ZXR400R vs. GSXR400

My first serious motorcycle was a 1989 Suzuki GSXR400. A five year old grey import, 24000km's gone west, a little tatty around the edges but straight and the motor wailed way past the power peak of 12000rpm making a mockery of the claimed 60 horses. The dealer said it had race ignition and exhaust; certainly sounded and felt like it! A most surreal wail on full welly! The bike weighed about 350lbs, less than the 25hp CB250 Superdream that preceded it! I was nineteen at the time, much madness ensued.

I was heroin light, but even so the suspension was a bit wimpy - especially the rear shock. Along with Japlop tyres, the handling was more a matter of squirming through the bends than holding a delicate line but the alloy chassis was undoubtedly strong and the steering geometry set up to aid rapid flickability. The angles of lean possible would've had me a hospital case on the Superdream! I was riding fast enough to piss off my 600cc replica mounted mates!

After a couple of months, a few very near misses, I decided a newish shock and stronger springs in the forks were needed. A couple of breakers visited and the bits obtained. Note to the mechanically inept, the upper fairing is dead easy to crack on reassembly and the suspension linkages can be put back on the wrong way around when assisted by a large hammer (after taking them apart to add some much needed grease). No need to ask how I know!

A pair of new Metz's completed the transformation. Felt like a brand new bike and there was no stopping me! Soon had my knees down and even scraped the odd elbow! I was faster through the bends than a friend's CBR600, the engine snarling happily at fifteen grand! The bike could take rapidly applied brakes when halfway through the corner and could be shrugged on to a new line with hardly any effort, yet it would scream along at 130mph with nary a rumble from the chassis.

Comfort was of the do or die variety, required a firm backside and a strong tolerance of pain. It encouraged mad riding, the wind taking some mass off my wrists. Anyone bigger than a midget would have problems squirming around and I found a 100 miles more than enough in one session. Apart from the CBR rider, most of my mates had similar problems on their replicas. Fuel was an astonishingly good 60-65mpg, oil consumption negligible, though I did change it every 1500 miles.

No real engine problems apart from the carbs needing a balance every 1000 miles. Fail to do that, the silky smoothness of the mill was replaced by loadsa secondary vibration. The main hassle was the triple discs, the calipers just didn't like English weather - can't really blame them, can you? They were buggers to strip down once a bit of grime got into them, needing a well placed thump with the hammer. The big problem was getting spare seals, and the like, one of the downsides of grey imports. Pads lasted about 3000 miles, ended up blowing a hundred quid sorting everything out. The discs were a bit scored, which didn't help things and used to ring furiously when the pads were down to the metal!

The plastic, as mentioned, was a bit frail. As well as a flapping fairing, the seat surround cracked up and almost fell off. Luckily, there was a mechanically literate gnome who lived nearby and was pretty good at the plastic welding lark. The paint was also well faded and I decided a respray was in order. The gnome volunteered, a very nice metallic dark blue and silver the result (BMW colours!). It looked so good that a week later some bastard stole it whilst I was in the chippie. I heard the unmistakeable growl of maximum revs, looked out of the window to see the bike exiting my life with a massive wheelie. I ran after it but a waste of time, as were the cops. I only had third party insurance!

About a year later I had the dosh together to buy my second serious bike, another Superdream providing some wheels in the interim - what a come down! I was all for another GSXR but the 400 was rare on the ground, at least ones that I could afford and weren't afflicted with rather obvious crash damage. I was mightily tempted by a street racer GSXR750 until I found out how much T.P.F. and T. would cost. Then a Kawasaki ZXR400 turned up in the local paper for 1850 notes. I was there in a flash and bought it on the spot for 1700 quid, just before the guy's telephone started ringing all night long with keen punters.

A 1989 model but only 9000 miles on the clock, all shone up like it had just stepped out of the crate! The stock silencer and ignition meant this one really only did do 60 horses, again at 12000rpm. The engine never felt as keen as the Suzuki's, nor was it anywhere near as silky smooth despite having much lower miles. The suspension had already been modded to much stiffer than stock and a newish set of Metz's were fitted - a tad slower turning than the Suzuki but a better feel of being absolutely glued to the tarmac. Comfort, or lack thereof, was just as dismal.

It took me about a week before deciding to fit a race exhaust and derestricted ignition. Both acquired mail order from a breaker. There followed a massive amount of hassle getting the four carbs to match the new ignition and exhaust. Even the gnome was left muttering obscenities, the best he could do was narrow the flat spot down to between 5000 and 7500 revs. The mill didn't want to go much beyond 13,500 revs, the secondary vibes heavy enough to have the mirrors twirling off! No great loss, I wasn't too enamoured of the view of my elbows, anyway!

A friend who had shot to fame on the racetrack (by causing a mass pile-up whilst wearing a novice jacket) handed over a set of flat slide Mikuni's and a box full of jets. The gnome beamed enigmatically and after a few tries the ZXR had a strong, fluid delivery of power that was a delight to play with, except that there wasn't a tickover circuit. The engine conked out below 3000rpm. A mild inconvenience insofar that all of the 400 replicas produce sod all power at the bottom end, just had to remember to blip the throttle at tickover.

One problem with the new set-up, it needed so much work on the starter to fire up of a morning that the battery soon melted - figure a battery life of around 4000 miles and you won't be far out! Quite expensive! Fuel was 30-35mpg (the stocker did about 40mpg) at the same speeds as the Suzuki and it even needed half a litre of oil between changes. Compare the two bikes sans plastic, the GSXR looked the much more thought out and integrated, confirmed by its superior power and economy.

The Kawasaki weighed the same as the Suzuki, but it felt a touch more ponderous yet more stable. I didn't feel quite so happy about scraping my knees along the tarmac, but either bike was in a completely different world to hack Superdreams (though the latter was used in the worse winter months; faithful old dog). Sixty miles was about the most I'd want to do in one session, the seat was basically just a bit of plastic bunged atop the rear surround! There was a touch more room to shuffle around but the concept of ergonomics was obviously a mystery to the bike's designers.

Whilst the Kwak lacked the quick wearing brakes of the Suzuki it made up for that by having upside-down forks with remarkably short-lived seals. If I got 3000 miles out of them I was doing very well. I also had to replace the wheel bearings at 19000 miles - the 120mph speed wobble had me panting with fear! - and do a complete linkage rebuild at 23000 miles. The motor needed a complete service every 3000 miles, otherwise the valves would rattle their way to an early death.

Overall, I enjoyed the Suzuki more than the Kawasaki but that isn't to say I didn't have some exceptional times on the ZXR - any of the 400 replicas can be sheer bliss on the right roads with the sun shining. It was on one such occasion that the Kawasaki met its untimely end. Diving into a corner that suddenly tightened up on itself, I braked so hard that the front end shot upwards and redirected the bike into the nearest ditch! I was heavily bruised, the bike a total write-off. Again, third party insurance meant I was broke!

T.A.

BMW R100C: Round the Clock Blues

Exactly why I went with the deal, I don't know. Must have been one of those days! Some BMW's are hardy survivors, this old dear had made it around the clock, plus another 20,000 miles in the hands of a DR. The engine knocked and clattered, the gearbox made the whole heap leap a yard in the air and the front end had a mind of its own that was best described as psychotic. 300 notes was the only good thing about the deal... oh, and the tyres and brake pads were only half worn. The shaft meant no nasty chains but there was loads of wear in its joints that belied its reputation for Teutonic quality - Titanic was more like it!

The ride home needed some delicate work on the gear lever, brutality on the clutch and a mad determination on the bars - the bike veered so heavily under what was left of the acceleration that I almost caused a mass pile-up on my exit from the vibrant city of Oxford. Steady as a drunken camel at 80mph, I felt damn lucky that the vibratory Boxer mill didn't really want to rev any higher in top gear. After a fashion, and wearing a stoic grin, all was well for the next few miles until I had to stop in a hurry...

Slamming the throttle shut in a cavalier fashion gave every impression that the back wheel had fallen out, so I had little alternative but to hit on the front discs which squealed and screamed before locking up the wheel. Given that I had hardly any idea which way the tyres would skid, this wasn't exactly fun. Even less so when I discovered that the brakes had locked on solidly! Speed was dissolving rapidly as the whole bike slewed across a couple of lanes of traffic whilst I battled with the bars; the day only saved by getting both feet down.

Had I not been wearing heavy-duty boots, both ankles would've been broken rather than merely sprained! The machine made it to the side of the road in one piece but it took an almighty effort to keep it from falling on to one of the heavily scarred cylinder heads. It was at this moment in time, body and mind overdosing on adrenaline and fear, that the engine cut out with a solid clunk. BMW batteries are infamously intractable devices that live by rules yet to be defined by the human mind.

What that added up to was a battery that ground the electric boot over for a few seconds and then gave up. My idea of a perfect way to spend a summer evening - bump-starting an ancient Boxer twin with a pair of nearly broken ankles! Freed the front calipers with a couple of kicks. After a few desperate hundred yard dashes, we rounded a corner and sighted a charming pub set in the middle of rural England. I was so knackered I thought I might be hallucinating but, no, the 'No Bikers!' sign reassured me that I was in the 20th century!

I was dressed quite respectably (by motorcycle standards), just had to lock the helmet on the Beemer and saunter in all innocent, like. A few bottles of Newcastle Brown whilst I waited for those nice chaps in the AA to turn up. Word had evidently gone out, though, the barman - an ex-army type gone to seed but still at least twice my mass - searching through the crowd for the motorcycle hoodlum. I passed muster!

The AA guy arrived, jump-leaded the bike and she fired up first go. The guy grimaced at all the engine racket and said he would follow me home for the next few miles, sensing that the mill was about due to seize up. Before I could exit the car park, the barman appeared, screaming abuse, asking if I could read and enquiring about my parentage. I muttered something about riding a BMW and almost ran him over when the clutch lurch caused the bike to veer way off line.

An interesting time followed, riding a bike with no way of stopping, barely controllable handling and an engine that clunked, threatening to cut out again. The AA vehicle was nowhere to be seen in the madly churning mirror. I took it easy but still ended up in a rare sweat by the time the merry town of Colchester was sighted. The one good thing about the Beemer, the still excellent front light had cut a dazzling path through the countryside. This proved that the charging circuit must be okay, merely a knackered battery playing up.

Sure enough, the item when extracted from the rusted chassis was actually seeping acid!. It actually smelt like piss after a particularly heavy night at an Indian restaurant. The battery compartment was cracking up under the onslaught and parts of frame looked like they were just about to corrode through. Charmed and uplifted by this thought, I barely restrained myself from taking a hammer to the heap. Instead, a welding torch was waved in its general direction and a few bits of old car door (they have their uses, see, though what the neighbour thought of the hole in his Ford's door I never did find out!) welded in with an artistry that would give Heath Robinson inspiration.

After a brief look at Halford's prices for a small car battery (didn't even think about approaching a BMW dealer), Runter was despatched with instructions to procure a used one. Runter was one of those motorcycle characters who lives in a cellar (mine, actually) and has regular sessions with the local Plod. No doubt, some poor cager came back to find his car wouldn't start and the AA guy would be amazed to find an empty space where the battery should've been.

Runter had become famous way back when VW Beetles were popular- he could swap engines between cars in about 15 minutes, would buy an old wreck and half inch a motor off something that actually ran, the owner wondering why his auto was suddenly rattling and knocking just like the Boxer... which had me wondering how long it would take to swap over BMW motors. That would be a lark, though Runter, commendable chap that he is, doesn't mess with other people's motorcycles.

Runter has a passing proficiency as a mechanic - he's the kind of guy who delights in putting a 450cc cylinder and piston on one side of an R65 mill - so was despatched on the R100 once the battery was hammered in (literally as it was a tight fit). Runter's testing methods are pretty simple, full throttle, drop the clutch and see what happens. If nothing breaks it's a good one. Despite a year's worth of despatch abuse, the venerable Beemer didn't take too well to such outlandish madness...

The BMW reared up on its back wheel, then veered sideways, before crashing down, sliding along the ground before twitching back and forth from cylinder head to cylinder head. Fortunately, it was a hot day and the softened road surface was brutally ripped up rather than the machine being torn asunder. No, more damage was done by Runter, who having been spat off landed on his head (thus avoiding any serious injury), leapt up and gave the bike a good kicking with his genuine army boots.

An evil bastard, was his description after I'd stopped pissing myself with the laughter. A very long list of things needed doing but I narrowed it down to new engine/gearbox/shaft drive oil, new steering head bearings, valve clearances and caliper strip and clean. Runter was reminded of his rent free status, with plenty of muttering and a crate of beer, was left to his own devices whilst I motored around on my other steed - a much modded and rather lovely 1972 Honda CD175.

The BMW emerged from all this attention much improved. Far from perfect, it went where it was pointed, ran up to the ton before threatening to expire, and braked predictably if with unknown ferocity (students of Japanese engineering will recall that the CD175 came with a SLS drum front brake, so the comparison between the two machines was all the heavier). The state of the engine was shown up in heavy oil consumption (never worked it out, just kept adding cheap recycled stuff every day) and fuel around the 35mpg mark, as well as a need to cut out below 2000rpm.

The latter was probably the spark plugs, which refused to budge - we just knew that they were so well corroded in that if serious force was applied they would snap off in the cylinder heads, causing a major trauma. Runter suggested he could whip the heads off and clean them in situ, but I was too worried about all the mechanical mayhem that might be found inside the engine. Just rev the beast in town, the growl out of the rusted exhaust system something else!

Given that the CD175 was ideal for hustling through town, and with modded air-filter and exhaust could bumble along at 75mph on the open road whilst turning in 80mpg, what exactly was the BMW good for? Well, it scared the shit out of the ped's and cagers, not to mention myself when I forgot just how wide it was. Those cylinder heads appeared designed specifically for ripping the sides off cars and I felt rather happy that the bike was still registered in the old owner's name (the one before the DR) who was probably going grey and frail with all the irate punters and Plod turning up on his doorstep!

The open road was where the BMW was meant to shine, but a serious weave from 80mph onwards rather took the joy out of it. Mates, following the spectacle, reckoned the back wheel looked like it was about to fall out of the frame! Oddly, it never went into a frenzied speed wobble even though I was often convinced it was only moments off going wild! With its heavy fuel consumption and the way it tore through the Metz's, it wasn't a cheap bike to run (by the way, the fully enclosed chain on the CD lasted for more than 20,000 miles, so even the shaft on the BMW wasn't much of a bonus).

When some vague acquaintance offered me 600 notes it was time to say goodbye to the Bavarian bouncer. Despite listing all the faults, the guy had to have it, and he's since got the clock up to 144,000 miles!

Charlie K.

Tokyo Terrors

With my fortunes not looking too rosy in recession struck England, I decided to try my hand at English teaching in Japan. After a few false starts and a rapidly decreasing bank balance I finally got myself set up. With a few pay cheques behind me, I started looking for a suitable bike. As I had borrowed from everyone I knew for the ticket and various other expenses, the only real criteria was cheapness. In 1991, before the influx of parallel imports, bikes in Japan seemed incredible bargains. A new CBR 600 going for about 3,500 quid with insurance and on the road fees seeing this figure closer to four grand. Great bargain though it may have been, I could barely afford the aforementioned extras, let alone the sticker price.

So back down to earth and a Honda XL 250, bought from a friend for 350 quid with forty back because the front brake didn't work. He had been riding it around congested central Tokyo like that for a year or so. I'd even been on the back a few times and wondered why he seemed to consider the smallest gaps preferable to braking. The bike was a mid 80's machine, with something over 23,000 kilometres on the clock. The broken speedo cable ruling out a more accurate guess at the mileage - plus the indecipherable Japanese paperwork at that age.

The next step was to brave the most time consuming Japanese bureaucracy. The first step is that the seller has to remove the numberplate and go to the Tokyo DVLC and hand in the plate, spending half a day going from office to office gathering together a hefty looking wad of papers, paying for each one. This is then passed on to the buyer, who then returns to the same offices and repeats the procedure in reverse, finally ending up with a new plate, with this process being repeated each time a bike is sold. The only purpose was to give about 50 people a job and to deter buyers from private sales.

As the bike hadn't seen the road for some time I treated it to the usual new battery, plug, oil change and in this case brake shoes. Not that the pathetic single sided drum was much better, even cleaned up and re-shoed. Still it was transport and proved to be reliable, always starting first or second kick and settling down to an even tickover, rain or shine.

I went pretty much everywhere on it for few months, found it easy to ride in traffic, pulling well from low revs, with precious little in the top end though. Off road it proved light and easily managed on hiking trails, but owing to the ancient tyres and tired suspension I never ventured much deeper into the rough. The bike didn't really have enough power for it either. On the road, as with most other trail oriented machines, it was somewhat undergeared, straining up to an indicated 110 km/h, with mechanical sympathy stopping me from trying to maintain such speeds.

After a few months I was thoroughly bored with the bike and began thrashing it mercilessly at any opportunity, with no loss of reliability. Fuel was consumed at what seemed a moderate rate, although calculating the fuel consumption proved beyond me, given that I didn't know the capacity of the tank and have never really cottoned on to the metric system of kilometres and litres.

So it had to go to make room for something a bit bigger, I had recently come into some money and didn't have the space for two bikes. I advertised the bike in the local classified paper for a bit less than I had acquired it for, and it was taken by the first punter. Quite literally, in fact. A Frenchman came to see it, and requested a test ride. I duly agreed, but suggested I hold his cash while he was gone, and that was the last I ever saw of him. Foolishly, I concluded that I had his cash so didn't bother to contact the police about the fact that it was still registered in my name. All went well until he crashed into a car and scarpered. I finally escaped the irate car owner's calls and threats by moving.

So I had this money burning a hole in my pocket, looked at a few 400s, but couldn't really find anything I fancied, Then a small bike shop near my new residence had an FZR1000, 1989, the pre-EXUP, Genesis model, going for about 2,200 quid with 6,000 kilometres on the clock. A UK model that had been re-imported back into Japan to avoid the only recently reversed 750cc limit in Japan.

I finally persuaded the shop's aging owner that I could be trusted for a test ride, and gingerly took off down the road. As the largest bike I had ever owned before was a well used Moto Guzzi Monza, the acceleration of the FZR was mind-blowing. When I finally found a bit of semi-open road I attempted to open it up. Needless to say, in busy central Tokyo I couldn't get much above 6,000 rpm, but was smitten nevertheless. I handed over the money the next day, which left me eating cup noodles until payday, but at this point logic was not really part of the equation.

Two weeks later I took delivery of the Yamaha and so commenced ownership of my first ‘big' bike. After a couple of weeks as I built up my confidence I started to ride a bit harder, although I was never really able to use all of the performance. The engine was a real gem pulling smoothly from about two grand all the way to the red-line, in any of the 5 gears with no pronounced power steps or flat spots, although the power did seem to come in with more urgency at about 7,000rpm. The linearity of the delivery became a bit boring after a while, it was all just a little too refined and civilised.

The handling, however, was pretty much faultless, at least up to speeds of about 120mph, when the front end seemed to go really light, with the bars shaking around in my hands. A full on speed wobble never ensued, but it never felt as planted as the 900SS Duke, that I owned a few years later. Although in retrospect this could have been something as simple as poorly balanced tyres. This vague feeling was often felt on the brakes into the corner. Never anything worrying, just not as confidence inspiring as either the Ducati or a friend's Kawasaki ZX7 that I once borrowed for a weekend.

In the Yamaha's favour, though, it was considerably more comfortable than the Kawasaki, which seemed to demand a reversal of arm and leg lengths. Actually, the Battlaxes it came fitted with never seemed as controllable on the limit as Dragon Corsas I had fitted to the Ducati. Up to 120mph it handled well enough, though. On one occasion, I was pretty much fully cranked over, just putting the power down as I exited a long sweeping right-hand bend when I hit a pot-hole of crater-like proportions. The front wheel jumped about two feet to the left and the bars jumped almost lock to lock as the wheel took the impact. At this point I think I was totally out of control, and it was only the overall integrity of the chassis that took over and prevented a big come off.

Ownership went quite smoothly for about six months, which was useful as I couldn't really afford to pay for any major repair work, until one night I was coming home on the raised expressway that circles Tokyo and the thermostat went. The result being that the twin fans weren't coming on and the engine was overheating every few kilometres. As this was a bank holiday, the roads were packed and there were very few lay-bys. Which left me sitting by the side of the road waiting for the engine to cool down while massive trucks came hammering past about two inches from my right ear.. Not an experience I would like to repeat. I finally got the bike to a garage and was charged what I considered to be an outrageous 150 quid for a new thermostat.

It turned out that the rear disc was dangerously worn down and needed replacing. I was quoted about $250 for a new one. As I was going to Hawaii the next week I couldn't afford to pay for it at the time. It turned out that the same disc manufactured by Yamaha in Japan, was only $180 in Hawaii. This seemed very odd logic to me, especially considering that the entire bike would be cheaper in Japan, but perhaps shows how certain markets get screwed more than others.

I finally changed the Battlaxes for, interestingly, another set of the same, I didn't really know any better at the time and had a full service. A not unreasonable 400 notes, or would that be unreasonable? I have to admit ignorance of such costs in the UK. And then set out for what turned out to be my final ride on the Yamaha.

I lost the front end at about 60mph on a pretty tight corner, heading towards Mount Fuji. I didn't see the small patch of ice just past the corner and there was little I or the bike could do this time. I came out bruised but essentially unhurt, but the bike unfortunately was another story. It had slid under the barrier along the side of the road and wedged itself there.

Four cigarettes later I called my Japanese girlfriend and able translator to get a breakdown truck to dig it out. This proved tricky as I had no idea where I was and we were in the middle of a major argument. I didn't want to hang around, though, as I had heard that the Japanese police charge you for the damage to the barrier. The truck turned up eventually and with screeching of metal and plastic hauled the bike out.

It was fairly obvious it was a write off. The fairing was, of course, shattered, the forks bent, clocks smashed, frame dented, etc. The engine did seem okay, though, if a little battle-scarred, although with my minimal mechanical knowledge not of too much use to me. The bike finally ended up at a breakers, who presented me with a bill for disposing of it . That's not the cost of the breakdown truck, I'd already paid that, but breakers here charge for disposing of the parts that they later sell. Another very curious piece of logic. Naturally I never paid the bill, reasoning that he could take the money out of the brand new tires.

So I was back at square one again, no bike and no money as the insurance I had at the time was third party only. After a few months of overtime the bruises were long gone and I'd been able to scrape together about 1800 nptes and was back in the market for a bike again. As the FZR really was too big for city driving, which was mostly what I did, I decided to get something a bit smaller.

A Suzuki Goose 350 single came up locally and although it was a bit more than I wanted to pay, at about 2000 notes I went to see it. It was just over a year old and had covered 4000 kilometres in that time. I thought it looked great, with its shining metallic blue paint job, chunky little upside-down forks and swept back exhaust system. I even thought that it sounded great if a little over-silenced. Needless to say, I bought it on the spot.

I suppose to many people a 33hp single doesn't really sound like a recipe for fun, but I found it to be great around town, being so narrow and light after the FZR. The engine is from the DR off-roader with another few horsepower and is a real gem lower down the rev range, being tractable with faultless carburation, although it really felt a bit strangled at the upper end of the rev range. It certainly didn't rev anywhere near as freely as a friend's Honda GB250 I rode a few times.
 One interesting point was that being derived from an off road unit, the idling could be easily adjusted using an easily accessible knob on the side of the carburettor. Gave me something to do at the traffic lights. After a few long rides into the countryside I soon got used to just how far over the bike could be leant, however it never really felt solidly planted, needing constant corrections to keep it on line.

Magazines such as Grey Bike had always described it as an excellent handler so I began to wonder about this. Finally, after seeing a few others it dawned on me that the previous owner had dropped the forks by about an inch and a half to speed up the steering. This had thrown the geometry out, which resulted in its flighty feel cranked over. With the forks returned to their rightful position it was much better, a little slower on the turn in, but much more controllable through the corner. Although only equipped with a single disc up front, braking was always adequate, with a big handful powerful enough to squeal the front tire.

As an everyday machine it was surprisingly comfortable. The thinly padded seat was never intrusive, and although the bike was small its narrowness and well thought out ergonomics, made for a reasonably comfortable ride, at least for my frame. It was certainly heaps better than the FZR, with its wide tank and high footpegs, which always left me desperately stretching my legs at any opportunity on rides of over a 100 miles or so.

Pillion accommodation was something of a joke, though, the thinly padded ledge on the back only really suitable for midgets or yoga types. On the motorway it would cruise at about 80mph all day, which given the completely unpredictable nature of the Japanese cager was about as fast as I wanted to go. The GPS navigation screens/TVs have become really popular in recent times, so Mr. Myopic Cage has yet another distraction to deal with, along with the portable phone in one hand and the cigarette in the other.

Finally one of them got me, inevitable really. I was sitting at one of the sets of traffic lights that Tokyo is peppered with, none of which seem to be synchronised, when one of those massive 4WDs comes out of a side street in reverse. I didn't see him as I was intently watching one of the shortest skirts I'd seen in a while make its way up the street. Anyway he comes out of the street in reverse hits the front wheel knocking me over in the process, runs over the front wheel, changes gear and promptly drives off.

Needless to say, given the speed it all happened I didn't catch his number and there seemed to have been no witnesses among the hundreds of people making there way to work. Apart from the demolished front wheel, everything else was miraculously OK, there weren't even any scratches on the paint work. I tried to tell myself that it could have been a lot worse, which of course it could have been, however I'd really have loved to get my hands on the driver and to have exacted some long and painful retribution.

The bill for a new wheel and tire, plus the cost of picking up the bike came to close to 600 notes, and once again the insurance didn't cover it. Four days later I managed to write off the Goose under a truck, with pretty much everything being in some way damaged, except for, ironically, the new front wheel. The frame was bent, sump cracked, etc, with me walking away with only 12 stitches in my leg. Another lucky escape, all things considered.

So once again I found myself with no money and no bike, however this is 9 months later and I have just taken delivery of a new Honda VTR 250, and am hoping to have a bit more luck this time round.
I'd recommend the Goose for city riding, but not for any distance riding, there really isn't enough power. As for the FZR, it was surprisingly manageable for the size, with a good spread of power.

Napoleon Mannering

Buying and Selling

It all started by accident. This old chap, three doors down the road, had a sixties Honda SS125 stashed in the back of his garage. Odd looking thing but it was all in one piece and kicked over. A deal was done. I'd do his garden every Sunday for the next two months in return for immediate possession of the Honda. I was sixteen at the time and full of a mad kind of enthusiasm for all things two-wheeled (this was 1985). A tatty manual, a box of cables and some dead looking engine parts were handed over.

New engine oil, new spark plugs, points cleaned up and set using the radio trick (it clicks when the points open!), cleaning off all the corrosion and polishing the paint produced one still dead motorcycle. That exhausted all my meagre skills. Dad's misspent youth on British tackle came in handy at this point. His advice, heat the plugs up and get them back in the cylinder head quickly. Several burnt fingers later, the engine was making some promising noises but still wouldn't start. More heating of the plugs, this time the old man doing a bump start. The bike burped into life and Dad did a quick circuit of the area. Big grins all round.

I had six months to go until I was seventeen, put an advert in the paper for 350 notes, a new MOT secured with suspicious ease. The bike was a bit faded but original, the spare cables replaced the original ones which were rotted with age and a set of cheapo Taiwanese tyres from the breaker took care of the rubber. The electrics were dangerous, the brakes marginal and the looks so odd that it was obviously a classic in the making. However, cheap insurance and learner legality meant it went for the asking price within two days of the advert!

I'd never had so much money before! Rather than be sensible, wait until I was seventeen to buy a proper bike, I wanted my kicks right then. In the form of an early FS1E, the 50mph model! Mother threw a tantrum but kept the bile for Dad! The FS1E didn't actually run at that point, something to do with a seized piston. A hundred quid to buy, another thirty notes for used piston and barrel. The old barrel had corroded into the crankcase, needed some real effort on the hammer to extract it. At this point I realised that the crankshaft's bearings and seals were shot! One rebuilt crankshaft later I was on the road.

The FS1E seemed bloody fast, even after some runs on the 125SS, which needed time to wind itself up into a frenzy. The Yamaha was all crackle, pop and snap. Its SLS drum brakes were frighteningly lacking in power, slamming the anchors on at 50mph caused massive fade. The bike locked on to its forward vector when the brakes were on, despite weighing only 200lbs, couldn't be shifted on to a safer line! This was a learning experience I could do without, ended up cracking my crash helmet and scarring my knees! Luckily, dad's old leather jacket still gave useful protection and had loads of street cred, though it got me barred from the local pubs (peasants) - I was quite a big lad for sixteen and didn't usually have any problems.

The FS1E went through several used pistons and bores, was beginning to rattle its big-ends by the time I was seventeen. I'd got 11000 miles out of the little chump and learnt the necessary survival techniques. If I'd been rich I would've kept it as a memento of a misspent youth, but I wasn't so it had to go to fund the next bike. At a nice profit, too!

The local rag turned up a non-running YB100. Hardly the bike of my dreams but it was only fifty quid, bargained down to thirty notes! At some point the engine had turned molten, ended up one solid lump of alloy that not even application of a welding torch could free up! Still, the chassis was in good shape, newish consumables and a reasonable shine - it was only five years old.

A trawl around the breakers revealed some nasty dogs (canine and machines both) and silly prices, but stubbornness paid off in the form of a partially stripped mill for forty quid - at least I could see what kind of shape it was in. Some artistic work with the file soon modified the ports and a degutted exhaust gave it a delightful yowl - it wasn't the kind of bike that you could put a spannie on, not unless you wanted to become a laughing stock.

Good for 70mph, which was all the chassis could take, not to mention the brakes which faded away to nothing. In the first weeks I almost died a couple of times and decided the bike would have to go. Sold it at a very nice profit just in time to pick up a Suzuki B120 for forty notes. Ran, but not properly. Sorted that with a new condensor (car part, less than a quid but you have to run a wire out from the points). Sold that in a week, too embarrassing to be seen riding around on it. But it got me through the motorcycle test! I dressed up all sensible and ownership of such a dull machine obviously emphasized my lack of insanity. Once I got the bit of paper I did a wheelie in celebration; broke the Bloop's chain in two!

My first motorcycle proper was an RD250. This had been given the business - spannies, race carbs, wild porting, clip-ons, etc. It would crack the ton without any effort, real speed for a seventeen year old. I kept charging into corners about 20mph too fast, wobbling around on an eccentric line and then giving the throttle what-for on the exit. One friend got off the back, threw up, ran away, muttering something about never again, never again... He was supposedly a hardcase.

The Yamaha had done about 50,000 miles, been rebuilt many times and when it went it was a real flier. Unfortunately, the plugs would oil up on a whim, it stuttered unhappily at low revs and screamed insanely everywhere else in the rev range. Judging by the way they took an especial interest in my progress, the cops were absolutely wowed away by the Yamaha. They kept on handing out these commendations!

Needless to say, didn't take me long to blow the stroker up into a million little pieces. This happened several times before I got wise, went through all the cash I'd built up and in the end it was due for another expensive rebuild. Which I didn't have the dosh for. A very addictive experience, though, that first real bike! Somewhat wiser and a lot poorer it was time to move on.

In 1987 the choice of cheap machinery wasn't exactly excessive. I'd managed to get a job in a bank, meant the availability of an easy and cheap loan. I should've know better than to bother with dealers, but the lust was high and the money burning a hole in my pocket. At the tender age of eighteen, working in a bank defined the meaning of boredom and I needed some motorcycling kicks. Enter a three year old Suzuki GSX400F.

Not the wisest choice of machinery but such knowledge was rare on the ground back then. Determined to get some serious mileage out of the four stroke four, I bought a workshop manual and was religious about the servicing. With its marginal sump size it's vitally important to do 500 mile services and the valve clearances don't stay within their limits, need a look over at a similar mileage. Having said all that, it was quite nippy and able to put 110mph on the clock without much effort. And I did about 60,000 miles in three years! Because I paid cash effectively, I got a reasonable price off the dealer and didn't lose much money when I came to exchange it for something bigger.

I'd done a bit of wheeling and dealing along the way, somehow getting into buying dead Vespa scooters and doing them up. Bloody horrible things but the motors were easy to work on and spares ridiculously cheap. I even rode one into work during the winter - good protection but a wobbly back end that skidded all over the place.

Made a few hundred quid on each. Problem was I kept getting these hot flushes for some serious tackle, kept wanting to blow all my dosh on some superbike. Losing the job at the bank was largely a matter of indifference, being twenty in 1989 I still had my whole life ahead of me. An early GSXR750 beckoned, as did the Continent. The guy happily took the little 400 in part exchange, the reason for his grin evident as soon as I did more than a few minutes on the big, state of the art, Suzuki. An extremely fast but totally unforgiving plank.

The only way to ride the GSXR was at ten-tenths. It wasn't as finicky as the old RD in the way it laid down its power, but the riding position was excruciating unless there was a 100mph gale to lean into. I didn't think the police officers in London would understand this view. After a weekend with the bike I decided it was entirely unsuited to a Continental jaunt. Some work needed. This mostly involved tearing off the plastic, fitting a handlebar conversion kit, a new headlamp and re-upholstered seat. The old street-fighter route. The raised bars absolutely transformed the beast, don't know why the factory didn't do it from new.

Whatever expectations I had of the Continent were soon ruined by the French plod who bankrupted me. They seemed vastly amused at the 150mph I'd clocked up and happily robbed me of all my money. The only other choice appeared to be machine confiscation and a sojourn in jail. I always learn the hard way! There followed a few weeks hard graft, working in a Nice bar and fending off the attention of the waiters. They were all shirt-lifters! Saved by a customer who was wild for the GSXR and insisted on giving me a handsome profit!

Flush with the money, I bought this old Honda CB450 twin. 1973 but still in one piece, purring away. I think it was an ex-plod bike but it motored along faster than the GSX400F, with a hammer blow of torque come 6500 revs. Economical, too, doing 70mpg all the way down to Italy despite my keeping 80mph plus on the clock. In Rome I sold the Honda to this South African guy who reckoned they were valuable classics back home. I managed to stop myself wincing until he'd handed over the dosh - that accent summoned up visions of mass slaughter.

Being in Italy there was only one machine to buy. Yep, a Ducati. An old style 750SS, as it happens. The deal was buy cheap in Italy and make a huge profit in the UK. Took me three years to get home. I fell for an Italian gal in a big way, was also overwhelmed by the character of the Italian steed. Pure lust ruled. Back in Blighty I was loathe to part with the Ducati but eventually gave in. A massive profit but I felt really gutted.

Older and wiser, the next half decade consisted of despatching on a series of UJM's. The key, sell them just before serious expense was invoked. I only messed up once, a CBX550 that not only broke its camchain but merged its valves with the pistons, effectively writing off the whole engine. Couldn't find a replacement motor for love nor money. Ended up fitting an XS400 mill and riding the bike into an early grave. Overall, though, I made loads of dosh despatching and often made a profit on the bike despite putting 20-30,000 miles on the clock!

Several near misses and narrow escapes convinced me that I was running out of luck as a DR. I ended up working for one of the big London dealers, on commission! It's kind of amusing to have to deal with people just like myself, coming in with all sorts of dogs they demand huge part-exchange values on! No wonder the sticker prices are so demented. I do a bit of work on the side, as well, picking up the better dogs that we do take in part-ex for low prices and then punting them out after a bit of a tidy - the dealer can't be bothered with such minor pickings but it all adds up.

The other advantage of working for a dealer's trade prices - I'm now the proud owner of a Yamaha R1! And it's bloody marvellous, I'm like a kid let loose in a candy store. 

F.G.

Yamaha XJ900: Prime Meat

This guy had owned the XJ from new, 13 years worth of tender loving care, 47000 miles on the clock. He was the kind of character who likes everything just right, looked a bit like Les Dawson in drag mode and would go all aflutter when someone moved his garden gnomes out of their correct alignment. Easy to take the piss out of him, but the XJ was as close to immaculate as such an old bike could get!

Mine for 800 notes. Being rather large, the XJ900 fitted me quite well and it wasn't too much of a struggle with its 480lbs. The major intrusion was the churning shaft drive that had the back end twitching away unless I was very gently on the throttle during take-offs. The throttle itself was rather loose and imprecise, I'd move it and there would be a slight hesitation before anything happened. Until I became used to it, I lurched along like a rank amateur.

The five speed gearbox was crunchy and the clutch heavy - up to Norton standards, boy - but the gearchange wasn't intrinsically nasty, just took a couple of days to become used to. The bike had just been serviced (never stripped down, though), the 90 horses didn't take much effort to unleash, the XJ turning very fierce once 6000 revs were dialled in. The front wheel actually went light when I rolled the throttle open in third gear.

Getting the ton on the clock took absolutely no effort; neither did the ton-twenty. 135mph came up eventually but the bars began to shake in my hands above 130mph. Back off pronto. The little handlebar fairing was infamous for catching the airstream and making the bike do a high speed wobble. Initial impressions on the handling were pretty good - the forks were modded to tauter than stock, anti-dive disabled, and a pair of Koni shocks sorted out the back end. True, it felt a bit top heavy and unwieldy at town speeds but it wasn't any worse than other UJM's I'd owned in the past - the nastiest handling bike I'd ever owned was a Honda CB750K7, which didn't even have that much power to twist up its chassis.

The triple discs were a weak spot. Despite an attentive owner they were quite heavily scored, made odd noises and would sometimes need an inordinate amount of pressure to pull up pronto. The pads were newish EBC's, which at least meant there wasn't much of a wet weather lag. Occasionally, the front wheel would lock up under mild pressure, causing a screeching, squealing noise that made me think the front wheel was about to fall out. Nearby ped's jumped out of their skins! One screamed abuse at me but I rode off rapidly.

The starter motor was also on the way out. It whirled away loudly, graunching as the gears tried to engage and barely turning the engine over when it was cold - I'd bought the bike when it was already warmed up. It kept going for about 1200 miles. A jaunt around the breakers revealed that there were plenty of XJ900 engines on offer and a replacement starter motor only cost twenty notes. It wasn't very easy to replace but I figured the engine wouldn't object to an oil change at the same time, so I killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.

The new starter motor was still a bit on the weak side. I attached the bike to a car battery, found that it turned over at about twice the rate. I had a look at the bike's battery, a bit of white gunge in the bottom of the casing. The Yamaha dealer wanted 65 notes for a replacement, the breaker gave me one for a tenner. I went to put the battery back in, found myself clutching some wiring that had come adrift. Looking closely, I found that the insulation was peeling off! Panic! I looked a bit closer at things, worked out that acid must've been blowing off the battery, attacking the nearby wiring rather than the whole loom. A pleasant couple of hours were spent replacing the ruined wiring - both the starter and the lights were stronger!

This is typical of dealing with old bikes. Replace one component and it can lead to a series of revelations - the one thing not to do is put the machine into the hands of a dealer because a simple job will end up costing more than the machine is worth by the time they have finished fixing stuff, both real and imagined. Just be prepared to spend a bit more than you at first expected.

With these things fixed and myself used to the bike's ways, I was all set for a pleasant summer's riding. Nothing like a bit of sun, a powerful bike between your legs and the open road ahead. Apart from the minor fact that every family in the country decided to head for the sea, many with huge caravans attached. Soon had me in killer mode - running the XJ in third and fourth, using maximum revs to charge through minimal gaps that appeared in the highway. Playing a bit of chicken with on-coming cars to make spaces where there were none. The XJ thrived on such abuse, if you didn't mind the secondary vibes - I didn't, having grown up on old UJM's such as CB750's and Z1000's.

Handling was precise enough on smooth roads but throw in some bumps the whole bike would shimmy, shudder and slide all over the shop. Tyres were prime Metz's, suspension was taut, so it couldn't be down to any obvious defects. The worn shaft drive obviously played its part, never quite sure how it was going to react to inputs but I think it was the cast wheels and discs that were the main culprit. These are incredibly heavy, adding up to unsprung mass, along with the shaft drive, that is very difficult for the suspension to control. Having said that, it more or less went where it was supposed to even on bumpy roads.

Bumpy roads also set off the speed wobble, but more than 100mph was needed on the clock before that happened, easy enough to avoid. Save that some GTi hero decided to race me along a, for once, deserted A5. The VW was good for 120mph on the straights and I felt honour bound to overtake him. No doubt he was highly amused to find the bike that had just shot past him suddenly falling apart before his eyes. As the bars banged from lock to lock, the XJ leapt from one side of the road to the other, I thought I was going to find out if there was life after death. The road smoothed out and the wildness died down! Still, I didn't try to take the GTi when he roared past - my hands were still shaking for hours afterwards.

At first glance, the XJ900's just your average UJM. Ride one, it has none of the blandness you might expect. As well as the sometimes vile handling, there's always a certain direct connection to the road that sends back loads of stimuli. Similarly, there's hardly any need to look at the tacho; a change in engine note, a sudden pouring out of power, a blitz of secondary vibes - all indicate what kind of revs it's pulling. The brakes are naff, the finish good and the comfort passable. It's not cheap to run - 35mpg, 6000 miles from the tyres and the front EBC's last less than 4000 miles but that might be the scored discs.

They are cheap, fast and furious. No need to pay more than a grand for something usable. Signs of age are found in the gearchange, shaft drive and braking system, but also check over the electrical system for rotten insulation. Make sure the suspension's been upgraded, a whole front end off something newer might be worth paying a bit extra for. Loads of XJ's on offer, masses of cheap spares in breakers. Engine life varies between 40,000 miles and over a 100,000 miles - depending on how the owner treats them and how regularly they are serviced (top ends can be a weak spot if oil changes are neglected). I would happily trade mine for a newer one.

Mike Lansing

Kawa GPZ500S: Bargain Brainer

The red GPZ500S was cheap, 750 notes. The clock read 76000 miles. The cosmetics were crap - alloy rot, rust, and leaking suspension and engine. The motor rattled into life with its off-beat note, spewed out a bit of oil and then settled down to a 1200rpm tickover. I swung a leg over the elderly beast. The bike fitted me to perfection, felt immediately at home with the GPZ. Until the thing leapt forwards a foot with engagement of first gear. Clutch drag from cold! The box had engaged as if the selector's dogs were well shagged.

First ride. Weak, imprecise front end. Bouncing rear. Horrible gearchange, loads of chain lash. The single front disc was still strong. The engine growled fiercely at 7000 revs and shot the bike forwards. Not hard enough to do my vision in but I smiled nevertheless. The 375lb machine was easy enough to point where I wanted despite the shot suspension and infamous sixteen inch front wheel.

I offered 650 notes, the bike was mine for 700. Riding home, I played with the throttle, struggled with the gearbox and fought with the handlebars. I won out, arrived back at HQ with a big grin if shaking hands... the vertical twin motor has its pistons moving up and down alternatively and a gear driven balancer, but wear had got to the components, vibes pouring out, especially between 3000 and 6000 revs.

Nothing I couldn't get used to, having spent a pleasant couple of summers with a GPz305 - you want to experience vibration, mate, ride a 305 with shot big-ends! The GPZ500 could still put 125mph on the clock without any real effort on the part of the motor. The chassis was a different ballgame, the suspension being completely worn out! The tyres were marginal Avon radials. The bike didn't so much hold a line as hop from bump to bump, white-line to white-line, like a high speed rabbit looking for somewhere to die. Fighting the bars tended to blow up the weave into a wobble, much better to gently caress the grips and go with the flow, as long as the flow was going where you wanted to go...

The first time I got into serious trouble, I'd over-cooked my line into a bend where some old git was meandering along on the other side of the road where the GPZ wanted to hustle. The suspension had already bottomed out and gone into a self destructive frenzy due to the complete absence of damping. Applying the brakes turned the bike into a rigid framed horror that bounced to the left and then the right, gave every impression that it wanted to throw me out of the seat. Holding on to the bastard and leaning off to one side persuaded it that it wouldn't be a good idea to smash into the oncoming vehicle.

My survival was accompanied by a sudden need to dump the contents of my bowels, a rank smell of fear coursing off my body. After five minutes recovery, I kicked the tyres, shook the forks and patted the tank. The latter gave with frightening ease, no doubt rusting away from the inside out. The rest of the ride home was done at a much more moderate velocity, the lack of revs showing up various engine rattles, massive driveline lash and a disturbing need to fall into corners.

The long list of bits needed added up to more than the cost of the bike, so the obvious hunt through various breakers was undertaken. My requests for a newish front end were greeted with hilarity - GPZ's notorious for losing it from the front, mashing the weak forks. Nothing for it but to strip the forks down and bung in some new seals and stiffer springs (they were weak from new!). That cost forty notes, grazed knuckles and general disillusionment with the build quality of Japanese motorcycles. The caliper's bleed nipple, for instance, needing to be drilled out and the replacement Araldited back in (not a good idea - Ed!). A used shock off some huge old bruiser of a four was persuaded on, new swinging arm and headstock bearings further reducing the chassis slack.

Even more dosh was spent on a replacement petrol tank, sprockets and chain, newish saddle, a battery that didn't have white plates and new cables all round. All that added up to a wonderful firmness, good directional stability and a useful flickability. The driveline still whirled around in a frenzy below 3000rpm in any gear taller than fourth and the motor still put out an excess of vibration, but I could now ride the bike between 7000 and 10,000rpm without fear of hitting cars or ending up in a ditch - those revs held all the power and allowed the engine to smooth out to an acceptable degree, though I would never describe it as electric.

The major problem over the next 4000 miles was the finish. I spent a whole week polishing the beast up to a nice shine, cleaning off the rust and patching it up, and also getting all the crud off the alloy. All it took was a couple of days of rain to have it going back to nature pronto. The silencers were evidently original, a major achievement given the mileage. The price paid were large areas of rust, little baffling left and the need to hustle along in a tall gear whilst in town; otherwise the rozzers went absolutely berserk. I reckoned that the silencers had about a month's life left in them!

A Motad 2-1 was hammered on, not new as they are too expensive. This f..ked up the carburation something rotten until I took out the ancient air-filter for cleaning - they can be done by blowing air through them, so at least that was cheap enough. There was still a bit of a stutter between 4000 and 5000rpm but it was easy enough to howl through with a bit of thought and effort.

The only way to deal with the rotting chassis parts was by replacement. Even the plastic was going off, cracking around the mounting holes and sort of fading away to a horrible shade of white or red. The engine finish was intractable, could be cleaned up but the white fur came back rapidly. Rust seeped from under the silver frame paint without actually making it fall off! It cleaned up but kept coming back. Skimpy mudguards didn't help. Having no faith in the state of the engine, I wasn't inclined to rip the bike down to its component parts, blast 'em and powder coat.

After 4000 miles I realised that something was seriously amiss with the engine. Starting was difficult, power was misery and vibes increased to worrying levels. I decided it needed an oil and spark plug change. The former was a piece of cake, the latter a disaster. Appallingly, the plugs need the petrol tank removed and are located deeply in the cylinder head. I was pissed at all the effort needed to replaced them and went completely ape when I stripped the right-hand plug thread! Only an excessive amount of willpower stopped me using my largest hammer on the engine!

An interesting horror story was revealed when I started stripping the motor down. For a start, the engine bolts were seized in solidly, needed an excess of hammer work to get them out. Every thread in the engine seemed seized in as well. When I finally got the cylinder head cover off, the camshaft lobes and rockers were shot to hell and back again. By the time I'd removed the head, I wasn't that surprised to see scored bores. Worse still, the small-ends were loose! Given the awful state of the gearbox there wasn't much point trying to rebuild it.

A newer engine was installed, much smoother and more powerful yet. The chassis was trying hard to return to dust, so a quick polish and trade-in deal at the local importer got me some wilder wheels.

H.R.

Honda VFR400: Screaming and Speeding

The scream of the vee four engine tried to blow my eardrums away, forcing me to hold the throttle open as the gears lurched up through the box; I loved that growl! Degutted exhaust and derestricted ignition meant that the redline was entirely theoretical - the mill just got smoother as the revs increased; no need to back off. 130mph came up without much effort, then everything slowed right down and I had to tuck myself right into the bike to make it past 135mph. An indicated 140mph was the best I ever did - fast enough to have all the other traffic on the M4 going backwards; rapid enough to leave the plod cars wobbling behind!

The CBR600 front end made sure the bike went where it was pointed; the minimal sectioned wrap-around frame was stronger than it looked and the secondhand White-Power shock firmed up the rear end better than most new bikes - the Jap spec bike came with soggy stock suspension only suited to 50kg Jap's that sent the bike very nervous above 80mph and quite diabolical down bumpy country lanes; the upgrade totally transforming the feel and stability of the VFR.

The early model VFR had done 32000 kilometres by the time it fell into my hands, which included two UK yobs who'd just slung a leg over the bike and ridden it into the ground. The bike wasn't in that bad a condition considering the level of abuse and neglect - as well as the suspension, the front discs were a nasty mess which were so dangerous that I really didn't want to do more than 50mph - which given the race riding position wasn't very clever. Thus the fitment of the CBR600 front end, which was cheaper than buying new VFR discs, calipers and pads!

The stiffer front end showed up the soggy stock shock, which turned the bike into a fast moving pogo-stick that battered my spine and loosened my bowels. New shocks are amazingly expensive so a used but rebuilt White Power unit was acquired from the usual sources. The VFR originally cost 900 notes, another 300 blown sorting it out - that's still pretty damn cheap for a bike that handled better than most new bikes.

The chassis seems inherently stable, loves to be pushed to its limits - I can certainly get my knees down without leaning right off the machine; no ground clearance problems, the sticky Metz's can be taken right to the edge and give the safest feel in the wet I've ever come across, even if they only last for 3500 miles! The riding position makes me feel totally part of the machine, rather than perched atop a lump of remote metal. It's more comfortable than some replicas but not really up to slow riding...

That's why I screwed the balls off the engine all the time. Wheelies were but a flick of the wrist and tug of the bars away, had the front wheel up around the ped's earholes with a beautifully shrill scream out of the exhaust. Cringed? The cowardly buggers ran for cover. Especially when second gear engaged with a bang and the machine lurched towards the pavement. The first time this happened I had to get a boot down to stop it falling right over; but a bit of practice allowed some extreme body language to compensate. The major downer with doing a 50mph wheelie is that it's next to impossible to do an emergency stop when some cager or ped in another world gets in the way - how the f..k they can ignore the noise and general pandemonium I don't know.

I got intense kicks out of doing wheelies even though they scared me as much as they did the ped's... until the clutch began to rattle and then slip. It was quite fun doing 15000 revs and 30mph in fourth gear; talk about getting nowhere fast! This was the first time I'd had to take the plastic off - revealing some internal GRP repairs and some cracks around the mounting holes. Removing the clutch cover proved difficult as someone had evidently used Araldite on the threads, but the good old routine with sledgehammer and chisel soon had them out, at the price of some deep gouges in the alloy and ruined screws. Pattern clutch plates and springs were fitted without taking my eye out and the whole thing put together with a layer of gasket goo as a replacement gasket was prohibitively expensive.

The clutch lever required twice as much effort; the slipping replaced by drag in town, dead easy to make the VFR do a yard long kangaroo hop as I tried to match the braking force to the drag without stalling the whirling motor. All the more reason to stop for nothing. Exactly a week after the rebuild I found the lower fairing was flapping around, part of the mounting had snapped off - it was a difficult bastard to put back on and the few taps with the hammer obviously hadn't helped. I removed the lower fairing, revealing that the clutch cover was leaking oil copiously - had to buy a gasket after all! The engine finish was awful so I soon repaired the lower fairing and slapped it back on.

As 50,000 kilometres approached the gearbox became quite nasty, a BMW-like clunk-click and a penchant for leaping out of second and third! The rear chain was at the end of its adjustment and hanging off the sprockets. A new chain and sprocket set added, the gearchange improved marginally but still gave every indication that the selectors were shot. I'd been doing oil/filter changes every 1500 miles, so it obviously wasn't my fault, was it?

After a bit more practice I got the gearchange working reasonably, at least it would discourage tea-leaves. I was riding in the company of the usual reprobates on hot 400 and 600 replicas, the VFR holding its own except on full bore speed testing when the bigger bikes would blow through 150mph like there was no tomorrow. The VFR was fast accelerating but not quite able to jerk my head off my shoulders, its agility and stability more impressive than its outright engine power, though its noise was second to none; the exhaust howl aided and abetted by the whirling of its straight cut gears (cam as well as primary drive).

The bike was brilliant at 130mph - stable, comfortable, economical (45mpg!) and the engine feeling bullet-proof - so much so that I never did get around to touching the top end in over 20,000 kilometres. That might explain the engine blowing up! It was on an early morning cruise with about a dozen mates on replicas, strung out along the M4, no-one doing less than 130mph. The first intimation I had was a little roughness creeping out of the engine, the rev counter going crazy, which made me caress the clutch lever...

Two or three seconds later there was a huge detonation from the motor which promptly seized up solid. I had the clutch in the moment the back wheel began to skitter and rolled to a halt on the hard shoulder. I was ready to burst into tears - the fumes and oil spitting out of the motor did nothing to reassure me! Great bike, shame about its owners.

T.K.

Despatches: VT Files

The day started off sunny but as soon as I got stuck into some serious pick-ups and drops the clouds appeared, opened and left me feeling like the proverbial drowned rat! The previously sun-baked London tarmac precipitated a film of greasiness that had the Taiwanese tyres skating merrily as the VT500 tried to cope with my impatient ducking and diving.

The Honda vee-twin was a testament to Japanese engineering... despite eight owners and 220,000 miles it still rattled merrily away and only really complained of massive neglect when the oil changes were left longer than 1000 miles - by clanging its gearchange and refusing to blast through the 80mph barrier.

Barrier was the right word, the worn bores (original as far as I could work out), rattly valves and altered carburation (airfilter full of screwdriver wrought holes and silencers replaced by old Bonnie mega's) meant the motor wanted to turn itself off as such unlikely velocities were attempted through the crowded capital but on those odd, almost surreal, bits of narrow causeway through the traffic chaos, it would just touch 90mph. The odd thing was, on the motorway when such speeds, and more, were dialled in, once the velocity was attained it needed little effort to maintain - the engine obviously less knackered than its age and history might suggest.

Whilst the chassis reflected that age in its shabbiness and splodges of rust, the steering was in another world - much better than you might suspect! All this had to do with the original design was in its geometry and weight distribution, the suspension replaced by much newer and higher spec items, though used and sourced from the usual compliant breaker. Not that there was any choice in the matter. Despite being an old hand at the DR game, the only way to make the dosh flow was by riding like a mad young bugger, knowing that the cagers were going to get you sooner or later but resting your survival on knowing how to fall and wearing full body armour just in case things went seriously out of kilter. Gives new meaning to the phrase, knights of the road!

When some clown in a Sierra came out of a side-turning at a velocity that was only matched by my own buzz along the gutter, there was no way out. Not one to go gracefully into the darkness beyond, I lost velocity by ramming the bike (its heavy-duty crash-bar to be exact) into the car to my right whilst playing with the relatively useless enclosed disc brakes. The result of such manoeuvres, was the front end of the bike going about a foot into the offending Ford and yours truly being thrown over the top. The car was still moving, the connection made at an odd angle, the VT going into a frenzy of destruction on the two cars.

It was one of my better landings, though the suited gentry who softened my fall from grace would probably disagree. Talk about bellowing like a pig about to be slaughtered. I was too concerned for the fate of the VT to worry about my own bruises or the immature babblings - the Honda had banana shaped forks and a cracked wheel - all sorted out with a used NTV front end - deliciously precise after the worn out VT components and braking that had me cutting a thoroughly mad dash through the traffic. The rest of the damage was merely superficial, just adding to the bike's immense street credibility.

The VT didn't stack up as commuter of the month, its age and worn state meant that fuel was a hopeless 40mpg and it needed oil added to the sump every night - if it was hot and I was particularly mad it was just about possible to drain the sump of all its oil. Not that it stopped the mill working or anything but did provide an excuse to avoid regular oil changes - no point, was there, if it was all going to burn off or seep out of the cylinder head gaskets! The most maintenance I did was kick the exceptionally long-lived tyres and pray to the various motorcycling gods for deliverance through yet another day. Notoriously tough, VT vee-twins!

To get serious, it's possible to make as much as 700 quid a week from despatching in Central London. I know someone who makes five hundred quid a day in the City, but for someone ill-educated and almost completely unemployable it's not a bad crack. A bad week, when I'm off the pace and the flow of work is faltering, I'll turn in three hundred notes. Reckon an average of 500 quid and you wouldn't be far wrong. Responsible DR's pay out on things like HP, insurance, road tax, etc but people like me get away with murder, most of that money pure profit. Give it a try, see if it suits you.

Dick Lewis

Triumph 900 Trident

Well it all began early in '93, I'd been through nearly 40 bikes in the last 14 years, of which the last half a dozen or so were new Japs. I'd already owned various tatty Bantams, Cubs and the like and I'd always hankered after a decent Brit bike since I saw a shiny Bonnie belonging to a neighbour of mine when I was a nipper. So I thought 'F..k it, if I don't do it now I'll never do it.' Anyway, the new generation Trumpets were said to be on par with the Japs so I shouldn't have any problems with reliability. So I went ahead, sold my 1000EXUP, and bought a brand new, gleaming black and red 900 Trident.

Well the first 600 miles went fine until I decided to take a trip to show my new bike to my mates in Dundee. By the time I got there the Trident and I were covered in oil! Did I get the piss taken out of me or what! All the usual Brit bike jokes from my mates, even the old man said 'I told you so!' Well, it turned out that the grommet holding the igniter cable in the crankcase had gone AWOL leaving a nice half inch hole for the oil to come out ! It wasn't that bad in the end, once it was sorted I never had any trouble like that again.

Since I've had the bike it's been through various phases - from cafe-racer with clip-ons and the like, through to its current incarnation: Sports Tourer. I've made various mods over the past five years which I reckon have cured any shortcomings which the bike initially had.

The original front brakes, which were 2-pot floating calipers and solid discs, have been replaced with GSXR750 4-pots together with two stainless brake lines direct from the calipers to master cylinder, and the larger Daytona floating discs. A larger bore master cylinder is not essential, but may be fitted at a later date to reduce lever travel. These all bolt straight on and have improved the braking tenfold. It has totally cured the brake fade which used to occur when thrashing the bike, or when two-up touring over long distances. The 4-pots are also less prone to seizure.

The suspension has also been uprated to cure the wallowing and fork dive which occurs once everything gets hot during a good thrash. I have replaced the fork springs with ZX10 uprated items along with 15W oil to suit. The forks have also been dropped through the yokes by 12mm to quicken up the steering. I also junked the rear shock in favour of a fully adjustable item with a stiffer spring (Quadrant Dynamic).

This has tightened up the handling no end and the bike now feels far more planted and stable, as well as having improved steering. I also fitted a Rear Hugger to protect the rear shock and rear brake master cylinder from any crap thrown up by the rear wheel.

The original headlight has also been replaced in favour of a Sprint Manufacturing twin Cibie half fairing, along with early Triumph Sprint bars. This has reduced rider fatigue dramatically enabling a higher cruising speed on motorways, as well as reducing fuel consumption by around 4mpg at 90mph. The twin cibie's are also a great improvement over the original light.

I've also got a set of Triumph panniers which I fit when touring, which apart from making life a lot easier also help increase stability at high speed (no more floppy bags fixed on with bungee cords).

Performance-wise, I've also made a few much needed mods. The original silencers have been replaced in favour of lighter stainless Muller Technic race cans. The restriction in the down pipes (taper at the end where the silencers slip on) has also been removed, along with the baffles in the airbox. A K&N filter fitted and the bike set up on a dyno.

These mods have greatly improved throttle response as well as smoothing out the power curve and giving an extra 10 bhp at the top end, without any losses at the bottom end or mid-range. The only down-side is that the average fuel consumption has been reduced from 43 to 37 mpg, which I reckon is a reasonable trade-off, considering the improvement in performance. The bike also sounds the dog's bollox with open cans fitted!

Here's a few hints and tips which I'll also pass on. Always dyno a bike if fitting race cans. Even Dynojet kits aren't that accurate and the bike should be set up on a dyno as soon as possible after fitting such a kit. Better still, f..k the Dynojet kit and just get the bike set up on a dyno, and save yourself at least 90 quid in the process. The Dynokit supplied for my bike left it running dangerously lean at the top end, whilst being over-rich in the midrange (wrong type of needles and size of jets!).

If rebuilding Triumph brake calipers use early CBR600 caliper kits/parts for the early two-pots, and early GSXR750 kits/parts for the four-pots, this will save you a lot of cash. For example, Triumph don't supply replacement pins or boots for their floating calipers, whereas Honda do for exactly the same caliper!

Don't bother with ordinary NGK plugs, go for the fancy ones as they last longer and give a better spark. Go for sintered pads to prevent brake fade, not the eco-friendly 'green' ones. When fitting new brake lines junk the 'splitter' and run both lines up to the master cylinder, this will reduce the cost (2 lines as opposed to 3) plus reducing sponginess and making bleeding a lot easier.

Use decent oil, not cheap stuff, and change it regularly. My bike's done 60,000 miles and doesn't require top-ups between oil changes, and it's been thrashed to death! It averages 37 mpg, running better on leaded petrol (don't ask me why!). It does 4000 miles to a rear tyre and 6000 on the front, Bridgestone Battlax rubber works best.

The chain & sprockets last around 10000-12000 miles, using Silkolene chain lube which seems to stay on the chain the best (I'm considering getting a Scotoiler to improve chain life!). The clutch pushrod oil seal lasts for around 36000 miles (remember to turn around the pushrod when replacing the seal, so that the ridge worn on it does not reduce seal life).

The fork seals and stanchions will last forever if you fit gaiters, use motocross items, shortening them to suit. Last winter, I replaced all the bearings in the swinging arm after finding that the seals had perished, so check them out and save yourself some cash. The same goes for the steering-head bearings.

Also, if using WD40 in the winter to keep the salt from lifting the paint on the engine, keep it away from the inlet stubs because I went through 4 sets before discovering what was causing them to perish and split in half!

Don't forget to keep an eye on the wiring loom because it's prone to corrosion if neglected, try to clean and WD40 all the connectors at least twice a year, before and after the winter silly season.

Well that's all the tech stuff out the way, what's it been like to own for the last 5 years or so ? F..king alright that's what ! It's managed to fill the role of commuter/tourer/scratcher admirably. I've done everything from two-up touring to Europe for 3 weeks or more, through to thrashing the bollox off it - easily competing with (and sometimes burning off!) ZXR's, GSXR's and the like down the back roads.

Mind you, as most of us know, in the real world on bumpy back roads covered in gravel and cow shit (well at least they are up here in Elgin), most well set-up bikes will perform the same regardless of their age. The most outstanding feature of the Trident must be the stonking mid-range, enabling you to leave most Jap bikes for dead exiting corners, plus making touring so much more mellow and relaxed without having to do the gearbox shuffle like you do on so many other bikes when two up with luggage.

It's also got that solid planted feeling like it's on rails, much like an old Rickman CR1000 I used to have. It doesn't suffer from that twitchiness that you get on a lot of more modern bikes on bumpy roads. Yet you can still scratch with the rest, the ground clearance being much improved since sorting out the suspension.

It's also supremely comfortable two up, no numb-bum or aching arsehole like you get on other bikes. The wife even manages to nod off on the back when travelling down south on the M6 ! Can easily manage 600 miles or more in a day without feeling like you've done 10 rounds with Mike Tyson!

Am I going to get rid of it soon? Not f..kin' likely! There would be no major advantage in a new bike now I've got the Trident how I want it, plus I'd spend a load of cash that would be well spent fixing up my other 3 bikes (Dnepr outfit, 500 Bullet and my trusty old Z200), or beer of course !

Finally, thanks must go to Trev at Sprint Manufacturing for the cheap but quality spares and all round good attitude. Highly recommended. Also thanks to Russ and Co at Pro-bike, Inverness for the dyno work. Also well recommended.

Tim Fowler