When you've thrashed a Z650 to death (it died at 132,176 miles when everything but everything was well worn out) you learn to respect a manufacturer, like Kawasaki, who can build such tough motors. As soon as I saw the new 750 Zephyr I knew it was time to buy a motorcycle again, even if the price was in thousands (four for a new 'un to be precise) rather than hundreds.
The Zephyr looked like nothing more than a sensibly modified Z650, so it came as a pleasant surprise to find, within miles, that it rode and handled better even than my own much improved 650. Better suspension, wider tyres, a stiffer frame and a very hefty alloy swinging arm with flash eccentric chain adjusters go some way to explain its enhanced stability and chuckability.
With its relatively high bars and naked look, it has to be said that it's not much cop above 90mph, the wind blast tried to tear you off the seat whilst arm and neck muscles start to ache after ten minutes at a 100mph. Having managed to pick up a bike with 5000 miles on the clock for £3250, it was nicely run in and there was no hesitation on my part to whack open the throttle on the first bit of straight.
It brought back pleasant memories, wrapping myself around the tank and getting down to it, and took only a few moments to get the speedo up to the 125mph level. Power becomes more exciting once past 7000 revs but there is little need to wring the balls off the beast in town. 115mph comes up very quickly, the last 10mph needing a bit of a long straight to achieve. Given its larger capacity than the 650, I was pleasantly surprised to find the motor remarkably smooth. Only at the redline did noticeable vibration intrude, but as there was no need to redline the engine in every gear this is not a real problem.
Where the Z650 had been quite heavy to haul around town, the Z750 could be flicked through the traffic with the ease of a bike half its capacity. It was so easy to ride that at times I forgot it weighs 450lbs and my over-confidence led me to lean it over too quickly - the result, the bike was only saved from tarmac ruin by a quick dab with my foot on the ground. At the other end of the scale, in the company of some headcases on CBR600s, I was actually able to stay ahead of them in the corners and by the simple expedient of sticking the Kawasaki in the middle of the road with over a ton on the clock stop them overtaking. They wouldn't dare go past because much above the ton the Kawasaki wallows and weaves like a good seventies baby. It never threatened to turn nasty like a Z1, and apparently looked more threatening than it felt.
In the middle ground, fast A and B roads, up to 80mph curves, I could find little to complain of and much to praise. The rutted condition of local roads did little to ruin the Z750's poise. When hitting a pot-hole whilst under acceleration, the bars would waggle for a moment but settled down so quickly that I did not have time to worry about it. Riding over a brick some idiot had left in the road at 75mph, convinced me that the bike's stability under abuse was basically sound, although the sudden intrusion of lurching forks into my quiet calm and contentment nearly made me brown my trousers.
Typical of fours, engine braking was not present and the exhaust noise, even on the overrun, was never going to send shivers down your back. The exhaust never has the edge or howl of some highly tuned across the frame fours and I can barely wait for the aftermarket chaps to start selling a more rorty 4-1. Save some mass at the same time, as well.
The rear shocks were good for the first 12000 miles on the clock, then the damping went away and there was a distinct pogo effect over bumpy going. The front forks were still okay up to the 14500 miles that I managed before writing this, although they would flutter a bit over heavy bumps on 80mph plus roads. That the handling was still basically sound goes to show that hidden within the old fashioned tubular trellis must be some very sound engineering. It makes you think, if Kawasaki can put together such a good package from such old fashioned components, who really needs quick wear mono-shock linkages?
The front Bridgestone tyre went for 9000 miles, the rear 7000 miles. I was so impressed with them that I fitted another set as I was able to buy them at a big discount - some people still insist in fitting European tyres from new, so there are some good deals on the replaced Bridgestones. Certainly, the Japanese have advanced rapidly in this area. Again, the sure sign of a good chassis, degeneration of handling with the tyres down to 1mm was minimal. Just an increased susceptibility to white lines spoilt the picture.
I did find that wet weather riding was spoilt by a tendency of the engine to cut out in fierce downpours. This was not to turn into a serious problem as squirting WD40 on to the sparks plug caps solved it, but I was always suspicious that I might have an engine running on three or even two cylinders when I was in desperate need of full power. Feedback from the road in the wet could've been better, but riding in the sub 7000rpm section ensured that the power delivery to the rear tyre was sufficiently moderate to avoid rear wheel slip.
The brakes were certainly not affected by the wet. Twin discs out front and a single rear with state of the art twin piston calipers are fierce in the extreme. Very much a nineties design, they are not really endowed with much by way of feedback for gentle wet weather retardation, but in the dry you can shoot up to sharp corners and leave your braking to the last possible moment. On a couple of occasions when the usual plonkers pulled out in the way they saved my bacon.
Pad wear was prodigious - 6000 and 8000 miles front and rear respectively. By the time you've handed over a large pile of notes to your local Kawasaki dealer it's put you in such a bad mood that old grannies and roaming dogs are at peril for the next few days.
Another expense was fuel economy. This was the only area in which the seventies design was showing its age. Air cooled with two valves per cylinder it just can't cope with modern emission regulations......absolute power was down on the GPz750, let alone the Z1, yet the bike's economy could not approach these older, heavier and faster machines. My average worked out at 41mpg. Not once did it better 45mpg and really unrestrained riding with the speedo past the ton for as long as possible meant that 30mpg was the order of the day. You could do about 100 miles before looking for a gas station.
Under such thrashing the bike also drank oil in an irresponsible manner. Two hundred miles of sublime abuse would need a pint of oil added to the sump. As an old seventies hand I ignored the handbook's suggested oil change intervals and religiously replenished the oil every 1000 miles. Other servicing was minimal with an auto tensioner and electronic ignition. The carbs stayed in balance and the valves within limits over the 9000 miles I did on the bike. Reliability has been absolute.
Unfortunately, the finish on the bike wasn't the best I've come across. The back of the tank, where it met the seat, the exhaust down pipes and some of the brackets had all started to rust. A bit of elbow grease and Solvol was sufficient to keep it at bay but I felt at such a low mileage it should not have been necessary.
The bike is used for everything - daily commuting, fast weekend fun and continental touring - and copes remarkably well straight out of the crate. I would not spoil its looks by adding a fairing, although for high speed work it really needs one. It upsets the plastic speedsters because it always draws a crowd when parked amid them. I don't know if the new engine will go around the clock but intend to have a jolly good go at finding out!
A.R.H
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It was early 1992 when I had the chance of buying a 1500 mile 750 Zephyr. I had been hanging out in the dealers every Saturday looking for something suitable. This one was a repossession, had just been serviced and glowed nicely in the showroom with a £3600 price tag. The dealer offered an extravagant amount for my RG125, which was on its last legs having been thrashed by several brain dead juveniles.
The Zephyr looked neat in its retro way but was heavier than it appeared and quite a change after the featherweight Suzuki. I had to admit that it was very comfortable for throwing around town but found the gearbox a bit crunchy after the slick box on the RG. The throttle response seemed slow with 70 horses on hand but I put that down to more than 450lbs worth of metal.
Within thirty minutes of taking possession of the Zephyr I almost wrote it off. Wasn't my fault, honest! What happened was that some plonker decided to do a U-turn just as I was shooting down between a queue of cars at 50mph. Instinctively I hit the brakes without thinking about it. The front wheel burnt off a layer of rubber as it locked up with a terrible squeal. The double discs put the forks down on their stops but the Kawasaki pulled up in an incredibly short distance, dead straight. About two inches from the cager who looked at me as if I'd just crawled from under a rock. We played on our horns, the puny item on the Z losing out.
The next day the skies were gloomy and it was cold enough to turn oil solid but it didn't stop me going for a long blast. I was interested to see what the motor would do and how it would handle at speed. I'd heard tales of fear and loathing on big fours of the past, wanted to see how the 750 matched up. I needn't have worried, after the twitchiness of the little RG the Zephyr was wonderfully composed and once I'd got over my fear of the weight it could even be flung through corners fast enough to scare the shit out of my GPX750 mounted mate.
What annoyed me, though, was the riding position. As comfortable as an armchair up to 85mph, thereafter it was massive arm, neck and shoulder ache all the way to the casualty ward... I resisted the urge to scream my head off, got my head down on the handlebar clamps and saw 130mph on the clock before the pain and a slight wallow suggested that it was quite fast enough for me.
After a 250 mile run around the countryside I was frozen solid. It says a lot for the friendliness and ease of use that I was able to ride home with a brain numbed head; just dumping the engine in fifth and using the throttle. My mate was laughing his head off at my deep frozen body, his fairing having provided a degree of protection. The last five miles were through ice cold needles of rain but I was too drained to take much notice. Thawing out was even more painful as circulation slowly came back to my extremities.
The next day I went out to the street to find that someone had placed an old wreck where my pristine bike had been parked. It was only after checking the numberplate with the logbook that I was willing to believe that it was my machine. A terrible wave of corrosion had attacked the whole bike with alloy turned white and rust attacking most of the nuts and bolts. When I rode into work on the bike no-one would believe how new it was and how much it cost.
That night I attacked the machine with Solvol, old toothbrush and some rags. After a whole evening's effort it was restored to its former glory. In the winter and spring months I had to clean the bike every 3 or 4 days to stop it going off. They cost over four grand new, so how they can get away with such a shoddy finish I don't know.
Every weekend I went on a run of some sort with my mates. Together with 200 miles a week of commuting I was doing nearly 2000 miles a month. The only hassle was persuading my mates to keep the speed down to a sane level. 80 to 90mph cruising was reached as a compromise - I could just about hold on; their racing riding positions made some kind of sense. On anything other than motorways I got the better deal as far as comfort goes.
After about 7000 miles of abuse the engine started to go off tune - all I'd done was change the oil and filter once. They're supposed to be serviced every 3000 miles but they seem to run for twice that without any problems. I let the dealer do carbs, valves and new spark plugs for about 70 notes.
The engine ran beautifully but was a bit more finicky on the choke during starting. It would either rev to dizzy heights or stall dead. Juggling the choke lever frantically helped. Took five to ten minutes to warm up until it ran cleanly below 3500 revs.
I continued to be amazed at the way it could run tirelessly along, either burbling away at 40mph or straining my wrists at 90mph, which equated to 7000rpm. There was still plenty of pulling power in hand but fuel would go down the drain at a ferocious rate if it was really thrashed. Normally, I could look forward to about 50mpg, which I thought good compared to the 45mpg I used to get from my wailing RG. But put the speedo above 90mph for any length of time and it'll come crashing down to 35mpg!
A whole group of us take three or four weeks off each summer to go camping with the bikes and birds. Some bright spark decided Italy was an ideal destination. We split into two groups, there was no way I, or some guys on old Honda fours or GS850, could hope to keep up with the nutters on CBR's and FZR's. We took to minor French and Italian back roads like ducks to water. Great weather, scenery and roads. The Zephyr killed the old multi's dead in handling and performance. Despite spending hours in the seat every day I could perch my butt on the local cafe seats without any painful reminders.
The race replica crowd had been pulled over en masse by a pack of French porkers on the auto-route. They'd been cruising at about 125mph and had to pay hundreds each in fines. The pigs threatened to put them in jail unless they came up with the dosh. The hours they wasted sorting out the mess and their fear of speeding meant we turned up at the first campsite before them. They were all in agony from their riding positions, thanks to enforced low speeds.
The Kawasaki kept stealing the thunder from the other bikes in its typically understated way. Half clad Italian and French girls were quite willing to leap on the back for a quick blast along the Italian Riviera. The relative comfort of its pillion perch soon converted any doubters. The poor old race replica crowd could only show off by mono-wheel antics and occasional excursions on to the beach with the porkers in pursuit.
The night before the return I reckoned, somewhat drunk, that the relative comfort of the Zephyr would allow me to arrive in Blighty before the replica crowd if the journey was done in one blast. Reminded of this in the early morning heat haze, I cursed myself but decided to give it a go.
No-one seemed willing to do much more than 90mph after the previous fines. 12 hours in the saddle, much of it at more than 80mph, left me as stiff as a brick, bleary eyed but still functioning well enough to ride the bike on to the ferry. The FZR rider turned up half an hour later, promptly falling over sideways whilst still perched on the bike. Took him the whole ferry journey before he could flex his muscles again.
Apart from the oil changes and another two dealer services, two sets of tyres and one chain, the Zephyr has cost only fuel over 19500 miles of mindless abuse. It runs as well as ever but cosmetics are very poor. It's fast enough to ruin your licence, comfortable enough to commute or cruise at up to 85mph and takes everything I've thrown at it.
Danny Irwing
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The feeling of freedom when I arrived in France for the first time nearly blew my mind away. The 750 Zephyr gleamed in the July sunshine and whirred away like it was brand new rather than 14000 miles, and two owners, old. It looked so neat, so complete - okay the seat's tail was a bit out of place and the oil cooler was a gross affectation on a 68hp, air-cooled DOHC four, but the rest of it was so right!
At that point in the story I'd owned the Kawasaki for a mere week and was still revelling in the power and fine handling. What? My previous bike was a GS450E with 50,000 miles on the clock, which perhaps explains my infatuation. I'd traded in the GS after a mechanic friend told me that the plain main bearings of the Suzuki had started to knock!
This was my first time abroad, so wobbling out of Calais on the wrong side of the road had all my attention. The port seemed well run down without any of the aura of romance I'd expected but that didn't diminish the thrill of being on foreign soil for the first time. That day I rode hard, until I crossed into Germany for an hour's speed testing on the autobahn.
130mph on the clock. Wow! Bit of a struggle with the riding position, but I found my legs well braced against the footpegs and I could sort of crouch down against the invigorating rush of wind. I was king of the fast lane until some jerk in a Merc beeped me to get out of his way. He must've been doing 150mph.
A whole day in the saddle had left me wobbling like I had a dose of piles and my old back was in agony for a good half an hour. This was surprising as I'd done three hours on British motorways at a steady 90mph without experiencing any profound pains and I'd expected more of the same. After about two weeks of mad riding, huge distances every day, I did find my body toughening up. I can now do 500 miles in a day without any pains, but twice that, at high speeds, leaves me yearning for a BMW or even a cage!
Another savage aspect of really high speed running was that fuel dropped from 50mpg to 30mpg. With less than four gallons capacity that gave a pathetic range of only 100 miles before I had to look for the services. The combination of neutered engine design (from the emission, noise reg's), lack of fairing and 120mph speed added up to stroker-like economy. For some reason the Avon tyres lasted very well, over 10,000 miles and the O-ring chain shrugged off my speeding antics. Not a total disaster, then.
One near disaster occurred when the front guard fell off at 90mph. Somehow it got mangled by the wheel. One hell of a lurch, like the wheel was breaking up, before bits of plastic were spat off with a deadly momentum. The steering quickly settled down to its usual neutral feel. The guard was typically modern, skimpy enough to let huge plumes of water attack the machine in the wet. I took the opportunity to replace it with a much more substantial item, which, I'm sure, has allowed the machine to keep up the excellence of its finish. There are lots of stories of Zephyrs turning crap during a British winter, but I think most of this is down to the lack of a decent front guard.
In about 6000 miles of Continental trawling the only nasty that turned up was a copious oil leak at the head gasket. The rider's well insulated from the secondary vibes, but judging by the looseness of the head bolts the engine's buzzed when the revs are employed in anger. There ain't much point going above 9500 revs; power peaks there and the maximum torque's developed at a mere 7500rpm. The engine felt best at 7000 to 8000 revs.
After the old hacks I'd owned previously I couldn't find much wrong with the handling or stability. There was a bit of weaving above the ton and the odd shuffling around at the back end, but it was all so mild, and the 450lb machine so easy to use, that there was really no need to complain. Even on bald tyres all I had to watch was slides in the wet, when the composure did a runner as the bike did a massive twitch.
I suppose that the race replica crowd would find lots to complain about but I never tried to ride on the edge of the tyres, nor get my knees down, as I felt these merely a prelude to falling off. That's what comes of learning on cheap and nasty hacks, though I'm not knocking them as at least you can fall off without denting the balance of payments and you find out a hell of a lot about motorcycles in the process.
Back in the UK, the 750 had to run the full gamut of commuting chores. This involved hurtling down to London (from Stanmore) every day, weekends in Dulwich and odd night ride back and forth to Bristol. Of course, after the German experience I treated motorway speed limits with the disdain they deserved. No, officer, that certainly wasn't me doing 125mph on the M4. A half-size, mud encrusted numberplate kept my licence intact! The only thing that slowed me down was my girlfriend having a fit every time I went over 90mph. She went really wild with the fear of it all. Women!
One winter morning, with 32000 miles under its wheel, the starter just clicked rather than turning over the engine. The battery only had enough power to illuminate the idiot lights. Shit. The reason for this was half the acid had disappeared. My fault, I guess, for never checking it. I added some tap water and jump-leaded her from my dad's cage. The engine roared away but died as soon as the lifeline was disconnected. Needed a new battery, which blew most of the morning. My arriving late without phoning in gave the boss an excuse to sack me on the spot He'd been pissed ever since he found me with a hand up his daughter's skirt.
Being clever, I ended up with a job in Reading and no inclination to hand over crazy dosh for a nasty bedsit. That meant the ZR had to commute long distance through winter. Riding the bike on ice and snow had me pissing myself, as she skated all over the shop. A gentle hand on the throttle and bars was needed, I was really thankful for the mildness of the mill below 6000 revs. A few times I had to put my boot down, wrenching my leg in the process. No fun but a necessary evil.
I lasted in the job for two months, again pissing off the boss by telling him he was an idiot when he reckoned all blacks should be deported. Where do these idiots come from? The next job was in Wembley. Near enough to walk but I liked the Zephyr too much to suffer that indignity. The poor old engine hardly warmed up and I had to change the oil every 800 miles (instead of 3000) because it kept emulsifying.
Then the boss sent me out on the road in a company cage, selling shop-fronts! It used to drive me crazy sitting in traffic jams for ages but there was no way I could carry the samples on the bike, nor turn up in scruffy biking gear. I stuck that for two months when I grabbed the commission and resigned (made a change from getting the sack).
This time I was all set for a real bit of travel, a couple of months riding around Spain. The Zephyr had 44000 miles on the clock but still gleamed (I polished it every week and kept it in the house overnight). The engine was a bit rattly so I had a new camchain and tensioner fitted - the compression was good and she burnt no oil. The engine purred like new but the mechanic pointed out that the exhaust was about to drop off. Some of the metal was wafer thin, had rotted from the inside.
I knew by its loudness that some of the baffles had gone, which had affected the midrange with a stutter. The mechanic just happened to have a used but perfect Motad for a Z750 that he managed to fit without damaging anything. A new chain and sprocket kit (its second) plus tyres further depleted the bank account but I reckoned it was going to be cheaper to sort everything in the UK.
I'm all ready to go, now! The Zephyr ain't the fastest big four in the world but it suits me, has been reliable and cheap to run (except for fuel at high speed). Some of them have poor cosmetics and can be bought at bargain prices. A good deal!
G.K.