Benelli 504

Rumour holds that the old Honda CB500 four engine will fit straight into the Benelli 504’s chassis. I don't know how true this is despite having owned a CB500 a long time ago. The engines do look similar and their power output is equally bland. The 500cc OHC across the frame four claims 50 horses but its delivery is so linear that it seems a lot less, there’s never the feel of a motor coming on cam. Just like the old Honda, it'll put 80 to 85mph on the clock without any undue abuse, but going any faster is such hard work it’s really not worth the bother.

The engine responded to juvenile tacho excess by needing valve adjustments every 500 to 750 miles and putting out a flurry of secondary vibes through not just the pegs and bars but also the seat and tank. The carbs kept their balance for about 500 miles and every now and again one of the slides stuck, which made the engine hunt between 1000 and 5000 revs!

Carburation always seemed slightly hesitant, a distinct delay between whacking open the throttle and the back wheel doing something. Its relatively primitive nature showed up in fuel that was never better than 40mpg. The dynamics of carburation, exhaust and combustion chamber shape were shown up when riding the 504 into a strong headwind; speed was down to 70mph and fuel up to 35mpg!

The motor always felt revvy as well, I was often trying to change up another gear when I was already in top. I could never persuade the Benelli to adopt a relaxed pace to match the parameters of its performance and chassis. The gearbox, with more than 15000 miles done, was neither slick nor precise; it mirrored, in fact, some old sixties Honda hack in its application. It was not impossible to adapt to, but even then would serve up a false neutral, which buzzed the motor like its poor old heart was going to explode into a million pieces.

The double cradle loop frame could have been produced by any factory anywhere in the world, but was well enough thought out to save the bike even when it was slung into desperate conditions by a sudden false neutral. The whole beast was held in check by famously stiff Italian suspension at both ends. The forks, despite their mileage still suffered from some seizing and responded to slow speed holes by sending concentrated jolts straight up my arms. The shocks did the same trick to my spine.

Smooth roads held no terrors for the Benelli, it could be slung over onto the stand prongs without the Pirelli tyres giving a moment’s worry. The 504 had 425lbs of mass and slow steering geometry against it in the curves, but its stability and neutrality allowed me to take outrageous risks when I was in the mood.

This stability held it in good stead on bumpy roads. The rider took a battering but the wheels held on to their line in a way that the old Honda four could never hope to emulate - it used to waddle about on soft suspension, zig-zagging from bump to bump. As the Benelli never accelerated hard nor went very fast, any test of the chassis was limited but, apart from the lack of bump absorption, I was at ease with the 504.

Which is more than can be said for the drive chain. It always wanted to dissociate itself from the chassis, wore at an astonishing rate and broke three times when I tried to run them after removing links. They barely lasted 4000 miles. One time the broken chain busted into the back of the crankcases but I repaired that in-situ with good old Plastic Metal.

The only other chassis horror was the way corrosion would suddenly appear from nowhere, spread like wildfire until the whole component was covered in gunge. The frame, wheels and exhaust were particularly susceptible. The front disc calipers followed the trend set by the Japanese of seizing up over the winter, but they were easily rebuilt. Pads lasted 8 to 10000 miles a set.

After a year’s riding, various electrical components decided they couldn't take extended exposure to the English weather. Switches that filled with water, corroding contacts, made for amusing incidents such as the indicators flicking on and off in a psychedelic manner whilst the horn, normally nothing more than a croak, blared harshly enough to have pedestrians waving their fists in anger. The fuses either rusted to death, fell out or exploded.

By the time I was able to find the energy to rewire the bike, the generator was burnt out, the rectifier had melted, the battery was devoid of acid and just about every other electrical component had to be replaced. The breakers provided a viable source of electrical components, although I stayed clear of Suzuki bits. The most difficult part was persuading someone to rewind the generator but fifty notes in the right hands solved that one.
 
As the bike had to be stripped of all its cycle parts to access the electrical bits I took the time to rust proof and then Hammerite the frame. Some Scientific Coating’s clear liquid was put on polished wheels, which meant that rather than a two hour cleaning session a week a quick wipe with a rag was all that was needed to keep them neat. A Honda CB500/4 four into one exhaust (thirty notes secondhand) was persuaded on to the Benelli engine but needed a bit of a pounding to clear the lower frame tails. It sounds lovely, but didn’t increase performance.

Other complaints that could be levelled at the Benelli included a pathetic seat that went hard after 50 miles, wheels bearings that needed replacing every 6000 miles and a petrol tank that even when newish loved to rust rapidly - I’m on my third, one of them actually dropped a load of fuel over the engine. The bike sizzled for a while but resisted the urge to explode.

The Benelli was quite resistant to crash damage, as long as engine bars protected the ends of the crankshaft, the demise of either extremely expensive. I’ve slid off on diesel a couple of times, did no more damage than batter the pegs and bars. More serious was smacking into the side of a car that shot out of a road so fast it could only have done so with the sole intention of trying to kill me.

The front end hit the car, the sudden loss of momentum causing me to somersault over the cage, roll down the road a few yards and then pick myself up. I was full of craziness by then and would've torn the driver limb from limb, but the impact of the crash had warped the car’s body so that none of the doors would open. There was a strong smell of petrol, so I tried to pull the Benelli out of the car with the intention of throwing a lighted match on the cage once we were at a safe distance.

Fortunately for the cager, there was no way I could pull the bike out. Someone had phoned the police so there was no hope of physical retribution. When the bike was finally pulled free, damage consisted of bent forks and dented exhaust, along with a bit of cosmetic damage. The cast front wheel was still intact. His car looked a write-off so I decided not to inform my insurance company which would stop his claim dead.

I had the forks straightened for £30 and cut and welded the pipes - they look a bit naff but matt black paint hides most of the damage. The smashed clock was glued back together with Superglue, as was one of the indicator lenses. This may sound dodgy but I’ve found it works fine from past experience.

This crash occurred about three years and 12000 miles into my ownership (the clock read 19650 miles). The only result of the damage was fork seals that didn’t last for more than 5000 miles (I hadn't had to replace them before). There was so little suspension movement that the lack of damping that resulted wasn’t too noticeable.

Handling became more alarming when the rear shocks lost all their damping (at about 23000 miles). The back wheel would try to career off the road whenever I leaned the bike over more than a few degrees on bumpy roads. It'll also jerk around after hitting a pot-hole. That was easily sorted with a pair of rather more compliant Konis. My spine was thankful for the diminution in violence of the bumps that got through the chassis. A slight weave occurred at 90mph, but this speed was never sustained for more than a few seconds so the weave had no chance of developing into a wobble.

A cheap rack and massive top-box were added for a while, but that did upset the handling whenever any kind of mass was put in the box. It didn't feel safe above 60mph. One blustery day, the wind shook the back end so much I thought the swinging arm bearings were shot, but it was just the gale catching the plastic. In the end I dumped the top-box.

That didn't help the touring ability. The shape of the tank meant that tank bags slithered around all over the place, usually ending held in place by nothing more than its own weight and my knees. The only safe place to carry luggage was on the pillion perch. Once I had a bungee cord snap, wrap around the rear wheel whilst my clothes were scattered half a mile down the road. I never knew that bungee cords could be stretched so thin.

Touring the bike could manage, but only 150 to 200 miles a day. Any more then it became very uncomfortable and somewhat enervating (from the vibes and revvy nature of the engine). Fuel, engine maintenance and chain wear were other variables that didn't inspire during long distance usage but the basic reliability of the engine meant I had every confidence in teaching my destination.

Some Benelli motors don’t last very long (I’ve just brought a dead 504 with only 14000 on the clock) but mine has now done 33000 miles without any major problems except for frequent doses of tender loving care. I suspect that is the determining factor in durability, neglected bikes both rusting and seizing quicker than most. Spares are so rare that it pays to track down one of the non-runners. Rarity of the 504 makes that hard work,

Prices are hard to work out. There’s always the odd jerk who thinks because it’s rare and Italian it must be a classic worth thousands, but I bought my nice one for £450 and the non-runner for £95. That sounds about right for a machine that's slow, quick corrode and heavy on consumables.
 
I like its looks but can’t claim it approaches beauty. It runs well in town, for short blasts in the country and for moderate touring. As a cheap and cheerful all-rounder it makes the grade, as a future classic my money's on the CB500/4! 

H.K.L.

Yamaha XS400

I have a 1984 Yamaha XS400 twin, one of the spine frame and DOHC engine types rather than the staid old SOHC model. I've owned it since 1988 and it has now done 64000 miles. The engine is on its third camchain and second tensioner. The first chain went at 24000 miles, sounded like the whole engine was going to fall apart. To compensate, servicing consisted of changing the oil - the carbs and valves very rarely need attention even at the current, high mileage. Performance does not seem to have fallen off, either... it still does 110mph, 60mpg and burns off Honda Superdreams. Which drives their riders very berserk!

Handling is a bit weird. There’s a typical mono-track back end which when brand new holds everything well in line. Problem is that the bearings all wear rapidly, a few thousand miles sufficient to have the rear tyre waggling all over the road. An expensive outlay on having some phosphor bronze bearings made... still ruined them in short order so I went back to stock bearings and a back end rebuild every 5000 miles. All I could think was that the swinging arm mountings allowed a microscopic amount of movement which was amplified under cornering forces.

The front forks were a bit spindly; use of the single front disc twisted them and bounced them on their stops. The XS weighed under 400lbs, didn’t take too kindly to the madly bouncing front end. Riding smoothly, the Yamaha was nicely flickable and didn't weave, with newish back end bearings. The riding position was comfortable for a couple of hundred miles at a time; although this was not an opinion shared by the pillion; too cramped for anyone other than a dwarf.

I had a continuous battle with the caliper, which did the usual Japanese trick of seizing in winter. I won out when I found out that LC components could be fitted, which meant they were cheaply available from breakers. The wheels were so ugly they tried to hide under a rash of corrosion; it was a waste of time to polish or paint them. The rear drum brake was rod operated, had a wonderful feel and shoes that lasted 20000 miles. Along with a modicum of engine braking, it was a lot safer option for wet weather work than fighting with the front disc which either lagged or locked on solid. Various brands of pads had no effect, so I bought the cheapest - they lasted 10 to 12000 miles.

The engine was the most interesting part of the bike. Lots of easy going torque below 6500 revs, then a slight stutter which turned into a seamless surge of power up to an improbable 10000 revs. Thereafter, vibration became fierce, the motor a little rough at lower revs but smooth at 60 to 90mph cruising speeds. The power surge wasn’t wild like a YPVS, but the way the motor came on cam gave the bike an appealing feel that the bland SOHC model lacked.

I was impressed with the tireless 90mph cruising ability, that put me in mind of much bigger machines. Although no vibration that I could discern got through to the rider, it was evidently attacking the chassis in an insidious way... a pillion peg, indicator, number plate, horn and rectifier unit that all came loose bore testament to the high frequency vertical twin vibration that the whirring engine was putting out. Pillions also occasionally complained of feet going dead.

The rectifier was the only serious casualty. Bulbs started blowing and one battery got so hot it threatened to blow up, the whole bike pervaded by the smell of acid. Shortly after I fixed that by fitting an XJ rectifier, new wiring and battery, paint started falling off the frame around the side panel area, which I put down to the invidious nature of the boiled battery acid.

Finish, wheels apart, stood up to the rigours of too many winters better than I’d expected. I'd seen some two year old Yamahas that were so rusted they looked fit only for the breakers. The black engine finish only came off at the front, down to the layers of road dirt that was thrown off due to the skimpy front mudguard. Tank and panel finish are still excellent, helped by weekly polishing sessions. Most of the frame is hidden away. The silver painted swinging arm is a bit of a rust trap and is painted every time I pull it out to replace the bearings.

The wheel bearings need replacing every 15000 miles, the rear going first. Just the slightest looseness threw the Yam into some wild wobbles. At one point I had worn wheel and swinging arm bearings at the same time! That made the XS a real pig above 30mph. As did the front forks at 32000 miles. I didn’t bother putting any gaiters on them with the result that the chrome was badly pitted and the seals quick wear by 25000 miles. A few thousand miles later there was enough slop to destroy the seals in 250 miles!
 
I could’ve had the forks hard chromed, put in some new bushes and seals but it was cheaper to buy a GS450E front end for fifty quid together with its much superior single disc and caliper. This time I added some bright red gaiters; had no more problems since then. The rear shock has survived - it never had much damping to begin with but kept the back wheel in line when turned up to its highest setting.

The latest sign of chassis malaise is the frequency with which I have to clean out the fuel tap filter, the petrol tank rusting from the inside outwards. It rather reminded me of the silencers which shone brightly until one day spots of rust appeared. The next day one dissolved as I was riding along; the other did the same trick when | gave it a gentle probe with my boot. They last about five years, which is good going for Japanese exhausts! A pair of universal megaphones were hammered on, didn’t make much extra noise but put a 3000 to 4000rpm flat spot in the power band. Fuel improved from 60 to 64mpg, so it’s probably running more than a touch lean.

It's always been a lean starter, needing loads of choke and ten minutes to warm up. The lack of a kickstart caught me out a couple of times when the battery went dead - they last 14 to 16 months before refusing to churn the engine over. A lot of choke juggling was required, varying with the weather conditions. Push-starting was possible if I was feeling fit, but it needed about 400 yards before I could risk leaping on the seat and dropping the clutch. Unless I was in a desperate hurry I preferred to put the battery on the charger.

Even a fresh battery didn’t help the front light, which was only up to 25 or 30mph country road hauling. The square headlamp made it impossible to put in a different reflector. Most of my riding was in town or on the motorway so it wasn't that much of a hassle. More trouble was the starter burning out at 49000 miles - it was so obscure that I couldn't get it rebuilt, had to order a new one all the way from Japan! Took six weeks to come. I was incredibly fit from the bump starting by then!

This model was always very rare, I’ve only ever seen one other on the road. That means when the engine finally fails I’m going to be stuck for a replacement... the frame is so unique it’s unlikely that I could shoehorn any other engine in there. Not that I would want to replace it with anything other than the original mill, it’s so versatile and so strong that I’m overwhelmed with good feeling.
 
I've got the chassis sorted, as well, so the Yam runs along like a newish bike. Commutes every day, runs wild on the weekend and is as cheap to run as many a 250. I can’t help but feel that Yamaha and the punters both missed out on a wonderful chance to take over the world with this marvellous little 400!

Alex Mearle

Breakers' Buys: Buying cheap bikes

The only way I could afford a moped when I was 16 was by buying a mangled FS1E from a breaker for £50. This was so old that it still had the once mandatory pedal mechanism (and wasn't limited to 30mph). A used YB100 front end was acquired for £25, that just left some dents in the petrol tank and a few bent bits that responded well to being hammered straight. For a bit under £100 I had a nice little runner with a new MOT certificate on which to terrorize the district. When, after six months, I was able to sell the FS1E for £250 it was pretty obvious how my future was going to work out. I became a regular sight, hanging out in London breakers.

A month before I was seventeen I had acquired a RXS100 which had skidded along on its side, ruined its cosmetics but was basically straight and could still be heard running. It looked such a mess that the breaker let me have it for £75. By the time I was 17 I had fitted a new tank, repaired the clock and filled various dents. A new exhaust proved the most difficult, but a rusty wreck for a fiver solved that one. It wasn’t a trendy bike but the whole point of the scam was to keep it just long enough to pass the tests and then move on to something bigger. Thus 3 months later, after a very quick respray (with Halfords cans), the RXS went to an equally spotty youth for £395. Not as much as I'd hoped but acceptable as the silencer was about to fall off and I'd thrashed the engine relentlessly. Well, I had to show 125 owners what was what.

The next bike I considered to be my first serious motorcycle. I had about £500 to play with. The breakers were shifting bikes a lot faster than regular dealers, demand causing their prices to go up. In the end, after much mutual abuse, I ended up handing over £400 for a 3000 mile GS450E with the front mudguard moulded into the engine sump. This would turn out to be a bargain if the frame was still straight or a rip-off if it was bent.

The forks were so far gone that no-one was willing to straighten them for me and the wheel was only fit for being bashed into bits to sell as paperweights. Taking off the dented tank I was relieved to find the frame tubes straight. Finding bits was hard work, it took over three months to sort out the front end. I was only able to pay silly money, which didn’t help but at that time GS450Es were new to the UK. I soon learnt a valuable lesson from this - to phone around breakers for suitable used parts before buying a crashed machine.
 
Once on the road, the GS proved very disappointing. A bit of a slouch with the blandest of motors, it also weaved and wobbled come 80mph... maybe the frame wasn’t as straight as I hoped. I started looking around I for my next victim, coming up with an early GSXR1100 with wrecked plastic, 37000 miles and £700. The GS sold quickly for £750 and the GSXR was in my garage the same day.

I don't like clip-ons and racer plastic, so the easiest solution to the GSXR’s wrecked appearance was to pull off the fairing and fill the sidepanels. A complete CD handlebar, switch and clamp assembly was fitted to the Suzuki's yokes after drilling a couple of holes. The bars had the right angle and the whole assembly cost a mere four quid, their mundane nature disguised by cunning application of matt black paint. The wiring proved difficult as I'd also fitted some Superdream indicators and a headlamp, together with clamps, off a Harley (well, it looked jolly pretty). Another couple of black paint cans finished off the renovation.

As might be imagined, this was a fearsomely fast device that didn't react too well to the sudden lack of mass over the front wheel. The wobbles only became really preposterous above 110mph so were quite easily avoided. To stop the demented engine power from sending the bike to wheelie heaven, and myself to an early grave, required massive restraint on the throttle during take-offs. I kept telling myself that this was a fun machine.

The worst thing that can happen to someone who has next to no money and wants to buy and sell motorcycles at a profit to subsidize their lifestyle is that they become so enamoured with a bike that they hang on to it for so long that the motor has a chance of going expensively wrong. Thus it was with the GSXR: at 46000 miles the engine started clattering, which turned out to be shot small-ends, wrecked pistons and bores plus a camchain that was due for replacement. It didn't cost that much to put to rights with a pile of used bits; I even knew which breakers to visit for the parts. After that little episode with the motor, thinking that the assembly of already worn parts would neither work very well together nor last very long, it was goodbye GSXR1100 for £1400.
 
I was a bit disenchanted with Suzukis so when an FZR1000 came up, with a totalled front end, I was happy enough to hand over 1000 notes. The speedo read only 19000 miles which in EXUP language is just run in for these well built fours. At least that was what FZR owning mates kept telling me. Total cost of sorting out the Yamaha came to just under £400, which again included dumping the plastic and fitting flat bars. The bare bike doesn’t look as neatly brutal as the GSXR but handling’s a lot more stable, the engines are about equally matched.
 
The bike didn’t stay long in my hands, when some friend offered £2000 it was too good a deal to miss. I was still unemployed and only by continuously buying and selling could I stay in with the serious motorcycle crowd. In this vein I put half the money aside to cover the next year's running costs.

Then the worst possible thing happened. For £850 I'd bought and renovated a FZ600, doing the whole deal in just a week as I knew where there was a breaker selling off FZ bits cheap. It wasn’t a very impressive four but I thought I'd keep it for a month when some jerk in a car decided to amuse himself by playing chicken with me. I ended up riding the FZ into a brick wall, being thrown over the wall, embedded head first in the middle of someone's prime rose bed. I ended up having my neck encased in plaster for a couple of months. The car driver had fled the scene and my insurance was minimal. I actually ended up paying to have the wall repaired. The FZ had been picked clean by thieves who left me with the bent frame and an engine full of water. I couldn't even get anyone to removed the wreck free of charge!

I had about £750 left to start all over again. What should turn up but another bloody GS450E! I almost gave up in disgust but it was only £300 because the frame was as bent as the forks. Both could be straightened so that only left a new front wheel and a few cosmetics. About £150 sorted it out, so a three year old bike with only 9000 miles on the clock for £450 was a pretty good bargain. The chances are, though, if you haven't got to know the breaker he’d charge £400 to £500 for a similarly afflicted Suzuki and there’s a fifty-fifty chance that either the frame or forks will be so far gone that they can’t be resurrected. I've seen people buy from breakers at silly prices, ending up paying more in total than a similar mileage bike in good condition can be bought privately. A bit of street sense, native cunning and experience are necessary to find the best bargains.

| couldn't live with the GS for long, so it went for £995. The latest project is a big Moto Guzzi V-twin that looks like it's been rolled down the road a couple of times. The engine and frame are OK, so I'll hunt around for some cheap chassis parts and modify them to fit the big Wop (crashed Guzzis being rare). I bought it because I felt like a change and it was 25% of the cost of a straight one. 

A.K.L.

Honda CB500T

It had been a hard day. The Scottish roads wound back on themselves. I had to heel the CB500T over until the centrestand prong took chunks out of the road. Sometimes it caught, twitched the back wheel. The Girling shocks aided the feedback from the Avon tyre. I was always aware of how far I could take the Honda. The frame looked like it was off an old CB250 twin but was heavy, strong.

The 1976 machine had been in my hands for 15 years! Its unique DOHC engine was still basically stock after 63000 miles. The vertical twin motor had a mere two valves per cylinder but had junked valve springs. Torsion bars via eccentrically mounted rockers controlled valve bounce. The top end was said to be safe to 12000 revs. I never took my engine to more than 9000rpm. The small ends and pistons had something of a reputation for early demise. I changed the oil every 800 miles.
 
The CB500T appeared to reward a caring attitude. It was a bit of a crusty bugger, mind. Below 3000 revs truculence ruled. Between there and 6500rpm it was willing to run on torque rather than power. The off-beat exhaust note was mollified by the two into one exhaust. The merging of the uneven firing pulses produced a pleasant bark. Beyond 6500 revs serious power emerged and the exhaust snarled nastily.

I rarely did more than 90mph, even on deserted, straight stretches of Scottish roads. The motor was pleasantly smooth between 70 and 85mph but tried to imitate a Triumph twin at higher speeds. I modified the gearing, as the five speed box had always seemed screaming for an extra ratio. 90mph works out at 7000rpm in fifth and the CB still pulls off from a standstill easily in second. It made the Honda much more relaxed.

A bit of weight pruning had lowered the mass from the stock 425lbs to about 380lbs. They are well built with hefty cycle parts such as guards and a massive, ugly stock exhaust. The steel does rust after about five years, another reason for replacement. With new shocks it was a good handler in the Scottish bends only limited by the aforementioned grounding. The odd bit of really fast riding did turn up some mild weaving but nothing that would cause heart palpitations. The Honda had somehow metamorphosed its feel into that of a seventies Triumph, with more feedback than suspension compliance.

This kind of quality is usually disparaged by the race replica crowd, who know no better. It’s useful to know exactly what the wheels are doing on wet roads because it allows an instinctive reaction when the tyre starts to slip. Those doubtful of such claims should note that I’ve yet to fall off!

The Scottish roads allowed many of the bike’s virtues to shine through. Loaded up with tent, clothes and tools, the CB still growled out its torque and power. Fuel was not affected by the excessive mass, hovered around 55mpg. More was possible under a strictly sensible right hand but | always liked to the give the Honda its head a couple of times a day. Its styling was openly derided when new. It now has the cast of a classic, often confuses old gits who given half a chance rabbit on about their British biking days. I don’t mind, a strong characteristic of the motor is that it allows a relaxed pace of travel. Out of which the texture of the day emerges. In many ways a perfect touring tool.

Comfort is also good. The bars and pegs are not stock, the riding position now more sporting it used to be painful to hold more than 70mph. The wide bars used to cause the front wheel to twitch. The flat replacement eradicated that. The seat looks stock but has a GRP base, firmer foam and a new cover. I had no choice in the matter. The old one fell apart. It was a good move as comfort became sufficient for 300 to 400 miles rather than the 150 miles of old.

The switches, lights and horn are all brilliant. Only because I replaced the inadequate originals with something newer. The alternator limits the wattage of the front light. I've never found a way to make a battery last for more than a year. Rectifier, regulator and indicator boxes are all original if mounted on extra rubber mounting. Blowing fuses were a problem two years ago. Replacing the wiring solved that.

On the road breakdowns are rare even at its current high mileage. I had one exhaust clamp fail off, an interesting noise resulting. And one carb popped out of its rubber inlet manifold which killed the motor stone dead. The pair of CV carbs were a bit temperamental, not staying in balance for more than 500 miles. Matched by the valves which needed equally frequent attention. I put it down to old age.

The oil level in the wet sump had to be watched carefully. 500 miles of hard riding could drain it. Leaks were confined to a quick wear clutch pushrod seal and the cylinder head gasket. The latter was chronic but only a minor flow. The former was easily replaced but could lose a pint in half an hour when badly worn. Anyone buying a CB500T should take the engine sprocket cover off to check this. Also make sure a snapped chain hasn't cracked the crankcases.

The other signs of an engine about to expire are excessive rattles (the tensioner isn’t automatic but works OK) or knocks and a surplus of vibration. The latter quality isn't easily analysed as the motor thrums quite naturally at lower revs. The only way to tell the difference between a good and bad ‘un is to try several different bikes. The engine is easy to work on but spares are rare in breakers and expensive from Mr Honda.

I've solved the problem by buying a couple of CB500T's. This is not uncommon amongst CB owners. For every one on the road there are probably another five in bits. They seem either to get under the owner’s skin or be abused and dumped by disgruntled riders, who then reckon they are a load of rubbish. Maybe their build quality was very variable. More shades of British biking!
 
Every year I’ve taken the bike on a two or three week tour. Sometimes Scotland, sometimes the Pennines, sometimes just riding in an aimless manner. I always turn up home in one piece, sad that I’ve got to go back to working for a living. The Honda is one of those bikes that positively encourages a sense of adventure. Part of it is that I’ve set the CB up perfectly to suit my own needs. The other half of the story is the way the engine growls like it’s a live thing and the way I always feel at one with the chassis.
 
I don't know that there any many good ones left now, they are all old, mostly high mileage and often in a pretty wretched state. The ones I bought for spares were in a dreadful mess even with less than 40000 miles on the clock. Their poor reputation does mean they can be had for next to nothing. If you come across a nice ‘un buy it, change it to suit your needs and enjoy a couple of years of friendly biking.

Jack

Travel Tales: African Ending

Readers will recall that I was about to set out from Mombasa after a dose of self indulgence and perhaps be wondering why these further adventures have not yet been related. The simple truth is that before I could plonk a leg over the BMW I was sent low with stomach troubles that had me perpetually attached to a toilet bowl for about three months. The Culler Diet plan perfected. In between bouts of diarrhoea I'd torn the BMW to pieces and rebuilt it completely. The landlord didn't seem to mind, as long as he got his paltry rent every month. Finally, my stomach had cured itself and I was ready to set out on the lone highway.

My normal blind optimism, or foolish fatalism, had deserted me. I loaded the reconstructed BMW with huge containers of water and fuel, enough tools to service an aeroplane and fitted myself out with heavy-duty army footwear that were like gravity boots and determined to wear a crash helmet all the time. All this was down to an extended period of sobriety brought on by my stomach’s refusal to tolerate alcohol. Fortunately, the night before I was due to leave town, I got drunk out of my head with a group of South African lunatics; when I didn't spew up over anyone I knew my recovery was complete.

Still, in the bright heat of the morning I was sober enough to feel the pain of the hang-over straining my head, not helped any by the straight through exhaust. Such delinquency, along with a couple of truck horns, mandatory in Africa. Without an excess of noise there was no way the traffic, a rollercoster chaos of rat-bags and rolling wrecks, would even think about giving way to a mere motorcycle. About the only thing I wasn’t willing to play chicken with were the army tanks. I always ride with a death wish when hung-over.

Bye, bye Mombasa, thought I, steam rising from my head as the morning heat burnt down upon my trembling form. The excessive mass of petrol, water and tools on the home-made side-racks meant the front wheel was untenably light, portending massive wheelies. Right then, I doubted if my heart could take it but my body demanded speed to dissipate the searing heat.

Any chance of more than 10mph looked implausible as I eyed the traffic jam. The only way the cages looked like they were going to move forward was by climbing over each other. That seemed to be what had happened with some Yank heap upon whose roof the front wheels of a Jap taxi rested. As I crawled past the old Nippon rust bucket slowly came apart at its seams, until the back half went vertical. It toppled over on my exhaust fumes and I shivered involuntarily; it would be just my luck to be thrown off before the mileometer had clocked a mile.

I damned the way the boxer’s cylinders stuck out. Apocalyptic Africans rode through tiny gaps on miniature mopeds that wavered below them. I was stuck on the BMW, working the horn and screaming abuse every time some clod got in the way, which was pretty much every second. A sort of solution consisted of riding along with one pot hanging over what passed for a pavement and taking off the sides of cars that got in the way on the other side. On a couple of occasions I actually hit 30mph, but that was way insufficient to produce a cooling breeze, temperatures soaring past 100 degrees and making most of the populace go into psychopath mode.

A raised sewer cover on the pavement caught the front of the cylinder, spun the BMW around viciously and nearly caused me to off-load my stomach. The cover was raised at least a foot off the ground in a fit of insane council planning. Whacking into the side of a car did nothing for my state of well being, my head suddenly full of visions of the sparks setting off the fuel containers, the whole rolling junker going up in a huge incandescent explosion. The remnants of my barbecued body would probably provide a tasty meal for thousands of starving peasants.

After turning off the main road down a dirt track, to avoid retribution, I pulled over, popped some pills, downed a few litres of water and emptied one of the smaller containers over my head, after throwing the red hot crash helmet away. By the time that was done I was surrounded by kids making obscene suggestions when they weren't demanding food, water or money. I tossed them a pile of loose change and cleared off before they turned nasty. They were a scrawny lot but I was in no fit state to see off hordes of desperate kids who looked like dying at 15 from AIDS would be a blessing in disguise.

I was actually heading back to Uganda, but taking a more obscure route that a huge Australian had laboriously written down. He reckoned it was mostly free of traffic but a bit rough going, nothing a BMW twin couldn't handle. I figured if things got seriously weird I could tie my hands to the bars and hold on for grim death. The track appeared quite smooth, hard packed grit burnt into a semblance of a road by. the heat. The back wheel still managed to throw up huge clouds of dust; I was mostly protected by all the gear stacked up behind me. The BMW growled all the way up to 60mph until the bars started twitching in my hands, the front end feeling very light due to all the mass out back. Trying to ride through it made the chassis feel like it was falling apart.

Rumbling through a shanty town of some sort, cardboard shacks so flimsy I backed off the throttle in case the pulse of the loud exhaust would cause them to fall apart. Yes, I’m all heart. I’d only done twenty miles, my tongue was hanging out, sweat was rolling off me in huge riverlets and the BMW's cylinders glowed red hot, sending up even more heat waves over my fried body. There didn't seem to be any hope of shade, so all I could do was roll the throttle open. The wobbles at 70mph were interesting, at 80mph it was like trying to control a camel gone berserk; at 90mph bits started falling off the bike and I could hardly see through the heat haze and dust. I let the speedo touch the ton, just to see if the wobbles would die out. They didn’t, so I got the speed down to 50mph as quickly as the brakes and wobbling chassis would allow.

40 miles later I pulled into a wooden shack that served as a bar. It seemed like paradise to me as I hit the ice cold beer. Until the alcohol touched my parched throat I feared that it might all be a mirage from a combination of too much heat and too many dubious pills. The place was full of the usual suspect young women, but the heat had so frazzled my brain and body that there was no way I could summon the energy for such doubtful antics. I thought I would hang out there until later in the day but rats as big as cats kept careering across the floor, taking no notice when I tried to kick them in the head with my heavyweight boots. They were as vicious faced and shady looking as the African customers.

I left while I could still walk and before the rats had started leaping at my neck. The BMW refused to start. I couldn't believe it, after all the effort I'd gone to. The starter churned the engine over and over, but the motor sounded as if there was no petrol getting through... some thieving reprobate had completely emptied the tank. After about fifty attempts I was told the only petrol was back in Mombasa. The only guy with a truck refused to syphon off any petrol but agreed to put the BMW in the truck and take me back the way I'd come.
 
It took six of us to haul the beast in the back and all the way to Mombasa I eyed the driver, a huge chap about twice my weight who stunk of petrol... I directed him to a hotel where I hadn't stayed before. At least I could pretend that I’d done a couple of thousand miles before the breakdown occurred. I wasn’t too amused when the BMW toppled over on my leg as we hauled it off the truck. Nor that the driver suddenly demanded twice the agreed amount and looked like he was going to tear me apart when I handed him the correct sum. I put on my maximum psychopath stare. It was only when looking at the dented BMW that | realised I had two huge containers full of petrol. The swearing fit went on for about an hour; talk about being out of my head!
 
In the hotel room the cockroaches were fighting the rats and the floorboards sounded so hollow they were more dust than wood. I could just imagine myself leaping out of bed, full of joy at yet another day alive, only to hit the floor and disappear rapidly down two storeys. The whole flimsy hotel would probably fall in like a pack of collapsing cards. It seemed like a good idea to hit a bar I'd spied across the road.
 
Some five hours later there seemed to be a riot in the street. Huge crowds of Africans were screaming at each other. In the midst of it was my BMW, which the hotel owner had refused to allow across his threshold. I couldn't see what was happening until the crowd had dispersed. The bike had been stripped down to its crankcases and frame. Just about everything that could be pulled off had disappeared.
 
I looked around the suddenly deserted street in wonder. I screamed a few obscenities but by the time I'd staggered into the hotel I figured I'd had an easy escape. I had the excuse I needed to return home with my tail between my legs. I'll be quite happy never to set foot in Africa again.
 
Al Culler

BSA Rocket 3

My cousin had owned the BSA Rocket 3 for nigh on 20 years, yet had done less than 20000 miles. He was married with half a dozen kids and had hung on to the triple against all the odds. He always reckoned that he'd sell the pristine classic when someone offered him £10000. The recession put paid to that idea and he let me take the old relic off his hands for £1750. I’m still not sure if this was a bargain or a rip-off.

It should be understood that this is my first, and most probably last, British bike. I was used to a GS1000 that ran to 92000 miles without giving much trouble then blew its crankshaft in a big way. Something to do with my juvenile need to wheelie and bouncing the valves at 10000rpm...
 
I thought I was going to have to rein myself in with the big BSA. My cousin always rode around majestically at C90 speeds and wouldn't break the speed limits let alone race with the GS. The Rocket had these huge ape hanger type bars that put my hands up around my earlobes. They twitched a bit as I gave the bike the first taste of throttle. Power wasn’t shocking but leaving my cousin’s house after the deal was done, I gave the old girl a dose of throttle, dropped the clutch and proceeded to do a massive wheelie the length of the street. Surprise, surprise, the BSA was going to be fun.

The engine is a three cylinder OHV unit, which cynics would describe as a Daytona with an extra cylinder. The BSA had the engine slanted forward, unlike the Trident version, and was also housed in a different (better?) frame. 58hp was developed at 7500rpm (the red line at 8000) whilst wet weight was around 470lbs.

This may not seem like much hp but the triple had a delightful directness of power that made even the GS appear somewhat effete! It would lope along mildly but strongly below 3000 revs, with a lovely gurgle from the ray-gun silencers. Thereafter, power rushed in, taking the front wheel off the ground in first or second, reaching a crescendo at 7000rpm with a spine tingling howl. The racket from the OHV top end dissuaded me from pushing the tacho beyond 7500rpm, as did the tingling vibes.

The gearbox provided some moments of amusement. It was on the wrong side for a start and I kept hitting it as if it was the back brake. This pushed it into another gear with a graunching noise and tried to stop the back wheel from turning. After I'd readjusted my reactions the box revealed itself to have well spaced ratios and a slick, if heavy feel. The easy going nature of the engine’s power meant that I was quite happy with a mere four ratios. The clutch was on the heavy side. A single plate diaphragm unit it made some clunking noises and would snap the bike forward viciously until I became used to its action. Inadvertent wheelies were either fun or perturbing depending on how many other vehicles were around. 

Once, I sort of fell into the side of an Escort as the bike sidled off sideways. The cage cushioned my fall but I don’t think the owner was too amused by the dent in his wing. The rate of acceleration from the lights was well on the pace, as fast as most seventies 750s. I was amused by the look of surprise on some bikers’ faces when the BSA took off in a frenzy of smouldering rubber and twitching bars. A lot of the acceleration was down to the high gearing, top speed was only about 125mph before vibration and noise warned me off. About a week after I bought the Rocket, my cousin turned up for visit, moaning about the way I was mistreating his beloved classic. I took him for a ride that left him frothing at the mouth, something about the terrible vibration running through the pillion pegs and the wind blast trying to take off his old open-face helmet. He reckoned I'd be killed before the month was out.

Handling was better than the GS1000. I was confounded by the front forks. OK, I was only used to old Japanese tackle but they offered a very sophisticated ride despite not having much by way of travel. They would soak up some quite vicious road shocks without any of the leaping about, clanging noises or bouncing so rendolent of the GS1000. Yet, they also managed to take out minor road bumps, ignore white lines and give back enough feedback to ensure that I knew what the tyre was doing.

The Girling shocks were, in contrast, way past their prime, the springs sagging and the damping non-existent; so much so that after a week I bought a new set. The contrast between the front and rear ends was so stark that I had no choice. That tightened up the chassis nicely, the frame had strength and well thought out geometry on its side (BSA had decades of experience in designing good frames and it hadn't deserted them), but quick changes of direction were hard work. So much so, that my muscles hurt after half an hour’s country lane work. It was harder going than on the GS because I could take corners 10 to 20mph faster.

The same applied in town. With a 57 inch wheelbase it needed its wide bars for leverage but even then the top heavy feel could catch me out. Plunging through traffic in a thoroughly manic way, using the power and gears hard, left my shoulders howling in complaint and my left hand feeling like it was sprained. Wimp, I can hear old British hands screaming, and it’s true that after a year or so my muscles had strengthened so that I no longer noticed the effort involved.

I was willing to accept heavy handling in exchange for good stability. The only time the front end shook was when exiting bumpy bends rapidly, and then only because the wheel was trying to get off the ground. The shakes would die down if I backed off the speed or flicked the bike upright. I soon learnt that they could be ridden through, unlike on the GS which was more reluctant to wobble but when it started was likely to let go in a big and fearsome way.

I was pleasantly charmed by the bike’s economy. Most of the time I was getting around 55mpg, only extended motorway thrashing would turn in worse than 50mpg. Oil was another matter, a pint added to the tank every 100 miles. I thought it might need a rebore but my cousin reckoned it had been that thirsty from new. Some of the oil leaked from the vertically split crankcases and the cylinder gaskets, the rest of it must've burnt off. Certainly, on cold starts there was a bit of smoking.

Even with such consumption I always changed the oil every 1000 miles. At this mileage the bike required a full service - valves, points, carbs and going around the chassis tightening up all the bolts. The only thing that needed more frequent attention, as in every 500 miles, was the front TLS drum. This conical hub set-up was a bit infamous for the way it reacted to amateur attempts at playing with its adjusters.

The front brake could be very jerky and ineffectual if it didn't have its dose of regular attention. However, once well set up it’s a surprisingly good stopper with none of the fade for which drums are renown. The only proviso is that when cold it doesn't respond very well until a little bit of heat has been generated. On the plus side, there were none of the wet weather delinquencies of old Japanese discs. Shoes last 12-15000 miles and there’s obviously no caliper rot problems.

Those cynics looking for tales of British engineering infidelity will be disappointed! Two years of reasonably hard use have now got the speedo up to 46000 miles without having to take the engine down. An easy early life doubtless helped a lot, as has regular servicing. The exhaust valves and triplex primary chain are supposed to be weak points, especially on Tridents (dig, dig), so perhaps I've got one of the good ‘uns where all the tolerances have gone the right way. I wouldn't buy one for serious money unless I was very sure about its history. There are a lot of shiny Brits out there with dog engines and silly price tags.

I'm not completely converted to the British way of doing things. A recent spate of electrical failures (no, I didn't fit dodgy GS bits, although I never had any electrical problems on the big Suzuki) culminated in the battery exploding. Acid ended up everywhere, the fault down to a combination of blocked breather pipe and failed rectifier putting out pure AC. What a mess. The rectifier failure could have been down to the alternator shorting out (or vice versa), so in the end I had to do a complete electrical refurbishment as well as repaint the frame where the acid had attacked it. The chrome, alloy and paint is certainly a lot better than the Japanese muck and the Rocket still shines up nicely.

I've just bought a GSXR1100 with the plastic torn off and a pair of proper handlebar fitted. This thing shifts like nothing else I've got my hands on, so now the BSA is due for sale. I'll miss the noise and feral nature, have some fond memories and always have a good word for the old triple. I think it's about due for a top end rebuild, as the valve gear makes a cacophony of screaming metal and the power's down above 5000rpm. By the time you read this the chances are high that my cousin will have bought the bike back!

Freddy

Kawasaki Z1000ST

Being old and cunning, when the insurance rates went berserk a year or two back, I moved in for the kill. Namely, a 1982 Z1000ST owned by some fat youth who hid his obese face under enough hair to make a werewolf envious. I'd seen the advert in MCN, running for about a month with a pretty vicious price cut in the last attempt. Still no takers. So I went along for a look.

Original, right down to a newish OE 4-2 exhaust and lovingly polished alloy and chrome. Mileage was mild - 19500. For a big, tough Kawasaki DOHC four that was next to nothing. The test ride showed the engine still had a good dollop of wallop but also that the OE suspension allowed a lot of wallowing and weaving even though I was only doing double the town’s speed limit.

I made an offer that almost sent the youth into a rage, but another hundred notes placated him. A pristine big Kawasaki for £600! Even if I didn’t like the bike I could off-load it at a profit. The ST had huge, tiller-like bars that were almost at shoulder height. Even with these bars, the 600Ibs proved difficult to shove through the traffic. Not only was a lot of effort needed, their width and height meant that it wouldn't run through narrow gaps that I would not normally think twice about taking.
 
The shaft drive conspired with poor, sub 2000rpm carburation to produce a lot of lurching as I toddled along at mediocre speeds - the top heavy feel of the swine did not help, either. A brief bit of clear road allowed me to twist the throttle hard in second gear. The rear wheel oscillated wildly as if one of the shocks had fallen off and the bars twitched in my hands as if the front tyre had gone flat. By the time I got home I was convinced that I'd bought an old dog.
 
As well as the handling horrors the vibes became fierce once over 5000 revs and the engine knocked at tickover. Sounded like the main bearings were on their way out. Out with the vacuum gauges, the carbs were miles out. The valves had to be set up as well, two were tight, the other six too loose. It was pretty obvious by the state of the oil that the engine hadn't had a service since it left its crate!

Putting 30 instead of 15psi in the tyres helped the stability but a series of bumps would send the shocks into desperate tremors and the forks often shook like they were falling out of their yokes. The engine was smooth and hugely powerful, although it ran better above 6000rpm. The gearbox was slicker than I expected with no backlash from the rigid shaft drive connection to the back wheel. The engine was good for 130mph, the chassis no more than 65mph!

A new set of Konis, taper roller steering head bearings, a fork brace and a set of Metz tyres instead of the worn out Pirellis were thrown at the bike. Narrow, flat bars completed the transformation. It was a real brute in town, needing massive muscle to turn and twitching over the pot-holes like the frame was rigid. The mismatch between footrests and bars meant that my knees were cramped and my wrists overloaded with my own body mass.

The open road beckoned. That was more like it, it would growl along at up to 90mph without weaving. The front end would hit a large bump, twitch slightly but quickly resume its stability. The engine pushed the ST through the 100mph barrier as if it was nothing, not a feeling shared by my muscles, up to about 120mph before aerodynamics robbed the Kawasaki of its power.

It weaved at 95mph, started to wobble at 110mph and became delirious at 120mph. As my muscles could only take short bursts above 90mph this wasn't a great problem. I put on some higher, wider bars to aid town work and a handlebar fairing of vast proportions to aid touring. I only did the ton the once with this contraption, as it went into a vile speed wobble which was only eradicated by using adrenalin-aided muscle on the front brake lever. But as a 90mph motorway tourer stability was fine.

The brakes were good for a laugh (if you were a cager and hated motorcyclists). They worked quite well in town, even in the wet, but a couple of vicious stops made the lever go all soggy. I could get it to pull back to the bars after a 70mph emergency stop. I knew things were going to get interesting when all the caliper screws stripped their threads when I tried to take them apart. Corrosion had so rotted the calipers’ internals that they were beyond renovation. The breaker came up with a better set off a Z1000 for twenty notes. At least the pads had a few mm of materlal left, unlike the old ones that were down to the metal.

The new brakes worked better, although there was a slight wet weather lag and not enough feel to easily brake safely on wet roads. I lived with them for six months until braking deteriorated again. This time due to ultra thin brake discs that were also warped. It was so bad that it was impossible to push the Kawasaki without the aid of the motor. More time wasted visiting breakers.

I'd found the engine needed frequent services - 750 to 1000 miles depending on how hard it was ridden. If it didn’t get them it became very vibratory and reluctant to run cleanly. I was doing that kind of mileage every month so it was a bit tedious. Using the bike as a long distance tourer, when two days riding could put a 1000 miles on the clock, it was ridiculous. Fuel was reasonable at 40 to 50mpg, but would go down to 30mpg if it was really caned. Oil didn't burn off or leak between changes.

Loaded up with a pillion and excess of camping gear, the ST handled like a deranged camel. I rode it half a mile, turned round and headed back for home. Dumped half the gear and strapped on a large tank-bag. Turned up the Konis to their hardest setting and started out again. It still wobbled wildly above 80mph but was at least reasonably controllable below that.

As well as the engine maintenance, there was the question of tyres. There was so much rolling mass that the Metzs barely lasted for 5000 miles, a mileage I once did in a week on the Continent. The ST couldn't keep up with the fast lane traffic on German autobahns and wobbled thrillingly on fast, curving roads. Something of a mixed bag, then, too heavy to be truly practical; but I had a lot of faith in that big Kawasaki engine...

It was tried a bit when the motor started rattling with 35700 miles done. The chainsaw noise indicated a wrecked camchain, but it was in actuality a sticking camchain tensioner. Easily fixed with some attention from the good old emery cloth. Not so easy was the exhaust, which after a year had rotted away at an amazing rate. The engine ran gruffly below 5000 revs then made so much racket that I kept looking behind expecting to see a runaway plane. A 4-1 with a dubious silencer, from the breakers, worked well with the stock carbs but was only marginally quieter. It looked well out of place on a staid tourer.

After 15 months, and near on 20000 miles, I was thoroughly disenchanted with the big Kawasaki. I hadn't adapted to the amount of effort needed in town whilst my fast disappearing bank balance bore testament to its horrendous running costs. It was spring, an ideal time to get shot of the ST, especially as it was due for a new set of tyres and pads. I started off at £1750, ended up quite happy to take £850 in used fifty pound notes, which went on a Z650.

Most impressive feature of the ST was the engine, along with the transmission which was both smooth and maintenance free. The chassis was much more seventies than eighties; even with reasonable suspension did not inspire. 

Brian Howell

Loose Lines [Issue 48, Feb/March 1994]

I'm old enough to be suitably moved by the feeling of nostalgia that sweeps over me when, these catastrophic days, I wander into bars in Cardiff. For a time these places were actually protected by huge bouncers who but rarely let me through their rarefied portals, but a couple of years of recession had sent these mere mortals on to more upright entertainments, such as collecting debts or catching rats; a species who bred faster, but, I suspect, only just, than unmarried teenage mothers heaped with social welfare excesses.

Surreal, too, are the number of old British bikes braving the roads. In just a day I saw one of those early 750 Commandos (complete with hi-rise bars), a sixties Bonnie in mild custom trim, a BSA A65 that left a trail of oil and, god help us, an Ariel Arrow that looked so faded I figured it had been on the road for thirty, forty years.
 
The retro boom the Japanese wanted to foist upon us looks like falling by the wayside, unlike in Nippon we already have an excess of old bikes, both British and Japanese, that cost a fraction of the price of the new stuff. Why bother buying new when for a quarter of the price something much more individualistic is available? With roads almost unusable due to an excess of stalled cars more and more people are looking at bikers with envy; even if it hurts like hell when you fall off.

The current widening of the perception of motorcyclists as people other than demented hoodlums, together with the depreciations of the recession, meant I suddenly found myself able to wander into the depths of the great city wearing any kind of garb I chose; all anyone cared about was the colour of my money. Even the police appeared to have given up trying to apprehend unsavoury looking characters.

I must admit that my twenty year old leather jacket is sadly hung on the back of the door. Apart from a couple of holes in one arm it’s still intact, but the slightest hint of drizzle causes it to soak up the water like a sponge and retain it for the next few days. Street credibility is one thing, but not if it leads to the pneumonia ward. I tried various liquid cures but rather than stopping the ingress of water they merely left the jacket with a most unsavoury odour, like a feline had pissed on it.

Thus, will curious readers find me cutting a dash in one of those flamboyant Gortex jackets, more puke purple than stately blue. Don’t blame me, it was the one damn thing I could find in a desperate hurry that fitted reasonably, modern leather jackets being so stupidly designed that I could not tolerate them.

Imagine my horror when | found the outer layer soaked up the water even quicker than the leather jacket. It didn’t penetrate the inner layer so I suppose its manufacturer's claim to waterproofing can’t be wholly denied. I should have suspected as much; my gloves have several layers of hi-tech material under the outer layer of leather - my hands never get wet but the leather is of such poor quality that it also soaks up the water. It’s a strange feeling to be shuffling around carrying one’s own body weight in water on the outside and yet being dry inside.

About the only good thing that can be said for these garments is that they can be easily dumped, once off the bike and heading for the nearest warm bar. Even that has distinctly weird overtones. Pick the wrong night or the wrong place and it's like turning up in some ghost town where the remaining populace have turned gay (judging by the lack of frails). Choosing the right pub on the right night is an entirely different matter - I have to fight my way to the bar, summon all my charisma to get served before the braying hordes and put my eyeballs back in my head, among other things, to keep from overloading on the excess of young skirt that substantially outnumbers the beer swilling, loud mouthed yobs who constitute the male minority.

It's pretty easy to tell the real motorcyclists (at least in winter) from the poseurs by looking at their footwear; anything effete likely to indicate they have never swung a leg over a bike. I always wear heavy-duty boots of some sort, not just because I want a fighting chance of surviving falling off a bike, but also because in these increasingly violent times a good sharp kick to the assailants kneecap is about the only way, apart from legging it, that I have of protecting the frail Fowler frame. I haven't found a boot that lasts more than a year yet, am currently checking out Frank Thomas’ one year warranty on their footwear. I figure I can't lose from such foolish largesse.

All that was needed to complete the visual overdose in the more amusing bars was a dozen or more Oriental frails dancing half nakedly on raised stages and.. . well, we won't go into that here. What was more (you need more, boyo?) the atmosphere was miles away from the doom, gloom and despondency that prevails on the political circus and even in the pages of most motorcycle magazines; it was reminiscent, nay nostalgic, of the sixties.

Remember them? ’Course, just as distance lends a rosy glow to memories of any number of old dogs (motorcycles not girls...) so that particular era, of which I only just caught the tail end, doubtless had lots of nastiness but so penal were the last few years that just about anything has to be better.
 
And it seems, perhaps fittingly in these liberated days, that the frails are leading the way. These are not yer feminist witches, either, but hard drinking, pill popping, loose dressing, fast talking independent young women who were they not inconvenienced by too short dresses would doubtless swing a leg over a pillion perch and enjoy a fast and furious tide, helmet-less naturally, along the dementedly curvy back lanes that are but a helmet’s toss away from the centre of the Welsh capital. Where motorcycles are, anyway, becoming rather more de rigueur as they can be safely tucked away in the hall rather than in the street, where the average GTi hatch is mere fodder for the hordes of youthful vandals who seem to wander these streets with all the freedom of headless chickens. The final piece in this liberation would be hordes of women taking up motorcycling...

As my last clash with the tarmac is but a distant memory, I’m afraid I've joined in with the excess of joy. it seemed the least I could do. The government having blown two grand per working person it doesn’t have just in one year (and before compound interest has an effect on the debt in the years it's going to take to pay it back), it would've been churlish in the extreme to have carried on in my usual sane and sensible manner (those who doubt such a thing should read some of the UMG contributors ). I felt sure if I got in the mood I could figure out how to live on several times my income.
 
Having already received one deservedly irate letter from an officer of law and order (after suggesting my idle moments were spent throwing eggs at passing plod - wrong country, mate) the details of two wheel abuse will have to remain thankfully obscure, but more often than not involved 12000rpm sorties just for the joy of hearing the snarl of the exhaust and killed the brake pads stone dead in half the usual mileage. I at least still held a firm enough grip on reality to know when to melt rubber in haste, if not outright paranoia.
 
I was, even in this heightened state of delinquency, put in my proper place by any number of truly mad youths who wailed pass, crouched down near their front wheel spindles on race replicas that were as outrageous in their hue as they were in their monthly HP payments. I didn’t really mind, I was old enough not to have to prove anything and they made themselves such easy fodder for loitering police cars that I'd probably arrive before them in the long run. I didn’t even begrudge them the fact that my excessive insurance premium was subsidizing their exuberance.
 
This feeling of good spirit was undoubtedly helped by a continuous loop of lan Dury on the Walkman, a motorcycle that revealed hidden depths of fury when relentlessly caned and the simultaneous demise of several old adversaries (nothing like putting the boot in when someone’s down). All I needed to do to complete the vicious circle was to lose twenty years worth of cynicism and nastiness. Or maybe not, where would the UMG be without it?

Bill Fowler

The Good 550 Guide

Suzuki GS550

The eldest of these bikes and the toughest. Indeed, it's probably the strongest motor Suzuki ever made. The engine is basically similar to the 750 to the extent of sharing a lot of its bulk. The DOHC unit's major failing is poor power output, at least by today's standards, and in later models an excess of weight. Quite a bit of the latter can be removed by prudent pruning and at least its hefty frame, with conservative steering geometry, makes a decent base to which superior suspension can be added.
 

Good for about 110 to 115mph, the stock suspension could cope with anything other than totally insane riding when new, as it wore a few weaves came in. The usual solutions, stiffer springs and aftermarket shocks provided an adequate cure. The GS has a safe trait in that killing the throttle dead in a corner will tighten up the line rather than throw the bike into a wobble. Useful for 125 graduates who aren't sure what they are doing.
 

About the only thing to upset the chassis is bearing wear, most likely from the swinging arm (they last 10 to 15000 miles). Headstock and wheel bearings are not particularly long-lived, so give the wheels a shake when looking one over. The more disc brakes fitted the more likely are there to be problems, as they have a tendency towards corrosion in winter and delay in the wet; the latter obviated to a degree but not entirely rectified by fitting one of the aftermarket brands of brake pads.

The other nasty is chain wear, down to a tiny engine sprocket and long swinging arm. More than 5000 miles and you're doing well. It's possible to fit a larger gearbox sprocket but it comes perilously close to allowing the chain to take chunks out of the nearby components.

The taller gearing gives the engine a much more relaxed feel and improves fuel economy by 5 to 10mpg; but don't try pulling top gear up a hill! The gearbox on these models is excellent, one that misses changes or is anything other than slick a sign that the engine has done high miles and maybe missed its oil changes. When fitted with a gearchange linkage, as in the Katana, a slight amount of slop in the ball-joints will ruin the change, but this is not a serious fault.
 

The engine itself is a pretty amazing piece of engineering. There's usually a rattle at low revs from slightly out of balance carbs, but that should go away when the throttle is wound open. Any other noises are signs of serious trouble. I've come across motors that have had nothing more than oil changes for tens of thousands of miles and were still running fine.
 

In theory, the eight valves, with their shims, could be nasty to set up but in practice they don't seem to wear once settled in. Ditto, the carbs. Camchains (the tensioner is automatic) last 40 to 50000 miles, engines can do twice or even three times that. The roller bearing crankshaft is immensely strong and primary drive is by gear.
 

Lack of 1000 mile oil changes can ruin that longevity, clutches can be burnt out by juvenile delinquents and big bore kits strain the lubrication system, but overall if any old four is going to go the distance it's a GS550.
 

Various models appeared over its life, the most pertinent difference being the later CV carbs which gave better economy and smoother running whilst requiring less frequent attention. The earlier chassis was, on the other hand, lighter, had a rear drum (the disc on later ones spent most of its time seized) and just as good handling. The Katana version was even heavier than the others, had too many discs but had the best engine (no faster but better economy and smoother).

As most of them are ten years old if you find any model with low miles on the clock, grab it with both hands and pay whatever the owner demands. I'd go for an early model with a Kat tank and seat and the last engine they ever made. Because the engine runs so solidly there are plenty of bikes around with rat chassis that would benefit from a little tender loving care. It's likely that most running models have bits cannibalized from other bikes in the range. Don't let this put you off, sensible mods should be welcome (the engine will run on just about any exhaust system you can throw at it).

Oh yes, what I haven't mentioned are the electrics. The electronic ignition on later models will only go when the rectifier/regulator unit is so shot that it's giving out 30 volts worth of alternating current. Unfortunately, that situation is quite frequent. So frequent, in fact, that there will be few bikes running on OE Suzuki alternators and rectifiers. This is no bad thing as a rewound alternator and Superdream rectifier solve the problem. However, it would be a foolish rider who doesn't test ride with the lights turned up high to check that the battery doesn't drain.

The last GS I bought, two years ago, cost £450, had 52000 miles on the clock, and looked like it had been run through a hedge backwards and left to rot in a sewer. I stripped it down to the engine, cleaned it up, replaced the chassis bearings and did a quick respray. The GS then ran for a year and 18000 miles of abuse before I sold it for £750. All I did to the motor was change the oil...

 

Yamaha XJ550

My experiences with the Yamaha were less revelatory. The XJ was never a particularly popular 550 but it was lighter, faster and easier to throw through the bends than the GS. Those favourable aspects were marred by an engine that didn't last so well and one that wasn't happy running on anything other than the stock exhaust (by the nature of these things a quick wear item, although not as bad as the GS).

Another DOHC air-cooled four, but this one needed 5000 mile attention to its carbs and valves, had a camchain and tensioner that didn't like to go more than 30,000 miles and a crankshaft and hyvoid primary chain that were muttering noisily come 60 to 70000 miles. Some mildly used ones have gone around the clock, but such an achievement is much more difficult than on the GS.

Signs of neglect and/or high miles are noisy valve gear, rattling camchains, strong vibration in the upper rev range, poor carburation (although that might just be a non-standard exhaust) and a sloppy gearbox. The latter can give trouble at as little as 30000 miles, with bent selectors causing difficult engagement of gears and a multitude of false neutrals.
 

If you find a smooth, clean running mill with a precise gearbox then chances are it's a good ‘un. Chassis rot is another sign of neglect, although it seems so endemic that there are some bikes out there with a good engine and a rotten looking chassis. Paint, chrome and alloy all give in ridiculously easily to an English winter but any half decent owner should have done a respray.

The frame, which will speed wobble on knackered suspension and worn out tyres, is quite susceptible to crash damage, bending, even. breaking, around the headstock. I've seen one bike that was crudely welded back into one piece just waiting for a pot-hole to explode apart. Nasty!
 

I've owned two XJ550s, both with over 35000 miles on the clock. They were in a pretty nasty mess, needing most of the chassis stripped down to its component parts. I had to do a lot of bodging to repair things like calipers, forks and electrics. Every screw or bolt I tried to gently undo refused to budge until I applied maximum pressure when it snapped off or stripped its thread.

So, a lot of hassle to renovate one (bits from later or bigger Yamahas will fit if XJ550 ones are not available in breakers) but once done it runs reasonably well on the road - more fun than the GS, less than the GPz - but after about six months the whole process was due for a repeat. In their favour, they can still be bought for a couple of hundred quid and it's possible to fit the much better XJ600 engine in the chassis. I'd buy one if I was desperate for some cheap wheels but not out of choice.

 

 

Kawasaki GPz550

In many ways Kawasaki's 550 four was the best of the bunch, with much of the robustness of the GS, the lightness of the XJ and a speed combined with handling dexterity that none of the others could match. Its beginnings were not too auspicious, being merely a tuned and tarted up Z550, itself based on the incredibly unreliable Z500. This first model, known as the GP550, was fast in a straight line but a bit wobbly in the bends, thanks to a weak twin-shock rear end. They are now thankfully rare on the used market.
 
It wasn't until the bike gained its Uni-trak rear end and GPz handle that people began to really take notice. The evolution of the engine from Z500 to GPz550 was accompanied by some intense internal work to ensure that reliability was not going to interfere with forward progress. Such was the efficiency with which the DOHC top end was tweaked that as well as being capable of pushing the bike to 125mph it was also able to regularly turn in 60mpg; by far the best combination of speed and economy of this bunch.

Perhaps the only drawback to this motor, and to many it may be a benefit, was that below 6500rpm there was sod all power. Not that the engine would refuse to run at low revs it just wouldn't push the bike at a faster rate than a half dead Superdream. The XJ had the legs on these engines with regard to mid-range torque, but with a bit of throttle all but the CBX550 would be left for dead.
 
Engine durability is a bit of a varied bag, with some engines doing 75000 miles with nary a moment of concern, others ending on the scrap-heap by a mere 30 to 35000 miles. Such variety was probably down to the frequency of oil changes, the cams being susceptible to contaminated oil, the camchain and tensioner to heavy wear after 25000 miles and on really neglected examples a rebore and new set of pistons needed with indecently low miles done.

Any engine with a heavy whirring noise has probably worn out its hyvoid primary chain, although they are usually longer lived than the XJs, they do often intrude beyond 50000 miles. Some bikes have gone around the clock, there are others, only a few years old, that have barely breached 10000 miles and have plenty of life left in them. The chassis is the usual Japanese mixture. When newish, the bike tracks well, doesn't speed wobble, although those excessive in girth will certainly want to replace the marginal rear shock. Worn suspension, after as little as two years, will allow the bike to weave and wobble with the best of them, but easily and cheaply upgraded.

Chassis rot is endemic after five years of abuse, the frame paint being the first to go, with that on the tank being not far behind. Disc calipers are longer lived than and not overtly susceptible to we weather lag. The Uni-trak bearings last anywhere between 10 and 25000 miles depending on how well they are tended with grease. A decent O-ring chain will last over 12000 miles. Overall, they can be cheap to run for a 550 and something of a miser for such a performance bike.
That's as long as the CDI units don't go, although the rest of the electrics show none of the quick demise tendencies of the GS series. The GPz had the best headlamp but by now most of these bikes will have been upgraded.
 
I've only owned one GPz550, I like a bit more mid-range punch as I do fairly long trips when the need to play like a madman on the gearbox becomes a bit tiresome. That apart, I did about 30000 miles in a year with the only annoyance being 1500 mile carb balance sessions - ignoring it made vibes blitz the chassis.
When I sold it with 49000 miles on the clock, the engine was just starting to run rough and refused to put more than 110mph on the clock.
 
It wouldn't have been the end of the world, there are still quite a few in the breakers and I could have bought a replacement engine, but another bike came up at a bargain price so the Kawasaki had to go. I lost a little money on the deal but made up for that with savings in running costs.

 
 

Honda CBX550

The Honda was the last one of these fours on the scene and benefited from its tardiness by having the best power characteristics and the nicest chassis. As fast as the GPz with much of the midrange grunt of the XJ, what it lacked was the durability of any of the other three. It also had some curious enclosed discs, which whilst they might appeal to traditionalists (they looked like drums from a distance), caused no end of moaning from myself when I had to spend hours taking them apart. Like the rest of the bike, when they were in good nick they worked better than most with none of the wet weather nastiness of the others.

Finish was the best I've come across, even the exhaust system will last for four to five years rather than the more normal two to three years of yer average across the frame four. Chassis paint lasted well, frame paint would peel off in places but didn't seem to seep out rust like the XJ. It's relatively easy to keep these bikes up to spec. Apart from the engine, of course.
 
The main problem is with the camchain tensioner and camchain. There are a couple of solutions on offer but they don't seem to last that much longer than fitting new Honda components. If you buy one of these engines figure in a new camchain and tensioner every 8000 miles.
 
Running the engine with a ruined tensioner can have the chain jumping all over the place with subsequent problems from the valve gear. Some engines have needed a rebore after as little as 20000 miles. The crankshaft and primary drive are thankfully strong, with the possible exception of the small-ends, which go when a tired, clattery engine is run on old oil.

Because of the well known engine problems, there are quite a few available at fire sale prices, and with the various fixes available they can be resurrected without paying out serious money. So impressive did I find the general running characteristics that I was quite happy to stick with a CBX for over two years and 45000 miles.

I bought a couple of non-running bikes for spares, actually ended up making a second engine from all the spare parts. It's a neat compact unit, easy to work on and not needing too frequent servicing. I found I was doing and engine swap every 8 to 12000 miles, each time due to the dodgy camchain. It only took a couple of hours to swap engines.

With the rebuilt engine installed I knew I'd have reliable riding for at least 8000 miles before I'd have to worry about durability. Why bother? Well, it was cheap, flickable, easy to ride and generally great fun! It's the best bike I've ever owned, apart from the damn camchain hassles.
 
Few of these 550s will be in entirely stock form. In many cases modifications should be welcome. Many of them had fairing options but the plastic made such a minor difference to rider comfort that it's certainly not worth paying extra for them. There's a great choice of old 550s out there. Good hunting.

Mark Green