The daylight was fading fast. Switching on the lights was always interesting. Sometimes the engine would die a death. Other times there would be a bright glare and then the bulb exploded. Then there was the smell of burning from the wiring loom. Tentatively, and gently, I switched the lights on, rewarded for my silent prayers with a mild glow - main or dip, didn't make much difference, it was just a warning of my presence rather than a way of seeing what lay ahead.
The bike had done over 60,000 miles on the original electrics, most of the wiring being patched up with tape as and when necessary. The notoriously troublesome cut-out switches had long been dumped, making starting a first or second kick affair. Boyer ignition had been adapted to fit, which helped with the latter and boosted fuel consumption to better than 65mpg (helped by an old BSA silencer and airfilter).
Despite its mileage, the engine was in reasonable shape as it had a new barrel and piston at 52000 miles, as well as new cycle parts, bought cheaply when a Yamaha dealer closed down. He didn't have any electrical bits, though. I'd owned it for six years and religiously done 500 mile oil changes, the main reason all the crankshaft bearings showed no signs of wear.
Nocturnal adventures were always interesting as the alternator wasn't functioning properly, the battery slowly draining down as it couldn't keep up with the current usage of the lights. I daren't use the indicators or horn. There was a point at which the battery would drain down and refuse to start the beast if the motor was turned off or cut out.
A couple of times I ended up riding home without any lights. Hilarious, the poor old cagers heard the rolling thunder of the SR in motion but didn't realise just what shade of hell was descending until they were upon us, or I them. Several near misses ensued. In the end, I took to carrying a back-up pushbike lamp, which was probably all the more disconcerting as the fast moving, noisy glimmer wasn't in any way related to what you'd expect of a pushbike.
Various essential bits of the chassis had been improved upon over time. When I bought the bike, for instance, the front disc was a godawful piece of nonsense. So abysmal that it contributed to the low cost of the SR - four hundred quid.
As the forks were basically flexible pogo-sticks, the whole front end was replaced by stuff off a BSA A50 twin, whose various engine components had ended up as Christmas presents (ie paperweights) for motorcycling mates. The A50 had blown its big-ends, bits of the con-rod taking a tour around the engine, after I'd cruised at 105mph (flat out and more!) for half an hour. Always wanted to see what it would take to blow an old Brit - not very much.
Matched with a pair of ancient but stiff Girlings meant for a T120 Triumph, the handling was transformed and the TLS drum brake was miles better than most Jap discs - we're talking hack country here, worn and half-seized, not your new CBR tackle. When I say transformed handling I mean in relation to a worn, soggy SR running stock components in loose bearings.
In fact, by any modern standard the handling was close to wicked. Well, the front end came with one of those square section Avon Deathmasters with at least 12000 miles left in it (half worn!) so that was matched with a new rear Taiwanese replica. I was most disturbed to find that this lasted for about half the mileage of a proper Avon yet was even more teflon-like on wet roads.
The Yamaha has a British combination of light, lowly mounted mass and conservative geometry. Slow reacting but basically safe, I was able to bring the bike back out of its wild skids without too much effort or thought. A friend who rode it for the first time wasn't very impressed, the wet roads nearly had him off and the kindest word he had for it was a bloody deathtrap. Definitely something of an acquired art.
In town, the power was rather fluid below 5000rpm, then the motor went all vibratory. Easy enough to chuck at... er, around... cars. The bigger pot-holes shook both the forks and my backside but the bike didn't twitch to an alarming degree. My disregard for the SR's value meant that I rode with a certain disdain for the consequences of hitting something bigger but most of the time the Yamaha kept us safe. No doubt, the engine and exhaust racket warned the cagers to keep well clear.
Comfort was moderate, the saddle too worn down to the base even though it wasn't the original one. That had cracked up and threatened to fall off at around 45000 miles. Expect similar debris from the exhaust and mudguards. The bike was a bit on the small side for my near six feet frame, my knees always felt like they were trying to coalesce with my elbows! Shorter friends reckoned the bike was ideal but didn't want to make me an offer. Wonder why?
Out on the highway, a reasonable cruising speed was 80mph. The engine could churn out sufficient horses to crack the ton on a downhill section but beyond 80mph the vibes threatened to spit my teeth out and crack the petrol tank in half. Felt just like the A50 before it blew up, though I've no doubt the Yamaha would hold out for a lot longer than the rider. In fact, it felt perfectly contented at 70mph rather than 80mph. Or even 65mph, or sixty... okay, okay, it was a slow old dog but I rather like it and the engine continues to run on regardless.
As long as you don't harbour any ambitions to keep it standard, most bits can be replaced cheaply with whatever falls to hand - a worn stock chassis so awful that it's hard not to improve upon. Cheap chains last for around 6000 miles, that apart it's a very inexpensive bike to run and keep on the road.
SR500's skirted with classic status but never really made the grade. Didn't have the build quality or oil leaks or just because they were Japanese? Some dismiss them as total crap. Don't worry about it because they are cheap, fun and almost infinitely rebuildable. In Japan they are still made and sold as expensive classics! Strange old world.
George Wight