Any lingering admiration is removed when I go wild on the throttle. The RD has a very light front end and an extremely sharp power band. I howl up the road on the back wheel, leaving the old codgers and young infants coughing and covering their ears. You can almost hear the echo of their whining about damnable motorcyclists. Trouble is, the power kick and aviation antics are so addictive that it’s all but impossible to behave sensibly.
The 22 year old machine is still running stock suspension, although the mileage on the clock is only 18000. That’s because the RD was stored for about 15 years at the back of a garage. The owner had a heart attack (at work not on the bike) and the machine was just left to rot by his widow. For some strange reason the chassis hadn't rusted, although all the rubber was rotted and the engine needed a rebuilt crankshaft (15k is about as long as you can expect them to last).
I was pretty pleased with the purchase, especially when I realised it'd accelerate faster than a GS450E and CB400N. Yamaha pushed the limits of two stroke design by incorporating reed valves and some wild porting (seven ports in all) - the result was 40 horses at 7500rpm with an 8500 red line! The chassis weighed only 345lbs, producing an interesting power to weight ratio that even today provides a stimulating punch in the guts.
The stock suspension produced some handling limitations but it was nowhere near as bad as all the myths about seventies Japs would indicate. The rear shocks could’ve been harder and better damped (at times there didn't seem to be any damping) but despite bouncing about extravagantly the back wheel stuck to its line, probably due to a strong tubular frame that was inspired by Yamaha's racing efforts. One of the first Japanese frames to properly triangulate the swinging arm mounts, although the British understood the importance of this twenty years before.
The front suspension was way better, just about the right blend of tautness and damping to maintain its direction even through bumpy bends. No, what upset the front end was a singular disc with the grabby kind of action that indicated warped metal and sticking calipers. The forks twisted and jumped up and down as if the bearings were breaking up. The frame just about managed to hold the bike in line when this happened during rapid bend swinging.
The front disc may've been splendid when brand new. Although I tend to doubt it as this was the era that inspired all the nasty stories about disc brakes. The RD350 was one of Yamaha's first attempts, and by the time I got my hands on the machine the front disc was nothing short of diabolical! The caliper placed in front rather than behind the fork didn't help its action. Wet weather lag was so serious that I often ended up skidding the rear wheel, the drum being as insensitive as the disc. The resulting tail wagging session was so violent it threatened to take years off my life and break up the swinging arm bearings. Engine braking was much more likely to oil up the plugs than lose some speed!
It was pretty obvious that the front brake would have to come apart. One sheared bleed nipple later I began to realise that the caliper was solidly corroded into one piece. Sometimes you get incredibly lucky. At an autojumble, a week later, I found a ‘new’ caliper, master cylinder and set of pistons and seals. Fifty quid the lot. How could I refuse?
The reassembled brake, together with new pads and fluid, worked better but still needed loads of care under treacherous conditions, such as hitting the brake in corners or losing speed fast on wet roads. I'd say that the RD350’s most ominous characteristic is easily the braking, this much more than the handling or performance marking the machine as a seventies period piece.
Also redolent, of course, are the clouds of smoke, engine noises and the way the spark plugs oil up if the bike’s used like a C50 for any length of time. With two cylinders there’s a good chance that one will remain working and all it'll take to clear out the engine is dropping a couple of gears and going crazy with the right hand. When the power does suddenly connect again, the result is the good old wheelie blues. Wild, man!
Less invigorating was the time all the electrics went dead. Quite what blew the main fuse I never did find out, maybe the vibration as the motor always gave out a slight buzz that was easily ignored for the charm and thrill of the blitzing acceleration. I was blowing along at 80mph when it happened, in the motorway slow lane, where the bike could hold its own, with the odd savage blast to 100mph to put pottering Metro in their proper place. 115mph on the clock was the most I extracted but by then the engine vibrated so harshly it seemed close to popping out of the frame.
When the fuse blew the engine went dead, making me think I'd holed the pistons. I also thought it was most ungracious of the car driver behind to go berserk on his horn as he found us suddenly under his bumper. After a moment of blind panic in which I froze up I did a momentous body twitch and threw the bike towards the hard shoulder.
After I'd finished congratulating myself on my quick reactions I began to wonder what the hell I was going to do next. Fortunately, I soon realised that all the electrics were dead and found the blown fuse. I had no spares so tore the wires apart and wound them together, worried that the machine might go up in flames when I hit the ignition switch.
It didn’t, but just as I was about to kick her into life a patrol car pulled over. They were a nasty pair of cops who tried to insist that I was trailered off the motorway. They were so obsessed with this idea that they didn’t bother demanding my documents. I was given one chance to prove that the motor ran. I kicked, it started, faltered, caught again and wailed splendidly with enough fumes to turn the cops asthmatic. I cleared off before they had a chance to book me for something else.
I have found that the RD, despite its cute looks, brings out the worst in the general populace. Including kids who throw stones at me and old codgers who try to whack me about the lid with their walking sticks. The baffles have rusted away and I keep the oil pump on its maximum setting to ensure engine longevity. There’s just something about the bike, or the way I ride it, that sets bystanders’ teeth on edge.
As I've only done 3000 miles of good weather riding there haven't being many other calamitous incidents. I did fall off once when harsh acceleration out of a bend coincided with a patch of gravel that had the back wheel sideways. A very weird sensation to suddenly have my forward motion switched to flying through the air like a circus acrobat. I didn’t land with any of the panache of an acrobat and nearly had my legs chopped off by the RD grinding down the road. It sounded a lot worse than it was, the Yam escaping with broken levers and bent footrests. I had bloody knees and bruised arms as well as a cracked lid.
I rode the Yam very gently for a couple of days until I grew bored and went for the throttle again. The RD350 is undoubtedly a good times machine, a reflection of the loose old seventies when motorcycling was still a great adventure and life was a lot easier. It still works well on modern roads, insurance is laughably cheap and I intend to put in some serious mileage over the next few years.
Those interested in the experience will have a hard job finding a cheap but original example like mine. The bikes available for under 500 notes are usually worn out and much modified, original examples costing around a grand but even some of these have dodgy, ruined engines. Old Japs are beginning to match old Brits in their cost and potential for being ripped off - you have been warned!
Dale Anderson