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

Running about on an early Honda CD175

I was sharing the most idyllic accommodation with a cousin in an old converted mill house (complete with wheel) in a little village lying close to the A595. The design of the building was such that the road was on the same level as the front door. I made a couple of friends, one with a Tribsa that never ran, the other a Ducati 250 which ran extremely well. One night we heard the thumping of the Duke, then there was a bang and the door burst open - they had ridden straight in off the street, which became a regular practice resulting in a clutch of machinery sitting in the living room. Our furniture was so basic that we junked it, sitting on the bikes instead.

Naturally, I wanted a bike, so on a tour of the coast we called in on a number of dealers. Apart from an immaculate Honda CB450 Black Bomber rebuilt regardless of cost and selling for what seemed, in 1975, like the astronomical price of 4 pounds per cc, there was little available. I had a passion for these machines at the time but could not afford it on a student grant.

Just as we were to depart disappointed, one of the mechanics roared in on a spine frame Honda CD175. PAO443F was for sale, being employed to fetch fish and chips for the mechanics. It was peacock blue and apart from rotting exhausts and no chain guard I found it very appealing, especially at £70.

I was 17 at the time, so riding the bike for the first time was akin to the thrill of the first joint or the first woman. I took the most winding set of B roads I could find and by the time I arrived in Carlisle the bike was covered in Maryport red sand. I noticed that one of the chain links was broken and that the rear mudguard mountings were rusted away. The former cost £8 for a new chain and the latter the cost of a bungee cord (the ultimate bodging technique).

The one that held on the rear guard was soon joined by one at the front, after a few months there was one holding on the tank, one keeping the side covers on. If I went on a long trip carrying a lot of luggage there would be confusion over which was holding on what.

On one occasion I went visiting, no sooner had I arrived I dived into my hosts lavatory - my one piece leather was an ex-air force suit which I’d purchased for £2 and appeared designed for the Harry Secombe type build. A long zip ran diagonally from left shoulder to right hip, but was insufficient to gain access to the nether regions. Eventually, I emerged to find that not only had my hosts removed my luggage but the mudguards were sat on the wheels, the tank was hanging drunkenly by a piece of rubber and the battery cover was hanging off in sympathy - Paul, Paul, we're so sorry, all we wanted to do was unload your bike and it just sort of fell to bits as as we were doing it!

The little Honda proved to be incredibly reliable (aren’t they always?). The only time it let me down was riding home one rainy night (aren’t they always?). I was just left there in silence watching the rain being pierced by the barely adequate low beam. There was plenty of fuel, turned out the points had disintegrated. I arranged a tow home by a friend behind a Morris 1100, which the driver drove increasingly faster. I started taking corners well on my side of the road, but one bend was tight and went blind down a hill - I ended up on the wrong side of the road, rigid with fear as I saw a car coming up the hill - I just missed it. By the time I arrived home I wasn’t so much frozen or wet but relieved to be alive and well.

Another night I gave a friend a lift and was disturbed to find an unusual amount of heat and lack of power. The hub of the back wheel was red hot and after I stopped refused to rotate. Only one thing for it, open flies and pee on it. The vague reflection of the tail light showed the acrid steam rising into the air and passing cars beeped their approval. Off we went again.

Apart from oil changes, plugs, points and one tyre I never spent anything on the bike. When the silencers went I made my own out of a combination of chicken wire and scaffold pipe. The battery was installed in the top box after the side panel refused to stay in place.

I had many long trips on the bike, taking it home to Ireland as well as riding around England. The Honda’s last big trip was back over the Irish sea and down through Scotland and down the M6 to Birmingham where it was sold, for £38, to a maniac wielding a welding torch and threatening to customise and make a proper job of it. I hope PAO443F is resting in peace somewhere [long gone, probably before 1980 as it's not on DVLA - 2022 Ed.]; if anyone knows of its whereabouts I’d be happy to buy it back, for it was a great first bike that still has a place in my heart.

P Jennings

Scratching on a Honda CD200 Benly

Seeing as Mrs Thatcher is about to cut my fortnightly supply of beer tokens I’ve decided to do my bit for enterprise culture by writing for the UMG. I know there have been at least two articles on the CD but this is one from a different angle and will hopefully give succour to those scratchers who are terminally broke.

After selling my KH250 cos I couldn’t afford 28mpg and a set of plugs every two months, I was left with the grand sum of £160. That sort of cash won’t buy too many desirable bikes, but it’s sufficient for one of Honda’s most boringly reliable bikes. Swallowing pride, and much to the amusement of my LC and X7 riding mates, one miserable day in June 86 I turned up on a dirty red, 17000 mile, Sydney - stop laughing, it might yet happen to you.

Now, I’m an optimist, so sod them, because life must go on, even after purchasing a CD. Everyone knows how reliable are these old workhorses, but do they know how much fun they can be? I doubt it very much obviously, I'll have to re-educate them.

In the last two years I have covered 18000 miles on this trusty steed and actually managed to enjoy most of them! About a third of them have been spent on the motorway in the vain hope of finding employment.

Motorways and Benlys are not usually a good combination, but an average of 60-65mph is quite possible in all weather conditions, except up very steep hills. The bike regularly does Manchester to Bristol in just over three hours at a cost of £3.50 in petrol - a combination most bikes would have difficulty imitating.
But unless you're in a hurry or you're a bit of a masochist, motorways are best avoided.

The real fun starts on fast A roads. Yes, I know Sydney has zero ground clearance thanks to the pegs and exhausts, but this can be compensated for with a little practice and loss of a few brain cells (talking of exhausts they go every six months unless soaked in oil). Scratching is possible by taking the correct line through sweeping bends, the lack of ground clearance can largely be ignored, the pegs touch down but pivot up, until the rust buckets (silencers) hit the tarmac and try to lift the wheel off the ground. Real madness will eventually get the main stand touching down, which is back off time.

Once you’ve perfected the art of ignoring the lack of clearance a multitude of problems tend to crop up, mostly centred on the frame and suspension. The frame tubing is better suited to deck chair manufacture and the suspension is unbelievably soft - saying it’s under-damped is like saying Mrs Thatcher cares for nurses.

Despite this it never wobbles or shakes its head, it does wallow in corners and pogos merrily away over bumps. The amount of dive under heavy braking suggests that the drum is tremendously powerful. But, these are not just features of the CD, and will be apparent in most bikes in the commuter bracket.
The brakes are actually adequate and after 30000 miles and 7 years are still on the original shoes with plenty of life left.

Performance is pretty awful, acceleration on par with a sports 125 and a top speed of 75mph, but, luckily, you don’t have to do 152mph to enjoy yourself on a motorcycle. Around town, even the CD200 will upset Sharron and Trevor in their XR2; it’s great fun dropping the clutch at the lights before the bloke on the GPz has noticed because he’s too busy posing. Just watch him wind his bike up to 11000rpm simply because he can’t take the embarrassment of being behind a Benly.

Acceleration up to 55mph is OK (just) but beyond this speed it’s fourth gear only fast riding is a matter of careful throttle control, back off just a little too much and a disproportionate amount of hard earned speed disappears. On the open road the little Honda will buzz along between 60 and 70mph and unless the road is very long or straight only determined maniacs in their tin boxes will get past if you’re in the right frame of mind,

Perhaps this story has shed a new light on the Benly, just because the riders are skint and wear donkey jackets doesn’t mean we don’t ride bikes for fun. Part of the fun is confounding peoples expectations of its performance, part is the fun of the overcoming awkward handling and part of the fun just can’t be expressed, it has to be experienced - but only if you can get into the right mood.

However, this article is in need of a health warning of some sort - you should never attempt such anti-social antics unless the bike is equipped with the best quality tyres you can afford, is in basically good condition and the road is bone dry. Have fun.

R Humphris

The life of a Honda C90 in Belfast

Years ago friends of mine had a hobby, they stole motorcycles - Honda 50s and 90s, always raced and returned. Night after night, sitting studying to the noise of Led Zeppelin I could hear the sound of some poor bastard bike getting stuffed into S bends just across the road from the parental home. After a while I fancied I could tell a stolen bike by the look of the rider and sound of the machine (watching certain racing stars soon killed that idea).

I was herded off at the weekends down to the family caravan by the seaside, a place untouched by the troubles, but one area the IRA figured that a car bomb would actually improve, so even to this day it’s been left alone.

Despite the efforts of my parents I still managed to fall into unsavoury company people who drank beer and rode around on motorcycles. They adopted me and told me I was fearless, fearless. This was balls, to feel fear you need information and I didn’t know my arse from a hole in the ground in those days.

Come the day, they showed me a Honda 50, pointed out various interesting features, like how to make it go and stop, then pointed both of us up the long, hard packed beach. After an hour it became easy. The next thing I knew I was digging a trench and the bike was bouncing all over the very rocks I had sworn to avoid.

You never forget your first wreck. Thirteen years later, watched by my son who has never seen me work before, I can still taste that sand. I thought I was dead until the pounding of feet revealed that help was on the way. I was hauled to my feet and laughed at for being stupid. Still, I learnt how to ride a bike, which ranks pretty high in my things done list.

Got a job, got a car and vegetated as a trainee manager for a year or so. Dull, bored stiff and in serious danger of turning into a grey man. A friend offered me a run on his Honda 50. Ten minutes later I was being chased by the police, complete with full sound and lights, through the outskirts of Belfast. I know, I know, but this was 12 years ago and I was enjoying myself. When they caught me they delightedly went through the litany of disaster I was riding and the number of laws I had transgressed, finishing with tax and insurance.

Gulp. Off to the police station. From the back seat I enquired why they weren’t out catching terrorists, The car stopped, the driver turned, grabbed me by the throat and while shaking me all over the back of the car, er, explained: because, you little bastard, we spend valuable time chasing people like you on piles of shite like that.

Happier that my question had been fully answered I took to Plan B, which included snivelling, whimpering and asking if they knew who my uncle was. At the station I received a huge telling off complete with graphic and colourful threats and promises as to what would happen if I ever repeated the performance. I made arrangements to be picked up and while waiting a policeman stuck his head around the door for a look at the person who had been chased for five miles on a Honda 50 - he laughed. I left when my pilot shoved me on the back of a Suzi GT380 with L plates and FII expansion boxes. I didn’t buy that Honda.

The next Honda 50 on offer I drove straight into a wall.

The next was a Honda 90, 5 years old, red and rust. It had a new battery, so I bought that. Mum was pleased because it didn’t look like any of the posters on my bedroom wall. A friend arrived, painted everything with rust eater, covered that with Hammerite and pronounced it fit. I took a week off work and went touring.

The front brake didn’t but lots of dancing on the gear lever and jumping on the back brake compensated. It was mechanically bullet proof, but the electrics were something else and in the end the whole thing was rewired with a few yards of telephone wire, the ignition switch junked and a hidden switch fitted.

Until this was done the tyres were never a problem in the wet, because when the rain started the bike stopped. The rigours and horrors of the 15 minute run to work brightened my day and seriously spooked other road users. Every day had something new to offer, usually a laundry bill, but as I got used to the despicable behaviour of the thing, hacking my way through early morning traffic became a game. Entertaining was how a colleague described my progress through the other commuters who were not late.

The poor front brake actually saved my life on more than one occasion. Notably, a wet, wet morning stuffed into a racing line over a bridge when a car cut right across my nose. Hauling the front brake in panic, it slowed minisculely, just enough to allow me to get around his boot yet not enough to slide me into oncoming traffic. Thanking God and Honda while taking time to berate the driver. I was able to discuss it personally with him when I found out he worked for the same organisation - personnel became convinced that perhaps my future didn’t lay in management accounting.

Having cheerfully and contentedly resigned, I got into social work, where the bike was used as emergency transport and regularly maintained - change oil, check the chain. The only thing that was replaced except for the electrics was the exhaust (£4).

Fuel consumption was a joke. If it happened to run out all you did was stop another bike, liberate a milk bottle full of petrol and that did you until you remembered to go to the garage. In those days it was necessary to have the bike with you all the time. The security forces tended to take a dim view of youths carrying milk bottles full of petrol.

Maintenance was minimal and someone else did what little there was to do. This stopped after I picked up the bike and zapped off to brighten someone’s day. The handling was crazy, so bad I stopped, rang a friend and he took it up the street... and left it there. For some reason my friendly mechanic had removed the swinging arm nut and neglected to replace it.

One day there was no bike in the car park. Down to the police station to report it missing. You mean stolen, said the officer. No missing, no-one could start it let alone steal it. I gave him the details and he stopped writing - he started describing the bike, broken rear mudguard, bald back tyre... I nodded amazed at his mind reading powers. The bike had been rescued from a hedge.

That was a long time ago, nowadays running about on a ratty old nail draws Traffic Branch like flies and these boys have no sense of humour. As a form of transport and all round entertainment it was hard to beat. I wouldn’t buy another, promising to behave myself would be too much trouble.

Mac Yavelleh

Learnin': Yamaha RS100

I apologise in advance for any technical errors in this. I do try to understand the workings of these things called motorcycles but, to be honest, I think I will have more chance of understanding Einstein’s Theory of Relativity than the workings of a bike. However, this doesn’t stop me from being very enthusiastic about riding the things.

I had always fancied having a bike but it wasn’t until my boyfriend (yes, it’s another girlie - we're coming out of the woodwork, Bill) decided to resume his motorcycling career with the purchase of a Guzzi 850T3 that I decided that I could definitely cope with having a bike of my own.

We heard of a crashed Yam RS100 at a breakers and I was soon the proud(?) owner of a badly bent bike and a heap of spares for the princely sum of exactly £100.

Although the front end was a mess and the frame bent (both replaced from the mass of spares), the bike was suffering more from bumps and bruises than any major injuries. There were no signs of rust, it was three years old with 3000 miles on the clock. Even I could see the potential.

It needed new chain, sprockets, battery and lots of time sorting out the bike - nine months, in fact, but mainly because I wasn’t there to nag away at my boyfriend. I had to push it to my local training ground as my licence hadn’t arrived. After a few sessions I was ready to hit the road.

My first few journeys were conducted in tandem, the Guzzi steadily thumping off down the road and my little bike wingding-dinging madly in its wake. Soon, however, I was screaming all over my home town on the little machine and generally having a ball.

I just used to thrash it in all the gears and the bike just seemed to love it, although I never managed more than 65mph (down hill with a following wind) but the acceleration of my little two stroke single up to 40mph was great stuff. I could scream off from the traffic lights leaving Escorts in my wake, but by the time I’d reached 35mph in third power delivery was dissipating and the Escort drivers drove past, shaking their heads with superior smiles on their faces, but at the next set of traffic lights...

Nothing ever seemed to go wrong with my bike. The headlights had the unnerving habit of dimming when I applied the brakes, the indicators either winked once every five seconds or stayed on all the time.

I’m not sure that the concept of handling can be applied to such a little lightweight bike, I used to negotiate corners with my patented point and pray method. This basically comprised of keeping the bike going in the desired direction and desperately hoping that I would make it round the corner.

Mind you, given the performance, this technique could be used for most of the time. The only time I was really caught out was at the beginning when I was feeling a little over-confident. After approaching the bend at too high a speed, I ended up going straight across the road and onto a grass verge. I sat there smiling and doing my best dumb blond act at the bloke who had been driving the oncoming car. He looked justifiably unimpressed and I don’t blame him, if he hadn’t had such good reactions then my motorcycling career would have been over before it had barely begun. Still, I’m told such embarrassing and terrifying incidents can be put down to experience (or lack of it in this case).

I decided to take my test and get rid of the bike. The latter, I’m sure, caused it to play up. First it cut out and I had to push it a mile home. Then the engine started overheating and I feared I'd have to buy a new oil pump, but it only needed adjusting.

When test day arrived I was tense and apprehensive. Two hours later I pottered back grinning maniacally - I had been sure the bike would seize on me or cut out or some other such horror but it behaved. The following day I sold it for three hundred quid.

The only maintenance I gave it was the occasional oil top up, the odd plug chop if I was feeling particularly mechanically minded (and my boyfriend suggested it’d be a good idea) and when I was feeling totally bored I sometimes gave it a clean.

Although I only clocked up four thousand miles in the year that I owned it, they were almost totally trouble free and I don’t feel that the bike owed me a thing. After the RS I was totally hooked on having a bike and began looking for a 250, but, as Hammy the Hamster used to say, that’s another story.

Carol Bond

From BSA Bantam to Honda CB250G5

After a BSA Bantam, with only 3 gears operated by the right foot, the G5 was amazing. You must continually bear in mind that my only motorcycling point of reference was this Bantam (for younger readers, a 175cc two stroke single that was as simple as it was reliable and totally incomparable to early Jap strokers).

As well as being bigger than my BSA, the Honda had numerous extras, like two mirrors, a kickstart that actually folded out of the way, an electric start, an ignition switch which needed a key to operate it, steering lock (the Bantam had lugs for a padlock), 12V electrics, rev counter and many more. It took a while to become used to operating the six gears with my left foot. It took months to realise I had to rev the engine to attain any kind of decent power. I’m still reluctant to rev engines, but I do now recognize that some engines thrive on revs,

The day after purchase I awoke early, decided to go for a 5am spin. It was misty and I luxuriated in the squashy handlebar grips, comfortable seat and suspension that actually worked (the Bantam was_ rock hard), I felt as if I was in a dream. The dream like quality ebbed away as a rabbit appeared in front of me, hopping from side to side, I decided keep straight ahead for maximum stability. Unfortunately, this path coincided with the rabbit and it was squashed.

The left-hand fork seal had started leaking just before the accident. After the collision the disc was covered in oil. I replaced the fork seal and fitted plastic gaiters (don’t use rubber as they perish and look awful). I had no more trouble in that area.

The bike was treated as if it was the last Norton in the world. The oil was changed every 1000 miles, the mudguards undersealed, chain cleaned and boiled in grease. In winter the bike was protected by a 2mm layer of grease (it was still ridden in the winter, although pillion passengers who grabbed the rack had no corrosion problems themselves). The engine was timed by strobe and responded by starting at the first push of the button, although I used the kickstart to save the battery when the engine was cold - I never had to change the battery.

After months of this soft life, I decided to find out just how fast the bike would go. In sixth gear it wouldn’t pull to the redline, nor in fifth, but in fourth it reached 80mph. After a mere five seconds of this unusually high speed I heard a horrible mechanical clatter and hot oil spurted out of the engine. I quickly halted, panic stricken, discovering that a rocker arm had unscrewed itself and ended up half out of the engine. After cleaning up a burred hole with a file and application of Loctite all was well again. (Honda changed the rocker design in the later CJ250T.)

It handled surprisingly well, even with a Square section Avon fitted the pegs could be scraped. The suspension was on the soft side but I could compensate for that and it was worth putting up with as it gave such a comfortable ride. After a mishap too complicated to explain here, the bike was treated to a black respray that improved the looks.

Loaded with tank bag, panniers and top box, the bike transported me to college from Norfolk to Portsmouth (not every day). On the first trip the engine cut out because of a corroded spade terminal under the front of the tank, thanks to all the winter salt. The brake caliper rotted away, requiring one complete and one partial strip down. Both ends of the silencers blew out, leaving the bike sounding incredibly sporty, although the down pipes retained their chrome (unlike those on my RS250).

For long journeys the bike was commendably comfortable and I had faith in the motor to take me to my destination. Power and handling would not impress racers but as a graduate from an old Bantam they were more than adequate.

Apart from the rocker arm, the bike had been reliable at the cost of a great deal of tender loving care (that was repaid when I came to sell the bike as the chrome still shone). Not everyone’s cup of tea, perhaps, but as my introduction to Japanese machinery, one of which I still retain happy memories.

Simon Hallet

Kawasaki GPz305: Rescued from the River

I picked up a 1984 GPz305 from an insurance company (through a local dealer) for what I thought must be the bargain of the year at £125. The bike had been stolen and dumped in the river when the thieves couldn’t start it. I was assured the engine was sound (it had over 22000 miles on the clock) whilst the bike didn’t look as if it had been crashed.

The carbs were removed and cleaned up - I was hoping that this plus an oil change would have her running. It didn’t, mud had seeped in through the air filter and I had to do a top end strip to remove the mud. Some petrol in a newish undented tank and it fired up. The engine was quickly turned off because it sounded like a worn out dumper truck.

This had taken things to the limit of my mechanical knowledge, so I pushed the bike to my friendly (well he was by the time I’d bought all the bits from him) local dealer to look at the engine, balance the carbs and do an MOT test. He refused to touch the electrics after looking at the mess of wires under the seat, which I had spent many an evening trying to sort by touching wires together.

I had to part with 200 drinking vouchers for road tax and insurance. Giving a mate a lift I almost threw him off the back, so much more power compared to my MZ125. I was so pleased with my new toy that in the next week I covered 300 miles just riding for the fun of it in the evenings.

Then the motor started making a rattling noise - one new camchain later I was back on the road. I’ve only taken the bike for one long run when it refused to start after stopping for petrol; a rewired ignition circuit sorted that out. The only other problem was the speedo that had rusted up after being immersed in the river. Recently, a false neutral has developed between 5th and 6th gear but that'll have to wait, hopefully until next winter. The gearbox can be a bit notchy at the best of times.

Despite all the problems (not really the bike’s fault) I do find it quite an excellent device. The combination of speed (105mph really but I’ve seen 115mph on the clock before the speedo seized up) and good fuel economy (65 to 80mpg) means it’s a nice balance of fun and low running costs.

The handling is fine except when exiting bumpy bends, when the back end will shake and wobble a little. The twin discs are powerful and I haven’t worn out the pads yet, but the rear drum has very little feel even if it can lock up the rear wheel. As one of the earlier models it’s lumbered with a chain final drive instead of belt but this doesn’t wear too fast, around 12000 miles. I do change the oil every 1000 miles and the oil filter at every other oil change in the pursuit of a long engine life, I also check the valves and plugs once in a while.

I would recommend the GPz305 to anyone, mine’s not for sale, well not for a few years. I expect the bike to run for quite a long time now it’s more or less sorted.

Alastair Scott

Yamaha RD200DX

Life as a student meant riding a ratty old Yamaha YB100 two stroke single and not much spare dosh. Naturally, I wanted a larger and faster bike, so when a mate offered me a RD200, which he had in his garage, for £15, I decided to take a look.

The rolling chassis was just about in one piece but the engine was partially stripped down because of gearbox problems, which had left the crank full of murky H,O - needless to say this was seized. The rest of the bike looked OK - R reg, cast wheels and red paint. I took it, figuring that another cheap engine would turn up.

Out of curiosity I completely dismantled the engine. The gearbox was a real mess the layshaft had been totally twisted in two - I later learnt that the bike was fitted with Microns, Power air filters and an altered advance/retard mechanism.

I saved up my pennies whilst looking for an engine (and battery, exhausts, chain and sprockets). An engine was found for £45 and I managed to get a complete exhaust system bunged in for an extra fiver.

It was at this point that the breaker mentioned he was expecting a crashed RD200 in two days time. This turned out to be a Y reg bike, in good nick, apart from a dented tank, where whoever crashed the bike slowed their forward motion with their nuts first (and no doubt has a high voice and funny walk to prove it). The front end was bent but the frame OK. The asking price was £100 and no amount of haggling lowered this price. As it was the summer hols and I was actually working, the cash was paid out and the bike delivered to my house.

A mere week later I had myself a red RD200DX, MOT, tax, insurance and lots of useful spares. The first two weeks I didn’t venture beyond 70mph, aware of the bike’s previous history, happy with a drastic improvement in speed over the YB and totally unaware of the nature of the RD’s powerband.

It was only when I returned to college and couldn’t lose face to a friend with an XS that I found the bike transformed itself once the rev counter hit seven grand. Oh, what fun! Soon the Yam was humming along with an indicated eighty and more on the clock. With 22 horses shifting just 260lbs, it used to leave 125s standing and give many 250s a run for their money. The bike was loads of fun on country roads, only let down by a rear end that could wallow enough to frighten the rider but never enough to plunge the bike onto the tarmac. The brakes were a bit of a laugh. The front disc was the usual rubbish and the rear drum was either on or off. Alertness and luck usually kept the bike from hitting things.

Two months after putting the bike on the road, it was squashed under a Sherpa van. My pride and joy was dead and I was relegated to the YB100 tanks again. Luckily, the only injuries suffered were a broken finger, missing finger nail and badly sprained foot. Another search found a 200 with piston trouble for a mere £40. It was also red with cast wheels. Three months later I was back on the road and with compensation quite a bit better off.

I soon found that it was better to leave the engine in stock tune than play around with things. I read about one highly modified RD that could still only do 87mph, whilst my stocker has had 90mph on the clock a few times. I did fit a pair of spannies, but they were removed after only 3 days because the increase in acceleration didn’t compensate for the lack of top speed.

The easiest modification is to remove the pins from the advance/ retard unit, which let the weights keep expanding out, allowing the spark to advance a lot more. This ruined low speed running, it was difficult to start and ticked over at three grand, but the powerband started much lower and still went up to 9000rpm the acceleration was really wicked. Friends were amazed with the speed - as the bike was a pig to start and ticked over roughly, the unit was replaced with a standard one before the engine blew up.

One aspect of the bike that amused other motorcyclists was the combination of tyres - they tended to ask if I walked when it rained. It had an Avon Deathmaster (square profile) on the back and a Cheng Shin on the front. I couldn’t afford new rubber at the time, and each had plenty of tread left, so they stayed on. The Avon was changed for a Pirelli Mandrake when it wore out, that improved the back end a. lot. Rear tyres should go for 7-8000 miles and front for 9000-10000 miles, whilst chain and sprockets only lasted 6000 miles. I used to achieve 58mpg regardless of how I rode. I never bought front pads (at least 10000 miles).

Maintenance was very easy. The head could be removed and de-coked in half an hour. The carbs have little windows to ease setting the slides and the points were also very easy to set up. Quirks were a bad torque point, or something, between 3500 and 4500rpm, the bike lurches back and forth despite the engine being set up correctly, when the gearchange linkage wore the lever fell off and the charging system was insufficient to keep the battery topped up to operate the starter (that doubles as a generator, with new bushes at £16 for four - buy car ones and file them down) or the air horns.

Naturally, this made night riding amusing, it was real great fun to shoot around country corners unsure if the bike was going to stick to the road or end up in a ditch. There was also the self destructing seat, the base material carefully constructed from very thin steel that lasts for a good two weeks before giving in to corrosion, cracking and falling off.

By the time the summer came around thoughts turned to a bigger bike - a RD250C for £120 was acquired; this made a diesel sound quiet. My last go on the 200 led to a prang and yet another rebuild (I still had lots of bits). When someone came to look at the 200, they made me an offer for the 250 instead (£160 after just a month), so I sold that.

I bought an X-reg Superdream to replace the Yam (don’t laugh, they’re not that bad). The 200 had 28500 miles, original bores and pistons and not the slightest rattle. I sold it for £220 and still see the bike around - it sounds just as good. It’s the best bike I’ve had so far.

Robert Bird

Norton 350 Navigator

One week, in 1961, I was reading MCN when I came across a glowing road test about an exciting new Norton. It was the Navigator, a 350 twin which was an enlarged version of the Norton Jubilee, with Roadholder forks and a larger front brake. I wanted a new bike, was so impressed with the road test that I decided that this marvellous new machine was just what I was looking for.

I rode my Triumph Cub the seven miles to the nearest large motorcycle shop and was pleased to find that they had a brand new Norton Navigator in stock. It was finished in black and cream with a rear end enclosure that was in

vogue in the early sixties. At least the Norton’s rear enclosure was certainly more stylish than the Triumph item, which resembled an old fashioned upturned bath tub.

I enquired about part exchanging my Cub against the Norton - the manager said there was no market for small bikes, so he couldn’t offer very much for the Cub. I was green in those days, so agreed to the price he quoted. After the usual but necessary formalities I rode away from the shop, the proud owner of the Navigator.

Its engine was a pushrod four stroke with an integral four speed box housed in a pressed steel frame. The electrics (if that’s an apt description) were 6V. When I arrived home I was stunned to find that my riding boots were covered in oil. A frantic phone call was made to the manager of the motorcycle shop who suddenly appeared disinterested now that I had actually purchased the bike. After some argument he reluctantly agreed that his service department would look at it the following Saturday. They had the bike all that morning and I was assured that it was now oil tight. I was extremely disappointed to find some oil still leaking when I reached home.

I showed the bike to my grandfather who had been a motorcycle enthusiast in his younger days. He traced the oil leak to a banjo bolt on the engine. He carefully removed the bolt, coated the fibre washer with gasket sealant and refitted it. Result, no further oil leaks. No wonder the British motorcycle industry went downhill. This Norton was supposed to have been inspected at the factory and by the dealer. There was test mileage on the the speedo when I purchased it, but it still had been sent out leaking oil. This initial problem should have forewarned me of the many disasters to come!

I carefully ran the bike in but, after its first service, the engine was still noisy with lots of top end rattle. However, I soon noticed that other Navigator and Jubilee engines sounded much the same. Shortly after the service, to add to the fun, the clutch centre nut came loose. The bike handled well, although it was a little cumbersome below 30mph. The handling was tested to the limit on a trip to Silverstone. I was carrying an avid road racing enthusiast on the pillion.

The first tight bend we encountered I leaned the Norton into the bend, and to my amazement the machine seemed to be pulled further over down onto the road. The footrests and silencers grounded. I couldn’t understand this until I glanced back and saw my intrepid pillion hanging off the side like a sidecar passenger. After somehow getting round the bend safely I stopped to caution my passenger not to be quite so enthusiastic.

The brakes were good enough but the front one was inclined to lock the wheel, resulting in a couple of low speed spills. This may have been due to poor technique on my part, but it hasn’t happened on any other bikes I’ve owned. Top speed on the flat was in the mid eighties. Fuel consumption was 60 to 65mpg which was poor for a British 350, but, I suppose, quite reasonable in the light of later Jap middleweights.

In the third year I owned the bike I was plagued by electrical faults and I was very lucky to make it back to my home on a number of occasions - the engine was popping and banging all the way back. The problem was eventually solved by replacing the rectifier. The bike had also developed an appetite for gearchange return springs, which it consumed at approximately 7000 mile intervals. When they broke it was virtually impossible to change gear. The kickstart spring also broke in sympathy.

On one occasion a potentially serious disaster occurred. I was very fortunate to have been travelling at only 20mph when the gearbox locked up solid, locking up the rear wheel - I managed to skid to a halt without falling off. When the gearbox was stripped it was found that a gear had broken up completely, seizing the box; the gearbox had to be rebuilt.

A week later, whilst on the way to a club meeting at Silverstone, I was just winding up the Norton on the long straight on the Chipping Norton to Banbury road, when there was a bang and clouds of smoke came out of one side of the engine and the one exhaust. The bike slowed but continued to run on one cylinder for a few seconds before expiring completely. It would not restart.

I had to abandon the Norton and make my way home. I was tempted to leave the Norton where it had self destructed. However, a friend collected the bike with his van. When the engine was stripped down it was found that one piston had disintegrated, its remains mangled up in the bottom of the engine. The entire engine had to be rebuilt, although I can’t remember the cost of this memory can be kind.

When the Norton was back on the road I resolved to offload it before anything else went wrong. I took it to the dealers who I'd originally bought it off - the manager said there was no market for bigger bikes, offering a derisory amount. I subsequently sold the bike for a reasonable sum.

The Navigator certainly did nothing to enhance the Norton name. Whilst the basic concept of a lightweight 350 twin was a good idea, the way Norton designed and produced their bike was such as to make the Navigator a very poor buy; basically because it had been designed down to the low price that the market could bear. Its best point was the handling (aided by Norton’s knowledge of steering geometry and Roadholder forks), its worst engine durability. The 305cc Honda CB77 showed just how well a four stroke vertical twin could be designed. Given that the latter bike costs far less than the Navigator, these days, there’s no real competition.

Vince Dusang