The owner of the 1985 Z1100 Kawasaki had gone to great lengths to make the machine look identical to a 1973 Z1. Same tank, panels, seat, tail, clocks and paint. The bike was two years and 26000 miles old; all the old gear was thrown in as part of the deal. General condition was immaculate. I could find no fault with it, even the consumables were nearly new.
Coming from a Honda 250 Superdream to this massive across the frame four was something of a shock to the senses. Acceleration in the lower gears was blistering, with the front wheel coming up in the air, the bars shaking madly in my hands and my helmet trying to cut my head in half.
Then there was the minor matter of 550 pounds of prime beef to haul around, which required loads of muscle up to about 40mph; thereafter most of the weight faded into the background only to reappear viciously when the going got tough. But more about that later.
The first ride home put 140mph on the speedo. The vibration blitzing the machine was something else, but I was surprised by the way the Z sat on the motorway rock solid. Probably down to the trick alloy swinging arm, Koni shocks and fork brace, as well as a new set of Metzelers. Because of the vibes and massive wind blast I could only hold the top speed for a few moments. Fitted with wide and high bars, about 80mph was all that was comfortable for any length of time, a speed at which vibration was conspicuous by its absence. Most impressive was the way the bike hurled forward with a ton on the clock.
Arriving home I almost dropped the plot as I scrambled about for the sidestand. I felt all its mass beginning to go and actually strained my calf muscle fighting it. The centrestand is one of those nasty devices that requires a body building course, a year on steriods and perfect balance to operate. Whenever possible I avoided using it and in the past five years have not mastered the technique, if indeed there is one to master.
Within days my new toy was loaded with heaps of camping gear, ready for a two week tour of France. What can I say? After the CB250N the machine was brilliant. Whether I wanted to dump the bike in top, roaring along on the throttle, or play silly buggers with the gears, the Z1100 reacted with the same feeling of imperturbability. The long, fast A-type roads that string through the French countryside were an ideal playground for the big Kawasaki.
It was dead easy to mess up my line for the corners as the acceleration was so rapid, but the triple discs pulled me out of trouble. Even entering the curves with the wheels locked up didn’t seem to faze the Kawasaki's chassis - they had had 12 years to sort it out, after all!
The one time the bike caught me out was speeding into Paris on the motorway when the road surface suddenly changed. Some Frog with a malicious sense of humour had decided to set the last section up with rain groves running parallel to the direction of travel. He probably thought that Paris was such a great place that innocent foreign motorcyclists should only gain entrance after a trial of their abilities.
When the wheels hit this surface it was like I was on another bike. All the tautness disappeared and I was aboard this great wallowing beast that was shaking its head and skipping its tail all over the place. Entering this stretch at about 90mph did not help. Nor did being over and undertaken on both sides. Brake and pray was my only hope.
That and a death grip on the bars. I tell you, the oscillations were so violent that half my camping gear was thrown off the back, mowed down by enraged autos, before I had the speed down to 40mph and things became controllable. Luckily, this was towards the end of the trip and I had no intention of camping in Paris, anyway, so it was just the monetary loss of the gear rather than any great inconvenience. I also cursed the bike in the ferry where it was a real bugger to manoeuvre into position. My welcome back to England was par for the course, a strip search and then a severe ticking off for doing 90mph on the motorway about an hour later. It made me feel like selling up and becoming a grape picker in France for the rest of my life.
The poor old Kawasaki was then forced into commuting to work every day for the next six months, right through a horrible winter. The bike never gave a moment's pause for complaint. If the carbs or valves actually needed adjusting the machine gave no sign, so they were ignored. I was religious about doing an oil change every 1000 miles, though, which undoubtedly helped.
Come the spring of 1988, the machine had clocked up about 41000 miles, with just the oil and other consumables replaced. The excellent Metz’s lasted about 5500 miles a set, the other consumables about 8000 miles a throw. Petrol varied between 40 and 50mpg, which I thought OK as the old Superdream did not do much better. It needed about a pint in between oil changes.
As the weather improved I wanted to ride and ride every moment that I could. Over the winter I had fitted some rear-sets and flat, narrow bars. These enabled a much more comfortable high speed cruise, as much as a sustained 100mph was possible. Vibes were present at that kind of speed but it took about two hours before my fingers began to suffer, which was as long as my backside could take the seat and the petrol tank capacity would hold out. A set of panniers ruined the looks but added to the bike's versatility.
In 1988 I didn’t get overseas, but I must have taken the machine to just about everywhere in the UK. It ran faultlessly until 58000 miles when the top end started to rattle. I cursed not having looked at the valves but they turned out to be fine, it was just the camchain and tensioner that were dying. The local dealer did the dirty for two hundred notes as I didn’t feel capable of even extracting the massive engine from the frame let alone taking it apart. There was no smoke out of the exhaust so bores and pistons must've been OK.
The dealer also gave the bike a full service. It was quite surprising the extra performance that this managed to extract, I had forgotten quite how blistering had been the acceleration when I acquired the bike. As the dealer seemed to know what he was doing, I let him do the valves and carbs every 5000 miles thereafter at a cost of £40.
By the end of the year 72000 miles were on the clock. The gearbox action had become quite ragged with a few missed changes and the silencers were all but falling off, so speckled with rust were they. Funny top end noises had also started to appear. The cosmetics were fine as it had been resprayed and rechromed before I bought it. Thicker engine oil seemed to help the gearbox action but the dealer reckoned this might have contributed to the pitted cams that were noticed at the next service.
Coming from a Honda 250 Superdream to this massive across the frame four was something of a shock to the senses. Acceleration in the lower gears was blistering, with the front wheel coming up in the air, the bars shaking madly in my hands and my helmet trying to cut my head in half.
Then there was the minor matter of 550 pounds of prime beef to haul around, which required loads of muscle up to about 40mph; thereafter most of the weight faded into the background only to reappear viciously when the going got tough. But more about that later.
The first ride home put 140mph on the speedo. The vibration blitzing the machine was something else, but I was surprised by the way the Z sat on the motorway rock solid. Probably down to the trick alloy swinging arm, Koni shocks and fork brace, as well as a new set of Metzelers. Because of the vibes and massive wind blast I could only hold the top speed for a few moments. Fitted with wide and high bars, about 80mph was all that was comfortable for any length of time, a speed at which vibration was conspicuous by its absence. Most impressive was the way the bike hurled forward with a ton on the clock.
Arriving home I almost dropped the plot as I scrambled about for the sidestand. I felt all its mass beginning to go and actually strained my calf muscle fighting it. The centrestand is one of those nasty devices that requires a body building course, a year on steriods and perfect balance to operate. Whenever possible I avoided using it and in the past five years have not mastered the technique, if indeed there is one to master.
Within days my new toy was loaded with heaps of camping gear, ready for a two week tour of France. What can I say? After the CB250N the machine was brilliant. Whether I wanted to dump the bike in top, roaring along on the throttle, or play silly buggers with the gears, the Z1100 reacted with the same feeling of imperturbability. The long, fast A-type roads that string through the French countryside were an ideal playground for the big Kawasaki.
It was dead easy to mess up my line for the corners as the acceleration was so rapid, but the triple discs pulled me out of trouble. Even entering the curves with the wheels locked up didn’t seem to faze the Kawasaki's chassis - they had had 12 years to sort it out, after all!
The one time the bike caught me out was speeding into Paris on the motorway when the road surface suddenly changed. Some Frog with a malicious sense of humour had decided to set the last section up with rain groves running parallel to the direction of travel. He probably thought that Paris was such a great place that innocent foreign motorcyclists should only gain entrance after a trial of their abilities.
When the wheels hit this surface it was like I was on another bike. All the tautness disappeared and I was aboard this great wallowing beast that was shaking its head and skipping its tail all over the place. Entering this stretch at about 90mph did not help. Nor did being over and undertaken on both sides. Brake and pray was my only hope.
That and a death grip on the bars. I tell you, the oscillations were so violent that half my camping gear was thrown off the back, mowed down by enraged autos, before I had the speed down to 40mph and things became controllable. Luckily, this was towards the end of the trip and I had no intention of camping in Paris, anyway, so it was just the monetary loss of the gear rather than any great inconvenience. I also cursed the bike in the ferry where it was a real bugger to manoeuvre into position. My welcome back to England was par for the course, a strip search and then a severe ticking off for doing 90mph on the motorway about an hour later. It made me feel like selling up and becoming a grape picker in France for the rest of my life.
The poor old Kawasaki was then forced into commuting to work every day for the next six months, right through a horrible winter. The bike never gave a moment's pause for complaint. If the carbs or valves actually needed adjusting the machine gave no sign, so they were ignored. I was religious about doing an oil change every 1000 miles, though, which undoubtedly helped.
Come the spring of 1988, the machine had clocked up about 41000 miles, with just the oil and other consumables replaced. The excellent Metz’s lasted about 5500 miles a set, the other consumables about 8000 miles a throw. Petrol varied between 40 and 50mpg, which I thought OK as the old Superdream did not do much better. It needed about a pint in between oil changes.
As the weather improved I wanted to ride and ride every moment that I could. Over the winter I had fitted some rear-sets and flat, narrow bars. These enabled a much more comfortable high speed cruise, as much as a sustained 100mph was possible. Vibes were present at that kind of speed but it took about two hours before my fingers began to suffer, which was as long as my backside could take the seat and the petrol tank capacity would hold out. A set of panniers ruined the looks but added to the bike's versatility.
In 1988 I didn’t get overseas, but I must have taken the machine to just about everywhere in the UK. It ran faultlessly until 58000 miles when the top end started to rattle. I cursed not having looked at the valves but they turned out to be fine, it was just the camchain and tensioner that were dying. The local dealer did the dirty for two hundred notes as I didn’t feel capable of even extracting the massive engine from the frame let alone taking it apart. There was no smoke out of the exhaust so bores and pistons must've been OK.
The dealer also gave the bike a full service. It was quite surprising the extra performance that this managed to extract, I had forgotten quite how blistering had been the acceleration when I acquired the bike. As the dealer seemed to know what he was doing, I let him do the valves and carbs every 5000 miles thereafter at a cost of £40.
By the end of the year 72000 miles were on the clock. The gearbox action had become quite ragged with a few missed changes and the silencers were all but falling off, so speckled with rust were they. Funny top end noises had also started to appear. The cosmetics were fine as it had been resprayed and rechromed before I bought it. Thicker engine oil seemed to help the gearbox action but the dealer reckoned this might have contributed to the pitted cams that were noticed at the next service.
A complete head from a breaker (cylinder that is not some poor sod’s) was persuaded on to the engine, which sorted out the noises. The selector forks were found to be worn and were replaced with some new ones. Total cost of all this work including the dealer's labour was £195. That just left the silencers which were patched with steel sheet until I could afford a replacement exhaust.
1989 was not a year of high mileage as a change of house meant I was within walking distance of work and the wife dropping a kid meant |Iwas not allowed out to play on the Kawasaki very often, although all the noise the bloody brat was making I would have been happier camping out in the garden. By the end of the year the Kawasaki had not broken through the 80000 mile mark, but at least it had not needed any work doing.
| celebrated the new year by buying a complete standard exhaust system. This wondrous chrome object completely transformed the appearance of the Kawasaki. It looked like a new bike again. I lost my job shortly after that, so persuaded the wife that the best thing I could do was go to work as a DR in London, coming home on the weekend to visit she and baby. The Z might not be ideal for rushing through the City but for the first couple of weeks I was overjoyed at my new found freedom.
However, lack of accommodation, lying despatch company bosses and a tailing off of work meant that after four months I had had more than enough. I had put 94000 miles on the clock by then and the poor old Z1100 was showing signs of objecting to be thrashed mercilessly every day in all kind of horrible weather (so was I, for that matter). The calipers kept seizing up, the discs were warped, the front forks had finally loss all their damping and springing, whilst the engine refused to pull beyond 7500rpm in the taller gears.
Back home, a compression test revealed the worst, a rebore was needed. I didn’t have the money for that, so I kept on riding the bike, wondering when it would decide to fail. It was still capable of over a ton, but fuel had gone down to the 35-40mpg range and it needed a pint of oil every 200 miles. Still, by the end of 1990 I had broken the 100000 mile barrier. A feat the machine celebrated by wrecking its wheel bearings (had not the swinging arm and steering head been non-standard taper bearings they would probably have joined in).
1989 was not a year of high mileage as a change of house meant I was within walking distance of work and the wife dropping a kid meant |Iwas not allowed out to play on the Kawasaki very often, although all the noise the bloody brat was making I would have been happier camping out in the garden. By the end of the year the Kawasaki had not broken through the 80000 mile mark, but at least it had not needed any work doing.
| celebrated the new year by buying a complete standard exhaust system. This wondrous chrome object completely transformed the appearance of the Kawasaki. It looked like a new bike again. I lost my job shortly after that, so persuaded the wife that the best thing I could do was go to work as a DR in London, coming home on the weekend to visit she and baby. The Z might not be ideal for rushing through the City but for the first couple of weeks I was overjoyed at my new found freedom.
However, lack of accommodation, lying despatch company bosses and a tailing off of work meant that after four months I had had more than enough. I had put 94000 miles on the clock by then and the poor old Z1100 was showing signs of objecting to be thrashed mercilessly every day in all kind of horrible weather (so was I, for that matter). The calipers kept seizing up, the discs were warped, the front forks had finally loss all their damping and springing, whilst the engine refused to pull beyond 7500rpm in the taller gears.
Back home, a compression test revealed the worst, a rebore was needed. I didn’t have the money for that, so I kept on riding the bike, wondering when it would decide to fail. It was still capable of over a ton, but fuel had gone down to the 35-40mpg range and it needed a pint of oil every 200 miles. Still, by the end of 1990 I had broken the 100000 mile barrier. A feat the machine celebrated by wrecking its wheel bearings (had not the swinging arm and steering head been non-standard taper bearings they would probably have joined in).
1991 was the year of the dole and the Kawasaki had no choice but to become a dole bike. It wasn’t all bad, I had plenty of time to polish the beast and touch up the paint where it had been chipped off. The more worn the engine internals became the more frantically did | polish up the cases, in the hope that such tender loving care would be rewarded with a still running engine.
I also had plenty of time to read the back pages of MCN and visit breakers. I ended up swapping an old dressing table for a set of stock Z1100 pistons, which I immediately set to cleaning up and polishing to a mirror shine. Further wandering around the county turned up a set of barrels from a breaker who was happy enough to take a pushbike and air gun in exchange.
This time I could not afford the dealer, but that was OK as he had gone bust! The wife, who had become very thickset and muscular after dropping the kid, was persuaded that it was her duty to help me lift the engine out. I was amazed! After snapping off most of the engine bolts, I was pissing around trying to lift the motor out when she pushed me aside, grabbed hold of the beast and in one rapid manoeuvre pulled it out and plonked it down on the floor. Whilst I was wondering what kind of monster I’d married, she stormed off muttering something about men being useless! She did the same trick when I needed the engine replacing.
Apart from studs stripping their threads and having to use the old gaskets, the strip and reassembly went OK. With the aid of a Haynes manual and a good toolkit there really is little to fear, the only difficult part was getting the pistons in the bore, as I did not have a ring compressor. The old pistons and bores were well scored with a couple of rings having seized into their slots. I spent about a week cleaning up the top end and achieving a mirror finish on everything. I carted the various bits about the house so that I could polish them whilst watching TV or sitting on the toilet. Gasket sealant was smeared over the old gaskets and loose studs Araldited back in position.
The reassembled motor rattled a bit but most of the performance had returned, top speed was about 130mph now, although fuel was hovering around the 35mpg mark, something to do with running on carbs that were 108000 miles old. I rarely went that fast because the chassis had become evil above the ton with all sorts of wobbles threatening to throw me off. I was so used to the machine's excessive mass that I could hurl it around like a much smaller machine and surprised many a race replica rider on the twisty stuff - I knew just how far I could take the Z.
I have not fallen off the Kawasaki at high speed but have been caught out by its mass at low speeds when the whole heap has come crashing down on the tarmac. No serious damage has ensued, thanks to the engine crash bars and a generally tough chassis that is easy to kick straight.
1992 saw work at last, the first months pay packet went on a new set of shocks and a used set of forks and brakes for the bike, much to the wife’s disgust. Well, it was either that or I was going to get killed by the shot suspension and dead brakes. These have made the bike much more useful again and it feels safe up to about 120mph when some fairly strong weaves and wobbles set in.
That’s on smooth roads, the bike has always been susceptible to bumps or other disturbances in the tarmac. What was very stable handling can quickly disappear if the road surface deteriorates. Hitting a bump in a bend when banked over causes the bars to oscillate wildly, which adds to the bike’s natural tendency to run wide in corners. I have ended up on the wrong side of the road all twisted up too many times to mention, but brute force straightens out the beast. There has also been the odd speed wobble that has come out of nowhere, usually at 90 to 110mph. Those were frighteners, white knuckle, load dropping stuff, with the whole bike oscillating back and forth across a couple of lanes of carriageway. I never tried to accelerate through it but very gently lost speed. Just before it quietens down the wobbles become very violent and you think it’s tarmac rash time. This sounds pretty horrendous, I know, but it’s only happened about five time in the near 100000 miles I have done on the bike, so is not that bad. At the time of writing mileage stands at 118,400.
Perhaps amazingly, apart from two batteries and quite a lot of bulbs, all the electrics are original, with no sign of the wiring rotting yet. The tail bulbs are the worst, even after some additional rubber mounting the vibes still hit them every 400-500 miles. The headlamp bulbs go about five times that distance. I always carry plenty of spare bulbs and some fuses the fuse box likes to corrode, taking out the circuits that way rather than blowing.
It's probably obvious. by now that I love the big Kawasaki. Yes, it's a bit of a dinosaur these days, but will still give most bikes a run for their money, still looks really neat and still provides reliable transport. Things seemed to have turned full circle with Kawasaki bringing out a new version of the bike along the lines of the 550 Zephyr, but I doubt if I will be able to afford one (the wife is still shouting about it being time to buy a nice little car). I am on the look out for a spare engine for mine, though. I can’t think of any reason to give up on the old girl yet!
Clyde Garland
I also had plenty of time to read the back pages of MCN and visit breakers. I ended up swapping an old dressing table for a set of stock Z1100 pistons, which I immediately set to cleaning up and polishing to a mirror shine. Further wandering around the county turned up a set of barrels from a breaker who was happy enough to take a pushbike and air gun in exchange.
This time I could not afford the dealer, but that was OK as he had gone bust! The wife, who had become very thickset and muscular after dropping the kid, was persuaded that it was her duty to help me lift the engine out. I was amazed! After snapping off most of the engine bolts, I was pissing around trying to lift the motor out when she pushed me aside, grabbed hold of the beast and in one rapid manoeuvre pulled it out and plonked it down on the floor. Whilst I was wondering what kind of monster I’d married, she stormed off muttering something about men being useless! She did the same trick when I needed the engine replacing.
Apart from studs stripping their threads and having to use the old gaskets, the strip and reassembly went OK. With the aid of a Haynes manual and a good toolkit there really is little to fear, the only difficult part was getting the pistons in the bore, as I did not have a ring compressor. The old pistons and bores were well scored with a couple of rings having seized into their slots. I spent about a week cleaning up the top end and achieving a mirror finish on everything. I carted the various bits about the house so that I could polish them whilst watching TV or sitting on the toilet. Gasket sealant was smeared over the old gaskets and loose studs Araldited back in position.
The reassembled motor rattled a bit but most of the performance had returned, top speed was about 130mph now, although fuel was hovering around the 35mpg mark, something to do with running on carbs that were 108000 miles old. I rarely went that fast because the chassis had become evil above the ton with all sorts of wobbles threatening to throw me off. I was so used to the machine's excessive mass that I could hurl it around like a much smaller machine and surprised many a race replica rider on the twisty stuff - I knew just how far I could take the Z.
I have not fallen off the Kawasaki at high speed but have been caught out by its mass at low speeds when the whole heap has come crashing down on the tarmac. No serious damage has ensued, thanks to the engine crash bars and a generally tough chassis that is easy to kick straight.
1992 saw work at last, the first months pay packet went on a new set of shocks and a used set of forks and brakes for the bike, much to the wife’s disgust. Well, it was either that or I was going to get killed by the shot suspension and dead brakes. These have made the bike much more useful again and it feels safe up to about 120mph when some fairly strong weaves and wobbles set in.
That’s on smooth roads, the bike has always been susceptible to bumps or other disturbances in the tarmac. What was very stable handling can quickly disappear if the road surface deteriorates. Hitting a bump in a bend when banked over causes the bars to oscillate wildly, which adds to the bike’s natural tendency to run wide in corners. I have ended up on the wrong side of the road all twisted up too many times to mention, but brute force straightens out the beast. There has also been the odd speed wobble that has come out of nowhere, usually at 90 to 110mph. Those were frighteners, white knuckle, load dropping stuff, with the whole bike oscillating back and forth across a couple of lanes of carriageway. I never tried to accelerate through it but very gently lost speed. Just before it quietens down the wobbles become very violent and you think it’s tarmac rash time. This sounds pretty horrendous, I know, but it’s only happened about five time in the near 100000 miles I have done on the bike, so is not that bad. At the time of writing mileage stands at 118,400.
Perhaps amazingly, apart from two batteries and quite a lot of bulbs, all the electrics are original, with no sign of the wiring rotting yet. The tail bulbs are the worst, even after some additional rubber mounting the vibes still hit them every 400-500 miles. The headlamp bulbs go about five times that distance. I always carry plenty of spare bulbs and some fuses the fuse box likes to corrode, taking out the circuits that way rather than blowing.
It's probably obvious. by now that I love the big Kawasaki. Yes, it's a bit of a dinosaur these days, but will still give most bikes a run for their money, still looks really neat and still provides reliable transport. Things seemed to have turned full circle with Kawasaki bringing out a new version of the bike along the lines of the 550 Zephyr, but I doubt if I will be able to afford one (the wife is still shouting about it being time to buy a nice little car). I am on the look out for a spare engine for mine, though. I can’t think of any reason to give up on the old girl yet!
Clyde Garland