Suzuki GN250

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Shudders ran through the front of the bike. Whatever could the matter be? Don't scream, I told myself, it’s unmanly. When the debris of the chrome front guard was finally cleared the bike settled down to its normal poise. Not that directional stability ever approached legendary status. Infamous, more like, with lots of twitching and vagueness. Any bike with bars high enough to inspire fear in outlaws was never going to make the big time in the handling stakes.

One mudguard disintegrating in an afternoon I could put down to bad luck. But two? Deliberate built in obsolescence, to my mind. The rear broke under the seat, tried and faailed to lacerate Taiwan’s finest rubber then flew down the road. The attached rear light, something straight out of the sixties in design, went with it. By the time I sussed its demise a couple of cars had flattened whatever the rust hadn't destroyed. Three years old and falling apart under me!

Did I mention that both darkness and rain were threatening to fall? Life’s an adventure, ain't it? I love British weather and Taiwanese rubber (not dolls, boyo). The only way to compensate for the missing rear light was to wire both back indicators into the light’s circuit. Probably blew a few car drivers’ brains trying to work out what the hell was going down but we all have to make sacrifices. The GN has good guards, their disappearance turning the mild rain into a maelistrom which the pathetic front light did little to penetrate.

The tyres slid, my teeth chattered and the engine threatened to cut out but once again the old bugger got us home in one piece. Albeit a rather soggy one. If the GN feels like it weighs next to nothing most of the time, the need for insane countersteer measures to compensate for the naff tyres keeps my muscles up to scratch. The dicey handling revealed by the ease with which I picked up a pair of guards from the breakers for af iver. Some black gunge was brushed on to the undersides to keep the dreaded rust at bay.

The finish wasn't exactly inspiring in other areas. The wheels were more rust than.chrome and the exhaust was replaced after a mere three years (15000 miles). The GN has a singularly simple OHC thumper motor, a sort of grown up CB125. But it’s a fastidious one that produces lots of flat spots once the rust has eaten into the exhaust system. I christened the bike Lurch with rather a lack of affection when this trait was revealed. Cutting out at junctions was another joy but the electric starter saw that one off without any angst.

Another thrill was the time we ground to a halt. Felt like fuel starvation to me. The tank had rusted internally to the extent that there was a mass of sediment in the bottom and the reserve pipe was totally blocked up. I’d thought the tank was becoming a bit thin by the amount of give in the sides. By the time I'd finished the desiccation I was left with an empty tank and a large pile of gunge. Those of a sadistic nature might conclude that the half mile push was good exercise but my heart and back were close to agony.

After this little vexation I neglected the GN for six months until the tank gave way. The fountain of fuel over the still running engine failed to cause spontaneous combustion. Even when I threw a match at it from a safe distance. I performed this cowardly act with an eye on my TPF&T insurance and an awareness that the never touched valves were beginning to burn out. The solution to these woes was fifty quid to the local breaker/mechanic who fitted a one year old tank and a newish set of valves as well as giving the engine its first ever service. I'd been quite content with changing the engine oil when the gearbox became full of false neutrals. What the fuck!

What kinda piss artist’s going to expend lots of TLC on a motorcycle that feels like it’s falling apart on a rare day when it does 80mph? I know some sorry souls who try to keep them immaculate, but they rot just as quickly as when brutally neglected. One other misdemeanour showed up a couple of times. The power pulses never stuck me as being the stuff of legends, but then I'm a cynical old bastard. The drive chain didn’t share my total disregard for the power output, destroying itself in about 6000 miles. The way it broke whiplashed the chromed but rotting (there’s a surprise) chainguard into a trillion pieces. One of these ended up embedded in my leg!

Yes, I’m one of those wimps who faint at the sight of blood. Especially my own blood, a fountain gushing out when I removed the offending piece of metal. For a moment I thought I'd hit an artery but the flood died out with my animal screams. I had to strip down to my long-johns and tear up my shirt to use as a bandage. Some youths in a neon Fiasco found it all hilarious, but disappeared fast when | gave them the finger. Readers should be warned that tearing out a bit of rusty chrome and not seekIng subsequent medical attention is a quick way to lose a leg to gangrene. By the time I staggered into the hospital I needed strong enough antibiotics to make my hair fall out!

The second time the chain snapped it took out the crankcase rather than my leg, which was anyway safely enclosed in wader length leather boots. Way kinky, my man, and sent the ladies into a furore. Plastic metal was carefully applied to the hole (in the crankcase, please) but took three increasingly panicked attempts until it held. What can I say? Greasing and adjusting every week didn’t make much difference to neglecting it until the gearbox refused to work. I started changing it every 5000 miles!

In the fourth year of ownership, with some 15000 miles done, I rode the bike harder than ever before, adding 14000 miles to the clock. I’d changed jobs, had to commute across London. The pace was so frenetic that I was only achieving 55mpg instead of the more usual 70mpg. If that sounds impressive remember that the performance wasn’t that much better than a GS125 which does 100mpg. A set of cheap Michelin tyres stopped much of the skidding on the greasy road surfaces and a newish front end much improved the braking which, via a single disc, had gone rather vague. A combination of warped disc and seizing caliper.

As the spokes were almost rusted through it seemed like a good moment to put in a better wheel! Indeed, a couple of months later I had the weird experience of the back wheel breaking up. Ever sat on a bike that was disintegrating under you? Loadsa fun! I stopped before any terminal damage was done to myself; the egg shaped wheel was something that should only be encountered on an LSD trip! Luck was on my side, a King’s Cross breaker was just 100 yards away and had a replacement on offer. We had a good laugh over the build quality of commuter Japs, the prime exhibit being a five year old C50 with a rear subframe that'd cracked in half.

After that exhibition of poor quality there wasn’t much left to fail in the chassis, apart from the frame which I'd at least kept touching up - you can only take neglect so far and I'd been suspicious of Jap frames ever since my mate's GS550's top frame tube cracked up. The GN has a barely adequate trellis that rust could easily turn to rat shit.

As strange as it might appear, despite these hassles, I'd actually grown quite fond of the ageing heap. We had some close scrapes together in London traffic. Call it a bonding process. The GN reacted well to my instinctive survival manoeuvres, a reflection of its lightness and wide handlebars. I’m naturally muscular, fear and adrenaline adding to the effectiveness with which the GN could be snapped around offending cagers. Twice, even this combination failed.

God, these cagers are as stupid as they are arrogant. Shooting out of nowhere, doing mad U-turns and just not thinking before they act. Once I hit a cage hard enough to snap off the forks and end up thrown over the bars. I landed on the roof of the cage, leaving a large enough dent to write off the car. I laughed at the cager when he demanded insurance details; just boasted that I'd fix the bike for less than a hundred.

The other time I ended up sideways in speedway style, screaming until the tyres lost their grip. My leg suffered more than the Suzuki, which took most of the damage on the engine bars. I hobbled over to the a cager, head-butted him into oblivion and leapt onto the GN before I had to pay for my sins. Divine justice I'd call it,

It'd be easy to dismiss bikes like the GN250 as a pile of crap, fit only for a hacking role, but the thumper engine has its share of character and the rest of it’s tolerable. They are cheap to run, repair and renovate, their biggest flaw the rate at which they rust when neglected or used in the winter.

Gary Davies

BSA Gold Star

The bike went dead just as I was about to pull off from the junction. The big 500cc thumper just went clack-clack-clack. A sound full of contempt for my reluctance to keep the mill turning over at 3000 revs.

The brutality of the combustion process was so evident in the Goldie that high revs threw all my senses into overload. Not that the venerable single could ever be said to vibrate. Lord no! The pegs and bars jumping about were merely a manifestation of the engine working out.

Who needs tachos when each and every pulse of power is all too apparent in the chassis? Such an outlook is just as well as the rev counter kept breaking down with such monotonous regularity that I eventually dumped it and blanked off the gear drive in the engine. The speedo went the same way but that was more important because despite its age the Goldie would still thud along at the ton.

When it wasn’t stalling at junctions. The problem with a dead motor was getting it to fire up again. The kickstart was geared for gorillas and humping the motor over compression was in itself hard work. The variable timing syndrome that could affect Goldies made for vile kickbacks that could shoot the unwary rider high in the air. Alternatives to this painful demise were a fireball out of the carb or a loud detonation that caused OAPs to keel over and canines to go berserk. After a while, after a few bruised limbs, these character building defects become part of the motorcycling experience and a perfect first kick start akin to the holy grail. But rarely achieved.

The Goldie still looks butch, when stalled at junctions a large crowd gathers, all the encouragement it needs to refuse to start. Starting from the saddle is difficult, it's usually best to put her on the stand. A huge queue of cars often forms, adding further chaos to the traffic congestion. Few are willing to help push the heap into life. Perhaps fearing the fireballs and loud farting.

Just as exhaustion sets in it usually roars into life. Awkward in bad weather as the protective clothing generates quite a sweat. Stock Goldies run incredibly tall gearing but my own bike has been modded so that city riding is relatively easy. The clutch is still heavy and violent, also short-lived as it owes its inspiration to the B31... watch out when buying used Gold Stars, it’s not unknown for owners to bodge in weaker parts from the B31/33 range. They can explode or crack up under the much more powerful regime from what's basically a refugee from the race track.

The Goldie won many races in its time. The reflected glory of riding one on the road is often submerged beneath the plain hard work of keeping it running. As well as stalled engines, the thing often oils up its spark plug, giving performance like an aged stroker. The series of resulting lurches are near spine dislocating. The tremors running through the chassis providing interesting moments, like when the seat fell off and the headlamp exploded.

The latter happened at night down some wondrously curving country lanes. The light was an upgraded 12V halogen conversion, worth its weight in gold up to 80mph, whereafter it failed from the vibes. One time I was plodding along at 75mph when the sudden darkness fell and the Goldie ran right off the road. For the time, the forks were beefy but not strong enough to take a battering through a rutted field. As an example of the forces involved, the front brake lever snapped off and several spokes broke up. The superb alloy rim was mangled way out of shape. The RAC did the rescue quite rapidly, for once.

A steel rimmed wheel was fitted for a while, which meant vintage events had to be avoided. The old chaps were enraged by any sign of non-standard issue, giving me the same kind of hassle as I got for not cutting my lawn every week in good old suburbia. The old dears babbled on but I just turned up my Walkman and nodded regally at them. Most of the Goldies at classic meetings were taken there on a trailer, so valuable had they become.

Understandable, but a bit of pity because once on the pace, on a nice bit of fast A-road, the bike became fun. The kind of fun that took some time and effort to fully appreciate, but well worth taking the minor irritants. Power flows in hard from 3000 revs up, the end of the surge not really known as the clocks begin wobble into oblivion as the revs go past 6000, and by seven grand, when it’s still accelerating hard, it's difficult to hold on to the clip-ons.

The bike feels better under acceleration than at a constant cruising speed. The thrust forward taking my mind off the riding position, which is straight off a race-track. Town riding is as thrilling as being kicked in the kidneys by a skinhead. The bars making the clutch and throttle seem even heavier and more difficult than they are in reality. Too much town work turns me into a hunchback until after 15 minutes of muttering, I’ve managed to snap my muscles back into an upright position. Many modern replicas are just as bad, so the answer seems to be to buy a BSA Bantam for town work.

One of the great deals with the Goldie is going on a run with my mates. The big thumper holds it own against 500 and 650 twins, though no-one tried to do more than the ton in deference to the bike's age and sometimes indifferent rebuilds. There are usually some minor problems that call for a roadside stop and thinking session but we've never had to call for the rescue services. What a glorious noise the bikes make when they thunder through the countryside or brick villages, where the sound reverberates off the stone walls. Heads turn in fury but when they see it’s a pack of British bikes inevitably some old guys give us the thumbs up. It’s nice to be liked!

The engine, rather than the chassis, gives the most cause for disliking the Goldie. Everything or anything can blow if it’s thrashed but because mine ain't it’s mostly down to the primary chain (I’m tempted by a belt conversion), the valves burning away (poorer quality replacements, maybe), leaking cylinder head gasket (just bad design), quick wear rockers (er.....?). and a piston/bore life of no more than 10000 miles.

The points aren't crap but give some moments of diversion, usually when I’m running late. The engine often cuts in and out in the wet, a large thump of torque twitching the rear tyre in a death dance - change of underwear time. The clutch is crap and the gearbox as primitive as that in a Ural but probably a touch less likely to disintegrate.

I’ve done 18000 miles on a 95000 mile engine that’d been comprehensively rebuilt by a genuine character who lounged around in an ancient Barbour jacket that had an inch layer of grease, grime and oil. Useful for taking palm prints. The most onerous task I had to do was rip the top end apart for a rebore. The engine was easy to work on but spares are heart breaking in their expense. I had to lie to the wife (lucky that she considers the UMG as undesirable as my skin mags).

The Goldie looks like a classic, except for the third world seat (it’s long enough to take an extended family) and the quick rust silencer (a pattern item, admittedly). It certainly sounds like a classic, with the kind of blat that bounces windows in their frames and had people looking for the runaway road roller. Performance is what you'd expect from a tuned thumper and handling just about matches it, more than likely due to low mass and good geometry than any particular attributes of the somewhat basic tubular frame.

The overall experience is somehow rather more than the mere sum of the parts, rather more exciting than the litany of complaints I've felt that have been my duty to pass on. The Goldie isn’t an easy ride but the daily challenge of getting the better of the swine is rather invigorating, blasts away the cobwebs and gets the blood flowing.

It all depends on where you're coming from and where you're going. Many will find the Goldie a device straight from hell and laugh at the prices demanded for the ancient classic but to me it’s well worth the money. I’d buy two if I could afford it.

Martin Alington

25 Great Bodges

With the massive expense involved in running most modern bikes, it's sometimes necessary to resort to short-cuts. These are often well dodgy, and only for the desperate, but they have to be better than being off the road. The UMG can take no responsibility for their effectiveness...

Chains can be kept going by removing links. By the time they are this worn they will probably be full of tight spots which can be worked out by soaking in oil or spraying with WD40, then working the links back and forth between two pliers or Mole grips. Soaking in Linklyfe will help. Chains with links removed will ruin the sprockets (but they'll probably already be wrecked anyway) and will eventually snap, taking out either the back of the crankcases or your leg (wear boots) [If you consider this to be an acceptable risk, then I would respectfully suggest that you are a fucking idiot. Just buy a cheap chain already - 2022 Ed.]. If you're buying a bike, check for tight spots in the chain, which combined with adjusters with lots of movement left shows that the rider’s a cunning bugger.

Engine breathers on modern machines are often vented into the airbox, where they do no amount of harm to induction efficiency. Redirect them on to the top run of the drive chain, where the drip feed of lube should prolong its life; especially neat where full chain enclosure’s employed. There shouldn't be great gobs of oil or heavy fumes out of the breather, at most a mild mist; anything else means the engine’s already on the way out.

Silencers often rot before the rest of the exhaust system, especially if the bike's used in town excessively when condensation forms. An amazingly effective repair to a crack that runs almost all the way around the circumference of a silencer consists of an old beer can (or any container made out of thick tin - I often use an old biscuit tin) and two Jubilee clips. Cut the can into a flat strip that can be wrapped around the silencer and hold in place with the clips. Spray the whole thing matt black and it'll hardly be noticeable. Gun-Gum, used in holes in silencers, tends to fall out but will last long enough for the MOT [Good luck with that... IME it falls out before you've even reached the test centre - 2022 Ed.]. Welding holes works better, but if the silencer's far gone then it may dissolve when the welding torch’s pointed at it. Universal megaphones are still sold (‘for track use’), can be bolted on to the end of most down-pipes and are not unduly noisy (often not affecting the carburation). If you can afford it, go for the stainless steel variant as the normal ones rust within six months. It’s also possible to mix and match silencers from breakers (about a fiver upwards). When buying a motorcycle give the silencer a good kick to see if it falls off.

The bolts holding the exhaust clamps on to the cylinder head will often snap off when trying to undo them as they become heat corroded, leaving the stud flush with the head. An easy repair is to drill a smaller hole in the remnant of the stud and tap to take a smaller bolt: Don’t try gorilla force on this repair as it'll probably snap off or strip. The same kind of repair can be employed on other snapped bolts as long as it's not attaching an important structural component.

On smaller screws, usually in the engine when the alloy strips, a useful bodge is to oil the screw very lightly, cover in Araldite (not the fast setting type, though) and screw in lightly after cleaning out the thread with a bit of rag. As long as there's a bit of thread left the Araldite will bond to the alloy, if left overnight, producing a new thread. The oil on the screw will let it come undone, but it's probably better not to use this bodge where the screw has to come out often, nor where it’s going to cause problems if it falls out. Use helicoils if the screw has an important purpose.

Araldite really is wonderful stuff, the best epoxy resin around as long as you're willing to wait 24 hours for it to set properly. The rapid setting variety doesn’t have the same kind of strength. Other uses include bonding pieces of broken fairing, repairing minor brackets and gluing leads back into rectifiers etc.

Superglue’s much overrated, and doesn’t work at all well on some surfaces. However, in minor spills where the bits of indicators or clocks can be collected, Superglue can be used to bond them back together. Done properly, you have to look very closely to see the join. Be aware that you can also bond your hand to the broken component! Other uses for Superglue include gluing small cracks in plastic bodywork, repairing tears in seats and cracks in plastic reflectors,

Plastic Metal's popular for filling in holes in the crankcases (often from a broken chain) but sometimes falls out, emptying the sump of oil! Use as a temporary repair only and don't try to sell a bike with such a bodge without telling the new owner, not unless you want his possible death (from a seized engine hence back wheel) on your conscience. Plastic Metal's also been used for filling small splits in leaking petrol tanks (again temporarily), hiding cracks in frames (very nasty) and silencer repairs (doesn't last long).

Alloy welding offers a more permanent fix to engine holes and cracks. There are a couple of fusion welding kits on the market that let you get away with using a blowtorch. A bit of practice's needed to avoid wrecking the engine but the repair’s as strong as the original aluminium.

Bodywork, seat bases and mudguards, among others, can be repaired using GRP kits (available from Halfords and most car accessory stores). Useful, also, for strengthening after-market fairings which are so thin that they often crack around the mounting brackets. GRP is pretty messy stuff that can stink out the average house; best to work in the garage or open. It’s also possible to produce small pieces of bodywork using GRP on top of cardboard moulds, although usually an awful lot of work’s needed to clean up the finished masterpiece; more useful for desperate street rats than exotic race replicas. The fumes given off by GRP as it sets can also be a bit noxious.

One of the nastiest aspects of low rent motorcycles is the way they disintegrate over a typical British winter. If the bike’s stored away spray WD40 over the engine, wheels and exhaust; it protects as well as penetrates (also hit suspension linkages if you can’t be bothered with proper lubrication). Better still, used Scientific Coatings’ protective liquid on both alloy and paint (though not the bits that get hot). All the grime and grit just washes off and it lasts for years, making it much easier to sell the bike later.

One of the cheapest bodging materials is old inner tubing - never throw this away. Easily cut, moulded or glued, ideal for extra rubber mounting of batteries, electronic components, Silencer brackets (at the frame end, please) and lights.

Silicone or the cheaper mastic sealant has a number of uses, can even be pumped into handlebar ends to help damp out vibration. Also used for sealing coils, electronic boxes, back lights on to mudguards and air filter boxes.

Electronics are a perennial problem on old bikes, not least the rectifier and regulator. Both can cheaply be replaced by components from car accessory stores (less than a tenner the pair), although as they are designed for use inside the car alternator some extra work's needed. The wiring’s fairly obvious if you look closely at the circuit diagram but such a bodge won't work on bikes with field alternators (such as the Yam XS650).

A simpler if more expensive and potentially dodgy solution’s to use second-hand Superdream rectifier/regulators - they work well in the GS series which are renown for naff electronics. In theory, alternator, regulator and rectifier should be matched to each other but by the time the rectifier's blown the alternator will have burnt out as well and there's not much point putting new crap components in. Make sure, though, when mixing and matching rectifiers that it’s up to the power of the alternator. Rewound alternators are available on an exchange basis by return post for around £35; cheap and reliable.

Some bike suffer from very simple faults that can be fixed for next to nothing. Many bikes that run points ignition blow their condenser, leading to poor or impossible starting, evident by arcing across the points. Bike manufacturers charge silly money for replacements, buy one for less than a quid from a car accessory store (they have their uses, after all). Don’t worry if it’s 12 instead of 6 volts, it'll work fine. If the bike has magneto ignition and the replacement’'s too big, run a couple of wires out of the generator and fix the condenser to the frame (out of the weather).

Another use for a condenser, or capacitor, is to stop lights blowing. When there are voltage surges from a fading rectifier or regulator bulbs blow; place a condenser (at least 18V) in parallel with the light, it'll absorb the excess voltages. If this doesn't work either the vibes are getting at the lights, there’s a loose earth wire or the electrical system is about to fail.

Yet another use for a capacitor is as a replacement for a battery, use at least LEA 24V and 5000pF (about 30mm in diameter and 60mm in length). This won't work on bikes with electronic ignition but with points ignition what it does is phase the alternator output with when the ignition needs power, allowing the bike to be kicked into life. The lights and horn will still work, though idle often stalls the engine. Lucas supplied the system (energy discharge ignition) for many trail bikes and the Commando. Rubber mount the capacitor as it’s susceptible to vibration.

Cheap tyres are available from breakers and dealers often sell Japanese rubber that has been pulled off new bikes in favour of superior European stuff. Tyre dealers sell nearly worn out rubber for as little as a fiver a throw. Use washing-up liquid on the tyre’s bead to ease on the rubber. Avons seem to last longer than most, sometimes at the expense of the grip.

Pitted forks can be repaired by filling the holes with Araldite, smoothing down by hand before it sets, then the next day finishing off with a bit of emery cloth. Grease and add a pair of fork gaiters to protect from further damage. Hard chroming is the only other alternative, expensive but long lasting. If there are any crease marks on the forks then they've been straightened, should be swapped for something better as soon as possible - before they break in two!

Brake calipers always seem to seize after a British winter. Spraying with WD40 every week helps, as does using brake grease during reassembly. Some calipers can be modded so that screwing in a couple of bolts pops them apart, much better than the usual swearing fit. Always use after-market brake pads, they are superior (often eliminating wet weather lag) and cheaper. Ferodo seem the best of the bunch.

Nylon coated cables smooth clutch, brake and throttle action and last longer - cheaper, too, if you buy one of the kits. Cables that break at the handlebar end can sometimes be bodged for a short time by using mole-grips on the end. It looks strange and weird but will get you home. Better still, tape spare cables alongside the existing ones.

Modern liquid gasket can replace normal gaskets (but don't block any oil ways) whilst it’s still possible to buy sheets of gasket material to cut your own. Pattern gaskets are cheaper but check they line up with all the oilways in the engine.

Never be without those essential bodging tools, a large hammer and small chisel. Imperative for removing engine screws that have been solidified in the motor by corrosion. Ideal for hacking away at exhaust brackets and useful for frightening small children. I'm never without mine.

Honda CB650

I wanted a flash set of wheels but didn't have the thousands necessary to buy one. What I ended up with was a very neat mild custom Honda 650 Nighthawk. The last in the line of SOHC Honda fours.

With a chromed four into one exhaust that did nothing to ruin the soft power delivery. I didn't mind in the least that all the action was below 100mph. Bright blue and silver were the colours of custom joy. Bars high enough to drain the blood from my mitts and a feel that was so laid back I yearned for the days when lids weren't compulsory and black shades were!

Any old Honda four, however shiny, with more than 42000 miles achieved, is going to be a bit finicky. My first taste was the gearbox action, as slick as a Chinese haircut and noisy as a steel band. Definitely not too cool, but not a great hassle as the bike would run down to 1000 revs in fourth gear without the usual transmission lash. Other than carbs that needed a balance every 750 miles, a couple of balmy summer months went happily by.

Then came the joys of the autumn rains. That old Honda nasty, cutting out in the wet. As a triple or twin the Honda was about as tasty as a pile of shite. In one raging rainstorm the CB cut out completely. I had to get down on my knees before it and empty a can of WD40 over the top of the motor. In the dark the sparking was an impressive fireworks display. Not until I mounted a set of used CBX750 coils on new leads and caps did the dangerous habit abate.

If the upright riding position was a veritable joy in town, and just about acceptable down my favourite back roads, speeds in excess of 70mph were comparable to a few hours on the rack. In the rain my groin was targeted for special attention, ending up looking like I’d pissed myself. An action not entirely unlikely given the rather remote ride and the worn state of the Far Eastern rubber. A new set of Avons were acquired as soon as finances allowed.

Most of the handling woes were then down to worn out suspension and swinging arm bearings. The back end would hop and skip, the front forks quaver at ant sized bumps, and I'd often think I was on some kind of deranged rocking horse. A pair of used but not too abused Hagon shocks were fitted without too much hammering (they were off a CB750) and a mighty fork brace attached out front. A couple of phosphor bronze bearings replaced the decrepit bits of plastic masquerading as swinging arm bushes.

Life became saner after these attentions. The double cradle frame looked tough enough but some idiosyncrasy of the kicked out front end still made for some interesting weaves at 75mph. Throw in character building speed wobbles when a large bump or pot-hole disturbed the poise of the forks. No end of minor adjusting was undertaken trying to sort this out but was as effective as screaming prayers when things got out of hand.

The Honda was thus a bit deceptive. Running calmly and strongly below 70mph only to turn vindictive at the slightest excuse at higher velocities. I let a few mates borrow the Nighthawk, forgetting to explain fully its nature. They came back all shaken up, full of wonder at my prowess, or at least at the minor fact that I was still alive.

Pushing the Honda to 90mph caused it to quiet down a little, although I was totally aware that I was riding a potential death-trap that could throw me down the road at any moment. These heroics became more intense with 110mph cruising, when devilish weaves were combined with a shuddering chassis that felt mere moments off complete disintegration. 120mph was the most I ever dared - and only the once!

The truth was that the engine ran out of power by the time the ton was done, and that secondary vibes doubled with every extra 500 revs. The OHC engine can trace its ancestry back to the CB500/4, which in turn was inspired by the late sixties CB750. The most marked difference between the 750 and 500 being the use of a separate oil tank on the former, a passing tribute to the antiquity of old British twins. The 500 and 650 share another bit of ancient design, the dreaded (hyvo) chain primary drive. Although to be fair to the 650, it tends to rattle and produce a grumbling transmission rather than actually wear out.

Electronic ignition removed one maintenance chore on the 650, but the eight valves need regular attention to their screw and locknut tappets - tedious every 1500 miles or so, but at least I don’t have to fork out for shims every ten minutes. A flurry of secondary vibes around 5000 revs announces the carbs going out of balance. If they are ignored fuel drops from a poor 40mpg to a cataclysmic 30mpg! I actually went as far as taking the carbs off to clean them out (gunge from the rusting tank had gotten into them) but wished I hadn't when I tried to put it all back together again. Oh well, we live and learn a little.

Apart from such chores the motor ran to 69500 miles before it was completely worn out, right down to shot crankshaft and gearbox bearings. The last few weeks were ghastly, with 250 performance and enough noise to announce the second coming. The engine didn’t quite seize but ground to a halt outside work, refusing to start even when pushed by a couple of burly louts. The chassis was still splendid, especially with the suspension mods, so I could not easily abandon the Nighthawk to a fate worse than death - left to rot in the car park where urchins would quickly tear it limb from limb.

My first thought was to pull the motor down and do a quick rebuild. Apart from a couple of screws there was nothing left that was of any use to anyone. My second ploy was to buy MCN and do a lot of phoning around breakers until a good motor turned up. CB650s were never the most popular machines but an engine did turn up after about a week of abuse swapping. No, it couldn't be heard running but for £175 what did I expect?

How about a little civility and truthfulness? No hope! After the usual cursing match the replacement motor was installed and even started after an argument with a car battery. I knew it was a pile of crap within moments. You didn’t need to belong to Scotland Yard to detect the way the vibration made it shuffle across the garage like an old Bonnie.

Nor did you need the acute hearing of a blind man to notice the rattles and knocks. It was the kind of bike that made packs of juveniles throw bricks at it! Such unpleasantness lasted for all of 367 miles when the motor locked up solid. It could’ve been a disaster but we were only doing 20mph and I kicked the bike out of the slide. The back wheel remained locked up until we skidded to a halt - the clutch had just exploded when I grabbed its lever.

Charmed I was not. A week later reports reached my elephant ears of a friend of a friend of a friend whacking into a coach at 50mph. My mind twitched when I realised that his CB500/4 engine would surely fit straight in. The guy was so disillusioned that he said I could take the compacted bike away for £100. Promising, the speedo only read 29 thou.

The engine didn’t go straight in but with modified engine mounts and a spacer on the gearbox sprocket it was wham-bam-mam. To be honest, I couldn't find much difference between the 500 and 650’s performance. I didn’t even feel much difference between the low end grunt. I was so impressed I tore the engine covers off for bead-blasting and did the rest of the motor in matt black (originality was never my strong point). The motor has so far done 15000 miles with the usual maintenance chores (plus points on this engine).

Some chassis malaise showed up as the bike pushed past 80000 miles. The twin front discs had only needed pads every 12500 miles and the odd clean out but by 80 thou the discs were ringing due to thinness, not helped by the heat treatment doled out when both calipers locked up. Replacement with used bits the only cure.

The rear drum’s still there, just, but the exhaust’s hanging on by silvers of chrome. The steering head bearings went and the forks are somewhat loose. Despite all that, I've the feeling that the bike will make it past the 100000 mile mark - just in case it doesn't I've bought a good CB650 mill for £250. Nighthawks are well worth a look.

Ian Sterling

Honda CB350K4

I could smell a bargain a mile away. The advert in the shop window told of a 1973 Honda CB350 twin, a non-runner for 25 notes. No phone number so I had to make the trek on spec. The bike was whole, a bit rusty in places and the motor still turned over. Better still, the owner’s old man would deliver it to my house free of charge within the hour. The deal was struck and the adventure began.

I've lots of experience making old engines run. My immediate suspicions centred on the ignition system. The spark at the plugs was yellow rather than blue. New plugs, same trip. Cleaned and set the points to no avail. New condenser. Nothing’s ever that easy but receiving about 10000 volts via the HT lead put me on the right track. Car coils with new HT leads and caps resulted in a bright blue spark. But still the engine only stuttered rather than started. The next logical place to look was the carburation, although I could smell petrol getting through. The rubber manifolds were intact, as were the diaphragms. Some jerk had screwed the pilot jets right in.

After a bit of trail and error I got the engine sounding positively enthusiastic but not quite firing. The final piece of the puzzle was an OE air filter clogged up with 32000 miles worth of grime. A few strategically placed holes revived the flow characteristics and the motor finally fired up. Nothing’s quite that easy, is it?

The top end rattled and the gearchange was way past its prime. The top end was down to a dead tensioner and camchain, the gearbox had worn out selectors. Whilst I waited for the bits to come from Japan, I set to the chassis with a vengeance. Rust had almost ruined the guards and seat base but GRP and paint revived them. The frame was rubbed down and touched up where necessary. The forks and shocks were handed over to a mate who had a small engineering workshop in his cellar and was able to renovate them for fifty quid. The wheels were painted silver, the chrome long since lost to the mists of time. An expensive round of consumables completed the renovation effort.

What I had was a plain and simple vertical twin of 325cc, about 35 horses and 360lbs. Utterly conventional in almost every aspect, the CB350 was one of the best selling motorcycles ever in the USA, although licensing laws made the 250 version much more popular in the UK. Its looks are somewhere between bland and classic but grow on you with time. My bike was a dark green that still shone up nicely after a bit of T-Cutting.

Once the engine had been reassembled, a relatively painless process, I was all set for some serious riding. Already, there were fitted rear-sets that matched the flat bars much better than the forward mounted pegs that came stock. The seat left me feeling perched atop the machine, but other than that the riding was really easy. A moped graduate would have no problems if he were allowed aboard such a machine, making rather a mockery of the 125 laws.

To be sure, I was initially aware of a top heavy feel that tried to tilt the machine into slow bends but my body soon compensated and I was kicking the bike around like the proverbial juvenile delinquent. Braking, with a TLS front and SLS rear drum, was close to brilliant loads of power and plenty of feel.

The refurbished suspension was rather stiff for modern, ruined roads but stopped any wandering or wallowing. Performance was up to 250 Superdream levels but lacked any kind of viciousness or wickedness; I could just crack the ton in neutral conditions, maybe 105mph flat out down a steep hill. Even when thrashed into the red at unlikely revs, there wasn’t very much vibration. Surprising on a bike of this age and mileage; a testament to the basic correctness of the design and an indictment of nasty things like Superdream balancers that Honda later inflicted upon the world.

This style of older Japanese bikes have taken over from ancient British twins as righteous sickles. Don’t laugh, they have the same kind of performance, are still cheap to buy and run along without too much expense or effort. All attributes that Bonnies and Commandos used to have but they've priced themselves out of the market, these days. If you don’t believe me just look around at the number of cheap chops that’ve been built around old Jap twins. A sure sign of the times.

I felt pretty secure with the Honda's engine but slightly worried by the stories of the chassis cracking up. I'd noticed with alarm the appearance of great gobs of rust at the upper shock studs. My friendly local mechanic tested them with his largest hammer, got the right hand one to fly off. He said not to worry (something about the alarm in my face), the welding torch would solve all. And it did, praise be to primitive technology.

Next on the list of possible disasters was ageing alloy in the drum casings. It’s not unknown for old hubs to crack up after 20 years of service. A weekly jet wash and inspection kept some kind of peace of mind. However, after about 6000 miles the rear drum started to crack up. Alloy welding didn't inspire much confidence in such an important component. A used back wheel was found in the small ads of one of the other magazines.

There was no guarantee that this wasn’t about to disintegrate but in the greater scheme of things it was a risk I was willing to take. bin Eventually, some 14000 miles further down the line I ended up with a pair of Bonnie wheels (with concentric hubs), forks and shocks, making the similarities between the breeds all the more noticeable. A couple of Brit bike fanatics made nasty noises about my misuse of Triumph components but in general the little Honda was received well wherever I went.

The stiff Triumph suspension and powerful brakes allowed me to ride the Honda right at the limits of engine performance. With 52000 miles on the clock such levels of abuse couldn't last for long. Sure enough the pipes began smoking and top speed decreased to a mind nurturing 80mph. The top end was OK but the bores and pistons looked like they’d been around the clock a few times. Replacements were already to hand, in the form of CB250K3 barrels bored to take high compression pistons, a popular move back in the seventies when the porkers were unable to tell that the motor was bored to 325cc. Still useful, today, as it brings down the cost of road tax and insurance (damn, I should've bought the 250).

Out of sheer respect for the motor I bunged in new top end gaskets and added a shiny new set of exhausts. The engine, given a gentle bit of running in, managed to push the Honda to all of 110mph. Some replica jockeys were quite surprised at the way the bike would cruise along at 95mph (in excellent comfort, I might add) and, also, at the angles of lean it'd take (the stands had their prongs ground down and the Triumph suspension made the bike ride an inch or so higher). Acceleration was, it has to be admitted, rather stately by modern standards, a lot of effort needed to see off derestricted TZR125s, and the like.

Much to everyone’s annoyance (I mean there’s nothing like getting up the nose of people who spend thousands on new bikes, is there?) the CB ran with an almost miraculous lack of faults to 82000 miles when the camshaft bearings, rockers and valves were all dead meat. The thing with these kind of bikes, rather like MZ250s, is that along the way you tend to collect all kinds of rats and out of this accumulation of junk, er, valuable future classics, I had the necessary bits to fix it.

However, the purchase of a bargain priced FZR600 with ruined plastic meant I had my hands full. This was my first replica and the performance turned out to be so stunning that I left the Honda to rot. There’s no excuse for this kind of neglect, other than rampant self-indulgence. If any UMG readers want to buy a CB350 plus several rat CB250/350s then drop me a line via the UMG. About £250 seems right! CB350’s are neat motorcycles with a future.

John Trent

How to destroy a five year old Yamaha YB100 in six months.

Some old guy had looked after the Yamaha very nicely and only done 16000 miles. We had a pretty big argument over whether the smokescreen was heavier than it should be and whether the drum shoes were worn out or not. I’m not sure who won but I got fifty quid off the price and paid £300. Of course, none of my mates believed this low cunning and laughed just as hard at the machine's commuter appearance, dominated by heavy guards and that pressed steel frame that was also employed in the FS1E (engines will swap, there’s the odd, strange pervert riding around on a moped powered YB)

After a week of running around without mechanical incident, only falling off three times due to the completely ineffective brakes, I decided the smokescreen wasn't a sign of knackered bearings. The combination of a 70mph top speed and nearly 100mpg showed that the engine still had plenty of life left. Acceleration didn’t exactly frighten me to death but kept most cars in line up to 50mph.

The brakes went soggy whenever I did an emergency stop from such a speed, proving only that my heart was able to withstand massive stress. The front’s lever would come right back to the bars without seeming to pull the bike up. Riding off the road had strong retardation qualities (for both bike and I, as I often felt I belonged in a lunatic asylum) but as a trail bike the YB gave every impression of falling apart fast. Even on smooth roads I was bumped about in the saddle, the rough stuff akin to being on the big-dipper.

That was how I ended up howling home with a cracked silencer. The constipated engine had trouble catching pushbikes and I didn’t even bother to kick the riders off as the earache was punishment enough. Finding a used silencer was a cinch; loads of YBs end up crashing into cars due to the lack of brakes and the oiled coated exhaust doesn’t rust rapidly. Unless a lot of destructive force is involved the chassis is quite tough.

After a month I was convinced the engine was about to seize up. Cruising along at 70mph for more than ten minutes I could feel the motor tightening up. If I persisted, which I tended to do, then the back wheel momentarily locked up until I hit the clutch lever over which my hand hovered nervously. The engine freed up straight away and didn’t repeat the trick if I sauntered along at 60 to 65mph with just the occasional outing to the magic 70mph.

This wasn’t all that great a loss as an awful lot of gearbox action was needed to maintain that final 5mph and the resulting blurred vibes did rotten things to my eyesight. Against a head wind or up a steep hill, speed could fall right back to less than 50mph. Riding with a pillion had a similar effect. With a mass of less than 200Ibs and only 10 horses, external variables could play havoc with my attempts at breaking the law. There was absolutely nothing in reserve to scoot off down the road when the plod showed up.

Desperate pleading had the required effect when I was stopped for doing 45mph through town. Luckily, I clocked them in the mirrors, which became miraculously clear between 40 and 50mph, in time to abort the planned 60mph howl past the local school. I’m not sure why I delighted in such antics as it was impossible to drop a line of chatter on any young girls in those circumstances.

The only time I lost a cop car was after we’d screeched up a one-way street the wrong way at a wicked pace. I turned left, knowing full well that the short stretch of road was blocked off to cars by pavement and bollards. I managed a small wheelie up on to the pavement, grinning at the squeal of brakes behind me. Blow me if one of the cops didn’t come belting out of the car, wild on his plates of meat. A bit of throttle left him eating the bitter exhaust fumes and I had enough time to make it to my house before the helicopters arrived.

After two months the seizing up started at 65mph and the mill needed a good ten minutes of cooling before she freed up. Someone told me to push the bike backwards in gear to free up the engine but it made no difference that I could see. I changed the oil to a synthetic type and put in a harder grade of spark plug. The result was that it went back to 70mph cruising without seizing for a good half an hour.

By then 23000 miles were on the clock and the chassis was falling apart fast. The brakes were the most obvious failing. Even new shoes and cleaning out half a kilo of asbestos dust didn't help. The brakes might’ve been just adequate for the average Joe going to work and back every day, but for any juvenile out to impress they were crap.

It wasn't as if the Yam had an ace chassis that allowed it to be flicked out of harm’s way. The steering was vague, the damping pathetic and the frontend surprisingly heavy going given the low mass. One amusing trait was the way the bike would veer from side to side if I released the death-grip on the bars. In an adventurous mood I discovered that this was caused by steering head bearings with lots of little dents in them. Probably the result of my experimenting with the tightness of the steering head stem. New bearings helped a little, but the suspension was so worn that I still had to expend a lot of muscle correcting all the wanderings. Not impossible to make it through the corners but the constant fight left little room for finesse - at least my vocal chords had a good workout when the fear set in.

They needed all the training they could get to help out the horn that could never be heard over the rasping exhaust. The quality of the horn was reflected in the rest of the 6V electrics. The switches went haywire in the wet and the lights made night riding as adventurous as sleep-walking in Rio. It was the rear light that caused the one serious accident. At tickover it flickered on and off, so it wasn't that surprising that a speeding car didn’t see me until the last moment. The first I knew of it was screeching brakes, then a huge detonation just before I was hurled through the air. The bike was crunched and I landed heavily on my head. So heavily that I had to wear a neck-brace for a month. It was supposed to be for six months but I'd had enough of the sniggering and excessive physical abuse.

Meanwhile, the Yam was left out in the garden to rust away under the autumn rains. Rather than 26 thou it looked like it had been around the clock - twice. The wheels were also slightly out of line, corrected by the highly technical method of hitting the swinging arm with a large lump-hammer. I had to be careful, though, as the arm was very rusty. A couple of tins of rust-proof paint were thrown at the bike and bye-bye pedestrian blues. My neck was very pained for the first couple of weeks but I survived.

You may’ve gathered that I’m not the most sensitive soul in the whole world, or even Brum, but even I could tell there was something seriously amiss. The engine made some strong knocking noises, the exhaust covered whole streets in smog and the acceleration made old gits on C50s look fast. I tried to close my mind to these horrors and rode on blithely for a couple of months.

By the end, top speed was down to 40mph and fuel had increased to 45mpg. Oil consumption kept whole Arab economies turning over. I kept going until the front fork springs broke! It seemed impossible to break the engine. It seized up often but always freed when left to cool. The forks broke at about 15mph and I avoided being thrown off. Just had my groin whacked by the bars. I was so pissed off I left the rotted machine in the gutter. I doubted that there was anything I could salvage from either the engine or chassis. The clock read 33 thou. No doubt had I ridden it sedately, done some maintenance and kept the thing clean it would've lasted a lot longer.

T. Knowles

Hacking: Suzuki GN400 - first time rebuild

I came by the GNU quite by accident, really. I had commuted for some time on an XS750 triple rat bike. Due to circumstances this was sold to finance the purchase of a Honda 90, which following a change of job made way for a mountain bike. The general consensus was that my biking years were over.

The GNU, a much neglected heap of Suzuki GN400 single on an X plate, was owned by a young lad who lived further down my street. Each morning, at seven o'clock, he would rev the proverbial nuts off it as he came up the road. This alone was not enough to make me want to buy it, but my dog hated the motorcycle and on two occasions escaped from the kennel and bit the rider. It was either the dog or the bike, so I offered the owner £200 and bought it off him.

The intention was to run it until the MOT ran out and then having found out what was wrong with it, strip it down and rebuild it. I had never done this before and a simple single seemed the obvious choice for a first attempt. The MOT had two months to run and I never managed to travel more than three miles without the engine cutting out. Fortunately, it was only two miles to-work, so it was manageable.

When the ticket ran out I parked it up in the garage and left it. A sad and sorry rusting heap in the corner. I had seen more life at a funeral and towards the end the performance (I use that term in its widest sense) had become so poor it was embarrassing. The bike sat in the corner for several months and it was only after some considerable nagging from the wife that I eventually started the rebuild.

I had always thought that it was a bit rough, but only when I started to take it apart did I realise the full extent of its decay. The first thing to come off was the exhaust system. A downpipe that rattled in the cylinder head connected to a home-made baked bean can with a hole in it. This I couldn't salvage and was the first of many things that went on to the replacement list. The seat came off and the reason for the somewhat loose feel was discovered. The base had completely rotted away and a piece of numberplate was inserted - not welded or fixed. This was the next on my list of replacements. The tank was full of dents and bumps but having looked at the price of anything vaguely better, I decided that this could be repaired. The panels, battery box, cone air filter, bars, horrendous tail light fixture and rear guard all followed the seat and exhaust into the bin. Apart from at least twenty seized bolts and ten rounded heads, the rest of the strip was relatively easy for a first timer. I’m sure that some if not most of the bolts hadn't been touched for years.

There followed a period of apathy where the parts just languished in a heap. This was broken by the remonstrations of my wife about the rubbish in the garage. It was either fix it or flog it. As I could not honestly see anyone buying the heap of junk I got to work and started the rebuild. The intention had always been to do the job as cheaply as possible to test my capabilities, and to follow it with a more up-market job on something more powerful at a later date. Therefore, the only criterion was that anything went so long as it didn't cost money.

The wheels were first, having their rusted. spokes sanded and painted with Smoothrite. The rims were salvageable and were just polished. Every other part that was removable was stripped down to bare metal then undercoated and painted black. The fork legs were treated to a new set of seals, fresh oil and the bottoms painted. The first bit of good news was that the chassis bearings were all in good order and well greased. The tank was filled and painted. The 6V electrical system was cleaned, tidied, checked with a multi-meter and fitted back into the chassis.

The rolling chassis completed and back together, it was time to turn my attention to the engine. Externally it was like the rest of the bike, a bloody heap. The second bit of good news came to light when I took the top end off. The piston looked good and the bore was only very slightly marked. The cam and rockers were fine and, with the exception of 30000 miles worth of crud, the whole top end was in good fettle.

All the components were treated to a dose of cleaning, polishing, smoothing or whatever seemed appropriate. The alloy parts were painted with heat resistant paint and reassembled. The only real problem was the kickstart. This model has a rep for stripping the teeth on the kickstart and mine was no exception. The only problem was that the previous owner had welded the kickstart back on and I had to repeat the process as the spline was ruined. I had a rolling chassis with an engine in it, looking quite butch in a very lean and mean way.

The next step was to get the seat sorted. My father-in-law managed to use the rusted wreck as a pattern and I scrounged a large piece of kangaroo skin leather to cover it. The exhaust proved a little more difficult but eventually I found an American car breaker who'd bend a piece of tubing for me, using the old one as a pattern. A complete if loud silencer finished off the exhaust. Total cost so far, excluding paint, £45.

A couple of panels, battery shelf and tail unit/guard were knocked up. A new filter and bigger carb jets were next. Together with a host of other minor mods, and with the Suzuki decals missing, the bike looked totally different and very sixties British single. A sudden change of work meant the bike had to be on the road very quickly.

Several unsuccessful attempts to repair the front caliper resulted in £20 being spent on a serviceable item from a nearby breakers. An MOT test was booked, and to my immense pleasure and surprise it passed first time. I did cover up the bald patch on the rear tyre first by making sure it was at the bottom before the bike was tested.

A couple of weeks of use showed that it was now quite reliable if not inspiring in its performance. A new set of shocks (£40) and two new tyres (£70) transformed the handling - at least in the dry if not the wet. So the cost had now risen to £155. I had a good looking but somewhat slow bike that I knew from the ground up. A couple of months commuting and extensive tinkering with the carb failed to add much to the performance and only made it more difficult at tickover.

A new plug cap sorted the tickover and made hot starting acceptable if not easy. Five to ten kicks, instead of twenty and a five minute wait, I ran the bike for several months and got to know it a little better. She was great in a straight line and showed no signs of a weave at all. I’m sure the custom rake of the original bike together with the new flat bars helped this no end. She was not as good in the corners as such a slim and light bike should be, but with a lot of luck and a dose of lunacy she was able to keep up with more modern machines.

Performance was poor for the model even when brand new, the top speed was about 90mph, so when I found that on most flat roads the bike would quite happily put 85 on the clock before the vibes became a nuisance, which equated to about 7000rpm on an engine that red lines at 8000, I was pleased that it held together. When an invitation to the Bull Dog Bash was made by my brother, I was quite confident that the bike would be man enough for the trip. After all, apart from the starting and the fact that it regularly boiled the battery on a long run, she had never failed to get me where I was going. I'd even fitted a new kickstart and shaft.

The addition of a new clutch with heavy-duty springs gave me forearms like Popeye and a clutch that would never slip. I was even getting to like the thing. Loaded up and out on the motorway, I set off on the 200 mile trek to my brother’s house in Hampshire with the intention of keeping at about 65mph. Have you ever tried to ride a bike at that speed on a motorway for any length of time? Apart from the risk to life and limb from every other set of wheels on the motorway it’s so damn boring. The speed crept up to 75mph and the last 60 miles was covered at 80 to 85mph.

On arrival at his house the bike was none the worse for wear, used hardly any oil and had returned 60mpg. I was in a worse state than the bike. It most certainly wasn't what could be called a long distance tourer and it took several beers and a good chilli before I was ready for the rest of the journey the next day.

A check Friday morning revealed no major problem from the previous day’s abuse and, loaded up with beer and spirits, I set off to the Bull Dog. I was in good company. There was a very tidy T140, a Honda 1000 monster and an equally neat SR500. The journey went uneventfully and at a good speed, eighty plus. Everyone was surprised how well the little GNU kept up the speed but were not so complimentary about the noise it made. The weekend at the Bash went without a hitch and much against my better judgement I took the bike down the strip on several occasions. She put in some reasonable times and the lad on the SR had to work really hard to beat us. Several times the GNU was in front at the three-quarters stage. lt was only his top end power that got him the result.

By now i had begun to believe that the little engine was indestructible and was thrashing it everywhere. Not a thing to do on a shoestring rebuild with 35000 on the clock. I travelled home at my new cruising speed of 85mph and failed to see the tell-tale signs. I stopped for fuel and it took 35 minutes to start the bike, and then only on the third bump. This puts me in such a good mood that I thrashed her even more on the way home. I didn't go into the red but I hovered around it for quite some time. Ten miles from home a loud and ominous rattle emanated from the top end in the exhaust valve area.

I slowed down to more moderate speeds and got back home. A strip of the top end revealed a written off exhaust cam follower and some marks on the cam itself. The subsequent strip of the head was a nightmare and the drilling out of the alloy bung that retains the cam follower was the most nerve wracking job I have ever done. I succeeded, when the parts were delivered the rebuild was relatively simple. The cam was too expensive to even consider replacing so it just went back in. A couple of minor setbacks, and a training shoe full of hot engine oil later, the bike was back on the road.

I had by this stage learnt to treat it a little more considerately and continued the six miles to and from work, rain-or shine. The quality of my aerosol can spray painting began to show and I have to confess that I was getting bored with it. I neglected the cosmetics, the bike going back to the rat state.

The tyres refused to wear or bed in, no matter how hard I tried to scrub off the surface. In the dry they were just acceptable if care was taken. In the wet they were murderous if anything more than ten degrees of lean was used, doing their utmost to throw me off into or under whatever I was trying to avoid or go round. This was just about controllable in town as everyone else was skating on oily, slippery roads but out of town on normal roads it was a bloody nuisance. Several times I thought my number was up and only survived by a combination of luck, skill and nerve. The bike repaid my neglect with more electrical problems. One trip home during a foggy, cold evening was almost my last journey. At 50mph on a busy dual carriageway every bulb on the bike blew.

How I survived I don’t know and the memory still sends shivers down my spine. An examination of the electrics revealed that every component was working but I had to fit 12V bulbs and keep the revs below 5000 with the lights on, to stop a repeat explosion. The only other option was to run around in the dark with my lights off. A check with my multi-meter showed that the bike was putting out 15 volts at 5000rpm, which would explain a lot of things including my boiled battery. A check of the price of spares showed that new they would cost more than the bike and used they were almost unobtainable and probably no better than the items I was at present using.

The situation was made worse by the fact that my place of employment had now changed and the bike was doing 26 miles a day in commuting chores. I was replacing bulbs with each refill of petrol. The more careful use of the machine returned 65mpg but the open road journey drove me nuts at 65 to 70mph. I was being caught and passed by bloody learners. Only really crazy riding kept me in front of them in town.

By now I was convinced that the thing had to go. It was either that or spend a lot of money on it, which I could not justify. The next hurdle was the MOT. With a great deal of ingenuity and some inspired wiring, I managed to make everything work and the tester passed the bike first time. The fact that the horn only worked with the lights on and the indicators wouldn't work however hard I tried was overcome by taping the lights for the test.

A friend of the previous owner had monitored the rebuild and usage of the bike, and had expressed the wish to have first refusal. He agreed to pay £300 and I felt so guilty that I split the cost of the tax with him. I used it for two weeks' commuting and did a half way passable clean and tidy up of the thing prior to parting with it. My very last trip home from work coincided with some pretty impressive gales.

With the tyres and handling on wet roads, the journey was pretty terrible. On a very slow approach to a roundabout I was blown into the armco barriers and fell off in a heap. Luck was with me, both the bike and myself escaped with very little damage. When the Suzuki left I had mixed feelings. I had rescued it from the grave and rebuilt it for next to nothing. I learnt a lot in the process. It had given reasonable service and even with all its problems had never failed to get me where I was going and then get me back again. The look was different and was appreciated by most with its ration of style.

On the negative side, its performance even when allowed to breathe was poor. Its handling was acceptable in a straight line but diabolical in anything more than a moderate corner. I don’t think I would buy another even if it was a pristine low mileage example, although I have heard quite good reports about the SP/DR variations which are tuned slightly higher and would make a better commuting hack.

If you are short of height and enjoy travelling at 65mph then one might just be your cup of tea. Me, I saved up a few more notes and invested in a good condition, low mileage CB900SS Honda on a V plate. It goes, stops, runs round corners, sounds great, has loads of style and does 43 to the gallon. There’s lots to say about this one but that’s another story.

R. Sainsbury

Honda Gyro Canopy

In the UK, at least, three wheel motorcycles are forever associated with the Ariel Three. It came as something of a surprise to clock these weird trikes in central Tokyo. They looked like something that one’s grandma might safely be let loose upon. They went like shit off a shovel through the dense traffic, an excess of fun that would put the average juvenile delinquent to the test on a two-wheeler.

Just like the Ariel Three, the whole bike could be leant right over, the twin back wheels and engine remaining upright. Incredibly sharp turns were possible, much more extravagant riding that yer average two-wheeled fifty. The motive power was never going to be excessive, five horses at 6500 revs, effectively limiting top speed to around 45mph.

These trikes are not meant as fun bikes, though, but as hard working hacks that can haul fantastic loads, thanks to the combination of single seat and huge rear platform. I’ve seen things like fridges and massive TVs carted through the traffic with apparent ease. They can be tilted and turned with hardly any effort and at angles that would have normal bikes on their sides. That this splendid technology has yet to reach the UK is typically insane.

Even more so with the Canopy version. The same tilt and turn technology but with a full windscreen (and wiper) along with a roof. Stylistically this model works better than the other trikes and would surely win much praise in the wet and cold UK. I decided I had to experience one of these bikes. As they are such useful working machines buying a used one proved a massive hassle but eventually I tracked one down.

The Canopy feels much more like a rolling armchair than a conventional motorcycle, likely to win warm praise from the feet-forward fanatics. The 27.5 inch seat height makes for security but limited forward vision over the top of cars. Despite being designed for people of Japanese proportions, I didn’t feel cramped and found the ride relaxing. The all up mass of 280Ibs and unorthodox handling meant the lack of leverage from the narrow bars wasn’t a problem. If they were wider the whole styling effort would've become too pudgy; as it was,there was just sufficient width to protect me from the worst that the elements could throw at the bike.

The lack of foot controls was tempered by the simplicity of the remaining controls; just twist the throttle to go. This meant my concentration on the crazed traffic (much worse than London) was total - a real safely factor, especially if someone was coming to motorcycling for the first time. My one immediate disappointment was with the brakes which lacked power and made for some close misses until I adjusted to the amount of effort they required. They never locked up on me, very safe on wet roads.

Of course, the tilt to go feature of the bike’s the most amusing trait. I suppose that Honda designed in a huge safety factor, able to stop complete plonkers falling off. I found I could viciously flick the machine in the required direction and we'd tilt way over with all the mass over the back wheels keeping the Honda stable. Going for gaps in traffic was no problem, I was soon hustling the bike every which way. A huge smile on my face resulted at the end of each and every trip. When it rained I was in another world, although enough wind swirled around the plastic not to completely remove me from reality.

Curious to test the apparently never ending stability, I took the bike to a deserted car park where I could perform to my heart’s content. I got the bike slammed down into some incredibly tight turns, did the S-bend waltz and only managed to fall off when I slammed the bars to full lock at 30mph as an alternative to an encounter with a wall of concrete. I kept my legs inside and let the bike bounce on the plastic. The back of the canopy consists of a pair of strong steel tubes which look like they’d survive rolling the machine down a hill.

Thrashed flat out along main roads the whole bike shimmies along as if there are a few loose joints, a querulous feel that didn’t turn nasty even when subjected to a bout of bumps. Side on, the screen and roof have a minimal aspect whilst the front and rear end have an equal weight of plastic - the bike didn’t seem to mind side winds or the turbulence created by other vehicles. The stability afforded by three wheels obviously helps its cause. Once I became used to the lack of speed I found the Honda a really relaxed and a comfortable ride over a couple of hundred miles. Strange but true.

Obviously it wouldn’t work on motorways without a bigger power plant (say 125cc) but that apart it’s a rather splendid bike as interesting to experienced riders as it is easy on novices. With either a huge top box or large platform out back: it’s more practical than anything else on offer - UK despatchers would surely give an arm and a leg for one in the winter and I’m hoping to bring mine back with me when I come home. That impressive!

For those who throw up at the thought of three wheels, Honda have also created an even more stylish two wheel version with a similar screen and roof. The CS301 doesn't tilt to turn, has the motor in the middle of the chassis and more conventional suspension, albeit with the same tiny wheels that may be potentially lethal in winter - I haven't tried one yet so will reserve judgement. Both models, given congested city centres and our dubious weather, would sell very well with cagers. Honda have reinvented the motorcycle but aren't telling anyone. Well weird!

Mike Prescotte

 

Yamaha RD350LC

Fifteen years is a long, long time for a stroker to keep going. I happened to know the history of this particular RD350LC pretty well. The first few years were the usual kids with more spirit than sense. Then came conversion to race spec, lots of track madness that involved high speed crashes, seized engines and general mayhem. The RD emerged from that period completely worn out, only to be sold to my next door neighbour for a hundred notes.

He took the thing right down to the frame, replaced lots of engine bits and put the bike back to more or less stock shape. There remained a pretty wild Stan Stephens porting job, a pair of Allspeed spannies and upgraded suspension, the rear shock being a particular weak spot on the RD350, but all the stock ones would’ve been discarded by now.

In this state, with flat bars, a converted Corbin seat and rear-sets, the RD was comfortable, fast to the tune of 125mph and reliable for about 10000 miles at a time. After that kind of mileage the bores were knackered, the clutch plates warped (all those wheelies) and the mono-shock linkages shot. The only way to keep an aged RD running on the cheap was to have plenty of spares and a bit of workshop skill. Even then there was nothing that could be done about the 30 to 35mpg fuel consumption.

There was no way of knowing how many miles the RD had done when it came into my hands two years ago. Better not think about it, as six figures were involved. The motor had just been rebuilt but was running poorly. The last one had seized when a reed valve shattered and bits were drawn into the bore. Some of the pattern reeds are dubious and it’s best to stick with stock items.

The engine started and ticked over easily but stuttered from 2000 revs until a violent amount of power came in at 6000rpm. Forced as I was to take off with a massive handful of throttle, wheelies were the order of the day. Transmission looseness made subsequent gearchanges rather hit and miss (as in being hit by cars suddenly confronted by a bike wailing at 12000 revs in a false neutral and missing out on lane changes, lights and overtaking manoeuvres).

After spending loads of dosh on different grades of spark plug, sealing the exhaust joints and playing with different carb jets I decided that the carbs were at fault. My local Yamaha dealer kindly informed me that they were one of the first set ever made for the LC, therefore not exactly brilliant even when brand new. Finding a better set proved traumatic until I handed over fifty quid for a pair of late LC carbs off a crashed bike that had only done 33000 miles.

After a bit of playing around with carb jets I had an engine that ran relatively cleanly at all revs. I say relatively as some induction mismatch combined with transmission lurch provoked surges at 3000 to 5000 revs and the feeling that the carb was connected to the throttle by a couple of miles of knicker elastic. The violent explosion of power still occurred at 6000 revs, all the more disconcerting because I was never quite sure when it was going to pounce.

The chassis, in contrast, was well sorted but given a hard time. I couldn't fault the way it held a line, could be heeled over easily or braked on the racing Brembo calipers out front. New bushes, heavy-duty springs and a fork brace had the front end well sorted - better than new, in fact! I’ve never come across a bike that felt so controlled when on one wheel or with the back tyre under wheelspin. I must’ve looked a real hero when showing off.

Unfortunately all this violence had an effect on the consumables. Amongst these I must include frame, monoshock and wheel bearings - anything from 4000 to 12000 miles; they lasted to a rhyme all of their own making, though I never bought OE components. Tyres never lasted for more than 6000 miles, though why the Metz front didn’t do more defeats me as it spent half the time off the tarmac - must've been all those stoppies. Cheap chains lasted all of 3000 miles!

Expense, expense, expense... but I bought the bike dead cheap and this level of fun, extracted from some big four, would prove even more wallet shattering. As well as hurtling through London on one wheel, the bike proved able to hold 90mph on the open road. It would go faster, but its naked nature meant my arms started screaming at such abuse and my neck was almost broken by the wind buffeting.

Considering that the frame had been bent and straightened at least twice, stability was brilliant, the bike even being resistant to heavy side-winds. The 350lbs of metal would only become upset when we hit a series of bumps at speed. The whole bike rattled as the stiff suspension tried to sort itself out - the softer ride produced by the OE equipment might have helped, but I preferred the secure, sporting feel of my setup. There was extra frame bracing, a leftover from its racing days and undoubtedly the reason it felt so good.

A stock bike, especially after 10000 miles of abuse had got to the suspension, could be a bit of a speed wobbler, there being so little mass to damp out the weaves. On my bike I often burnt off much faster machines through the corners as I didn’t have any problems with the stands digging in they'd been removed a long time ago.

My bike only became dangerous when any of the bearings went. The bars fluttered in my hands or the wheels felt like they were falling out. Once, I ended up stranded about ten miles from home with both wheel bearings shot. I don't think the front appreciated the way the wheel was hammered down on the tarmac when I had to abort a wheelie session. The wobble home took two hours and left me with traumatised wrists.

One of the disadvantages of hobbling along at 5mph was that it gave the peds a chance to complain about the noise and emissions. These were always present but I never thought that the chortling at low revs was annoying but could appreciate that the screaming at 9000 revs might turn a few heads! A worn oil pump contributed to the density of the cloud that followed the bike. Startups could be especially spectacular even on ‘smoke-free’ oil.

The chassis was taken apart so frequently that it didn’t suffer from the common problem of seized in bolts or spindles. You have to watch out for rust on the engine bolts, though, as they can snap if corrosion gets a hold. I think it’s the combination of buzzing and rust that gets to them, once their fit in the engine becomes a little loose the whole engine shuffles around. It's easy enough to suss this because the petrol tank splits up from the vibes. A burnt out groin often results - a real fun machine, but this was one aspect that I didn’t experience.

One other aspect of the vibration was the ease with which the exhaust could crack up. It’s lucky I’m handy with a welding torch. I ended up with a revised mounting system, a big wedge of rubber bonded to the exhaust stay which let the silencer move with the engine rather than fight against it. Allspeeds last for about five years before the chrome does a runner if you ignore the baffling burning out (and, why not?).

I didn’t crash very heavily on the RD, perhaps because cagers always knew I was coming. I kept the appearance up with a weekly clean-up - also necessary so that I could check the frame for cracks, a not unknown calamity on aged LCs. The popularity of both the 250 and 350 models meant there were loads of bits available, plus plenty of racing stuff for those who need to get serious.

After two years and around 18000 miles I'm still impressed despite all the hassles and expense. The engine’s about due for a serious rebuild but I've already bought a rebuilt crankshaft, race pistons and barrels, new gaskets, etc. I’ve almost enough bits to build a second engine, only the complexities of the gearbox puts me off. Used stuff is very variable, from rotted stockers to hot race replicas.

They aren't for the mechanically ignorant but for cheap kicks and speed they’re very hard to beat.
Buy one if you have the chance.

Dave Grays

Loose Lines: Replica Rip-offs [Issue 63, November 1995]

Motorcycling remains one of the few ways of getting high, without becoming compulsively physically or mentally addictive, that can fit into the everyday scheme of things. Many devices from a mere 100cc up can provide an interesting turn of speed and lots of kicks, even if it’s in the form of a twisting, sliding chassis; the brittle rubber blues and fading brake rattles.

Compared with the simplicity and utility of motorcycling, most other forms of excitement require both an excess of money and effort: As well as being the only way of moving through major cities, which are practically clogged to a standstill with cars, with speed, economy and panache, the ability to arrive at work. with a mad. grin and mutinous. mind is so rare and shocking amidst a media sedated society that it's a wonder millions rather than thousands of bikes aren’t sold every year. And no surprise at all that they’ve almost been legislated and priced out of existence.

Of course, the sad, pathetic way that motorcycles have evolved helps not one bit. All too often, the resemblance to a pushbike with an engine added on lingers, with the same old exposure. to the elements and marginal fidelity to the road surface. Ever since Honda introduced, in the mid sixties, the electric start, oil tight, reliable four stroke engine, nothing much has changed other than a few details.

Service intervals are much extended with the sad exception of oil changes; a refinement no more onerous than separating gearbox from engine oil. Valve clearances, once bedded in, on many models don’t need adjusting for tens of thousands of miles. Automatic cam chain tensioners and electronic ignition just leaves carbs to balance. Just a matter of time until the latter are replaced with fuel injection or the Japanese finally figure out the cost effectiveness of the single carb.

A little more effort would eliminate the messy and costly need to have anything to do with dealers or their mechanics, make buying a bike, as a high tech purchase, no more traumatising than passing the time of day, or trading technical terms, with the salesmen in any number of High Street emporium. Given some of the unreliable, third world manufactured, electrical goods that some high profile Japanese companies palm off on unsuspecting customers (OK, I was suckered), one hopes that some other manufacturers take this enlightened approach.

Also, a raising of the stakes in power to weight ratios, taken to almost sublime heights in the CBR900, and the like. Ruined, of course, by the dim implementation of the race replica creed, the glory of the race track turning a brilliant concept as uncomfortable as a night in a Brazilian prison and as twitchy as a GSX550 on worn out tyres.

Plus a passing understanding of chassis. dynamics - that secret art that’s finally revealed itself after years of race track experience and the odd Japanese engineer who can see past the reverence for his computer screen, Even so, the handling finesse was bought at the price of shockingly short-lived and exorbitantly expensive tyres.

Running a race replica on cheap rubber's as safe as using a Russian condom in a Chaing Mai brothel, And, a whole gush of styling elements, from alloy frames to full plastic enclosures, that've prettified motorcycling whilst at the same time making it less practical. This enticing gloss under the showroom lights, far from the reality of a British winter, has turned many a head and blinded many an eye to their manifold faults.

Alloy frames don’t take well to being straightened after an accident and unless the alloy’s very expensive and exotic has to be constructed in such thick sections that it doesn’t work out significantly lighter than steel. Many an old hack, after 15 years of dutiful service, can be found with cast alloy wheels cracking up, as the effects of age and fatigue take their toll how well these alloy frames will last remains to be seen, although it’s probably beyond the imagination of most Japanese that anyone would want to ride a fifteen year old bike!

The plastic’s so shaped that the only way it’s effective is with a race replica riding position that ruins spines and makes the bike impractical in heavy traffic or at speeds below the legal limits. Whilst in an improbable racing crouch some of the wind and rain’s thrown around the rider, a lot of the time the elements are focused even more heavily upon the poor old pilot, not to mention the pillion who's often whiplashed into mumbling submission.

Only BMW have shown any willingness to experiment with designs that give both protection and style. The clue to such abandon is to keep the handlebars very narrow in width, the lack of leverage that results requiring a low centre of gravity and as little mass as possible. There’s obviously a lot of convergence in recent designs with these requirements, which will in the end turn out some useful motorcycles. Not that the nineties, or even the new millennium, calls for merely some clever detail work on existing designs.

It’s pretty obvious that all this race replica nonsense is another vein of TV inspired fantasy, a glossy collage produced by images of speed and skill that are all very well as entertainment for the almost brain dead, chained by apathy and exhaustion to their favourite armchair, but more than likely to lead to hospitalisation if indulged on the open highway by the vast majority of bikers.

The outrageous skills of the top racers can be admired from afar, but the reality of their craft means nothing to anyone other than themselves. An exploration of personal abilities that has become the mantra of the nineties, and which everyone has to explore within the context of their own particular skills.

I'm all for kicks from an excess of power and torque but, as ever, see no real reason why I should suffer for my pleasures, at least in the context of riding a motorcycle in 1998; it’s not as if the accursed plastic does much for aerodynamic efficiency and, as much a surprise as it might be to many, I really don't need the glitz of a replica to add to my image - I need a hell of a lot more than that.

After a while, after losing a lot of dosh along the way in ridiculous expenses, all this bullshit becomes a bit too excessive, rather too much of a rip-off by large corporations and their various lackeys who see motorcycling as just another facet of their huge commercial empires, having as much tolerance of the spirit of the motorcycle experience as a Yakuza gangster has for nonpayment of the huge bribes most Japanese companies have to pay to stay in business.

It may or may not amuse readers to learn that every new, and indeed used (as it keeps the business flowing), Japanese bike contains within its price a proportion that ends up in the pockets of Yippon gangsters. Despite, or maybe because, of its success Japanese society remains well and truly fucked up!

The collective way, a sort dreadful combination of all the worst elements of communism and capitalism, that Japanese society works must surely be at heart of its sourness. The strictness of the regime whereby all is well as long as the surface remains intact, a direct echo of selling their motorcycles as glossy products that however efficient and exciting somehow lack soul and spirit; an absence by its unplanned nature that actually kept people turning over their bikes at an incredible rate, given the unlikely cost, until some viable European alternatives began to turn up on the market. Will Japan drown in its own peculiar ignorance as Europe rises again? Who knows or cares!

Bill Fowler