Kawasaki 400 Xanthus

When I saw this weird looking thing in the dealers, I thought that's interesting. The salesman descended on my transfixed form and rattled off some specs. Kawasaki watercooled four, 398cc, four valves per cylinder, 53 horses at 11500 revs and 370lbs dry. Most watercooled Kawasaki four are a terrible mess of plumbing and it was evident that the unique frame design went out of its way to hide all the junk; an effect ruined by the radiator's cowls but they were quickly detachable.

None of the lines of the engine were matched to those of the frame, probably why the latter was painted dark grey. The four into two exhaust had the twin silencers exiting on the same side and in a rare moment of design art for Kawasaki their angle actually matched that of the NR inspired rear seat cowl. I told the salesman that it obviously needed a bit of finishing but that didn't stop him from practically lifting me into the saddle.

The 30 inch seat height was no problem, the dials were neat with only 7000 miles up. The bars and pegs could've been straight off the old CB400 four, that is perfectly relaxing and naturally secure. The finish was perfect, not a spec of rust. The engine hummed into life, rustled with good feeling and whined lovingly when I gave the throttle a vicious jerk.

No test ride. A guarantee for three months that wasn't worth the paper it was written on. £3250 to you, sucker! I offered £2500 cash and was laughed at. I pulled out the envelope and fanned the fifties at him. Started to walk out with the salesman hopping alongside shouting ever lower figures. It didn't move me, I was as cool as ice; I only had two and a half grand to blow. Just as I was about to hit the street he agreed to the deal.

An hour later I was grinning evilly as I played tunes on the silencers and sweet six speed gearbox. The engine ran sublimely from tickover onwards, gathering real power at seven grand with another kick at ten which would take it to 13 thou before I chickened out. There seemed a lot more horses than a mere 53, so it may've been derestricted - 130mph came up on the motorway first try. Not bad for a naked bike with a baying cyclone trying to knock me off. At that kind of speed the wind noise was deafening, completely drowning out the engine and exhaust noise.

Coming home, the downpipes were splattered with oil where the filter had started to come undone. Potential suicide for the engine if not me. Out with the chain wrench, tighten up and hear the sound of metal tearing. Drip, drip, drip. Total panic as I wonder what I've done but it was okay, just a distorted and broken oil filter.

Panic began to set in again after calling the dealer to demand a replacement. His laughter seemed to echo in the room for a few minutes afterwards. I'd slammed the phone down in disgust when he mentioned something about waiting for six months. A fervent two hour's worth of phoning found a grey importer who nonchalantly averred that he had half a dozen in stock.

A few days later I was back on the road. The Xanthus had taut, short travel suspension that gave the chassis an exceptional feel for a Japanese four that was out of character with its sensible riding position, but nevertheless great fun. There are few fours this light and flickable, with just the right amount of power to make life interesting without getting the chassis all excitable.

The seat was contoured just right for my backside but the foam lacked resilience, becoming a pain in the ass after a couple of hours. Not that the three gallon petrol tank allowed a range that was excessive, about 120 miles before paranoia set in. Cruising speed was merely a case of selecting a velocity at which I could comfortably lean into the wind. 85 to 95mph seemed ideal, with that high rev flood of power ready to come to my aid if I needed to get the hell out of the way of some mad four wheeler.

The brakes I couldn't handle. Twin discs out front with twin pot calipers, they were gruesome devices. Given the gentlest caress of the brake lever, the forks twisted and the tyre screamed. The rear disc didn't help being just an on/off switch as far as I could discern. With a high revving four with tiny pistons, there was hardly any flywheel effect, slamming the throttle shut didn't much help the braking. You might expect that time would give me the reactions to make the brakes work progressively but I lucked out. My friend who actually raced bikes reckoned the front brake was a pile of dangerous crap, so maybe I wasn't a complete fool, after all.

By some quirk of the weight distribution it was dead easy to do stoppies. So simple that I almost cartwheeled the Kawasaki down the road a couple of times. I was pulled by the rozzers once and accused of riding in a highly dangerous manner outside the local school. I think he was pissed because he thought my younger sister was actually my woman. She's stunning enough to make me think seriously about incest! She came along, smiled at the cop - he kind of quivered and waved us away before he did something carnal that would lose him his job.

Two-up the Xanthus fair sailed along, the mass out back adding to the feel of security. There wasn't anything remotely resembling a grab-rail so she had to cling on to me, an intimacy aided by the way the seat sloped forward. In a tee-shirt with some well endowed frail on the back I needed serious adjustments to my jeans when we stopped. Pillions reported a high frequency vibration but it never intruded on my comfort, the motor remaining silky smooth even when thrashed mercilessly.

Life turned a bit terrifying in the wet. There was the minor irritant of a motor that cut out in the rain unless doused in good old WD40. Going down to three or two cylinders then coming back on stream had the back wheel hopping and sliding. This was a light bike with a forward weight bias. The same madness happened when I used the rear disc brake but that was preferable to having the front wheel lock up and the bike go crashing into the tarmac.

Wet weather braking was thus very dicey. I came off once when the usual drongo tried to do a sudden U-turn. I didn't hit him as the bike slid away when I braked harshly. In the dry or in the wet on a bike with more sensitive brakes I would have missed him easily. I had the minor consolation of watching him speed into an oncoming car, presumably as he was trying to make good his escape. The Xanthus had bent levers and broken indicators, both cars looked like they were write offs. Terrible, innit!

The indicators were common to other Kawasakis, easily replaced after a visit to my favourite breaker. The bent brake lever promptly snapped in half when I tried to straighten it. The breaker didn't have a replacement and doubted that it was common to any other model. He gave me something vaguely similar that I had to spend hours modifying with a file. Encouraged by my success I took the back caliper apart to clean it up and replaced the brake fluid. Slightly more progressive braking resulted. I tried the same trick with the front brake to no avail.

In six months I did 17000 miles! Despite the finicky brakes I couldn't keep off the thing. The balance between chassis and power was enticing, enchanting, enrapturing ....you get the general drift. Race replicas when they are good have the same kind of invincible feel, but also have rotten riding positions, an excess of largely useless plastic and high levels of discomfort. That just wasn't acceptable, the Xanthus had to do general commuting duties as well as provide loads of kicks. In many ways a bike for all seasons.

Or not. At 24000 miles the top end started to rattle and knock. Oh shit! To be honest, for a moment, I hadn't done any maintenance save for oil and filter changes. Most people with modern Jap fours do exactly the same. Dealer charges are absurd and it's too much effort to even change the spark plugs. After relating my experiences to some friends they suggested a back street merchant. Some friends.

I turned up to find him well into the chisel and hammer routine on the cylinder head nuts. Everything was seized up according to him, but by the look of him it was his brain that was corroded. After half an hour he had the cover off and we could see the worn lobes and loose cam bearings. Burnt exhaust valves were revealed when the head was lifted off.

I'm off to the breakers to see if ZXR400 bits will fit. It's real sad to see the Xanthus in such a state, purely down to my own wilful neglect rather than any inherent fault with the machine. If you find a nice 'un buy it!

Graham Winters

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Almost the first time out on the Xanthus, I fell off. Or rather a car popped out of a side road and whacked the back of the bike. This is a quick way to wake up of a morning. The first I knew of it was a huge bang and then being thrown down the road. Being a paranoid kind of soul, I was wearing full leathers and body armour (it wasn't my first accident).

Damage was thus mostly to my self esteem. The Kawasaki was heavily dented, its immaculate sheen ruined. As it had cost me £3000 for a nearly new 4000 miler I was enraged at the sacrilege. The cager hadn't even bothered to stop and the cops who turned up accused me of doing a wheelie that went wrong. Some old sod, who was probably still living out his war years, waved his walking stick at me and told them I was a dangerous hooligan. At least I was able to wave the valid insurance doc under their noses, which meant I got off with a warning.

The bike wobbled away like the wraparound frame was seriously damaged but it was just me shaking with suppressed rage and fear. Back home, I tidied it up as best I could but it never really regained the previous showroom sheen. The ultra short stroke (57x39mm), 398cc watercooled four cylinder engine was still a peach, mind. It loved revs but would happily stutter along at lower speeds, even holding 30mph in top gear without feeling like it was falling apart. It was dead easy to ride along at absurd speeds...

I couldn't believe it the next day when I fell off again. This time there were no cars around. Just turning out of a slow corner, the front wheel flipped away as I went to hit on the throttle for some much needed acceleration. Wham, bang, thank you mam. My helmet scraped along the tarmac, taking a huge hole out of the plastic. The Kawasaki did a matching scrape job on the other side. I was so enraged that I leapt up and booted the back tyre a couple of times. That'll teach the bastard.

The 375lbs of metal was relatively easy to pick up, just as it was fun to flick through the bends. At least until I began to think the bike was cursed or my days on a CG125 had taught me nothing. For the next week or so, I opted for riding like I had lead in my veins and my so-called friends quipped that I would've been better off on a C90!

Boredom soon dissipated the fear. One thing, riding slowly the bike was amazingly economical - 75 to 80mpg! Compared to 45 to 55mpg under more normal levels of abuse. I was soon revving the engine round to 15000, though the power runs out after twelve grand and the motor feels nicest at around 10,000rpm. Cruising speed was well over the ton - even though it's naked the riding position's so well laid out that I could brace against the oncoming gale in pretty decent comfort. Must've copied those old BMW's. Incidentally, the bike might look odd but it's very comfy from the saddle.

After a month without any accidents I thought I had a handle on the blade, but, no, I was due for another tarmac bashing. This time it was a high speed get-off when the front tyre blew. Incredibly frightening, the front wheel dug in on itself and over the bars, down the road, went poor old I. Nearly snapped my head off and broke my ankle. A large amount of motorcycle debris was left embedded in the tarmac but the frame, forks and wheels were left unscathed.

The tyres were down to the carcass (with a mere 7000 miles on the clock), so it was really my own fault for riding a bike in a potentially lethal state. A nice new pair of Pirelli's were forced on to the rims, various broken bits of motorcycle repaired and my own increasingly large fears overcome. Luckily, it was the brake foot that was injured, so it wasn't too difficult to ride the Xanthus in plaster.

The triple discs were fierce stoppers, didn't need much muscle to squeal the tyres yet were sensitive in the wet. As nice a combination of qualities as you're likely to come across and the pads haven't worn out with nearly 13000 miles up. The front calipers have, of late, become a bit squeaky, probably down to hustling through the last winter.

Which also did for the finish. Where the paint had been scratched rust soon formed and spread under the good paint as well. Large scabs of rust broke through, making the bike look like a total rat. I had no choice but to pay for the tank to be resprayed. Similarly, alloy rot broke out where the lacquer had been breached, but here a little art with the Solvol soon sorted it out. Needed often enough to cause repetitive strain injuries to my hands!

The final indignity was when one of the exhaust cans fell off. This makes a hell of a racket, also causes the engine to have a fit of the stutters. I tried welding it back on but ended up with large holes in the exhaust system. Not cool. One of the downsides of grey imports is that aftermarket equipment ain't readily available, though the motor's similarity to the ZXR400 gave me some hope in the breakers. It didn't work out quite like that, ended up with some Motad cans that worked just fine.

Engine-wise it was just a question of adding oil every 2500 miles and checking the valves over, but they never needed any attention. The carbs stayed resolutely in balance. The only time the bike caught me out was when starting became difficult, down to the spark plugs needing to be replaced at 8500 miles. Something worth bearing in mind if you find one that's running poorly. No idea what kind of mileage you can expect out of these motors but Kawasaki are pretty good with their modern watercooled designs, so I'm hoping for the best!

The chassis is ultra strong, taut and great fun to ear-hole, and I can't really blame it for the accidents, except maybe the second one when the tyre flipped away without warning. The new rubber makes it feel a lot more secure and I'm quite happy to ride it in maximum abuse mode. That gives strong acceleration and a top speed of around 120mph.

Much to my annoyance, a GPZ500S can burn it off, though the smaller bike has better handling and stability in the curves. As the UMG has complained many times before, if Kawasaki can make a 375lb 400cc four surely they can make a 300lb 500 or even 600cc twin? That would make bikes like the Xanthus obsolete overnight, as it is they sell on their looks, adequate performance and reasonable running costs.

Prices start at two grand for the older, higher mileage ones and go up to as much as four grand for the seriously nice stuff in the more money grabbing dealers. I paid three thousand notes for mine and don't think they can justify any more than that - you may as well buy a new GPZ500S or 600 Bandit than pay a higher price for one. They are good but not that good.

Tom Renoylds

 

Kawasaki ZXR400

I actually found the ZXR400 quite comfortable for short distances, but then my previous bike had been a RD125LC converted to cafe racer spec with clip-ons that felt like they were down by the wheel spindle and a home-made seat that had sharp edges in all the wrong places. The RD had turned out brilliant in the end, some blind cretin knocking me off and having to pay thousands in compensation for breaking my leg. After I handed over £4000 for a 1500 mile repossessed ZXR instead of a nice little car everyone in my family thought I was brain damaged. The Kawasaki has the kind of riding position that’s a head-banger’s delight but those coming from straight commuters will find it painful after a few miles of town riding.

The ZXR looked the business, with flash graphics, upside-down forks, a twin headlamp fairing and enough style to turn the heads of even the most cynical motorcycle hacks. Even more importantly, it boasted a mere 360lbs of mass despite hosting the usual watercooled four cylinder engine, which put out a surprising 65 horses albeit with a laughable 27ftlb of torque. The route to such statistics was the usual combination of DOHCs, sixteen valves and ultra tough engineering.

As might be imagined, that all added up to the need to rev the balls off the engine to get anywhere near its 135mph top speed. The six speed gearbox proved rather truculent until over 5000 miles were on the clock, with a penchant for throwing the engine into a false neutral and deep into the red zone. The sixteen valve engine sounded a bit busy under such abuse but proved unburstable. One look at the very complex plumbing made me shudder at the prospect of doing an engine strip.

As mileage increased, the gearbox became more precise until my only complaint was a bit of transmission lurch at low revs in any gear above fourth. Come 12500 miles, though, the chain was so worn that the gearchange became poor once again and the transmission lurch much amplified. The poor drive chain life was down to the way I insisted on taking off on the back wheel as often as possible (I had to keep up with my mates in impressing gullible young ladies).

The very lightness of the ZXR made it feel quite frightening when the front wheel was reaching for the sky, the slightest amount of body movement sending the Kawasaki shooting off from the desired path. It was dead easy to muck up the wheelie, come down at an angle and fall off. That same lack of mass allowed it to be chucked through the bends like a 250 stroker replica but came back to haunt the bike when the surface turned rough.

The rear shock was particularly stiff, allowing the back wheel to be thrown around by the bumps. The front was a bit more compliant but would still bounce the bars around on fast exits. Backing off the throttle under such circumstances sent a shudder through the chassis. Despite all the twittering, the wrap-around frame and hefty swinging arm kept the bike more or less on line. Given the way the ZXR palpitated whenever it hit a large bump, even when everything was turned to its softest setting, my spine would end up beaten and battered after an hour or so of back road hooliganism. It was difficult to walk straight. Fuel averaged 40 to 45mpg under such wild abuse.

Motorway cruising, nose in the clocks, was sustainable at up to 120mph, with a bit of cog swapping when the incline became steep or the headwind particularly strong. Winds could catch the front of the fairing, causing it to bounce about a bit; as could hitting the slipstream of a bus or artic. Strong sidewinds would try to sweep the Kawasaki right off the road, the answer leaning the ZXR into the wind and trying to put on as much speed as possible. Protection from the fairing was reasonable even in heavy rain, although the screen really needed to be a couple of inches higher.

As the tank often went on to reserve after a mere 120 miles, comfort was tolerable between fuel stops as long as the speedo was kept on the indiscreet side of 90mph, when the race replica riding position made very serious sense. Stability on motorways, in calm conditions was excellent. High speed cruising gave 35 to 40mpg but cruising at a constant 70mph returned more than 50mpg (something I found out when I had to eke out the last couple of litres in the petrol tank).

Part of the fun of riding the Kawasaki was to use its light mass and high rev fluidity to employ cut and thrust techniques that had the three disc brakes burning rubber and turning red hot (although they didn't actually fade). The front discs were particularly powerful, often sending the ZXR into cartwheel mode, with the back wheel off the ground, the whole chassis shuddering as if the end was nigh. The rear disc could lock the back wheel with ease, but wasn’t so insensitive that it would do it unless it was really required. Combined use of the brakes would lose speed like little else, as they seemed built for a fully fledged 750 rather than a flyweight 400.

Braking late into bends was possible as long as the road was smooth, bumps tending to push the front wheel out as it pattered under the conflicting forces of braking and absorbing bumps. I wasn't that surprised when after 6000 miles of hard charging I needed both a new set of tyres and brake pads.

That gave me the opportunity to dump the OE rubber in favour of some Metz's. The latter were even more short-lived (about 4500 miles) but much more predictable when worn and used in the wet. The only thing to watch out for with the tyres was that they needed a few miles to warm up before they gripped properly, doubtless a result of the bike's lack of mass.

The ZXR didn't impress on wet roads, when throttle abuse had to be restrained in favour of stopping the back wheel jerking off. Whilst the engine would rumble away at low revs in fourth or fifth, the resulting acceleration was only likely to impress an Honda Lead owner. No, at least 6000 revs, preferably much more, were needed before the engine showed any signs of serious life. The front brake worked in the wet but gave the ZXR an edgy feel as I wasn't quite sure when its excessive power was going to take hold. Constrained riding turned in about 50mpg.

A sure sign that the carbs needed doing was fuel consumption falling off. Although I never had to touch the valves, and the only other chore was doing an oil/filter change, the carbs never stayed in balance for more than 1500 miles, quite often needing attention after as little as 1000 miles. A mate with a set of vacuum gauges and passive temperament did them for a tenner a time. The couple of times he checked the valves they were still within their tolerances, so it only gets done every 10,000 miles.

Another hassle occurred after a long motorway blast when the silencer bracket fractured. The first I knew about this was loud explosive noises, the silencer hanging on to the downpipe by a minimal amount of metal. After suffering third degree burns I managed to wire it back on. Heading home cautiously, the carburation useless above 5000 revs, some interesting backfires through the exhaust enlivened the route. Apart from the occasional tremor in the bars and pegs vibes had never been much of a bugbear but secondary pulses evidently attacked the chassis.

With 16,700 miles done, the ZXR has retained most of its finish, only spoilt by a little crazing around the plastic's mounting holes and some rust around the engine fasteners (only seen when the plastic is removed). The fairing comes off easily enough but is a pain to put back on without cracking any of the plastic.

Performance seems just as lively as when I bought the bike, top speed runs still putting 135mph on the clock. The only guy I ever came across with a ZXR400 had done 25000 miles in eight months and had a camchain that rattled like a machine gun. He put this down to only changing the engine oil once. It didn't seem to hurt the motor any, he hurtled up the road so rapidly I almost strained my left foot keeping up. Its moments like that which reveal what the ZXR's all about - Fun!

Mike Eddington

Kawasaki ZXR750

How could a 1991 bike look so far gone? The mean green paint was worn through on the side-panels and the back of the tank. The alloy was mottled with corrosion, the fairing was missing a mounting bolt and the engine ran half-heartedly below 2500rpm. The owner reckoned that it was because he had degutted the silencer, which judging by the racket was marginal when it came out of the accessory store. 32,000 miles and wired in bolts suggested it'd had a severe year and half of abuse.

Normally, I would have walked away from the heap, happy enough to have had a brief test ride for free and with tales of malaise and poor build quality with which to regale my mates as we drowned our sorrows in the night. What stopped this sensible course of action was lust for a race replica, almost any model would've done, and the desperation with which the owner was trying to off-load the ZXR. Insurance rate hikes had made 750s very hard to sell.

After listing a large number of bits that would have to be replaced, worries over the state of the engine and that with the recession money was hard to come by, etc, etc, £1850 changed hands. Put me in such a good mood that I tried to pull a wheelie as I left his house. The whole bike lurched, first jumped out of gear and the tacho needle went through the red so fast I thought the clocks were going to leap out with the vibes.

I crunched up to second, left there as fast as I could. I was soon in the midst of heavy traffic, trying to get some speed up to take the weight off my wrists from the wretchedly low clip-ons. I'm not particularly tall, the stretch over the tank left my bum up in the air and my groin taking a battering from the tank every time I hit the twin front discs. Very powerful they were, too, but they only gave any feedback when used from above 60mph.

It might be a bit strange to buy a race replica to ride upon eight miles a day to work, but I loved their racer looks and had visions of emulating my race track heroes. It only took a couple of days for me to realise my mistake, at least in the case of the ZXR.....its riding position was absolutely horrible for anything other than fast riding. Even the large fairing didn't help in the rain, the water came streaming off the screen and landed in my lap.

I was so pissed that after the first couple of weeks I put an advert in MCN, but no-one phoned up, so I was stuck with the ZXR. The noise the exhaust made was the kind of demented howl that sent normally respectable citizens into a rage, although I thought it a good safety factor in town as even if they claimed not to see me there was no way they wouldn't hear the howl.

For really slow riding it was better to leap off the bike and push it. The lurching transmission, misfiring engine and painful riding position made any attempt at sustaining speeds up to 20mph a complete waste of time and energy. It used to get me so mad that I'd hit the horn, ride like a lunatic through gaps that were barely wide enough for the handlebars. I had to squeal the front tyres several times to avoid whacking some cager.

I soon decided that I'd better put the Kawasaki to some proper use. A motorway blast up to Brum would clear out some of the aggression that was building up in my body. It was a nice enough day, a bit blustery but the sun was shining and there weren't any reports of traffic jams on the radio.

The ZXR knocks out over 100hp, has a pretty aerodynamic fairing (as long as you get down on the tank) but is a bit on the porky side. I wasn't that surprised by acceleration that was only on a par with one of the 600s but a bit disappointed when it refused to do more than 135mph. In its favour, stability was excellent and tucking down behind the fairing there was hardly any wind buffeting.

The bike was happy cruising at 90 to 100mph, although on the long, fast curves there was an unnerving tendency to run a bit wide. Hanging off the ZXR helped. It was probably just the tyres being more worn than new. Streaming past the bigger lorries I was a bit disconcerted by the way the front end shook around when it hit the slipstream. Putting as much of my weight as possible over the front forks helped.

Even at insane motorway speeds my wrists still hurt like hell, although the seat was relatively comfortable, perhaps because most of my weight was thrown forward.

When I rolled up in Birmingham I got lost on the ring roads, then had to lose a cop car as I sped past them at 75mph. For once I didn't notice the pain of the riding position. That only came back in the traffic jams. I was so tired by then that I tried to wrench the ZXR through a tiny gap. The steering lock was so minimal that we tottered over on to a conveniently placed Volvo. The owner had a head so like a wolf that I thought I was hallucinating. I pulled the bike back upright and took off along the pavement like there was a wild beast on my tail.

I decided to head back to London down some more minor roads. I'd already annoyed one set of plod so thought it better not to repeat the experience by using the motorway.

The ZXR's suspension had always been a bit rigid but I'd expected that in town on a race replica and it wasn't much of a problem on the motorway. The rear shock was so hard that on bumpy roads the back wheel felt like it was going to leap into the nearest hedgerow. The further I banked over the more dangerous it felt. It was better going into corners slowly and accelerating hard out, save that the bars would shake once or twice in my hands. This was worrying at first but it never developed into a speed wobble, so I soon learnt to ignore it. I've owned much worse.

The wraparound frame was undoubtedly strong, and once I became used to all the rattling I was able to push on at a reasonable pace. So enjoyable did I find the riding, that it was only when I tried to climb off the bike that I realised my spine had been battered by the bumps to the extent that I could not stand upright for a while. I feared that extended exposure to long distance travel would leave me hunch-backed, deaf and bald. The latter from the worry about whether the tired engine was going to last and the cost of consumables.

It had only taken 1500 miles to finish off the tyres. The chain was so slack it was taking chunks out of the chainguard and the rear disc had been gummed up for a long time. The engine's need to misfire was extending up the midrange, threatening at any moment to make the motor impossible to use below 6000 revs. Balancing the carbs and giving the dealer a bit of dosh for nearly new Jap tyres and a worn chain, sorted most of the immediate problems.

After about a month my wrists had adapted to the pressure on them, would resist 10 miles of commuting before the pain returned. The next long journey was down to a camping site in St Ives. A piece of cake, I told my mates.

The only problem was that I nearly rode into the front a camper van. I was overtaking a long line of caravans, only to find that the fuel had run out. The ZXR has the fuel tap so awkwardly hidden between the side-panel and frame that the only way to safely hit reserve was to pull off the road! With a stuttering engine and a fast approaching van this wasn't a viable option. Only by some desperate grovelling around did I get the fuel back on in time to throw the ZXR in front of a car on my side of the road. The riding position after a few hundred miles of hustling was so bad that once I'd got to my destination I didn't touch the bike for two days.

The return journey was even more fun. Wild crosswinds played havoc with the stability, the fairing seemed to shake on its mountings and the steering head appeared to turn to jelly. I was down to 60mph for most of the time, though I was tempted by the thought that 120mph might've improved things. The gearbox also started slipping out of gear as I neared London, the temperature gauge was in the red and some vibes were rumbling through the chassis. By the time I got home the engine felt like it was running on three cylinders.

I had a day free before work, spent it tearing off the plastic and tank. With the cylinder head cover off I discovered the reason for the poor running - two of the exhaust cams had large chunks missing. With the engine out I found that one of the selectors was bent. It took two weeks to track down good used items. The engine rebuild was relatively straightforward. Putting it all back together, the plastic cracked in several places, one side-panel and the left fairing were able to flap around. I riveted on some alloy sheet to add some stiffening.

It didn't add to the bike's appearance, which was rapidly becoming as ratty as some twenty year old hack. Corrosion appeared on the alloy so fast that I soon gave up trying to keep it clean and the paint was in desperate need of a respray.

I was more than relieved when some local hoodlum decided it was just what he needed. He would only give me £1750 for it, but I could live with that easier than I could continue to battle the ZXR. Mine was undoubtedly a hard used, well thrashed example. If you can take the riding position and harsh suspension then a low mileage one might just be a good buy.

Harry Johnson

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Nearly 50,000 miles on a late '89 Kawasaki ZXR750. It all started in '91 with a nice bike that had only done 5000 miles. The owner had to sell because he could no longer afford insurance. At that time Kawasaki had introduced a new model that was a lot slower, so there was a great demand for this one and I was lucky to buy it at a reasonable price.

The most immediate problem with the ZXR is its riding position. Now, that's pretty obvious to anyone who casts a quick glance at the bike so I shouldn't be complaining, should I? I don't believe that the seat needed to be quite so hard nor the bars so low. The early months were pretty nasty, to be honest, and I often thought about selling the bike.

Not even the tremendous acceleration could distract me from the discomfort. My neck was in agony, my wrists swelled and my backside went numb. My back began to go, as well, quite horrendous pains shooting up my spine. The ever helpful doctor told me to sell the motorcycle. This poor impression of the bike wasn't helped by the fact that I was using it for the commuting duties, not having time to get out of town for the first two months.

The human body is a wonderful instrument and after six months of suffering, various muscles had toughened up and the pains went away. Either that or my body had rearranged itself into a more resilient posture. One thing to assiduously avoid was bumpy country roads because the combination of sparse seat and taut rear shock gave my back a real battering. The ZXR series was infamous for crap rear suspension but on reasonable roads it's tolerable.

With lots of midrange grunt and another surge of power where, on any sane account, you'd expect it to start diminishing, a taut chassis is necessary to stop it wobbling all over the road. With the low, narrow bars it's not the kind of bike that will flick from side to side on the slightest whim, but it can be banked right over, apparently destroying the laws of physics, and the front end is much more assured than the back, despite lacking the later bike's upside-down forks.

The forks proved less entertaining with about 15000 miles on the clock when the seals blew. Talk about acting up like a recalcitrant carthorse! I couldn't cope with the steering above 80mph and any bumps threw the ZXR around more like a rat moped than 460lbs of advanced motorcycle. The dealer reckoned the seals were a weak point and was quite happy to sell me a set of gaiters. I don't know if he was taking the piss or not but I didn't have any more problems from the forks.

The handling could also be upset by the tyres. Wear wasn't as ferocious as I'd expected, the original Japlops lasted for 12000 miles! By the time they were down to 1mm, the bike became incredibly sensitive to road imperfections and lacked directional accuracy. It was a wide old bugger to begin with and leaving an extra few inches to spare through gaps meant town work could turn incredibly slow.

A set of Michelin Hi-Sports were fitted. They had a little more grip than the Dunlops but only lasted for about 8000 miles. I went back to the OE tyres as they lasted longer and were available cheaply. They did discourage me from riding above 130mph when they allowed a weave that the Michelins had removed, but to my mind that was a jolly good thing because it saved my licence!

The engine wasn't entirely smooth at such excessive speeds, even at 70mph there was quite of lot of mild secondary buzzing. The fairing took the brunt of it, rattling around like there were a couple of mounting bolts missing. With 20,000 miles done the plastic began to crack up around the mounting holes. This happened halfway through my holiday and there was no easy way to fix it.

Approaching home one of the brackets broke, the fairing threatening to blow off in the 100mph gale! I lost speed fast and did a temporary repair to the fairing with bungee cords. I reached home in one piece but almost had a coronary when the dealer told me how much a new fairing would cost. GRP was used to repair the plastic but it needed continuous patching up for the rest of the time I owned the ZXR!

The fairing was not the only thing affected by the vibration. It didn't really bother me but caused the exhaust system to crack up. Part of that was down to rust, which started to eat into the exhaust after about two and a half years. I managed to buy a race pipe for fifty quid, which gave a marvellous bellow but left the mill choked above 8000 revs. One ZXR owner reckoned I'd burn out the valves if I didn't upgrade the carbs. I approached a dealer who reckoned eighty quid would fix it. £150 later I had the bike back with bigger jets and a degutted airfilter box.

The midrange was as good as before, the top end stronger. Top speed was 160mph instead of 150mph but I tended to use it in the lower gears for fantastic acceleration instead of excessive speeds. The noise the 4-1 exhaust made was exquisite, even the odd pedestrian gave me the thumbs up!

That wasn't the only time I was ripped off by a dealer. Another reckoned he'd do a full service for £175 but wouldn't let me have the bike back unless I gave him £250, muttering about new spark plugs and shims. Worse still, he'd cracked the fairing around one of the mounting holes! There is a lot of junk to removed before the valves are accessed, although carb balancing is reasonably easy. I've left the sixteen valves for 20,000 miles without any hassles!

I wasn't so happy with the gearbox and final drive. Transmission slop, especially at low revs, seems endemic to watercooled Kawasakis. A poor design of cush-drive does not help matters. I've replaced the rubbers twice! Once slop got into the transmission the gearchange became quite malign even under hard acceleration.

With 40,000 miles on the clock it started leaping out of second and third gears, making fast acceleration difficult. Secondhand selectors solved that. Chains lasted for a minimum of 5000 miles, twice that if it was expensive and I could take the venomous gearbox for the final few thousand miles. At the current mileage the gearchange is bad enough to annoy friends who borrow the bike for the first time, but I'm pretty used to it.

The brakes were always good. Powerful twin discs up front and a rear disc that was quite sensitive. The best thing about them was that they could take winter weather without seizing up the calipers. A gentle hand on the throttle was needed to stop wild slides, though. The brakes were as surprising as the rear linkages that similarly required no attention! The rear shock was so stiff to begin with that age and mileage only had a minimal affect on tautness. It's possible to fit a Ohlins shock and different linkage set-up but that is an expense I couldn't justify.

As race replicas go, the ZXR wasn't that expensive to run. A reasonable right wrist could turn in 50mpg, as much as 55mpg, but it was also possible to go down to a stroker-like 30mpg if all the acceleration was used. Tyres and chains are no worse than some 250s. Servicing is expensive if you go to a dealer but valves can be ignored for most of the time.

Insurance is the real downer if you're under 65 (few OAP's will be able to take the riding position). Build quality is variable - brilliant engine and brakes, crap plastic and dubious electrics (my fuse holder corroded through). Overall, though, it's fast and fun, still looks flash now I've resprayed it and has even retained its value.

K.M.

 

Kawasaki ZXR250

The most exciting moment of my life came when I was given the keys to the ZXR250R. After eighteen months on a drone (aka CG125) I was suddenly in the fast lane. Thanks to one of Bristol's grey importers, a bank loan and a heart full of lust. I'd told my parents, with whom I still lived, that it was only a 250 and thus only slightly larger and more powerful than the CG. I could just see them dropping a load when they spied the lime green monster. If you took the transfers off it could pass for a 900!

A state of the art (in 1992) 249cc watercooled DOHC four in the usual wraparound chassis, with flash plastic and sexy black air-hoses sitting up in the air. 45 horses at 16000 revs, 310lbs, six gears and triple discs. I couldn't get enough of the machine even before I turned the ignition on. The cold motor rattled away beneath the plastic but after a few minutes it quietened down as the tolerances tightened up. I merrily blipped away on the throttle, enjoying the aural assault from the fruity four into one exhaust.

My jaw dropped with disappointment after I'd clunked into first and let the clutch out. The motor whirred away but seemed to be fighting through treacle. I looked at the clock again to check that it said 12000 kilometres! Then I remembered that the power peaked at sixteen grand. Give it some stick. At revs that would've blown the CG into a million separate pieces, the power finally flowed in and the ZXR fair flew up the road as I grappled with the crunchy gearbox to keep up with the revs.

I was so far gone, so revelling in the acceleration, power and handling, that it took a little while to work out that doing 90mph along the ring road wasn't conducive to a long licence life. I backed off in fourth, causing a lot of banging in the silencer and the bars flapped from lock to lock for a couple of moments before steadying. I'd been relieved to find that the front wheel was a seventeen incher, didn't expect such twitchiness.

Arriving at my house, quite a crowd gathered to view the new machine. They were rather impressed that it'd only cost £1750. My mother had a fit of hysterics, absolutely convinced that I was going to kill myself! The old man grunted, and walked off in disgust as he was hoping I'd take over his cage. I knew they'd soon get over it, especially when I pointed out that motorcycling was better than becoming a hoodlum like the lad next door.

The next few days were incredible fun as I came to grips with the machine. The front end was a bit loose, the upside-down forks lacking in their springing even with a mere nine stone jockey abroad. The rear, conversely, appeared a bit too hard. With its lack of mass, rough country roads had the bike shuffling around under me but if you've ever spent time with a CG you're use to that kind of stuff.

It was the acceleration, between 10,000 and 17,500 revs, that got to me, though, the eerie wail out of the exhaust and fast approaching horizon getting me high every time. The bike had an indicated top end of 130mph, but the speedo was probably optimistic - 120mph in real life? Because it was so light, though, it could be chucked through the bends without too much worry.

It was just as well that the brakes were so good. Partly because there was so little mass to fight. They howled both tyres. Many times I hurtled up to bends far too fast, had to shave the speed off pronto. Going into bends with the front end resembling a pogo-stick didn't unnerve the chassis, encouraging me to leave the braking later and later. I don't know how they did it, but Kawasaki managed to instill a large amount of safety into the ZXR's chassis. I had a few big wobbles and near misses that would've blown my parents' minds but by the time I got back home I just disconcerted them with a huge grin!

I played around with the rear suspension's settings via its remote reservoir but all that seemed to do was make the shock harder and harsher. I ended up on the settings the bike came with. A little less pressure in the rear and more in the front tyres made the bike a bit more compliant - a trick I'd played on the CG125. All it costs is a bit of effort on the foot-pump.

Given its lack of capacity, I was always surprised by the way it would charge forwards from the ton up to 120mph (on the clock). It's relatively narrow, the fairing svelte and fitted with ram-air tuning which obviously gave the bike a boost at high velocities. It felt happy cruising at 110mph, or so, when the fairing shoved most of the air over my contorted body and made some sense of the riding position which could be quite uncomfortable in town and at lower speeds.

Not that the bike was an ideal tourer, the minimal pad masquerading as a seat made sure of that. Ouch! One of my fatter friends couldn't even persuade his body on to the saddle. In its favour, the 29 inch seat height and narrow tank made it easy for someone short of leg (like me!) to get his feet firmly on the ground, and deeply seated in the bike it was instinctively right to become part of the machine. I'm on the small and light side, if not quite of Jap proportions, so the bike suited me fine - larger riders won't be at all happy. I never really adapted to the minimal seat, though, 50 miles in one sitting more than enough.

I'd been spoilt by the CG's 90-110mpg, of course, but was pleasantly surprised to find the ZXR doing 70-75mpg, despite the incredible revs employed. The tyres - new Michelins - were another matter, less than 4000 miles had them out of the game and the handling all twitchy. The chain never needed any attention - those ultra smooth power pulses - and the pads still had plenty of life left after 5000 miles. I fitted some harder Taiwanese tyres, which the guy reckoned would last at least 15000 miles, and they actually made the bike more stable, though I'm not yet sure about them on wet roads!

Now that I'm an old hand on the ZXR, I still get a tremendous kick out of winding the motor up to maximum revs and flying along the back roads at highly illegal velocities. My wish-list isn't that long - a decent saddle and better suspension would sort it out completely. But? I've had a few rides on a CBR400 and that's the bike I want next - it's an incredibly exciting motorcycle to ride and makes the ZXR feel like, well, a CG125! If I'd gone for the Honda straight off, though, I would probably have killed myself. A bike like the ZXR seems an ideal next step after a learner, but, these days, you're stuck with some 33hp abortion - some of the importers are restricting the 250's but I don't think they will have the same panache as the 45hp version.

Terry Harrington

Triumph 1200 Trophy

I like big bikes. Always have, always will. There were lots of Triumph fours on offer. Within a week of looking I'd found an ideal bike. A 1992 1200 Trophy, then two years old and looking as bold as brass. 8000 miles in the hands of a singular mature owner. For some reason, he flexed his muscles at me when we started talking money. It didn't put me off and I walked away with the Triumph for 4000 notes. Rough ones, whose finish has gone off, can be found for less than £3500. Great bargains, as except for a few oil leaks and graunchy gearbox they are tough old things.

In reality, no-one would walk a big Triumph more than a few inches. It's a stout bugger with the kind of top heaviness that scares the shit out of anyone, like myself, who weighs under ten stones. Feels like once it get a few degrees off the vertical it's going to hit the deck in micro-seconds. Luckily, I have long legs with which to fight for support and a pair of decent boots to stop my ankles snapping under the stress. With a seat height of under 31 inches it ain't as excessive as it feels. The Trophy's the kind of bike where every little bit of edge helps.

This isn't immediately apparent when ridden between 10 and 100mph. Then it's a big relaxed four cylinder plot (do I need to mention watercooling, 16 valves, DOHC's, etc?) that needs surprisingly little effort to control. The bars suited my body perfectly and gave good leverage under moderate going. The engine's torque peaks at a mere 5000 revs (nearly 80lbft's worth - yum, yum) whilst over a 100 horses come out at 9000 revs. That all adds up to putting the bike in any of the six gears and just whacking open the throttle to go. Go fast enough to strain arms and distort vision.

The gearbox wasn't the slickest I'd ever come across, though better than some big Hondas. The breath of torque and power would've allowed a four speed box rather than five or six - it's typical that the marketing people haven't caught up with the engineering yet and that we are still burdened with excessive gears. Triumph should know better.

The trouble with the Triumph's box was that during fast downchanges it'd lock up for a while. Until I went wild with my left boot and throttle hand. There was some wear in the gearchange linkage, so expect new bikes to behave better. It was also dead easy to become completely lost as to where I was in the ratios. Slow and steady changes, as if aboard a vintage horror, worked best. The spread and momentum of the power meant there was no discernible effect on forward motion. These gearchange joys could be put down as part of the great British character. Old Triumph twins were full of that, needing someone to run behind picking up the parts that vibes had made fall off.

Neither were the ratios perfectly matched to road use, sixth being a bit tall for my taste. I usually got her into fifth as soon as possible. Left the motor there except when speed went below 40mph. Then a certain wantonness in the transmission disturbed my peace of mind, if not the Triumph's transmission components - maybe there was some wear in the cush-drive. Felt just like the chain was dragging on the ground. In fact, the massive OE O-ring chain didn't need much attention. As usual, the back end was plastered in chain lube. Ugh, not good enough on what's supposed to be a quality grand tourer. Full chain enclosure, just like MZ, would've made all the difference. Shaft drive would've made an already heavy bike way over the top.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not some doddery old fool yearning for the days when Velocettes and Vincents ruled the roads. Far from it. As soon as I was used to the Trophy, and sure it wasn't going to fall apart under me, I hit the open road with serious throttle violence in mind. The first bit of deserted, early, morning motorway revealed that top speed was a life threatening 160mph! That was hard work to achieve, though it went up to an easy 140mph without too much effort. That final 20mph required me to get my head down and my left foot doing an unlikely shuffle with the throttle held relentlessly to the stop.

160mph! That's a scintillating speed but not one the Trophy seemed to like. A lot of wallowing from the single shock back end made me pull into the first services. I turned the preload and damping up from the lowest to highest setting. A much firmer ride but still a bit of weaving above 140mph. Also, the plastic fairing tried to flap around, traced to a loose fastener. I had one hand hovering over the clutch just in case the engine seized. The other caressed the brake lever in case a patrol car or cage appeared from nowhere. The stunning front discs were reassuring in both their feel and power.

Any kind of curve, when riding at ten-tenths, was hard work. High speed motorway curves were easier going than country lane hairpins, even though the back end was shuffling around on both. The harder I pushed the chassis, strangely, the more secure I felt. I knew there was a hell of a lot of mass waiting to let loose but it never came close. The bike was as predictable as an English Christmas day.

Some bikes begin to fall apart when loaded up and dragged through 500 mile days. Not the Trophy. With an unlikely sized lass on the pillion, massive tankbag, outsize panniers and camping gear tied down on the rack, the Triumph shrugged off the excess mass and just rock and rolled along as normal. Doing a 1000 miles in a day strained my backside and eyes (the screen funnels up a fury of wind at speed) but the motor just ticked away as if it'd just been started. The only signs of wear were a slight smear of oil running out of the head gasket and a spark plug that went.

That caused a lot of misfiring, lurching back and forth between being a triple and a four. I kept going, not wanting to strip off the petrol tank in the middle of nowhere just to replace a spark plug, not that I had one on me, anyway. I replaced a full set as I wasn't sure which one was cutting out. As that was at 14000 miles it was about time they were done!

The four cylinder motor turned out to be exceptionally tough. In a year I did over 30,000 miles, putting nearly 40 thou on the clock. All the engine received by way of tender loving care was regular oil/filter changes. The mere thought of trying to adjust 16 valves left me perspiring with dread, these are ultra complex motors in the best tradition of Japanese engineering. Amazingly, the four carbs were never touched, the engine ticking over perfectly with no increase in vibes (a sure sign of carbs out of balance) nor increase in fuel consumption.

The four cylinder motor goes to the extreme of fitting a balancer to eliminate secondary vibration. Modern technology in Japanese engines, these days, does this by using pistons and con-rods of such minimal mass that the secondary vibes never have a chance to reach a crescendo. The Triumph's design ain't quite up to the latest developments, preferring to err on the side of caution, using heftier components for longer life (though that doesn't necessarily work with reciprocating parts). Anyway, the balancer works well, leaving my hands and feet free of tingles even after extravagant mileages. The pains just come from the weariness of the human body rather than any fault of the machine, although a rather squat friend reckoned it was a piece of effluence after only 50 miles. Test ride to see if it suits you.

So the Trophy's a brilliant tourer and consumer of high miles? Well, not quite, for there's the minor matter of the way it tears through rubber in 3000 to 4000 miles. The last thing I wanted to do was ride such a massive and powerful behemoth on worn out tyres. The handling, especially in the wet, becomes as diabolical as a Doberman let loose in a kindergarten. That's to say, it's all over the place, skidding with a vengeance towards self oblivion if the otherwise excellent disc brakes are used in anger. Like riding on ice after taking a dose of acid.

I was forced to do it a couple of times when I ran out of money on the continent. Poor foreigners, they just didn't know what had hit them, a speeding projectile going out of control. Don't know how I avoided causing pile-ups. Even more mortifying, on bald tyres below 40mph the steering went so heavy I was left sweating and swearing, just off exploding into total throttle craziness.

It's not just the expense, though that's bad enough, added as it is to fuel at 35 to 40mpg. It's the inconvenience of rushing around like a lunatic trying to find a shop that sells and fits tyres at a reasonable price. If I'm going solo for a week or more I often strap a down a pair of tyres on the seat, but I have to find a tyre shop to fit them as modern tyres are impossible to fit by mere human hand. This problem's common to any number of big Jap fours, so Triumph shouldn't be signalled out for abuse, but going through a set of tyres every week always seemed a bit much to me. I've probably picked up Scourge-like habits from excessive reading of the UMG.

The original O-ring chain lasted about 17000 miles but subsequent ones didn't do much more than ten thou. Perhaps I should get around to replacing the sprockets. When I fit a new chain I take the opportunity to clean up the rear end and grease the mono-shock bearings. With the rear shock on the way out it's the least I can do. Chain replacement is the usual tedious business on a big four and not recommended in the middle of a Grand Tour.

Part of the ill-treatment the Triumph received was that it wasn't cleaned very often. To be honest, there seemed very little point because as soon as the bike was shining it'd only piss down with more acid rain. Overall appearance after a year's abuse was not good. Faded paint, alloy rot, rusted fastener and bits of lacquer coming off the engine. Had I been a 3000 a year, summer only, kind of rider then the Trophy would've survived much better. But it's not a fair world, only those with the money can chose their partners.

British winters took their toll on the calipers but not until after 18000 miles and three sets of pads. The squeaking noises gave me plenty of warning that it was time for the emery cloth and axle grease - only joking. The calipers weren't too finicky, just liked to have all the accumulated brake dust blown out of them. Brilliant four piston calipers that were worth a little bit of effort. Of late, they've become a touch vicious in the wet, making me rely on the rear disc, which had so little use that it was still on its original pads.

Some tests describe the 1200 as bland but that's not a feeling I get from the Triumph. Any bike that does 160mph with handling that's a bit hairy surely can't be bland! It's tremendously fast, outrageously heavy, improbably expensive to run and dangerously inspiring to ride fast. The Trophy's the least popular Triumph, therefore one of the cheapest to buy and has an engine that's just as tough as any other in the range. I'm keeping mine for another year!

Phil Stirling

****************************************************

Saturday July 1991. My wife Sue and I set off for the Superbike Centre near Newport, for a test ride on a new Triumph 1200. We took the 25 mile trip on my CB900. The seat was one good reason for getting rid of it. Luckily, the trip from our Forest of Dean home was fairly direct.

Having first seen the new Triumph range at the 1990 NEC Motorcycle Show, I'd vowed there and then that I was going to own one of these stunning machines, and after reading rave road test reports on the 1200 my mind was almost made up.

As we arrived at the dealers I immediately spotted the Trophy demo bike parked outside, ready and waiting. I was overwhelmed at how physically large the bike was. Much has been written about the tall seat height of the earlier Triumph models but, it has to be said that I'm only 5'9'' and yet had no trouble getting both feet firmly and flatly on the ground. After a few friendly words with the salesman I was given the keys and told to enjoy myself for an hour.

I fired the big 1200cc four cylinder engine, was immediately struck by the smoothness even when revved hard. Sue climbed aboard commenting on how high up it seemed, although by now she's well used to it. I snicked the bike into gear, let out the clutch and set off. Gingerly, at first, but I soon settled into it. 40 minutes later we returned and I was totally transfixed. Here was a motorcycle that was, to be honest, big, heavy and also very powerful yet it had proved to be incredibly smooth and relaxed in its power delivery. Torque being the optimum word here. And extremely well balanced and very easy to ride. I had to have one.

The big question was, should I buy the 1200 Trophy or the Daytona 1000. Or even wait a few months for the 900 Trophy to be available. The 900 would, after all, have been a good choice from the view of running costs. I only had to sit on the Daytona for a few seconds to realise that I couldn't get on with it. I suffer from a slight back problem, enough for the clip-ons to hurt a bit. Funnily enough, l later sat on a Kawasaki ZXR400. Jesus, I needed a winch to get off that one!

Sue could see that I really wanted a new bike. And here was a chance to own a British built 125hp Superbike. The trouble is I'm easily taken in by salesmen and it nearly cost me. They made me an offer of £850, which at the time I thought was quite reasonable but before I could say yes Sue stepped in. Now Sue is a different matter, she will haggle with anyone when it comes to money, and usually wins. Anyway, by the time she'd finished hassling these sales guys the trade in price was £1300. The deal was done and I'd just signed away four years of repayments. Must be mad. I was to pick the bike up on Tuesday evening and I was lucky because I got the last grey 1200 they would have until November.

I asked my brother-in-law, Paul, if he wanted to come along to collect the bike as my wife was on the evening shift at work. He agreed, mind you by the time we'd arrived at the dealers, he'd also discovered how painful the dreadful padding was in the CB900's seat. My bike was ready, reading three miles on the clock. Paul, not a regular motorcyclist, thought the Triumph looked great even though he looked a little apprehensive.

The ride home was incident free. I kept the revs to within 5000 for running in purposes, but again the engine's incredible midrange punch was showing itself, as by the time we got home Paul was already complaining that his arms were aching. And that was after I thought I'd taken it relatively easy. Mind you, 5000rpm equals 80mph, at which point the passenger tends to get blown about a bit due to the relatively high pillion seat. Still, he did enjoy the ride.

Talking about the engine, I've now found, as I think most owners do, that you get used to the power output. Even so, it still amazes me just how easily the front wheel will leap into the air in the first two gears. Two up, flat out acceleration in first gear is, to say the least, very unwise if you wish to avoid going airborne. It'll also flick left to right through the twisty bits very quickly with little effort.

Remember the road tests that said Triumph brakes weren't much cop...Well, one little trick's to approach a recently introduced set of traffic lights at about the ton, with the wife on the back. At which point grab the front brake just hard enough to slam Sue into my back. This results in the back wheel jumping in the air. Okay, I know it's not very mature but worth it for the ensuing giggles and back patting that always follows. Anyway, believe it or not, Sue moans like hell at me if I ride too slowly.

About a year into owning the Trophy, Sue and I decided on a day trip to my father's in Rugby. The route we took was the old Fosse Way. Now, I'm not very good at remembering places and names, but about 15 miles the other side of Stow-on-Wold there's a very long left-hand bend which, on this occasion, I happened to go around at a leisurely 120mph. I couldn't believe it, and yet I'd glanced at the speedo and that's what it said. I didn't stop shaking for about an hour afterwards. Still, I couldn't help but admire the way the bike had made it seem so easy. Amazingly, yet again Sue didn't show any concern at all.

I had the Trophy about two years when the first real problem occurred. I had just left the mother-in-law's place, which is where I have to keep the bike, due to a lack of a garage. Approximately one mile had been achieved when everything came to a complete stop. I was lucky enough to roll long enough to reach a local phone box. I checked the bike over, could find nothing wrong. I called the RAC out. A cheerful bloke turned up and we stood over the bike discussing what could've gone wrong. He eventually suggested trying to start the thing once more. Bingo!

I decided to ride back the way I'd come with the RAC fellow following. No sooner had I got back than the bike died out again. The chap from the RAC admitted he did not really know what to suggest, except that it was obviously electrical. After spending a couple of days trying to find the answer, I was advised to take the bike to the nearest Triumph dealer, Claremont Motorcycles in Gloucester. These guys have been superb regarding servicing and all other matters. They had the bike for five days, discovered a fault with the electronic ignition. Not common on Triumphs but mine needed coils, pick-up and the PGM unit. I phoned the factory direct and was pleased to find that the work and parts would be free, despite the guarantee having finished for a year. Triumph have also sent a Xmas card for the last three years, not much, I know, but a nice thought all the same.

At the moment of writing, my Trophy has covered 9700 miles and is on its fourth set of tyres. I decided to opt for Michelin radials, the second set of which has only covered a 1000 miles. The originals were Dunlop Sportmax, worn out at 3000 and 2000 miles. The Michelins are a bit cheaper. The chain simply amazes me as it only usually needs adjusting every 2000 miles. I'm hoping to see the best part of 20,000 miles out of it. Because I use it so much, the rear disc's brake pads only last 2500 miles.

General maintenance of the Trophy is dead easy. Cleaning it is even easier still because the finish and build quality is generally excellent. It basically looks after itself. Having said that, I've spent a fortune on polish and cleaning rags just so the bike is always spotless and shiny. One big surprise's that it still has the original chrome on its silencers - very different to your average Jap bike. I lock the bike up like Fort Knox; there have been two attempts at stealing it.

As you've all gathered by now I have basically heaped nothing but praise on my Triumph Trophy. Well, one, I'm a little patriotic, and, two, I think they're brilliant. So there. Okay, they're not perfect but any real niggles are minor ones. On the plus side they are fast, reliable, handle well and stop well. What more do you want? Let me finish this by admitting that it's not really a secondhand test, but I felt it was time that someone put the record straight on the Trophy. It has recently become the road-testers' job to pick holes in Triumph motorcycles. Well, my advice to you out there is, whether buying new or used, give the new generation Triumphs a look. I doubt you will regret it, I know that I haven't.

Richard J. Sear