The frost on the road made life very dangerous. The XJ650, normally quite stable, became as treacherous as a trapped snake. The big front wheel kept trying to slip away. Quick reactions on the bars and with my boot stopped the bike manifesting how it felt - an accident looking for somewhere to happen.
I was a prisoner of my own paranoia. I pulled over to the side of the road, propped the bike against a wall and lit a home-rolled. I let the rising sun warm the road and the tang of ganja heat my blood. Half an hour later I deemed the road safe. Things didn't use to be like this in my youth. Me old BSA twin would stately roll through ice bound roads in a way that the Japanese four could only dream of! Progress where are you?
If the handling gene had done a runner, the XJ could at least boast good reliability, especially for a stock bike that'd done 48000 miles before I bought it. These DOHC fours are tough meat despite having a certain quaintness of design. If anything major goes wrong it needs a total engine strip to sort out. The Nips can be thick.
Their stupidity went as far as a chassis that would jar over rough roads. Felt like someone was kicking me in the backside with hobnail boots whilst someone else was trying to break my arms. There was a certain subtlety to old British bikes which had stiff, short travel suspension but cut down on the pain by having a riding position that allowed the human body more easily to absorb bumps. I know, it's a yawn to compare a modern Jap with an ancient Brit, but history is only bunk if you don't learn from it.
There's a certain waste in the way modern bikes are made to appeal to the weekend rider rather than for practical motorcycling. To the Yam's credit, the shaft drive can't be faulted, very practical if a touch inefficient with all the twists and turns in the transmission's path. The rest was pretty horrifying - tyres wore out in less than 7000 miles and the front pads went west in 4500 miles.
The latter wasn't helped by the way I found myself shooting up to corners 20 to 30mph too fast. What's the old fool complaining about now, should put him on a moped...probably right but I found the smoothness of the engine rather distracting and I'd let her wind up to silly speeds without really thinking about it - until it was almost too late!
Well, I've got a different way of looking at things than most people. For instance, I let the local mechanic do the valves (in the hope he'd go easy on the MOT) and the parasitical little twerp tried to charge me twice what he'd originally quoted. When he wouldn't desist I gave him a sharp right hook, threw the correct money at him and roared out of there (without an MOT) before he could pick himself up off the floor.
Two weeks later I found the XJ was running really bad, spitting and burping like a third world refugee on his first square meal for a month. A strange, sweet smell wafted up from the exhaust. My long memory of past pranks and nasty deeds zeroed in on the olfactory stimulant. Some bastard had put sugar in the petrol tank! I knew who it was and my revenge was total (or totally illegal, so I can't go into details, not even in the UMG).
A certain amount of wickedness is necessary to survive both the motorcycle experience and modern life. Wicked use of the throttle and reluctant gearbox resulted in 130mph - impressive even though the speedo was as optimistic as a vicar in a bordello. Comparisons with friends' bike gave a top speed of only 115-120mph, about what you'd expect from a seventy horse, 450lb bike.
Acceleration, at least up to the ton, was very, very impressive. Some poor lost soul in a Porsche 911 had the shock of his life when I burnt him off. I didn't even have to go into the red. Too much throttle could burn tread off the back wheel in a very expensive manner. Clip-ons made wheelies hard work, no great trouble as I didn't like doing them unless there were schoolgirls around to impress. (Those uniforms...shit, I've blown my cover and can expect the dreaded social workers - oh well, you don't think I'm going to sign this treatise, do you?)
The only time the XJ felt a bit like a cart and horse was on one piece of council neglect, more pothole than tarmac. My doctor wasn't amused when I complained about a bad back...what's with these medical people; overpaid hacks with a patronising line of chatter - you're better off going straight to the hospital. As I had no option but to ride down these dead roads, a thicker seat was quickly found and modified to suit the XJ's strong tubular frame.
I was often sorely provoked by the way the cars tried to block my progress in town. Some jerk would actually swing back and forth in his foot of space in the stalled traffic, desperately, frantically trying to block me off. When they succeeded I'd sit there whipping the throttle back and forth, blipping the horn, being totally ignored by the cager who'd slunk down in his seat. I often thought about carrying a tyre iron or sledge-hammer. On reflection, I decided if I was so armed I'd go really berserk.
Commonplace irritants can become blown up out of all proportion by the combination of rain, cold and endless traffic jams. I'm sure it was the stress and wearing a crash helmet that caused me to start going bald. That made me even more angry. Sometimes I'd blow through traffic at a tremendous pace, practising mind over matter, absolutely convinced that spaces were going to open up for me. Funnily enough, they usually did!
The XJ ran from 48000 miles to 74000 miles without any great hassles. Careful study of the engine's bolts convinced me that the motor had never been touched by human hand (save for the valve covers). Impressive. The engine started to go wrong with some rattles from the camchain, which quickly escalated to tapping noises from the head and knocking from the bottom end.
A bit of bodging on the camchain tensioner (an art learnt by anyone who's owned an eighties Honda) got us past the 82000 mile mark when there was a significant fall-off in performance. Essentially, all the engine's bearing were loose! Not so impressive.
However, the chassis was in very good condition and after a few months a crashed XJ650 turned up for £275. There was always the chance that it'd crashed because the engine seized but I flipped a coin and it came up in favour of buying the bike. The only problem I had was that the shaft drives were slightly different but ten minutes work with the grinding wheel allowed the components to mate. The new bike runs better than ever.
There's probably a bit of luck involved in finding a good one but something nice for around £750 is as sensible buy as any UJM. Don't be frightened by non-standard chassis bits, they just make them all the better. I fancy an XS1100 next time around.
K.W.
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1983 was a good year for motorcycles. Seemed like that to me, anyway, as I viewed the five year old, 14000 mile Yamaha XJ650. Thumbed the starter, the engine instantly rumbling into life, exploded out of a rudimentary 4-1, windows threatening to shatter as I whipped the throttle around. The bike tried to waddle sideways as the secondary vibes ran through the chassis. The test ride went well enough. I didn't fall off. For £350 I couldn't be too choosy; I'd seen some on sale for £1350!
The first ride on a new motorcycle is always interesting. The XJ weighed 450lbs, had naff suspension, a dubious transmission and worn out tyres. It also had 70 horses, a wild dose of acceleration at 7000rpm and a pair of disc brakes that had an on/off action redolent of a sledgehammer smashing an egg. The ride was a series of inane grins and near heart attacks. The XJ didn't want to go where I pointed it and I certainly didn't want to go where it needed to veer off to.
After a few miles of wrestling with the bars, I got a grip on the throttle and slowed down to within 20mph above the legal limit. That was more tolerable but I gave thanks that the cloudy sky didn't let loose with a dose of water. I had the feeling that the XJ's bald tyres would let go without warning on wet roads. The first thing to do was buy a new set of Metzelers.
Thus shod, the next week I had the dubious pleasure of riding 350 miles through rain, fog and cold (this was May!). Or trying to, as the motor would cough on to two or three cylinders without warning and then the power flowed in fully, sending the back wheel into a frenzy. This ensured that I was never bored, also that I could not contemplate any overtaking madness.
Back home, I decided that new coils, HT leads and plugs were needed. After a chat with the dealer I bought a set of plugs and went off to the breakers. Bits from a mangled but brand new XJ900 were fitted at a third of the cost of new XJ650 coils and leads. It didn't rain for a month afterwards, but the problem did actually clear up. For a while.
The commuting chores weren't brilliant. The front discs didn't respond to either a lot of tender loving care or much dosh on fluid, pads and hose. The action was still too sudden and violent. There was enough stopping power to shake the forks loose, but it was very difficult to use. Locked wheels on dry roads were mildly amusing, as the squeals made pedestrians jump out of their shoes. Even with a new tyre, in the wet the slides were heart stopping. I had to put a boot down to save myself a couple of times.
The tyres helped the handling in the dry a lot. There was still a bit of vagueness in the steering but there was no fear of the high speed weaves turning terminal. I was quite happy to sit on the heap at 120 to 130mph for as long as my muscles could hold out against the sensible riding position, that was best for 75 to 85mph cruising. The motor put out a lot of secondary vibes in top at these speeds, was smoother at either 70 or 90mph, so whenever on motorways I got my head down and held the latter speed.
This had fuel pouring through the motor at 35mpg, although it was possible to do 50mpg in town or under a tediously mild right hand. Comfort was good for no more than 120 miles because the saddle's foam had long ago flattened out. But, stopping to fuel up and for a quick walk was sufficient to revive my muscles for another highway session. During the second year of ownership I did a 3500 mile tour in a couple of weeks without any problems.
Maintenance mostly consisted of oil, filter and carbs. The eight valves were really a dealer job but could be left for 15000 miles. Pads lasted 7000 miles, tyres 10,000 and 9000 miles front and rear. Finish was much better than I'd expected, only a little bit of paint curling off the frame welds (stock exhausts are naff, though). All the more surprising as I've seen some real rat XJ650s around.
Two years and 32000 miles went by with nothing more than money spent out on consumables. That put 46000 miles on the clock, enough to have the camchain clicking away and the 4-1 just about rusted through. I was being stopped by the rozzers about once a month, but they never bothered booking me. A used 4-1 for £30 was a lot cheaper than having a split-link camchain fitted for £125, as I didn't fancy doing it myself.
I rather wish I had, though, as the motor sounded and felt completely different. There was some backfiring through the carbs, which tried to pop out of their manifolds. I assumed the replacement exhaust was a bit more restrictive and tried to retune the carbs. It was whilst playing around with the airfilters off that I found the backfiring was actually flames shooting out of the carbs. It was okay above 4000rpm but went flat beyond eight grand. Turned out the valve timing was out a couple of teeth, the camchain had been incorrectly fitted.
The dealer refused to accept this fact at first. The chief monkey was summoned to view the flames shooting out of the carbs. He scratched his groin, muttering that he'd never seen anything like it before. They put it right for free but it took two weeks. That was more like it, fantastic acceleration and no more trying to imitate a flame-thrower. I'd been forced to commute on a borrowed Puch Maxi, so the XJ650 appeared brilliant for the first few days.
Another tour began in earnest, with just over 50,000 miles on the clock. Across from Birmingham into the wild Welsh hills, mostly deserted in early October. I'd fitted a huge windscreen on the bars which kept the worst of the weather off. The XJ still put out a lot of secondary vibes, not so much fierce as chronic. I blamed these buzzes for breaking the fairing brackets. It fell downwards, whacked the top of the mudguard then became enveloped in the front wheel.
The force on the bars was like being hit by a jack-hammer. I went from doing 35mph to a standstill without even the time to scream in protest. This happened going along a deserted mountain track with only the sheep for company. They ignored the sight of myself being thrown over the bars. I lost my momentum by rolling off the road and down a steep mountainside. Several thorny bushes impeded my progress.
It'd been dead easy to break a leg or have the XJ fall on top of myself. In that respect I was lucky. The XJ had stayed on the track after rolling over a few times. I crawled up the hill, which in my delirious state appeared near vertical. The XJ was still in one piece, but with some deep dents, broken ancillaries and bent bars and pegs. The engine bars had repaid their cost a hundred times over. I kicked it straight and carried on with the tour, swearing to myself never, ever, to fit a touring screen again.
Over the next few months I sorted out the bent bits. By then the XJ was sporting 60,000 miles, deemed only reliable enough for the ten miles a day commute. I'd never really become used to the disc brakes, especially in the wet, but using the back brake and engine braking under normal circumstances provided an approximation of sane retardation. The calipers needed a strip, clean and rebuild every 10 to 12,000 miles, the worse the weather the more frequent the chore.
Other than that, by then I was a dab hand at throwing the somewhat reluctant XJ through the town traffic. It wasn't the quickest steering beast in the world but the handling was generally neutral with few nasty surprises up its sleeve. Under emergency conditions, when some bugger does a sudden U-turn or a pedestrian steps out of nowhere, using all three brakes and knocking down the gears, invariably pulled me up in time.
Another sixteen months went by, with 78000 miles piled up, until fuel was down to 30mpg and the exhaust was smoking like a jet-fighter. There were several options available - rebuild the motor, replace it with a lower mileage mill, ride the bike into the ground or sell it while it was still saleable. Rust was beginning to get a grip on the chassis components and the cutting out in the wet had returned with a vengeance.
Sell it, I decided. I'd already had my money's worth several times over but it wasn't the kind of bike that I felt any deep affection for, it had too much of the universal Japanese four in its make-up for that. No way I was willing to strip it down to its frame and crankshaft and then spend hundreds, maybe thousands, on a complete rebuild. I kept it running until all the consumables were worn out and then put an advert in the local paper for £200. It sold within the hour and I had hundreds of phone calls. The general design and layout was sufficiently impressive for me to buy a one year old XJ900.
Keith Ealing
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It took me 82000 miles to break my Yamaha XJ650. I had suspected that the top end would give out first. The valves had started going out of adjustment every 700 miles come 75000 miles. Previously they had only needed attention every 10,000 miles. I once left them for twice that distance without any problems.
There again, the way the oil was being burnt off at 100 miles a pint suggested the bores and pistons were well past their prime. Top speed had long, since about 60,000 miles, been lowered to a mere 105mph instead of 125mph in its prime. Acceleration was still fine up to 80mph, slacking off and vibrating merrily thereafter.
The relatively simple two valve, DOHC engine didn't run to the sophistication of balancers. Hadn't really needed to in the early days, able to cruise along reliably, even smoothly, at 90mph all day long. Fuel that was being run through the engine at around 30mpg in the final days made a joke of any touring pretensions the XJ once boasted.
When I'd first bought the machine, I'd luxuriated in its smell of newness and the sophistication of its shaft drive. After a series of dismal if not dangerous hacks I felt I had at last arrived. That feeling had soon faded, though, when the suspension lost most of its tautness. Took only 18 months and 13000 miles for the bike to start wobbling and weaving. The forks were worn out, the seals leaking profusely after only a few hundred miles. The shocks were, er, shockingly soggy. The shaft drive would hit them with its inertia, trying to roll the bike right off the road when banked over.
I resented every penny I had to pay out for an XJ900 front end and pair of Koni shocks. The transformation in handling soon had me in better spirits. They have lasted well, too, there when the motor stopped running in a big way. Had no end of problems with the discs and calipers, though, but when they were set up properly they worked fine. Loads of power and only the slightest of wet weather delay with EBC pads, which last 12000 miles out front and about twice that at the back. Mainly, because the latter spent a good half of its time well and truly seized up. I trained myself not to use it....
I found the handling quite predictable and safe, although not on the OE Jap rubber which was quickly junked in favour of a pair of Venoms. Tyres usually bettered 10,000 miles, although in the last 15000 miles I've had to change them every 8000 miles. Beyond that the wear turned the chassis into an evil little twitcher.
Both paint and chrome have survived surprisingly well given the hard life the bike has suffered. I insisted on riding through ice cold winters and the wettest of springs. The cast wheels were a horror story, after the guarantee expired, proving impossible to clean up. Still, from a distance the bike could pass for a low mileage Yamaha. Especially as I got a mate to make up stainless steel 4-1 down-pipes. The Yamaha's gone through about half a dozen used silencers, rarely lasting for more than a year. Even had one fall off. Fantastic, animal roar resulted in my being chased around the council estate until I did a runner down a narrow alleyway. They could probably have kept track of me from miles away, the din the XJ was making, but must've been called away to something more urgent. The 4-1 exhaust had an effect on the carbs at low revs until I'd punched some holes in the airfilter. Well, it seemed like a good idea, but doubtless accelerated bore wear, not that it made much difference in the end.
Even with 60,000 miles on the clock I saw no reason why I shouldn't do a 5000 mile cruise in Europe. I had by then adopted a very laid back attitude and wasn't going to push the XJ anywhere near its limits. 70-80mph was the most I expected from the aged motor.
I'd been in Europe before and had learnt a suitable incantation to make sure I stayed on the correct side of the road. The first two weeks were great fun, mainly as I'd persuaded a Belgian girl I met on the ferry that it would be a ball for her to go home via France, Spain and then France again. In fact, she so tired me out that doing a couple of hundred miles on the XJ became my refuge from her constant demands.
After one particularly violent morning of passion in a small French hotel, we were rumbling down to the Italian border when this bloody great yellow Volvo appeared from nowhere, hogging my side of the road. I had time to note, not particularly surprised, that it had UK plates. The barbarian blasted his horn at us as if he was completely within his rights to run us off the road.
The upshot of that adventure was that I had to ride the XJ into a ditch. The violent way the front wheel was stopped threw me over the bars, the left-hand grip catching me between the legs. Through the tears and howling I saw that the girl had been even less lucky. She ended trapped under the machine with a broken leg. The police turned up minutes later and I was plunged into the depths of French bureaucracy. I was lucky to get out without being charged with attempted murder.
The XJ was bruised and dented rather than bent when the pigs finally gave me back the bike. I was impressed with its toughness until safely back in my garage in the UK I discovered the cast wheel was full of hairline cracks. I had sped home on a potentially lethal machine with a totally misplaced grin on my face once back on good old English soil. The breakers provided a replacement for thirty notes.
The bike was disaster free until its ultimate demise which was even more painful than the Frog incident. I had noticed, couldn't help noticing, that the gearchange was turning very harsh and unpredictable. With a bit of practice I had even perfected the art of sliding the locked-up back wheel around corners when I cocked up downchanges! A sometimes terrifying experience. There was enough slack in the transmission to get a BMW R60 owner high!
I was whacking down through the box, one sunny Sunday afternoon when there was a sudden, searing crunching of metal between my feet. The back tyre screamed as it locked solid, the XJ twitching so violently that I was thrown clean off the bike as it flew down the road. Oops. A nasty dose of gravel rash lacerated my frail body but no bones were broken.
There was nothing left that could be salvaged. I pulled the engine out, intrigued to find the cause of the failure. The gearbox internals and primary drive were mangled beyond belief. The rest of the mill was as worn out as the chassis was twisted, bent or cracked.
Despite that, I've little hesitation in recommending any of the XJ series - as long as they have less than 50,000 miles on the clock and had some decent suspension mods, there should be plenty of life left in them even if they've been abused.
Mike
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When you buy a 1983 Yamaha XJ650 for two hundred notes you don't expect too much. Especially when it has been around the clock despatching. Two days after taking delivery of the shaft drive four disaster struck. There was this crunching noise running through the engine as we lurched through town. It went away for a moment then the motor locked up solid. By the time I'd grabbed the clutch, the 450lb hack had slewed to a halt.
Car drivers forced out of their reverie by this sudden retardation were not too amused. Horns blared and fists emerged out of side-windows. No- one rushed out to help me push the heap into the gutter. With an excess of corroded discs sticking on and massive clutch drag, this was no easy act. Not to mention that I'm the proverbial 9 stone weed who gets sand kicked into his face. The end result was that we cleared the road for annoyed car drivers by collapsing into a heap on the pavement.
Fortunately, I landed on top of the bike rather than it laying me out flat. Mind you, the third degree burns from the fuming engine did not exactly endear the beast to me. The gaggle of pedestrians who were displaced by the falling Yamaha were even less elated. Not one offered to help me pull the XJ upright. This had become quite important because fuel was streaming out of the petrol tank. With extreme effort I managed to right the Yamaha before it exploded. The good old AA eventually took us home.
After about two weeks my back had recovered sufficiently to allow me to stagger out of bed. Were it not for the fact that I was completely broke I would have pulped the bike into a million pieces. Some kind friends volunteered to pull the engine out and help me with the strip. I cringed every time one of them whacked a seized in screw with the hammer and chisel.
To cut short a long story, the problem was caused by a pattern oil filter breaking up. It may just have been that it had not been changed for years, but I made damn sure to stomp up for an OE filter after that experience. Bits of the filter had found their way into the gearbox. One of gears was missing teeth where it had seized on the wire mesh. Other bits of the filter were found bunging up various oilways. Luckily, the gearbox seizure occurred before the top end or crank had time to be seriously damaged.
Otherwise, the general condition of the engine was surprisingly good. It looked like the DR had been telling the truth when he said that he'd recently put in a new cam chain. The bores were heavily worn in places, the rings a bit gummed up and the camshafts scored. None of it was serious enough to warrant replacement. Anyway, a new filter and can of oil all but blew my budget out of the window.
A mate agreed to let me borrow the front end off his seized XJ650....mine was so far gone the handling went crazy above 65mph. Another mate, used to a devious Kawa H1 500 triple, reckoned it was much worse than his machine! This new front end had been completely refurbished 2500 miles ago. Once the engine was back in the frame, I found the motor ran as before except that third gear made some desperate noises. It was so fearsome that I always booted straight up from second to fourth.
Or tried to anyway. However good the box might've been when new, with 122,000 miles done it was now horrible. It needed a really hefty boot to make it shift, more often than not finding a false neutral. The large amount of torque from the 653cc engine enabled the machine to run along in fourth for most of the time. Careful control of the throttle enabled the XJ to roll off from as little as 20mph. After a hard day's riding I have been known to ferociously slip the clutch from a standstill in fourth. It was less hassle than trying to play games on the ever so tired box. Fifth was dubious, because even when engaged there was a strong likelihood of it slipping out of gear. First gear had the reverse problem, it would often lock the gearbox up solid. The only way around that was to turn off the engine, rock the bike back and forth, using a hand on the gear lever to whack the bike back into neutral. Luckily, the bike could take off in second with no need to abuse the clutch.
This sounds like a pretty horrendous problem, but it didn't intrude into my enjoyment half as much as the engine cutting out in the wet. The direct action of the shaft drive encouraged the back wheel to lock up when the engine went dead. As this, by its very nature, happened on wet roads some very frightening skids occurred. Although large and heavy, the XJ was surprisingly easy to control with its improved front end. The back featured relatively new Koni-Dial-A-Rides, so no problem there. Stability and flickability were of a level that I escaped any doses of tarmac fever.
In the 10 months I've owned the XJ I never did discover the reason why it kept cutting out. There seemed nothing inherently wrong with the electrical system. She always started rapidly on the electric boot and I did not even experience any blown bulbs. I tried coating the coils and HT leads with a silicone sealant, but the problem persisted. Spraying everything with WD40 reduced the cutting out to about once a week rather than a couple of times a day.
This effect at least meant I never found riding the XJ boring. It was far too unpredictable a beast for that. The Yam wouldn't pull more than the ton, which was about as fast as I'd feel like going on a machine of this mileage. My left hand always hovered over the clutch. When new the motor put out over 70 horses, but acceleration felt more like 45 to 50hp were available. Unfortunately, fuel didn't match that prognosis. 30 to 35mpg were the norm, occasional mad blasts wrecking it further, 25mpg all too easily attained.
As the carbs needed balancing every 500 miles I suspect that they were badly worn, the main cause of the appalling economy. As the chassis became most temperamental on less than 3mm of tread, tyre life was also horrendous. Not much more than 5000 miles could be achieved on either Metz's, Pirellis or Avons. The shaft drive often whined and lurched annoyingly, which was cured, more or less, after adding some oil to the near empty housing.
Finish isn't worth talking about on such a well used and abused machine. Where I could, I touched it up with Hammerite. The degenerate appearance did provide the local rozzers with some mild amusement. They finally got fed up with trying to find a mechanical rather than a cosmetic fault. Over 18000 miles of thrashing the bike proved itself remarkably tough. Even the valvegear didn't need any attention. They had already worn as much as they were going to wear and decided to settle down nicely.
Eventually, my mate had fixed his XJ650 engine, demanding that I give him back his front end. He wasn't too amused to find that the calipers were sticking on and the pads out of life. In the meantime I had put stiffer springs in the original forks and cleaned up the old calipers. Braking was just about equal to the available performance. At least in the dry, wet weather was a different story. The front brake became like an on-off switch. Either massive braking force or nothing whatsoever.
I was forced to use engine braking and the rear brake. Not an altogether successful strategy, as thrashing down the box usually put the bike in a false neutral. Using the front brake in emergencies meant I had to fight a skidding front wheel. After a month of this self abuse my hair started to turn white! My hands were about as steady as the XJ's tickover. I kept annoying the local breakers by demanding calipers but most of them were in as sad a state as my own.
Salvation only came when my mate seized his engine again. Laugh? I almost pissed myself. Especially as he was so annoyed with the repeat performance he let me take the machine off his hands for a mere hundred notes. The cunning bugger took his nearly new tyres off first, mind, sticking some old Jap rubber on in their place. His chassis was in much better shape than mine, having only done 45000 miles. The obvious move was to put my engine and wheels in his frame. That put the braking back to being predictable in the wet and improved the overall handling.
The cause of his engine seizure remains a mystery. He didn't thrash his machine, did regular services and knows a lot about engines. Both times the pistons have melted into the bores. I have stripped the engine right down, next time I have to pull my motor apart I will fit his gearbox internals. It would be very nice to have a full complement of gears.
T
hat's the state of play as I write this. I have a somewhat tired engine in a nice chassis. Until I bought the second bike I just figured on riding the Yamaha into the ground. Now I've got a mass of spares it has become an entirely different proposition. Although XJ engines are not entirely lacking in problems, they seem to run for high mileages given a bit of care and attention. The damn thing still cuts out in the wet on occasion, which is my only serious complaint at the moment. The rest of the idiosyncrasies I can take as they come at me. I have a feeling I will get the damn beast past the 200,000 mark!
Graham Jones
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There are electrical burn outs. And then there are electrical burn outs! This one happened at a happy 60mph. The XJ thrumming along gently and the sun shining brightly. A beautiful day to be alive and out on a motorcycle. Until? Until I smelt burning. I looked around hopefully. Some deadbeat in a cage going up in flames? Nope. Some farmer burning his crop under EEC orders? Nope. When the flames began to lick my thighs I finally, dolefully, looked down.
Panic descended rapidly. My mind went blank. I swayed the big, corpulent 650cc four all over the road. Horns blared as cagers tried to get a better view of the imminent entertainment. Brake, thought I. So I did. Like a lemming gently led over the cliff edge, the Yamaha howled its tyres and made for the grass verge. Singed marital tackle imminent. I got up on the pegs then stepped off at about 30mph. The bike went sideways. Finishing off the day's work by trying to snap my shin bone in half.
Not one cager bothered to offer a helping hand. And one was definitely needed. See, the poor old Yam had demolished a hedge. Embedded itself in a minor pool. Which at least had put the fire out. I wasn't that surprised that she'd gone up in flames. The electrics had been bodged with components meant for a car. Frayed wiring repaired with insulation tape and hope. The battery was almost certainly original and half dead.
My injuries were superficial. Singed trousers and bruised leg. Nothing to get hysterical over, I kept telling myself. I was a big, macho motorcyclist now. Which was no consolation when I did my back in pulling the XJ free from the swamp. The bright sun didn't help either. Leaving me soaked in sweat.
Of course, the chances of starting a dripping wet motorcycle with burnt out electrics were entirely predictable. Zero. That didn't stop me trying for a bump start a couple of times. Which just pulled more muscles. Who should come along just as I was about to put a match in the petrol tank? Swampy! A subspecies who lived out of the back of a Plastic Pig van. Smelt like his other home was a sewer. Swampy liked to think himself a bit of a Wideboy in the Trotter tradition (hence the three-wheeler).
After refusing his offer of fifty quid to take it off my hands, we discovered there was no way to fit an XJ650 into the back of a Plastic Pig. This was when the tow rope magically appeared. I've done some absurd things in my life but never more so than being towed twenty miles by a Reliant three-wheeler. In fact, most of the way home it was a two-wheeler, the mass of the Yam making it sit up and beg. We really needed a couple of cop cars as escort. So much road space did we take up.
After the usual ritual abuse session, we parted on the best of terms. My large collection of dead electronic parts were scavenged for working bits. The molten battery was levered out from between the frame tubes. Only coming clear because it finally disintegrated. As did the sidepanels, seat and remaining wiring. Oops. Did I mentioned that part of the advanced state of decline was down to 81000 miles of tender loving care (not...)?
I managed to resurrect the beast on the minimum of dosh. As usual. The XJ650 was never well regarded by those in the know. Which was why I liked it. As it made them cheap. Its major failings were found in the handling and braking (I got the bike at 45000 miles, don't know what it was like new). Soggy suspension interacted with a raging shaft drive not at all benignly. The front end was a pogo-stick waiting to fall apart. Nothing a hefty pair of rear shocks and stiff springs couldn't cure.
The brakes were more difficult. A pair of twin front discs that could barely contain the 450lbs of solid beef. The discs were worn thin. The calipers inclined to locking on. The pads had seen better days. EBC's, new brake fluid and cleaned up calipers helped.
Until it rained. When the interaction of pads and discs was like steel on steel. Ugly frown lines soon formed on my forehead and rapid hair loss had the hair transplant surgeons forming a hopeful line. Cheap biking at speed equals rapid ageing. Take your choice.
Engine braking was thankfully good. Or it would've been had not the shaft drive tried to bounce the back wheel through the seat. A major achievement given that the springs barely moved with two giant bikers on the saddle. The Yam wasn't one of those bikes that could be flipped through holes in traffic with gay abandonment. It had the same kind of precise, fluid steering as a horse and cart.
A used set of discs aided the braking but they soon went off again. The calipers were scrap as well... This is what you need, lad, shouted the breaker as he hurled an XS1100 front end at me. As it was valuable (ie over a hundred quid), I staggered under its weight and didn't let it fall to the shit strewn garage floor. A weekend was blown getting everything to fit. The brakes now worked almost as well as a low end cage's.
Having sorted the handling and braking to a degree that allowed me to use all of the 70 horses, I then began to worry over the engine. The clattering top end and smoky exhaust indicated a major stripdown was due. On the other hand, 130mph on the clock and enough stomp to see off an XJ600S indicated that all was well. Sod it. Leave it alone and see how well it goes.
That was 36000 miles ago. I haven't touched the valves or the carbs. Done 3000 mile oil changes. Only because I don't like gearboxes full of false neutrals. True, top speed's down to a mere 125mph unless the gods summon up a following hurricane. Which anyway would probably cause the motor to stutter. This is one motorcycle that sure hates wet weather. Reluctant starting and cutting out adding to the woes of disappearing braking. The major upside, at least it's never boring!
Given its speed and chassis nastiness, accidents are almost inevitable. The XJ's quite a solid old bus. Can roll down the road, take the side off a car and generally induce cardiac arrest in the cagers, and still come back for more. In particular, the XS1100's front end must be praised for the way it could whack into the side of cages without bending or breaking. Marvellous chaps, car designers, making a cage with a soft, crumple zone that's allowed me to ride away from many an accident (we aren't going to mention insurance, at this point, are we?)
One knowledgeable soul reckoned the forks were twisted but I couldn't see it myself. The bike kept passing its MOT so it must be okay. Right? Well, okay, I always took my nubile sister along for the ride and she has a pair on her that inspire incest. Or maybe it's the tank paint that still shines brightly - uniquely compared to the rest of the rotting heap, I might add. No, I'm sure that layer of white rot's really there to protect the engine alloy.
I get some funny looks from guys on modern bikes. Especially when I burn them off. They probably can't believe the amount of fun I get out of such an old horror. But XJ650's are tough, have a surprising excess of torque and power with the expected brutish handling and diabolical braking. Also they are cheap to buy and run. £500 to £1000 buys something in reasonable nick if somewhat tatty. Thereafter, running costs are just down to the tyres (10,000 miles plus) pads (less than 5000 miles) and fuel at around 45mpg, plus all those oil changes. Sod all in terms of modern motorcycling and an absolute blast in terms of kicks per pound. A dying breed, get one while you still can. You can have mine for a grand if you want!
Adrian Slocombe