Launching my ’87 Yamaha XT350 off the top of a minor hill I had time to reflect that it was an impressive machine as long as you didn't land it on the front wheel, which my inept trail riding had just managed to do. The resulting cartwheeling proved only that the XT was much tougher and resistant to abuse than my frail body.
Bruised and battered I eventually managed to pull the machine out of the ditch - the bars were slightly bent and my previously pristine machine had gathered to itself a total coating of mud, that was only matched by my own.
I had been inspired to search out the off road scene by one of the glossies whose resident lunatic had described in glowing prose the abilities of the XT350; I later learnt that he spent as much time as possible actually competing in off road events and would probably have more success with a Gold Wing off road than I managed with the XT. Once was enough for me and the XT was never, but never, to see mud again.
I had owned the bike for two years and found its tarmac abilities a real ball. Weighing about 275lbs with a full load of fuel, it was an absolute delight to hurl through the traffic jam that London has been reduced to. Whether it was rambling along just off tickover in first gear, picking its way through absurdly small gaps in the traffic, or roaring out all its 30hp; in second or third, there was little that could hold a candle to the XT in the malaise of a modern city.
Perched high above the cars, even suicidal pedestrians were aware of my presence but rarely demanded maximum use of the front disc which could be fierce enough to put the long travel front forks right down on their stops. Admittedly, faster speeds out of town produced a degree of brake fade that turned hair white, but I usually found a combination of engine braking and yanking on the wide bars avoided an early meeting with the Grim Reaper. Besides, in 17500 miles I did not have to touch either front disc or rear drum,which was a revelation after a GS550.
Even when caned mercilessly through town the bike gave better than 75mpg, which was another revelation after various Japanese tours that usually only did 45mpg. After about a month of ownership I suddenly realised I had the best of both worlds - a machine that was immense fun to ride but was ridiculously cheap to run... at least until the chain began to give trouble. The Yamaha dealer had a wide and deadly grin when I enquired as to the cost of new sprockets and chain, the XT managing to have a unique size.
I started chanting - XT550 sprockets will fit - to myself and managed to track down a pattern set for said machine The altered gearing took the edge off acceleration at low speeds but I could live with that as the chain needed adjustment only every 750 miles, lasting just over 9000 miles before requiring replacement; the sprockets still look good to this day.
Which is more than can be said for the double overhead cam which started rattling with 22300 miles on the clock. The camshaft lobe surfaces were well pitted, much to my disgust, but a breaker was happy enough to exchange them for a nearly new set for £60 and since then the top end has been dead quiet - the valve clearances, once bedded in, seem to need no attention. Similarly, the double choke carb is another set and forget item. Changing the oil every 1500 miles is the most arduous task.
Trials tyres are cheap and last over 12000 miles a set. It doesn't handle that badly on knobblies, not so bad that I’d change them for quick wear proper road tyres, anyway. Wet weather is the most frightening, when the back end can lurch sideways a few inches when heeled over, but a quick flick of the ultra light Yamaha soon has the machine back on line.
Top speed is an indicated 95mph, when the single cylinder engine starts to buzz a little despite a gear driven balance shaft. It's not so fierce that it makes you back off - the way the chassis feels like it’s about to spit you off is more likely to do that, the bike gives the impression it’s sitting on about a millimetre of rubber once the XT gets above 85mph.-
Cruising at 70-80mph is no problem. though, the Yamaha feeling more secure than any lightweight bike with trail tyres should. It could be hurled through fast-ish corners in a way that tended to disconcert more conventional bikes, it was so damn light that it was easy to keep it under control however much the waltzing rear ended begged to differ.
I did some long tours on the bike, although the most I did in a day was 320 miles. The riding position becomes very tiring if you try to sustain 75mph plus speeds for more than ten minutes, although the seat was comfortable despite its narrowness (which made reaching the floor relatively easy for a trail bike).
Comfort was helped by the long travel suspension that Ranked up both minor road irregularities and the massive potholes so beloved of local councils. Featuring a typical Yamaha monoshock rear suspension setup, the XT became rather violent and vicious at 13750 miles when the shock was shot. It was replaced with a newish XT item from a breaker, and again at 19000 miles when the swinging arm bearings were reduced to rubble. The monoshock linkages have remained untouched, much everyone's shock and surprise, although of late a rather large weave has begun to intrude at 75mph in a straight line, so perhaps they are due for attention.
As evidenced by the number of trail bikes taking part in race track events, off road orientated machines can be surprisingly rapid through the curves - that I have not felt the need to switch to tyres should tell you thing about how satisfied I am with the 350's performance.
Midrange punch, say between 40 and 75mph in fifth is very satisfying but not so violent that you have worry about the back wheel stepping out of line when exiting corners.
The XT is an amazingly easy motorcycle to ride. You can let out the clutch with a dead throttle in first gear and it will move off ever so slowly; it's so light that even if you make a mistake at high speed it can be pulled back into line even if you are an eight stone weakling, or if you want to impress gullible women you can do a perfectly balanced wheelie for a few hundred yards down the local High Street. If ever a machine was idiot proof, the XT is it (as long as you don't harbour any notions of going off road, of course!).
About a month ago the electronic ignition failed, about 5 miles from home in a record breaking downpour. It says a lot about how I feel for the Yam that rather than abandon it, I pushed the bike home. Although a light machine, for most of the way I had to push it into a near horizontal rain storm. My mood defied description when I finally reached home to find that half the roof was splattered over the road!
A breaker came up with an ignition module much quicker than the insurance company agreed to repair the roof! A week later the back wheel began to break up and I started wondering if it was time to trade in for a new machine; depreciation on a brand new XT550 seems to be particularly rapid for some reason. The wheel was rebuilt, with new bearings thrown in for good measure.
Overall, it’s an excellent machine, if Yamaha altered it slightly to make it 100% road orientated I'm sure it would be a real winner. I still haven't decided on the fate of my XT - I don’t have enough money to buy a new one (the trade in offer from the local rip-off merchant was a laughable £750) yet feel that my four year old machine is coming to the end of its life. That I want another despite this rapid demise surely says a lot about the riding experience!
Pete Hayes
It took a bit of getting used to after the CM250, but it was probably worth the effort. It being a 1979 RD400F, the last and possibly the best of the air cooled series of two stroke twins that Yamaha has inflicted on the world since the late sixties. I bought the bike two years ago, the chassis was basically stock but the engine had been reworked. Fitted with expansion chambers it seemed tuned for track use.
Initially, I kept stalling on take offs. There was no power below 6000rpm, unless you rolled on the throttle the engine sulked, spluttered and stalled. With a six speed gearbox to play with, this caused many a moment of despair as rather than screaming off up the road the engine fell into its dead zone.
On the other hand, if I hit the power hard it would rear up on the back wheel, leaving me startled, fighting the waggling front end and screaming abuse at the machine It was very trying until I got the hang of the machine. Friends who had a go came back trembling, shaking their heads in wonder and telling me it was a bloody death trap.
I eventually decided it was a wonderful street sleeper. You could pull up next to some GTi jerk who would scoff at the ancient appearance of the Yam, or at least what he could see of it through the blue smog, then drop the clutch with seven grand on the clock, bunging all my weight over the front wheel as the Yam screamed off up the road at the speed of light.
There is something about the raw way a stroker delivers its power that a four stroke can't match. The crackle of those expansion chambers, reverberating off the cringing cagers’ autos and the sheer exultation of an RD in full flight are bloody wonderful, mate.
I've done 17000 miles in two years of abuse and the motor has given no real trouble, which is pretty amazing for a bike that's spent a few years on the track and been outrageously tuned. Spark plugs only last for about 2000 miles, exhaust gaskets not much longer and I've had the downpipes crack up twice. The engine needs a decoke every 5000 miles but, unlike earlier models, the electronic ignition means the timing doesn’t need frequent attention.
The engine is rubber mounted in the frame, which was probably fine when new but the rubber had gone hard by the time I acquired the RD, so vibes came through the frame and cycle parts with quite remarkable ferocity at most revs... it took three months for the local Yamaha dealer to order some new rubber mounts, but it was well worth the wait as they made the engine appear ultra smooth.
It’s hard to say how many miles the engine has actually done but judging by the action of the gearbox one hell of a lot. As the motor has to be screamed through the box to get anywhere fast, the way it jumps out of gear in third and fourth did not exactly endear it to me. Neutral could not be engaged from a standstill and getting down through the box often needed a hefty stamp from a proper motorcycle boot. However, time and effort obviously pays off as, these days, I’m well used to the gearbox, so no great problem.
The cycle parts were more of a problem. The forks were pitted, felt loose and clanged heavily over bumps. It didn't so much as track a line through bends as leap from one horrible graunching movement to the next. The rear shocks were Konis but far from new, the springs sagged and most of their movement was taken up with a rider aboard. The swinging arm bearings allowed a small amount of lateral movement.
That the bike was rideable at all says a lot for the strength of the tubular frame. The weaving and wallowing were not so bad as to discourage me from speeding everywhere and even in that state I was able to do 120mph without frightening myself silly. Of course, it wouldn't go anywhere as fast around corners, the various worn components made it run wide in a series of lurching movements; whacking on either the front or rear single disc made the RD sit up and veer off from the required course.
I had so much trouble staying with a de-restricted TZR125 that I had to do something about the chassis. It was too embarrassing to leave it as it was. As the front brake didn’t work in the wet, the wheel was a mass of corrosion and the forks needed serious engineering work, I bought a Kawa Z650 twin disc front end from a breaker. I had to replace the steering head bearings to get this to fit and make up some spacers but it went together with surprising ease.
New swinging arm bearings were not easy to fit but a bit of work with a lump hammer and a few bruised fingers soon sorted that. Whilst the swinging arm was out I took the opportunity to paint the arm which was more rust than paint. A set of new Konis replaced the ancient ones and the rear wheel bearings were replaced as I could see rust rather than grease when I took a peek. The bike still weaved and wallowed if you went above the ton, but cornering was vastly improved, although the Yam still twitched nastily if you braked then banked over. I was now able to keep up with the TZR and burn it off on the straights.
It may have been that the frame was slightly bent, but I could not detect any misalignment in the wheels but the difference in section in tyres made it very difficult to check. I did suspect that the combination of front Dunlop and rear Cheng Shin tyre may not have helped but when I put on a matched, newish set of Dunlops there was no improvement.
The riding position was horrible, the high, wide bars and footrests mounted far too far forward. I always felt I was sat above the machine rather than on it. The original, much patched seat was comfortable for about 120 miles then turned into a plank. Unfortunately, it soaked up water and you always had a wet bum even on sunny days. My mates reckoned I kept pissing myself because of the handling of the bike!
A whole horde of us went touring on a miscellany of machines. Mine was the oldest and slowest. l was supposed to keep up with things like RG250s and CBR600s. Fortunately, on our route up to Scotland from London we stayed well clear of the motorways, but that didn't seem to limit some people who shot off into the distance on the fast straights, even when l was in the red with 120mph on the clock. It was so crazy that I was going on to reserve every 80 miles (about 30mpg!).
In the end I was left in the company of a GPz500 and TZR250, we moderated our speed to under the ton and eventually caught up with our mates who reckoned they had been at the campsite for over two hours! The RD came into its own down the Scottish back lanes where I could rev the balls off it for 50 miles at a time.
Scottish sheep are incredibly stupid, they stand in the road looking you in the eye as you boil brake fluid and burn off a month's worth of rubber trying to pull up in time. The first time it happened I got off the bike and booted the animal in the head a few times. An irate shepherd poked his head over the stone wall and cursed me. By the time he had got over the wall I was on my way again; just as well as he was swinging a big stick in the air. After that, I tended to give any sheep a slow speed nudge with the front wheel. Bloody things, they just look at you balefully and make you feel guilty.
The ride home was even crazier because it was one of the wettest days in memory. High speed in the wet on the Yamaha are a waste of time unless you actually like skidding along the tarmac. The Z650 front end was massively overbraked for the 380lbs of RD and it was very sensitive to wet weather conditions, tending to lock up the wheel, the tyre sliding away from under you. I thought I was going to die several times and my speed was so slow, 50 to 70mph, that I did not see my mates for the rest of the day.
We started out early and it was near midnight when I arrived home. The front headlamp was a horror story, although the main beam was useless it still drained off the battery power so I had to stick with dip with the occasional, hopeful flash of main beam when things became really desperate. I was totally brain dead by the time I got home.
To be fair to the bike, despite all the thrashing it never faltered once. The RG owner had to have a major engine rebuild at 24500 miles and even the GPz owner was having trouble with his camchain after a few years, so my 13 year old bike was doing very well.
Terry Holmes
As a graduate of the two stroke screamer school of Japanese industrial colonialism, I approached the potential purchase of Kawasakis non talked about thumper with a small amount of trepidation and an even smaller amount of dosh (courtesy of Norwich Union claims dept).
Like it or not, and most people seemingly do, motorcycles these days are marketed rather than merely sold, and in the case of our sake sipping cousins this usually means today's hot bike needs to look groovy next to the paddock paraphernalia found cluttering the world's race tracks. This being the case, the KLR250 has a pretty mean time of it in the positive vibes department. Put simply, in the scramble for street credibility, quarter litre trailsters got allocated the gate that refused to drop as the five second board was flashed. Which means that Dave Thorpe et al are not to be seen berm busting in Team Green promotional material aboard anything bearing a remote resemblance to the KLR.
Much is made of the sporty derivative of KMXs, KDXs, DTs and TSs. Sadly the upshot of all this is that the KLR is rarely found adorning Kawasaki dealers showrooms, and is even less likely to be found in the secondhand yard. As a consequence, instead of gaining cult status the KLR gets labelled a dullard. The irony is that whilst on (glossy brochure) paper the screamers might leave it standing, on tarmac, turf, sludge or shale it's the KLR which does the leaving.
First impressions were largely favourable, tainted only by the bike’s zero flash rating. The engine is a 250cc watercooled single with double overhead cams, shoehorned into a tubular frame with the usual single shock out back, unprotected linkages and all, and a small white tank squeezed between the headstock and a large red seat. It oozes what Bob Dylan in 1966 termed business-like anger (admittedly he did say this before he threw his Bonnie down the road, breaking his neck in the process). Fellow yank George Bush might saddle the KLR with a term like functionality and we would sort of know what he meant.
It looks as inscrutable as the race that built it. A few examples for the unconvinced: the trick frame is paint free, the radiator shrouds don’t have the angled aggression of pseudo crossers but they work (better because a sturdy mesh grill covers the vulnerable front). A dinky electric fan cuts in when the revs are high and speed is slow, as when chugging over mother nature’s corrugated bits of terra firms or rumbling through a sprawling new town clogged with caravans. A grab handle (not really a rail) on the right side helps two up jaunts; a two up blast to Mallory from Stafford (50 miles) with big Phil (the Poly prop forward) pillion was well manageable The seat is comfortable. too, unusual for a trail bike - even the big 'uns! What can loosely be described as the ornamentation is well up to Kawasaki standard, is above that of Suzuki and Yamaha and as good as that on Hondas.
Mirrors are versatile and vibe tree, switches are big and positive, the horn would startle a charging rhino and a bar mounted choke lever makes starting a doddle. second or third kick in any weather. Plastics are just bendy enough to give under a moderate prang and the tail-light is neatly sculptured into the rear fender, not stuck on a tatty black bracket like some. A cute and surprisingly spacious rear fender bag serves to hold your spare inner tubes. cables, plugs, bulbs and fuses should you decide to enter the Banja Rally or your egg butties and tin of Fame if spectating.
The alloy wheel rims are still spotless after 18000 miles. The sturdy rubber fork gaiters actually serve to protect the seals unlike the KMX versions whose chief function is to attract and trap grime. Overall finish is still good despite many off road runs and riding the beast through most kinds of weather.
To describe the engine as flexible would mean having to employ teams of top academic scholars to redefine the word. On my first post purchase trip I must have done 20 miles before realising it had six gears. There is a staggering amount of low down grunt, it starts to seriously pull from 3000 revs and will continue to do so way past the 9000rpm red line. If you are used to a throttle against the stop stroker, prepared to be dazzled. Hills and bumpy stuff disappear effortlessly. Engine braking is a bit of new concept to this lad so imagine my surprise when I feel the effects of the decelerator - yes, two cables emerge from the twisty thing on the bars. If you are not doing things as smoothly as the engine, frame and suspension would like, the front disc offers much bite as a trailie could like; the rear drum may look cool but gives ample back up.
The KLR is, by trail bike terms, more forgiving than any smitten lover. When exiting a roundabout or taking a ninety degree turn at too fast a speed and too high a gear, simply roll off the power, listen to the sonorous exhaust note change to a dull whine and nurse it gently on to a proper line, wait for the throbba-throbba to pick up (you won't be waiting for long) and away you go. A cinch.
As a long distance tourer it has obvious limitations, down to the sit up and scream riding position, but 70 - 75mph is not much of a problem. It's easy enough to get 80mph on the clock, any more needs a combinion of favourable conditions, and a willingness to take the engine way into the red in fourth before changing up to the next two gears. 95mph is possible at extreme abuse, and I suppose I might believe somewho told me they did the ton, down a steep hill with a gale force wind behind. A tankful will return 110-120 miles before the two litres of reserve are required, that's 50mpg plus.
Town riding is brilliant, with all that low speed torque and the natural narrowness of a single cylinder engine, there is very little that can keep up with a KLR250 ridden in a spirited way. It snakes through heavy traffic jams, aided by the relatively high riding position letting you see over the cars. The ease with which the front end can be raised makes sudden excursions on to pavements or the odd bit of innocent greenery a mere moment’s consideration.
So what of the gripes? Well, the headlight is not up to post dusk riding on anything other than well lit roads, the sidestand is flimsy, unlike the purposeful jobs on the KLR600 and 650, and the inclusion of handgrips and disc/fork leg covers would be nice The petrol cap isn't lockable, though its hugeness enables gloved fuel refills, and the enduro bag means there is no luggage rack or bungee provision.
Engine maintenance is pretty minimal, all you really have to do is change the oil, although the top end is slightly dubious so the paranoid would do well to check the valves every 5000 miles or so. The engine doesn't consume any oil between changes so if neglect is your thing this machine is perfect.
Tyres are a personal choice, but usually only last for about 6000 miles a set. My three year old bike came with a Pirelli MT17 Enduro 17' rear which I would suggest is a fag paper's thickness within the letter of the law and nowhere near the spirit, being more knobbly than anything this side of Namur.
The KLR250 produces 28 dark stalking horses, rather fittingly the latest version is supplied by Kawasaki in sexy black. It’s a real contradiction. The bike media describe it variously as mild mannered (which it can be, though frequently isn’t), peaky (a nonsense term, presumably a reference to the smooth power banded engine) and a workhorse (which takes away much of the sophisticated mechanics and sheer pleasure available at a knock down price).
The KLR250 is as competent and sophisticated a trail bike as the KR1-S is a road racer. Only Yamaha's XT350 comes close and it costs more for less. In the real world of Monday to Friday drudgery the KLR offers a very pleasurable means of transport, a fact too easily overlooked in glossy brochures which feed those fantasies to which we are all prone.
Robert Wild
The good thing about the GS850GT is that generally it does not attract the usual juvenile delinquents. I bought my two year old example off someone who was even older than myself, and as I am drawing a pension that is no common thing! I have been riding motorcycles since before most of you were born and intend to keep doing so until I drop!
I do appreciate the civilised aspects of Japanese machinery. The lack of hand numbing vibes, electrics which work rather than fall apart and engines that are remarkable in their reliability. l have tried all the Japanese makes and have decided that Suzuki offer the best engineered motors, although I must admit that I was once put off that marque by a year with a GT380 triple.
But I wander off, no doubt down to my age, dear reader. The GS850 was registered in 1986 and had accumulated just 7000 miles with its first owner. It even came with a full service history, something very rare - my usual enquiries of such things, from the safety of a phone, were met with the barely articulate gruntings of some obviously mentally deficient youth who ended his statement of neglect with the information that he changed the oil once a year, mate.
No, I thought then, and four years and 42000 miles later see no reason to change that thought, that I was on to a very good thing. At my age, I have no time for grovelling about in the dirt adjusting chains so the GT's shaft came as a welcome relief, all I did was change its oil two years ago The GS850 engine has a surplus of torque and absolutely no need to rev it anywhere near the red sector. At my age I never go beyond 90mph and more normally stick to an 80mph cruise when road conditions allow.
My only problem with the GS came from its mass. At around 600lbs with a full set of panniers, it is both heavy in traffic and in corners, but set it on a mildly curvaceous A road or motorway and it sits rock solid on the road up to any sensible speed you'd care to name. The word you should take note of there is sensible...
I let my grandson have a go, although not without insisting on going pillion. He more normally rode a FZR600 and expected the GS to circumnavigate his favourite series of switchbacks at his normal pace. The poor old GS shook its shaft drive rear end, twitched its front forks and almost ran off the road a couple of times. The vibes that came up through the pillion footrests, as the wretched youth took my engine into the red in lower gears, reminded me of my days with a Norton Atlas with its main bearings on the way out. When we came to a stop, I was gasping for breath with a strange pain in my chest. After I recovered, I insisted on taking the controls and we returned home at a much more moderate pace.
The grandson had commented on the splendid way that the GS would hold top gear down to 30mph and then take off strongly by just opening the throttle. He insisted I take the controls of his FZR, warning me that I would have to make more use of the gearbox. In fact, I found the engine surprisingly punchy. no doubt aided by the Yamaha's very low mass. What I could not take was the riding position, my backside was up in the air, my head seemed to be in the clocks and all my ageing joints were strongly protesting at being cramped up in the tiny FZR's riding position. I did once own a Triton and I can't recall that it was particularly painful, but I was 30 years younger then!
It was a blessed relief to come back to the controls of the Suzuki. If it was a bit of a whale of a motorcycle, it was at least one I had been able to tailor to my own needs. The handlebars had been the first to be ditched, replaced with a set with a sixties Bonnie type bend. Some people find it a little peculiar, but I have been using the same bars for the past 20 years. I had relocated the footrests slightly lower and further back to match the new bars, not having to adjust the brake or gear levers as l have very large feet covered by even larger jack boots.
With this set up I can do 300 to 450 miles in a day, depending on the weather - I don't like riding the GS through the rain very much as it’s not very stable on white lines or crossings. In the wet, I have had heart palpitations several times. Another problem I have is with night vision, I find it very hard to pick out the contrast between objects in certain conditions, an apparently common problem people have with otherwise acceptable eyesight. There is a name for it but I forget it at the moment. At least by wearing goggles and an open face lid (no, not a pudding basin, mate) I don’t suffer the same dazzling effect from oncoming headlamps as do most motorcyclists with scratched visors.
I have received some very funny looks when I roll up at ferries or stop off at roadside cafes, especially in the winter when people look at me as if I should be tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle if not locked away in an old people's home. As I refuse to pay the TV licence for the licentious rubbish they put out these days, motorcycles take up an inordinate amount of my time, one way or another. I am always planning some trip, either in the United Kingdom or abroad. I plan my routes and accommodation with military precision but quite often go off course once in the saddle. | feel sure that motorcycling has kept me young at heart and healthy in body...
There is something so invigorating on starting out on even a short ride. The GS purrs into life straight away, snicks into first gear and even on a cold motor tears off up the road with just a slight amount of throttle abuse. Sitting on the bike, it's almost god like the way I can wade a path through all the congested traffic; we are such an imposing (or perhaps impossible) sight that car drivers don’t even seem to swerve into my path any more. Out on the open road, away from the polluted cities, it's even better. Force fed a healthy dose of fresh air, stimulated by the way the machine rumbles along the tarmac, I forget all my worries and age, just enjoying life as it comes at me. I'm sure the NHS could save money by issuing OAPs with motorcycles!
The GS has proved a good companion for the past four years. Fuel has averaged between 45 and 50mpg. Avon tyres last a reasonable 9000 miles a set and even the disc pads do over 10000 miles, although they are so powerful that I tend to use engine braking whenever possible. In the wet they are a positive liability. Apart from engine oil and filter changes I have not had to touch the motor and there are no signs of rattles or smoke. A new set of exhausts was needed two years ago and the seat split about six months ago, which gave me the opportunity to fit a King & Queen type of immense comfort.
I am going to use the bike for a long tour of Europe. I have spent months researching this one and saving money from my pensions. I plan to set off at the beginning of April and stay out of the country for six months, heading first up to Germany and then across Europe until I end up in Portugal. No great deal to many people but I will be in my seventieth year by then! A lot of the inspiration for this trip is down to the good old GS, it has been so friendly and reliable that I have absolutely no qualms about using the machine over such a time and distance.
Charles Durling
When a bike has had seven owners in five years you know it’s had a very hard time. Despite that my 1986 Suzuki GP100 did not look too worn out, mainly down to the previous owner's insistence on spraying everything that he could gloss black, and boasted only 17768 miles on the clock. The latter I knew for sure bore no relationship to the little single cylinder stroker's true mileage for the front end had been written off at least once.
The forks and front wheel were actually off a GS125, of all things, so the cast wheel did not match the original GP rear end, whilst the clock was off yet another bike of unknown marque... More by accident than design did the speedo read accurately as I had checked it out with my mates’ machines. There was a whole group of us mounted on various Japanese 100cc commuters who used to terrorise the local citizens and burn rubber along the fast A roads that were but minutes from our small Hampshire village.
The GS disc brake was a finicky bit of work at the best of times. It was prone to fade, wet weather lag and locking up the front wheel... maybe down to the fact that the master cylinder was off another machine and the pads wore so rapidly that they were often down to the metal, resulting in a heavily grooved disc. The rear drum was not much better, a heavy downpour resulting in a drum full of a gallon or so of water with obvious detrimental effects to braking.
The little Suzuki was in desperate need of some new rear shocks and swinging arm bearings. I think they were all original and not of very good quality when brand new. This may have had something to do with the way the cheapo chain wore out in less than 5000 miles and demanded constant care and attention. Tyres were Cheng Shin's finest, so that combination led to a certain amount of weirdness whenever I had to bank the beast over more than a few degrees.
I was in good company, though, for few of my mates could afford decent shocks or tyres. We all sort of cornered rapidly in near out of control mode - a successful ride was one where we all avoided a dose of gravel rash. When you are 17 you think you will live forever. That myth was shattered when Tony, on an FS1E with a YB100 engine shoehorned in, rode his machine right off the road into an old oak tree that wasn’t even slightly scarred by the sudden intrusion of human flesh and motorcycle metal.
Total panic spread through our group as we surveyed the scene, the rider a pitiful sight with a broken neck. Some of the chaps (we were then a wholly male group) actually burst into tears. You can imagine the horror of our parents when we all, to a man, insisted on carrying on motorcycling. The thrill of a wobbling, weaving lightweight motorcycle had become too heavily ingrained into our veins to give it up that easily.
Oh yes, hardened bikers would laugh out loud at us and from the saddle of their mega machines try to kick us off as they sped past, but we knew what we liked and consoled ourselves with the knowledge that it took real guts to scream along with the speedo skirting 75mph on what was supposed to be a town based commuter that old geezers rarely exceeded 50mph upon.
We loved those bikes. They were the big thing in our lives. Other youths were into girls, records, glue sniffing or drug taking but we were into our motorcycling come hell or high water. I worked evenings and weekends to fund the purchase and carried on doing the same to keep it on the road.
I had the GP for 18 months and it was not without problems. After about two months of frantic abuse the motor seized up, luckily at low speed so the locked up rear wheel didn’t have much chance of throwing me off. It wasn't just a worn out piston, the big-end had failed as well. The engine had been making funny noises for about two weeks but as a mate's machine sounded just the same we decided it was normal. A week later my friend's Suzuki did the same trick!
The more we looked in the engine the worse things appeared, so a three year old GP100 motor was bought from a breaker for £135. It was not possible to hear this engine running so it could have turned out a huge waste of money, but luckily it was a good 'un and is still there 22000 miles later.
I was rather disappointed with the chassis, the tank and guards all rusted through, the former causing much embarrassment as I had a 14 year old girl on the back at the time She was not that amused at having to walk seven miles to my home! My reputation took a heavy battering after that event and I found it very difficult to persuade girls on to the back (the L-plates were QD, by the way). Even the lightest of girls on the pillion dented the performance and I had to exert Ninja like persistence on the gearchange pedal to keep up with solo mounted mates.
Another horror story emerged if we found ourselves miles from anywhere when darkness descended. If the government wanted to do something useful for traffic safety they could set a minimum standard for headlamps. the GP’s light was pathetic. It was not alone in that department. The H100 had the most effective light so we all used to follow its owner in the dark, lemming like clinging to each others tail lights down dark and deserted country roads, but even the H100’s beam was in reality pretty pathetic; when its pilot was blinded by oncoming car lights he rode straight into a ditch and we all followed. The only good thing was that it was a low speed pile up. In later years we were able to have a good laugh about it, at the time it was too painful!
Our antics out of the school gates were legendary. Not too far away from the school the road was divided by a bollard, when it was too crowded on the correct side we all used to zoom around it on the wrong side, the banshee wail and blue smoke cloud annoying upright tax payers. The Headmaster, an old git who used to cane the shit out of miscreants before such abuse was banned, used to spend half the morning prayer session ranting and raving, threatening to ban all motorcycles from the school grounds. By the time he'd finished he was beetroot red and out of breath, but he never went as far as he threatened; we used to behave ourselves for a day or two before getting back into the swing of things.
Another school problem, some jealous yob started letting down our tyres; when we finally caught up with him he wasn’t able to walk for a week. No-one else dared come within a yard of our precious machinery after that affair. Apart from some rich gits whose fathers bought them new cars, we were the only people mobile and demanded respect from everyone else. There was one scooterist whom we tolerated, we soon found that the two wheel brigade was too threatened to settle into old divisions between mods and rockers. We all made minor mods to our air filters and exhausts, generally making a large hole in the former and fitting a loud expansion chamber on to the latter.
Experimentation with internal engine mods did not bring much success, we soon learnt that the Japanese engineers knew best with regards to the power/reliability equation. Our machines had so much induction roar and exhaust wail that there was little chance of hearing any engine noises over that lot. The local cops, after an initial period of harassment, seemed to give up in disgust, happy enough to come along and scrape up the pieces when things went seriously wrong.
In retrospect it really was amazing the narrow scrapes we had, the near misses that we survived more by luck than skill; if we often did everything wrong it was because we really didn't give a shit. The combination of youthful spirits and speed was so heady that nothing could keep us off the bikes.
The GP100 was rated highly in this crowd. slightly faster than the Yamahas but not so reliable, it was the sort of machine you could abuse and take to the edge without it biting back too often. It would keep up with the restricted 125s but could not easily double its power in the way of RG and TZR 125s. The big difference, though, was in the price, the older 100s could be picked up for one, two hundred notes and were a useful meal ticket through the motorcycle test. I can't say I have the least regret about that wild period in my life, in fact, things have become even wilder with the ownership of a 350 YPVS. No stopping me now!
Paul Wellington
The first rain I saw in Australia came when I took the Yam XS850 triple out for the first time, exactly one month after I’d arrived in Melbourne. It drizzled in a bloody minded sort of way that said "Hah! So you thought you'd be better off in this part of the world, did you? Well, you're wrong!"
It continued to rain for the next four weeks, then even more in the week it took me to ride to Sydney. There was enough respite for me to look up some old mates, stop my rocker box gasket weeping and bend four valves (while attempting to tension an already overstretched camchain).
I'd chosen the hunky Yam (you pay £1 per pound for those, someone once told me) because I knew something of the mechanics of it after owning the 750 Custom version back home in Blighty, and because its touring features (shaft drive, a huge petrol tank and comfortable riding position) made it perfect for the long distances I was planning to ride in Australia.
Also, it came along at just the right time and price (about £800), and a small consideration was that its previous owner shared my christian name. But now I cursed it and spent the next two weeks dismantling and reassembling the cylinder head in a car park, wrapping it in plastic and diving for cover every half hour as torrential rain showers washed by. It cost me about $300 to buy a head gasket and four new valves, get the local Yamaha dealer to install them, including an extortionate $20 for him to drill out the notoriously weak camchain adjuster and put in a bigger bolt.
The rain eased off enough to allow me a two day trek around the Blue Mountains and to replace a leaking clutch pushrod seal, but returned with a vengeance when I set off for the north. Not thinking that I could afford a bike in Oz, I had come ill prepared. My only riding gear was an old denim jacket, suede boots, skiing gloves, an open face helmet and bright yellow plastic waterproofs.
My luggage was packed into a set of nylon panniers and medium sized back pack strapped to the seat, and I had a tent bungeed to the forks. There was an embarrassing incident one day out of Sydney when I pulled up at a roadhouse, lost my footing on the fine gravel and dropped the fully laden beast... needing help to pick it back up again.
Soon after that I encountered my first dirt road, having started out one morning on a reasonable looking tarred detour which soon turned to gravel and weaved through the Great Dividing Range for 12 miles. It was a frightening experience on the 850 and I swore that it would be the last dirt I'd venture on to. How wrong I was.
The rain fell heavier and pissed me off so much that I spent two days drying out in a caravan near Brisbane, the sun only breaking through soon after I'd arrived at a backpackers hostel in Cairns. I wasn't to see a drop of rain for five months after that.
I had a good time in Cairns, met plenty of travellers, drank a lot of beer and worked quite a lot of hours. Then I saw a notice requesting workers for a gold mine and rode 150 miles out into the bush behind a Toyota Landcruiser on the worst dirt track imaginable. The road surface was constantly changing, sometimes as smooth and firm as tarmac, sometimes so rutted that I could have been riding a jack hammer, sometimes gravelly and sometimes inches deep in a fine grit known as bull dust, which the heavy triple would wallow through with the front wheel whipping about like a frenzied snake. I even wedged her upright into a one foot deep gulley and had to kick the dirt away to roll her free.
By the time we arrived at the secluded camp I was covered from head to toe in red dust, sneezing dirt like a good 'un and in a state of numb shock. I stuck it out at the mine for four weeks, probably because I was too scared to ride back. But when the day came, I actually enjoyed the ride, the only tense moment being when a herd of wild horses galloped across my path.
I'd been in Queensland for three months. I had $1500, the bike was still behaving exceptionally well, although I was wishing I'd bought an XT500 instead, so I decided to strike out west. It took me a week to get to Darwin, one embarrassing moment being when I fell off in a huge pit of bull dust on the last three mile stretch of a 40 mile dirt road. just as three Aussie bikers were heading towards me on an assortment of trail iron. Even as the laughing Aussies helped me to pick up the bike, a guy pulled up in a four wheel drive jeep to hand me my split rear light cover that had shaken loose back down the track. It was no consolation that the ground had indeed tried to swallow me up!
By now I was carrying two litres of water, a good precaution as I was leaving the populous east coast and heading for the desert. As roadhouses became more scarce, I invested in another water container and an extra gallon can of petrol. The XS has a range of two hundred miles but the furthest between roadhouses was about 170 miles, so I never needed the fuel.
By this time I was covering 400 miles a day but the bike seemed not to notice the heat and dust at all throughout my whole journey. I changed the oil and replaced the rear tyre in Darwin, and took a detour through Kakadu National Park (more dirt road, this time fording rivers past signs warning of dangerous crocodiles) and arrived some weeks later in Broome, a quaint west coast town with the most beautiful beach I'd ever seen.
There I met an English couple on a GSX750 and a bargain was struck. l loaned them badly needed cash and they helped me push start my XS every morning as my battery was losing its charge overnight. All well and good, though my new comrades were cursing me the morning after we'd camped on a beach and they had to push start the XS on sand.
We arrived in Perth to find rain. Though destitute, I had to fork out $50 for a new battery before I could go job hunting, after which I paid $100 for my third rear tyre. We set up flat in Perth for two months before I rode out alone once more, east, across the notorious Nullabor Plain to Adelaide (a distance equivalent to London to Moscow, incorporating one straight that is 100 miles long). I spent four days in the city of churches, catching up with a girl I'd met in Cairns and left for Melbourne just in time for Christmas.
While travelling I had camped every night. sometimes in private campsites but usually just off the road and out of sight, with my Walkman plugged into a socket that someone had rigged up from my bike battery while in Cairns. My last night in the tent was spent by a river that flowed under the main Highway 1.
Next morning, I rode for home along the most cliff hugging, exciting coast road in Australia, the Great Ocean Road. A fine way in which to end a year on the road. That XS had taken me 17000 hard miles with hardly a complaint and now she pulled through those tight hairpin bends and up those steep gradients with never a murmur.
I was proud of our achievement and, given the money. I would have got her transported back to England with me. As it was, I had to settle for $300 from a city bike dealer (well, her top end was very noisy, her fork seals blown, the standard three into one exhaust rotted and the clock showing 60000) and leave her parked in a line of sorry looking bikes on a busy city pavement while I flew back to England, safe in the knowledge that if I found another big Yamaha triple I wouldn't be taking it on any dirt roads.
Ian Spinney
It was a lousy day that turned up a friendly dealer selling a V reg Honda C90 with 19550 miles on the clock, not much rust and looking reliable enough, albeit a bit dusty but with a new MOT for 120 notes. I am writing this about 18 months into my proud ownership and have got somewhere a brief list of the events we have shared over the last 7000 miles, but I’ve lost it...
First few days of ownership had me cleaning it, changing the oil, air filter, plug and points, greasing and adjusting things, checking tyre pressures, battery condition etc, etc. After a few days the new plug was sooty again, so I checked the inlet path and carb. The bike wasn't losing any oil, the ignition timing and points gaps were fine - I’ve heard that Honda reckon to make their engines run a little on the rich side, just to be safe, but this was over the top! Maybe it was because I had to have the throttle wide open all the time to make any serious progress.
The engine sounded OK but for a faint rattle/tap. Nothing serious, but I checked the tappets anyway. I then tried to adjust the camchain tensioner. This entailed slackening a locknut and turning a screw but was located under the engine, face in all the muck and grime. As Sods Law dictates, the screw was seized solid and still is today. My pal and I tried the usual engineering methods and a few unusual ones, too. I eventually used a small nut as a spacer in the assembly, to push the tensioner blade that bit further into the chain. The engine was much quieter after that and hasn't been looked at since.
The battery would often be found in a low state of charge, and the charging system is reputed to be a little bit below par on the old C90. It helped to run along on the parking lights as this brought the lighting coil in the alternator in with relatively small lighting current drain. The real answer is keeping the battery in good nick and making sure the charging system stays free of corrosion.
The battery did get so low that I had to bump it on a few occasions and then one day it was completely dead. After 10 minutes I almost was as well and it was a long walk to the shop for a new battery. To have bright lights, winking winkers and a loud horn was a nice change, but I did not abuse this new found ability; high beam was still sacred.
It was after I had to commute to Derby for five days (about 25 miles), that the first little seeds of admiration were sown. Not far, I know, but performance didn't falter throughout, even after being thrashed senseless most of the way. The miles added up, the oil got changed regularly (1000 miles without fail) and the consumables got consumed. Consumables? It had a new plug at about 23000 miles, a new headlamp bulb (freak occurrence), a few back inner tubes and I replaced the rear tyre with a Cheng Shin at 21000 miles (£6 new). I slipped off three times with that tyre fitted and could feel it snaking about on wet corners. This was the only excitement you were going to get on a Honda 90!
I bought new shoes for the front brake when most of the braking power had gone, and the wear indicator told me to, only to find that someone had managed, somehow, to get the brake arm on the wrong splines and the shoes were in fact fine. I rectified this, cleaned the assembly up and greased it, rebuilding it with the old shoes. It was as good as new. They're still OK but the shoes will probably need replacing in 1000 miles or so, along with the cable, which is beginning to feel a little bit elastic in its old age.
As I mentioned earlier, I slid off a couple of times, going around wet corners too fast. Never any real damage to me and even less to the Honda - what I couldn’t bend back at the roadside, I would take the hammer to back at home. She only let me down once, totally that is. l was just leaving a factory I'd got a job at, 10.30am to take my Part 2 test, when the main fuse blew. This was serious panic stations and I found the wire from the battery’s positive terminal and wrapped a Rizla around it where it was bare. I knew where it was stripped because I had noticed it a few days before and made a mental note to fix it.
I then ran to the local garage to buy the only fuse they sold, a car item that was a bit heavy duty for the C90 but is still there to this day. I think the Rizla was eventually swapped for insulation tape, though. Anyway, I was late for the test but lucky enough to get a place in the afternoon. I sometimes feel the Honda was enjoying a practical joke at my expense - why the fuse had to blow then I will never know. Still, I passed the test even after locking the rear wheel at one point, by the way.
I'm sure the fluorescent green waistcoat I borrowed helped me that day. That weekend I went camping in Eyam with some acquaintances, and more praise was laid on the little Honda after that 150 mile weekend of being thrashed senseless, as always.
By now, I'd formed quite a high opinion of the little commuter, in terms of both reliability and endurance (for its size). We had been on a few journeys of well over 50 miles each way, continuous thrash, and up until the past six months it would still return 85-90mpg and 55mph flat out. This was all dependent on the chain being in good order and tensioned correctly, and the ignition system being more or less sound.
I gave her a new chain at about 24000 miles (£9) which has been adjusted once in the past 3000 miles, probably thanks to the full chain enclosure. Also a brand new exhaust came on the scene at this time, the old one had rusted through. As an indication of how rich the Honda runs, it actually revved a lot better once the rust made some holes in the exhaust. Congratulations Mr Honda, for only charging me £28 for exhaust, gasket and bracket!
Soon after passing my test I acquired a 350LC and prepared to sell the Honda. I crashed the Yamaha twice before I knew what was happening. The Honda started first kick after standing six weeks after the first crash, after the second it needed a bump start - an odd procedure involving running along with your foot on the gear pedal to disengage the clutch! The lack of clutch came in handy when my left wrist was in plaster for a few months after crashing the LC! Out went the LC, in came a DT175 for some off-road fun.
For all its virtues, it was a slow and, let's be honest, ugly bike. Going for a spin with pals meant revving it flat out to little avail - boring. I started thinking about a larger road bike. Also at nearly 27000 miles, the Honda started rumbling and vibrating badly when thrashed. After a quick inspection I decided the bike needed a good overhaul, frame as well as engine, as one front suspension unit had collapsed, tilting the front wheel so far to the right under heavy braking that the tyre rubbed against the mudguard. It was about this time that another friend offered me his CB250RS. Not a bike I would have chosen it I was rich, but I was skint, so out went the DT and in came the CB.
The opportunity to swap the C90 for an MZ came up, meant a 60 mile ride to Kidsgrove. So, I changed the oil and plug, checked most bits and used the 12V battery from the CB to start her up - it had been standing again. I set off into the murky grey horizon, got drenched through my Belstaffs after 15 miles and wondered if this was to be the last trip we'd make together. Quite charged with emotion really, as we rattled and shook along at a top speed that was 35mph, speeding up down hills and slowing down going up hills or into gusts of winds.
By the time I arrived I was secretly hoping that the deal would not go through and told some lies about the bike to make sure it didn't! Trips would be so much easier and less of an adventure on a bigger bike. I embarked on the seemingly mammoth journey home. It was rewarding, cutting a swathe through the sprawling metropolis of Newcastle under Lyme. I think I was just as happy as the Honda at not going through with the deal.
As we cruised along the A roads towards Derby, I decided that there would be no more trips on her until she had some serious engine and chassis work. Even considering the very tired engine, which was struggling to keep 30mph up, as it misfired badly and lost all power at just over that speed, with just a few miles until home, I was feeling quite happy with myself and rather glad that the Honda and I had met that gloomy day 18 months and 7500 miles ago. Nothing would separate us now, and the 90 seemed to want to prove her worth with a last show of strength.
Almost miraculously, our top speed gradually took two steps forward and one step back, until eventually we could attain 45mph again, and a constant 40mph on the flat as we made a crazy, all or nothing, dash for home. And then we arrived, both dirty, bedraggled and exhausted. I selected neutral and the Honda's heart died, not enough energy to even tick over. But I didn't mind. I was proud of her. She had outlived the X7, LC, DT and will probably outlive the RS. She will now have a few months in the shed, with healthy dollops of TLC and emerge like a butterfly, resplendent with a new lease of life.
Paul Dale
