Welcome to our little corner of the WWW! We offer real motorcycling stories rescued from Interweb oblivion for your enjoyment, edification and reading pleasure, with horrible layout and questionable grammar as standard since 2010 ;)
Fuck Netanyahu and the murderous Israeli regime. Free Palestine!
Trying to burn off a cop car on a GPzS500S ain't really recommended. The bike has a surprising surge of acceleration at 100mph, will even put 130mph on the clock. But the cops were in some huge Ford that stayed within an inch of my numberplate. Wailing away merrily. It was the M4, early in the morning and I should’ve known better. My licence perilously close to an excess of points and automatic ban. God knows what the magistrate would think of me trying to break through the 130mph barrier.
The Kawasaki was very stable flat out. I had one of the recent ones with a seventeen inch front wheel. That helped, especially in tyre choice, but the older model one of the which I'd run for 70000 miles before selling to buy a 3000 miler wasn’t as bad as the pundits made out. I never came off, anyway. The bike was lighter and narrower than the four cylinder mob, helped with the aerodynamics and ease of flickability.
Despite having a mere two cylinders vibration was never a problem. True to its nature (and 180 degree throw crankshaft) the engine wasn’t that pleasant below 3000 revs when drive-line lash also caused the chain to graunch away in the taller gears. Fortunately, the gearbox was a whole lot slicker than the older models, no problem using the six ratios to avoid the low rev traumas.
The engine, though, ran better the harder it was used, although below 6500 revs there was plenty of torque, could be strung along on moderate revs and still not be so slow as to send the rider asleep. Flirting with the red sector didn’t bring in any vibration of note, the engine felt bullet-proof even when thrashed, which was what I was doing to keep the cops on their toes.
The only way out was to do something stupid. With a turn-off just shooting past, I decided to pretend to pull over. Came almost to a halt on the hard shoulder with the cop car just behind me, used the bike’s agility to whip around facing the pigs, then roared off along their inside, back towards the exit on the hard shoulder. Fucking mad, but there was no way they could turn around. They probably had the helicopters out but they didn’t catch up with me. The previous owner was probably gang-banged by irate plod as I forgot to register the bike in my name.
I suppose there are two types of GPz owners. Those, like me, who want something for nothing, revel in the way the little twin performs despite its lack of power and cylinders. It’s faster than most people suspect, handles with such ease that it makes the rider out to be a hero and is something of a giant killer. Basically, use the revs and ride the thing as hard as possible all the time.
The other kind of owner sees the Kawasaki as a serious motorcycle, about the only bike on the market that is in any way comparable to all those hordes of seventies twins. It’s an extremely useful device without being silly in its use of fuel or consumables. Although water-cooled and sporting four valves per cylinder, it’s also a lot less threatening and overpowering than the Jap fours. It’s also never boring or bland, melding the best of both worlds. It can be ridden mildly or flat out, depending on conditions and the owner’s inclination.
But, as far as motorcycling goes, I've never been sensible. Put a bike between my legs and my right hand goes all twitchy. I like riding with manic intensity. The later bikes are better equipped for such excesses. Minor suspension upgrades make them a touch tauter and the bigger wheels improve security without in any way impairing the ease with which the bike can be chucked around.
I never had any problems with the old front disc/rear drum set up and the new bike, with discs all round, is just pandering to fashion. In fact, the rear drum was excellent, bags of feedback, just the right amount of power and absolutely no problems, with shoes that lasted for over 25000 miles. Even with just 14000 miles on the clock the rear caliper has begun to seize up and it has become an annoying on/off switch in the wet. Front pads were just as short-lived as on the older model, about 7500 miles, but both bikes are free of any wet weather lag. The old disc went all squeaky every 10000 miles, needed a strip and clean; the new brake has needed no such attention yet.
Despite many predictions of doom, I never needed to take the old Uni-trak back end apart, although by 20000 miles the shock had gone all soggy. No problems from the new bike yet, maybe Kawasaki are putting grease on the linkages, these days! One tip, use some rubber sheet to extend the rear mudguard so that there’s no gap between it and the swinging arm - that keeps most of crud off the linkages.
GPz500 engines are generally tough old things, though they do need regular oil and filter changes. Neglect that, the cams will end up pitted and scored before 25000 miles are done. I wouldn't bother with one with more than fifty thou on the clock, though 75000 miles ain't impossible. After that, figure a rebore, rebuilt top end and even new hyvoid primary chain. One good point about the sixteen inch wheel models, so many people fell off when the front tyre snapped away without warning that there are plenty of good engines in breakers. It’s possible to resurrect some cheap old rat.
Also, the finish wasn't brilliant. The tank and plastic weren't bad, but rust seeps out of the frame and swinging arm after as little as a year (my new 'un is better), when the fasteners will also come out in a rash of rust - this for bikes that are kept under cover when not in use. Manic despatching can turn them into rats in less than a year. This is mostly superficial, though, and they can be cleaned up with more elbow grease than actual hard cash.
Going back to that escapade with the cops, top of my wish list is more power. 60 horses and 380Ibs ain't a bad combination, and the aerodynamics make the best use of that power at high speed —the new fairing looks better and gives improved protection, though the screen is still too low.
It’s a pity that Kawasaki haven't developed the theme properly, I fancy 650cc, 80 horses and 325lbs - there’s plenty of excess in the chassis that could be pared down, not least in the way the frame bolts together on one side. The big question is how the engine would take the excess capacity, would it still be smooth or would the increased vibes ruin it? Kawasaki get away with such a lack of development because there aren't any alternatives. The 600 Bandit has the power but is otherwise too excessive in mass and girth. The TRX850 is far too expensive for me and has none of the cheap running costs of the GPZ. The new ER-5 budget 500, based on a slower version of the GPz500’s engine, is a bit of an insult to the fans of the breed. No thanks.
There is a Motad pipe for the 500, which I fitted to the old bike when the original rotted through at 54000 miles. Nice noise but no extra power that. I could discern I was almost convinced that the rush of power at 100mph was a little bit diminished but it might just have been the engine getting old. There’s loads of kit for upgrading them - from higher screens (which are silly as they flatten out at speed) to upside down forks, and it’s worth looking out for bikes that have been sensibly modded on the used market.
You'll have to pay £2500 for a really nice one, though runners are available for less than £1500. Don’t bother with dealers, they just mark them up to a silly extent. With Bandits becoming so popular because of their low prices, taking over from GPZ's as the cheap sportster, new prices have taken a bit of a dive, possible to get one discounted to £3650, which ain't bad value.
This was my second Atlas, not what's known as learning from experience. The first I'd owned in the late sixties. Kept the bike for about nine months until I finally tired of the exploding engine. Build quality was minimal. In its favour there was an excess of power and torque, plus the fine handling Featherbed frame. Not enough to compensate for an engine that had its roots firmly in a mild 500 twin. The Commando replacement held even less appeal.
So zoom forward nearly thirty years to a sunny July day. And what should I spy in downtown Leeds but an immaculate Norton Atlas. As it happened, the biking bug was calling me back to the clan after a five year absence. I had in mind a used Honda CBR600 or some other fine bit of Jap technology - you know the sort of thing - smooth, reliable, sophisticated, masses of power... so why the hell did I feel such pangs for the venerable Norton?
Unfortunately, the owner turned up before I could leave the area and dismiss such thoughts from my mind. When I revealed that I’d owned one in the sixties he was all over me like a rash. Did I want ago? How can you turn down an offer like that? Expecting the worst, I was surprised at the ease with which the bike kicked into life, its smoothness and the kick the mighty 750cc mill gave.
The owner explained that it was running later Superblend bearings, electronic ignition, belt primary drive... an almost endless list of minor and major modifications to take the bike about as far away from stock as you could get and still call it an Atlas. Needless to say, I fell for the bike and, as luck would have it, he was willing to take five grand for it, knowing that I would look after the machine like it deserved.
When we turned up at my house the wife hit the roof, not seeing the funny side of spending all our spare cash on an old British motorcycle. What about our holiday, she screamed. We can go touring on the bike, I offered. Something about dead bodies was then mentioned. The owner, a life long bachelor, looked on amused at these goings on, offered to pull out of the deal if I wanted. Fear tugged at the pit of my stomach at the very thought.
Domestic harmony was further threatened when I revealed that the machine would have to be parked in the hallway. The Atlas wasn't the oil gusher of old but it did leave a few drops of lubricant on the Axminster after a hard run - and it would burn quite a lot of oil off, so a wary eye had to be kept on its level.
Part of the engine mods was a milder state of tune, basically all the blood and guts concentrated in the first 5000 revs. Even with all the engine mods, high revs still meant plenty of vibration, so it made perfect sense to have all the power and torque below five grand. The way the bike was set up it didn’t really need a gearbox - it'd lunge forwards whether in fourth or first. Nevertheless, the gearbox was typically Norton slick, although the clutch lever was very heavy, likely to annoy effete Jap riders.
All this power was contained by the Featherbed chassis. The suspension was a little primitive, relying on taut springing rather than excessive travel to keep the bike under control. Masses of feedback from the tarmac made the bike very safe in the wet, even though that gorgeous torque could scrabble the back wheel.
Steering was out of this world. The trick with the Norton’s geometry was to combine light, almost delicate steering, with a feeling that the machine was running on rails. This on old, large and thin tyres that if fitted to a modern Jap bike would doubtless have it all wired up, becoming a high speed accident looking for somewhere to happen.
The Norton’s duplex loop of high tensile steel tubing was surpassed by more modern designs with less curves and a more direct connection between steering head and swinging arm mount, but Norton made the best of the available technology and fine tuned the chassis with regards to weight distribution, geometry and suspension compliance: The Slimline Featherbed frame was way ahead of the game in the sixties and still easily up to modern roads, surpassing in general ability any number of middleweight Jap’s. Obviously, the Atlas lacks the power to make it as a contender in races with the 600’s but I surprised quite a few Jap riders on things like GS500s, GPz500s and GS550s.
The Atlas weighs in at about 400lbs, a lot of that weight concentrated in the twin cylinder mill, which is at once relatively narrow and mounted low. Modern Jap fours, being both wide and burdened with long travel suspension, can’t hope to come close to the Atlas’s low centre of gravity. As anyone who has studied bikes knows, a low centre of gravity makes sorting out the handling that much easier. Hence the bike’s combination of easy handling and rock-like stability, despite the limitation of decidedly old-fashioned components.
The flow of torque, the ease of handling and the sheer togetherness of this particular example (which is surely better than anything the Norton factory ever managed) allowed the bike to career, caper, across the landscape at surprisingly high velocities - an average of 90mph over a favourite stretch of fast A-roads surely says it all!
An indicated top speed of 120mph could only be lightly touched upon because of the aforementioned vibration, and had I spent my working life dealing with pile-drivers, I might even have been able to push the bike to as much as a 130mph. But I hadn't and I didn't really want to end up with the con-rods poking out of the crankcases (just one of the venerable twin’s weak spots when thrashed).
Town work was less exuberant, the bike feeling a bit unsettled at low speeds, bits of chassis wavering fiercely due to some resonance at low revs. It just didn’t feel right to thrash the engine hard in first or second, although when the need arose that marvellous torque allowed drag starts that had both cagers and hot-shot replica riders wondering what the hell had just gone down. The blessed roar of stainless steel reverse cone mega’'s popped their eardrums right out of their heads! Marvellously evocative, although no doubt some would think it an arrestable offence (not least she who must be obeyed).
What of maintenance and the fabled bits falling off? 500 mile sessions are obligatory but by no means time consuming or difficult. And, yes, after a hard ride I have to go over the bolts, but it’s not a problem because I also like to polish her up to a mirror shine - it just seems like the decent thing to do. I don't ride the bike in winter, though, not because it couldn't cope - these bikes were made in England for all this country could throw at them, after all - but because it makes more sense to use the CG125 I’ve recently acquired.
Actually, things are getting a little out of control. I've also bought a 650SS Dominator in a couple of boxes and a dirt cheap 850 Commando. I told the wife that the front room’s conversion to a workshop was only a temporary aberration. Yeah, sure!
The Auckland customs officers were quite nice about it, really. They just didn’t like the way I looked! When it came down to it, neither did I! I'd spent the flight spewing up and my stomach felt like I had a heroin filled condom burst open. They glanced at the youthful photo in the passport and tried to find some resemblance to the wreck that stood before them. I'm one of the few people who look worse in reality than they do in their passport photo!
After an hour's interrogation I was finally set free, but only after being quizzed about knowing anyone involved in the drug game and how would I feel about being an informer? The only thing that got me in was my Amex card which, unknown to them, had been cancelled some months before.
This was June, winter in Auckland. I didn’t expect winter to mean a howling typhoon off the sea, grey skies and the kind of damp that made me go all soft at the knees for my misspent youth in grotty bedsits in Shit City. My tropical gear was well out of place. The disturbingly fit youth who was driving the mini-bus into town, rushed forward to grab my bag as if I was some pensioner on his last legs. Where was I going? Good question, mate!
By the time we were downtown, my stomach was merely grumbling away and the searing cramps in my legs only required a modest bit of Zen to overcome. The howling blizzard soaked me through even though I'd only had to jump a few yards to the hostel. There were only beds in the dormitory left, I didn’t mind sharing with a dozen other hobos, did I? Just as well I didn’t have anything left worth stealing and the unwashed odour of excessive flatulence would dissuade any sexual attacks in the night. I didn’t so much go to sleep as pass out as if hit over the head with an iron bar - the body can only take so much!
The next morning the sun shone weakly, the blue sea fluttered fitfully and I only filled one toilet bowl with vomit. Skyscrapers with black-blue windows reflected the glare of the day back at each other and deep into my mind. Auckland was weird shit; strong resonances of good old England with some ancient edifices right out of London but a different quality of light and built practically in the surrounding sea. Lots of wooden building right out of the Wild West. Unlike convict dominated Oz, seemed an altogether gentler, more sophisticated trip.
I was so mentally disturbed that I quite happily handed over my passport and a 100 dollars for a week's hire of a Yamaha Jog. Another awesomely fit young man told me all I had to do was sit on the thing, roll the throttle to go forward and hit the front brake lever to stop, as if I was a four year old child rather than a world traveller with an UMG fan club back in Blighty (me mum!).
Didn't they have any Brit V-twins? Nope, though if I had some serious money I could hire something from one of the dealers across town. The concept of serious money had long since disappeared from my grasp (not merely down to the Ed’s reluctance to hand over any dosh for these scribblings - massive hint to UMG HQ... the cheeky bastard claimed my second tranche of ramblings on Oz was totally unprintable! Don’t ask me, it’s all a blank period in my mind!).
The Yamaha Jog was styled along the lines of a squashed scooter, sat on the road on wheels flinched off a kid’s bicycle and sounded like a sewing machine on overdrive. I hated the fucking thing from the moment I set eyes on it but it was the only motorised vehicle to be had cheaply and I wasn't going to parade around Auckland on a bicycle in a silly pudding basin helmet (the law there, fascist cunts!).
Auckland has some very steep hills. Under the Culler beer gut, the Jog seemed to be going backwards at times, the engine squealing in a disturbing resemblance to myself after I’ve thrown up due to massive overindulgence in stimulants. Bumps in the road, and there were lots of them, jerked the handlebars around in a manic manner, making me think I had yet another fit of the shakes. Surely not! It didn't do to take my eyes off the road for a moment, the only good thing going for it was its minuscule size and weight; when the going got tough I could slide sideways under big lorries and snatch the thing up under my arm, carry it through pedestrian precincts as if it was an affectionate puppy. Weird shit, didn’t I tell ya!
At one point, where a hill went almost vertical, I actually had to throw myself off and run alongside the damn thing. No doubt fitness fanatics would say a good bit of exercise for someone famed for his indulgence in excessive quantities of beer. All I can say is fuck that! I really didn’t expect the place to be so cold, me tee-shirt and shorts getting some curious glances from the natives, as did the wobbling beer gut - at least the Princess Di motif meant I couldn't be confused with any other foreigners.
The Jog gave some protection from the elements, but only really effective if you're a Japanese midget in the aftermath of a jaw-wired-shut diet. For some obese Westerner it was a form of torture, how to become an object of ridicule in one easy lesson. It was probably just as well that the gutless heap of shit couldn't wind up to more than 30mph even on the downhill sections! The automatic gearbox worked in a series of fanatical jerks that gave my arms and upper body a massive, and totally unwanted, work-out [the Jog has no auto box to jerk, but a single variable ratio CVT as anyone who has ever ridden one would know, 2020 Ed.].
I squealed to a halt in the main shopping centre, propped the Jog in an alley, hoping someone would nick it, and dashed into a cafe to warm up - Kiwi’s seem to ignore the cold, not wanting to recognize just how chilly the place gets, keep the heating on low. Auckland's expensive because the pound is worth sod ail, about £1 to 2.2 dollars - the cost of a cup of coffee. They give you free top-ups and I soon found myself straining the bounds of hospitality by getting about seven cups of coffee for the price of one! I was pretty wired by the time I got back on the road.
I fair flew across town on the Jog, screaming down the hills with a gale force wind behind me. Ended up in Newmarket, where an old dear let me rent a room for a hundred dollars a month - a bargain in Auckland where a studio flat costs twice that for a week! I almost immediately conked out on the dubious mattress, woke up to find the old biddy on top of me, screaming with ecstasy. Oh well, looked like I was going to be living rent free for a while.
In desperate need of some dosh, I took a job at one of the markets, selling dubious Chinese herbal cures. I reckon most of it was a commie plot to part stupid Westerners from their dosh. No work permit or relevant visa, cash in hand, etc. I'd spent most of the day getting high on the stock Tiger penis, Ginseng, Bee Pollen, Saw Palmetto berries, etc - several herbal stimulants give a stronger kick than a caffeine drip-feed, but not really up to the serious standards of Western drugs. Still it was fun to mix them altogether and give totally spurious advice to the punters, who turned up complaining of everything from baldness to impotence.
I persuaded the old dear to front me the money for a VT250, a piece of piss but at least it accelerated, braked and handled in a reasonable manner. I must admit that after five weeks under the Culler abuse, the poor old Jog looked close to death’s door, kept leaping out of gear [again, not possible. 2020 Ed.] and screaming to about 15000 revs. The owner was too polite to let loose with the nastiness I saw in his eyes - a common Kiwi trait and you can get away with murder if you’re just passing through.
After the Jog the Honda seemed like the height of sophistication and I had no end of fun pissing off the local cops by burning through red lights and failing to come to an orderly halt when gesticulated at. Such niceties as insurance and registration docs being ignored - one of the great things about being in a foreign land is that if you mess up in a big way, all you have to do is catch the first plane out [Insurance isn't compulsory in New Zealand, as anyone who had ridden there would know. 2020 Ed.]
By then the old biddy was talking about marriage and getting so insistent about sex several times a day that I was well pissed off, so it was a good time to leave town. It was straining my imagination to keep going as she had flesh like ancient leather and a body like an old wrestler gone to seed. Just as well half my brain had long ago closed down to the realities of life in the fast lane but I was a long way from home and had to take whatever was going.
Not before several surreptitious visits to the brothels to sample the local talent. 100 dollars for an hour, do anything you want and come out with a big grin. They're all over the place in Auckland, with signs outside, just walk in and take your choice. Trouble was the local women were dogs, dropped a few kids and gone to fat. A few threatened to take me to ecstasy like I'd never known before but I stuck with the Vietnamese gals who looked about fourteen and didn’t object to my not using a condom.
One really blew my mind away, kept giving me these 24 hour erections (or was it all the Ginseng I was gulping down?) and I decided to take her pillion. Some kind of Mafia shit, the girls sold by their parents just like in the Far East. No passport, no papers, barely any English, but I managed to spirit her out via the fire escape and get out of the area fast. I was shitting myself because these gangsters can turn pretty vicious, although on the surface Auckland is totally civilised and unthreatening. Massive infiuxes of Asians, with lots of drug money, was undermining the whole of their society.
The old biddy turned vicious when I went to collect my clothes, ranted on about all the rent I owed her, not to mention the couple of thousand dollars she’d lent me, and what about our marriage plans? The Vietnamese beauty meanwhile looked on bemused, probably figuring my grandmother was having a fit about my choice of companion. God, it was good to be on the open road again!
Dream time! A ton on the clock, some babe wrapping herself around my body, helmets illegally strapped on the rack, the sun just coming up on the horizon, the blue sea haze seemingly all around me as we hustled north - or was it south, everything topsy turvy at this end of the Earth - in search of some sun. Even the drugged, mind warped look in the Vietnamese’s eyes was beginning to wear off and she cracked the odd smile, though she was probably wondering what the hell she had let herself in for.
Nice, well surfaced, snaking roads, a blast on a smaller bike like the VT. They drive on the same side as the UK - just as well, otherwise my brain would've bounced right out of my head trying to figure out the permutations! I caned the little V-twin up to 13000 revs, it sort of cackled with glee, finding a smooth, sweet spot as we whizzed past everything else on the road as if they were standing still. 160km/h on the clock, probably a true ton.
Sometimes it all comes together - the drugs, the feel of the woman and illusion of total control over the bike between your knees. A curious high that pushes you into more and more manic behaviour without it really feeling mad at the time. It's only when you look back that you realise taking those bends on the wrong side of the road could’ve spelled death and disaster and that you really shouldn't have done the wheelie the length of some godforsaken little town that just happened to get in the way.
For a while I just didn’t want to stop, had the feeling that if I pulled over the whole euphoria might shatter and if that happened I might just lose my nerve. Alas, the VT chimed on to reserve, stuttered and then went dead. It took me a while to work out that reserve didn't work; in those wasted moments cars tried to batter us off the road, horns blasted and as if rearing up out of the earth a Kiwi cop car, some Japanese junk that I was sure I could outrun if only I had the motive power, appeared on my tail.
‘What the fuck you think you’re doing, mate? We nearly back-ended you back there...You drunk or something? We've been trying to pull you over for the last two klicks. Why aren't those crash helmets on your head, where they belong? You're all over the place, broken about every law in the book... What the hell do you think you're doing...’
Things were rapidly turning nasty, the pair of cops looked like they were trying to imitate some Yank highway patrolmen and were going to throw the book at me. The Vietnamese girl was shaking with fear at the mere sight of a couple of uniforms and I didn't actually know her age or for that matter the age of consent in New Zealand. Oops!
I gave the old biddy’s name and address as a reference, and where I'd left all my docs, having given her a false surname just to confuse matters. I wasn’t going to give my correct name or passport to a bunch of hick cops. They then wanted to know where I was going and the reply that I was just touring around didn't inspire any degree of trust in my nature. Luckily, the frail was bulked out in a couple of jackets, so didn’t look as young as she actually was, and they ignored her.
In the end, I got off with a stern dressing down that I almost blew by smirking - it wasn’t worth the effort of doing all the paperwork to apprehend a foreigner, was the impression I got. After harassing me for half an hour, they then pissed off with the injunction that the petrol station was only two kilometres walk away, the fatter of the two giving me a slimy grin...
Hells Angels. in New Zealand? Perhaps I was hallucinating under the pressure of pushing the Honda forever and a day. It certainly wasn't a heat mirage - the ice blue sky had clouded over and the temperature dropped rapidly down to near freezing. The ground thumped to the resonance of the 1340cc Harley V-twins. The bearded ones were bloated to outsize proportions and had expressions that indicated severe indigestion from eating raw chicken heads.
They twirled their massive machines around as if they were mere mopeds, kicking up gravel off the side of the road until it rained down on us like a furious onslaught of hailstones. I tried to ignore them, kept on pushing the Honda to the glimmer of civilization on the horizon, but one of the bros let loose with a bicycle chain - the bloody thing would’ve taken my fingers off if I hadn't let go of the handlebars!
I stepped back as the Honda clattered to the ground, with the frail hanging on to my arm as if her whole existence depended on it. The Angels weren't interested in us, they wanted to get their kicks from riding over the discarded Honda about a hundred times until the Jap crap looked like it’d been attacked by a runaway bulldozer.
I didn't stay around to see the end, as one of the guys had started screaming at me in a thick Oz accent. Something about slopes and foreigners needing to have their heads cut off. Of course, the cops were never around when you wanted them, were they? We walked to the nearby town and took the bus back to Auckland, the frail pissing off at the first opportunity. Another disaster... another day!
Al Culler
[Say your goodbyes to Mr. Culler here, folks. I've
long suspected Al's antics were something cooked up by Bill Fowler
when he had a couple of pages to fill and a print deadline was looming... I have now decided I ain't wasting any more of my time digitising this horseshit. 2020 Ed.]
About five years ago I had a ride on an ex-plod Wankel Norton. It had done something like 120000 miles and ran like shit. Low rev surges, massive hesitations whenever I wound open the throttle and a weird shriek out of the exhaust that did my head in. I gave it back to the owner with a pitying look and pat on the head. When I saw a Norton Classic propped outside a house just down the street, I crossed the road to avoid it. But curiosity got the better of me when a for sale sign was placed on its saddle. I could have it for a long weekend of testing if I was willing to let him have my prime CBX550 for the same. This was a low miler, only 9000 miles on the clock. Ran beautifully. I thought the Honda was smooth, but the Wankel engine re-defined the meaning of that word. Acceleration was impressive, I kept running out of gears as the bike screamed up to 9000rpm when the rev-limiter cut in. The gearbox was slick but there was a touch of chain whipping at very low revs. The gearbox locks up when you come to a standstill, needs to be knocked into neutral first. If I forgot that I found a bit of clutch drag whilst waiting at junctions, but nothing that using the front brake doesn't sort. The air-cooled twin rotor engine does run very hot, despite the huge cooling fins. It needs a bit of motion to keep the temperature down - really needs a fan to force the air through it instead of using the induction air flow, but this is a minor point. An awful lot of clever engineering went into the motor, keeping it both simple, reliable and light. British engineers can do wonders, but a lot of them are removed from the reality of marketing their products - the Wankel was a loser before it began, really. The styling’s as restrained as the chassis engineering, but the latter works well on the road. With all of the bulk of the engine lowly placed, the bike has a centre of gravity that inspires security. It's very safe in the wet despite having a ridiculous 32 inch seat height and wide saddle. Wholly lacking is the feeling of being one with the machine, which was so much a part of British motorcycling in the sixties. An astonishing omission for a bike with Norton on the petrol tank. Having started with a light engine the chassis further annoys in weighing an incredible 500Ibs (though it never feels that heavy). If the Wankel engine had any chance of making it in the world, its lack of vibration should have allowed it to be the main frame member, ending up weighing 250 to 300Ibs. This would have transformed the effect of the available 80 horses on the acceleration, although to be fair, the bike performs better than any British twin of the sixties or seventies.
Top speed turned out to be 130mph on the clock. The engine didn't seem to have run out of power, if the rev-limiter was disabled it could probably have kept going and going until the whole thing exploded. The Classic can be considered as either a 600 or 1200, depending on how the rotors are measured, and according to which way it’s rated it turns out to be good or mediocre.
The bike had a way with it. It seemed to float across the countryside with a total relentlessness and, once I'd adjusted to the riding position, in good comfort. Fuel averaged out at 45mpg, which included a bit of speed testing and cruising at 90 to 100mph for many hours. The owner reckoned he could achieve 60mpg under mild riding. The engine uses an oil injection system which blew the lube at around 300 miles per pint. You have to use special Wankel oil, not whatever comes to hand, unless you revel in mechanical disasters. The one area that I didn't like was the braking. Triple discs that reacted to water by refusing to work for a worrying couple of seconds, then tried to skid the tyres off the road. One good thing about wet weather riding was that Norton had fitted decent mudguards which kept most of the muck off the machine and rider. Typical of bikes made in merry old England (new Triumphs aside!). Apart from being a bit slow turning in town traffic, the Classic took everything that I could throw at it. Top speed could easily be used as a cruising speed - if you had massive arm muscles - the bike feeling rock solid on smooth motorways. It could be a bit finicky on very bumpy roads, but the twitchiness never developed into a strong weave or wobble. Country roads were taken with ease, as good as the much lighter CBX but with more violent acceleration. When I came back to the Honda I thought that the engine was about to explode. After the smooth, sophistication of the Norton, the four cylinder CBX felt rough and vibratory with a horrible gearchange, like some old abortion of a British thumper. It took at least a week before the noise and vibration faded into the background again. You never know real joy until you’ve experienced it for the first time.
The Classic made me feel full of despair rather than joy one time. In the middle of the Cotswolds the engine suddenly switched itself off. Dead motor, we freewheeled to a halt in the middle of the countryside. Wonderful scenery but not so great if you have to push a great big motorcycle for miles. I was beginning to curse myself for a fool. The motor seemed locked up solid, refusing to go into neutral or even move. All | could do was wait for it to cool down, leap up and down on the seat to get the gearchange to bounce down to neutral. I was much relieved when it came back to life, even more so when the rattling clutch quietened down. The major downside of Wankel ownership is that you never know when the rotor seals are going to go down. Despite some misgivings I was quite keen to swap the bike for the Honda. I was even willing to top the deal up with a few hundred quid. I agreed that the CBX was worth a grand, but was totally gobsmacked when the Norton’s owner reckoned his Classic was worth five thousand notes. I could buy a very nice CBR600 for that kind of dosh, or a new 600 Bandit plus lots of change. No way the Norton represents good value, but its relative rarity and the fact that it’s British, means they fetch that, and even more, on the market. So I didn’t buy this one but can recommend them if you're willing to spend the dosh. They add a whole new angle to the motorcycle experience. Clive Knight
The Kat was looking a bit shabby despite only having done 9750 miles. It had already been through three UK based owners. The last was a scruffy, obese monster who when he grinned looked like a mental retard. I declined the opportunity of a test ride on the pillion. Really, the only thing the bike had going for it was cheapness - £950, against two grand for ones I'd seen in the grey importers. As with most Suzuki fours, the motor sounded good and was its best feature.
Katana looks you either love or loathe. I was obviously in the former camp. The frame looked straight and there was no obvious crash damage. I offered £850, complaining that it wouldn't survive a winter and that the consumables were in urgent need of replacement. The moron grinned, grunted and acquiesced. Oh goodie, I’m back on the road.
The Kat’s layout ain’t the most comfortable in the world. A long reach to the bars and a bit of ball breaking tank/saddle interface. Oh well, I never really wanted kids, did I? Being a 250 four, the motor thrives on revs, really needing eight grand before it takes off. The gearchange lever was a bit loose, making it difficult to cane the mill until I'd had a chance to tighten everything up. Despite its bulk, it weighs less than 400lbs, steers very nicely with an immediately secure feel.
The more I looked over the machine, the more I found evidence of massive neglect. The worn out chain was due to the wheel being out of alignment on the chain's adjusters. The jerky brakes were down to the hydraulic fluid being the original and well cooked stuff that had come out of the factory. The engine oil looked and smelled disgusting. The carbs were way out of balance, although the valve clearances were OK. I went over the machine, cleaning up, tightening down bolts, fussing over minor bits.
Despite all that effort the bike still looked shabby, the grey paint had gone very dull, and there’s nothing more boring than dull grey paint. I explored the bike's potential a bit more before deciding to have a paint job done. It was worth the effort - 115mph, superb handling (after I’d fitted new tyres), 60mpg and a whole load of fun. I had the bike done in cream white, as I had a few unnerving moments when cagers just didn’t see me.As mentioned in the UMG before, painting a bike grey is daft as it merges with the tarmac.
So I had this great white beast that looked like it would eat 600 replicas for dinner but in reality was a mere 250 four that needed its guts wrung out to get its best performance. It wasn’t up to seeing off GPz500’s, and the like, let alone the really hot 600s but for less than £1250, including the paint job and the new consumables, it was exceptional value.
There were still some things I didn’t like about the machine. The front brake was grabby and a bit nasty in the wet. Not helped any by the back brake locking on, sending the wheel into some vivid skids. I actually ruined the side of one car, much to the amazement of the cager who staggered out and looked in disbelief at the state of his new automobile. The mere few scratches on the back of the Kat added to his annoyance.
The front forks were rather peculiar. They felt really stiff but when we hit a pothole they suddenly turned to jelly. The sudden violence was like being punched in the face. The really odd thing was that when flying along at speed and hitting a bump, they stayed calm and collected. No hassle. It was only the heavy, slow speed work that caused them to feel like they were falling apart. It was very hard to wheelie the bike, so I had to be ever alert for new potholes on my way to work. They seemed to open up suddenly, mysteriously, without any warning.
The rear shocks had been upgraded somewhere along the line, probably by the obese previous owner. Well rigid for me, giving my backside a real battering but at the same time holding the back wheel on line come what may. The Kat never had the kind of power that would squirm the back tyre, would run true out of corners even when I played silly buggers on the throttle and gearchange. These were minor quibbles, given the machine's cost. It was always a bike that I enjoyed riding.
The day would start with me looking the gleaming monster over. I caressed the planes of its body, patted its seat and whispered reassuring words to it. Well, if Prince Charles can get away with talking to plants, what’s a few words of encouragement to one’s pride and joy? It worked. It seemed to me that just the gentlest brush of the starter button had the engine whirling into life. A 250 four’s a real smooth and sophisticated piece of machinery. Feels absolutely bullet-proof even when thrashed along at 15000 revs.
Something that has to be experienced to be believed - at such revs a four cylinder engine really sings, losing the supposedly bland reputation compared to V-twins and triples. I would often just wind the machine up to revel in the aural exuberance. Helped along by the baffles having rusted out a little. The first time my neighbour heard the machine used in anger, he rushed out in a panic thinking a Jumbo jet was about to land on his house. We had a few words about my lack of social conscience but it impressed the young girl living on the other side no end.
She just couldn't get enough of the pillion seat. The way she hung on to me and squirmed around wasn't just down to the precarious nature of the perch, I think. Unfortunately, she’s only fourteen and her uncle’s a copper, so she was well out of bounds but I had some very pleasant dreams about what I would do to her when she turns sixteen. Not that age means much, these days, down some of the clubs in Manchester there are thirteen year olds just gagging for it! Not that I indulge, of course, officer. The Kat's looks and noise definitely impresses young girls and is worth buying just for that!
In just over a year I added 17000 miles to the clock. Although it doesn't look it, I found that the bulk of the petrol tank and its tiny fairing actually provided quite good protection in the rain and cold at least compared to a naked bike. I was thus able to ride the machine all year round. I don't think that this was something envisaged by the Kat’s designers. Rain and salted roads added up to a rusty exhaust, seized calipers, corroded engine and wheels, plus an odd coating of rust on the frame paint which could be wiped off and didn’t actually cause the paint to fall off! Go figure. Nothing a real biker couldn't sort out but a bit disappointing nevertheless - I know the machine was designed for the Jap market, but doesn't it rain and turn cold there? Perhaps they only ride in the summer.
The only reason I traded the bike in was because a 400 version turned up and 58 rather than 40 horses was too much of an incitement, especially as the dealer let me fit my white bodywork! The 400 only had 7000 miles on the clock and was in immaculate condition. £3500, but | got £2250 in part exchange, so not really that bad a deal considering the low mileage and improved performance. If you get the chance, buy one - either the 250 or 400, but the latter gives much more kicks.
Whenever I go past a church I get a bit of a nervous twitch. No, it's nothing to do with the BSA’s handling, which is generally fine. Nor caused by its notorious electrics, which were long ago upgraded by some diligent past owner. It’s just that it brings back memories of the time a fault with an old BSA twin caused me to miss my marriage ceremony. God was looking after me, as the woman turned out to be a right vulture when she married someone else. Riding a BSA past a church brought it all back to me!
I hadn't planned on buying a BSA C25, or any other motorcycle for that matter. Just a guy in work mouthing off about the half dozen old classics he had stashed away I didn’t even know he was into bikes. We had a good old argument about whether or not a BSA 250 thumper could be deemed a classic, the result being that it could - just - on its age. The next thing I knew I was invited around for a look. I hadn't been on a bike in twenty years.
The BSA was stock but a bit faded, 11000 miles on the clock and it still started up, albeit with a hefty bit of boot work. Just sitting on the bike, with the engine popping away, brought it all back to me. I suddenly wanted the bike with a yearning I hadn't felt since sighting my first girlfriend. I was allowed a blast around suburbia, which only deepened the longing. It was all so raw and aggressive after the car. It took me a couple of weeks and fifteen hundred notes to gain possession of the BSA.
His other bikes were big twins from the sixties and fifties, but no way he was going to part with them. I didn’t mind, the C25 was more than enough for me. If I wanted fast cruising in comfort I still had the car. The wife viewed the BSA with suspicion, but a few blasts on the back convinced her I knew what I was doing and that it could be quite fun - at least when the sun was shining. She was also amazed at how quickly we could rush across Bristol in the rush hour traffic.
The BSA wasn’t much good above 70mph, too much vibration as the revs rose. But it accelerated quicker than the cars, much to their drivers’ annoyance - nothing like being put in their place by what appeared and sounded like a vintage relic. They went berserk on the throttle and clutch but the roads were so packed that the only effect of heavy acceleration was to back-end the car in front of them.
The first time it rained they must have rejoiced. It was suddenly hell on earth, as the water poured into all the openings in my civilian clothes and soaked me through in a matter of seconds. Had to go buy some decent clothing, more expense. I was just thinking it wasn't that bad, that I'd be home in a minute or two, when the motor coughed, stuttered and then switched itself off. This was almost as effective as using the drum front brake to lose speed. The cager behind went berserk as he had to squeal his brakes to avoid running over us.
I soon pulled off the road. Stood there, dripping masses of water as yet more poured out of the sky. What did I use to do in the old days, thought I? Clean out the points? No chance of that in this weather. I tried the kickstart, the damn thing fired up straight away. Conked out three more times before I made it home. Turned out, it wasn’t the points but the HT lead gone all rigid, breaking down. The wife was almost hysterical with laughter when I turned up looking like a drowned rat.
Later, I discovered that another downside with wet weather riding was that the drum brakes filled up with water and all braking effort disappeared. In the dry, braking was quite reasonable, though I never pushed the bike up to its theoretical top speed of 85mph I wanted to keep my fillings and figured my eyeballs would probably pop out. The engine didn't have any balancers, nor much sophistication. Due to its primitive nature fuel was only 50mpg, appallingly bad (worse than my cage) given the performance.
It was just as well that the engine braking was so strong, saved the day when it rained... it was also easy to lock up the back wheel if I was a bit slow on the throttle when changing down through the gearbox. The back tyre would scream, stutter and skid all over the shop until I sorted the’ revs out.
The gearchange was the wrong way round compared to modern Japs but this wasn’t a hassle for me because I'd never owned any, was instantly at home with the arrangement. Had given up biking before the Jap’s took over the roads completely. Surprisingly, any number of people on Japanese bikes would wave, stop to have a chat and generally refrain from taking the mickey.
The way I rode the BSA its performance was the equivalent of a 12hp learner bike. Fine in town or for quiet meanderings down country lanes but a bit lost anywhere else, so I simply didn't ride anywhere else. Fine if you have a second vehicle, but not the kind of mount to use day in, day out, all year round.
The main limitation on the length of time I could stand on the bike was my clutch hand - the lever required an incredible amount of muscle and the engine never really had so much torque that I could just leave it in one gear. The gearchange itself, though, was marvellously smooth and precise unless I tried to use it without the clutch when the whole bike would lurch forwards. The drive chain always clanged away unless I was very precise with the throttle when changing gears. A good gearchange is a sign of a well put together engine.
The motor’s a unit construction job with the expected two valves, pushrods and primary chain. Stories abound of it falling apart under the owner, especially the gearbox and top end, but it all depends on how the mill’s treated. Thrashed and neglected ones, not surprisingly, don't last very well as little as 5000 miles! But a gentle throttle hand combined with periodic doses of preventative maintenance adds up to a reasonably long-lived unit - say, 20-25000 miles before the whole thing’s worn out.
Whatever you want to say about the quality of old British bikes, C25’s were somewhat built down to a price and its engine design was outdated even before it hit the streets. There are various upgrade bits available but these are expensive and too much hassle, if like me all you want to do is potter around happily.
Here, the C25 ain't half bad. It makes a lot of noise and vibration even when it isn't revved hard, giving the impression that I’m a real hero to be able to handle such a machine. An awful lot of fun can be had without breaking any speed limits and most cops are friendly, often giving me the thumbs up!
Would I buy another? Having praised the bike as being adequate to my needs, I must admit I would like something ahine back into the British bike game it’s worth buying one. They turn up for as bit faster and smoother - a 500 twin, maybe? But as an entry level mac little as 500 notes, but in need of an awful lot of work. £1000 buys something with a good engine, sensible mods and lots of life left. £1500 should buy a genuine low miler. Anyway, try one out, see if you like it and report back to UMG HQ.
Some people stay on bikes all their life and some people return after a break, called born again bikers. I have just gone one better and returned to biking for the second time, a born again, born again biker.
I started at 16 with a moped, not with an FS1E or an APS50, these were not acceptable. I wanted something mean and moody, something to strike fear into the heart of other ‘ped riders. I bought a BSA Beaver! For those not in the know, this was an Italian engined ‘British’ bike.
People laughed at me! There were three reasons for this. The name of the bike. The fact that, amazingly, it had no ignition lock had friends starting it up and riding round and round in circles with the steering lock on. And at 6' 4” I looked pretty silly on such a small machine.
It might not have been mean but it was moody. It would never start hot and spent four of the first nine months of ownership at the dealers or the factory! I don’t want to question the mechanical competence of those involved but one day when I was desperately trying to start the thing after stopping, a bike pulled up. The rider was able to diagnose that the plug was the wrong grade. Once replaced I had no more problems!
When I was seventeen, the world of 250cc bikes opened up, which at the time was huge. What would I pick? X7’s were the sports bike to have, Superdreams were physically the biggest bike (important at my height). Then there were RDs, XSs, KHs. Which one?
The choice was obvious. My last bike had been crap, broke down and the dealer back-up was poor. Therefore I bought another BSA, this time a Tracker 175. This was a lot better. DT engine, nice and tall, it even started when I wanted it to. It also stood out from the thousands of DTs roaming the streets at the time.
The main problem was an amazingly small fuel tank, 1.2 gallons giving a range to reserve of around 50 miles. On a camping trip to watch the racing at Oliver’s Mount I set off from Hartlepool and was on reserve before reaching Whitby. This meant I was always playing catch up to the others who naturally refused to wait for me and was the cause of my first crash.
Heading towards the campsite in darkness the powerful six volt electrics lit the road rather less well than a candle. The red light I was following in the distance disappeared. I wondered why, for a moment, until the road and I had a disagreement. I thought the best way to the campsite was straight ahead, the road thought a sharp left-hander was best. The road won and I went straight into a hedge. Luckily, the only damage being a broken instrument cluster.
A year of off-road abuse took its toll on the Tracker before another crash killed it off. Riding home from work was cut short by a car pulling out on me. It seemed like one of those slow motion sequences in the movies. Once I realised I was going to crash and could do nothing about it, it seemed ages before we collided, straight over the top, landing on the other side.
The woman driver was 70 years old. All she kept saying was, ‘I drove in the war and never crashed.’ Which war, I wondered. Someone covered my head with a jacket - don't ask me how that was supposed to help a broken leg; the policewoman who arrived at the scene thought I was dead!
The final bike of my youth was a 400 Superdream. Superbiking, for me! It had a gold frame and wheels, black bikini fairing and looked the biz (for a Superdream). The best bit was a Micron exhaust with minimal baffling. Sounded brilliant! Especially if the throttle was shut off, when the thing would backfire like mad, driving nearby pedestrians crazy. After a year it was pinched and I was broke. That was the end - for a while.
It happened one hot day in June 1990. I was driving an MG Maestro, no slouch of a car with 0-60 in eight seconds. I got burnt by a bike, thought time to buy one! I decided to take a logical approach. Sat down at work with another ex-biker and evaluated what I needed. We decided on a middleweight for insurance purposes and running costs, shaft drive for ease of maintenance. The local paper had an advert for a CX650 in a dealer's in Newcastle. £1800. I took the day off.
I got to the dealers, asked for a test ride. Granted but where was my licence? I drove back to Hartlepool (about 20 miles) and returned. I really enjoyed the ride but then after six years off the saddle a C90 would have done the same. I asked for 10% off for cash. No go, not even if I agreed to buy my helmet and gloves at the shop.
On the way home, I called into a local dealer. There was a 350 YPVS Yamaha for £1200. One test ride later I was hooked, sod the shaft drive - CX650’s don't wheelie. The bike brought out my anti-social side. Up in the morning, masses of noise and smoke drifting over to next door’s garden as it warmed up whilst I ate breakfast (they built a high fence not long after).
I played rugby with a guy who had a Sierra 4x4, and thought it was quick. A sprint through the local industrial estate was duly thrown his way. We lined up after training one night and the bugger set off as soon as I started the Elsie. The first half of the race was neck and neck as the bike hadn't warmed up, and he must have thought what was all the fuss about. Then the motor kicked in and I left him for dead. He could not believe his car could be destroyed by this little bike, put in for his test soon after and now rides a GSXR750.
The bike's demise was my fault. Travelling to a match one day, I pulled alongside one of the cars. I counted down on my fingers before intending to blast off. Three... two... one... cog down and blast off. That was the plan, somehow I went down two or three gears in one tap. At once the engine screamed in protest and was not helped in its fight for survival by me pushing the gear level down again in shock. The engine exploded in a big way and as I was at this time unemployed again, the bike was flogged off to a breaker for peanuts.
I was determined to ride again one day but had just enrolled on a two year teacher training course so had to keep my dreams on hold for a while. I graduated and got a job but bought a house with my girlfriend so again was skint. Unfortunately, my father died in November, leaving me some money which I decided to invest wisely... by buying a new bike.
Just as before we decided to look at what type of bike we were going to buy. I say we, as Karen, my girlfriend, is not one who doesn't want an input in such matters. Her experience on bikes was being frightened to death by a loony on a 125 when she was sixteen, when she'd been thrown off the back. Not one to repeat the experience, and not understanding bikes very much, she wanted me to get a Virago or a Vulcan - they looked nice and have a backrest.
I always liked the looks of TDMs and Thunderbirds so we decided to ride the bikes two-up and see which we liked. I was amazed at how hard it was to get a test ride on used bikes. Eventually, I was allowed out on a one year old Virago. Roundabouts seemed no problem although I wasn’t going fast and throttle response from low revs was fun, especially after a Powervalve, although it ran out of steam a bit early. I enjoyed bopping around on the bike and thought I'd go for a 1100...
Then a demo TDM. The problem was that the seat forced the passenger into you when braking. Apart from that, it was a good ride although the engine felt a bit rough - never having ridden a big twin, this may be normal.
Talking to the salesman afterwards, I pointed to a new CB750 I and commented that when I was a teenager it was the sort of bike I aspired to. I liked the looks of early eighties fours and have never been fussed on race replicas. He told me a used one was coming in on Monday and I could give it a go.
The bike had a twin headlamp fairing and luggage set, the top box having a built-in backrest! We set off, I was amazed at the smoothness of the bike - my first ride on a four! Loved the throttle response from low revs and Karen loved the backrest. A deal was made!
I| am always being stopped by people of all ages commenting on the bike’s looks/colour, or the I used to have a so-so brigade. The acceleration’s great solo, although it can be a bit laboured two up with a total mass of 28 stone on board who can blame it? Karen’s almost as obsessed as me, now! Every time we go out, it’s can we go on the bike? Any excuse!
We are getting married next year and plan to tour Europe on our honeymoon. The CB might not set the world alight but it’s fast enough for me, has fine acceleration, looks great and is versatile. My only gripe’s the exhaust noise, which is crap. All I need now is a nice four into one.
Despite having the largest and richest bunch of consumers in the world, the States has singularly failed to decline into the moribund state that so well defines much of Europe, where consumers are ripped off left, right and centre. Prices, despite some heady increases in recent years, for most things are laughably low in the USA - down to the size of the market and cut-throat competition. The only good thing about the ridiculous cost of new motorcycles in the UK and the rest of Europe being that it has made it possible for European manufacturers to survive, and even thrive. In the States, they can’t compete, the roads full of Japanese models and Harleys, with the very odd Triumph and Ducati making an appearance. Low end Harleys are competitively priced and in huge demand whilst the sheer sophistication of the Japanese bikes, cruisers and replicas both, makes it close to impossible for anyone else to compete. To anyone interested in cheap bikes, the used market’s even more appealing than the new one. Whereas in the UK a thousand quid buys a terrible old rat on its last legs, some serious iron can be purchased for a thousand bucks in the USA with loads of life left in it. Most Yanks also run cages, biking more a leisure pursuit than anything else. Whereas cruisers are treated as a bit of a joke in the UK they are massively popular in the States. Their laid back riding, excellent low speed comfort and the relative straightness of most roads, make more sense in a country where speed limits are pathetically low and rigorously enforced. Except for the recent (and ignored here) spate of race replicas (which take about 40% of the market), most bikes sport high bars, cushy seats and soft suspension. Almost by definition they lead an easy life; mileage usually moderate and condition rarely decimated (unlike our own combination of acid rain and salted roads). Demand for old bikes isn’t that high, the populace having an effective purchasing power of about twice ours (they earn more money and pay less for most things). Often, old bikes are stashed in the back of garages, only to emerge half a decade, or more, later. Read on...
Like the UK, dealers come up with some silly sticker prices (and if you’re interested in new stuff there are some large discounts available for cash) and try it on even when you wave cash at them. The private market’s much more interesting, and open to silly offers if you turn up with the cash.
The major hassle’s down to the sheer size of the States, deciding where to go. Both New York and California are out, already picked dry by our own importers. Much better to head somewhere like New Orleans, Texas or the Mid West. Bikes are all over the place, though, best to chose somewhere that you’ve always wanted to go for a holiday or where you have friends or relatives (for cheap accommodation). I prefer New Orleans as it has a heady mix of cheap booze, inexpensive accommodation, available babes and plenty of old bikes.
The best time to go is late Autumn, when even the hotter parts aren’t too bad and the cold North hasn’t yet been covered in snow and ice. Having said that, don’t let the time of the year limit your ventures, just chose somewhere with reasonable weather when you want to visit. Don’t laugh, some plonkers turn up in New York in January when it does a passable imitation of Siberia.
Where to find used bikes is usually down to the local papers. There are plenty of magazines devoted to used bikes - Motorcycle Shopper, Old Bike Journal, etc. - but they are read by the hundreds of people involved in the import scene. Not just from the UK, also chaps from Europe and even the Third World. You can get there first and tie up the deal before they descend but they move on the bargains quite rapidly. Chances are it’ll be hundreds of miles away and by the time you get there, someone else will have copped it. Some vendors don’t like to sell to non-Americans, the idea of the bike being exported by profiteers turning them off.
Prices quoted throughout are what you’d pay in a private deal, which just to confuse things varies according to which bike you want to buy in which part of the country. It’s best to be open minded about the particular machine required, no point going all that way and ignoring perfectly good tackle in favour of a narrow minded choice of bike.
If you don’t want to go to the States, most of the bikes mentioned are available through the UK’s grey importers - at over twice the prices quoted here. Given that you have to pay import tax and VAT, plus shipping and get them set up for UK roads, that ain’t such a rip off as it sounds. Although quite a few grey importers are doing disturbing things like straightening out crashed bikes and making dubious repairs to blown motors.
All the same checks on machinery apply as much in the States as they do in the UK. Bear in mind that something stored for years will have naff tyres and control cables, probably can’t be ridden off into the distance. Hiring a pick-up’s the cheapest way out of that quandary. Also remember that the States is a very violent place and it’s not a good idea to wander around unknown areas on foot. $500 to $1000
There are loads of old bikes in this price range. The best way to look at things is to make sure that the engine’s OK and not worry too much over the state of the chassis, as long as it’s complete and not a total rust bucket. Avoid anything that’s been rebuilt, as older Jap engines never really run well after being disturbed.
In this price range there are plenty of old seventies and eighties fours - things like Z550/750s, XJ650/750s, CB550/650s and GS550/750s. Mileage’s usually around 30-40000 miles and general condition’s a bit stale - they really need the suspension fixed, flatter bars fitted and a respray. Though there are some examples that have been updated to a more useful spec at the upper end of the price range.
I recently came across a reasonable XJ750 Maxim for $995. The engine had done less than 20000 miles, ran with a nice mechanical rustle and no smoke. The electrics had been a bit bodged around the rectifier - non-standard box, plus a mess of wiring. The tyres were bald, barely able to hold air. Rust and alloy corrosion ruled but it was all there. The guy accepted $700 and even agreed to deliver it to my house in his pick-up truck. I bought the bike for a friend coming over from the UK, who fixed it up nicely for a couple of hundred dollars. By the time he’d paid shipping, import taxes, etc., the total cost came to just over a grand (sterling). Given the mileage and the way the bike shined up, turned out to be a good deal that he could sell for around £1600. Another friend bought a 1972 Honda CB500 four for two hundred dollars. The engine ran OK even with 45000 miles on the clock, but most of the chassis parts were blitzed with rust. He left the bike as it was until after it’d reached the UK - paid sod all in custom charges! Then fixed it up with miscellaneous bits from breakers. A reliable hack rather than prime meat, but with a total cost of less than 375 notes who’s going to complain? By the way, he was just in the States for a holiday, but couldn’t believe the low cost of bikes and had to grab a bargain.
Even if you don’t want the hassle of pissing around with major repairs, nice bikes still turn up in this price range. I’ve seen perfectly acceptable CB550s, XJ550s and GS550s that could be ridden off and had years of life left in them - priced at $500 to $750.
Occasionally, really immaculate, low mileage examples of the above kind of machines turn up for a bit more money, $1000 to $1500, but there condition’s so nice that it’s surely worth paying a bit extra, although, as mentioned; these are the custom versions of the UK models and will need a little work to make them hustle on British roads.
Big twins, ranging from the seventies Honda CB450 and Yamaha XS650 through to the eighties Suzuki 650 Tempter, including such oddities as the Yamaha TX750 and Kawasaki Z750, are also available for well under a grand. The engines tend to turn a bit finicky at this age and things like the TX750 ain’t very reliable (sharing the engine layout of the equally naff XS500), but the finish is often better than the fours, which says something about the way the.Jap’s design bikes.
It’s still perfectly feasible to pick up an old XS650 or CB450K that has been stored away for a decade, or more, and find that the engine’s still in fine fettle. Chassis and consumable rot being the biggest hassle to doing a cheap renovation. But the more elbow grease needed the cheaper the purchase price - it just depends on how much time and energy you have versus the amount of free dosh. ,
If you’re going to buy something that’s rare in the UK it’s a very good idea to get a second, or even third, bike for spares - the more you export the cheaper the shipping charges per bike (I’ve been quoted from $250 to $600 out of New York, sometimes you get a cheap deal when a shipper just has a little space to fill, other times you get charged for more space than you actually take up). Often, if the bike’s a non-runner and over 20 years old you can buy it for next to nothing. Prices can be unbelievably low!
Perhaps the weirdest buy in this price range’s the 500 Magna. This used an early version of Honda’s infamous V-four engine with consequence breakdowns and blow-ups. Its reputation is reflected in prices as low as $700, although the odd dealer living in cloud-cuckoo land tries to palm the better ones off for as much as 3000 dollars. Actually, when they are in good fettle they go very well indeed; it’s just that you never know when the engine’s going to blow up. Resale prices in the UK are also low.
Equally as bad, or perhaps even worse, the XS750 Custom is another bike it’s worth avoiding, though the later XS850 is a touch more tolerable. The defining experience of cruising on these old triples occurs when the gearbox explodes! Just as the Magna’s cylinder heads can go down at any time, so can the XS’s gearbox go into self destruct mode. Prices are consequently bargain basement and if you want to add a bit of spice, a slice of the unknown, to your riding, I suppose they could even be sound buys.
No, let’s have none of that masochistic nonsense. The best deals in this price range are either XJ750s or Z750 Spectres. Both have marvellous four cylinder engines and chassis that response well to a bit of aftermarket kit. Having said that, there’s loads of other stuff that no self respecting Yank biker would be seen dead on, and that their poor cousins in the UK would go wild over. Literally, bargains galore and you’d be a fool not to stock up on them! $1000 to $2000
This is the most interesting price category of the lot. At the one end of the spectrum, there’s a vast array of choice Japanese fours (XJ, CBX, GSX, Z, etc) and at the other end the lower range of recent Jap customs (Savage, 454Ltd, Radian, etc).
Suzuki’s LS650 Savage, for instance, is a cheap entry-level bike in the States, with the tatty stuff coming in at around a grand, whilst two grand will buy a near immaculate one. The engine’s a relatively simple thumper with an excess of torque; a unique combination of custom style, minimal mass and easy riding. They are popular with beginners but soon traded in for the bigger stuff or sold off once the rider gets a handle on riding motorcycles.
The other small custom of note is the Kawasaki 454Ltd. Even in the States its appearance is a bit off-putting, but it’s one of the most reliable customs around, even if the handling’s often just an excuse to pass the sick bucket when it’s ridden with some right wrist twitchiness. There’s no need to pay more than $1500 for a really good one, though they are advertised at $1200 to $2500; it’s almost impossible to sell them for more than $2000. As they are quite cheap in the UK, only worth going for if you find a low mileage one for less than $1500.
I know one guy who came over, bought a 454Ltd in New York, rode the thing all around the States in six months of self indulgence. Did about 40000 miles, putting 53000 miles on the clock. The bike cost $1250. By the time he imported it into the UK, the total cost was still under a grand. He sold it for £1750, which meant he’d had most of his holiday for nothing. A good crack if you can get it together.
For more serious riding, there are devices like the CBX700/750 and 600 Radian available. These are the normal Jap straight fours in the mildest of custom chassis. They can actually be swung through the bends without paying out for any modifications. Power is just in the arm wrenching, tear jerking, territory, so plenty of kicks available. The Yamaha Radian is the far more modern of two, with its wacky styling and excellent finish.
Luckily, the CBX engine had evolved into a tough, reliable device that in Yank hands runs to at least 50,000 miles before any worries over its cylinder head turns up. The Radian’s mill is based on the strong XJ600 motor, so, again, no worries there.
In both cases, there’s often a great difference between paying $1250 for a cheap and tatty one, and $1500 to £1750 for an excellent example of the breed. Paying that extra little bit of dosh can result in a hell of a lot better motorcycle for the money - certainly worth thinking about if you intend to ride one in the States before shipping it over to the UK.
There are lots of larger fours - 1000s and 1100s - but they tend to have a mixture of explosive power and rotten chassis that will have you off at the first corner. Top grade GS1000s for $1000 to $1500 are always worth a look, of course, but my favourite of this bunch’s the Z1100 Spectre, its engine based on the ultra tough Z900.
Maximum blood and guts in a mildly custom chassis that gets all wound up in the corners, not in the least helped by a funky shaft drive. $1500 to $2000 will get you a piece of the action, though I’ve seen them for twice that in the dealers. If you want to use them in anger, though, take out extra life insurance! If I was in the market for a big four, this is the one I'd go for!
Far more sensible is the DOHC version of Honda’s 650 Nighthawk. The really nice ones fetch $1500, though you can find them for half that! A nice balance of speed, reliability and even handling. A lot of people have toured right around the States on them, the high mileage explaining why some of them are so cheap.
Lots of bargains in this price range, then, with a wide disparity of machinery and plenty of pleasant times to be had.
$2000 to $3000
In this price range there’s a huge number of customs, all of them in good condition, most with a minimum of miles on the clock - it really is quite hard to go wrong as long as you don’t expect the handling to be brilliant. Even so, most modern Japanese customs work well on the wide, smooth, American roads - it’s only when they are thrashed down British back lanes that they begin to lose their panache. Unlike the straight fours, these V-twin customs sport more radical steering geometry that can’t easily be upgraded. Bear this in mind!
Perhaps the best buy in this category is the Suzuki Intruder, in 700, 750 or 800cc flavours. Despite the water-cooling, it has by far the most attractive engine of the Jap customs, and luckily is also a very tough piece of engineering. Not that this really matters as the vast majority of machines, some even over ten years old, haven’t done more than 25000 miles. Because the Yanks tend to favour Harleys above all else, despite the Intruder being one of the more popular Jap imitators, the prices of the old ones hover around the two grand mark - though the alloy and chrome may be a bit tarnished, there isn’t really much work needed, just a bit of elbow grease. Even low milers in near immaculate trim don’t fetch more than $3500, and it’s even possible to pick one up for around $2500 if you persist and come on with some hard bargaining.
Less popular, despite being made in the good old US of A, the Kawasaki 700/750 Vulcan is a serious rival but lacks most of the Suzuki’s style. Strangely, newish ones are more expensive, at up to four grand, but the mid-eighties examples come in at around half that. They are bit scarcer on the ground than the Intruders and, perhaps, not quite so tough.
I know one American guy who’s owned a 700 version from new and has done over 95000 miles so far - but he’s had two top end rebuilds along the way (quite expensive as there are two separate cylinder heads to sort). And the finish went off after a few years - he had to have a complete respray. Similar era 700 Intruders last better, though no doubt Kawasaki improved the engine by the time it reached the 750cc version.
I’ve had a brief blast on both bikes, much preferred the Suzuki, both in terms of the ease with which it put down its V-twin power and its superior stability - it’s one of the few customs you can leap aboard and feel relatively at home upon straight away. Mind you, Vulcan owners tend to be as fanatical as Star Trek fans! No accounting for some people’s taste.
Another contender in this price range is the Honda 750 Magna. Yet another incarnation of Honda’s dreaded V-four technology. Despite such a reputation, though, the bigger Magna’s popular on the back of its straight line blood and guts - 80 horses worth of V-four fury sure gets the pulse going! The big problem comes when you have to throw the massive heap through the bends, an interesting suicide trip if you want to ride with any verve. The other bit of unhappiness is that the engine turns finicky with high mileages, mostly around the valve gear, though later models are much improved. You get a lot of technology and metal for the money, $2000 to $3500, but I still wouldn’t put it on my buying list unless I was really desperate.
Much plainer is Yamaha’s XV750 Virago. Somewhat lacking in style compared to the other customs but an almost practical set of wheels despite its aged, air-cooled V-twin engine. As much as $5000 for really recent ones, the bargains are found amongst the mid eighties’ bikes, often for less than two grand. There are plenty of spares back in the UK to sort out the rough ones. Under mild use reliability is good but those ridden from coast to coast sometimes have top end hassles after 50000 miles.
Prices for the bigger version, the XV1100 Virago, are similar, a lot of Yanks bask in their extra torque though they can be pigs to handle through the more zany bends. They are otherwise quite practical customs that are capable of touring right around the States a couple of times. There are some good bargains in the $2000 to $3000 price range.
It’s even possible to buy an 1100 Magna for that kind of dosh, though $3000 up is more normal for the better examples. This isn’t a model to buy if the mileage is high, the same old top end hassles with the old ones - either expensive servicing or an even more costly full rebuild. Nevertheless, the sheer excess of power and torque make them kind of compulsive in the cruiser world. Especially if you’ve been brought up on Zs, and the like, when the totally out of control handling will grab you in a haze of nostalgia just before you ride off the road. A little bit of an exaggeration for roads in the States but all too true about real world riding back in the nasty old UK.
Most of Honda’s custom experience has now, anyway, been distilled into the V-twin Shadow, all 1100cc’s of it. The recent Mark 2 version no doubt making Harley a bit nervous. Earlier ones are just as good, if not quite so flash. Although radically styled the Shadow does manage to run along without most of the weaving of the Magna, though it doesn’t have the same wild power. The Shadow majors in excessive torque rather than outright power, would probably outstomp an elephant. Engine reliability’s as good as any other bike in this class. Because of the new model recent ones go fora reasonable $5000, whilst the late eighties examples fetch as little as $2300 - this for machines still in good overall shape with less than 30,000 miles on the clock.
Something of a bargain given their stomp and general finesse. Although this price bracket’s largely dominated by V-twin and V-four cruisers, there are a few straight fours that are also of interest.
The latest CB750 is identical to the UK model, the major difference being the cost of used ones. Really good ones for less than $2000, certainly no need to pay more than three grand even if you’re in a hurry to buy one. Ultra tough motor and all the performance you’ re ever going to need if you don’t want to go over the ton.
Much more focused on the traffic light GP, Kawasaki’s 750 Eliminator goes down a storm in a straight line but has a fit when thrown at the harder bends. Plenty of low milers in the $2500 to $3000 price range, but stay clear of the cheap bikes, as they usually combine high mileage with a thrashed engine.
No such hassles with the rather odd looking FZX750 Yamaha. This poor man’s V-Max, sports an excellent four cylinder engine derived from the well regarded FZ750, in.a chassis set up for straight line drags but still able to cope with spirited cornering. The Yanks much preferred the massive V-Max, leaving loads of bargain priced FZX’s on the used market.
I actually bought one for $1800 that though a few years old was in generally excellent nick. I’ve seen worse examples on offer for three grand. I only kept mine for five weeks because a friend from England insisted on giving me $2500, which went towards a dalliance with a V-Max.
Anyway, the FZX, in its own right, was a serious piece of kit that almost took the top of my head off until I got used to the rate of acceleration. It wasn’t so much any weakness in the chassis that let its handling down, but the way the front tyre kept trying to claw the air when accelerating out of bends! Worth having a test ride before excluding it from your shopping list.
$3000 up
Americans love excess, the more cubes and the more mass the better. Anything under 1000cc is an object of ridicule in certain circles. It’s easy to get taken in by such extravagance, with such long, straight roads that are often nearly deserted if you go off the beaten track. For a while I had a dalliance with a V-Max. These are all over the place in the States, considered brilliant drag artists and maximum craziness. It doesn’t take much effort to get 150 horses from the water-cooled, V-four engine. Which is all thoroughly thrilling and mad, tests your skills to extremes.
V-Max’s are slowly gaining popularity in the UK where they are much more expensive than in the States. A lot of hustling can get one for around three grand but usually the $5000 mark is more normal. Despite all the power they make, the engines are pretty tough and most bikes in the States are low mileage; a useful combination. Their excessive mass, like other bikes in this category, does up the shipping charges!
They are addictive, to the extent that I found myself riding at insane velocities even for someone notoriously addicted to speeding. Put it this way, I had to do some wacky riding to avoid a few police road blocks! After the V-Max, the vast majority of Japanese tackle comes across as very tame - the only way out for me, other than death from overindulgence in highway kicks, was to go back to the charms of British bikes in the UK. British bikes aren’t that cheap in the States, these days, unless you look beyond the usual BSA, Norton and Triumph twins.
The most likely areas of trouble on old V-Max’s are shot chassis bearings that make the bike almost unrideable (they can go down in less than 10000 miles) and can fail without any warning; also the finish can become overwhelmed by white alloy rot and rust, which nothing less than blasting can remove. Beneath the corrosion, though, the bike still runs as well as ever.
Another invention suited much more to the American mind rather than the European, Honda’s ST1100 is a plastic fantastic creation that has another V-four engjne for motive power, but a wholly civilised device whose sole function in life is to relentlessly eat up the highway miles. Excessive mass and odd handling never stopped BMW’s selling in their thousands, so it’s odd that the Honda failed to gain many sales in the UK. The engine bears no relation to the awful VF series, being set out like a Moto Guzzi, doesn’t suffer any chronic mechanical problems. It’s hard to find one for $4000, the nearly new stuff going for twice that. As they are hard to sell in the UK, not one for those in search of a quick profit.
Honda’s ubiquitous Gold Wing still manages to rule the roads, as far as full dress cruisers go. The flat six cylinder, 1500cc engine has no serious rivals but the rolling armchair’s an acquired taste - to say the least. Some of them have clocked up extravagant mileages, even gone around the clock, but the six cylinder engine’s as tough as they come - and given the excessive mass and sedate handling, almost impossible to use in a way that’s anything other than mild.
So even high milers can be a good buy, around the $6000 mark for something that still has plenty of life left it in - that’s cheap compared to UK prices. To get something recent with less than 20000 miles on the clock, you'll have to pay at least ten grand. Only for the total addicts who can’t contemplate anything less outlandish
Older Wings, in 1000, 1100 and 1200cc flavours are much cheaper as their fans have moved en masse to the 1500. Down to as little as a thousand notes for the old 1000’s, $3000 to $4000 will buy a really good GL1200. Bear in mind that even the GL1000 is over the top for UK roads, but fine for cheap touring in the States.
Both Suzuki’s 1400 Intruder and Kawasaki’s 1500 Vulcan are also over the top, with the former rather more popular in the States. Both bikes are relatively expensive as they are seen as viable alternatives to the smaller Harleys. Hard to find anything worthy for below $4000, at least five thousand dollars needed for some useful kicks.
Of course, being in the States, means Harleys are available in vast abundance. Prices have been slowly creeping up over the past few years and you won’t find anything, even a worn out 883, for less than $3000. The latter normally fetches $4000 to $5000, but they can be cheaply upgraded to 1200cc and there’s loads of tuning kit available. The 1340's, in all their gross varieties, offer the occasional bargain at around $6000, usually in need of some minor engine work - there’s a lot that can go wrong with them, from primary drives to shagged pistons, but, again, spares are cheap and tuning parts readily available. There are very nicely modded Glides for around $10000, that have most of the essential mods done to them.
Whatever you want to buy, a trip to the States is well worth the effort. It’s even worth it just to clock the babes...
