30000 miles in eighteen months on a Yam 80 step-thru. Did I really do all those miles? When I got home I dug out my old diary from 1983. I had just left college and was convinced I could find fame and fortune in the real world. To make my millions - or at least get a job - I needed transport.
It appeared one morning in the local dealer’s window. WNA627X*, a Yam 80, three years old and £325, the exact amount I had left in my account. It looked big but as I’m not the largest of people I could be overawed by a Tomos 50. I bought the Yam without even haggling, paid my insurance (hoping the cheque wouldn't bounce) and set off on my first ride... straight into the back of a bus.
The Yam uses a cone clutch which means once kicked into gear and the throttle’s wrenched open, it moves off. If the throttle’s wound fully open, the 8hp two-stroke motor can scream along pretty rapidly. Which it did on the pavement straight towards a bus stop where the local grannies were waiting. They were a mean looking bunch, more chrome on their shopping trolleys than on a full dress Harley, reflecting the black leather fur lined booties, leather jackets with Born To Shop on the back, and the skull and crossbones headscarves concealing their blue rinsed hairdo’s. This was a rough area. Even Rottweilers walked in pairs.
I screamed through them, the cloud of two stroke oil mercifully obscuring their features (and mine) and was stopped from careering into a shop window by the bus which had, luckily for me, started to move and was only going 10mph to my 15. The jolt made my fear paralysed hand release the throttle. My foot finally found the brake pedal and I stopped, checked for damage. Nothing apart from my wits. The bus driver hadn't even noticed.
I set off again, lurching down the road. It took me a few hours to get the hang of it and once home I took a proper look at my new mean machine. Comfy saddle which lifted up for access to petrol and oil tanks plus toolkit. Narrow handlebars holding a tiny 6V headlamp that gave a surprisingly good beam. Perched on top was a Rickman screen which proved to be great until it rained as it was too high to see over the top of (a hacksaw cured this problem). Plastic leg protectors finished off the weather protection and also held the L-plates. The chain was fully enclosed which meant I never oiled it as I would've had to remove a rubber plug and that would’ve meant getting my hands dirty. Suspension was by two shocks at the back and a leading link affair at the front. The drum brakes worked pretty well but they weren't stopping much weight to start with as I only weigh ten stone (I once rode two-up and thought the brakes had failed).
Within a few weeks I had a job as a mortgage consultant. Along with other jobs I'd gone for such as financial adviser and investment portfolio representative, it turned out to be flogging life insurance door to door. The Yam turned out to be an asset, the huge top box holding my briefcase and shoes. When I stopped the box held my waterproofs and wellies. Once, I kept my wellies on by mistake and spent forty minutes selling a policy to an Indian family while dressed in a brown pinstripe suit and green wellies. They must've thought it was our national dress.
I quickly got sick of this job and ended up working for several companies at once. Monday to Friday I worked as an assistant to a photographer, taking baby photos in shops and stores. We spent three weeks in one place then moved onto another. I lived in Manchester and the Yam took me to Wigan, Chorley, Macclesfield, Preston, Liverpool and Wrexham without complaint. I averaged 80mpg and filled up with two stroke every 300 miles.
The only problems I had were quite easy to cure. One was a sudden crunching noise followed by a rattle as I stopped. It turned out to be the chain which had never been adjusted arid had jumped its sprockets. A Wigan dealer adjusted it, gave me half a can of chain lube and a lecture on chain adjustment, and sent me on my way without charge (cheers mate). My other problem was that the brake light constantly went on by itself. This turned out to be a common problem. A loose bolt which holds the one-piece footrest bar in place. When weight’s put on the rest it hits the switch and bingo - the light comes on!
My second job was at weekends. I delivered leaflets door to door, loading them into the top box until it made the front wheel so light I wobbled down the road, making the grannies nervous. I once delivered a package to Birmingham, spending four hours travelling to the place, stopping for ten minutes and then another four hours back. As the Yam’s top speed was 45mph I couldn't use the motorway but in town the bike excelled in easing through the traffic.
The Yamaha had 50000 miles on the clock when I sold it and was looking a bit knackered. I had changed the oil twice and the spark plug three times, plus an exhaust decoke and a new headlamp bulb. I traded it in for a knackered old Honda CJ250 which was nowhere near as reliable but could handle the distance without leaving me a gibbering idiot. If I wanted a bike for short distances I might consider another one. The only thing is newer ones have shaft drive which would make my one spanner and half can of chain lubricant redundant.
Peter Steele
* The Yamaha didn't have a long and happy life after Peter's stewardship, sadly. Its last tax disc ran out in June 1986, so it appears to have lasted just one more year - 2021 Ed.