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Fuck Netanyahu and the murderous Israeli regime. Free Palestine!
Here's a tale of fifteen motorcycles owned and ridden (aimed?) by yours truly for your gratification or otherwise. My motorcycling days began whilst I was still a young pup at school. I owned a brace of field bikes, ranging from Honda C50s to a CZ125 to a single cylinder 250AMF Haney. All quality stuff. The Harley single was good fun until the rear wheel collapsed. It was eventually sold for about £45, about twice what it was worth.
Eventually, I progressed to the tender age of 17 and the open road. Enter my newly acquired Yamaha SR250 Custom. It leaked oil from every gasket and bolt, had a top speed of around 70mph and more rattles than a Millwall supporter, but it always started and never let me down. Eventually. the oil leaks and engine rattles became so intolerable that it had to go. Sold to a mate for £300, it seized solid a fortnight later!
My £300 bought me a Honda CB400T Dream. A nice clean 'un it was too. No oil leaks nor rattles. A nice shiny 2—1 Motad and no other mods. I had no hassles whatsoever. fuel and handling were good whilst the paint and chrome didn't fall off. Wherever I went I knew it would get there - eventually! My only complaint was a lack of go, for a 400 twin they are very gutless. On reflection this is probably the one bike I regret selling.
The replacement was an R reg Honda CB750F1. The most unreliable bastard I have ever had the misfortune of coming across. I spent more time pushing the fucking thing than riding it. Full fairing, Lazer exhaust, electronic ignition and K&N filters, all of which I had trouble with. It looked good in Rothmans Honda colours but in all honesty it was a nasty piece of crap. Completely refused to run properly in the rain, down to a combination of botched wiring, damp filters and a bad design by Honda.
I’ve heard a lot of horror stories concerning old CB750F Hondas that won’t run in the rain. lt's probably a good job, because braking in the wet is exciting, to say the least. They don‘t like being braked in corners either, wet or dry. After a week, the black box packed up without warning. Luckily, I was only three miles from home. I'll never forget that push, the calipers were just looking for an excuse to seize up; this was their moment of glory.
l was totally knackered by the tlme I reached home, my biceps so enlarged that I could knock a bull out. The bike had Pirahna ignition and when I went to collect a new unit from their factory, they offered to repair the old one free of charge. Full marks!
The next thing to go was the pipe. I was on the motorway returning from a trip to London, one moment it was there, the next it wasn't. The can just fell off. Most amusing. To make matters worse some thoughtless bastard deliberately swerved and ran over it. If you reading this may you die screaming as a result of being injected with the shit of an AIDS victim. I pulled off at the Watford Gap service station and phoned the AA. They promptly turned up a full seven hours later, reckoned I held the record for the longest wait ever. I doubt it somehow.
On top of all this, it was a bad starter, burnt oil, the clutch slipped at high speeds, it rattled from both the cam and primary chains, the seat was awful and the front brake felt as though it was made from balsa wood. On the rare occasions when it did run properly it showed an indicated 125mph on the clock.
I became so pissed off with it in the end that I swapped it for a 250 Superdream and £200. The bloke who bought it wrote it off in St Helens on his way home. I have since owned yet another CB750F1 (more of that later) and I couldn't fault it! If you're going to buy one take it for a good jetwash if it isn’t raining before handing over your money. Make sure it runs OK in the wet, if it doesn't you won't cure it. The guy that you're buying it from couldn't and neither could the guy that he bought it from. Also, check for cam and primary chain rattles, smoky exhausts and hairline cracks in the coils.
The Superdream was hassle free, a revelation after the 750, but mind numbingly boring to ride. It was soon sold and replaced with a Suzuki GT250 that wasn’t much faster. Why Suzuki, in their wisdom, put the kickstart on the left side I will never know. I wrote the little Suzuki off whilst showing off pulling wheelies to impress the girlies. It impressed no-one, least of all my pillion who was thrown several yards down the road. I received a broken wrist and burnt my leg on an exceedingly hot exhaust pipe. The passenger grazed his ankle and walled like a banshee; what a wimp! The bike was totalled! But I got £250 for it, exactly what I had paid originally. I wouldn’t buy another, it had absolutely nothing going for it. Next, came another Superslug, again no problems but awfully slow.
Enter the Suzuki GS1000E. A good bike, everyone should have one once. I gave it loads of abuse, masses of neglect and it never let me down. Showed an indicated 135mph on the clock and would cruise at the ton for as long as I could hold on. The seat was brilliantly comfortable, handling and brakes dependable whilst the riding position was excellent. The GS was a pleasure to ride on long distance hauls. Only naff electrics spoilt an otherwise perfect picture. The wiring loom on mine eventually began to rot away, the rectifier/regular melted and it was sold for £650 in that state, which was £50 more than I’d paid for it. I would definitely buy another if the classic dickheads hadn‘t upped the price out of all proportion. l have known GS1000s sell for £1600 plus. How can that possibly be right when a GPz1100 goes for around £1400 and a GPx900R can be bought for £1800?
Speaking of GPZs, my GS was replaced by a GPz750. One of the early twin shock models with rear-sets, flat bars. box section swinging arm, bright yellow paint and a Marshall 4—1. The motor was quite a goer but the bike itself was downright dangerous. I‘ve ridden better handling hard-tail choppers. The Kawasaki looked brilliant, but I had to sell it because I knew that l was going to kill myself on it. The handling really was that bad. The only time I've ever been frightened of a motorcycle — and I’ve ridden some nails in my motorcycling days. Perhaps I bought a bad one, maybe it had been crashed, I don't know. If you’re buying one test ride it hard in the curves to make sure that it handles okay. On the plus side, the motor was brill.
Next came another CB750F1. I wouldn't have touched it but for the £275 price tag. The bike had Irish plates, hence the price. It was brought from the local hooligan and after a good dose of elbow grease polished up really well. Ran perfectly in the rain and would've taken me anywhere. However, it did smoke a little from the exhaust and the engine breather, but no rattles. A totally different kettle of fish to my previous one. An enormous rear sprocket allowed good acceleration at the expense of top speed. A good dependable bike, I sold it for around £400.
Next on the agenda came a dog Honda CX500 for well under £200, a bargain for sure. The whole bike was hand painted in the most gaudy household maroon gloss that l have seen whilst an exceedingly thick ooat of silver paint covered the engine. A real dog. Took me over a week to remove the paint, a fortune in paint stripper and left me with several septic knuckles. Underneath the paint the bike seemed in good nick, except for the swinging arm which had a large hole and was merrily rotting away. Worth checking as it wrecks the shaft drive. The motor was a good ‘un although handling wasn't A1.
Great for motorway work but not too keen in corners. I wouldn’t pay more than £300 for a good one and I wouldn‘t touch another bad one. Any top end hassles they may have had will probably have been cured by now; it it’s not rattling or smoking it’s probably a good one.
One way of going to an early grave is to ignore leaking fork seals. The CX dumped me on the tarmac on one occasion only, after which it was immediately sold. This occurred after dark whilst turning left off a main road and into a side street, two up. I had the bike banked over into the turn, with the pillion hanging off the seat and the extremely vague handling not helping when the thing refused to come back up. We hit the kerb hard. Then we hit the tarmac hard, removing most of the skin from my elbow and all of the skin from my passenger's knee-cap. The CX wasn't injured thanks to engine bars, essential items it you’re into riding an old hack!
Then came a Kawasaki KZ650C3. Similar to the GS1000, only slower. Handling was good, and the motor bulletproof in stock tune. It was let down by absolute crap electrics, a real pain when they start to go wrong. It went through a phase of blowing the main fuse every time I let the clutch out. I still don’t know why. The kill switch worked when it felt like it, as did the ignition switch. Electrics aside, though, it's a good reliable bike. Keep your eye on the oil level and avoid 4-1 Alpha pipes, they do nothing for the performance even if they sound good. Hard to find good ones at reasonable prices, these days, I sold mine for £600 and the new owner is still happy with it even if he's still fighting with the bloody electrics.
After selling the Z I did something very stupid, I paid £500 for an XS750. If you’re offered one of these, don’t touch it! They are slow, ill-handling, a quivering mess of an excuse for a motorcycle. You won't like it and it won't like you if you try to corner at normal speeds.
The exhaust and stands ground, it drifts wide even in slight bends, the shaft drive vibrates wildly, the suspension is way too soft, especially at the front, the gearbox was awful (as were the brakes even with Goodridge hose) and the seat was too narrow. Mine was supposed to be a good one!
The tank and panels looked like they had been resprayed with a bike pump. I rubbed it all down with a rough house brick and repainted it. The rest of the bike was in exceptionally good condition, the wiring had never been touched and the chrome was mint — obviously because it was so nasty no-one wanted to ride it! I wouldn’t entertain another one, no matter how nice it looked.
l swapped the XS for a Honda CBX550 with the usual rattly camchain. Apart from that it was a good one, looked dead neat and found the performance very good for such a small capacity engine. It would sing up to 100mph with ease. The XS would reluctantly manage 90mph and wanted to die a death in the taller gears. The CB didn't really start to move until you reached 6500rpm, but from there on it flew. I would have kept this bike had not a bastard stolen it and crashed hard into a lamp-post. The thief came off rather worse; he's still in hospital. I had no insurance, so I got nothing back except for my rather broken motorcycle.
As I wasn’t incredibly rich, I had to buy a basket-case. It's a CB550F in a CB500T frame with alloy tank, single seat, clip-ons, rear-sets, alloy wheels, mirror polished casings, etc. Can‘t say anything about it yet as its not on the road at the moment.
Well, that's only 14 bikes, I hear you say. The 15th was a GS550 bought from a breaker for £200. Leaked oil but ran reliably and had the usual electrics that only worked when they felt like it. l'd buy another just for the motor, as they are ultra-tough.
You’ve all seen me, I hang out in the back of those grimy shops, purveying items of dubious quality to naive and shame faced punters - I'm the one who looks knowledgeable when you ask me if I've got the left-hand side panel for a H2 Kawa Mach IV. Sometimes I actually tell you, “I don't actually work here, pal, ask Pudger." Other times I smile indulgently and nod in the direction of a fat bottom poking out of a pair of C & A denims...
The owner of said bottom prompted this article when asked how he could justify £120 for a dubious GPz305 motor. responded, “Well, it's like market forces, innit? Some mug will buy it because a new one costs more than his bike's worth." Market forces in a nutshell, as explained by Pudger, who drives a 7 series BMW and bites the heads off chickens when stressed.
It started when I bought the MZ125, got worse with the 250 Superslug, followed by a rather nice Z250 Custom, then a wild RD125 arrived. My social standing nosedived with the total nut and bolt rebuild of a Z400 twin, rapidly descending to the present stable of MZ field bike, Z250 belt drive Scorpion, a rusty BMW R80ST and a drawer full of a Yam SR250 in 2000 bits, all ready tor that long term project we know and love. I am the victim of an urge to run cheap and ugly bikes.
I hang out in bike breakers always on the lookout for that elusive SR500 tank and matching panels. My stock in trade is recycling the reviled and the cheap: GSX400s that run a bit hot, wobbly CB900s and MZ250s with no gear return spring.
It all started when I read a story in the UMG several years ago. I’m sure you’ve seen similar ones: “...and I went to the breakers and picked up the new front end for a CBR600 for £35.34 (plus VAT), bolted it on and toured France for six weeks with a 17 year old nymphomaniac on the pillion.”
In search oi both the aforementioned front and rear ends I ceaselessly comb local bike breakers for interesting tackle to rebuild or tour France on. Bike breakers, like sharks, have an essential role within bike society. They remove the greedy and gullible who would otherwise block up the trade counter at Halifax Kawasaki and recycle large amounts of resources back into their own pockets. Crashed and bashed bikes, not to mention those whose owners can‘t quite remember where they left them, are deftly represented to the punter who can‘t contemplate the cost of a new crank but will indeed shell out 300 notes for that RD bottom end...
It’s Saturday morning and my weekly task is about to begin. Crucial equipment will be the lack of a cheque book or credit card - where I venture only hard cash or gold teeth are acceptable. I wear stout boots and carry a heavy wrench — I’m about to enter the den of thieves, vipers and charlatans, otherwise known as motorcycle, breakers. Here we will engage in market forces the likes of which poor Norman Lamont never dreamt of. The sharks of Zurich would be as fluffy bunnies to these denlzens. GT750 clocks? No problem, £275 to you, pal, plus VAT, of course.
The simple operation of a bike breaker — buy it cheap, break it, into as many separate parts as possible, flog it at prices of one third less than new; buy it back and flog it again. If it’s not available in dealers then whack it out so high that only the Jap classic brigade will see its true value. RE5 rotor assembly? £995, plus VAT of course. Simple, but all the best ways to make money always are.
It would be erroneous of me to suggest that all bike breakers are hard-hearted exponents of the seamier side of capitalism, but by and large they are the true descendants of the mill owners that made West Yorkshire rich, if not tight-fisted. A cracked CB125 rear light lens? £5.50 to you pal, plus VAT.
Here, in the alternative dimension we shall encounter the cackling toothless gnarled hags who control the cash desk together with the filthy coffee machine, and the desperation of the newly-thieved still sobbing uncontrollably whilst glazed eyed counter clerks deftly add VAT to improbable prices for a used set of DT125R clocks.
Essential information for those wishing to forgo the learning curve of being sold MZ bits for a CZ (“it’s all the same stuff, innit?") is to understand that all traders are really quiet shy retiring types who prefer to use initials rather than names that may enable the inland Revenue to discuss their nonpayment of tax for the last nine years. Hence the oft used dodge of “FUA Motorcycles — parts for every bike ever made." Except the bits that you require, of course.
A further requirement of the customers is the patient air of one who has a guaranteed life expectancy of 104, together with a detailed knowledge of the particular GPZ500 brake caliper you wish to bolt rather than Blu-Tak on to your pride and joy. A dubious but reassuring expectation would be a receipt of some description, preferably not written by the dog on a Ferodo brake box in writing worthy of Guy Fawkes (after the rack).
This may come in handy at a later date when the men in blue come to visit you regarding the bike you inadvertently sold to a CID man turning out to have a similar frame number to one stolen three weeks ago. Yes, it happened to me. I felt lucky to lose the frame rather than six months for complicity — the CID man had bought the bike for his son's birthday.
Yorkshire is in many ways a biker's paradise. Twisty roads, lots of bike shops, the famous cafe at Sherburn-in-Elmet, the Lakes via the Skipton run every Sunday and getting well shafted by various breakers every Saturday...
Never try to short-circuit the system by ringing first. Breakers find this attitude most irritating as it robs them of the pleasure of luring you into their lair. Sadly they are forced to admit they have every single part you could name as a feeble attempt at entertainment. My last trip to Holmfirth (Last of the Summer Wine country) to view an immaculate, as in conception, H100 revealed an FT500 in two sacks. I had misheard his accent over the phone.
A strong grasp of your wallet is necessary as we enter a building reminiscent of Dickens. Dogs foul your Derriboots, a midget covered in SAE 20/40 scampers from under your feet and the smell of despair settles over you in yet another back street breaker. Awaiting your turn behind the chap with a Step-thru that needs a new screen... “Not much call for them, how much did the dealer quote you?" Only a fool would admit dealer prices; he did and was done.
You ask haltingly for a set of Z400 forks, the three wise mutants behind the counter grin, scratch their bottoms and tell you that a set of Z250 ones will do... possibly with a bit of work, dead cheap, they smile disarmingly, leaving you stranded in mid-conversation as they discuss Michael Jackson.
Your brain reels with the possibilities then reality takes a hand and you mutter an apology that you really wanted Z400 ones because the welding, machining and rechroming necessary with their option outweighs the cost of your house. They ignore you. Another punter arrives to break into the conversation on sodomy. “Have you got a set of carbs for a FZ600?" As you leave staff have been galvanised into action, banks of Mitsui’s finest appear as if by magic. The punter looks like he‘s been hit with Sam Fox‘s mammaries, he is smiling the smile of the shafted to be, you hear the sound of market forces and leave quietly.
Several more of the same, the staff seem cloned, the smell of old take-aways mingles with sweat and WD40. You become confused as to which breaker you’re actually in. if you have several projects in tea chests then you could try asking for the more obscure parts of an MZ250, such as a tank or a seat. This often produces much scratching of bottoms and feigned displays of deep thought before suggesting that CB250 bits could just fit.
Wearily, you drift upmarket. Nightclubs, wasteland and a new breed of bike breaker. Drifting into a carpeted space with a passing resemblance to a BMW service area, there are bikes, clean ones on neat gravel patches, glass display cases coyly showing exhaust parts as if they were sex aids. Radio 1 simpers in the background, dogs and the vertically challenged are kept out of public view, parts are clean and brought out for your examination on a spotless Formica counter.
You recite the magic words, “Have you got a side panel for a CB750 four?” A friendly nod, a quick flick with the computerised stock check. "What colour would you like?" Cash is proffered and VAT is added, 40p change and a receipt valid for 7 days on headed paper pressed into your sweaty hand. Well, well, you old cynic, there‘s a breaker that can be relied upon — until you glimpse a midget industriously removing a set of clocks from a nearly new DT125R through a gap in the door. You leave as one would ignoring the seventh beggar on the Underground.
Arriving home with the lighter wallet but happier heart, pausing only to smack the kids and kiss the dog, you head for the lock-up, pull back the door and whisper softly to the grime encrusted hulk that folks in the Dog & Duck know as the project. Well, then my beauty... Arrgh! The bastards had sold me the wrong side panel, it's left instead of right! See you on Saturday.
I bought what I thought was a nice CBX550 from a London dealer for £1500. He seemed like a good chap, the kind of guy who inspired confidence. The test ride was a quick whip around the block on the back.
I couldn't find anything wrong and his parting words were, “Have any problems, get back to me right away." The Honda whirred, nay, purred, under throttle and we shot off up the road taster than I'd meant. I was having a bit of a fighting match with the handlebars. which seemed to want to swing from lock to lock. By the time I got the five miles to home I was convinced the machine was trying to kill me.
I phoned the dealer. He told me these modern bikes were, by their design, rather twitchy; it'd take me a few days to get used to it. The next morning l looked the machine over, the wheels didn’t look like they were in line but the chain adjusters matched! I phoned the dealer with this news. He dismissed such thoughts out of hand, insisting the CBX had been checked over in the workshop.
I tried all that morning to get to grips with the bike. Took it to another dealer, who after riding it for ten yards, pulled over and told me it was a death-trap. He offered £300 (l was pretending to sell the bike to get his opinion for free). Went back to the original dealer. nearly crashing twice. He didn't want to know.
Right, off with the seat and tank to have a look at the frame. It was as bent as a discarded paperclip. I practically had to drag the dealer out to look at the bike. “Nah, mate, nothin' wrong with that. Just a bit of paint flaking off. Fair wear and tear, that.” He backed off, as l went red in the face with rage and reluctantly agreed that just perhaps, if I was being really pedantic, it might be slightly out of line.
I wanted my money back. He offered me another CBX550 with an extra 10000 miles on the clock and a rattly engine. No. he wouldn't swap the motors over but there was a three month guarantee. I took this one out for a quick blast and It went where I pointed it. It felt so much better that I agreed to the deal.
Three weeks later the camchain sounded like it was breaking up. Back at the dealers, I was accused of caning the engine, revving it too hard from cold and generally being too incompetent to manage a pushbike let alone a modern motorcycle. I stood my ground and he reluctantly agreed to let his grease monkey look at it.
Five weeks later I was presented with a £150 bill for the labour as the guarantee was only for the spares. After much haggling, shouting and mutual threats, this was reduced to £100. The engine still rattled more than I expected. but I was happy just to be back on two wheels public transport was driving me crazy.
Ten days later the rattles came back. I knew CBX550 camchains had a bit of a reputation but I didn’t think that was an acceptable life. Took the bike to another dealer for a check over. The camchain hadn't been changed, but the tensioner had been bodged and would need to be replaced as well.
Back at the first dealers, I‘d kneed him in the balls twice before they pulled me off. I was out of my head with rage at being ripped off three times. When he'd stopped crying, he reckoned that the mechanic had pulled a fast one on him. I almost admired his persistence, he was obviously a pathological liar.
I almost wish I hadn’t agreed to watch the mechanic at work this time. He was a real gorilla who took huge chunks out of the cylinder head trying to free the studs with a chisel and hammer. l was almost in tears when he started drilling off the old camchain, huge quantities of swarf falling into the sump.
Another long shouting match ensued with the dealer, who kept a desk between us. If this guy had a bit more intelligence he would have made it at as a first class politico he lied that well. Cutting through all the crap, I threatened to fire-bomb his showroom unless he gave me the good engine out of the first machine I'd owned. If his mechanic was so good. he'd have nothing to lose as he'd still have a good engine. Faced with this barrage of logic and still sore balls he gave in. I had to pull the engine out on my own and did my back in getting it into my chassis, but after all that hassle I finally had a decent bike. I won‘t bother with dealers again!
The VT was my first big bike, bought partly out of enthusiasm, and to find a job as a despatch rider in Central London. After an old Yam RD125, the VT was very difficult to throw through the traffic - it kept feeling like it was going to fall over. Also, at 70mph it weaved and was no more stable than the RD. It's an '83 bike and had 35000 miles on the clock when l bought it a year ago.
I've since put another 22000 miles on it and the motor has begun to rattle and vibes above 75mph have become pretty horrific. Since I've caned the 52° vee twin engine with the minimum of servicing I don't find this very surprising. I once tried to adjust the tappets, but there was so little space that I quickly gave that idea up. When the gearchange becomes very stiff I know it's time to change the engine oil (between five and seven grand).
The only problem I've had from the engine has been the clutch which has gone through two sets of plates and one bearing. But it's quite simple to work on. With 57000 miles on the clock there's a two stroke type blue haze trailing behind the bike, but this doesn't seem to make much difference to the performance and the bike can still struggle up to the ton. It has become very difficult to start once hot, which is a little awkward for despatching so I tend to leave the engine running.
My first weeks trying to find my way around London were very frightening - huge packages on the seat and top box made the Honda even more difficult than normal to handle and taxi drivers and Golf GTi owners (for some strange reason) always tried to cut me up. In the end, I became very blase about other traffic figuring they didn't want to scratch their paintwork as much as they wanted to break my kneecaps.
This worked for about a week, then I had three minor accidents in one day and started riding defensively. After about six months you get a kind of sixth sense and know just which bastard's going to pull out on you. Usually.
I also eventually became used to the Honda's handling and could do a tight U turn without putting my foot down. While the Honda was useful in town, motorways and back roads were a waste of time because by the time I bought the bike all the suspension was totally shot, and because of the age of the bike, and the thought that it was due to blow up, I could never bother to spent my hard earned dosh on even a pair of cheapo shocks. The suspension didn't become any worse after 40000 miles.
After running expenses, the most I ever earned was £524 in one week and the least £45; I usually averaged around £250. This was self employed with no job security, although I did stick with the same company and worked my way up the pecking order for the decent jobs. Training? I lied my head off and pretended to be experienced, otherwise you start off on lower rates, which is a right waste of time. You just have to look the part and do the job and you can get away with it.
Rear tyres (Roadrunners) were needed every 5500 miles, although I usually squeezed a couple of thousand extra miles out of them. Fronts lasted for 8000 miles and riding on illegal tread would let the tyre wash out with dangerous ease on wet and greasy London roads. Disc pads lasted for five grand but I always rode the bike on the brakes so it'll probably be easy to get better mileage. Taking the enclosed disc apart was no fun.
Fuel started off at just over 45mpg, but with my more desperate attempts at earning money and a rapidly ageing engine, it's now averaging 38mpg. And it needs a pint of oil every 250 miles. There's an oil leak between both heads and cylinders and oil drips down the front of the crankcase. The engine is protected from the elements by a mixture of grime and oil.
Most of the baffles have fallen out of the silencers and there are some holes that have been filled by a friend with some welding gear. It'll be interesting to see if the engine will expire before the exhaust falls off. The chrome, alloy and paint are all In an awful state because I'm always too tired out to bother cleaning the bike (that's my excuse, anyway).
After nearly a year's despatching I want out. As soon as the Honda expires, I'll stop - I've saved a few thousand quid so can have a good rest. I don't use the bike for pleasure anymore, despatching has kind of spoilt my normal motorcycling fun.
Like most tearaway bikers I'd always dismissed the CX500 for its obvious and well publicised faults. Then I started clocking up a thousand miles a week...
It all began when I was kicked out of college and, with no fat grant cheque to support my biking, it was time for biking to support me. Becoming a motorcycle cop was out of the question and so I started despatching. Not in London, where a job from the city to Heathrow is considered long distance and gutless learner bikes are ideal, but Birmingham, where to make a decent wage you need to cover at least a thousand miles a week.
The mileage and maintenance that an average biker (if there is such a creature outside of DOT figures) does in a month is packed into one hectic week. And this has a dramatic effect on your bike. My Yamaha SR500 was pensioned off within a week. There are no doubt less suitable bikes, but it didn't seem so at the time.
Low purchase cost and reasonable economy prompted me to buy a GS425. The novelty of the digital gear indicator (Suzuki's sales gimmick for '78) soon wore off - it broke anyway - and I was left with a bike that had to be red-lined in fifth to enable me to complete motorway journeys before I fell asleep, and that required a three monthly service each weekend. The final straw was two engine rebuilds in as many months - the latter terminating halfway along a single lane contraflow on the M1. It was one occasional of many I was grateful for having been accosted at an M-way services area and coerced into RAC membership. Incidentally, the RAC are getting clued up these days — some of their patrolmen actually know a bit about bikes and it's no longer so easy to con them into believing your bike has expired in order to obtain a free lift home.
Following the demise of the GS, some desperate grovelllng to the bank manager produced a £500 loan to buy a new machine. Yippee I thought but what bike to buy? Obviously reliability and running costs were critical, but reasonable cruising speed, long life expectancy were also important. Every blke I fancied seemed to have at least one serious drawback (like I couldn't afford it). In the end I was convinced by the arguments of several of my colleagues who had been in the same position - it had to be a CX500.
Slagged off in the bike press as the Plastic Maggot, the CX had a reputation for mechanical problems and styling that could only have been designed by a disgruntled Honda employee working his notice to quit. Nevertheless, it was the best selling bike in its class for several years and there couldn't be that many half-witted bikers in the UK, could there?
After a few phone calls and separation from my £500, I found myself holding the keys of a two year old, 20000 mile CX500. Sitting on it for the first time it was difficult to believe it was only 500cc. The seat was vast enough for a couple of Sumo wrestlers as well as my spindly body. The rocker covers sticking right out by my knees and the wrap around crash bars (necessary if you want to prevent even a minor spill costing a barrel and a crankcase casting) just added to the impression of size. Never having ridden a brand new CX, I can't comment on them, but by 20000 miles the FVQ shocks had indeed faded very quickly and left the handling very soft and decidedly peculiar.
The silencers were well on their way to the bin and the collector box was looking more like something from an abandoned trawler despite the previous owner's attempts to keep it rust free. It was only on its second camchain but had been modified with a later camchain tensioner. Honda seemingly changed the design of the tensioner every year of the CX's life in an attempt to cure the camchain wear problem - finally ending up with the Silverwing which was as bad as the original CX.
The scare stories of (very) premature crankshaft demise were mostly confined to the first batch (the punters doing Honda's R & D again) but all these bikes should be in breakers or canals by now.
After riding the CX for a time I had very mixed feelings about it. All the horror stories about the handling seemed to be true and the first time I filled up the tank I was horrified to find fuel at 30mpg. Replacing what appeared to be the original plugs and air filters restored fuel consumption to around 50mpg for all but flat out use. Running with the air filter removed later became a popular modification among DRs — it was worth an extra 5mpg with no apparent detrimental effects.
After a few weeks use the handling begins to feel less dangerous. Like most shaft drive bikes the cornering technique has to be adapted to suit the bike. Brake before the bend, set the line, speed and gear sorted out and accelerate round the bend. If you misjudge it and get it wrong, it's best to rely on the CX's reasonable ground clearance, and maybe a prayer or two. Shutting off the throttle, or worse still braking, causes a complex series of forces that only a physics professor could calculate, and that results in reduced ground clearance, pogoing rear shock, bottomed out forks and gyrating handlebars. It wasn't always that bad, but a poor road surface was usually sufficient to start the rider contemplating the odds of extracting the bike from the hedge or lamp-post. And with the CX's weight they are not good.
One consequence of this cornering technique, especially in the wet, was that the obscure and highly suspect Jap tyres were junked. Ideally they should be donated to ice speedway riders for use as kneepads — it's about all they were good for. Tyres are a highly subjective issue and everyone has their own opinion - but I found Roadrunners or K181s a reasonable compromise between wear and grip. The rear lasted 6000 to 8000 miles, the front about double that. There ls little point buying a stickler tyre if you have to keep riding when it's illegal because you can't afford to replace It.
My opinion of the bike improved the more I rode it. It had the pub car park credibility of a CZ but, handling apart, It was beginning to grow on me. The brakes were adequate even for the CX's excessive mass, and pads don't wear at such a ludicrous rate as many. It sounded a bit noisy at tlck-over but a three hour 90mph cruise up one of Britain's motorways didn't make It any noisier. Holding a 90mph cruising speed for a bike wlth a top speed of only 105mph ls quite respectable.
The large seat is comfortable and provides plenty of space for moving about to relieve an aching backside, and for strapping on the large parcels customers always seem to want me to carry. The only delivery which I couldn't fit on was a poster in an eight foot tube. The CX felt a bit top heavy In the wet, although no amount of rain ever affected the electrics, unlike some of Honda's earlier bikes. Even the headlamp was pretty good - although I was more used to the 45/35W candle that was standard Suzuki issue at that time.
I was even more impressed when it came to routine servicing — the basic service interval is 7000 miles - more like a car than a bike. Even at 1000miles a week, I only had to look at it every six or so weeks. And the service itself was simple — even a rock ape like myself could manage it. Change the oil and oil filter, which is at the front of the engine with no obstruction from the exhausts as on most fours. The oil filter bolt tends to seize on but once off the standard 12mm item can be swapped for a 17mm one. The tappets are a cinch as there is virtually unlimited access unlike on many fours where you seem to need eight inch fingers with universal joints. The camchain tensioner is semi-automatic — the bolt only needs slackening off but this is little consolation considering it's a pushrod engine. Such a staggering bad idea could only have come from Honda and must have been done by the same Nip as the styling.
All in all, however, I was beginning to like the bike when, one rainy evening, in a rush to deliver a parcel, I started to overtake an artic which then decided to turn right. Fortunately, I was going slowly and the lorry had been stationary, but I was left with nowhere to go and the trailer wheel ran over my bike. The driver didn't even notice and continued for a few yards before he stopped.
On close inspection the CX escaped quite lightly — the lorry had run over the front end but the frame was still straight. One of the drawbacks of despatching is that .after an accident (or a blown up engine) you can't work and earn until you've fixed the bike and often you can't afford to fix the bike without work. So the CX was rebuilt as quickly and as cheaply as possible. The forks and yokes were straightened. Replacement headlamp shroud, front wheel and discs were purchased from breakers. Most breakers have CX bits and with a bit of shopping around and haggling parts can be obtained quite cheaply (eg front wheel £10, disc £5).
Obviously, this is far more reasonable than Honda's new prices - new plug cap £12. Everything else damaged was either left as it was, removed or welded back into service. The total repair bill came to less than £100. This included two pattern silencers — the originals had disintegrated, causing the bike to splutter like a consumptive If the throttle was opened too quickly. Two into one exhausts are available but tend to wreck fuel and/or ground clearance.
Although the appearance of the bike continued to deteriorate — helped by a few trips down the road and my disinclination to clean the heap - it continued to run surprisingly well. I derived a great sense of enjoyment from racing faster bikes. One advantage of the CX was that if you lose you have a great excuse — but if you win... Following a weaving, wobbling CX around a bend is often enough to frighten off faster bikes.
By 45000 miles the mechanical seal that separates the water pump from the rest of the camshaft was worn out, so an engine stripdown was needed. Although I'd been dreading such an event, it was not too difficult although Honda's economy measure of using 8mm bolts was most irritating as my socket set didn't have the appropriate size. With the engine out and the seat and tank removed the CX even looked quite attractive.
On removing the rear engine cover a well stretched camchain could be seen and was replaced. CXs can run for several thousand miles with worn camchains without them snapping or jumping off, although they will eventually break the tensioner blade.
Over the following summer months the CX was despatched less but thrashed more in an attempt ot keep up with mates on faster machines. It never really objected - all the problems that did occur came from rider neglect, such as not checking the brake pad wear often, with obvious results. Fortunately, I was pulling into a layby at the time. At first I couldn't understand why I fell off, but soon realised that the pad had worn so thin it had worked loose, rotated with the disc before jamming in the caliper and locking the front wheel.
Unable to free it, and armed with only an adjustable spanner, I removed the disc, calliper and housing. However, in refitting the front wheel, the delivery parcel - which had been placed on the top box to raise the front end - fell off. The bike toppled forwards, trapping me under the forks. I was unable to move and eventually liberated by a truck driver who tried to sell me his GT380. Anything else and I would have been tempted. The drawback of having only one front brake was only one of the problems caused by this mishap. The front mudguard snapped in half so I was treated to a personal rainstorm on anything other than dry roads.
Also a centrestand that broke in two (combined with a snapped side-stand from the artic incident) left me like an incontinent canine looking for a lamp post whenever I wanted to park.
By 70000 miles the oil consumption was pleasing no-one but OPEC, and the difficult gearchange had finally rendered first inoperative. Another strip-down resulted in replacement of the selector fork. The burning oil was nothing more serious than sticking piston rings. Remarkably, the main bearings, big ends and pistons all had little or no signs of wear.
At the onset of winter the bike started showing a reluctance to get moving in the morning almost equal to my own. This was sorted by replacing the battery and using the proper 10W40 oil instead of the cheaper multigrade.
Another winter despatching didn't appeal, so by 80000 miles I was an ex-despatcher, and the CX celebrated this fact by demanding another camchain. As a treat I even replaced the transmission fluid for the first time ever, as well as a few new cables and wheel bearings, etc.
Although in retirement, and no longer doing ridiculous mileages, the CX continued to be abused as it was lent to a variety of mates for a variety of reasons. By 85000 miles the alternator ceased to be anything other than a large weight on the end of the crankshaft. This resulted in lots of energetic pushing and even more (less energetic) use of the battery charger, but at least the engine had self generating ignition so, once running, was self supporting.
Nobody bothered to do anything about the alternator until at 90000 miles disaster struck. A friend was riding the CX home when it went down onto one. As it still ran and ticked over he continued to ride home (20 miles) where a quick inspection revealed a snapped con-rod, which had also ruined the crank bearings.
After some debate ("it's not worth the effort mate"), the necessary spares were found and the engine rebuilt around a new crankcase block. The CX was ready for a new lease of life - it even charged properly. The same mate who had blown it up (and rebuilt it) had barely finished running it in when he fell off and broke his leg. I decided to repossess the beast before it hurt anyone else.
It saw occasional use as my spare transport and i started riding it regularly again in the snow and ice of last winter. I was hoping to reach 100000 miles and then rebuild it as a trike, perhaps, or maybe as one of the dirt track CX's with 100hp. However, none of these plans seem likely to happen now, as some toerag decided he wanted it more than me and removed the bike from outside my house one night. I hope he reads this article and now realises he didn't steal a 13000 mile CX.
This magazine won't let me say what I really think of him, but I hope the engine blows up on him.
When I lay awake on a balmy night, unable to sleep, I dream of my perfect motorcycle. Handling is more important than top speed, reliability and economy more important than looks (within reason). Something middleweight, light enough to flick around and good acceleration, perhaps shaft drive to save hassle. Oh, and I'll get no peace if I don't add a comfortable seat for my pillion.
A lot of people must think like this — the Honda CX500 sold very well on its introduction in 1978. Despite being hated by the bike journos for its mediocre handling and general bulk, many people must have felt it fitted their ideas of the perfect mount.
Initially, the bike suffered a mild case of Honda-itis with the camchain and surrounding region. Imagine all the bucks and brains of the Big H R&D being beaten by eighteen inches of chain. Also the top end was slightly weaker than it should have been, as a whole, but basically it was a reliable bike (sure, sure Ed.). Couriers liked it, always a good sign, and would have loved it if it had gone round corners.
Soon Mr Honda became bored with the CX. He decided to revamp it a little, and the CX Turbo was born. This had lovely little lights to show boost. If you sat in the car park, in neutral, and revved it to make the little lights come on, eventually they stopped blinking. Ever so sorry, John.
Then it occurred to Honda that the slowing sales of the CX might not be caused by the rep of the motor, but might be connected with the poor handling. Thus was born our hero, the Super Maggot, or CX500 Sports for short. This was claimed to be the poor man's Guzzi, obviously by someone who couldn't tell a Guzzi from a water bed. The new CX was restyled, with a seat extending sort of around the back of the tank. The motor was standard CX, so whilst looking a little odd, at least it should keep going. Of course, the camchain tensioner still stuck.
The main change, and the most necessary, was to the suspension. The Pro-Link rear end wallowed less than the old set-up. It's a little awkward to adjust, but the single shock lasts well. The various bits and pieces of the suspension linkage don't seize or act naughty. The front end was butched up to match. Both wheels were eighteen inchers and tyres last for six grand rear and nine grand front.
One of the problems with the original CX was its mass. Nearly 500lbs is a lot of beef for a 500, even allowing a bit extra for the luxury of shaft drive. Changing to Pro-Link saved a few pounds but the engine would be much happier shifting 100lbs less. The power step at six grand helps, but the poor thing has run out of steam by eight grand which equates to a 90mph cruising speed in top. It's happier cruising at eighty with seven grand on the tacho.
It is a peculiar mixture, this engine - it has low down pull, but also has a narrow power band. It makes the bike feel very under-geared at low revs and over-geared at high revs. Weird, huh? Once you become accustomed to the engine, in fact, it feels very usable.
Now for the handling. Yes, well, the first thing you notice is its top heavy. It also feels pretty tall with a rather upright riding position. Round town it's nice to relieve the boredom by pretending to be a police rider and try to do everything as perfectly as possible. Cars still pull out on you, though.
At any speed, the wind is directed onto a tall person's chin by the flyscreen. This is lucky because it stops you trying to go too fast - not a very wonderful state for most of the time. Try to take a sweeping bend at over 75mph and the back end, itself much more stable that the older bike, makes like a hippo in mud. It wallows. The nearest I ever came to falling off was passing a car at about eighty in the wet. The front wheel hit the white line as I re-crossed the road. It shook its head and tried to follow the white line into the middle of a car coming the other way. I had to wrench the front end to the left the next time it oscillated that way. It just shifted enough, to my everlasting joy. I've never seen a happier looking car driver either...
The bike also weaves a little at eighty, which is a shame as it's the best cruising speed and it'll return mid-fifties to the gallon at such speeds. The main problem with the handling is that it lacks a feeling of security. Although the front brake is far from astounding, even in the dry, it makes the front end go for the tarmac like Angie for the gin. At least pads can last for ten grand.
The word Sport is really a bit of a misnomer. This is Scottish for a total whopper! The most sporting thing about the bike is the neat alloy grab rail. I presume that this is to stop the pillion falling off in high winds rather than under fierce acceleration. The image Honda tried to sell the bike with was wrong - it would have made more sense to market it as a tourer with a sporting twist.
Use the bike as a tourer and it's much more at home. A fuel gauge which shows reserve at half tank level is good for a laugh. If you are in a hurry, the gas goes at forty to the gallon, so the gauge soon outlives its usefulness. Usually, the bike is fairly maintenance free, although it pays to keep the brakes in good condition. They tend to become spongy, er, spongier.
The main attractions of the CX has to be comfort and the engine. It's the sort of bike that inspires the owner with the confidence to set out for Italy on a whim. At the prices these bikes can be picked up for (£450 for one with 6000 miles), it's cheap reliability.
If I was driving in the middle of the night rather than lounging in bed dreaming, I wouldn't mind being on a CX. Don't believe the Sports tag. Rumour has it that the word was left over from the Australian launch: "And this is the CX500, Sports"...
Selling a pretty good Norton 850 due to terminal financial constrictions was bad enough, but the prospect of being without a bike for the first time in 15 years was not one I could face squarely like a man.
Despite impoverishment, action had to be taken. A couple of frustrating weeks later, after some fierce bargaining with shady characters, I had procured, for £50, the essentials of two Honda CB200s, an MOT certificate and a bit of road tax.
l made something that ran out of these bodged and mis-shapen remains, and persevered with the resultant soggy, gutless heap for a month, during which lunar phase my experience of roadside breakdowns and mindless rage increased a hundredfold, coming perilously close to mental derangement. The only positive feature of this misbegotten Honda was the unbelievable racket its somewhat less than perfect exhaust system produced.
In the absence of any other enjoyment I derived perverse pleasure from pretending to be sixteen again, crouching low over the wildly leaping bars with the throttle against the stop and rending the air with a noise like a demented chainsaw. A colleague, aside from the usual comments regarding my sanity and parentage, remarked that on the Honda I resembled a soldier ant trying to mate a gnat.
7.30am is not an advantageous time to welcome one large uniformed policeman at your back door, and two is a severe shock to the still half asleep system. They were quite relaxed with me, considering that one of the Hondas was almost certainly stolen in its murky past. I kept a low (and much quieter) profile for a few days, then quickly passed the anonymous remains on to someone else.
Bike-less again, I wondered if the CB200 had been better than nothing. I concluded affirmatively, in much the same way as meths is better than nothing if you can't afford the real stuff.
Next week there happened to be a Yamaha XS500 for sale in the local rag. It was far, far more than I could afford £400, but I went to have a look anyway, hoping that a test ride would at least give me a bit of fun.
Gleaming red and white, with gold cast wheels, it was sparkling and nearly immaculate, having been cherished by a fairly mature, mainly weekend rider. At the time it wasn't much over three years old and had just eleven grand on the clock. Electronic ignition and Cibie headlamp apart it was standard.
Out on the test ride my resolve to be sensible and grown up evaporated after about ten seconds. As soon as I returned the hot and clicking Yam to its worried looking owner, I heard myself saying, as if from a great distance, Right, I'll have it. I didn't even bother to haggle the vendor was too genuine and there really wasn't anything wrong. A week later, I'd begged, borrowed and grovelled my way into possessing £400, and the XS500 was mine.
The last 500 twin I'd had was a Matchless G9, so I was half expecting a docile but self-destructing machine with minimal brakes and indifferent handling. My first few days with the Yam 500 did little to dispel these suspicions.
After the vile Honda 200 it was pleasant to be on something which at least felt like a motorbike. But I was disappointed by the performance, which felt weak for a 500. Eventually, a couple of pennies dropped. One, the previous owner had raised the gearing with a rear sprocket five teeth smaller than stock.
Two, I'd been trying to ride the Yam like the Norton, which had serious power at low revs. With the standard sprocket and a revised attitude to throttle use, things took a change for the better and I was happier with the way the Yam shifted.
Performance over six grand was brisk enough to be exciting (the bike is red-lined at nine grand). Once the rear shocks were replaced by a couple of Sebacs which restored the damping (for a while), handling was stable enough to make the whole package fun, even if it wasn't a tarmac blistering road burner. In the UK (with breakdown assistance relatively easy to obtain) I have to admit that I tortured the motor wickedly whenever road and traffic conditions allowed. Further afield in Europe, I mostly kept the engine below six grand, making for a comfortable if not particularly economical tourer (45mpg).
When I first had the XS I couldn't afford to do anything to it beyond putting petrol in the (too small) tank and checking the oil. Luckily, in those early days it didn't use more than 1/2 a pint every thousand miles. with twenty grand on the clock the performance lost its edge and the motor felt and sounded a little rough. It was time to see what was behind the engine's rapidly tarnishing exterior.
The first surprise was four valves per cylinder, the second that they had conventional screw adjusters. Twin cams were driven by a duplex chain, which I replaced for peace of mind's sake. I tightened down the head as hard as I dared, set the valve clearances and put the cover back on. The only worry was that the plugs had come out of the head with a significant amount of alloy stuck in their threads. Very carefully, and offering up a prayer to the gods of motorcycling, I put in new ones with a dollop of Copaslip.
Another surprise was an odd chain behind one of the side covers - a chain driven engine balancer. The chain was far too slack and once adjusted the smoothness of the motor improved considerably. I thought the little spin off filter was neat, and I spun a new one on. I also changed the fork oil and went around the bike checking and tightening. Having spent a whole day on the Yam, I reflected that the Yam had, so far, done quite well and deserved to be cared for more conscientiously.
As though spiteful of my new attitude, both front fork oil seals went about 1000 miles later. The chore of fitting new ones became depressingly regular as the fork tubes became more and more pitted. Another pain was the brake caliper, which spent most of its working life binding or seizing up completely.
The brakes were, in fact, the most serious single restriction to properly spirited riding. Charging up to a series of fast bends and banging on the anchors at the last minute was courting disaster, resulting in wild cornering on the centre stand with the rear wheel several inches in the air... heavy braking had to be thoroughly discussed by a committee and signed in triplicate hundreds of yards in advance. Pad wear wasn't bad, though, because the brakes were so ineffectual.
Given these brakes, it was fortunate that the frame and steering weren't too bad. Even with someone as inept as myself at the controls, the bike could be cornered fairly hard without taking over from the rider and propelling him through hedges. On wet (no, not greasy....) roads, the XS500 could be ridden with more confidence than most Jap bikes of the seventies, something I proved to my own satisfaction when hurtling along almost flooded back roads after the 1984 Bol D'Or.
Apart from forks, brakes and regular oil changes every couple of thousand miles, the Yam needed virtually no attention for the next 20000 miles. More used to British technology (?), I could never quite get over how the XS500 engine could be caned for mile after wailing mile - and that at the end of the run it would still tick over at a steady 1000rpm, with no oil leaks or even misting.
Various people told me that the head would warp and crack; the cams would seize; the big-ends would go and that the valve gear would implode as soon as 30000 miles was up — but I made a point of seeing 40000 come up at full throttle in fourth. It was on the main road between Lincoln and Sleaford, and apart from running out of petrol a few miles later nothing dramatic happened.
It has to be said that by 40 grand the motor was tired and drinking too much multigrade. I gave it a service, obtained a new MOT and took stock of the bike situation. The whole machine was wearing out, I had premonitions of imminent mechanical disaster. Apart from the noticeably rattly motor, I was fretting about the cylinder head. When I had last taken out the right hand plug there was another and alarmingly substantial coil of alloy adhering to its thread - fingers crossed and eyes shut tight in supplication, I had slowly screwed in another plug. It seemed to tighten and hold, so I whacked on the HT lead and vowed never to go near the plugs again. It was July, nearly August, and I hoped to ride around France in September — would the bike cope? Doubtful.
A couple of days later found me in an Oxford dealers intending to trade in the Yam for something newer, faster and generally better - a low mileage GPz750 on hp? It was August 1st, which was a mistake as I was in a queue of new reg. punters flexing their one piece leathers.
What I took for a schoolboy and his mother waiting, I thought to pick up a moped until the kid pulled on flash red and white leathers, and mother signed hp forms and cheque with a gold Sheaffer. The salesman didn't tug his forlock or bow, but I distinctly heard him call the young master Sir. Goggle-eyed, I watched Sir take delivery of a brand new, bright orange Laverda triple. Jealous? Sick? You bet.
I explained my needs and a reluctant salesman looked over the Yam. It suddenly looked ancient, dirty, disreputable and clapped. After a few subtle insults the salesman said he might just see his way to allowing me £50 if I was definitely going to have one of their selected secondhands.
I went through the motions of looking at a cleanish Kawa GT750 on offer for 2 grand, worked out the monthly bill and dived out for some fresh air. The poor old Yam suddenly looked a lot more attractive - at least it was 100% mine.
That afternoon I did much the same thing at several London dealers. By the end of the day I was tired, humiliated and angry with myself for having been brain washed by consumerism. They could stuff their hp. As I thrashed the Yam home I counted my blessings, felt pleased with myself for having escaped endless debt and worry, decided to run the XS500 until it died, then buy something similar.
About two weeks later, overtaking a couple of combine harvesters and a tractor, I needed a bit of extra speed to finish the manoeuvre safely. No problem - drop a couple of gears, full throttle - then some strange noises and a sickening loss of power... oh, bother.
The driver of the last combine gave me a cheery wave as he roared past. Had the valves fused into the pistons? Had the big-ends cracked up? Nope - the right hand spark plug had finally stripped its thread and gone into orbit (probably around Mars). 41069 miles No doubt I could have found another head, or a less worn engine or even repaired or rebuilt the existing one. But by this time I fancied a more powerful bike.
Prices of XS500s are even less now. You could probably pick up a reasonable one for, a couple of hundred quid. Maybe I was lucky, but I had a lot of good, cheap fun with mine.
I notice that the glossies are writing about the joys of despatch riding in London - easy money, be your own boss, etc etc. Well the fact is, it's one of the shittiest boring jobs ever. On your own bike £50 a day might seem a lot of money but when you're going down Piccadilly in your sleep, and you've had a nose infection for two months from the filth funneled at you from taxis and bosses, £50 isn't enough £100 might do...
For four months last year I worked for a company who gave me a year old Honda VT500 with over 20000 miles on the clock. For £120 a week I was on call from 8.30am to 6.30pm (sometimes later if one was unlucky). Not allowed to use the bike out of company time and generally shoved around without regard for the health and safety at work act. Not that I wanted to ride the thing in the evening or weekend, 50 hours a week is no doddle. l was used to it when I quit, but it's still the worst job ever.
Unlike its rider the VT was extremely reliable, and only failed to ride off one morning because I'd hammered a nail in the back tyre the night before (strange habits these DRs - Ed). In the 12000 miles I used it, two rear and two front tyres were replaced, two sets of front brake pads and one battery. It had the oil changed every week. Nothing else was done - tappets, camchain, shaft drive, coolant, etc were all ignored.
A lot of guys riding the VTs really liked them. I thought mine stank - handled like an old K3 750 Honda I'd owned, terrible wobbles at anything over 75mph, a front wheel that never (at any speed) gave any indication of touching real tarmac and a top heaviness coupled with a small steering lock that had me toppling over in front of taxis on more than one occasion.
Power was adequate, nothing more. Some guys managed to blow them up, but rumour has it that they had to drain the oil out to do it. Petrol consumption never seemed to vary from the very high forties. Oil was burnt at a very rapid level that I would not have tolerated had it been mine, but I suspect this was due to its rather hard life. The brakes never felt like they were working, although they clearly did, wooden is perhaps a suitable simile.
The VT has to be a very sensible purchase for someone who just wants to ride and ride and doesn't care too much about the quality of the experience.
Despatch riders use them because they are reliable, they have shaft drive, don't drink petrol too fast and they don't look too ugly. Oh, nearly forgot, for some strange reason Honda stopped making the CX, which left the VT the only sensible bike to buy as a replacement.
If anyone living in or around London wants to buy one of these useful machines, i wouldn't ever consider buying an ex-despatch bike whatever the price - well not unless you can dump it on a dealer at a profit.
I'd owned my 1981 Kawasaki Z250 for four years. I'd ridden it and ridden it with hardly a hint of a problem. Now and again the engine would become noisy and I'd change the oil and it became quiet again. With 45200 miles on the clock it began making some strange new noises. The more that I revved it, the noisier they became. There was a rattle, a knock (or two) and a sort of tingling. Blue smoke had started coming out of the silencers when I went above 70mph and the bike could no longer hold 80mph against a hill or strong wind.
It still averaged 70mpg and still seemed to accelerate alright. Friends said the mains were on the way out. They suggested scrapping the bike. But I couldn't afford to do that.
I decided to check the tappets. This was just a matter of removing four covers and sticking in some feeler gauges when the rockers felt loose. Close observation of the left hand pot revealed that the valves were depressed by a lot less than the other side when the engine was rotated. Removal of the engine from the frame and cylinder head cover from the engine (it's a lot quicker to write than it is to do) further revealed that two of the cams were worn away and the left hand end of the camshaft was sitting loose in its bearing - which consists of the head material. Reconciled to repairing the head, I quickly removed its bolts and split the camchain.
The camchain looked a little stretched and the tensioner blade was full of deep scores. The exhaust valves were pitted around their edges and one of them had a hairline crack running through it. Everything was very black with carbon, and there were lumps of it on the piston tops. The bores were scratched, but not deeply. It took an afternoon to remove the barrel because of the tight fit with the crankcase. This revealed pistons with oil rings stuck in their groves and another hairline crack - this time in the bottom of the piston.
Full of fear, I checked the small and big ends but I could not feel any movement. So I could get away with a rebore and a new head. All my friends said I should scrap it or buy an engine from the breakers, but I had faith in the engine and had grown to love the bike.
A rebore and a set of oversize pattern pistons cost £45. This was the easy bit. I phoned around about twenty breakers until I found one with a low mileage engine which had apparently blown its big-ends. The head hardly looked used and I managed to bargain them down from £80 to £65. As this was complete all I had to do was bolt the engine back together. While it was out of the frame I cleaned off the grime and touched up the black engine paint. It looked quite reasonable by the time I finished.
I also cleaned the frame and repainted it using black enamel. My brush work wasn't very professional but by the time I'd cut it down with T-Cut it looked as good as new. The exhausts were pitted with rust and the (original) silencers were devoid of baffles, full of holes and sort of rust coloured. When I removed them they disintegrated. A pair of universal pattern silencers and a repaint job on the exhausts brought them back into civilisation. The paintwork was still OK and the alloy wheels cleaned up after a lot of elbow grease.
It was with much excitement that I threw the bike back toether. I pressed the starter and kept pressing until the battery ran out of power. Wired up to a car battery, it began spluttering and then leapt into life at about three million revs. Then it cut out, but ticked over nicely at the next press. Strange.
I spent the rest of the day pottering around on the bike, listening for engine noises and praying that everything would hold together. It did and the engine was very quiet, with just a gentle rustle of the valves. I carefully ran the thing in for 500 miles and decided I'd better do some regular maintenance — it's all very straightforward — and change the oil every 1000 miles.
I'd always found the Z250 easy to handle, it only weighs 330lbs and is very neutral in curves. You can back off the throttle or change direction without causing the bike to lose its head - this on very old shocks and forks with heavier oil. There's a weave at speeds beyond 80mph but it's never frightening enough to make me back off - the wind force and the vibes are more of a deterrent.
The pistons move up and down alternately, giving little vibes up to about six grand and just gets worse and worse as revs increase. It's mostly through the footrests and doesn't really harm the rider.
With the rebuilt engine run in, I find I can cruise at anything up to 80mph, but don't expect a Z250 to accelerate rapidly above 70mph in top gear. The engine is able to thrum along at low revs (down to 25mph) in top gear but subsequent acceleration is very poor. The engine really thrives on revs and riding on the edge of the redline makes the bike shift really well.
I have friends with RD250s and I have to ride the 2250 on the extremes of its handling ability and performance to keep them in sight. I usually catch up with them when they run out of petrol. I found the original bike very frugal — anything from 70 to 55mpg depending on how I ride. With the new head, it's not so good, I've actually been down to only 65mpg and the best has been 78mpg. Maybe it's the non-standard silencers, but it's still good, especially when compared with the 30mpg some of my mates achieve on their RDs.
The wheels and disc brakes are from a later bike, following a minor accident in which I buckled the front wheel - l was offered the pair at a bargain price, so it was cheaper than just replacing the front end. The brakes are OK, not as good as an RD, but they work in the wet and discs last nearly ten thousand miles.
I haven't had any problems with any of the electrics, it's even still on the stock battery. The front light's dim for fast riding on unlit roads but it's better than the old Hondas I used to ride and it's not so bad that I've been inspired to uprate it. Even the indicators still flash in a regular manner. So full marks to Kawasaki.
I put another 5000 miles on the Kawasaki with no problems, then another new noise, a loud knock, appeared one day when I was cruising down a motorway at 85mph - it was loud enough to hear at that kind of speed. I slowed down to 30mph (ever tried that on the motorway?) and it kept getting louder and the vibration was trying to shake the bars out of my hands.
Luckily, it was only ten miles to my house. You should have heard the bike by the time I got there - people turned round looking for the war and just found this little Japanese motorcycle.
Well, I knew my way round the engine by now and had the engine out and stripped down to the crankcase in a few hours. Just as I thought, the big-ends and the mains had finally given up at 50756 miles. Not bad going for a mostly neglected and thrashed high revving 250 twin.
I had a wonderful head and barrel but a wrecked.bottom end. I couldn't find any engines in breakers that were in good condition for less than two hundred quid, which was more than I could pick up a good runner for on the private market.
I took the crank out, but it was too far gone to repair. Then I heard about a GPz305 that had been crashed by one of the local lads. It was totally mangled but the engine looked intact and there was only 4500 miles on the clock. It only cost £300... all I have to do now is fit it.
