Some of the glossy magazines are teetering on the brink of oblivion, may even have gone down by the time you read this. Unfortunately, they are the ones that fail to devote all their pages to the race replica scene. This is a failing that the UMG gleefully shares, and suffers the same marginal, fast disappearing readership. Even the sales of classic bike mags are falling off from the highs of the late seventies and early eighties. The nearer any magazine is to demise the more it will protest that all’s well!
Basically, if you want to make money out of motorcycle magazine publishing, write about race replicas, preferably in the context of massive glossiness, and don't take the piss out of the riders by mentioning their extreme discomfort, silly lack of economy, poor basic design and total uselessness in riding all year round. Don't try to imitate the UMG, all you'll get is a pile of bills and sacks full of hate mail.
Not that I’m complaining. Well, I am but it’s not your fault, dear reader(s). I don’t know if the punters are blindly following all the hype and lies in the glossies or the magazines are just a reflection of the market. Following an obvious trend, reinforcing blind acceptance of dubious technology. If a bike wails down the road on one wheel with enough acceleration to cause black-outs it must be good, mustn't it?
Well, yes and no. If you want to buy a bike in the same context as you would a jet-ski or speedboat as a pure piece of recreational kit to be used as and when the conditions allow - then these replicas are all very fine. Leading edge technology and all the rest of it.
But as serious motorcycles they are, alas, a complete waste of space. Oddly and disturbingly, more and more I’m going back to a stance I took in the early seventies. The ultimate machine was a Jap engine in a European chassis - at that time the XS650, with its ultra tough engine and dangerous chassis (don’t write to tell me it ain't because I almost came off mine during a 90mph speed wobble) was the prime bit of meat in desperate search of a decent chassis (I favoured an A65). This would have given Jap reliability with British handling and frugality.
These days, the XS650 is no more (though the silly SR400/500 lives on!). The only Jap engine that has any appeal right now is the 800 Intruder’s (or VX800’s), with both chassis not much use for serious riding. But that large V-twin with its gobs of torque and cast iron reliability absolutely cries out for a proper chassis and its slimness means I'd get away with narrow bars and a svelte fairing. Oh, the temptation!
But then there’s all the hassle. Remembering how to weld and constructing a frame (easy enough to design, though) and finding the patience to lay down the GRP for the fairing, tank and panels. It’s all in my mind, and bits of it on paper, but getting it all together’s almost impossible with UMG deadlines, young women and actual motorcycle riding taking up too much of my time. The other thing, the chassis would be a useful test bed for my big 1500cc twin design (also still on paper and in my computer, alas).
But what else can you do? The market’s so skewed from reality and full of ill-conceived machinery it isn’t worth the hassle. Alas, there’s absolutely nothing that the fading numbers of real bikers can do about this except finding another way of amusing themselves. Anyone for powered hand-gliding?
Bill Fowler
Welcome to our little corner of the WWW! We offer real motorcycling stories rescued from Interweb oblivion for your enjoyment, edification and reading pleasure, with horrible layout and questionable grammar as standard since 2010 ;)
"Russian warship... go fuck yourself"
Tuesday, 31 March 2020
Monday, 30 March 2020
Cruisin': Harley 883 Sportster, Suzuki 800 Intruder, Honda Shadow
At
some time in their lives everyone gets the Harley bug. God knows why
but the charisma of the American twin seeps deep into the consciousness,
a mix of raw machinery, beautiful babes on the pillion and all those
road movies. Most hard-core readers of the UMG dismiss such devices as
entirely impractical for UK roads; this ain’t Route 66, boy, etc. But to
hear, see and feel (surely, the very ground trembles!) a Harley in the
flesh for the first time is such a visceral experience that there’s no
stopping the insane enthusiasm.
Enough said, I had to have one. I didn't really have that clear a picture of the range. For sure, I could differentiate between an 883/1200 Sporster and the 1340, which was usually dressed up in an excess of cruising clothes. I could even recognise the pre-Evolution warhorses, though I wasn’t mad enough to want to indulge in that particular bad trip.
So when I saw the advert for a 1200 Sportster I had a vague idea of what I was getting into. The vendor, an outlaw with so much facial hair I could barely make out his piggy eyes, revealed that it was actually an 883 that had been converted to 1200 spec, with lots of chassis mods to suit his lifestyle. Long forks, minimal seat, straight-thru exhaust, high bars and huge, open-mouthed carb that threatened to suck in passing pedestrians.
I wasn’t overjoyed at these mods, something shown in my crestfallen face, but was relieved when he said he had all the stock stuff in his house (the front room was reserved for the bike!) and he'd turn it back to standard if I was willing to come up with the asking price (£3750). The reason for the sale was a massive Harley chopper than was longer than most cars and so lowly slung it would be in a fight with any errant manhole covers. He nearly hit me when I suggested it was unrideable!
Anyway, the motor sounded good and righteous, so the deal was done and the next day I turned up with the cash for the machine, now resplendent in stock clothes. That's more like it, I exclaimed, whilst he counted the used twenties (he’d warned me not to bring any fifties). A couple of his outlaw mates were there, filing away at their teeth with vicious looking knives. I was a bit disturbed by his parting comment, that the bike was sold as seen and I'd better not bother coming back to complain if anything went wrong.
Enough said, I had to have one. I didn't really have that clear a picture of the range. For sure, I could differentiate between an 883/1200 Sporster and the 1340, which was usually dressed up in an excess of cruising clothes. I could even recognise the pre-Evolution warhorses, though I wasn’t mad enough to want to indulge in that particular bad trip.
So when I saw the advert for a 1200 Sportster I had a vague idea of what I was getting into. The vendor, an outlaw with so much facial hair I could barely make out his piggy eyes, revealed that it was actually an 883 that had been converted to 1200 spec, with lots of chassis mods to suit his lifestyle. Long forks, minimal seat, straight-thru exhaust, high bars and huge, open-mouthed carb that threatened to suck in passing pedestrians.
I wasn’t overjoyed at these mods, something shown in my crestfallen face, but was relieved when he said he had all the stock stuff in his house (the front room was reserved for the bike!) and he'd turn it back to standard if I was willing to come up with the asking price (£3750). The reason for the sale was a massive Harley chopper than was longer than most cars and so lowly slung it would be in a fight with any errant manhole covers. He nearly hit me when I suggested it was unrideable!
Anyway, the motor sounded good and righteous, so the deal was done and the next day I turned up with the cash for the machine, now resplendent in stock clothes. That's more like it, I exclaimed, whilst he counted the used twenties (he’d warned me not to bring any fifties). A couple of his outlaw mates were there, filing away at their teeth with vicious looking knives. I was a bit disturbed by his parting comment, that the bike was sold as seen and I'd better not bother coming back to complain if anything went wrong.
This was the first Harley I'd ever ridden, so I didn’t quite know what to make of the finger numbing, foot shaking vibes that poured out of the machine as I tried to wind the venerable V-twin up. The clutch lever had tried to break my left hand and my poor old foot had got into a right old fighting match with the gear lever. I was relieved to get her into fourth and let the torque take over, only there wasn't the kind of eyeball popping urge I’d been led to expect by all the glossy road tests.
A little way down the road I found out that the pneumatic drill had no brakes. Luckily, she made such a racket that the cagers were well aware of the impending doom and let us float through the junction like an irate rhino. The front disc would work, I found out, if I tried for a grip that would bend a steel bar. Even then the retardation was frighteningly slow.
Back home I almost burst into tears. The shiny, relatively quiet motor I’d bought an hour earlier was now seeping oil from every joint and knocked away like all the bearings were shot. A fug of smoke hung over the machine from the slash pipes, one of which had loosened, gone all askew.
Then the motor started clanking away to itself, actually trying to leap out of the frame, so viciously that I thought I was surely hallucinating. It locked up solid, flipped off the side stand and bounced on the driveway. If I hadn't leapt out of the way it would’ve broken me in half. Vicious bastard.
I was all for putting a match in the petrol tank. The only thing that stopped me was the thought that I'd just spent every penny I had in the world on the beast. Sad, or what? I was so pissed I left it where it had fallen for an hour, pissing oil, petrol and battery acid. Nearly broke my back lugging the overweight heap back to the vertical. The motor was seized solid and the petrol tank dented. At about that moment of despair a couple of replica mounted mates turned up and had a good laugh at my expense.
There was nothing for it but to whip the motor out and have a look at how far gone the thing was. The mileage was indeterminate as the clocks weren't standard. Could’ve gone round the clock a few times in its five years of existence. What I think had happened, judging by the extent of the damage, was that the outlaw had stripped the motor down and used every mashed engine component in his possession, rebuilt the mill in a hurry and used sludge like oil to keep the noises in check. Anyway, except for the external cases it was a goner.
No,
I wasn’t brave enough to go back and give the bros a piece of my mind
but I did get my mate in the police on their case. Couldn't do anything
about the bike but they got them on illegal firearms and drugs, so the
bastard’s serving a nice long prison sentence and had all his
possessions impounded by the cops. He who laughs last, etc.
Back to the Harley. Harley parts are not cheap in the UK. I managed to scrounge worn bits out of the hands of mad headcases, get the crankshaft rebuilt, bodged the gearbox, used barrels and pistons just about on their last legs, and rebuilt the cylinder heads all by myself. Harleys are not easy to work out, a bit of a pig's ear’s of an engine with about two million shims to get right! I’m not the world’s best amateur mechanic but eventually it was sussed and running again.
In the meantime I’d had a couple of rides on Sportsters, found that the vibration was normal and therefore wasn’t that surprised when my rebuilt machine did a passing imitation of a pile-driver. Thumping torque was an all too literal description of the Harley's performance. Braking, handling and general competence weren't in abundance. It needed muscle and bravery to ride at speeds that would see off a restricted 125!
And of its famed laid back, coolness? Well, the bike just didn't fit me, I could never find a comfortable perch. Indeed, had some back trouble from straining against the bars. It did attract women, of a sort - old slags who'd drop their knickers for just about anyone and were mired in all kinds of strains of incurable diseases. I had to fight them off and flee the scene, as I was only twenty and not into women as old as me mum!
I didn’t give up easily, though, as I spent so much money, time and effort to get into the Harley game. There had to be more to it than the vicious vibes, dangerous handling and sheer lack of zip. At times the engine shrugged and strained so heavily that I thought I was in the midst of a minor earthquake or volcanic eruption! There was never any fluidity to the thing, however hard I looked or compromised the way I wanted to ride (which meant keeping to wide A-roads, as it was too wicked in the tight stuff and too slow on the motorway).
When I started pushing the Harley a little harder I kept being spat off, thanks to the total lack of ground clearance. Top speed was about the ton but in reality vibes kept me down to around 70mph, although the motor never really settled down to a vibration free speed. When it wasn't vibrating harshly it seemed to be grumbling away to itself, sending tremors through the frame, hopping across the tarmac if left ticking over on the stand.
I tried for all of six months and 3000 miles to get to grips with the beast but it was all too obscure for me. And too bloody dangerous. New ones are rumoured to have brakes that work and lights that illuminate, and suspension that soaks up the bumps without throwing the bike all over the shop, but the old stuff, unless it's expensively modded (and I’d run right out of money, I’d never been so poor as when running the Harley) doesn't offer much of a motorcycling experience.
At least the myth meant that financially it wasn't a total disaster, as I sold the bike for £3950, despite the motor sounding and running like there was serious expense on the horizon. I was unlucky in my initial experience but generally it’s possible to buy a Harley, have a taste of the mythology and then sell it on if you don't like it without losing too much money. You may get lucky and find a sweet one, the fanatics keep insisting I'd bought a rotten apple. But I wouldn't chance it again, once was enough.
Back to the Harley. Harley parts are not cheap in the UK. I managed to scrounge worn bits out of the hands of mad headcases, get the crankshaft rebuilt, bodged the gearbox, used barrels and pistons just about on their last legs, and rebuilt the cylinder heads all by myself. Harleys are not easy to work out, a bit of a pig's ear’s of an engine with about two million shims to get right! I’m not the world’s best amateur mechanic but eventually it was sussed and running again.
In the meantime I’d had a couple of rides on Sportsters, found that the vibration was normal and therefore wasn’t that surprised when my rebuilt machine did a passing imitation of a pile-driver. Thumping torque was an all too literal description of the Harley's performance. Braking, handling and general competence weren't in abundance. It needed muscle and bravery to ride at speeds that would see off a restricted 125!
And of its famed laid back, coolness? Well, the bike just didn't fit me, I could never find a comfortable perch. Indeed, had some back trouble from straining against the bars. It did attract women, of a sort - old slags who'd drop their knickers for just about anyone and were mired in all kinds of strains of incurable diseases. I had to fight them off and flee the scene, as I was only twenty and not into women as old as me mum!
I didn’t give up easily, though, as I spent so much money, time and effort to get into the Harley game. There had to be more to it than the vicious vibes, dangerous handling and sheer lack of zip. At times the engine shrugged and strained so heavily that I thought I was in the midst of a minor earthquake or volcanic eruption! There was never any fluidity to the thing, however hard I looked or compromised the way I wanted to ride (which meant keeping to wide A-roads, as it was too wicked in the tight stuff and too slow on the motorway).
When I started pushing the Harley a little harder I kept being spat off, thanks to the total lack of ground clearance. Top speed was about the ton but in reality vibes kept me down to around 70mph, although the motor never really settled down to a vibration free speed. When it wasn't vibrating harshly it seemed to be grumbling away to itself, sending tremors through the frame, hopping across the tarmac if left ticking over on the stand.
I tried for all of six months and 3000 miles to get to grips with the beast but it was all too obscure for me. And too bloody dangerous. New ones are rumoured to have brakes that work and lights that illuminate, and suspension that soaks up the bumps without throwing the bike all over the shop, but the old stuff, unless it's expensively modded (and I’d run right out of money, I’d never been so poor as when running the Harley) doesn't offer much of a motorcycling experience.
At least the myth meant that financially it wasn't a total disaster, as I sold the bike for £3950, despite the motor sounding and running like there was serious expense on the horizon. I was unlucky in my initial experience but generally it’s possible to buy a Harley, have a taste of the mythology and then sell it on if you don't like it without losing too much money. You may get lucky and find a sweet one, the fanatics keep insisting I'd bought a rotten apple. But I wouldn't chance it again, once was enough.
I was still enamoured by the cruising experience, all that Easy Rider stuff, so when an 800 Intruder turned up at the local dealer with the offer of a test ride, I thought why not, nothing to lose. At this point all the Harley fanatics are going to tear the UMG into shreds - the Suzuki was fucking brilliant after the Sportster!
The motor was much smoother, it went where I pointed it without a fist fight, the brakes were powerful and predictable, and it throbbed up to 90mph without a murmur of discontent. And it felt just as relaxed as a rolling armchair. After swapping insults with the dealer it was mine for £3500 - a bargain as it was eighteen months old with a mere 6000 miles on the clock, in absolutely perfect nick - I forgot to mention the way the Harley’s chrome fell off when it rained!
Harley riders will be muttering about true character and having a love affair with their machine, but sod all that, it’s just an excuse for piss poor engineering as far as I can see. The Intruder’s easily the best looking Jap cruiser and if it doesn’t quite match the sheer rawness of the Harley then, so what - you're supposed to ride the damn thing not sit looking at it all day long!
And ride the Suzuki is exactly what I did. 19000 miles in ten months. Don’t get me wrong, perfect it was not. Like the Harley, it had some severe ground clearance problems and could go all wobbly in rough corners but unlike the American Iron, I felt in control for most of the time. Just having a front brake that would burn off the rubber when the going got desperate gave me a vastly improved feeling of confidence.
But it was the engine, more than anything else, that really inspired. Intruder motors have a reputation for toughness and longevity that’s way beyond anything that Harley owners’ can dream of, and that toughness is reflected in the way it runs. Relentless and bulletproof come to mind as barely adequate descriptions.
Power and torque are also neatly combined with a miraculously slick gearbox and light clutch. It grumbles a bit right at the lower end of the rev range but once past 2000rpm gives a nice kick in all of the gears and throbs up to about 7000 revs when the power is all but played out. I say throb not in any way to demean the motor by accusing it of vibrating, more as a description of the way the combustion process is communicated to the rider. Obviously, pushed to the limit in first it does indeed vibrate but what big twin wouldn't?
Top speed was about 110mph - but rather silly given the riding position - and fuel went from 50 to 60mpg, depending on cruising speed. The engine needed oil changes every 2500 miles to stop the gearbox going off but other than that didn’t get any attention from me and ran just as fine as ever. I know one guy who's run an 800 Intruder up to 60000 miles under the same regime of neglect and have no doubt mine would've done the same...
Had not some low life, bastard, son of a bitch nicked the still pristine machine from outside my mate’s house when I was on a visit. I thought I must've been looking in the wrong place when I came out and found only the usual pack of cages littering the street. Looked up and down the road until it suddenly dawned on me that the Intruder wasn’t there any more. An anguished howl let loose from my throat, startling my friend who later tried to comfort me by saying it was only a motorcycle. Only A Motorcycle, I screamed at him, barely restraining myself from throttling him.
The bike was never seen again and I had to move on to something else. Another Intruder would have been fine but they were suddenly scarce and I ended up with a grey import from the States, an immaculate Honda 600 Shadow, which looked more like a Harley than most Harleys. Basically, it’s the same engine as the Revere and VT500, but detuned for more grunt, although I soon found that 4th was a touch too tall for accelerating hard when motorway cruising, having to knock down to 3rd and scream the engine a bit.
In this it was definitely inferior to the Intruder, whose larger capacity allowed it to get away with much more relaxed riding. However, the Honda could be blasted through town with unerring ease, its chain drive giving it an easier time at ultra low revs. However, the riding position was one of the most uncomfortable I’d ever come across. Not that the saddle was lacking in padding, as such, but that the whole of my mass was concentrated on my bum. Half an hour in town had me squirming but an hour on the open road left me feeling like I'd been butt-fucked by half the cabinet.
Though steering was a touch heavy, the suspension did a pretty good job of absorbing the bumps and keeping the near 500lbs of mass on line. With its 63 inch wheelbase and a lot of the mass kept low, not to mention its kicked out forks, it was very stable in a straight line, not even taking out a small dog with the front wheel caused it to go wild. This was probably the bike’s most impressive aspect, but it wasn't so good that I could ignore its failings in other areas, most notably its lack of comfort.
Fuel never really bettered 50mpg but it usually didn’t go much below that either. The usual two carbs needed setting up every 5000 miles, which was when I did the oil as it never seemed to go off. Three valves per cylinder but they were always within limits. Because I had to thrash the engine much more than on the Intruder, I never felt happy about entirely neglecting maintenance, though god knows the bike has an excellent pedigree in the VT500 and Revere, both of which withstood the massive thrashing of crazed DR's.
One thing that spoilt the otherwise sophisticated Honda was starting on cold winter mornings. The bike was evidently set up for Texan weather rather than merry old England. Basically, if it was below freezing the bike didn’t want to know, grumbled away to itself for a good fifteen minutes, refusing to run in the taller gears and cutting out just as the cages were going to cut me up. Riding a cruiser in winter? Silly boy, I know, but the Shadow was my only means of transport.
Also, even when fully warmed up and running properly, the throttle was a bit on the sharp side, sending a grunt of torque into the back wheel, which on icy roads would tend to try to spin off into oblivion. Not nice, that, especially in the morning when I’d barely woken up.
As soon as the spring came in I sold the Honda. Not a bad machine - I did 8000 miles in seven months - but more of a pose tool than a practical set of wheels. For those who really yearn after Harleys but can't take them the Shadow is a viable alternative and has proven itself the most popular custom except for Harleys (of course!) in the States.
Me? Well. I went out and bought a one year old 1400 Intruder at a bargain price. One big mutha, without the nice balance of the 800, but with much of the grunt of the bigger Harleys and none of their nastiness. I know, people in the UK laugh at Japanese customs, but I really like my latest bike and that’s what it’s all about. Right?
David Kelbright
Saturday, 28 March 2020
Four Bikes: ETZ125, CB100N, GS125 and Guzzi V50
Motorcycles had always eluded me. Despite years spent tinkering with and preparing racing and rallying cars, I had never ridden a motorcycle. Never, that was, until our summer holiday in 1994, spent on the Greek island of Rhodes. We - my wife and I - hired a little Piaggio Typhoon scooter jobbie for the week and I was converted.
80cc, electric start, automatic clutch. Just twist and go. A spin along the coast road until the sun got too hot then stop at the nearest beach. Park the bike and dive straight into the sea. Idyllic. No helmet, no leathers, no gloves, no hassles. Just me, my lovely wife and the little Piaggio. When it was time to come home, I had to be surgically separated from the bike and vowed that on return to England, a similar machine would be purchased.
At home, however, life returned to normal. Work was still there. Still boring and still taking up too much time. Autumn turned into winter and all of a sudden it was Christmas. I work in the construction industry which closes down for two weeks at that time. Time at last to look for a bike. The only trouble was, no-one advertises at that time of year so the local papers were empty.
Despite meticulous reading of various collected editions of the UMG I couldn't decide what bike was what. In the end, a visit to a breakers brought some ideas, although the breaker tried to make me part with £200 to £300 for various Jap 100-125’s held together by rust and hope. Despite their wrecked appearance they did run and an MOT wasn't impossible. What put me off most was their lack of stature. I'm 6'2” and to perch myself on the wad of congealed sticky tape that purported to be a saddle was to create the effect of riding a child’s bicycle.
My interest, however, was drawn to a black E reg MZ ETZ125 with 13000 miles on the clock that was nestling in the corner minus its head, barrel, piston and various other minor bits. It was on offer for £50. “You don’t want that,” the breaker advised. “You'll be much better off with a Jap.” But my mind was made up. Here was a man’s bike, it looked much more solid. In my naive state I didn’t even bother to haggle over the price. The machine could easily end up on the road for around a hundred notes, thought I. How wrong this was to be.
Cash changed hands, the tank was unbolted and the whole effort loaded into the boot of my Sierra. Two hours later and frustration had set in. No matter how many times I trundled up and down the garden I was unlikely to go much further with only half an engine. Surprisingly, the battery could be charged and all the electrics worked.
After several weeks of tinkering the bullet was bit and I removed and stripped the engine, took it on the first of several visits to Burwins, MZ specialist in Islington, London. Who, for a very reasonable sum, replaced the big-end and supplied the new and used bits to complete the rebuild.
At the end of the day, the total cost to get the bike on the road was £250-300, including the initial purchase and two brand new Metz tyres. On reflection, I could have done it cheaper and got biking quicker by buying a complete bike but, what the hell, at least I knew everything was OK.
At first the bike seemed slow until we realised that the timing was out. Once rectified I was away. I loved it! Racing the bike around all the country lanes close to home was brilliant. Everything felt very secure, the disc brake was very effective and it wasn't long before I was experimenting with leaving the braking as late as possible, leaning into bends and generally having a whale of a time. Apart from a badly dragging clutch, which I couldn't cure. Everything on the bike seemed OK, so next weekend I got MOTd, taxed and became fully road legal.
Everything in the garden was rosy. Except the fact that the bike was too tall and heavy for my wife, who also wanted to take her test. The answer, a second bike. Looking through MCN's classifieds a Honda CB100N was advertised locally, we went along for a casual look. It was in superb condition but high mileage and had been standing for a while. We should have walked away but one look at my wife’s face said that the bike was sold. £225 including a new MOT and the deal was done.
I rode the bike home. Despite seized cables, the machine, and its four stroke motor, was a revelation. Unfortunately, its 6V electrics, shot suspension and Cheng Shins were not. We stuck with it for a couple of weeks but frankly the bike was not up to the MZ’s standard!
The decision was finally made to get rid of it when the vibes caused the pilot jet to fall out on a run into the country. Temporary repair was made with some chewing gum. The bike seemed to run just as well! The local Honda dealer was surprised when informed that we didn’t want to pay the £12 for a replacement jet. Instead a replacement was fabricated by sharpening an old VW Golf needle with the aid of a pencil sharpener. It seemed to work just as well as the original and allowed us to sell the bike at cost.
Its replacement, bike number three, was soon procured. Again, locally through MCN ads. This time we were getting a bit more, bike-wise, my wife the proud owner of a gleaming black Suzuki GS125. Earlier that day, the local dealer had tried to sell us a GN125 as the perfect bike for my wife; the used GS cost a fifth of the GN’s new price.
What a pleasure it was to ride the Suzuki home. My wife's a perfectionist and had soon replaced the chain, sprockets and front tyre, plus a recovered seat. The bike looked perfect, which was a shame as first ride out she discovered that braking and cornering on gravel don’t mix. Fortunately, both she and bike suffered only superficial damage, although I did get told off for riding on for miles oblivious to the fact that she was no longer with me.
Throughout the summer we went increasingly far on our weekend jaunts into the country but it was time to get some lessons and go for a test. Both bikes were totally reliable with the exception of the MZ’s dragging clutch. A nearby local authority ran a free training scheme providing the CBT was done with them, Not surprisingly, the scheme is popular and we had a long wait to get enrolled.
Each Sunday morning for five weeks we went for a two hour session, which was good fun. So much so that we started looking around for a bigger bike capable of carrying us both at once. My wife’s penchant for things Italian meant that we began to look around for a nice Moto Guzzi V50. We viewed several around the country but being in no hurry were able to walk away until the deal was right.
In the end one came up in MCN, about five miles away from where I work. Despite being for sale at the sort of back street dealer common-sense tells you to steer clear of, and in spite of a ripped seat cover and holed silencer, the bike had an aura which felt right. It had apparently been taken in part exchange the previous week for a larger bike but the guy had kept the Guzzi for several years. Overall, the machine needed two new silencers and a good clean, was original with a genuine 24000 miles on the clock.
Having handed over the cash it was time to hit the road. The V-twin sounded gorgeous and the torque reaction of the motor in the frame as I rolled the throttle made me wonder if I would be able to get home in one piece. I waited for a gap in the traffic and snapped open the throttle to move off from the driveway. Next moment I was heading towards the wall on the other side of the road. Fortunately, no one was coming and there was enough time to regain composure, to aim for the nearest side road for a bit of practice.
By then the heavens had opened and it was rush hour, so the journey home through London traffic was a true baptism of fire. In fact, the V50 was a delight to ride. As a step up from the 125 it was wonderful to be able to keep up with the traffic flow and to have enough presence to sit securely in a lane with confidence. By the time we got to the country lanes I was loving it. Despite being soaked through I would’ve kept riding all night, only a lack of licence and insurance restrained my enthusiasm.
Still, my test was booked for two weeks so it wouldn't be long. I failed! I couldn’t believe it! I touched my foot down during the turn in the road, something which at any other time I could have done with both hands tied behind my back, and that was it, a two month wait for a re-test in the new year. But it was worse than that!
Much worse. My wife, who took her test before me, had passed, and I was now relegated to pillion on the Guzzi, which, in fact, was bought for her anyway. The MZ was sold to a chap who was going to use it for despatching. He took it into Burwins, who sorted out the clutch drag, and I hope it’s going strong.
I took and finally passed my test on the GS, which was then sold on to a friend who has done the same CBT/tuition course on it and has his test coming up in the near future. Back to the Guzzi. We go out on it whenever we can. Having converted my brother-in-law to the fold, he usually comes along on his 600 Bandit. We clearly can’t compete, especially two-up, but the little Guzzi holds up well, especially on tight, twisty roads.
On a recent run down to Dorset with the two bikes side by side at a steady 75 to 85mph, the V50 managed significantly better fuel consumption. Averaging out over a week's holiday and about a 1000 miles of mixed riding, mostly two up, at 55 to 60mpg. Not bad for a machine that despite being 18 years old still seems easily capable of achieving the ton. Especially since I discovered that earplugs can dim my built in sensitivity to mechanical noises! All for the cost of the depreciation of a new bike during its first couple of days!
Each of our bikes has been bought on a minimal budget. The CB100 was a mistake but one that fortunately didn’t cost us much. The MZ was a nice solid machine that had a grown up feel that seemed to run and run, provided that the ignition timing was checked on a regular basis. Its biggest drawback was the front disc which seemed too powerful. Fine in the dry but it would lock up in the wet with the mildest provocation. It never worried me but wasn't ideal for impressing the examiner when he walks out in front of you with his clipboard and expects a perfect emergency stop.
The Suzuki GS125 was an excellent bike all round. Despite the high mileage, currently about 35000, and having put up with a succession of learners and all weather commuting, it keeps coming back for more. Its next owner is already booked up for when the current one passes his test. The fuel consumption’s so low that it’s almost embarrassing going into the petrol station to fill up. Engine wear’s evident in the frequent top ups but otherwise a thoroughly excellent bike.
Despite the prejudices of many people the Guzzi is also a fine machine, or maybe we bought wisely or luckily. The parts, not that we have needed many, are easily and cheaply available by mail order. The biggest problem has been that I fiddled with the gear lever and spent ages trying to sort it out, eventually fabricating my own bits after twice snapping the proper part.
We are soon to trip off into Europe on the V50, hopefully I can find a bigger Guzzi so we can have a matching pair - a Le Mans looks a possibility but the new 1100 Sport is a fine looking bike and I am sorely tempted by it. As the man says - reading the Used Motorcycle Guide can develop a strange and irrational interest in motorcycling.
Peter White
Yamaha SRX250
A gleaming Yamaha SRX250 stood in the dealers, an import with only 4500 miles on the clock. Looked so nice that it could be genuine despite the bike being made in 1990. £2500 sticker price. Having read the UMG for a long time I decided to offer the Hells Angel type dealer eighteen hundred notes for cash. Fuck off, mate, was the reply and he walked off in disgust. I hung around for fifteen minutes, checking everything over and finding nothing wrong. The dealer came back, started her up and gave me a hard stare. I meekly handed over two and a half grand and was told to come back in three weeks when the machine would be registered, etc.
After that wait I was ultra keen to get on the road. The sun was shining, the roads were calling and my right hand was twitching involuntarily. The SRX weighs only 280Ibs and develops 28 horses... OK not in the race replica league but a damn sight better than things like MZs and the vast majority of older Jap 250’s. First impressions were of respectable acceleration (more than enough to kill cages dead) and an easy 75mph cruising lope on a short stretch of motorway.
Stability was good on the smooth roads that I encountered on the meander home. Later, bumpy country roads threw the bike around quite a lot but it seemed to hold its line OK. It was so light that it was dead easy to flick through a series of bends and the discs howled the tyres with just a marginal amount of input. Top speed was the ton on the clock, in reality about 95mph. Fuel went from 75mpg when ridden mildly to an all time worst of 60mpg! Usually, over 70mpg was achieved which I thought excellent... someone had drilled out the baffles, though, judging by the rather loud exhaust, and it was thus probably running a touch lean.
Which might explain the difficult early morning starting. It was fine once warmed up but needed a good two minutes on the starter before it’d growl into life. Then it'd be a series of kangaroo leaps before the motor settled down. In the first fifteen minutes it would stall when idling at junctions, and the like, unless given a bit of a caning on the throttle. As might be expected, this trait got worse during the winter, sometimes making me a bit exasperated.
But the rest of the experience was so good that I was willing to put up with a bit of bother early each morning. Think of a four stroke MZ that was neatly styled and you'd get an idea of how virtuous was the SRX250! Or that was how I thought of the machine until the winter rains hit the UK and the little Yamaha.
Firstly, there was the short front mudguard which was a plain silly affectation on what should have been a thoroughly sensible machine. In the mildest drizzle both engine and rider were covered in muck thrown off the front wheel. In heavy rain it was so bad as to make the engine go into a fit of the stutters. After noising around in the friendly breaker I came up with a proper mudguard for a fiver and it made the bike a whole lot more pleasant in the winter, with no cutting out.
Secondly, there was the final drive chain that imitated knicker elastic once attacked by our acid rain. The swinging arm was suspiciously long, the final drive sprocket mind numbingly small and the chain itself was some cheap and nasty thing made in some Far Eastern slave labour economy (it might have originally come with an O-ring job, but if so it was long gone).
By this time the clock was up to 9000 miles, so having to pay out for a new chain and sprocket set probably wasn’t a total disaster. I went for a HD O-ring type in the hope that the frequency of adjustment would be radically lowered (from a couple of times a week). The whole set was shagged within 6000 miles, perhaps the heavy power pulses of a thumper doing the damage. Anyway, I looked longingly at the MZ’s full chain enclosure.
After that wait I was ultra keen to get on the road. The sun was shining, the roads were calling and my right hand was twitching involuntarily. The SRX weighs only 280Ibs and develops 28 horses... OK not in the race replica league but a damn sight better than things like MZs and the vast majority of older Jap 250’s. First impressions were of respectable acceleration (more than enough to kill cages dead) and an easy 75mph cruising lope on a short stretch of motorway.
Stability was good on the smooth roads that I encountered on the meander home. Later, bumpy country roads threw the bike around quite a lot but it seemed to hold its line OK. It was so light that it was dead easy to flick through a series of bends and the discs howled the tyres with just a marginal amount of input. Top speed was the ton on the clock, in reality about 95mph. Fuel went from 75mpg when ridden mildly to an all time worst of 60mpg! Usually, over 70mpg was achieved which I thought excellent... someone had drilled out the baffles, though, judging by the rather loud exhaust, and it was thus probably running a touch lean.
Which might explain the difficult early morning starting. It was fine once warmed up but needed a good two minutes on the starter before it’d growl into life. Then it'd be a series of kangaroo leaps before the motor settled down. In the first fifteen minutes it would stall when idling at junctions, and the like, unless given a bit of a caning on the throttle. As might be expected, this trait got worse during the winter, sometimes making me a bit exasperated.
But the rest of the experience was so good that I was willing to put up with a bit of bother early each morning. Think of a four stroke MZ that was neatly styled and you'd get an idea of how virtuous was the SRX250! Or that was how I thought of the machine until the winter rains hit the UK and the little Yamaha.
Firstly, there was the short front mudguard which was a plain silly affectation on what should have been a thoroughly sensible machine. In the mildest drizzle both engine and rider were covered in muck thrown off the front wheel. In heavy rain it was so bad as to make the engine go into a fit of the stutters. After noising around in the friendly breaker I came up with a proper mudguard for a fiver and it made the bike a whole lot more pleasant in the winter, with no cutting out.
Secondly, there was the final drive chain that imitated knicker elastic once attacked by our acid rain. The swinging arm was suspiciously long, the final drive sprocket mind numbingly small and the chain itself was some cheap and nasty thing made in some Far Eastern slave labour economy (it might have originally come with an O-ring job, but if so it was long gone).
By this time the clock was up to 9000 miles, so having to pay out for a new chain and sprocket set probably wasn’t a total disaster. I went for a HD O-ring type in the hope that the frequency of adjustment would be radically lowered (from a couple of times a week). The whole set was shagged within 6000 miles, perhaps the heavy power pulses of a thumper doing the damage. Anyway, I looked longingly at the MZ’s full chain enclosure.
Fourthly, some function of the otherwise excellent riding position meant I got unusually wet in the rain. The water got in everywhere, especially around my groin, which was pretty embarrassing when I rolled into work with trousers that looked like I pissed myself, or worse, judging by the giggles of the young girls. Comfort didn't exceed the range of the twelve litre tank but was nevertheless good for 150 miles - in the dry!
A half fairing (GPz replica) was knocked on for the last half of the winter and made an appreciable difference to my comfort, especially as the low mass meant I could fit some very narrow bars, thus getting my digits out of the cold and wet. However, the bulk of the plastic and some function of its aerodynamics (or lack thereof) made the handling well dodgy above 75mph...
The first time it went weird I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, having strung the little Yam out to 90mph and decided that with the increased protection I'd discovered a marvellous way of touring on the cheap. That was before the forks started flapping about after we’d hit a little bit of corrugated road surface. I suspect that the damping had broken down due to the excess mass out front... how else to explain suddenly finding myself hanging on to a wild pogo-stick that was oscillating across the highway?
Hurried, desperate, application of the brakes and a wrestling match with the out of control bastard, finally got her back into line. Luckily, keeping the bike below 75mph resulted in sterling stability and complete peace of mind. Because of the high speed wretchedness the fairing was dumped when the sun began to shine again.
A single winter had a nasty effect on the Yam’s finish. Acid rain and salted roads were a bad combination that left the alloy stained white, the chrome shot to hell and the frame paint mottled with rust. That was all just a matter of hard work to fix, but what pissed me off most of all was the state of the calipers. They got so bad that the brakes barely worked by the end of February. They must've come from the same lot as Superdream calipers because they were of the type where the only way to disassemble them was with a lump hammer which left them dead meat.
The dealer |Ibought the bike off said no problem, he could get them for me next day, £90 rear and £125 front. Thieving bastard, I slammed the phone down in disgust and headed for the nearest breaker. TZR125 calipers fit, cost £30 for the pair. After that experience, I would’ve preferred a rear, trouble free drum, though once the calipers were sorted I could find no real complaints about the braking and the pads lasted forever and a day!
March, April and May were a haze of cheap commuting, fun weekend outings (only marred by the girlfriend shrilly complaining about the lack of comfort afforded by the pillion perch) and lots of night sorties just to blast the boredom out of my system. The kind of fun and frugality that’s all too rare on modern motorcycles.
The beginning of June was a bit of a downer. Sunday afternoon run with the boys (and girls), lots of highway joy, when the Yam suddenly sounds like a lorry going up a hill with a couple of crates of rattling ball-bearings inside. Bloody hell, think I, with the simultaneous mad bellowing of horns from my friends behind. I pulled over, thinking the worst.
Turns out the silencer had sokayplit where the pipe goes into the can, dragging along the ground but not coming off. The awful racket from the fact that it now had an open downpipe, itself glowing red hot. I'm only forty miles from home! At least it happened on the way back so most of the fun had been had. One of the guys, who rides a tuned MZ 301 and is therefore prepared for most disasters (mustn't snicker, it’s bad luck) had a collection of Jubilee clips and flattened beer cans which were combined to re-attach silencer to downpipe (something he read in the UMG, so well done chaps!). It lasted for a couple of weeks!
Again, the problem of spare parts turned up. £175 from the dealer for a new one shipped from Japan. More phone slamming. Down to the local breaker again. He welded on a can from his large selection, which was the same length and even had some baffling, as well as welding up some cracks in the downpipe. £50.
Performance and economy were the same as before but that didn't stop me becoming a bit wary of the bike, which by the end of June sported 22000 miles and had become a bit rattly around the top end area. Servicing was another joke, £150 ago at the dealers... sod that, I just changed the oil and lied when I sold the bike. Also, I couldn't find a manual even if I wanted to do it.
At the end of July I sold the bike for £1950 and bought a 1200 Bandit for £5000. Fabulous acceleration but a heavy, piggish handler and the bloody thing started spurting oil out of the cylinder head, though this was cured with a bit of heavy-handedness on the head bolts. I reckon Yamaha are mad not to import the excellent SRX250 - all my complaints could be fixed cheaply by the factory and they could pick up all the sales that used to go to the MZ250.
Carl Harrington
Moto Guzzi V65
My enthusiasm for the '84 Guzzi 650 was minimal, to say the least. It was a wickedly cold January day and the vendor had a deal of hassle persuading the rusty heap into life. Just as it sounded like the starter was going to burn out, she caught with a bellow that did my eardrums in. I wasn’t that surprised, the silencers were more rust than chrome.
But a brief burn up and down the road revealed a surprising forward urge, excellent smoothness and it more or less went where it was pointed. The only downer, apart from the corrosion, was shagged universal joints on the shaft drive. Not so surprising as the clock read 37000 miles and the owner reckoned the machine was completely stock.
He went on about it being a lovely little bike, the apple of his eye, etc. Why the hell didn’t he polish it, then, I felt like shouting. Fast moving clouds over the horizon, a flat grey colour that presaged a massive snow storm, meant it was now or never, no point hanging around and getting caught up in that mess. After some indecently quick haggling, the bike was mine for £450. Not the bargain of the century but not half bad considering it had new.rear shocks, brake pads and tyres.
The Guzzi’s a small, compact machine that weighs only 350lbs and sits on the tarmac very nicely. With the shagged shaft drive it ran a bit weirdly but nothing I couldn't adapt to and we were soon bouncing along at 80 to 90mph, my fingers firmly over the clutch and brake levers in case something turned bad in a big way. The clouds seem to follow us with supernatural speed and totally intent on taking us out, but patches of ice on the motorway meant I wasn't going to go completely crazy on the throttle.
The Guzzi was naked with silly high, wide bars that splayed me into the freezing gale-force wind our forward progress produced. Within minutes I was doing a passable impression of a giant ice cube. And I had forty miles to go. I got to the vendor’s house on the train, but after severe delays from the points on the track seizing up solid.
It was that kind of day... at least everyone else was sensible enough to avoid having anything to do with motorcycles. I was the only one fool enough to be out and about! Sure enough, twenty miles into the journey, the first flurries of snow started to hit me. I screamed, Why Me?
Suddenly, there was this nasty bank of falling snow in the way. It was the kind of stuff that managed to make its way past the defences of my Barbour waxed cotton suit, as well as obscuring the road ahead. Of course, Joe Cager merely turned up all his lights, put his foot down with the radio and heater blaring away.
I slammed the throttle shut, which made the back wheel lurch all over the shop, headed for the hard shoulder, where I hoped I could meander along at 20mph!
The headlamp was absolute crap to begin with, about five miles further down the road it began to flicker violently and then the bulb exploded! I swore like a docker who'd just been sacked, tried to make out the road ahead. Fucking Wop electrics!
No sooner had I uttered this curse than the engine started to cut out. Stutter, stutter, stutter... give her full throttle, suddenly the power flows in and it’s full wheelie mode until I slam the throttle shut... stutter, stutter, stutter...how not to grow old gracefully.
By then the water that’s soaked through my clothes had turned into ice and it’s like being crushed by some Hell's Angel mama in the rigours of orgasm. I knew, also, that it was going to be ten kinds of hell to thaw out. Just as I was beginning to really despair and think about calling up the AA, the clouds parted and a weak sun shone down on us. This was to be a momentary respite but I cracked the throttle open and did the remaining distance to home in less than ten minutes.
Heat rising off the engine helped to keep my body temperature from closing down altogether and no sooner had I got the Guzzi in the garage than the snow storm really let loose with a vengeance. One of the few downsides about living in Scotland.
A few days later it was time to get to grips with the Guzzi. New universal joint, engine oil and general greasing and cleaning had her in much better shape. The rust had only really taken out the silencers, which were duly if illegally replaced by a pair of universal cans, themselves splotched with rust as they weren't new. But they had some baffling, much to the relief of my neighbours (hardcases who will head-butt you into an early grave if you really annoy them...) and didn’t upset the carburation in any way that I could see. Not bad for a tenner the pair.
Some time later, I found the corrosion had also taken out the fork seals, but the lack of damping wasn’t much of a problem as someone had bunged in heavy duty fork springs to match the new shocks which only moved if she who must be obeyed (and weighs 200lbs) leapt up and down on the saddle. The frame seemed to creak in protest.
Guzzi were quite clever in the design of their 90 degree vee twin. The theory went like this. Perfect primary balance so the engine could be used as a stressed part of the frame, which meant that overall the bike was light. Why then have such wide and high bars? Really stupid as it gave the bike naff aerodynamics. With those bars fitted it did 105mph and 45mpg. With a set of narrow, low bars, it did 115mph and 50mpg! For sure, the pegs were then a touch too far forward but this seemed a lot less of an inconvenience than being splayed in the wind.
There are lots of horror stories about Guzzi engines and electrics. The latter had been sorted to an extent by fitting Jap switches, the cutting out due to either the series of relays or the old fuse-box - I don’t know which, I was so annoyed I replaced the whole lot. As to engine reliability, with tales of poor quality materials used in the top ends, all I can say is that the pushrod twin did another 18000 miles in my hands and was still running fine when I off-loaded the bike for £850 to some daft foreigner (came from Liverpool...).
As sold to the build quality of the chassis I have no qualms about calling it a pile of crap. Literally, if an incredible amount of effort and time isn’t expended keeping the rust and corrosion at bay. worked on the bike twice a week but even then if it was left out in the rain for an hour or two the rust would come seeping out like some dreadful cancer.
When I sold it, she glowed with quality paint, chrome and alloy, but the poor new owner would probably have trouble recognizing the bike if he left it out in the rain overnight. Poor bastard!
This was a great pity because the bike was fun to ride and otherwise very practical. Most of the V50's are basket cases. The newer 750’s stretch the design a little too far, don’t have an enviable reputation for longevity. That leaves the 650’s and even they are over ten years old. I see the odd nice one pottering around but I’m quite happy with the replacement, an idiosyncratic 1000 Strada.
lan McShone
Learnin'
The better half got a job which involved her moving to Galway. I had just started four years of study in Cork. Commuting distance was suddenly 280 miles round trip! I looked into the ins and outs of public transport, decided that in order to preserve my sanity, I needed my own wheels. I was 24 and thought a bike would be just the job. I was told that insurance and running costs were bearable and, for me, having my own machine would mean freedom.
Little did I know the pitfalls that lay waiting for me. I went to apply for a licence, with absolutely no idea what the score was, to discover that I had to put down either two years with a restricted licence or be 25 before I could be unleashed on anything bigger than a noise generator... or something like that. Confused, but being completely green in relation to biking I didn’t worry too much about it. Got my provisional licence and off I went to my friendly local dealer.
‘What do you want it for,’ he asked. When he heard my reply he did a good impression of an engine explosion. Galway on a learner legal bike? I was beginning to get a bit worried. Eventually, decided on a 1992 Yamaha RXS100, as it suited my pocket and was in very good nick.
The following months (September and October) were ones I'd rather forget. Going anywhere on a bike in the UK and Ireland with winter approaching requires a certain state of mind, but to travel 280 miles in a weekend on a 100cc two stroke with no weather protection needs something more akin to plain madness!
I developed an unnatural hatred of cagers who seemed to get some demonic pleasure from trying to either drown me or blow me off the road. Still, the RXS never let me down. It was quite happy to trundle along in all sorts of weather (most of it very wet and windy). In the wet, handling got a little stodgy but never unstable.
The only problem I had with the RXS was the fact that the previous owner had mangled the exhaust trying to make the bike sound like a drag racer from hell. I never got around to fixing it. I still have squirming fits when I think of all the heads turned by that noise. By November, however, the two stroke vibration and miserable 6V electrics - a positively crap headlight and no indicators - had become too much and I went back to the dealer.
All credit to him, I got my money back on the RXS (I had put a lot of work into it, mind). The result of our wheeling and dealing was a four stroke 125cc bike with decent 12V electrics. I proudly strutted myself around Cork for a week on a GN125 (1995 with 8k on the clock) feeling like a king. Now this was biking - smooth, quiet and, what a bonus, I could see where I was going in the dark. Hey, this was cool.
I was apprehensive about heading to Galway, though. Would the bike let me down? By the end of November the weather was conspiring against me - strong northerly winds every Friday (guess who was going north...) and even stronger southerly winds every Sunday as I tried to make it back to Cork. I became very interested in the weather forecasts over the winter.
Anyway, the particular Friday arrived and off I went under a menacing sky. I made it 20 miles. By then the driving rain had soaked me through, even though I had proper waterproofs, and I was thoroughly shagged. My best speed was about 35 to 40mph that afternoon. Is there anything worse than the throttle fully open and watching the world (all of it) go by?
There followed the odd successful trip to Galway over the next couple of months but mostly I conceded to public transport I’m still not sure which was worse. With the arrival of spring, I took to riding full time again and have been up and down every weekend since late February.
The GN is pushed to the limit, and beyond, but seems equal to the challenge. I had several minor problems including a knackered chain, knocking steering head bearings, a flat tyre and a blown headlamp. Not bad, having done over 7000 miles in-four months.
In late March the bike developed an horrible vibration down the right-hand side, particularly around the footpeg. I struggled on with it for almost two months with several attempts to try to cure the problem. The chain was replaced, the suspension played with, the engine bolts and mountings checked, etc. Without success. I finally decided that it was there to stay and tried to ignore it. After all, I was asking an awful lot of a small bike.
When the brake pads and rear tyre began to wear out, I decided to take it in for a proper service. I mentioned the vibration, not expecting anything to come of it, but the service guy immediately said it was probably a loose camchain - a 20 second job to adjust it and I’d been putting up with it for months! A service later and the bike was riding like never before. Solid, virtually vibration-less and, with the new brakes and a rear tyre, better than every before.
Considering what I’m asking of the GN, the bike’s performing above and beyond the call of duty. Oil changes at 1000 miles (although the manual recommends twice that distance) are a necessity, otherwise the engine will wreck the camshaft. Tighten the camchain when the oil’s done - long journeys mean adjustments need to be done more often. The other vital maintenance job’s adjustment of the valve clearances, the engine’s other weak point.
Fighting the climate’s a losing battle, though. A full polish every week is just about keeping the rust at bay, especially around the exhaust and headlamp. The bike’s handling is very dependent on tyre pressures, even a small drop makes the handling rather hairy. Especially true with the front wheel.
All in all, anyone who has to travel long distances on a learner legal bike can do so, the GN125 as good as any other. The one serious consideration has to be the seat height - I’m 6’3” tall and find the GN’s seat too low. I find myself sitting where the pillion should be.
Don't try to attempt a long journey in heavy rain or strong winds, unless they’re behind you! Basically, it's hell during the winter and just plain frustrating the rest of the time. I don’t recommend it but you'll probably survive provided you've patience, an excess of high visibility clothes and pull over to let the cagers go buy. Oh - buy a set of panniers.
As for me, well I’ve learnt just how daft some of the rules and regulations for bikes are. Learner legal is NOT safe for someone like me who has to travel long distances. Neither is the view of most insurance companies. Just because a bike has a big engine doesn’t mean it’s unsafe. There’s a lot of difference between a 1100cc tourer and an 1100cc race replica (or maybe the difference is in the riders). Either way, deciding insurance just on the basis of engine size is purely moronic (we have some catching up to do with England, there!).
Anyway, herself has hopefully got a transfer by the time you read this. When my restriction’s lifted it's a 600 Bandit for me and a tour of Europe, two up. You never know, I may just go to Galway to see what it’s like on a real bike.
Cormac Gebruers
Wednesday, 25 March 2020
Loose Lines [Issue 79, May 1997]
If all the people involved in motorcycle manufacture, importing, distribution and sales were forced to ride their products through a British winter, then the bikes on sale would be very different to the current offerings. I, for one, find it incredibly sad that motorcycling is moving more and more to a very expensive summer leisure pastime (not least for the effect such a change has on the UMG’s sales - sob!) and all the old time, hardcore bikers are either dying out or giving up in disgust. All the factories’ attention is focused on the replicas because they can charge top money and sell thousands of the damn things.
Part of it's down to the total dominance of the Japanese factories. For sure, Triumph have done exceptionally well with their new Daytona, but their insistence on limiting output to 20-25000 machines a year means it’s not going to pay them, in terms of profit per machine, to take much notice of the lower end of the scale. The Italians, despite being master stylists and having an intimate knowledge of chassis dynamics, are as far from producing practical motorcycles as they were in the seventies. So they are stuck with offloading their replicas on to anyone willing to hand over the dosh.
The starting point for a practical motorcycle, one that can be ridden through British winters, is to equip it with narrow handlebars, so that the resulting fairing can be svelte whilst offering good protection. The only problem with this is that to get away with narrow bars the bike needs to be light and narrow (for a low centre of gravity). Few modern bikes, with decent power, meet this criteria. The odd Japanese V-twin might just manage the transition, though they tend to be built without much thought to saving mass as they usually serve as motive power for those dreadful customs. Both Honda’s and Suzuki's latest sporting V’s have potential, though it’s somewhat lost to their trendy plastic and badly designed frames.
Straight fours have no place in a motorcycle, the popularity of 600 Bandits and Diversions only high because there are absolutely no alternatives. The sheer brilliance of Japanese production and development engineers the only reason they haven't been consigned to the history books. Their relatively low prices - so much so that many dealers demanded that the importers put them up! - showing just how clever the Japs can be in making motorcycles.
Singles are flawed in their excessive vibration, effectively limited to a mere 300cc if both power and efficiency are needed. Vertical twins come closer than most, but at the price of a single gear driven balancer and a limit in capacity of around 600cc. Conceivably, if the Jap’s got the bit between their teeth, they could start churning out thousands of the things and sell them in the critical £3000 to £4000 price range. Figure a modern bike to have excellent weather protection whilst looking neat and being much more aerodynamic than the replicas (which lose all their efficiency as soon as the rider’s on them with most extremities stuck out in the wind), weigh around 300lbs, make 70 horses and turn in at least 80mpg — fun and frugality that you can enjoy all year round!
Bill Fowler
Part of it's down to the total dominance of the Japanese factories. For sure, Triumph have done exceptionally well with their new Daytona, but their insistence on limiting output to 20-25000 machines a year means it’s not going to pay them, in terms of profit per machine, to take much notice of the lower end of the scale. The Italians, despite being master stylists and having an intimate knowledge of chassis dynamics, are as far from producing practical motorcycles as they were in the seventies. So they are stuck with offloading their replicas on to anyone willing to hand over the dosh.
The starting point for a practical motorcycle, one that can be ridden through British winters, is to equip it with narrow handlebars, so that the resulting fairing can be svelte whilst offering good protection. The only problem with this is that to get away with narrow bars the bike needs to be light and narrow (for a low centre of gravity). Few modern bikes, with decent power, meet this criteria. The odd Japanese V-twin might just manage the transition, though they tend to be built without much thought to saving mass as they usually serve as motive power for those dreadful customs. Both Honda’s and Suzuki's latest sporting V’s have potential, though it’s somewhat lost to their trendy plastic and badly designed frames.
Straight fours have no place in a motorcycle, the popularity of 600 Bandits and Diversions only high because there are absolutely no alternatives. The sheer brilliance of Japanese production and development engineers the only reason they haven't been consigned to the history books. Their relatively low prices - so much so that many dealers demanded that the importers put them up! - showing just how clever the Japs can be in making motorcycles.
Singles are flawed in their excessive vibration, effectively limited to a mere 300cc if both power and efficiency are needed. Vertical twins come closer than most, but at the price of a single gear driven balancer and a limit in capacity of around 600cc. Conceivably, if the Jap’s got the bit between their teeth, they could start churning out thousands of the things and sell them in the critical £3000 to £4000 price range. Figure a modern bike to have excellent weather protection whilst looking neat and being much more aerodynamic than the replicas (which lose all their efficiency as soon as the rider’s on them with most extremities stuck out in the wind), weigh around 300lbs, make 70 horses and turn in at least 80mpg — fun and frugality that you can enjoy all year round!
Bill Fowler
Triumph 900 Thunderbird
I thought the Thunderbird was the business when I first saw the pictures. Had to have one - pant, pant. A six month old example at £6000 in the local dealers caught my eye. A low finance HP deal was part of the bargain and the steed only had 2300 miles on the clock. Well, it was the tail end of winter. Although the bike looks a bit like a sixties Triumph, there’s no mistaking the bulk and mass of the 485ib machine. Rather than being designed as a classic from the ground up, it’s really just a modified version of the three cylinder 900 Trident, but at that point I was completely under the influence of its looks.
Once under way, first impressions were good. The engine’s been detuned to a mere 70 horses, although it still uses the same twelve valve, three carb, DOHC head of the Trident - if you think about it, Triumph should dump all their models except for the 900, and produce variants on that with different top ends. In that context, the Thunderbird should have a simple, single carb, six valve, OHC top end. The 900 engine is widely accepted as the Triumph mill, so why they bother with the other stuff, which the Japanese do better, beats me.
Back to the Thunderbird and its low power but high tech engine. Grunt it has aplenty, not really needing more than three gears (another area where they could cut costs - wanna give me a job, Mr Bloor?) and slamming down the road against pretty much any conditions of hill or wind in just about any ratio you want to use. It's a very easy bike to leap on to and ride off into the distance.
The stock Trident was criticised for being top heavy, the Thunderbird benefiting from a cut down rear frame that makes you feel part of the machine. This in turn makes it less top heavy. In an almost traditional manner, it feels well planted on the road and is nicely precise but it doesn’t have the ease of bend swinging as, say, a late Bonnie (OK, early Bonnies were a bit of a deathtrap through the bends but they did eventually sort it out), due entirely to it carrying an extra 100lbs of mass.
This excessive weight is well hidden for most of the time between 25 and 85mph, but town work's a bit of a struggle. As is flat out riding - meaning about the ton in real life, though 110mph may be possible - as the suspension goes a bit wobbly and the bars work against rider comfort. However, unlike most customs it’s not impossible to ride fast, not dangerous as such, just a lot of damn hard work. At more moderate velocities it’s very laid back, excellent in comfort and as safe as any big multi when the going gets awkward (or wet).
It's easy enough to find areas in the Triumph’s chassis dynamics which could be slagged off, but as the bike is aimed at taking riders away from Harleys and, perhaps, the odd Jap custom, it’s much fairer to give the Triumph full marks for general performance, including the more than adequate disc brakes.
I say this as someone who's had the misfortune to own two Harleys. A 1200 Sportster and 1340 Electra Glide. Both were full of character and brutish torque (not to mention vibration) but were terribly out of place on UK roads. Maybe I’m just a wimp, maybe I didn’t have the guts or sheer low cunning to subdue these beasts into submission, but I rarely ventured above 60mph on either, and often ended up with bits breaking off or minor engine faults grinding us to a halt. I felt greatly cheated and disillusioned by these two experiences, though to be fair both bikes were quite old and high mileage. The new ones might be better, but I doubt it!
The Triumph has all of the style and history of the Harley, but is a far easier and better bike to ride on the road. As far as engine and chassis dynamics go, it also kills dead the Jap customs (I’ve owned an XV1100 and VS800), as well as having much more street credibility. So I was a happy boy, all agog in Triumph land? Well, not quite. I parked the Thunderbird up alongside a '69 650 Bonnie, and to be absolutely honest about it, the Thunderbird looked rather contrived, looked more like a Jap custom than a thoroughbred English classic! That Bonnie just looked so neat and compact and complete, as if time itself had evolved, wrought, its final shape.
This was three months and 3000 miles down the line. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the roar of the Thunderbird’s silencers, the whine of its engine, the excessive torque and way it felt planted firmly on the road - but there was something out of kilter, missing, which suggested that the sum of its parts were never going to greatly exceed the finality of its experience.
I don't know. I really don't. Despite all its obvious goodness, its vast superiority to the majority of customs, deep down the way its engineers had wrought its performance in spite rather than because of its engineering excesses began to annoy me. The only area in which such engineering duplicity turned up was the appalling fuel economy. 30 to 40mpg was an insult of large proportion for a lowly tuned, mildly ridden classic in 1996 - I was expecting around 60mpg, which even then would only be on a par with a sixties Triumph that exhibited similar performance and had to suffer the further indignity of fuel frothing in the carb from its excessive primary (twin cylinder) vibration.
It is true, if the glossies are to be believed (and | don’t suppose they should...), that Triumph did try to fit a single carb and that the strange firing pulses of the three cylinder engine made smooth carburation difficult to achieve. As mentioned, a simpler head designed from the ground up, rather than retrospectively bodged on (I use that word freely in light of the fuel economy, so there!), might have provided the solution; let’s just hope that Triumph are going to be a bit more sensible with their new generation of 900 triple by offering both low and high tech models. As someone who's nearer fifty than forty, the Thunderbird’s performance was, despite these misgivings, more than adequate for my needs. I enjoyed revelling in the thumping torque at sane speeds rather than playing silly buggers in warp drive on a race replica, which as well as doing in my licence would’ve broken my back.
Around 5000 miles into my venture with the Triumph, I'd grown a bit more fond of the machine. It had taken me through atrocious, vile, conditions down in Spain (weird weather, wrecked roads and crazed cagers) without the slightest of worries. I’d also managed a 70mph swerve to avoid some nutter on the M4 who'd decided to snake back and forth across three lanes. I was also convinced that the engine was completely bullet-proof and would, if necessary, come to life first press of the button when submerged beneath a few feet of snow.
On such thoughts and actions do motorcycles gather a place in one’s heart. It definitely could've been so much better (400lbs, 70mpg, etc.) but, to be fair, it has to be the best classic/custom on offer.
HJ
Yamaha XS1100
I don't really know why I bought the big Yam. It was for sale just a street away and was cheap at £1500 for a 14000 miler. But it was a big, vicious, shaft driven thing that I could barely straddle and seemed to want to topple over all the time. Character building is, I think, the way to describe it. As in potty training! I had ago on it a few times over the years, always coming back out of breath, panting with the exertion and adrenaline. I don’t know if I was more scared by the handling or exhilarated by the massive torque. One day, the latter overcame the former and I agreed to become the bike’s new owner.
Despite being over a decade old, the mileage was low and the condition excellent. Most of this was down to the fact that it'd been only used in the summer months. The combination of 95 horses and 550Ibs in a somewhat dodgy and unpredictable chassis added up to the kind of machine that was absolutely no fun on wet roads. The disc brakes were also diabolical in the wet. The previous owner was suffering from premature hair loss, surreal twitches and permanent vocal cord impairment. What had I let myself in for?
The first tentative rides went pretty well. I didn't fall off, maim any pedestrians or hit any other vehicles. The gearbox was less than impressive, but there was so much grunt that I could get away with riding down to tickover in third and just using the throttle for the go-go juices. The back end shuffled around a bit but didn’t seem to bite back with any ferocity.
On the fourth outing the fuel ran out. The motor went as dead as my brain, as I tried to recall what to do next. The momentum fought a losing battle against the mass, but I ploughed through the traffic with all the macho-ness of a Transit with bull-bars. Made it to the gutter in one piece. The motor coughed and spluttered whilst the reserve fuel fed into the carbs, then suddenly bellowed into life at 10000 revs.
At that precise moment, when my eardrums had popped out of my head, a couple of plod popped up out of nowhere, wanted to know what we had here. Luckily, part of the deal with the XS was cheap classic bike insurance - though god knows on what basis, as it’s a bit of a high speed deathtrap as far as I can see. It was taxed and MOTd, as well. I handed over the documents whilst they frowned in concentration, the act of reading a bit beyond their intelligence. They were mightily disappointed that all appeared in order, and my self-satisfied grin didn’t help any...
They asked me if I was on drugs or was all the shaking just part of my normal degenerate lifestyle. I tried to explain that nearly being run down by half a dozen cages on a bike unruly enough to break my leg if I didn’t watch what I was doing, might just have had an effect, as well as some tremulous secondary vibes. The next thing I knew, one of them had me spreadeagled against a wall whilst the other poked and pulled at the XS. Like a Doberman instinctively obeying its master, the XS careered off its side-stand, trapping PC Plod under 550lbs of hot metal.
Of course, I burst out into hysterical laughter as his mate tried to lift the machine off him. Once we'd righted the Yam, the cop went into a foul mouth spiel about deadly assault on police officers carrying a minimum 20 year sentence. And if he every saw me on his beat again I was for it in a big way. Entirely unintentionally, I left the scene amid massive wheelspin and raucous noise, my attention distracted by another fit of laughter. I knew then that the Yam and I were going to be good mates.
The four cylinder engine showed its age only in the amount of tender loving care it demanded. Valves and carbs needed doing every 1500 miles, as did the oil. Also, every week I had to go over the bolts, which loosened off under the effects of the vibration, which rumbled sedately through the chassis at most revs, though the rider was insulated to a degree at 50 to 90mph in top gear.
The best place for the XS was on smooth motorways, where it could sit in the fast lane at 90 to 100mph, doing 25mpg and tearing through the rubber in 5000 miles. The power didn’t run out until 125mph was on the clock, more from the way I was left out in the wind, half battered to death by the sheer violence of the gale, than from the mill running out of gee gees. The previous owner reckoned he had seen 145mph on the clock, but I just don’t have the muscle or courage for that kind of madness.
The XS has a bit of a reputation as a really foul handler but as long as the tyres had some tread and the road was smooth, there wasn’t much to worry about. Failing these prerequisites then the bike could end up all over the place, shaking away like it wanted to spit me out of the seat and go for any other vehicles in the immediate vicinity.
It was dead easy to wheelspin coming out of corners, just on the excessive grunt available at the end of the throttle. This gave a distinct rubbery, hinged in the middle feel, but I wasn't actually thrown off or down the road. Perhaps because I always tended to back off when riding on curvy A-roads; country lanes, and the like, I tried to avoid like the plague.
This meant my times over long distances were not too impressive and it was a bit of a slug in town too top heavy and wide to really make the grade. The fantastical acceleration was more of a problem than a blessing in traffic. I'd race down a clear stretch at an eyeball popping rate only to find that the disc brakes would fade when used in desperate mode, turning the steering all choppy and vague. I know, if I'd said to hell with it, just let the machine have its head, I would have been the fastest boy in town - before I got dead!
There were compensations. It was such a huge, ferocious brute that pedestrians were overawed and cagers tended to swerve out of the way (just as well as it was a slow turning beast at the best of times). Young girls swooned at the thought of a pillion ride, found the reality of the acceleration and vibration very exciting. I’ve actually had women fall all over me after a ten minute blast, and as I’m an ugly little fucker it must be one of the most positive aspects of XS1100 ownership. OK, extended exposure would probably do my balls in but for short distances it was kind of a hoot!
XS1100 engines are pretty tough given regular maintenance and oil, I did 7000 miles in two years without any worries on that score. The finish stayed good but as mentioned it was but rarely ridden in the rain. Consumables and fuel were ridiculous but mileage wasn't that high so it wasn't ruinous.
I sold the bike for £1875, which meant it had paid for itself. Unless you're a complete nutter, the kicks are a bit limited but it can be managed in a sane way and provides loads of street cred. Anyway, I bought a 145hp V-Max for four grand, which is really mad and bad.
Carl Jones
Norton 650SS
I was suddenly bored with the whole Jap bike scene. Buy a big Jap four, ride it for a few weeks and then find myself bored out of my skull with the experience. Just too bland and reliable, the searing acceleration insufficient to maintain my interest for very long. And they were expensive beasts to keep in fuel, pads, chain and insurance.
It was the latter, more than anything else, that perked my interest. £75 rather than £750. Being a mean bugger that got to me. I could have gone the classic Jap route, but, come on, those old dogs are just accidents looking for somewhere to happen and I figured values could fall by 50% overnight. No backbone to them.
So it had to be British. I wanted something with a bit of blood and guts, decided on a 650 twin, narrowed it down to a Norton, BSA, or Triumph. Hardly original thinking but I left the final choice to whatever turned up within a reasonable distance of my house. I did visit some dealers but the bikes were priced so high that I just walked out with an air of utter contempt.
The first Triumph I went to see was a bitsa. God knows I’m no expert, but the flowing lines of a sixties Triumph were totally missing due to the mismatch of cycle parts. The owner protested his innocence and went on to confirm his low status by utterly failing to start the machine. I reckoned a hundred notes was about right rather than the £1500 demanded but he didn’t concur.
My wife told me off, said I should expect twenty, thirty year old bikes to be in a bit of a mess. I gibbered away at her, showing her the high gloss tones of the bikes in the classic magazines. In one of their ads there was a picture of an immaculate Norton 650SS for £3000. Trouble was it was 200 miles across the other side of the country in somewhere called Leeds.
The other half wasn’t even suspicious when I suggested a day trip there. I dropped her off in the town centre whilst claiming to be hunting for a parking place. Barrelled down to the owner's home, was suitably gobsmacked by the excellent state of the rebuilt bike and had a quick blast round his housing estate. It certainly had plenty of blood and guts! A cheque was written with the promise of returning next week.
The wife knew nothing about the deed until the following week when I pronounced that a bike had been found and I was going to pick it up. She looked up from her knitting, shrugged, dismissed me as if I was some kind of errant schoolboy.
Riding the Norton home was a revelation. The owner had enthused about upgraded and uprated engine components, dynamically balanced crankshaft, lightened rocker gear, blueprinted engine, etc. What struck me first, though, was just how good was the Slimline Featherbed chassis. Not just that it held its line well and was a delight to flick around but also that the Avon tyres communicated their grip on the tarmac in a way that was most reassuring in the slightly damp conditions. I felt at one with the machine and totally at ease after only the shortest of introductions. No wonder the past owner had been close to tears when he handed the machine over with the instruction to take good care of her.
The engine was entirely different to anything else I'd come across. It was a gruff old bugger that communicated every nuance of the combustion process to my feet, hands and arse. The rev counter was largely redundant, as it was very obvious which of the four gears I'd engaged. Real vibration, the stuff of legends, didn’t come in until 6000 revs, which, annoyingly, was when there was a surge of power that took the tacho right up to 8000 revs when the instruments tried to leap out of their brackets and my feet fell off the footrests. I'd been told in emphatic terms to keep the revs below 6000 except for brief blasts of acceleration. In top, 6000rpm equated to 110mph (the gearing was taller than stock), so no great hassle.
Although there was that concentrated surge of power at 6000 revs, the engine could pull strongly from tickover, that lovely thudding torque that gave the impression of awesome engine power and tried to shove me off the seat like the great hand of God was descending. The bike much preferred to be slung into fourth and then slog it out on the throttle.That doesn’t mean that the gearbox was a bummer, just that the whole bike felt more relaxed and natural when ridden that way.
It was the latter, more than anything else, that perked my interest. £75 rather than £750. Being a mean bugger that got to me. I could have gone the classic Jap route, but, come on, those old dogs are just accidents looking for somewhere to happen and I figured values could fall by 50% overnight. No backbone to them.
So it had to be British. I wanted something with a bit of blood and guts, decided on a 650 twin, narrowed it down to a Norton, BSA, or Triumph. Hardly original thinking but I left the final choice to whatever turned up within a reasonable distance of my house. I did visit some dealers but the bikes were priced so high that I just walked out with an air of utter contempt.
The first Triumph I went to see was a bitsa. God knows I’m no expert, but the flowing lines of a sixties Triumph were totally missing due to the mismatch of cycle parts. The owner protested his innocence and went on to confirm his low status by utterly failing to start the machine. I reckoned a hundred notes was about right rather than the £1500 demanded but he didn’t concur.
My wife told me off, said I should expect twenty, thirty year old bikes to be in a bit of a mess. I gibbered away at her, showing her the high gloss tones of the bikes in the classic magazines. In one of their ads there was a picture of an immaculate Norton 650SS for £3000. Trouble was it was 200 miles across the other side of the country in somewhere called Leeds.
The other half wasn’t even suspicious when I suggested a day trip there. I dropped her off in the town centre whilst claiming to be hunting for a parking place. Barrelled down to the owner's home, was suitably gobsmacked by the excellent state of the rebuilt bike and had a quick blast round his housing estate. It certainly had plenty of blood and guts! A cheque was written with the promise of returning next week.
The wife knew nothing about the deed until the following week when I pronounced that a bike had been found and I was going to pick it up. She looked up from her knitting, shrugged, dismissed me as if I was some kind of errant schoolboy.
Riding the Norton home was a revelation. The owner had enthused about upgraded and uprated engine components, dynamically balanced crankshaft, lightened rocker gear, blueprinted engine, etc. What struck me first, though, was just how good was the Slimline Featherbed chassis. Not just that it held its line well and was a delight to flick around but also that the Avon tyres communicated their grip on the tarmac in a way that was most reassuring in the slightly damp conditions. I felt at one with the machine and totally at ease after only the shortest of introductions. No wonder the past owner had been close to tears when he handed the machine over with the instruction to take good care of her.
The engine was entirely different to anything else I'd come across. It was a gruff old bugger that communicated every nuance of the combustion process to my feet, hands and arse. The rev counter was largely redundant, as it was very obvious which of the four gears I'd engaged. Real vibration, the stuff of legends, didn’t come in until 6000 revs, which, annoyingly, was when there was a surge of power that took the tacho right up to 8000 revs when the instruments tried to leap out of their brackets and my feet fell off the footrests. I'd been told in emphatic terms to keep the revs below 6000 except for brief blasts of acceleration. In top, 6000rpm equated to 110mph (the gearing was taller than stock), so no great hassle.
Although there was that concentrated surge of power at 6000 revs, the engine could pull strongly from tickover, that lovely thudding torque that gave the impression of awesome engine power and tried to shove me off the seat like the great hand of God was descending. The bike much preferred to be slung into fourth and then slog it out on the throttle.That doesn’t mean that the gearbox was a bummer, just that the whole bike felt more relaxed and natural when ridden that way.
The gearbox wasn't quite up to the standards of, say, the slicker Suzukis due to a rather long, heavy action but it was infinitely better than the vague stuff Honda still fit to some of their bigger bikes. False neutrals were unknown. The clutch, though, was one of those types that reacted to excessive town riding by dragging, making me screw out the handlebar adjuster on the clutch cable (which would then cause slip when the engine cooled).
It would also lose a lot of oil in town. Not a continuous evacuation, though the primary chaincase wept like it was in mourning for better days, but sudden spurting out of the engine breather tube which had been routed on to the left side, so that pedestrians would get a surprise drenching! Fortunately, the Norton was thin enough to make a rapid escape even through the densest of traffic.
One other hassle was the TLS front drum which I found difficult to adjust. It was either fading away to nothing or locking up. It certainly lacked the defensive capabilities of even the most mediocre of modern disc brakes, causing me to whack into a couple of ped’s who materialized out of nowhere. How they didn’t hear the rorty beat out of the stainless steel silencers, I don’t know.
As with most British bikes of this era, an upgraded front end is but a cheque book and phone call away. Commando’s might not have very nice engines but their front forks and disc brake are excellent. But I was reluctant to take the machine that far away from stock. Instead, solved the problem - to an extent - by dumping the racing shoes for standard fare. A much more reliable and predictable front brake was the result.
It would also lose a lot of oil in town. Not a continuous evacuation, though the primary chaincase wept like it was in mourning for better days, but sudden spurting out of the engine breather tube which had been routed on to the left side, so that pedestrians would get a surprise drenching! Fortunately, the Norton was thin enough to make a rapid escape even through the densest of traffic.
One other hassle was the TLS front drum which I found difficult to adjust. It was either fading away to nothing or locking up. It certainly lacked the defensive capabilities of even the most mediocre of modern disc brakes, causing me to whack into a couple of ped’s who materialized out of nowhere. How they didn’t hear the rorty beat out of the stainless steel silencers, I don’t know.
As with most British bikes of this era, an upgraded front end is but a cheque book and phone call away. Commando’s might not have very nice engines but their front forks and disc brake are excellent. But I was reluctant to take the machine that far away from stock. Instead, solved the problem - to an extent - by dumping the racing shoes for standard fare. A much more reliable and predictable front brake was the result.
Readers are probably waiting with baited breath for the tales of the great engine blow up, so much a part of British biking. Well, forget it (touch wood!). Don’t get me wrong, the big twin cylinder engine isn’t the kind of device that allows neglect. Tender loving care is the name of the game. Every day go over the engine bolts, and do the same to the chassis every week. It doesn’t take long and costs zilch. Every 500 miles, or even sooner, do the valves, carbs, points, check timing chains, etc. There are electronic ignition kits available but I found the old-fashioned system reassuring, as long as it was looked after.
So there was this strange bonding with the bike, needing more care and attention than the wife demanded, though a lot less dosh - running costs were amazingly low, with tyres that didn’t wear out, chains that seemed indestructible, fuel that lasted for 55 to 60mpg, and only the weekly pint of oil a notable drain on resources. As it has a separate tank there was never any need to change it, just keep filling up as it leaked away (well, you should change it sometimes but I haven't done enough miles yet).
After five months and 4000 miles I ain’t bored. No way, it’s such an emotive experience, making the pilot so much more a part of the ride. Pretty much like a Harley, I guess, but with lots more speed, handling and practicality for UK roads. Good stuff!
So there was this strange bonding with the bike, needing more care and attention than the wife demanded, though a lot less dosh - running costs were amazingly low, with tyres that didn’t wear out, chains that seemed indestructible, fuel that lasted for 55 to 60mpg, and only the weekly pint of oil a notable drain on resources. As it has a separate tank there was never any need to change it, just keep filling up as it leaked away (well, you should change it sometimes but I haven't done enough miles yet).
After five months and 4000 miles I ain’t bored. No way, it’s such an emotive experience, making the pilot so much more a part of the ride. Pretty much like a Harley, I guess, but with lots more speed, handling and practicality for UK roads. Good stuff!
H.T.
Saturday, 21 March 2020
Yamaha TDM850
After reading Culler’s account of riding a totally shagged Wing around
New South Wales, I feel some more information regarding the somewhat
interesting aspects of riding in Australia’s warranted. My own story is in a slightly more civilized, less drug and alcohol abused, state of mind - well, most of the time, anyway.
The Yam in question belonged to a mate of mine who’s become a rather successful businessman and now has hardly any time to ride any of his bikes. The bastard also has a Harris Magnum collecting dust in his warehouse. A suitable fee was arranged and the transfer of appropriate paperwork took place.
When I picked the TDM up it had only some 5000km on the clock, combined with a rather thick layer of dust. After cleaning the bloody thing off we tried the starter to see if anything would happen. The neutral light was on but nobody was home so we decided to jump start the bike. Off comes the seat - where's the bloody battery? God knows... my mate was overseas and the poor girl in his office was no help but that’s not a problem as she just likes to ride pillion.
I knew the bike had a battery... after some ball scratching, I decided the plastic had to come off. To get at the battery the bikini fairing had to be torn off - yes all of it - then the tank, three bolts not one (why is nothing easy any more?). Lo and behold, living under the tank is one battery, cowering behind the air-box right above the engine - a great place to look the bloody thing.
But my troubles were just beginning. After extracting the bloody thing I had to buy a new one. Fortunately, a bike shop was just down the road. Away I went like a lamb to the slaughter. The guys didn’t have one in stock but directed me to another store. I rolled up expecting to pay 50 dollars, or so, but no, some evil little bastard at Yamaha probably had a great aunt at Hiroshima the day it was fried and had figured that the motorcycling western world would pay the price for its deeds. 150 dollars for a fucking battery. I felt like the bastards had just had me over the counter; the gay community having a field day.
A few strange looking cigs later, I was again feeling at peace with the world. The bike was back together, happily chugging away. For those of you who may not be familiar with the TDM it’s a strange looking beast with a fairing that blends nicely with the tank, twin headlamps sticking out. Rather unique looking, Yam’s the only Jap manufacturer to really address the super-moto style in any way, shape or form. Even now, the bike still turns heads some five years after its release, and I still have people asking me about this strange looking big twin.
Now technically in Oz if the bike or any vehicle’s registration has expired for more than six months, a new plate’s assigned to the bike, or whatever. Oh well, I didn’t know, did I? Talk about a license to play, disregard speed limits, etc. I pulled a similar stunt in New Zealand before selling a car to some French geezer, so if the poor bastard returns to NZ he will get his collar felt by the authorities for failing to pay several speeding fines. Ain't life a bitch some days.
So I do get the bike MOT’d, roll up at the RTA so I can get the bike registered - the system here is a mix between the American and English methods, but one without the hassle - to get the rego sticker (similar to a tax disc but to the day not month), this gets rid of the lines of grannies on pension day. You need third party green slip insurance ($350) - covers personal injury claims. Regular insurance was a grand for fully comp.
The MOT’s $12; two forms of ID are needed. The bike’s inspected to make sure it ain’t stolen. The rego fee’s ($175) related to vehicle mass, plus a two and half percent levy that’s based on the purchase price. Expensive but at least fuel’s only 32 pence/litre.
The Yam in question belonged to a mate of mine who’s become a rather successful businessman and now has hardly any time to ride any of his bikes. The bastard also has a Harris Magnum collecting dust in his warehouse. A suitable fee was arranged and the transfer of appropriate paperwork took place.
When I picked the TDM up it had only some 5000km on the clock, combined with a rather thick layer of dust. After cleaning the bloody thing off we tried the starter to see if anything would happen. The neutral light was on but nobody was home so we decided to jump start the bike. Off comes the seat - where's the bloody battery? God knows... my mate was overseas and the poor girl in his office was no help but that’s not a problem as she just likes to ride pillion.
I knew the bike had a battery... after some ball scratching, I decided the plastic had to come off. To get at the battery the bikini fairing had to be torn off - yes all of it - then the tank, three bolts not one (why is nothing easy any more?). Lo and behold, living under the tank is one battery, cowering behind the air-box right above the engine - a great place to look the bloody thing.
But my troubles were just beginning. After extracting the bloody thing I had to buy a new one. Fortunately, a bike shop was just down the road. Away I went like a lamb to the slaughter. The guys didn’t have one in stock but directed me to another store. I rolled up expecting to pay 50 dollars, or so, but no, some evil little bastard at Yamaha probably had a great aunt at Hiroshima the day it was fried and had figured that the motorcycling western world would pay the price for its deeds. 150 dollars for a fucking battery. I felt like the bastards had just had me over the counter; the gay community having a field day.
A few strange looking cigs later, I was again feeling at peace with the world. The bike was back together, happily chugging away. For those of you who may not be familiar with the TDM it’s a strange looking beast with a fairing that blends nicely with the tank, twin headlamps sticking out. Rather unique looking, Yam’s the only Jap manufacturer to really address the super-moto style in any way, shape or form. Even now, the bike still turns heads some five years after its release, and I still have people asking me about this strange looking big twin.
Now technically in Oz if the bike or any vehicle’s registration has expired for more than six months, a new plate’s assigned to the bike, or whatever. Oh well, I didn’t know, did I? Talk about a license to play, disregard speed limits, etc. I pulled a similar stunt in New Zealand before selling a car to some French geezer, so if the poor bastard returns to NZ he will get his collar felt by the authorities for failing to pay several speeding fines. Ain't life a bitch some days.
So I do get the bike MOT’d, roll up at the RTA so I can get the bike registered - the system here is a mix between the American and English methods, but one without the hassle - to get the rego sticker (similar to a tax disc but to the day not month), this gets rid of the lines of grannies on pension day. You need third party green slip insurance ($350) - covers personal injury claims. Regular insurance was a grand for fully comp.
The MOT’s $12; two forms of ID are needed. The bike’s inspected to make sure it ain’t stolen. The rego fee’s ($175) related to vehicle mass, plus a two and half percent levy that’s based on the purchase price. Expensive but at least fuel’s only 32 pence/litre.
I was finally legit. The national speed limit’s the same as here but in town it’s 35mph - disregard unless the police are around. So far, I've had no problems as far as riding is concerned, although riding at night, especially in the country, is to be avoided at all cost. Roos mainly feed at dusk but are active all night. Some poor English guy was killed when he hit an emu. Everything wild that you can hit here is BIG. An average male emu’s about five feet tall and a big red kangaroo can get up to some six or seven feet tall and weigh something in the region of half a metric ton.
A couple of local riders told me the following story. While riding on the local scratching road that I just happen to live on, when going around a blind corner the first rider ran over the tail end of a snake that covered one half of the road. Being somewhat pissed off with this, the poor reptile had a go at the following bike before disappearing into the bushes. It should be easy to spot as it has Pirelli stamped on its back.
The Yam handles the twisty stuff with a certain aplomb and so far I’ve only reached the outer limits of the tyres, without getting anything down. Suspension feedback’s excellent. The bike can be drifted without too much effort, although the wife got a bit pissed off when I started sliding the thing with her on the back. At the moment I’m looking for tyres with tread on the sidewalls.
I’ve found the bike to be very user friendly in its riding position, with nice wide bars, a fairing that actually works and a reasonably comfortable seat. Range works out at 150 miles before reserve with at least another 20 miles before running dry. This is not a country in which to run out of fuel, as you may end up with a 50 mile walk in a hundred degrees of heat. A good way to die of heat exhaustion if ever I heard of one.
If you're never ridden in a hot and humid climate you're in for a nasty surprise. One day I was riding in 90 degree heat with about 80% humidity, doing between 70 and 90mph - when I got home I was still drenched in sweat. For those of you who may wish to ride from, say, Adelaide to Darwin, across the red centre you can get into training by sitting in a sauna, dressed in all your bike gear with a hairdryer pointed at your face while a friend throws sand, flies, stones and shit at you (as in when trucks (aka road trains) go past in the opposite direction. You can drink up to seven litres of water a day and still not piss for a week.
Not a bad environment to ride a bike in, eh? The oil's specially blended for the Oz climate - these guys aren't joking, oil has a bloody tough time of it here. The Yam’s always turning on its engine fan in town as the ambient heat combined with engine temperature makes for a hot cookie. What really beats the shit out of me is how BMW riders survive, these guys are easy to spot, just look for the ones with the shrivelled up feet.
With these concerns in mind, I serviced the Yam. Strip the bike again. Hinge the rad forward to change the plugs. Drain the radiator before doing the valve’s shims. Only four bolts to undo to remove the rocker box cover. The air filter’s a paper item here. The shims were within tolerance, no wear on the camshafts. Changing the oil and filter was amusing. The oil filter's housed under the engine with its own housing, held in place by some eight bolts. Two engine drain bolts and the oil tank accessible via the seat.
Over the last 3000km the chain's needed a slight tweak but that’s all. Tyre wear has been even all over the rubber, down to the local twisty roads with decent cambers. The power delivery’s very smooth from the big twin cylinder mill, no noticeable steps in the cam, just a nice linear flow of power. When riding you can get fairly lazy and just flick between two gears, using engine braking most of the time.
The all steel frame’s nice and stiff, so early Jap white knuckle cornering tactics are for me now a thing of the past, no matter how fast I stuff the bike into a corner the suspension gives heaps of feedback and the OE tyres are more than up to the job without letting go. I have found a certain amount of twitchiness on over banding during really hot days, more to do with it melting than being slippery.
This on a road that goes from sea level to say 2000 feet, with heaps of switchbacks, fast corners and the odd straight, so you can nail it just nicely. The road here’s known as the old Pacific Highway, the fun stuff starts just north of a place called Hornsby and goes on through to a place called Gosforth, then the road to Wollombi, then more twisty stuff. I've heard riders talking in revered tones about the Oakiy Highway that’s some 270km long, much in the same light as the Pacific Highway, although in the next few months I’m taking the Princess Highway south towards Victoria and the Great Ocean Road. This has to be compared to the Pacific Highway that runs from Seattle to San Francisco, a mere 1000 mile ride that will at times take your breath away. But that’s another story...
All in all, though, I’ve found the TDM to be a delight to ride. Nice and light on the steering, with no tendency to drop into corners, although you do need to wind the rear shock up a bit when carrying a pillion. This causes a tendency towards understeer, so your riding style has to compensate or a trip into the weeds will follow rather rapidly. Apart from that, everything else on the bike’s reasonably well designed and I’m rather partial to the bungee anchor points that go over the rear indicators, as well as another two that rotate out from under the pillion seat - at least this saves the paint.
The brakes are the normal brick wall effect, with all the braking being done with a mere two fingers. Even if you screw up in corners, the brakes can still be used when well heeled over. Says a lot for the stiffness of the frame, suspension and tyres, as all of this can be done mid bend even with a pillion on board, without any changes of underwear or mild heart attacks. You could almost say that new bikes are too civilized and the kids are coming up through the ranks without the grey hairs and adrenaline rushes that we experienced during the seventies on Jap bikes with Teflon tyres and soggy suspension.
With the somewhat more user friendly climate here, rust and corrosion are not a problem, so I can't really comment on such things. In the wet I did find that the braking was not affected by the wet weather lag that afflicted the earlier seventies and eighties bikes that I've owned in the past, whilst no real horror stories regarding OE tyres. Rear tyre wear is reasonable, should last 10000 miles plus. Overheating or at least getting hot is only a problem I've had when riding around Sydney, all other times the bike’s temperature gauge only rises a small amount and will probably run fairly cool in Europe. Good for engine longevity though I have heard of valves needing replacing at between 60 to 80000km, due to valve stretch. Linked to riders staying in the city and constant high temperature - stainless steel valves help! Another hassle is disc wear when using non-standard pads.
Overall, motorcycling in Oz is a great experience, with lots of wild and wonderful scenery and a good supply of used bikes in standard condition. There are even pristine RD350LCs floating around, as well as loads of big Japs, such as the GS and GSX. Rat bikes are rare but they do turn up. The best buys mostly turn up outside Sydney.
Nigel Fox
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