as the single disc brake was useless! So bad that I ended up fitting a drum wheel out of a Honda CB350K4! This wasn't much more powerful but at least it was predictable. Town riding needed third or fourth gear, fifth too tall whilst first and second were too vibratory even at low revs. The engine clattered away, the final drive sloshed around, and there was a slight hesitation before throttle action resulted in acceleration but it was all miles ahead of the dear old CG.
Country road speeds were limited by the mushy suspension, the bike rolling and mildly weaving as it tried to hold a line through the faster bends. Flat out, with the ton possible, the bike felt a bit hinged in the middle but I could hold on and convince myself that it wasn't going to turn into a massive wobble. And it never did, even when I ran the Japlops down to the carcass (they lasted about 10,000 miles).
On the motorway, there was enough speed to keep up with the traffic flow but I was occasionally caught out by the slow manner in which it accelerated from 85 to 100mph - gaps I thought I could squeeze through weren't there any longer by the time the bike had gathered sufficient momentum to get past the cars. As in town, the narrowness of the chassis saved the day! The only problem with sustained 85-90mph cruising was the lack of comfort - the upright riding position conspired with the vibes to leave me completely knackered after an hour's riding.
Fuel consumption in such circumstances could be annoyingly bad - 35mpg being the all time worst. 50-55mpg possible in town and as much as 60mpg out on mild country roads. Oil was also heavy, about a litre every 200 miles. Rear chains didn't want to see out 4000 miles but they were the cheap and cheerful kind that weren't worth taking links out of - the power pulses were so destructive I was convinced that such a cheapskate manoeuvre would result in a broken chain and ruined crankcases.
On the other hand, in less than a year I did 35000 miles with no engine problems (only 2000 mile oil changes done) and apart from tyres there weren't any other serious expenses. That mileage included a couple of week long tours and one three week excursion down to the South of France. The bike wasn't ideal for long haul cruising but neither was it a disaster and far from purgatory. It even managed to haul both myself and girlfriend around without complaining about the extra mass whereas the old CG had whined away pitifully and refused to go over 50mph!
It must've come as a shock to the Yamaha to be used in all weathers, the finish rapidly degrading. At first, I tried to keep up the shine but it was pretty futile as once rust had got a hold on the chassis it took just the promise of rain to bring it out again. To be honest, the rain seems so acidic that I was thankful to be wearing a lid; at least my hair wasn't going the same way! When it came time to sell, I had to wire-brush the swinging arm and parts of the frame down to the metal before applying the Smoothrite. Nothing much I could do for the engine alloy, though the chrome came up okay with a bit of Solvol - lasted all of a day, which was long enough to sell the bike.
Went for seven hundred quid, to another CG graduate (there are a lot of us!). He was a local lad, I wasn't that surprised when I heard he'd blown the motor up after a month, he was a throttle to the stop merchant and had also melted his CG mill! A used engine from a breaker got the old thing back on the road, but the last time I saw it the Yam was a real rust bucket, even the petrol tank was leaking!
Power, weight and layout are just about right for a 125 graduate. The motors have a bit of a reputation for blowing up after 30,000 miles, which makes them cheap enough on the used circuit. I had so many enjoyable miles out of mine that I can't really begrudge them their design limitations.
Alan Sharington