Back in 1975 I was proudly zinging around on my very first bike, a sparkling new Suzuki TS125 trail bike. Despite the TS being a terrific first bike, my aims were set much higher. The all new, revolutionary, Suzuki RE5 Rotary had recently been released and I was instantly taken by it. In the seventies, the more chrome there was and the wider the engine, the better — handling, fuel consumption and other trivial matters took second place.
However, at the vast sum of £1100 the RE5 was way out of my price range, especially as I had just struggled to find the £1100 OTR price for my little TS. It wasn't until ‘82 that I was in the position to acquire my very own RE5. MCN classifieds revealed a blue 1975 RE5 in standard trim. The asking price was £1000 but a swap was possible. I owned one of the worst motorcycles of all time then, a Yam SR500, but after a bit of wheeling and dealing I parted company with the horrible Yamaha and rode the 170 miles home on the superbike of my teenage dreams.
It had only covered 4000 miles and was the earlier RE5(M) model in excellent condition. At the time, I was so suspicious of the very good private deal that I’d made that I considered speaking to The Bill to confirm that my new pride and joy wasn’t hot. But I never did, and as no-one has come knocking at my door since it must be okay...
Compared to the SR, the RE5 was enormous and seemed very quick. The slightly forward riding position is good with the huge Rotary motor fronted by that macho looking radiator and electric fan sticking out each side of the 17 litre petrol tank in front of both knees. With 62bhp and smooth acceleration, marred only by chain vibration at 3500rpm, motorway cruising is a joy. The seat, whilst fine for the pillion, becomes uncomfortable after 150 miles, which, is when it runs out of fuel, anyway.
For all those not in the know about this machine - the bike that nearly bankrupt Suzuki - here’s a little history. After signing the contract to produce rotary engines in 1970 from the patent holders, Audi-NSU and Wankel GmbH, Suzuki imported their first RE5 into the UK in 1974. The power unit was not quite like anything ever seen in a motorcycle before or since and is the centre of attention with the rotary theme extended to such things as the instrument console and the sausage roll rear light. Tightly squeezed into the double cradle steel tube frame, is a water and oil cooled single rotor Wankel engine.
On the left side a huge double choke carb sticks out, whilst no less than two oil pumps stop the engine seizing up (one for the rotor tips and one for the mainshaft). Ignition is by points and CDI and it needs a special, £7, spark plug. The rest of the RE5 is fairly conventional and similar to the GT750 kettle. The one into two exhaust system is double skinned and, thankfully, not prone to rusting.
Reliability has been good, with only one ocassion when it left me stranded (Christmas Eve 1983). The electric fan packed up, leading to the rotor housing cracking on a German autobahn at 90-110mph speeds. The result of that little incident cost £500 to put right; a lot of bread but well worth it, I feel, to have the RES back on the road.
The CDI unit also packed up; new from Suzuki a mere £90, but repaired by an electronic wizard for £25 and still going strong. Spark plugs last between 3000 and 5000 miles and it pays to carry at least one spare as they are difficult to find and they tend to die suddenly.
Other than these things, and the normal consumables (tyres 8000R, 15000F, chain 10000) the RE5 has been very good. Dunlop TT100s are currently fitted and do an adequate job, as does most rubber with more than 3mm of tread. A Metzeler ME33 Lazer fitted to the front wheel led to a few heart stopping slides when leant over and was not impressive. Needless to say, a different make was fitted as soon as possible.
Suspension is the standard seventies junk — twin rear shocks with five way pre-load, and non-adjustable front forks which leak oil regardless of the newness of the fork seals. The front forks are best described as naff - too stiff to absorb road bumps yet too soft under heavy braking. Well, despite the engine, this was a 1970’s motorcycle.
0n the road the RE is pleasant as long as you don‘t push it too hard. As might be expected the usual early seventies combination of too much mass, poor suspension and uninspired geometry make the thing shake around on bumpy bends, but it’s quite stable in straight lines and through smooth comers. It all depends on the kind of riding you want to do. There are any number of plastic clad missiles that will make the RE5 look very silly on fast roads.
That said, a recent rapid trip through the winding country roads of France enabled me to keep ahead of my brother on a GS850, despite all the camping gear stuck on the rack.
One of the things that frightened off many prospective owners was the maintenance aspect. True, it is different, but everything except major stripdowns can be done by the owner. Ignition timing, oil changes and carb adjustments are easy enough if armed with the genuine £16 Suzuki manual. The canister type screw-off oil filter makes life easier in every aspec,t save for the effect on your bank balance - they’re £16 each.
Apart for the rotor housing the bike has never been near a dealer even if I did present it to one, the rarity of the RE5 would have them scratching their heads trying to work out just how they could rip me off with a vastly inflated bill for such an odd machine.
There are a few dealers who who still stock spares, although about half the parts can be obtained from the States, a situation which if it appears a trifle odd is somewhat easier to deal with that you’d at first imagine. Prices are reasonable in comparison with other big Jap bikes, which means they’re expensive unless you're rich. Unfortunately, the rarity of the bike means a cheap and plentiful supply of used bits from breakers is just not on.
In road tests, when the bike was introduced, some hoodlums got as little as 18mpg out of the RE5, in reality the economy varies between 30 and 48mpg depending on the right wrist exertion. Another myth to explode is rotor tip wear. One RES owner I know has clocked up a huge 129000 miles on the original rotor and when my own rotor was opened up at 18000 miles the tips were fine. So don’t believe everything you read.
Brakes are similar to those on the GT750 - double discs up front and a rear drum. The discs are typical period pieces with enough wet weather lag to make sure you don’t fall asleep when it’s raining, but enough power in the dry to confound Volvo owners, whilst the rear drum is very controllable and needs infrequent shoe changes.
Having owned my RE5 for 5 years I’m still not bored with it, and it inspires a great deal of owner loyalty amongst RES enthusiasts. Although it is little use as a commuter, for middle to long distances its combination of smoothness and rapid performance is great stuff. They can still be picked up for reasonable money as most people just turn off as soon as they hear the word Wankel and running costs are reasonable.
The RE5 is also very different to everything else and I’ve never come across a machine with the same appeal, and because of that can’t see myself ever selling it, which is more than I can say for that bloody SR500...
Greg Archer
We all do strange things at times. There I was riding a fast(?), reliable GS550 and then for no logical reason, other than the fact that all my mates ride old British Iron, I sold the Suzi and bought a BSA A10. And from a dealer!
It must have been a pretty bad attack of irrational behaviour. After horrific expense, the A10 was on the road and as reliable as 30 year old vertical twins come. Good.
Except that when I tried riding it to work, the iron motor would emit an embarrassing amount of smoke as the inevitable oil leaking past the rocker box gasket (read brown paper) was cremated. A few minutes later, the head would reach incandescence and defy the efforts of the carb at vaporising petrol until the bike had cooled for a while. Didn’t they have traffic jams in 1955?
Anyway, after a few attacks of the vapours (not me, the A10), I became pissed off and instead of doing the logical thing and selling the bike pronto, I decided to get a small bike for work and save the 650 for weekend bashes with the local idiots in the classic bike clubs. What would you have done. Bought a C90 or a GP100?
Well, I didn’t, I acquired a ’68 BSA Bantam Supreme (no worse than Super Dream as a stupid name). "Just needs a battery, mate, and a back tyre and she’ll be as good as new..." Well, at least it was cheap and on the Swansea Megabrain. Once I found a battery and new kickstart (and shaft), I attempted to start it. No go. The wiring had been assaulted by an electrophobic moron who’d thrown most of it away.
Not for nothing was I trained as an electronics engineer, though, so I soon had the loom re-jigged and even managed to get the motor running. All it needed, after that, was a new small end and a head with some spark plug thread I'd‘be on the road. Oh, there was the little matter of the swinging arm bearings and I did have to recover the seat and replace the back wheel and buy a new rectifier and brake linings and a speedo drive gearbox and various bulbs and a new set of tyres and...
Anyone who’s done this kind of thing can complete the list. At least spares are cheap compared to Jap ones, and easy to find considering the factory was pulled down in 1974. Eventually, I rode it round to the MOT man and got a bit of green paper.
So my Bantam riding days began, belatedly at the age of 36, perhaps, and without my wife, who refuses the pillion seat at all costs. The 175cc 2-stroke single isn’t nearly as bad as some of those Villiers monstrosities specified by most British lightweight factories (why? - because they were ludicrously cheap, of course).
But then, the Bantam engine was nicked from the Krauts in 1945. By 1968 the original DKW 4.5hp motor had acquired a bit of poke, with a claimed 13hp from a 10:1 compression ratio, but it still ain’t going to worry most Jap 125s.
And, wonders of wonders, there’s actually a four speed box, which is absolutely essential because the power band is narrower than a Honda 50 back tyre. You can coax the vibrating, smoking, D14 up to an indicated seventy on a flat road — if you’ve got a back up vehicle following to pick up the footrests, side panels and bits of battery. Cruising speed is more like fifty, though, if you want the motor to outlast the rear chain - at this sort of pace it does a hundred to the gallon.
A week after the triumphant MOT pass, the bike died suddenly. We electronic buffs know a flat battery when we see one, this one resembled a hedgehog on the M1. When I got it home (fortunately they are easy to push), I found the Wipac alternator windings were black and the battery had boiled. Foiled again!
The crude (and, of course, cheap) battery charging circuit fitted by Mr BSA to their cheapest of Beezas relied on the incredible inefficiency of the crappy selenium rectifier to limit charging currents. Using a modern silicon device results in current beyond the wildest dreams of either the alternator or battery designer.
I bought a new stator (all the secondhand ones were charred - surprise, surprise) and rewired the bike with a 6.2 volt zener diode, taking the opportunity, while I was at it, to switch the battery out of the circuit entirely except when the headlight is on, You need a big capacitor, but it seems to have improved the notorious Bantam starting.
Back on the road again, much poorer, I had the opportunity to savour the excellent handling, the adequate brakes and the appalling lights. Maybe I should have converted to 12V while I was trying to rectify (sorry) the diabolical battery charging problem.
The bike’s not too bad in modern traffic conditions, though it doesn’t feel so much like a sixties bike as one from the fifties, but you can sometimes catch a learner on a restricted 125 unawares. You have to have the motor well on the boil to do that, it’s only a basic 3-port design with no reed or disc valves or electronic ignition, so torque is negligible outside the power band. The best hope is to come up behind a Jap bike with knackered shocks on a twisty road, then you can give the bike full stick and rely on the marvellous cornering abilities.
On the maintenance side, decokes and ignition timing are dead easy, just about everything else is diabolical. Never take the tank off - you need four arms to get it on again. The seat is supported at the back on the threads of the rear suspension bolts. It takes forever to get the back wheel off and even longer,to get it back on.
If you see a Bantam without oil on the front forks, it’s either just had it wiped off for the MOT or the owner has given up putting any in; it doesn’t make much difference to fork action and removing the top nuts requires a special socket.
The clutch is held together by a giant circlip which is a cinch to remove if you don’t mind clutch bits all over the garage, but is a pig to get back on again without the special tool. And so on. Oh, and the frame is in two halves which are bolted (yuk) together at the main electrical earth.
If you’ve a terrible desire to own a British hack with traditional virtues of good handling, crap electrics and mediocre performance, Bantams have the virtue of being cheap and uncollectable. Unless you’re a certifiable chauvinist on L plates, you’d do better to avoid the 125, which has no proper crankshaft lubrication and even worse electrics than the later 175s.
With the 4-speed bikes, look for an engine number beginning D14B or the crank will start knocking pretty rapidly. D10s are real turkeys and the B175 was okay. But I can’t think of any sane reason for not buying a used H100 or GP125 instead, unless you want to find out, at first hand, why the whole sub 250cc market defected to the Japs in the 60s.
Chris Washington
It was just as well that the SP was light in mass, because one of its common faults was afflicting my bike - a stripped kick start gear meant I had to bump start the thing. I found second gear was a little more bearable, but even so, bumping a 369cc four stroke single is no fun.
I bought the bike after months of negotiation with a toe-rag who was a car mechanic and thought he should make a profit on the Suzi despite going trail riding on it for two years and 12000 miles. He wanted £375 and I was only willing to pay £200. He spent about £50 advertising it at his price and eventually lost heart and let me have it for £235.
I always wanted one and, in fact, almost bought a new one back in 1979 when they were heavily discounted to a mere £750. The only dealer I could find who had one for sale had used the front wheel in another bike and expected me to wait for two months for a new one to turn up, so I went and bought a used XT500 instead.
The bike had 23000 miles on the clock and the engine didn’t look like it had been touched, judging by the un-scarred appearance of the engine bolts and screws. As it had been used on green lanes the paintwork was tatty and various bits were bent, but nothing a bit of fettling couldn’t put right.
The clock now has 38000 miles on it and I’ve had the head off twice to fix valvegear problems — the other common SP affliction. Both the cams, bearings and exhaust valve all have a limited life because of poor lubrication and subsequent overheating. Luckily, the SP370 engine is a very simple and straightforward design no balance shafts, a mere two valves and an ease of disassembly that would make British bike owners envious.
The first time I took the head off found the exhaust valve slightly pitted but was able to grind it back into order. The second time, heralded by a sudden loss of power, was caused by the camshaft lobe wearing away - I was lucky, here, bought one by post from a breaker that was in perfect nick and cost £15.
The final problem with the SP is caused by the alternator burning out, which happens quite frequently if you use the bike on the road at night a lot and overload the puny generator. I rewind my own and have a spare ever ready. I’ve done four swaps so far!
I don’t take the bike off road, so have slowly been replacing the off road bits with road components. First to go was the hideous front mudguard mounted miles away from the front wheel. The lugs were already there and a plastic item found laying around in my garage fitted as if it was designed to. The front wheel with a useless SLS drum was swapped for a TLS drum from a Honda 250, which didn’t fit until I’d made some spacers but must have halved the braking distances.
A set of TT100s were fitted which stopped the bike from trying to flop over in corners. Shorter rear shocks were fitted and annoyingly, after all the hassle fitting the front -wheel, I then fitted CB250 front forks to even things out. This lost about three inches in seat height so that I could actually put my feet on the tarmac - huge ground clearance may be fine off road but it’s not needed on the tarmac. This all made the Suzi a great little bend swinger, although it would bounce around a little bit over very bumpy roads and weave above 75mph.
Top speed on a stock bike was 90mph, but this is easily improved by changing the gearing - you can take off in third gear on trail bike gearing so there’s plenty of room for altering the ratios. This also makes 70mph cruising much more pleasant as it used to be blitzed by vibes in top gear on stock gearing. I’ve been up to 95mph on the clock, but it wasn’t a very pleasant experience, what with thrumming primary vibes and a queasy weave that needed a yard and a half of road. Much more pleasant to limit speed to a licence endangering 80mph.
Fuel economy is one of the areas where the SP excels. It’s one of the few Jap singles, no, it‘s the only Jap single, that rivals those Ducati singles. I regularly average 80mpg and if] indulge in a spot of slow riding it’ll do better than 100mpg. The worst I’ve done is 71mpg. That’s the pay off for simple engine design.
In fact, the SP is the cheapest bike I’ve ever run. With long lasting drum brakes, a chain that never seems to wear (not so with long travel stock suspension, though), nil oil consumption between 1500 mile changes, rear tyres that last for more than 12000 miles and that exceptional fuel economy, I’ve never had it so good before.
Of course, the engine hasn’t been so reliable as it should, but I’ve been able to fix it myself. so no real problem. Indeed, that's one of the fun parts of my motorcycling, stripping down the engine and improving the cycle parts to get a better bike for minimum cost makes the machine feel more individual and like an old friend.
It doesn’t plod like an old English bike, you need at least 3000rpm up to make her go, but otherwise it has all the attributes and few of the problems of the British stuff. Just a pity Suzuki made the awful GN400 instead of a decent road bike.
Alfred Browning
Bangernomics - it's the UMG way, surely? Maximum fun and efficient transport for £ spent. I've had many successes before, but this is the first time I've managed to Run For A Ton! If you're a little prudent when purchasing, you too can pull this off.
The machine in question is an Aprilia Mojito Retro 125cc scooter. My commute to work is a round trip of 12 miles on country back roads, something this type of machine is eminently capable of succeeding at. As I write, winter is here - along with the heavily salted roads that accompany it - and, while I don't intend to hibernate, I don't want to expose my favourite machines to the worst that winter can throw up either.
I paid £75 for this device, but only after ascertaining certain facts; things that would help me to get on the road for under that magic hundred notes. Always check the consumables: it had a good front and a new rear tyre, as well as a new battery. On a machine like this, replacing these items will effectively double the purchase price. And make sure that it's all there - replacing items such as broken lights and shagged or missing batteries will cost you dear. This one had no rear light, but I knew I had a Honda item lying around that could be bodged on. A couple of panels were in the wrong colour, these would simply be rattle canned black to match the rest of the nail.
The seller had broken Rule Number One when it comes to re-commissioning old shitters that have lain idle in someone's garden for 7 years - make sure that it runs before spending money on the heap. He reckoned the fuel pump was knackered because he was able to get the scooter to run when petrol was funnelled into the carb, but not once the fuel line was connected. In fact the problem was much less complex than this; he'd attempted to start it using the (rank and stinking) crap that had remained in it from it's last foray onto the Queen's highway some seven years earlier - bad for him, very good for me!
In the end all I spent was £6.50 for new brake pads - it's a false economy to skimp on such things - and £15 for a second hand front mudguard to replace the snapped original. Once it had passed the MOT I bought a £20 NOS brake light, as the weight of the Honda item had broken the makeshift bracket I had fashioned for it.
A few hundred miles later the vibes became so intrusive that I replaced the drive belt (£15), something I should really have done straight away. The original item had started to delaminate, and it would only have been a matter of time until it snapped, leaving me stranded, most likely somewhere inhospitable.
What's it like to live with? Very good, actually. Far better than I'm reasonably allowed to expect from a machine that cost less than an Argos push iron anyway. It's tiny frame and exceptionally good balance make it supremely agile when dealing with the odd stationary traffic we get round here, and acceleration up to about 50 (the speedo is broken, but there's no Gatsos here so who cares?) is excellent. There's very little after that, but that's all that's required & I wouldn't dream of roaming further afield on this thing - horses for courses and all that.
Fuel economy is decent: I get about 120 miles on a gallon and a half fill up, and I haven't managed to break my new steed so far. Road tax and insurance (it's on my rider policy) works out less than £2/month and depreciation... what depreciation? Come the spring I plan to sell it for at least three times what I paid for it. Best of all, though, is the satisfaction gained from getting a winter's enjoyable transportation for less than some of my workmates spend over a year on their daily cup of coffee. No buses for me - I'm out and about in whatever nature chooses to throw at me (ice and snow excepted, natch)... in the wind. Yeah baby.
A Rider
Being a do-it-yourself mechanic is a prerequisite to running an old motorbike and being into DIY requires tools. They are the heart of the business, not that you need so many but invariably it pays to have the right tool for the job.
I have developed an obsessive delight in buying and owning tools. The socket set is the centre of any toolkit, I have a £20 Draper set bought three years ago which has given good service despite the made in Taiwan tag.
I always find myself drawn to tool shops. Only the other day I was rooting around in one and found an old miner’s lamp - I had fleeting visions of being lost in the attic or spending the nights buried under the car, but managed to still the urges and bought some tubing for carb balancing instead.
Secondhand shops are the worst, though. I used to live near one in Lewisham and would spend time rooting around there. I found a Britool torque wrench there for £20. These are expensive and high quality items; I didn’t actually use it for a year or so, but could have been seen in the depths of my depravity, stroking, turning, caressing and feeling the thing and pondering what in God‘s name ever possessed me to blow £20 on something I had no use for.
Haynes manuals are indispensable to the home mechanic, but they follow standard industry practice by charging about twice as much than for the car ones. They also presume a certain amount of common sense on the one hand, and assume you don't possess things like vacuum gauges on the other. They suggest that dealers only charge a nominal sum for balancing carbs, but £17 for a four cylinder bike isn’t my idea of nominal.
So I indulged my passion by buying a set of mercury gauges for £31, figuring to get my money back by doing a few friend’s bikes. It’s a good idea to store them carefully or you will have a cupboard full of mercury.
Having maintained my own bike for a couple of years I had got to know it well and despite my ministrations it was beginning to show its age in typical Honda CB750 manner. A recent MOT failure didn’t help my mood towards the bike, either — I actually saw the mechanic tilt down the headlamp and then write out the fail certificate. Not only was this irritating, it made night riding that much more difficult.
I decided to sell the bike, I wanted £550 for it, an amount equivalent to a year’s expenditure on the machine. It had 18500 miles on the clock and, er, a bad case of the rings. Not having a phone didn’t help my attempts at flogging it, and I ended up having an interesting conversation with a local biker and little else.
Things became serious 200 miles from home, smoke started streaming out of the breather pipe. The rings had gone, the smoke came from part of the combustion escaping past the worn rings and thence out through the breather. Nothing for it but to wield my collection of tools and do it myself.
I prepared myself by reading Haynes and became paranoid about having to change the camchain, as it was endless it meant taking out the crank and looping the camchain over it.
I was working out in the fresh air and didn’t like the colour of the sky. One of the not so amusing habits of Haynes manuals are the way they describe things in one line as if the job could be done in a few seconds with no more than the merest hint of mechanical dexterity.
Even before I’d gotten into the engine, I was sweating and swearing at the airbox, there was hardly any room between the four carbs and the frame. With the aid of a guest who didn’t quite know what he’d let himself in for. I eventually managed to extract the engine and dump it in the living room.
The cylinder head nuts were deeply recessed and there was nothing in my tool kit that could reach them. A trip down to the town secured a 12mm box spanner. This lasted for five bolts then gave up.
Back to town to buy a couple more box spanners. Just as the bolt drew blood and knackered itself the landlord turned up. To placate him, I helped him clear out a shed where I saw a ratchet which gave me an idea. Back down to town to buy a Britool extension and socket for £8. Whilst going around the remaining bolts, I saw that, there were actually cutouts in the head for the use of a normal spanner... use of a handy tyre lever, that I've never used on tyres, helped remove the head and then the cylinder.
At last, I could see the problem, one of the pistons had collapsed not helped by the gaps in the rings all lining up with each other.
The Japs had apparently used some super sticky gasket cement when assembling the engine and short of taking a cold chisel to the head, I could see no easy way to remove it from the mating surfaces of head and cylinder. I eventually stuck the bits in the oven and then used an aluminium scraper I made up and lots of elbow grease.
It took lots of fiddling to get the rings up the bore, more like a 3-D jigsaw puzzle than anything else. I took a gamble on the pistons being in the right place to match the timing marks and pulled it all back together with a few more bloodied fingers and curses.
For the first half hour it refused to start, then as the battery was about to expire it coughed a little. After an hour on the charger, a few kicks and a push on the starter it fired up. A bit rough but after I’d done the ignition timing and reset the valve clearances it was running better than ever, able to hit a ton once again. I’d a running bike and expanded my tool kit so was happy.
Howard Hill
Have you ever noticed, on a fine evening, as the sun sets, how the further it sinks the rosier it becomes? I suppose that’s what happens as we look back at things we’ve loved, even more so with old motorbikes.
The article by Simon Carter about the Norton Dominator awoke fond memories in me as I owned a 99 from ’64 to ’66. It was purchased from a friend for £50, a loan from my dad when he cashed in his Post War Credits (anyone remember them, an extra tax paid during the war which was to be paid back after the war, but no—one mentioned that it would take twenty years for repayment). The bike was sound if a bit scruffy, with both silencers held together with Gum-Gum bandage.
This was the best bike I’d ever owned and I quickly came to appreciate the virtues of the Dommie. It had a followed a string of lesser machines, starting with, don‘t laugh, an NSU Quickly (join the club - Ed) which wasn’t much use, a G9 Matchless which went like the clappers but never for long between major bottom end rebuilds (I eventually replaced the engine with a Triumph), an Ariel Red Hunter with and without Sidecar, a BSA B31, etc., etc.
However, back to the Dominator, I found it superb. It went well, with that gutsy pull of a big parallel twin, had excellent handling and roadholding plus reasonable drum brakes.
One occasion in particular sticks in my memory, one wet and miserable day I was navigating a roundabout and gave it a big fistful. In true horror movie fashion it all happened in slow motion, the rear end slid gracefully around until it was level with the front, with the inevitable horrible mess unfolding in my fevered imagination. I closed the throttle more in hope than expectation - miracle of miracles, the rear wheel slid back into line and I continued on my way with nothing more than a doubled heart rate to show for my lack of thought.
A gradual improvement program was embarked upon, during winter it was all stripped, painted all black with umpteen coats of Belco, an SS camshaft with flat base followers fitted together with a double start worm drive for the oil pump, siamesed exhaust pipes and the ubiquitous Gold Star straight through silencer. On the comfort and convenience side, my mum sewed up a vinyl seat cover that allowed me to fit a longer, thicker bit of foam to cushion my delicate bum and provide more room for a pillion passenger, whilst pannier frames and a top box were also fitted.
In this form it gave excellent service - holidays, rides to work and trips to road races, etc and never once let me down on the road. Preventative maintenance was the name of the game, the appalling mishaps that had befallen my previous steeds had taught me that. Sure, it had the odd hold up, the odd duff plug or puncture but that was all.
Talking of punctures reminds me of the time I came very close to coming off without actually doing so. My girlfriend was on the back and we’d had a puncture earlier in the day which had been mended - or so I thought. We were going uphill around a gentle curve at about 60mph when the rear tyre went pop - the bike went from lock to lock more times than I could count, until eventually with speed down to walking pace the front tyre clipped the curb and as we came to a halt I got a kick on the calf - but we didn’t fall off.
Contrary to the impression given above, I have actually fallen off; boy, have I fallen off. You bet I have. In fact, when I think about it, I must be a monument to the resilience of the human body. For instance there was the time on our way to a race meeting, scooting along our favourite twisty roads, when the surface suddenly turned nasty because the council had left the remnants of their winter gritting program on the road. I had time to think that it looked slippery and then we were down. However, little damage done save for the usual clutch and footrest scars. Human carnage was restricted to a hole in my new leather jeans and a hole in my passenger's ski pants and the knee underneath it. We picked ourselves up and continued to a nearby pub (where else?) where we were able to cadge a plaster for the offending knee.
Apart from keeping up with maintenance in general, I discovered a few wrinkles. For example, after struggling interminably to juggle four pushrods onto their respective rocker arms, I found that the easiest way to do the job was to remove the exhaust rockers, fit all four pushrods, fit the head locating the inlet pushrods, then it each exhaust rocker in turn. Believe me, it’s quicker that way. To fix the notorious chaincase all you need is Red Hermetite and PATIENCE. First, clean off all the old gasket goo and oil, them liberally coat the inner chaincase face, fit the rubber sealing ring and coat this with goo - then carefully fit the outer case, making sure not to over tighten it. Now comes the clever bit, leave it overnight without any oil, or even longer if possible, and you’ll have an oil tight chaincase.
Performance was pretty good by the standards of the day. I was able to take the top box and panniers off to go sprinting and the 1957 Norton would turn in 15.5 sec standing quarters with a terminal speed of 85mph. Perhaps not much by today’s standard, but we had lots of fun - the times we had and characters we met could fill a book on their own.
One Sunday, on the way to church, with my brother on the back, we were almost all finished off when a thoughtful gent decided to do a sudden U turn right in front of me. All I could do was slam on the brakes and put the bike sideways, clouting a two tone Hillman Minx, bouncing off and going down under the bike which promptly burst into flames. My brother did his Superman bit and in spite of having a broken wrist threw the bike off me. The bike was a write off, my brother had a broken wrist and I had four broken ribs, a contused kidney and various cuts and bruises.
I vowed never to ride on the road again. I rebuilt the Norton and used it as a sprinter. Everything not really needed was dumped in the search for lightness and the engine was tuned up as cheaply as possible, with the result that I cut a second off my times. It eventually blew up and some kid came around to the paddock with the twisted remains of a con-rod, saying that it had been red hot when he picked it up.
It wasn’t until ’82 that I got back into motorcycling with a Yamaha 200 and then a GSX250 Suzi, which I’m not riding at the moment as I broke my leg when spectating at Cadwell park.
Alex Lee
After owning a series of bikes ranging from a FS1E to an air cooled RD250, most of which never ran properly, and to cap it all six months spent driving an All-Agro, it was time to get a decent bike. I had always wanted a 350LC, having heard the tales about them but was very cautious when it came to buying one, having also heard about them being frequently crashed, plus the engine’s reputation for blowing up. As a result of this, I looked for a standard bike with low mileage, it took a long time but I eventually tracked one down which appeared OK and after much negotiating got the price down to £650 after offering to take it through the MOT myself (he assured me it would pass).
Riding it home confirmed the rumours I had heard — I screamed past traffic, arriving home with watering eyes and a huge grin. Because I am at college, my only source of income is from the dole, I did the bare essentials to get the bike through the MOT - brake calipers stripped as they had seized and it sailed through.
Thereafter the economising began in earnest. The chain and sprockets were in desperate need of replacement but I kept it going by taking some links out of the chain. When I had to replace the engine sprocket, the chain fell off first time out because the sprocket worked off its shaft as I hadn't done up the retaining nut tight enough. Eventually a complete new set was fitted which much improved the ride and gearchange.
The performance of the bike was in a very different league from my old RD250, and although the initial novelty soon wore off, the acceleration can still be quite surprising. The drawback with a sharp powerband is that it’s hard to just cruise along when the power comes screaming in at 5500rpm and the bike urges you to thrash it.
This can be a pain in the wet with a pillion, when the extra mass on the back can cause unexpected wheelies in first and second gears. Weight distribution doesn’t favour the front end, anyway, because the front wheel feels like it is barely touching the ground when accelerating. A fork brace and better oil and springs are said to improve the front end but as I have trouble keeping it filled up with oil and petrol, I haven’t been able to pay out for such inessentials. Similarly, a stiffer shock at the back end hasn’t been fitted, but as the footrests can be scraped and it doesn’t weave particularly badly it will do for me.
Tyres seem to have the biggest effect on the handling and stability with a worn back tyre causing a mild weave at high speeds and also making the bike twitch when crossing cats eyes in the wet or dry. This can be quite a frequent occurrence, as back tyres have a depressingly short life of about 3000 miles. Due to the trip meter being broken I can’t accurately measure petrol consumption but I am sure it never drops much below 40mpg. But it also needs regular infusions of two stroke oil to stop the irritating oil light from blinking on.
Engine wise it has been very good, despite being regularly thrashed to the indicated top speed of just over 110mph. The engine hasn’t been touched by me or, as far as I know, the previous owner. The water-cooled barrels are supposed to help reliability, but they also suppress rattles which doesn’t help the typical two stroke owner’s paranoia (where you become sure each little rattle is getting louder and the engine is just about to blow up).
For this reason, when I found I had a small amount of money to spend on the bike I didn’t spend it on having the engine tuned - a foolproof way of making the engine blow up instead I opted for fitting a fairing. Or rather I tried to fit a fairing. Despite the company’s insistence that it would fit it just wouldn’t go on, although the clip-ons and rearsets that I fitted to go with the fairing did improve the comfort at high speed and threw some extra weight over the front wheel, although it was a little more hassle to hustle around town.
Only a few weeks earlier I had thought that the engine had finally given up resisting my thrashing when it began to insist that I had to run it up and down the road several times to bump start the bike.
Luckily, the reluctant purchase of a new set of spark plugs cured this and an irritating misfire on the overrun, so nothing terminal was wrong.
Another slightly less worrying event happened on my way home one night, when the exhaust noise suddenly changed from quiet to offensively loud. Thinking that the baffles might have worked loose, I stopped to inspect, but the noise came from the other end of the exhausts where an exhaust stud had stripped its thread and disappeared, leaving a chewed up and useless gasket. I had the thread helicoiled and put a new stud in. I was told that this was a common fault due to vibration, and at times the whole pipe can snap off. However, in my case, I think it was probably due to the footrest mounting plate, that is also the mounting point for the exhaust, being broken, leading to the studs taking all the stress.
Apart from these problems, there have been no major difficulties with the bike. Cosmetically, there’s hardly any chrome to rust, plenty of maintenance free plastic and GRP. Both the exhaust and swinging arm rust, irregardless of how much you clean them.
The swinging arm bearings are not known to last very great distances, and, similarly, the monoshock linkages suffer from the elements and can be out of action with as little as twelve grand on the clock, but I haven’t had any problems yet.
Maintenance is a very low level affair. I hardly ever bother to clean the bike because it always seems to rain straight after it’s been done and five minutes of riding leaves the bike in the same mess again.
Engine maintenance is all two stroke simplicity, no valves or camchains to piss around with, just the occasional timing check and the very rare addition of coolant to the radiator. Engines are tough and last well as long as you don‘t try to tune them up when they need frequent re~ builds or don’t try running on expansion chambers which combine anti-social noise with burnt out pistons and ruined power bands.
The main attraction of the LC must be its performance and value for money, it‘s very hard to buy another bike for the same money that will go quite so rapidly. The cost of tyres and fuel can be offset somewhat by the low insurance rates and low maintenance costs. I suppose for about the same money I could have bought a sensible bike like a Suzuki GS550, but if I wanted to be sensible I could have stuck to my Allegro and kept dry. The LC is quite simply lotsa fun.
D.Redsell
This is really the tale of two motorcycles, a 1973 TS250 and a 1980 TS250/1 Supa 5. My love affair with MZs began in 1979. I had been riding a Yam YG1 for a year after six years absence from riding since selling my Sunbeam S8. The YG1 was a very nice machine in the engine and handling departments, but for commuting down unlit country lanes the 15 watt headlamp left something to be desired; rather than replace the light I decided to replace the bike.
I read a write up in MCN about the TS125 which applauded its 45 watt headlamp which it shared with its larger brother. This, allied with the fact that I preferred two strokes and that TS250s can be picked up very cheaply, started me thinking about buying one. A little later, whilst in Edinburgh on holiday, I saw a group of 250s heavily loaded with camping gear, wearing Berlin number plates; their owners were obviously full of faith and confidence in MZ reliability.
My first T8250 came along shortly afterwards. For an initial outlay of £120 (which I immediately recouped by selling my Yamaha) I found myself the, er, proud owner of a very scruffy, rattly, red TS250.
When I bought it, the odometer read 12000 miles, and when I stopped riding it that had risen to 32000. I was told that the original owner had seized it in a big way and promptly sold it to the next owner who freed the piston by using brute force. The result was that it had dreadful piston slap. However, as long as I used Silkolene Super-2 40, the noise was bearable. I never did manage to get round to having the engine rebored.
That machine was reliability itself. During the six years I rode it, it only let me down three times. The first time was when the gear lever return spring broke, the second was ten miles after replacing the above spring when the kickstart spring went in sympathy. The third problem occurred when the voltage regulator packed up. There were other trivial annoyances, for example the fuse box is actually an open double fuse holder secured to the back of the battery compartment, consequently every few thousand miles the contacts corrode and the engine won’t run with the lights on. Still, when you know about it...
In 1985, the four Speeder developed severe bottom end knocking noises in addition to all the top end rattling. A change of address meant that the daily commuting toll increased to 38 miles, thus I decided to look for a newer machine. I found a Supa 5 with 12000 miles on the clock which now has 32000 miles on it, funnily enough.
With the Supa 5 l have experienced more mechanical failures than on the older bike, but overall the day-to-day reliability is still there.
The first failure happened after 1000 miles, whilst on the way to work the clutch centre came loose on the end of the crankshaft for the second time (the previous owner had lightly passed over a similar occurrence when telling me of its history) and I drove 15 miles further to work under the false impression that the plates were merely slipping.
Needless to say the clutch centre was useless. However, no great problem as the one off the old bike was cannibalised. That lasted for a further 3000 miles until I stripped the engine (not for the last time) to replace the main bearings (not for the last time). I took the opportunity to replace the damaged clutch centre (£18).
The next 6000 miles were pretty uneventful, except for replacing the tyre (the same life as for the old bike) and fitting a new chain at 20760 miles (thank goodness for enclosed rear chains). But at 22500 miles I again fell foul of East European bearings when the output shaft bearing in the gearbox went in a big way - luckily whilst travelling in a straight line. This time it was all new gearbox bearings and a new sliding second pinion and selector fork.
All was well for another 4000 miles when it was the turn of the big-end to seize solid on the way to work. Yet another engine strip and rebuild! Luckily the MZ engine is very simple for the home mechanic to work on, the only special tool needed is a clutch extractor. While I had the motor apart that time I replaced the main bearings and gear selector return spring as precautions before putting it all back together. That was 6000 miles ago.
As you can see I've had a few problems with the bike but with the low cost of spares and the use of the old bike as a source of cheap bits (complete exhaust, voltage regulator, chain hoses, amongst others), they have never been very serious despite the need to strip the engine.
The Supa 5 never returns less than 73mpg, typically doing 78mpg at 55 to 60mph. I always use Silkolene oil which has left the piston and bore in perfect condition. Most of the problems have been caused by poor quality bearings fitted as original equipment and all replacements have been good quality British or French equivalents.
Both bikes have been used as much as possible in all conditions and I’ve found the handling to be reassuring even in black ice conditions, recovering from slides surprisingly well and having a very secure feel that belies it commuter status. I look forward to moving on to the ETZ300, but not until my Supa 5 stops giving me cheap, reliable and safe riding - it inspires that kind of loyalty despite the problems.
Patrick Hickey
The BMW R80RT had to go. It was too expensive. With the prospect of an impending mortgage, it looked like I would be going the five year old C90 route, but fortunately the flat I decided to buy meant a 35 mile round trip every day, which ruled that particular descent into hell out; I decided to go for as much cc for as little money as possible. A scan through MCN revealed lots of 250 and 400 Superdreams, so I decided to go to see a few.
The first one sounded too good to be true, A reg, 6000 mile, CB400NC model which was the last one with flash gold wheels and fork legs, as well as a direct oil feed to the top end (earlier models tended to gum up their small oil ways, running the top end dry) for £500ono, which was more than I wanted to pay, but sounded like a bargain. I reasoned that if I bought it, I could always flog it later at a profit.
I wish the owner had been more honest with me over the phone, the whole thing was covered in crud, and it looked like it had never been cleaned in its life. Salt had eaten into all the casings and there was rust everywhere.
After travelling 100 miles to see it I thought I ought to take it for a run. I noticed that the speedo only went up to 100 not the CB400’s 110mph, but the owner insisted that it was original. It certainly went like the 400 but the rev counter only read 4000rpm at 80mph. When I pointed this out to the owner he suddenly recalled that it had been stuffed into a car at one stage and the clocks were replaced and there was at least 12000 miles on the old speedo...
The next 400 Superdream was in a little village just south of Crawley in Sussex. A W reg 400NA with a very loud 2 into 1, a small fairing and 22000 miles. I rode it, liked it, haggled, money changed hands (£325 with a pair of Krausers) and that was it. The BMW sold for 1500 quid, and suddenly I had a 400 Superdream and a mortgage.
The tyres both needed replacing more or less immediately. A ring round the discount tyre garages scored a pair of new style Avon Roadrunners for sixty quid including fitting to the rims of removed wheels. The front wheel was fun to remove with a brake caliper either side. You have the option of removing one of the calipers or forcing the wheel between them and hoping that the calipers won't snap off. The pads keep falling out of the caliper when you try to put the wheel back in, so I rammed a screwdriver between each set of pads.
I gave it an oil and filter change, and I thought I had myself quite a nice bike. It went very well, the brakes were effective, the Roadrunners made it handle - who needs an overpriced, overrated, overweight, under-powered Bavarian flat twin, I thought.
Petrol worked out at an uninspiring 50mpg, but it was thrashed at 60-70mph for most of its commuting time and the journey didn’t take any longer than on the BM. It was just that at the end of the journey, whereas the BM left me reasonably dry and relaxed, the Honda left me feeling as if I’d just ridden to Cornwall and back. The handlebar fairing kept a bit of the wind and rain away, but any precipitation swiftly resulted in wet clothing, due to my porous Kett oversuit.
I kept meaning to turn the thing inside out because I think they had the material the wrong way round when they made the thing. They’re supposed to let air and moisture out and stop water coming in. Mine let water in and kept it there very efficiently once inside.
Say what you will about BM’s being expensive, overpriced yuppie toys, but they don’t half know how to make fairings. I could almost forgive it the other sins just because that fairing made it such a good all weather bike. At least the Honda was proving a lot cheaper to run, so this made up for its deficiencies in the rideability stakes.
My smugness was short lived when it developed an oil leak from the base gasket which turned into a flood. The day it used nearly a litre of oil for the journey to work, I figured something was wrong. It took an hour to remove the engine with the aid of a friend. Removal of the tappet cover revealed a camchain that could be picked off the sprocket - not good.
A new camchain and gasket set were purchased. The camshaft sprocket bolts had to be chiselled off. The engine was stripped down to the crankcase, turned over and split, the crank pulled out and the new camchain fitted. A blob of Hylomar was used on the gaskets (as used and approved by Rolls Royce, no less) on reassembly.
Things went wrong when the engine bolts started stripping themselves - three bolts out, so no chance of bodging it. I rang the local engineering firms and found the cheapest place for helicoiling, four notes a helicoil. Threw the engine back together and rode off to work - great, we’d done it. I looked down at my leg to see my boots covered in oil again. Jesus Christ — now what?
I didn't relish the prospect of another strip down, and the oil consumption wasn’t quite as frightening as before, only about a litre for every 100 miles.
I went up to a Honda dealer in Staines to buy a new drive chain and just happened to mention the re-occurring oil problem and that I wasn’t looking forward to stripping it down again. One of the guys there looked up and asked about engine bolts - there are two bolts with rubber seals that correspond to cutouts in the casing. I’d put them back in the wrong holes. Swapped over the seals and there was a drastic improvement in oil tightness.
Anyone who’s ever experienced the Honda camchain syndrome (which probably applies to 90% of anyone who’s ever owned a Honda) should not be afraid of tackling this job. I was very unsure, but with a mate who knows a bit about bikes and my own limited experience we did it and only spent sixty quid in total, including the cost of helicoiling.
The camchain should be tensioned every 2000 miles to be on the safe side. The only way to make sure that the tensioner blade has actually moved is to take the rocker box cover off and just push the thing downwards to free it, cos they do stick and we all know what happens to Honda camchains if they don’t get tensioned, don’t we, children?
The engineer who did the helicoiling had a few words to say about anyone who designs an alloy crankcase without helicoils with high tensile steel bolts running into it. I cheered him up even more by showing him how the camshaft ran direct in the alloy head - he reckoned it wouldn’t last more than 10000 miles and was surprised to learn that the bike had already done 27500 miles.
Since this little episode the bike has run okay. The engine sounds as sweet as a nut and performs better than it did before. Crud in the petrol tank works its way through to the carbs, calling for an occasional carb strip down but this is good clean fun. The seam at the back of the tank went, a common problem and used examples should be examined carefully, one breaker tried to palm off a bad one on me.
In the past 6000 miles since the rebuild it’s been very reliable. The tyres have lots of life which is a surprise as it’s thrashed everyday. The rear Roadrunner doesn't have a groove running. around the centre, just bits of groove on either side — it grips the road well and the bike handles very precisely.
Just recently another mishap occurred when riding home in the dark. The headlamp became dimmer and dimmer, not what you need on an unlit icy road. This was traced to a perished wire under the left side panel. There seem to be a lot of wires there which are ideally situated to pick up all the crud.
I will probably sell it soon because I want something a little quicker that has more power below 6000rpm. Anyway, with all my UMG royalties which are bound to roll in I shall doubtless be in a position to go out and buy a Ducati Paso or something!
Philip Blunt
Have you noticed that the pages of the UMG have become more and more clogged with the dreary dribblings of those who think that they had something relevant to say about British bikes? You had? So have I. Here are some more.
The saddest thing for this writer is the increasing number of, I Bought It For £n In 1986 And It’s Now Worth £2n, and this is a good thing so I’m going to buy another. And another, etc. Next we have the Brit Bikes Are Simple To Maintain types. What an odd reason for buying a bike!
Bloody hell chaps (substitute your own expletives as you will)! Buy and RIDE a British motorcycle because you enjoy it. Hells teeth, if you want simple home maintenance buy a CZ; if you need an investment, buy a Vincent. Both have little relevance to enjoyable motorcycling (or biking if you’re under 40 — I am under 40 but feel twice my age when I read the overspill from the pages of Investors Chronicle), and both will cost you far more than they will repay in terms of smiles per mile. Which is what it’s all about, isn’t it?
If you are bored with your weary CB750 (I was), appalled by your BMW (I couldn’t have paid out all that dosh just to be terrified, could I?) and unwilling or unable to hock your soul for the flavour of the month, go out and buy a Brit.
Follow Robert Garnham's excellent advice in the last Classic Chatter and avoid glossy A4 classic monthlies. Do the sensible thing, look in your local paper (my AJS cost £450 and is ACE) where the dwindling number of folk who don’t realise that the oily heap they threw into the shed seven or eight years ago is a valuable and fast appreciating cash substitute tend to advertise.
If you’re feeling really bold, place an ad yourself in the wanted column of the local free press. I tried this a year ago and was offered more Triumphs than Les Harris builds in a year. Why do people sell Triumphs? No-one offered me a Norton (except one dim individual who had, inevitably, put a Triumph engine into the poor thing).
When you have obtained your passport from tedium, go out and thrash about the scenery. This is what the wretched thing is for! Fall off a bit; if you're careful and choosy about where you do it, it needn’t hurt too much (hell, you might even enjoy it. People do buy CZs, you know), and you will get a pleasant surprise when you find that you can usually bash it straigh-tish again, without too much expenditure.
You should then join a club. Don’t be put off by all the super-clubmen, types who will sneer and giggle when they are confronted by your set of wheels. Smile apologetically and buy a couple of pints for them. Nod appreciatively when they suggest you consign the beast to the canal; befriend them all. But concentrate your charm and sad murmurs on the ones with the never-seen relics, my friends, because they are those who have all the bits you need, and they will give them to you for next to nothing...
They don’t want the tatty remnants of the original fittings, do they? Oh no, they prefer shiny bits from the pages of the dream purveyors, which look jolly smart, but don’t work properly (have you ever tried to use a set of pattern brake and clutch levers? Dear, dear). Be nice to them and you can have the chrome-less originals. A bent and beholed tool box is still a tool box and will still hold tools, as we say...
If you are wise, don't suffer from nostalgia and are prepared not to be regarded with awe by small boys as you do the Nimrod bit down the High Street, you should be able to buy a good set of British wheels for under £500, it could even be legal.
Buy a BSA or a Triumph - a 500cc twin, forget the flashy ones, a BSA A7 is only a little slower than an A10, and a Tiger 100 is much sweeter than a Bonnie (but a lot smaller - if nature afflicted you with a fat arse, buy a BSA).
Ignore the oddities - the Velocette Viceroy may be all things beautiful in your eyes but who can you con spares from? They also have odd wheels.
For a good intro to the other Great Experience, buy a BSA Royal Star, make sure that it works at least sometimes and ride it. If you hate it, polish it up and trade it for a new MZ. Can’t say fairer than that, can we?
Frank W
I had decided that enough was enough. The Ducati would have to go. Yet another problem that necessitated obtaining a rare spare part. A final fling with a 60 mile ride along some of my favourite local roads seemed a fitting way to end 12 years of ownership. I set out on this final ride on a sunny Autumn day, banking the Duke into the many interesting bends on my route.
When I changed down or accelerated I could hear the wonderful sound of the Ducati’s single cylinder engine. I returned home with my mind changed completely; I couldn’t possibly sell this bike which had given me so much pleasure over the years despite all the frustration. It is all the marvellous memories of rides like I had just experienced that allows the Ducati single owner to put up with the continual electrical problems and high cost of spare parts.
The Ducati I own is a 1974 450 Mk3. It has a single OHC engine without the desmodromic valve operation that Ducati are famous for. However, the engine is easier to work on than the desmo version. The motor is superbly engineered, the camshaft driven by a shaft and bevel gears. My engine has done approximately 50000 miles. It’s difficult to be precise on its mileage because vibration has on occasion wrecked the speedometer. The engine went for about 40000 miles before overhaul.
It was then discovered that this particular motor had a desmo bottom end and piston. Apparently, during the last years of Ducati single production at Bologna they used to put even more expensive parts, that they had left on their shelves, into some engines. I could never understand the stories of Ducati big-ends failing at low mileages. No wonder, when mine had the twin roller bottom end of a desmo. The bike has a five speed gearbox operated by a rocking pedal mounted on the right side like all those old British bikes.
Brakes are very powerful and trouble free drums. The front Grimeca brake is a double sided drum, with separate cables meeting at the handlebar lever where they can be adjusted to even up load. The front forks and rear shocks are Marzocchi, which means they are on the, er, hard side but at least this removes all that queasy Jap wallowing.
The handling does have its very own idiosyncrasies. Although they were rated as one of the best handlers back in the early seventies, mine certainly has one peculiarity. On hitting bumps at certain angles the forks seem to cause the front wheel to shimmy from side to side. The first time this happens it feels like the end is nigh. However, the forks seem to have a self centering effect on the wheel and provided you don’t panic nothing untoward happens. I have named this phenomenon A Touch Of The Agostini’s after seeing the same thing happen on his Marzocchi forked MV at Mallory Park in the seventies. At the time I wondered why Agostini appeared totally unconcerned, now I know why.
Like many other Italian vehicles, so much expensive high quality engineering was put into the engine, brakes, etc that it’s doubtful whether there was any profit in building them. The electrics, however, were cheap, hasty and a source of constant problems. The original dip switches used to last about two months. Once on a fast dual carriageway at night whilst dipping the headlamp the dip switch fell apart and the lights went out - a very interesting experience. The solution is to fit a switch off a Suzuki. Even with the electrics converted to 12V and Lucas RITA ignition fitted, the headlamp is as dim as a Toc H lamp (for older readers).
The bike is not particularly fast. At high engine revs, vibration wrecks speedos and cracks number plates. Petrol consumption is excellent with a regular 80mpg. My record is 92mpg on a long run.
There are several unique Ducati characteristics which so endear them to the owner. Firstly, starting. Prior to a rebuild by Tony Brancato, which seems to have cured the problem, starting my 450 was a fairly risky undertaking. Sometimes there was a vicious kick back which tried to break legs or shatter ankles. Just to add to the challenge, the kick start is mounted on the left side... one night, in the motorcycle shed at work, the brute kicked back and I temporarily lost all feeling in my leg which then gave way under me — down I went with the bike on top of me. My work mates appreciated the entertainment. More amusingly, a local motorcycle dealer was still limping after two weeks when the Duke had him when he tried to start her. I still suffer from Ducati Ankle, an affliction which occasionally causes your ankle to give way quite unexpectedly whilst walking.
Another Ducati feature is the clutch which doesn’t take kindly to a lot of use, particularly in slow moving traffic. When this happens even though you may hold the clutch lever in against the handlebar it has no effect and the drive takes up. This can be quite exciting, especially if there is a stationary lorry in the way. The technique is to get into neutral as fast as possible.
My 450 cost £500 in ’75 and is worth at least twice that now. They are not cheap to buy and spares are expensive, but with classic looks, unique exhaust note, generally good handling and brakes, once you own one, they are extremely difficult to part with and hack out a place in your heart.
Vince G Dusang
Walking around the dealers I was faced with the usual problem — bikes I wanted I couldn’t afford and vice versa. However when I found a W reg GS550E with just under 19k on the clock for £499, I reckoned that this was it. There were bits of rust on it but nothing too serious. It hadn’t obviously been dropped and the engine sounded fine, although I was later to find that the tickover was set high to remove a clanking noise which could be heard when it was started from cold. This went away once the motor was warmed up and apparently is both quite common and not serious (carbs slightly out of balance). I figured I’d got a good buy until I had to pay out £140 for TPFT because, at 23, I was deemed young and irresponsible.
So, having spent all my hard earnt dosh on my new toy I went off along the highways of this once fine land, avoiding potholes, raised manhole covers, loose chippings, metal road studs and other assorted inanimate objects, as well as those very much alive — suicidal pedestrians and kamikaze road users in general.
I had read several reports in the press that the GS550 was a very reliable piece of machinery and that the DOHC four can withstand a great deal of neglect. This seemed like a good reason to buy one and I never had any serious problems with the bike. I only ever did routine maintenance - change oil every 1500 miles and oil filter every 3000 miles.
The chain needed adjustment fairly often and the new one I put on when I got the bike needed replacing after just 6000 miles. Having said all that, the day after I bought the bike the horn stopped working, but only due to a loose connection. I didn’t need the Haynes, just as well as the wiring diagram looks like a map of the underground after someone has dropped spaghetti bolognese on it. But, I did find the manual indispensable for routine maintenance; and, it’s amazing what you can learn from reading the manual - keeps you busy during those long winter nights.
After a couple of weeks commuting I decided to go for a long run from Newcastle to Glasgow. Up the A69 to Carlise following Hadrians Wall, the bike felt fine at 70mph but through fast corners I could feel parts of the bike arguing with each other over which direction to take. Onto the A/M74, the only problem when a Volvo/tank owner tries to test his impact absorbing bumper by pulling out of a side road in front of me, adrenalin and the desire to eat my evening meal helped me subvert his bit of fun — I shouted my opinion of him as loud as I could. It was not very complimentary.
On the A74 I decided to see what it’d do and was disappointed to find that an indicated 110mph was hard going for the bike. At the ton the whole bike went dead. Luckily, it was only the main fuse jumping out of its socket. Then the rain started which sent the gear indicator all crazy with the numbers flashing on and off. I always found the combined Hi/Lo and indicator switch a pain as operating one function usually changed the other as well, not that the 45W headlamp is much cop.
The bike was comfortable to ride long distances but could do with a fuel gauge because sometimes the reserve doesn’t work. Fuel averaged 53mpg going down to 46mpg when ridden hard.
For once the A74 was free of road works and I could bowl along quite happily. After a day in Glasgow I decided to come back via the Borders where there are interesting, twisty roads and beautiful scenery. A huge traffic jam in Edinburgh didn’t impress but escape came on the road to Jedburgh, where I played cat and mouse with a silver grey Porsche and had to make use of the incredible stopping power of the three discs. I thought I lost him when I overtook some cars and a bus was coming the other way. After going around a bend right on the cornering limits, after hectic braking and the thought that I was surely going too fast, I was shocked to see the Porsche still there. It went by on the next straight and I never saw it again.
I would probably have kept the GS for a long time as it was a very nice bike, but after five months someone stole it. Typically, I’d just spent a day cleaning and servicing it and putting a new chain on. Now, I still can't buy any of the bikes I want, if I’m lucky I might just find another cheap GS550.
Bob Lauder
I bought my RS with just 300 miles on the clock from a dealer I didn't particularly trust. Sure enough, a disturbing rattle appeared. Took the cover and various bits off to get at the balance shaft tensioner. There wasn’t any adjustment left, so I took the circlip off and repositioned the adjuster. Not a good start. Once everything was back together the rattle was gone and the bike was much smoother.
I had started off by running the bike in properly, not exceeding 5000rpm for the first 400 miles. Then a berk in an Escort swerved in front of me, but I managed to miss him. As I went past I kicked the side of his car with a steel toe capped boot - it left quite a dent. The eighteen stone monster in the driving seat tried to grab hold of me but I rode off, revving the Honda to 8000rpm in my haste to escape. So much for running in.
I used the RS as a hack for going back and forth to work and figured the Honda would be reduced to scrap after the winter weather, but, except for the alloy wheels, the thing was unscathed despite use every day.
At 6000 miles the original chain was shot and subsequent replacements lasted only 4000-5000 miles. The tappets needed fairly frequent adjustment until 6000 miles when they didn’t require any more attention.
The handling was good around town and on country bends, but above 70mph the front end went light, giving the feeling that it was going to go airborne. On motorways it felt horrible but on long runs would give 80mpg and the bike felt happier, apart from the stability.
With 10000 miles on the clock the front brake caliper seized and it needed new tyres. The calipers pins needed abuse from a hammer and the piston didn’t come out until I connected it up to a diesel pump test bench - 600psi for half an hour! It was cleaned up and reassembled with anti-scuffing paste. It was better than new and hasn‘t given any trouble since.
With 12000 miles on the clock I was descending a long steep hill with the throttle closed [when the engine stopped. No compression when I kicked it over. Had to push it home but it started first kick next morning.
By 25000 miles the RS was on its 25th oil change, 6th spark plug, 3rd set of tyres and 6th chain.
On one outing to Scotland, with a well loaded up RS, the bike stopped running at some traffic lights. No compression... I eventually got the compression back by pushing the bike backwards! (How does that work then? - Ed) The next 1000 miles were trouble free.
Scotland is great RS country, with those bends, good road surfaces and that scenery. The RS gave 100mpg tootling about and used absolutely no oil.
With 30,000 miles on the clock I was going to trade the RS in but could only get £150 for it, so bought a Motad, a new set of brake shoes and pads and touched up the paintwork. The bike still went well, made no nasty noises and the suspension was still quite taut.
I had used the RS every day since I bought it, so it was like losing an old friend when one day instead of the RS there was an empty space in the car park. I would recommend an RS to anyone. Nice one Honda, shame about the rest of the range.
William Gould
There are two ways to approach Morini ownership. The most common is that of the enthusiast who sees these 72 degree vee twins as a little jewel of Italian engineering to be used and worshipped in a way not unknown to owners of ancient British classics. The other route is to consign the bike to life as a hack and abuse it until it falls apart.
The latter route is difficult with the 350s as these are recognised as real classics and thus difficult to pick up cheap, whereas the 500 has a reputation for falling apart rapidly and losing the grace and balance of the smaller vees.
Thus it was, that I was the only person who bothered to turn up to look at a 1981 Maestro for sale in Hackney. Given the dubious nature of most of the people who seem to lounge around this particular area of Shit City, this seemed quite understandable but I’ve always found that turning up in a scruffy leather jacket dissuades muggers and hoodlums. The bike looked tatty as an accident victim after rolling through a muddy field but the engine ran and the wheels lined up. He wanted £750.
After I’d picked myself up off the floor and stopped laughing hysterically, I suggested a hundred notes. We eventually avoided a bout of fisticuffs and compromised on £275 which I still think was too high.
The ride home revealed a bike that (shock, horror) shook its head viciously above 70mph, wouldn’t change into fifth gear and had a front brake that didn’t work after three stops. The engine burbled along quite naturally only disturbing my peace of mind by vibrating horribly around 70 mph.
The next morning I sprayed a couple of cans of Gunk over the bike, left it to soak in for a few hours and then sprayed it off with the garden hose. The frame was rust with the odd patch of faded black paint and all the alloy was a smart shade of white. The handling problem was soon diagnosed as shot swinging arm bearings. Of course the disc brakes were all seized up, the exhaust system was rusted through and all the bolts and nuts had rounded off corners.
Nothing for it but to pull the motor out and strip the rest of the chassis down and repaint everything. Only took me a week to clean up the chassis and paint it all a nice shade of bright red. I had to buy new brake pads, drive chain, cables, swinging arm bearings and bulbs. The wiring was a mess so it was rewired, the exhaust was patched up and painted matt black, whilst three tubes of Solvol were used up cleaning the alloy.
The timing belt in the engine had the flexibility of knicker elastic so that was replaced as well. All of the other engine settings were, surprisingly, all correct.
When I threw the bike back together it looked lovely, the line of its tank and engine somehow looking just right. The engine was noisy but it would run right up to 105mph with hardly a murmur of discontent, although there were some vibes beyond 85mph. The gearchange had cleaned up after the oil was changed but did need a hefty boot to keep it in line.
With new swinging arm bearings the vicious head shaking was replaced with a high speed weave that always felt as if it would turn into a speed wobble but never actually did. It was delightfully light for flicking through country lanes.
Total cost so far has been £365. The bike returns 60mpg and in eight thousand miles hasn’t given any trouble (there's 37000 miles on the clock). Tyre. chain and brake pad wear seems minimal. So I think I've acquired a classic hack for next to nothing.
John Evans
Rain, rain and more damn rain. I just find it so hard to believe the amount of water that keeps pouring out of the sky. I nearly blew two and a half grand I didn’t have to spare on a nearly new Honda CBR600, but such was the constant battering of the Fowler frame by the winter weather that I decided to spend money I didn’t have on lying low in Bangkok for the maximum amount of time allowed over the winter by the publishing constraints of the UMG.
Those who have been with the UMG for a long time will recall that I once tried to ride a motorcycle in the crazed mess that the Thais call traffic, in a fairly desperate search to find something to fill up two pages of the UMG, and in the process hired a dilapadated cycle of dubious parentage to take on the natives, resulting in some amusingly deranged antics to stay alive.
I can now report that it is quite possible to ride a bike in Bangkok, but there are certain things that you have to bear in mind. For instance, if you’re silly enough to fall off and injure yourself, as far as I can ascertain no-one will spring to your aid until the police arrive, because everything has to be left untouched until they can deduce who was to blame for the accident. If this doesn’t trouble you, you’ll find it too hot to wear a lid and impossible to find insurance.
Language difficulties prevented me from finding out whether or not they have such things as driving tests (so much for professional journalism) but judging by the traffic chaos I very much doubt it. The major problem is that there are far too many cars to fit into the available road space in the centre of town. Long, long queues of cars stretched out, only slightly relieved by the cars swinging from lane to lane. Hundreds of small two-strokes flit in and out of this traffic in an apparently random manner.
Viewed from the relatively safe pavements (save for rabid looking dogs, huge potholes and dubious looking youths) it all looks quite insane and a quick way of committing suicide. Viewed from the seat of a motorcycle that works well enough not to intrude into one’s concentration, it’s a whole new ballgame.
Unlike their western counterparts, Thai drivers are actually aware of their surroundings and will acknowledge the existence of screaming two wheel devices. This is probably because economic reality for most Thais means they have to start their road life on either pushbikes or motorcycles and are all too aware of the precarious nature of their existence.
That said, there are still dangers. The most common cause of motorcycle accidents appears to be dumb canines wandering out into the road, although if any of the diarrhoea inducing Chinese restaurants I was unfortunate enough to visit are any guide, if you survive such collisions you can always sell off the carcass.
I actually managed to borrow a Kawasaki AR140, which is similar to the AR125 on sale here, save that it has drum brakes and a broader spread of power. I did have the chance of borrowing a Honda CB750K but decided that it would have been pointless trying to shove such mass through the traffic (alright, l was shit scared of the big heap in this context).
The water-cooled Kawa proved ideal in the dense traffic. It was so well balanced that I could manoeuvre around the cars at little more than walking speed. Like London traffic, the pace is tremendous and you have to make a mental effort to adapt if you’re not used to it. Fortunately, they drive on the same side of the road as us, so there’s one less problem to worry over.
One ride of about three miles after a liquid lunch sticks in the mind. The sun was high and the only way to stay cool was to ride as fast as possible. The chaos was at its worst, it really did make London look like a quiet and sane scene. The race started off with a maniac in a Tuk-Tuk (a three wheel golf trolley with handling that makes a Plastic Pig look safe) who could use the narrowness of his machine to sneak between the lines of traffic. He was trying to mow me down until I did a sudden right turn between a couple of cars, slicing in front of a sixties Honda CB72, whose rider took such effrontery as an excuse for a race.
The most dangerous moment in Thai traffic occurs when cars and taxis go past temples because the drivers take their hands off the wheel to offer a prayer to the Buddha. Thus when I tried to lose the CB72 by doing an illegal right turn into a road with a temple at the corner and run up a bus lane for a few yards, I encountered a beat up Datsun veering into my path - the driver grinned happily as he put his hands back on the wheel and swerved his car in front of a bus.
Then the engine tried to cut out and I almost ran down a rather beautiful young Thai girl as the bike lurched around whilst I fiddled with the reserve tap; by the time I’d sorted that out a coach was playing tag with my number plate and using that favourite Thai instrument of torture the horn. As Thai coach drivers are famed for driving whilst drunk I quickly turned down some back lanes.
The scenery off the main road is always interesting, the kind of mixture of wooden shacks and high rise apartment blocks that would give a good socialist enough ammunition to call for the world-wide abolition of capitalism, save that the Thais have the civilised habit of locking up communists before they can make any trouble.
In the centre of Bangkok the one way system means you could travel miles out of your way unless you know the short cuts down the back lanes.
The only problem with the back roads is that the Tuk-Tuk drivers cut up the rest of the traffic, trying to deliver their passengers as quickly as possible, but there’s the odd stretch where a relatively cool seventy can be attained. Whilst enjoying such speed I was suddenly brought back to reality by a truck carrying bottles of Coke turning into my half of the road. An excursion off the side of the road into a sewage filled ditch solved that problem. I didn’t actually fall off and the depth of the muck was such that I didn’t even get my feet wet. It did take three attempts to get the Kawa up the side of the ditch.
I decided to head back to the main road after that mishap, with about two thirds of the journey completed, hopeful that I’d arrive home safely. Apart from the odd pothole, a sudden tropical downpour and ignoring the demands of a police officer to stop, I did manage to return to the sanctuary of an air conditioned flat.
Anyway, riding bikes in Bangkok is great fun, especially as their winter is as hot as our hottest summer and you don’t have to wear a crash helmet, and no-one seems to give a damn about minor traffic misdemeanours and bikes are so cheap to hire and run.
Bill Fowler
The trouble with these bikes (and they encompass quite a few models - from Bantam like 125 and 175 to a heavy 650 series of flat twins),is that people buy them expecting modern technology and because they are not Classic British Iron they tend to mistreat them in a way which is a good testament to the durability of said bikes; any Jap or Italian bike would be totalled with the treatment some of these bikes take. No, the combo won’t do 90mph down a motorway and the little Cossack two— strokes won’t run on minimal maintenance for ever, however we are talking about machinery that is some of the cheapest around. The Ruskis make around two million bikes a year which makes the Cossack very cheap to begin with, and with rapid depreciation, used ones can be bought for coppers.
I bought a Voskhod for £5 that ran and when I bought my Dnepr 650 with chair for £140 with 210 miles on the clock, a talk with the owner who sold me the bike enabled me to understand why a lot of people don’t get on with them - "I haven’t quite run in the bike yet and yet it should be able to pull me and the wife and daughter around, yet it has difficulties going up hills at 60mph and I have to tinker with it at least once a week." Poor sod, I have friends with Triumphs who would envy the six days a week off from their, er, pride and joy.
The first thing to do to the flat twin is a set of modifications which will enable you to get an awful lot of trouble free miles out of the bike (mileages of 70 - 80,000 plus are not uncommon). Whether you’ve bought the bike new or secondhand, these include a strip down of the engine to replace all the brittle Russian bearings with good British ’uns. When rebuilding, use plenty of Loctite and Brit gaskets and oil seals. Take the Russian carbs in one hand, pull back shoulder and throw as hard and far away as possible. These dreadful contraptions are perfectly permissible in the Soviet Union, where their version of two star costs 25 pence a gallon. Incidentally, the thing that looks like a tea strainer in the top of the petrol tank stops mud, stones and Yak hairs from getting into the engine from the paraffin like petrol - their highest rated petrol would probably just make it as quarter star over here. High compression ratios and miserly fuel consumption have no real meaning in the Soviet Union. Change the carbs for either Amals or SUs.
Change the ignition for electronic as soon as possible. Rita do a conversion kit which is excellent, I fitted one to my bike after lots of ignition problems and it’s never let me down. Put a battery of the largest size you can fit in the bike or sidecar. Make sure the tyres are not trials types which make the bike a pig to handle and check the suspension is not knackered - you don’t need to throw the shocks away, just fill up with oil to the recommended line.
Incidentally, if you’re thinking of turning it into a poor man's Wermacht Chair (yes, we’ve all see A Bridge Too Far) then buy the MT9 model or the Ural which have saddle seats and a correctly shaped tank. The UMG’s comment that these bikes when equipped with chairs are good vehicles for causing grievous bodily harm to car drivers was borne out by a friend who had a Cortina pull out on him, the combo caught the edge of the car in such a way that it practically pushed the Cortina onto its side, whilst damage to the Cossack was limited to a few scratches and a broken sidelight. When the Cortina driver finally managed to scramble out my mate got his own back on years of haif blind car drivers by saying, "Sorry, mate, I didn’t see you." So there you go, buy a Cossack and redress the balance.
The little two-strokes are not to be confused with the much maligned but quite wonderful MZ two-strokes, even though they both come from behind the Iron Curtain. One (MZ), is a great little workhorse, that will run on minimal maintenance and is fine for those without airs and graces. The others (Minsk, Voskhod, Planeta amongst others), don’t even know what airs and graces are. The main difference being that you can pick one of these chaps up for a lot less than the cost of a tax disc and MOT. Change the tyres for anything not original - they last for huge mileages but slide around so much that you’re just asking for it in the wet. Most don’t have batteries, so no problems there, in fact, the wiring loom is so basic it makes a Honda moped loom look complex. MZ electronic ignition can usually be force fitted and Russian bulbs are so dim that they'll be replaced after the first evenings ride.
The thing to remember, though, is that despite all their drawbacks, these bikes are great if you like confusing people because they're so rare; rare enough to make LC riders ask if it’ll really do 140mph (the speedo is calibrated in kph). Like the bikes, spares are , wonderfully cheap or another bike can be bought for spares.
I would recommend joining the Cossack Owners Club (well, I would, I’m Researcher and Membership Secretary), as a lot of the problems and conversions are.common knowledge and will save you time and money, removing a lot of the frustration of running and restoring these Iron Curtain bikes. This is especially pertinent because few dealers or, garages will know anything about them.
F Kwest
