BMW R65

The motorcycle is a BMW R65, produced in 1984. The original blue has been enhanced by a white RT fairing, and a pair of white Keith Gold panniers. After donning a white system helmet all I need is flashing blue lights and a siren. Even without these last two additional items, some motorists are convinced its a plod mobile and very courteously pull over.

Teenage years with a CB175 and CJ250T gave way to married life. After quite a few years I purchased a 250 Superdream which was duly sold and a CB500T obtained. The latter had to go as I'm no mechanic and it really needed one. A friend gave me his 250 Superdream which was used as a deposit for the boxer.

It was a little low on fuel so with a fiver donated by the garage, I set off for the nearest petrol station. Alas, I didn’t make it, and vowed I would never run out of petrol again, as pushing the boxer uphill required a little more physical effort than I was used to Not a good start. Petrol in the tank, me on the seat, the ride home was all it took for me to be smitten by this machine.

The first ride with my wife on the pillion, was a trip to Chester (from Worksop). It was one of those scorchers during the summer of 1990. The long queues going to Bakewell Show held us up a little but before too long we were on our way. It really was a very nice ride, but on the way home, my pillion was becoming a little sore.

One or two problems ensued but the garage in Sheffield was very good. I’m not at all technical but apparently it was the input shaft in the gearbox. A three month warranty ensured I didn't have to pay and I was soon on the road again. It was about this time that l was thinking of a bike holiday, the wife was not immediately convinced but time is a wonderful thing.

France was the place to go. and we booked ten days before Easter. A colleague at work allowed us the use of his home in Meymac. The ride down to Portsmouth went okay except for petrol dripping from the left-hand carb on to the exhaust. The quick removal of the float bowl followed by a swift flush through sorted it out. The wife became very cold and found it very difficult to warm up.

We arrived in Portsmouth early, had lunch and boarded the ferry with no problems. I wasn't convinced that the rope, casually slung over the bike and knotted would achieve anything. ”It'll be alright, mate.” from the deckhand was little comfort. I must say that for care taken of the bike, the ferry company score no points. Thankfully, the crossing was rather smooth.

We were in Le Harvre at about 10.30pm, found a reasonable hotel and relaxed. The ride to Meymac was long and took us into the dark hours the next day. The last 40km of road were very twisty, through woods. Damp leaf strewn roads were not welcome, particularly with rough surfaces thrown in. Periodically, a pair of headlights would almost attach themselves to the panniers. As quickly as they arrived, they would overtake and disappear into the night. This was when it became very cold and after ten hours in the seat we were both a little sore. One a little more than the other.

The bike had behaved itself well on the French roads, anything less than the comfort offered by the BMW would have been shear agony. The relaxing beat of the boxer engine seemed to urge us on to our destination. When we got there, no—one had any keys so the caretaker took us to the local hotel and collected us the next day. The house was out of town in a pine forest, a most pleasant setting. As the week passed the weather improved and day-time riding in; the sunshine was a real pleasure. The 40km of road leading to Meymac was especially entertaining as the tight, leaf-strewn bends had dried out, and rather more fun than our first ride over them.

Our rides included the Dordogne Valley, again in glorious sunshine. The twisty roads up and down the sides of the valley were great fun, the BMW’s handling well suited to this environment; the disc brakes an easy match for the speeds we were able to attain.

In the daytime the French roads seem to have little traffic, like Sunday over here but every day in France. This made riding the bike very easy except that several pistol packing Gendarmes were seen; on the spot fines make any kind of speeding very expensive over there.

All too soon it was time to return home We decided that we would use the N1 (motorway) and break the journey to Le Harve at Chartres. We picked up the N1 at Cleremont Ferand and took lunch at the earliest 'convenience.’ The next 60 miles took only 40 minutes. It was then we noticed oil around the left cylinder and my left leg. My non mechanical mind was a little worried at this point. Is that what’s called a head gasket that’s gone? We carried on, keeping an eye on the cylinder and oil level. At the next service area I purchased some very expensive oil and topped up This lasted until the next dealer service when the gasket was changed.

I must say that we were made very welcome in the hotels we stayed in. At the Hotel lbis in Chartres, the receptionist insisted I parked the bike in the foyer for safety. I was impressed! The town was barely awake when we left at 10am. We made good time and made it to the ferry terminal with time to spare. On motorways, up to 85mph the bike ran fine, even two up there was not a hint of a weave from the back end and vibes were minimal. After various rat Hondas the BMW was almost revelatory. The wife was becoming used to the pillion, again on a lesser machine she would have probably been in a foul mood by then.

Then came the ferry crossing. I loved watching the waves break over the bows, feeling the pitch and roll of the ferry. The journey on the way home was most exhilarating. It was very windy and wet. It was here I found overtaking the artics on the main roads a trifle daunting, especially if the land was flat and open, as the machine tended to be thrown around a bit. The answer was to wait for an embankment, which made an excellent wind break. When the rain started I was so pleased l had the big fairing up front.

We had covered 1784 miles in ten days. Not so far, perhaps, but for a first tour we felt it was quite enough. The system helmets were excellent, once bedded in. We had no intercoms but it’s a must for next time. My seat had two inches removed by the previous owner and I found the touring position most comfortable, although the wife was a little stiff and sore but I put that down to lack of miles covered and plenty more riding (and a backrest) will cure that.

The Metzeler tyres gave no problems at all and enabled the bike to be ridden with great confidence Rather a different experience from the Japanese Dunlops I had on the CB175. Indeed,l have yet to be worried by these tyres,

You will have realised by now that I am neither mechanically nor technically minded (in fact, I'm a catering manager). However. I do love riding my boxer and will find any excuse to press the starter and ride for any length of time (I always test ride after washing, polishing or simply moving the bike to get the car out of the garage).

Since purchasing the bike the majority of bikers I've met have been more than sociable. Owning a BMW is like joining a family, and there's nothing better than spending a couple of hours at the local dealers, drinking coffee and having a good chat. I know you've read these stories before and I’m sure many will follow, but as far as I'm concerned the Boxer is in a class of its own.

P Bacon

Loose Lines: In which the editor eats his words by praising an Italian motorcycle [July 1992]

 

The largest deluge of mail in the history of the UMG was caused by my need to use the word Wop to describe Italian machines. At the time, five to six years ago, it appeared to me to perfectly sum up the nature of Italian bikes. Despite all the on the road fun you might derive from owning one there was something decidedly finicky about their reliability. Admittedly, if you rewired something like a 250 Ducati single, bunged on a proper carb and exhaust and spent a few months sorting out the rest of idiosyncrasies, the end result might be rather useful. More normally, until the classic codgers went mad over them, they were thrashed and neglected.

I can well recall one particular, late sixties Ducati 250. These were machines that looked awful with none of the flowing lines of the later Mark 3 or Desmo. Its owner had given up after he had broken an ankle trying to start it. I dismissed this wimpishness, used as l was to igniting the fires in a highly tuned (and largely self destructive) 650 Triton. i do not boast much by way of weight so my technique is a full body weight lunge. I also have an intense dislike of pain, so such lunges were always mitigated by heavy motorcycle boots and the cunning insurance of slipping my foot off the kickstart before it reached the end of its travel.

My first attempt at starting the 250 resulted in a fireball shooting out of the open mouthed carb but no kickback. A bit of fiddling with the points allowed the second kick to produce an earthquake in the chromeless silencer. A bit more fiddling with the points produced a huge kickback that swung the kickstart lever up the inside of my leg. Even with the protection of the boot the leg was badly bruised. The engine was eventually persuaded into life by the simple means of getting half a dozen mates to push it up the lane. Things got rapidly worse, mostly down to fierce vibes depositing various essential items on to the tarmac.

It passed out of my hands after a few days... l later learnt that the kickstart had broken in half, the jagged remnants digging so deeply into the new owner's leg that he only avoided bleeding to death by being rushed to hospital. The machine was not sold on. The owner, once bandaged, was so seething with anger that he took a lump hammer to the heap; probably the only decent thing to do. What was left was pushed up the side of a mountain and rolled off the top into a deep gorge. l'm damn sure that its owner would not have objected to my description of Italian machinery.

In the same way as ownership of an NSU Quickly turned me off two strokes for many a year, I kept well clear of Italian machinery. Occasional rides only seemed to confirm my poor opinion of the breed. Their riders exulted in owner involvement (they probably didn’t have much choice). pouring forth a stream of improvements made with the joy of the true fanatic; the gleam in their eyes only matched by a train spotter finding a weird and wonderful train in an unusual location. I secretly enjoyed the evident horror with which they viewed my disparagement of their beloved marques in the days when the UMG was less objective than it should perhaps have been.

That, of course, didn't stop me from featuring the occasional review of Italian machinery, whether in praise or horror. In fact, the more that was revealed of life with Italian machinery the more accurate appeared my general denigration of them. One contributor was so incensed when I used the word Wop in his article instead of what he had written that he sent in a very abusive letter; thereafter he was never heard from again and it probably still full of crazed anger whenever he sees the UMG on the magazine rack. Whether this had anything to do with a brick being thrown through the window, I don't know.

That I mutually stopped using the term was more down to the machinery becoming better, horror stories of almost instant electrical demise, switches falling apart and chrome falling off were less prevalent on the more modem stuff (though, by no means entirely rare) to the extent that the term Wop had become less valid than in previous years.

Tlme moves on, companies either produce better products or go bust and my memory of past abuse afflicted on my innocent self from unworthy machinery became less acute. It ought to be understood, that when a machine fails, even after years of abuse and neglect, I tend to take it as a personal insult, as if some living, breathing motorcycle has reached out to try to wreck my day. This irrationality probably explains a lot, but we won't go into that here.

The cause of this lengthy preamble is, of course, another bloody motorcycle. One I do not own, one I have only managed to ride for a few hundred miles and one which I will not be able to afford for a few years yet until the secondhand market mitigates its obscene new price, although if the economic ball gets rolling again and the classic clowns descend upon it the price may never go down to a sane level.

This particular piece of bright red lunacy is a remarkable bit of engineering from the Cagiva owned Ducati factory. The 750SS manages to combine stunning performance with excellent economy (around 55mpg). mostly down to its low 380lb dry weight and torque heavy motor. On paper its performance looks less than impressive, but on the road the way the motor delivers its power is reminiscent of the better British twins, only with even more grunt available and a hell of a lot less vibes.

The tubular frame is both strong and good to look at, the vee twin engine sits very low in the frame and the modern suspension produces a smooth ride for an Italian machine The feeling of completeness and balance overwhelms every other sensation. It has all the character of the more obscure and dubious British bikes but with none of their self destruct nature (although time and mileage could be cruel to such praise). The only bit of Wopishness that I could find was a rattly and slightly abrupt clutch.

It will not stay with a GSXR750 but it does not seem to matter, the instantaneous way the power hits the back wheel and the large thump delivered to the body when it accelerates is quite different from the frenzied insanity of the Japanese race reptiles — or maybe I'm just getting old and looking for an easy way out.

The 750 engine is derived from the old Pantah unit, its 90 degree vee twin layout exemplary in its general simplicity save for its Desmo valvegear. The latter I've always viewed with suspicion, especially when driven by the difficult to set up bevel gears and shafts, but with the belt drives it's at least possible to remove and replace the cylinder heads without needing the skills of a world class surgeon. With just two valves per cylinder the Desmo valvegear may be justified, although with 60hp developed at a mere 8500mm it's hard to believe that modern valve springs would allow float even if the valves are big buggers. The good fuel economy may be down to the precision of the valvegear.

I could ramble on about the Ducati but you probably wouldn't believe such an excess of praise from such a cynical hack, so I won't bother. If you're in the market for a newish plastic replica I do recommend you give one a try, though. And that's one big problem. Most Ducati dealers are as fanatical about the bikes as are the owners, only likely to let you have a ride after you've handed over the money. I had to go halfway across the country to test ride a slightly used one, naturally denying any connection with this dubious rag. Even then the dealer showed a marked reluctance to let me take the bike out and nearly turned violent when I came back two hours later with 150 miles on the clock.

Persuading another dealer nearer home to part with his personal machine, which acted as a demonstrator, for an hour or so proved equally difficult. Only a pile of lies about having the money sitting in the bank ready and waiting if I liked the Duke, allowed the precious machine out of his grasp. With that kind of attitude. the Ducati's prime attribute — its riding experience — is going to be so difficult to experience that not very many are going to be sold. But then I got the impression from these dealers that they were not looking to sell very many. With a six grand new price and a massive recession, perhaps that's not surprising.

Bill Fowler

Designs: Thoughts on how poor are modern bikes and how much better they could become

Ever wondered why you don’t see many older Toyotas, Datsuns and Hondas on the road? When the first Japanese cars arrived in this country they were ridiculed for the way they rapidly rusted and wore out. In quite a short space of time the words Japanese and reliable have become almost synonymous in the car world.

Yet readers’ reports in the UMG would suggest that motorcycles have improved little in this respect over the same period. Sure, they handle better, have incredible performance, but is this what we really need? While cars have become longer lasting, more reliable, more economical and more comfortable to use. bikes are much the same as they've always been' in these respects, while the new found power eats up tyres, chains and other parts at rates which would frighten even a supercar owner.

Virtually every bike I've seen not only seems to have a poor level of finish compared to what we've come to expect from cars and commercial vehicles — paint that flakes away from frames, alloy that loses its shine after the first winter, seats and side panels that don't fit properly — also appear to have thousands of niches and crevices specifically designed to trap dirt and moisture, with the overall impression of being a collection of parts, not designed as a complete entity.

Because bikes are regarded as little more than disposable toys by these who make them and thus not designed with a long working life in mind, mechanical failures and maintenance demands which would not be tolerated by car or commercial vehicle owners are regarded as the norm. Any car which needed a rebore within 20,000 miles, broke camchains and blew head gaskets regularly, for example, would be a financial disaster for the maker and tarnish the brand name for years. Most motorists today regard 80—100,000 miles as the minimum for a new car's mechanical life and would not touch a vehicle needing 1000 mile oil changes with a barge pole.

To my mind, the whole approach to contemporary motorcycle design is flawed. Highly stressed, high revving engines are never going to last as long as the heavy duty, low stressed items used in trucks and tractors. These diesels, often featuring oil as well as water cooling and a very high quality of construction, typically have life spans of at least 300-400,000 miles with minimal maintenance.

The use of standard components throughout model ranges and long production lives not only reduces production costs, it also means that spare parts are cheap and readily available, even for obsolete models. My father can get a forged piston kit complete with cylinder liner for his tractor for less than the price of the equivalent part for my 125 Honda — and that, tractor was made nearly 25 years ago!

Oil immersed brakes that almost never need adjustment, well engineered transmission systems and easily accessible maintenance points are the kind of features which mean that these working machines perform for years without hassle. By comparison, motorcycles are disposable toys. Interestingly, the Japs have yet to make an impression on the truck and agricultural markets, although they are advancing rapidly with construction equipment.

I'm not suggesting that the bike of the nineties should be a turbo charged diesel — a rev range from 800 to 2000mm isn't very exciting — but I do think that if more people are to become — and remain — motorcyclists, more practical machinery is needed. Few car owners are going to give up the comfort, safety and status of their cages for long when they find that their two wheeled contraption eats up its minimal fuel savings with its insatiable appetite for expensive parts and maintenance, falling apart before their eyes.

Now that the western world has finally woken up to the fact that we can’t go on consuming our precious resources for ever. surely it is time that the motorcycle manufacturers got their act together and made some serious machinery. Speed is not the only measure of performance. Judging by their marketing approach, which is probably spot on for the Japanese market, the manufacturers have decided that motorcyclists fall into two broad categories — those who ride purely for pleasure and have money to burn, and those who use a bike for transport because they can’t afford a car.

In the first case the product is a high performance bike, in the second, with the exception of sports 50s and 125s for 16 and 17 year olds, it is the commuter, a basic machine little more advanced than British bikes of the sixties but without the style or durability. Some of the big trail bikes, such as Honda’s Transalp and Dominator or Yamaha's Super Tenere, come close to filling this gap but the price/performance equation is out of order. There is a real dearth of practical, affordable, yet exciting machinery. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think there is a market for this type of bike.

My own design for the ideal working bike goes like this. A four stroke single, oil and/or water cooled, gear or belt driven cams, bucket and shim adjustment and a large oil capacity, ideally separate from the gearbox lubricant. Extracting just 30—40hp from 450—600cc at. say, 6000mm, but with plenty of low speed torque, this would be a light, compact, fuel efficient unit, which with its low work load and these refinements would be long lasting with maintenance intervals of at least 10,000 miles.

With the engine/gearbox acting as the bike’s backbone, a simple steel beam is all that's needed to clamp the headstock in position. Conventional telescopic forks take care of the front end while at the back, a single sided arm pivots on bearings directly on to the gearbox. working on the same axis as the gearbox output shaft to give constant chain tension. This swinging arm doubles up as an oil filled chaincase with an auto tensioner and is integral with the rear drum brake to give easy wheel removal and a very long chain life. A single suspension unit can be mounted on the back of the engine or under it.

Bodywork is all enclosing with integral seat, tank, windscreen and easily detachable panniers. Gracefully shaped plastic protects the rider's legs, feet and hands from the elements. Twin radiators are mounted either side of the tank, motocross style, using large ducts for efficient air flow. One or two removable panels give quick access for routine maintenance. Wheels, cast for appearance and easy cleaning, are almost enveloped by mudguards. Heavy duty alternator, starter motor and battery go without saying, while the lights are all smoothly integrated into the bodywork. Externally, at least, everything is smoothly contoured and flush fitting or shrouded by rubber, so there are no dirt traps.

Cleaning involves nothing more than ten minutes with soap and water. Corrosion is not a problem because the exhaust, the only metallic item not powder coated, galvanised or immersed in oil, is made from stainless steel. Weighing about 300 to 350lbs, this bike would manage 100mph quite easily and give at least 70 to 80rnpg. More importantly, everything but tyres and brake linings should last for at least 80,000 miles with little more than oil changes by way of maintenance, making for minimal running costs over a ten year life span. The high standard of construction and finish ensures low depreciation rates.

This isn’t a proper motorcycle, the traditionalists will say, it's a car on two wheels. Maybe. but cars currently out sell bikes in the UK by 20:1. It's got no character, you can't even see the engine, they will shout. Few would describe Ford Escorts, for example, as exciting to look at but this one model sold in greater numbers last year than all bikes put together. The average person in the UK doesn't want character if it means getting pneumonia every time he wants to go out in winter or getting his hands dirty every weekend, he wants reliable, civilised transport. And if a decent stylist like Bertone or Giugaro was put to work on a bike like this it could be anything but boring to look at.

I'd go for a trail bike riding position, which is safe and comfortable in traffic but bodywork could just as easily be made for a sports version, using the same engine and chassis. With a minimal number of changes, a variety of models could be made, including various engine capacities, more highly tuned and perhaps multi cylinder versions. Making variants of a basic model is much cheaper than producing several entirely different models — lower prices for the consumer and more profit for the manufacturers. Virtually everything else is made this way. so why not bikes?

Some contemporary bikes come close to my ideal in terms of styling — Honda's CBRs and Pan European, Norton's P55, for example. But these aren't practical machines, they're rich men's toys. The lack of marketing imagination exhibited by the motorcycle industry is remarkable — most bikes have little appeal to non motorcyclists who form the vast majority of the population. These potential customers are probably scared off by the fearsome appearance and performance of modern race replicas which do little to break away from the traditional images of bikes and bikers.

This is very sad because if the bikes themselves don't scare people away, the dealers certainly will. Many showrooms are revolting and the customer service must be amongst the worst in Britain, and that's saying something. This is very sad because the motorcycle could be made into a very efficient, practical means of transport which could be used by a great many people. In a world of finite resources and congested roads there must be a place for powered two wheelers. if the Japanese are too busy trying to extract the last few bhp from their latest race replica to notice. why don't the Europeans have a go? Looking further ahead, we could have direct injection two strokes or even rotaries, as are being developed by several car manufacturers, which with continuously variable transmission would give high power, low weight and maximum efficiency. Hub centre steering and monocoque body/ chassis designs may also appear. Poor aerodynamics, the main reason why motorcycle fuel economy has improved little, could be overcome by three wheeled or feet first designs.

When you consider that most of this technology is already available, the amazing thing is how little, not how much, motorcycles have developed. Unless radical changes are made to bike design soon, the bike as a form of transport will continue to decline in the UK and elsewhere. Personally, I am reaching the point in my life where I need a vehicle I can depend on, doesn't cost a fortune to buy and run, which I don't have to dress up like an arctic explorer to use. I have yet to see or hear of a modern motorcycle that fits the bill, so my next machine is likely to have four wheels rather than two, the bike relegated to second place in the garage.

[First published July 1992]

Honda CX500

I became fixated on a Honda CX500, from the removal of constant drive chain hassles among other things. I started looking for one with a large fairing, quite a tall order in Ireland, as there aren’t many and their owners tend to hold on to them. But one day I saw a lovely job parked outside a spares shop in Belfast and I started talking to the owner. He had had it rebuilt, the rust removed from the frame and plastic coated. The tank and panels matched the white Rickman Polaris. It looked very classy and in gleaming good order. He told me he was looking for a car for winter and would probably be selling the CX, so I gave him my phone number.

Two or three weeks later he called me and said he wanted to sell. It appeared okay apart from the front tyre and the battery. A short test ride revealed no nasty clunks. It looked magnificent in its spotless white livery and the fairing actually enhanced the ugly shape of the tank and the two humps of the cylinders which gave the CX one of several sobriquets: The Camel (others are The Kettle and The Plastic Maggot).

l It had been love at first sight, anyway. I wanted it and was prepared to pay the rather high price of £600 for a 1980 machine with 30,000 miles on the clock. After all, it had been rebuilt, lovingly painted and maintained. I handed over the money and took my first real ride on the CX. The 30 miles back home was through the rain and in the dark. It was quite a change from the Benly, my previous mount. l was higher off the ground, the engine had a fine growling beat from the vee twin OHV motor with symphonic shaft drive whine.

I could zoom past everything in front of me, the fairing offered amazing protection and I could actually see in front of me, thanks to the excellent QH headlight. I rarely went out at night on the Benly as I was blinded by oncoming traffic and could often not see the road where there were no white lines or cats eyes. The beam was too low but I adjusted that on getting home, thinking nothing more of it. The slight up and down movement in the fairing didn’t register with me, either.

It turned out that the guy who had sold me the CX was much more interested in its appearance than in its performance. There wasn't a speck of mud or rust on it but it later transpired that the carbs were wildly out of balance, looking like they hadn't been touched for years. Apart from the dying battery and dead front tyre, it needed new fork seals and front brake pads. Then I started worrying about the poor fuel consumption (less than 40mpg) and the high consumption of air filters — you need to change them more often than the oil filters at £9 a time I have since heard about K & N long life replacements.

Oh well, it was more fun to ride, even if it was costing twice as much to run as the CD200. There was the problem of weight distribution. Within the first two weeks of having the CX I dropped it three times in my muddy lane — I couldn't pick it up without help. This was partially due to a condition I have called ME, which causes amongst other things muscle weakness. The bike was top heavy, down to the large if splendid fairing and the bike being simply, er, top heavy. So I have to be very careful to avoid embarrassment.

It transpired that the fairing wobble was due to a missing top bolt attaching it to the cylinder barrel through the radiator. This bolt had stripped itself out, but my knowledgeable friend said that the other three bolts would hold it on okay. So, after getting the minor leaks in the plumbing blocked with some aquarium sealant, l took the CX for its first long ride to Dublin, 100 miles away.

It was on the incredibly potholed Dublin streets that I noticed the fairing wobbling even more than before and the headlight pointing straight down on to the road in front of me The bracket on the other side to the missing bolt had broken and was just sitting on its belt. I rode home rather gingerly, hoping that air pressure would hold the fairing on!

It turned out that both threads in the cylinder barrels had been stripped, so they had to be carefully sleeved and the bracket had to be welded. At the same time the carbs were balanced and the tappets set.

The thorough and excellent mechanic who undertook all this also gave the rest of the bike the once over. The bill came to £100. So the handsome fairing proved a very expensive accessory. But it is new rock solid and will not fall off again.

A couple of days aftenivards I set off for Granada. I have always loved Islamic architecture, am in love with inland Spain and NE Portugal. I found myself hurtling southwards down the unbelievable English motorways. The Belfast ferry got into Liverpool an hour late, so I had exactly five hours to get to Dover and I couldn’t do more than 85mph because of the Krausers on the back — an additional expense, £70 for a new frame to fit the CX and £50 for a used set of panniers.

I arrived at Dover docks with five minutes to spare and was whisked through on to the boat with marvellous efficiency. This was quite in contrast to the surly ineptitude of the Belfast-Liverpool ferry, where I discovered to my horror that morning, after a night's voyage, that the bike hadn't even been lashed down. Two dainty little wooden chocks had been placed against the wheels; just as well the sea had been like glass.

From Calais I headed for Paris where I could stay with a friend. This was okay, the French tollways are pretty good, it's only where the motorways are free, around Paris, that the mayhem and tail-backs occur. But any biker who goes to Paris this way should be warned of the section of motorway just before you come into Paris. This is an old experimental stretch, finely grooved to assist drainage When you hit it on a bike you're convinced that you have a double puncture; the bike goes all over the road, very frightening. There are signs up but you can't see them in the dark, I had a few minutes before I realised why the bike was out of control at more than 30mph.

The comfort of the Honda was limited, doing Liverpool to Paris in one day meant I needed 48 hours to recover from the engine throb in my head. The splendid growl became oppressive after 150 miles. I had done nearly 500 miles, almost entirely on motorways between Liverpool and Paris in November on a bike still new to me, and I definitely suffered from what the French called decalage (travel lag).

After my little rest, l headed towards Spain from Paris, partly by motorway, with little diversions to provide some interest. The further south I went the more I realised that I was going to dread the return journey. I also realised that when you're on your own aboard a bike there isn't a lot you can do except ride or not ride. My shoulders started to ache and my right wrist became sore My right leg and knee tended to seize up after 100 miles. The whining and growling engine were no longer music to my ears. It became so bad that I decided to turn back and take it easy visiting friends between Bordeaux and Calais.

I had thought taking the CX to Spain would be an exhilarating adventure, but it turned out to be very boring and tiring instead. The CX is a cumbersome beast, not a bike to go fast on but cruise sedately along as befits a 47 yearold DHSS scrounger and RAC member. It is rock steady  with no vibration, up to 90mph at any rate — once you get used to a certain twitchiness in right-hand cornering due to the power pulses through the shaft. I haven't got the ton up, what with the fairing and Krausers full of wine and cheese.

lts favourite speed is 80mph, and it is also a pleasure to ride in its expansive top gear from 50mph up: a good bike to enjoy a view from but heavy to manoeuvre in and out of garages and parking spaces. lts seat is as comfortable as the Benly's though the riding position is a bit more crouched and tiring. My feet can easily touch the ground. But petrol consumption, what with the fairing and loaded panniers, was never better than 40mpg on the whole trip — which isn’t at all good for an otherwise excellent tourer. I think it's I who am not the excellent tourer, but merely a short distance rider.

The return trip was interesting; murderous three lane motor ways with stationary traffic because of too many junctions —- after overheating in a crawl (behind a traffic control vehicle) through the Dartford tunnel. Perhaps I shall try again next year, I have to justify £500's worth of CX somehow.

Anthony Weir

Honda CBR600

The Honda CBR600 has had a favourable press in general, so I was interested to see a 1987 example on sale in the local rag for just £1500. The one big problem with CBRs is that they are very popular machines for use in production racing... this one had evidently gone that way, with wired in bolts and replica GRP in white where it hadn’t been scraped down to the dull beige of the GRP.

The mileometer read just over 47000 miles, which may or may not have been true. The owner was a South London yob who could barely speak English but I deciphered the grunts to the extent of learning he was the sixth owner, had the bike for three months and reckoned it was a real goer. Had he changed the oil every 1000 miles, I queried? His reply was generally unprintable and most certainly negative.

He took me for a spin on the back. I could feel his left foot working frantically as the machine wailed nicely on the degutted Motad 4—1 and the acceleration was still sufficient to threaten to throw me off the back. I dared not grab hold of the rider, he looked like the sort of chap who would take affront at such intimacy and probably beat me to a pulp. I couldn't make my mind up about the bike It certainly motored alright but under the GRP I could hear all kinds of reflected noises. The owner was evidently in need of money because much to my consternation he demanded I make an offer. Deciding not to buy the bike, I said l’d give him a grand for it, thinking he was bound to refuse. Much to my shock he accepted with apparent gratitude.

The next thing I knew I was clutching the logbook, 20 fifty pound notes poorer, trying to get the Honda to come back into life. The engine churned over on the starter, backfiring violently through the silencer and clacking away to itself. After what seemed an age it fired up and I could escape the grime of Battersea. The owner flashed me the kind of grin a Doberman might give before devouring its prey and I wondered what the hell I had let myself in for. I quite enjoyed the 50 mile jaunt home. Acceleration in second and third was especially stimulating as long as you kept the rev counter above seven grand.The engine appeared to be happy to rev hard past eleven grand but I didn't push it, thinking of its age, mileage and the money I had just handed over. flue, the handling was twitchy but I put that down to the bald Michelins and a rear shock that had lost all its damping.

Nearing home, with darkness falling, I switched on the lights only to find there weren’t any. I knew there was something I'd forgotten to check. I changed down two gears and screamed all the way home with the tacho in the red, as if to tell the machine it had better behave or else. Parking the CBR I noted a small pool of oil under the engine, I later found that the oil filter was loose and looked like it had come with the machine from Japan. I soon found out why there weren't any lights, some moron had chopped off the wiring loom where it was supposed to go into the headlamp. A weekend was spent splicing wires on to wires, swearing a lot and eventually achieving the seemingly impossible — working lights. The indicators worked after a fashion, sometimes blinking rapidly, sometimes slowly... 100 miles after buying the bike I was forced to fit a Superdream indicator black box.

The fist time I used the bike in anger at night I found out why the lights had been removed from the system, the half-knackered alternator didn't produce enough power to recharge the battery. The lights gradually dimmed until I cottoned on to what was happening and saved the day by riding home on the pilot lights. The electrics were a total mess, non standard regulator/rectifier unit and wires hastily wound together. A rewound alternator and Superdream rectifier/regulator unit worked fine.

The bike became increasingly difficult to start. I had to churn it over and over on the starter until it deigned to ignite I took the carbs and air filter off. The former were full of crud and the latter full of holes. I cleaned the carbs and replaced the air filter. Unfortunately, the reason for the holes was to match the air flow to the exhausts. A local dealer with a rolling road spent a whole afternoon matching jets to the straight through exhaust system. He must have been bored or something as he only charged me £45. It still wasn’t dead right, although starting had improved dramatically, there was a huge flat spot between 5000 and 7000 revs. The bike was also only doing 30mpg, although as I often saw 140rnph on the clock on the local dual carriageway perhaps this wasn't too surprising. A pint of oil was also needed every 200 miles. I had replaced the worn tyres with a set of Metz's which were okay, although the bike went into a BMW style weave at 90mph then became stable again once above 120mph.

Despite a lack of damping in the worn out suspension it was surprisingly easy to throw around in the curves. The riding position was perfection, it felt so good that I had felt right at home on the bike as soon as I'd swung a leg over it. Cornering clearance was brilliant, my boot would gently scrape the ground before anything else — at that kind of angle I knew. it was time to back off. so it was a good warning device. Steering was neutral for most of the time, although when well banked over and the front fork was brutally ridden over a series of large bumps I could feel the fork flex, the Honda tending to go sideways out into the path of oncoming traffic. But it was just a moment’s effort to back off the throttle or dab the rear disc on to set the bike back on to a safer line.

The plastic did little to offer protection from the rain and one wild downpour resulted in wave after wave of water pouring off the tiny screen straight into my face, even though I was crouched down into the machine. Hands and feet also seemed to get a worse soaking than on a naked machine. A few more inches of plastic all round would have made all the difference. After about 700 miles of the usual abuse the rear disc caliper seized on. By the time I'd struggled home at a paltry 50mph the disc was red hot and the caliper seemed to have melted into a single lump of corrosion. The local breaker provided a new disc and caliper for £30, the old disc having become badly warped.

That wasn’t to be the end of the braking problems for the front twin discs became very spongy despite the presence of Goodridge hose. Under heavy braking the lever came all the way back to the handlebars and retardation became so minimal as to be frightening. The front calipers at least came apart easily enough and after replacing various worn bits and bunging in a new set of pads, I found that the brakes were not much better. The dealer told me to check the discs, they had probably worn so thin that they were warping under braking! One used set of discs later and we were back in business. Front pads last around 5000 miles, rears 7000 miles.

After about 1000 miles it was time to take the bike on a 1500 mile run up to Scotland and back — in a day! I started early, with a gallon of oil strapped on to the seat. and headed up the M1. Most of the traffic was huge artics snaking around, so I was able to blitz along with the bike strung out in fifth and sixth. The CBR won’t do much above 140mph however much you scream it in the lower gears and the handling becomes a bit weird flat out, but with 125mph on the clock the machine seemed to settle into a reasonable pace. The thinner replica GRP buzzed a lot but apart from that the bike didn't protest at being thrashed other than by doing only 25mpg. The frequent fuel stops allowed me to keep a check on the oil level and stretch my legs.

I made good time going up to Edinburgh so came back down on the A roads. as by then the motorway was clogging up with an excess of tin boxes. The A roads weren't much better and I could not safely cruise at more than 90mph. The poor state of the roads meant the Honda and I received a battering. My spine felt like hell by the time I got home and one of the GRP panels came loose, catching the wind and flapping madly. I pulled across a few cars and made for the narrow bit of gravel on the side of the road, stopping under a no parking sign, of course. A couple of strategically placed bungee cords sorted the problem until I could get hold of a replacement screw, they held the 400 miles to my home.

As the night came down I was disconcerted to find main beam blowing, something to do with bouncing the valves in second gear to avoid becoming mincemeat between a Volvo and a coach. The lights were never startlingly good (they probably weren't original) and dip only gave a view a few yards ahead. I tucked in behind an erratically driven Aston Martin, which would top 135mph then brake harshly to 70mph. This demented progress continued for 100 miles until l had to turn off to buy some fuel and top the oil level up.

After too many hours in the seat the demented wail of the exhaust had become very tiring and a headache was causing me to curse whoever invented motorcycles. Progress continued after a fashion, but the lack of lights and my tired body meant we were down to a mere 60 to 70mph, the Honda burbling along happily enough at 5000 revs or so in top gear. The only problem was that due to the flat spot I had to drop two gears if I wanted some acceleration.

At the next stop I swallowed a couple of packets of aspirin which dulled the headache to an acceptable level. As we neared home the gearbox went to pot, the bike kept slipping out of 5th and 6th gear, the revs suddenly whipping through the red line I cringed at the thought of bouncing valves and proceeded forward in fourth gear, trying to remember if it used to vibrate quite so badly in that ratio before.

By the time I arrived home I was enervated from the dizzy vibes and wailing exhaust. I was like someone who had taken an overdose of caffeine, there was no way I could get to sleep that night, my mind was still buzzing with the road and when I eventually fell into a fitful doze it was filled with dreams of screaming across the countryside on the Honda.

The next morning I took the plastic off to look the machine over, as i had been annoyed to find a large puddle of oil under the engine The head gasket was seeping and the oil filler cap was missing. The oil level was down below the minimum level and l when I started her up, after stuffing a rag in the hole, the engine rattled and clicked like there was something seriously wrong.

I took the motor out, removed the cylinder head and cursed my ill luck. Bits of valves were missing, the camshafts were scored and the camchain and tensioner were well shot. A mate told me of a mechanic he knew who set CBR engines up for racing so the various engine bits were put in the car boot and taken to his garage. He looked the motor over, scratched his chin and said he’d take it on for £500! After a lot of negotiation, he agreed to fix the top end and gearbox with various used bits he had hanging around for £175, but at that price I could expect no guarantee.

Three weeks later he delivered the rebuilt engine to my house, telling me that he'd probably made a loss on the job and he didn’t want to know if anything else went wrong. After putting the motor back in the frame, it took about two hours connected up to various neighbour's cars to churn into life. The neighbours weren't very amused to find they didn’t have enough power left to start their cars, but there you go.

I cocked a ear to the engine, sniffed the exhaust and then rested an ear on the end of a screwdriver placed on various bits of the engine, finding to my relief that the motor sounded quiet. I whipped the throttle open with the bike in neutral, finding the engine fair flew into the red with an instantaneous action that had previously been lacking. The only problem came when, after lashing all the GRP back together. I tried to engage first gear. The lever was incredibly stiff and was impossible to operate unless you wore heavy motorcycle boots and had a lot of violence hidden within your system.

Up the road, acceleration in first gear was breath-taking. There was a nasty crunch as I changed up to second, then the same hollowness in the stomach as it charged forward. I just hoped the gearbox would loosen up as the mileage increased, but I was to find that it became very recalcitrant in heavy traffic, but at least it had stopped leaping out of gear.

I later went to see the mechanic, who eventually admitted he had used some race cams and bigger jets in the carbs. The bike would do an indicated 150rnph and it tended to jerk the rear and off line if you hit 8000 revs suddenly coming out of a bend. I had some wild slides in the wet until I learnt to keep it below 5000rpm in tricky situations. I had a race with a ZZR600 whose owner became frantic when I stayed level with him, then dropped down a gear and shot off into the distance. He eventually caught up, but that was only because the Metzs were worn out and the bike had become a brutal bastard in the bends. The tyres would only do about 3500 miles.

Having done about 7000 miles on the bike, I was afflicted with various bearings going. The swinging arm’s went first, producing a buckling, wobbling bike only fit as a means of suicide. As the chain was shagged at the same time I replaced that as well. Then the front wheel bearings went about a week later, evidenced at first by violent head shaking if I took a hand off the bars and when I ignored that by a full scale tank slapper. The steering head bearings were well pitted so they were replaced as well. Congratulating myself on sorting the bearings, 120 miles from home the rear bearings went. I didn’t make it home and had to summon the AA.

I also bought a used White Power shock which was probably as old as the bike but had been rebuilt to as new spec. The front forks needed replacing as well as the chrome was falling off but they didn’t seem that bad as the chassis was rigid enough to absorb their worst machinations. I had been using the bike for commuting and weekend fun, it seemed a natural for the annual holiday but that was not to be.

Cruising through town, after an enjoyable evening at the local heavy metal pub, I piloted the bike around the usual lethargic Morris Marina when its owner suddenly woke up (probably by the Honda's open exhaust), throwing his vehicle into my machine. lt wasn't a high speed crash but the way the car caught the bike and threw it under a car coming the other way meant the machine was a write off. I ended up getting crunched between the two cars. It could have been worse, I was only badly bruised and cut up. As I staggered upright, the Marina owner rushed over and said. "Sorry, mate, I didn't see you.‘

Unfortunately for him I could see my flattened machine poking out from the underside of the other car. My head twitched violently, the helmet catching him full in the face. As he reeled away clutching what was left of his face, I growled, ”Sorry mate, I didn't see you, either”

Needless to say, the police were not too amused when they arrived. Ambulances and recovery vehicles were summoned. When the car was eventually cranked off my pride and joy, I could have cried out loud. I didn't need an insurance company to tell me it was a write off. There is a happy ending to this, the insurance company reluctantly coughed up £1600, so I probably came out a little ahead.

The CBR600 was expensive to run, immense fun to ride and my well thrashed example was tougher than I expected. Buying a bike in that kind of state, you shouldn't be surprised if it gets you home without failing. I've just bought a 1990 CBR600 for £2500, a real nice one that hasn't been raced (I hope), which answers all the other questions.

Dick Lewis