I was singing to the Z200 in the hope that we would make it home. The lights had blown some time back when the thumper vibes went deranged. I'd backed off straight away but too late to save the engine from internal damage. Speed was down to 15mph and the motor rasped along as if praying for a merciful end. Cresting the last steep hill I thought the bike was going to die as it faltered up the final yard. It gasped with relief as we freewheeled down the other side. So did I.
It was one of the coldest nights in February, almost exactly a year after I'd bought the bike. Even then, it’d done 38000 miles, with another 9000 added under my tenure. The Kawasaki had proved itself a worthy machine in that time, one that impressed with its ruggedness rather than the amount of excitement it’d generated. We'd become fast friends and I hoped that would get us home.
I was shaking with the cold. What was supposed to have been a thirty minute run had now turned into a two hour trial by ordeal. The outskirts of my village were sighted as the engine's note deepened and the shudders increased, not that the Z200 could ever be described as vibration free even when all the engine internals were in good shape. I sang louder, hope rising in my heart as lighted windows emerged out of the haze. Five more minutes and I'd be home.
The engine ground to a halt a hundred yards from the house. Smoke and steam hissed off the dead but hot motor. I left it in the gutter to cool down and trudged up to the house. Half an hour in the warmth and four cups of tea later I had the bike in the house ready for an engine strip.
The Z200 has a very simple OHC engine but it was also eleven years old. That meant that screws and bolts were likely to be corroded in solid. Changing the clutch plates, for instance, had taken nearly a week because some of the screws refused to budge. There's nothing worse than an old screw-head that’s too blurred even to take an impact driver. This time around I soon found that the fault lay in the cylinder head where bits of camshaft lobe had worn away, damaging the rockers in the process. The bore looked clean so I left the cylinder where it was and flushed the mill out a few times.
Z200's are not too common in breakers - new camshaft and rockers cost more than the bike was worth. My second bike, a rat CG125, was used for a month until a whole head turned up for thirty notes. This was a private sale from a bike that'd been crashed but one that sported 58000 miles. I tore the head apart, polished everything up and ground in the valves. The lobes had a few small marks but the hardening hadn't been broken through.
I'd always done 1000 mile oil changes and carefully warmed the motor up without going wild on the throttle to make sure that plenty of oil reached the top end - anyone who'd ever owned an old Honda soon learnt the necessity for such tender loving care! Perhaps the previous owner wasn’t so kind hearted. I went to the great expense of buying a new cylinder head gasket as the old had always allowed oil to seep out.
The only trouble I had fitting the head was when I almost stripped a couple of head bolts - gently, gently. The motor came to life after half a dozen kicks. There's always the chance when disturbing Jap engines that they will never run well again. The bike felt quite reluctant to rev, as if the timing was slightly out. There was also some coughing on the overrun, traced to the downpipe not sitting correctly in the cylinder head. Once that was sorted performance improved but didn't equal the bike’s previous verve.
Anything over 70mph was hard going, with more vibes than I'd experienced before at 75 to 80mph. 60mph was the maximum comfortable cruising speed whereas, in the past, it was happy thrumming along at 70mph or more. Acceleration was reduced as well but it was still significantly fleeter of foot than the CG125, which above 50mph wandered all over the road like a drunken sailor.
The Z had always been competent even when flat out, having a stability that belied its low mass of 275lbs but which didn’t stop me throwing it through the curves with gay abandon. Had I been larger then the Kawasaki would've been rather cramped but it wasn’t and its dimensions suited me almost perfectly. I can forgive a bike a lot if I can get both feet on the ground and pick it up when it falls over!
The front disc was always a nasty piece of work, though it'd probably been OK when new. There wasn’t any more power than a good TLS drum, a lot less feel and the kind of delay in the wet that led to premature baldness. The engine braking helped, as did the rear drum but when I needed to stop in a hurry the front disc never impressed. I became so fed up that I ended up fitting a TLS drum brake wheel from (I think) a CB250K4 Honda. That's where the breaker reckoned it’d originated and I| wasn’t going to complain because it possessed scads of power and feedback. Brilliant in the wet, the shoes haven't worn out yet, and there were no nasty caliper seizures or leaking brake fluid to worry about. The best fifteen quid I ever spent!
Other improvements to the chassis were minimal. A pair of phosphor bronze swinging arm bearings were made up to replace the crap stock items, which were renown for both wearing out fast and letting the swinging arm move around. The latter rusted at an incredible rate until I stripped it down to bare metal, put on a coat of rust proofer and seven layers of red paint. All the cables were replaced with nylon coated ones, having bought a kit to make up a front brake cable.
Oh, and a large seven inch front light was fitted to aid night riding, which is fine for an hour but then starts to drain the battery - on long journeys a fully charged car battery is put in the top box. The standard light is a waste of time if more than moped speeds are contemplated.
I had carefully contrived my own rubber mounting system for the front light, but even this was insufficient when afflicted with the new level of vibration coming from the reassembled engine. Each and every night ride resulted in a blown bulb unless I kept the engine steady at between 3500 and 4000rpm, which wasn’t that much fun as it was the one spot in the rev range where there was a hole in the otherwise linear power output even if it was also the only spot that was free of vibration. I'm fairly easy going but having a bike that couldn't be ridden at night was a huge inconvenience, especially in February when it was dark early.
I reverted to the CG for a while whilst I pondered the inequities of life and avidly read MCN in search of a second engine. Eventually, a crashed Z200 turned up for £150 but I could have the 29000 mile motor for £100. As I could sell the Z200 with a good motor for £500 this seemed like a good deal.
This engine turned out to be the best of the bunch, giving the old girl startling acceleration and an 82mph top speed. Economy also improved from 85 to 95mpg with as much as 120mpg available if I was in the mood to ride in a manner befitting my age. The staid appearance of the Z200, rather like the MZ 250, hid an unusual degree of competence (with the couple of previously mentioned chassis mods) that allowed distances to be covered in quite spectacular times (about twice as fast as the CG125 and no slower than much bigger bikes due to a better range and reasonable comfort ref. the tortoise and the hare).
I never used the bike for really long distances, never did more than 250 miles in a day, but this was more personal preference than any limitation imposed by the Kawasaki. The seat had been rebuilt to better than new after it'd fallen apart and the riding position was perfect for me. The vibes, from a good engine, faded into the background and didn’t do any damage to my extremities. Overall, then, pretty impressive.
I could’ve done without the chassis rot, though. Anything made of steel liked to rust through. The petrol tank goes eventually but there's plenty of warning because rust clogs up the fuel line and makes the motor stutter like a stroker with oiled up plugs. When it’s gone that far it’s just not worth trying to weld in some extra metal as the whole thing will melt if not explode on the back of the petrol’s fumes. I spent a lot of time searching for a decent petrol tank before mine had a chance to rust right through.
Kawasakis don’t have the best chassis build quality in the world, but forewarned is forearmed and it’s a lot easier to keep the chassis in one piece than have to rebuild the engine every other month. For the money, the Z200 is very useful and very worthy, all that’s needed for serious motorcycling once outright speed is eliminated from the equation. I'd buy a low mileage example without a moment's hesitation!
David Trench
Bloody cheek. Five hours later, after being threatened with several charges, I was able to view the damage to the CBR. Dented tank, cracked plastic and ripped seat. Whichever way I squinted at it there was serious expense involved that my TPF&T insurance certainly didn't cover - I liked the Honda too much to drop a match in the petrol tank.
At least it still ran (after I extracted the screwdriver from the ignition lock) so I could take my time finding the bits at the right price. The Honda’s such an integrated machine that there was no way it would tolerate aftermarket accessories and so well put together that it really doesn’t need them.
The Honda is nothing if not versatile, my despondent mood soon uplifted by the searing acceleration from the 100hp motor and dexterous handling from the 430Ibs chassis. Although it’s fast and furious, the CBR is also comfortable and competent, so any ride extracts the very best of all worlds, which probably explains why it’s such a good seller. All its abilities were called for when the front brake suddenly faded away to nothing. An almighty wrench on the bars whilst a few millimetres of rear rubber was burnt off from the locked up wheel saved me from crashing into the side of an Escort. The vandals had cut through the brake hose, leaving me on a potential suicide ride - I mean, what's the matter with these people?
I rode home very slowly, worried that maybe the wheels would fall out or something in fact I found that they had also slashed away at the tyres but failed to break through the inner surface [Seriously, death by fire is too good for scum like these - 2021 Ed]. Luckily, they were OE rubber and due for replacement.
It took almost six months before I'd tracked down and replaced all the damaged parts, although I did 12000 miles in that time so it didn’t stop me riding the bike. Nothing could, any excuse or on the slightest pretext I was in the saddle and away. Whilst some might object to the need to fly through the gears to really tear along, although it would run and accelerate mildly in the taller gears, I see nothing wrong with such work-outs, figuring them to be all part of the fun of motorcycling and that apart could find sod all wrong with the dynamics of riding the Honda!
Handling, acceleration, comfort, cruising ability, range, etc, were all way beyond my ability to criticize... OK, my previous bike was a 50000 mile CBX550 (which in its day was a market leader, engine horrors aside) so the contrast between old and new was all the more startling but in the real world, rather than the race track, it’s unlikely that most riders will find anything to complain about the Honda (or some of its rivals).
I'm certainly not used to its 150mph top speed, nor the way the motor spins into red with such force once into its power band. The handling’s so competent, and the riding position so natural, that | was able to sling a leg over the bike and feel perfectly at ease within mere moments. Below 7000 revs the engine runs cleanly, smoothly, but without much violence, which is fine for getting to know the machine and mild commuting chores (when it'd give about 50mpg), but once a taste of the acceleration derived from use of the higher revs has been had it’s very difficult to be content with more moderate riding.
Weather protection isn’t up there with Gold Wings, my hands becoming very cold and wet, and the screen’s too low to be much use apart from when taking up a racing stance, but the wind blast is nicely curtailed at 90 to 120mph, where the bike can be cruised for as long as the fuel (about 35mpg) or your driving licence lasts. If Honda had combined narrower bars with a touch wider plastic and more radical cut-outs for my knees then it'd been much more protective without being any heftier. It’s a lot better than a naked bike and I couldn’t now go back to something like a CBX550.
In the same way, I don’t see that there’s anything I could change the CBR for - I don’t want any more speed, certainly couldn't take some grand tourer after the svelte Honda and there ain't much around that can roll through the bends and cruise comfortably anywhere near as well.
Of course, my view of the CBR600 as a piece of rolling perfection irritates the hell out of my friends and made them ride their own machines like lunatics to put me in my proper place. It doesn’t work, though. The FZR600 rider was out for the count after a 100 miles of cruising that barely scratched the Honda’s abilities; something to do with his seat turning knife sharp and his wrists seizing up.
Another friend's 600 Katana was thrown off the road when he had the audacity to try to follow my line down a bumpy country lane (the CBR's rear shock can become a little overheated but the chassis holds it in line). He survived long enough to trade in for a ZX-6 which gave the Honda the hardest time, but even that could be burnt down a series of intricate curves that I blasted through at ten-tenths.
I'd become so at one with the CBR that I could take the Bridgestone Battlax tyres right up to the point where they started to slide, though the back would occasionally move violently six inches or so before regaining some grip - the first time it happened was so unexpected that I thought I was going to die.
First impressions of the ride were that it was a bit remote but jacking up the preload and damping settings at both ends gave the bike a more sporting edge and that essential element of feedback without completely ruining the comfort. The engine’s so smooth at lower revs as to be similarly remote but I prefer to think of it as electric smooth, a reflection of such good build quality that valve checks are only necessary every 16000 miles - which probably means they won't be done until they burn out or rattle so much that it sounds like a shot camchain (the older engines did 35000 miles plus before the camchain needed any attention, which bodes well for the F2).
There is a hint of vibration if the engine is thrashed into the red, amplified if the carbs aren’t balanced every 5000 miles. Similarly, the gearbox goes to pot if the oil isn’t changed at 3000 miles or the O-ring chain, which lasted for 14000 miles, isn’t kept in perfect adjustment. I do all my own maintenance, the major chore being to take off and replace the plastic without damaging it.
Poor starting and misfiring at 11000 miles was easily traced to a couple of spark plugs on the way out. They are rather inaccessible and quite easy to mis-thread if you don’t take a lot of care and bit of time. Complete failure to respond to the button was traced to a blown fuse, which went for no apparent reason but left me worried as the electrics seem a bit minimal with a small battery and some stories of earlier bikes blowing the incredibly expensive digital ignition module. I’ve survived so far without that kind of expense.
With 17000 miles on the clock | have detected a little bit less tautness from the suspension, a slight amount of roughness in the six speed gearbox and some fading of the finish on the wheels, exhaust and forks. Judging by the way the front brake has started squealing (on its second set of pads) I’m about to enjoy my first caliper seizure! Were I a rich yuppie it might well be time to trade in for the latest model but as I’m not I'm going to buy a race exhaust and jet kit instead.
The most obvious thing about the Honda is its integrated styling, which is still different enough to set it apart from the masses. If you like the looks then the rest of the bike will blow your mind away, especially if like me you’re coming from an old fashioned middleweight. Progress there is aplenty but | think it will take them another ten years to come up with something so much better that I will want to trade in the Honda!
James McKinney
The FZR1000 is so well regarded by everyone that it’s not very easy to buy a nice one on the used market. There were a few well thrashed examples on offer, that may have been refugees from the race track, but they were not what I was after. I came close to buying new, and even closer to purchasing a three month and 3500 mile example from the local dealer but being treated, in both cases, to a line of chatter that would more suit a chimpanzee about to lose it all to the glory of an animal experiment rather put me off.
Then the local rag turned up a promising specimen, five months and 3000 miles old. I hurtled over there on the spare bike, a battle scarred but worthy CB400N, had a quick test ride of the '94 model and slapped down a deposit before some other likely lad got there.
Showroom condition was the only adequate description. I omitted to tell the owner that I was 3000 notes short of the agreed price but had three days to rush around like a headless chicken to raise the dosh from disbelieving relatives who seemed shocked that I had decided not to buy a nice little Metro, which was not only cheaper to purchase but more frugal as well. Sod that!
Money in hand, documents and bike were mine at last. Just looking the bike over got me going. Upside down forks, six piston calipers, Deltabox alloy frame, massive swinging arm and ready to race looks, plus, of course, the magnificent 20 valve motor. Wrapping myself around the machine was a bit of a stretch as I tend towards short and fat rather than long and lean, but the 30.5 inch seat height allowed both my feet to firmly touch the deck, reassuring on a bike that fully loaded with fuel weighs around 520lbs.
The motor rustled away silkily, the murmur out of the four into one exhaust hinting at the 120 horses waiting to rock and roll. With the addition of the EXUP system altering the exhaust dynamics at lower revs, it’s by no means crazy, with plenty of propulsion available from a mere 3000 revs up. Although the FZR has a fearsome reputation, the relatively easy going nature of the engine at low revs combined with its marvellously controlled chassis makes it a very easy bike to get a handle on for the first time.
Naturally enough, this ease of use soon encouraged me to go berserk on the throttle. Screaming the engine to 11000 revs through the excellent gearbox (significantly better in action than earlier models) had my mind reeling, my ears popping and my arms straining against the acceleration. You really have to experience 120 horses hitting the back wheel in fury to understand what all the fuss is about!
The most I ever put on the clock was 175mph, probably a true 165mph. God, that was fun! The I way everything roared past made me feel like the master of the universe. The fairing’s slightly larger than older models and with a bit of a crouch I was able to get most of my body out of the wind, although the turbulence meant that
If I put my head up a little the lid came close to being ripped right off my neck. Given a German autobahn I would be quite happy cruising at 150mph for a couple of hours (seat apart)! Normal speeds didn’t faze the bike at all, 70 to 80mph cruising just like the engine was idling. The only hint that a powerful engine was at work were slight patches of buzzing in the bars, most annoyingly around 80mpnh. That’s the price paid for the amazingly responsive front end that gave so much feedback.
I was never in any doubt as to what the tyre was going to do, and also imbued the FZR with fantastic steering accuracy. A whole combination of factors added up to the security of the ride, not least the taut Kayaba suspension, which was happy on the middle settings (preload at the front plus damping at the monotrack rear end). Weight distribution was perfectly matched to steering geometry, allowing mid corner alterations of line and gentle braking.
Initial input, when swinging through curves, was a bit on the heavy side but the return for such exercise was a splendid compliance to the chosen line and the overall feeling that you could stand up on the seat, do some acrobatics, leap back down and find that the Yam hadn't veered one inch from the chosen course. First impressions of hitting bumps during cornering were that all hell was going to break loose, but that was entirely false, just the suspension feedback advising that the wheels were taking a pounding and I'd better not do anything stupid with the throttle just at that moment.
I wasn’t used to the kind of performance that the FZR offered, had the handling been less kind I would’ve got myself into all kinds of trouble. That chassis rigidity also helped with the front brake which took one hell of a lot of getting used to. I soon learnt that no way could attack the lever with a manly grip - not unless I wanted to do a stoppie so extreme that the contents of my stomach threatened to disgorge themselves or the machine went into cartwheel mode.
I’m not sure that such formidable stoppers are necessary on a road bike but I soon learnt that a one or two finger caress would bring the bike to a howling stop without much thought. It took a while to read the feedback coming through the system and learn how close to the edge I could live. In town I tended to use the rear disc and some engine braking combined with down-shifting through the box. The rear brake was quite sensitive and there was a useful amount of retardation from just slamming the throttle shut. Despite this slight alienation from using the front brake, with a mere 7000 miles on the clock the pads have started to rattle a bit, have no more than 500 miles of life left.
The Dunlop tyres didn’t even manage that, by 4500 miles they were down to 2mm. I kept running them, intrigued to see if the worn out rubber would upset the handling. By the time they were down to 1mm there was some white-lining on dry roads and some quite wild slides in the rain. In retrospect, I was a bit stupid to chance it, as much a comment on my faith in the chassis as my own willingness to risk suicide, A nice pair of Metzeler radials were bunged on by the local tyre dealer, whose chief gorilla ruined the finish of the wheels around the rims and, had I not gone into a frenzy, would have cracked up the discs!
With its alloy chassis and plastic cycle parts there’s not much to corrode on the FZR. There were some hairline cracks in the lower fairing, the odd speck of rust on the exhaust and one or two fasteners were covered in corrosion. Those apart, build quality seems to match that of the engine, which, for instance, only needs its valves doing every 25000 miles - apart from an oil change I’ve yet to do anything to the motor, which helps with the running costs.
Fuel has varied between 35 and 50mpg, with an average around 45mpg - bloody amazing, if you ask me, as I don't get any more from the dog slow Superdream! The massive O-ring chain has needed only three minor adjustments and has loads of life left, although full enclosure would save the back end, or anyone foolish enough to sit on the pillion, from being covered in oil. The same goes for the mudguards which are too minimal to keep the bike from getting very dirty in the mildest of storms. I'd prefer a little more practicality as I'd need less time and energy to keep the bike clean.
So, the FZR’s wonderful? Well, not quite. Although it’s undoubtedly improved over earlier models, the riding position and, especially, the seat could do with some work. After a month or two of getting used to the FZR, I found that the most | could do in one sitting was 150 miles, and even that involved a backside that felt like it'd been given a good kicking by the local skinheads. 300 miles in a day had me looking for the nearest hospital for emergency pile treatment and the time I did 400 miles in five hours I was practically a stretcher case! I really don’t see that there’s any excuse for this as BMW had sorted out motorcycle ergonomics 20 years ago.
The FZR is aimed at the headbangers who want the nastiest steed in town, which is fair enough (and at least it’s better than the GSXR1100), but many of them will only be able to afford to run one vehicle which will have to do duty as a commuter and tourer as well as general rocket ship. Still, the FZR’s so intoxicating that it's worth modifying -I’m not selling!
Dave Jones
At this point in the saga I was in the middle of the Italian countryside without much idea where I was. Whenever I saw a native I shouted Roma at them but usually received a finger pointing up at the sky for my pains. There was a certain weariness in riding large mileages every day, and although the BMW was a competent companion it was beginning to irritate the shit out of me.
The twin disc front brakes didn’t help one tiny bit. Over roads that were basically little more than dirt tracks what I needed was mild sensitive braking. What I had was a spongy feel (from the daft combination of cable/hydraulic operation) that would either do nothing or howl the tyre. The rear drum had turned rotten about 400 miles ago, gone from a paragon of the type to wretchedly inconsistent with the nastiest habit of jamming on. The locked up back wheel did a wild slide over the gravel, making me twitch with a burst of gut churning fear, frantically pumping the lever until the brake released itself. The cause was obvious from the wear marks, the worn out shoes over-camming, but the solution was far from easy as I had no spare shoes on me.
The gearbox had celebrated 85000 miles by turning even clunkier than normal, wearing a hole through my boot that led to a big boil on my foot. Every time I stopped it was dive-bombed by every insect in the immediate vicinity. I'd burst it with a heated needle, wrapped my foot in a yard of bandage and repaired the boot with some leather cut from its top.
The gear shift had developed a kickback like a shotgun going off, which encouraged me to leave the engine in fourth, rely on torque to save the day, or at least my foot from premature amputation. The clutch wouldn’t take much slipping, though, its single plate a bit on the fragile side for a big boxer twin, lasting only 20000 miles when treated gently. That meant below 2500 revs the shaft drive chattered, threatened to ruin every bearing in its universal joint or maybe pick up on its natural frequency, resonate itself into oblivion. BMW shafts do occasionally break, leaving a pretty pathetic machine. I was becoming as paranoid as a sex maniac in a brothel where 95% of the women were infected with AIDS.
Of course, the BMW had many good points. Fitted with an RS fairing and panniers it was a brilliant long distance tourer, featuring comfort, protection and 100mph cruising amongst its qualities. All of which was meaningless at low speeds when it felt like an overloaded camel, the riding position placing too much mass on my wrists and shoulders. A couple of hours of this kind of riding left me feeling rather ragged, which in turn had the BMW all over the place. The answer was to pull off the road, have a home-rolled cigarette and let the mellowness of the moment settle in the pit of my stomach.
Didn't exactly make for brilliant progress, especially when for all I knew I might be going around and around in circles. Then salvation came in the form of a waif who walked out into the road, making me do the kind of skid that causes ulcers and dirty underwear. The waif was dressed in dirty enough clothes to pass herself off as a gypsy but would show me the way to Rome in return for a lift. Her weight made no difference to the BMW, which being Bavarian was made originally for a couple of 200lb Krauts.
I was almost jumping with joy as we hit Rome, with a fading sun and the front light turned up high to fight off the Wop drivers. A backstreet hotel with a space to keep the BMW off the street was found. The waif decided to sleep with me but it was the most expensive fuck known to man as I woke to find she’d run off with my passport and about a 1000 notes in loose change. She'd left the traveller’s cheques and five hundred quid of emergency money hidden in my boots. Neither the embassy nor the cops were much amused when the hotel manager thought she was only eleven or twelve...
I reckon the ideal machine for Rome's streets is a fully loaded and primed tank! It was a pretty dirty city full of macho twats, so I hit the road again before I killed someone. The BMW took this moment to grumble to itself, the rising crescendo of a timing chain on the way out playing second fiddle to a full complement of valves way out of adjustment. I sensed the level of vibes, reckoned it'd just about make it for the day and could safely be left until the cool of the evening. I had a spare timing chain and could do the valves in about half an hour.
There wasn’t much hope of taking it easy on the main roads, not unless I wanted to be run over by gross midgets in Fiat 500s. 90 to 100mph kept me up with the traffic flow but had the petrol tank, perfectly shaped to accommodate my desperate knee grip, thrumming away. The sleazy little weave out back, as if the tyre was slowly deflating, had the Wops going crazy on their horns, making mad gesticulations as they slouched past. The way boxer’s back wheel moves around always seems worse from behind. than from the saddle.
Naples was eventually attained, just before a sea mist closed vision down, giving me an excuse to ignore the maintenance chores. Next morning found me with dozens of engine bits around me, forcing the new timing chain on and setting the valves to perfection. I even tore the carbs off and cleaned up the floats.
More mist meant there was no point trying to travel so an entertaining taxi driver took me on a tour of the brothels and became incensed when I didn’t indulge. We'd agreed the fare before but he was expecting some commission from the bordello. I threw him the right money, walked off in disgust only to find him running after me and.trying to punch me into the gutter. I ducked and dived a little then gave him one hell of a right-hander. I left him screaming on the pavement and went to bed a happy man.
Next morning I had to ride through the taxi driver and half a dozen mates. They scattered, ran for their cars but I lost them in the traffic, denting a couple of Alfas with the cylinder heads in my haste to escape. Thought I'd better head north as fast as I could, the engine running well after the service, holding 110mph for as long as I was willing to weave between the autos, thankful for the brightness of main beam and the loudness of the horn. Helped along by fear and adrenaline, I held the crazed pace and made it to Florence in one piece with only three speed wobbles. That seemed far enough away to avoid retribution from mad taxi drivers.
I did notice that the stainless steel silencers were smoking a bit and that towards the end of the trek the motor was reluctant to push us along at more than the ton. I put it down to the frantic pace and hoped it'd be alright after having a night to cool down. The bike was running original pistons and bores which had finally decided they'd had enough but there was sufficient life left to get me back to Blighty albeit at a very slow pace. I relaxed and enjoyed the scenery; I had a spare pair of pistons and set of rings on board if we didn't make it.
Once home, examination revealed that all I need do was put in a new set of rings, both the bores and pistons in remarkably good shape after nearly 90000 miles. It's always a chancy business, putting new rings into a worn engine, but with 500 miles of careful running in they’d worked out fine, top speed back to120mph and 55-60mpg economy.
I've owned the BMW for about half a dozen years, we've shared lots of adventures together and always made it back to base in one piece if sometimes a bit battered and bruised. The RS fairing is a useful addition that I wouldn't be without. The panniers less so, as once or twice a year they fall off. The bike can be very irritating after a long day in the saddle but I keep coming back for more and more!
L. H. S.
One of the strangest things to ever happen to me was the time I went to look at a Guzzi V50. Not that there was much wrong with the bike. Just that getting the twenty miles to Gloucester was a hell of a job even in a cage. A hurricane blew across the road. Huge old trees wobbled frantically. One crashed down yards behind me with a thunderous noise. The earth shook so vividly that the steering wheel twitched out of my hands.
Rain fell so heavily that I could only see a yard ahead. It took about 90 minutes to do that 20 miles. The vendor was shocked that anyone would come out in weather like that. The Guzzi stood shining in his garage, 12000 miles and ten years of abuse under its wheels. A Mk.3 version with the addition of a handlebar fairing, panniers and a lovely stainless steel exhaust system. Prime meat for £800 and he'd ride over to my house when the storm abated the next day or maybe the next week. To get home in the cage I had to take a 40 mile diversion and two and half hours. Some day! Still, it kept the masses from viewing the V50 and ensured I picked up a bargain.
The prime meat consisted of a ninety degree OHV V-twin engine that on a good day managed 45 horses. The Guzzi is one of the few bikes with a shaft drive to maintain a low mass (350lbs), with the result that the transmission is a bit slack and the handling not quite what you'd expect from an Italian thoroughbred.
The previous owner, bless him, had gone to some trouble to uprate the suspension by fitting Koni Dial-a-Rides and progressive fork springs. A combination that gave a Ducati tautness but didn't alleviate a certain remoteness of the tyres from the rider, nor cure the way the shaft drive could churn in on the overrun. Stock suspension, especially when worn, was rather too soft and made matters much worse. That isn't to say that the Guzzi wasn't a friendly bike to ride, just that when pushed hard it’d show a certain reluctance to follow orders.
The mild power and minimal mass made the bike an easy ride in town and down twisty country roads. I particularly liked the way I could relax behind the screen in bad weather during my daily commute to work, but still be able to tear through the narrowest of gaps in the traffic flow.
The linked brakes were a mixed blessing. They worked well at sub 70mph speeds when I could just tap into the foot pedal, which used one front and one rear disc. Above that speed there was too much pressure at the back and not enough at the front, the back tyre screaming before the front. I've owned Guzzis in the past that were much more proficient in their braking so the system may have needed some adjustment or bleeding. I used the other front disc, operated by the hand lever, in anger to compensate. It wasn't that great a problem in the first six months as I had few opportunities to do more than 70mph, a result of lots of overtime and a demanding wife.
The speed with which I did the journey to work compared with the car was worth an extra 90 minutes in overtime, which meant it only took me two months to justify the cost of the V50 in extra money earned! Fuel, tyres and brake pads were all more expensive than the cage, though. I was particularly annoyed at only getting 45mpg despite not caning the engine - I later found that fuel remained constant even when it was thrashed flat out! The exhaust wasn’t standard, may have caused the engine to run too rich but the power flow was so seamless, so lacking in flat spots that I rather doubted this excuse.
The slower V50 Mk.1 with which I had a brief liaison did 50 to 60mpg but didn't like to pull over 80mph whereas the Mk.3 will motor up to the ton without much protest and under favourable conditions will put as much as 110mph on the clock. The weaves at such speed are a bit disconcerting, far better to back off to 90mph which also ensures there’ no chance of tangling the pushrods.
My speed testing had to wait until the annual holidays. The wife went to Club Nutters and I went off on the bike, both free to indulge whatever fantasies came our way! The Pennines were my favourite stomping ground and the V50 acquitted itself well. We only ran off the road twice when the bumpy corners caught out the suspension and the shaft drive went into a retributive frenzy. I was going far too fast for the conditions, but with the scenery and the curvy, swooping roads it was dead easy to get carried away. I was thankful that I wasn't carried away in an ambulance.
Ridding hard and fast for 500 miles caused the tappets to rattle and the carbs to go out of balance. In milder use for commuting they would last for a more reasonable 2000 miles, a useful point at which to change the oil. The valves and carbs were readily accessible and easily adjustable, only the most mechanically inept moron would need the services of a dealer.
Rather a lot has been written about the way that V50s rust and generally fall apart. It seems to vary a lot from model to model and also depends on the amount of loving care expended by the owner: The stainless steel exhaust was obviously a bonus, as the standard item does rust away merrily. I gave the bike a good clean and polish every weekend, which was sufficient attention to maintain its glow. The previous owner had been a stickler for keeping the bike in good shape, even muttered something about keeping the Guzzi in the house over the winter.
There are an awful lot of rat V50s around and the engine becomes very dodgy once more than 50000 miles are done. Mine, after a year and an extra 9000 miles, had developed a rattly clutch and a heavy thirst for oil. I suspect the valves (which can seize up if the bike’s not used for a time) rather than the bores, as the valve gear is more likely to go than the pistons. The bike still runs OK so no panic just yet.
The winter took its toll on me rather than the machine (although corrosion on the wheels was very hard to keep at bay). Despite the fairing and a useful amount of heat thrown off the cylinders, I often ended up soaked through and frozen up. There were a couple of instances when the engine went down on to one cylinder for a few moments but WD40 waved at the handlebar switches cured that.
I can report that V50s on ice are not nice as I had sod all idea which way the tyres were going to slide. Engine bars saved the bike and full leathers, with useful body armour, myself. I always felt a bit of a plonker when wandering around thus dressed but the fact that I was still able to walk after a couple of falls overwhelmed any such embarrassment. January was so bad that I took the car to work, losing loads of dosh in missed overtime, but money ain't everything and I felt the cold and the damp were ageing me rapidly.
With a slightly milder February I was well glad to be back on two wheels until some complete idiot knocked me off. He came at me from the back and the side. The first I knew of the accident was being thrown through the air. I landed OK and managed to roll out of the way of the same car that'd hit me. The driver seemed determined to kill me! He stopped a hundred yards down the road but drove off when I shook my fist at him. The V50 was battered but still able to motor. The worst of the damage was a large dent in the stainless steel silencer and a creased petrol tank.
The tank later started seeping petrol and it took three attempts to find a used one that hadn't rusted through. The silencer was left alone as replacements are expensive and any kind of repair would've just made it look worse. The engine was so mildly tuned that carburation wasn’t affected. I did find a similar car parked up and did the key trick on the paint, although I might've ruined the wrong cage it’s the thought that counts.
It’s still possible to pick up a nice V50 for under a thousand notes but the vast majority are now rats worth not much more than a couple of hundred quid. When they get that far gone there's not even much that can be salvaged from them for spares - they are worn all the way out. I'll keep mine for a month then trade in for something newer.
Adrian Griffiths
To make things interesting we all put in twenty quid, the total winnings going to whoever survived the knock-out rounds. There wasn't any timing gear, so it was just a matter of elimination rounds, pairs of bikes fighting it out until a winner eventually emerged. It was no big deal, really, and we certainly did no harm to anyone else, although there were a couple of serious injuries when someone overcooked it. We had a supply of pain killers, a medical student and an ambulance if the worst happened (well, an ancient Transit van that had a bed in the back as well as several crates of beer).
Drag racing a 20000 mile CB900 was a quick way to break it! The top end was fragile and winding it up to maximum revs before dropping the clutch lever did nothing for the longevity of the crankshaft. What can I say? The kick from growling off the line in full wheelie mode against a rival bike was akin to mainlining heroin - and just as potentially injurious to health, especially in the early days when the front end had a tendency to come down from the wheelie at an angle. I was repeatedly accused of trying to knock other people off if I couldn't beat them!
This madness went on for about six months. I had to rebuild the engine twice during this time. Once, the clutch drum exploded and the second time the camchain tensioner disintegrated. I'd acquired a cheap, crashed CB900 for spares, which I figured made the whole process just about acceptable. One guy broke a leg and another almost ruined his back when the machine he was on looped the loop! Towards the end there was some police interest but we outnumbered the lone plod car by about thirty to one and you could see the fear in the cop's eyes.
It wasn’t even this that turned me off. Some bright spark, towards the end of the day, decided that playing chicken would be fun. Each rider put up fifty quid, the first to swerve out of their collision course would lose. Mad! After three runs without death, although one guy swerved so violently he landed up in a ditch, the final run of the day was called. The stakes were doubled and the drunk riders helped on to their machines. A great roar of engines and grinding gears. They hit each other head on! Both bikes were such write-offs they were abandoned and reported stolen. The riders both escaped, somehow, with bruising and dented egos. I gave up going after that but the madness still goes on and if anyone in the West Country wants to join in, write to me via the UMG.
That left me with a near wrecked CB900, which steered like a shopping trolley and ran like a worn out truck. The frame was actually bent from one of the spills and caused an almighty wobble every time I pushed the hesitant motor up to 80mph. Wobble as in having the bars flicking from stop to stop with enough force to wrench them out of my hands. When the wobbles weren't trying to kill me the grinding vibes above 6000 revs caused my hands and feet to go arthritic.
Obviously a basket-case that should be sold off to the nearest breaker or just dumped. But I had a spare bike which despite being crashed had a straight frame. I'd already used all the good engine spares but a few visits to some breakers, along with my psychopathic mate (who went out of his way to stare down Doberman dogs), soon found a decent crankshaft, cams and minor gearbox parts. His habit of dropping lighted matches into discarded fuel tanks ensured that I didn’t pay over the odds.
After about a month of hard work the rebuilt machine was ready for the road, although the wholesale use of heat resistant matt black paint on almost every surface didn't exactly leave it gleaming with newness. After a couple of hundred miles of running in, top speed turned out to be 135mph, there was enough guts to burn off CBR600s up to the ton, and the handling was equal to whatever madness my mind could take the kind of bike that liked to be dominated by sheer muscle power and responded best to those with minimal imaginations.
The menacing looks of the large matt black machine, an exhaust so loud it set off burglar alarms and my own mad glint, all combined to let me elbow my way through slow traffic, working on the basis that if a gap was wide enough for the front wheel it'd soon open up for the rest of the machine. If it didn’t the worst that would happen was that the engine bars would take off the side of a car. The CB900 let the rider think he was a master of the universe in its wacky ways and insolent manner.
There was always some self-deluded creep in a thirty thousand quid car who thought I should give way to him, didn’t even respond to a blast on the air-horns or a curse. When such a creature was woken from his reverie by the sound of crunching metal, the sudden reality was often too much for him, but I usually had time to take the adjustable wrench out of the top box. As long as the quick collapsing front end, that would buckle if I so much as sauntered up a pavement, was kept out of harm’s way there was usually much more damage to the car than the bike. I never bothered reporting the accident to the insurance company which stopped him pursuing his claim!
In avoiding accidents the brakes were not much help, the front often deliberately locking on when braking on wet roads. The violent way the front wheel slid away made the resultant wrestling match with the handlebars all the more taxing. Trying speedway tactics on such a heavy brute was more likely to break my leg than let me survive the slide. The basic problem with the brakes was that the discs would go very thin very quickly then warp. The ultimate solution is to throw the whole rotten front end away but I never quite got around to that.
The primitive handling and unruly engine made for some good times as it usually reacted vilely in an entirely predictable manner. Heroic acts in fast corners were entirely possible and likely to give riders of more modern machines heart attacks as they viewed the bucking monster swinging through a highly dangerous line with all the verve of a rabid dog trying to get its teeth into a victim. As unlikely as it sounds, I actually enjoyed the fight with the shifting metal and the monstrous flood of power, torque and vibration that quaked through the chassis.
Neither the seat nor riding position were stock but once I’d become used to the vibration, which a friend reckoned was the same as a jackhammer at idle, I found I could do a few hundred miles in a day, with stops for fuel every 150 miles, without turning delirious or deranged. Cruising speeds in the 90 to 110mph range were entirely possible, although there wasn't quite the speed to burn off avenging cop cars.
Continuous abuse gave an engine life of around 15000 miles, although a brand new motor would go two to three times that distance before needing attention. That low mileage was down to a combination of bad design, thrashing, neglect and the use of dubious second hand parts in the rebuild. My devotion to revving into the red in the first few gears meant that crankshafts were just as likely to rumble as camshafts were to scream. The vibes also managed to ruin ignition units and blow the lights, sometimes at very awkward moments that I only survived through sheer luck. Anyone who buys a CB900 for riding like a headbanger should immediately start collecting engine spares!
Not all CB900s are ridden like that, some are used as long distance tourers, although that makes no sense with the high cost of its consumables and poor fuel economy. Tyres last for less than 7500 miles, drive chains for around 5000 miles and pads about 6000 miles. Fuel varies between 30 and 45mpg. But at least these tourers represent a chance to get hold of a decent example of the CB900, which can then be thrashed, crashed and raced until either the engine blows, the frame cracks up or the Grim Reaper intercedes. Only joking, but I do find that my CB900 brings out the worst in me, some resonance between its primitive nature and my soul.
Daniel Farrington
Three months later I was just about ready for the road. The engine had been filled with oil, so I assumed its internals were OK. The only original electrical bit was the alternator, the rest sourced from a crashed Superdream. Cables I made up myself. Cycle parts were patched, welded, smoothed down and finally painted bright red (what else on a Ducati), as was the tubular frame.
The DOHC vertical twin engine was lovingly rubbed down and polished until it glowed. It wouldn't start until I'd swapped the new HT leads around. The bellow out of the universal megas had the dog running around in circles trying to bite off his tail. The whole bike quaked at the 4000rpm tickover then died as suddenly as it'd started when I hit the choke off but started again on the second try.
The MOT tester was in a bad mood, listing inadequate brakes, loose forks, loud exhaust and shot swinging arm bearings. I was tempted to offer a bribe but refrained myself when I recalled that a friend had a blown Pantah with a perfect front end, mine for a song as he was terminally depressed by life. Temporary baffles, left over from my Bloop days, were hammered into the silencers and weren't spat back out until the MOT was granted. I couldn't find much wrong with the swinging arm and neither could the tester second time round when I claimed to have fitted new bearings.
The clock read 26000 miles which might explain the most obvious fault with the Duke - vibration! Whether at tickover or 9000 revs the old girl gave out a ferocious buzz that was especially excruciating at 6000 to 7000rpm in top gear, which equated to my ideal motorway cruising speed. And here speaks a guy who would quite happily flog a 400 Superdream with knackered balancers the length and breath of the country. The best way to think of the Duke’s vibration is to equate it to the secondary buzzing of an old seventies Jap four, then multiply it by a factor of ten!
I even checked the Desmo operated valves, which were just within tolerances. As the bike would blast up to 95mph in a way that left Superdream owners bright green with envy, the mill couldn’t have been that worn out. I did note the odd of puff of smoke in the mirrors, but given the way they blurred it could just as easily have been a grey car or something.
The chassis was as impressive as the acceleration. Way better than the Superdream, anyway, with none of the nasty wallowing or weaving. A decent set of Avon tyres helped, as did the prime condition Pantah front end, although the OE shocks could turn into pogo sticks when the going became seriously rough. At around 400Ibs it was just the right weight to chuck around without being worried by side winds or bumps throwing it off the road.
I was so impressed I decided to do something about the vibration. Ultra thick grips and footrest rubbers were the most obvious solution That made life more tolerable but the excruciatingly painful seat also allowed through a lot of vibes. I retained the cover but used thicker foam and mounted the seat surround and base on two layers of rubber. After all that effort it was just about acceptable for an hour at a time, only slightly worse than a nearly dead Superdream!
The vibration saga didn't end there, for though I was reasonably well insulated the rest of the chassis had to bear the brunt of my crazed use of the throttle. Crazed because this was one vertical twin with a siren song of power once above 6000 revs, that much preferred to be ridden where the power resided than loped along at lower revs where there was none of the torque of an old British twin. Some configuration of bore, stoke, valve size and camshaft timing had removed the dual nature that so many 500 to 650cc twins used to sport. It was all or nothing.
I had pause to ponder this trait when one of exhaust downpipes cracked up. Cracked in way that left about six inches of pipe in the head and the rest of the exhaust doing a shuffle with the tarmac. I didn’t hear the grinding metal because all sound and any kind of thought was drowned out by the open downpipe. Further fun was added by flames shooting out of the end of the pipe, singeing the engine and frightening pedestrians as well as blowing their eardrums. It was so bad that I pushed the bike the half mile home!
Don't even think about approaching a Ducati dealer to ask if he has a downpipe. The vertical twin’s regarded as an embarrassing folly, best ignored and forgotten. I made up a 2-1 system consisting of an old CG collector, the existing downpipes plus a bit of extra tube, and a universal megaphone. This had the added benefit of stopping me wearing out the engine by cutting off the power dead at 9000 revs.
Nor was this the end of the self destruct antics. Lights blew with disturbing regularity despite enough rubber mounting to keep Malayasian peasants in work for a month or two. The petrol tank actually split (admittedly it'd previously rusted through so badly that I’d welded in about two pounds worth of steel), covering the hot engine in fuel - I pulled over, leapt off and ran like a lunatic but it didn't explode. More welding fixed it. Mudguards cracked, the seat base split and the battery opened up, ruining the finish on the frame. Minor brackets and electrical components also gave up the game.
Despite all this, | still managed to do 7000 miles of riding in the six months of the summer and autumn. I had races with things like CX500s, GS650s and Z550s, and didn't have much trouble keeping ahead of them. As long as I was willing to abuse the throttle and ignore the vibes, the Ducati proved a willing partner in my assaults on the highway.
Then the fall from grace came. As might be expected from an engine that'd done 33000 miles and only received cursory maintenance, the pressures of the fast life would eventually catch up with it. I'd half expected the clutch to blow as it’d begun to chatter and grumble, although the gear change remained positive (compared to a Superdream, which ain't saying much).
There I was, burning along this nice bit of A-road at 90mph, my teeth beginning to buzz with an echo of the vibes, when the whole bike suddenly felt like it was shaking apart. An earthquake in Somerset? Such notions were removed from my mind before I’d even had a chance to slam the throttle shut. The engine and then the back wheel locked up solid. Clutch, my mind screamed, which when acted upon caused an almighty bang! At least the back wheel freed up, came out of its suicidal slide allowing me to freewheel to the side of the road.
I never did work out which component went first but from top to bottom I had one completely ruined engine. I don’t think there was one internal component that I could salvage. The mangled crankshaft sits on my desk as a reminder of my close shave with the Grim Reaper whilst the rest of the bits are somewhere in the garage. I do have a nice chassis that’s looking for a donor engine and I'm pretty sure that I could get a CB400N motor to fit in there, but they are just as rare (in good nick) as Desmo 500s. All I can say is that it was pretty damn good whilst it lasted for a £100 hack.
Keith Evans
The FZR was sold to a youth who reckoned he was going to ride without insurance. A running if rat '73 CB500 turned up for £200 a week later. 63000 miles, a few camchain rattles and the most rotted exhaust system I’d ever seen - it may well have been there since new. After the FZR, the Honda felt very bland, more like a 250 Superdream than a 500cc OHC four, but then after the 170mph Yamaha just about any bike would feel like a slouch. There was also a lot of ribbing from my friends who found the Honda, resplendent in a sort of gunge brown and rust, truly hilarious. A feeling accentuated on the first run when the seat fell apart and the chrome front guard disintegrated: The seat was repaired with a couple of rolls of insulation tape and a bit of wood. The guard was so far gone that by the time I pulled over there was nothing left to repair.
Apart from these minor and entirely predictable incidents, the CB would still put a ton on the clock, cruise at 80mph and hold its own in the corners. I spent another 200 notes on bits to put the machine to rights, including a new camchain and tensioner, used guards, tank, seat and four into one exhaust. The protective layer of grime left the engine cases and frame in reasonable shape, which was highlighted after I sprayed the guards, tank and panels a deep, gloss black.
Back on the road, my friends were amazed at the transformation from rat to classic bike. The largest of them demanded a test ride, came back with a rattling clutch and clanging front disc. He was too big to hit but I was tempted after he muttered, something about coming out the other side of the red zone and nearly knocking down a pack of pedestrians when he suddenly needed to lose 100mph fast.
The clutch slipped above 5500 revs and the front disc barely worked, not that it could ever be called a stunning stopper even when newish. I had to re-educate my right hand as it'd become soft from the FZR that just needed a finger or two whereas the Honda demanded an iron grip. The rear drum was quite adequate but tried to pull the wheel out of the swinging arm when used in corners, disconcerting rather than dangerous.
Used CB500 calipers were not widely available so I stripped the old one, cleaned out all the brake dust and reassembled. A set of EBC pads were offered up along with new brake fluid. It worked but still needed a gorilla grip and had a momentary delay in the wet. Pushed really hard, used repeatedly from high speed stops, there was a bit of fade and enough heat off the disc to scramble an egg. Pattern clutch plates, after the obligatory bit of filing, were tenderly placed in the drum which benefited from having the burrs removed from the slots. Praise was lavished on the previous owner for fitting Allen bolts, although one of the recesses began to open out when I tightened down the bolts. I felt a lot of pressure was necessary to compensate for the Hermetite smeared old gasket. I'd given the Honda dealer the finger when he quoted me the price for a new one and pattern gasket makers sometimes blocked off an oil-way.
Piranha electronic ignition was already fitted, which made starting easy but may have accounted for spark plugs lasting no more than 2500 miles. The first time it happened I thought something serious was amiss as two cylinders went down. At a certain point in their wear, wet weather riding caused the engine to cut out on to two or three cylinders. New plugs solved this. Wet weather faults are not uncommon on this model, but my bike was running non-standard coils, HT leads and plug caps, as well as the electronic ignition.
Maintenance was a 1000 mile matter of doing oil, filter, eight valves and four carbs. Once I knew my way around the machine it only took an hour or so. They do need this frequent care unlike, say, a GS550 which can be neglected for 5000 miles or more. The only major hassle I had after sorting the clutch was the starter motor which jammed up, made a noise like the engine was falling apart. There’s a kickstart so I could’ve thrown the whole mechanism away but I liked to have the electric boot to hand in case I stalled in traffic. A used starter and clutch mechanism were found for £20, off, I think, the CBS550F model. Many Honda parts are interchangeable across models and as my bike already sported a non-standard exhaust, seat, suspension and bars I wasn’t too concerned about originality but I did want to keep the overall shape intact, though.
I did about 4000 miles before I had a big problem with the chassis. The back wheel started breaking up. By the time I pulled over as well as broken spokes (I was never able to clean the rust off them) the drum casting had cracks running through it. At this point I also found that the swinging arm bushes were shot and part of the swinging arm looked like it was rusted right through. The cosmic exchange system turned up the bits I needed, including a pair of wheels with alloy Borrani rims and a newish set of Dunlop tyres. Almost made the two hour wait for the AA worthwhile.
Then I had to suffer a boiling battery that almost gave me a third degree burn when I tried to pull it out. The gurgling acid sounded evil and did nothing for the finish of the surrounding chassis. Blowing bulbs indicated that too much voltage was getting through. The regulator was burnt out, due to a couple of wires shedding their insulation. It was pretty obvious that the whole bike needed a rewire. I was lucky that the electronic ignition hadn't gone up in flames. A mate was handed a very reasonable sixty quid with instructions to get the electrics sorted. I even went to the trouble of uprating the headlamp because the stock unit ain't much cop above 30mph on country roads. Even with decent electrics, batteries don’t last much more than eighteen months, which is strange as the engine’s pretty smooth and I don’t rev much past 9000rpm.
Even with the 80000 miles now on the clock, the engine has maintained its smoothness, civility and reliability. I don’t know what work was done before I acquired the machine, presumably there was a re-bore done and maybe a top end overhaul. Most Honda fours of this era need some serious attention after 50000 miles of abuse, or a lot less than that if regular oil changes weren't done.
In the time I’ve had the Honda I’ve grown to realise that the excessive power of newer bikes isn't really necessary to enjoy the larger motorcycle experience. At least in the UK, the CB500’s power is perfectly matched to the road conditions, as is its mass and agility. Also, the design is so simple that it’s very easy to understand and work on. It’s relatively effortless to make minor chassis mods to tailor the bike perfectly to my own needs. If, for instance, I decide I don't like the bend of the bars I just hit the nearest breakers for a different set and half an hour later I’m back on the road. Try that on an FZR!
Of course, the plastic replicas have gut churning acceleration that burns deep into the soul and is not so easy to forgo. But I don’t think it’s worth the cost in consumables, insurance and maintenance. The Honda keeps cheap tyres and chains going for over 12000 miles, pads for 15000 and costs nothing except oil to service. Funnily enough, fuel consumption worked out the same for both bikes, around 40mpg. A low mileage CB500 might better that but don’t expect more than 50mpg, something to do with the friction of all those moving parts.
Finding a nice CB500 four won't be easy and good ones can fetch more than a thousand notes. My engine must be due for serious attention soon but that's no problem as I've acquired a low mileage CB550 motor in readiness hopefully, I’ll do the swap before the old engine blows up or seizes. I don't think they will ever make four cylinder bikes this simple again. More’s the pity!
J. D. T.
I wasn't overly excited by the prospect of riding a 125 again but my Fazer had just gone round the clock and was sounding decidedly rattly, indicating the need to sell up before it blew up. Interest levels increased dramatically, however, when I arrived to inspect the nail and found myself looking at the 400cc version of the venerable Suzuki Burgman, an early pre-FI model (AN400Y). It had just 25000 miles on the clock - not much for one of these - and appeared quite tidy. No way would it start though, not even with a fresh battery and fuel. My mate just wanted it gone, so into the back of the van it went and back to my garage for further investigation.
It didn't take long to discover why it wouldn't run; in removing the under-seat helmet locker to gain access to the motor I found that a rodent had been living under there and had helped itself to most of the insulation off the loom, rendering it beyond any reasonable repair. Consequently I slung the machine to the back of the garage and forgot about it for a few months. Then I found another one advertised on Scumtree for £200. This had 80000 on the clock and looked like it had been repeatedly run over by a bus. Against my better judgement I went to see it; the owner was a DR, and this was the latest of several of these machines that he had thrashed to death in the course of his work. He was getting out of the game, and just wanted all the scrap out of his garage - when he saw I had turned up in a van wielding cash, he offered me the heap, plus another crashed one and a load of parts for £100.
Once home, I set about making one (hopefully) good one out of the two-and-a-half machines I now owned. The crashed one had just 13000 miles on it, so the motor from that was combined with the bodywork and frame from the original bike, plus the loom from the other. This operation took the best part of a week of evenings to achieve - what else is there to do in winter! - and the MOT was duly achieved, leaving me free to test the Phoenix scooter out on the road.
Initial impressions were good - the scooter struggled to pull the ton flat out, but who gives a shit about that? The best way I can describe it cruising at 80mph was akin to a flying armchair. I had put on a big Givi screen from my stash of parts, and even riding in the pissing rain didn't present a problem after this. The under seat storage was huge, and fuel economy not bad at around 60mpg, which wasn't all that different from what I'd been getting from the Fazer. The latter was offloaded on Scumtree for £300, and not a minute too soon as it turns out - the buyer rang me a week later to say that the engine had blown up, wanting a refund. I told him to do one; he had test ridden it and dismissed the rattling (I pointed it out to him) as 'nothing'. Caveat Emptor dude.
Touring on the Burgman was as much fun as I'd hoped... a visit to a mate in the South of France was an excellent, relaxed excursion thanks to the comfy seat and upright riding position. In traffic it was as good as a 125 for manoeuvrability with a good deal more poke. Despite the protestations of myriad dickhead Power Rangers, handling on the small wheels was perfectly adequate for the intended use of the plot. Start chucking it about like a sports bike, though, and you'll most likely die. But if you ride it like that then you've bought the wrong bike anyway. Incidentally, it's only when you take to the road on a scooter that you see just what bellends many so-called bikers really are. If you do this, then my advice to you is revel in it: these people are sheep, and many of them only ride their carefully cosseted crotch rockets for three months of the year at most. Reliability was exemplary - the big single never required anything beyond routine servicing, and over the past five years I have put 45000 miles on the beast.
There were a few issues... it always ran a bit cold, with the temp gauge never really getting off the stop in winter. I had no spare thermostats and after pricing a new one (£120) I covered half the radiator grille with Gaffa tape - sorted. If you don't grease the rear wheel splines the wheel will seize onto the output shaft... I discovered this the hard way when I came to change the tyre, necessitating the use of a sledgehammer. The parking brake mechanism seizes up through lack of use, and causes one of the pistons in the rear caliper to drag. Pattern pistons are available, albeit without the rod that allows the parking brake to work. That's not a problem, though, if you do as I did and bin it. Oh, and keep an eye on the oil level - if you're prone to a bit of high-speed cruising the stuff gets thrown out of the engine breather into the airbox with predictable consequences. But that's it really.
It's getting a bit leggy now, and the engine is starting to burn oil, which means it's time to move it on. I should make a small profit after five years' use, which isn't so bad! I've found it so good that I have an early 650 in the garage that's been stolen and recovered, scored from a salvage yard for £300. Hopefully that will provide at least the same amount of motorcycling kicks as the current one - let's hope so... after all the less I spend, the less I need to earn!
Slacker
I'd always thought that press reports of bikes being stolen were much exaggerated. Until someone went for my near immaculate Suzuki GT250. It was parked in the front garden, shackled to the drainpipe. The first I knew of it was the Alsatian going into a frenzy downstairs. I let the massive brute out with instructions to kill but they had already done a runner, leaving a somewhat battered GT.
From then on the Suzuki was parked inside the house and the dog told to sleep next to it. I woke up one morning to find the canine out for the count and the front door almost off its hinges. Someone had popped some doped meat through the letterbox and then tried to lever the door out of its frame. From then on total paranoia ruled.
Someone obviously had the hots for the GT and was desperate to get their hands on the pristine relic from the seventies. The bike was in such good nick because I'd rebuilt it from the crankshaft up, using new parts whenever possible not as expensive as it sounds as there are a couple of dealers selling off old stock at deep discounts. I had about £1200 invested in the machine in total but if it was stolen would get back only around £200 from the insurance company. Talk about rip-off merchants.
After the attempted break in I rode the bike in a fervour of revs and haze of exhaust fumes, just to make sure that no-one was following me around ready to steal the bike the moment I left it parked up. My friends thought I'd gone completely mad, muttering about who'd want to steal such an old stroker. Riding the GT250, though, was a bit like riding an old Brit, all kinds of characters would pop out of thin air, claiming to have owned one just like it in their youth.
They are rare, these days, as most have been revved and ridden into the gutter. It's not that difficult to ruin the small-ends or even the whole crankshaft, few examples making it past 20000 without needing a complete engine rebuild. Even the chassis was designed to wear out quickly, with a combination of shot bearings and rusted through cycle parts.
With strong acceleration to 75mph and a top speed of 90mph, they are quite handy tools but not quite up to taking on the Yam RD250, which was the fastest stroker back in the early seventies. A porting job and a pair of spannies will let the GT break through the ton, at the price of an engine that won't last for more than 5000 miles and some chassis wobbles that would even worry Kawasaki triple owners, another stroker from that wild era...
My strange obsession with this machine came about through a sheer accident. My cousin bought a rat GT250 for £50 but gave up on the renovation and sold me the thing in about a million bits for a hundred quid. There’s nothing quite like rebuilding a bike from the ground up to become totally immersed in its character. There’s a fantastic feeling of pride when the motor finally wails into life after months of effort.
The first ride was an event in itself. The engine seemed reluctant to go beyond 6000rpm, with a heavy haze of pollutants descending on the immediate area. The motor had taken a while to start, one of the plugs oiling up slightly. When it cleared up the power zapped in and I had the front wheel up around my earlobes. The engine was screaming at fantastic revs, not at all conducive to running in. I slammed the throttle shut only to find that the carbs were stuck fully open. Before the whole bike vaporized in a frenzy of buzzing I hit the kill switch.
After re-routing the throttle cable and saying some prayers I was back in business. Surprisingly, this harsh initial treatment didn’t do the engine any harm and persuaded me that there was no point spending thousands of miles carefully running it in. Within a hundred miles I was using maximum revs and revelling in the power punch put out by the stroker twin.
Handling was rather weird but not all that surprising as this bike came from an era when the Japanese had not quite grasped the implications of frame strength, weight distribution and steering geometry. The bike felt light at the front, weak at the back and generally rather remote from the road even on a set of Avon tyres that used on other bikes had encouraged much madness.
It didn’t seem particularly dangerous the weaves - almost certainly due to the weak swinging arm support (bearings last only 4000 to 5000 miles) - never grew into wild wobbles, and the few times the back tyre let loose without any warning I was able to pull back the 350Ibs of metal without much effort.
It took about three months to become used to the cornering. The Suzuki never felt like it was wholly committed to the line I wanted to take and needed lots of minor corrections on the high and wide bars that were standard fare. The front end was constantly deflected and upset by minor road surface imperfections. I did find that if I crouched over the bars, the added mass on the front wheel had a tranquillising effect. This led to the first major mod, fitment of ace bars. Such an addition was, back in the seventies, almost compulsory on the GT250 - as well as giving much improved front end accuracy it also made for a racing crouch that helped eke out the effect of the 27 horses on 75 to 90mph performance.
Sixth gear was rather tall and only made any sense when the bike was ridden flat out with a following gale. I often ended up flicking up and down the box between third and fifth to keep the power flowing in as the road and traffic conditions changed. Ridden with a bit of elan the GT could be forced to fair fly along. Well, it'd stay ahead of my mate's derestricted TZR125 when I was in the mood to chance my luck in the curves.
Below 5000 revs the engine ran cleanly as long as it was purged with a brief burst of acceleration every ten minutes. Denying the engine its chance of glory resulted in one of the plugs oiling up despite having the oil pump turned down to its minimum setting and using modern stroker lubricant. A half litre of oil was needed every 150 miles whilst fuel economy varied between 35 and 50mpg.
After a little while I became quite confident in the Suzuki’s handling. If stability wasn’t as inspiring as a Ducati there was none of the mad unpredictability of a Kawasaki triple. When the stand’s prong or my boot started to dig into the tarmac I knew it was time to back off. If anything solid touched down it’d try to lever the back wheel off the ground. A terrifying lurch then ran through the whole chassis that left me weak at the knees and sick to the pit of my stomach. Felt like the frame was breaking up and the end was nigh. However, it was easily avoided by backing off on the throttle or taking a more upright line through the corner.
Despite being over 20 years old, having engine power that wouldn't impress most seventeen year olds and handling like something out of the ark, the character of the bike was so strong to still emerge as providing, if not defining, lots of motorcycle fun. I’ve ridden Yamaha strokers and Kawasaki triples of the same era, but both these bikes struck me as being too hard edged to be much fun (those who want to die young should consider putting a tuned RD250 motor in a KH250 chassis).
You may decide to dismiss this as merely the ranting of some kind of dangerous addict, but the past 14000 miles of trouble free riding (with just 1000 mile maintenance sessions) have only served to confirm my belief in the Suzuki. It occurs to me, as I write this, that my once serious and solemn face is usually found to be grinning widely with an excess of laughter lines around my eyes; that someone out there observing the transformation made by ownership of the GT250 wants a piece of the action and will stop at nothing to steal the Suzuki...
J. L.
