The wheelie lasted a hundred yards. At least. It was a feat that overcame weight distribution and a head in the clocks riding position. The engine caterwauled in first, then second. The plastic fairing vibrated as if it was paper thin. Tremors from the four cylinder engine struck the pegs and bars. As the front wheel came back to earth, I changed up to third. With the throttle still held wide open a large lurch tried to pull the bars out of my hands. The bars shimmied in my hands as the FZ roared off up the road. It wouldn't lose the ferocity of its acceleration until well over 100mph was achieved.
In some bikes, certain elements come together so well that they are much more than the sum of the parts. In the FZ’s case, frame, suspension, geometry and weight distribution combined to produce razor sharp steering that was able to make the most of what was basically a decidedly old fashioned XJ600 motor. The cafe racer stance also made the most of the engine's seventy horses by losing weight and improving high speed aerodynamics.
The riding position, combined with the minimal seat, made the FZ one of the most immediately uncomfortable motorcycles on the planet earth. Only when stabbing the bike around twisty country roads was the pain submerged beneath the pleasure. The usual complaints about across the frame fours - too much mass placed too high - were just not present in the FZ, which could be flicked from side to side with all the ease of a good 250 but retained the stability of something much more hefty. A neat trick of chassis dynamics.
The lack of comfort had me trying all kinds of tricks on long runs. Using the pillion pegs helped (as long as there wasn’t a pillion), as did stuffing a jumper under my backside and wearing thick overtrousers. More than two hours would have me both figuratively and literally bent and twisted. I kept myself going by forcing the FZ into massive wheelies and taking outrageous risks going through corners.
The accuracy of steering allowed me to shoot through gaps that would otherwise have turned me rigid with fear and loathing. Revving the engine between 8 and 11000rpm put down a delicious surge of acceleration and the kind of exhaust note, out of the race 4-1, that'd have motorcyclists applauding and the plod beating the shit out of me.
The bike began to run out of puff come 115mph but it was relatively easy to put 125mph on the clock. Any more than that needed very favourable conditions, indeed. The most I ever saw on the clock was 140mph, when the secondary vibes threatened to cause the seat and fairing to fall off, whilst the exhaust and bars were close to cracking up. The exhaust was made of ultra thin steel which had been welded repeatedly in the downpipes where a combination of corrosion and vibes had led to holes, cracks and even large splits. The carbs were re-jetted to go with the exhaust and the lack of air filters. Carburation wasn't perfect, with lots of hesitation below 3000rpm, but who the hell wants to putter along like they’re on a bloody C50? So, that wasn't a big problem.
Weather protection from the fairing became better above 90mph, when the wind whipped the rain around my stick-like frame. Had I been portly it wouldn’t have been much cop; but then if I sported a big beer gut I wouldn't even have been able to fit myself into the compact chassis. Pillions became either violent or bitchy, depending upon their sex, after about fifteen minutes subjected to the vibes, sharp edges of the seat and overtly intimate contact with myself. It was a pretty effective way of ending relationships that had turned stale.
Just to show its real mettle, the plastic seat surround actually started cracking up, when I was whizzing across the countryside with a hefty mate out back. He felt way out of it, as the seat was moving from side to side as its mountings wore away. A temporary repair, consisting of bungee cords and prayers, got us back home. The GRP kit also had to be applied to the fairing several times, as it tended to send out massive cracks from its mounting holes.
Finish on the whole machine was poor, with rust breaking out on the forks, frame and tank, whilst the alloy rot attacked the engine and wheels. If it shared an almost Italian adherence to sticking to its lines in corners it also shared that country’s penchant for quick rot machinery when subjected to a couple of English winters. I ended up buying new forks as the originals were pitted beyond redemption but the rest of the machine was restored with lots of elbow grease, polish, paint and a final layer of Scientific Coating’s liquid, which I'd always found had excellent protective properties. So, it proved with the FZ, rather than weekly sessions all I had to do was hose the grime off the bike, to find good alloy and paint underneath. It’s not cheap but it’s a worthwhile investment if you want to keep.a bike for a long time.
I've owned tswedishhe FZ for three years and 17000 miles. There’s now 32000 on the clock. The engine’s needed nothing more than regular valve, carb and oil maintenance. The XJ series, from which it’s derived, is usually good for 45000 miles before any serious attention is needed; maybe as much as 75000 miles before the crank, chain primary drive and top end all need replacement or rebuilding. Then it’s a lot easier and cheaper to find a low mileage engine. Mileage has been limited as I’m not too keen to hit the road during the worst four months of the year.
Even with premium Pirellis fitted, I don't feel that safe on icy roads. This is nothing to do with the FZ, it’s all down to having been spat off an XS250 on a patch of black ice. I slid off the road, missing being trampled on by a huge artic, which decided to flatten the XS instead. And, I mean flatten! It looked like it'd been run over by a steam roller. If it'd got my legs they would've been amputated clean off. It was the thought of this that kept me off two wheels during the winter.
At the best of times, the FZ wasn't too hot in town. The cramped riding position, lack of lock and poor low speed running made for fumes pouring out of my helmet when I was hemmed in by the thickos in cars. I often felt like taking a machine gun to the whole lot of ’em. There was also the chance, when braking vehemently, that the fairing screen would cut through my throat, filling me with visions of the main artery going, gallons of blood pouring out as I flopped dead over the bars.
The twin disc brakes out front were stripped and rebuilt once. Pads last about 8000 miles. The feel is fine in the dry, they can be used to just off locking up the front wheel. Braking distances are as good as my friend's CBR600. In the wet there's a little bit of lag and somewhat less feel, but after a couple of months I became used to it. Compared with some other bikes of the same era, especially the FZR600, the brakes have been OK.
A few electrical problems turned up, the battery refusing to hold a charge and the main fuse blowing. The electrical system bore little resemblance to that in the manual. The rectifier and regulator were off something else; the former wasn't doing a good job of converting AC to DC. A mate who reckoned he knew what he was doing fitted in a car rectifier. The battery went flat in a record time. He’d got two wires the wrong way around. Once corrected, it’s worked fine ever since. Yamaha electrics are generally robust, although I would've preferred a more powerful front light. More than 50mph in the dark became a suicide mission.
Self-destruction was also caused by neglect of the rear chain, which by the time I bought the bike was a Plain Jane job that ruined itself and the sprockets in about 4000 miles. I never summoned up the enthusiasm to pay out for a good O-ring chain and sprocket set. Fuel was also expensive at 35 to 45mpg.
None of that really mattered when the FZ600 was in its true element - twisty back roads. It's a machine fine tuned for utmost entertainment when matched to the right kind of roads. The rest of the time it'd handle most things thrown at it but a large amount of discomfort, cost and impracticality is involved. I really need a second machine for the commuter chores but I can’t afford that and find the FZ so charming that I don’t want to sell it.
Jack Flitchly