The XS500 was an unusual iron for this kind of madness but I’d got lucky by coming across the only one owner, low mileage example in the country. The elderly owner was almost in tears after reading the bike’s description in the UMG, twenty years' worth of self delusion shattered in five minutes. One of the other guides is even worse but it’s such crap I would only carry it around in a brown paper bag. The poor old geezer reckoned he’d better not sell if it was about to blow up but I reassured him that there might, just, be a year’s life left in it and forced a hundred notes on him. I could’ve probably got it for fifty but you have to draw the line somewhere, don’t you?
My mates were not impressed with my new steed until I hammered the throttle to the stop and left them standing. The engine might have crap alloy, a complex chain driven balancer system and naff pistons, but until it goes the motor revs divinely and the bike howls up to 110mph in a way that leaves most modern 500s for dead. My mate on a GS500E was besides himself with horror at the way I could burn him off. I told him to take his engine deep into red but he just reckoned all he’d receive for his trouble was loads of vibes, the power non-existent at such revs. He ignored my exhortations to de-gut the silencer and throw the air filter away.
After loitering outside the local school I managed to persuade a young girl on the back (don't get too excited I’m only 17) and I gave her the goods. The ton on the dual carriageway, a 100 yard wheelie, near horizontal in the curves, etc. etc. She hung on as if she was in the throes of a fit and couldn't walk when I stopped for a breather at the top of a mountain. She was all over me, whispering something about the vibes getting to her; an unexpected bonus of XS500 ownership. I celebrated her excitement in the usual way and it became a regular outing, which later expanded to include some other bikers and more girls. The joys of youth.
Handling was good, the suspension taut because it'd been modified, though why the old geezer went to that trouble I don’t know. The only thing it didn’t like was going into corners on the brakes. You might as well have just stayed upright and ridden off the road. The twin discs, fitted with Dunlopads, were fierce in the dry when a manly grip was applied but could be sensitive in the wet with a gentler caress. There was a whiff of sulphur under heavy, emergency braking. The forks would shudder, the tyre scream and | had to hold the tank with a cast iron grip. If there was a girl on the pillion, she became imprinted on my back!
Although I thought the front discs were good, I wasn’t overjoyed when they started making odd noises. I couldn't see anything wrong with them, thought it was maybe the forks that were on the way out, until a mate pointed out a few tiny cracks around the bolts where they were attached to the wheel hub. Finding good XS500 discs in breakers was like looking for a virgin amongst Glasgow's hookers. I placed an ad in MCN, had four phone calls, one of which turned out to be 20 miles away. A mad supersonic journey on the back of a GPz600 left me muttering like an imbecile. The view from the back had left me convinced I was going to die. The discs were OK, mine for a fiver. Did I want a box of engine bits for a tenner? Why not.
I'd poked at the engine a bit, mostly trying to cure clutch slip, probably resulting from my juvenile need to do wheelies, which had become precarious two-up. The bolts holding on the clutch cover were solidly seized in. Large hammer and chisel were applied to the heads. Bruised fingers, bent bolts and broken heads resulted. In the end I managed to pull the cover off with about half the bolts broken off and embedded in the crankcase. Mole grips and an unlikely length of alloy tube persuaded most of them out.
All the stories about rotten Japanese alloy are true on a twenty year old XSS00. What should've been a ten minute job turned into a four day horror story. An M&P heavy-duty clutch kit was fitted along with an Allen bolt set. That was the end of the clutch slip but the lever action was bout twice as heavy, a real pain in town. The gearbox was a bit noisy but false neutrals were very rare. I’ve come across inferior boxes on three year old superbikes.
Whilst poking around the exhaust I managed to put a large hole through the wafer thin metal. Removal of the exhaust system nearly ruined the cylinder head as the bolts wouldn’t come out and the exhaust ended up in about twenty pieces due to the rust spreading like a cancer. A Motad 2-1 meant for an XS400 was persuaded on or a bit of cutting and welding.
A big mistake. The XS has quite finicky carburation, reacted to the exhaust by developing a large, 3000 to 6000rpm, hole in the power delivery. The sudden appearance of power at six grand gave the impression of improved performance but in reality this was a total illusion, top speed down to the ton. I tried a long BMW silencer instead of the Motad can which helped reinstate the top speed and diminished the hole in the power band.
The stock air filter was full of crap, and was viciously attacked with my favourite screwdriver (an old Stanley that never slipped). Now, the power only disappeared between 3500 and 5000 revs. Not brilliant but, it could easily be circumvented by use of the gearbox. I didn’t much like riding below six grand, anyway, as the power, even with the stock exhaust, was in restricted 125 country.
I continued to ride the XS like a YPVS rather than a valuable classic. The bike had bitten back by shedding its front guard, which mangled the front wheel, almost throwing me down the road. The series of lurches were only steadied by fighting the tarmac with both feet. The pillion thought I was just pissing about and didn't realise our closeness to death until she clocked my white face and shaking body.
The petrol tank did a trick common to bikes of this era, rusting through until I ended up with an engine drenched in gas. The resulting fire, as I was freewheeling along, nearly blew my mind, but I ran off the road, jumped off the XS and left the Yamaha to its own devices. The fire died out, but not before burning out all the electrics and leaving my polished alloy coal black. The four mile push home wasn't much fun either.
A late model tank was quickly found for twenty notes. The rest was just hard graft and stealing wires from abandoned autos. The coal finish was left alone, as it at least protected the alloy and looked cool from a hundred yards away. I hadn't had any electrical problems, found the lights and switches okay, and hadn't even had to top up the battery.
Every dog has its day and the XS exacted its revenge for my wanton neglect at a mere 29000 miles. The balancer chain snapped. It's supposed to be adjusted every few thousand miles but one look at the procedure had persuaded me I'd do more damage than good if I mucked around with the thing. When an XS balancer chain explodes, not just breaks, lots of metal goes all around the sump. It’s the quickest way known to man to ruin an engine. It went when I was doing about 60mph and no amount of clutch action saved me from a dose of tarmac.
But I’m still here, even if the XS500's history. The Yam’s a bit of an unpredictable bitch, liable to blow up at any moment and spit the rider off on to the tarmac. A lot of the time, though, it’s a rather excellent motorcycle. I might well buy another if the occasion arose.
Keith Lynch