My initial reaction was unprintable, but a mere week of finding my dinner fed to the cat and cancellation of conjugal rights meant I was suddenly converted to the joys of MZs; after all, did not the Luxus have a Brembo disc brake and 12 volt electrics? The deal was clinched when the dealer told me how much improved were MZs, he did not, however, mention that the kickstart was on the wrong side.
The bike sounded dreadful. Pinging, buzzing and farting, whilst the riding position was upright in the same way that the Iron Lady is conservative [She's still dead, by the way - 2021 Ed.]. However, there seemed little likelihood of being blown off the back by its awesome 21hp. I didn’t like it. It sounded horrible, it was slow, it looked awful, but I'd signed the papers and was stuck with it.
By the time I'd run it in, I gave up wearing the back-to-front Balaclava, not that I no longer felt embarrassed aboard the MZ, but because it was very difficult to see where I was going. The bike wasn’t that bad, really. Its acceleration was adequate and it would even reach 85mph on a long straight.
As well as handling well, it was surprisingly comfortable, even on long trips. The tyres were strange in the wet, it’s true, and the disc brake was massive overkill. The promised 60mpg turned out to be in the region of 45 but then everyone in the motorcycle industry lies to the punter. Whilst life contained fewer thrills than when expended on older, faster Jap bikes, it also contained fewer bills and breakdowns. I decided I didn’t dislike the ETZ as much as I'd thought I would.
A daily 24 mile trip to work, shopping around town and the odd run in the country don't exactly explore one’s relationship with a bike to the full. I decided to try the MZ touring. If the trip to the north of Scotland, with a hop over to the Orkney Isles, didn't try the bike’s mettle it certainly tried mine. A 300 mile ride sitting bolt upright, even at MZ speeds, leads to a great pain in the neck That apart, all went well, petrol consumption improved to 50mpg, the seat was still very comfortable and the suspension was far better than that fitted to light or middle weight Jap bikes I've ridden.
It was quite happy to sit at seventy all day, though it was damned hard to find the acceleration to overtake anything that was going just a bit slower. Once I'd accepted
that, I settled down to a more sedate pace of life and found it remarkably pleasant - apart from the neck pain. For the next long trip I fitted a windscreen, which solved the problem but subjected me instead to the terrible racket coming from the engine.
For the first few thousand miles, I had the bike serviced by the local MZ dealer. It was convenient and cheap, and seemed a lot less bother than getting my fair hands dirty. However, the dealer's level of incompetence began to dawn on me when I got the bike back with the back brake adjusted out beyond the no-work position and the rear wheel spindle nut finger tight. By that time the bike was out of warranty and I kept it well away from him.
It may well be that MZ agents in general are as fine a body of men as one could wish to meet, but the one I had the misfortune to deal with had a fine talent for failing to solve the problem I'd raised, while managing to create a whole lot of new ones. It is true that he was nowhere near as dishonest as most agents for Japanese bikes, but that was only because of the vacancy between his ears.
Be that as it may, there’s remarkably little to servicing an MZ. I found getting the points just right a little tricky, but that’s probably me, and they tended not to wear quickly and only cost pennies to replace. The gearbox was grateful for some new oil once in a while; it certainly helps to take out the gearbox drain plug rather than the idle gear one. Cables need lots of oiling, especially in winter, but are ridiculously cheap if you’d prefer not to bother.
It pays to take close note of exactly how the throttle/pump cable is routed, as getting this wrong can lead to amusing problems, such as the carb closing entirely on right turns, thus stopping the bike as a juggernaut bears down hungrily upon you, or, conversely, unexpectedly accelerating sharply on tight left turns, just when you intended to let that old lady finish crossing the road - oops.
The caliper collects lots of grit which can cause it to drag - you tend to wonder why the bike's losing power until you notice the disc turning, a rather fetching cherry red. Much care and attention is needed, but it’s infinitely preferable to the front drum on earlier MZs which appeared to be a form of non-functional decoration. The disc brake’s effectiveness is way beyond the ability of the East German tyre to grip the road - all the bad things you've heard about the tyres are true; but I'm far too mean to change them until they are worn out.
The rubber or plastic on the footrests and handgrips appear to be made out of moulded Wrigleys Arrowmint. I don’t mean that they taste nice but that they are very soft. They need replacing every few thousand miles, not that they are expensive but it’s a bit of a pain when all your change jingles in your pocket because of the vibes shooting up your leg when the footrest rubber’s down to the metal.
Perhaps the worst point of all is the dinky little drive chain which looks like it’s been pirated off a Tomos. The unsuspecting rider doesn’t realise how puny it is because it’s fully enclosed. Any attempt at brisk acceleration from a standstill, however, results in a snapped chain, with pieces of said chain whistling around like shrapnel. If this happens, as it did to me, at the entrance to a busy roundabout, the experience can be sufficiently alarming to ensure that you won't do it again.
On the plus side, MZs are remarkably tough. The only parts that appear to rust at all are the spokes, the battery tray and the rear shock springs. paint wears off the side panels, but they're some sort of alloy; on my grey painted model you can’t tell the difference. That immensely long silencer seems totally impervious to the elements, but I'm not sure I'm grateful. It’s so strange and hideous it might be a mercy if it rusted and fell off.
One wet winter morning my ETZ and I fell foul of . bus, whose driver felt sure he was entitled to exit a minor road into my path. After making the bus’s close acquaintance, the bike and I parted company. As I slid (with great dignity) along the road, I watched the bike dig a furrow in the tarmac, bounce off a car coming the other way, leap in the air on striking a kerb and hit a wall before coming to rest on the pavement. Yes, the bus driver said, "I didn’t see you mate." While I'm wholeheartedly in favour of the employment of the disabled, the altruism of a certain Scottish bus company in employing blind drivers goes a little too far. After exchanging pleasantries with the driver, I went to look at the remains of my bike. All things considered it was not too bad. The mirrors, tacho, front guard, bars, one indicator, headlamp and brake lever had all seen better days, but the rest was OK. Considering that the bus driver had admitted liability in the hearing of a couple of constables, I was really disappointed that it hadn’t been a Bimota at the very least.
At about 20000 miles the ETZ began to play up a little - just enough to lend credibility to my earnest plea that I needed something more powerful for longer runs, etc. My dear spouse knew perfectly well that all I really wanted was a nice new bike with much more muscle so I could play with the big boys again, but two breakdowns within a fortnight did help convince her. Both were electrical and the second made it clear that the wiring was in a poor state for a two year old bike. The insulation was very soft and had worn through all over the place. It was patched up, but I got another bike soon after that.
The ETZ wasn't part of the deal, and it sat outside my house over the winter and was wheeled into the back of the lock-up I subsequently rented. It sat there for a couple of years until I realised that I might use it in the winter or sell it. It’s no ornament, after all. I charged up the battery, put in some fresh petrol, gave it a few kicks and, discharging clouds of foul blue smoke, there it was pinging, farting and squeaking away again!
It’s in need of attention in the wiring area, the fork seals are a bit sad and the battery’s not holding a charge, but these little problems can be solved; the salt on the road plays hell with the XBR after all... now where did I put that Balaclava?
Gordon J. Gibson