First impressions count for a lot. My £100 hack was acquired in the depths of the night. although I'd been able to inspect the machine to my heart's content in a lighted garage. All seemed OK, so cash changed hands and I pottered off on the 30 mile trek home.
The bike felt solid on the road, with none of the wandering that could be expected from its utilitarian appearance. The motor vibrated all the time, somewhat disconcerting from a mildly tuned 125cc stroker, but we plodded along at 30mph with the only worry the minimal level of illumination emitted from the front headlamp.
Whatever technological advances the East German factory might have claimed for themselves in the design of two stroke engines, it certainly didn't apply to the electrical system, which was a pathetic 6 volts when all the connections were free of rust and the battery holding a charge. I was muttering to myself about communist plots, when the front headlamp went out.
Brakes, I screamed out loud. At that low speed the SLS drums responded well. I stopped just before the bike was about to launch itself off the road into a ditch. I knew this because the light had not actually gone out but fallen out of its holder. It dangled on the ends of its wires, illuminating the fetid ditch inches away from the front wheel.
I shoved it back in, sort of securing the reflector with a bungee cord wrapped around the headlamp casing. This did nothing for illumination but held until I was able to roll up at my house, somewhat bleary eyed and shaken up by the experience.
The next day I wandered out to the garden to find the MZ had disappeared. Bloody hell, I muttered, who the hell would be silly enough to nick one of those. Noone as it turned out, the thing had fallen over on its stand, hiding behind a low stone wall in the garden. I pulled it up without too much of a struggle, and could find no discernible damage to the already battered form.
Not a good way to begin a relationship. Starting turned out difficult. The previous owner had managed a nonchalant kick. but it took me the best part of thirty minutes to make the motor stutter into life. It did get better as I learnt the technique. tour or five desperate lunges were all that were needed to light the fires when the mill was cold.
I ignored the headlamp, and went tor a last thrash to see what the communist iron was made of. It wailed up to 50mph without too much hassle. but then acceleration slowed so much that I thought we were going backwards. A ten mile long straight revealed that top speed was 65mph. Hardly worth all the drama, as the engine was vibrating away like a jackhammer.
Coming back, performance all but disappeared as we battled against a strong headwind, not much more than a pathetic 40mph available, with the stroker sounding like it was about to explode. The bike was six years old with only 16000 miles on the clock.
Just the one owner, who had assured me it had only been used as a summer commuter and, apart from the time the speedo cable broke, the mileage was rather more than less genuine. Handling turned out strange. It felt firmly planted on the ground in a straight line. So much so that it was reluctant to go around corners. When it did eventually decide to lean over it did so with a rather vicious lunge that threatened a violent dose of tarmac rash. The tyres didn't help, some Far Eastern crap, but they were probably no worse than the Pneumats that were original equipment.
It took about a month to develop the necessary reflexes to throw the little MZ around corners. In town, it was somewhat easier, although by no means a lightweight, as at commuting speeds the TS responded in a more predictable manner to steering inputs. The bike was slow enough to get in the way of cars in the traffic light GP.
The brakes were surprisingly effective up to 40mph. Higher speeds predictably enough led to overheating and fade. In the early days I had some close shaves, with the dodgy brakes and weird handling causing me to run right off country roads. After a while, I was impressed with the toughness of the chassis, which appeared capable of taking out bloody great trees, but weary of the bruises.
After the first month I deemed it necessary to pull out all the wires and start again on the electrical system. Even after I'd secured the glow-worm front light, it loved to blow. Also, fuses would burn out with religious fervour and I once had the horn come on continuously until I'd maniacally pulled out the offending wires. The indicators didn't even try to work so they were chucked. After much ritual abuse I got everything working again and had fitted used Jap switches and regulator.
The incredibly long silencer was degutted, the air filter thrown away and a new spark plug fitted. Starting improved but it was still a slug once past 50mph. I stripped one of the cylinder head studs whilst attempting a decoke but fixed it in with Araldite. The decoke did not help performance but got fuel up to 75mpg.
For the next five months the bike was more or less sorted with only the odd fault, usually with the ignition, annoying me. Come 24000 miles, the rattles increased and performance became even more appalling. Honest, it was hard pushed to do more than 35mph!
Even I managed to work out that the engine was in need of attention. There followed a lot of painful action as almost every bolt I tried to undo had corroded in place with Jap-like efficiency.
At first I thought it was just going to be the piston and bore, but the crankshaft turned out to have shot main bearings. Talking to breakers I found out that most engines were in trouble between 20 and 25000 miles. Given the choice between doing a complete rebuild and bunging in a fifty quid engine from a crashed bike, it was pretty obvious which to choose.
The replacement engine had slightly less rattles but was identical in performance. To celebrate the successful transplant, I decided to take the MZ on a tour of the Lake District, this in September. i lived not that far away, so it was an easy run to Lake Windermere. Or would have been had not the rucksack flown off the back of the bike, ending up at the bottom of a cliff.
In a foolish flood of optimism I scrambled down the near vertical rock face only to nearly have heart palpitations when I realised it would not be half so easy to climb back up again with a huge rucksack slung on my back! Fortunately, walking down the valley for half a mile revealed a path back up to the road, but with the way the tarmac winds in the Lake District it was a two hour's hike back to the MZ, which amazingly was still ticking over where I had left it!
I was so done in by then that the first bit of green grass I came to was deemed perfect for an impromptu campsite. The next day the need to keep hauling on the front drum to avoid leaving the road. turned it very grabby. After about five miles it stopped working altogether, just producing noises piercing enough to make the sheep cringe. When I went to take the front wheel off the thread stripped, so there was no way it could safely be reassembled. The brake turned out to have cracked linings with no braking material left. Oops.
It was out with the Araldite again to repair the thread, then up with the tent whilst I let it set overnight. Nothing for it but to ride home five days early the next morning. The bodge held out OK, and might even have lasted much longer, but no way I was going to risk having the front wheel fall off when the bits could be picked up for next to nothing from a breaker.
Even with a new-ish front wheel and set of shoes the front brake thereafter retained its grabby nature, sometimes being a real bugger in the wet, sending the front wheel off into a heinous slide that had sparks flying off the chassis and flesh torn off my poor old battered body.
After one particularly vile slide, the MZ added a new party trick to its repertoire. The first I knew of this was when I'd got the old heap up to a reluctant and somewhat vibratory 62mph (the speedo needle was actually flicking between 55 and 70mph). I started to roll off the throttle for an approaching comer only to find the damn thing jammed wide open.
In a sudden burst of power, the MZ careered forward another 5mph, with the motor feeling like it was about to leap out of its mountings. I panicked, not a coherent thought in my brain, then just before it was too late pulled in the clutch. That together with locking on the brakes, lost sufficient speed to let us bounce around the comer. The cost was in the engine revving to about 20000rpm, giving of enough vibes to have the petrol tank split apart at its seams and then lock up solid. I already had the clutch pulled in so all I could do was haul up pronto, hoping that the leaking fuel was not going to catch alight.
Despite the ferocious heat pouring off the engine, it didn't turn into a fireball. I had a couple of hours to contemplate my life as I pushed the stricken MZ home. In retrospect, I was quite impressed with the way it had cornered with the brakes locked up solid and no stabilising power getting through to the back wheel. What was even more impressive was that the engine started fifth kick the next day and ran just as well, or badly, as before! Tough!
The throttle was treated to a large amount of grease after that but still seized up a couple of times, but at low speeds, so easily survived. After nearly a year of playing with the TS l was becoming tired of its lack of predictability and paucity of performance.
When the engine started losing power again, I was almost jumping with joy after selling the heap for £120. Old ones are a bit too strange to learn on, not reliable enough for serious commuting and too slow for anyone used to something faster than a C90. As a cheap hack that can be kept going on a minimum of money they have their uses, but I am a lot happier with the rat Yamaha RXS100 I bought as a replacement.
Jerry