The problem with having a 1985 Kawasaki Z200 and wanting to travel into the depths of Europe, was that people on massive tourers would come up to me and laugh in my face at my choice of machine. I warded them off by quoting the pertinent figures - 20hp, 80mph and 100mpg! Telling them my yearly running costs were less than what they'd spend on new tyres in a couple of months. They couldn't take this insolence, screaming about cruising at 100mph in total comfort on German autobahns. Fair enough, but anyone with more brain than a mental retard would travel south, searching for the sun.
That was this road rat's game plan, anyway, and I would brook no snide comments from prats on plastic coated wanking machines! I'd fitted a proper silencer to my bike, so I could revel in the bellow, which at 70mph had a sultry note that tried to convince me I should go no faster. The utterly straightforward motor would trundle in with some more vibes as added persuasion not to do more than 75mph whilst the exhaust had become a deafening bellow. Turbulence from the chain came in at 80mph and the chassis felt like it was at the end of its tether.
Those were sufficient hints to cause me to back off down to 70mph, a speed the trusty steed would maintain against most obstacles. Its well run in engine, with 18000 miles of abuse at the start of the trip, was so well designed that extended riding at such a speed turned in 90 to 100mpg; a miser's dream and a road rat's prayer delivered.
If there was one thing that would've undone me it'd have been an expensive bike to run. The Z200 kept amazing me at how little money was needed to keep it going. The chain was the only moot point but an O-ring upgrade at a giveaway price from a breaker helped a lot. I would've preferred full chain enclosure to extend life further than the 12000 miles I managed, but I totally failed to convert a CD175 enclosure I'd robbed off a friend's blown machine.
Rumbling along hour after hour a machine has to be comfortable. The Z left something to be desired in the seat area, which as well as being very hard after 50 miles soaked up water and retained it for weeks afterwards. A secondhand king and queen seat was adapted, insulated from the frame using some rubber. It ruined the functional appearance of the Kawasaki, but was so comfortable it was good for 400 hundred miles in a day. The deeply sculptured pillion perch provided the ideal location for tent, sleeping bag and clothes. There was also a rack but I didn't put much weight on that as I tended to avoid having the front wheel waggling around all over the place. Thicker handlebar grips and footrest rubbers also aided comfort.
The wheels were cast, a definite bonus point given the weight I was carrying and the quite frequent off-road runs to find a good camping site. The brakes were somewhat basic drums that were definitely lacking power when I was playing silly buggers on fast roads with French or Italian cagers. The latter went into a total frenzy when they didn't get their own way. I often had to use the light mass and resulting ease with which it would change direction to avoid accidents rather than relying on the brakes.
I'd fitted a new cable and shoes on the front, but it still wasn't up to the standard of discs I've used on old 125s. By far the worst time I had was coming down near vertical Alps with wild hairpin bends. The good engine braking helped a little, but by the time I was back on level ground the brakes were glowing hot and there was no retardation left in them until they'd had a chance to cool down overnight. Going up the mountains, I often ended up in first gear, the whole bike shuddering as it slowly ascended the near vertical inclines. The exhaust note was incredibly deep as the engine fought against elements its designers had not envisaged. The thin air did not help, off throttle it was coughing like an asthmatic. The only harm that such abuse inflicted on the engine was an unsavoury thirst for oil; it once went through five pints in a day!
I was leaving oil changes to every 1500 miles, a bit dangerous on an old Jap but as it was used on the open road I felt the lubricant was less likely to degrade than in stop-go commuting. In normal use it needed a pint every 200 miles. The mill was completely oil tight, but a bit of lubricant dribbled on to the ground as I'd rerouted the engine breather on to the chain. It was one less chore to do.
Sustained use of the Z200 revealed a couple of weak spots. The exhaust downpipe cracked (repaired in a quaint little Milan workshop). The indicators went berserk (a car control box was fitted). The carb fuel bowl fell off when the wire that retained it broke, resulting in an engine drenched in petrol that only just avoided going from simmering to blazing (repaired using a wire coat-hanger).
The pillion pegs fell off and were never replaced but the silencer bounced off the bike when the left-hand peg went as they shared the same bolt. An incredible noise resulted but I pulled over, ran back to where the silencer was lying in the road and kicked in out of the way just before a Frog cage could crush it. The furious driver swerved at me as I leapt for the ditch. He missed me by inches but got his revenge by knocking the Z off its sidestand into the ditch. In a furious burst of adrenalin I rushed after him, waving the hot silencer, but he squealed away before I could reach him. The silencer was battered but intact.
One time I rode the bike off the road when the back tyre blew. My own fault as I was running it in a bald state to save money, although it had lasted for more than 20,000 miles. When the tyre went, the chassis responded by throwing a massive wobble which had the bars going from lock to lock, the bike going completely out of control at 40mph.
We ended up bouncing into a stream and then skidding on the slippery stones. Just my luck to get drenched. I was worrying about the cuts turning septic! The high banks made it impossible to ride out of the river, so after filling the tyre with Finilec and getting the Z to start again I had no choice but to ride along very slowly with both feet down. After falling off three times and riding for about half an hour I was finally able to get out of the water. The river had veered off from the road, so I had to bounce over a field and fight my way through some undergrowth to get back on to tarmac. I was not amused, I can tell you, but the tough Kawasaki shrugged it off.
One sidepanel flew off and was never seen again, but I'd ignored the cracks that had appeared in it. The underside of the petrol tank started to leak petrol. I removed it, gave it a few gentle taps and was left with a couple of massive holes and a pair of jeans that were covered in fuel. I tore them off just as a mini-bus full of Italian men came along and I had sudden visions of being gang-raped but they tore off after a chorus of cat-calls and horn blowing. That was how the bike ended up with a four gallon Benelli tank and the seat moved back three inches. This was a new tank so I hoped that the famous Wop rusting tendencies would be avoided for a few more years.
The new riding position was rather painful after a 100 miles so I ended up putting some pegs on the pillion mounts, cutting down the brake lever and turning the gear lever around. It gave a mild crouch that went better with the flat bars than the old set up but I had some problems remembering that the gears worked in the opposite direction. I once locked up the back wheel, a massive 50 yard skid resulted until I remembered to pull the clutch lever in - my only excuse was that I'd done 375 fast miles before it happened and was dog tired.
It's when long distances are travelled that the true abilities of a bike are revealed. The only thing I could find to complain about was that the clutch and gearbox became a bit ropy, with some drag and quite a lot of missed changes. On the open road it didn't really matter, as the bike was left in fifth for most of the time, but ending the day in town it was quite easy to stall or go into wheelie mode when the box suddenly clicked home and the clutch engaged. When it happened like that, I usually ended up screaming in frustration and going along with the new found trajectory of the Z.
That was a small price to pay for a bike that has now done 42000 miles, is still on its original piston, bore, camchain and tensioner. 1500 mile service sessions take less than half an hour. The poor old bike but very rarely gets a proper clean. It's not worth the effort, as a day's riding would mess it all up again and, anyway, its current state is a good way of discouraging thieves.
To get back to where we started, there are any number of bigger bikes that will cruise along at much faster velocities, better the comfort and take the more difficult roads with a lot less effort, but they all cost far too much for me to contemplate - both with regards to initial purchase price and running costs. The only income I have is doing odd jobs as I travel across Europe, the only thing I can think that would be cheaper than the Z would be a bicycle; that would be too much hard work for this road rat.
Dave Williams