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