Yamaha RD50

When the dear parents, in their own inimitable way, told me, at the difficult age of 16, that my chances of reaching seventeen would be greatly enhanced by not riding a moped, I did what any awkward teenager would do- told them to 'ped' off. After a series of push-bikes, even passing a stubby leg over something uninspiring, unbelievably slow (to the point of distraction) but not, unfortunately, unrestricted, was going to contain an element of fun! I knew that from the times I hung off the back of a mate's RD50, at the tender age of 15.

My first venture into motorcycling saw me investing a small fortune- a £50 drinking voucher for the right to own a very poorly, scabby Yamaha RD50. A non-runner because of terminally ill big-ends and main bearings, down to, I deduced, oil starvation. Once I'd safely ensconced my new plaything into its new comfortable playpen (standing outside the back door), I worked with meaningful purpose to transform the Yamaha from a flaccid, impotent, lifeless creature into a powerful, uncompromising, throbbing monster.

It wasn't long before I'd acquired a complete engine from a local breaker for the costly sum of £20. The subsequent organ swap surgery was an unparalleled success even for an incompetent dead-head of a mechanic, like myself, and it was with a large bowl of relish and just a little pickle, that I rode the Yamaha for the first time. That was it by God, I really was one of boys, now...Sad bastard.

Including myself, there were five sad boys who formed the nucleus of the local ped gang, but this would swell into double figures, and on such occasions we must have assumed a somewhat dubious, slightly menacing appearance. Also, when the herd was in motion, a cacophonous, discordant racket could be heard for miles around. Such antisocial behaviour seemed necessary at the time and although we probably did upset and unnerve some of the locals, it was never with malice, more playful exuberance. Living in a reasonably isolated area of the Staffordshire Moorlands, there weren't too many people to annoy.

Throughout our tenure on the overgrown hairdryers it was an ongoing competition to discover who possessed the fastest (sorry, less slow) machine. By far the most popular brand of bike was the black Yamaha RD50, followed by the invariably green Kawasaki AR50, a couple of unbelievably slow (even by moped standards) Honda MB50's and a token FS1E. Without exception, the whole sorry bunch of lads were all totally ignorant as to the finer, more subtle, points of stroker tuning and the detrimental nature of such procedures if performed by unqualified, artless sixteen year olds.

Filing out any likely looking ports in the cylinder was the usual starting point, followed by some crude leverage on the reed stops and finishing off by tampering with the carb- great joy gained by simultaneously adjusting the air/mixture screw, needle height and main jet size. Quite often, the performance actually improved but we were never quite sure why.

Such improvements were often temporary. It was a long time (three holed pistons) before I personally realised the true significance of that seemingly unimportant air/mixture screw, but it just goes to show that even the thickest person can learn eventually. The barrel on my ped had been rebored to such an extent that it was literally toilet paper thin, caused its own problems from overheating and thus seizure. My whole, sorry, unreliable mess of a bike was finished off with an ubiquitous K and N filter and Micron exhaust.

Often, on Friday nights, after the usual perfunctory discussion on what our movements should be, we would invariably end up thrashing the peds down to the big city (well it was a small town, in reality, but it had a nightclub so it seemed like the big city to us) for some serious drinking. Ho, ho! Did we look cool, dressed as were in tight bleached jeans, white baseball boots and donkey jackets? I think not. Sad bastards. And the police had been given instructions to clamp down on piss-pilots. Due to more luck than judgement we escaped serious injury and punishment.

My own little Yamaha was not only used for pleasure but was employed as a workhorse for commuting. The eight mile trot took me to a pottery where I was employed as a kiln loader. I can vividly recall the morning, as I screamed towards work, the policeman who intimated that I should pull over and his subsequent shock at the general condition of my shabby mount. I could fully appreciate his disturbed disposition as it was in a bloody awful state of disrepair. After nothing more than a cursory glance over the bike (with me holding it- the stand had broken a long time ago) he recommended in no uncertain terms that I should either scrap it or remove it from the public highway to sort it pronto. And that was before he spotted the grips...

''Son, do you realised there are a pair of molegrips hanging off this bike?'' Said he, a little unsure of himself.

''Beg yer pardon, officer?'' I countered, feigning ignorance.

''Here,'' he said, pointing down at the gearchange shaft ''A bloody pair of molegrips...''

''Oh them, erm yeah...well, er, my gear lever is kind of worn out and well, it was all that I could think of at the time...only temporary, mind.''

''My god, I don't believe it- get that thing fixed.''

And that was that, off he ambled back to the police car, shaking his head slowly as I screamed off to work, shaking mine with a smile on my face. My god, indeed! Charitable coppers were a rare commodity. For a bike with a slick back tyre, no back brake, shot chain and sprockets, no kickstart, illegally noisy exhaust and general all round offensive, rat appearance, I considered myself a very lucky pumpkin.

But as we all know, one good copper isn't worth a bean; there was another local cop who was an unreserved and absolute twat. Age had not mellowed him, taking a delight in humiliating the people he came into contact with.

On one occasion, when he had the moped gang pulled over, and he had finished his familiar discourse on young, stupid riders (we were required to remove our lids whilst his lecture proceeded) he asked one of the lads to start his machine. He didn't have a kickstart so had to bum it; two strides later he was severely berated for not having a crash helmet on!

Anyway, the year of the moped passed with bucket loads of fun and many colourful experiences to reflect upon. It's still a period of my, and my friends, life that often forms the topic of our conversation when we get together. I say the year was a lot of laughs and up until one week before I became a seventeen year old, it was. At that time I had the opportunity to trade in my nail and £100, for a tidy GP100 from a friend who dabbled in the secondhand game...

I had asked myself the question what could possibly happen in the intervening week before I was legally entitled to use the Suzuki on the road? Quite a lot was the answer. Whilst riding like a fool to work, I inadvertently crashed into the side of a Ford Cortina, which was turning right off a main road and over a bridge. Although I was only brusied from the fall, my poor machine fared considerably worse. I was rather bemused when I returned to my feet, only to discover the bike had disappeared over a low wall, falling fifteen feet down the other side. It lay on the river bank below, a mangled, twisted wreck...

CAB

Yamaha RD350

The Yamaha RD350 is my fun machine. I have a little commuter for riding to work and a big four for touring chores. The stroker twin is used for evening scratching and weekend runs. It's a well loved machine but one that is still used very hard on the road. Built in 1974 it has done about 45000 miles and most of the engine is still original.

Chassis mods include a pair of Girling shocks, flatter bars and a set of modern Avon tyres. With new swinging arm bearings (never a long lasting item) and taper rollers in the steering head, the RD becomes quite a sharp handler. Stock, it wallows and weaves a bit but modified thus it can be heeled right over and holds a rigid line. At a mere 350lbs not much effort is needed to hurl it through the twisties.

In this vein it's a bit of a giant killer, with a slightly modified motor good for 110mph and blistering acceleration able to make middleweight four owners curse their girth and shake their fists as they become engulfed in the stroker's exhaust and wail.

The excellent braking helps with this kind of riding, the single front disc so powerful it'll have the back wheel off the ground and shake the forks down on their stops. The rear drum is unobtrusive, given the way the front disc tried to throw the RD into cartwheel mode isn't used very often. The front brake's a bit uncertain in the wet as there's some lag but despite its power also has a useful amount of feedback. The caliper doesn't like winters, though, needing a rebuild every couple of thousand miles.

Several times the RD has been thrust into winter commuting when my other bikes have been off the road. The main problem with town riding is that the plugs can foul. I usually fit a hard grade to suit the fantastical acceleration inherent in fun riding, but for town work a softer grade is necessary. Modern oils have removed the worst of the clouds of pollutants but sustained low rev work makes the engine sullen, coughing and spurting out oil until it clears under a bit of acceleration.

Spark plugs last anywhere between 500 and 3000 miles, depending on grade and use. As the engine's on its second oil pump there's no point blaming that particular component. Engine mods are mostly down to increased ports and a bit shaved off the cylinder head. As the baffles kept falling out, the airfilter was junked and the carbs rejetted to suit the modified motor and freer flowing induction and exhaust.

These mods worked well, although the head gaskets would blow after about 5000 miles of abuse and the engine needed a decoke every 1500 miles. The major maintenance chore was setting up the points every 500 miles. Ignition timing could go way out if that was neglected as I found out to my cost after I'd bought the bike. I was riding the Yam hard through the gears when there was a sudden loss of power and huge clouds of smoke. One of the pistons had holed. I staggered home on a 175cc single.

The gearbox was precise when I'd bought the bike but is a bit vague, these days, in the lower gears. I've heard varying stories about being able to turn it into a six speeder by removing a plate on the selectors but I also know one guy who did the trick, ended up changing up to sixth only to have the box lock up solid. I left mine as it was, even with the modified engine tune there is enough of a spread of power to make no more than five gears sufficient.

The engine isn’t entirely happy at constant revs, with a bit of surging and an odd echo in the exhaust rather than the hard edged wail under acceleration. Acceleration above 3000 revs is tolerable, between 6000 and 9000rpm brilliant. It'll cross the redline at 9500rpm in fifth down a hill, head crouched down but under that kind of abuse the vibes attack the chassis. It's not really worth the effort, given that you want the engine to last for a long time.

I had a series of electrical failures that made me question the RD's chances of surviving the year. Bulbs and fuses blowing, the battery boiling over and the engine becoming a reluctant starter had me tearing out wires and my hair in frustration. A word with some RD enthusiasts revealed that the rectifier didn't last very long. I put a new one in, which provided a solution but one that needs repeating every 8-10,000 miles. I've got a spare one already bolted in so if it fails miles from nowhere it's a lead swap rather than major disaster.

Another bit of potential horror occurred when the chrome front guard rusted through at the central bracket. Each half of the guard was sent spinning off but held to the bike by their remaining stays. The first I knew of this was the front end going berserk. I thought the wheel was breaking up. The crushed bit of chrome bore no resemblance to a mudguard. I'd noticed a bit of rust but nothing, I thought, to worry about. The rear tried to do a similar trick but I replaced it before it had a chance. At the time, new guards were being sold off cheap by one of the Yamaha dealers. I bought a new pair of wheels, as well, the old ones pitted with rust.

The only other major chassis problem was the front forks rusting and the seals blowing. I had them hard-chromed, added new seals and a set of gaiters, never had any problems from them since. The front end goes a bit vague when the tyre's down to 2mm but I get over 12000 miles out of a set so it's not that expensive to keep them in a good state.

I only ever put on the cheapest grade of chain I can get hold of, so should not complain about frequent adjustments and less than 5000 miles of life. I played around with the sprocket sizes a couple of times but ended up back with the stock ratios, taller gearing affected the acceleration quite badly (although it was very relaxed) whilst higher gearing had me trying to change up from fifth all the time and the ease with which it would go into red was a bit alarming to this long term owner.

As it was my fun machine the lack of frugality, at around 35mpg, didn't really worry me. In stock form and ridden mildly it'll do 45mpg, maybe even 50mpg on a good day. Given the choice, I'd prefer the searing acceleration and wild riding to better economy. Economy can go way off if the carbs aren't balanced every 500 miles. Something that can be done by ear unlike the ignition timing which demands gauges and strobes if holed pistons are to be avoided. The exhausts are still original if a bit blitzed by rust, helped by their inner coating of oil.

The rest of the chassis received a respray about five years ago, mostly black on black with the odd dash of bright yellow for contrast and has shown no signs of giving into rust since then. Before that respray rust was breaking out on the frame welds and swinging arm; cycle parts were faded rather than rusted, especially around the fuel tank filler, the cap always leaking a little with a full tank of petrol.

The engine's still on the original crankshaft, pistons and bores. I haven't noticed any fall off in performance, the 110mph top speed is still there as is the wheelie popping acceleration. Such abuse has probably caused the clutch rattle that started a few thousands miles ago. There's still no slip but there's some drag when starting up and after extended town work. With the vague gearbox it can require quite a bit of work to keep rolling in city traffic. Even if the engine stalls it only needs the mildest of kicks to start again, just the same as when starting from cold.

There's a lot of bias against strokers, but mine has been loads of fun, basically reliable and dead easy to work on or to upgrade to a more useful spec. There's not many 350s left on the road, but quite a few of the later RD400s. The latter are said to be better, both faster than the 350 and with a broader power band, although most of them have had their engines modified by now. Personally, I don't like their square cut looks, I think the 350 has stood the test of time much better. But then I'm very biased. Somewhere around a thousand notes will buy a very nice 350 or 400, half of that will get something that's running but is likely to need a rebuild somewhere along the line. Cheap at twice the price.

Andy

Yamaha RD250

Fire and the fury came to mind as I topped the ton for the first time on the RD250E; indeed, for the first time in my life. The frenzy of vibes through the rear-sets added to the feeling of fighting the elements, as did my body wrapped around the tank and head in the clocks. A pain ran through my neck as I craned upwards to see where I was going, although the howling gale took the usual pressure off my wrists, resultant from the clip-ons.

The RD was basically stock, save for some minor carb mods to suit the expansion chambers. This emphasized the way power suddenly flowed in at 6000rpm, although the reed valve motor still produced a reasonable amount of torque for trawling through town in a tallish gear, something necessary to avoid the attentions of the police who did not appear amused by the snarl of the spannies beyond six grand.

The chassis was also mostly stock. The big change was to the riding position which helped put more mass over the front end, curing most of the insane mono-wheeling that afflicts the stock RD. I'm not against wheelies, as such, but can live without the front wheel leaving the tarmac when accelerating out of bends.

Handling at the ton was surprisingly stable, although it was a smooth, straight bit of motorway. The bike could be thrown way off line on rough country roads, more, I think, down to its low weight than any chassis defect, although the front end always threatened to go light under serious abuse. There was a slight weave from the back tyre, despite the flash alloy swinging arm I'd fitted but it did not worry me.

102mph on the clock was the most I could extract from the wailing stroker twin. Not bad going for a bike that had led a most varied life. The previous owner, a friend, had bought it in a pretty decrepit state for £125. The engine was out of another bike, although what was left of the old one was still around for spares. The chassis was refurbished during the 18 months he owned the RD, before selling it to me for 650 quid, in fine fettle but a totally indeterminate number of miles under its wheels.

I'd had the bike for five weeks before I'd become sufficiently sure of its characteristics to do an early morning high speed run. I was easily won over by the ease with which the RD could be flicked through curves and sped through town, speed always necessary to make sense of the cafe-racer riding position.

I was therefore a bit miffed to have my joy at cracking the ton ruined by the realisation, as I backed off to more legal speeds, that the gearbox was stuck in top! The forty mile ride back in such a tall gear ruined my peace of mind for the rest of the weekend and, more importantly, also burnt out the RD's clutch plates. Waves of heat were coming off the engine by the time I pulled up at the previous owner's house - he knowing a lot more about RD's than myself.

He's a good chap, had the crankcases split in a time so short I would still have been trying to get the petrol tube off the carbs. He had done it so often it was second nature to him. I never did quite understand the cause of the problem but it was resolved by using some bits out of the old engine, as was the clutch. In a blur of hands the mill was reassembled and put back in the frame. The whole operation had taken less than 2 hours!

The gearbox and clutch were working again, so I was able to ride home in a less despondent mood. A month went by with a lot of joy, a few near misses when I became overconfident and a set of Pirelli tyres going down to the carcass. They had never really impressed me even when legal, when bald they allowed the chassis into some most disturbing behaviour, that once had me pulling over to throw up my breakfast.

My friend reckoned a set of Avon Roadrunners would be better, and they were. The Yamaha felt much less twitchy and less susceptible to white lines and the like. My confidence in the bend swinging abilities of the little RD grew by leaps and bounds, surprising myself by giving some real hard cases on bigger machines a run for their money. The RD250 can be a real giant killer!

The bike began running very strangely. It felt like the carbs were way out of balance or as if there was a spark plug dying. The two cylinders appeared to be suddenly working against rather than with each other. A real struggle ensued trying to crack a mere 80mph, the engine vibrating like the main bearings were on the way out.

Fearfully, I consulted my friend. It was either something very serious and expensive or the carb slides were worn out. He let me borrow a set of refurbished carbs which made the Yamaha go like a bat out of hell. After some bargaining fifty notes changed hands and I was back in business.

Another three months went by, much more in pleasure than in pain, when I noticed that oil was being consumed at an even more voracious rate than normal. If I wanted to do a 300 mile run I had to strap a five litre can to the back of the seat. There had always been a bit of a smokescreen but now it was becoming a bit absurd. A couple of minutes idling at a junction meant the immediate vicinity looked like a dense fog was closing in.

My mate diagnosed main bearing seals on the way out. A not uncommon problem on hard ridden RD250s. So common, in fact, that he earned a reasonable income reconditioning cranks, so I was lucky to fix the problem for only 60 notes. However, the rebuilt engine never displayed the zest of the old one and I was aware of a lot more intrusive vibration.

I rode the bike for six months, but in a relatively mild and sane fashion, mostly for getting to work and the odd weekend thrash with my mates. Did almost 9000 miles with nothing more than spark plugs, oil and drive chain (pathetically short-lived) replaced.

Somehow, I'd outgrown the delights of the stroker. Riding became more tedious than pleasure filled. Having a friend turned into a vegetable when his RD350 engine locked up solid did not help any. The chassis was showing signs of needing serious money spent with a bit of looseness in the bearings and the Roadrunners about to turn very illegal. When some vague acquaintance decided he was desperate to get in with the RD crowd I did little to dissuade him from handing over £750.

Overall, it had not been a bad experience. Strokers can delight with the way they lay down the power, but they also irritate with their quick wear components and lack of civilisation. Worth experiencing but not repeating.

Rollo

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A mild cafe racer in immaculate condition. The DX model fitted with electronic ignition. Clip-ons, rear-sets and a single racing seat with a large bum-stop. That would have to go, but he threw in the stock saddle as part of the deal. I bought the ten year old machine in 1989 for £500. Some might consider this a lot for an old two stroke twin but it was one of those machines that shone with tender loving care.

The reed valve motor was stock, still able to run cleanly below 6000rpm. Or that was what I thought at first. I found that more than ten minutes of town work choked up the engine. It sulked until a burst of acceleration was applied. A large pulse of power that was surprising for a bike of this era. I could see how it would become addictive. As the engine cleared itself out, a large dose of smoke out of the exhaust added to the pollution levels. The separate oil tank and pump combined to leave just a hint of smoke during normal running, although it would come back intensified on the overrun.

The first time I rode in the dark I thought the headlamp was on the pilot setting. No, the yellow patch up ahead was the product of the main beam. It was good for no more than 25mph on my favourite country lanes. Silly, silly, silly, I thought, as I rode off the road at 45mph. Bump and grind over some grass, a bit of samba dancing when the tyres lost their grip and a soft landing on the damp earth.

We both survived with our frames intact. I rewired the lamp, put a more powerful bulb in and charged the battery. Made sod all difference, the reflector must've been of a very poor design. Wandering around the breaker's I found something better.Good for 50 to 60mph on unlit roads.

That wasn't the end of the electrical hassles, the kill-switch decided to short out intermittently. I'd come out in the morning having no idea whether or not the engine would start. If it hadn't roared into life by the fifth kick I knew it wasn't going to start that day. I got on to the problem after I thumped the bars in frustration and the motor had started first kick after that. Eliminating the switch was the cheapest, if slightly dangerous, solution. Starting also became impossible if the spark plugs weren't changed every 1000 miles. I didn't realise this, almost ended up in a truss after abusing the kickstart for a whole morning.

Great care had to be taken when changing plugs. It's such a frequent job that the threads become very weak, dead easy to strip if too much pressure was applied or cross-thread them. I always put a bit of grease on the new plug to help it home and ensure it didn't corrode in. The cylinder heads were laughably easy to pull off, so it wasn't the end of world if a helicoil job became necessary. I did a decoke every 5000 miles, the silencers needing much more attention than the top end.

There was a bit of rust on the undersides of the silencers, the seam starting to crack on one side. When at the motorcycle show I spied a shiny set of Microns and a jet kit I couldn’t resist. The silencers needed some spacers and the jets were incredibly difficult to remove from the carbs but a weekend's work had the RD250 back on the road. What a noise she made. Neighbourhood dogs howled in protest and the wife starting gesticulating madly. I was already in her bad books just by owning a motorcycle, now......

The Microns moved the power up the band to 7000rpm, where the tacho needle flicked around to nine grand before running out of enraged steam. It would've been tremendous fun had not the tinny wail reverberated around inside my full-face helmet. After a few minutes I had such a bad headache I could barely see. Back home I dismembered the old silencers, hammered and welded the baffles into the Microns. I had to put the old jets back in the carbs but apart from a slight hesitation around 5000rpm I was quite pleased. More power than stock, less noise than the Microns. I later learnt that I had bought race rather than road pipes.

Top speed was 95mph, although I once did the ton down a long downhill section, accompanied by fierce vibes through the footrests. Fuel varied between 40 and 50mpg, depending on throttle abuse. The suspension had been tightened up, the tubular frame was very strong, the overall effect of a nicely stable bike that was also dead easy to throw about, whether at town or open road speeds. After all, Yamaha used a lot of their race track experience in the design of these machines.

It was a pity they didn't learn how to make components last a long time. Perhaps it wasn't a problem in Japan, but in the UK chrome and paint were badly affected. The past owner told me he’d had the frame resprayed and replaced most of the cycle parts with new OE items, so old age was certainly not an excuse for their poor longevity. The front mudguard rustled so badly, and so rapidly, that it ended up rattling on the tyre. A plastic replacement and fork brace were added. Before I sussed that the back guard was going the same way, the light bracket fell off, tearing out a large clump of wiring.

The first I knew of it was when the cops pulled me over. They were not amused at the lack of light and numberplate. They vented their anger on the seat, which pulled off and promptly fell apart from corrosion fatigue. Only fervent protests stopped them kicking the guard to dust. I was booked for riding a machine in a dangerous condition, no numberplate and lights, and told to take all my documents to the local cop shop. More plastic replacements.

I could hardly replace the frame with plastic tubing, the way the paint peeled off in favour of rust was astonishing. I've never come across something that rusted so rapidly. I slapped on some Cure-Rust, metal oxide paint and a final layer of Hammerite, which seemed to hold it at bay. Within six months of purchasing an immaculate machine it had gone back to the state of a ten year old dog, but after much painting, replacements and praying it was back in good shape.

After the winter of discontent came the summer of incredible heat. I couldn't keep off the Yamaha. A brilliant time but the high temperatures showed up a problem in heavy traffic. The engine was overheating, huge gusts of oily heat coming off the motor. The underside of the petrol tank was dangerously hot, giving me visions of my private thingies going up in flames. A hotter grade of plugs and better quality oil helped a little. By the time the clutch was dragging, like it was locked up solid, I knew it was time to let the engine cool down for thirty minutes.

One solution was to ride between the cars at an indecent clip. It was quite easy to wheelie the RD in first or second, even with the clip-ons. It wasn't something that I did very often, though, the clutch always felt like it was going to explode for a few miles afterwards. The front disc was always adequate for such cut and thrust madness but a few high speed stops would get it hot enough to fry eggs. I found this out when I poked the disc one time. Ouch!

For an old 250, I was pretty pleased with the way it'd cruise along at 85mph, helped by the clip-ons and rear-sets, until I worked out that it was returning 35mpg. Anything over 80mph meant that fuel frugality took a massive dive. A constant 70mph gave an acceptable 50mpg, but those revs, in top gear, coincided with a patch of annoying vibration that rattled my feet. At 65 or 75mph it was dramatically smoother.

The Roadrunners lasted near on 10,000 miles before the handling became a little odd. The chassis would fall into corners and wobble at about 80mph. White-lines would throw the front wheel around. Damp roads had to be approached with caution. These horrors turned up as soon as the tyres hit the 2mm mark. A new set soon had the handling back up to standard, although they needed a good 300 miles before they were properly scrubbed in.

Come its second winter in my hands, the carburation went to pot again, some very erratic running made it a bugger in town. The clock had 33000 miles on it by then, so I feared that it was rebore time, although once in the power band it'd still whizz off up the road. Took the carbs off to have a play, noticed that the reed valves were deeply pitted. I knew someone who fitted some racing reeds only to have them break up and subsequently wreck his engine. That ensured that I bought a new Yamaha set.

Overall, the Yamaha was proving to be a reliable means of transport that didn't need much money spent on it. It never failed to get me to work on time, usually with a singing heart and big grin. It was in nice shape after all the work I put into the chassis and unlike most four stroke 250s I never became bored riding it. I could also keep up with friends on middleweight fours on most roads except motorways. I rather thought its lack of outright speed was good, it made sure I never lost my licence unlike two friends (105 and 117mph....). The affair came to a sad end one morning. I came out of the house all togged up only to find an empty space instead of the RD. Some rotter had half-inched her!

M.H.

 

Yamaha RD200

There was this terrible tearing sound running through the machine. The back wheel locked solid at 50mph. The whole bike lurched sideways before I could pull in the clutch lever. Running a 1977 RD200 in 1992 is not exactly easy. Most people just burst into laughter when they see the machine, but with 22hp and 85mph on hand, even owners of derestricted 125s have to take note and thrash their machines to the limit to keep up.

That’s when the machine is running well. But the above locking of the rear wheel was down to piston seizure, the third time it’s done it in the last year. Before that, I did a trouble free 15000 miles in two years on a motor that came with 31000 miles already under its belt. I could not understand why the machine kept seizing and was threatening to sue the local Yamaha dealer for supplying me with substandard quality pistons. The problem turned out to be with the direct injection oil system, some of the tubing being bunged up with crud, reducing the all important flow of oil to the engine.

The little two stroke twin was rather remarkable. It loved to rev to above 8000rpm but was quite at home pottering around at lower engine speeds with none of the plug fouling that afflicted other strokers. This was quite surprising because there was always a small amount of blue smoke following the machine, so a lot of oil must’ve been flowing through the engine (about a pint in 200 miles if you want to be precise).

Up steep hills this cloud intensified, the engine straining against the incline. It would hold 60mph with great tenacity but felt happier dropping down a gear or two, screaming back into the red. Pillions had more of an effect on the chassis than the engine performance. The shocks were not original but I don’t know what they were off. Initially stiff, after a year or two they were minimal for two people and totally devoid of damping. The front forks were better, as I had refurbished them shortly after buying the machine. They were still prone to twisting when using the TLS drum in anger but were otherwise adequate.

The frame was a typical period piece of tubular steel, although the front down tube ended where it met the engine, which encouraged the designers to mount the motor as low as possible. I had a major problem when one of the shock studs broke off and the seat subframe rusted through in places. Luckily, I was able to secure a brand new frame for £75 when the local Yamaha dealer was having a clearout of old stock.

Rust also afflicted the chrome mudguards, seat base and underside of the tank, all of which were replaced. The silencers, remarkably, are still original although quite noisy and spotted with corrosion. I like the buzz the engine makes, especially when up near the red line. The riding position is a bit strange as the seat perches you high above the bike, which itself is low and compact. Observation of my 160lbs sat on the Yam reflected in shop windows indicates I look a bit silly, but it does not really bother me.

Comfort is not high, as the seat goes hard after about 75 miles. Much more than a 100 mile a day is pushing things - the vibes are also intrusive. The footrest were originally rubber mounted, but when the rubber went hard and started to disintegrate the footrests were modified to fit without the absorbing abilities of rubber. The engine acts as part of the frame, so tingling vibes find their way through the whole machine. It’s not really noticeable in town or back roads but stuck at a constant speed on a boring A road, the vibes do become quite tiring.

Stability is reasonable for a 320lbs lightweight, with just a bit of wallowing on fast curves or bumpy straights. The chassis is not affected by choice of tyres, I’ve used ultra cheap Far Eastern stuff without becoming full of fear and loathing. Tyres last for ages, I’ve never bothered to work out their mileage. The rear chain isn’t so good, between 5000 and 6000 miles from cheapo items. When I tried to use one chain beyond 7000 miles the blighter snapped miles from home. Luckily, it didn’t manage to crack the engine casings.

Whilst on the transmission, it has to be said that the gearbox has gradually deteriorated in action. It’s still light but very vague, I’m never sure if it’s really engaged. The clutch is light, doesn’t slip but occasionally drags when subjected to heavy town use.

The bike can be started in gear, although not on the electric starter. This item is quite clever in theory as it also serves as a DC generator. The bushes wear quite badly, but car items can be persuaded to fit with a bit of file work. Even when refurbished power output is low, trying to fit a larger wattage front headlamp bulb will slowly drain the battery of energy. The starter grinds the engine over too slowly to ignite the combustion process but the kickstart requires a minimal kick to get the engine running. It usually fires into life first kick even on the coldest of winter days, although the RD does reside in a proper garage.

Other electrical problems are down to blowing bulbs, batteries that don’t hold a charge and the old wiring rotting away. Spark plugs last about 3000 miles. On the other side of combustion process, the carbs don’t stay in balance for more than a few hundred miles and have become so worn that they don’t allow the bike to return better than 55mpg, sometimes as little as 40mpg when I’m in the mood to thrash the machine.

My most memorable moment came when I took a ratty LC250 which was two up. I rode around the outside of him at about 70mph and powered up the straight to 85mph. I saw his bike wobbling out of the bend in my mirrors through the haze of blue smoke - he was probably choking to death on it. There followed a series of curves that made it impossible to use maximum power in top gear. The RD sang along in third and fourth, occasional glimpses of the LC in my mirrors turning it into the ride of my life. When I finally pulled over, feeling like a hero, the LC rider made my day by telling me the RD went well for an old 350. You should have seen his face when I told him the truth.

The most depressing day was the first time the engine seized after giving such wonderful service. It was quite a desperate situation, 400 miles from home in the middle of the Scottish Highlands. A local farmer took the bike on his trailer to the nearest large town, refusing any money for his efforts. The Scots were amazingly friendly, I found, a workshop owner let me dump the bike in his shed and allowed me sleep there overnight and for the next few days whilst I awaited for some pistons and barrels to be despatched. I then rode the bike home, only for it to seize up again 80 miles later. I was well pissed off, even more so when it did it the third time.

After that series of events I took more of an interest in engine maintenance. The RD had run so well for so long that it had been deceptive, I had begun to think that it would go on forever until the disaster struck. Now, I’m quite meticulous, only too aware that the bike is 15 years old and way past its natural life span. I now have a big four stroke for touring so the little Yamaha has an easier time of it, but I still enjoy riding the little buzzer as much as ever, preferring to use it in town work as manoeuvrability is excellent and it’s a lot cheaper to run than my big four. At times I get pissed off with it, but I suspect it will still be in the garage in 15 years time.

Stephen Palmer

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I was clumping along, minding my own business, watching the youths sniffing glue, and worse, in the shop doorways, when I clocked a wheel sticking out of a skip. I had a certain forward momentum - it wasn't the kind of area of London where you hang around - glanced over my shoulder, to confirm that it was, indeed, a motorcycle wheel.

You get the weirdest of stuff in skips, especially when someone has died and all their old junk is chucked out. In my time I've liberated enough tools to stock a workshop, a couple of motorcycle engines and loads of books. This was the first time I'd ever seen a whole motorcycle in a skip, though.

It was partly submerged beneath a mangy mattress but when I finally removed that, it turned out to be some kind of Yamaha stroker. Amazingly, next to the bike was a bundle of tools and a bedraggled logbook. Extracting a motorcycle from a skip on your own ain't the easiest of tasks, took a good half hour.

When I finally got the bike to bounce down on to the tarmac, up pops PC Plod with a vicious leer.

'That's theft, that is, boy!'

'Come off it, someone's thrown it out. I've even got the logbook.'

'Council property, boy, once it's in the tip.'

Jesus, where do they recruit these subhuman species? Reminded me of the school bully. I decided he was taking the piss.

'Okay, so take me down the station and book me for stealing garbage.' I knew he wasn't going to risk all the paperwork involved, nor the reaction of his colleagues when he told them he'd collared a skip raider!

The cop looked like someone had stuck a pin in him. Instead he ran the bike's details through the Swansea computer to see if it was nicked. It wasn't. When he learnt that I lived six miles away, he laughed like a pig at the trough and told me I should get a proper job so that I could afford a new motorcycle. Why bother with all that hassle when you can get most things for free or via the cosmic exchange system?

Have you ever pushed a motorcycle six miles? Maybe, but one with two flat tyres, a rusted up chain and partially seized drum brakes? I think not. As a form of exercise it was a no-hopper as the stance did my back in and it put me in such a stressed mood that I was flooded with toxins. It gave the heroin addicts and pimps a laugh anyway. The Kings Cross Blues, or something.

Once home I left the bike to moulder in the front garden for a couple of days. What I had was an early RD200, a one time hot-shot two stroke twin from the first half of the seventies, though it had its engineering roots in the sixties. Yamaha were, indeed are, the leading proponents of the stroker art so all I had to worry about was the spare part situation for a 25 year old motorcycle.

Space was made for the bike in the cellar. Cellars are amazingly useful if you're a motorcycle fanatic - mine contained twenty years worth of bits and pieces, plus a lathe, milling machine and drill. When times get tough I even do the odd bit of contracting - talk about third world engineering!

Two hours with the wire brush removed the years of corrosion, and I could see what I had. One bent frame, twisted forks and seized engine. Engine out, fill bores with oil via the ruined spark plug threads - the latter held in with Araldite, or something.

I've got a frame-straightener, of sorts, a home-made assembly of steel sections and clamps that were secured on the concrete basement floor. Heated the headstock up with the welding torch and used a bit of leverage to spring it back into line. The result was several cracks around the headstock. Welded in some extra plates and bracing around the headstock, better than new, I figured, though I don't advise readers to try this at home unless they know what they are doing. With some black Smoothrite it looked pretty good.

As to the engine, the pistons didn't want to free up, only came loose when badgered with my largest hammer and a large bit of steel tubing. The bores were dead meat but the crankshaft was still useable. I phoned around a few friends who could not help, but they phoned some more people until a top end was unearthed. Exchanged for a CB350K bottom end.

Various useful bits were unearthed from my supply in the cellar, and after some mild mixing and matching of components the RD200 began to take shape. Before I'd reassembled the engine, I did a bit of file work on the ports to give the 20hp twin a minor power boost. I used to play such games when I was a teenager, more or less knew what I was doing.

After various incantations were said the bike was ready for the road. Starting involved a few dozen kicks from cold but was instantaneous when warm. As a precaution I'd mixed in a bit of oil with the petrol to augment the metered system, just until the various components were worn in a little. The smokescreen reminded me of a dying NSU Quickly that had passed through my hands - the horror was totally inaccurately named.

As might be expected, the RD wasn't fully up to strength in the power department, needing to be screamed through the gears to get anywhere rapidly and reluctant to put more than 70mph on the clock. The best way to run old strokers in is to thrash them hard, at least that's my theory. Sure enough, after 50 miles of running in top speed had increased to 75mph and it stopped conking out below 3000 revs. Not that there was much point chomping around like a retarded commuter.

The bike was totally out of it with regards to sensible motorcycling. Even after I let the oil pump go it alone, there was always a heavy fog of pollutants following the bike and fuel was around 35mpg. These both suggested serious bore wear but the parts I found were the only cheap ones I'd come across and there wasn't any point making some dealer's day by ordering new ones shipped from Japan. Not when the bike started out as a bit of a rat and rapidly degenerated into a totally disgusting state.

I thought I'd got all the rust off the metalwork with the wire brush but all it took was the hint of rain for it to sprout out again. Paint fell off, chrome bloomed into rust, and alloy rot ruled the engine. It was kind of fun to take cages and other bikes in the traffic light GP, if only because I rode like I didn't give damn. This was because I didn't, one great advantage of riding a rat is that in a serious accident you can hop off the bike, cut your losses and flee the scene.

One reason why accidents were likely was the front TLS drum brake, which might well have been fine when new but had degenerated into a grabby, ill-powered mockery by the time the bike fell into my desperate hands. This was despite, or perhaps because of, filling in its pitted shafts with Araldite, greasing it all up and dressing down the edges of the shoes. Or maybe it was my hasty adaptation of a B44 front brake cable. Whatever, I had braking power on a par with an NSU Quickly with three times the performance levels.

Before the bike could do for me I'd swapped it for a Kawasaki H1 triple. The bargain of the century? Sort of. See, the H1 came in four separate boxes which I'm still trying to sort out. I'll get there one day. As for the RD200, I'm sure it was a fine motorcycle in its day but probably not an ideal machine to rescue from a skip. Then again, who's going to chuck something decent? I keep my eye open, hoping to get lucky one day.

Ajay

 

Yamaha RD400

 

I've had my Yamaha RD400E for nearly ten years. The first owner was my neighbour - an obnoxious yob whose only moment of good taste in his whole life was buying this bike. I used to see him starting off for work every day with a hundred yard wheelie, revving the balls off the cold engine. Running in had consisted of putting a full tank of petrol in and doing a hundred miles of full bore work. When he had tired of the bike he offered it to me. I approached it with caution, knowing its history, and went as far as having a friendly dealer give it a full check over. A1 he said, so I bought it.

Two strokes are the not the same as four strokes and a quite effective way of getting the pistons bedded in is to thrash the engine. My first ride on the bike was a little disappointing. Keeping the revs below 5000rpm, the engine pinged and vibrated and the reed valve motor seemed to have as much urge as the CB250G5 I had in the garage awaiting a new cylinder head.

Sod this, thought I, and whacked open the throttle at 30mph in second gear. Good grief, I screamed, as I tried to hurl my body forward to stop the bike going completely vertical. Unfortunately, the rapidity of my reaction meant the front wheel hit the ground whilst the forks were turned slightly away from the straight ahead position. The result, when the tyre hit the ground the bars were wrenched from my hands as the wheel turned inwards and the bike fell over. A group of school kids gathered but did not help me wrench the bike off my leg. Embarrassed and bruised, I started the bike again only relieved that no real damage had been done.

The suddenness of the power delivery was not helped by the fitment of noisy expansion chambers. My neighbour told me that these were originally off a racer; judging by the way he used to wake up everyone in the street at 8am when he set off for work this was quite true. I put some wire wool in the expansion chambers which dimmed the row a little, but it was still a head turner.

It took me a month to adapt my riding style to the Yamaha's power characteristics. Doing vicious wheelie start offs from the traffic lights became the norm because it was the only way to clear off rapidly. Even opening the throttle in fourth would get the front wheel off the ground. I decided that this kind of juvenile delinquency was extreme fun and grin inducing.

Not so funny was the fact that such behaviour wore out the chain and sprockets in 4000 miles. The chain behaved more like knicker elastic than high tensile steel and required daily adjustment and monthly removal of links. Front tyre wear was predictably minimal because it was rarely on the tarmac and the rear lasted a mere 5000 miles, or less after I discovered that as well as wheelies I could induce wicked wheelspin from a standing start. Phantom tyres suited the bike best. Metzs were okay but made it a little twitchy in the wet. Roadrunners didn't seem to wear but allowed a high speed weave that made me feel a little seasick.

The frame was a basically strong tubular design that provided good support for the forks and swinging arm. Its only problem was that it seemed to rust from the inside out and needed blasting and stove enamelling every three years. The rear shocks were soon thrown away, replaced with Girling and then Konis, the latter offering an excellent blend of suppleness and control. The front forks are still on the original springs and seals, and they still work well.

Swinging arm bearings last about 15000 miles; I eventually fitted a trick alloy swinging arm with eccentric adjusters and taper roller bearings. To be truthful, it did not make much difference to the handling, but it made chain adjustment a cinch and looked the business.

Wheels are very heavy cast items carrying discs that even with sintered pads only just work in the wet. Caliper rot is endemic, they need stripping and greasing once a year. The wheels have to be cleaned up at the same time as they corrode at the first hint of rain. I solved that problem with a clear, protective coat of lacquer. Braking in the dry is good, though, and I have lifted the back wheel off the ground under heavy braking. Engine braking is minimal.

The E model differs from earlier models in that it has electronic ignition. In theory this is fine as it removes one more maintenance chore, but I find the black box only lasts for about 20,000 miles. It's impossible to buy them secondhand so you have to shell out for a new 'un. Ouch!

Slightly more moderate power delivery was achieved by fitting Allspeed exhausts - they offered more low end power and a lovely whine once beyond 5000rpm. Sales of ear plugs in our area thereafter plunged, although the bike was still not as quiet as a standard RD. The exhausts last for about two years before rust spoils the chrome.

When I first had the bike, the gearbox was easy to use, even slick. With 62000 miles up, sixth has disappeared, fourth only engages on a good day and a certain degree of mechanical art is required to effect clean changes. The bike is on its fourth set of clutch plates and there is a chattering noise from the clutch area, the clutch action becoming very jerky. Attempting clutchless changes is not recommended as it makes mechanical noises indicative of stripped gears and wrecked bearings.

It's on its third set of pistons, although, surprisingly, it has not required a rebore, the pistons wearing rather than the bore. Carb balancing, a tedious business, is needed every 4000 miles. The first set of carbs were badly worn out by 23500 miles and a used set was bunged on, although these have showed no signs of wear. Ignore carb balance, power drops off and vibes increase. The twin cylinder engine is never completely smooth, vibration affecting the footrests and bars. Pillions report that their pegs thrum badly at high revs.

Top speed is 120mph on the clock, which is probably 110mph in real life. It's quite feasible to run along at 100mph if you can stick the stock riding position. I haven't bothered to change it because most of my riding is done in town where it's very comfortable. Fuel consumption varies between 25 and 55mpg. I only did the latter once when I ran down to reserve in the early hours of the morning and there was no chance of filling up again. I usually get around 40mpg with spirited riding. 25mpg is the result of flat out riding - you can almost smell the petrol being bunged out through the exhaust.

Reed valves are supposed to expire around 40,000 miles but mine are still original. There are various aftermarket reeds available, which along with some porting can significantly increase the horsepower. A friend of mine went the whole hog and had his engine set up in race tune. It took about half an hour to start, wouldn't rev below 3500rpm and when the power finally punched in the bike was almost uncontrollable with wild wheelies, massive weaves and a terrible banshee wail that rattled windows. After 5000 miles it needed a complete rebuild including the gearbox which featured stripped gears. He gave up in the end and fitted a used, stock engine in his chassis. He still has his bike and we often buzz around together.

After careful adjustment of the oil pump, plug oiling became a thing of the past with use of the latest synthetic oil. Constant, low speed, town work does provide a momentary hesitation when you whack the throttle open, but when it does catch it makes the rush of power all the more horrendous.

Things like mudguards and seat bases rotted after the first three years and were replaced with non standard items. The bike had one complete respray four years ago and still looks good. Engine cases, barrels and head have all been beadblasted and are regularly polished with Solvol. I like the styling of the bike and think it still looks quite modern - I prefer it to things like RGs, although the TZR, I will admit, does look well tasty.

I don't think I will ever sell the bike. It's been a part of my life for so long that it would be like selling a sister or brother. I still take off with mad wheelies and scream around with a wild grin on my face, although I don't do that in my own street - I keep telling the wife that it's a cheap, economical way to get to work and far too old and fragile to do silly things on...

Ian Myatt

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

It was one of those incredibly hot summer days when you could really believe in ozone depletion and global warming. So hot that every time I went below 90mph steam started rising out from under my matt black helmet. I’d done about 150 miles on my pristine RD400, rebuilt and refurbished so many times that it made a mockery of its age and mileage (1977 and 83,400 miles), when the bugger started running on one cylinder with loads of fumes coming out of the exhaust. The heat coming up off the motor suggested I was lucky to have avoided seizure.

I knew exactly what had happened. It had burnt a hole in the piston. I liked to set the engine up on the lean side because it gave searing acceleration and a top speed of 120mph; it would actually cruise at 90mph for hours on end. For most of the time. But when the temperature soared and the mileage was extensive there was always a slight chance of burning a hole in the piston. It was my own fault really, as I insisted on fitting dodgy racing pistons rather than the tougher standard items. The RD400 has one of those simple looking engines that cry out for serious tuning attention. RAC time.

One of the nice things about RD motors is the ease with which they can be torn apart. Replacing a piston takes less than 30 minutes (once you’ve been forced to do it a few times), one of the reasons I’m willing to tempt fate with a precarious state of tune. I often carry spare pistons but had somehow forgotten them that time as I hadn’t planned to ride so far, the weather and the buzz had got the better of me.

Electronic ignition at least ensures I have one less thing to worry over, models with points a bit notorious for overheating their motors if not regularly checked. The last failure on the road was a reed valve breaking up, being sucked through the engine, wreaking all kind of havoc on the crankshaft. I suppose I should be grateful that the gearbox has its own completely separate compartment so was insulated from the metal debris. The only time the lubricant intermingles with the engine oil is when the crankshaft seals go, but usually they are as long lasting as the crankshaft bearings.

That rebuild had cost me a lot of my spare components and set back my attempt to assemble a second engine by half a year. I’m always buying RD bits, both racing and stock parts, on the principle that you can pick stuff up dirt cheap when you don’t really need it, but that it’s bound to come in useful somewhere, sometime down the line. Again, the reed valves were non-standard so questionable to begin with.

I’d originally run the bike on a completely standard engine, more than 20,000 miles possible without doing any major engine surgery. The problem was that as my mates got hold of newer, faster machinery the poor old Yam was getting left behind and rather than abandon the wailing stroker I went the tuning route. There are very few entirely stock RD400s on the road, for those very reasons.

Yes, I’m one of those lunatics who run around on screeching spannies and like to turn each GP start from the lights into a test of my ability to wheelie for a few hundred yards. The RD is one of those bikes that feel very edgy once up on the back wheel, rather too easy to fall over into a heap. Er, I’ve lost count of how many clutch plates I’ve been through, but that’s a relatively cheap and simple job.

The one job I really f..ked up was replacing a selector fork and leaving an essential bolt out. The gearbox seized solid, locked the back wheel up and the lovingly restored chassis was wrecked as the bike slid down the road. The gearchange is generally slick but after about 25000 miles the selectors wear to the extent that false neutrals are more likely than engaged gears. Very dodgy on a bike with a very wild power delivery.

The RD has one of those old fashion tubular frames that works rather well with a decent set of bearings, improved suspension and a newish set of Metzelers. The latter when bald set up some very wild weaves and wobbles. Not recommended, especially as they got me an endorsement and massive fine. The whole set-up is so simple and straightforward that only the most foolish of owners would neglect to keep it in first class condition.

The swinging arm bearings are the quickest wear item but dead easy to check (and bloody obvious by the way the back end swings around at 70mph). The front end was eventually replaced by XJ650 components, the twin discs extremely powerful, which is exactly what I need with my somewhat wild cut and thrust style. Squealing the front tyre on dry roads is quite easy, with a lot of control available.

There was nothing really wrong with the stock set-up but by the time I’d tuned the motor for more power they had worn their bushes quite badly and were about due for a rechrome. A friend had blown his XJ650 motor (with 112,300 miles up, so no great shame), was selling off the remains for whatever he could get as the wobble that resulted from the dead motor was so vile he’d sworn never to ride a motorcycle again. It was his loss and my gain, although I have got him to come pillion a couple of times and he’s now missing the game so much that he wants to buy something like the RD. I think it’s the machine’s fun factor that has convinced him - he’s never around when the Yam explodes.

After replacing the holed piston I put some bigger main jets in the carb, which left a 2000rpm hole in the midrange until I’d put the baffles back in the expansion chamber (it had previously refused to run above 6000 revs with them fitted), which then cut the motor dead at 8000rpm. No fun, but sometimes it was a good idea to cut into the edge of the wildness for a time; the RD was one of those hustlers that demanded to be used to its full by its rider.

This makes life interesting, as it’s the sole means I have of getting to work each day. Very anti-social, for sure, but when you have a job that bores the shit out of you there’s a need for some way of letting off steam in between the routine of slave labour. There are probably a lot of modern bikes that are even crazier than the old RD, but for the kind of spare dosh I can afford to spend the alternatives are so bland I’d probably kill myself trying to ride way beyond the capabilities of the machine.

One of the big problems with the RD is the riding position. If I didn’t have to commute I’d go for rear-sets and clip-ons as they give maximum control over the chassis as well aiding the aerodynamics of the naked machine. However, in town, where most of my commuting takes place, they place an intolerable burden on my wrists. The seat offers minimal support; I’ve had to resist the temptation to fit a solo saddle with a bum-stop as the wife would not be amused. So I ended up with quite wide bars that rise about four inches and the rear-sets, which help with the wheelies but are only tolerable for 80mph cruising. As every dummy knows that’s a waste of time on the motorway! It is possible to contort my body wickedly and end up with my head between the clocks, but that’s even more painful than using clip-ons in town. Fitting a fairing would help but would ruin the whole nature of the beast.

Vibration isn’t much of a comfort problem on a well sorted RD4000, too many ruminations at high revs being a sign that something is about to fail inside the motor. Long acquaintance with the Yam means I can spot failing main bearings by the thrumming set up in the petrol tank above 5000rpm. I was quite proud of myself when I pulled such a motor apart to find just the slightest amount of slop in the crankshaft. Letting it go for a few more miles would’ve allowed the pistons to slap around and ruined the bores and maybe the whole bloody engine.

Even more vibes hit the pegs when the clutch came loose, giving off the kind of knocking noise that convinced me I was going the exchange crankshaft route. When I pulled the cover off I found a huge crack in the drum casing, looked like it was moments off exploding. This happened 200 miles into my annual holiday in Gwent. I couldn’t believe my luck when the first breaker I phoned had one for a fiver! The breaker even rode four miles to where the bike was stranded and refused all offers of a tip. One up for the Welsh.

Most of that holiday was spent screaming around the mountains of North Wales. If I spent more than a minute vertical it was a rare occurrence. I don’t think I’ve had more fun riding a bike along narrow, twisting roads than in those two weeks. Helped by being April without the tourist hordes cluttering up the area. It seemed to perfectly match the Yam’s abilities, although I could have done with 10 degrees warmer weather.

Owners of middleweight fours that run around the clock without any hassles will be chortling to themselves over all the trouble involved with this fierce stroker. I'm often tempted to throw in my lot with them when something goes seriously wrong but when the motor's running cleanly there's nothing quite like the directness of a highly tuned, lightweight stroker's power delivery. Kawasaki H1 owners will know what it’s all about, even Suzuki RGV250 riders will have experienced the ecstasy.

Dave Thomas