It’s usually the camshafts that go on these simple thumpers but mine were OK, though the camchain looked a bit ropey. The piston was close to egg-shaped and the rings were jagged enough to use for cleaning teeth. Oh God, I just knew the 39000 mile engine was going to be big trouble even when reassembled with new or newish parts. Dead meat.
MCN classifieds (what would we do without them?) provided a couple of examples but they sounded too old to be of much use. Then I saw an advert in the private classifieds, for a 92 model being broken after a crash. It was only a 120 miles away... thanks Dave, for the wacky Transit van ride, but I don’t think it was really necessary to drive straight across a roundabout just for the kicks. I think he was getting his revenge for the time I took him pillion on my GT250X7... oh, happy days!
The motor sounded good, the deal done and a drunken drive home ensued. I couldn't wait to fit the new engine - the 4am blast off on an open pipe merely confirmed my status as the lowest of the low in our once pleasant neighbourhood.
The XT shifted indecently well (the motor had only done 6000 miles) up to 80mph, then went all sultry and quiet. The aerodynamics were similar to a bloody big artic and the power, even in derestricted form (pull the carb out and cut out a bit of rubber in the manifold), no better than a good seventies 250 (around 30 horses). 90mph would occasionally come up on the clock but it was a big struggle.
Especially as the chassis was worn out. It wasn't a speed wobbler, or anything, just weaved and wallowed all over the shop above 60mph. The suspension creaked and groaned when the road turned rough. Shocks went straight through the chassis into my bum and my arms were in a constant wrestling match. It was like the machine was screaming at me, RIDE SLOWLY!
So, I rode slowly for a while. Bloody boring it was, too. In the interests of experimentation, I decided to amuse myself by taking to the local woods. This was full of hoodilums on mountain-bikes who were not too amused to find an ill-ridden trailster in their ranks, The balding tyres slid and slithered all over the place, the suspension bottomed out over the smallest of bumps and the odd bit of water thrown up (usually when I inadvertently rode into the stream) cut the motor dead. The latter was serious, as it gave all the people I'd insulted the excuse they needed to beat the shit out of me. It wasn’t that bad as I was older and bigger than most of them and always carried a large tyre iron (to deal with stupid cagers). I had to laugh at some kid who turned up looking like a refugee from a mud wrestling contest, he claimed all the shit was from my back wheel as I flew past him! Luckily, the engine caught halfway through his unlikely tale.
Riding the Yam on the dirt was a bit like sex with a fat women. You knew the basics were supposed to be good but it was damn hard getting into them. The major failing was the rubber, but it also had problems jumping over fallen trees or off small hills...I guess my technique was a bit lacking (my short lived sexual affairs indicate this might not be my only failing but I keep telling them that practice makes perfect) but the way the bike slapped down on its belly was spine dislocating and arm wrenching.
After a couple of weeks of dirty self-indulgence I came to the conclusion that the only effect of off-road work was to rapidly destroy my pride and joy. The new chain and sprockets were reduced to rubble (though they are short-lived at the best of times), the battery had cracked up, various bits of plastic were bent and the lights gave up working. The predominant colour of the chassis was rust!
After stalking various motorcycle emporiums I came up with a newish set of consumables, forks, shock and the odd bit of chassis plastic. New chassis bearings were lovingly fitted... like hell, they were! After three days of thumb numbing, shoulder wrenching and hammer breaking, finally the old bearings popped out. I was so peeved that I ruined one set of swinging arm bearings in my haste to finish off the job.
After all that effort, it was still slow and handled like a porker. My off-road adventures had twisted the frame! The old suspension was so bad that I hadn’t noticed. I once saw 100mph on the clock despite this - it was just like stringing some seventies 250 along - head in the clock, arms in the air, feet on the pillion rests, wavering chassis and enough vibration to turn my extremities dead... heart attack country.
Looking for a better frame (no, I don't give up easily), I came across a really nice XT350 that had been stolen and recovered. Perfect chassis, some urchin had revved the motor until it'd died an untimely death. For 400 notes it was too good a deal to miss. A perfect motorcycle was the result. What a difference a day makes!
The suspension was able to absorb really wicked pot-holes without any trauma. She held a straight line at 95mph that I could have only previously dreamt about. Off-road work? Don’t be bloody silly, I’m not going to get my lovely little machine all muddy. This was much more like it. A neat, trustworthy machine emerged out of all the hassle.
17000 miles later I was screaming and tearing what was left of my hair out. Winter, the Cotswolds, an urgent trip to my parents; cold and desperation setting in with 50 miles to go... the motor seized up solid. The major disadvantage of a single is that when one piston goes that’s it, no back up. No telephone, houses, cars or people in sight. Ice cold rain began to fall in a biblical torrent and my language turned hellish foul.
I removed the chain and pushed the XT for six miles until a small town emerged from the waterfall of a disgruntled God relieving himself. I collapsed in the pub, was only revived by a wanton landlady assaulting me with her huge breasts. When my vision cleared she had a frightening resemblance to one of the glossy mob who like to dress up in women’s clothes. I passed out again.
To cut a long and fearful story short (this is a family magazine, etc), the XT had blown its big-end as well as melting the piston to the cylinder. It was my fault... I hadn't changed the oil for 7000 miles and had taken to mono-wheeling around town at max revs in second gear. A glorious sight, dear reader, that left the local cops gobsmacked!
What did I do next? Yep, another trip around the breakers, looking over desperate dogs and malignant mongrels (and that was just the guys running the shops). I ended up rebuilding the motor with used bits - everything else was too far gone or too expensive.
You might’ve guessed that I’m not the world’s best mechanic and that bunging together used bits from diverse if not dubious sources ain't the best starting point.
Still, it started up quickly, didn't rattle alarmingly and didn't vibrate across the garage. A top speed of 80mph and around 40mpg (against a normal 65mpg) indicated that engine longevity wasn’t going to be astounding. She had to go, so go she did.
I lost about £200 over a year’s joy riding, so it wasn't that bad a deal. After three or four years, they do lose their shine and the depreciation on a new one’s astounding! Older ones are often close to rats, not worth paying serious money for. There are some good buys out there... I just bought a 9000 miler for £750!
N.J.L.