A compromise had to be reached and I was soon to be the somewhat proud owner of a brand new Yamaha V80 two-stroke step-thru. It was delivered to the training centre where I weaved my way around the cones and slowly got the hang of the thing. The sun was shining so my adolescent despair at owning a grandfather motorcycle was a little deadened, but not by enough.
It was good on petrol, about 80mpg but embarrassingly slow, about 55mph absolute maximum. It went through plugs in about 1000 miles and was a sod to start on cold, damp mornings. Living near the sea does take its toll on metal but rust became a problem in less than two months, which did not impress.
It did get me from Brighton to Bournemouth and back, about 220 miles round trip. A terrifying experience, never to be repeated, especially at night, when the single candlepower front bulb made little attempt to light the road ahead. It once carried eight pissed up people around in circles on the edge of a farm entrance at an unofficial festival. We were all hanging on for dear life, but also under the watchful eye of the local law. Once said policeman was seen, the inevitable panic rapidly set in and we all fell off much to his amusement.
A car was bought once I’d passed my test. Let's just say that a Vauxhall Viva is a most horrible thing. I hated the frustrations of traffic jams and to save an early stress related death I sold the car and bought a Suzuki GSX400T custom, with additional Sidewinder and L-plates. Heaven, a real motorcycle at last. Well, it felt like that anyway, until the interesting handling made me fall off on a treacherous bend, straight across a pub car park into the doorway. The landlord was very understanding, made me a cup of tea and phoned for an ambulance. This was while working as a DR in Brighton, covering local jobs plus odds and sods.
I passed my test. Before leaving the test centre I took off the totally wrecked tea-trolley and chucked it in the nearest skip. Now I was ready for the real world of long distance riding; motorways here I come. Not ever on 400 custom again. Never, never, never. Also, don’t go two-up touring on one unless you're extremely religious and feel that we are already in purgatory. This was exacerbated by the excess weight of the rider in question, a mere eighteen stone without clothes. The resultant thrashing the poor thing got caused the Suzuki Cheese Valve System to bury the valves deep in the head and kill the engine. Don’t think about one of these unless you are really desperate. A cylinder head was bought from a nearby breakers and it was running once again. Time to change.
A new job for a different courier company meant a CX500 was loaned me with the option to buy with a change in the rate of pay to compensate. It had the rather undesirable addition of a bulbous, massive GRP handlebar fairing plus the largest set of Krauser panniers and top box. A naturally top heavy bike with an increased centre of gravity made for extra hairy handling until one day I had an accident. An old woman decided that today she would meet her maker, stepped back from the white line in the middle of the road and stared at me. I slowed down and moved away from her but carried on moving. Then she thought she had developed superhuman powers and made a break for it. I swerved and caught her with the panniers.
She hit the deck and so did I. But she didn’t have this CX crashing down on to her with the left cylinder trying to embed itself in her rib cage. Oh no, but about 20 people crowded around her and only one person came to my aid, he could hardly pull the thing off me and had to shout for help. The bike was towed away by our company van and | was taken to the hospital with a fractured arm and a couple of broken ribs. The old lady had minor bruising and a broken finger. Whilst recovering I received bills for the two ambulances and had to pay for the damage to the CX, which I was in the process of buying. The bike was put back together and traded for my very first taste of universal Japanese motorcycling, a brand new Kawasaki GT750.
As I rode this away from the dealers I indicated left but had one indicator on each side flashing! I decided to fix this myself as the competence of the dealer was in doubt after the PDI. Despite that, the bike was a gem, the ultimate middle to long distance despatcher. Parts were easy to get, the valves seemed to stay in adjustment for ever, so the average service was plugs, oil, etc.
Then I left home and financial pressure took over, along with the curious desire to build a GS chop in my new shared bedroom. My room-mate was a very understanding chap but after grazing his shin on the edges of the frame for the sixth time in two days, he decided to get his revenge by buying an X5 Suzuki. This was ridden up the stairs and into the room but the staircase couldn't take the load and as we descended to try to appease the landlord who was working in the basement, the landing gave way and we ended up crashing down a level with the staircase and bannisters breaking up around us.
Whilst building the chop I had enough spare money to buy a 1978 Honda XL500 complete with Red Rocket engine kit and stainless silencer. It spat fire from the baffle-less tail-pipe and would pull wheelies in the first four gears. Great fun. I just started to get used to the kickstart, when a curious starting problem led to some very loud swearing and sore right shin. The kill-switch was completely rusted up but some switch cleaner sorted the problem. The local constabulary did not share my love of the open pipe and soon charged me. The bike was sold on and I hastily changed addresses.
A Yamaha TR1 entered my life. What a bastard of a pile of junk. It didn’t handle, didn't charge its battery - blown black box, £125 to you squire from a breaker - it blew head gaskets every 1000 miles and was soon got rid of for some cash and a five year old Honda CB400N. There's not a lot to say about Superdreams that hasn't been said already.
Three months later a trip to the local Honda/Yamaha dealers saw me looking at an XBR500 parked next to a Yamaha SRX600. The Yam won hands down. A lot less plastic, just seemed to ooze style and character that the Honda just didn’t possess. I kept the SRX for 18 months. It was the total embodiment of the motorcycle experience for me. A light, brisk bike that handled and stopped quite well. It did about 40mpg on a cruise and 32mpg on a thrash.
A steering damper is a good idea if you're under 13 stone as it can shake its head at 90mph plus I, by then, had lost a lot of weight and was approaching this size, but didn’t have that problem. A friend with one did, the tank-slapper broke his wrists and high-sided him at 95mph. He's recovered from his injuries and owns a GT750. I don’t know what all the fuss about starting the SRX is down to, I got the hang of it very quickly and it just didn’t seem a problem. A bloody good bike, buy one if you have the chance.
The only handling deficiency that I experienced was when a half asleep commuter in his Mazda decided to ignore the rules of the Queen’s highway and pull across me on a fast 60mph section of A-road. The collision cracked the front wheel, bent the forks and tank. The frame was in good shape as was the rest of the bike, so it wasn’t written off. My kneecap was, though, and so was his car and licence (he still being pissed from a booze up the previous night). Parts had to be ordered from Europe to fix the SRX, so next came a brief spell with a shagged Z550. This affair lasted 50 miles, the dealer had supplied the bike with a chain that was two links short and over tight. The chain soon snapped and took the front sprocket to be its final burial place, along with parts of the crankcase and gearbox. It ended up wrapped around the crank, a write off.
The SRX was soon returned, kept for another six months of trouble free ownership. Then the need for change set in. I'd been delivering photos for a large professional lab, enabling me to use the company bikes, a CX500 and VT500. Both were properly serviced and well looked after. The CX was a lot less cumbersome than the one I had previously owned, due to smaller panniers and lack of fairing. It was a real gem, even with 140000 miles on the original bores (it drank oil alarmingly quickly) but never broke down and always started. The VT was almost new, had big Krausers and top box with a full fairing. Nice, just about sums it up.
My SRX was exchanged for a Kawa GT750 with 19 thou on the clock. It was a gold Mark One with a shagged, original exhaust system. In the space of a week a lorry driver had driven over it whilst it was parked in a motorcycle bay. He then drove off as if nothing had happened. The guy in the car behind him left a note stuffed between my seat and tank with all the details. He was the manager of a local motorcycle fairing company and was willing to be a witness in court. Needless to say, I have been a happy customer of theirs on a couple of occasions since.
After about six months the court case came up and the haulier’s insurers were forced to admit liability and cough up the necessary dough to subdue my wrath. The driver was found guilty of driving without due care and attention, leaving the scene, hit and run and failure to stop after an accident. To my extreme gratification the driver got a six month ban and a very heavy fine. I smiled and almost went to church to thank God, who was evidently looking after me.
The bike was badly damaged, new front end, crankcase, headlight, tank, mirrors and grips. The GT changed colour, courtesy of Dream Machine, to deep black with gold pinstripes. A Motad 4-1 replaced the rotted original system and the bike was back on the toad. Redundancy followed, three months later the bike had to go. About a 1000 miles after it went it seized solid at 70mph but luckily the rider was quick on the clutch and prevented a nasty spill.
Then, the rot really set in, a Sanglas 500. It was hideous, it made a noise like a rotary cultivator and moved at about the same pace. It had an electric start from a Fiat 500, an alternator from a 2CV and a battery from a Sherman tank to spin the long stroke thumper into life. Starting was fun. Tickle the Amal carb, pull in the decompressor lever and spin the motor for about five seconds then let go of the lever. The whole noisy and excessive cacophony of explosions that followed were an indication that the ignition was working, although the timing was anybody's guess. It would then settle into a gently rising and falling tick over.
!t had Marzocchi forks and Brembo brakes with Veglia (your guess is as good as mine) waving needle clocks. The ride quality was that of a badly built hard-tail chop mixed with a seat that felt like the edge of a garden fence. It would not do any more than 50mph, even downhill. A horrid creation, but I suppose it does come from a place where fighting bulls is a way of life, and the vibration’s effect on the handling was like a bull fight.
Along came a gullible collector who wanted the Sanglas for reasons other than riding. He went away happy and I bought an SR500. This was nice for a while, it had been modded to TT600 spec and went like a rocket. The megaphone sounded like a naval barrage of heavy cannon fire and became an instant hit with my neighbours and the local police, who had stated that they could hear me driving around the outskirts of the town and then towards them, all they had to do was wait for my arrival. A friend confirmed that he could usually hear me coming about five minutes before I arrived. It died about 80 miles from home, was towed back by the AA. A rebuild at vast expense was needed so the bike was sold to a friend who had a strange need to own the thing. No accounting for some people.
I stayed off bikes for a couple of years after that, but soon had to get another one to stop myself going insane. My mate who bought an SRX at the same time as me was selling his, so I bought it after a quick rebuild. Beautiful, especially with the Supertrapp exhaust’s deep thundering tone and a few more horses. Again, redundancy and financial pressures forced me to part with it when I really didn’t want to. Seems to happen every time I get a good bike.
After six months I had enough money to buy another hack, a 1978 CB400N with kickstart. It did well, lasting almost a year with a distinct lack of maintenance. It died recently and is scrapped. Today, I have a 1985 MZ 250ETZ. Nearly the cause of me wanting to emigrate when I saw the reactions of some of my friends. Little do they know that this disaster in styling hides an extremely competent, rugged and cheap to run bike that will have me laughing all the way to the bank when it comes to spares’ costs and availability. A bike that is really easy to work on and even has almost all the tools you need to do any job on the machine. It actually handles quite well and is OK for country and town work, but forget long stretches of dual carriageway or motorway. The MZ will probably be with me for quite a while, it’s extremely good value for money.
Charles Westerman