Kawasaki KR-1

The theory was pretty simple. It often is. Buy a crashed KR-1 from a nearby breaker and a non-runner from a lad down the street. He’d blown the motor up in a big way after running it on 10/40 oil for nearly 5000 miles. Yep, some people are unbelievable. The breaker wanted £800 for an 1990 model and the young hoodlum £500 for what was left of his machine.

£1300 for a KR-1 isn't big bargain time, especially with all the effort and risk involved. Runners turn up for as little as £1500 but they do tend to be a bit ratty. £2000 will buy a very nice one. The kid wouldn't move on his price as he’d been offered the same by a breaker. Instead I paid £550 for the engine out of the crashed one, after hearing it howling.

A couple of weeks later I was ready for some highway fun and games. It had taken so long because the wife had dropped a brat a month earlier than expected. Had me running around like a madman! Anyway, the KR-1 was the obvious, temporary, replacement for sex!

For those who’ve been brain dead for the past few years, the KR-1 sports a 250cc stroker twin engine with KIPS valves for aiding torque production, though they ain't as well done as the Yamaha TZR. The engine really needing ten grand before the shit hits the fan. 55 horses and 275lbs equals an excess of fun, any way you want to look at it.

Beware, though, of overconfidence. The bike handles like a 125, so fast turning it’s dead easy to put in too much input and find the bike wriggling about like a snake trying to escape a predator. Took a few days to adapt to its flighty ways then it was a real ball to ride around or inside monstrous 600’s. Pissed them off no end.

I loved riding at night when the roads weren't too busy and I could make believe I was in another world. The KR really does have an eerie howl when into its powerband. The front light was good for insane speeds, I became a bit blase about overtaking cages, not taking too much note of what was behind. One time I was screaming past a cage at about 90mph when another car tried to creep past my outside — don’t know why I didn’t see his lights.

I hammered the little Kawasaki, flat on the tank, working the excellent gearbox and putting 135mph on the clock. It didn’t work, the car kept accelerating and almost had me off in its wind blast some kind of Porsche, I think. All the way home the KR was misfiring, as if protesting at the loss of face! Just needed a new set of plugs. Something best done every 1000 miles, to avoid poor starting as well as wet weather nastiness.

After a while, there was a strong smell of petrol, the fuel tank was leaking from the seam at its base. A temporary repair with Plastic Metal lasted all of three days. A flood of fuel sprayed on to the motor and I thought the end had come when flames licked around my knees! Of course, I was doing 40mph amid lots of cars and the motor started to cut out. The pathetic horn didn't help me cleave a path through them but somehow I made it to the side of the road.

By then one side of the fairing was giving off acrid fumes and after leaping off the bike, I ran around in circles, wondering what the hell I was going to do next. I was saved by a plod mobile and expert application of their fire extinguisher. They were just starting to interrogate me about my documents (or lack thereof) when they were called away, parted with a nasty look. Phew!

Or not! The bike was a mess and wouldn't run. During the three mile walk home, I concluded that the chain was shagged by the way it clanged, making the Kawa feel like a 600Ib behemoth. Leaving me bathed in sweat and with brutalized muscles. Damage, the fairing aside, was mostly cosmetic. The black ash effect on the engine looked quite trendy and was anyway hidden by the second-hand panel I fitted, though two lugs broke off and had to be fixed with Super glue!

Of course, I also fitted a replacement petrol tank! The bottom fell out of the old one when I gave it a few taps. I was hoping that the lack of fuel leakage would lead to a dramatic improvement in economy. But, no, it was the same old 25 to 35mpg. I suppose you might manage 45mpg but it would be at the price of riding way out of the power band and having trouble fighting off FS1E’s as well as oiling up the plugs every ten miles!

I was pleased to be alive and back on the road. For two days! I had an argument with a bus. It stopped whilst I was eyeing my reflection in a shop window - pretty cool, too. Until I looked round to see the back of the bus rushing towards me. Whack on the brakes but not enough time, speed of collision around 20mph. I wasn't hurt and the bus drove off into the distance. The only problem was the forks, which were bent back so that the wheel touched the fairing. What did they make the things out of? Plastic?

Breakers weren't very helpful, opining that the forks were notoriously weak and that I was unlikely to find any replacements. I couldn't even get them straightened as they were considered too dodgy. A late GPx500S front end was knocked on, reluctantly because I just knew it would mess up the handling.

It wasn’t bad at first but the harder I rode the bike the more doubtful I became. The stock KR wasn’t over-endowed with feedback, would occasionally bite back in a big way. I'd almost wobbled off a couple of times when the tyres lost their grip with reality. With the GPz front end the effect was even more vicious - it was like the machine wanted to undergo a complete reversal of direction. Ergo, leant right over, whack a little bump and the thing reacted like the forks had collapsed. I shot from side to side, whacking a boot down to avoid an ultimate meeting with the tarmac.

That front end had to go before the bike killed me. I rode around mildly for a couple of months until one came up - for £300. Rarity makes them expensive. Stock, straight KR forks are pretty good stuff and I was happy to be back in full control. Though the remoteness through the Pirelli tyres meant that the Kawasaki could still go out of control when really pushed hard... happened once every 5000 miles.

Top speed was 140mph on the clock. This was the clock being optimistic, compared with mates’ bikes it was somewhere in the 125 to 130mph range. 100 to 120mph cruising was easy stuff, as long as I cuddled up to the tank and got down behind the flimsy screen. The riding position was less radical than most such devices but the seat was on the skimpy side, doing nasty things to my thighs after 50 miles. But I have done 500 miles in a day without ending up a hospital case.

All was going well until the day I came out of work to find some wretch had taken a hammer to the petrol tank and fairing. Fuel was pissing out everywhere. The police basically told me to stop wasting their time and where were my documents, anyway, so I told them not to bother with the paperwork. Despite having one of the tougher stroker engines, KR’s are rare on the breaker circuit and it took a while to find replacement bits.

Unfairly, I went off the bike after that and traded in for a RGV250. I thought it was brilliant until after two months the engine exploded! I bought a replacement motor and then traded in for a ZXR400, which was more like it. 

Simon Prentice

Thieves and Stuff: Honda XL125

It all started in January 1985. I'd been riding a poxy Honda CB100 until then, that I'd bought off an eighteen year old kid. I'd offered £100, which he refused, not surprisingly as it was a W reg, quiet and neat, but had a front end prang and the guard was crunched. After a few weeks his girlfriend was playing up so I offered £125, which was readily accepted.

This meant my mum's poxy Honda Express moped could be returned to her. It was really gross, top speed 25mph if there was a force nine gale behind it. I wanted a bike that I could trade-in for something decent and new. I'd phoned several dealers until one said he’d had an almost new XL 125. I wanted a trailie, not for going into fields or anything, I just thought they were neat at the time.

I went to see it. Brilliant, dead cool, looked bigger than any other 100 or 125. I sat on it and fell in love. I asked what they would give me for the CB and was well chuffed when they said £250. A good profit as I had spent nothing on it, only tax, insurance and petrol.

The day came to pick it up and my husband said he would ride it home for me as a trailie was different to an ordinary road bike and he'd had loads of experience with bikes, plus he’d once had an old SL125 Honda. | think he was quite pleased with it as he'd just sold his 250 Superdream to a complete dickhead, who drove it down the road and crashed it. We both picked the XL up in our dinner break, me in the car and him on the CB. It had snowed all day and I was bricking myself, hoping the XL wouldn't be dropped as I had it on HP.

It only had one previous owner, an old fart who thought he was sixteen again and then discovered that arthritis and winter didn't go together. The XL had sat all winter in his garage; a year's riding amounted to 506 miles! It had just had its 500 mile service. I parted with £795 for her, not bad as it was so new. The XL was still an “it" then, until we became better acquainted, then it would become “she.”

She was a great bike, didn't need a lot of maintenance and what did need doing, she could be lifted on to a milk crate outside the back door. In ’86 I was pregnant and she stayed in the shed except for the occasional jaunt to work and the shops. Only about a 1000 miles a year. Never thrashed, honest! In ’87 I was pregnant again, my husband used the bike for work. Everything went fine except for needing a shed and two locks to stop the locals stealing her - they had to be satisfied with stealing the petrol when it was parked up outside!

Every year we followed the same routine for the MOT - back end dropped, swinging arm greased and packed, the bearings checked. By the nineties, she needed new fork gaiters and an exhaust, although the replacement attracted rust at an horrendous rate! Never failed an MOT in ten years. After the tenth MOT, the bike was nicked, despite the shed being alarmed - the thieves had come in the house and fused the electrics. I cried and cried! They even cut the phone line! I wanted to murder the thieves but the police weren't too concerned.

Not the end of the story. 5.00am, I walked around the estate and saw plenty of activity around one house. Also a tyre track of a trailie bike up the hill in the mud. My bike, I would know it anywhere tyre tracks as well. No-one else, around there, has a bike like mine. The following Wednesday, I heard her being started up. Bastards coming out to play. I knew it was her from thé throaty exhaust noise. A friend’s house was nearby and he came out to help. When the bike came up the hill he jumped out and knocked the pillion off it, the pilot screaming off up the street.

She was an “it” again. I looked at her, nothing left, she was a shit heap. The guy thrown off the bike was walking towards me. I grabbed him by the neck, wanting to smash his face in. I was screaming at him and pushing him about. I think he was stoned or at least on another planet... a car screamed around the corner, with two of his cronies who dragged him in and tore off.

The police turned up, told me it was a stupid thing to do, should have left it to them. Pigs might fly faster than they would get the bike back! Later, two thugs turned up, asking me how much I would pay for the return of the bike. I told them to fuck off, the bike was in such a state that I didn’t want to see it again. In the night, they came back on the bike and did donuts outside the house.
 
The following Monday the police came, asked if I had any photos because they had found something. They wheeled her back from around the corner and asked if I had somewhere safe to keep her? They must be joking, I reckon the thugs would have come back later and set fire to the shed.

The bike was in such a state that I was so sorrowful that I thought my heart was going to burst! I couldn't even look at her. Nothing left, every piece that could be taken off was sawn through, the engine pissed out oil, the new gaiters were ripped to shreds and the new tyre on the back was as bald as a badger’s arse. The new exhaust was sawn through, what was left covered in mud, grass and crud.

The insurance assessor came, took one took and said, total loss. Which was exactly how I felt. The scrap man came to take her away. This nightmare lasted one week but it seemed like forever. Three months later I got some money from the insurance company and I was becoming itchy for a new bike, a bigger one! A Yam XJ550. I’m happy now. 

Lynn Butler

Harsh Hacking: Suzuki GP100 and MZ 251.

By January 1993 I finally had the chance to buy a bike. A hunch-backed solicitor had written off my car and I'd managed to extract a decent amount of dosh from his insurance company. I hadn’t passed my test by then so when I saw a clean ’88 GP100 for 380 notes I went for it. It had been owned by an old gent for the last five years and was immaculate with a top box and screen, which were soon ripped off. The clock read only 10500 miles, seemed to be genuine.

The bike wasn't actually that easy to ride for a novice. The clutch was quite dead in feel and there was bugger all low down power. Still, once it gets going it’s quick up to 50mph, holds 55 to 60mph all day long. Unless, it’s a windy day. I once went from Exeter to Southampton into a gale - the little bastard refused to put more than 40mph on the clock.

I'd only intended to keep the bike until I'd passed the test, then sell it for something like a YPVS, but when you're eighteen there always seems to be so many other things to spend money on. Which helps explain why I kept it for over a year.

I passed my test after three weeks and having a bit of spare time from school (I'd been suspended for reasons I won't go into here), went to visit a couple of prospective universities. The journey took me from Bath to Southampton and then on to London. Fortunately I’d invested in a decent set of waterproofs - it pissed down the whole way, which wasn't too much fun.

The bike was alright, totally reliable and it kept up with A road traffic, although overtaking was a bit dodgy. I even got 80mph on the clock out of it, on the M25, slipstreaming the traffic. I passed a bloke on a ZX-10, who looked a bit surprised at having a GP100 overtake him in the fast lane.

In the time I owned the bike I put just over 12000 miles on the clock. For most of the time the GP was reasonably trouble free and enjoyable. The only real problem was that rather than using it as a town commuter, the treatment it received was more along the lines of a 600 race replica, or similar. I did a hell of a lot of long journeys, often two-up. Or, worse still, in the company of my two mates on a 350YPVS and FZR600.

They did tend to get annoyed waiting for me. I just had a good laugh at their speeding bans and insurance premiums. That said, even I managed to get done on the GP when I was late for work. 57mph in a 30mph limit, for which I received a largish fine and three points, despite trying my best to grovel to the Nazi bastard. He looked like, were he in a less civilised society, he’d have willingly shot me for my crime. Annoying, considering what football hooligans get away with.

There are quite a lot of reports of the GP’s handling being as jumpy as a monkey on speed. It’s true that it’s a bit skittish but when everything's in good order it really isn't bad. Indeed, on my favourite roundabout I could even get my knee down. This isn’t on standard tyres, they really are shit and should be lobbed at the first opportunity. Otherwise, it’s suicide the first time it rains. I found Metz’s were good. First, I had a pair of slightly oversize ME77’s, which weren't bad but the back sometimes let go with no warning whatsoever, depositing yours truly on his arse.

First time this happened was on a large roundabout at 50mph. Fortunately, damage to self and bike was minimal. However, the rear tyre wore out incredibly quickly - 3500 to 4000 miles of hard riding. The replacement ME22 was even grippier but lasted an even shorter amount of time and cost nearly £40. You can see why most people stay with the cheap tyres.

I must admit that my enthusiastic riding led to quite a few spills, usually without too much pain. Although I was well pissed off when I scraped my prized Shoei. My school went on and on about the dangers of motorcycling - not helped by the time I performed a monster wheelie right in front of the head when he was showing a group of prospective parents around the school. Great fun!

Actually, the bike was quite wheelie prone, especially two-up. The little bastard nearly flipped once in a sharpish getaway from the lights. Thus failing to impress a group of nubiles, as I flailed about trying to avoid a crash. The GP was actually surprisingly useful for pulling. OK, it looks crap but they all enjoy a ride on the back and the high frequency vibes make them feel quite kinky, which can be used to good effect.

The GP was used really hard over the summer of ’93 for various holidays. A group of us went to Devon, the ride down to Salcombe on a sunny day was gorgeous, pulling in at the odd pub for a half and a fag. We went to Torquay one night and on the ride there we overtook a couple of lads on XL125’s and I then chased my mate on his FZR down a twisty hill full of 40-50mph bends. The GP’s light mass and limitless ground clearance meant that he couldn't lose-me, much to his humiliation.

On long journeys the bike was too slow but comfort wasn't too bad. And, it was reliable, so I decided to put the GP to the ultimate test. A friend said that she was going inter-railing over the summer and did I want to stay in Germany for a week? The place was Amberg, near Munich, and I decided to go on the GP.

The bike was loaded up with rack, panniers, and a rucksack on the tank - to bring it to Euro tourer spec, and I set off for Dover. Not being a complete maniac I bought some breakdown insurance in case the worst happened. I arrived in Calais at 3pm, set off in the direction of Brussels, which took about three hours, then carried on to Liege. Here I was becoming a bit worried because the bike seemed to struggle in the intense heat and the tank range was only 100 miles. In Belgium on a Sunday afternoon with everything shut, that ain’t too handy. Anyway, I reached Spa by 8pm and started to look for somewhere to kip, which was fruitless as everywhere was shut or full.

I felt like Mary and Joseph but eventually met some lads on a CR500, who then rode their illegal bike at a maniac speed on the public roads to show me a hotel. Mad, those ’crossers don't half go some. Unfortunately, it was too expensive so I ended up kipping in a bloody field, was woken up by a cow the next day. I made Amberg that day, having done about 500 miles, mostly on the autobahn! I was shattered but my hosts were great. A shower and a few German beers soon sorted me out.

The next week was spent being as lazy as possible, but I can only say that if you get the chance, go to Germany, although preferably not on a GP100. The scenery and towns were really impressive and the Krauts, much to my surprise, were dead friendly. Diet was limited to sausage and beer, the women automatically assume that if you speak English then you are an American GI and were therefore pretty keen.

Unfortunately, all too soon it was time to return to good old Blighty. I'd decided to take three days over the journey back to have an easier ride. I got to Koblenz on the first day, stayed in an astonishingly seedy hotel with a landlord who kept giving me the eye - I made sure I kept the door locked that night. So, I left bloody early the next day, soon found myself buzzing down pleasant country roads.

I started becoming worried when I kept seeing traffic signs of a crashed bike by the side of the road, with an obscure German message under it. Turned out it was because this was the road to Nurburgring and the police were warning bikers to slow down. I decided to visit the historic circuit and turned right in at its entrance.

Fuck me if I didn’t nearly get killed by a huge group of speeding Krauts on race replicas joining the circuit. I parked up, scruffy jeans and jacket with tiny GP100 next to a Duke 851 and rider in full leathers. For some reason the inverse snobbery felt quite good.

After this, I carried on into Belgium, when just after I had overtaken a truck at about 60mph, the bike started to weave badly... at the worst possible moment. I was approaching a hairpin bend with a sheer drop off it. I braked as hard as possible, my fear inspired grip on the brake lever actually squealing the front tyre (normally impossible with the crap drum brake). I just made it round the bend by keeping the bike upright and hanging off.

I had a bloody puncture in the back tyre. Fortunately, I found a garage just down the road who repaired the tube for me at negligible cost. I then carried on to Brussels, kipped in a youth hostel, who insisted that I parked the bike in the lobby. Otherwise all the local urchins would've stripped it in no time.

Brussels is a pretty nice place, but it’s very easy to become lost - and it has some dodgy districts. By the end of the next day I was back in Bath, the bike having performed brilliantly. I did 2000 miles in two weeks with just one puncture, caused by the rear tyre being so worn. The chain had only needed two adjustments. Maybe not the best tourer ever, but it just proves that you can do it on any motorcycle.

Next, I went up to the Donnington GP in the company of my RD350 mounted mate, who managed to achieve 50mpg when following me. He did enjoy scaring me by going past as close as possible at 120mph - bastard. The Saturday night campsite was an eye-opener. Bloody crazy. The GP provided broadside slides and two-up wheelies.

However, on the way back disaster very nearly struck on the Fosse Way. My mate on the RD had gone ahead, racing a nutter on an FZR. I came across a youth on an RGV250 who couldn't ride to save his life. In my desperation to prove a case of skill over machinery I got the GP up to 80mph down a hill... unknown to me there were two S-bends at the bottom. I know I said that the GP’s handling was OK but at 80mph it’s different. Very bouncy, wobbly and almost brakeless. I just made it round the bends but only because nothing was coming the other way. On the next straight the git on the RGV flew past with a cheery wave. Talk about humiliated.

In September I moved to college in Southampton, from where I went to Brum to visit a mate and see the bike show. By the time we reached our destination, my pillion had such a sore bum she nearly slapped me. My mate who had the RD had received a two week ban for speeding. Had to sell it and buy a GP to afford the insurance. It was quite fun speeding around Brum together. I doubt many bikes are much faster around a busy town than the GP.

Unfortunately, the engine was becoming a bit rattly and by Christmas became so bad that after a journey to Brighton I stripped it down. Shot big-end. A bit extreme as it'd only done 22500 miles. Eventually, the engine was rebuilt but it leaked gearbox oil and the bike look scruffy, as well as having no tax and test. In addition, I was utterly skint so I sold it to a dealer for £225.

I was sad to see it go. GP’s are nice bikes if they are a late model with low miles. The bottom end of the market's a bit dodgy and overall build quality is low. They are fairly cheap to run. Mine was on the original brake shoes at 22500 miles, the chain did 15000 miles and the front tyre lasts forever. However, fuel’s only 60mpg and can even go under 50mpg if used very hard and rear tyre wear’s ridiculous. You must also remember that the electrics, especially the headlight, are bloody dangerous.

By October 1994 I was once again in the fortunate position of being able to buy another bike, courtesy of the nice people at the Student Loans Company (it's not just me that does that then! 2020 Ed.). My budget was about 600 notes for bike and insurance. I was thinking about something along the lines of a D125 or GP125. Nothing in good nick turned up, apart from a clean AR125 but it had received the big bore and spannie treatment, so I had to reluctantly knock it off my list as I couldn't afford any engine rebuilds.

This was how I came to be looking at an MZ 251. G reg, black and very good condition with full service history. Although not my first choice, for £385 it was the best option I’d seen and as it was my birthday I thought it'd make a nice treat. First impressions were mixed. It was very different from the GP. Very large and tall, whilst the engine was low revving, not making any power beyond 5500 revs. A very old fashioned feel.

In its favour, it was fairly quick. Depending on conditions it would cruise at 65 to 75mph. The front brake was very good, the headlight was superb (better than on cars I’ve owned). I was quite pleased with my purchase. In the first weekend I had it I did the Southampton to Brum trip, which took an hour less than when I did it on the GP. My mate there now had a restricted TZR125, and it was amazing how closely matched the two bikes were. They both topped out at 80mph, whilst the TZR handled better at speed and the MZ had much more bottom end power.

I got a part time job as a DR in Southampton, which showed up the MZ’s good and bad points. Around town it was superb with an upright riding position and light handling plus good brakes. On a long run the four gallon petrol tank was useful, but the upright position led to neck-ache and in headwinds the inability of the engine to pull top gear was very. annoying. In addition, thrashing the motor (as I usually did) gave appalling fuel economy for the speed, down to 40mpg at times.

The bike’s handling wasn’t bad although at speed it was quite twitchy and it was less confidence inspiring at loony lean angles than the GP. Also, in the wet the front would let go very easily, although it must be pointed out that the bike was running a Michelin Gazelle tyre on the front and an Avon Supreme out back, so it was not blessed with the ultimate in rubber.

However, like the GP the rear tyre, which was nearly new when I bought the bike, wore out in about 3500 miles; due to finances had to be replaced by a Cheng Shin. Not nearly as bad as I'd expected, but with a bike of such little power, it's a mystery to me as to why the rear tyre should wear out so quickly - paying £40 every 4000 miles seems ridiculous for a commuter bike.

At least on the MZ the effects of a carrying a passenger were minimal. The bike had plenty of space for two, whilst the engine had plenty of torque, if not power. In addition, the weight of a passenger meant that it was possible to scrape the sidestand around tight bends, which is always a good way to keep them on their toes.

The side stand was a home-made affair (by the previous owner) but it was far better than the stock swinging arm mounted one. The only problem being that it had to be kept down when kick-starting the engine. This meant I often forgot that the stand was down until I leant over and almost flipped off.

Luckily, in the six months and 7000 miles that | owned the MZ, I never crashed, even if it was knocked over a couple of times, smashing both mirrors. However, the poor build quality was shown in the number of things that broke. The grab rail snapped whilst the plastic rear light cracked because of the vibration, not that any was noticeable when riding.

In addition, the centre stand broke when it was only gently knocked dismounting a high kerb. The speedo cable broke at 14000 miles and took three weeks to replace because the MZ workers were on a two week training course in Germany. Working on the bike was fairly easy, if a little awkward at times because of the difficulty of accessing certain bits.

When I sold the MZ with 17000 miles covered, the engine didn't sound as healthy as when I bought it. Most annoying was the electrics, the speedo’s bulb always blew meaning I never knew how fast I was going at night. The indicator relay broke (£15!). Riding through winter on the four year old bike destroyed wiring and connectors, due to corrosion and naff insulation. Replacing most of the electrics and cleaning the rest, stopped it cutting out on long runs in the rain.

However, it never failed to get me home and it had better brakes and performance than the GP, if sharing its poor build quality. There was also a degree of giant killing in the machine, which led to some wild rides. The best was when I went out with a bike club that included CBR600’s and other exotica. Down wet and twisty B roads we were actually faster than most of these, the only bike I couldn't get past was a rat VF500 (which had a bald back tyre and was two-up).

Flying down the twisty lanes with the front tyre squirming on the way into every bend was the perfect Sunday morning hangover cure. It was this ride that saw my highest ever speedo reading of about 85mph, as well. Another good thing about the MZ was that however much junk was thrown on it, the handling never turned nasty. One time, taking two people and a term's worth of junk from Bristol to Southampton. Apart from there being nowhere to sit on the bike, there were no problems.

Unfortunately, by April ’95 I was skint again and had to sell the MZ to pay my rent, which was a bit of a bummer. I got £370 for the bike which was pretty good and by the time my despatch earnings were included, I'd basically had six months biking for free, including petrol. Not bad, eh?

Despite this, I’d say that unless spanner twiddling every weekend is your idea of fun (and I don't mind doing it now and again) then the MZ is likely to be a bit of a hassle, as something minor was always going wrong on mine. Perhaps for someone doing fewer miles, it would have been less of a problem. Anyway, I’m finishing college this summer and if I get a job, then with any luck I'll be back in the bike market soon. Hopefully, something a bit bigger than the last two. 

James Bridge

MZ 251

Imagine suddenly being given enough money to go out and buy any new bike you wanted. That was the enviable position I found myself in a few years back, courtesy of two mindless tit-heads who attacked me one night on the way home from the pub. They left me so badly injured that I lost my left eye. However, a meaty compensation cheque arrived sometime later and (wearing a black leather eye-patch) I immediately rushed out to buy a brand new Harley.

Several months later I moved about 15 miles out of town. It soon became apparent that commuting to work every day was going to kick the hell out of my Harley and generally reduce it to a pile of scrap metal. After viewing some ageing Jap 250s whose owners seemed to think they were worth a small fortune, I eventually bought a 1990 MZ ETZ251 for the slightly over the odds price of £550.

It'd been stuffed several times by the original owner who then deemed it to be jinxed and promptly left it standing for 16 months. By the time I got my hands on it there were 1200 miles on the clock and it was like new apart from the accident damage, amounting to a smashed headlight, fractured speedo mounting bracket and bashed in downpipe and silencer.

After bodging the bike back into roadworthy condition I was ready for take off. Because it had been standing for so long I booted it over for a good two hours before the engine fired. Eventually, I headed off down the road in a cloud of blue smoke and the characteristic ring-dinging MZ exhaust note. My first impression was that nothing happened when I opened the throttle and that the sports moped I owned as a 16 year old used to have more power. I hadn't ridden anything relatively small for the previous nine years, so this probably had a lot to do with how the bike felt.

The speedo seemed to confirm the lack of performance, wouldn't go beyond 45mph. It soon became obvious that the clock was accident damaged, as after several seconds it would surge from 45mph to whatever speed the bike was actually doing. By the time I reconditioned myself to riding a small bike again I was able to appreciate that the performance was pretty good for a mere 250 single.

Although still awkward to start (until I mastered the technique of kicking it over first with the ignition off and choke on), the bike was pressed into immediate service as a commuter and general hack. My wife who had only previously been on the back of my Harley and its predecessor, a GSX1100, loved the bike at first sight. She used adjectives like pathetic, tiny and deathtrap, to describe it. She wasn't too chuffed to find it was now our daily transport to work and summed up the pillion seat as like sitting on a razor blade.

However, the MZ grew on me in a big way over the coming months. Being small and light it was easy to chuck around bends at outlandish angles, and was an ideal laxative when the roads were constipated by too many turds in cars. The controls were light (as long as no rain has penetrated the cables) and the brakes more than powerful enough. It does surge back and forth on the overrun, violent enough to warrant slipping the clutch on occasion to keep the motor spinning.

Top end’s anything between 55 and 80mph depending on gradient and wind conditions. It runs out of steam pretty rapidly into a strong wind, requiring a down change to fourth and a good bollocking to keep speed up. I’m not too concerned about hammering it as it seems to wind up to about 6000 revs and then level off, as opposed to carrying on until the piston pops out to say hello, hello.

It's always been the sort of machine that | can just get on and ride anywhere without worrying, as reliability has never been a factor. It could certainly teach my Harley a trick or two in the reliability stakes. If I had to make a life or death journey, I'd almost certainly take the MZ as I’d have a better chance of getting there. It has never yet failed to get me home, unlike a certain American machine | could mention. The MZ’s reliability is even more remarkable in terms of the amount of use it gets (around 160 miles per week, month in, month out, over a four year period) and because I don’t exactly go overboard with the cleaning and maintenance.
 
Electrics are the only area that have caused real hassle, serious winter rain induced an incapacitating misfire, though a new HT lead and plug sorted that. The fuses didn’t like rain or even remaining within their terminals for long. And when they came adrift, the bike stopped as though the ignition had been switched off. This usually happened at the most inconvenient moments such as when halfway round a roundabouts, etc. Eventually I wired the electrics direct and ran one mega fuse from the battery, which resolved the problem.

The MZ managed about 250 miles on a tank of two-stroke, but petrol consumption’s higher than I'd expect with the large tank emptying itself at a fairly rapid rate. I've never properly calculated it, but estimate about 40mpg.

Other factors consist of replacing the downpipe and silencer with items from a scrappy, as it became impossible to maintain a gas tight seal with the accident damaged originals. The thread in the barrel, where the downpipe screwed in, was also knackered in said accident. Matt’s Engineering of Abercynon grafted some studs around the exhaust port and produced an arrangement whereby the downpipe’s secured by a bottom clamp like a Jap bike. I was encouraged when the mechanic at Matt's said the engine internals still looked like new. This was some achievement after two years’ hard use.

The bike also acquired a slightly buckled front wheel, courtesy of some impatient lump of faeces in a cage. I had the misfortune to slide off on some oil on the way to work and instead of granting me five seconds grace to pick the bike up off the road, the twat in the car behind rammed the bike twice to knock it out of his way, then drove over the front wheel to get past. It's one of the biggest regrets of my life that I didn’t get his registration number, my excuse being that having broken my left shoulder I was too shaken up. On riding away, I was happy to note that the new blow to the speedo had cured it of sticking at 45mph.

The gearbox main shaft also expired after 22000 miles (mainly because there was always a lot of condensation in the gearbox oil which I was unable to shift). The bike still ran normally but sounded like a can of nails. Matt’s Engineering did the biz again, and although the repair probably cost about half the bike’s value, it was still cheaper than trying to buy something else of equal standing and reliability.

Surprisingly enough, some thieving bastard has tried to steal the bike twice from outside my parents’ house in Cardiff. I’d have thought that a well used MZ wouldn't feature too highly in the aspiring motorcycle thief’s portfolio of desirable machinery.

The cost of consumables has been negligible in four years of ownership, and the bike has paid for itself many times over in terms of the wear and tear it has saved my Harley.
 
Heavy fuel consumption has been the only downer, but it’s an easy bike to keep on the road with most problems solved by the competent home bodger. I expect to ride it for some time yet, not withstanding my wife who often slags it off and urges me to get shot of it at the earliest opportunity! However, when it finally does expire I'd have no hesitation in replacing it with another MZ.

Steve Lewis

Winter Bargains

Fun & Games

Some motorcyclists still struggle through the winter months, a majority sit out the sheer nastiness of December and January. Many now consider these months the ideal time to go bike hunting. Memories are short, the horrors of ice, snow and rain encouraging bikes to go for the minimum of dosh. Even dealers, long famed for bunging on silly sticker prices, restrain themselves and are open to silly offers.

This doesn’t, alas, mean that the fabled one owner, low mileage CBR600 is going to turn up for the kind of money that’d buy an afternoon with a Mayfair hooker. The top tier of motorcycles manage to retain most of their value even in the desperation of a British winter. Just a question of supply and demand, plus the knowledge that generally they are tough old things, unlikely to expire a few minutes after purchase. All the kicks with few of the downsides, other than having to pay serious dosh to get into the game and, of course, to keep them on the road.

Move away from this top tier of machinery (CBR600/900, FZR’s, GSXR750, Bandits, ZXR’s, etc), though, and the possibility of winter bargains markedly increase. Found both in excess stocks of new bikes that haven't sold very well in '96 with some wicked discounts - and in loads of used machinery on the private market that owners are desperate to shift, for a variety of reasons. Also consider the private import game combined with a winter break or, better still, a tax deductible business trip.
 
New Bargains 

Finding a cheap new bike is no more tedious than picking up a recent copy of Motorcycle News. There may well be an excess of magazines but this is still the only weekly source of elusive bargains. Flick through its dealer display ads and use the phone to find the bargains - as much as a third off bikes that haven't sold well this year and others that nave been in oversupply. The bargains change weekly, depending on what the importers want to off-load and what dealers find themselves left with. Margins on these deals are very slim so don't expect the guarantee to mean much, but usually free country wide delivery is thrown in, so don't limit yourself to just local dealers. Some dealers are as adamant as a Brussels bureaucrat that there’s no way they can sell below list price, even claiming the importers would strike them off - just laugh and look elsewhere.

Very few modern bikes are total dogs. Some have gained a bit of a bad reputation over the years but usually have been sorted by their manufacturers. Others just can't compete with the hot 600s but in terms of on the road experience they are more than enough for most people for most of the time, can be easily upgraded with some of the money saved on the deal.

Nearly New

The prices on the above new deals are lower than what some dealers charge for recent second hand machines, but at this time of year you can hop along and try an offer 30% lower than on the sticker price of used stuff. Do it nicely (no point getting into a fight or shouting match) by saying you really like the machine in question but that’s all the dosh you have available. Deny having a fixed abode, cheque card or any other nonsense if HP’s offered - that’s just another way of being ripped off.
 
Incidentally, the spate of zero percent finance offers on bikes during '96 were all a big con - dealers were selling the bikes at full retail plus excessive on-the-road costs and giving poor trade-ins. If you turned up with the straight cash you could get 10 to 20% off the finance price. Such shoddy HP deals should be made illegal but, I suppose, we already have too many laws in this country and only a fool would encourage our mad government to enact any more.
 
Weird Moves 

I know one chap who conned a new bike out of one of the importers at trade price by claiming to want to give it away in a charity draw - 25% off the retail price. Some time later he wrote them an apologetic letter, saying the charity fund raising hadn't worked but that he would dispose of the bike himself. Like hell, he’s still riding around on it to this very day! Crooked? Very probably, but then the biggest crooks are the dealers and importers who force up prices of new and used bikes to ridiculous heights, screw the rider every which way. It’s so bad these days that anything goes.
 
It's also possible to get a friendly dealer to order the machine of your dreams from an importer, agreeing to forgo the guarantee and doing the PDI yourself, with a 15 to 20% saving. They’re less likely to do this in the boom time of summer but when nothing much is going down in winter it’s worth a try. Obviously, you have to take a few months to get friendly with the dealer, buy him a few beers and bring in a couple of innocent customers - but beware, a large minority in the trade (as well as in the glossy magazine game) seem to be bum bandits and bargain hunting shouldn't be taken that far! Not unless you want a funny walk and dose of incurable diseases. Disbelieve this at your peril.

I once tried to get a cheap deal by admitting to being a regular contributor to the UMG. I’ve never been frogmarched so quickly out of a dealers in my life! Apparently, they’ve all grouped together to make sure the UMG gets no advertising support, nor any useful information. Luckily, the editor considers that a sincere form of flattery. Anyway, only wave the UMG at dealers when trying to get the price down, don’t admit to having anything to do with it. With thousands of contributors out there, this is a very useful bit of advice, believe me!

DIY Imports

Another angle I've tried is getting out of the country for the worst couple of months, especially when working as a DR in London for most of the year. In Italy I've bought a couple of really interesting Wop bikes for small money. Go for something a little bit weird - Benelli four or twin, Ducati single, military version of the Guzzi V50, a dog-eared Guzzi California... there’s loads of ratty stuff for a few hundred quid. Don’t bother with all the importing junk, just ride the thing home on Italian plates (customs are pretty lax, these days) and have a ball in London (no road tax, no way to trace the owner, etc). Then sell it on at a nice profit that will pay for a couple of months lounging around in Italy. That’s the theory, sometimes it works brilliantly, sometimes the bike blows up or you have a nasty accident. Don’t worry about it, that’s life. Just go with the flow.

I'm off to Spain this year, real cheap accommodation and the possibility of buying a Sanglas or Spanish manufactured Ducati single or just razzing around on some daft but highly tuned stroker. If you see some beer-bellied, lager lout in Union Jack shorts (and little else) trying to wheelie the length of the Costa, then that'll be me! Way to go!

Don't bother with Japan, the accommodation and flight costs will wipe out any possible gains and there are lots of serious nutters in the import/export game there consider yourself lucky if you escape with a mere knee-capping if you get in their way. There are lots of bargains but finding them’s very tough unless you know what you’re doing. One of the UMG contributors was thrown out when he upset the Japs' sensibilities, so be warned.

America has much greater possibilities but avoid New York and LA. Not just the violence, although that's bad enough, also the minor fact that they have been sucked dry of most bargains by greedy bastards from the UK trade. Texas is going the same way. None other than our own Johnny Malone reports that New Orleans and the surrounding area has turned out a goldmine for cheap, old British stuff — the bastard was last seeing doing a Hunter S Thompson in some monstrous Yank cage, with a beautiful blonde in tow and a boot full of armaments. Hmmm.
 
Don't go anywhere too cold in the States, they have really vicious winters over there, but there are still loads of bargains and shipping costs are low. Go for it if you can, especially if you want a cheap 883 Harley (the old ones go for as little as two thousand dollars!).

Street Savvy

No doubt, stalwart UMG readers are muttering about flash buggers and getting on with it - i.e. revealing how to buy a pristine CD250 for a tenner - it’s easy, you nick one and put a fake plate on it. Enjoy your stay in jail. OK, fun over, the main way of getting a winter bargain is, naturally, to go on the great hunt in that most irritating of arenas - the private motorcycle market!

The latter means many things to many people. Back street dealers believe they have a religious right to off-load dangerous junk (often sold to them by main dealers who've taken it in part-ex and can't bring themselves to con some innocent punter - so the bikes must be in a pretty desperate state). Genuine sellers see no reason why they shouldn't write a pile of lies in their adverts. Adverts mysteriously appear for bikes that have been sold months before (especially in the free-sheets).
 
Almost every winter bargain I've bought has involved a few hundred miles across country in the nastiest weather imaginable. A mate with a Transit becomes obligatory. Luckily, one of my best mates does up cars for a living. A low life of sorts, I guess, but at least he’s only ripping off cagers. You know the kind of stuff, two cars welded together which go pop at speed. You should see some of the stuff he gets away with - or maybe you shouldn't. Anyway, he usually comes up with some kind of van or trailer. I just have to provide the stimulants and the young women.

Before leaving home, the vendor’s interrogated over the phone. The usual stuff that the UMG’s covered before. Start off vague to see if there’s more than one machine for sale (ie is he a dealer), then get into specifics. Name in the logbook, how long it’s been owned, any untoward engine noises or smoke, crash damage, state of the consumables, etc. Believe nothing that’s been written in the advert and little that’s said over the phone. Being cynical and a bit nasty the only way to go.

Sad but true!

It's important to emphasize that if after travelling hundreds of miles the bike described as immaculate turns out to be a right dog, then the vendor’s likely to get a slap. Also make sure that they are open to offers, there’s no point going all that way with pockets overflowing with dosh if he won't budge. And never deal with a friend or relation of the vendor over the phone, that’s just their excuse for coming out with a lot of crap.

Bike Sources

There are loads of places to find potential machines. The most obvious is Motorcycle News’ classified adverts. Packed full of bikes, both cheap and expensive, the real bargains sell fast because of the 130000 people who buy the newspaper every week even in winter - some newsagents will sell you a copy on Tuesday night rather than on Wednesday.

Whilst the bargains sell fast, there will be a lot of bikes unsold a couple of weeks down the road. It's always worth phoning up and making a silly offer once the vendor gets a bit desperate. I prefer this to running around like a rabid dog, trying to get across town before the next punter.

This applies equally to other periodicals that advertise bikes. The best deals turn up in the ones where the adverts are free rather than the hard-core trader mags which seem infested with dealers. Loot turns up loads of bargains. A lot of motorcycle magazines have free-ad sections inside, sometimes the bikes are cheap, other times it's the old back street dealer merry-go-round. Whatever, come winter the chances of finding a bargain increase greatly.

Other sources include shop windows, motorcycle accessory store windows, knocking on doors of houses with abandoned motorcycles outside, pestering friends or relatives, and turning the whole advertising hassle around by placing your own advert - preferably where it’s free or extremely cheap.

Breakers are another obvious source of bikes and bits, though over winter their prices don’t drop that much. I went off them a bit when I bought a GS450E with a wrecked front end for what I thought was a bargain price. Turned out the frame was bent beyond repair and the motor was on its last legs - the breaker had clocked the thing. He wouldn't give me my money back, threatened to let some huge Doberman off its leash. You meet some really nice chaps in this game.

Cheap & Cheerful

When bargain hunting it pays to be easy going as regards to the kind of machine you're willing to buy. Even if it’s not the bike of your dreams, it’s always possible to buy cheap and sell at a nice profit to fund something better further along the line. I’ve suffered dogs like CB250G5, B120 and XS250 just because they cost next to nothing to buy and could be fixed up cheaply and rapidly. I try to avoid the: Iron Curtain stuff, though, because I once had an MZ 251 that snapped its frame and threw me down the road with some nasty gravel rash. MZs are so-called bargains all year round, rather than just in the winter, so best ignored here.

I've done some desperate things in the past. Like buy a smoking SB200 for £70, sell its engine for £50 and then fit a CG125 mill for £40 - looked a bit weird but turned out ultra economical, cost hardly anything to run and | even managed to sell it for two hundred notes. OK, it vibrated like a jack-hammer as it was only held in by two engine bolts, handled like a tea-trolley with a leg missing and had suicidal brakes but I had a bit of exotica for the serious stuff, the rat was just for when the weather turned dirty and desperate.

Another hustle was the time I bought a C90 for ten pounds that was a rusty non-runner, wire brushed the thing down, coated in Hammerite and combined two other dead engines with the original one to get a runner... too much hassle? Well, the damn thing ran for four years as my winter hack/second bike and was then offloaded for £75. That's what known as budget biking.

There’s a whole host of cheap stuff, mostly 100 to 125cc Jap commuters that have designs going back to the sixties. I favour the Suzuki GP100 and Yamaha YB100, as the ones I've owned have run and run with little more than the odd decoke. There’s nothing wrong with other bikes in this category, although CG125 riders usually end up having local louts throwing bricks at them. There’s not much point paying more than a hundred notes for something that’s tatty but running.

The step-thrus and mopeds are pretty desperate stuff, but they’ll get you across town in one piece, even if it means hopping up on to the pavement to avoid being knocked off by irate cagers. Most commuters become well pissed off in the ice and rain - I’ve seen really nice C90s go for less than a hundred notes in December, probably the best buy in this sector, though some of the modern Wop scooters look the business they rarely go for less than a grand.

Such is the diversity of age, mileage and condition of the low end of the motorcycle market, that it’s really just a case of keeping an eye and ear open for potential bargains. The more time spent looking the more likely a bargain will turn up.

Sensible Stuff

The limitations of the lower end of the market, mainly commuters being restricted in line with silly learner laws, means that for serious motorcycling they don’t usually make the grade. Those strokers that have an easy upgrade path from 12 to 30hp are almost invariably nasty replicas or fundamentally lacking in reliability — about the only notable exception, the old Yamaha RD125LC.

Droves of old seventies and early eighties 250s have their uses - cheap in line with their generally worn state, and just able to hit 90mph without immediately exploding. Honda twins better than most, as long as you can get along with their nasty gearboxes. Under £500, using the devious measures previously described, will buy something with plenty of life and potential.

Beyond that, the whole fleet of Universal Japanese Motorcycles beckon - anything from old Z500s, XJ550s, CB500s to more recent bolides such as GS550’s, XJ600’s and GT550’s. Some have minor faults, such as poor camchain tensioners or self-igniting electrics, but by now they will have been sorted using later parts - probably! Prices range from £500 to £2000, depending on age and condition, but there’s plenty of these worthy fours with around fifty thou on the clock that go for less than a grand.

More off the beaten track, older V-twins such as the CX500, XZ550 and VT500 often turn up as near rats but still running strongly for £500 to £750. Not the kind of device to impress the general populace, perhaps, but offering the possibilities of ultra cheap running... they usually come with a garage full of spares! Many were wasted by DRs but the resurrection shuffle can revive some pretty nasty horrors.

Import Buys 

The import market tends to go a little dead over winter, some shops even close down. Prices are muted rather than bargain basement, the more popular replicas retaining most of their value.
The cheaper bikes are the lower end of the Yank imports - XS650, Z750, CB650, GS550L, CBS500T, XS500, etc. Stuff with engines that at least seem to run OK but have chassis that need an excess of elbow grease to get them into shape. Sticker prices are usually in the £750 to £1500 range but during the winter recess they'll go out of the door for £500 to £1000. Make a silly offer, in other words.

A smattering of sensible Jap imports are also available, stuff like the GB250/400, CB-1, SRX250, GPz400, XJ400S. Ranging from low mileage recent stuff for around two grand to older, higher mileage hacks for £750 to £1000. Prices don’t go down much over winter, margins not being that high (which is why there’s so many replicas), but the better examples represent good bargains in their own right.

On a good day, you might get lucky and slice 10% off the price of one of the recent import replicas - to do that you need to turn up with a pocketful of cash and know what you're about. A minority of the bikes are crashed and repaired, though they look very nice they hide some fairly desperate repairs to the frames, forks and wheels beware, especially, of importers who are also breakers!

Fast Favours

Winter and the upper end of the market don't mix at all well. Wild power, excess mass, poor feedback and icy roads being a combination that usually leads to a long stay in hospital. Thus some deep discounts can be found on bikes like the XS1100, CBR1000, Z1100 and GSX1100 - and many, many others - where the owner suddenly finds he needs the dosh. The only downside is insurance is expensive unless the bike's over 15 years old, when cheap classic insurance applies, but that in turns helps some seventies brute retain its value.

Most of the bargains in this category can be found in the private sales in MCN. Dealers tend to hold on to them for the spring season, when they can con some poor punter that a litre bike would be much more useful than the 550 he was looking for. Private deals for a good 1000cc multi, with say 30,000 miles on the clock, range from £1000 to £2000...again, make a silly offer! Make sure, though, that the high cost of consumables has been factored in, though fuel economy's often not much worse than the smaller fours.

End Note

Winter's definitely bargain time for used motorcycles and it’s worth braving the ice, snow and rain to find a good deal for the rest of the year. It even makes sense to buy a rat in December and spend the next couple of months doing it up. The possibilities are almost endless. Good luck.

Dick Lewis

Kawasaki ZX1100

My ZX1100 was acquired about two years ago after writing off my ZX-10, which I owned for a whole two weeks - thanks to a T-junction and a blind old fart pulling out in front of me. If I hadn't broken both arms I swear I'd have whacked him, bloody coffin dodgers... anyway, I’m sure there are many others out there with similar tales of woe, so without further ado I'll move on.

I bought my Kawasaki in February of ’94 for £1600 from a breaker in Ormskirk. The bike was in stock trim, complete but very untidy and in need of a paint job. There was a small amount of damage but nothing major and the cosmetics were fine. The engine fired up after some words of encouragement, and prayers from the salesman I reckon. Engulfed in the cloud of smoke and toxic fumes, I guessed that the machine had been standing for some time. However, the engine sounded OK and cash swapped hands. Being unroadworthy, the bike was eventually hauled into the rear of a van and taken home.

The first thing that struck me was how heavy it was. I recall arriving home, hauling the bike out again and sticking it on its centrestand on the concrete incline to my garage. I opened the garage, returned to the bike and couldn't get it off the stand. Having no-one to help me, I sat astride the bike and several forceful jerks later I managed to put it back on its wheels.

In doing so, the bike had leant over to the right, past the retrievable point of gravity, resulting in a pile on the floor, self included. Picking it up was an event in itself. In short, I was red-faced, knackered and was suffering from zero street cred. Luckily, there were no witnesses to the debacle.

I'd always wanted a GPz1100 since I was 17. Back then it was the flagship, as the ZZR1100 is today. Incidentally, I’m 32 now. The bike’s D reg (1987), the last incarnation of the fuel injected air-cooled range. There had been three previous owners, the latter keeping it for four years. I guess that although neglecting it, the last guy was quite pleased with it. Recorded mileage was 23000, whether genuine or not, I don't know.

The bike was bought as a restoration project and so it was stripped completely except the engine which looked in good nick following removal of the top end. The motor was given a couple of coats of black matt, heat resistant paint. The casings, calipers and other small parts were enamelled at home and cured in the oven (but wait until the wife's gone out...). The frame was hand painted, most fittings replaced with stainless steel and Goodridge hose replaced the rotting original brake lines. Being unable to buy original transfers, without buying the complete tank, etc (clever Japs...), I opted for a custom paint job by Dream Machine.

Finally, twelve months of de-rusting, blisters, polishing, more blisters and sorting out the electrical gremlins and the other joys of rebuilds, it was back together. Pushing the starter button fired the motor the first time, resulting in an instant cheesy grin (although it was to be short-lived). Donned my helmet, took to the road nice and easy to start, which lasted about one mile until I gave into temptation.

Wound the throttle open. Everything was great until I hit 6000 revs when the engine coughed, spluttered and refused to go beyond these revs. I had the same problem in every gear. Raging inside my lid, thoughts of sell the bloody thing came to mind, but having spent a small fortune I decided against it. Besides it had now turned into a bigger challenge of my mechanical skills versus machine... now where did I put that manual?

So back inside the garage, wiring contacts were cleaned and checked, nothing seemed amiss. In depth study of the manual indicated that the throttle sensor was probably the culprit, and so a second hand one was bought from a breaker, simply because a new one cost over £140. It’s only two inches square but I still had to fork out £40 for it. Take note, electrical components are not cheap to replace should something go bang. The throttle sensor had nothing to do with the cutting out, which pissed me off even more. I fumbled around with a circuit tester but basically I hadn't a clue what was wrong or what I was really doing, so it was time for some expert help from a local motorcycle engineer.

The one thing I find with bikes bought for restoration or needing some work to put them back on the road, ideas of I'll do it up over the coming months when cash allows simply fly out of the window and you become obsessed with wanting it on the road, spending every spare hour and available penny on it...

Anyway, a week later, the verdict - one faulty injector and one that was blocked. Regarding the latter, the previous owner had used lead free petrol which, with the bike left standing, had solidified into a hard white substance that was Clearly visible around all the injector nozzles. So GPz owners take note and stick to four star if you want to keep your engine lubricated and remove flat spots.

All work completed and another costly bill of £180, thoughts of the overdraft limit disappeared as I took it on a 200 mile detour from the 10 mile journey home. It had taken twelve months to get on the road, and I have currently been using it on a regular basis for the past eleven months, notching up 7000 miles.

During this time I’ve noticed that the engine’s rather noisy at low speeds and tickover, probably due to the injectors clicking away. Once 70mph plus is reached it’s incredibly smooth. Comfort’s top notch, whether on short or long journeys, solo or with a pillion. Handling, however, does have some peculiar aspects none of which seem to occur when two up, so I can only assume that the extra mass on the rear seems to improve stability.

On your own is a different matter. Although it handles fine on open roads and long sweeping bends, cornering through low speed curves and the tight stuff produces a top heavy front end, as though the wheel will slide from beneath you if you crank it over too far. I've also noticed what can only be described as chain snatching when the rear wheel goes over bumps and potholes in the road.
Probably the sheer weight of the thing. I've certainly had better handling bikes and you're a braver man than me to go scratching tarmac with it.
 
Touch wood, no further problems have arisen and the engine feels solid. I tend to change the oil every 4000 miles or so with a premium synthetic lube, not essential but it can only do more good than harm. Braking’s fine but I'd like to improve it by fitting twin pots from the ZX-10.

Despite a few niggles the ZX1100's a great budget superbike, which is very fast, especially beyond 4000rpm. I'd advise anyone thinking of buying one to take it for a test ride, even as a pillion if the owner’s having none of that. Problems with the injectors aren't noticeable at tickover and low revs.
 
The 1983 model on has a clever self diagnostic system that allows it to run if one of the injectors goes down (with a misfire at 5000rpm). Also check for illumination of the LCD warning lights which may indicated sensor problems - they ain’t cheap, and a headache to check for faults.

Although most modern 600’s will give the GPz a run for its money, the bike offers a lot of metal for your dosh. It’s very big, very long and a very brutal machine.

Karl Fenney

Army Barmy

It all started sometime in 1987 when, whilst serving in the army in Germany, my OC (read boss) decided he could better utilise me during exercises if I was a despatch rider. It would involve a two week course at a nearby transport regiment during which I would complete the two part tests in a week, followed by a week’s introduction to despatch riding. It all sounded like good fun to me and at least it would be a break from the drudgery of barrack routine. The only slight problem was that I'd never so much as straddled a bike in my life.

Come the first week of a freezing January I found myself assembled on the aforementioned regimental square with another eleven students, each with standard issue Armstrong 500 machines, all looking remarkably similar. Being the army, we had special dispensation from the DVLC to take the test on the standard 500cc bikes rather than the more usual 125/12hp route that civilians were restricted to.

Snow lay all around us. However, this held no fear since I was clad in several layers of thermal vest/shirt/NATO jumper/DPM camouflage jacket/waxed cotton oversuit. I expect I looked not dissimilar to Michelin Man meets Sea Empress oil slick. Despite all of us looking the same, I felt as out of place as Michael Jackson at a Jarvis Cocker appreciation get together. Clearly, the other students were somewhat experienced, whereas I barely knew one end of the bike from the other.

By 9 o'clock (sorry, 0900 hours) the other students had warmed their bikes up and were eagerly awaiting the instructor. I, on the other hand, didn’t know how to start the bike and merely gazed perplexed at the multitude of knobs, switches, levers and other gubbins that appeared to have been placed on the bike somewhat haphazardly.

The instructor arrived, a cheerful cockney corporal, who quickly singled me out as being the course doom-brain. He told the other students to ride around for a bit whilst he gave me the quickest ever familiarisation dialogue on the Armstrong (this is the front, this is the back, these are the brakes, this is the choke...). He took me through the starting procedure, which I can only describe as being a tad complicated. He then told me to get it started and meet him on the far side of the square, preferably riding the thing over there. He then left me to contemplate what on earth I had let myself in for, as he went away to reassemble the other students.

I spent the next fifteen minutes or so trying to start the thing. This I seem to recall involved switching on the ignition (no problem, that), ensuring I got the green neutral light, doing something with the choke, then caressing the kickstart, which is on the left of the machine, as far as I can remember, until the piston was visibly at the top of its stroke through a tiny oil covered window. It was then necessary to give an almighty boot whilst simultaneously twisting the throttle and pulling in the decompression widget.

I was sure jumbo jet captains would be familiar with similar procedures. It was during this experience that I discovered that bikes have their own personality. This particular one appeared to be from the Margaret Thatcher school of motorcycling - stubborn, and didn’t suffer fools gladly. Indeed, my pathetic efforts were rewarded by the mother of all kickbacks. A broken leg only avoided by my post-Falklands high-leg combat boots.

I was deteriorating quickly. Sweat was pouring off me. The corporal, meantime, had assembled all the other students in a line (sorry, rank) ahead of me and to my right. The corporal was telling them how to strip down the engine in five minutes in a chemically contaminated hostile environment using a self-loading rifle combination tool, or something.

Noticing my plight, he called out to me to try switching on the fuel. A conversation followed regarding where this might be. Sure enough, there by the carb was a tap switched to off. Reversing this, another couple of kicks and the Armstrong burst into life. Relief! Looking towards the other students they were clearly finding the spectacle entertaining, but the best was yet to come.

Taking the bike off its stand, tricky in itself, I straddled the beast and found myself the centre of attention. They weren't disappointed. “Get over here,” I heard the corporal yell over the top of the engine noise. In my distressed and dishevelled state I began to recall the all too brief instructions given me some 20 minutes before. I dialled in the revs (about 20000), de-clutched and selected gear with an almighty clunk. On releasing the clutch I observed, as if from far away, with some alarm that although I was most certainly in motion I appeared to be taking off.

Looking to my right, I caught a glimpse of the other students neatly lined up as I completed my ride past review. They were delighted by the spectacle, though the corporal was clearly not impressed by my involuntary wheelie. Looking towards my front again I began to ponder my circumstances. Increasing.the revs didn’t help, nor did waggling the handlebars, all I could do was hang on. I was stuck in wheelie mode!

I then noticed, tilting my head to the right and looking beyond the front wheel, that I was heading towards a Nissen hut office. To be more precise, I was heading towards a window in this office. As the distance closed, events went into slow motion. I observed that behind the window sat a most po-faced, cosmetically challenged, German bring-back-Auschwitz secretary type. Her facial expression was famed as being set in stone - yet for one brief moment, as she caught sight of the out of control projectile/motorcycle heading towards her Messerschmitt typewriter, I clearly saw a look of absolute terror.

Just prior to impact, mercifully the bike struck a kerb sending it off to the left of the window. To use a modern computer term, I interfaced with the Nissen hut at a speed of about 30mph. The bike doing a complete about flip, right over the top of me, I was sent sprawling into the snow.

As I came to, badly bruised and very shocked, I noticed that the corporal had made his way over and sympathetically screamed, “What the fuck did I think I was doing?” He helped me up and between us we picked up the bike and began kicking bits back into their rightful place. Fortunately, unlike most Jap bikes they are designed to be squaddie proof and no permanent damage was done, despite my best efforts.
 
I was forced back on the bike straight away, to beat the fear that had now overwhelmed me and he spent several more minutes going over the controls once more. Eventually, I was able to move off, this time wobbly but controlled and make my way over to the other students, to receive rapturous applause. This was clearly going to be a fun course - for them.

As the morning progressed I began a steep learning curve. Soon I was able to start/stop/change gear/steer - sometimes all in the right sequence. By the afternoon we were doing such invaluable things as riding the machines as slowly as possible whilst standing on the saddle. Which, of course, has proved to be a most useful skill in the intervening years. After my initial experiences I developed the once bitten twice shy philosophy, and was by far the most cautious student on the course.

By day two we started the business with the cones. Inevitably this led to a few low speed spills, especially on the figure of eight. I can best compare the experience to learning to drive a Challenger tank. The Armstrongs were particularly cumbersome to manoeuvre and had very heavy handling. Despite all this, we all passed our Part One by lunchtime on day four. Then it was off out for our first experience on the road.

A memorable excursion around the locality. At about 3.30pm we found ourselves in the centre of Bunde and we pulled up in a convoy outside the local tech college. The students had just finished for the day, a large throng ready to cross the road in front of us. Being at the head of the convoy, I took the opportunity to do some posing - perhaps difficult when you look like a huge green blob of snot.

As I slowed down I hadn't realised the steep camber of the road, and being somewhat inside leg challenged on the rather tall Armstrong I lost it when I stopped. Realising there was no way I was going to stay upright, I merely hopped over to the right hoping the machine would tumble over on to the tarmac. Fine in theory, however my multi-buckled, waxed cotton trousers chose that exact moment to become inextricably linked to the rear brake pedal.

So over I went with the bike resting firmly on top of me. Since I was effectively in the seated position but horizontal I did contemplate just waiting there for a while to see if anyone had noticed this low speed, undramatic spill. However, this was not to be as I began to experience a burning sensation as the exhaust sought to interface with my thigh. Thankfully, several students saved the day by helping me and the bike uptight again. Once I'd pulled my leg out we were soon on our way once more, happier and wiser for the experience.

The remainder of the course passed by reasonably uneventfully. I passed the (pre-pursuit) Part Two test. The only mishap during week two was when my bike and I decided to emulate an unterwasserboot and came a cropper in a mud pool the size of Cheshire (helps if you deflate the tyres first).

As for the Armstrongs, they were tough, rugged beasts that withstood a tremendous amount of abuse and seemed just about soldier-proof; a testimony to their build quality. Unfortunately, I never got to ride one again since I was unexpectedly posted shortly after returning to my unit. However, I did begin a love affair with bikes that has lasted to this day.

Neil Tootell

BSA Brigand

The phone rang, an excited voice said, “Marty, I’ve got this neat BSA for you. The business and dead cheap. Useful for offroad work as well.” It immediately conjured up visions of big thumpers, that would rock the world with their torque. I said I'd be there yesterday and got the Jap crap (sorry, a very nice GB500 Honda) out pronto and tore the five miles to his humble abode.

What a disappointment. A somewhat tatty stroker, its only real concession to off-road work the front guard mounted under the fork yoke. The engine looked big enough to be a 125 but my spirits fell further when it turned out to be a mere 50cc. I don't want a bloody moped, I screamed at him, grievously insulted.

After I calmed down a little, I had a quick spin on the BSA Brigand. The exhaust wailed and smoked, it tore up to 45mph then refused to go any faster. It seemed OK for a fifty, its tattiness the reason for the £75 price. I was warned that the motor might go at any time but the chassis looked like it could take a bigger engine if the worst happened.

There were also Boxer and Beaver models, both based on the same chassis and Wop 50cc mill, as well as a 175cc Tracker, which looked very similar. Basically, the last gasp of the BSA company which had once been the biggest motorcycle producer in the whole world.

I came back the next day with the money and rode away, thinking of ways to sell the bike at a vast profit. The only way to placate the wife who went berserk at the thought of yet another motorcycle clogging up the garage. A mile, or so, from domestic bliss, the motor coughed, spluttered and died a death. I soon diagnosed that there wasn’t any spark at the plug and this was because the cap was loose. I got home but it turned out the whole electrical system was rotten.

It was all pretty basic and fixed up with bits I had in the garage. I tore the thing down to the frame for a quick clean and paint, leaving the motor alone. A weekend's work had it all in reasonable shape luckily, all the consumables had plenty of life left, the spares situation being desperate.

The clutch and brakes were incredibly heavy for such a tiny bike. The latter explained by the tiny drum brakes that looked like they had walked from a heavyweight push-bike. The gearchange was odd, to say the least, jumping out of gears without any warning. I soon learnt that the motor needed to be wound up all the time, the slightest hill or wind could have it down to 20mph if it fell out if its power band - this made the jumping gears a pure bit of nastiness. It was much improved when I changed the gearbox’s oil.

It was also easy to oil the plug when slogging away in town, giving me all the excuse I needed to imitate a juvenile delinquent. The bike was almost as light as a bicycle and usefully narrow for charging through gaps in the traffic. Just keep it wound up and all was well. It was better to twirl the bars than try to hit the brakes when someone got in the way.

A useful enough commuter if you're into that kind of thing, with about 100mpg even when thrashed. When starting became a twenty kick affair I whipped the cylinder head off - decoke time. Needed this every 1000 miles, a bit of a pain but I did use the cheapest stroker oil.

I went off the bike when my leggings caught on the back brake lever and I ended up with the bike in my lap. None of the amused peds rushed forward to help and I threw my spine out extracting myself from the mess, almost unable to kick the engine back into life. I guess, in retrospect, it was quite funny.

I should've taken the hint and sold the bike for £200 when offered the chance, but I found it useful for popping around town and the BSA’s decal received utmost reverence from the general populace. Better than a C90, and the like. The next little contretemps was the chain breaking and trying to take out my leg. Instead it just scarred my boot. The sprockets looked a bit hooked but I couldn't be bothered replacing them as well.

Against my better judgement, I decided to take the BSA for an off-road ramble. The Taiwanese tyres were like plastic on the grass, the thing skidding all over the shop until I was deposited in a large puddle... well it looked like a puddle but was a hole about two feet deep! The monster from the swamp had nothing on this kid. The bike had just slid along the damp ground, escaping any damage whatsoever, save for a couple of inches of deeply encrusted mud turning it temporarily into rat of the year. This ended my offroad excursions. Apart from the tyres, the all or nothing power delivery wasn't suited to dirt work.

One major hassle with such a light bike was that side-winds would try to scoop it up and throw it across the carriageway. Leaning at acute angles into the gale worked, but all it took was a temporary respite in its force (say, a tree in the way) to have the Brigand threatening to fall flat on its side and give me a nasty dose of gravel rash. Not even riding as slowly as an OAP helped, the thing was just flung around viciously, making it a toss up if I'd be back-ended or play chicken with oncoming cages. I kept a keen eye on the weather forecast.

One amusing incident happened when I was charging down this bit of country lane when the level crossing gates suddenly started to descend. I swear to this day that there was no warning whatsoever. Flat on the tank I wobbled over the track, feeling the breeze of the descending barrier on my neck. Another inch and I would've lost my head. No point trying to pull up in a hurry with those useless brakes. I could’ve fitted a better front end but that kind of investment just wasn't worth it.

By the time I'd done 3500 miles, added to the exhaust smoke were clutch rattle, piston slap and a knocking noise from the bottom end. But it still ran just as fast as before, so I just kept a hand over the clutch lever in case the worst happened... I’d picked up an old DT175 engine that looked like it would fit in the frame for when things got seriously out of line.

As if sensing my lack of faith, I suffered a spate of breaking cables, which I fixed myself, though it could have been a laugh to go into the local dealer and demand a new set. The bike was giving every indication of coming to the end of its life, the mileometer reading a mere 19400 miles.

I thought I’d give the advertising game a try, put it in for £275 and had about a hundred calls. I admitted that it was a bit tired but it didn't put off a few chaps who came charging across country to have a look. It was, when all was said and done, a BSA! They have minor cult status and £250's a fair price for a bike just in spares value - and that’s what I got for mine.
 
The new owner didn't want to know about the DT engine, even though it was no less foreign than the Wop mill fitted to the Brigand. I was very pleased with myself and even the wife was nice to me for a couple of days. 

Martin Fine