Suzuki T500

I spent many moments in my youth drooling over Suzuki’s T500 two stroke twin. I had been very pleased with my T250, I then graduated to a T350 which was very similar to the 250 but faster. I hoped that the T500 would be the same but much, much faster. I was wrong.

A trip on a friend’s machine confirmed that my short little legs actually reached all the way to the ground when sitting on the beast. This is very useful for when you need to actually stop. I also found that despite weighing in at 420lbs the centre of gravity is so low that it is a very easy machine to push around. I can also lift it up when it’s decided to have a lie down; I don’t have to ask a man to help me.

When my T350 decided to destroy its crank oil seals, I just happened to know where there was a T500L for sale. I rushed over and purchased it. The bike was a bit scruffy but it sounded fine. It had around 19000 miles on the clock. Over the next two years I put another 20000 miles on the poor beast. It was forced to live outside but never refused to start, although it was advisable to have a copy of War & Peace to read whilst waiting for the motor to warm sufficiently for the engine to pull the bike away - I was living in the frozen North at the time...

During these 2 years the only problems I had were dicky wiring in the headlamp resulting in many blown fuses and the final drive gearbox bearing collapsing. At 40000 miles I treated the bike to a rebore. 5000 miles later the crank oil seals decided to die quietly, allowing all the gearbox oil to be sucked up into the bores, resulting in a fried gearbox. I replaced the seals and ignored the whinings from the box for two years, when the bike was used for spares after I bought a T500J.

The second bike was immaculate, but not complete. After close inspection I found that the wiring loom, crankcase oil seals and gearbox bits weren't quite so immaculate. I captured a fellow Vintage Japanese Club member and chained him to the bike for three weeks until he got it running.

Our main problem was the wiring loom. The two models had different looms so I was forced to buy a new one. We couldn’t get sparks on the right side. As an alternative to double suicide we decided to strip the covering of the main power wire. What a mess we found there. A year later when I bought a new loom for my T350 it had exactly the same problem. These Japanese must have a warped sense of humour.

The T500J decided to do exactly the same trick as his brother and drank all his gearbox oil. Result, another fried gearbox. Due to intense poverty, it was rebuilt using secondhand parts. A hundred miles later, pulling away from traffic lights, the engine complained loudly and stuck in fourth gear. This was apparently caused by the lost of a tooth on the fourth gear cog. At the time of writing, I am awaiting the arrival of new parts as I’ve decided to replace all the suspect parts. Fortunately, the engines are easy to work on, my major problem was lifting the engine back into the frame.

When the T500 was first introduced in 1967, the opinion of the day was that a two stroke engine of such size and bulk would overheat. They are, in fact, very cool running, proved back then when one was ridden through Death Valley without any problems. Lubrication is by Suzuki’s Posi-Force system, oil supplied to the rear of the cylinder and the big ends. Each oil line is fitted with a check valve to stop oil being pushed back by crankcase pressure. I had a problem on my T250 with a valve letting air in, but such small problems must be expected on 15 year old bikes. So far, I’ve had no big or small end problems, just the oil seals and the gears (a smooth five speeder when it’s working).

Power output is 47hp at 7000rpm, with a claimed top speed of 120mph, a little difficult to achieve with the original high and wide bars. Around 100mph a tingling vibration is persuasive enough to make the rider back off, but 80 to 90mph cruising with a pillion and as much luggage as can be carried is no problem. Acceleration is nippy enough for the traffic light GP. The front TLS drum tends to fade from high speeds, but is fine around town.

Straight line stability is excellent, never the slightest suggestion of a weave and resists winds very well. Bends aren’t so much fun as both bikes like to take their own lines; perhaps the fact that I’m an eight stone weakling has something to do with it - I can certainly throw the 250 and 350 around much more easily. The running costs are reasonable. 40-50mpg, which can be drastically reduced by thrashing into a headwind. The tank only holds three and a half gallons of two star, so the bike can run out of fuel when touring in remote areas.

Despite all the rumours to the contrary, spares are not a problem. The price can be. I felt sorry for myself until I saw the price of spares for new bikes. Used parts are available, but the real bargains come when a dealer decides he does not want obsolete spares cluttering up his shelves and sells them off. I bought a complete set of forks, two headlamp shells plus brackets for £25. I nearly fainted with ecstasy.

Front tyres last up to 20000 miles, although the rear can be spent in less than 5000 miles, as can chains and sprockets. These are the main source of expense in running the T500. In its day, the T500 was regarded as a bit of a workhorse despite its success out on the race track. The Honda 750-4 and Kawa 500 triple were the bikes to be seen on. The reason I bought my first one was that I needed reliable transport (have you ever tried catching a bus in Cheshire?).

At one time there were lots of T500s about, now they are a pretty rare sight and the ones that have survived, for some reasons best known to their owners, seem to be hand painted black. A decent T500 is definitely a collectors item. The models to look for are the original Cobra, a Mk 1, 2 or 3 or a J model. The L and M models are easier to get hold of and GTs are almost common black corroded ones, that is.

The only decent one I know of belongs to my brother. Once you have spent some pocket money on one of the above, all you have to do is restore it. Paying full retail for spare parts can be a bit upsetting. I know of folks who have spent £1500-2000, which I suppose is not so bad when at the end of the day you have a usable, reliable piece of classic machinery.

But when, like me, you have three bikes to keep on the road, then you can’t afford to be quite so extravagant. It helps if you are not in a desperate hurry and can wait for the bargains to appear. The original sales brochures are a useful reference and make interesting reading - I was left having a small identity crisis when one of them referred to the T500 as a real man’s bike.

Points to look for when buying a T500 are rotting cycle parts (although you'll be very lucky to find one that isn’t well rotted, unless you're buying a restored model), seized swinging arm spindles and cracked front brake drums. If it’s a runner, listen for a whining gearbox and after purchase drain the gearbox to see if there’s any oil there - the level plugs are not much help as the oil can get caught in the clutch cover giving the impression that there’s sufficient oil when there isn’t.

Early bikes had 1200cc stamped on the clutch cover, which Suzuki later decided should be 1400cc. Expect to pay between £50 and £400 depending on condition. I’m often tempted to sell mine and use the money towards a new bike, the Yamaha FZ600 being favourite at the moment - as I feel this would be a more practical way to capture my lost youth as he has a Kawasaki GPz900R.

Hilary Richards

Kawasaki KE175

I enjoy walking old railway cuttings and talking to a friend I was slightly surprised to hear that his brother had been working part time (he was still at school) for a local farmer, giving back his earnings in exchange for a green Kawasaki 175 single, a sort of on/off road bike. Apart from a 150 D7 Bantam, I hadn’t owned a decent single two stroke before. A few days later the KE came screaming along the deep cutting, clouds of dust from the clinker strewn track engulfed us as he passed. He let me try it out a little later, after rain had laid the dust to rest.

Although the engine was worn out, even then, wheelies were easy in first. Hopping on, I decided to impress them with my skills. Grabbing a handful of throttle, I almost fell off, then ran over my left foot as she screamed forward - I just about managed to stay on. I was quite impressed. As the owner didn’t have a licence, let alone insurance, the bike wasn’t used on the road (not often, anyway) and it soon started to look like a rat bike.

He used to ride it everywhere with the lights on, but when the headlamp shell collapsed, shorting out the wiring, all the lights and indicators were stripped off. A few months later the bike was knackered. He couldn’t get it to fire at all. Getting astride, I fully opened the throttle and choke, eventually enabling it to struggle briefly into life before coughing, spluttering and dying altogether.

The bike was in a mess, although he had renewed the back tyre with one from a scrapyard, which was in amazingly good condition considering how he pulled on the front brake, knocked it into first then screamed the engine until the knobbly dug itself itself into the cinder and granite chippings.

Back on his pushbike now, he offered me the bike for forty pounds, one day when he was particularly low on funds. I tried for about an hour to knock him down but was unsuccessful. Thankfully, he had kept the lights, horn, indicators, etc., which pacified me a bit. Getting the bike home, finally, I began to wonder if I’d done the right thing, or had a mere sixteen year old taken me for a ride?

Back in the shed, I first stripped the engine completely to see if it was going to be worth tackling, or would I have to find a secondhand unit? Instead of oil there was this thick, sticky, smelly stuff that resembled treacle, in the gearbox. Amazingly, the gears were OK, with not one chipped or broken tooth in sight. Not so the gearbox bearings, everyone was shot and gritty, and all the oil seals were knackered.

Before stripping the box, I had, of course, taken off the head and barrel, finding the worst wear I’ve ever seen in any engine in my life. Instead of the ring having the same wear all the way round it was reduced to about five thou at one point - the ring fell in two when I tried to remove it - the other ring was already in two pieces. What a mess, I soon realised that despite the neglect, as long as I could get a new piston, the rest would be easy. I took the bearings and seals to Edmund Walker to buy similar items. Trying to save money, I took the barrel and old piston to my local engineering works.

There wasn’t a Hepolite equivalent, so it had to be a Kawasaki item at a Kawasaki price. I took the old piston to a local Kawasaki dealer who informed me he couldn’t order an oversize piston until the engineers had measured the barrel and he recommended that I give him the barrel to send off to their usual engineers who worked to very fine tolerances.

A month later the piston was there, along with the rebored barrel. The boss was out and I was served by a YTS trainee, who admitted that the rebore had actually been done by the same engineer I'd taken the barrel to in the first place! At least the guy gave me a slightly used small-end for nothing, after I’d asked if they had any in stock - the same reborers had taken too much metal off the cylinder, making it sound like piston slap or small-end wear,

I used petrol to clean up the crankcases, barrel, head, etc. Heating up the cases in the oven and cooling the bearings in the fridge, they just fell in. The big-end, for reasons that escape comprehension, was fine. I bought a tin of black spray paint meant for exhausts and manifolds,.to paint the head and barrels. Whilst waiting for the piston I hadn’t been lazy.

Once I had confirmation that a piston was available, I stripped the rest of the bike completely, even removing the swinging arm bearings which were in excellent condition. Paint stripper was used on the chassis, rust killer followed where needed. Three coats of zinc chromate were followed by three of enamel, and then two coats of varnish.

Building it slowly but surely, I didn’t miss out such things as fork seals or steering head races. New cables, a secondhand set of shocks (a bit on the soft side for my 13 stone) and exhausts that were burnt out and caustic soda’d, all helped to speed the rebuild along. When it was all back together, the bike started well but would not rev. Great dollops of oil kept flying out of the exhaust, all over the recently blacked back tyre and newly polished rim. Why?

The engine had to come out and be stripped eventually. I kept thinking about leaking oil seals or a leaking crankcase for some reason. These bikes have the carb mounted on the side of the engine inside the casing because of the rotary valve induction. With the air cleaner right under the seat the bike can be, and was, driven through water two feet deep without missing a beat.

Racking my brain for a complicated answer that was beyond me, I suddenly realised that I'd fitted the rotary valve on back to front - I soon had it running well, after putting in new oil seals in case any had been damaged in the strip. I took it gently, gradually building the work load up. It was soon apparent that the bike needed new clutch plates - all those wheelies had left them well worn.

At one time, I thought I wasn’t ever going to get any lights working. My brother, an electrician, helped me strip off and rewind the lighting coils on the stator. It was then that we found that the only wire we had handy was made out of aluminium; we carried on regardless, crimping the connections in place of solder. Because the voltage regulator was burnt out and a new one cost £36, we took off a few coils of wire from the stator to stop the bulbs blowing at speed due to voltage surge. It worked.

The old headlamp was beyond repair so I used one from a Yamaha 175, resprayed I could not tell the difference. A set of gaiters set the front end off a treat. The saddle was a rusty lump of soaking wet foam rubber and rotting plastic cover. An hour in the phone box soon convinced me that they were hard to come by. The base was almost split in half, I pop riveted the halves together then welded the crack, a seat cover was added to finish the job off. The chain and sprockets had been replaced by the previous owner, so that saved some money, but I had to buy a battery to make the horn work for the MOT.

I was finally satisfied. The bike looked good and ran well. I still don’t know why, but I tired of the bike. I hadn’t even run it in fully. I suppose I was trying for so long and working myself so hard on the project, that once it was finished it became an anti-climax - the bike having shown me all its hidden depths and secrets; there wasn’t anything else to discover. It became just another bike to me, I suppose.

Parts had cost me just under the two hundred mark, including the purchase price and all the legalities to put it on the road. I can’t now believe my slight relief at finally selling it for a hundred and eighty pounds.

David Dale

Yamaha XS400SE

I could not believe my eyes - my 14 year old CB175 was gone. Someone with only a quarter of a brain had nicked it. Four days later I was called to the police station to identify the wreckage. It had an extra 500 miles on the clock - the whole street must have been using it. Sadly the engine was seized up and the rest of the bike had been vandalised.

The 16 year old tea had 12 other previous convictions for thefts - do you think that 5 hours community service was justice? [Wiring up such scum to the mains would be too kind - 2022 Ed.] While in this state of shock I was offered an A-registered Yam 400 Custom with only 2000 miles on clock; the price was so low that, like fool, I bought it without seeing the decaying beast. The bike had been stored in a shed for a few months. The engine didn’t rotate, and if the chrome shone, the alloy and paintwork most certainly didn't.

The spark plugs creaked and groaned as I removed them from the head, terrified that one would snap off. Two friends with a combined mass of 32 stone managed to get the engine to over after I'd poured in a few gallons of releasing fluid. Even more oil and my 10 stones can do it too.

Much to my surprise, the motor started and ran OK. Naturally the silencers fell off due to an excess of rust. Many amusing hours were spent hammering and swearing a Motad two into one into place; lt. was so warped by the time I finished that I wrote Motad a letter, but received no reply. Tut, tut.

I was going to paint the poxy engine alloy in black Hammerite, but the boss was on holiday, giving me the chance to train the two YTS kids in the art of engine cleaning using Brillo pads. I also junked the ape hanger style bars in favour of those from a Honda 250. The bike was taking shape, albeit a funny shape to many eyes.

I soon loosened up the engine commuting back and forth to work. The SOHC twin cylinder engine has quite strong low down power, a fairly decent top end and gives around sixty to the gallon. The camchain is self adjusting, in 7000 miles I haven’t had to adjust the tappets, although if I don’t adjust the ignition timing every month the last 800rpm disappears in top gear. It does vibrate though, not as bad as a Triumph, but a similar type of vibration as a Brit bike, not so surprising as the engine has no balance shaft.

The controls are really good and neat touches are the self-cancelling indicators and dirt protector on the clutch cable. Bad point is the sloppy fit of the rubber mounted footrests - I just can’t get used to the way they flop around. The calipers keep seizing up despite application of Copaslip. The paint is cheap and nasty, peeling off.

For three days I commuted 220 miles a day without any problems. High cruising speeds got the fuel down to a mere 50mpg. Nothing broke or fell off and the bike used no oil. I don’t use a fancy, overpriced motorcycle oil but use the same 15/40W oil that we use in our fleet of diesel trucks. I know that bike oil is overpriced because I order oil for the trucks at work and know the technical reps for the oil companies - don’t buy oil from a bike shop unless you’ve more money than sense.

The rear chain lasts for a mere 6000 miles, points last for about 10000 miles and it’s a lot cheaper to fit Champion N7Y spark plugs at 99p for four from all good car shops. Although I’m well past the first flush of youth, and I know I shouldn’t do it, but such is the power spread of the XS400 engine that I go looking for cars to race; highly stupid but great fun.

It’s a strange looking bike, 16" back wheel, King & Queen seat, peanut tank and flat bars, but it has a distinctive sound, will cruise at 80mph two up, even handles quite well as long as you’re not too stupid and is generally good fun to ride. Fun can on occasion turn to fright when the strangeness of the steering geometry intrudes into the usual reasonable stability, usually a result of something touching down when leaned over or hitting a series of bumps on the softly sprung suspension. But, the combination of relatively mild power and a mass of around 400lbs makes it a case of being easily corrected with a bit of muscle or, for the brave, hanging on until it straightens itself out.

One bad point is that bits are hard to find and not interchangeable with the much more common XS250. Overall, I’ve bought much worse bikes for much more money so I’m not going to complain.

William Gould

Suzuki RG500

The Suzuki RG500 is a remarkable machine in the Japanese sense, shunning the numerous updates, re-vamps and model changes that are synonymous with oriental machines. Seemingly ageless, the RG500’s spec manages to remain up-to-date and it surely must be among one of the longer surviving models currently on the market, and one destined to become a classic. In my opinion the RG500 was a machine before its time, as only today do we have other mid-range sportsters with the speed, handling qualities and performance which could threaten the supremacy of this true race replica.

I first rode the RG500 in March 1986, an impressive machine, yes, but one that was not terribly well suited to road riding - oiling up quickly in heavy traffic and wheelie-ing away from junctions at the slightest provocation! However, after a diet of modern four stroke 600cc sportsters during this summer, I thought it would be interesting to return to the RG500 to see if it is still the ultimate race replica.

I was gratified to see that yet again the specification is generally unchanged - the familiar engine, a compact unit with oversquare bore and stroke of 56x50.6mm. Utilising separate cranks enables the engine to be shorter and mounted lower, reducing the centre of gravity and thus improving handling. The battery, a sealed for life unit, situated under the large 4.8 gallon tank, also helps weight distribution. Four flat slide carbs (that improve throttle pick up) sit either side of the engine and breathe through an airbox located inside the large cast steering head.

Suzuki still proudly proclaim AEC (Automatic Exhaust Control) on the side panels, a performance aid that basically diverts some of the exhaust gases into a torque- boosting chamber at low to mid-range speeds, but from 7500rpm an electric valve shuts, sending the gas straight into the pipes giving better top end power. With power output at 77.2bhp @ 9500rpm and a top speed of 149mph, the RG is still faster than the CBR/GPZ/FZ600s. Surprisingly, the RG peaks at lower revs than any of the new four stroke multis!

Unlike many modern machines, with their complex and inaccessible motors, the crankcases are split through the main bearings to actually ease engine dismantling/maintenance. The gearbox is mounted into the side of the engine; the motor can be stripped without disturbing the box, and vice versa.

It can also boast a true alloy frame, as opposed to lookalike painted steel, being a mixture of cast and extruded aluminium, multi-ribbed for extra strength with a smaller gauge aluminium sub-frame welded to the box section, twin down tube frame. All helping to keep the mass down to an incredible 340lbs. Changes to the model are really cosmetic, however one definite plus is the ignition mounted steering lock - the 1986 steering lock could be snapped off with ridiculous ease. Conversely, I’m none too enamoured with this year’s paint job, the patches of colour detracting from the natural lines of the machine.

I remember the trepidation with which I approached the 1986 RGS00; one of the few machines to reduce me to a cold sweat before testing. With the 1987 model, the magic has tarnished a touch. A trick of the memory? A surfeit of the latest superb little handlers? Maybe, but the newer bike didn’t seem to handle so sharply and the tyres (Metzelers instead of Michelins) proved a touch twitchy. Whilst the motor retained its impressive power characteristics, acceleration and surprising flexibility, the motor did not feel quite so crisp. It appeared slightly higher geared than the 1986 model, and lacked the punch at the 8000rpm power band.

In fact, the gearing was such that the machine ran out of speed before it ran out of revs. Prone to oiling up quickly, only after repeated efforts to clean out the system would the bike pull cleanly through the rev band, albeit leaving a blue smoke trail as dark as the paintwork. Stopping is just as impressive as ever, but the anti-dive system still has to be set on 4 (the hardest setting) to attain optimum front end stability.

Neither has the rather cramped racer riding position changed - acceptable for short distance work, though becoming tiresome on long journeys, but at least there is none of the vibration of many latter day fours. Similarly, the switchgear and white faced clocks, with the rev counter, er, starting at 3000rpm are previous issue.

Thankfully, it was always a first kick starter, as this proved a precarious operation - the high set kickstart necessitating standing on both footpegs to manage a good swing. Unfortunately, the spindly and highly over sprung side stand gave no confidence so an iron grip was needed on the front brake to prevent bike and rider toppling over.

At a price of £4000 new, the RG will probably lose sales to the cheaper, more up-to-date machinery, such as the CBR600 or GSX600F, but for some people there’s no substitute for ancestry and a race proven design, nor indeed the sheer charisma of riding a Gamma, the sound of that howling two stroke motor pure magic.

Rosemary Marston

Yamaha SR500

OK, I confess, I own an SR500 (snigger, snigger). I mean, someone has to, don’t they? It all happened a few months ago, when having sold my Z650 whilst short of a few readies, I was in need of a cheap, reliable bike for transport, purely to and from work. It was then that a friend of a friend put me onto the SR. W-reg, just over 17000 miles on the clock; it had to be worth a look, for the price was right, around £350. Having briefly ridden an XT500 I recalled being mildly impressed with its low down grunt.

As it was early November and early evening I first examined the bike under the glare of fluorescent lights in the guy’s garage. I knew then that if it sounded alright and ran OK, I'd buy it. It was the later version, with cast wheels and black and red tank. It appeared well looked after, save for the once chrome exhaust that had been painted matt black. It was stock except for the addition of a fully enclosed chaincase and a rack.

There appeared to be a definite knack to starting the beast. There was lots of fiddling with the choke, application of the decompressor and lining up the kickstart with the mark in the window in the cylinder head. Several hefty kicks had the garage walls shaking when she roared into life.

A quick blast down the road and I was hooked. I hustled the price down to £300 and was soon thumping my way home through the chill of the night. My immediate impression of the bike was the power of the headlamp, I had the distinct impression that if I flicked onto main beam the car in front would melt away; never have I ridden through the darkness with so much confidence.

After arriving home safely my problems didn’t begin until I had to get the beast started early the next morning. And I mean early, for I had to be at work by 6.00am. The combination of my inexperience with the starting technique, the incredible cold of our winter mornings and my less than awake state meant that it could often take twenty minutes to get her to fire up. I had to get up an hour before I was due in work, togged out in thermals and waterproofs, leaping up and down on the kickstart. There had to be an easier way.

It was quite by chance that I saw an earlier version parked outside the local tyre depot. I wandered in and soon found the owner who passed on some useful tips on starting. I can now get her to start first or second kick (usually), but I’m not going to pass these on as I think you should all learn the hard way for a while.

As the weeks passed I gradually became accustomed to the SR’s little ways. The rear indicators had a certain habit of unwinding, despite lock nuts. There were lots of vibes that if they didn’t eventually dissolve into the background never really injured the rider.

The engine also had a thirst for oil and if you didn’t pour in half a litre every 150 miles then the motor would soon run dry. I became so fed up with the rear indicators trying to fall off that I junked them, resorting to good old hand signals.

Despite the thirst for oil and the vibration, the amount of maintenance required has been minimal and the reliability so far, excellent. If the motor has a reputation for burning out its piston, ruining its valve gear and very expensively destroying the CDI unit, I’m happy to say that I’ve never experienced them.

Although the engine knocks and rattles from within, not to mention the anti-social roar from the exhaust (rumour has it Massey Ferguson will be suing for copyright of the sound), the bike can still deliver some useful performance. Whilst not the latest in Jap high technology, it still pulls strong and hard right up to 85mph when power tends to disappear and vibration, er, intrudes rather fiercely. The lack of top end is little problem - after all, I did buy the bike as an amusing means of commuting to work rather than as a street racer.

The ride can only be described as average. At least there were a set of Konis on the rear (although I couldn’t adjust them as there wasn’t a C spanner available). The front forks were as firm as my bathroom sponge. The whole plot was held together only by an odd combination of decent rubber - a Roadrunner on the front and rear Arrowmax. Whilst far from light for a 500 single developing just 32hp, the 350lbs are evidently well distributed and the centre of gravity relatively low, for despite the limitations of the suspension, the bike can be heeled right over in the dry until the footpegs start scraping up the tarmac.

Things are not so happy in the wet when the back end becomes twitchy, set off by something as minor as white lines. Initially, I found that this was a little unnerving, but since nothing worse appears to happen, it’s quite in order to ride through the twitches, safe in the knowledge that there isn’t all that much mass around to throw things out of joint. In a straight line, up to 85mph, nary a weave intrudes.

Maintenance has been limited to changing the spark plug (somewhat essential if you want to start it first time) and adjusting the tappets (well we all feel guilty about neglecting motorcycle maintenance from time to time, don’t we?).

I was quickly converted to the wonders of full chain enclosure when I realised that the chain was probably going to outlive the engine and required decidedly infrequent attention, thanks to its removal from the usual road grime.

The rear drum brake arm did seize up once but was soon freed by emptying a can of WD40 in approximately the right area. The only real hassle occurred when the throttle cable snapped. It took several days to find a new one and that was nearly an inch too short. This was solved by junking part of the complex closing and opening array of cables, just leaving the opening half - the spring fitted to the carb was sufficient to close the slide and no problems have been encountered with this set-up so far.

Short cables are, I understand, not uncommon even when the right part number has been used - so take your old one with you to. check lengths. Fuel is not exceptional, averaging around 55 to 60mpg, tyres last around 8000 rear and 12500 miles front... with the lack of other expenses it works out as commendably cheap to run. It stands outside all year with no form of protection and gradually decays.

Much to my surprise, I’ve developed a feeling of respect, fondness and confidence in its ability. It’s actually now become the bike I’ve owned for the longest time, which for an old £300 thumper must be pretty good going.

Martin Crowe

Travel Tales: CB250RSA to France

You’re in a bar, it’s Friday night, you’ve had a few beers and it’s the middle of winter. The conversation of your mates drifts on in the background and you start to imagine the coming summer. Warm days, less rain, no snow (if we’re lucky), dry roads. Then, as you've had a few drinks you start to babble on about how great it would be to go to France on your bike, informing everyone about the cheap wine, beautiful countryside and much better weather.

All this is quite harmless, of course, as you know none of your mates have bikes any more and the idea of going two-up on an RS is out of the question. However, in February 1987 I was caught out when a friend declared that he’d like to go to France and couldn’t see why we’d need anything bigger than the RS. After all, he’d been on the back when we went to the coast (all of 12 miles), hadn’t he?

I had to agree to the trip. I was sure he’d back out before the departure date in June. As the year wore on I realised he was set on going, so I sent for my passport and green card. I also borrowed a pair of saddle bags and fitted a rack to the RS. My mate claimed that he had a tent and that we would not need sleeping bags because it was so much warmer over there. I’m still trying to decide who was the most stupid of us, he for saying it, or me for believing it.

The steed for this jaunt was my Y-reg CB250RSA. It had about 10000 miles on the clock, two decent tyres (TT100s) and a cheap handlebar fairing. I bought the bike as a two year old, from a chap with a broken leg, for £325. It only had three thou on the clock and was immaculate. I change the oil every 1000 miles, and every 3000 miles clean the oil filter and adjust the tensioner balance chain.

As we live in Newcastle, we decided to go from Hull to Belgium rather than ride down to Dover. At the AA office the ferry was fully booked, but we were told that we could probably get a passage if we turned up at the docks in Hull, as there were always cancellations.

The day arrived, I loaded my gear and tools into the saddle bags, my friend had a rucksack and the tent was bungeed onto the rack. The bike still had the original shocks, but I hoped they would take it. The trip began well, it was actually sunny in Newcastle, but by the time we hit Leeds the sky was becoming grey; but our momentum gathered pace the nearer we came to leaving behind British weather.

In Hull, the booking clerk said the ship was fully booked but for the same money (£40) we could go to Rotterdam instead. The plan was immediately changed, it was now down to riding from Holland to Belgium to France and then back to England. It didn’t look that far on the map.The ferry was full of German and Belgian bikers going home after the TT. My bike was the smallest and had the most miles to cover. The ferry sailed at night, there was a bar, cinema and a free four course meal and breakfast.

It was raining when we arrived in Holland. After clearing Customs with no problems (there was nothing in England worth smuggling into somewhere like Amsterdam, after all), there was the minor matter of riding on the wrong side of the road. This was not made any easier by the downpour that was heavy enough to make seeing any of the road difficult and I had to suffer the inconvenience of riding with my visor up.

It took three attempts to find the right road for Antwerp. I stopped at the border to change money, although the two countries have an open border and there’s usually no need to stop. I checked the oil, but as always it needed no topping up. By the time we reached Antwerp the sun was shining and it was quite an impressive place, especially if you like beer. Hundreds of colourful cafes with seats outside and lots of old buildings made it a friendly place.

We hit the motorway again, after half an hour saw a sign for a camping site and turned off. As we had no sleeping bags we had to sleep with our coats on - I never want to sleep in a Barbour jacket again. The site cost £3 for the night, had showers and a bar cum cafe.

Things didn’t look A1 in the morning, the sky was grey and there was such a strong head wind that the RS could only manage 55mph flat out and I later discovered that it had averaged 45mpg. Then it started to rain, the one thing we had come all that way to escape. My, my, I was having fun.

Northern France is probably very nice if the sun is shining but it was pissing down and I was pissed off. I did note that there were graveyards everywhere in Northern France, from two World Wars; driving through them in the pouring rain was a little spooky. Any warmongers or sabre rattlers out there should try the trip.

We found another campsite. It took a while to suss out the toilets, at first glance they look like a shower with a big drain in the middle of the floor, the smell, however, will educate the ignorant. It continued to rain so we headed for Boulogne and home, a large number of wine bottles stuffed around the RS compensating to some extent for the awful weather.

The RS never missed a beat on the whole 900 mile trip. My only complaint was the very uncomfortable seat (the pillion complained as well). The only tools I used were the ones needed to adjust the chain, but as I’m a bit paranoid I did take enough to rebuild an engine. These experiences have not put me off France, I intend to go back next year, only this time I’ll take a sleeping bag with me.

Paul Gould

Hacking: MZ ETZ250

Both my wife and I own Honda Benlys, each pushing 20000 miles and each disintegrating fast. After my rear mudguard snapped off due to rust - and was replaced with a MZ item that looked much too sporty - we decided to combine the good parts of both bikes into one machine for my wife, having a large array of free parts to keep it running on the minimum of money.

The bank manager was persuaded to part with two hundred notes and after three weeks of fruitless searching my brother informed me that a friend had a high mileage, gently ridden MZ250 for sale at £150. I was not overjoyed at this prospect but, as it happens, my local dealer told me later that he’d done £100 worth of repairs on the bike and despite the mileage it was definitely worth the money.

A phone call to my brother and the machine was sitting outside the house awaiting my inspection. 23186 miles, a holed seat, paintless tank. On the test ride the petrol cap flew off and the back brake lever fell off the first time I applied it. I was not over the moon, but decided that at this price I couldn’t lose, particularly as it came with two manuals, a full tool kit (have you ever seen one, some garages are not as well equipped) and a carrier that didn’t fit the MZ but fitted the Benly a treat.

My early misgivings proved to be entirely unfounded. Alright, it’s an MZ so it looks funny, sounds funny and causes all and one to go into hysterical fits whenever they see it, but since when have the looks of a motorcycle ever been any guide to its true worth?

I think it’s a great bike and a distinct improvement on the old TS250, if only in the braking. The old rear drum is still there, actuated by a long lever that allows you to lock the wheel with absurd ease. The dodgy front drum has been dumped in favour of a very powerful single Brembo disc a pretty fearsome tool that’s literally a two finger job, if you will pardon the expression. If you're silly enough to pull in the clutch and give the brake a real handful, then you'll probably break your jaw on the speedo.

The other great improvement is the 12V electrics. My bike had a very bright Cibie unit glued (yes folks, glued) into the headlamp shell. The winkers are also bright but erratic - in daylight they flash too slowly, in the dark with the lights on and the engine revving fast, they blink like things possessed.

The gearbox - still clunks alarmingly and is rather stiff, whilst locating neutral is as likely as my buying a new bike. Unless you have size 14 boots, the gear lever is of a ridiculous length and I’ve had to shorten mine by two inches to obviate the need to move my heel onto the footrest. The crankshaft mounted clutch is light but takes a while to take effect. The lack of engine braking was highlighted by a ride on the wife’s GS450. All criticisms but nothing that you can’t learn to live with given time and experience.

The bike does have all the traditional qualities. While all of the paint seems to be leaving the tank, all the black bits are painted to a very high standard and the chrome is of a standard I’m yet to experience on Jap bikes. Even the mudguards do their job wonderfully well, especially in comparison to the skimpy items fitted to the GS.

My biggest disappointment has been the fuel consumption. I'd expected an average of 60mpg but it has gone down to 45mpg; lowering the carb needle back into its correct position improved economy to 50mpg. Given the low purchase cost I can’t really complain too loudly (but I do).

The cost of spares is truly amazing. Piston rings at 35p, a complete gasket set for a couple of quid, gears about £3 each, although a new piston does cost £20. Fitted with a decent set of tyres, the handling is superb. There is so much ground clearance and the rear suspension is so solid that it can be banked over as far as you dare with nary a twitch.

Perhaps the single feature that creates envy in old Nippon is the totally enclosed rear chain. All such systems on Jap bikes seemed designed to end up as totally enclosed water baths, but this one really works. The chain requires minimal maintenance and can last up to 20000 miles and the sprockets are still original.

If it doesn’t start, clean the plug and check the petrol and it should go. It’s that simple. My happiness has recently evaporated, however, when bound for Peterborough, as I changed down, there came a series of noises like pistol shots from my engine and a great deal of graunching and grinding. I rode the eight miles to home with a large daughter on the back at a slow 35mph.

The problem was perplexing as most of the noises came from the gearbox; it was still running OK even if it was missing gears. I decided to have my local dealer rebuild the box, knowing that he’d do the job as cheaply as possible and recalling that my last rebuild took absolutely ages as I had to do everything three times because I kept forgetting which way around things went.

The bearing on the right hand side of the layshaft had broken up and deprived the layshaft of any support. It had waved around inside the gearbox, leaving the bearing housing, er, oval. The gears, surprisingly, were still usable, However, the big-end showed signs of wear, both halves of the crankcase needed replacing and all the bearings had ingested bits of layshaft bearing. The final bill would come to £200.

While I was pondering this, the dealer came up with a complete, brand new bottom end for £175 plus VAT. The total bill came out to slightly less than £250 and I’m very pleased with the result. I’m at present still running the beast in, a most unpleasant task I find, but am well pleased with what is, as near as dammit, a new bike for about £400 total outlay and which should be good for several more years at least.

There is nothing wrong with the cycle parts, apart from a few cosmetics and a slight bump in the front wheel, and so I am prepared to soldier on with the ETZ250 now until it self destructs again.

Paul Johnson

Hacking: Suzuki GT185

My mate was moving house and I jokingly suggested that I use his X7 Suzi through the move - surprisingly he took up my generous offer. Did I know it needed a new rear tyre, MOT and a bit of checking over? OK, how long could keep it - until they settled down in the new house; great, he even paid for the rear tyre.

This, then, was my reintroduction to motorcycling after an absence of 20 years. My last machine was a 225 Francis Barnett. The X7 proved to be abut three times as powerful, two thirds of the mass and about ten times the brown trouser effect. I was approaching forty and an X7 after 20 years can't be recommended except as a somewhat expensive cure for constipation, but I loved it.

After 400 miles the bug had bitten and by giving all the family lifts for short trips out without mishaps, I persuaded the wife I wasn’t past it and she released some funds to buy a suitable ride to work machine.

The GT185 appeared in the local paper at 150 notes, a bit dear but worth a look. However, the phone number did not answer, even after several tries. After a week, no other bikes were advertised, so I tried the number again, this time I got a reply. He only lived a mile away; the wife came along to make sure her money wasn’t wasted.

It looked good apart from a rusted front guard. It had a new rear Mandrake, new chain and sprockets, new battery, started and ran well with 14000 miles on the clock and he also claimed to have done a decoke. A test ride found a stiff clutch, sound gearbox, it drove well, went straight with hands off but suspension was a bit soft at each end. I bought it.

The next day close inspection and a clean revealed a cracked RH engine casing - a few phone calls found a replacement at the local breakers for £8. Lots of lubricant was liberally applied throughout the bike, a new set of pattern points, and two spark plugs were fitted.

I ran it for 1500 miles in all weathers and found the front Jap tyre as bad as reports suggested - an Avon 180 Supreme transformed the handling, especially in the wet. With 16000 miles on the clock the rear shocks were shot and replaced, via the breaker, with a Honda set for £8.

By 17000 miles I’d bought a workshop manual and checked the timing with a home made depth gauge (hollowed out plug and piece of silver steel) and bulb across the points. I only did this once in three years and had no problems with starting or hot running.

I tried to cure the clutch by fitting a new cable, but this didn’t help the drag, apparently endemic to this model. I drilled another pivot hole in the operating arm to increase movement, accepting the increase in resultant clutch lever pressure. Although it improves matters a little, it is not the cure, perhaps the friction plate material expands when hot and new plates would correct this annoying fault and make it possible to find neutral at a standstill.

During the time I owned this bike, some of the 7000 miles were during the period laughingly referred to as summer (you know, when the rain is warm) and quite a few long trips were undertaken. Well, my backside felt they were long anyway, about 175 miles was my endurance limit, partially due my six foot height. However, I enjoyed them all, except when having the rear tyre re-profiled by Cretina drivers, running their bumpers under the top box.

The GT has been replaced by a XS250 that I’d rebuilt over the winter. The Suzi is still running six months after I sold it. I found it a very enjoyable and reliable bike and have no real complaints.

Derek Anstey

No Other Love Have I

I fell in love with motorcycles at the age of three, when I saw despatch riders controlling convoys during the last war. I wanted one to the extent that it would forever eclipse toy trains. I waited for years before trying to consummate my love with a 25cc Cyclemaster motorised rear wheel bought as a basket case. My suit was rejected as it never rewarded me by starting.

My path to fulfilment lay with other noxious, malodorous machinery, another Cyclemaster and a Minimotor which drove against the tyre, ripping off the tread. The first real motorcycle to come my way was a Norton 16H of 1932 vintage. It had a kickstart and a positive stop foot gearchange of early design. The machine was complete, clapped out but running. Once started, nothing would stop it, least of all the rudimentary brakes.

The army introduced me to the BSA WD M20, which I had adored all those years ago in the war. Our formal introduction showed me that I had charge of a game old bird whose beauty had faded but beneath the green all-enveloping paint bore a striking resemblance to my late Norton. It was on this old girl that I passed my driving test - in those days you could learn on as large a bike as you could get hold of. The army driving test was more exacting than the civilian one as the examiner followed the examiner round on another machine, usually a Matchless G3 with the luxury of oil damped telescopic front forks.

I celebrated by buying a six year old Excelsior 125, which was a reliable little workhorse with the performance of a Honda 50. When it died I gave its remains away. Some years later I saw someone trying, without success, to bump start it. It appeared unchanged and probably had not run since I last used it.

Disenchanted with two strokes, I looked for a four stroke and came upon a BSA C10L side valve 250. It was very tidy with low mileage. I found the cylinder head gasket blew frequently because the alloy head expanded at a different rate to the iron barrel, and scrubbing occurred. It seemed an unlikely explanation but the barrel was true and a new head failed to rectify the problem. Marriage and a family brought me a combo in the shape of a Panther 600 of 1951 vintage. This machine was fitted with Doughty Oleomatic forks which provided adjustable springing to compensate for load by inflating the forks with a tyre pump until the correct attitude was attained. A snail cam on the rear axle made chain adjustment easy.

I was offered a BSA B33 with a Watsonian Avon sidecar on a VG21 chassis. This was two years older than the Panther but it had been extensively rebuilt and I knew its recent history. I swapped the VG21 chassis for a sprung Canterbury chassis which suited the plunger frame of the motorcycle, producing an outfit which handled beautifully. I drove it for a year, flat out wherever possible. It always returned 50mpg.

A friend told me of an immaculate AJS Model 18S that was stored in a garage. I commenced negotiations and £18 changed hands. The forks and rear Jampots were filled with thicker oil and the sidecar hitched up. I was never as happy with the handling as I'd been with the BSA, nor was it as economical but it ran so smoothly and looked so well that I was content except for the two normal faults common to the marque. The primary chain case leaked like the proverbial sieve and the bracket for the exhaust fractured under the steady vibration of the big single, allowing the exhaust to fall out of the cylinder head. Noisy!

Next, a professional relationship with a BSA A65 and a Triumph Saint became impossible, so I graduated to a car. The A65 was a chunky machine which vibrated at high frequency, shedding various parts and causing metal fatigue in carriers and mirrors. Its moderate performance was further restricted by the fitting of a fairing which was designed in such a way that the inner panels, which should have directed cooling air to the engine, restricted the exit of air. The pocket of trapped air soon heated the engine up so that it ran very hot, and on one occasion caused the oil pump to fail with expensive consequences. The Triumph was a quicker and smoother ride. I found it a great improvement on the BSA, though they had in common 6V glow worms and shared a similar SLS front brake.

My motorcycling ended at the same time as the British industry went into terminal decline. The factories just didn’t bother to uprate the machinery and were soon left looking dated by the advance of Japanese engineering, unlike the car industry which progressed with better engines, lights, brakes, styling, etc.

Euan MacLean

Design, Decay and Destruction

Long ago, so we are constantly reminded by people like Bob Currie, motorcycles were infinitely rebuildable, limited in their potential lifespan only by the willingness of their owner to rip out worn bits and substitute them with universally available spares. It was unheard of for a manufacturer to cease making spares for a model, and any spotty oik could fathom the secrets of the simple and straightforward construction.

Balls, I hear you mutter, but it has to be admitted that there’s more than a little truth in it one has only to compare even recent examples of British machinery to the most simple and straightforward Japanese bikes to understand something of vital importance to the secondhand buyer: design means nothing outside the context of an engineering environment.

What does this mean? Let’s look at two typical machines. First, a 1955 Coventry Thunderflash - 650cc vertical twin, iron barrels, iron frame, you know the kind of stuff. They were made in enormous quantities and the engine was a development of an earlier 500cc engine with many common parts, whilst chassis parts are interchangeable. The electrical system was so basic that the voltage regulator from an Austin 7 worked. All the parts that are easily damaged are readily available because they are shared with other manufacturers.

The 1987 Yamaki 600 single, however, is a different kettle of fish. Despite its superficially simple spec - only one cylinder - it might as well be an RE5 for all the interchangeability it offers. Machines like this have no common spares with others outside their brand, and precious few inside it. The 600 is totally different in most respects to last year's 550 and has little connection with even earlier versions.

The electrical system is so complex that most auto electricians refuse to work on it, and the large number of sealed units mean that even the gifted amateur stands no chance. The battery is tailored exactly to the machine, the CDI likewise; drop it, and you'll find that only Yamaki levers fit the pivot bodies, only Yamaki indicators have the same lenses... does it all sound familiar?

The reason for this depressing state of affairs is the engineering environment in Japan. This is universally market geared, designers are given no constraints to work within as the weight of promotion and the state of the market, coupled with the availability of cheap finance and the rise in disposable income of the average buyer in the last twenty years guarantee that this years model will sell like hot cakes as long as it’s a bit faster or tricker than last years. There is currently no reason at all to build durable motorcycles, let alone establish standards within the industry for certain components.

You can’t blame the Japs for doing this - they are in business to make money, something the British never really admitted, but if you’re planning to buy a used bike with a view to doing it up, it’s essential to understand this fundamental attitude, and realise that bikes are built to thrill not last, these days.

So where does this leave the buyer? Well, there are certain machines which boast better levels of interchangeability than others, and it’s a good idea to find out which ones they are. All BMWs have a high level, but the cost of new parts are breathtaking, though there are specialist BMW breakers. Triumph, BSA, Enfield et al all use Lucas, Delco and Dunlop bits, and the majority of their accessories can be interchanged. Even exotica like Guzzi and Laverda use bits by Bosch, Hella and others. All of these firms publish catalogues for the auto electrical trade, and your local auto electrician may be able to supply many bits at a lot lower cost.

Amongst the Japs, late 70’s Yams had a certain number of bits that fitted other Yams, but major accessories were still all different. It’s interesting to note that one of the best bikes for replacement bits is the new Matchless as it’s more or less made up from a collection of bits out of the parts catalogues. Part of the problem with used Japs is that in trying to keep them going beyond a certain time, you are doing something they weren't designed for - and you can expect no help from the factory. It may be worth paying a bit extra for a higher quality European bike that can be refitted ad infinitum with used bits or substitutes.

Paul Callomon

Life and Laws

Whilst I agree that the majority of people have to be protected from their own foolishness and indeed I myself fall heavily into this category, I still believe that the average person should be allowed a certain freedom of choice. Every day we hear of new legislation concerning motorcycling. Some of the changes are sensible and others ill thought out - it’s these laws I'd like to comment on.

A great many people were caught out by the Great Visor Fiasco, not to mention the various dealers who were left with large stocks of the old visors on their shelves - no known suicides were reported but who knows? According to the new visor law you do not have to wear a visor at all, but if you do, it had better be one with the correct BS standard marking, otherwise a roadside beating and a term in the tower of London will ensue.

Many bikers could not obtain the new type for love no money up to six months after the law came into effect. It was whispered to me in a pub by a local blackguard who is also a scandalmonger and a writer of scurrilous verse that the police were unable to obtain the new visors and were obliged to ride their motorcycles with their visors removed to avoid breaking the law, and that at the end of their stint on the bikes their faces were covered with dead flies, grit and bird shit.

The helmet law is one that I’m not in complete agreement with. If a biker wants to ride around bare headed and risk splattering his few brains on the roadside that should be his own decision. Some of our ethnic minority biking brothers who have defied the helmet law were right to do so. One of them explained to me that he firmly believed that his turban would afford him greater head protection in the event of a crash than some of the helmets on offer. I was unable to agree with him as I have never worn a turban myself. But I could see his point.

The latest proposed nonsense is the compulsory fitting of leg shields. These devices were quite fashionable thirty years ago on BSA Bantams. I have always thought that crash bars were a useful device because they often saved the bike from damage. In the event of a skid or possible collision, I always find it prudent to jump off and save myself - it’s much easier to rebuild a bike than flesh and bone. I have survived many bikes in my 31 years of biking by my adherence to this practice. What leg shields are supposed to achieve other than keeping ones legs dry I do not know.

Future laws will probably include a sanity test before issuing a motorcycle licence to anyone. It would not surprise me to read that the wearing of seat belts on bikes will be compulsory in the future. Rumour has it that bikers who wear open faced helmets and smoke whilst riding will have to fit a handlebar mounted ashtray with the proper BS markings or risk castration, I was told by a biker who was so drunk that I could barely see him.

I have always liked my bikes to be like my women, naked. All this business of fairings, top boxes, panniers and heated handlebars is not to my liking at all. And any biker who has all this equipment on one machine should really give up, buy a car and have done with it. I can understand despatch riders using all this gear, but not the average biker.

Recently, I was waiting at a traffic light, and what glides up beside me but a fully dressed Goldwing with its fully dressed rider, resplendent in his very expensive leathers. The jacket alone probably cost more than my bike. I could not hear his engine but the noise from his stereo, which I understand is compulsory on all Goldwings, was causing serious ear damage to anyone within 15 feet of him. I noticed that he had a wire dangling from his helmet, which caused me to wonder if this was a device to recharge his head. I often lay awake at night wondering if you could pick up a Gold Wing if it fell over. Must be nearly as bad as buying a Harley and being burned off by someone on a cheapo 550.

Well, I don’t know how much longer they'll let me ride around on my CB500T (stop laughing) but I guess it’s up to all of us to enjoy ourselves as much as possible until they turn really nasty and I should stop laughing at people who spend thousands on bikes.

Wally Bodger

Old Brits and New Japs

Reared on a variety of British singles in the early sixties, and retaining an interest in vintage flat tank rallying, the Jap invasion only came home to me when my teenage daughters choose to pursue my interest to my delight and support. A ratty Honda PC50 first graced our yard, when I was deeply involved in riding and maintaining a '59 G12 Matchless - the big twin which I’m now informed helped the marque to their ultimate extinction. As in-laws and daughters graduated to Teutonic and Nippon models, my view that Brits were still, overall, best value for money was confirmed.

The delightful PC50 (brakes excepted) gave way to an elderly - and very temperamental - YB100, which caused my eldest daughter so much aggravation that eventually I bought it off her. Still, I found it soft and responsive after a big Brit twin, and began to appreciate why the British motorcycle industry had caved in.

The G12 had been acquired in largish lumps and rebuilt with help and spares from members of the owners club within 4 months (Easter 1980). My wife and I took a careful sojourn to the Loire valley, accompanied by in-laws aboard anew CX500. Apart from fairly severe vibration, especially in the throttle hand, the trip abroad found the mounts about equal - greater comfort on the CX was matched by the much better steering of the Matchless under the double loading.

Confidence in the venture prompted a trip to north Spain during Easter 1981 - in-laws this time aboard a nearly new Gold Wing. Now, of course, the comparisons became contrasts, our womenfolk seated at vastly different levels of comfort. I must admit to carrying a tank top full of tools and spares, which I needed one morning when the beast refused to start. Consternation, but bit by bit a roadside check-up tested the components - no sparks. I gently eased a finger into rear HT pickup to test the slip-ring. Found ring to be thickly coated with carbon dust - and on turning the mag over cleaned it out and, also, inadvertently nearly blew my arm off when the spark came through.

We motored on as planned, a bit late but smugly satisfied that the British twin had been reborn with only a jawbone of an ass. That very evening the Honda refused to start. It didn’t look like a roadside job and I wasn’t keen to tow the beast through the mountains. Luckily, the problem was soon found, some natives had loosened the HT leads, once pressed fully home, all was well.

But the risks of the trip were beginning to tell. On return to the UK my wife swore never again to straddle a bike. Neither has she - and so the G12 had been solely my own and in the past seven years suffered the expected mechanical setbacks. Yes, the iron crank did split (though didn’t wreck the rods or casing), front chains have broken quite often, oil had preserved both casings and wellies, tank bolts have fallen out and handlebars levers have broken off through vibration. But at 70mpg plus, 80-90mph cruising, minimal tyre wear, good tractability and torque, I wasn’t complaining.

Younger daughter took up the craze, and began her life on possibly the finest little motor to come our way. The 1975 Yamaha RD125 twin proved to be a ferocious animal, with quite exhilarating poke in the higher revs. Often we’d go two up though I did find its five speeds a strange phenomenon. On passing her test the Yam was sold to a girlfriend (where it continues in life in near glistening form) and an M-reg 360 Honda was acquired in virtually new condition. Ideal for a lass, reasonably light and cheap to run, not too pokey but tractable for town use once its six speeds became familiar. But unlike the G12 and RD the Honda lacks character. Despite that, and ending up badly twisted a number of times, the Honda always got us home safely in the end. One of those bikes that have been overlooked in the evolution of the Honda stable.

Last February decided it - 513 miles to Manchester and back via the A6 across Greenland, er, Derbyshire. The front candle barely lit up the first cat's eye. The cold plus vibes created havoc in both hands. Braking was precarious as ever. At fifty years of age the truth was dawning. What was needed was a Brit-like machine with no vibes, proper lights and good stoppers - as cheap as possible. BM? Duke single? Rocket 3? After much talk with old chaps who knew about such things (and were half my age) I settled for an XBR500. There weren’t many about until four surfaced last October in Motorcycle News. Sale of a shed full of cycle parts followed telephone negotiations. A trip with conveniently UB40’d companion to Portsmouth resulted in a deal being struck with a lass of 23 who'd covered 6100 miles in its 22 month life.

After an uneventful 140 mile test ride home, an untypically flashy red Honda adorns my stately front drive; daughter drooling on my good fortune. So now we wait and see... no Haynes manual (yet?), rust signs on the chrome already, ridiculously small footrests beneath my large wellies, and a strange steering sensation that the cognoscenti tell me Ill soon get used to - you can’t steer it with your knees with hands removed from the bars. I can do that up to 70mph on the G12! But it feels good, sounds like my old Venom used to and has an engine configuration like my '37 Rudge - possibly the best compromise after all.

Mike Knight

Honda Melody

After various modes of transport, e.g. buses and a brief encounter with a CG125 (the latter proved mightier than I, whenever I dared to start it I received a brutal kick back and I managed to get run over from behind by some maniac in a Beetle) I inherited a red Honda Melody, my pride and joy.

I must admit to only being able to get 28mph out of it, which was a little disillusioning after seeing 65mph on the CG. Anyway there were advantages, honest. The fuel consumption was unbelievably good and the tax and insurance were ridiculously cheap. The legshields and windscreen were useful in the rain, but I became tired of the latter and chucked it away - I believe the local kids use it as a sledge.

Ease of handling and very little maintenance suited me down to the ground, for short trips it soon became indispensable. After a few years the power began to dwindle, which was a little disconcerting as there was little to start with. When progress degenerated into a series of frog like lurches I decided it had to go. Fortunately, my sister had kept the twin of my bike safely tucked away in her garage for two years and had only put 20 miles on it as she couldn't stand the stress of haring down the main roads, acting as bait for merciless lorry drivers, dying to up their squashed hedgehog tokens.

This purple item had bent bars from my sister crashing it in a big way, but I had an adequate substitute. I felt like I was on a Gold Star, the speed I got out of it was a top whack of 30mph, although the engine sounds like it’s going to blow up doing full whack downhill.

You can forget your 750s, summer is better spent musing along on a Melody. I can be found cool as the proverbial cucumber, watching the world go by, not having to show how superior my bike is and having to outride every bike that comes up behind. There’s no contest, this is what true summer biking is really about. My plastic running boards don’t need endless cleaning to outshine the new, just a flick over with the fairy and it gleams like new. The top box means I no longer have to traipse around town clinging to the ton weight of a lid, trying like mad not to smash all the Royal Dalton when I’d inadvertently gone into the crockery department in the big stores, when really looking for the loo.

Apart from checking the tyres and putting in the oil, which fortunately you don’t have to mix with petrol, my bike is a dream. My husband does the really difficult stuff like cleaning the spark plug and topping up the battery. That’s far too complicated for me, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

No oil leaks to hide when I park up, just jibes from nauseating school kids - well, you can’t have everything, can you? My jolly little basket, teetering precariously over the front wheel, is invaluable for the carrier bag of groceries or the odd tin of paint, pot plant or when I have to ride out to buy spares for hubby’s BSA. It’s also one of the few bikes that lets us girls ride to interviews and things wearing skirts. The other thing I like is that due to my short-sightedness I can’t read road signs if I’m going at speed, so my Melody is perfect for a slow approach so I can see where I’m supposed to be going.

Although this is not strictly true when rear met gravel one winters night when my bike and I parted company. I was happily trolling home and there was as usual a stream of traffic following me round as I was travelling through a long slow bend. I had been busily gawping in my mirror, when I went over what I thought was a bump in the road. The rear wheel felt rather peculiar and then presto I was ejected before you could say oil leak. Luckily, someone behind me, who was obviously already worried about my riding, had kept well back and managed to stop.

I got up and my legs seemed to be intact so I proceeded to get my bike off the road, as you usually do. Some kind chap who had a pick-up threw my Melody on the back and dropped it round for me as I nursed a very bruised leg which was swelling up fast as a well fed marrow. As he helped my Melody down from his truck, he asked whether I had hit the kerb. Now, I know I’m no ace when it comes to riding this bike, but surely not?

My husband came to look at the damage and I prepared myself for the ridicule. But no, apparently both sides of the wheel were dented. My husband, the ever ready Sherlock Holmes, then insisted we went to the scene of the crime - a drain had been dug up by the council which had left a six inch hole around it. Well, I managed to get some compensation for the bike parts, which weren’t too expensive. The leg took a little longer, but I recovered.

Men, being favourites at mocking my little racer, are the first to borrow it in any little emergency, I’m sure millions of other owners are nodding their heads at this very moment. Where are all the big bikes in the snow, eh? Cosily wrapped up in blankets in their centrally heated garages no doubt. But us Melody owners are still there battling against the elements, after all when they fall over they're not too heavy to lift back up, although a bit dicey on ice you look like you’re trying to get the damn thing to waltz.

Melodies are very reliable, save when water gets into the fuel or the automatic choke gets carried away, and I rarely start mine on the electric start as it drains the battery. Parts are not too expensive, but not as cheap as British stuff and tyres are easily come by and are very reasonable too. Good, cheap, reliable transport and in the summer a real boon.

Yvonne Rothwell

BSA Beaver

Riding a Beaver. No, this is not an illegal act with an aquatic animal, but a BSA Beaver, a fifty built by NVT. Luckily for me, a few years ago my father decided to get back into biking after a twenty year lapse by buying a BSA, eventually progressing to a 1958 A7 Shooting Star - which was later attacked by that most dangerous of species, the tinus boxicus.

At this time I was approaching 15 and looking forward to exchanging my brain for a fifty. We then discovered that BSA were making a moped and after going to our nearest dealer we soon bought the bike brand new (I apologise for the foul language). The on the road price was only £380. It had a Morini two stroke single engine producing 3.5hp, Paoli forks and mono- shock tear suspension and Italian, er, electrics. The whole lot weighed only 133lbs dry.

Although a very tidy little piece of machinery, it is about as British as Mussolini. My father used the bike locally to run it in before I was 16, whilst I learnt to ride it off road. When I had my first proper run on the bike I found it was as quick as could be expected for a restricted fifty, out accelerating every other moped I came across.

The handling was good, the power sufficient to send the speedo off the clock at 40mph on the flat. I was clocked at 47mph, on the flat with no wind, the rest of the time I had to guess. Downhill it must have done at least 50mph; uphill it managed to hold 30mph, which was pretty good going for a moped that was supposed to be restricted to 30mph. The bike also returned 100mpg. The drum brakes were more than powerful enough for the kind of performance available, with plenty of feel which is more than can be said for the headlight; at night you have to follow the white lines to see where the road goes.

I managed to keep the bike spotless (yes, even the Wop chrome) by frequent application of Turtlewax and chrome cleaner, even though I used the bike for going to school every day. After four months I passed my test and the bike was regularly ridden two up, although the seat is short enough to make this uncomfortable unless the pillion is of the opposite sex.

I had very little trouble with the BSA, because it was well looked after, until I decided to go to a BSA owners club camp near Monmouth. After 15 miles the bike kept cutting out if I did more than 30mph. On arriving at the camp I tried without success to fix the problem. The next day, on the way home things became worse and speed was restricted to a maximum of 25mph, but the bike still got me home to Dyfed, a round trip of 220 miles. Fetch the strait-jacket, do I hear you cry? Well, you should have seen the state of the character who rode a Bantam from Manchester for a day trip to the camp. Actually, the Beaver was quite comfortable, the sun was shining and I rather enjoyed the weekend despite the lack of speed.

The problem, luckily, wasn't too bad, just a worn carb needle that was cheap and easy to replace. Not one to shy away from a challenge, in the summer I decided to go to Somerset for a week with my grandparents. I decided that because the bike was not allowed on the motorway and I did not want to ride across Severn Bridge footpath, I’d go the long way around, via Gloucester. Luckily, the weather was good, but it took a full eight hours of solid throttle-to-the-stop riding as I clocked up around 200 miles. It took me two days to start walking properly again.

On the way back I cheated by taking a couple of seats out of my grandparent’s car and dumping the bike in the back until they dropped me on the Welsh side of the Severn Bridge and I had to ride a mere 120 miles home. Despite being ridden flat out there and back, the bike never missed a beat.

Riding with the speedo against the stop resulted in the bike going through several cables and one speedo. The plugs tended to oil up quite quickly. If I did a long trip, say 100 miles, if I stopped then the bike would not start on the kickstart - I had the choice of cleaning the plug or bump starting the bike.

In the 12 months I rode the bike I never once came across a restricted fifty that could match the little BSA on performance even when I was riding two-up. If the unrestricted, older fifties had more top end they still couldn’t match the acceleration. All this from a straightforward engine without a reed valve in sight, although I did have the minor inconvenience of mixing the oil with the petrol.

All in all, I found my BSA (Bloody Sore Arse) Beaver to be great fun, reliable (starting first kick with a clean plug) and economical. At the low prices they sell for secondhand I can heartily recommend them as an alternative to all those Fizzies. The only problem is finding one. Also, most fathers would prefer one to bleedin’ Jap crap. It must be the only fifty to attract interest from ex-bikers... 'I didn’t know they still make those, I remember my old Bantam...’

Mark Whitehouse

Honda CG125

My last commuter was a Suzuki GP100 which returned around 65mpg. Considering the number of times I got wet, blown about, cold and nearly wiped out, encumbered with riding gear which had to be put on and taken off with each journey well, I felt a little cheated.

It was against this scenario that I chose a new machine. Let me point out that I commute 40 miles a day, much of it along dual carriageways. I wanted a bike up to 125cc, larger machines would encourage too much speed and poor economy and I wanted a new machine. Not another cast off. I had learnt from bitter experience that when you commute a fair distance and punctuality is important, an old nail is just false economy.

Scooterettes are out, as I’m not that much of an old codger and as I didn’t want a two stroke, which (with a price limit of a grand) left just the CG125. With the great fall in bike sales and general recession I thought I’d have no trouble getting rid of my 900 notes, but things were not that simple.

The main Honda franchise had none in stock as did the local discounter. I finally tracked a shop down that had three in stock, but the teenage salesman while well trained in paper filling, knew no technical details, had no leaflets, didn’t ride bikes himself and almost poisoned me when I finally extracted a cup of coffee out of him. Despite this, I bought a bike from them.

I wasn’t encouraged when he couldn’t locate the toolkit when I went to pick up the bike. He tore the side panel off and couldn't get it back on and suggested it might be under the seat but didn’t know how to remove it. I helped him to refit the panel and took the tools on trust as I was in a hurry to get back to work.

My first impression of the bike was noise and a lot of vibes. As the first few hundred miles went by, the noise became worse and the vibes faded into the background. The handling and brakes were better than expected, giving a reassuring ride. The lighting appeared pathetic. During running in I managed a best of 128mpg - acceptable, but only just. Towards the 500 mile mark an odd chafing sound and a misfire set in at high revs. The former was traced to two inches slack in the chain.

At the first service I mentioned these faults. When I got the bike back, the misfire was fixed, but before I arrived home I was conscious of the chafing. The chain had not been re-tensioned, neither had it been oiled. I gave it the full treatment myself. That night I made another discovery, the headlamp had been adjusted so that it illuminated the front wheel rather than the road, what I’d earlier mistaken for the low beam was in fact a blotch of scatter. Once adjusted, it was a vast improvement over the GP100’s 6V item.

Come the 1500 mile service, I slackened off the chain to 3 inches of healthy slop, readjusted the headlamp to illuminate the front wheel and just to enter into the spirit of things I lowered the rear tyre pressure to 15psi, then cruised gently back to the dealer. This service wasn’t free, it cost over £25. Now, I don’t claim to be any kind of maintenance wizard, but for the hour and a half of labour which that must represent I could have been well on the way to completely dismantling the bike. I am talking about a new, clean, simple, single pot lightweight machine. I can’t tell you what they did in this time, but they certainly did not lubricate and adjust chain, check the headlamp or tyre pressures.

But they had done something, though. And I discovered that when I hurried off into the traffic and was suddenly confronted by a Luton box van. They had adjusted the brakes. In fitting the windscreen it had been necessary to reroute the front brake cable, during the 1500 mile, er, service, some nob had tightened all the free play out of the cable. The result was that if the lever was pulled gradually, as under normal circumstances, it worked though not very well. But when heaved on for dear life it just jammed. Miraculously, the aluminium wall subsided and life went on. They had also adjusted the rear brake so that it came on before the stop lamp.

Did I go back to the dealer? No, for the simple reason that if I had done someone would have got smacked. When I handed over my cheque at the 1500 mile service, I asked when the next service was due - at 4000 miles. I asked if that was every 1500 miles and was told yes (surely not right - Ed). As I cover that much ground every month, it meant they were expecting to sting me for £300 a year to keep my warranty. I decided that I would not be going back, for that kind of money you could blow a the engine.

God knows what was going on in that workshop. Maybe bikes were treated according to value, maybe simple machines were set aside for YTS practice, but the plain fact is that within 1500 miles the bike passed inspection there three times and was still handed back in a condition which would have merited an MOT failure. And if that’s service you can stuff it.

Back to the bike. I’m inclined to suspect that sales staff aren’t the only people in the trade who don’t know what they're doing. The CG125 is supposed to be a commuter, an all weather hack. Sensibly, it has a fully enclosed chain, but it’s a tacky sculpture of steel strips and spot welding - a real rust trap. The fit and finish, the thickness of the paint, would have even Italians falling about. This might be due to the fact that the bike is not made in Japan. Nope, it hails from Brazil, of all places, so perhaps a bit of the old Latin quality control is creeping in. I covered the thing in grease within days of purchase but already paint is coming off and that’s just summer riding.

So, it has a chainguard, but why doesn’t it have gaiters on the forks and shocks, QD wheels, locking petrol cap, plastic front guard and a rear guard that stops all the dirt going through the gap between guard and swinging arm? It does have a neat rear light moulded into the mudguard, a plastic seat base (the seat itself is only good for 20 miles of riding) and a useful grab-rail that can second as a pannier frame. Heated hand grips would also be very nice, the ones I fitted can’t be used at the same time as the lights without draining the battery.

Some of the chrome rusted very quickly the exhaust and the headlamp  brackets being the worst. The silencer has to be removed to take out the back wheel spindle! The propstand hangs out a heck of a long way and has. been uniquely designed to trap the left foot under it and the road when dabbling down a foot in traffic - bloody painful, to say nothing of the effect on stability. It also scrapes far too easily in left handers.

The machine may sound a bit of a lemon, but apart from a few skinned heels, it has proved very competent at getting through the traffic. Nothing is better than adequate, but the result’s better than the sum of the parts. High, wide bars are useful for flicking through gaps, the mirrors actually show what’s behind you and the thing always feels stable and reassuring. It starts easily (though you’ve got to watch the accelerator pump!). And that’s about it.

10000 miles coming up at the time of writing. The rear light bulb failed at 5000 miles, but otherwise I just put in petrol, change the oil, and rummage amongst the tappets from time to time. It averages 105mpg. Would I recommend it? Well, no, because 20 years ago when the Japs were just getting into their stride there were bikes available from Honda, like the S90, that were more practical, more economical and just as fast and reliable as the CG125 - and cost a lot less in relation to car prices as well.

Honda have just not kept faith with the riders of small machines, which, after all, provided them with the money to produce their highly sophisticated bikes for an ever shrinking minority market. The CG125 owner of 1988 is offered essentially the same product of 20 years ago; whereas cars have shown great progress in terms of both functionality and appearance, motorcycles have shown no such improvement and are often a step backwards. The CG costs £900, comes from a third world country with low wages and grants for large companies to set up factories. Add to this, the sloppy, couldn’t care less attitudes and incompetence of dealers and there’s no wonder the market is in such a mess. Motorists simply would not tolerate these things.

E. W. Soames