A Highland Melody

Getting deported from New Zealand as an illegal overstayer wasn't one of my best moves ever. At least I arrived back in the UK in the less terrible weather. Being dumped straight into the middle of a British winter would have been just too much after the ignominy of being slung out of my favourite country with precious little hope of re-admission.

In any event I had little time to ponder this grim possibility - I had arrived back in the UK at unexpectedly short notice with nowhere to live and most of my stuff (including my bikes) in storage. I rang an old mate with a holiday cottage away up in the wilds of the Scottish highlands, why yes of course I could go and stay there, as long as I liked. He was working away in France, and was only too glad of someone being around to keep an eye on the place. I wasn't to realise why he was so pleased to let me stay until I arrived there some days later. After a horrendous sequence of bus journeys I was greeted by two of his daughter's idiot friends who had established a weed farm on the premises. I quickly decided that I wanted fuck all to do with this enterprise, and repaired to the caravan which stood on the property a good 200m from the house.

While my surroundings were admittedly congenial, the small matter of the two mile walk to the nearest outpost of civilisation turned my mind to bikes. It just so happened that one of the aforementioned idiots possessed not one but three Honda Melody scooters, but not the ability to convert them from a large heap of parts to something resembling a working motorcycle. After some perfunctory negotiations I purchased the lot, along with an assortment of shite Chinese tools, for £20.

With little but time on my hands I set about building one of these magnificent steeds from the large selection of parts at my disposal. This would not be a labour of love but a matter of simple practicality, and as such I dispensed with such luxuries as paint and polish, tyres with tread and an exhaust not repaired with bean tin steel. The engine selected from the three available was chosen on the basis of being the only one with a full complement of non-snapped exhaust studs. As with most basket cases, the majority of the available components were either extensively worn or had been damaged by the primate who dismantled them, so it really was a case of choosing the least knackered example of each part required.

Two days graft (and many mugs of tea later) under the awning of my temporary home saw me become the proud owner of a running scooter, with working lights and everything! The likelihood of seeing another living soul out on the road, never mind a copper, was exceptionally slim so legal niceties such as tax, MOT and insurance were quickly and conveniently forgotten about. I was back on the road!

I found a bottle of very poor quality 2-stroke oil in the shed behind the house, syphoned a gallon of unleaded from one of the idiots' cars, filled the tanks and headed off for my shakedown run. The reality was slightly less exciting than even I had anticipated - with my 15st ass on board the Melody could just about achieve 35mph, and on any of the myriad hills you were lucky to see 20. Considerations like handling are best forgotten about in the context of machines like these, you just have to accept them for what they are. Still, nothing fell off and the bright yellow Melody managed to complete a perversely enjoyable 50 mile inaugural run, leaving a huge plume of blue smoke in its wake.

I was already enjoying being holed up in the comfortable little tourer at the side of the house in such a beautiful part of the world, and knowing that I had a healthy, running 2-wheeler parked outside only made me more content with my lot. Unfortunately the Melody also meant it was easier for me to spend evenings in the pub, enjoying live folk music and getting pissed on the rather fine local brews. The total absence of plod meant that riding home after a pint or five wasn't a problem, though finding my way back to where I lived (hindered by several pints of heavy and the world's dimmest headlight) sometimes was.

On the plus side, hanging out in the pub did introduce me to many of the locals and eventually saw me find gainful employment as a painter and decorator on a project converting a few old crofters cottages into holiday homes for moneyed southerners. Now I knew nothing about the trade in question but I lied my way into the job thinking 'how hard can it be?' and for once I was right. Money for old rope.

When the job came to an end I had a reasonable wedge in hand, and decided to take an extended camping trip along the West coast. I found a rear rack and top box in the junk pile behind the 'van, fitted it and loaded up the Melody. The trip took three weeks and some 450 miles in total. The only headache was caused by the plug cap working it's way off the end of the HT lead, but once that was sorted we got back to the caravan without any further drama.

This idyllic lifestyle continued for another couple of months, six in all, until an unwelcome development brought it to an abrupt end. On riding home from a lunchtime pint I noticed that the old homestead seemed unnaturally quiet. Closer inspection of the front door of the house revealed that it had been kicked in, and screwed shut again with woodscrews. A notice bearing the crest of the local police force announced the origin of the visitors...

To this day it remains a mystery as to how these two morons managed to get busted in such a desertered location, but busted they had been and I was anxious not to be anywhere around when plod came back for a second visit. I packed my gear and rode away, never to return. I stopped off in town at the home of a drinking mate and left the Melody with him. His son had been fascinated by it, and its potential for widening the horizons of a bored teenager trapped in a sleepy highland town. Hopefully I started another biker on his journey that day. 

And me? I jumped on a train south with no real idea of where I was going to get off, or what I was going to do next... sometimes life can be a little more exciting than you'd like it to be!

M Zapata

Kawasaki Z1

I have owned my Z1 numberplate for near on 17 years. There are also bits of engine that have lasted that long as well. But not that many. And if I really thought about it, I might find the odd chassis component that came from the original 1974 bike. The reason for this lack of originality in what is supposed to be a long lasting classic motorcycle is that I've crashed the thing five times and blown up the engine twice.

Admittedly, one of the crashes was caused by the engine blowing up, so, perhaps, the record is not so bad for 17 years and 175,000 miles of highway insanity.

It all started when I was just 17. Then, you could buy an old 250 for next to nothing, pass your test on it after a month, chuck it in the nearest canal and go buy the biggest, meanest chunk of high powered nastinesss you could persuade credulous parents to guarantee the hp on.

Back then I didn't weigh much over 8 stone, the Z1 scaled well over 500lbs when fully fuelled up. Even under the constraints of running in the thing shifted like it was going into orbit at any moment. Braking and handling were frightening to say the least. The slightest drop of rain and the front disc took the day off. A couple of bumps and the high bars were shaking all over the place.

I didn't know any better and thought it was all par for the course. You just had to ride through the shakes and whack on the back brake. The 900cc DOHC four cylinder engine felt rough at low revs but produced loads of power. After 500 miles I let rip with the throttle in second gear. The rev counter whipped around past the redline, the front wheel leapt off the ground and my puny arm and shoulder muscles felt like they were being stretched on the rack.

By the time I'd got various bodily functions under control and was telling myself that this was fun, the Z1 had eaten up all of what had been an empty road and was about to run over a Ford Anglia. I jammed on all the brakes and tried to wrench the bars to one side of the car. Some hope. One thing a Z1 won't do is change direction when locked up. The bike ploughed into the back of the car and I went over the bars.

In retrospect, this is a good bar room yarn that I trot out to impress gullible GPZ owners. However, as I somersaulted through lthe air it was anything but funny. When I hit the front of the car with my back I thought my world had ended. I was thrown off the car, luckily at an angle, and ended up implanted in a ditch. That I was still alive was a great surprise.

I staggered out of the ditch to find that the Ford Anglia had ended its life by hitting a stone wall on the other side of the road. Cars stopped, and drivers helped an ancient out of the wrecked car - both the back and front end had been stoved in - he looked like he didn't know what had destroyed his ordered Sunday afternoon outing. I was more concerned with the condition of my prized possession. It had ended up in a ditch with a bent or wrecked everything except for the engine and frame.

When the police arrived and started asking awkward questions I feigned terminal illness and was rushed to the local hospital. About three months later the insurance coughed up and the dealer resurrected the beast. It took me six months to regain the courage to open her up again. At least it had a chance to be run in properly and I had put on some much needed muscle. People actually stopped pointing at me perched upon the huge Kawa and laughing out loud.

I soon found out that top speed was an indicated 140mph. The vibes were awful, it wobbled and weaved all over the road and the single front disc brake couldn't pull the speeding hulk up very quickly. I didn't weigh much and my girlfriend weighed even less, but this didn't stop the twin rear shocks bottoming out over rough country roads.

One ride was so bad I had to pull over and let the woman rush off behind a hedge to relieve herself. For all that, for the next three years I bathed in the reflected glory of owning the fastest piece of metal on the road and got into all kinds of races with lesser machinery without killing myself or even falling off. The second accident occurred on a wet day in town. I thought I had mastered the wet weather delay on the front disc, but it caught me out this time and I locked up the front wheel when the traffic lights changed at a busy junction.

Luckily, I kicked myself away from the machine as soon as it started to slide down the road and rolled clear of descending traffic by inches. The Kawasaki was not so lucky. Somehow the throttle jammed open and it careered from one car to the next until it finally flipped itself upright and charged straight into a Ford Cortina.

What the driver thought of an unmanned beast of a motorcycle charging straight at him I never found out. It made the front page of the local paper - 5 cars wrecked, two completely written off and one battered motorcycle. This time even the frame was bent.

I waited in fear that the new insurance company might find out about the old accident which I'd forgotten to mention and dumped the bike at another dealers. They only took two months to sort that one out and told me not to bother asking for a quote when my insurance premium was due for renewal. By then the engine had done 35000 miles; with its new wheels and cycle parts it looked brand new.

Engine reliability had been awe inspiring. I was only changing the oil every 5000 miles and letting a mate balance the carbs when he felt bored. Rear tyres lasted only 4500 miles, mostly because of the drag racing my mates and I indulged in on the way to work in the morning. Similarly, chains didn't last well, I had one cheapo disintegrate after only 2800 miles, although I could usually get 5000 miles out of them.

With 62000 miles up, whilst proceeding at an orderly 120mph pace down the M1 in the company of half a dozen mates on CB750s and Z900s, the engine seized solid. This was the closest I've ever coming to shitting myself whilst on a motorcycle. Usually, accidents are over so quickly that there's no time for such self indulgence.

It took a huge back wheel slide, burning rubber and a massive tank slapper before I managed the necessary coordination of physical and mental facilities to pull in the clutch. The bike had lost half its speed by then and it managed to come back into line and I crashed it into the grass shoulder of the motorway.

If we hadn't been going so fast we might well have been amid traffic and that would have been the end of yours truly. The Kawa had gone across all three lanes of carriageway and back again in my desperate struggle to regain control. My mates, who had all had the sense to brake hard and stay out of the way, were all white faced and amazed that I was still alive.

Cycle part damage was mostly bent bits that stuck out too far and a few dents to the metalwork. The engine, when it was examined later, had broken two con-rods and distributed alloy debris throughout the cases. It was replaced by a motor from the breakers which turned out to be smoother and more powerful that my original engine. This one was maintained properly...

The other two crashes were not my fault and involved the usual blind car drivers. The first wrote off the front end, the second the rear end. As both were settled in cash on the spot I took the opportunity to replace the components with better quality items. The front gained twin discs and forks from a Z1R (plus much needed fork brace) and the back an alloy swinging arm and R and R shocks. The spoke wheels were rebuilt with chunky alloy rims.

By this time the beast had done 125000 miles and was looking a bit tatty. It was also getting burned off by the race replicas. It was annoying, to say the least, to have some yob on a CBR600 ride off into the distance down my favourite bit of country swervery. I decided on a tuning job and respray. The motor was bored out to over 1000cc, high lift cams were installed, aided by a straight through exhaust system that rattled windows and sent dogs into a frenzy.

I spent a boring 800 miles running in the rebuilt engine. Then I got into a race with a CBR1000. Down fast A roads we sped. I was spinning the motor into the red in every gear to keep him in sight. The bike still weaved and wobbled but nothing very serious. The plot felt great, I had never gone so fast before nor had my arms wrenched in quite the same ferocious way.

Then disaster struck again. With 150mph on the clock, vibes causing my vision to go awry and the Kawa just edging past the back wheel of the Honda, the motor locked up solid. This time my hand was already hovering over the clutch and I safely rolled to a halt; the silence strange after the roar of the exhaust. The CBR rider didn't even slow.

The poor old crankshaft had called it a day. There was a hole in the crankcase and a crack running right through the bottom half of the engine. Finding a decent engine proved impossible. I ended up buying a seized Z900 motor and fitting bits from my two wrecked engines plus some new pistons. Still, it only cost £300 to put back on the road, a lot cheaper than buying a new bike.

Since then I've taken it relatively easy and kept on regularly maintaining the bike. It runs a bit rough and doesn't have the same pull as when it was new, but with the respray, uprated suspension and brakes, it keeps up with most traffic, attracts a lot of attention and keeps me happy. I am tempted by one of the new Zephyrs; Z1s cost nearly as much secondhand as the new machines!

Alex Wilson

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Cops to the right of me, cops to the left of me, cops to the back of me.....well, maybe not that bad. Just one flashing Rover drawing level, the speedo flirting with 90mph. Glanced over, some bearded bugger with a big grin waving me down. It wasn't just the speed that got to them, it was the way the Z900 was weaving all over its lane. I knew this from my past experiences with the police.

They were never very amused when I told them it didn't speed wobble until 123mph was on the clock. Why it should chose that exact velocity to let loose I didn't know. All I knew was that it was crazy enough to throw me right off the bike if I didn't loosen my grip on the bars and let the wobbles die down of their own accord.

I'd spent a small fortune on tyres, suspension and frame bracing with absolutely no effect. I did know that most Z900s were similarly affected, although the speed at which they went wild differed slightly from mine. Something fundamentally wrong with the frame design or geometry, I guessed.

I had the choice of trying to ride through the wobbles or pulling over. The former was not impossible; I'd come out the other side to an uncanny stability at 130mph and even got 140mph on the clock. I had no idea of the top speed of the Rover but guessed that its superior aerodynamics would allow better high speed acceleration. I also knew that the next turn off was over 20 miles away. I decided to pull over.

After some sarcastic remarks about my apparent youth, along the lines of asking if I was old enough to hold a motorcycle licence, they got stuck into the Z900. The only things wrong with it were that the main beam had blown and the horn didn't work. Given the fact that it was nearly 20 years and 78000 miles old, these minor defects were hardly worth considering. Fortunately, the plod never checked them, more concerned with seeing if they could pull off the wheels and swinging arm. They couldn't, so I got off with a warning rather than a booking. What I really needed was a turbo-charger to make escape from such people easier.

I doubted if the Z900 motor would take such excesses. It had begun to show signs of frailty - a bit of smoke out of the exhaust on the overrun, an unhealthy rattle from the top end and some harsh midrange vibes. I'd done nearly 10,000 miles on the Z so had become tuned into its emanations. I knew when the valves needed setting from a loss of off the line acceleration and a bit clutch rattle at 1500rpm always indicated that the carbs were due for a tune-up. Having been thrown off a CB900 at 70mph when the engine seized I had soon learnt the importance of taking an interest in the feel and sound of a motor.

I shouldn't really have been doing 90mph, but it was such a pleasant English summer day and the motorway was relatively empty that it was too much to resist. The weaves I'd grown used to, they were never, at that kind of speed, too worrying or likely to turn really vicious. I was happy enough, though, to carry on at a mere 75mph, which was smooth, stable and easier on the ear-drums (thanks to a marginally legal 4-1).

Being at that stage in life where a set of wheels has to be a bit of an ego-trip as well as a way of travelling, means the Z900 is kept in pretty good cosmetic shape and young ladies are quite willing to swing a leg over the saddle. Which always puts me in an evil mood, nothing like having a young girlie clinging on for dear life as I pull a couple of wheelies and thunder through the town. Er, it also explains why I've gone through two sets of clutch plates! My mates, also mounted on old retros, also find pulling the birds easy going.

Our weekend outings have become pretty notorious. A high speed 500 mile dash to the country, erect a tent or three and kill a few crates of beer. We've even got a couple of girls piloting their own machines as well as a pillion each - we must be the only group of motorcyclists where the girls outnumber the men. Eat yer hearts out; and no you can't join!

On one of these blasts some yob in a Porsche decided he would join in. Bloody fast cars, no doubt about that, we had a hard time keeping ahead of him. None of the bikes had what you'd call state of the art handling. It was a 911, which with its engine in the back could have treacherous handling on a par with my Z900. On one evil bend we were using all the road to get around, with a wild burst of acceleration on the exit line. The 911 tried to follow suit, spun its back wheels out, whacked into an earth bank and flipped right off the road.

We turned around, intrigued to view the carnage. The car looked a write-off with dents everywhere but the driver managed to crawl out of the hole that once contained the windscreen. He looked a bit disconcerted but was made of stern stuff - once he clocked the women we had with us, he was all for buying a bike and wanted to know which one we'd recommend. We figured a GSXR1100 would either keep him in line or kill him off.

A rather more serious problem occurred on the last leg of the journey when one of the Z1000s blew its crankshaft. Seemed like a roller bearing had exploded, sending metal particles right through the engine. The guy survived an 80mph lock-up without falling off. The pillion pissed herself but that was the least of his worries. Like just about everyone else, these old bikes were run on a shoe-string - we all lived in fear of Total Seizure. Not that it stopped us caning the old monsters.

I gave him an 220,000 mile Z900 motor I had in the garage. It came out of a wrecked bike, the owner claiming the engine must've seized on him. But we'd got it started up and it seemed to run alright even if it was full of enough rattles to drown out a VW Beetle at a hundred paces. We were all amused to see how it would react to its new role in life.....

He came back a bit white-faced and I soon found out why when I took a turn at the bars. It vibrated more harshly than an old B25 single I was unfortunate enough to have to suffer for a week. There was none of the glorious forward thrust that my own Z900 still possessed. The engine felt like it had to overcome massive inertia just to gain a few hundred revs and refused to pull fifth gear under any circumstances. It just goes to show how tough is the Z900 - he did 6000 miles, before he found a decent Z1100 mill, without needing any attention. I doubted that there were any bits I could use left within its blotched cases.

I eventually took my engine down to the crankcases. I wanted to fix it before it turned extortionately expensive. Most of the poor running was down to a couple of piston rings that had collapsed into their grooves and a worn out camchain. A rebore and new set of pistons almost bankrupted me but after a few days of missing the charge the Z900 gave I was desperate to get back on the road. At almost any cost!

I managed to restrain the right wrist for all of 300 miles. I had an ear to ear grin after the first 50 to 120mph blast in top gear and spent most of the day riding up and down my favourite A-roads. The engine was both quiet and smooth as well as packing one hell of a punch. It was better than new, or so it seemed to me.

I had made the most of its 80 horses by removing as much excess mass as possible. Instead of weighing a stock 550lbs I'd got it down to about 480lbs. Just replacing the 4-4 exhaust must have saved half that. The lower mass also helped the bike in the corners, being that much easier to flick every which way. Not that hard riding still didn't produce a lot of sweat and massive overheating of the twin disc brakes out front.

Despite its handling deficiencies, or maybe even because of the skill needed to overcome them, I love the Z900. I've owned other big fours but they have somehow lacked the charisma and character of the big Kawasaki. I want to go around the clock at least twice on mine.

Martin Long

****************************************************

Weird how a five minute conversation in a pub can change your whole life. This Del Boy type character reckoned his recently deceased uncle's possessions included a motorcycle. The next day I went along to have a look. I had nothing to lose. The clouds hung heavy and the wind whipped through the lane where the lock-up was lopsidedly located.

The motorcycle turned out to be a rusty frame and half a dozen boxes. The logbook hinted it was a Kawasaki Z1 but you could have fooled me. Mixed in with the Kawasaki stuff were bits from half a dozen other bikes. Then the rain fell so heavily that the tin roof rattled and visibility was down to half a yard. I wanted the warmth of my home but the guy kept rattling off spurious reasons why I should buy the boxes of bits.

In the end I agreed to £25 as he was willing to deliver the bits and myself back to my house. At least I wouldn't be soaked through. What I didn't realise was that I'd have to help push start the ancient Bedford van up a slight incline. I was shivering, close to hallucination, by the time I was back in my living room.

Once recovered I started pulling bits out of the boxes. The engine was indeed a 903cc DOHC four cylinder job with a bottom end in one piece (filled with murky oil) and a choice of three different tensioners. The barrels were rebored and the pistons covered in enough protective grease to last a gay club for a night. The cylinder head was wrecked, cams missing lobes, bearings shot and a couple of cracks running through the combustion chambers. The camchain featured rusted through links.

That all seemed quite reasonable given the low purchase cost, nothing trawling around the breakers and reading the classifieds couldn't solve. The chassis was harder work. The wheels were rusted heaps, the forks were pitted and the front disc missing. The rust on the frame cleaned up and there were no kinked tubes. The Z1 had poor suspension and dubious handling in stock condition, using more modern forks, wheels and brakes would make a lot of sense.

Unfortunately, I was tempted by a complete Z1 which had done 125000 miles and blown its main bearings, as well as seizing the pistons. After much haggling, and a few abusive phone calls, I took possession for £250. The owner reckoned this an absurd price, less than a tenth of what a working Z1 was worth but no-one else was willing to give him the time of day. I had to push it three miles home, which with a mass of 550lbs was incredibly hard work.

I still had to buy newish tensioner, camchain, tyres and brake pads, but it was much quicker than sorting out the pile of bits. In fact, I sold off the other parts for a grand total of £350, the repainted frame and logbook going for £250. That meant I had a running bike on the road for practically nothing.

The Z1 has gained classic status. The only reason I can think for this is the butch looks. The chassis would be considered dangerous in a 550, these days, and the engine only puts out 80 horses. Most 600s will blast off into the distance without even straining the parameters of their design. My first impressions consisted of a vibratory, noisy motor that ran out of steam at 120mph. By then the bike was chopping around like a jet-ski in a force nine gale.

I almost threw up when I backed off the throttle. The back end shook around all over the place, the seat seemed to be falling off and the bars wobbled like the front tyre had blown. Brake, brake, brake. And pray! The single front disc would've been impressive on a restricted 125 but with so much mass straining at the leash it took forever before anything began to happen. I felt the muscles in my right hand beginning to tear as I forced the lever back to the bar.

Less than impressed I phoned in an advert to MCN, deciding that anyone who wanted to hand over £2500 could have it. In reality, I would've been happy with 250 notes just to stop myself from dying young.

No-one bothered to phone. Everyone who saw the bike stationary reckoned it was the business. They were less impressed when the motor rattled into life and left speechless when let loose at the controls. After a while it became obvious that the steering head bearings were ruined. Cracked, more like it. Once a nice set of taper-rollers were hammered in, some semblance of directional stability was achieved. It felt safe up to about 80mph but few were willing to go any faster.

The disc brake improved slightly after the new pads had lost their glaze. They still kept the blood flowing through my heart, though, even in town losing speed involved a second's delay before any braking occurred. I never managed to squeal the front tyre. The tall, wide bars gave useful leverage despite all the mass and I managed to ride around rather than through cars when the braking was insufficient.

The riding position was all American cruiser. Given the vibes and handling this was no great inhibition, it wasn't the kind of bike that was well suited to high speed motorway work. 70mph cruising was the best bet, at slightly higher speeds the vibes really churned in. Doing 80mph for an hour, for instance, blew every bulb on the bike and left a silencer rattling around on its broken bracket.

Okay, I have absolutely no idea how many miles the engine has done. For all I know it's been around the clock twice and the bearings are half rotted by corrosion after standing for a couple of years. A low mileage Z1 might be an entirely different ballgame. Even bearing these possibilities in mind, I found the gearbox a walk on the wild side. I'd be cruising along, almost without a care in the world, when there'd be a massive shotgun type noise followed by 12000 revs as the engine screamed in a false neutral and I screamed with terror from the sudden wobbles induced by the lack of power getting through to the back wheel.

The gearbox action was always poor, needing a hefty boot and a lot of patience. I found it better to take off in second and hit fourth as soon as possible. Finding neutral at a standstill was a complete waste of time and holding the clutch in led to lots of drag, ultimately stalling the motor if I wasn't willing to jump the lights. Engine and transmission oil were, naturally, shared, needed to be changed every 750 to 1000 miles, depending on riding conditions and the quality of the oil.

That something was wrong with the transmission was seen in the way the drive chain wore out (every 3000 miles) and an engine sprocket that was devoted to falling off. The last thing I wanted was for the chain to come adrift at 70mph. Every time I changed the engine oil I checked the final drive sprocket. I think it was the frightening levels of vibration that were running through the engine. It was heavier going than a GS1000 or an XJ900, both of which had previously passed through my hands and left me in a happier state of mind.

Even with that experience I couldn't get to grips with Kawasaki's most famous baby. There seemed so many ways of killing myself without undue effort that the sheer brutality of the bike overwhelmed my mind, making me think, softly, softly, in between prayers and bowel emptying sessions. It's hard to describe a bike that goes around bends in such an unpredictable manner; one that will flip out of a aura of stability into drunken camel mode for no apparent reason. The suspension was so primitive and the chassis so ill-thought out that mastering the Z1 was beyond my abilities.

Only one friend was able to get to grips with the Kawasaki. The others never asked for a second ride after frightening themselves silly. This one guy rode through all the wobbles and weaves, used the leverage of the bars to take bends at twice what I thought was a safe speed. I can attest to this as I was clinging on to the pillion perch at the time! I've never been so scared in my life!

It's possible there was a much better bike hidden within the depths of the aged Z1. I'd had enough, didn't fancy my chances of finding its true limits without killing myself. I could've spent a fortune upgrading the chassis but someone came and gave me £1250. I felt a great sense of relief at seeing the back of the Z1. Nostalgia Sucks!

Eric

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The scene was an all too familiar one - an impressionable youth staring with nose pressed against the local bike shop window, drooling over the latest mega machines offered by short gentlemen from distant lands. If only...so off home it was to dream about the large silver blue Kawasaki Z1R wishing some long forgotten aunt would meet her maker leaving her fortune to one who could put it to good use. I then came one step closer to believing in miracles when on arrival at the house I was told that this is just what had happened. I now had enough not only to buy the bike but also to insure it.

A week or two later it was back to the bike shop to be met by the usual charming sales patter. We started off well, 'Piss off sonny and don't touch the merchandise.' 'Oright then, I'll buy the Honda 750 from down the road.' 'Terribly sorry, sir, just our little joke. Ha, ha. Now then what can I interest you in - special low deposit finance, can we arrange your insurance. Of course, we have our own extended warranty scheme which is tailor made to suit our, I mean your, needs.'

'Well, actually, I was rather interested in buying a bike - more exactly the Z1R.' 'Fine choice, sir. fine choice. Note the state of the art colour coded spark plug caps and designer centrestand - especially designed to gouge perfect semi-circles round motorways.'

I was sold. I arranged insurance, parted with £2010 and took delivery of JCX 380S the same day - a machine destined to be my pride and joy, also the cause of many mishaps and near fatalities during the next nine years.

Day one. Out on the road for the first time on anything bigger than a Honda 90. Take it nice and easy: 10.....20..... 30..... slow down for the lights.... SLOW DOWN FOR THE LIGHTS..... just in time. Lesson one, don't trust the brakes. Over the years the brakes have used up several of my lives.

In the original form the front brake is virtually useless. Partly because the master cylinder is located on the bottom yoke and is cable operated, to clear the fairing. Goodridge hose and various types of pads made absolutely no difference and I only cured the problem by taking a chunk out of the fairing and fitting a Z1 master cylinder. If the rear brake managed to work slightly better, it wasn't for long because the aluminium components corroded causing it to seize on with monotonous regularity.

First impressions of the 1015cc lump were very good, perhaps because it was eleven times the capacity of my old bike - in fact, the impression stayed with me for as long as I kept the Kawa. There is no doubt that the engine is the best part of these machines. Excellent acceleration especially once past 5000rpm and a top end of 125mph - where legally permitted of course, officer. It was useless at popping wheelies, all I succeeded in doing was stretching the knicker elastic chain and ruining the rear tyre. An expensive and pointless game.

It may have produced a mere 90hp but the motor had excellent torque and would pull strongly even from very low revs. It proved to be very reliable, despite much abuse and only let me down once in 70,000 miles when the alternator burnt out. I found that the carbs needed balancing every 3000 to 4000 miles (praise be to John Morgan mercury vacuum gauges, they have saved me a fortune in tuning costs) and the valve clearances went about 6000 miles between adjustment - a special tool for a tenner means the cams don't have to be removed.

The camchain went for 32000 miles before it demanded replacement. Oil and filter changes were done every 3000 miles which paid dividends - the cam lobes and other internals looked like new even after nine years.

The matt black finish of the engine did not stand up to the ravages of time very well. In fact, the standard of finish on the whole machine was pretty poor. Paint peeled off the frame and tank to the extent that after six years the tank was replaced and the frame powder coated. Fuel consumption stayed more or less at 40mpg regardless of how it was ridden. It never used engine oil between changes.

On the road, the bike was quite a handful to control. In an effort to stop the tendency for early Z1's to weave at anything over 80mph, the fork angle was changed. This increased the wheelbase slightly, made the steering heavier and the sodding thing still meandered across the motorway out of control on more occasions than I care to recall.

This was eventually cured by fitting a steering damper, taper roller head bearings and having two tubes welded across the frame - one above and one below the exhaust tubes (as done by Kawasaki on the Z1000J and Z1000R). Quite inexpensive to do but very effective. After these mods I really began to enjoy the bike because the frame could then handle the power produced by that excellent engine unit.

The Z1R was a leader in its day with advanced features such as twin discs, front brake calipers on the back of the fork legs, self cancelling indicators, electronic ignition and a nose fairing as an integral part of the design. All common today, but in 1978 it was rather a different story. On the subject of styling, many didn't like the coffin tank and very angular lines, but I thought, and still think, it was one of the most aesthetically pleasing bikes ever produced. Each to their own.

At one time I decided to sell it to my brother, Harry, who had been badgering me about it for years. In a drunken stupor I sold it, only to regret the move when I had sobered up. It took two years for me to convince him to sell it back and I vowed never to let it go again. My wife had other ideas, so in the interest of matrimonial harmony (and the desire to reach 30) it had to go. A sad day.

In the time I owned JCX I had several bikes alongside such as three GPz1100s, a GPZ900 (the only one I have left) and XJ650 (very tough and underrated shaftie) and a Z1100R. Of all these I found the Z1R to have the most character, it was the easiest to maintain and was made of better quality alloys than the later Kawasakis.

Now, what would I do if I had my time over again? The answer is easy - exactly the same, no regrets. If you can put up with its failings on the braking/handling front you will be rewarded by many enjoyable miles of effortless riding. Recommended.

Malcolm Speedwell
 
 
 

Kawasaki GPz1100

Doing 500 miles in a day on a GPz1100 was a new form of torture. I'd previously been hurtling around the country on an ancient GT750, which was bad enough with most bits rotting off and it wandering all over the road at 90mph. The GPz was another story, altogether, not really getting its act together until more than 90mph was on the clock.

The only hassle with that scenario, apart from wailing cop cars, was fierce secondary vibes. 115mph was facilitated by the fairing which provided excellent protection. Even in the wet, most of the rain was whipped around my body. My face, though, was splattered with such an excess of water that I had to crouch down behind the screen, which could've benefited from being a foot higher.

I did try a higher screen but its poor design meant it went flat when subjected to a 90mph gale, throwing off a deluge of water into my lap. The riding position was supposed to be sporting but somehow was less than ideal. In town it caused agony on my wrists, after an hour in the saddle on the motorway I was more or less seized in position. It was a major effort to stagger off without the bike and I falling over in one tangled heap. A day's hard, excessive riding needed at least a couple of days to recover!

The intense secondary vibes didn't help. These were concentrated, initially, in the pegs, but after a couple of hours of speeding rather than fading away they seemed to spread to the whole chassis. The cycle parts seemed generally to be strong enough to resist such destructive buzzing, but I did lose a numberplate, indicator lens and footpeg over a year's riding.

My own body was not so robust. I was thrown into absolute agony some 230 miles from home when a filling fell out. I nearly choked on the large piece of amalgam then found it hard going to stop the screaming as the air rushed on to the naked nerve. You wouldn't believe the hassle I had trying to get treated by a dentist. In the end, I agreed to pay £200 for emergency treatment! The pain was so intense I had no option.

Just to finish off the day in style, 50 miles from home the big brute went into an almighty speed wobble. I'd left home with over 2mm of tread, after 500 miles it was down to about 1.5mm, causing the Pirelli Phantoms to lose all their integrity. The rubber was almost brilliant when newish, but as it went down to the legal limit the bike became almost as dangerous as having sex wearing a Russian condom with an Ugandan whore.

The speed wobble needed a deep breath, a firm hold on the bars and a desperate attack on all three discs. The GPz has immensely powerful brakes, that can lose 50mph within moments. The wobbles went wilder as speed was lost until it was a question of whether the bike would quiet down or go horizontal. This time, as in every other case, fortunately, the wobble died down and I escaped with a mere dose of excessive fear and fright.

I've owned a lot of nasty handling bikes and the GPz is by no means the worst of the bunch. It's the most expensive, though, by far. If a set of tyres last 5000 miles before letting the handling go loose, then I jump up and down with joy and throw a party in celebration. There's no mercy on consumables from this kind of rorty four, with chains, pads and sprockets all in urgent need of replacement after 5000 miles of stringent stampeding.

That did include a lot of wheelspin and wheelies, both of which were easy meat for the 120hp DOHC aircooled four. Revving out with the clutch pulled in and then dropping it fast, gave sensational, arm breaking acceleration. Poor old pillions were soon left screaming for mercy as they tried to hold on by their fingernails. It was the kind of bike which would make passengers wet themselves within a few minutes. I really blew one guy's mind, he ended up never again wanting to go near a motorcycle, curled up in a Ford Capri for the rest of his life, babbling incoherently at passing motorcyclists.

With a top speed of 150mph, and some gut busting acceleration even in top gear, the GPz was more than a match for any number of modern superbikes. Weighing in at 525lbs it was no heavier than many of the plastic fantastic crowd, but needed more muscle, a firmer grip and a bigger pair of balls than the race replicas. Racing with an FZR1000, for instance, was great fun. Trying to follow the FZR's line through fast bends would cause the undercarriage to take large chunks out of the ground, the suspension to wobble all over the place and the big brute of a bike to inevitably drift over to the wrong side of the highway.

The best technique on the GPz1000, as with most of the old aircooled monster fours, was to keep it as vertical as possible. Make corners as straight as possible by starting out on the wrong side of the road. When that was impossible, then hang off the bike. If even that failed it was all down to massive courage and a brutal grip on the bars, which could've usefully been a foot wider to give better leverage.

I gave my FZR mounted mate some frightening times, as I wobbled past him, looking like I was hurtling to oblivion. Surprisingly, given all the wobbling I never actually fell or crashed into anything. It was a close call at times, my instinctive reaction being to shut the throttle dead and reach for the brakes.

Engine braking was useful until the 'box started jumping out of gear. It only happened on the overrun, so didn't throw the engine into a 15000rpm session but the sudden loss of traction would upset the chassis, causing some quite intense tail wagging. Changing up the box was always smooth but needed the use of the rather remote and heavy clutch to ensure slickness.

Of note, at the front end, was an anti-dive system that stopped excessive fork dive even under manic braking but didn't make the front brake so remote that wet weather braking became suicidal. I suppose that if you were really stupid at the lever you could lock the wheel and slide off the road in the wet, but it was never a great concern even when the Pirellis were down to 2mm. I've owned old horrors with really retributive brakes that needed the calipers stripped and rebuilt much more often than the 15 to 20,000 miles in the case of the GPz1100.

One area where the construction of the big Kawasaki was a bit poor was the wheel bearings, which seem slightly on the small size. Even after I put in a set of SKF sealed bearings they didn't last for more than 14000 miles (against 12,500 for the OE bearings). It was always easy to tell when they were on the way out as it became like riding on a steel grating at as little as 30mph. Any long term owner would be well clever to put in new wheel bearings every 10,000 miles rather than wait for them to go whilst out on the road.

Another chronic problem is supposed to be the fuel injectors and associated sensors but I did 30,000 miles in addition to the 18000 already covered, without any worries on that score and absolutely no maintenance chores! Oil was changed every 1000 miles and the filter occasionally. Electronic ignition and automatic camchain tensioner meant there was little else to do to the motor. With its design harking back to the old Z900, the GPz has both the heritage and the engineering to claim toughness.

After a year of lots of high speed touring my back, wrists and bum have all adapted to the initial chronic pains and I can do a couple of hundred miles without too much distress. A full day's blasting, though, does in my spine and the rest of my body, not to mention my teeth. I did do 4000 miles in five days once, but I never touched the machine for a fortnight afterwards and could but barely move for a whole weekend. I know people who've been reduced to gibbering idiots by constant high speed riding on the GPz.

It takes a certain perverted kind of chap to get the best out of the Kawasaki, then. It's as tremendously fast as it is horrendously difficult to handle, but that's all part of its charm. So much so that they are becoming a bit of a cult bike. As the last one was made in '88, there are still some good ones on offer with plenty of mileage left, though the really immaculate ones fetch £3000, which is just a little bit over the top given all the hassle involved. Don't forget, either, that they need a bank account (for consumables) just as big as the rider's balls (for riding 'em fast).

Dave Breach

Kawasaki GPz750

One test of my 1985 Kawasaki 750 turbo's stability was the time I whacked the wing mirror of an oncoming Transit with the front brake lever. As two of my fingers were holding on to the brake lever and I was doing 70mph at the time, this hurt one hell of a lot. The handlebars twitched a few times but the bike kept to its line with remarkable stability. As I was on the right side of the road at the time I hope the Transit driver had a heart attack.

After a few hours waiting in casualty, my fingers were bandaged, they were merely bruised not broken. You could have fooled me, the throbbing pain took days to go away. The ride home on the turbo was not very amusing either as I found it very difficult to control the throttle. The bike lurched into and out of its power boost as the turbo came in, speed and machine oscillating wildly.

I bought the bike two years ago with 18000, apparently genuine, miles on the clock. It was tatty but original, down to the OE rear shock and rusty silencers. Its only real virtue was that at £1200 it was a very cheap way to get hold of over 100 horses and, besides, big bikes were very rare in my area of Wales. A quick shot of the turbo boost convinced me that all must be well inside the engine covers.

It was a very thrilling bike to ride in a straight line. By 5000 revs the front end was going light and everything was going backwards at a gratifying rate. It must be one of the fastest 750s around, able to burn off things like CB900s and XS1100s with an absurd ease. My friend on a 900 Ninja was a bit disconcerted to find that I was pulling away from him up to the ton. He became a bit happier when he saw how desperately I had to brake for the curves.

The turbo's a bit like the old H1 only a bit more predictable - it's pretty terrible all the time. The bike feels like the swinging arm bearings are shot even after I replaced them at 19000 miles. Even on a smooth bend the bike feels incredibly loose, so I doubt if replacing all the suspension would sort things; I never bothered replacing the shot rear shock, I just adapted my riding technique to suit.

Point and squirt was the name of the game. Riding up to the corners as fast as possible, using a heavy grip on the twin discs to kill speed, making the corner as much of a straight line as possible, twitching the bike upright in a low a gear as possible at the first moment and letting rip with the throttle on the way out.

When the turbo comes in, the back tyre spins a little, the bike squats down and the front end goes light (if you wrench on the bars it's wheelie time), there's this tremendous whine through the silencer and this lovely gut wrenching rush forward. Believe me, once you've experienced a turbo rush you won't want to go back to normally aspirated engines!

As well as the turbo, which requires a lot of extra exhaust tubing, as well as a heavy and expensive blower, the engine is fuel injected with a bank of injectors. Using the exhaust gases to drive the turbo has some disadvantages in that any power output gain is offset by the extra weight of the components....only when an engine is designed as a turbo unit from the drawing board stage can the real advantages be gained. All the Japanese turbos have been grafted on to existing engine designs, not able to take full advantage of the power boosting capabilities of the turbo.

The GPz750 turbo engine has been substantially strengthened internally over the stock unit to withstand the extra horses. In the 22000 miles I've done I have not had to do anything to the engine internals, as such, not even the valves have needed adjustment. In many ways, because the engine develops its power at lower revs, the internals have an easier time than the stock motor which has to be revved into the red to really make it shift.

Unfortunately, the turbo unit itself proved troublesome at 31000 miles. The first evidence of this was the clouds of blue smoke out of the exhaust, by the time I got around to fixing the problem I had a two stroke like pall of smoke following the bike everywhere. The seals in the turbo unit had gone. The unit must run very hot as it seemed to have welded itself together.

As there were strange knocking noises coming from the unit, I was well relieved to pick up a complete exhaust and turbo unit from a breaker for £125. This was extremely knuckle bruising to fit but after a week or so of swearing at it I was back on the road. The turbo unit was noisier than before and power output was diminished, the kick when the turbo came it wasn't half as much fun.

By this time the front discs and forks were showing signs of disintegrating. There were hairline cracks in the discs and a lot of free play in the forks. A GPz1100 front end, for £100, went straight on but, much to my disgust, handling didn't improve, although the braking was much better. Such was my use of the front brake that pads only lasted 3500 miles and the front Metz lasted only 4000 miles. The rear would do about 5000 miles as long as I avoided frequent wheelspin starts. The chain and sprockets didn't last much longer.

The only area where it was cheap to run was on fuel, anywhere between 45 and 60mpg possible, no doubt down to the improved efficiency of the turbo system and fuel injectors. Unfortunately, at 36,500 miles the latter began to cause problems, with lots of backfiring and coughing. Engine starting had become difficult, previously it had growled happily into life first touch of the button.

Being an idiot, I replaced the injectors with a used set from a breakers (£125) only to find that the problem was a loose wire to the black box which the previous owner had relocated to under the seat (from the tailpiece where it was subjected to loads of dirt thrown up by the back tyre).

3000 miles later the black box failed completely leaving me stranded in the middle of the Welsh hills, with only the crazy sheep for company. After whacking a few of these around the head, I started pushing the massive Qwack up hill and down dale, to a small village where I dumped the machine and waited six hours for the mini bus to turn up - about the time needed to recover from the exertion.

I returned to the village with the black box only to find that in addition the fuse box had turned molten and the battery was flat! After much rewiring the bike was jump started off an ancient tractor (the greedy farmer charging me £5 for his time and then complaining about the bloody English). It didn't like running below 2000 revs but apart from that trucked along in normal fashion.

The hairpin bends in these Welsh hills sent the turbo's chassis into a frenzy, but I just hung on for dear life, taking revenge on life's injustices by running down any sheep that got it the way - deciding to exact revenge on Welsh farmers I bungeed one sheep I had knocked out on to the back seat and hurried out of the area, as fast as the chassis would allow.

Coming into Merthyr I was a bit shocked to hear this terrible bleeting noise over the whine of the silencer. The damn animal was still alive and going berserk. I had to quickly pull over, release the thing and watch it career up the High Street. What was that saying about there being no free lunches? As well as cosmetic decay, at nearly 40,000 miles the bike gives every indication of wanting to fall apart. I dare say that the engine is still okay but the rest of it is ready for the rubbish heap. A spate of various chassis bearings failures did not endear the bike to me......when the front wheel bearings went it felt like I riding with a puncture on ice. The Unitrack linkages are loose enough to clang over bumps and the tank appears to have rusted through in places. The bike looks terrible and draws unwarranted attention from the plod.

The temptation is high to tear off all the turbo and injector stuff and see if it will run with carbs, the turbo unit rumbling away like it needs replacement again.....I don't really know what to do with it, spending money on something that's falling apart under me does not appeal but then the turbo kick is still there, a little dimmed, and it's great fun to ride in a straight line. I'll probably just cane it until something goes terminal.

Neil Jennings

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Aaaaargh! The bastard had done it again. And again. It wasn't much of a surprise but it was still like a kick in the balls. A 125 graduate who couldn't be more than 19 kept blowing me off through the bends. He was armed with an early CBR600 that'd done 80,000 miles. All I had was a GPz750 and 20 years worth of low motorcycle cunning.

The GPz was a good motorcycle but not good enough. It wasn't a lack of power for there was scads available. It wasn't poor suspension, either, for both ends were upgraded and in fine state. I wouldn't even admit to any weakness in the frame. By 1986 Kawasaki had come a long way since the wild days of the H1. The double cradle tubular frame, assisted by newish headstock taper rollers and needle bearings in the alloy swinging arm, was plenty tough enough. Where it lost out to the CBR was its extra 50lbs of mass and relatively staid steering geometry.

Where I'd start to run wide in bends the kid on the CBR would just haul over and come past on my inside. When I tried to follow his route through the bends I'd find the GPz falling off its tyres or something digging into the tarmac hard. The bike was much happier accelerating out of bends than coming into them hard on the brakes. I tried to develop a point and squirt technique that would end by passing in front of his wheel, causing him to brake harshly when well banked over. But he'd just hammer through on superior acceleration, making me brake to avoid whacking his back wheel.

I rode like a drunken cowboy, played it cool and tried to imitate Barry Sheene (what do you mean, who he?), all to absolutely no avail. I was totally outclassed. I had a go on the Honda, intrigued to see how good it was and whether the kid was really a boy wonder. Sob! It was wonderful! The handling seemed to straighten out corners and the top end acceleration was intoxicating. The only faults I could find were a notchy gearbox and a lack of sub 7000rpm power, a combination that made long term riding rather tiresome.

The Kawasaki's power flowed with a vengeance from 7000 revs onwards, but from 2000 revs up there was enough power to make life tolerable and the gearchange always engaged with a reassuring click. The only time it was less that perfect was when the chain went out of adjustment or the oil went off. I had to adjust the former every 300 miles and change the latter every 1500 miles. Shaft drive would've been very nice but even more weight would've been big trouble.

I was running on a stock exhaust system, which was both heavy and restrictive of power. Both an Alpha and Motad four into one had messed up the carburation. After one jet changing session I gave up in disgust. This is bad news, though, as the OE system managed to be heavy and rust prone, lasting for less than three years. The last time it happened I attached a pair of universal silencers to the downpipes. They worked okay with just the occasional dip at 5500 to 6500rpm.

Top speed's a splendid 135mph. Not bad for a bike with 38000 miles on the clock with stock internal components, including the sometimes dodgy camchain. The half fairing's more efficient than it looks, I felt quite happy hanging on at 120mph! True, there was a bit of secondary vibration coming out of the chassis at all points of contact but it never really annoyed me and certainly didn't do any harm to any of the chassis components, although it may've affected the electrics. More on that later.

High speed cruising was only limited by seat comfort, the padding going flat after an hour. It dug into my groin in a rather tiresome way but those less well endowed probably wouldn't experience this problem. The pegs were placed perfectly for the flat bars, neither legs nor arms showing any pains after hours of riding.

Oh yes, there was also the fuel consumption. The GPz could be really excellent if ridden moderately, kept under 80mph and a tempered right-hand employed. All a matter of looking ahead and riding smoothly. Worthwhile, when the dosh's dried up, for the 60mpg plus! Ridden at 120mph it'd do about 30mpg. Normally, I'd achieve 45 to 50mpg whilst having lots of fun. It's interesting to note that the shaft drive GT750 can't match the GPz's frugality.

If this series of Kawasaki's has a weak point it's undoubtedly the electrics. The CDI units are infamous for burning out, usually because their rubber mounts go hard, letting the secondary vibes straight through. Try ringing around breakers if you don't believe me. I knew this already from previous experiences with a GPz550, and avoided it by using an extra layer of rubber.

Batteries last for about two years, but back bulbs can blow every week and even the front light's not immune from the odd implosion. No amount of rubber mounting has any effect. The regulator/ rectifier's relatively tough, only likely to go down if the alternator burns out. The wiring loom rots after about eight years or 60,000 miles; any sign of charging difficulties most likely to be down to this. I give the handlebars switches a weekly dose of WD40 and they have always worked well. Any models fitted with a sidestand switch should have them removed, they are notorious for affecting the starting and running of the motor. A dodgy killswitch can have a similar effect.

The only trouble I had was a battery that wouldn't hold much of a charge whilst on tour. The lack of a kickstart made life difficult as it was a bugger to bump start. I usually encouraged a few peds to give me a push but if the motor stalled in heavy traffic, as it tended to do without a decent battery, then I was in deep shit. One time I had to push the bike into the gutter, then waddle along for half a mile to a steep hill. I soon fitted a new battery. I was told that running the GPz on a dead battery would burn out all the black boxes but my bike survived unscathed.

Other tales of disaster concern the clutch, valves and camchain, but in my experience the GPz series is very tough and it'd take some real madness to injure the engine in the first 50,000 miles. GPz750's are becoming a bit rare so whenever I come across another example I usually end up having a chat. The highest mileage I've come across is 160,000, still on the original bottom end, frame, forks and wheels. The guy reckoned he'd do 200,000 miles before retiring the machine. On the other hand, one guy blew his motor up at 26000 miles - but only by running it dry of oil. Some engines do eat oil when ridden hard.

Chassis weak spots are mostly concentrated around the Uni-trak back end which really need six monthly stripdowns for greasing; some back ends last for three or four years without being touched by human hand if heavy winter riding's avoided. An alloy swinging arm's a good investment with sealed bearings and easy chain adjustment via eccentric mounts. But beware, the first one I sent off for didn't fit properly and only some nasty telephone calls secured a replacement. The frame's very accident resistant, the forks aren't.

The only other trouble spot's the brake calipers, with the usual complaint about seizure during winter riding. I strip them in October and again in March which stops any corrosion becoming terminal. I prefer Ferodo pads which last longer and work better in the wet than other makes. The back pads go for over ten thou, the fronts' for 7000 to 8000 miles. That's fine by me, given that I have to indulge in some frantic braking to keep the youths on CBR's in sight.

When the fluid, pads and calipers are in good nick (Goodridge hose is more or less mandatory) the braking's excellent. I don't mind that the lever needs excessive pressure as long as there's plenty of feedback. If any of the variables goes off then the braking becomes either vague or very soggy. I probably spend more effort keeping the brakes up to scratch than anything else on the bike.

I've kept the thing in good shape, the wheels being hardest to keep clean. Engine finish's good, exhaust's terrible, frame paint falls off in places but the cycle parts are fine. I bought the bike as a two owner, 8000 miler, and haven't done much to the engine. The valves are still within the clearance limits and the carbs need balancing every 3000 miles. That's about as good as a CBR600, but it's a lot easier to access everything on the GPz.

I like naked bikes with useful half fairings, which gives the best of both worlds. I wouldn't buy a CBR, about the only modern bike that interests me is Triumph 900 Sprint, but that's too much dosh for me. It'll be nice to have less mass and a little more power without upsetting the fine balance of the GPz, in which scorching performance is mixed with an ease of use more usually found in 400 twins. The GPz1100's far too heavy going to be much fun. In short, the GPz will do anything you ask of it but is a bit limited against the better race replicas.

Charlie Barnett

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A friend getting married meant he reluctantly wanted shot of a very neat looking GPz750. A 1985 model, more or less original, even with a brand new Kawasaki exhaust system (they last three to four years). 24000 miles and five years old, I found the riding position perfect for my 5'10" and the engine dead easy to use below 7000 revs. The weight of 480lbs wasn't reallly noticeable, except when pushing the bike, when its reluctance to move an inch was intensified by three disc brakes with sticking pads.

The past owner had always been a bit of a wheelie merchant. I naturally tried to emulate him. The power really went wild above 7000 revs, so at least that amount needed to be dialed in and the stiff clutch brutally dropped. The front end was pretty heavy, needed a muscular jerk on the bars as well as vicious revs and clutch action. The first time I tried the thing went vertical so rapidly that I lost my balance, coming down sideways.

Having a bloody big Kawasaki fall on my leg was no fun at all. Ouch! The mirror snapped off, the indicator holder and lens cracked and the brake lever bent into a funny shape. My body saved the GPz from any other serious damage. I quickly decided that wheelies were not for me.

Speed testing was next on my list of motorcycle adventures. I awoke at an incredibly early hour to head for the hopefully deserted motorway. The four cylinder engine sounded as upset as I felt about getting going at that time of day, but after five minutes of rattling settled down to a supremely reassuring whirring. I then roared past the only awake police officer in Birmingham who chased after me and nearly blew me off as he sliced past in his wailing plod mobile.

Naturally, he wanted to know what I was doing and where I was going. I didn't think he'd be too amused to know about the speed testing, so I made up some story about coming home from a late night party. We eventually went our separate ways, but by the time I got to the motorway there was already a smattering of autos crowding up my race track.

The Kawasaki was running stock suspension, but with damping and springing turned up to their highest settings. The anti-dive was still functioning and didn't seem to interfere with the suspension, athough the front discs felt a bit mushy. I rolled on to the motorway at about 60mph in top gear, gave it a whiff of throttle, to growl up to 80mph. The power still hadn't started charging in yet, that would need 90mph on the clock. On a bit of suddenly deserted tarmac I let loose on the throttle, got down behind the skimpy half fairing and held on for dear life.

As the power flowed in the chassis weaves increased, mostly around the back wheel. There was a lot of harsh vibration through the chassis, both from the motor and from the chain, which seemed to be objecting to the new found velocity at which it was travelling. I gripped the petrol tank firmly between my legs as the speedo needle made its relentless way around the clock. After a mile there was no more to extract from the motor and the weave was about a yard wide. Even on wild German autobahns, later in its life, it did no better than 140mph on the clock, in reality about 130mph.

That excursion revealed, back at the house, that it was a good idea to keep an eye on the oil, as it had gone down closer to the minimum rather than maximum level. Further sorties revealed a consumption of about 250 miles to a litre. It increased exponentially after the oil had gone off, which took about 1200 miles. I always knew when it needed an oil change because neutral became impossible to engage. I changed the oil every 1200 miles but left the filter for a year at a time without any ill effects.

In second or third the effect of the 85 horses was pretty wild, with arms almost pulled out of sockets and enough G-forces to warp my mind. The GPz was fantastic fun to roar through town, turning a boring commute into a fight against my reflexes. The acceleration was so effective that I could've done with sharper brakes up front. They had Ferodo pads in them, that lasted about 8000 miles, but still lacked the tyre squealing grunt that I would have liked, really needing two hands to produce effective braking. A friend with a similar bike had removed the anti-dive and fitted Goodridge, which whilst it certainly helped with the braking left the front fork leaping up and down like the springs were breaking up. Needless to say, I left my bike as stock.

Tyres are another potential problem area. The bike came to me with Metzelers (ME33 and ME99) but they were soon down to a mere 3mm. By the time another millimetre had gone west the weaves had developed an incredible amplitude even at 70mph. They had lasted about 6000 miles. Dunlop Arrowmaxes were on special offer at the local tyre merchant. He ended up swearing at the 18 inch cast alloy wheels as the rubber proved reluctant to go on. After about half an hour he finally got both tyres on.

I wasn't too impressed with the grip from these tyres, especially when they were cold as they felt more like iron than rubber but they lasted for over 12,000 miles so I had plenty of time to become used to them. At least the big front wheel made it relatively easy to pull back from slides on wet roads, although in slow corners there was always a very strong feeling that the GPz wanted to fall into the curve.

A pair of Avons went on next (AM22& 23). I was impressed with the way the bike seemed to roll a bit quieter and smoother and banked over in a more predictable manner, but, again, they made wet weather riding and white lines rather more precarious than on the Metz's. The rear wore out in 9000 miles, the front had another couple of thou left but I replaced the tyres as a pair, back with the Metz's as I got a set dead cheap. They definitely had the best grip and feel on poor or wet road surfaces but the worst wear.

I know a couple of people who have mixed and matched tyres on big Jap multi's, been rewarded with massive weaves and bowel emptying speed wobbbles. I was behind one guy on a Z1, the back wheel looking like it had come loose from the frame. He ended up off the road in a ditch but survived to ride another day (this time on proper tyres). It's always worth spending a bit extra on decent rubber.

The brakes were a bit of a dead loss. They absolutely hated winter, the calipers corroding up so fast that I was taking them apart every month, buying new seals and pistons a couple of times over the winter. The rear caliper survived longer only needing attention once a year, although the brake was even more wooden than the front. The chain, an expensive O-ring job, only lasted for 5500 miles!

The Kawasaki was an easy bike to get used to, the kind of machine that could be leapt on for the first time and ridden without any hassle, as long as less than 7000 revs were employed for the first couple of days. Any hints of ignition failure will be found by a bit of stuttering around those revs, athough a rotted exhaust will give a similar effect. The engine runs fine right through the rev range when everything is in perfect tune, but any one part going off slightly will fill the rev range full of flat spots. For that reason, it's a brave owner who fits a 4-1, although it's possible to get the engine to run properly, it can only be done after pulling the carbs off several times and changing the jets over.

Don't ask me how I know, after three years the OE replacement was almost falling off, a cheap 4-1 from the breaker seeming to be an ideal substitute. Some hope! The engine eventually came to life at 3000 revs and stuttered up to 7000rpm then going as dead as a 100,000 mile CX500. After much hassle with jet kits I gave up and fitted a new exhaust system, about an extra hundred quid out of pocket.

By the time there was 60,000 miles on the clock, after four valve sessions and a dozen carb tune-ups, the mild buzz that used to come in from 7000 revs up had been replaced by a mirror blurring, feet shaking blitz that threatened to pop the motor out of the frame every time I tried to do more than the ton. I decided that it couldn't be anything serious as below 7000 revs it was as smooth as before.

It was during a cross town commute, with 63000 miles done, that the vibration became incredibly intense and loud knocking noises came from the engine. It got me the five miles homes, smoking like a stroker and not doing more than 3000 revs. It sounded more like a tractor than a piece of sophisticated engineering.

Don't ever try lifting a GPz750 mill out of the frame on your own. Believe me, it hurts! To cut a long story short, the big-ends had gone and I hadn't caught them before they allowed the pistons to waggle about, wrecking the bores and putting bits of piston ring all around the engine. Ahem! I'm now trying to fit a GPZ600 engine into the frame. Don't ask...

James Trench

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The GPz750 has a top speed of around the 130mph mark. I found this out the hard way. An early morning run on a nearly deserted A46. There were enough bends to make winding the GPz up difficult. It definitely needs to be wound up in the lower gears. Before clicking up to the tallish top gear. GPz gearboxes are very variable. Mine was one of the good ones. The slickness of the change not necessarily related to mileage.

115mph came up with great ease. Then wind pressure built up despite the useful half fairing. Breaking through the 120mph mark was hard going. Then it's a matter of a firm grip on the bars and a long, open road. 125mph. 130mph. 131mph...finally topping out at 133mph. A well run-in newish bike would probably do even better.

When trying for a top speed run it's a good idea to make sure that the triple discs are in good fettle. Up ahead the road was turning into a series of 50-60mph switchbacks. The brakes were best described as a bit tired. But they were able to sustain one desperate stop a day. I don't normally like to howl my tyres but it was a superior alternative to leaving a GPz sized hole in the hedge.

Most GPz750's now run non-standard suspension. An Hagon rear shock and fork brace were essential additions to my own machine. Along with newish Metz tyres. Thus set-up I was able to scrape the undercarriage through the bends at 80mph. Not exactly getting my knees or elbows down. The amount of effort needed defined it as great fun!

The bike has too much weight placed too high. Makes it susceptible to losing it all in a big way and needing loads of muscle to hustle. This is common to all the old style Jap fours but the GPz750 seems a bit more extreme than, say, a GS750. It's nothing to get too excited about. Needs a few weeks spent finding the real limits of the handling. Then pushing a touch beyond them to keep the adrenaline flowing. Stops you getting too old too fast!

Where the handling nastiness really shows up is when the tyres or chassis bearings or suspension become a bit worn. The difference between the handling of a GPz750 in fine fettle and one with worn components is the same as that between an able bodied man and someone who's been kneecapped. Two different machines. The latter prone to large wobbles and the back wheel careering around trying to join up with the front. It was so bad that I made damn sure it was all kept up to spec.

Expensive! Tyres needed replacing every 4000 miles. As did the front pads. I changed the chassis bearings every 8000 miles! Even the wheel bearings didn't want to last for more than 15000 miles. The whole chassis was under tremendous pressure when the bike was ridden in tune with the prodigious power of the motor.

Other expenses included an oil change every 1000 miles. Carb balance every 2000 miles. Valves needed attention around the 5000 mile mark. Chain and sprockets were dead meat by 9000 miles - probably explaining the strange popularity of the GT750 version.

The GPz has a much sportier engine than the GT, with 86 horses to play with. The GT's main selling point is that its relative mildness combined with some minor development work makes it much stronger and longer lasting. The GT almost defines the word bland. A sort of big four stroke version of the MZ 250. There are lots of cheap GT's around and they can be thrashed close to death.

I've known a couple of other GPz750 owners. One managed to blow up his engine in 23000 miles. Neglect of oil changes didn't help. Not just because sludge was circulating through the engine but also because of the resulting false neutrals allowing 15000 revs. Another guy treated his bike with kid gloves but still had valve, cam and tensioner problems at 34000 miles. At least these various maladies were easily sussed. Both by the diminution in performance and godawful racket that the top end of the motor put out.

Major engine work's needed after 50,000 miles. As in a dead crankshaft! My own bike ran to 42000 miles before needing a rebuilt top end and rebore. I had a couple of spare engines from which I'd sourced almost a complete set of reasonable spares. By the time I'd done 62000 miles I'd used them all up. The only good thing was that there was always plenty of warning when something was going to go down. I was never left stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Part of the rapid engine wear was down to riding in the company of friends on fast race replicas. The GPz had to be ridden full on the throttle for most of the time. Like an elephant amongst lions. Had to be heaved through the bends on some very unconventional lines. Scared the shit out of my mates.

Some good points. The riding position was more comfortable than the replicas. The half fairing gave more protection in the wet. Fuel was always reasonable at around the 50mpg mark. Riding slowly didn't help it any. The finish was better than most of the modern replicas. They didn't have much chrome to rust but their plastic cracked and alloy corroded with disturbing ease. A mild shunt could write them off whereas the GPz would just leave a large hole in the tarmac.

If the Kawasaki would occasionally throw a wild wobbly it was quite reluctant to follow through by spitting me off. Tarmac rash was largely avoided. One time it caught me out was when I struggled to place the beast on its centrestand. I lost my footing and the next thing I knew was that I was on the ground with 500lbs of prime meat in my lap. Drew a large group of ped's who were perplexed by my screams. Only a fellow motorcyclist had the sense to lever the thing off me! Embarrassing!

In the end I bought a CBR900 but kept the GPz as my winter bike. The Honda was impossible on winter roads. Too much power and too flighty by far. The Kawasaki felt sluggish but safe in comparison. The GPz thrived on damp weather. Even a flat spot around 5000 to 5500rpm disappeared. The power really bit at 6500 revs but there was plenty of punch below those revs. Ideal for riding sensibly on wet roads without being overwhelmed by a sense of boredom.

If you have a limited budget and can only afford one machine, something like the GPz750's ideal. Apart from the heavy running costs but few big fours are much better. Reasonable used ones can be found for as little as £1000 and £1500 will buy a really good one. Unlike the 550 version, they aren't that well thought of on the used market.

The main thing's to make sure that the engine's not on the way out. Difficult with so many high milers out there. If the worst happens, then it's possible to fit one of the tougher GPz550 engines! If you can take the poorer performance, the 750 has that added bit of zest that gives the motorcycling game its kicks.

Dean Shreaver

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Vroom! Vroom! What a strange noise, powerful yet subdued and that whine? Up pulls my mate on his latest bike, massive in red and black, a weird but nevertheless interesting try at a fairing.

'C'mon,' says he. 'Take you for a spin!' After years without a motorcycle, and never having bothered to pass my test, I was a little apprehensive. I borrowed his spare helmet (not a bright idea) and jumped on the back of his Kawasaki GPz750 Turbo. A rather tatty example with a few dents and scrapes here and there.

Off to Epping Forest and the mad mile. This, for those who don't know, is a dead straight Roman road from South Woodford out through the forest towards High Beach and Epping. Lovely. That was until I glanced into the blizzard coming over his head and saw 130mph on the clock! The turbo boost reading in the mad sector, along with neck snapping and arm wrenching acceleration.

I had to have it. Instantly, I was re-addicted to bikes and plotting how to get my hands on the Turbo - fool that I was. I bought myself a KE100 for £300 and set off to pass my test. Thanks to Walthamstow BMF riding school, later that year I was the proud possessor of a full bike licence and a desperate need for something bigger than the KE.

Just at that moment my mate decided to sell his GPz750 Turbo for £600. In leaps foolish me!

'Oh yes, mate, I'll have it,' says I. Handing over the dosh with sweaty hands. To celebrate we went round to the local for one pint, with me riding - solo there and my mate on the pillion on the way back. When we got back, after never exceeding 35mph - I swear - I noticed my mate was a bit green! He got off muttering,

'I must ring our lass.'

I asked why and got the reply,

'Never realised what it was like on the back. I'm not doing that again. Not ever, ever, ever!'

A bit of history about the GPz750 Turbo. Basically, the stock and rather good GPz750 had a turbocharger added to it. What this means is that the bike wasn't designed from the ground up but modified at a time in the early eighties when turbocharging suddenly became popular. At least it was a four, unlike Honda's even sillier effort with the CX650.

The result was a 520lb motorcycle that made 112hp at 9000 revs whilst the torque maxed out at a mere 6500rpm. Compare that with the GPz1100 which weighed 540lbs and made 120 horses at the same revs but developed the same torque 1500 revs higher up the range. Was it worth all the effort? Probably not, read on...

So I was all ready for the land of happy motorcycling. I wish! It's so hard to recall what went wrong first. I had a little get-off in the snow, which cunningly started to fall when I was some way from home. Kind of fun until I came to pick the top heavy brute up whilst trying to gain some purchase on the icy surface. In the end, it took three people and could have been made into a movie, like the Keystone Cops, as we slid and slipped all over the place. Eventually, we got it to the side of the road where it stayed for a fortnight. Obviously a bike made in an era when the Japs had yet to cotton on to the fact that light mass is next to godliness as far as practical motorcycling goes.

The accident was not a good omen. The pick-up coils for the fuel injectors were smashed! A mere matter of £78 plus VAT. Bugger! It also bent one of the clip-ons. My local Kawasaki dealer ordered one for me (they never had anything in stock for it, or any other bike, I suspect) and supplied a French one (which was different). After much muttering and whining they reordered the right one. Only took a month to arrive. Good service, that. Ha!

Then I decided to change the chain and sprockets. When despatchers stop you to comment on the sheer slackness of the chain (with the adjusters as far back as they will go!) and you can't get a link out no matter how hard you try, it really is time to do something about it!

What could go wrong with such a simple job? How about the gearbox output shaft being rounded off! With no intention of stripping the engine and gearbox to replace it, due to the unbelievable cost of seals and gaskets alone, I had a mate tack-weld the engine sprocket on to the old shaft!

With a properly tensioned chain the bike was momentarily transformed. The gearchange was much more positive and not so sloppy as it had been and it had more power making its way to the back wheel. Losses in the old shagged chain had probably been close to 25%! For a while I ran around town, and out and about, enjoying the 4000 to 9000rpm monster power band, with the incredibly lusty acceleration the 750 in-line four and turbo gave. The slight turbo lag seemed to add to the impression of the back breaking onslaught of power!

It had always leaked oil. Now it started to leak petrol. Just a touch, you understand, but enough for me to change all the fuel lines. This didn't cure it. I foolishly rode around for a while like this (actually, for two months) while the leak became worse and worse until I was able to trace it to the petrol tank. Ever tried to get hold of secondhand spares for a 750 Turbo? Breakers laugh themselves silly and then say things like, had one in once but everything went that day.

I found some brave soul who was willing to weld the petrol tank. What with all the fumes it was a wonder he didn't burn down his workshop! Hurrah, back to a wonderfully efficient 25mpg. Turbo's are supposed to be more frugal than straight engines because they use the waste energy of the exhaust to compress more fuel and air into the combustion chamber. Maybe if Kawasaki had started with a clean sheet of paper there would've been more benefits, as it was a lot of the positive virtues of turbocharging were outweighed by the excess mass and complication...

After about three days, it started making a strange noise under the tank. A sort of keening. Little did I know but this was the early warning sign of fuel injection failure! Oh goodie, off to a bike shop and £180 later it was running again, thanks to secondhand parts from a GPz1100, a machine itself not immune to injector hassles.

Just over a week later I had the strangest experience. I was going along the motorway when it started slowing down. With the throttle wide open! Most unnerving. The rear brake caliper had seized full on, due to all the grit off the back end and oil spewing out of the motor. Off to the bike shop again, lots of money later I had a replacement master cylinder, brake light switch and caliper.

Did I mention that the electrics kept giving up? One day the computer kept going through the diagnostic cycle again and again, but refused to let the engine start. I left the bike for two days, much disheartened and confused...the next time I tried it worked perfectly! Well, sort of, if you ignored the dead rev-counter, fuel gauge, instrument lights and tail bulbs. A lot of fiddling around found various breaks in wires, which sorted it. Temporarily. It sort of came and went for weeks. I could never entirely cure it!

In the end, I part exchanged the Turbo for a nice SRX600. I missed the bike's turbo whoosh and wallop, but loved everything about the completely different SRX. I'm now waiting to see if it can be repaired. A lovely, kind, thoughtful cager in her N reg Audi cut across five yards in front of me and broke my leg. Two weeks in hospital, two pins, two screws, six weeks in plaster and a desperate need for my SRX to be okay. The damage doesn't look too bad to me, but I'll just have to wait and see.

Moral? If offered a GPz750 Turbo - run, scream, cut off your own hands if necessary but don't buy it. At any price!

Mike Cater