Six months with a stock Harley Davidson 883 had completely pissed me off! The mythology and the reality were completely divorced from each other. The only good thing I could think to say about it was that the image was so strong I sold it quickly without losing any money.
I love cruisers, the whole badass image. Enter a lovely chromed Yamaha Virago, complete with shaft drive, marvellously comfortable two tier seat and an overall civilized feel that Harley owners can only dream of. The front brake worked, the light lit up the road ahead and the shocks absorbed the road imperfections. There was much less vibration than the Harley, more speed and a general feeling that here was a bike that wasn't going to break down in the middle of nowhere (the Harley's primary chain had gone). To my ears, it even sounded better than the Harley!
Well, it wasn't perfect. The gearbox was a bit awkward, especially with five gears to abuse when four would've been more than adequate. Just over 60 horses was developed at 6000 revs but even more revealing was that the torque maxed out at a mere 3000rpm! All the more surprising then that it was a short stroke unit (95 x75mm), its torque coming from the vee-twin configuration and mild, two valve single overhead camshaft heads. Doing the valve clearances on the rear head was especially awkward, but they did stay in adjustment for a long time.
The cylinders are quite markedly offset to facilitate cooling of the rear one. In this air-cooled configuration it's the location of the rear cylinder, more than anything else, that limits power output to such a low level. In summer weather that back cylinder runs very hot indeed, great blasts of heat warming my legs to an uncomfortable degree. Sustained town riding in such circumstances can turn a normally nice motor very finicky indeed, ruining the laid back, relaxed feel.
That it was hot running was shown in the amount of noise the engine made when it was started from cold. Until it warmed up it sounded just like a knackered Yamaha XS650 twin! The clutch was also very changeable. The pressure needed at the lever going from moderate to knuckle busting as the engine warmed up.
With the directness of the shaft drive, the odd gearbox and the lurid clutch, it was dead easy to get the transmission clanging away like an old BMW boxer. To be fair to the Yamaha, gears were almost always engaged and it was only after the engine was used hard for a few hours that its noises became particularly virulent!
Distressingly, this usually coincided with the tail end of a hard day's ride when all I was looking for was a comfortable bed (and/or woman) and the last thing I wanted was a fight with a reluctant gearbox. This was not too difficult to overcome as there was loads of torque and the XV could usually be dumped in third or fourth. Or even fifth if the road was open and clear.
Clearly, custom cruisers have riding positions that severely limit both top and cruising speeds. Placed in a proper chassis I'd guess that the engine would cruise at 90-95mph and have a top speed of 120mph. In Virago guise 75 to 80mph cruising was the most I'd like to sustain and I never pushed the bike beyond 100mph, more down to the riding position than any fear of the chassis letting loose. The engine thrummed quite vividly around 95mph, due to the offset con-rods and the resulting torque reaction. It wasn't annoying as it was impossible to hold that speed for any length of time.
I didn't feel that the XV was a particularly dangerous bike in the corners. Ground clearance was not very generous, but the tips of the footrests would touch down just before anything else, giving a chance to back off before anything solid dug in. I never really pushed it hard, always aware that there were 500lbs ready to bite back.
The 60 inch wheelbase undoubtedly aided the general feel of stability, but did nothing to help the speed with which it could be chucked from side to side or turned through traffic. Slow and steady was the best description. I felt much happier than on the Harley, which had harsh suspension and a feeling that it would like to let go in a very big way.
The Yam's suspension was a congenial balance between absorbing bumps and stopping the chassis going way off line. Speed and bumps had the worst effect, but even then it was only a matter of mild weaves rather than mind boggling wobbles. Different courses for different folks, of course, but as a cruiser fanatic I found the Virago one of the best handling bikes around.
People who buy cruisers like gloss - shiny alloy and chrome, deep paint and enough sheen to make sunglasses obligatory. Three years worth of summer abuse didn't do any damage to the Virago, although I got into the habit of doing a Sunday morning polish. I could see my reflection in the alloy and paint. Lovely. The previous owner had replaced the exhaust with a stainless steel system so I didn't even have the problem of quick rot silencers.
I know a lot of people hate these kind of machines but for all their inherent faults they are a very positive experience. Even the Harley could get me high, on the XV I rode everywhere with a wide, wide smile, any semblance of violence I might've harboured dissipated by the feeling of good times that the vee-twin emanated. Relaxed in the laid back riding position, bathed in the beat of motor and stimulated by the great gobs of torque, I would go for a long ride and come back full of joy and happiness that not even all the cares and horrors of the modern world could dissipate.
I should, of course, have been cruising along Californian highways rather than in the UK when the sun could disappear in an instant and a nasty downpour soak me through before I had a chance to get my waterproofs on. The engine was equally horrified at being drenched, sometimes going on to one cylinder, other times cutting out completely. For some reason screaming at it caused the ignition to resume working, with a resulting wrench that almost broke my arms. If I thought it was going to rain then I'd spray the motor with WD40 before going out, which stopped any maliciousness.
Other than rudimentary maintenance and oil changes, the motor ran well. There was twelve thou on the clock when I bought it and 28000 miles done as I write this. Any problems are likely to emerge from that hot rear cylinder and I wouldn't be too happy about buying a bike which had gone past 40,000 miles. Don't be put off by a cold engine that rattles, they should diminish as the engine warms up and the clearances tighten up.
Harley owners will think I'm unfairly biased in favour of the XV, but, believe me, I originally lusted after a Harley with more intensity than I've ever experienced before or since. The reality was like finding out a beautiful woman was frigid in bed. All that energy and enthusiasm blown on a dud. The XV works well and has slowly but surely wormed its way into my heart.
Mike Nicholls
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1992 was a very good year for me. Not least because I bought an imported Yamaha XV1000. A strange history, this one. Only a single owner in the UK, it had needed a replacement engine at 36000 miles and a lot of the finish was corroded, way past its sell-by date. I'd imagined choppers like the XV lived a mild and cossetted life. This one had evidently been ridden in all weathers and somewhat neglected. For £600 I couldn't complain too loudly.
Riding home I was impressed with the flow of low rev torque if annoyed by the agricultural gearbox; at least the shaft drive removed one major maintenance chore. The chop layout, with long forks kicked way out, felt rather relaxed at sub 60mph speeds. Stability was good, the ability to chuck it through curves helped by the low placement of the narrow vee-twin engine. In fact, it was the undercarriage grinding away that proved the major limitation on handling and not the laid back layout.
A bumpy curve had the Yam veering all over the place, great lumps of tarmac ripped out of the road. I felt like someone was kicking me in the kidneys and that death was near at hand. Riding fast through corners required a deliberate if not desperate cut and thrust technique. I soon decided that this wasn't much fun and that it'd be better to labour along at a more moderate velocity. The XV and I both felt much more relaxed.
I have ridden Harleys before, the XV stomping out more torque, not to mention speed and acceleration, than the 883 but hardly up to the standards of the bigger vees. There's enough torque, though, to stomp along in top gear once out of town. In this hectic world of ours it's difficult to get a handle on laid back creatures like these vee-twins but after about a month I was kinda addicted.
A large part of this was undoubtedly down to the way the parked XV had attracted a stunning blond nubile. She ended up on my pillion and eventually in my bed, her lithe body not making the slightest impact on the Yam's performance. I was quite shocked by the way the bike pulled birds - perhaps they had cottoned on to the fact that owners of luxury customs usually had bigger wallets than they had cocks? Although the logic of the female mind ain't something that I'd want to contemplate for very long.
It was just as well that the Yam had proved itself quickly because I wasn't too amused when the front guard fell off. I wouldn't say the XV vibrated harshly but I was always aware of some thrumming, even thudding when the shaft drive churned in. When the guard went it became coalesced with the front wheel until it disintegrated. The long forks flexed and fluttered as if they were about to snap off. Gave me the creeps, anyway, and we ended up veering towards oncoming traffic. They were not amused. I made it home without being booked for not having a front guard, the only good thing to come out of that adventure.
I don't know if the above is connected to the following but suspect so...Three weeks later I was lovingly wiping over the front wheel in readiness for a session with the Solvol, when what should I spot beneath the thin film of corrosion but a crack where one of the alloy spokes joined the rim. A shiver of horror ran through me as I viewed the potential carnage in my mind. It was barely more than a hairline crack, easily missed. Could've been caused by the past owner's misdeeds - the breaker who sold me a used replacement reckoned he'd never come across it before but took delight in showing me another XV with a collapsed front end (from a crash). He was a speed freak, tended to laugh at cruisers, but he threw in the twin discs for free as neither of us could be bothered to remove them.
I suppose this was just as well because the old discs were looking thin by then. The calipers didn't take too well to working on the thicker material, taking a good 2000 miles before they settled down. The twin discs needed some care as they were a little snatchy, especially in the wet. Pads lasted for over 10,000 miles but the calipers needed a strip and clean after an English winter. I wasn't overwhelmed by the feel and effectiveness of the rear drum, just thankful that it never needed any attention.
The bike ran superbly for about four months after the wheel was fixed. Then starting became difficult and running poor. I tried new spark plugs, relieved that there was a big, fat blue spark but it didn't improve the running. After some cursing I traced the problem to rotting wiring and corroded switches. I replaced the necessary bits and all was well again; had I left it much longer I'm sure the electrical components would've burnt out. There was a slight tendency for the front cylinder to cut out in the wet, due more than anything else to the concentration of water on its head. The cylinder never went completely dead, stuttered for a few yards until it cleared up. I tried the obvious solutions with absolutely no effect; gave up in the end and learnt to live with it.
Just part of the character, I kept telling myself. There was loads of that, the bike always felt like it was working away. At times, literally groaning under the strain but always pulling through. Most bikes only give their kicks when excess speed's dialled in, but the XV was Harley-like in the way I could get high on crossing the country at speeds under 70mph. Boring old fart, do I hear the younger readers mutter. Just wait, time will catch up with you some day.
Just after celebrating a year on the Yam, I thought the Grim Reaper had caught up with me. He took the form of a bloody big tour bus that roared through a junction, caught the front wheel. The bike twirled and I flew! Grinding meal and screaming rider. Oh my lovely cruiser (by then the alloy and paint shone) and my poor old elbow cracking up. The bus driver celebrated the event with a tune on his horn and an amazing disappearing act. The rescue services were left to pick up the pieces and myself the cost.
The damage stopped at the headstock, the front end completely mashed. One side of the bike was heavily scratched but not broken, the other had a couple of dents in the hardware. About £200 spent on used bits and six weeks off the road. Believe me, the withdrawal symptoms were worse than the pain from the elbow!
Back on the road for another year, only minor hassles, ending up with 79000 miles on the chromium plated clock. By then, if the engine was both rattling and knocking - more like an old Brit than a pure bit of Japanese engineering - there was still enough power and torque to have real fun within the limits of the chassis (amazingly enough, save for the crashed front end I hadn't had to replace even a set of wheel bearings). Trying to find a good XV engine was proving futile. There were a couple of 1100 engines on offer but the breakers I talked to were vague on the possibilities of doing a successful swap and the one time I tried to phone the Yamaha importer I kept getting put on hold.
I kept riding the XV. The gearbox was becoming rather vile and when I slammed the throttle shut there was a lot of pattering from the back wheel (probably the shaft's universal joints on the way out). I was determined to wear out a newish set of tyres (about 9000 miles) before trading or selling the bike. With 84000 miles done the local dealer offered me a 1000 notes off the slightly inflated price of a '94 XV1100 - I fell for the deal, like the true child of the sixties that I am.
The newer cruiser's better in every way than the old, which seemed worn out after 75000 miles of abuse (on its second engine, remember). That's not to say that it's a bad bike, because I did many thousands of miles on mine, just one that was a bit tired out. Speed maniacs will find the braking, handling and acceleration hardly worth a light. Those pissed off with Harleys, or who merely can't afford them, will have a wonderful time on the XV, as long as they find a low mileage example. The 1100 pulls the frails even better than the old bike!
Kevin Carson
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Bright alloy and chrome threatened my eyesight, if not my coherence. Perhaps it was that which swung the deal. God knows I wasn't too keen on customs. Silly was the nicest description of the riding position but it's surprising how quickly I became used to it. I definitely liked the vee twin engine. Tuned totally for grunt it would slog away from 1000rpm in top gear despite the complaints of the shaft drive.
The only thing that diminished the forward progress was the sheer, excessive mass - nearly 600lbs! This is all rather strange as the engine's used as a stressed member - no down tubes - most of the bike consisting of its motor. Done properly it should weigh way less than 400lbs, done with regard to Jap cheapo production techniques it ends up an heavy old elephant.
Of course, it isn't just the weight that slows the top end goodies, it's also the sit up and scream riding position. Fine for bopping around town but try for any speeds above 70mph and it's agony time. Shoulder muscles screamed, even some pain hit my thighs. Hold the throttle open in top, the bike will shudder up to 115mph. The Yam wanders around a little, thrums up a bit of vibration and generally feels a bit frightening, as if both the mechanics and chassis were pushing beyond their design limits and might catastrophically fail at any moment.
The bike wasn't new though it gleamed as if it was. The clock had 36000 miles on it. No doubt some wear in the engine and chassis added to the feeling that it was about to fly apart when pushed to the limit. The bike screamed out to be ridden in a sane, sedate manner in keeping with its custom guise. Ridden thus it was glory time all the way. Once used to the riding position and handling quirks it was just a matter of laying back in the comfy saddle and letting the torque thump out like it would pull a few elephants apart.
Yamaha claim 8.7kg-m at 3000 revs, with the 62 horses peaking at 6000rpm. The power's pathetic for a 1063cc machine, at least in theory - in reality it's like those Harleys, the stonking stomp overwhelms everything else and the engine never feels in the least bit weak. A similarly powered GPz550 engine, for instance, is revealed as totally wimpy in comparison to the sheer excessive grunt.
In practice this led to annoyed and disbelieving replica riders who couldn't believe that such a pose vehicle could growl up the road at such a rapid pace. It was quite funny watching them in the mirrors, front wheels up around their heads and wavering all over the place. Of course, once they got their act together they would shoot past at some unlikely, three figure, velocity.
I did the same trick with any number of car drivers, reassured that they didn't have the space to try on anything hardcore. Riding around Gloucester was a laugh a minute, helped along by the silencers being degutted - enough of a blast to rattle shop windows and set off alarms! I reckoned that the exhaust noise was a prime safety device - no-one, but no-one, not even the most dozy ped or cager, was surprised by my sudden appearance.
Where the bike did need a bit of skill was in the normal cut and thrust of riding. Accelerating and braking hard needed a smooth grip on the controls to avoid turning the bike into a manic rocking horse. The front forks were coupled with rebuilt twin discs (Goodridge, EBC's, braided hose, etc), the former sprung perfectly for 55mph cruising on wondrously smooth American highways. Harsh braking made the forks plop down on their stops whilst feeling like the stanchions were close to breaking off.
It was all the violence of the 600lbs of mass suddenly shooting forward. The narrow and thus lowly slung mass of the engine was all that stopped the disturbing transference of weight going right out of control - one area where vee-twins are way ahead of similarly styled and suspended fours.
Further complexity to the handling fun and games was added by the grossly mismatched wheels. A fat fifteen inch rear wheel and thin nineteen inch front were par for the course on a custom but not much use in helping to control such excessive mass and torque. The mismatch was explicit in the faster bends when neither tyre wanted to go in the same direction and the overwhelming impression was that the bike was on the edge of slipping into oblivion. This on fresh tyres at the correct pressure. Okay, customs aren't supposed to be ridden with elan and if I went into laid back mode then all was joy and jubilation.
But that was something of a waste, having to back off just as the glorious torque was taking the forward momentum up to yet again another level of sensory excess. Message to Mr. Yamaha, do a Vincent-esque version and make loads of dosh.
The only time I had any real complaints about the engine was in the wet when the front pot would occasionally cut out. Not a nice experience; a profoundly unbalanced thumper with a direct connection to hell via its shaft drive on slippery roads is akin to abandoning all hope and entering a strange realm of survival dependent purely on hope and luck. I won out most of the time but there were sufficient near scrapes to give my heart the odd flutter.
WD40, sprayed on the plug cap and coils, helped a little but it always seemed to happen when I least expected it. The bike also felt like it was going to go sideways if I ever tried to ride hard on damp roads with any curves in them - not a good idea to go wild on the throttle, not with the direct shaft drive and heavy torque waiting to let loose.
It wasn't so bad that it actually stopped me riding the bike through winter. The vast swathe of polished alloy and chrome needed daily work to keep it up to spec. I could see that it would fade away rapidly unless I took great care of it. The underneath of the engine was a different matter - loads of nooks and crannies for the road salt and grime to hide. Only Gunk and a jet-wash had any effect on it.
The worst aspect of the Virago in the wet and cold was the lap full of water that resulted from its laid back riding position. Difficult as it was to look cool on a motorcycle in the winter, it was much more embarrassing to get off a bike looking like I was an incontinent old bastard. Winter riding equated to frozen extremities and a complexion that would only go unremarked on some OAP who indulged in sixty fags a day. Not the nicest experience in the world, but a necessary one as it was my only means of transport. Overall, the Yamaha survived much better than I did.
In slow winter riding, fuel was a reasonable 60mpg, compared to nearer 40mpg when spirited use of the throttle was employed. The shaft drive was obviously maintenance free and a godsend in mucky weather. Tyres wore not heavily in the 3750 miles I've done on the bike in the past nine months. Only the front pads had to be replaced. Not too surprising as the grunt would often power me towards corners at a suicidal pace, requiring a large handful of brake to avoid crashing.
There I go again, admitting to trying to ride a custom like a proper motorcycle, but the engine's such an excellent bit of kit that I often got carried away. Which just about sums up life with a Virago. Some great engineering in there, somewhat emasculated by the genre that Yamaha has see fit to inflict upon it. Whatever, Virago's are interesting bikes in a world full of replica fours and there's even an owners' club! I haven't joined, prefer my motorcycling to be an individual affair. And whatever you think of customs the Yam's a true original.
Keith Dickinson