I'll freely admit that the bike wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but the price meant I had enough money left to ride to Italy and stay there for a few days. The obligatory test ride revealed that though the motor was free revving it was pretty gutless so I put it down to the fact that it had never had a good thrashing and that the bores were slightly glazed.
Also, another problem manifested itself, being four years old and only used on short runs the exhaust system was, er, tired and so displayed its contempt for having to breathe heavily by blowing its nose, or rather emptying the contents of the left-hand silencer, along a previously quiet B road somewhere in the south of England. My dealer friend was not perturbed - just take it away, break what you can over the weekend, then we'll fix it up for you. Fair enough, at least I would have a chance to spot if the dodgy camchain tensioner was going to play up.
I had a fortnight to sort the bike out before the trip. The first run was with a friend on a 1100 Katana, I found I had more ground clearance but a range of only 90 miles (under 30mpg) as I had to thrash it to keep up. As an exercise in applied destruction I had more success. The right-hand silencer came out in sympathy with its brother somewhere on the M25 and both fork seals popped after an impromptu wheelie along Hertford High St when I discovered that a baffle-less Kawasaki has not inconsiderable bottom end urge.
Silencers and seals were both replaced without fuss. I don’t normally like to set off into the distant sunset on a largely untried motorcycle, so in the privacy of the garage I set about dismembering my latest purchase. The original rubberwear still had a few miles left, but was replaced for peace of mind by a Michelin front and Dunlop rear, brake pads were replaced because they were glazed rather than worn, fork gaiters were fitted and the engine treated to a full service; the bike was declared fit for duty.
I travelled to Italy with my Katana owning mate and his wife. I laid down the law about speeding, said that I would not ride at over eighty because of the cost - petrol was expensive and speeding fines would knock out a week’s beer money. My luggage was taken care of courtesy of a Rickman rack with a pair of Euro-Design panniers and a tank bag - as we were going for B&B, there was plenty of space.
Loaded down with self and luggage, the Kawasaki handled pretty well, helped by a new set of Marzocchi shocks. The tide was very comfortable thanks to the long travel forks, although they were a bit too soggy for the powerful disc brakes and there were times when I felt like Bronco Billy, the way the plot leapt up and down.
On the second day, somewhere in Switzerland, we became involved in a high speed game with a pack of about twenty loonies on 350LCs. As it was a Sunday, and as I’ve always thought that LCs were a no-no in Switzerland, I assumed they were a bunch of Frenchies out for an afternoons naughtiness and so set off in pursuit in order to uphold the reputation of the British abroad. No contest, I was left for dead, and on a long downhill section the oil light came on. I killed the motor, pulled in the clutch and coasted to a halt some miles further on. When I restarted the motor, the oil light stayed on until the revs went past 4000rpm, so I killed it again and waited for it to cool down. After that it behaved perfectly and I resolved to ride even slower.
Benefits were almost instant, fuel consumption rose to 50mpg and whole business of touring became a very laid back experience indeed (unless you are on a Katana, then it’s a very laid down experience). Unfortunately Italian motorways at that speed are very, very boring indeed. It was while crossing Northern Italy that a theory about the Italian economy was born. Every mile or so we spotted a lorry loaded with junk, going one way or the other we decided that the economy must revolve around movement of this rubbish and in an attempt to alleviate the boredom set about analysing the junk flow. The problem was that we were travelling so slowly that even that was hard work so I switched off completely and can’t remember much of the ride from Milan to Venice...
In all I clocked up nearly 3000 Continental miles. The oil light, later diagnosed as a faulty pressure switch, had been a major aggravation, but at a reduced pace the Z500 proved itself to be a pretty fair Eurobopper. Good brakes which were essential for the mountains, comfy seat and suspension, reasonable fuel consumption and minimal tyre and chain wear, made the bike a good bet for the more restricted of income. So why did I sell it as soon as I got back? ‘Cos I hated the wretched thing, that’s why...
Once home, I resumed my normal sporting mode and the Kawasaki proved not to be to my liking. Like many bikers I get a certain buzz from dragging the undercarriage of my machine across Mr McAdams finest. There is a roundabout close to my place that provides an ideal testing ground for both a rider’s stupidity and the angle of dangle possible before intimate encounters of the expensive kind. The Z500 proved almost impossible to scrape, but I did manage, the experience akin to falling off then getting back on again. A friend confessed that he’d given up trying on his Z500. Also, on fast bumpy roads the brakes and suspension combined to produce a pogo effect unseen since the heady days of the Sex Pistols. Very often, it felt like the bike was out of shape in a big way. It had to go.
I advertised the bike in MCN for two months, dropping the price from £600 to £400, but still no-one came. Sitting in front of a silent telephone night after night is not something I’d recommend, Maybe the silent non-callers knew something that I didn’t. Eventually a friend came to the rescue and relieved me of the bike at a price that was "mutually beneficial," i.e. too bloody cheap by half; but as I’d then found the GS1000 I’d been looking for, I gritted my teeth and kissed it goodbye.
That is still not the end of the story, as the friend only lives five minutes away. It was treated to a full service, paint touched up, seat recovered and four years and 10000 miles of wear and tear made good. For a couple of years it was used as a short distance commuter by his wife until he decided his BMW wasn’t earning its keep, and the Z500 was pressed into full time service.
The bike had covered 18000 miles by then and in need of another tidy up. In common with many bikes of that era, the 500 had a black engine (now pie-bald) and quick drop paint. The paint was reapplied, a Motad fitted, a full touring fairing and Krausers completed the transformation. The bike was used for 18 months in this form until the fairing was replaced with a screen.
It was in this form that I used it for a quick trip to Sheffield (from Kent). In all honesty I wasn’t looking forward to the ride, the M1 is tedious even on a big bike and my memories of the 500 told me that it would be too slow and too juicy if I turned the wick up. In the event it was one of the best rides I’ve had for some time. The motorway was just busy enough to be interesting, and for only the third time in 1988 it didn’t piss down on me when riding more than a hundred miles. If a result of the Greenhouse Effect is that we stay drier and warmer throughout the winter then I’m all for it, aerosol away lads (I also live at the top of a hill for when the water rises). The windscreen did an excellent job of deflecting the wind blast over my head and at a steady eighty the motor did better than 55mpg (wish it’d done that when I’d owned it).
When I arrived home a couple of days later I realised I still didn’t like the bike. I think it must be one of those things that is hard to quantify, but the bike did absolutely nothing for me. I suppose a bike needs something more than all round competence, the Z500 has that in abundance but it has no soul.
Shortly after that trip it was found that the camchain was knackered. Galea Camchains had produced a good quote to replace the errant item and on reflection, over a few jars in the local ale-house, it looked like the Z500’s future was assured. But life is not quite like that. After I’d already written this I decided to treat myself to anew Yamaha XT350. The Z500’s owner rode it, and within 24 hours had sold the Z500 and ordered one for himself. A wise move.
G.R.Moody