When I was much younger I was told that eating my greens would pay off later in life. Me Grandma was right - I now own two Yamaha RD LCs. There are probably many ways to turn a grey haired middle-aged geezer into a twitching, anti-social boy-racer type hooligan. But in my case, I only know two: large quantities of seconal washed down with cheap booze, or riding an LC (sometimes and riding an LC).
The reason that I keep two Yams isn’t collectors greed. It’s so when I crash the 350, the 250 can be cannibalised. Note, it’s when I crash, not if. How Yam importers expect legislators (or anyone else) to take them seriously is beyond me. These bikes can only be ridden in an exuberant manner. That’s MCA Orwellese for brainlessly fast. Power starts at 7000 and stops at 9200rpm.
The twist grip has three positions: fast, faster and f, f, f, fastest. There’s some big white letters painted at the end of our street - S-L-O-W - god only knows what they mean. If LCs can be ridden less manically I haven’t figured it out yet. When I do I'll sell them... no I won’t, I'll keep ‘em; they can’t be far off being desirable classics by now (both six years old already).
How on earth did an innocent Vincent owner like me get embroiled with these dangerous devices, the incurious amongst you won’t be asking yourselves. Thank your twenty hole Doc Martens it’s only a short story...
There’s a road in North Yorkshire (Ingleton-Bedale) that I know like the stretch marks on my wife’s belly, which we were clattering along at a fair old lick on a Vincent Rapide (must’ve had a howling tail wind). Just before the Moorcock we started to catch another cowboy on a bike, so instead of stopping for the customary pick-me-up - small quantities of alcohol and Red Leb - I gave chase.
It took a temporary traffic light near Leyburn to enable me to close the gap completely. Imagine my chagrin, not to mention utter astonishment, when we found out we’d been pursuing a 250. What an eye opener for an old rocker, whose smallest bikes had been British 500s. I was that impressed I decided to buy one immediately. Three and a half years later I picked up a non-runner for £200. Contrary to our female neighbour’s allegations, I never rush into anything.
The yoof I bought the 13000 mile heap off admitted to wanting a car; but I doubted if he could’ve maintained a young person’s railcard in working order. Typical replies to my, er, probing questions were: "Back brake? Never use it squire." (Seized brake pivot.) "D’ya think that’s why I fell off twice last week? (Slack steering bearings.) "You got a light?" (Caliper pads clamped onto disc.) And so on...
After fitting new plugs, a new ignition switch to replace butchered original and repairing the severed wires in the loom, it still wouldn’t start. As there was a spark and the whiff of fuel, I charged the battery and painstakingly cleaned every electrical connector I could find. Six kicks later the thing stuttered into life. As it seemed willing to repeat this phenomenon I turned to the rest of the neglected dinky toy (everything’s a toy after a Vincent).
An almost new caliper for ten quid, some cheap EBCs, clutch cable (genuine, £3), cheapest chain/sprocket kit I could find, swing arm bushes (£4 a pair), front Roadrunner, plus too much work freeing and greasing until I had quite a neat bike. I was expecting some real hassles after hearing horror stories about Japanese tackle, but found it was the easiest bike I’ve worked on. All this was quite cathartic to me, as I’d always deluded myself that even if Brit bangers didn’t go for long at least they were easy to fettle.
It’s not all upbeat though. F'rinstance, steel linkages without bushes or grease nipples - the result, to quote one of my ancestors who worked in a steam loco works, "fits like a turd in a piss pot"; fast wearing alloy levers; plastic bits that crack for no apparent reason; no paint on the tank base - particularly tawdry that.
In spite of these, and other, cheap and nasties, I was so taken up with riding it, I started looking for a 350... six months later, I pointed out to the philistine whose clean 12000 miler I eventually bought, that if he hadn’t sprayed it red and yellow, his asking price might’ve been quarter way sensible. But this budding Pollock conceded my point (the fact that I had a distant relative, Norman Neanderthal - a strapping lad with Kill tattooed on his fizzog six times - with me, might’ve helped). He even threw in a piece of bent tubing, which he claimed was the original handlebar; this art nouveau sculpture will obviously be a valuable piece of junk very shortly, so I must’ve found a bargain.
To convert the Yam into a rideable bike, the first thing was to junk the useless accoutrements - cockpit fairing and belly pan; then change the gearbox oil, brake fluid and rear shoes, jack the front forks with spacers and then take it out to our local mad mile to compare it with the 250.
Top speed of the 250 (pre-rebore) was 88mph - all these speeds are the usual clock fibs - and with new pistons and bore, 98mph. The 12000 mile 350 managed 105mph, but with a further 3000 miles on is down to... 98mph. Think on, these quoted speeds are with a pillionist, as the wife won’t let me out unchaperoned... can’t think why.
If on paper both LCs appear evenly matched, in riding the big’un feels stronger everywhere - from tickover to nine grand. I presume a rebore would gain another 10mph for the 350 but when I need 100+ speeds I'll indulge in a big modern four stroke - anyone fancy a straight swap: both LCs for an FZ...
In cold print I find it hard to convey the level of ecstasy generated when these screaming strokers hit seven grand. P’haps if I was a poet and given to lyrical waxing (nothing to do with Belstaffs), I’d soliloquize about the... joyful adrenalin rush, the beautiful two-stroke yowl, the exquisite - almost sexual - feeling of prowess. But as I’m a dour Northern deadleg, I'll just mention the wonderful adrenalin rush, the exquisite yowl and the diabolical fuel consumption. Like everything else you don’t get something for nothing (unless you're a stockbroker or minor royalty) and the trade-off for this exhilarating performance is around 30 to the gallon.
Oil’s guzzled at about 250 miles per pint. As this is approximately the same as a big British four stroke I can’t really complain. The 350 leaked oil at the kickstart shaft which buzzes between 5 and 7000rpm - if the engine wasn’t rubber mounted I shudder (and judder) to think how grim it would be. Surely, not many LCs will be wasted at these lowly revs... plug life can be short and sour - no sweetness at a quid a throw. I’ve gone as low as 600 miles before needing new ‘uns. NGK and Nippon Denso are equally susceptible to fizzle if playing the thrashabillys.
Handling ain’t too bad (the 250’s the better) but hitting cat’s eyes under hard acceleration gets the handlebars all aflutter. However, they always settle down without any effort from the rider; it all happens that lightning fast that the hapless pilot can’t do a thing anyway. I clouted a brick at 90mph, smashing both wheels beyond repair and didn’t get dumped, so I suppose these bikes must be inherently stable. All the more surprising with sloppy forks - sliders rub straight onto the stanchions - no bushes - and a rear shock which turns to jelly at the sight of a passenger.
The brakes with standard hoses are a bit like those stupid page three bints - flabby. As MCN recommend fitting braided steel, I naturally viewed this with deep suspicion - but on the 250, I must say that it actually works. I’m still waiting for the readies to convert the 350. The little ‘un’s S-rated rear Metzeler has done 5000 miles and should run for another 2000. The 350’s 110/90 fatty Roadrunner has covered 2000 and is already looking a bit ropey. I surmise that both engines will have expired before the present (second) front tyre needs renewing.
Surely, if Yamaha used tyre compound for the carb/barrel manifolds they wouldn’t crack so readily - all four have done under 20000 miles and look like thousand year old goat goolies. Second hand are always the same and new cost £40 a pair. Both LCs suffer from a flat spot just before take-off, but fitting K&Ns makes this hole much worse - they also increase induction racket to embarrassing levels. Moral, leave em standard; if Yamaha can’t get strokers right by now, who can?
And now, before I scuttle off back under a stone, I'll recount the apocryphal tale of punter versus friendly local dealer. The 250 was blown off its side stand in a gale and smashed the rear light. At the nearest Yamaha emporium, I was quoted £9 for a new lens, the dealer justifying said extortion by pointing out how superior the genuine article was in comparison to rubbishy pattern items. I must have been in a dazed and confused state (quite normal) ‘cos I swallowed this nonsense.
When I unpacked it, I discovered the robbin’ git had sold me - you guessed it - a pattern part. Later that day, after a different dealer sold me the pattern item for £4, back at the baddies, I pointed out the deception - the dealer told me to ’ang on a mo’, sneaks into the stores and reappears with - right again - a genuine spare, trying to bullshit me by making out he sold me this in the first place. Fortunately, I knew lots of swear words, which I used in between demanding my money back - the treacherous dealer eventually flung the refund at me and warned me not to darken his door ever again.
H Sivyer