Travel Tales: French Fun

We hadn't left the docks at Boulogne before we were lost. None of us had ridden or driven abroad before and we were all confused but not as perplexed as the French drivers who could not believe our route through junctions and roundabouts.

The trip had started the way most do - a few drinks. a bright idea and, before you know it, I'm arranging two weeks in the South of France for the five of us. The arrangements were very simple, Keycamp supplied the tent ready erected at Frejus near St. Tropez and Sealink provided the ferry crossings.

Total cost worked out at £98 each plus petrol and food for a fortnight. Once we realised that the French don’t put the same emphasis on road numbers and use name signs for towns en route to your destination, we started to make progress. Bob on his FZ600 and myself on an R100RS soon realised that the other three in a Rover 216 had different ideas about the journey. Their idea of fun was to jump on the autoroute and zoom down to Auxerre for the overnight stop. So we waved them goodbye and headed across country, avoiding all the major towns.

We finally arrived at Auxerre at 7.30pm having been on the road since midnight. We were absolutely knackered and hadn't enjoyed the journey at all. The following day didn't start that well, either. Bob fell off his FZ on some gravel in the campsite, snapping off a mirror and damaging the fairing. It had to be the good side, Bob making a habit of falling off... friends in work were making bets as to where in France he would come off.

FZs don't seem to like laying down as, within a mile, the oil warning light was on and we had to put in a litre to bring it up to the mark. That done, we pressed on, heading for the Autoroute Del Sol and the Med. We still had 600 miles to go and thought we had better get some miles under the wheels. The 55 mile ride to the autoroute was so good we were tempted to turn around and do it again.

We were really starting to enjoy ourselves. The tolls on the autoroute were a novelty but only cost about £2 for 200 plus miles. The autoroute did have a speed limit but no one seemed to be bothered and 200 miles passed in less than two hours. On motorway work the bikes were very alike in performance with the BM more stable, comfortable and with a 200 mile plus range. The FZ was slightly quicker, the seat was a killer and Bob was having to fill up every 100 miles.

It was on the autoroute that we realised just how badly treated we were over here. We stopped at an autoroute services and went into the self service cafe for lunch. We were met at the door, shown to an immaculately clean table, treated like honoured guests, even offered showers and it still only cost us £2.50 each.

The last 200 miles to the Med we decided to ride through the Alps, a decision we did not regret. The roads were built for biking, bends, long sweeping curves. mountain passes, light traffic and beautiful sunny weather. If anything it was too hot, high eighties - the fairings on both bikes kept us at near boiling point

Many stops were made for photos and stripping off although working as ambulancemen meant that there was no way we were going to ride without leathers... we’d seen the consequences. and mashed flesh. too often.

The FZ's seat was causing Bob some problems, his short legs combined with his riding style had rubbed the insides of his thighs raw. This had him standing at the side of the road in his underpants wrapping his thighs in what looked like a giant nappy, much to the amusement of passing motorists.

We finally arrived at the campsite at about 5.30pm having had the best biking day of our lives and were delighted to find that we had beaten the car by over an hour (the highlight of their trip had been the atlas blowing out of the sunroof at 100mph).

The campsite was brilliant and bikers were made very welcome. The tent was equipped with everything including the kitchen sink and even had three bedrooms with real beds. The price of wine was an unbelievable 10 pence a bottle in the local supermarket, so six crates were slung in the car. The evening was spent taking our medicine and relating the wonders of the journey to the extent that the car passengers all wanted to ride pillion.

The next day was spent lounging around the pool (palm trees and pretty girls in bikini bottoms) and yet another trip to the hypermarket for more medicine. A late evening ride up the nearest mountain to take photos of the town at night left a lasting impression on Derek, one of the car passengers, who was riding pillion on the BM.

The road got worse and worse, narrower and narrower, until we eventually arrived at the summit to find a helicopter landing pad... we later found out that nobody, but nobody, ever used the road up the mountain, even in daylight. The descent was even hairier, all that seemed to show up in the headlamps were guardless sheer drops and once safely back at the tent more medicine was prescribed.

The following days were a biker's dream. Bikes are king in the South of France. Drivers pull over to let you pass, in traffic they leave gaps for you to filter through. Bikes can and do park anywhere and unless you have an accident you will be very unlucky to even see a police car. We visited all the in places - St. Tropez (very commercialised), Nice and Cannes (just the usual large cities) and Monte Carlo (very expensive and posey) - in fact, Monte Carlo was the only place we met the local constabulary.

Bikes are not allowed to ride past the casino and, of course, we did. He was very polite and considering that we spoke no French and he no English, each understood the other, something that we found throughout the holiday, language was not a barrier. Bob and I had a reasonable conversation with a French rider on a VFR at the campsite and knew that he was enjoying his holiday as much as we were ours even though we didn’t understand a word.

The French biking scene is weird. Masses of customised mopeds that everyone from 14 to 90 rides like lunatics, usually on the pavement. Large enduro type bikes and very ratty old Jap bikes on bald tyres. But the majority of bikes we saw were Swiss and German registered, usually at weekends when everyone seemed to be out for a blast around the Alps.

We only had one wet day. Naturally, it was the only day we didn't carry waterproofs. We were in the mountains looking at a grand canyon about 50 miles from the campsite when it suddenly started to bucket it down. Well, we sheltered in a tunnel and waited and waited and waited, but it had set in for the day so we had no choice but to ride back in the rain, getting soaked in the process. And, yes, the others had sat around the pool all day and hadn't seen any clouds let alone rain.

Eventually, the time came to go home. Bob and I decided to detour through Italy and Switzerland. This final trip through the Alps wasn't taken with our new accustomed elan as by now Bob's rear tyre was threadbare, after only 3500 miles, but the French roads seemed very grippy and abrasive. Switzerland was reached by about 9pm and this was the only time throughout the holiday we were asked to produce our documents.

I think the Swiss officer was bored as we were the only vehicles in the St. Bernard tunnel at the time. At other times we had zig zagged across the French, Italian and Swiss borders with never more than a wave through. A word of warning to anyone contemplating using one of the tunnels. If you don't have to, don't. They are expensive (£7 each way), dirty, slippery, cold, damp and fume filled. Well worth missing.

Switzerland was a disappointment. Dirtier than I expected in the cities and very, very expensive. Even B & B is not cheap, so we slept the night in a forest and got cold and damp for our troubles. However. a yacht clubhouse on the edge of Lake Lucerne provided hot showers - we were just looking for the toilet and the opportunity was too good to miss. Anyway. time was getting on and it was back to Auxerre for another stopover.

It was here that we suffered the only breakdown of the trip. The FZ refused to start in the morning and 20 minutes of head scratching later uncovered a sticky cut-out switch on the sidestand. Up until then, maintenance had been limited to spraying the chain on the FZ and the occasional top up of oil on the BM, about 1000 miles per pint. Apart from topping up after the fall, the FZ didn't seem to need oil.

Our last full day in France took us through Paris and the Peripherique (ring road). It's something to be seen to be believed. A basic four lanes each way which can increase to 12 lanes each way when other motorways join it. Everything on it is travelling at 70mph. It often drops into open top tunnels and the noise is incredible. It's like Deathrace 2000. Hesitate at your peril. l paused at the top of an exit lane and a French rider passed me on the inside doing about 40mph more than me and cleared the pannier by a whisker.

The ride between Paris and the campsite near Boulogne was very restrained with a heavy police presence. With most of our money gone we could not have afforded an on the spot fine. The nearer we got to the port the more police traps we saw. We were travelling at legal speeds but that didn't stop a couple of bike cops watch us pass them, overtake us and then hide behind a wall 5 miles further on. It didn't do them any good; we were paranoid about speeding and we crept past well below the limit. Our mpg figures were very impressive on this section, about 65mpg against our usual 45-50mpg.

The ferry trip and ride back to Northampton were uneventful, except that we got split up on the M2 in a 10 mile tail back, the only traffic jam we had seen in two weeks and 2900 miles of great riding.

If you want a cheap holiday in the sun you can't beat jumping on the bike and heading for the South of France. September is off peak, the campsites are empty of screaming kids, the Germans have abandoned the sun beds and we lived and were treated like kings for less than £400 for the fortnight.

Ivan Retalic

Suzuki GSX250

Being of a somewhat simple turn of mind - ex policeman and all that, and having settled in a wee village shop with post round, I thought to myself what better way of earning a few bob than by getting involved in motorcycle despatching and being paid to see the countryside. Images of self astride a pulsing machine trolling along in the sunshine flickered momentarily through my feeble mind.

"Right," said the man in the office. "Since you only have a small machine we'll give you the local runs to Taunton, Barnstaple, Tiverton, etc." Day one, I sat there on the bike, fires lit, engine revving... nothing. Not to worry, probably the phone out of order - have it checked out.

Day two, thoughts of speeding away into the countryside... nothing. Day three... nothing. Come four o'clock with the wind howling outside, rain bucketing down and hail and snow competing for domination, I was beginning to feel glad that I had been overlooked and the thought of a quiet evening in front of the TV took on a new attractiveness. This sentiment was reinforced when Radio Two advised of impossible driving conditions throughout London and Cambridgeshire with driving sleet and snow making for huge tailbacks and frozen fog creating additional problems for the road user.

15 minutes later the phone rang. A pick-up locally and delivery to Lola Racing Cars in Huntingdon. A 672 mile round trip; I was to phone them when I'd made the drop. Hail, rain, sleet, snow and fog; wave after wave of it in non-ending succession. I was soaked to the skin before I had covered the mere 80 miles to Bristol. My son’s helmet, hastily borrowed in a moment of growing panic, had proved exceedingly difficult to get on and was now beginning to be a right pain, in every sense... the thought of trying to get it off at some future date did not bear thinking about. My head ached, my ears ached, my back ached; l ached. 

On into the night and the gathering storm. The traffic, for a country bum, was not inspiring. There was no way I could put the frighteners on lumbering artics in blizzard conditions. I was permanently enveloped in a cloud of filthy spray and diesel oil. On the M4 the visor on this bloody helmet started to ice up. Off it came. Ever tried peering through the weather at 85mph in the outside lane? Fun, eh??

Onwards, ever onwards, but what's this? Wet getting to the electrics and me stranded in the middle lane bouncing from truck to truck. I was just beginning to wonder whether or not I could do anything about this when the main tank ran dry. Gosh, this is really exciting. It is usually about this time that one begins to realise that the M25 and M11, for all their splendour, are not exactly over-endowed with services. and having to drive off and seek a refill added somewhat to the feeling of being loved and cherished.

I made Huntingdon at 9.45pm, teeth chattering uncontrollably, frozen to the core and soaked beyond help. Phoned the office, but no return pick-ups and they told me to have a nice trip home. I will not presume to bore hardened riders with the details, but suffice it to say that at ten past three that morning just outside Taunton the locknut parted company with the front sprocket in the pouring rain. The thread was completely worn off the spindle.

I made it home just before four that morning, red of eye and sore of arse, with the solid conviction that things could only get better. I crept into bed at 4.15am feeling sorry for myself and indulging in a tiny glow of satisfaction at having unloaded my first job.

At six I was up sorting out the daily papers in the village shop, at seven I was out delivering the mail around the village and at 9.15 I was just settling down to breakfast when the phone rang. A pick up in Barnstaple and two drops in London, leave immediately. Now I don't know my way around London and, in fact, have only been there once before and on that occasion I travelled between Euston and Victoria stations on the tube. I got lost, hopelessly lost and felt rather hurt that a city of some six million people could contrive to make life difficult for a country boy.

I eventually rode out of town with the setting sun well gone and the torrential rain ensuring that no dust was kicked up by my wheels. I made it home at 11.15 that night and staggered off to bed triumphant and knackered.

The machine that carried me on these outings was a Suzuki GSX250. l have owned and ridden it for seven years and would recommend it to anyone seeking a reliable and friendly if modest machine for happy biking. It has thrived on neglect, not so much through lack of love as through ignorance.

During its 23000 miles I have lavished upon it one set of tyres, one chain and an oil change every two years. Everything else, including brake pads, are original. It has always been a delight to ride if not exactly state of the art biking. but always friendly and forgiving. lt shines and glows beautifully and is presently sitting in the garage awaiting its next adventure.

Road Runner

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

I had been despatching on an old Honda CG125 for a month or so, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. The bike went along well until I had important deliveries which had to be there yesterday, then it would play up, the throttle sticking, the brakes jamming on, refusing to start; always something. Then one day I had an exceptionally important package to deliver and it seized up for good. A fellow courier mentioned that he had just bought a new machine and wanted to get rid of his old hack, a GSX250 for £150.

My first impression was that it was one of those bloody sewing machines. It started up straight away and sounded good even though it had 40000 miles on the clock. It had obviously been well cared for. I spent the next few months speeding around the West End, and actually enjoyed work for a change.

In this time I replaced the tyres, chain, sprockets, clutch (which was very easy to do) and also sprayed the whole thing matt black to try to hide the fact that it was Jap crap and to increase the pose value.

It was a cold and miserable January, so the girlfriend and I decided to head for the sun on the bike. The GSX was so loaded it could hardly pull 60mph and the brakes had trouble slowing it down, never mind actually stopping. Low speed manoeuvring was very hairy as my homemade tank bag slid from one side to the other. We eventually arrived at Portsmouth, bitterly cold and hungry, bought our tickets then took over a couple of radiators to thaw out over. As soon as we were on board we found a suitable place and climbed into our sleeping bags.

We were first off the ferry next day, and after customs went through a cold, frosty ghost town called Le Havre (well it was at six in the morning). We travelled an hour on the bike, then two hours warming up, all day, and found that strapping newspapers and magazines to exposed parts keeps you much warmer much longer, though it does look strange. At dusk we turned off the main road and found a nice secluded spot by a river to camp. It felt good being out of England and we celebrated with a bottle of fortified wine.

We awoke with half an inch of ground frost over the tent and bike, spent the rest of the morning jumping up and down trying to get our circulation going. The sun struggled through and we made good progress that afternoon. At Toulouse there was a traffic jam caused by a Golf GTi that had its length reduced to about a foot. We pushed on that evening and finally reached the Med, the weather was noticeably warmer so we stayed for a couple of weeks sampling wine and touring locally.

We went on into Spain, following the coast, the people were very friendly and we had camping sites, swimming pools and bars to ourselves at low prices. As we travelled inland to Granada, I noticed the engine become noisier, the sewing machine sound turned into a healthy burble and then a terrible din. The exhaust balance chamber had rotted through - I took off the exhaust and hammered flat what was left of the balance chamber into each side of the exhaust so that I had a normal 2-2. This worked well except for a mild mid-range flat spot. We pushed on to Seville then Portugal. The Portugese love bikers, people stopped what they were doing to wave.

Whenever we stopped a crowd gathered - it was funny watching them trying to recognise the bike under the luggage. You don't see much Japanese machinery over there, lots of small Brits and BMWs. We stayed for a few weeks until our funds ran out then started home.

Back in Spain it rained all the 600 miles to France, we camped at Biarritz to dry out. Half the electrics had burnt out, so l replaced them and found a puncture on the test ride. Then the electric starter gave up. Rain, rain and more rain for the next two days of the trip homewards. We arrived at the ferry port in the middle of a strike and there were lots of bickering tourists shoving to the front of various queues. We sat to one side to wait. A woman who worked for the ferry came out and said she could fit us on board, so on we went much to the annoyance of the car drivers.

All in all, we had a great time, the bike coped well considering we covered 4000 miles in three months, and it had only cost £350 each. I now have a ratty XJ550 and as soon as we have the money we will be off again, l fancy North Africa this time.

D Dykes

Yamaha XS1100

My least enjoyable moment with the Yamaha XS1100 came when it fell over after I'd left it standing on the sidestand on some hot tarmac. The massive weight of the bike, combined with the scorched earth effect of the summer sun on the tarmac, meant that it gouged out a huge lump of the council's finest black stuff and fell on to the ground with an earth shattering crash. The lay-by was miles from anywhere and no other vehicles or people were in sight.

I weigh twelve stone and pride myself that I am able to come out of any fight still standing on two feet, but lifting nearly 600lbs of top heavy alloy and steel off the ground nearly proved my undoing. The only way I could achieve this remarkable feat was by clamping on the front brake and pivoting the incredible hulk on its front wheel. Once upright I managed to support it on firmer ground; actually achieving the stability of the centrestand was by then way beyond the capabilities of my knackered muscles.

Damage to the machine consisted of a bent handlebar, dented tank, wrecked indicators and crushed silencer. A quick caress of the starter button revealed that it was still able to rumble into life and settle down to a regular if raucous tickover.

The bent bars meant that the low speed wobble was more prominent and it was even more awkward to swing through the country bends, but twenty miles later I was back home in one piece. Two hours work, use of various bits laying around and a big hammer, and the machine was back in proper running order.

You'd have to be blind not to see that the XS1100 is a big, heavy brute of a motorcycle. This was what initially attracted me to the machine, of all the big Japanese superbikes. the XS is surely the one that looks the most like a proper motorcycle. It is dominated by that chunk of DOHC alloy motor which is really just an enlarged XS550 four, sharing its two valve per cylinder Operation, hyvoid chain primary drive and alternator mounted under the carbs.

The motor is the most impressive part of the machine. I bought my 1980 machine four years ago. It had only 12500 miles on the clock and full service history. During my ownership l have done 80000 miles under a regime of internal neglect. As hard as it might seem to believe. all I've done is change the oil every 1500 miles and the odd oil filter swap. Even the carbs have stayed in balance. True. these days, the top end is clattery and maximum speed has gone down by 10mph, but it still shifts well enough to scare the pants off the plastic missile brigade.

That its 1100cc only produces 95hp will have some readers scoffing, I suspect. but that power figure hides the fact that the motor also knocks out huge gobs of torque. In its way it's an extremely easy bike to ride fast - you just get it up to 30mph, whack it into top gear and hold on until 140mph is on the clock, 130mph lately).

Admittedly, very much beyond 120mph the design shows its age because enough vibration is transmitted to the rider's hands and feet to discourage continuous flat out riding... a reason why the motor’s lasted so well. Another reason why the motor's lasted for such a high mileage is, of course, the limitations of the chassis. The Yamaha might well look exactly like a proper motorcycle should but it certainly don't handle like one. No wayl Let me quickly add by way of mitigation that it is still running on stock suspension. I did change the fork oil once but it made not one bit of difference so I never bothered again.

When I bought the bike the rear shocks were quite firm but jumped about a bit under heavy going and got delirious if I braked hard in a bumpy corner. Funnily enough, although the bike moves around all over the shop in a most disconcerting manner it does not stray so far off the chosen line as to suggest suicidal tendencies. The forks twist and dive under the heavy braking provided by the twin discs - heavy use of the brake in fast corners makes the bike sit up and want to go straight on.

Overall, though, I have ridden bikes that felt much less safe at 100mph speeds. I use mostly motorways and wide A roads so don't suffer as much as I could from the limitations of the XS's mass and chassis. At 70mph it feels rock solid, by 85mph a weave has intruded even on a smooth, straight road and by 100mph the weave feels like it's going to become a wobble but only does so if the bike happens to hit a large bump.

Braking when the brakes are in good condition is superb. Unfortunately. the brakes are rarely in good condition and then they suffer from fade, wet weather delay and an on-off action that has quite often come close to making me do an intimate inspection of the road surface.

The disc brakes on the Yam are crap! The calipers rot, the disc pads fall out before they are down to the metal, the discs crack... I spend more time, money and effort running desperately around the breakers trying to find bits than I do on the whole of the rest of the bike. Fortunately, most of the parts are not unique to the XS1100, so availability is better than the rarity of the 1100 might suggest.

Running around town on the Yam is a breeze. Once 10mph is up the bike feels well balanced and does not require excessive muscle to throw in between cars. True, it is a bit on the wide side and I occasionally get caught out when I try to follow in the path of some young hoodlum on a 125.

Having allowed the exhaust to decay into a straight through system, car drivers are very aware of the massive beast about to rip off the side of their car and more often than not actually wrench their vehicles out of my path. Similarly, incidents of cars rushing out of side turnings under my front wheel have been minimal.

Traffic light GPs are great fun. The clutch is strong and does not object to being slipped or dropped rapidly. it's possible to get the front wheel way up in the air if 8000rpm are dialled in and the clutch dropped; I'm sure it would see off a Jumbo jet on acceleration and most spectators run for cover when they see that front wheel pawing the air, waggling around all over the place. Uncoordinated takes offs make the machine land with a back breaking wrench. Alternatively, it’s possible to produce massive, tyre smoking wheelspin - a quick way to remove a worn out tyre!

Tyre and brake pad wear is terrible, as is fuel consumption - 35mpg on a good day, more usually 30mpg but an astonishingly bad 22mpg was once achieved on a flat-out motorway blast. A contributory reason must be the riding position created by non standard high-rise bars which perch the rider in the perfect position to create the worst aerodynamics possible. 50 miles at 100mph creates arm and neck muscle cramp, although the seat is good for 500 miles in a day at more moderate velocities.

Each year I take the bike on a Continental tour of at least 3000 miles duration. The engine runs along faultlessly, the only limitation on the duration of the trip is the need to get back home before all the consumables wear out! The weight of the bike even saved it from being nicked by some French bastards. One of them ended trapped under the machine when the pair of them failed to lift it into the back of their van. I accidentally dropped the bike back on top of him when l was summoned to the scene.

I had a bit of trouble with the electrics, but this was cured by buying a used generator and new regulator. Batteries only last for a year and the headlamp bulb has blown twice since I've had it. The main beam is just about adequate for 70mph but dip cuts off too sharply and has you peering hopefully over the bars trying to work out which way the road is going to go. Switches have never provided a moments disquiet so they must be OK.

The nicest thing about the Yamaha XS1100 is that I've never actually fallen off the beast. lts mass lets it sit securely on the road and there is enough feedback from the tyres to ensure that l have time to react to any life threatening situations. Apart from the exhaust. wheels and some decayed engine alloy, it still polishes up nicely; were I to sell it off I'd make a few hundred notes profit on the deal. But quite simply I love it; I may even give the old girl a proper service one of these days.

R A Hemmings

Despatches: XJ900 and Yam turbo

There are a lots of rats in London, they outnumber the humans by at least twenty to one. Things have been very easy for them over the last few years, the winters have been mild and they’ve a lot of junk food left out for them. Along with the rats, the despatch industry has grown, partly due to the mild winters because if a company is going to hold on to its accounts it has to provide a reliable service. In the bad old days when winter struck all the fair weather riders stayed at home, the riders who kept going got a cold and were well paid. This also guaranteed that good riders got looked after and that companies with lots of good riders could charge more than companies who could not provide a year long regular service.

Nowadays, every wideboy in London has started up his own firm and wants to poach fat accounts by offering low prices. The trouble being that the low prices filter down to the rider’s pay packet in the end, and despatching is not worth doing unless there’s some decent wedge at the end of it all. What we really need this year is a good hard winter, to kill a few rats, and when the snow finally clears let’s see how many of the cut price operations are left.

These thoughts were rattling around my mind as l neared Milton Keynes. The last job in a string of jobs passed on to me by the infamous Pinker who had wimped out on account of it being very cold and looking like it was going to snow. I was dying for a piss, my nose was running continuously and my hands were numb. I almost lost the front wheel on one of Milton’s many roundabouts, that this time had a nice slimy coating of mud to make it different from all of the rest. Having got the front end back I just missed getting tailgated by some prick in the inevitable XR3i who wanted to race.

But, at last, I got there, got the signature and had a piss, feeling almost human I rang base. Good old rubberlips answered and asked if I was cold enough. There were no other jobs to take me back to the smoke on my trusty old XJ900 that’s been around the clock in two and half years. It’s done well, it's only had one camchain and a few clutches, but it's tired now. I can tell by the amount of oil it wants, I had to put almost a whole litre in when I stopped for fuel. Mind you, it’s still fast, but the engine has that nice loose feeling, sort of the same that two strokes get just before they blow to bits. What I needed was a replacement, preferably something with a fairing but it had to be cheap.

I came in via Kings Cross so I could find a cafe to thaw out in and then call in from the city where all the work tends to be. As I came into Farrington Road I saw it, a Yamaha Turbo with a for sale sign on it. I stopped and took a closer look. It had 32000 miles on the clock, the paint was a bit tatty but it was all there, the asking price was £850. I talked to the guy and arranged a test ride for the next day, trying not to sound over interested. Yamaha's version of the turbo consisted of adding a turbocharger to their tough 650cc four and disguising the appearance with a huge, and for the time, stylish fairing. As with the other Jap factories, the extra mass and complication did not inspire many purchasers who could get the same power to weight equation from bigger, simpler bikes.

The next day I saw my controller and he sorted it so I had work to take me up there about lunch time. I took the turbo for a ride, leaving my XJ’s keys as security. First thing I noticed was no mirrors, then that the rear suspension was far too soft and the forks bottomed out over the slightest ripple. The brakes were crap, but just as l was about to condemn it, I gave the throttle a good twist. The engine came on cam and lost its rough feeling, the turbo needle quivered briefly before burying itself deep into the red zone.

The beast howled while doing a passable imitation of a surface to air missile - l was sold! I parked it up and had a good look. Bargaining points were the well worn rear tyre, the leaking fork seals and lack of mirrors. Back at the shop the boss was not in so no deal was struck, but the next day I saw him and haggled the price down to £800 and a new MOT.

A week later, after my cheque cleared, I picked it up and worked on it for that day. When I tried to see how fast it was on a down hill stretch it reached about 80mph and then cut out. This was worrying because the turbo is lubricated by the engine - if the engine stops so does the lube, but if the turbo unit is spinning at 10000rpm in its red hot housing it takes a while for it to stop and can quite easily end up welding itself up solid.

Waggling the ignition key fired up the motor again, I took it easy for the rest of the day, ended up in Guildford and had no other problems. The next day I took the cover off the ignition switch and found it was held together by insulation tape, which when torn off resulted in a switch that fell apart. I tried to repair this with Araldite with little success.

Reaching for the fuse box revealed no fuses but plenty of wires twisted together... I eventually managed to blow the headlamp bulb. The last time I had a similar problem I ended up with a melted loom, not a good idea on the turbo as there are lots of expensive black boxes.

After much thought I did the decent thing by ordering a new ignition switch. There was little point annoying breakers as the switch is unique to the turbo. A week or so later the bike was back on the road after much swearing and pulling wires about. I also replaced the back tyre because the old one was not only thin but also contained two nails.

The turbo’s a comfortable bike, the fairing keeps most of the wind off, while not being so big that it gets in the way when filtering between traffic. The seat is deeply padded but not too wide. The brakes are single piston calipers and crap, they also have the old fashioned habit of not working for a split second in the wet; not much fun. It's very fast once the revs get past 6500rpm when the turbo suddenly cuts in, so harshly did this happen that the back wheel kept breaking away.

Something was sticking somewhere and the effect became more civilised after a few miles were put on the clock, allowing the rust, or whatever, to wear itself off. Below 6500rpm it runs along respectably enough and at lower speeds was safer in the wet than the XJ900.

The next time I attempted to find out how fast it would go the speedo had me in hysterics. After 70mph the needle shot around and off the dial, then it came back and at one point it was going backwards. Fortunately, the gearing's the same as the XJ900's so I could tell the speed by the revs.

Stable up to 115mph, beyond that the wind seems to get under the fairing, which isn't up to pushing all that air out of the way, and it starts wobbling. Then the clutch starts to slip after 120mph, with a new clutch it'll probably reach 130mph if you’re brave enough bearing in mind the lack of brakes...

l have just finished fitting some new fork seals, a saga of mammoth proportions, involving drilling through the fork sliders oil drain screws to peg the internal rod so I could get the fuckers undone! During which I discovered that one fork had very little oil and the other had none at all... it's handling a bit better now. Typical of ageing Japanese bikes which suffer alloy deterioration.

All in all, I like the bike, it remains to be seen as to whether it's reliable enough to keep for a long time, but I have known a few being used as despatch hacks and they seem to have lasted well. Right, who wants to buy an XJ900 with only 5000 miles on the clock?

Max Liberson

Honda CB250G5

I had enough trouble finding the money for petrol, so when an uncle offered me his old Honda for free it seemed almost too good to be true. After the Neval this was, at last, the real thing, even if it was only a Honda CB250G5.

The rear tyre was bald, the chrome was mostly missing, the chain was shot to pieces and there was no MOT. Some appeasement made to the critical eye of the MOT tester, the bike was ready for its first ride to the MOT station.

You never forget your first bit of real acceleration and throwing caution and the relevant cliches to the wind, I went through the whole eyeball popping, shoulder wrenching rigmarole before noticing, that the speedo was pointing at the ninety mark and the deserted bit of road was fast becoming a crowded bit of junction.

I immediately employed the braking techniques learnt on the Neval, namely grab/stamp on both brakes as hard as possible, running various accident scenarios through your head whilst waiting for your trusty steed to come to a halt. This kind of tactic is not recommended on a wet surface with a front disc and rear drum that actually work!

The resultant locking of both wheels was both inevitable and unexpected. Miraculously, I didn't drop it and after waiting for my pulse to slow to twice its normal speed, I carried on with a new found respect for motorcycle brakes.

The MOT was a complete farce. All they did was test the lights and brakes. The next few weeks were spent hurtling to and from college at increasingly demented velocities. Subject to this kind of abuse, the bike coped better than you could expect from any 12 year old machine. It always started 1st or 15th kick and warmed up in no time. The choke could be turned off before moving away, which was just as well as it was carb mounted and difficult to reach once in motion.

The back end was reasonable, thanks to a set of Koni shocks. The forks dived quicker than a torpedoed U-boat, probably thanks to the huge full fairing which had been skilfully transplanted from a 750 with no more than a bit of welding, an old pram frame and a gung ho outlook.

The handling defects this created were mostly compensated by the excellent weather protection it afforded. In all but the worst downpour it kept me bone dry - unfortunately, being short in stature l was unable to see over the top of the screen, so in the rain I had to clamber over the front end to wipe it clear, which, on reflection, could have done little to aid high speed stability.

My uncle had owned the bike from new and had the head removed at 25000 miles to check on the state of the camshaft and its bearings (which were part of the cylinder head), an area of self destruction for which the G5 was notorious. Fortunately, this one was OK and remained free of problems for the 30000 miles I did after getting the bike with 40000 miles on the clock. Other engine problems were a different matter, but I get ahead of myself here... 

Eager to try out my new steed's touring ability I arranged to take a friend for a run down to the coast. He had never been on the back of a bike before, so much amusement was had trying to make him understand that he was supposed to lean the same way as the bike... despite this we made it there. and I proudly parked my machine amongst a gaggle of racer clones, much to their owners' annoyance.

On the way back along the M18, my friend expressed a desire to go over the Humber Bridge. I obliged and have to admit to being impressed by its sheer size, but was not impressed by the fact that there was only one toll booth open. I still cringe when I think of the size of the tailback we caused whilst I searched for some coinage. I had to perform a drastically rapid take off to avoid being flattened by the irate box owners behind.

Shortly afterwards we left the motorway and headed back to Doncaster. It was at this point I noticed a strange knocking noise coming from the motor. I had just decided to stop to get a proper earful when the knocking noise was drowned out by the screams from the passenger as the rear wheel locked solid. By then I had got the hang of riding moving vehicles with stationary wheels and l was able to slew gracefully to a halt, leaving a thick black line to mark several quids worth of sudden tyre depreciation.

A seized camchain and missing tappet bolt did not exactly inspire optimism once the cylinder head cover had been removed. Nor did the need to jump from the garage rafters on to a tyre lever wedged between cylinder and head to remove the latter. Having succeeded in reducing the engine to a heap of scattered pieces and knackered screws, the next problem was getting the new bits - one tappet bolt and damaged lower camchain sprocket. The local dealer was almost in hysterics when l enquired of the chances of obtaining them. Thank god for the breaker.

Working in groups of three and alternating every 100 kicks, eventually persuaded the rebuilt motor to resume fruitful life. Much to everyone's shock it went just as well as before. Performance was fairly normal for a four stroke OHC twin, around 90mph and 60mpg. Breakdowns came and went. Minor stuff like broken wires and knackered batteries caused by old age. I went everywhere on the bike and revelled in the personal freedom gained. I terrorised most of Yorkshire with a combination of crash and burn riding tactics and silencers that didn't live up to their name.

Long distances could be covered without terminal bum ache, and I went on long trips with nothing more than a map stuck down my jacket and a determined look on my face. I had got the handling so well sussed that I could overtake much larger machines on the outside in tight corners, much to my amusement and their annoyance - admittedly the Honda was going up and down and sideways at the same time!

The nearest miss of all time came one summer when l was once again heading for the coast with a mate on the back. I was in the process of overtaking a large truck when suddenly a large black bin bag with nothing better to do came flying out of nowhere and hit me square on the visor, completely blinding me. Bearing in mind that we were still bowling along at a fair speed in close proximity to a truck, I judged this a suitable point at which to break out in extreme and utter panic. Fortunately, the pillion had a strong sense of self preservation and tore off the offending bag just in time for me to note that the road took a sharp right turn immediately ahead.

I don't know what the odds are of a heavily laden, well worn out Honda 250 making it around a 30mph bend at 60mph with the brakes full on, but I reckon I used up my lifetime's supply of luck several times over. Afterwards I found scrape marks on the engine cases!

Having thus used up my luck I was not greatly surprised when the gearbox decided not to change out of sixth on the way home. After much necessary abuse of the clutch, it thereafter slipped whenever revs were high. The gear lever had stripped its splines and after much pondering was fixed by angle grinding a flat edge on the shaft and a slot in the lever, thus allowing a metal peg to be whacked in with a hammer.

Next came the greatest horror of all, the tappet fell off again. I couldn't face the thought of another engine strip, so I had the idea of turning the bike upside down in the hope that the bolt might fall out. We tied a winch around the garage roof, wrapped it around the frame and cranked the bike off the ground. When it was about four feet off the floor we all grabbed hold of it, spun it upside down and shook it with great gusto.

It didn't work and the motor had to be stripped. It was soon back on the road but I was so pissed off that at the slightest excuse I was going to throw it in the river! Remarkably, it didn't give me the chance and ran along for another 10000 miles. However, every dog has its day and the Honda's came when the compression disappeared to the extent that it refused to start I unless hurtled down a steep hill. I sold it for £50 as a field bike and was more than a little saddened to see it go.

Chris Gorman

BSA A10

The machine was purchased locally. It had been standing in a barn for quite a long time. When I first saw it, I thought 'this looks good'. The chap who was selling the bike told me it was the last one of a few British bikes that he had owned and the reason for the sale was that he was going Formula Ford racing! With rear-sets, clip-ons, alloy wheels and TT100 tyres it really looked the business. I had already decided in my own mind that this motorcycle was going to be mine.

As the plug leads had been removed for security reasons I agreed to buy the bike if I could hear the engine run. After looking around the barn we failed to find any leads, so I decided to return the following evening to attempt to start it. Taking two friends along we attached the leads to the magneto, tickled the carb and after a couple of hopeful kicks she fired up. I had to try not to look too happy as a final price had still not been agreed. Still, it did sound very nice gurgling away in this old stone barn.

After some good old Yorkshire bullshitting had taken place, from both sides, I agreed on seven hundred quid. We loaded her into Mick's van and took her home. That was the easy part! How the hell can a mere working man explain to the female equivalent of Bamber Gascoigne the logic in spending the new carpet money on another bike? After the usual arguments I assured my wife that this bike was really a good investment, a 1958 BSA A10 650cc vertical twin could hardly be anything else, could it?

By. the end of the fifties, the A10 was in reasonable shape. Its pre-unit engine was as reliable as anything else available from the British industry, its handling was better than the Triumphs, but not quite up to the standard of the Nortons, and if outright performance could not really match its rivals, they were reputed to have better longevity. The A10 also looked a lot more butch than the later, unit A65.

I started off by washing off all the dust and dirt, which made the bike look even better (talk about beauty in the eye of the beholder). Next I emptied all the old oil and cleaned out the oil tank filter. In with the new oil, adjust the brakes, tighten various nuts and bolts, then we were just about ready to go. On with the black gear, start her up and off on the maiden trip Seemed okay, so far so good.

After a few miles I began to notice my left hand was becoming tired, the bloody clutch was dragging and felt like hell. The engine started to become harsher, my arms started to tire and my forty year old back had started to react to the riding position resulting from the clip-ons and rear-sets.

The suspension was typical of these old British twins, short of movement and harsh of action, it did little to cushion my body from the bumpy road surface. God knows what it would've been like if, instead of the conventional swinging arm and twin shocks, it had an earlier plunger frame.

I started to work my way home, the pain that was running through my body was becoming distracting to the extent that l was finding it hard to keep the bike on the move and upright. I managed to make it home, riding straight into the garage, I stopped the engine, leaning the bars against the wall. I slid off the damned thing on to the floor.

How the hell did the blokes in the sixties ride six laps around the IOM on these things? After three or four days I returned to the garage... l could nearly walk straight again. Looking at the BSA I realised it needed drastic alterations, so off came the clip-ons and rear-sets in favour of the standard gear that came as spares with the bike. Sitting on the bike it felt much better.

After giving the bike a look over I found the engine mounting bolts were a bit loose. I nipped them up and once again set off on a run around the village. This time things were a lot better, I did about ten miles and returned home. The only real problem I encountered was remembering to leave sufficient braking room to compensate for the ancient SLS drum brakes.

I once again checked the bike over... yes, the engine mounting bolts were loose again. I began to wonder why? Was there something amiss within the motor. After studying the ubiquitous Haynes manual I was not much wiser. I decided to investigate by removing the timing cover... I had a double dose of excess crank end float and lift.

I have since learnt that this is a common fault on BSA twins, so much so that SRM managed to make a good business out of doing a roller bearing conversion for the crankshaft. Deciding to do something about it, I promptly took out the engine and stripped it. I found the main bush was well worn, the big-ends were on their way out, so new shells were ordered plus a gasket set. I was lucky to find a serviceable main bush in some crankcases a friend had donated to the cause. On rebuilding the motor I used plenty of Loctite to hold everything together. One good thing about British stuff, it can all be torn apart and thrown together with a minimum of knowledge and special tools.

The rebuild was completed in a couple of days and I took the bike out for a slow run. After only a couple of miles the engine just didn’t feel right so I turned the bike around, hoping to make it back home in one piece. With half a mile left there was a loud bang... the left hand con-rod had made a break for freedom. Leaving the bike I walked away cursing myself, what the hell had I done wrong?

After using a friend’s phone to summon a rescue squad, I returned to the bike to find some lout all over my pride and joy. He claimed the bike had been abandoned and only reluctantly did a disappearing act when I pointed out the engine was still hot. After the tow home the motor was pulled out and stripped... the crank was scrap due to the large hole left by the conrod.

The seizure had been all my fault, when l assembled the main bearings I had used copious quantities of Loctite to stop them rotating, some of the Loctite had run into the oil feed, thus cutting off the supply of lubricant to the bottom end. The necessary spares were found in the usual way, through friends who also ran British bikes. I ended up with a big bearing crank with conrods to match, which I had balanced.

Another problem was worn out pistons, which were plus 60, so new barrels or liners were needed. £35 for a pair of Empire Star pistons solved that particular problem, although various old codgers were a bit horrified when l revealed that the barrels had been bored out to 72mm to suit. The piston skirts need 5mm taken off to avoid the pistons hitting the flywheel, by the way. A new SRM barrel costs £225, which was too much for me. It's very important to get the piston to bore clearance dead right, I have found that 5/6th thou is about right if you like to motor on a bit.

Which brings me to performance. Obviously, a late fifties machine will have trouble keeping up with big Japs and even some 250s will burn it off. That's to miss the point, as the way the venerable twin delivers its power is a delight. I usually ride in the company of other British bikes and it keeps up with things like Super Rockets. It really amazes me how good a bike it is to ride, although it really pisses me off that I’ve had to play about so much with mine. Handling is not at all bad, at least it feels just as secure in the wet as in the dry, unlike many a Jap machine, and given the limits of performance and its age, it can still motor along like a good 'un.

That's pretty typical of British bikes in this price range. It's very easy to become all nostalgic when you see these big twins, with their brutal appearance and shiny chrome, but as I found out, it's all too easy to buy one that whilst it appears to run OK hides all kind of maladies internally. Still that's all in the past now... the ferry sailings for the IOM are confirmed!

Chris Hunt

Norton Commando

A brief faltering in forward motion led me to halt and park the bike, a bored out 920cc Mk5a Norton Commando. Erratic reliability is not uncommon with British vertical twins, I thought to myself. My angst on this occasion was unfounded because smeared around the rear wheel rim were deposits of German salami. Said item had fallen out of the various packages adorning the rear of the bike which could only loosely be described as luggage equipment.

Huge panniers and excess weight at the rear do upset handling and if you want a really exciting time, fit a handlebar screen as per the Highway Patrol. The only other time handling was truly thrilling was due to 6lb tyre pressure in the front. I have fitted an Interpol type fairing and things are generally OK with this. Handling is fine with loads of ground clearance with only slight vagueness from the front end on long sweeping bends at high speeds. Whilst not in the Featherbed class, it does track around bends well - usually, I find that I lean more than is needed.

Early UJMs are nicely gobbled up in any swervery, the last being an XS1100. The state of the art race reptiles are another matter and put me in the moped class! There is much debate amongst owners on handling and Commandos do seem to vary a lot... my engine is not shimmed especially tightly in the Isolastic mounts, the tyres are ribbed Roadrunner at the front and the standard one at the rear - I've never come close to a tank slapper. Strange, that the bike can keep going so well in the wet, when riders of more modern bikes are backing off the throttle and fretting away not sure when the tyres are about to let loose. 

Most British twins are like that, designed to be ridden in all weathers (tested as they were in merry old England rather than arrid Japan), the combination of torque inspired power and surefooted roadholding meant the rider was usually aware of what was happening between tyre and road. It would be interesting to see how well the latest tackle went on old fashioned tyres... worth trying if you have a death wish.

If only the hassle free handling was matched by the engine! This is definitely not a fit and forget component, the latest little foibles being a broken timing chain and a blown head gasket. To be fair, these malfunctions can be attributed to an engine rebuilt by a cowboy. Split link timing chains should not be fitted to Commando engines and the gasket should not be copper (fit composite ones). No problems since. The Commando engine had an initial reputation for rapid self destruction that was only cured when specially made Superblend bearings were designed for the crankshaft. There can be few bikes left that have not been converted by now. The other problem was a weak contact breaker and advance/retard mechanism that used to vary the timing in an amusing manner - electronic ignition solves this one.

So why was I slicing salami on the Kent coast at 7am on a wet October morning? Well, I'd just rolled off a trans channel special after a trip to Germany. You might well consider this to represent boundless optimism combined with stupidity. Certainly, the German lorry driver I shared a layby with somewhere in the Ardennes would have agreed. He watched as l attacked the exhaust pipe lock-ring with a brick - a well known Commando vice, loose exhaust nut clamp rings. Usually, a special C spanner does the business but the threads in the head were dodgy. something to watch when buying. Otherwise, regular checks with said spanner are in order. Cracked exhaust pipes, especially those with balance pipes and/or not made from the stronger original steel, are quite common. Stainless steel items are not a bad if expensive idea.

Anyhow, having demonstrated the superiority of British engineering, I continued with a memorable ride along the sweeping bends through hilly woodlands at a steady 80-90mph on nearly deserted roads. With the rev counter showing 4500-5000rpm, the engine felt bullet-proof, but this, of course, was a grand delusion produced by the lack of vibes and the sublime confidence of its exhaust note.

The euphoria ended somewhere in Northern France with a stall at the traffic lights and a subsequent refusal to restart. RIP killswitch, which after disconnection allowed further progress to Calais. The latter stages were covered in the wet at night in company with a crazy Renault 5 driver. Honour was satisfied, but only just.

This highlights the passage of time. When the bike was built it could happily burn off Avengers and Cortinas. but these days it has problems with modern cars on motorways. True, even now, it will stomp away from most vehicles up to 90mph, but then it all quietens down, with the bike struggling past 100mph. Prone on the tank restores some speed but it makes you look like a right prat.

Rubber engine mounts take out most of the vibration. It is, after all, an old design from the fifties with two huge pistons moving up and down together with no silly balance shafts. What is left is various strange sounds, shakes and rattles sub 2000rpm... l feel it is an acceptable price to pay for the relative smoothness of what is an archaic British vertical twin. A 21 tooth gearbox sprocket (bigger strains the gearbox) gives a cruising speed of 80mph at 4500rpm with some reliability. Sustained adventures beyond this and, say, 6000rpm through the gears guarantees a super quick wear out rate!

So my 1200 mile trip to Germany was not without incident, but the bike was good fun and it’s something a little bit different (though 50000 were made). The haul up the M1 at night to the Midlands was a real drag, something not helped by the alternator deciding to fade away, with the charge light only going out above 4000rpm. Eventually, I only reached home on the pilot light with the engine popping and banging away. Main beam was a good killswitch. A new rotor and stator cured that problem, but you have to pay attention to the gap between these items. The later, welded type, is rather more reliable than earlier alternators.

Mechanical competence is not a strength of mine but fortunately help is at hand. The spares situation is excellent with many parts better than the original ones and the bike is generally easy to work on (though, someone who tries to put the cylinder head back on for the first time might not agree - those pushrods). Most components, such as the electrics and gearbox, can be uprated and beefed up, as well as harder camshafts and various improved bits. At a price, they are no longer in the cheap and cheerful bracket, something which goes for the purchase price as well. There is also loads of literature, service notes and an owner's club. If you're over 25 you get excellent insurance value through the VMCC.

To be honest, the bike is a bit of a black hole given the money spent on it, with most major components having been renewed. As stated, this is the result of thrashing it. Treat it as a gentle tourer with perhaps the occasional thrash and active life is prolonged with much less cash. The amount of money and time I'm willing to expend on the bike says a lot about the rewards of its riding experience - oh yes, a days ride on a Commando leaves you with a lot to think about.

To finish off, here is some data. Top speed around 100mph (sitting up). 55-60mpg with an SU carb, 48mpg with a single Amal and under forty with twin Amals. 0-60mph in around five seconds on a good day. Front tyres last around 20000 miles. rears 7000 miles, chains about 8000 miles and primary chains 30000 miles. Boyer ignition is excellent and trouble free. save for a loose wire on the back of its mounting plate. The crankshaft assembly is original at 50000 miles, but Superblend bearings were renewed along with the camshaft and gearbox layshaft bearing at 41000 miles. And just like the Japs, it needs an oil change every 1000 miles. You see, you've got to work at it.

Michael Jansen

Hackin': Honda CB125 and Gilera 150

Both bikes came to me by chance. The Honda CB125 single was in an old barn painted a crap shade of yellow and had been ridden off road for quite a while. The farmer told me that he had an old bike that would not run. I was hoping for a Vincent or something, but it was a bloody old Honda with a MX tyre which looked like something sharp had ripped off chunks of rubber.

The Gilera 150, an OHV single, had been left outside in the garden, after it had developed electrical problems. I offered him a hundred quid, but he said no, he would swap it for my Simpson 70 because he didn't like the thought of buying a Japanese bike with the money and he didn't mind commuting on a small bike. I still see him now and again; he claims the bike is still going well.

I offered a fiver for the Honda and it was mine. It wouldn't start, of course, not until after I'd torn the motor out and replaced a slack camchain. £7 poorer, she fired up and did not run too badly. The engine strip was straightforward enough, if nothing else these are simple pieces of engineering before the days of balance shafts and four valves per cylinder. Did some work to the electrics, cleaned all the shit off... first ride to get the MOT. It seemed to have an extremely high first gear, top end was around 65mph but it didn't feel very happy with loads of noise and vibes.

It took me to work for two weeks until the coil burned out - I had wired it wrong. A secondhand one cost four notes. Parts are usually quite easy to get hold of from breakers. A long model run helps there and many bits from the ubiquitous CG125 will fit.

The bike had more weaves and wobbles than a Kawa H1 with the swinging arm spindle loosened off. The swinging arm leapt about and it cost £37 to get a backstreet merchant to whack in some new bushes, the old swinging arm having seized in too solidly for me to extract it.

The lights were crap and the flashing orange thingies were long gone. The seat was so rock hard that l splashed out twenty notes for a replacement - the crude, worn out suspension didn't help, it probably wasn’t much cop brand new. Even with the swinging arm fixed it didn't exactly glide gracefully around corners as if on rails but it was so light that it rarely came close to gravel rash time.

Consumables were reasonable, although a rear tyre only lasted 8000 miles. Fuel was around 80mpg and I couldn't afford to change the oil more frequently than every 2000 miles. Chain adjustment was the wrong side of frequent.

The engine was generally reliable but I recall one night when it was raining heavily and the motor cut out on a hill. I kicked hard many times and nothing, so I turned the bike round and tried to bump it down the hill, but no joy. I left it to stand for a while, then I tried again. It started but was misfiring badly with the odd backfire thrown in to wake up the peds. So, I thought better get back quick before it stops.

On the last corner a bloody stepthru overtook me. Back in the shed, Meatloaf turned up high, I put in new points, which I'd been meaning to replace for months, and a new plug. A week later a poxy twat in an FSO pulled out of a side road.

Bike a write off. The insurance coughed up £180 and let me buy the bike back for thirty notes. For a while, I hustled it around the local coal tip, I loved doing wheelspins in that dust. I rode it like a speedway bike. A bunch of kids in an old Fiat 128 were racing around like lunatics. I beat them around the track but in the middle, where there is a mile long straight, the effect of a bent fork and buckled wheel on rough slag let things get out of control, and they were able to get past. I had the last laugh, though, one of their tyres ended up in shreds. The last I saw of the Honda was when some bloke came along with a tenner for the engine and decided to take the whole bike for £35.

Unlike the CB, the Gilera is a very rare machine and a rather attractive one at that. It looks like a grown up version of their racy 50cc moped which was fast when the learner laws first came in and mopeds weren't restricted to 30mph.

The engine is all fins with no external pushrod tubes to give the game away. It turned out to be the ideal runabout, simple, fairly cheap, reliable and economical. It’s the most reliable bike I've ever owned and did 21000 miles with nothing more than an oil change ever six months and the odd set of points and plug.

It does an indicated 90mph flat out and blows GP125s and TS125Xs into the weeds on both straight and twisty roads. It made the CB feel like exactly what it was - a clapped out heap. If Triumph had installed a similar engine in the Tiger Cub they would have sold millions. All I did to get it running was rip out all the electrics and bung in some old Jap components. The points were not too bad, it was just everything else that was crap.

Its most immediate Wop rival was the Ducati 160 Monza, another rare bike in the UK, and one with even worse electrics not to mention a comparative lack of reliability.

The handling was better than the Honda, thanks to stiff forks and a frame that had a much better build quality... the tubular construction was as near to a work of art as you’d get on a commuter. The bike would happily cruise at around 65mph and returned 85 to 100mpg depending on how much throttle abuse was employed.

If I had a few grand, I would go out to Italy and collect together 20-25 150s, some in good nick, some for spares, bring them back here after paying the 27.5% in car tax and VAT (29.3% actually, you pay VAT on the car tax as well - Ed) and make a fortune. Sell good ones for say 500 notes and people would jump at the chance - I have had offers of 600 notes for mine but it's too good to sell. Buy one before the classic mob gets hold of the idea.

The only problem I've had has been the battery which sometimes drains overnight. Finish is OK, better than some Jap bikes, although I did have the frame powder coated. Starting is easy, three or four kicks, chains last about 10000 miles - I am on my third set, tyres seem to last forever - the back say 14000 miles and front 18 grand.

The choice between the two machines is very easy to make. Apart from purchase price and rarity, the Honda just doesn't get a look in. You can actually believe that Gilera used to win races whereas the Honda is more a testament to that company's ability to churn out thousands of stepthrus. It's possible to have fun on the Honda but it goes against the nature of the bike. The Gilera is much more fun and more practical!

Such is the versatility of this machine, that it was quite at home on Pembrey race track. After the meeting was over, they opened the gate to let bikes and vans into the pits which are in the middle. I went past a Vincent with Dell’orto carbs and a mean exhaust note which soon pulled away sharply. Then came a GP125 with an Allspeed pipe. He gunned it down to the righthander where I pulled past him on the outside and was really motoring it down the straight, through some more curves whereupon I missed a gear and he pulled out quite a lead. Down the last straight where the old bus reached 90mph and passed him on the line... the marshalls were waving black flags wildly and threw some harsh words at us when we came to a halt. Now, when’s the next meeting.

Paul Thomas

Honda H100

Given that I had little money available and was prepared to spend even less. I settled on a 1980 Honda H100A - one of the earliest H100s with no rev counter and a fully enclosed chain costing £260. Other 100cc bikes, including CB100s, seemed to cost more for older and more battered vehicles.

It was purchased from a dealer with a workshop staffed by two semi-literate chimpanzees (they were not even large enough to be called gorillas). However, it still remains the only bike I have purchased so far that was even vaguely legal and safe at the point of sale. This does not say much for my ability to spot wrecks, nor for the honesty of the vendors. The little Honda was duly delivered and then suffered at my hands while I mastered the controls. It only complained by blowing some l bulbs and one fork seal, all replaced by the dealer under warranty. Generally, the bike was in good condition and the engine showed little sign of butchery. It had only one previous owner who managed 14000 miles in five years.

Once used to it, the handling was quite reassuring and I only fell off seriously once - motorcycles seem to be even worse at ice skating than I am. The main limit to progress was the top speed of just over 50mph which did not put too much strain on the brakes (drums all round). These would stop the bike sooner or later, usually later. The rear brake. once correctly adjusted, was effective, but the front brake always remained a bit vague. even when the cable and shoes were finally replaced.

Even allowing for the bike having to carry my 12 stone bulk and loads of junk, I suspect that the low top speed indicated that the engine was worn even at this stage. That the engine rattled rather badly while warming up and would only pull away with the choke out probably confirms this. Worn engine or not, the bike kept chugging away and enabled me to pass both parts of the test.

The Part One instructors also use H100As and reported them well able to stand up to the torture inflicted by learners. It also coped quite well with frequent 70 mile trips to my parents. I used to give the bike a rest half way through, however. These trips were rather tiring on the rider, with wind sometimes blowing the bike over to the other side of the road, and details of every road undulation, pot-hole and manhole cover passing painfully on to the rider thanks to rear shock absorbers that didn't and the front forks which clonked over bumps.

If this wasn't enough to keep the rider awake, if not alert, then the clog dance on the gear lever needed to keep speed above 40mph if there was the slightest gradient or wind was. My usual tactic was to go flat out in third, quickly into fourth and, if the speed rose over 45mph. then into fifth. Speed then usually tailed off, so back into fourth and so on. These journeys, on a variety of roads and lanes, usually took a little over two hours. I have never been able to do this journey in under one and half hours even on much faster bikes - in most places not much time can be gained by having the potential to do twice the speed of the Honda, if the pilot has even half a brain cell and has not been feasting on Dumb Flakes for breakfast, British road conditions usually dictate a moderate top speed and, anyway, grandpa in his brown Allegro with cruise control glued to 40mph waits for everyone. 

Maintenance was extremely easy. Poking the spark plug and decoking the exhaust in a futile attempt to extract more power being all that was usually necessary - along with oiling the chain. It is, however, worth regularly changing the gearbox oil and checking the setting on the oil pump. At the same time check the condition and security of the pipes feeding oil to and from the pump. CDI ignition means nothing worthwhile can be gained from checking the ignition timing and there is even a little gauge on the oil tank to indicate when to fill up again.

I have no idea how frugal it was on petrol or oil as it never seemed to use enough to bother worrying about consumption, and the only other money spent was on two Jap Dunlop tyres (something like £17 each), a replacement seat cover and a clutch cable. On the ride home after passing Part Two, a ride if truth be told that was rather exuberant, the bike suffered a partial seizure, a sound akin to the engine working underwater and a sensation like five extra pillions jumping on behind me. The engine restarted after it was left to cool down. and the rest of the journey was completed at a rather more sedate pace.

This upset did not seem to affect performance at all and it was soon relegated to a back up role when I purchased an FT500. If any of you have suffered one of these specimens then you will probably know what happened next - yes, the H100 was put back into service as l attempted to sort out the butchery.

During this time l was engaged in research which entailed collecting large samples of conifer branches from a nearby forest. The little Honda was put into service here, trundling down rutted tracks surfaced with liquid clay during 10 months of the year, with a tottering pile of conifer boughs on the seat and rear carrier. As there was so little power available, setting off with this load was problematic - full power and a madly slipping clutch were necessary.

If during this process the rear wheel was on less than firm ground then the only movement would be sideways as the rear wheel spun out. Once moving, second gear was about all it could take in the forest. I can only recall falling off a couple of times and, perhaps, more surprisingly, never got stopped by the plod for imitating practices more usual in the third world.

When the FT was restored to almost 50% reliability, the H100 was put out to grass. Although it received very little maintenance I was impressed by the way it would always start easily after months of lay-up. Finally I got around to having a look at the engine. This took rather longer than expected as two of the bolts holding the head on refused to move. After rounding the heads of both bolts, l drilled and chiselled off the head of one of the bolts, and the other yielded after I hammered on an obsolete socket to the remains of the head.

After this, the rest was simple. The bore looked in reasonable nick, but the piston showed considerable signs of seizure and general wear (it was notable that with almost 20000 miles the engine did not need much of a decoke). I just replaced the piston, which made some difference to performance and reduced some of the smoking.

After more months of idleness, I sold the bike to my sister, so she could learn on it. She replaced some of the stuff I should have done years ago - brake shoes, chain and sprockets. During this time the bike suffered from the attentions of bike thieves. One joy rider abandoned the bike in a neighbouring town, after cutting the wiring loom and dropping the bike at least once. There was little structural damage and I had plenty of time to think up increasingly subtle forms of revenge as I sat in the mud that passes for a garden, soldering the wiring loom back together during a drizzling November morning.

The second brush, so far, with the morally subnormal, was altogether more bizarre. It, or they, did not steal the bike, only bits of it, including the top fork yoke and assorted nuts and bolts. These took a while to replace. We had the opportunity to replace the fork oil at this stage. The little men at Honda obviously thought they could save a few yen on the production line by omitting any method of draining the forks whilst they were on the bike. Nine year old fork oil bears a striking resemblance to rusty golden syrup, but is less liquid. The new oil made a noticeable difference to the handling.

Power was still lacking, and my sister reported that it was becoming less and less capable of surmounting hills. The bike started to seize regularly and churned out huge quantities of smoke. An exchange top end was fitted for £50 and after running in the bike was transformed. It had ample enough power to wheelie in first and could cope with the 1 in 6 Bath hills.

This H100 has proved to be rather resilient and now runs well, although 10 years old and with a hard past. Consumables hardly wear out, the front tyre lasted 17000 miles, the rear 15000. The chain takes mammoth abuse and the brake shoes do not work well enough to wear out.

The evolution of the H100A into the H100s is not impressive. Gone is the fully enclosed chain guard, the oil tank goes under a side panel, a rev counter is added and the CDI is junked for points ignition. None of this made it go any faster. During '86 a new edition was introduced, the H100s11, reverting to CDI ignition but with the biggest joke of all, bolt on down tubes to disguise the spine frame and, I suppose, to make it look like a proper bike; suggestions for further ways to spoil this bike will doubtless be gratefully received by Honda Inc.

Paul E Hatcher