Triumph Fanatic

There's nothing quite like sticking to a marque come what may. I've been a Triumph man since the sixties. Started off with one of those nifty Tiger Cubs and rapidly moved up to the big twins. Two machines from that period have stayed in my garage all this time, a neat Tiger 500 and a rather wayward Bonnie, tuned to the hilt but only sometimes the better for it.

It needed to be with all the high performance Jap crap of the seventies and eighties on the road. I got my own back, in the end, by buying one of the new Triumph 1200 Trophys. Now I can be proud to ride British iron and keep up with just about everything else on the road. The older Triumphs have not been neglected, as they each have their own particular tune to offer.

The 1969 Triumph T100C quickly found a special place in my heart. It was practically brand new when I acquired it, in beautiful condition, having done less than a 1000 miles. From a distance it looked pretty much the same as any late sixties Bonnie, to my mind always the most beautiful looking Triumph. The engine was the single carb version of their then ubiquitous OHV twin. Displacing a mere 490cc with a 9:1 compression ratio, power was a very mild 35 horses at 7000rpm.

At the time, a hard ridden Honda CB250 twin would have given the Tiger problems, they both sharing a 95 to 100mph top speed and the ability to gallop along at 80 to 85mph. However, the Tiger's willingness to rev was combined with a lot more low speed punch than the rev-it-until-it-dies Honda.

Other benefits included chassis components that were basically set up for the 120mph Bonnie model, so coped well with the milder Tiger, although by modern standards the suspension travel, or lack thereof, is very crude, but it still manages to hold a line and the 350lb machine can be tossed through the bends with all the ease of most Jap 250s.

What endeared the T100C to me more than anything was the effortless way it ate up the miles and the sheer versatility of its nature. As happy pottering around town as it was blasting down motorways or cutting a path through the back lanes. Unlike my other Triumph, vibes were not too intrusive and maintenance chores confined to 1250 mile sessions. One or two bolts did show a need to come undone in the early days, but once wired in position they started to behave themselves.

Although the Tiger is equipped with speedo and tacho there's hardly any need to consult them - the bark of the motor always indicates how hard pressed is the engine and how fast the bike is going. The Tiger is always communicating its state of health to the rider.

I am quite meticulous about maintenance and oil changes, don't use more than 7000 revs (only an idiot would as the harshness of the vibes indicates the motor does not like it), and try to keep the machine looking smart. Thus, in twenty years I have done 38000 miles without having to do anything serious to the insides of the engine (alas, I have a car for the family which takes up too much of my time).

The great appeal of the Tiger is its simplicity, both in its engine and its lines. A friendly and reliable nature more than makes up for any lack of speed. The Bonnie is the complete opposite, with a highly tuned motor running in a similar chassis to the Tiger. If the two bikes did not look so similar they could easily be the products of two different factories.

The Rickman top end consists of an eight valve head and new cylinders plus high compression pistons that increase the capacity from 649cc to 680cc. Over 60 horses at 7000rpm were claimed for this conversion. The bottom end was basically stock, although I eventually uprated the oil pump.

The machine was basically a standard 1968 model to which I'd fitted the Rickman bits in 1973, becoming tired of being burnt off the road by youths on Japanese rubbish. The bike weighed in at about 370lbs, so the power to weight ratio was better than anything the Japs had on offer, even up to the early eighties.

Even a stock Bonnie is a gutsy machine up to about 110mph, so after carefully running in the new engine for 3000 miles, I was not that surprised to find that the acceleration was scintillating enough to put those enormous CB750 fours in their proper place. It was real arm straining stuff.

As was the handling. Both the swinging arm and the suspension objected to this new found energy. Rolling on the power in corners had the back end waltzing in a way that made a mockery of all the myths surrounding fine handling Brit bikes. Even on the flat the bike went into vicious weaves come 120mph!

One thing that did surprise me was that the mill was appreciably smoother than the old one, despite the increase in capacity. What had been a filling threatening 90mph buzz turned out to be a nice and smooth cruising speed.

The one initial disappointing area of the Rickman engine was fuel economy which was for then a quite heavy 32 to 45mpg. The stock motor did 40 to 60mpg, whilst the good old Tiger did an exceptional 55 to 80mpg!

For about 6000 miles I had the time of my life on the Rickman. I'd fitted some better shocks and heavier springs, which tamed most of the chassis nastiness. Both the Tiger and the Bonnie share TLS front drums which are powerful and sensitive, but though more than adequate for the 500 and passable on a stock Bonnie, was a bit lost on the Rickman, as it faded from speeds greater than 90mph something chronic. Racing linings were tried but proved so vicious in the wet that I could not tolerate them, so had to suffer the fade in silent bouts of horror.

After the euphoria of the first few months, I was annoyed to find that the main bearings had failed, rumbling like an old washing machine. That was when I put in a better oil pump, because the rockers and cams were also showing signs of wear. I went to the trouble of having the rebuilt crankshaft dynamically balanced which made the motor smoother still, but if all the performance was used it still demanded a rebuild every 8 to 10,000 miles. As the whole point of the bike was to see off the Jap challengers in a heroic fight against the mass invasion, performance was used all the time!

At times I was forced to seek refuge in my car (British, naturally), whilst the Bonnie was being rebuilt. There was nothing wrong with the Tiger, just that I liked it so much I didn't want to risk thrashing it, so sometimes had problems holding off screaming 125s!

I could have blown a wedge on an 850 Commando or 750 Trident but neither of these bikes appealed, the Trident as overweight as most Jap fours and the Commando so unreliable when tuned that not even the most patriotic could make excuses for its eccentricities.

By the end of the seventies and beginning of the eighties I was beginning to tire of the fight, but absolutely determined not to buy any foreign rubbish. The car got used more and more, the Triumphs kept for pleasurable weekends and occasional holidays. When prices went crazy I was even tempted to sell both machines, only a couple of friends who were British bike fanatics persuaded me to hold on to the twins.

It wasn't until the late eighties that I started using the bikes seriously again. The roads had become so congested that going to work on a motorcycle suddenly made a lot of sense.

Then, of course, rumours about the new Triumphs started to appear. I was not convinced that any machines would ever emerge, having heard too many times of the rebirth of the British Motorcycle Industry. Then, suddenly, as if by magic, there were Triumphs for sale in the showrooms. They were modern, the factory was actually doing some hard engineering rather than just assembling other countries' bits and I liked their looks. I have never bought a new bike and had no intention of starting, however much I wanted a reborn Triumph, so I stalked the used market for about a year until a Triumph 1200 Trophy turned up for a reasonable price.

The huge watercooled four cylinder engine developed a mind warping 125hp at 9000rpm. Which in itself was a massive step for me to take. Even more worrying, the bike weighed in at about 560lbs with some fuel in the tank and oil in the engine.

The test ride had consisted of being taken for a wild blast on the pillion. The owner had taken one look at me and decided there was no way he was going to entrust his pristine machine to an emaciated ancient, whose arrival on a Tiger 100C did not impress one tiny bit. He agreed to ride the machine to my house a few days later where I handed over a huge stack of fifties much to the wife's dismay.

Early the next morning, when there were no witnesses about, I set out on the magnificent Trophy, my ears still ringing from the rather shrill way the nearest and dearest had threatened to dial 999 if I wasn't back by eleven. Within moments I felt right at home on the bike, everything felt so smooth and controlled that as soon as there was a little bit of momentum gained the massive mass faded into the background. The only thing I objected to was the racing poise of the riding position, which hurt both wrists and neck.

I soon forgot all about that, having lost myself in the six speed gearbox I came to a long, deserted straight, where I wrenched on the throttle, expecting to be rapidly hurtled forward. My whole body was viciously jerked backwards as the gentle growl turned into a terrifying wail, what had been a long straight suddenly disappearing to be replaced by a rather sharp left-hander. I was unsure if I should have been grinning or screaming.

As can be imagined, used as I was to sixties' drums, the power of the triple discs was almost as alarming as the acceleration (in what turned out to be third gear). Still, they lost a huge amount of speed, almost scorching the tyres. I knew that after that experience the Trophy would take some getting used to, but also that the process would prove to be a most enjoyable one. Wrenching my back, trying to reverse the machine into my garage later that day, gave pause for thought, although the centrestand proved relatively easy to use.

The main problem was every time I went to use one of the older Triumphs, I had to get used to their characteristics all over again, not particularly helped by having the gear and brake levers on different sides. On a couple of occasions, overtaking cars, I've managed to think the older bikes would cover the distance only to find that I'd misjudged their power, so used so quickly, had I become to the Trophy's abundance.

In a way it's made me realise all the fun I could have had on some more modern bike in the eighties, but I'm determined to make up for lost time. Already, I've done a Continental tour of about 4000 miles. The bike ran fine, except that it went through a set of tyres and needed a couple of oil changes (I'm still doing them at 1250 miles despite what the handbook might suggest). I blasted the bike up to 150mph on a German autobahn, revelling in its stability and smoothness. It still wasn't flat out at that speed but I didn't have the bottle to try for more.

If I had to sell one of my bikes it would be the Rickman Bonnie, mostly because I don't need its speed and am tiring of its need for constant care and attention - the more time I spend on the Trophy, which can be thrashed with apparent impunity, the less I am inclined towards weekends sorting the older Triumphs.

The 500 Tiger, on the other hand, has been so durable that I can't ever see myself parting with it; it's still a lovely way to spend quiet weekends exploring the back lanes. Whichever bike I use, though, I always come home with a big grin that sets me up for whatever may follow during the rest of the week.

Henry Wilson

Yamaha TDR250

Probably the worst thing for your confidence, and indeed your ego, when posing on a shiny TDR250, is to drop it in front of a bus full of people on a greasy street. But, yes, after only three weeks of trouble free riding, my pride and joy was laying on its side, bleeding petrol and looking very sorry for itself indeed. To be honest, I felt a bit stupid as well, laying, as I was, a couple of feet behind it.

The bike represented the sum total of all my savings, a couple of loans and a GPz305, and had, up until that point, been showing me what real motorcycling was all about. I got it off a pal who had bought it then discovered he needed the money to set up a business, after just 120 miles of abusing the TDR. I had fallen in love with it the second I saw it and had spent the next five and a half days convincing him that his business was a great idea: In fact, a wonderful idea. In the end, he sold it grudgingly and I was sure I could see his gloating face on the bus as I was helped to my feet by the seemingly ever present old nurse type. After testing my limbs to see if they still worked, I limped over to inspect the bike.

Picking the Yamaha up, I reckoned the damage seemed mostly superficial and was, within minutes, back in my garage trying to work out how to pay for the repairs. In actual fact, the only things that really needed replacing were the front brake lever and indicator. The exhaust, footrests and bar ends were all scraped but not sufficiently bent to merit replacement and were passed over with my magic rust proofing paint brush. It was just as well, because TDR parts are not the cheapest things on the market.

With a front right-hand exhaust and protector coming in at a pretty hefty £242 and brake pedal at £55, I was thanking my lucky stars to be born sufficiently open minded not to let a couple of covered up scrapes dent my enthusiasm. Looking back, that was probably one of the biggest advantages of the TDR, you got the power and looks of a bike without the worry of a full fairing or the necessary cost of comprehensive insurance.

The TDR is a fast bike and can be favourably compared, in terms of speed and acceleration, to almost anything in the 600cc trials/enduro category. Its engine is the same as the race bred twin cylinder two stroke unit installed in the TZR250 and has the same power output of 50hp. I actually found it quite a similar beast to ride despite the trial bike inspired styling.

Maybe that was down to the time I had spent behind the bars of various four strokes, but in direct comparison the TDR certainly didn't lose a great deal in terms of acceleration from its more conventional brother. In all out top speed, however, the TZR takes the honours by a long chalk with the TDR managing only around 110mph flat out. And that was with me almost becoming one with the tank. I have heard that it will do another 15mph given the right conditions and rider, but I wouldn't like to chance it, as in my experience it starts to weave at anything over 100mph. At lower speeds, however, its stability is fine with the original Metzelers performing admirably in anything the weather throws at them, even snow (yes, I am that stupid). Indeed, the TDR feels very solid and trustworthy in most situations, a fact that often encourages over use of the throttle.

The first thing that you notice when getting on a TDR is the ridiculous positioning of the tacho, stuck, or seemingly wedged, into the middle of the tank, it offers absolutely no advantage to any rider sensible enough to wear a full face helmet. Indeed, I found its location bloody dangerous, as looking down to check the revs is almost always accompanied by complete removal of your eyes from the road in front. This actually caused me a few problems, especially during the initial stages but I soon learnt the secret - don't bother with it at all; the engine soon tells you if you are going over the score, as do your underpants!

Like any other frantic two stroke, the engine and exhaust give out a buzzy, and to be honest, rather satisfying high pitched scream. The noise is all part of the fun of riding a TDR but I must admit to sometimes wishing for the cool seduction of the CBR drone or, indeed, the Harley roar (when I'm really depressed).

Another stroker malady is the reputation for smokiness. Starting it up on a cold morning can be rather embarrassing, as it tends to produce a cloud bigger than that hovering over the nearest coal burning power station. The only time it caused me any bother, though, was when I was reproached by some cyclist for damaging the ozone. I apologised and rode off, feeling rather guilty for a minute....that's the thing about the TDR, riding it is such fun you forget about everything else. It's light enough to be weaved in and out of traffic, tall enough for any necessary intimidation and fast enough to see off almost anything it wants (within reason, of course).

The problem of smokiness can apparently be helped by cleaner two stroke oil, Shell Gemini for example. But the frigthening consequences on the wallet of such a move has kept me in the market for the lower grade delights of Duckhams two stroke for the time being. Just as well, for the engine consumes a hell of a lot of oil - I find myself sticking in a litre every 250-300 miles. Fuel economy is also poor, with just under 40mpg around town and long distance work even worse. On a recent jaunt I found myself hitting reserve after about 110 miles on a three gallon tank. That gives the bike an all out range of around 140-150 miles, probably just enough to tour if you should want to.

Other consumables on the bike seem to be equally short-lived. I found myself replacing the back tyre after around 4000 miles and the front around 8000 miles. A figure which I felt was rather on the poor side for a 250. But then again, the TDR's acceleration is quite exceptional for its capacity so I should not really complain.

One thing I would complain about is the front light, an extremely dim output did not inspire much fun during night time riding and I frequently found myself in various ditches after not registering the sharpness of an oncoming bend. The tail light is equally inadequate and adds insult to injury by being very expensive to replace. For such an expensive machine a very poor show. Even the horn is embarrassing. The switchgear, however, is very easy to use, apart from the choke which is hidden down by the engine's left-hand side.

The TDR is classed as an all terrain sports machine in the Yamaha brochure alongside its DT cousins, and it's certainly not difficult to see why. Although it's much more chunky, sitting on the bike is exactly like sitting on any other trials bike with the usual problems. The major one in my case being its height and size as well as the enforced upright riding position. Indeed, this caused me quite a lot of pain until I got used to it. Added to that, the frame mounted fairing really offers no protection from the elements unless you tuck right in, and doing so can be difficult to maintain on long rides. All in all, I wouldn't view the TDR as anything like a long distance bike and would prefer the comfort of a big four on any tour.

The suspension is what you would expect. Telescopic forks and monocross rear end coping well with anything my rather meagre attempts at off road riding threw at it. I don't really think of the bike as a trail bike, the engine's just too peaky. The power valve comes in at around 6500rpm....only a rough estimate as I'm usually too busy hanging on to check the tacho. Keeping the engine above that level will be cause for no disappointmet. The inflexibility and intensity of the engine can sometimes be frustrating, especially when stuck in slow moving traffic with no escape. Don't expect to use the words low down grunt when talking about the TDR, it doesn't have any, or none that I could find. Fortunately, the six speed transmission is the best I've experienced.

Since I bought the bike I have experienced no problems with it whatsoever. The 3000 mile services costs around £45. Older TDRs seem to be somewhat similar in the reliability stakes, although they are not bulletproof by any means....thrashed examples are particularly prone to shot powervalve seals and the tendency amongst owners is to thrash them to death!

Taking everything into account, I have to rate the TDR very highly indeed. Although some people hate it, I love the way it looks. It's a strange but mean looking thing that most definitely turns heads at the lights. It's not as big as most of the high powered, large tanked Paris Dakar replicas, but could probably just about pass for one at a glance. It's really not that kind of machine, though, it's the kind of bike for impressing friends, keeping up with the local hot-rods, throwing around town and just generally enjoying yourself upon. If you're looking for something a little more serious and sedate try a car!

E Gillon

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The owner of the E reg, black and yellow, Yamaha TDR250 was 6'6" tall and nearly as wide. It turned out he was a policeman; god help those who do wrong in Scarborough. After a two hour journey on the back of my mate's CG125 over snow bound back roads I was not in the best of moods. Once he had picked the bike up and carried it out from his front room and placed it neatly on the road, I was ready for my gentle ride around the block.

I was issued a few cautions like, it's a bit fast so go easy and remember that you don't have any insurance. These seemed trvial at the time, so I set off. The bike seemed slow at first and it would not rev properly but this soon disappeared when I adjusted the choke. A pillock in a tin box then pulled out on me, luckily the front disc is similar to the one off an OW01, so slowed me down to a walking speed almost instantly and gave me plenty of time to make the appropriate gesture.

As my mind was still tuned to riding my DT125R and had tipped over into the normal retributive and combative mode, my right wrist suddenly ripped the throttle back to make me overtake the cager. In a 30mph zone this is a definite no-no, the result was a very long lasting and frighteningly high wheelie and a smelly pair of jeans. I'm not sure who was most perplexed and astonished, myself or the open mouthed cagers with whom I almost collided as I tried to master the art of controlling a speeding bike with my body weight. Definitely not a 125. I had a funny feeling that I wouldn't be keeping my licence for very long!

The TDR250 is the act of some mad bugger at the Yamaha bunker who took their state of the art TZR two stroke, watercooled twin motor, emphasizing the already madcap acceleration of the road bike by changing the gearing, presumably persuading the powers that it needed such gearing to suit its dual purpose role, although in reality most of its time will be spent burning everything else off in town.

Naturally, I had to have the bike, so a week later with insurance certificate in my pocket (I was sure the bike would attract police attention) I collected the beast. Every test mentions the way the power suddenly comes in and throws the wheel up in the air, even in the higher gears, this is because it's immediately obvious even to drugged and drunk journos.

My second impression was that it felt much more like a road bike than an off roader. Given that you can get the speedo up to 115mph this is no bad thing. With a set of road tyres, stability (when the front wheel is on the ground) is pretty good and its lowly mass means it can be flicked with supreme ease every which way, although running out of corners when hitting the power band is perhaps not conducive to personal longevity.

If you want more speed than stock a TZR250 rear sprocket will up the top end to around 120mph but at the expense of damping some of that awesome acceleration, although the smaller sprocket improves the terrible fuel consumption slightly and smooths out the engine vibes quite appreciably. Much to their annoyance, the TDR will blow off most Yam 350LCs and the like. As far as tuning the TDR goes there isn't much that hasn't already been done at the factory, no tuned exhausts are available yet, and fitting larger jets and race air filters only make the bike even more unreliable in the wet.

If the engine doesn't like to run cleanly in the wet, the Metzeler Sahara 3 tyres that were fitted weren't very happy either. A set of Avon Gripsters were bunged on, much better, cheaper and look like they might last longer as well.

About a week after getting the bike a despatch company who I work for occasionally rang me up and asked if I could do a drop in Nottingham (I live just outside York) immediately. This was at 11.30am. I agreed and fueled up, although I did forget the two stroke, which turned out to be a big mistake. I collected the package in York, it was a large two by three foot of cardboard with Don't Bend in big red letters. This led to an immediate problem of how to carry such an item on the bike without having to ride slow (less than 70mph). Eventually I decided to ignore the bit about bending and bungeed it to the rear handrails, above the exhausts.

I left York at 12.30 and had to be back at 5.30 to start my shift at a garden centre. I had not been further than Hull, so was not sure of the best route, but set off up the A64 towards Leeds. Then down the A1 and on to the M18 and finally the treacherous M1. That's easier said that done. Guess who went the wrong way down the M18. I nearly ended up in Hull. Then I missed the junction off the M1, I don't think I was ever cut out to be a DR.

After much full throttle riding and general mayhem, 40 miles north of Nottingham the little red light popped on, telling me the thirsty little brute needed yet more money spent. After making a funnel out of a Shell promotion leaflet to reach the acutely angled oil orifice, I poured in a litre of best quality Shell Super 2 at a cost of nearly three quid. I also bunged in £4.85 worth of unleaded, as the beast was only doing about 30mpg.

Off again, arriving in Nottingham half an hour later. Next problem, where the hell was the address. I finally got lucky and was given some understandable directions by a postman. Once I dropped off the battered and singed piece of cardboars, I realised there was no chance of getting back to York in time for work, but the challenge was on anyway. I flagged down a police cop - they ain't all bad, you know - and after some spiel he gave me a high speed escort out of town. Perhaps he thought it best to get rid of me out of his area!

The journey back took just under 90 minutes including two fuel stops and another two stroke refill. I was totally skint and high speed work had proved very knackering, thanks to the vibes, riding position and the hard work needed to keep the bike in its powerband. At least I wasn't stopped by the police, probably because most of the cars were doing 90mph, so the brief excursions up to 110mph didn't really stand out from the crowd of speeding projectiles. The TZR rear sprocket would have been a great help. I was so wound up on my return that I couldn't face the tedium of work, so went to the girl friend's house to recuperate.

Since the despatch run, much fun has been obtained by myself and pillion, as I have become more at ease and confident with the bike. As far as I can see, the only point of this bike is FUN. It seems designed for young hoodlums who want a stomach churning, death defying, tyre slipping wild time of it - coupled, of course, with wild wheelies at every set of traffic lights.

Some thoughts for those who have yet to ride one and thus avoided the addictive nature of the bike. Fuel consumption is bad for a 250 (or a small car for that matter), with a best of about 35mpg and a more normal 30mpg! Throw in its need for a two stroke oil refill on any half decent journey and its tyre churning nature, to make it one of the most expensive bikes to run. Presumably, if you just use it for recreation then it doesn't matter too much.

If the bike is dropped at low speed, up to 25mph, very little damage results - bent indicators and scratched exhaust. This was obviously designed into the bike, given its nature - I know, because I've done it many times already. Other faults include a very short seat, which coupled with high rear footrests gives large pillions a nasty time, although a small girl friend fits in quite nicely.

The worst fault, though, is positioning the rev counter on the tank. The bike accelerates so hard that the time taken to look down at the tank would soon result in a collision, so the bike tends to be over-revved. The engine is basically tough, but will suffer from a combination of prolonged abuse and high mileages. It's also very easy to drop or crash, so secondhand models will need to be approached with more than a modicum of care.

I saw many used examples before I handed over my cash. An early '88 one will set you back about £1300 to £1600, whilst an '89 goes for £1500 to £2100. There are some bargains around, especially over the winter. Obviously, the bike's not to everyone's taste, but I will say don't test ride one unless you thing you can afford to run it. The fun you get out of them seems to obscure more rational analysis of their use.

Andrew Young

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There is something strange about motorcycles. For me they are more like a periodic addiction than a mode of transport. I had several periods in my twenties when I'd sold my bike, even my helmet and jacket, and tried to get this monkey off my shoulder. The last time was in 1990; goodbye motorcycle, hello Mr Mature. My girlfriend and dear mum started to celebrate and congratulated me on my wise decision. But somehow, out of the subliminal depths, the passion always seems to rise again like a phoenix. When I catch myself day-dreaming or find photos of my old bikes I know it's too late. When the urge bites (and don't it bite hard) to put on a bad attitude and get out on two wheels, who can resist?

Anyway, my current bike is a TDR250, bought a year ago with a mere 6000 miles on it. I'd not had a bike for nearly two years but for some reason I can't quite fathom in February I started to dream about scraping pegs on long fast turns; the spine tingling wail of a high revving motor and of weekends spent wielding spanners and changing oil.

I ended up going for this particular bike as I wanted something with reasonable insurance rates but which still had a bit of a kick to it. Also, one of the most enjoyable bikes I ever owned (about ten years ago) was a DT175MX, which even now I wish I hadn't sold. The TDR seemed a bit like a modern equivalent. They are also cheap compared to a sports 250 and have a more open riding position, which makes it feel a lot less cramped than my previous bike, an FZ600.

Because it was February I didn't see the bike in broad daylight when I bought it, but it looked pretty smart in black and yellow, with only a few scratches obvious here and there under the garage light. A short test ride revealed an engine that felt rather like a restricted 125, really bogged down - where were those fifty horses lurking I was starting to wonder. Then the tacho hit 7000rpm. Arrrrghhhhh....Yessss! You've heard it all before! The end of the cul de sac hurtled closer. I jammed on the brakes which fortunately worked very well. We did a passable imitation of a pogo-stick before coming to a stop, turned around and did the whole thing again the other way up the street. Clearly, some fun was to be had here so the old owner obtained an MOT and I gave him a grand for it.

The thing about buying secondhand is, of course, that you always find stuff wrong that you missed before buying the heap. If you can count them on the fingers of both hands you're probably lucky. In this case there were a few more scratches on the fairing than I remembered and a slight dent in one expansion chamber, the petrol tap was broken so it wasn't possible to turn it off, and the horn didn't work - so I was lucky!

The thing about the TDR, which I learnt the hard way, is that although it proudly proclaims 'Ultimate Dual' on the tank, it's no such thing - it's a road bike. The same applies to almost all bikes claiming to be dual purpose, but the interesting thing with the TDR is, at 300lbs, it's not the weight that's the problem. No, it's the lack of low down torque, resulting in the mill failing to make much headway up tracks at low revs. Try to make up for this with a handful of throttle, and what you get is a vicious snarl and instant loss of traction as the power band sends the back wheel into a madly spinning frenzy but, alas, little purposeful forward motion.

Apart from the lack of sympathetic engine characteristics for off-road work, I have doubts about the suitability and durability of the suspension. The fairing/mudguard looks a bit frail to take many knocks and the huge front disc is far too powerful for anything but road use. Lastly, the shocks from tracks rather than the road seemed to shake the rear indicators at the exact frequency to cause them to snap off their mounting brackets. The immediate result being that they dangle by the connecting wires into the back wheel spokes and......pptangggg! Another ten quid down the drain at the breakers.

After a year I've worked out what the machine is. A raucous, viciously powered roadster. Sticking a racy TZR motor into a trail style frame with wire wheels doesn't result in an off-roader. What I have found, however, is a bike that gives that gratifying two stroke kick and wailing power band, without having to contort myself on to a race replica. At over 6 feet tall I feel fine for 150 miles on the TDR, whereas even 60 miles would've had me to starting to wince and wring my aching wrists on my old FZ600.

Long trips are not particularly good fun on the TDR, due to the noise and the need to play tunes on the gearbox when in traffic, which is interesting to start with but then begins to irritate. I have ridden down to London a couple of times (from the Midlands), though. The big problem's fuel consumption. I reckon I get an average of 25-30mpg, which is pretty diabolical, but frankly I don't care that much. Like most people who own a performance two stroke I have no idea what restrained riding does for economy. A refill of the tank's needed every 70 miles - the fuel tap's broken in the reserve position so I don't like it getting too near to empty. Oil works out at about 200mpp. I use synthetic stuff out of faith rather than for any particular benefit but at least I don't have to fret about the powervalves becoming all gummed up.

Actually, once warmed up the TDR isn't that gutless at low rpm, and will pull away even up hills without frying the clutch too much, but it's only in the powerband that things get interesting. Having accepted that there is just no point in off-road excursions on the bike, I fitted Arrowmaxes, which allow impressive angles of lean. It's possible to scrape the pegs in slowish bends, which isn't bad as there's over twelve inches of ground clearance.

Like most performance two stroke 250s, the Yam's able to embarrass much larger capacity bikes and it generally seems to take a 600 to really get away in the country - in town they have no chance. An entertaining aspect of the bike, especially as it's not a common sight and easily mistaken for a 125 learner. It's quite common to have some Honda CX jockey disdainfully pull away at traffic lights, pleased to have put some learner scum in his place, only to have his eardrums perforated two seconds later as the TDR hits the power in second and shrieks past in a gratifying pall of blue smoke.

The TDR will hit the red line in top gear at 10,000rpm, which equates to about 110mph but acceleration is really only brisk up to around 90mph. Higher speeds are difficult to maintain for any time because of the minimal fairing which deflects air straight into my helmet - making it the noisiest bike I've ever ridden at speed, leaving me with ringing ears after a mere hour of excess.

The fairing's also, I believe, responsible for the only flaw in the bike's otherwise good handling. This involves the appearance of a peculiar slight wobble in 60mph plus bends. The wobble feels like the fairing's being hit by a side wind but doesn't stop the TDR going around the bend as the rest of the chassis feels very together. Otherwise, straight line stability is excellent.

On the maintenance front, the motor's a proven unit, identical to the TZR, making for cheap spares, although I imagine the gearbox has different ratios. That also means it's easy to find tuning bits for more power, although these inevitably make the power delivery even more peaky, so I haven't bothered.

There isn't really much regular maintenance. I've changed the gearbox oil once and tension the chain occasionally. The only potential trouble spots are the brakes and powervalve, although I haven't had any trouble. The front brake is half a FZR1000 system, notorious for seizing when covered in grot from wet and salty roads. My solution was not to ride when it's raining! The powervalve seizes but using good oil solves this and fashioning an empty Coke can in front of the engine stops road grit from attacking the valves from the outside.

Overall, the TDR has been a fun and reliable bike which instantly encourages hooligan behaviour. I couldn't say it's practical all-round transport but it pulls stonking wheelies and is great for zapping about on for weekend entertainment, which is what I use it for. I keep thinking about getting a larger capacity sports bike but for kicks per pound sterling the TDR would be hard to beat.

Bruce

 

 

Suzuki GSX1000

I was trying to work out what a perfect Katana chassis with a wrecked 1000cc engine was worth. The motor had seized after the engine had dropped its sump plug and a couple of litres of engine oil. The owner had completely refurbished the chassis with lots of new bits and a Dream Machine paint job. It looked as good as new. Various disgraced engine parts were littered about several boxes; it didn't matter, the lack of oil had just about mangled everything.

£500 changed hands. All I had to do was find a new motor. As it happened there was one in the breakers which had a mangled front end, twisted frame and flattened exhaust. It was a hacksaw job to extract the engine, an incredibly heavy lump of alloy and steel. I carefully pulled out the electrical black boxes as they are a bit notorious on Suzukis. Along with the calipers and a few minor bits that was all that was undamaged. At the end of the day I had a running Katana that had cost less than a thousand notes.

A week later I was a couple of thousand miles from home, enjoying the sun in the South of France. The Katana's flash looks fitted in well with the life of wine, women and casino madness. Its reluctance to pull wheelies, due to a heavy front end rather than lack of power, was a bit of disappointment. As was a seat that turned into an instrument of torture after eighty miles of cruising. Searing acceleration and slinky young French nubiles compensated for the bundle I kept losing at the casino tables. My fail-proof system proved even more precarious than a GS550 rectifier. The Kat's headlamp proved useful on dip as it blinded Frog cagers, who would otherwise have tried to run me off the road - they usually drove like they were drunk out of their heads at night.

Blasts down the coast in the early hours of the morning, with a bimbo clinging on for dear life and helmets slung over shoulders, proved great fun. 140mph on the speedo flattened my shades into my face and caused the woman to scream with the sheer thrill of it. The police never made an appearance until about seven in the morning when we were sated with the speed and heading for home.

The Kat handled high speeds with wobbles from the bars over bumps and weaves from the back end when banked over. Incredible muscle was needed to swing through the S-bends. It was better to accelerate through the wobbles at 110mph than back off. The power output of the engine was outstanding, picking up momentum in top gear as the speedo flicked on to 105mph. It grumbled, quaked and stuttered below 50mph and often needed the same kind of gearbox action as a 250 twin! Luckily, the change was slick, although the clutch was heavy enough to strain my wrist after excessive town riding. The throttle action was sufficiently heavy to impress a Guzzi Le Mans owner.

One fantastic race followed winning ten grand in a night (I lost it all again the next day) with a Ferrari driven by a crazed Italian accompanied by an amphetamine high starlet, who halfway through the race tried to step out of the car on to the back of the Kat as we were rumbling along at 100mph. Alas the weaving Suzuki made such an act impossible so I missed out on a bit of wild action, if the rumours about her were true. The Ferrari eventually disappeared up the road at about 185mph, followed by three wailing cop cars. For once they didn't bother with me; I'd only been doing 130mph. Wild or what?

Coming back to the UK, with just about enough money for the petrol, was a complete bummer, as winter had closed in, causing me to turn up at my London flat blue with the cold. The high life had been fantastic fun for a couple of months but the money had come from remortgaging the apartment, which left me with a massive pile of debts rather than the couple of hundred grand I was going to win on roulette. There was nothing for it but to go despatching.

It was the wrong time to sell the Kat but I put an advert in MCN regardless. Zero response despite one of the glossies going on at length about its classic status. The big Suzuki was far from ideal as a despatch hack, apart from anything else it went through tyres, pads and chains like every day was pay day. It was a brutal bastard in town unless it was revved like a fifty when it was more likely to go through rather than around cowed cagers.

The sadistic controller decided that the Kat was ideal for some long distance drops. Screaming all the way up the bloody M1 in sub-zero temperatures almost drove me insane, but helped bring in enough money to stave off the bank's demands. The Kat objected to the cold by refusing to start for five minutes each time I stopped, which wore down the electric boot and battery. I had spares from the crashed bike but the starting hassles persisted. It seemed the Suzuki was cold blooded in the extreme, just like its owner.

The winter riding had turned the once immaculate finish rotten. Paint, chrome and alloy were all giving into the corrosive properties of salt, acid rain and freezing temperatures. I wasn't in much of a better state. I was wearing out my last decent suit loitering in London casinos until the early hours of the morning. My pathetically low stakes meant I'd have to get an extreme dose of luck to make any money. I kept on losing it!

I lost the Katana one January morning, too. It was my own fault. The front tyre was down to the carcass (after 4000 miles), didn't have a chance to hold on the spilt diesel. Crashing down went we, the engine bars and mirrors digging holes out of the tarmac. I fell on my knee, the leathers saving it from gravel rash but not a severe bruising. The Kat was dented but with the aid of a couple cagers (they had to stop, the bike was blocking their progress) pulled upright. A couple of hours later my knee had swollen to balloon proportions and I barely managed to hobble up to the apartment.

By the time I was ready for work again, a couple of weeks later, there was no job for me. The Kat was running but looked like a rolling wreck. Further agony was heaped on my shoulders when it failed the MOT on rusty silencers. I only realised how bad they were riding home, one of the ends blew out, making the Kat sound like a rolling pile-driver. I was lucky not to be booked on the way to the breakers. He welded on a pair of GS650 cans for twenty notes. They looked horrible but passed the MOT and only made the engine stutter between 5500 and 6500rpm.

February was almost tolerable weather-wise, so I took the Kat for high speed runs which sometimes verged on the suicidal but were great fun, adrenalin highs. Running on dodgy tyres, worn suspension and brake pads almost down to the metal, tested my reactions and the toughness of the Katana's frame. The latter was tried by the way the forks swayed back and forth between their stops and the back wheel jumping inches every which way. It seemed to use its weight to ride through the worst of it.

March I tried to flog it off again, had a couple of people come take a look and ride but no offers. I needed a quick infusion of cash to stop the flat being repossessed but no hope. One morning I woke up laughing, the apartment was worth a lot less than the money owed, there was no point going on with the charade. I packed my few prized possessions, stuck the bag on the back of the Kat and headed for the Continent; a road rat in the making.

G.L.

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There are lots of ways of getting kicks from motorcycles, but right now the most enjoyable I've found is slugging it out with an early eighties Katana. I couldn't say that when I first bought the bike two years ago. 80,000 miles and ten years of the usual abuse and neglect added up to an excess of top end rattles, terrifying lack of brakes and the kind of rat appearance that had the cops rubbing their groins in anticipation (or maybe it was just my tatty black leather jacket...).

Big Kat's are as popular in the used market as strawberry flavoured condoms in the editorial offices of the glossies (I was a DR once, had to deliver a parcel to one and you wouldn't believe these people). Somehow, this one had escaped the attentions of the desperate (probably because it was deep in depraved Glasgow) and was mine for all of £550!

Riding the 400 miles home (I think I just defined myself as a motorcycle enthusiast) I had many moments to consider the sheer insanity of it all. The front discs made strange noises, the rear seized on for half a mile before the disc conveniently broke up, and the mill was so worn it turned in no more than 25mpg. A motorway slow lane trawl saved me from going completely insane.

Being used to old hacks, I was well away, fixing the problems, replacing the camchain, a couple of valves, three calipers and the rear disc, and giving the chassis a good going over. Newish consumables were fitted all round and I was ready for some highway kicks rather than frights.

The big Kat is one heavy old donkey, at 500lbs - not just hefty in mass but also in steering effort. That comes from the conservative steering geometry which is needed to keep things stable at 140mph. The Kat's one of those bikes that you don't piss about on. You have to plan ahead, set her up and stick with the line come what may. Ridden thus, the Kat's predictable, stable and quite inspiring (once you've built up the necessary muscles).

It isn't always possible to ride that way, though. There always going to be some jerk who decides to do a U-turn halfway around a corner. I kid you not. I was well heeled over, doing about 50mph, getting ready to hit the throttle in anger for the final half of the bend when suddenly the whole tarmac's obscured by a huge cage. There's a tiny gap on the left side of the road, so I hurled the Kat over until the exhaust dug in and then twitched upright...

The cager, meanwhile, had been alerted by the howl out of the 4-1 exhaust. He hurriedly slammed the car forward, giving me a couple of extra inches. Bear in mind, that the Suzuki was twitching its bars, shaking its rear end and becoming as generally accurate as a kid's tricycle with a broken wheel. We bounced through the gap, then skidded on to the grass, ended up sliding along, yours truly muttering prayers of thanks for the presence of the engine bars.

Apart from a layer of earth on one side of the bike and myself we survived intact. I hopped up, went back to thump the driver, but found he'd accelerated so rapidly forward that the front half of the car was embedded in a hedge. He wasn't amused when I refused to help him out, the doors being impossible to open. I left him there, cursing away.

If it took me a good six months to come to grips with the handling, I always had the marvellous power of the engine to fall back upon. 1000cc's of four cylinder grunt added up to 110hp, a hell of a lot when the bike was introduced. Even so, I often found hard use of the slick gearbox and throttle was necessary to really fly, as one hell of a punch was packed past 7000 revs. The bike might've been more sedate on the stock exhaust, but in its day it was the top dog in town. Backed up by Suzuki's reputation for building very tough four stroke engines.

After I'd initially rebuilt my motor I didn't have any problems for nearly 15000 miles, or 95000 on the clock! That was about ten months into my ownership when I'd become a little blase about the Kat. As in doing tremendous wheelspins on take-off and even the odd wheelie, as unlikely as that might seem on such a hulk. That kind of madness eventually caused clutch rattle and then slip. Later clutches were beefed up in deference to both the power and general delinquency of their owners. A new set of plates sorted it, although I had a hell of a job removing the clutch cover as all the screws were corroded in solid. I know it sounds crude, but a big hammer and small chisel really is the solution to such poor engineering.

The 16 valve head's the other possible weak spot but after I replaced a couple of burnt out valves and put bigger jets in the carbs to suit the non-standard exhaust I didn't have a recurrence of that particular hassle. You can usually tell if the engine's running lean by a flat spot around 5000 revs and the exhaust banging away on the overrun. I checked my engine out with a flat out drag and then switching the ignition off. The plugs were just the right shade.

Spark plugs needed replacing every 3000 miles. They'd last longer but I ended up draining the battery trying to start her on cold mornings with worn out plugs fitted. A couple of times I almost cross-threaded the plugs, you have to be incredibly careful. Probably just another sign of the chronic alloy rot. I did the oil every 1000 miles but left the filter until the gearbox went off - even with the current 119,000 miles it's still incredibly slick on good oil.

The power and mass do make their presence felt on the drive chain, which lasts for no more than 4000 miles! It's just not usable after that because on the overrun it feels like it wants to jump off the sprockets, which last for three to four chains, so it ain't all bad news.

The rear disc has never worked well, always seems close to seizing up, perhaps because of all the muck thrown off the chain. It's really a very silly idea compared to a drum. The front discs are powerful but not too predictable. Sometimes they need an almighty wrench, other times a gentle caress has the front tyre screaming in ecstasy. The anti-dive, whose hydraulics are shared by the brake, is equally unpredictable, causing the front end to go rock solid or bounce up and down like it was trying to dig up the road. Yes, I have put new fluid in and bled the system, although it took a whole bloody weekend!

As there's lots of engine braking, I tend to use the brakes very gently unless there's an emergency. This is in character with the Kat, as it's more likely to throw you up the road than respond to LC-type tactics. I get over 10,000 miles from Ferodo pads but wouldn't be surprised to learn that crazy owners achieve less than half that.

The brakes, indeed the whole machine, become a little out of it in the wet. There's just so much remoteness from the road surface and so much engine power available that it's a quick route to the nearest cemetery. The riding position provides some compensation as it makes you feel part of the machine - I have a long upper body so the stretch to the bars isn't a problem for me. The seat is, though, turning nasty after 50 miles and also letting through significant amounts of secondary vibes. I have done 600 miles in a day but ended up with a very funny walk!

With the engine sorted out, 35 to 40mpg was possible if speeds were kept below the ton. Cruising at 100mph plus turned in 25 to 30mpg, although I never managed that for more than 15 minutes due to serious discomfort. The Kat's best at 90 to 100mph when the riding position and half fairing make perfect sense. Town work's hard on the wrist and shoulder muscles but something I got used to during the twice daily half hour commute. Whenever the pain became too much I went wild with the throttle.

I really like having that power available whenever I want it. The Kat's incredibly well built - it's still running stock suspension, I haven't had any chassis bearings rumble and its rat appearance was merely surface rust; it doesn't corrode from the inside out. Even the electrics were solid if modified by a previous owner. And that motor's the business! The shape's still stunning and the resale value's excellent. A good Kat costs close to two grand but I ain't going to sell mine.

Roddy S.

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Speed is relative. Relative that is to the speed of other vehicles on the road. In the fifties, a 105mph Bonnie was considered a fast bike. By the late sixties Honda's 120mph 750 four had redefined the concept of a rapid machine. Whilst today, 140mph plus 600's and 750's are the norm. But in the early '80s the only way to go fast was to use a bigger and more powerful engine which led to the creation of a series of totally outrageous monster bikes that have probably done more damage to the image of motorcycling than any other single factor.

When I was offered a Suzuki GSX1000 Katana for £800 I just couldn't resist it. The bike had 35000 miles under its belt but sounded and ran okay. I've always had a lot of respect for Suzuki four strokes so it seemed a good deal. A brief test ride on London's greasy, cratered streets proved that the bike was alright up to 60mph - which doesn't mean a lot on a 140mph cycle.

Getting out of London was a whole new ballgame. I mean these bikes are large, as in really big and heavy. There's just no way you can chuck 'em around to beat the traffic. It's just a case of keeping up with the general traffic flow and filtering slowly through the traffic light queue, then you can blast away in first to the next snarl up, 300 yards ahead. Frustrating and, with that much weight, tiring.

By the time I hit the motorway I felt totally exhausted and didn't give a shit about top speeds or roll on acceleration. I just left the Kat in top and cruised along at a gentle 80mph, tucking in behind the minimal fairing. At this sedate velocity there was plenty of wind protection and I felt quite comfortable, feeling as though I was sitting in the bike rather than perched upon it.

A strange thought crossed my mind that the Suzuki would make an excellent tourer. I quickly dismissed the notion, after all, no-one in their right mind would purchase such a fast and powerful machine for such mundane use, would they? I passed a BMW K100 rider cruising at a sensible 70mph. Well, there's always one.

It was sunny but cold at six the next morning. The Kat was reluctant to tickover - full choke meant a berserk 4500rpm but any reduction meant it stalled. I finally settled on half choke and blipped the throttle to keep it going. The noise was amazing, a deep and aggressive bark through the totally shot silencers. Every blip brought another irate face to a window. Poor sods, I thought, it'll be weeks before I can afford to put that right.

I headed straight for the motorway, I wasn't going to muck about. Warm it up and see what it'd do. The road was clear, the engine hot and my adrenaline was in control. Desperately trying to keep some grip on my senses, I slowly opened up in top. Up to 90mph everything was fine, nothing I couldn't and hadn't handled before. Then it really took off, almost literally as the front wheel went light and my arms were almost yanked off. Before I knew what was happening, 120mph was on the clock, accompanied by a snaky weave - a reflex action made me back off.

Sure, all you heroes out there would just ride through it but not me, not at that kind of speed with that much bulk. Besides, the skimpy fairing directed the wind straight at my head and neck in a constant series of blasts - at 120mph this was like being continually punched in the face. Tucking right down improved things but would soon become uncomfortable on a long run, not that you're going to get that far at that kind of speed on British roads.

Up to 115mph the handling was secure and stable in an almost Italian way. The bike felt big and steered slow - anyone used to modern bikes would find it hard work indeed to wrestle it through mere motorway curves! A new rear tyre allowed the beast to reach an indicated 125mph before the weave became unacceptable. The problem was that I was becoming used to travelling fast and began to feel cheated. I really had to see at least 130mph on the clock to justify ownership of such a powerful monster.

Stupidly, I tried for it. Rock steady to 125mph, then the frightening weave and then sheer horror. The handlebars shook viciously from lock to lock, whilst the bike lurched towards the armco. All I could do was hold on and try to wrench it back on line whilst closing down the throttle.

After a succession of three lane lurches, I finally regained control and rode home at virtually moped speeds, thanking every god I could think of for my safe deliverance. Investigations revealed no discernible chassis wear or slop, so I could only conclude that the hidden deterioration as a consequence of 35000 miles was such as to upset high speed stability.

This was much more apparent off the motorways. My favourite twisty roads were reduced to a boring slog as the bike was just too big and heavy to wield easily through the curves. Worse still, it was dangerously under-braked despite the presence of three discs. The rear disc is just a joke, it either locked up the back wheel or didn't work at all. The front brake faded radically after a couple of hard stops.

Fitment of new pads helped not one bit. I was told that the anti-dive was to blame - a real insult as it hardly worked. It took a detour through a hedge to convince me of the bike's total unsuitability as a scratcher. After the hedge incident, the exhaust system became an urgent matter - a 110hp, 1000cc motor really does make a racket without any silencers, although my main concern was that the engine was running weak and thus hot. I ended up fitting a pattern system for a hundred notes, as these bikes are so tough and rare there were none in breakers.

To really appreciate the bike I felt I had to take it on a tour of Scotland. Two up, with camping gear, the weave set in at 110mph, but apart from that the extra load caused no ill effects on the motorways. The pillion was not amused by the lack of a grab-rail. I was dead impressed by its ability to cover such a huge distance so effortlessly, there was no vibration and as I became tired I really appreciated the excess of torque that made gear changing virtually redundant. The final drive chain proved a real pig, needing adjustment every 250 miles, which really pissed me right off.

On the mountain roads of Scotland the Kat became a real pain. The ridiculous mass made gentle riding strenuous and any attempt at anything more sporty was instantly curtailed after we nearly didn't make it around one bend. On long descents the useless brakes forced me to stay in a low gear.

By the end of the tour I had lost most of my enthusiasm for the Kat, not helped any by the fact that on my return home the chain was totally shot. Pack a couple of thousand miles into a week and you really notice how expensive some bikes are to run! Rear chains last between 2000 and 4000 miles, which also knocks out the sprockets! Fuel is slurped through the four cylinders at 30mpg and oil consumed at 400mpp! Insurance is horrendous if you're at all young. It's cheaper to run a two litre car!

By 40,000 miles problems began to emerge. Front brake calipers gave up the ghost, the alternator burnt out and the swinging arm bearings were shot. At 49000 miles the repaired alternator was shot again. By 50,000 miles the forks had more slop than a tart's arse, so much so that venturing beyond 100mph was sheer stupidity. The handling had lost all precision and was fast becoming akin to a Z1 or early CB750. It forced me ride slowly, but I still had to incur the massive running costs.

The motor was still reliable, in 20,000 miles I just changed the oil regularly and balanced the carbs once. I never even looked at the valves. The pattern exhaust disintegrated as soon as the guarantee expired, so I hacksawed off the silencers and fitted some from a breaker - total cost £1! The noise was horrific. I was convinced that I'd be either nicked for disturbing the peace or that the pistons would burn out - consequently, I rarely rode the bike.

The Kat looked a mess, there seemed no point in pouring in consumables when I could go no faster than a good 400. I sold it for £650, surely a bargain as a bit of dosh spent on the suspension, brakes and swinging arm might have made it handle reasonably, and I was sure the motor would last.

Andy Everett

 

 

Kawasaki GTR1000

After an expensive and somewhat frightening experience with a BMW K100, mostly down to the fact that the previous owner had crashed it badly and repaired it poorly, I was determined to find a Japanese bike but not forsake the comfort I had become used to on the BMW. I did not have to look far, as it happens, in the local paper there was a six month old, 5000 mile, 1988 Kawasaki GTR1000.

I had been aware of this machine but had not looked at it in any great detail. I knew that it had a typical Kawasaki across the frame four with a surplus of valves, camshafts and electronic trickery. On inspection of the machine I was a little disconcerted to see that in addition to the huge radiator there was an oil cooler, but the machine was in perfect condition with a fsh and an owner who could only be months off OAP status.

He took me for a blast on the back and then let me have a go on a bit of deserted country road. I wanted it! It was the end of September so I knew few people would be interested in buying a motorcycle at that time of year. I made him a really silly offer, we haggled and agreed on a sum that represented a huge discount off the new price and slightly more than the local dealer would give him. I don't think he was as happy as I was at the conclusion of the deal, but there you go.

After the K100 the bike felt smoother but lacked the immediate torque of the Bavarian wonder. At 570lbs the GTR is a bit of a handful at low speeds, but then so was the BMW, and trying to push the machine backwards was likely to result in a hernia. Where the K feels relaxed the GTR wants you to rev it, the engine only really feels like it's on cam with over 5000 revs on the tacho. However, the shaft drive is smoother and less intrusive than on the Brick, the six speed transmission is snatch free and there's little of the rising back end on take off.

I also quickly became aware that the suspension whilst not sports hard did not plunge and dive like on the K. The whole process of braking was so much easier and more civilised on the Japanese bike that I began to wonder how I could have put up with the German machine. I had become so used to setting bikes up for corners well in advance that I was amazed by the way the heavy Kawasaki was able to change direction suddenly in bends. To be fair to the BMW, its chassis was not as straight as it should have been, so final judgement must be reserved.

I found the GTR's full fairing perfect for my 5'9" frame. The screen was at just the right height to throw the air over my head whilst still letting me peer over the top in bad weather. Hand protection could be slightly better, but if the fairing was any wider it would interfere with the ability to dodge through narrow gaps in traffic. When I rode the bike home it started to pour down; I survived the experience with slight dampness to my jeans. I was later to find its protection made travel in the depths of winter an enjoyable enterprise.

A few days after buying the bike I set out for a motorway trek up from London to Scotland. The Kawasaki is claimed to be a tourer, but it produces 110hp at 9500rpm and gives arm wrenching, neck snapping acceleration if you open her up in the lower gears. It cruised so easily at 90mph that I thought the speedo was inaccurate but as I was able to sit in the fast lane without being flashed it must have been about right.

Comfortable behind that fairing, I opened her up a bit more, 110, 120mph......vibes started to buzz the GRP and footpegs.....130mph made those vibes come in even worse and what had been a very stable ride turned into quite a strong weave that felt like riding a bike with worn tyres on a white line. A few thoughts about what the bitumen would do to my body persuaded me to back off to 110mph, where the bike felt smooth, stable and comfortable.

Even when I later made it on to the German autobahns, the combination of vibes and weaves stopped me from trying to find its real top speed. I very rarely ventured above 120mph, if the truth be told, but anything below that was dead easy to maintain. The only faults the bike has as a high speed tourer were a seat that turned rock hard after 250 miles and fuel consumption that was more in the two stroke class - 30mpg at a sustained 120mph did not impress me very much, the range of the six gallon tank was effectively only 150 miles before panic set in. Around town and at more moderate highway speeds, the bike would return anywhere between 35 and 50mpg. Probably down to the sheer bulk of the machine, added to when I filled up the panniers, added a pillion and a load of camping gear - a mode the bike was most commonly used in.

Another consumable that wore quickly were the tyres. The bike came with a new set of Metzelers, a 110/80V18 ME33 front and 150/80V16 ME99 rear. These gave excellent grip wet or dry but only lasted for 3000 miles before they were both worn out. As I have done 3000 miles over a long weekend this did not impress me. I put on a set of Avon radials which were fitted free and available at a large discount locally.

Initially, I found they made the bike feel a bit twitchy but they did seem to damp down the high speed weave a bit. In the wet they appeared well dodgy but when I realised that they only slid a small amount and weren't going to ditch me on to the hard tarmac I got used to them. They at least allowed me to do a 5000 mile tour without worrying about replacing tyres. The rear lasted just under 6000 miles, the front 7250 miles. I thereafter kept with the Avons which seem to have got better still lately.

I rode the bike through the winter months happily enough, my only concern was that the finish was not holding up well. White corrosion broke out on the wheels and needed an inordinate amount of elbow grease to clean up. Splotches of rust appeared on the silencers, parts of the frame and the upper part of the forks. It needed a jetwash every week to keep the dreaded rust at bay, although the paint finish on the tank and GRP was of BMW quality.

Another annoying design feature was the position of the mirrors. These are an integral design feature of the fairing in so far as they are supposed to provide hand protection as well as tell you what's going on behind. Unfortunately, both mirrors are mounted too low to easily glance at and leave a massive blind spot just behind the bike on each side. I frightened myself several times when I tried to manoeuvre the bike into the bumper of a car I had not seen in the mirrors. I soon went back to looking over my shoudler to check what was actually there.

I've had the bike for three years now and have fallen in love with it. It has taken me so many miles with so few problems that I can't really complain. With 65000 miles done so far the engine has not suffered from any interference from human hand save for a regular 5000 mile dealer service and my own 1650 mile oil change. I have taken some sensible preventative measures such as removal of all spindles and application of expensive grease - no wonder Uni-Trac's linkages fail, they seem to have no grease in them.

The original rear shock is still there with the air and damping settings turned up to the highest possible. The same goes for the front forks which have the added benefit of gaiters and are still on the original seals. The bike still feels taut in comparison with a BMW but in the last 5000 miles a bit of a weave comes in at 110mph, so I shall have to check the bearings soon or replace the rear shock.

Copaslip has been applied to stripped calipers every time the pads have been changed (every 10,000 miles, I don't use the brakes like a racer, too many BMWs in my past for that), thus avoiding any potential nastiness in that area. At 25000 miles the front brakes went spongy but this was cured with new brake fluid and a set of Goodridge hose. Scientific Coating's protective liquid has been applied to all surfaces and seems to repel water and dirt rather than attract it. I've since saved a fortune in Solvol tubes.

I have seen GTRs that have done over 100,000 miles so I think they must be robust machines or perhaps it's just the type of owners they attract. There are some nice low mileage ones around and I am tempted to trade in my machine for a newer one, but then I think how well it's served me so far and put the idea out of my head; I'd much rather spend the money travelling on the bike.

Julian Newman

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After an unfortunate experience with a R60 BMW, I was more than willing to consider Japanese machinery again. It had to be big (because so was I), faired and preferably fast. I flicked through various magazines but my attention was diverted by an advert for a Kawasaki GTR1000 in the local paper. The price was reasonable and the mileage low.

It turned out to be a blue 1989 example with only 9000 miles under its wheels. The only sign of wear and tear was heavily corroded wheels. The owner reckoned they were impossible to keep clean. He also complained bitterly about the insurance rises that were forcing him to sell. The dealer had offered him £1750 and he reluctantly accepted two grand off me.

What I'd bought was a watercooled four cylinder motor, a detuned version of the 1000RX which still managed a hundred horses. The fairing was just as protective as a BMW RT and it had a shaft drive that was much less intrusive than the thoroughly nasty item fitted to the R60.

Mass was getting on close to 600lbs but the upright riding position helped direct the beast. Admittedly, initial impressions were of a tank-like heaviness and the need to leave an extra few inches each side of the bike when heading through the narrower gaps. The suspension was rather severe but the seat very pliant and comfortable, the riding position even more natural than on the R60.

These impressions faded with time, as the machine and myself grew into each others ways. What's stayed in my mind is the marvellous grunt of the engine. I've never come across another Japanese four that has so much midrange power, from 3000 revs onwards it really flies even in sixth gear. Once on the open road I rarely bothered changing down, just used the throttle to power ever onwards. A much more relaxed and easy going ride than the old boxer, which seemed to spend most of its time grumbling and shuddering.

The gearbox on the GTR went off a bit as the miles were clocked up, but never approached the sheer horror and frustration of the R60's agricultural delinquency. It was okay up to 20,000 miles but thereafter there were lots of false neutrals, a sign of worn selectors. Providentially, changes were clean under acceleration, saving the valves from 15000rpm sessions.

The shaft drive only intruded when I slammed the throttle shut if I needed to lose speed in bends. There was no way I was going to chance the powerful front discs when banked over. The back wheel lurched around and over heavy bumps the bike did a reasonable impression of a rocking horse. The GTR had a BMW-like need to be set up on its line in advance and gently accelerated through a curve.

My initial impression of the front brake was of fearsome power, with a smoking tyre and shaking forks. It was soon apparent that the full power grip on the brake lever, my hand toughened up on countless drum braked old Hondas, was totally out of place on the sophisticated Kawasaki. A two or three finger caress stopped me soiling my pants and saved the front rubber from premature extinction. Brake pads went for a moderate 10,000 miles and the calipers resisted corrosion despite hard use in two winters.

Such was the fairing's protection that I was quite happy to keep running the bike right through the winter. Normal waterproofs, boots and gloves were all that were necessary to keep warm. There was a downside to having such a large lump of plastic out front - side winds knocked the bike about a bit and above 110mph the front end felt very nervous. On wet roads it gave the impression that it was about to aquaplane but otherwise the protection from the rain was excellent.

There was little I could do for the wheels when it rained. It was a bit worrying to see that such cheap aluminium alloy was used in these essential components. Tyres lasted for about 6000 miles and it was dead easy to chip the rims when they were changed. Anyone who finds a GTR with good wheels would be best advised to paint them straight away!

The rear caliper was short-lived as well. The brake was never so good as to inspire much use, this neglect may have contributed to the way the pistons seized up. I left it like that for a few thousand miles which made the subsequent attempt at stripping down a complete waste of time. A secondhand caliper was secured from the breakers eventually, GTR's quite rare in salvage yards.

With about 25000 miles done there was a lot of banging in the exhaust system. I immediately assumed that the 16 valves were burning out, but the mechanic reckoned they were all still well within adjustment - the relatively low state of tune and consequent lack of thrashing meant that not much servicing was required. The cause of the backfiring was the exhaust rotting away.

The local Kawasaki dealer could barely conceal his glee, was already booking his winter holiday.... over 700 quid! I ruined his day by walking out on him. £125 for a welding set, and some old sheet metal was deployed on to the dismembered system which had holes in the collector and underside of the silencers. Most of the baffles fell out when I hit the ends of the silencers on the tarmac. The reassembled exhaust was a bit noisier but the banging had gone. 11,000 miles later I had to repeat the experience, in some areas I replaced all the original metal!

Pulling off the fairing that time dislocated some wires, leading to blowing bulbs until I'd gone to all the hassle of tearing the plastic off the second time. The lights and switches were as good as any other fitted to a motorcycle. The long distance comfort and protection were better than most if not all other machines.

The bike was so good that it inspired me to do two months Continental touring. About 10,000 miles in all, that required nothing more than putting loads of petrol in the tank and doing the occasional oil change. Fuel consumption was high at 35 to 40mpg but the big six gallon fuel tank ensured a reasonable range. Comfort was okay for 300 to 350 miles before my backside began to scream. That was good going for me, I was usually complaining after a mere 100 miles on most bikes.

There was quite a lot of adjustment from the strong front forks and Uni-track rear end but after 30,000 miles they were barely adequate when turned up to their highest settings. It was never as soft as a BMW but still managed to soak up most of the road bumps. A newish shock was acquired for a giveaway £25 and new Uni-track bearings installed at 35000 miles. Thus equipped the GTR felt much more assured.

There's so much mass that any weakness in the chassis can easily be amplified out of all proportion when riding hard. All you have to do to experience a speed wobble, for instance, is put a new Avon out front and leave a worn out Metzeler on the back! It would also go way out of line if run on bald tyres - stupid, I know, but there were occasions when I ran out of cash. Not all GTR owners are rich yuppies!

I occasionally joined a pack of such types on faired BMW bricks. The GTR was well able to keep up with the Teutonic hordes, could quite happily take them in corners. They may've had a touch higher top speed than the Kawasaki's 125mph but on UK roads there were few opportunities for them to use such excessive velocities. Fuel, pad and tyre wear were similar and I could see little reason to trade the GTR.

Apart from corrosion (it also attacked the frame but that was fortunately hidden under the plastic), the GTR turned out to be very tough, doing 67000 miles without even rattling its camchain even though it wasn't lavished with an excess of tender loving care. A combination of an easy life in the hands of the first owner, modern technology and no need to go above 9000 revs.

I was able to sell the bike for £2000 without any trouble, which gave me two years hard use without any depreciation. There are lots of low mileage examples around for £2500 to £3000 if you're old enough to afford the insurance. Corrosion is their one big failure, so much so that I went for a newish BMW R1100RS - much more sophisticated than the old boxers and great quality.

Lance Jennings

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There it was. Another dead bike. The list was looking quite impressive and growing fast. CBX550, CBR600, XJ750 and now my KLR600. All in just two years. I use the bike for work (just 20 miles each way) and this must take its toll even with regular oil changes. The journey involves ton-up cruising for about twelve miles, then stop-start town riding for the remainder. In the winter, chains suffer particularly. Even with regular maintenance, a chain life of 2000 miles was the norm.

The KLR had a good excuse for giving up on me this time - it had just returned from a 4000 mile thrash around Europe. And now I was planning to go touring around France. I saw a GTR in the local rag...I didn't know much about them and admit I'd never even thought about buying one. I knew they were a bit peaky for a tourer and were notoriously heavy.

For the uninitiated, the GTR1000's a shaft drive BMW-esque tourer with a tubular frame and a detuned GPZ1000RX Eliminator motor (which explains the peakiness). The GTR didn't sell well from new because someone wanting a BMW generally bought a BMW - consequently the big Kawasakis were not particularly common.

The advertised bike seemed great, though. A 1988 model for twelve hundred notes - that was about half book price. Okay, so it had been despatched and had a high mileage (about 90,000 miles) but I decided to go to see it. The bloke on the phone seemed straight. He had replaced the bike with another GTR, and wouldn't accept any offers as it was well worth what he was asking.

When I got to his house, the bike didn't look bad. He pointed out that it was not immaculate. The mirrors were broken, the front tyre iffy and the seat was taped up. There was also a slight oil leak from the water pump, but there was loads of metal for the money. It came with a bloody great fairing and hard panniers as standard fittings, and after experiences with stolen, torn or melted throwovers, the panniers seemed like a damn good idea. Other equipment included little pockets in the fairing, a fuel gauge and clock. These are the kind of things that I never expected to need but now find indispensable. They are genuinely useful.

First ride on the bike was an education. I hardly noticed the shaft, infinitely better than the badly adjusted chains that usually blessed my bikes (only fair weather poseurs and those with new bikes have properly adjusted and lubricated chains). It was heavy, though I thought that a big bike would be no problem. After all, I'd been riding reasonably sized bikes for over a decade, but the weight of the GTR's all up top, and with panniers the bike felt as wide as an Alvis Stalwart (what? - Ed).

I found the bike a little intimidating but it went okay and didn't look bad so I paid the man the money. I don't want to cast aspirations on his character but as well as being a despatcher, he had an EXUP in the garage for fun and reckoned that the GTR wasn't so bad either: 'With cheapo tyres it's real fun at roundabouts, you can drift the back end right out!' I was sceptical until he showed me the footpegs, both were worn down a good inch. And that front tyre was testimony to a good thrashing.

Somewhat prophetically, the thirty mile ride home was in torrential rain and I learnt two fundamental lessons about the bike. Firstly, the engine braking was something else, if I let go of the throttle carelessly on a wet road at speed, even in top, the back wheel would squirm all over the place. The second was that the fairing caused terrible turbulence - I would be far more comfortable on a naked bike since I could cope with the blast but not the impression that I was in a pillow fight with Frank Bruno. It must be said I didn't get wet, though, so the plastic had its uses.

After a couple of days the weather improved and I thought that I would see what it would do. The answer was about 130mph, maybe more if you were feeling brave but, believe me, you had to be. It was frightening. The bike needed both lanes of the dual carriageway as it weaved and wandered about. Even now with new Metz's and the suspension set up, there's a marked weave about the ton-twenty, although it can at least be ridden to the one-forty max.

The local bike shop blames the weave on the fairing, says it can't be cured. I'm inclined to agree. The fairing is useful but does have other shortcomings - the main one being the mirrors. They work normally but fold back at speed. On the other hand, when the bike falls off the stand (not uncommon if you can imagine trying to balance an ostrich egg on a cocktail stick) or if you happen to clip a truck they don't fold but break straight away. An expensive repair at over fifty quid each.

After I had owned the bike for about six months, summer arrived and I got itchy feet. The previous year I had travelled around Europe to Austria on my KLR, returning happy but bikeless. This year I had more room which was just as well when my girlfriend appeared on the doorstep with three rucksacks. The final decision to take the bike abroad was when the price of the last minute bargain holidays went through the roof during August.

So, we planned to go to the South of France, tour around the vineyards instead. Two rucksacks lighter but still carrying more than your average three tonner, we left. The trip started well enough but on the first day in Europe I was beginning to wonder about taking a pillion. She was uncomfortable, very hot and didn't want to ride for longer than a couple of hours without an hour's break.

We managed the 400 miles to the campsite which we had booked, but it took all day. It looked like the daily limit would have to be below 400 miles. This was frustrating as I had managed 1200 mile days on the KLR (which was a damn sight slower). It soon became evident, however, that the problem was in fact, an almighty hangover from the ferry and an inability to stay awake in 40 degrees centigrade heat. But we made it down there, every time I felt her helmet hit the back of mine we'd stop for another cup of hallucinogenically strong coffee.

From then on things were fine. The bike was fairly comfortable but extremely heavy. Whilst in Bergerac it fell off its sidestand. This wouldn't have been so bad had I not been standing beside the bike reading a map. Before I knew what was happening, I had several hundred kilo's of bike pinning me down by my foot. The agony was made worse by the fact that my girlfriend couldn't lift the bike. Not a surprise as I can hardly lift the thing and I weigh in at over twelve and a half stone. Her tenacity paid off, though, and miraculously she managed to move it enough to free my foot, the only damage being a wicked bruise and a broken pannier mounting.

The next day it was her turn - exhausts get damn hot in French summers and it takes a while to feel them burning through a carelessly placed limb. Although the bike was a handful, only just failing in its attempts at jettisoning us on the roughest roads and intent on giving me heat rashes from the right-hand radiator outlet, it kept going. With baguettes and other groceries protruding from every orifice in a typically French manner (what a terrible thought) it never missed a beat and covered between 200 and 300 miles on a tank.

We made it all the way down the West Coast to the Pyrenees, stopping at Bordeux and Bergerac wine regions, and returned via the Loire Valley vineyards with a small tour of Brittany and Normandy. We arrived back in England two weeks later complete with nearly a dozen bottles and half a rucksack. I weighed the luggage. What was already a heavy bike (at about 600lbs with half a tank) was carrying a further 600lbs in humans and luggage. About half a ton in total which I think is pretty impressive. The only slight casualty (apart from my foot and my girlfriend's luggage) was a rear tyre which exhibited a peculiar wear pattern. We had covered over 2000 miles with all the gear necessary for a couple of weeks comfortable camping on a bike costing just over a grand. Bloody good I reckon.

Of course, the bike does have its drawbacks, the main one being the size and weight. It is in the same class as the biggest Harleys, BMWs and Goldwings but the centre of gravity seems a lot higher. Those pussies who moan about the current Triumphs wouldn't stand a chance and it makes the CBR1000 and ZZR1100 feel like toys, albeit fast ones.

The brakes are a bit weak and the pads can fall out if they get low when combined with worn discs (the discs crack as well). The calipers, in common with most Jap stuff, seize and make the bike a real handful to push backwards out of the drive (carry a hammer) and the stands are both a bit dodgy - the bike has to be parked very carefully and preferably not in front of large crowds of people (I have been known to drop it in front of packed pubs, to my immense embarrassment). You can't really wheelie it, cornering is leisurely or dangerous, and posing around town is best forgotten, Let's be honest, the bike is pretty boring to look at and ride.

The thing is I needed the bike to get me to work and back. I also wanted to use it for touring. It has done both very well for the last nine months, returning up to 60mpg on a run; about 40mpg if thrashed. It hasn't let me down in over 8000 miles except for a misfire from a deteriorating lead and a leak from the fuel tap diaphragm. I got home both times and total repairs cost under a fiver.

The bike's also plenty quick enough. From a standing start at the bottom of a slip road you can hit one-twenty before joining the local dual carriageway. This is enough to embarrass sports four hundreds or bigger, and it has done so before.

It's not that much fun to ride but hasn't been added to my obituary list yet and proudly disproves three assumptions - that high mileages bikes, thrashed bikes and ex-DR hacks should be avoided. They can, in fact, be real bargains as long as they are maintained properly. In many cases despatchers look after bikes as well as enthusiasts - after all, their job depends on them. If the money's right don't be scared off; just be a bit careful. And if you buy a GTR watch that sidestand and be ready to run.

Mike Leahy

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The GTR wasn't my first choice of motorcycle, but a 50,000 miler turned up for £995. The grey paint was a bit faded but it was all there, including two large panniers. Despite its 1000cc four cylinder engine, it needed loads of throttle to shift. The handling was what you'd expect from close on 600lbs of metal and plastic, not helped along any by the worn out suspension.

It was the latter, rather than any incompetence on my part, that led to the first crash. I was rushing to get to work along a bumpy old A-road, thrusting the GTR into a gap between cars when the front end started to wobble. There was only a couple of inches clearance on each side of the fairing, the wild wobble battering us against a Ford Orion. In fact, the bike became wedged between the cars at about 40mph, doing a huge amount of damage to the cages and ripping the Kawasaki's plastic to shreds.

I narrowly avoided having my legs torn off but didn't actually fall off! When we all pulled over, the poor old cagers were in tears with all the damage done to their auto's and I just stood there saying sorry, sorry, and shaking like a malaria victim. I managed to tear off all the damaged plastic, continued on my journey at much reduced velocities. I'd had to lie about my name and address as I hadn't got around to insuring the beast.

An half naked GTR's one of the ugliest motorcycles on earth. Ped's stood aghast, gawped with open mouths and even occasionally shook their firsts at me. Okay, the odd bit of plastic spat off as I was wobbling along, lacerating them like some weapon out of a martial art's catalogue; but a boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do.

Two weeks later I'd tired of constant police chases and snapped up the various panels from the local breaker. Black instead of grey, so I had go over the cycle parts with some black paint to make it all match up. I'd also finally sorted out the insurance - at 45 not that horrendous for TPF&T.

The bike seemed to handle better without the plastic, though the cold October winds didn't go down very well. The GTR's swathe of plastic gives excellent protection, allowing me to wear lightweight gear even in the depths of winter. Unfortunately, it gave every impression of not going anywhere near a wind tunnel, being chucked all over the road when attacked by sidewinds and threatening to go out of control every time I tried to shove the speedo past the ton.

Of course, the Avons were well shagged, so I bunged on some slightly used Metz's from the breaker, who told me I was wasting my time and money - there was nothing that could be done to make GTR's handle. He was right, every time I went over the ton the thing went into a shaking fit, coming from both ends.

I didn't think Kawasaki had meant it to be so naff, went over the cycle parts. The steering stem seemed a touch loose, tightened it down. A brick dropping speed wobble at 80 resulted, the damn thing ran out of tarmac and attacked a hedge that ran along the side of the road. This time I came off, landed on my head in a bog! No damage done but you should have seen the state of my upper body - drenched in shit; a fetish's dream but my nightmare.

The GTR had destroyed a good 100 yards of ancient hedgerow, probably killed off a couple of plant species. A large crack ran down the side of one fairing, the paint was ruined and one mirror had been torn off. It turned out that the forks were slightly twisted - they may have gone in the previous shunt or even before I bought the bike.

Anyway, the steering was completely wrecked, barely controllable at 50mph! I got some curious glares from the ped's back in town, what with the front end snapping back and forth whilst I was encrusted in mud. When I took it all apart I found out the steering head bearings were pitted and oval shaped and full of rust. Not greased since new, I'd guess. I had the forks sorted by a specialist and knocked in new bearings.

That was a lot better, the bike a whole deal calmer, stable up to 120mph. Only hassle was that every time I went towards the redline the vibes came in awfully fierce; hands and feet shaking away. When I looked the engine over - I had to take the fairing off to repair it, right? - the valve clearances were miles out and the oil looked rather murky. Sorted that out but it still vibrated in a primeval way.

The easy way out was not to rev it hard, when it was acceptably smooth, but unless maximum revs were used it was as slow as a GT750. This is the GTR's biggest flaw - tourers are supposed to be laid back and relaxing but unless the Kawa's thrashed it doesn't get anywhere fast.

With the winter it wasn't so bad. I couldn't use max revs because the back tyre would skid off the road under that kind of power onslaught. A lot of the excessive mass was top heavy, so once it went it wouldn't be easy to pull back. I found this out the hard way on a patch of black ice. One moment I was basking in the protection of the plastic, thinking myself a clever chappie to be riding a bike like the GTR through the winter, the next moment we were going horizontal.

By then I'd become wise to the bike's inclinations, was wearing full leathers and body armour, so damage to my limbs was limited to a couple of bruises. The bike slid on its fairing, splitting where I'd repaired it and tearing a huge strip of plastic out.

Someone up there didn't like me, the hole in the fairing funnelled up a howling gale that froze me solid within minutes. I had no choice but to do some quick patching with GRP that night. Later, I went over the repair with very smooth GRP matting and a sander, made a half decent job of it.

The bike hustled through the winter and early spring months without any more incidents. The only depressing thing was the 30mpg lack of economy, no better than when I thrashed the engine into the vibro-massage zone. The other thing was that everything made out of metal corroded really badly. Ride a GTR every day through a winter and you'll turn it into a prime rat. It didn't want to clean up, either, I've seen more give on barnacles encrusted on wrecked ships.

In the first week of April I'd had enough. I was in one of those moods when you couldn't give a damn. When I hurtled past a car, staying on the right side of the road, I was suddenly confronted with a Transit coming straight at me. I refused to give way, flashed the thug with the lights, held my ground. For one awful moment I thought he was too removed from reality to admit my existence, but at the last instant he swerved into a gap on his side of the road. Too late, though, the GTR scraped along the side of the van at about 50mph. The fairing snagged, pulled the bike right around into the side of the car I'd just overtaken. Talk about taking it at both ends. I did a funny-walk off the bike and into the hard tarmac. 600lbs of GTR flew through air, impacted on the front of another cage. My head was mere millimetres away from being crushed by a car. Eventually, everything slowed down enough for me get upright. The GTR was beyond hope and the pile-up stretched back up the road...thank god for insurance!

P. Phillips