Biking on the Dole

It’s easy to stare into a showroom window and work out if you can afford the latest 16 valve, DOHC hi-tech projectile from the Orient when you've a steady, well paid job. Even your average enthusiast with no more than a few GCSEs from the local comprehensive knows in his mind that he’d have to pawn the family heirlooms just to get it on the road.

So what does Mr Unemployed do with his grubby UB40 in his pocket? He takes the line of least resistance and saunters off home to dream of getting a job and then walking into same showroom clutching handfuls of hard earned pound notes to buy said piece of machinery.

Living in Thatcher’s Britain one soon faces up to stark reality. No jobs, unless you fancy being a magician’s assistant or, worse still, a commission only double glazing salesman. Mr Unemployed with time on his hands, begins to think back to days gone by and the open road, the times of setting out, confident his trusty mount will give him a days cheap pleasure - he'll forget broken chains, fouled up plugs or burnt out electrics.

Back to reality, endless repeats of Minder or watching Steve Davis scoop another £30000 for a nights work. If you actually own the TV set, throw it away, preferably just after Grandstand has shown the bike racing from Mallory Park. If you rent the set simply turn off and return to the shop. You are now free of distraction and monthly TV payments.

Time to seriously think of getting back on the road. The secret of biking on the dole is not explained in a £20 'How To...' manual, the likes of which grace the pages of Exchange & Mart, but in your own head. Stop thinking Suzuki GS1000 and start thinking CZ125. Shock over, actually go out and start looking. Maybe it will turn out fruitless, maybe it won’t.

Thus it came to pass on a cold December night that I’m pushing an X reg CZ125 (or rather the remains of) back home to my shed. It cost me £25 and for no apparent reason but good luck it had nine months MOT. After a sleepless night (well I had blown £25 dole money after all) I surveyed the wreck I’d proudly pushed two miles the night before. A worn rear tyre, a sprocket so worn you'd need a microscope to find any teeth on it and an exhaust system from a Puch Maxi, sort of wired on, to act as a deterrent to local Panda drivers. On the plus side, it was only four days to signing on again.

Those four days were put to good use. No, not taking up JobCentre offers of training to be a moron or finding a thousand pounds by way of a loan to open my own scrap CZ centre, but by stripping down said CZ prior to a total rebuild. The frame was totally devoid of paint, the electrics a spiders web of wires, sticky tape and sellotape, and a main engine bearing shot to pieces, So much for my good idea of biking on the dole.

Fortune, good luck, call it what you like, but my local friendly dole office informed me I’d some tax to come back from last year. Armed with new found confidence and money in pocket, I approached my local breaker. Disappointment, no CZs. Never seen any, says he. Improvisation comes to the fore. A seat from a CB125, Koni shocks of unknown origin and a piece of sheet metal for the exhaust heat shield and sidepanels, saw me £15 poorer.

The frame looked much better just in primer, a coat of black Valspar and it positively glowed (yeah, honestly). The swinging arm appeared OK - well it didn’t move so it was either alright or rusted solid, A quick look at the brake shoes revealed sufficient meat on the shoes in light of the expected performance.

By now I was on first name terms with my local breaker, which was just as well when he quoted £ 19 for a good used Pirelli tyre. Back to basics, I figured, swallow pride and barter and beg - what a waste of energy; £19 take it or leave it. I left it. A friend who knew a friend of a friend acquired a brand new tyre, no questions asked, for a tenner, squire, I did have to fit it myself, but I managed it over a dustbin with help from a bemused neighbour. Doesn’t time on the dole fly by when you're enjoying yourself.

The electrical system (or lack of it) was remade from an old car wiring loom and the purchase of a Wipac light/horn assembly (usually worn by a Bantam). The electrics were so poor that if you pressed the horn the engine died. The wheel rims were painted with gold Humbrol enamel. After much thought and the odd clout with a large hammer, the Honda seat and Koni shocks were made to fit.

I actually had enough cash to pay the local bike shop to rebuild the bottom end, but once that was done I was out of money and had to wait two weeks to sign on. I did venture out to the shed one cold night, tape measure in hand to measure the front exhaust pipe.

I’d been idly thumbing through MCN when I came across an advert from a firm specialising in expansion chambers for sports mopeds, GP100s, etc. I wrote them a letter, explaining that if they gave me a free expansion chamber I’d willingly distribute leaflets for their products. I sent the letter and forgot all about the crazy idea.

Obtained rear sprocket and chain via MCN ad for £15, quite reasonable ’cos the dealer threw in original CZ transfers and handbook - probably glad to see back end of said goods gathering dust on his shelves. I decoked the head, cleaned up the ports with emery cloth (DIY gas flowing on the cheap) and put the CZ engine where it belonged. No, not in the skip but in the frame.

Out of the blue arrived three parcels. Two contained leaflets which I faithfully distributed (can’t say where, the firm may recognize me), the third contained a shiny chrome expansion chamber the right size to hook up to my front pipe, after I’d cut and re-welded it into an Enduro style high level system. I made a heat shield from the sheet metal and bolted it all up.

I was on the road. Six weeks and £100 later I was biking on the dole. The CZ was bloody awful. The 11hp output could push the CZ no faster than 50mph. Which was just as well because the lights were non-existent and the gearbox selected gears as and when it felt like it. The kickstart spring broke after the third kick. It did about 7Smpg, which was its best feature. The expansion chamber sounded racy but there was nothing else too inspiring about the CZ.

I took comfort that I could take to the open road even if GS1000s went by me as if I was standing still, and I no longer had to walk to the dole office. Now I’m off to the JobCentre - I’ve decided I want a new bike after all.

G. D. Bellamy

Honda CB160

My ownership of the Honda CB160 started and finished on a bad note. I purchased the machine new in 1964, it looked very sleek with it’s dark blue paintwork, chrome sided petrol tank and chunk of alloy engine. I carefully ran the engine in over 1000 miles, feeling very pleased with the Honda when disaster struck.

One evening I was riding the CB with my girlfriend on the pillion. It was dark, we were travelling along a country road at 60mph, when suddenly a large dog ran from the left-hand side of the road. I swung over to the right to avoid it but the dog ran the same way. The bike hit the dog and we were thrown into the air.

I did several somersaults up the road and was amazed to find when I stopped that I was unhurt. My girlfriend was lying unconscious in the road with blood running down her face. After I stopped a motorist, we moved her to the nearest house, phoning for an ambulance. Whilst waiting for the ambulance the residents of the house were a great comfort. They made remarks like perhaps she has a fractured skull or perhaps she has internal haemorrhage. Fortunately, her helmet had saved her, she only had concussion, cuts and a broken collar bone. She was out of hospital the next day.

The Honda had gone up in the air, landing upside down smashing the tank, seat, handlebars, headlight, etc. Two months later I collected the bike from the dealer, fully repaired and was back on the road. The CB160 was powered by a twin cylinder four stroke, OHC motor fed by twin carbs. The engine was inclined forward and held in a tubular spine frame with no down tubes, the headstock well braced, the whole structure quite strong thanks to use of the engine as a stressed member.

The gearbox only having four gears really would have benefited from an additional overdrive type gear, as the engine worked hard in top gear. The gearbox also had a common Honda feature of false neutrals - quite often you'd change down through the box for a bend, hurtling into it in a false neutral. Exciting stuff!

The engine was fairly smooth, although some tingling vibration was felt at high revs, which may have caused the regular bulb failures. Apart from this the bike proved reliable over six years of ownership.

Oil changes, though, were done every 600 miles as, if I remember correctly, the sump only held about two pints. The Honda used to deliver high performance mile after mile without any oil leaks which was a marvel to me after owning British bikes.

The Honda’s front TLS brake and rear SLS were excellent and trouble free, again a nice surprise after British brakes. Naturally, 12V electrics were fitted and a, then rare, electric starter turned over the motor. In my opinion these early Honda twins were built to a much higher quality than later ones.

I had the cylinder head gas flowed. Then I removed the exhaust baffles, fitting bigger carb jets and bellmouths. The engine had sounded like a sewing machine with the baffles in, anyway. The CB160 would then do approximately 85mph on the flat and fuel consumption was 65mpg.

Initially, handling was poor with plenty of back end wallowing when cornering. However, after fitting Girling shock absorbers and changing the front fork oil to a thicker grade the handling became very good. Anyway I was able to stay with my mate’s old 650 Triumph on twisty roads.

After covering 24000 miles I thought, being used to British bikes, that I should have the engine decarbonised and checked. I was recommended by a ‘friend’ to have the work done by a long established local British bike dealer, who had the bike for about three weeks. When I collected it they claimed they’d renewed some parts in the camchain tensioner mechanism. The engine seemed noisier than before.

Three weeks later the big-ends went. When I complained to the dealer about this he came up with a plausible sounding explanation that overhauling the top end of the engine had stressed the bottom end. I was naive enough to accept this and, like a fool, asked him to overhaul the bottom end.

I collected the Honda a few weeks later. It sounded better but wouldn’t rev as freely as before - I put this down to the engine being tight after the rebuild. I didn’t do much riding at this time, so it was a year later before I covered a 1000 miles.

One night I was riding the Honda when the death rattle came back. I was forced to sell the Honda for a nominal sum to a chap who was prepared to rebuild the motor. I later found out through friends in the trade that the British dealers concerned had never overhauled an Honda before and hadn’t a clue what they were doing - because they hadn’t the decency to admit this I ended up paying for their mistakes.

Back in the mid sixties, the Honda was way ahead in engineering and reliability, it made things like Bantams and Tiger Cubs look like sick jokes and could keep up with much bigger British bikes. Nowadays, the CB160, stood alongside one of the newer Hondas, evokes a feeling of robustness and quality that’s reflected in the purity of its engineering design.

I still think that the CB160 was a good bike although the engine may have been more complex than its British rivals. I am sure that had the mechanics known what they were doing and rebuilt the engine properly, the little Honda would have given good service for several more years.

Vince Dusang

BSA A65 Lightning

I was searching for more power after my Honda 250 when a guy at work suggested I looked at his BSA. I almost laughed this idea out of court until he told me that it had indicators, electronic ignition and even a rev counter. All things I’d known for the first time on the Honda. The only thing missing was the electric foot. This was not a BSA I’d heard of.

The owner opened the garage door to reveal the tarpaulin covered shape of a large bike. If you ever saw the film Silver Dream Racer, you'll know how I felt when the cover was whipped off - I was very impressed. The oil in the frame A65 looked really massive, high on its centrestand. White frame standing out from the gleaming chrome, high bars and megaphone silencers, with no ugly hump on the back of the seat which I had thought a BSA trademark.

Next, came the clincher - start up. With fuel taps on, both carbs tickled until they laughed (overflowed). Pull the clutch in and free it by operating the kickstart, then ignition on and with the first swing it bellowed into life. The sound was truly music to the ears as it echoed and reverberated around the workshop. I knew then that I had to buy the bike. The motor didn’t want to tick over, the throttle had to be gunned - each time it was cracked open the BSA began to walk towards the door vibrating on its stand. It was really keen to get going.

First ride was difficult with some strange differences from the Honda. Gear changing with the brake lever was soon overcome, but it was a few days until I realised why the neutral indicator light only came on when ticking over - it was the low oil pressure lamp. The latter didn’t worry me much, I could always keep the tick over high enough to keep the light out and, besides, other problems needed more urgent attention before the MOT.

When you sat on the seat the metal pan pressed down onto the battery terminals and shorted it out. If you braked sharply the forks dived so much that oil spilled out of the breather pipe from the frame, which was up near the headstock and tubed down to the rear mudguard. The motor ran on like a diesel when switched off. It was also running very hot, which turned out to be a broken choke cable - someone had designed the choke so that when the cable broke it was fully on, very clever. With the tickler it wasn’t really needed anyway.

Once the MOT was acquired I bought a work- shop manual and was not too amused to read ~ of overheating motors, grenade like bottom end and flying egg tendencies. There are roller bearing conversions around for the motor that sort out that particular problem.

I really enjoyed riding the bike. The engine produced great gobs of power, making a wonderful noise and the bike handled really well, save for ground clearance problems, and a lack of damping in the front forks. The centrestand digs in on left-handers, but compared with the Honda it’s a much nicer bike to ride with lots of feedback from the road so that I always had plenty of warning of my impending doom when tyres started to slide or were on the edge of adhesion.

On the Star Rider course I took, everyone was surprised with the way the BSA could shift. There was never anything very special about the design of the motor, just another in a long line of 650cc British OHV vertical twins. All the more surprising, then, that it could always pull away from a Goldwing and Ducati 900 around the snaky lanes.

I was always road racing a friend, who owned a 750 Bonnie, to the pub or seeing who could pull the biggest wheelie... drop the clutch at 5000rpm from a standstill and lean back. His bike was the Special with a two into one exhaust which stifled performance a little, for my bike was slightly faster, especially in the midrange. Considering the difference in capacity this was pretty good going.

The only time I crashed the bike was when trying to take the Bonnie on the outside of a large roundabout. I could normally do this with a degree of ease, but he’d fitted a different exhaust system that delivered more power and meant I rapidly ran out of road. I straightened up, just managing to miss the Armco and ride up the curb, locking up the front wheel on the grass verge. The Morris Minor brake shoes I fitted to the TLS drum front brake were perfectly adequate, able to squeal and lock up the front wheel in the dry.

After a very short period of ownership the first blow up occurred. Well, yes, British bikes can do this kind of thing. I consoled myself with the thought of all the fun I’d have when it was back on the road. It took a rebore, new pistons, crank regrind and numerous other little things to get the seized motor running again. At least the oil pressure light didn’t come on anymore, and it seemed a little sweeter on the road. I rebuilt the motor myself, a mixture of delight at the simplicity of the thing, horror at what the seizure had done to the innards of the engine and relief at the reasonable price and availability of all the parts that I needed.

When the original K70 tyres wore out, I was a little disappointed when I fitted a Roadrunner to the front wheel its low profile left such an ungainly gap between tyre and mudguard, that I had to fit a couple of brackets. The combination of different profile tyres didn’t have much effect upon the handling, thanks to a combination of rigid twin downtube frame and steering geometry with a few decades of experience behind it after all, BSA were always number two to Norton in the handling stakes, even if the oil in frame design was shared with the Triumph twins, who, until recent times, had a less illustrious history of stability,

The next blow up occurred about 10,000 miles after the first rebuild. Not impressive, perhaps, but I swallowed hard and paid out for a SRM roller bearing conversion and yet another crank regrind. So far, this has done over 15000 miles without causing me any major problems, although a minor palpitation occurred when the oil warning light came on when I was touching the legal limit on the M3. Luckily, it was an electrical fault.

Vibration, as might be expected from a long stroke vertical twin with pistons moving up and down in unison, was present at most revs, and could be destructive at the top of the rev range. If the vibration never fades into the background totally, it’s never really all that irritating at sane speeds.

The bike does need constant attention, it can’t be run and run like a Honda twin with hardly any input. The more you put into the bike, the more you get out of it - thus, it’s certainly not suitable for everyone. I could give you an endless list of faults and breakdowns, but I won't, these British bikes are maligned enough without me adding to the debate.

To me, it’s rather like trying to tame some wild beast that will react to how the rider treats it. When something malfunctions I try to resist the temptation to swear and abuse it (usually), I find out the cause of the problem and when I repair it I try to make sure it can’t happen again - even if it means redesigning the bits. Thus the longer I’ve owned the bike, the more reliable it has become - the Lightning has been reasonably reliable for the last two years of ownership.

M. Rothwell

BSA A7SS Shooting Star

The Cotswold town where I live is on the main route to Mallory Park and during the sixties (which I think was the golden age of motorcycle racing), if there was a big meeting, hundreds of motorcycles would go through our main street. In these packs of roaring iron, there were many BSA A7 and A10 machines, bikes that I came to admire because of their mechanical quietness and smart appearance highlighted by their chrome sided petrol tanks. Thus, in 1971 when I had the chance to buy an A7 for a mere £20 I jumped at it. The engine wasn’t running but the bike was complete and in otherwise reasonable condition. I managed to put the machine on the road at the cost of £80, most of which went on an exchange Lucas magneto.

The engine was typical British fare - an OHV vertical twin with pistons thumping up and down together, producing about 33hp (which was quite powerful for a 500) that would push the bike to a real hundred miles an hour. The engine has classic lines, an alloy head and iron barrel, the usual chain primary drive to a four speed gearbox.

I fitted a couple of megaphones that were claimed to give an extra 2hp, probably a little foolish as the extra power did nothing to help overcome the machine’s only serious failing - the SLS front brake. In an emergency it was a little heart stopping to sit there gripping the lever waiting to see if the thing would pull up in time. The BSA could never be called a boring bike to ride. There are several ways to improve the front brake, ranging from fitting harder linings to complete replacement. An indication of its poor efficiency can be gained from the fact that I know someone who has replaced the BSA brake with an early Honda 250 TLS job, that is much, much better.

Road holding was reasonable. It was not for nothing that the duplex steel frame was second choice to the Norton Featherbed amongst owners of Triumph twins desperate to gain some predictable and stable handing. If there is a weak point in the chassis then look no further than the front forks, especially when worn, the lack of damping and flimsy construction could overcome the basic strength of the frame - nothing as bad as a Speed Twin in a terminal wobble, of course, just a slight shaking of the head. A Taylor-Dow conversion or a set of Norton forks are both good ways of improving the front end. Overall, there were no drastic handling problems - in my four years of ownership I never fell off.

The machine was built like a battleship, plastic relegated to its proper place as insulation for the wiring. This build quality has its bad and good points. Initially, the mass of the thing frightened me - yes, I know it was only 400lbs, not much more than a 250 Superdream, but back then this was heavy metal - until after a few weeks riding I forgot all about the weight and it presented no further problems and stopped the bike from being blown off line by heavy gusts of wind.

That hefty build was very useful when cars popped out of side roads without any warning. Some poor chap in a Mini did the usual job of driving without looking and was brought back to reality when the BSA hit the side of his car - after all, I didn’t have much choice with the A7’s brake. After I straightened out the front mudguard stay the BSA was back to normal, the poor old Mini driver needed several new panels and a respray. I hate to think what the bike would do to one of these collapsible modern cars.

The BSA could also surprise the newfangled Jap bikes that were beginning to litter the roads back then. I recall one occasion when some chap went past on his Honda 500 four, giving the old BSA a very disdainful look - like a red rag to a bull. I was perhaps aided by the fact that the Honda was carrying a pillion, I was able to close in on the CB as we roared down the deserted three lane road. The Honda’s rider looked back with surprise to see the BSA still in sight. It was a stalemate - he couldn’t get away whilst I was unable to overtake. The Honda eventually turned off, when I looked down at the engine I saw it was covered in oil. The A7 was normally quite good on oil leaks, only giving into the mythical British tendency to lose more than it ate when it was thoroughly thrashed.

One bike the BSA couldn’t beat was the Kawasaki H1. One old gent, on one of these 500 two stroke triples, took great delight in accelerating away from the BSA, waiting for us to catch up and then doing the same trick again. Unfortunately, the road was straight so there was no way I could get my own back by taking the wobbling and weaving H1 through the swervery. I could also have got my own back at the fuel pumps.

Fuel consumption varied between the good and the excellent helped, no doubt, by the single Amal carb. Best was around 85mpg, worst 65mpg and she averaged around 75mpg. Oil consumption varied depending on how the bike was revved and the consequent loss of oil through leaks rather than burning the stuff being the determining factor. I guess that it was no worse than changing the oil in a Jap bike every 1000 miles. Consumption of consumables was never so bad that I particularly noticed, although you do have to consider rapid wear of the primary chain as well as the usual stuff.

I used to have the BSA serviced by a local dealer who had once been a British road race champion, although there is nothing very complex about servicing the engine, to get it really spot-on does require a little talent. This was evident after one particular service, when the BSA was really able to fly. I was hurtling along, enjoying the thrill of a well tuned engine, when the Achilles Heel of the BSA pre-unit series made itself known to me.

There was a loud bang as a con-rod failed. The engine was wrecked. They were fitted with beautiful light alloy con-rods which gave low reciprocating mass but were prone to cracking up, as demonstrated by Chris Vincent in sidecar racing more than a few times. If I was in good company this didn’t particularly leave me overwhelmed with happiness at the prospect of a rebuild, but I liked the bike enough to persevere. The engine was rebuilt using some new bits plus parts off a secondhand engine that I’d managed to obtain. Hours were spent polishing the con-rods to a high sheen to prevent a recurrence of the problem. This must have worked because I had no further problems with the engine.

Starting required a bit of a knack and a strong right foot. Make sure that there’s still a plate above the magneto, otherwise you'll end up with a magneto full of petrol, which is a quick way to collect on the TPF&T. Vibration was minimal on the 500, sure you knew the engine was thumping away but it had none of the nastiness of a heavily tuned 650 twin. The mass of the cycle parts must have helped to absorb what vibrations there were. A nicety of old bikes was the QD back wheel that meant punctures could be repaired without touching the chain.

I eventually sold the bike because parts became difficult to obtain - as it was used to ride to work every day, I couldn’t afford to have it off the road. Most British bikes, in my experience, are best forgotten, but the Shooting Star combined all the best elements of the British vertical twin with none of the all too common faults (mostly concentrated on excessive vibration). It is one of the few I would still like to own.

Vince Dusang

Ducati 900SS

Back in 1978 the TS500 I owned was beginning to show its age, the engine was as flat as a witch’s tit in comparison to my mate’s Le Mans. My attempts at trying to keep up with him around the lanes of Warwickshire meant the footrests hit the tarmac faster than a marine at Pearl Harbour. So after five seconds of soul searching regarding where I would be able to find the dosh, I decided to sell the Suzuki and buy an exotic Wop bike to keep in line with my mates, this also had the benefit of saving on the hefty laundry bills inherent in riding T500s fast.

After the selling of the Suzuki to one of my mates for the princely sum of £300, I began to wonder where I was going to find the grand plus necessary to buy a Duke 900SS. Then a brilliant idea struck me - after charging my eighty five year old granny the reasonable sum of £1400 for a full service of her Zimmer frame and promising to dig her garden for the next fifty years, I managed to get enough money together for the only 900SS I could locate. After an extremely painful journey to Farnborough on the back of my mates Le Mans, I had managed to relieve myself of £1700 in exchange for a 1975 vintage Duke 900SS.

The return journey home was a real eye opener, the lazy beat of the V-twin motor lulled me into a false sense of security, I soon found myself approaching bends 30mph faster than I was accustomed to. The resulting panic braking meant I went around the corner 20mph slower than the bike seemed capable of. This had the effect of making me want to do a thirty point turn (the steering lock was crap) to go back and try it again at a proper speed.

After each outing on the bike I would sit out. the back of the house drinking a cup of tea, listening to the engine cooling noises and still feeling the throbbing in my knees, recalling an approach to a rather tricky bend and thinking to myself, God I must look pretty good on that bike (I was young and care free then). Now I was equal to my mates, no more being burnt off by my peers, I thought.

I decided to take a week off work to get accustomed to the bike. This included a rather involved starting procedure - petrol on, tickle the carbs until petrol soaks your fingers, twist the throttle three times to squirt petrol into the bores, ignition on and kick the bike over with gusto. At first, used to the low compression Suzi, I didn’t apply enough boot effort, resulting in a fairly nasty kickback - it puts your foot, ankle, shin and knee into orbit. Eventually, I mastered the starting technique, inspired, in part, by the fear of getting it wrong.

The first part of that week’s holiday was spent posing around the local town. The Contis might be described as a bit antisocial by those deaf to the sheer music of a V-twin engine shutting off the throttle between high buildings and glancing at my reflected image in shop windows was a real ego trip (God, was l a prat).

The latter part of the week was spent out on fast sweeping A roads which are Ducati country. B roads are, however, a different kettle of weasel vomit - on sharp corners the Duke’s long wheelbase caused quite a few problems, if I went around too slow it just wanted to drop into the bend, if I went at what I thought was the right speed, the bike drifted over to the wrong side of the road.

On some of the local B roads, and even the A roads, it had to go over seventy before the suspension began to soak up the bumps; any slower and the bike seemed to bounce all over the place. I found out later that the bike stays exactly on line, its suspension, on bumpy roads, doing nothing to stop the brain shaking that makes it feel like the end is nigh.

Well placed potholes - that the council must spend a fortune getting into just the right position to cause the most inconvenience to motorcyclists - never bothered the Duke, as long as you were going fast enough for the dampers to soak it up. I later fitted gas Girlings which made a major improvement to the ride quality.

Even the electrics were quite good, although the switches were the usual crap however even in heavy downpours the bike never missed a beat, which surprised me a little as all the reports I read suggested that if the Duke saw a mere black cloud it would start to misfire. The clutch was always a little nervous about its role and it soon started to slip under full power. This was a good excuse for a trip over. to Mick Walker at Wisbech to buy some Duke 450 clutch springs which solved that problem.

The first major trip was to the V-twin rally, but I didn’t manage to arrive there because I crashed into the back of my mate’s Le Mans - thanks to the council positioning road work traffic lights the wrong side of a blind bend at Cleeve Hill. After shelling out £145 the bike was repaired, but no sooner had I hit the road than the electronic ignition packed up, amid much swearing at the greatness of the Ducati name.

The next outing was to Le Mans, the bike quite impressing me, travelling at a constant eighty with bursts up to 100mph. At these speeds it was quite comfortable, however as soon as towns were entered wrists, legs, back, bum and neck ached and extended exposure to such low speeds meant recourse to the NHS was in order.

I was quickly coming to the conclusion that the Duke was only suited to balls out scratching on sunny Sundays. On one of these blasts I was approaching my favourite series of bends - hard left, hard right, hard left and up the hill - I got as far as the hard right when the front wheel hit the diesel, leaving bike and I to pirouette down the road. I managed to total one side of the bike with only two weeks to the Isle of Man - drastic action needed here. I figured I'd better dig my grannies garden again.

The bike was eventually fixed a couple of days before we departed for the Island. On the way down the motorway to Liverpool the gearbox decided to stay in fourth gear, some adjuster thing had come undone. My love and admiration of Ducatis was now beginning to wane rapidly. However, after much fiddling on the instant euthanasia of the M6 hard shoulder I managed to obtain the use of 1st, 2nd and 3rd gear, crawling the rest of the way to Liverpool - I did, however, manage to sort the problem during the long wait for the ferry.

The week in the IOM was ideally spent upon the big Duke and so my love increased no end, forgiving it for letting me down on the motorway. The day after our return from the Island, the Duke & myself and the Lemon and my mate collided after I slowed down to turn tight - he thought I was slowing down to let him overtake. The result was that both machines were totalled and the riders didn’t escape unscathed. The insurance company coughed up £1600 and the wreck, which I sold for £850, so I suppose I didn’t do too badly out of the deal.

The 900SS is, as this very mag states, a Sunday afternoon classic. The bike always needs fettling - some people, I hear, call this character - however, when I owned the bike in 1978/79 the prices of spares appeared to have been confused with the part numbers and it soon became an expensive pain in the arse when it went wrong.

The paint finish is crap, the GRP is akin to papier maché, the suspension was just bloody hard unless you were doing over 70mph, the riding position created havoc with my body unless I was doing at least that speed and the Smiths clocks were as much use as a fart in a space suit.

I can’t remember much about tyre wear, chain and oil consumption, other than that they were nothing out of the ordinary - if you own one of these bikes, or are thinking of buying one, these considerations are the least of your potential worries. As you have probably gathered, owning one of these bikes is more of a love/hate relationship with the hate disappearing into insignificance when the beast is running at full bore.

For this reason I’d recommend one to anyone, the only reason I sold mine was because I felt it was jinxed I’d only owned the bike for nine months, five of which it was in the garage. The bloke I sold it to fell off in the first week after rebuilding it. If anyone out there owns MEF 323P let me know how it’s getting on [Currently on SORN in the back of someone's garage, it would appear - 2022 Ed.].

John Sheldon

Learning on a Yamaha RD125

When I decided to try motorcycling for the first time, about a year ago, my original intention was to buy the first cheap 125 that came my way, pass my test and move on to something bigger. You may be surprised to learn it hasn’t turned out like that.

Although I had often thought of buying a motorbike before now, I had never actually ridden one. In fact, the nearest I had come to it was sitting on a few bikes in the local showroom, so I was understandably nervous about going too far from home. This may explain why it was a good month and a half before I became the proud owner of my first motorbike, an RD125DX.

All the articles I had read about buying a used bike had advised me to read the classified sections in newspapers and magazines for a couple of weeks to obtain a general idea of the current prices on various models. After getting over the initial shock, I doubled the amount I was willing to pay and began my search in earnest.

Since I wasn’t intending to keep the bike for long, I didn’t narrow my choice down to any particular machine. As long as it was reliable and easy to tide I’d be happy. Because the sun made an appearance everyone else was trying to buy a motorcycle as well - they were selling as soon as they were advertised.

However, I managed to find one to view; I sat on the bus with my newly acquired helmet and three magazines with articles about buying used motorcycles. No bike outside - had it gone already? - but the owner assured me that it was out back.

The bike was kept in a large garden shed, which was full of DIY equipment and bike spares, most of which were new and were to be included in the sale. The owner added that the bike had only been used in the summer and had been regularly serviced by a Yamaha dealer. During the winter it had been stored in the shed.

The bike had only covered 13000 miles during six years, was totally rust free, although the frame and engine casings had been painted in black Hammerite. It also had a braided brake hose and all the standard screws were replaced by Allen screws. All signs of a caring owner. I began to think that I had found one of those rare things, a good buy. It even had the original tool kit and a top box. However, aware that first time buyers are easily blinded to a bike’s bad points, I was determined to make a more detailed check.

I went from the front of the bike to the back, checking and double checking everything I could think of. The owner was quite rightly unconcerned by this inspection as I could find nothing wrong - no signs of any crash damage or botched repairs. The chain only had two notches of adjustment left and the rear tyre was near the limit, but since both were original I could hardly complain.

When the owner kickstarted the bike it started first time and settled down to a steady tickover. There were no unusual noises from the engine, although to be honest I didn’t really know what I was listening for. I had now more or less made my mind up to buy the bike, only the test ride could change it. I spent the twenty minute test ride on the pillion, listening for funny noises and trying to feel for handling irregularities. At least that’s how I spent the first five minutes, I quickly forgot about these things and just enjoyed the ride. My mind was made up, this was the bike for me - I couldn’t wait to try it out for myself.

After haggling for a little a price of £270 was agreed. My first attempt to move off stalled the engine as soon as the clutch was let out. Neither the second nor third attempt was much better. Fourth time I wobbled off, grinning from ear to ear, to promptly stall it at the first junction.

Well at least I was getting plenty of practice kickstarting the thing. Luckily, I was in a relatively quiet housing scheme, so there weren’t too many people around to witness these embarrassing events or get in the way. By the time I reached the busy main roads I had gained enough confidence to be raring to go.

The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful but great fun. I was surprised how quickly I became used to the controls and relaxed enough to enjoy the ride. On reaching a small section of dual carriageway I decided to see how fast the bike would go. I ran out of both dual carriageway and nerve at 55mph. At the time, this seemed very fast, but, again, I was surprised at how quickly I became used to it and craved more speed. I now find myself travelling regularly and quite happily at the bikes top speed of 75mph, which is sadly greatly reduced by strong headwinds and steep hills.

It is in the busy city streets amongst the traffic jams that the bike comes into its own. It’s small enough and agile enough to manoeuvre around stationary vehicles, its excellent acceleration more than sufficient for getting into clear spaces and out of trouble. The front disc and rear drum provide adequate stopping power when necessary; in fact, it’s dead easy to lock up the wheels if you’re careless.

The day after I bought the bike I arose early, determined to enjoy a full day’s riding in the sun. It wouldn’t start; yes, I do know about kill switches. I eventually determined that the battery was flat. Unfortunately, this was to occur with depressing regularity. The charging circuit was the only thing I couldn’t check, so I suppose it’s typical that this would be the only duff part. Since I had the bike I made several attempts to cure the problem with little initial success.

First, I tried a new battery (£10.75) but this soon went flat. At least I could charge one battery whilst the other was in use, although it was almost impossible to ride at night - if the journey was for more than two hours I had to take the spare battery with me.

This became such a real pain that I eventually took the bike to a dealer, who declared that it needed a new alternator. I managed to obtain a reconditioned one from a breaker for £42 and was charged £50 for fitting by the dealer. Natch, when I went to pick up the bike the battery was flat. It was given a quick charge and I had to keep the revs up all the way home.

The next day it left me stranded out in the country miles from any help. When I finally arrived home I phoned the garage who told me to bring it in. They eventually declared that the alternator wasn’t working, but as I didn’t have any money I took it back and gave the electrics a thorough overhaul myself. After making a new earth strap for the battery the problem disappeared.

Since I’ve owned this two stroke twin it has been used almost every day, in all kinds of weather, proving to be very reliable (save for the charging). It takes me to and from work each day as well as being used for pleasure at the weekends without any complaints. As for normal wear and tear, the rear tyre was changed at 13750 miles - there was still a little tread left but handling was very unpredictable, especially on wet roundabouts when the rear tyre would try to race the front to the exit.

Handling became really weird when one of the shock absorbers exploded. I managed to put it all back together and proceed home slowly - the slightest ripple gave the bike the jitters. , Brake shoes and pads cost about £11 for each set, the chain lasted for 14500 miles and was replaced with £15 worth of heavy duty chain and sprockets. The spares situation seems generally good, but no-one seems to keep any parts in stock so just about everything has to be ordered. The longest I’ve had to wait is 3 days for a set of exhaust gaskets (£3.75). Prices, incidentally, seem to vary a lot, depending on where you go, so shop around before you buy anything.

No bike is perfect, of course, and the RD is no exception. The worst aspect is rider comfort. Although the seat is well padded and comfortable, either the bars are too low or the footrests too far forward, resulting in lower back pain and sore arms. The mirrors are always blurred because of the vibration, whilst both auto-lube and chain need regular attention. The bike is also quite heavy for a 125 at 255lbs.

I’ve owned the bike for more than a year and a half, I passed both my Part One & Two on it, ridden it in all kinds of weather every day of the week and still derive enough pleasure to want to ride it just for kicks in the evening and the weekend. It’s been easy to work on and cheap to run. I think it’s the ideal learner bike - so good that it’s hard to find them, people tend to hang onto them and I'll certainly be keeping mine for a long time. Considering that I knew little about bikes when I bought it, I think I’ve been lucky.

Brian Smith