Lovely little bike, innit, said the back street dealer. He went into
a story about some old chap bringing in it, saying it wouldn't start any
more. A change of spark plug and coil, it was ready for sale rather than
being split into a million pieces. At 350 notes it seemed a steal, even
the alloy still shone as if lovingly polished every day.
The Z200 is a small bike but one with nice proportions and a proper motorcycle
look. If it had BSA on the tank it would've been declared a classic rather
than a bag of old nails, as my mate reckoned. That comment was down to the
rattling engine, a result of 31000 miles under the tender hands of just
one elderly owner. And if you believe that, you'll believe anything.
The engine was a gem of OHC thumper technology, at least when new. Lacking
any kind of balancer system, the 200cc's were the kind of pure engineering
that the Japanese did so well in the sixties. By the time it fell into my
hands there were minor rumblings at all revs with a heavy frenzy coming
in when flat out at an indicated 85mph (probably 75mph in harsh reality).
This wasn't a speed I'd like to hold for very long because the shining chassis
hid the fact that all the suspension damping had a long time ago completely
disappeared.
The result, the front end needed a very firm grip to stop the bike leaping
out of its lane whilst the back end went into a pogo-stick routine even
on the smoothest of roads. Being an optimistic and persistent soul, I actually
went back to the breaker to complain. He was so shocked by this effrontery
that he threw some shocks and fork springs at me before coming to his senses.
After almost taking my nose off when the forks came apart with a bang and
almost having an heart attack when I found the upper shock stud on the right-hand
side was about to fail due to internal corrosion, I began to think about
dumping the bike in the nearest canal. However, a mate with a welding torch
fixed up the frame and a bit of brute force had the front forks reassembled.
Gods knows their source. My 200lb neighbour was instructed to leap up
and down on the saddle, with about a millimetre's worth of suspension travel
resulting. Fed with copious supplies of beer and allowed to watch my porno
video's in the garage (you've got to find somewhere for a bit of peace and
quiet, haven't you) he spent the day bedding in the suspension by bouncing
up and down on the bike. Eventually, a couple of inches of travel were gained
and I felt the bike was safe to take out into the world.
A right weird sensation it was too. Added to the engine's vibration,
the stiff suspension allowed every minor road imperfection into my backside,
feet and hands. It took a couple of weeks for all this to fade into the
background, as it invariably does, and before I really began to enjoy the
machine. At least the front end now had an unknown precision, even if the
back still weaved around a touch. Further investigation revealed swinging
arm bearings that were on the way out - some plastic rubbish that as soon
as a little wear gets into them begin to rapidly go down. Figure a life
of less than 5000 miles.
Wanting to pop along at 70mph, I decided to whack them out, upgrade them
with some phosphor-bronze replacements. That sounds nice and easy but the
swinging arm spindle was corroded in and destroyed the swinging arm by the
time it popped out! The breaker charged me a reasonable fiver for a replacement
and then lost my custom for life by calling me a shirt-lifter! Don't know
why, as he was twice my size I let it go.
With all that fixed the Z finally handled as well as it looked but I
was soon dismayed by the lack of top end go. It would top out at a reasonable
85mph but getting there proved a tiresome business. It'd buzz up to 60mph
at a reasonable rate but after that it took ages to wind itself up. Torque
seemed to peak at 60mph, it'd plod up hills and into head-winds at this
velocity but either of these could knock any extra speed right off.
As could be imagined, 60mph on the modern roads was asking to be knocked
off by speeding cagers. To make matters even more interesting, all I could
see in the blurred mirrors was the vaguest of images. The only way around
this potential death scenario was to take to the country lanes. Here, the
Z made some kind of sense, plodding away at 50 to 60mph with a heavy blast
out of what was left of the silencer. Smiles all the way, except that the
brakes faded when used heavily in the corners and the bumpier roads threw
me around in the saddle - it's quite easy to catch a very sensitive piece
of the anatomy on the back of the tank.
The bike would've been brilliant for slicing through traffic had not
the motor liked to stall at low revs if the throttle wasn't continuously
blipped at junctions. The gearbox didn't like low revs either, and it was
dead easy for the clutch to overheat - sometimes fading and sometimes slipping!
Didn't know if I was coming or going. Apart from these minor imperfections,
the bike could be weaved through the narrowest of gaps and even taken up
on the pavement.
Low speed running was improved by fresh oil - I wouldn't want to leave
the oil changes longer than 500 miles. The valves stayed resolutely within
tolerances whilst the camchain needed a tweak every few hundred miles to
keep the chainsaw blues at bay. The ignition system seemed a bit marginal,
wet weather making the bike burp and backfire - you don't want to lose power
when there's only one cylinder. In the wet, the tyres seemed like they were
on a knife-edge but didn't actually slide down the road.
After approximately 6000 miles I began to tire of the Z. It lacked sufficient
top end go for me to take it too seriously, and was becoming an increasing
pain during the commuting chores. On the good side, 80mpg was regularly
turned in and, once sorted out, consumables wore slowly, although the chain
needed constant attention and the odd link removed (it could have been there
from new for all I know, the sprockets certainly looked like they had been).
The bike was polished to a mirror shine and put on the market at 600
quid. The machine refused to start when the first punter turned up, only
revived by a new spark plug - I nearly stripped the thread putting it in;
crap Jap alloy doesn't age at all well. I had some fun hustling dealers
for part-ex, getting test rides on an XJ600N, CB500S and CBR400. The most
offered for the Z was 400 notes.
An old geezer in waders turned up with a mate who was on a Panther with
huge sidecar. This dynamic duo looked upset when I refused to let them take
the spark plug out as a prelude to whipping the head off. There were enough
tools in the sidecar to make it a rolling workshop. After several test rides,
lots of pushing and pulling, I was offered 500 notes in dirty fifties and
grabbed it with both hands. I felt the Z wasn't far off going expensively
terminal. They tottered off with the poor old Kwak sticking out of the sidecar
- some people!
So there you go. A venerable little thumper but worn examples aren't
really up to modern road speeds. Cue for someone to write in with tales
of world travel on a Z200...
H.K.