Honda VFR750

After many years of owning late seventies and early eighties bikes, life needed a boost. A wet day in March ‘89 saw my life taking a turn for the better with the purchase of a silver blue, D-reg Honda VFR750F with 11000 miles up. This highly complex water-cooled V-four, with no less than 16 valves, has one of the best looking fairings and cycle parts around. It also boasts gear driven camshafts, so no more tensioner problems.
 
After many late seventies and early eighties Jap bikes competent and easy to maintain as they were - the VFR seemed light, low and small. The brakes were razor sharp, use them with the kind of grip reserved for hauling up the dinosaurs and you'd be chucked over the handlebars - the scratches on the fairing kind of confirmed this. I found the handling and straight line stability a revelation. At first, the suspension appeared rather too firm, but what appears hard at 40mph is translated into a deal of tautness the faster you go and becomes much more comfortable.
 
It can be tipped over onto the foot pegs with ease and even fitting a large pair of panniers did not upset the beast - an act that would have produced a wallowing, wiggling wastrel of a bike on one of my older machines. However, the 16” front wheel does make it drop into slow corners, a trend eliminated on later bikes by using 17” wheels.
 
The bike is used every day for work, for motorcycle instructing at the weekend, has to put up with shopping trips, long hauls and short blasts; just about everything really. The chain is on its last legs and will just about see 20000 miles before replacement. Tyres last 5000 miles, or less, on the back and 6-8000 miles out front, Metzelers being my preferred brand. Brake pads are £15 each for the plasma sprayed OE jobbies but EBC do replacements far cheaper and brake fluid does not evaporate during normal road use.
 
The oil is changed every 2000 ‘miles, filter every 5000 miles. The plugs are difficult to reach and the valves need checking every 7500 miles. Generally, maintenance requirements are fairly low and I reckon the bike could be neglected for long periods without serious mishap.
 
The height of the screen is far too low and the amount of protection afforded by the expensive fairing inadequate and I’m a skinny 5’ 7”. The screen is perfectly placed to blow the wind straight into your face. A quick blast down to Plymouth was only made bearable by crouching over the tank bag all the way there. This kind of journey shows up the seat for what it really is - a plank.
 
The pillion perch has more padding but slopes forward; the little lady is alternatively nearly thrown off the back under acceleration, only staying on by dint of a white-knuckle hold onto the pilot, and crashes into the rider under braking, giving the crash hats a good test when they collide. Why on earth they didn’t make the seat flat I just don’t know.
 
Unless the passenger is small (and preferably very perfectly formed), the stepped seat leaves their head exposed to the blast and flapping around like a ping pong ball on a spring. The rear of the tank is perfectly formed to seriously damage the wedding tackle when the passenger is thrown forward by the braking.  Fuel consumption averages about 50mpg on unleaded. The chain flaps around, not aiding the clunky gear selection, with occasional missed gears thrown in just to keep the rider alert. The fairing directs an unbearable blast of hot air over the rider on warm days, slow traffic can become very frustrating. The clocks: and switches are excellent.
 
The VFR comes with a 24 month guarantee, like other big Hondas, and appears to have had all the faults associated with earlier V-fours eradicated - there are bikes around with over 50000 miles on the clock, so don’t let the poor reputation of the older bikes put you off.
 
The engine is the main asset of the bike, despite earlier versions blowing up. The V4 engine is smooth, torquey and generally lovely. It gets you from A to B without feeling the least bit fussy. It feels deceptively lazy but revs like hell. It really is mind blowing, coupled with that exhaust growl, it has a unique combination of characteristics. It is plenty fast enough (93 horses at the back wheel) but also very usable, even on wet roads. I’ve just covered 7000 miles in 5 months so it gets well used. With 18000 miles showing, nothing has rusted, dropped off or broken.
 
The bike is a real head turner and less common than the straight four, race replicas that seem to be everywhere, these days. Compared to 750s of just a few years ago it’s so far ahead that there really is no comparison. I certainly know which one I'd go for. This is a true quality machine with alloy foot pegs, neat frame welding, adjustable handlebar levers, etc. More than a match for a BMW. Pity, then, about the stiff neck, dead backside and bruised and boiled nuts. But the VFR is still a very fine road bike.
 
Jon Timms
 

Honda VF400F

I purchased my VF400F on impulse a year ago with some 13000 miles on the clock - it had four previous owners! I bought it because I was impressed by the favourable reports in the bike mags "pocket rocket", and "four stroke RD350LC" were among the accolades. One bike mag went so far as choosing it as bike of the year.
 
On paper, the VF was quite impressive, but sadly all the good things in life have their price and in the case of the VF400F that price’ is complexity - a water-cooled, DOHC V-four, sixteen valver knocking out a claimed 55hp. 110mph and 55mpg were the result. Other features include a fork: brace, air suspension, fairing, silly belly pan, hydraulic clutch, 6 gears, typical Honda self-destructing camchain tensioners and those inboard ventilated disc brakes.
 
The biggest gripe that I am sure that most VF owners will have is the subject of home maintenance. As far as I am concerned anyone can service a VF400F but if you do not possess that important ingredient, patience, then you'll end up dumping it at the dealers at great expense, like twenty quid an hour for labour! The Honda manual costs forty quid. Servicing hassles include removal of tank, side panels, radiator and coils just to get at the tappets, which are supposed to be checked every 3600 miles! Changing spark plugs involves frayed nerves and grazed knuckles.
 
Fortunately, most VF400s are reliable compared to some VF500s and earlier VF750s. If you change the oil at 2000 mile intervals and the easy to fit oil filter every other oil change, then you should not have to spend too many weekends getting your fingernails soiled. The carbs are very difficult to balance and really need the services of a good dealer. The camchain tensioners will stick at the slightest provocation causing the camchain to snake about, eating away at its womb, but they can be modified by camchain replacement specialists.
 
There is little doubt that the VF is fast for a 400, it has the same kind of usefully manic acceleration as on an early seventies 750 with none of the handling nastiness. The red line is at 12500rpm and the engine pulls all the way, though there is no distinct power band. It feels silky smooth, only slightly spoiled by a jerky throttle response at low revs. The hydraulic clutch was rather strange as it will only release in its own time, no matter how quickly it’s dropped or how many revs are dialled in. At average speeds the mirrors don’t blur but are far too close together. The riding position is excellent. but the seat height could be lower to better suit the short of leg.
 
The motor produces lots of torque and only a tiny amount of high frequency vibes get through to the rider via the footrests between 4000 and 6000rpm. Back in 1983, the VF400 set new standards for handling and I imagine this is why it was very popular with some motorcycle journalists. How things have changed six years on and more than likely so will the handling of any VF400F still whizzing about on the original shocks, front forks and suspension bushes.
 
Typical of those Japanese manufacturers, who produce complex rear mono-shock arrangements just for the fun of it, the lack of grease nipples on any of the joints means quick wear is the order of the day and deterioration of handling the result. Also, the single shock is usually perfectly placed to pick up all the road debris from the back tyre and chain. It was no great surprise that the fat Showa air shock would not hold any amount of air for any length of time - you could feel the gradual falling off of the handling.
 
The suspension bushes become impossible to strip out if they are not regularly stripped, cleaned and greased from new; necessitating a visit to your local Honda emporium thus enriching the staff and throwing yourself into debt. The steering head bearings are not likely to last beyond 15000 miles, whilst the fork seals can easily be damaged by putting just a little too much air into the un-linked valves. What was once a fine handling bike can be burnt off by 125 Benlys around corners once the suspension wears out! There are a few things that Honda got just right, like the adjustable anti-dive system on the forks, which has yet to be bettered by other manufacturers even today. They really do make a difference.
 
Another big problem with the VF is that so few of them were imported. This means that there are few in breakers, which means that the other owners go around swiping bits off your own bike and you can't find any in breakers. It cost me £80 to buy a new pair of side panels after mine were swiped the other day! The other side of that is their rareness makes them unlikely targets for thieves, so they can be left outside the house with impunity. However, the same rarity makes ‘em difficult to sell as few people know what they’re really like.
 
In 8500 miles of use my bike has needed three oil changes, a front tyre, set of clutch plates and springs (the clutch went with 18000 miles up), fork seals and two sets of brake pads (partially due to a pattern set only lasting 1500 miles). OE pads cost £20, although £13 EBC pads do last well.
 
Although my bike always starts first time and is usually reliable, there were times when I wanted to drop kick it into the nearest canal. For instance, certain tasks on the bike will have some mechanics quoting you ridiculous charges in the hope that you'll take the bike elsewhere. And when the clutch pushrod seal gave up the ghost at 21000 miles, I was horrified to find that the motor had to be split to fit it - I was quoted £300! I had to strip the motor down to basics and give a dealer £60 to do the final split to fit a £1 oil seal. It has to be replaced because there’s an oil feed right behind it. The same applies to the VT250 and VF500. If you're going to buy one of these bikes do check the clutch pushrod seal - look at the exhaust collector box to see if it’s covered in oil.
 
Little did I know that a loose tappet was about to cost me £350 - it had been adjusted by a mechanic who failed to use the special valve clearance tool that is required for use on the rear cylinder. The bike did 1500 miles before the tappet fell out and went for a walk around the engine. The result was total engine failure - valves, guides, camchain, tensioner and gaskets were replaced plus a machined cylinder head. I also had a small problem with the electrics due to a fractured wire, but generally that side was reliable. Front tyre wear was ridiculous (knocking out a Metzeler in just 4500 miles), when the tread was down to 2mm the handling was quite noticeably affected.
 
Reliability is dependent on the way the bike has been looked after, regular servicing results in a dependable bike. Typical mileages that I have seen on bikes still running have been 25000 miles or less, although I have seen a despatcher with 80000 miles on the clock. The odd breaker has reported blown engines with as little as 9000 miles up!
 
That said, such is the poor reputation of the VF that there are many bargain bikes around if your know what to look for. As good GS550s, and the like, become difficult to find, more obscure and less popular models will have to be sought out! The question of long term ownership should be viewed with a deal of suspicion although it’s quite feasible with modified camchain tensioners and proper servicing. Nice surprises along the way will include the fact that it’s cheaper to buy new OE silencers at £38 a throw than a N-Eta or Micron, and that you can burn off many bigger bikes.
 
Really, the VF is an excellent middleweight sadly spoiled by its rushed development and complexity. The engine is durable, civilised but ain’t no fun to strip down, so you need to be an enthusiast to run one - do you qualify?
 
Floyd Taylor
 

Yamaha SRX600

A ride on a friend’s SRX600 had convinced me that this was the big single that I wanted. It was just a question of tracking down a good ‘un at a reasonable price. After viewing one that had no silencer internals, another described as immaculate by a lying prat of a dealer, I finally found a C reg job with 7000 miles on the clock for £1200. I offered £1000 in used fifty pound notes and I was in business. My first ride was in the wet and it soon became very apparent that the SRX did not like water. The slightest hint of the stuff caused it to conk out. After coasting to a halt it would normally start after 30 seconds rest and a hefty lunge on the kickstart.
 
I coated the electrics in ignition sealant only to find that it would not start again. Quite a lot of physical effort is required to kick over the 608cc single, and in a very short time I collapsed in a heap of sweat. The only way the SRX was going to get home was with me pushing it. Half a mile might not sound very far, but when it’s up hill despite the bike only weighing 380lbs it damn near finished me off. Not a good start.
 
The next day further attempts at Starting the beast just resulted in huge explosions coming out of the silencer - very strange. Not being the world’s best mechanic, I concluded that the timing must've slipped, so the bike was shipped off to the nearest dealer where all they discovered wrong was a broken carb return spring, although they also gave the bike a full service.
 
After that, it started and ran beautifully. One of the reasons that people favour the XBR500 is its electric foot, but I soon found that despite being a ten stone weakling, I could fire up the motor on the second or third kick. I found it helped a lot if the bike was left on its stand, allowing me to put all my weight into the kick without having to hold the bike upright at the same time. However, one of the safety features of the SRX is that if you engage gear with the side stand down, the engine cuts out. This stops you falling off, I suppose, but can be a pain kicking the bike back into life. No centre stand was fitted, for some reason, which will make puncture repairs very amusing.
 
The SRX was then taken despatching, mostly running from St' Albans to the Smog and around the Home Counties. On the motorway it would thump along contentedly at 80mph, but had little extra power beyond this speed, unable to get past the ton on the clock. In fact, it felt slower than my XT350 and ridiculously under powered for a 600.
 
Best points were the superb front brake (twin discs) and the headlamp. The brakes were the most powerful I've ever tried, including a FJ1200 and R100RT that I subsequently acquired. Similarly, the headlamp is the most powerful I’ve ever come across. I loved the feel of the big single engine and the gorgeous looks of the thing. Getting through traffic was made easy because of the narrowness of the bike.
 
The biggest failing was its lack of comfort. Basically, the seat lacks sufficient padding and the bars are too low and narrow for me - although in the bike's defence, I am a strange shape, a six footer with short legs and a long back. Only RT BMWs and large trailsters suit me. Certainly in town the bars were a real pain, as was the slowest practical speed in top gear of 40mph. It averaged only 58mpg regardless of how it was ridden - a function of the strange carbs, balance shafts and fat piston? The 608cc capacity put the bike in a very expensive insurance bracket when it was no faster than a good 250!
 
The SRX crippled me on journeys of over 100 miles, so much so that I used my car for longer journeys - the Citroen Visa diesel averaging 49 to 53mpg on cheaper juice! The car had a similar top speed to the bike and weighs five times as much. Something has gone very wrong with the design of modern motorcycle engines.
 
Handling, thanks to a rigid frame and low mass, was just fine. On short runs through the twisty stuff the bike could be scratched with the best of them, braking left to what would be suicidal moments on fatter bikes. Nothing ever touched down and the bike was only upset when the going got really bumpy when the back end failed to cope.
 
Overall then, I was greatly disappointed by the SRX. The riding position and poor economy ruled it out as a practical hack. The lack of speed ruled it out as a fast plaything. Only the style of the big single, as a sort of modern version of a Goldie had anything going for it, but then those old Brit bikes never had much of a reputation for practicality. Higher bars, a better seat and some more power might've made it more usable.
 
Trevor Pointon
 

BMW K75

After a few years of experiencing BM’s middleweight twin the time had come for a change. Should I go for a R100RS, or a K or throw reason to the wind by plumping for an FJ1200, and to hell with the quality of Germany's finest. After some soul searching for a few months, I decided on a K75 - so far I don’t regret it one bit.
 
My first impression was to wonder how something made by BMW could feel so different from the R series. The bike actually feels lighter despite weighing more than the twins, it's easier to pop on and off the stands, which look as if they will actually hold up the bike. The pop-up handle really takes the effort out of lifting it onto the main stand, the only problem comes when trying to use the prop stand whilst seated on the bike - dismounting first was a lot safer than dropping the bike after the side stand shoots back up.
 
The K75 felt right as soon as I mounted it. A nice comfortable seat and natural riding position.  The bike fires up straight away with no choke necessary, an even, steady tickover immediately achieved unlike the twins that need 3 miles to stop coughing and spluttering. Virtually no back end lift from the shaft drive on take off, the engine feeling sweet and smooth, thanks to a three cylinder OHC engine with a balance shaft.
 
My first problem was at the first junction. Why did BMW have to radically alter all the switches? Nothing like anything I’d ever ridden before. A first for me was the two indicator switches, one each side and a cancelling button on the right. Not easy to find, initially. There seems to be about three switches on each side of the bars and I've yet to hit the horn in hurry instead of the lamp flasher; and vice-versa.
 
Next impression was, what good front brakes - one or two fingers will squeal the front end. Too good for the forks, in fact, as they take a dive all the way down onto the stops under the slightest provocation. The rear drum is good, in so much that I didn’t want a disc at the back (in my view, never necessary, and they all seem to expire from crud and leaks). It’s not as fierce as the one I had on the twin, so it doesn’t lock up easily in the wet. The excellent Metzeler tyres suited the bike perfectly and I'm going to stay with ‘em.
 
The bike was four years old when I bought it and had not been cleaned for as many years - it was so bad that the wife advised me not to buy it, but I'd had a pleasant test ride and wasn’t to be dissuaded that easily, A little rub with my finger on the alloy revealed that it was as new underneath, and the paint, apart from two dents in the tank, also appeared in good trim under the dirt.
 
The next three weeks were spent stripping the cycle parts down. One packet of Brillo pads and two tubes of Solvol, three toothbrushes and four hours hard labour on the alloy wheels had them looking like new. Try that with Jap alloy. Three coats of Scientific Coating’s finest had them looking even better and they now seem to throw the dirt off rather than attracting it. The bike had a really silly flyscreen, neither practical nor attractive, which directed the wind straight into my face, so I soon pulled that off.
 
Further work included some BMW knee pads (not cheap at £35 - didn’t we used to get these free on old British bikes), a DIY BMW comfort seat, the front forks were stiffened with stronger springs and fork oil was changed to SAE 5, and a set of panniers and top box, again from BMW. Brake dive was a thing of the past, although comfort levels were not impaired. I spent many hours figuring out how to get the panniers on and off the frames. I spent a whole afternoon trving to learn the knack and then they suddenly clicked on but wouldn't come off again. All was revealed when I found the small tab.
 
Back on the road, I was well impressed by the excellent, light, gearbox action; could this really be a BMW? There is little shaft drive reaction in normal riding, and even really pushing the bike held few of terrors associated with riding BMW boxers. The engine is both smooth and has plenty of torque, allowing the bike to pull from less than 30mph in top gear. A four speed gearbox would've been more than sufficient, it was quite usual to go for many miles without having to think about changing gears, such was the production of torque throughout the rev range.
 
Top speed is a reasonable 125mph, more than enough for my needs. Rather more importantly, the bike is so easy to ride that it’s a pleasure to cover long distances and the triple lopes along with al! the finesse of the boxers without any of their idiosyncrasies. I haven't really stretched the performance, happy to do 90mph, a speed at which the motor retains its smoothness, the chassis its stability and the tyres their excellent road holding.
 
The engine holds few inherent faults, as far as I can ascertain, and the sideways orientation of the cylinders leaves the OHC head, with a mere two valves per cylinder, well exposed for the servicing chores. All that’s necessary are a good set of Allen keys, the correct plug spanner and a lot of faith in the injection unit (a frighteningly complex device which I would not dare to interfere with).
 
The combination of a relatively mild state of tune and the advanced electronics of the ignition and fuel injection systems means it's a reasonably economic motor. I average 57mpg under mixed riding, which coincided exactly with a mate’s experiences on a similar bike, although using leaded petrol improves that to 63mpg.
A little bit of corroboration to the Mis-Lead debate in the letters pages. As no-one can tell what type of petrol is being used, could using leaded petrol become a secret vice?
 
The above consumption was achieved with one of Sprint's RS fairings fitted (expensive at £400 but good quality stuff), which shows that a well shaped fairing that gives good hand and body protection need not necessarily adversely affect fuel economy. A few BM’ shops do a version of the K75 with the boxer RS fairing fitted and it'd be interesting to read about how that one goes.
 
The point about BMWs has always been that you buy them for the long term. Things like stainless steel exhausts (however damn ugly they look), first grade alloy and paint, plus performance that doesn’t rapidly drop off after the warranty’s expired or if it isn’t serviced every 1000 miles, begin to show up the longer you keep the bike.  Depreciation is reasonable and not even that important if you can avoid the G-reg syndrome.
 
I’m intent on keeping my bike for as long as possible. I’ve yet to read a bad road test on one, although I've seen a few niggling ones about such items as dipping front forks, but you can fix that for £36. What you're left with is a bloody good, quick, smooth bike with the bonus of a lovely but quiet, whispering exhaust note. After all, no-one had yet made a triple that sounds bad.
 
P Toybe
 

Travel Tales: Portugal on a BSA 750 Rocket

Late August, last year, outside a downbeat motorcycle shop in Hollinwood, north Manchester - MOT time for my Rocket Three. I’d never been anxious about a test before, not surprising when you consider that I was supposed to be going to Portugal on it in about two weeks, and those forks had never worked right since I put the bike together. Well, it passed, much to my great relief, but so much for my plans to put in some test miles before the holiday.
 
I had to get organised! The paperwork was just about sorted (quite a task). So, it was off to my friend Pat's to transplant Krauser panniers and top box from his A7 onto the BSA. This done, it looked like a proper tourer, and the fact that the boxes both locked shut and onto the frames helped to allay fears that my companion for the trip, Lesley, had voiced about security.
 
Having lived in Seville for some years she had first hand experience of the hazards of leaving vehicles parked in Spain (as it turned out we had no problems of the light-fingered kind). After much jumping up and down we managed to get tank bag, panniers, top box and tent loaded and still leave space for us on the fortuitously ample seat.
 
Experience of touring past had convinced me of the need for American spec bars for extra leverage when hauling 530lbs of bike, 20 stone of people and gear for three weeks, but apart from that the bike was a perfectly standard Mk.1. We were accompanied on the trip by our friend Brian, another BSA club member who rides to work every day on a BSA Thunderbolt, but for some reason chose his BMW R100T for the trip.
 
The big day came around, we cruised majestically off down Oldham Road, heading south. A long thrash later we were in Portsmouth, and waiting for the 23.30 ferry for Le Harve. We had booked cabins, hoping to wake refreshed in France. However, by the time we boarded, unloaded, had a drink, looked around the ship, and watched Blighty disappear, it was hardly worth going to bed. At 5.30am we were up and eating an incredibly (or perhaps inedibly) expensive breakfast.
 
France was dark and misty but it was good to be back for the first time since 1980, when I went to Luxembourg on the A7SS. We did not have an exact route planned, but intended to keep to back roads and strike roughly due south. Heading inland, we met thicker mist, and before long we were down to a crawl. It’s no fun riding in fog at the best of times, but if you wear glasses the problems are doubled opening up the visor merely replicates the drops of water and mist on the glasses instead. You can’t see a damn thing! The only solution left is to lift up the visor, take off the glasses, and manage by much blinking and flying blind.
 
By late morning we were ready for a rest and stopped off in small town cafe for a hot drink and lunch whilst the fog cleared. Thankfully, by afternoon, the sun was breaking through and with it the heat. Soon, it began to swelter. By the time we reached Toures it was boiling and I was not in much of a mood for sightseeing. We covered a few more miles in the late afternoon, and made our first camp at Chinon in the shadow of an impressive medieval castle.
 
By this time, the Three’s oil pressure was dropping in direct proportion to the increase in temperature, at tickover it dis appeared right off the gauge, the oil light flickering on and off to the beat of the engine. A little disturbing that, but at least it pumped back up to 40lbs once we got going, so I didn’t worry too much, but decided to bung in some STP when I got the chance.
 
Over the next few days we continued our way south, passing through the villages and vineyards of Bordeaux towards the Pyrenees. French B roads are well surfaced and quiet. I an always amazed by how big the Continent feels with roads stretching for miles through open country. In our crowded island it’s quite an event if you get a couple of hours before coming upon some sprawling mass of civilisation.
 
Our cruising speed during the trip varied between zero and 80mph, depending on conditions, with short bursts to higher speeds when the situation demanded (or I couldn't resist). The scenery was typically French, something that also surprised me. Somehow I never expect places to be the way they are imagined, so it's nice when illusions are confirmed by reality. Little whitewashed, red roofed houses surrounded by vineyards and fields of sunflowers will do me fine, thanks.
 
On our journey we passed through such well known delicacies as St. Emilion and Rochefort and, of course, we spoiled ourselves with the local goodies - no one said this was going to be a very cheap holiday... our base camp for the assault on the Pyrenees was to be Pau, and we arrived at the campsite in time. for a cooling swim in the outdoor pool. That night there was a tremendous thunderstorm, although I was so knackered I would’ve slept through a Starfire’s tappet rattle. The morning was still cloudy and wet, the first time it had rained in a week. We set off through Lourdes and sought out the dreaded Col du Tourmalet, the highest pass over the mountains.
 
The Rocket is very powerful and despite the engine’s reputation for being gutless at low engine revs, mine pulls like a train. Even with all the weight and 1 in 4 mountain passes it wasn't necessary to use more than 4000 revs, although it was fun at times to roll out of hairpin bends with about 2000rpm up, letting it sing up to 6000rpm or so. On the steepest hills it would still pull yer arms off! What a pity I didn’t have a five speed box (yet), as even from these revs I was having trouble holding on to third, such is the gap from second.
 
Having lunched at the summit of the Col du Tourmalet, we dropped down into the mist which was swirling up the mountainside and headed for the Col D’Aubisque to do it all over again. We nicknamed this pass The Beastie and it certainly lived up to it! Mist reduced visibility to a few yards and as the road wound a tortuous route upward, the glasses came off again and were bunged over to a somewhat disconcerted passenger who knows that I am as blind as a bat without them. How would you feel seated behind a blind rider on a single track hairpin strewn road, with an unguarded massive drop only inches away? 
 
It all became very spooky when massive horses appeared to loom out of the mist, standing quite still in the middle of the road. They remained motionless as we trickled past. At least I think it was still misty - but maybe it was just me. It has to be said that the French have built some horrible skiing villages in the mountains, complete with concrete, multi-storey hotels. They would never get planning permission in the Peak District! After cresting The Beastie we climbed up to the Spanish border, where the sun was waiting for us, in a brilliant blue sky, giving us our first decent view of the Pyrenees.
 
We camped that night just over the border, surrounded by rugged peaks, and had our first taste of tapas (Spanish bar snacks) and ice cold beer. In the morning we hung a right and headed south west towards the interior, The country had changed radically from France, becoming flat, scrubby and open, with craggy outcrops, some of which had tiny villages perched precariously on top, crowned by the inevitable campanile of the church.
 
The weather remained searingly hot inside our bike gear, more so than I can ever remember. No matter how fast we rode it was impossible to become cool, we simply were blasted all the more by the heat. As we travelled west the land became very dry and barren, stretching away to the sky on every side. I was able to see the horizon in whichever direction I looked, across a featureless landscape. We were still keeping to the back roads, which continued to be good, with the added advantage of providing a number of villages to use as watering holes.
 
Our camp that night was at El Burgo De Osma, an old city with many interesting buildings, including a magnificent cathedral. The campsite here was overlooked by the squat ruin of a Moorish fort which added to the atmosphere. Next morning we set off for Salamanca with a stop at a ruined castle. We were averaging 250-300 miles a day, which included lots of sightseeing and eating stops. It was debatable who was in the worst shape, the bike or I. Hard riding in the intense heat was doing neither of us much good. I was having trouble keeping up with the BMW’s mile eating pace. If the BSA could go faster than the BMW, it lacked it’s comfortable riding position, fairing and relative lack of mass - lugging the weight of the Rocket and holding onto the high bars at speed was hard work.
 
The Rocket expressed its distaste by sooting up one of the plugs and this problem was to happen many times, caused by a combination of over-rich carburation and slight oil burning in one cylinder. Needless to say, it was not helped by the Three's thirst for oil and petrol, which are vast. I think Brian put oil in the BM once, while I used about a pint a day! However, this didn't bother me too much as I was glad the top end lubricant had managed to stay on the inside. To the bike's credit, despite the heat and hard riding, not a drop of oil had escaped to the outside world.
 
Having arrived at a campsite, I collapsed onto the bone hard ground, while the others had fun trying to find a pitch where the tent pegs would go in. They gave up in the end and used rocks instead. In the evening we went to a bar on the outskirts of Salamanca for a meal. Neither the food nor the place were much cop, and our impression of the city would’ve been the same had we left the next day as planned. In the event, fate decreed otherwise.
 
Having covered 1600 miles from Manchester to Salamanca without laying a spanner on the Three, it was about time for some routine maintenance. This was a mistake. As I tightened up the rear wheel spindle after adjusting the chain I had that dreaded feeling of something letting go, and sure enough the wheel nut had stripped. I was rather upset by this as the damn thing had held the wheel on quite happily since 1969, and had waited until I was in the middle of Spain to give up. Typical!
 
Well, I don’t know if any of you have tried to buy a 3/4” UNF nut in Salamanca, but if you are thinking of trying, don’t bother. There aren't any. Not one. Lesley, who is fluent in Spanish, but not in technobabble, and Brian, whose technical vocabulary is extensive but Spanish extremely limited, made a tour of every car/bike dealer, hardware/engineering supply shop and engineering workshop in the city. The best they came up with was an engineer who offered to cut a metric thread on the spindle and supply a nut to suit. Whilst sunbathing on the campsite, it occurred to me to use the nut on the speedo drive....so I could put the AA 5 Star document away (does anyone understand those?).
 
The centre of Salamanca turned out to be wonderful, with lots of fabulous old buildings and was teeming with life at night. Where all the people came from I can’t imagine, but the streets were thronged with traffic and people, whilst all the bars were packed out.
 
After our unscheduled day off, we made tracks for the Portuguese border, crossing over at Miranda do Douro, where a large dam blocks the river Douro, forming a reservoir in a spectacularly deep gorge. Again, the change in feel of the country was marked after Spain, and it was good to have made it to our destination. I was struck at once by the poverty of Portugal, which seemed like a third world country, even compared to the tiny one-horse towns of Spain.
 
The hamlets were full of women dressed from head to toe in black, washing clothes at communal troughs, and people carrying produce on their head or on donkeys. The roads also became decidedly rustic. The surface seemed to consist of one long repair after another, separated by pot-holes. This made riding even more tiring, as the pounding from the rather basic BSA suspension was not much fun.
 
The countryside was gently rolling and quite green at first, but soon became more mountainous. Before long we were having our first encounters with the infamous Portuguese lorry drivers, who could be quite frightening when met on hairpin bends. Reckless is the word for it, when I'm being politely restrained.
 
At the end of the day we rolled into Mecedo de Cavaleiros looking for a place to stay. The cost of living is very low in Portugal and we could buy a lot for our small change. With this in mind, we decided to treat ourselves to a real bed for a change. We found a hotel, which looked a little posh, to be honest, complete with bellboy resplendent in cap and gold braided uniform, who struggled gamely with panniers, tent and all The thought of the same thing happening in Britain made me laugh.
 
As we travelled westward we both became aware of a strange phenomenon, we were surrounded by Bantams. Or at least we thought so for a while. Before long it became clear that they were not Bantams at all, but small current model two strokes with sixties style chrome tanks adorned with the distinctive pear shaped plastic sunburst badge. The hallowed insignia from Birmingham had been usurped by a foreign pirate. On closer inspection we found numerous names such as Telstar on the badges which were definitely of the same manufacture as those supplied to BSA. Nice to see they have found someone else to flog them to.
 
Our route westward roughly followed the Douro towards Porto on the coast. Unfortunately, the road we had chosen soon became very busy and turned into one long traffic jam all the way into the city. A full afternoon stuck in the Portugese rush hour is enough to try the patience of, well... me! I've never been to Paris, but the driving can’t be any worse can it? We had stopped only for a moment on the outskirts of Porto to check our maps, when there was a crash right under our noses. Definitely somewhere to leave the bikes and go by bus.
 
After a somewhat terrifying tour of the suburbs, we found a campsite in a pleasant wooded area and decided to break the journey for a few days. During this time we explored the city, visiting the famous Port wine cellars, cruising on the river, and generally being tourists. Brian had the energy for a couple of day trips but I was content just to relax.
 
After several days off we resumed the trip north towards the mountains. The sun remained brilliant, but it was not quite so hot. I think we were all glad of that. The northern uplands are very beautiful with forests, rivers, lakes and hills. In this region we visited Chaves, an ancient town with its own Roman bridge and colonial style hotel (which was almost as old) in which we stayed the night.
 
With its high ceilings and wide corridors, this had a great airy feeling; it had also one of those smashing iron lifts, with all the gubbins exposed. The whole place had an air of decaying splendour which suited me fine. After Chaves we were soon over the border, and back into Spain. By this time, we were conscious of the need to be back in Le Havre in a few days, and as a certain amount of speed was needed we decided to use the main roads and motorways.
 
Back on the well surfaced Spanish roads we made good time towards the northern coast. Main roads proved. to be hard work, as the traffic moves fast. On more than one occasion I had over 7000rpm up in third to pass trucks, before a drop into top eased that to around 6500rpm, which is over the ton on Mark 1 gearing. Not bad at all, sitting up in front of high bars with all the gear and a passenger on board.
 
Next, we came across Brian gesturing at a motorcycle cop in a lay-by, who flagged us down. It looked as though we were about to be presented with a fixed penalty speeding ticket. It turned out that he was complaining that we weren't using our headlamps. Luckily, we had Lesley to smooth things over with the guy in her fluent Spanish, though I had the distinct impression he could’ve otherwise been very awkward.
 
The last obstacle between us and the Atlantic was the Picos de Europa range of mountains at the beginning of the Pyrenees. These provided some of the most spectacular scenery of the trip, with one memorable road winding at the bottom of a sheer sided gorge for miles. In fact, the narrow, steep roads with their constant hairpins made the riding so interesting, I was torn between riding slow enough to admire the scenery, and fast enough to enjoy the roads.
 
Once clear of the mountains, we headed for the coast, which was lush and green and reminded me of Cornwall. Our last night in Spain was spent at Santillana del Mar on a particularly pleasant campsite from whence, at daybreak, we moved off for Bilbao, a large and ugly steel town, which we bypassed on the motorway en route for the Basque. country and then Biarritz, just over the French border. Here we stopped briefly for a pose on the beach, but by this time I was so shattered that if a single grain of sand had been kicked in my face, I would've been out for a week!
We slept at a grotty bed and breakfast in Bayonne, in a bed which I believe once belonged to Quasimodo.
 
Next morning we pressed on up the motorway at a steady 80mph, to Poitiers, where we had a tour of the city and stayed the night in a farmhouse. By then we'd given up camping as I hadn't been so shattered since I ran a marathon in 1983. Next, busy main roads, through Le Mans (down the Mulsanne straight) on the way to Le Havre.  The French drive like whole country is one long extended Le Mans and I was constantly shocked when we were passed by the most unlikely vehicles being driven flat out at speeds you would not credit. By this time the weather was cutting up rough, with wind and rain making things unpleasant, but despite this we rolled into Le Havre in good time.
 
As the ship slipped out onto the darkening channel, the lights of France slowly dimmed and disappeared. Brian could not believe how quickly the time had passed since we arrived. To me, however, it seemed almost an age, I had seen and experienced a greater variety of things and places in three weeks than I could remember in a lifetime.
 
The familiar wet and windy British weather was there to greet us in Portsmouth, and it remained so all the way back to Manchester. The journey was not made any easier by constant road repairs, but it was great to be back. I was really proud that the Rocket had coped so well with what was, after all, a fairly ambitious tour (by my standards, anyway). Apart from the stripped wheel nut which isn’t exactly a mechanical failure, the only attention the bike had required over the entire 3000 plus mile trip was a couple of plug cleaning sessions. And this in searing heat, on demanding roads, heavily loaded and keeping up with a modern grand tourer! To think, when I first crammed it into my old Reliant in about a million knackered pieces, it seemed impossible to believe that I would ever get it going.
 
Paul Critchley
 

[Paul's BSA not only survived this adventure, but it's still showing as taxed and on the road today! - 2021 Ed.]

Triumph T140V

At the time I was something of a British bike enthusiast, or so I liked to think of myself. Unfortunately, this was largely based on the sort of starry-eyed, rose tinted nostalgia for the sadly missed heyday of British biking and solid engineering, before the Japs managed to wipe it all out. But I was soon to find from personal experience why said Japanese had no trouble at all in achieving this.
 
My first idea was to buy a used pre-unit Triumph, do it up and rebuild it to running order... maybe even make it into a chopper (this was the seventies). As soon as I worked out the amount of toil and trouble involved in such an exercise my mind rapidly turned to buying a new British bike.
 
As this was about the time that Meriden had formed their co-op, I had the choice of various 750 Triumph twins, so in August ‘78 I bought a new 750 Bonnie T140V, full of tales from the brochures of a flat out speed of 112mph and the best of British engineering.
 
Of the two that I’ve owned that was the best one. I should never have traded it in for the other. It was quite a good looker too, a mixture of dark chocolate and maroon highlighted the lines of the tank and contrasted with the brown imitation leather seat, the glossy chrome and polished engine cases.
 
| don’t know of any other bike that could become so dirty as that Triumph. Five minutes on a wet road and it’s filthy. The mudguards are only as wide as the tyres, Dunlop TT100s which chuck off loads of water. I spent hours cleaning the bike up and even bunging on a mudflap did little to stop the deluge.
 
Keeping up with the maintenance wasn’t a problem, since I was already in the habit of sticking to a strict, disciplined maintenance regime, all year round in all weathers. Weekly checks every Saturday afternoon on the dot, monthly tasks carried out to the letter including re-greasing the swinging arm bushes (easy as there are grease nipples on the swinging arm).
 
The bike would cope with everything I threw at it, wet or dry. It would hammer along switchback country roads at 70 to 80mph, whilst it would drift the whole width of the road, bouncing from bump to bump. Physically narrow and light, it felt like a big bike should, yet was at the same time very easy to throw around. It handled superbly, the steering looked after itself, requiring very little rider input, just point in the general direction and it’d find its own way. The engine had plenty of low down torque - it could pull away in third gear - and bags of engine braking.
 
The brakes were viceless, and their efficiency improved after the chrome plating had been rubbed off the discs, or removed by some other means. A rear tyre lasted 7000 miles, same for the chain, although Izumi chains last even longer. Front tyres cracked before they wore out. Brake pads lasted 14000 miles or more.
 
The only thing that really spoils the whole plot is the motor. Unfortunately, this bit is rather important. It’s a heap of shit. An old fashioned design with one or two bodges thrown in for good measure. State of the art in 1958! At anything over 60mph it would drink oil at the rate of 250 to 300 miles per pint, not leaks, it just burns the stuff. There are only four pints in the frame reservoir.
 
After every run where the motor got properly warm, the ignition timing would be all over the shop, because the backplate slips. The run back would have the motor feeling harsh and horrible - fitting toothed or star washers in place of the inadequate lock washers beneath the backplate. screws helped. The exhaust header pipes are merely hammered into the head and always come lose, the finned clamps are only there to look pretty - drilling holes in the cylinders and inserting thick wire helps.
 
The cams used in the 750 didn't really suit the displacement or the exhaust system, resulting in a massive flat spot just where the motor was beginning to get interesting. Even more amusing, the spark plugs keep coming undone and will eventually fall out. The oil in the primary chaincase emulsifies in the winter and has to be changed every other week or the primary chain and clutch wear out quickly.
 
The motor should never have been taken out to 750cc. Apart from the enhanced vibration problems, the cylinders are so close together that there’s not enough meat for the head gaskets to seat properly - the plain copper ones are hopeless, only factory originals work. The two important cylinder head nuts - which need an unusually large Allen key, by the way - are a pig to reach, being right in the middle and inside of the rocker boxes.
 
Nearly every accessory I bolted on was destroyed through the vibration. On the first bike, the T140V, driving lamps snapped their brackets, a metal RAC badge cracked right through and fell off, an air horn kit expired. On my second bike, the T140E, electric start Executive, a Polaris fairing, Cibie light and luggage all fell to bits. Cameras, tape players, radios and some camping gear were all wrecked when I foolishly tried to transport them on the bike.
 
I'm not through yet, there’s more. I haven’t yet mentioned the riding position, which I found pure purgatory. It’s much too upright, putting strain on the spine. The occasional backache trouble I still have now, I put down to four years of riding those Triumphs. And after an hour, the seat compresses until you feel like you’re sitting on the frame rails.
 
Why did | keep bothering with it all, you may ask? For the simple reason that the rest of it is so good. The actual chassis was brilliant. But the motor was naff for any serious long distance work. A 750 Bonnie will be quite OK for sunny weekend day trips and the like, but touring trips ask too much of the machine. Every day you have to tension and lubricate the chain, re-tighten the spark plugs and add a pint of oil.
 
There were only two problems I had with my first 1978 T140V the rest you could learn to live with. One was that an induction leak developed between carb and cylinder head - it turned out that both stubs had the wrong size O-rings fitted in any old how. The other problem was that the rectifier simply melted away - the actual diodes might be modern, but the mechanical design is naff. I replaced it with a silicon bridge rectifier block incorporating a metal base as a heat sink - available from all good electronic shops (ask for 12V/25A).
 
As I said, I shouldn’t have got rid of it in exchange for the 1980 Ltd Edition, red and black, Executive, which had major faults. The bike had electronic ignition and fuel system changes to cater to the stringent American emission laws. The revised carbs never sealed with the air filter box properly, resulting in grit damage to the valves and seats - it always ran too lean and too hot, pinking like buggery on a hot day.
 
The cylinder head cooks the carb mounting rubbers, causing them to disintegrate. The air filter intake was perfectly placed to suck up all the road grit thrown up by the rear tyre. In addition to all the problems in the earlier bike, the tappet adjusters chipped lumps out of the ends of the valve stems. It broke its original, and second, and third revised sprag clutch support spindle, part of the electric start gear train. The spindle snaps in half, bronze bushes work loose and teeth disappear from the gears.
 
The ignition amplifier failed because it filled full of water, thanks to its placement where the rear tyre can throw all kind of rubbish at it. The frame rusted away quicker than I could touch it up, and the rest of the bike quickly became shabby, whilst the original exhaust had assumed museum piece status covered in grease in the shed, the bike fitted with a 2-1 Piper instead.
 
Despite repeated and careful engine rebuilds - I spent more time in the shed than anywhere else - it blew up twice. Once coming home from Belgium and later when trying to reach the Isle of Man. I had my money’s worth out of the RAC that year.  The cylinder kept coming loose, leaping up and down, a deluge of oil over the engine. Then there was the minor matter of holed pistons - either a cylinder head fault or plain bad design.
 
It soon became apparent that the 1977/78 Bonnie was a much better buy than later ones. The Executive was sold as a van load of bits as a rebuild project for a mere £400. I went out and bought a Moto Guzzi Spada...
 
Mike Holmes
 

Suzuki GSX1000 Katana

Speed is relative. Relative that is to the speed of other vehicles on the road. In the fifties a 105mph Bonnie was considered a fast bike. By the late sixties Honda's 120mph 750 Four had redefined the concept of a fast machine. Whilst today 140+mph 600s and 750s are the norm. But in the early eighties the only way to go fast was to use a bigger and more powerful engine which led to the creation of a series of totally outrageous monster bikes that have probably done more damage to the image of motorcycling than any other single factor. When I was offered a Suzuki GSX1000 Katana for £800 I just couldn't resist it. The bike had 35000 miles under its belt but sounded and ran OK. I’ve always had a lot of respect for Suzuki four strokes so it seemed a good deal. A brief test ride on London’s greasy, cratered streets proved that the bike was alright up to 60mph which doesn’t mean a lot on a 140mph bike.
 
Getting out of London was a whole new ballgame. I mean these bikes are big as in really big and heavy. There’s just no way you can chuck ‘em around to beat the traffic flow. It’s just a case of keeping up with the general traffic flow and filtering slowly to the traffic light queue, then you can blast away in first to the next snarl up, 300 yards ahead. Frustrating and, with that much weight, tiring. By the time I hit the motorway I felt totally exhausted and didn’t give a shit about top speeds or roll on acceleration. I just left the Kat in top and cruised along at a gentle 80mph, tucking in behind the minimal fairing. At this sedate velocity there was plenty of wind protection and I felt quite comfortable, feeling as though I was sitting in the bike rather than perched upon it. A strange thought crossed my mind that the Suzuki would make an excellent tourer.
 
I quickly dismissed the notion, after all, no-one in their right mind would purchase such a fast and powerful machine for such mundane use, would they? I passed a BMW K100 rider cruising at a sensible 70mph. Well, there’s always one. It was sunny but cold at six the next morning. The Kat was reluctant to tick over - full choke meant a berserk 4500rpm but any reduction meant it stalled. I finally settled on half choke and blipped the throttle to keep it going. The noise was amazing, a deep and aggressive bark through the totally shot silencers. Every blip brought another irate face to a window. Poor sods, I thought, it'll be weeks before I can afford to put that right.
 
I headed straight for the motorway, I wasn’t going to muck about. Warm it up and see what it'd do. The road was clear, the engine hot and my adrenalin was in control. Desperately trying to keep some grip on my senses, I slowly opened up in top. Up to 90mph everything was fine, nothing I couldn’t and hadn't handled before. Then it really took off, almost literally as the front wheel went light and my arms were almost yanked off. Before I knew what was happening, 120mph was on the clock, accompanied by a snaky weave - a reflex action made me back off. Sure, all you heroes out there would just ride through it but not me, not at that kind of speed with that much bulk. Besides, the skimpy fairing directed the wind straight at my head and neck in a constant series of blasts - at 120mph this was like being continually punched in the face. Tucking right down improved things but would soon become uncomfortable on a long run, not that you're going to get that far at that kind of speed on British roads.
 
Up to 115mph the handling was secure and stable in an almost Italian way. The bike felt big and steered slow - anyone used to modern bikes would find it hard work indeed to wrestle it through mere motorway curves! A new rear tyre allowed the beast to reach an indicated 125mph before the weave became really unacceptable. The problem was that I was becoming used to travelling fast and began to feel cheated. I really had to see at least 130mph on the clock to justify ownership of such a powerful monster. Stupidly, I tried for it.
 
Rock steady to 125mph, then the frightening weave and then sheer horror. The handlebars shook viciously from lock to lock, whilst the bike lurched towards the armco. All I could do was hold on and try to wrench it back on line whilst closing down the throttle, After a succession of three lane lurches, I finally regained control and rode home at virtually moped speeds, thanking every god that I could think of for my safe deliverance. Investigations revealed no discernible chassis wear or slop, so I could only conclude that the hidden deterioration as a consequence of 35000 miles was such as to upset high speed stability. This was much more apparent off the motorways. My favourite twisty roads were reduced to a boring slog as the bike was just too big and heavy to wield easily through the curves. Worse still, it was dangerously under-braked despite the presence of three discs. The rear disc is just a joke, it either locked up the back wheel or didn’t work at all. The front brakes faded radically after a couple of hard stops. Fitment of new pads helped not one bit. I was told that the anti-dive was to blame - a real insult as it hardly worked. It took a detour through a hedge to convince me of the bike’s total unsuitability as a scratcher.
 
After the hedge incident, the exhaust system became an urgent matter - a 110hp, 1000cc motor really does make a racket without any silencers, although my main concern was that the engine was running weak and thus hot. I ended up fitting a pattern system for a hundred notes, as these bikes are so tough and rare there were none in breakers.
 
To really appreciate the bike I felt I had to take it on a tour of Scotland. Two up, with camping gear, the weave set in at 110mph, but apart from that the extra load caused no ill effects on the motorways. The pillion was not amused by the lack of a grab rail. I was dead impressed by its ability to cover such a huge distance so effortlessly, there was no vibration and as I became tired I really appreciated the excess of torque that made gear changing virtually redundant. The final drive chain proved a real pig, needing adjustment every 250 miles, which really pissed me right off.
 
On the mountain roads of Scotland the Kat became a real pain. The ridiculous mass made gentle riding strenuous and any attempt at anything more sporty was instantly curtailed after we nearly didn’t make it around one bend. On long descents the useless brakes forced me to stay in a low gear. By the end of the tour I had lost most of my enthusiasm for the Kat, not helped any by the fact that on my return home the chain was totally shot. Pack a couple of thousand miles into a week and you really notice how expensive some bikes are to run!
 
Rear chains last between 2000 and 4000 miles, which also knocks out the sprockets! Fuel is slurped through the four cylinders at 30mpg and oil consumed at 40mpp! Insurance is horrendous if you are at all young. It’s cheaper to run a two litre car! By 40000 miles problems began to emerge. Front brake calipers gave up the ghost, the alternator burnt out and the swinging arm bearings were shot. At 49000 miles the repaired alternator was shot again.
 
By 50000 miles the forks had more slop than a tart’s arse, so much so that venturing beyond 100mph was sheer stupidity. The handling had lost all precision and was fast becoming akin to a Z1 or early CB750. It forced me ride slowly, but I still had to incur the massive running costs. The motor was still reliable, in 20000 miles I just changed the oil regularly and balanced the carbs once. I never even looked at the valves.
 
The pattern exhaust disintegrated as soon as the guarantee expired, so I hacksawed off the silencers and fitted some from a breaker - total cost £1! The noise was horrific. I was convinced that I'd be either nicked for disturbing the peace or that the pistons would burn out consequently, I rarely rode the bike. The bike looked a mess, there seemed no point in pouring in consumables when I could go no faster than a good 400. I sold it for £650, surely a bargain as a bit of dosh spent on the suspension, brakes and swinging arm might have made it handle reasonably, and I was sure the motor would last.
 
Andy Everett

Suzuki GT550

The Suzuki GT550, a three cylinder two stroke that was famous for neither an excess of power nor style, looked a bit rough and sounded incredibly noisy. The bike came with an assortment of spares in several large boxes, not all the bits from a GT550. When I got the bike and bits home, I set about sorting it out.
 
Major faults were a left-hand barrel on the right, no exhaust gaskets, exhausts mounted incorrectly, head gaskets blowing, carbs leaking, carb rubbers split, chronic oil leaks, air filters and box not fitted, both tyres fitted the wrong way around, non working front brakes (though they looked great, drilled twin discs off a 750), side panels with broken mounting spigots... the list goes on and on.
 
The exhausts were removed, heads off, barrels lifted - out of the total of seven barrels I had three decent ones and therefore fitted them in the correct positions. The left hand piston was a pretty sloppy fit in its bore, but apart from that the motor was in pretty good order. The exhausts looked good but only two of the four had baffles, so I took the baffles out and made copies. I then refitted them correctly.
 
The motor ran a bit better after all that effort, but the tickover was erratic, vibration was a problem, and the carbs still leaked. I traded the bits I didn’t need for bits I could use at a breakers. With another set of carbs I got it running a lot smoother and then started about thinking about getting the bike on the road.
 
I suppose at this point I had better admit that the Suzuki is the sixth unfinished project I have bought in the past few years, but would only be the second to actually make it onto the road. The Suzuki had nine previous owners and only 26000 miles on the clock over eleven years.
 
Next, I removed the clutch cover to trace the oil leaks and try to cure them. It was lucky I did as the clutch and crank had no locking washers and both nuts were loose. I carefully reassembled them and put the motor back together using home-made gaskets.
 
The brakes caused me a lot of problems because although I was able to get them to work, the lever was very spongy and could be pulled right back to the bars - no amount of bleeding helped, neither did a new master cylinder. The cure was braided brake hose, but because this was expensive I ended up using only one disc, which proved perfectly adequate.
 
Eventually, I was ready for the MOT test. Ever the pessimist I didn’t arrange insurance as I thought it was bound to fail, taking the bike on the trailer instead. The bike sailed right through the test, but only after I had ripped off the indicators as they suddenly stopped working.
 
Straight away, I arranged insurance and tax, and took the bike out for its first run. It felt so big and heavy, with so much power, I thought my arms would be pulled out of my sockets. These feelings soon passed as I got used to it. Compared to today’s bikes it is not so fast and the handling was never very good even when they were new. I'm not a crazy rider, but it’s very easy to scrape the undercarriage on smooth bends and bumpy bends cause much consternation as it bucks and weaves. You can learn to cope with this by whacking on all the brakes before you hit the curves.
 
I was impressed enough with the bike to head off on a jaunt to Wales with the daughter on the back. After 30 miles we had to stop for a rest as the seat, which at first felt reassuringly soft, had turned into a plank. The bike was able to cruise at more than 70mph but the wind pressure meant many aches in my arms and shoulders, not helped by high bars and forward mounted footrests.
 
As we exited a bend the engine cut out onto two cylinders and then went dead.  Disaster! What had happened?  Visions of seized pistons and other horrors flitted through my mind until | tried the fuel tap. Yep, it had run out of petrol. It was only doing about 36mpg, which had caught me out. Coming back, I was enjoying myself filtering to the head of queues when the bike started to miss slightly but it went away when I turned the lights off and we reached home without incident. The next day the battery was flat but I just fitted the spare voltage control box and had no more problems.
 
Three weeks later, after doing 600 miles, I had a race with a hot hatchback which I burnt off by going to the redline in first and second. Immediately after that exploit the engine sounded like a tin of nuts being shaken and started to miss badly, eventually cutting out and refusing to start. The bike was too heavy to push home so I got the car and trailer out after walking all the way back to my house. The left-hand big-end had gone and the piston had started to break up, badly scoring the barrel. £60 bought a good used crank. A decent barrel and piston plus complete gasket set added to the expense,
 
It was almost winter by the time I rebuilt the bike but it didn’t stop me taking it for a ride up some unclassified roads that I knew only too well from rides on my trail bike. I hit a ramp at speed on the Suzi, which jerked my foot onto the gear lever sending the bike into first gear, the revs soared followed by a sickening crunch down near by my left foot. The engine stopped dead, it went from 7000rpm to zero in about a tenth of a second.
 
Oh shit! The road was still slightly damp so the bike slowly slid backwards with the front wheel locked. As there was a slight camber to the left I needed my right leg down to support the bike (it’s easier to lean up the camber), so I couldn’t use the back brake and their wasn’t any engine braking. When I tried to turn the front wheel the bike still slid in a straight line.
 
Eventually, I slid back to the hump and then manoeuvred the bike to the verge. The problem could be seen straight away. The chain had not snapped, as I'd thought, but had jumped off the rear sprocket and jammed inside the engine cover after piling up around the gearbox sprocket. So off came the clutch cover and then the crash bar that was in the way. Whilst freeing the chain I noticed that there was an oil line loose which meant removing the tank, airbox and carbs.  All this took an hour but I wasn’t in a hurry and even took some photos as I couldn’t have broken down at a more beautiful spot if I’d tried. One advantage of rebuilding cheap hacks is that you know your way around the motor and don’t panic when something goes wrong.
 
Even though one of the rollers had done a disappearing act and the chain could have snapped at any time, I carried on with my ride. After a few more miles one of the baffles came loose and I tied it back on with a plastic cable tie. Later, the clutch disappeared but I just carried on, hoping I wouldn’t have to stop - and eventually made it home in one piece. It still rattles, especially on the overrun, the only cure would be a re-bore but the cost would be too high, so I'll just run it until something goes bang and then put it in the back of my garage for a few years [looks like it went there in 1989, according to DVLA - 2021 Ed.] until a time when I can advertise it as a Japanese Classic suitable for restoration.
 
Ben Wright
 

Despatches: Ideal Despatching Tools

I guess it all started back in ‘84, the year I arrived in London on a CG125, all set to make my fortune as a despatch rider. Getting a job was easy, I just followed despatch riders until I found one I could keep up with and arrived back at his office. I asked for a job and got it. I did three deliveries in my first day and made £5. I finished at 5.30pm but didn’t get back to my digs until 9.30pm, ‘cos I was totally lost. Well, I have to admit that my previous experience of London consisted of passing through it twice. I can’t believe how ignorant I was. For example, it took me weeks and weeks to work out where the West End actually was.
 
I made £50 for my first week's work, then I found out that the firm paid by cheque sent in the post. Hah, hah, good scam, guys. The cheque was always late, and by the time you got it that week’s work had kind of faded from memory, so quibbling was a bit fruitless.
 
The traffic was something else. I came from Plymouth and most of my short working life had been spent at sea. In London, the majority of drivers seemed to consider bikes as fair game. Anything going slow enough to be hit, or, God forbid, actually slowing them down was regarded as their well deserved revenge for having to sit in traffic jams. In the first week I was tailgated at Piccadilly Circus, had a rear indicator knocked off by an overtaking car in Kingsland Road, and was knocked off the bike totally by a pedestrian running through the traffic at Trafalgar Square. Fortunately, the little Honda was quite a tough bike and, even more importantly, it was very light on petrol, tyres and chains. In fact, it didn’t seem to use any of them!
 
After two weeks I became homesick and went home at the weekend. Those little push-rod engines can take abuse, 240 miles of virtually throttle on the stop riding would probably finish any other 125. The only mishap was when I persuaded the bike up to an indicated 70mph down a steep hill when the speedo needle swung around to the pin and then swung back again. After that I had a most optimistic speedo.
 
I had not yet passed my test, but in the lock-up at home rested a 350LC that had once been raced. I knew I shouldn't, but in the end I got it out for a short blast to take my brother's mate, Fungus, to see his stranded Honda 750 (the side stand had slipped down a drain, holing the casing).
 
The crackling rasp from the Allspeeds combined with the racing crouch naturally led to a spot of high profile riding including lots of wheelies. Fungus insisted on piloting the bike back, for some reason, after we'd found that the Honda wasn’t rideable. The route back included a long straight with a deceptive bend at its end. Fungus had the revs deep in the power band and the speedo reading three figures down the straight, when a Marina swerved into our path. The driver suddenly saw us and swung back out of the way.
 
Fungus, who had rolled the power off, savagely whacked it back on as we blasted past, then looked up to see that we had arrived at the end of the straight - we were going at least 30mph too fast, but give him his due he did try. Banking it over further and further, the back end let go and we slid into the gutter where the back wheel mounted the kerb.
 
I saw the lamp-post coming just before we hit it. The impact flipped me off the bike and I saw the pavement come up and hit me. Then I was sliding up a grass bank, back onto the pavement and then onto the road again. I stayed still for a while and found that I could still move, much to my surprise. I stood up, just in time to see the Marina arrive, a woman jumped out of the driver's side shouting, “I'm a nurse, don’t move!” I moved and reached for the strap of my full face helmet as it was full of mud. “Don’t take your helmet off or I'll leave” she screamed. I took my helmet off - she left!
 
About 50 yards down the road, Fungus was attempting to rise. He made it, blood seeping liberally from a gash on his face, but otherwise he looked OK. My poor old LC looked like a plane crash, most of it was spread across the road, the back wheel smashed. Long, long tyre marks spread from the centre of the road all the way to the kerb and stopped abruptly at the lamp-post which had a kink in it.
 
The evidence was rather damning, a few people had stopped, I told them we were alright and enlisted some help in getting the wreck off the road. Then we made a break for it, hobbling and limping towards home. We got about fifty yards when we heard the "Dee Daw, Dee Daw” of an ambulance. It pulled up alongside us and the ambulance man asked if we wanted a lift. We were not in a state to refuse.
 
At the hospital I was interviewed by the law, he didn’t believe our bullshit story about a rear wheel blow out at thirty, but as it was my bike that was totally dead he thought that a fair and just penalty. He was probably right. We got out just as the pubs opened and got totally rat arsed to celebrate being still alive. I was bruised and had a sprained ankle, whilst Fungus had a cast on his arm because the X-rays showed a fracture. He also couldn’t see so good as he had lost his glasses. Later on he kept muttering that the pillion was supposed to come off worst. I believe he still gets bills for a new lamp-post!
 
I went back to London, my Belstaff jacket well scuffed, and helmet deeply scarred, feeling very sore. I left the first firm and went to work for a firm that had better rates. I made enough to actually survive, which was rather encouraging. After a few weeks of this my driving test date came up, it was my second attempt. I didn’t have to take the first part of the test because I’d been running around on some other bikes equipped with a Sidewinder. This is an amusing contraption that enables. a learner to ride anything he wants. As a sidecar it sucks, but as a way of winding up bureaucrats it’s top hole, old chap!
 
It's designed to not hinder the bike when leaning and when I first bought it, I had it attached to the LC. Trouble was, because of the clip-ons, I couldn't see it except when going hard into left-handers - when out of the corner of my eye I would see this white tea tray rising to meet my head. Weird. So I bunged it on an XS650. I liked riding the big Yam, it sounded so nice after the CG and had loads of power. I didn’t ride it much, though, because I felt like such a dickhead hauling the tea tray around. It was also very easy to forget and I developed an expensive and nasty habit of glancing the Sidewinder off cars, especially difficult as I only had insurance for the CG.
 
The day before the test I took it up to a carpark and spent a few hours practising low speed manoeuvres until I could do them with my eyes shut, literally. The next day I took and passed the test, so I could rush home and take the sidecar off. I had also swapped the remains of the LC and another crashed LC for a Suzuki ER250, painted an unusual shade of green. My plan was to despatch on the ER and ride to and from Plymouth on the XS. I figured the ER would be the perfect despatching tool - very light, lots of suspension movement to soak up the pot-holes and for leaping over pavements, plus lots of acceleration with a reasonable top end.
 
Dirt bikes are great in traffic, in most respects, except for the brakes. The ones on the ER are tiny drums, slamming on the front caused the front end to dive for the deck until all of the suspension travel was consumed - then sometimes you might stop, unless there was a bit of dampness around, in which case the front tyre would let go. I fell off a lot. In fact, it stopped faster in the wet if you just threw it into the road rather than use the brakes. Mind you, it always could be kicked straight again.
 
The ER had a non standard paint job that attracted the pointy heads like blood brings sharks. I was stopped a lot and they always looked at the front brake first to check it couldn't be pulled back to the bars. One day I‘d adjusted the brake lever just right, only to find after the next fierce stop that it needed doing again. A short while later, I got into a race and took it up to full noise. Up ahead, I saw red lights and braked. Damn all happened except the back locked up. We were almost sideways, fishtailing into the traffic that had stopped for the lights. I let off the back brake just enough to flip it straight again, then banged it back on. We went through a gap between a Transit and a car, sliding to a halt.
 
The law, watching from a Passing Panda, were severely unimpressed. One of them spent a lot of time shouting at me, the other casually pushed the floppy front brake lever back to the bars. When they departed I discovered a frayed and threadbare brake cable. | should really have sussed this out when I’d earlier readjusted it. Funnily enough, some months later, I got a letter in the post from some senior cop letting me off the charge of dangerous driving.  The only other big drawback of the ER was that it had a thirst for petrol and two stroke oil only bettered by a hard used LC. I was filling up the small tank at least twice a day, some weeks a third of my pay went on juice. If I'd had any sense I would've recommissioned the old CG because I wasn’t making any more money, just getting lost faster.
 
I tried using the XS for work but it wasn't reliable enough, and, as with every XS I ever came across, the lecky start didn't work - kicking it into life hundreds of times a day was too much like hard work. It had led a hard life in the hands of some class one bodger even before I got my grubby hands on it. During the first oil change I did, when I removed the sump filter, lots of bits of piston ring fell out. The last loony who owned it must've had a major mishap and rebuilt it without cleaning it out properly.
 
One day, the ER’s exhaust pipe disintegrated, so I went off on the XS to buy a new one. I almost fainted at the £70 for a bent bit of pipe... I paid up but had a puncture on the way home. Abandoned the XS, caught a tube or two home, fixed the ER, rode back to the XS, wrestled with a collection of rounded-off nuts, arrived with a collection of grazed knuckles at a tyre repair shop, puncture fixed, went back to XS and put it all back together, went home. Caught more tubes back, jumped on the ER and arrived home; knackered and £90 poorer.
 
A couple of days later I had some minor job to do on the XS. This entailed the almost obligatory grazing of knuckles when the spanner slipped off another strange sized nut. I flipped, strode away to the nearest bike dealer, used my flexible friend to put a deposit on an almost new, bright red Kawasaki GPz305. Signed loads of papers for the HP without reading them. In short, I went kind of mad. The price of the bike was about £1200, with interest I ended up paying £1800 and using my Barclaycard put me way over my credit limit. As well as a big bill I got a letter from the bank saying they wanted it back, cut up in little pieces. I sold the XS for £250. The bloody thing, of course, became reliable, and ran and ran and ran!
 
The 305 was a revelation. Fast, light, reliable, incredible brakes... I was like a pig in shit. The money started rolling in. On one trip to Swindon I had the speedo reading 110mph and for a twin it had very little vibration. After the ER and the XS it felt as smooth as vaseline on silk sheets. The love affair lasted just two months. One wet, misty November night I arrived at a left-hand hairpin a little too quickly. I slid off the seat and kept the bike as upright as possible, thinking I was going to make it when the bike disappeared from under me. The bike was sliding after me but my one-piece nylon suit turned out able to slide faster than the bike. I crawled out of the greenery in pitch darkness save for a light in a nearby house. Soon, a woman shone a torch in my face, “we heard the bang, s‘funny they usually come thru the hedge.” A close inspection of the bike revealed an amazing amount of damage for such a slight crash. The fork sliders were actually broken, so I had to leave the bike in the front garden.
 
Back to work on the ER. Aaaaargh! Until the happy day when the GPz was fixed. By then it was almost Christmas and I was determined to ride home to Plymouth with my new wife on the back of the repaired Kawasaki. Poor girl was totally unprepared for 240 miles of pure pain when it snowed, and then to be confronted with my four brothers... she refused to come back on the bike and went by coach instead. Sensible girl. The trip back was a real nightmare, a heavy mist brought visibility down to a few yards. It was night, dark, wet and cold. I came across a lad trying to start his dirt bike and then my bike started going onto one cylinder. Luckily, | found an open garage and sprayed the engine with WD40. It had taken three hours to do 70 miles!
 
The A303 is normally a brilliant road but that night I grew to really dislike it, motorcycles and life itself. By the time I got to Ilminster I was going far too fast, my speed had just sort of crept up and up... until suddenly there was a traffic island coming straight for me! We clipped it doing about 50mph. Bike and I parted company, the bike landing between an ambulance and police station. Fortunately, the police were all on Christmas leave. Also, incredibly, I was in one piece. The bike wasn’t, both wheels were broken!
 
I hitched back to London the next day. Back to work on the ER whilst one of my brothers collected the Kawasaki. I rang around the breakers trying to find some wheels as they were £200 each, new. I ended up with a Z400 Ltd back wheel and a Z250 front (with just a single disc, sob). One despatch company I worked for had a workshop full of 305s with blown engines, all with less than 20000 miles up, some with only 12000 miles.
 
A Kawasaki Z750 twin and a Z500 four came and went, after the ER finally succumbed to minimal compression and terminal dampness, and before the GPz305 was rebuilt. After the two bigger bikes, the 305 felt weak and slow, but this was solved when a mate had a go on it and crashed into a car. With less than 11000 miles on the clock it’d crashed three times it was obviously cursed. It was parked up whilst I claimed off the insurance. Whilst waiting for that money, I bought a SR500 single that was so slow that it bored me out of my head.
 
When the insurance money arrived I wanted to buy a GSX750, but ended up buying a 750 Bonnie off another brother. That was definitely not boring every trip was an adventure for all the wrong reasons. Fortunately, selling Bonnies was as easy as falling off them. Next, an XJ650 that didn’t handle and self-ignited when I had the audacity to connect up the stop lamp. A slow RS250 only impressed with its handling and the way things could be fixed with a big hammer.
 
After a while I heard about a fully faired GS850 that was going for £500. Without the GRP the GS weighed near on 600lbs, since I am little and skinny (5’7” and 9 stone) it took a bit of getting used to. The first week I tried to go through a gap between a blue Cavalier and a lamp-post. The gap was too small and I got stuck fast. The driver was in uniform and I was in deep shit. “Impatient little bastard,” was amongst the things he shouted, however he took no action as the paperwork involved when a plod’s involved in an accident off duty is horrendous.
 
Over the winter I made lots of money as the fairing kept me warm and able to work. I became used to the weight and could sling it around no problem. One night in particular stands out. There was a lot of snow on the road, ice everywhere and the wife was expecting a baby. One night I dashed the 35 miles home (another false alarm) - I'll always remember going between 10' snowdrifts, both wheels sliding, blood stream awash with adrenalin. :
 
For ages, almost 70000 miles, I rushed around London like a loony without stacking the bike, until one fine spring evening going home I rounded a corner and saw a Merc coming out of a driveway on my left. I hit the brakes and locked up the back wheel. As we were on a slight bend I didn’t have the space to get the brakes off and try again, but there was no problem I could just go wide, he had plenty of time to see me and stop. I let it drift out over onto the wrong side of the road, but he kept coming out. With the back still locked up I tried to slide back over to my side. I needed another 6 inches but they weren't there. To avoid going underneath I let off the brakes and highsided the car.
 
That hurt. In fact I smashed my tight leg up. In the hospital they rebuilt it with pins and bolts. I wanted to get out but the doctor wouldn't let me leave until after three weeks I was climbing up the wall with boredom and was only rescued when my brother spirited me out of there. Back home I made a determined effort to forget all about bikes, threw out my leather jacket, dumped all my bike mags, read books about anything rather than motorcycles. I lasted about a week. The GS had been recovered and I started looking at it. Smashed clocks, tailpiece and left-hand casing. Couldn't find any cases or clocks in breakers - so I took them up to my bedroom and araldited them all back together! With the help of a friend, I straightened out the back-end and rebuilt it.
 
Pressing the button started it first time and I couldn't resist going for a short ride. Lashing my crutches on the back, I went for a blast... it was brilliant. I had to go back to the hospital for physiotherapy three times per week and they would send a hospital car. The conversation on these trips usually led to a lecture on the dangers of motorcycles and that I should have learnt my lesson by now. One day, I rang up to cancel the car, rode my bike there instead. They freaked. I had to lie and tell them that it was just a little bike, but when I left I saw all these horror struck faces pressed to the window. Always one to show off I gave it a good handful... I got a message later that if I was going to ride my bike around then I need not bother showing up for more treatment... I bet that’s a first, getting banned from a hospital!
 
I went back to despatching eight months later. I needed the money and I was bored senseless because after despatching anything else seems tame. By then I had swapped the GS for a CBX550, a real sweet handling bike but the engines are delicate and I knew that it would not stand up to the job for long. t swapped it and some cash for an XJ750. I liked that one, a lot: of low down grunt and, I thought, good looking. But this one had a bad oil leak from the front of the cylinder block where an old camchain had worn its way through.
 
Then a Kawasaki GT750 which, at first, I thought was the business. That thought lasted for about 60 miles when I became really uncomfortable. I found the seating position spread my legs too wide and put all my weight on my bum which showed its displeasure by going numb. I hoped I would get used to it. I didn’t get a chance to. A few days later, in the rain, I hit a piece of wood at 110mph and proceeded to tank-slap at full throttle into a crash barrier. By more good luck than anyone had a right to expect, I got it under control and the rear wheel hit an upright, the impact threw me clear, back onto the road where, fortunately, none of the other traffic hit me. It was a close one, the bike was reduced to so much scrap.
 
After that I treated myself to a new bike, an XJ900. That was a year ago, it’s now done 50000 miles and I've just fitted a new camchain. It’s still as fast as new - I know because I've just had a race with a brand new one. It does 45-50mpg, is comfortable and it’s got far more ground clearance than any other big bike - I've only touched down the footrest once. Its small fairing keeps the wind off long enough to make cruising at three figures for long distances possible. The brakes are good enough and the lights adequate. After all those miles it still uses very little oil. The clutch was very weak and started slipping after 20000 miles but all I did was fit extra strong springs and an additional steel plate and it’s still going strong now.
 
The gearbox is a bit lumpy but using Slick 50 and Rock Oil helps. Not to mention paranoid 2000 mile oil changes. It’s only been dealer serviced twice, once at 8000 miles and at 28000 miles, and when the camchain was put in the clearances were done as well. At the 28000 mile service only one clearance had slightly tightened up. The only time it broke down was last week. It took about three seconds to suss out why, the filler cap was not passing any air, causing a vacuum in the tank.
 
By the sound of it, you would think I had found the ideal bike, but no. I still find myself reading all the road tests and looking at all the used tackle in the bike shops. Maybe, one day I'll find the perfect bike, but don’t hold your breath.
 
Max Liberson
 

 
[If you're interested, Mr. Liberson went on to have some nautical adventures, about which he wrote a book a few years ago - 2021 Ed.]