Suzuki GS650GT

Sometimes I get so pissed off I want to kill someone. The only thing that stops me is the threat of a long prison sentence. The alternative to violence is to ride a motorcycle. A Suzuki GT650 might be an unlikely choice in this context but I need something that I can have a good fight with. The heavy, shaft drive GT certainly matches up to that criteria, although it's quite difficult to actually fall off.

The 1984 model had three owners before it came into my hands in 1990. With 14000 miles up it looked like all three had been devoted to its needs, that unique sheen that comes from religious polishing. The engine rustled rather than rattled. Even the exhaust system was original, with neither signs of rust nor cracks. The only disheartening aspect was that all the consumables were due for replacement.

At least that didn't include a chain as the bike had the major benefit of shaft drive. I had lots of fun mastering the techniques necessary to deal with the intricacies of the shaft. I like to start the day with a wheelie, something that the dynamics of the chassis seemed most averse at trying. About 12000 revs and a dead clutch drop worked if you didn’t mind dislocated shoulders and a few shattered windows, not to mention side panels that did a runner due to the rather intense secondary vibes. It took a while to become used to the directness of the shaft.

The GT wasn't heavily tuned, only 60 horses. That’s in the context of 500lbs plus rider to shift. It could be made to move fast, at the price of burnt clutch plates (I went through four sets in 50000 miles). Or around 50000 miles as the speedo cable broke every other month and I used to ride without one for a while. The rest of the engine has a reputation for toughness, if you exclude the notorious electrics. Mine leaked chronically from the head gasket and gave valve trouble at 32000 miles.

Most of that was caused by the way I revved into the red at every opportunity and didn’t do any maintenance to the eight valve/DOHC set-up. As this was the only way to make the bike shift faster than a 400 twin it seemed quite acceptable behaviour and I’ve never been one for regular maintenance.

I found it disappointing that |Icouldn't alter the gearing as it was on the tall side. Short of riding off the top of a cliff, there was no way the GT would rev out in top gear. The solution to the burnt out valves was to give the local breaker/mechanic ninety quid to tear off the old head and replace it with a used one. I had hoped to pick up a 650 Katana top end, which with 75 horses is much more entertaining. The only one I found had big bits missing out of its hotter cams. The breaker reckoned that the roller bearing crankshaft had broken up in a big way (I’m not sure if one could break up in a small way)

I didn't buy the Katana because for all its butch looks the riding position’s inexcusably uncomfortable. I don’t think my wedding tackle would survive such abuse! The GT was well laid out in the traditional manner, came with the benefit of a very cushy non-standard seat. 300 miles in a sitting might have been possible but I never found out due to the range being good for less than 150 miles. Reserve only worked intermittently which made for an excess of funny moments. Like almost being run down by cages and have to do the gravel dance.

The steering geometry was mild, tending towards keeping the bike stable in a straight line rather than letting it ease around corners. As with any old style across the frame four a lot of the mass is carried high, which makes for easy wobbles in low speed corners. Both the stands and the exhaust can grate into the tarmac when the bike's forced over in such corners.

For those moments when I’m really bored I keep leaning it over until something digs in and the rear tyre pivots off the ground. I’ve always managed to pivot it back up. It definitely needs muscle and luck. Various bits of the bike fell off, from guards through to pieces of the engine. A combination of vibes and fatigue from old age. Bodging was the order of the day, the pristine appearance soon becoming that of an ancient rat. If any of the past owners had seen the state of the bike they would've strung me up. Cleaning came once a year with the beginning of spring. Engine alloy was the greatest casualty.

The brakes are owed a whole book of their own. In a way I just feel sad about the whole experience of the twin front discs. I went through three used sets, a mixture of rotted calipers, cracked discs and exploding fluid. Weirdly, I had one set of front discs last a whole 27000 miles with just a couple of pad changes. EBCs felt both the most responsive and lasted longest. Braking was never in stoppie territory but with a bit of excess hand muscle I usually pulled up with space to spare.

Usually! There was the time when a car came speeding out of a driveway. It was such a peaceful summer's day out in the country that I quite forgot my violent streak. I saw out of the corner of my eye rather than heard the auto streaming out fast. I hit the brakes so hard that for the first time ever the wheels locked up. It wasn’t enough and we piled into the rear end of the car at about 25mph. Mr Cager was most astonished to find my front end embedded in his car... even more shocked to find himself being kicked half to death by an enraged biker. It took his whole family to pull me off. The police weren't called as I was bleeding just as profusely from my wounds as he was from my kicking.

GS650GTs aren't as common as many GS models but there’s no reason why bits off other models can't be fitted. I quite happily put on a nearly new GS850GT front end, although the brakes were just as short-lived as the smaller bike’s and the forks even looser. I only kept that front end for about three months until a GSX1100 set-up became available. Strangely, the braking was very poor, causing several near misses until I reverted to a refurbished 650 front end. A crack in one of the GSX’s calipers helped solve that mystery.

Suspension looseness showed up in the amount of clearance I needed to leave between gaps, as much as a foot at the ton. Braking also made the machine veer towards the camber of the road. In the wet white-lining came in with a vengeance, I even aquaplaned under really effusive conditions on worn out Avons. Tyre life was so unimpressive, not much more than 5000 miles, that I seemed to spend a good half of the time on bald tyres.

Shouting a pile of expletives at the cops when they pulled me over in this state was wholly ineffective but it didn’t matter because I had no permanent address. Squatting tends to bring out the worst in human beings (there’s a joke in there somewhere). I did consider stealing a number from a similar GT to add to the confusion but in the end decided the Swansea computer would catch me out unless I ascertained the owner’s name, address, date of birth and inside leg measurement.

On which, the GT was nicely close to the ground for those verging on midget stature, although it does need a lot of leg muscle if it goes off the vertical at a standstill. Dragging discs and excess mass makes it a real bugger to pull out of the kerb when parked up. It’s made me so violent on occasions that I’ve come close to knee-capping traffic wardens. The other major item of potential aggro, of course, are the electrics.

Screaming at them does no good, neither does tearing out all the rotted wiring. It doesn’t make them any worse. The theory that old engine oil lets the engine overheat and destroy the alternator might hold sway as I left my oil for at least 5000 miles. Why not? The gearbox was still slick despite the shaft drive. Just about every electrical component was rebuilt or replaced. Two or three times! Even Superdream components didn't last long.

Such nastiness has to be expected on any of the GS series but as long as you can recognize the initial signs (flat battery and blowing fuses) it’s not impossible to fix. I still have I the GT, mainly because I can't be bothered to clean it up enough to attract a decent price. It's replacement is another Suzuki, a GSXR1100 — best defined as vile and violent. After all, we're very well matched.

There are very few nice GTs left on the road, most of them have done the 65000 miles their designers envisaged as a reasonable life. Even before such a heady mileage, many components failed, especially when they are ridden hard and routinely neglected. It’s much more likely that mine will end up in the breakers than be completely rebuilt. It doesn’t do anything brilliantly but for the moment it’ll make an adequate winterhack.

K Dwight

Vertical Twin Wars: Bonneville vs. GPz305

“Oh-soffa-what?” I asked the Doc.

“Oesophogitis. There’s no cure. You just learn to live with it. No heavy lifting that uses your stomach muscles or your food’ll come back faster than you can eat it.”

I already knew the last bit. If my Triumph Bonneville, a 1976 T140V, didn’t start in the first couple of kicks, or I had to heave its great bulk on to the centrestand, there was a fair chance I’d throw up. That's why I'd come to the surgery in the first place.

“You'll have to change your lifestyle". I didn’t like the sound of this but he went on: “Look at you. In a year or two you'll have your bus pass. Do you intend to continue this juvenile practice of riding that overweight, overpowered antique of yours?” I nodded. He was just warming up. “Shattering the early morning and late evening peace of our village? Breaking the law every time?".  I must've passed him in his cage at some time. I nodded again.

“In your state of health it’s too heavy. It’s got to go.” I know he meant well but then he committed the ultimate blasphemy.

“If you must ride a bike why don't you change it for something lighter? One of those quiet Japanese things where you just press a button and off it goes.”

Me! The archetypal Brit with every prejudice to match. I wouldn't be seen dead on Jap iron! It then occurred to me that it might be better to stay alive with some Suzi-Yam-Hon-Kwack, or other, than die kicking a reluctant Bonnie into life.

German or Yank stuff was too heavy and expensive. Italians had style but too much temperament. I even thought about an MZ but it was no use - it had to be a Jap. I sat at the phone with the Yellow Pages open and my shopping list to hand. I was looking for something that would do the ton, weighed under 400lbs and cost about two grand, which was what I thought I'd get for the Bonnie. One of the dealers put me in touch with a customer who was Bonnie hunting. He was a nice young guy who found the exhaust note and simple classic lines irresistible. He bought the Bonnie two days later.

The dealer then said would I like to look at this little Kawasaki he had with less than 100 miles on the clock. It seemed the original owner - poor chap was about my age - had died shortly after buying the Kawasaki (nothing to do with bikes) and his family had only just put it on the market. Feeling sorry for myself over the loss of the Bonnie, and even more sorry for the guy who'd never had a chance to enjoy his new bike, I was introduced to the GPz305.

Exactly what you're looking for, the dealer intoned enthusiastically as I rolled it effortlessly on and off the centre stand, marvelling at the instant electric start. The next impression was that I was riding a highly tuned sewing machine with no exhaust note, and steering designed on some other planet. Riding over smooth roads at sub 70mph speeds, I didn’t know what I’d done to get round corners. It was like telepathy. Of all the bikes I’d ever owner or ridden I'd never met anything so easy and so completely user-friendly. And, much as I hated to admit it, it was fun!

Back at the dealers I admitted it was just what the doctor ordered but where was the ton plus performance? Had I used the gearbox and high revs? No. It was so new I'd kept it down to about 4500 revs. Then why didn't I take another spin and let it go a bit. A brief flip round the clock wouldn't do a modern motor any harm.

It was welcome to the nineties time! I discovered in a few short miles what the rest of the bike world had known for decades. Anything else I’d owned, with two wheels or four, had usually given its all by 5000 to 6000rpm. When the Kwak hit 7000rpm, a whole new world opened up. Despite its basic spec, the little motor made me feel I was hanging on to the Starship Enterprise as it moved into warp speed. This wasn’t just fun; it was exhilarating.

Next came an insanely happy few minutes during which I played tunes on the gear lever to keep the revs up where things happened. I was concentrating so much on the tacho I didn’t spot the imminent arrival of a T-junction with no escape routes. It was at that point I discovered how good the brakes were. We came to rest with the front wheel just peeping over the white line.

| felt rather than saw the glare of a frightened, middle-aged pedestrian beaming the unspoken message: it would've served you right if you hadn't been able to stop. With my heart pounding like the Bonnie on an uphill climb, I struggled to find a gear in which I could make a dignified departure. I wondered how much the irate ped could see through my visor. I wondered if he realised what he thought was an irresponsible juvenile on a speed induced high would soon be an OAP - that’s if he learns to keep his eyes on the road instead of clock-watching. I took the bike back at a more sedate pace, but couldn’t keep an ear to ear grin off my face. You've just sold a Kwak, said I. Whencanlihaveit?

At this stage, it hardly seems fair to compare the 18 year old lump of British brawn with nearly new Jap technology, especially as the Bonnie was losing Brownie points like Group Four loses prisoners. The Kwack was winning all ways - ease of handling, at rest or on the move; it’s half the size engine almost as quick but no vibes, all on unleaded petrol. An added bonus was 76mpg as opposed to the Bonnie’s 53mpg on four star. Modern brakes and lights were superior. Starting was child’s play.

And there’s no way any Bonnie’s going to be as reliable as a practically brand new machine. But instant infatuations can have short honeymoons. By the time the GPz went in for its 500 mile service the Bonnie was pulling back a little lost ground... although the acceleration of the two bikes was similar - sub wheelie, but more than good enough to deal with average traffic - that vital surge from 50 to 70mph was always instant with the Bonnie. All you do is open the throttle. By the time you’ve dropped a couple of cogs on the Kwak the gap might have gone and the sparkle definitely goes if you're carrying a passenger, whereas the Bonnie didn’t seem to notice the difference. What I really missed was the low down grunt and that reassuring bellow from the exhaust.

But it’s nice not to have vibes as the limiting factor on top speed.  The sheer lightness of the GPz, one of my reasons for buying it, can become its worst enemy. Every little breeze deflects it from the straight and narrow. I soon began to miss the way the heavier Bonnie sat on the road, especially at speed (at least once a set of TT100s was fitted). Hit a coarse surface, like newly laid gravel, and the Kwak’s uncannily light steering disappears. Suddenly, it’s like tiptoeing on eggshells. The front wheel takes on a life of its own and feels liable to go anywhere without notice. The only solution is to hold your breath and keep the bike straight up until the terra became firmer. The Bonnie didn't like loose gravel either, but at least l felt I was still in control On the sort of long, sweeping 70mph plus bend we all know and love, there’s a whole lot of twisting goes on at the GPz’s back end. At least that’s what it feels like. I haven't figured it out yet but the chassis looks too solid to twist.
Perhaps better tyres would fix it.

The smooth belt drive seems a gem of an idea. Expensive to replace but lasting three times as long as a chain. On a motorway, which I find boring, it’s swings and roundabouts. The Kwack sits there quite happily at 75 to 80mph but gets blown about whereas vibes spoil life in the fast lane on the Bonnie. It’s worth saying that, like the poor, the Bonnie’s vibes will always be with us but are no worse that those regularly reported in the UMG, and elsewhere, on big, old Japs. They can, however, be greatly reduced by spending a quiet Sunday afternoon synchronising the fall of the carb slides into just one click as they hit the bottom - I’ve no idea why but a pair of new tyres also seemed to smooth out my Bonnie.

Regarding this strange business of image and owning a glamorous piece of history, the GPz305 comes nowhere. I’m totally ignored. And never again will I be as proud as when a lovely old fella shook me by the hand and thanked me for keeping such a beautiful old bike on the road. Turned out he’d been one of the Meriden workers and he gave me loads of useful tips. Altogether now... awww!

If this seems an odd way to enjoy biking there are thousands of like-minded souls who prefer to drive about in troublesome old MGBs when the same money would buy and run a faster, more reliable GTi. They probably like antique furniture, too. It takes all sorts. If anyone’s being seduced by all this sentimental talk - be warned: Bonnie ownership’s an expensive and mixed pleasure. If you're determined, buy the best you can afford. Avoid hybrids, they’re a lot of trouble and don't hold their value. Around two grand gets you one that's well sorted. Even then, keep £500 back as a contingency fund.

Three years running cost me £1500, including a £600 gearbox rebuild. A properly rebuilt Bonnie doesn't leak oil and I’ve a clean garage floor to prove it. Electrical problems do happen. It's worth changing any one or all of the three electrical switches at the first sign of trouble. The oil light switch (everything dies if it fails), the ignition switch when badly worn causes erratic running which is difficult to diagnose, and the handlebar cluster drivers you bonkers if you try to repair it. Even the metal seat base can short out the electrics over rough roads!

So which costs the most? GPz servicing's cheap, fewer parts will be needed, excellent economy in the short term it shouldn't cost much to run. But the Bonnie retains its purchase cost much better, I expect to lose a grand when I sell the Kwak. The GPz is loads of fun but being a sentimental old slob I'll never learn to love it, not like the unreliable but beautiful old Bonnie.

Stan Barrett

Yamaha FZ600

The child screamed whenever I started the FZ. Went absolutely hysterical. My neighbours were not amused as I usually left home early and came back late. They had forgotten the meaning of sleep. Fortunately, there was a large driveway separating our two semis and once in the house I could sleep in blissful ignorance of the howling infant.

The FZ had rotted out its original exhaust system to the extent that it'd become straight through. Even idle sounded like a couple old jets fighting it out. Fists were often shook at me as I roared through suburbia and kids would try to lob bricks at me, only I was moving too fast for them to succeed. I could quite easily and cheaply have fixed the exhaust but I rather enjoyed the notoriety and the external surface still shone with vigour. It’s more than can be said for the rest of the machine. Its patina was nicely faded with time, its GRP cracked with fatigue and its engine rattled with wear. None of that stopped it shifting like a scalded cat injected with amphetamines.

Given a delinquent riding style, a disregard for traffic laws and an obscured numberplate, improbable velocities were entertained and quite a few replica 600s burnt off. Fun was easily achieved with a few minor body pains the only price paid. If I'd been sensible I'd have stripped her right down for a thorough check over. But I just wanted to let the good times roll. What else is your right wrist for?

One of the more outrageous moments of madness occurred on the Isle of Man Mad Sunday (appropriately named). A whole crowd of us hustled around the circuit. I became wedged between an FZR600 and VFR750. The latter out in front until the bumpy road sent it into a terminal wobble. At this point the FZR was trying to come past on my inside and if I took the outer line I would've hit the Honda. Yes, I did scream with the thrill of it all. I also hit the horn to wake up the Yamaha pilot to our mutual doom.

Just as I thought nemesis was at hand, the Honda went into an even bigger wobble and jumped right off the road. I cut in on the FZR anyway, nothing like annoying plonkers who've spent huge sums of money on newish Jap replicas. Glimpsed in the mirrors (non-standard, the stocks ones are only good for checking your lipstick) the Honda ploughing into a brick wall, stones exploding and the rider flying through the air. Didn't stop as there was a whole convoy of spaceship scooters (Goldwings) behind us. Give them something to feel superior over; god knows, they needed something! Naturally, I kept the FZR at bay until I tired of the game and let him past. He howled away on one wheel as if he knew what he was doing but half a mile down the road he was found fiddling with his plastic by the side of the.road.

I always found, the FZ motor being old fashioned in its air-cooling, that after a long hard thrash a cooling off period was as necessary as wearing iron underpants. I always knew when the engine was overheating as it'd refuse to rev out into the red. I could usually screw it until valve float set in. If I persisted in revving hard in second or third in those circumstances I could actually feel the pistons tightening up in their bores as the oil evaporated and the metal distorted.

It says something about the basic toughness of the mill that despite quite frequent abuse it never went as far as seizing. Rattle - well, that was an entirely different matter. Friends, who wouldn't know a con-rod from a crankshaft, quite often muttered something about an awful racket and never believed me when I enjoined that they were all like that, mate.

And, why not? Bikes like the FZ come with as many acres of bullshit as they do GRP. Which reminds me of the time I ended up with the whole seat assembly disintegrating under me. The signs had been there for a while - cracks, excess vibes and the kind of grating movement that made me think of earthquakes. I ended up crouched on the debris, my manhood threatening to disappear and peds rolling around the pavement in hysterics. Eventually I came to a halt. After the usual swearing session I rolled up my pullover as a perch as temporary as it was uncomfortable; made for home in jockey mode.

Eventually, the motor tired of the combination of neglect (I did change the oil when neutral became impossible to find in the still excellent gearbox) and abuse (who, me?). I would’ve ignored it until it seized, being lazy but not completely poor, but performance became so staid that the local hard case on an XS400 was threatening to beat me through town. Couldn’t have that so I whipped the motor out, destroying the fairing, electrics and air-filter in the process. No, it wasn’t cack-handedness, everything was rotting away merrily. Every bolt in the engine stripped its thread, gaskets crumbled and gunge obliterated the true lines of the engine components. All this at a mere 68000 miles, about half those under my merciless thrashing.

A long list of bits, including carbs (30mpg in the final days and not much better before), cylinder head, pistons, barrels and all the things I’d destroyed in the disassembly, were canvassed from reluctant breakers whose expectations of financial reward were two to three times what I'd been willing to pay. The bottom end of the motor was thankfully intact as far as I could discern, easing the job but dropping a can of old engine oil over the manual didn’t get me very far.

After a month of mumbling incoherently, that magical day came when the beast was finally reassembled. I don’t know what I expected when I hit the electric start. Certainly not for the engine to fire up at about 5000 revs. Boom, boom, boom... the baby wailed... it was obviously going to be a good day. After the kind of running in spree more suited to a stroker moped it was all set, once again, for the highway kicks. The engine was willing but the chassis was increasingly reluctant.
I'd done sod all to it in 30000 miles except replace the consumables just before they were due to disintegrate. I was never astonished by the wear rates so never kept note but think I went through three sets of tyres and two sets of brake pads. Something like that.

By the time the rebuilt engine was installed, the forks were as floppy as my legs after ten pints and the shocks as rigid as my member after a similar alcoholic excess. The bearings? Even the most optimistic recycler or bodger would have doubts about their worthiness as paperweights. The trouble with cracked bearings is that they also take out the shafts they are supposed to support. Even I couldn't take the thought of a wheel, swinging arm or shock falling off when a corroded, pitted spindle finally broke up. Used bits were about as much use as a joint in a Salvation Army convention.

Enough cash to start a revolution in Wales went on new bits and-many an enjoyable hour was blown knocking out spindles and slamming in bearings. I lost enough fingers to the sledge-hammer to make it as numero-uno in a Triad gang. The FZ was utterly transformed... OK, as usual, I’m lying. Despite some sterling work on the forks (a good a way as any to dump old engine oil) and a newish shock, the bike would still try to imitate the earth’s orbit when the tarmac turned rough. There was a sufficient deficiency in the fork’s resistance to have just about everything near the ground trying to scrape itself off on the tarmac, making enough noise to have any nearby cager creaming himself.

Being used to its ways I could still fling it around with the best of them even if my lines were as unconventional as a skinhead trying it on in a Bangkok bar. Don't ask how I know, some things  are not fit to print even in the UMG. Comfort, even with the reconstructed seat, was on a par with being laid out naked on a slab of concrete which was sprouting its metal braces, but again, something that use, time and the sheer adaptability of the human body was able to overcome.

For all its faults, and the list could easily turn endless, the damn thing is rapidly approaching a hundred thou and still well able to put 130mph on the clock. I’ve got the money together to buy something newer, faster and flasher but can’t bring myself to make the move until the FZ finally blows it in a big way. The way it’s going I'll fall off before that unhappy day arrives.

Pete Lever.

Honda CBR600

There are many ways to enjoy the motorcycle experience. I’ve tried most of them. From rat Hondas, through venerable MZs, to middleweight fours like the GPz750. Even a brief liaison with a GL1200! Then true revelation came by way one of the early CBR600s, a startling device that had done over 60000 miles in its first year before reaching my tender hands. A cynic might say the tenderness came from the GPz's secondary vibes.

I didn’t expect much, being cynical about road test exclamations of enthusiasm - the truth only emerges with the next model, when the old one is suddenly slagged off. Later models of the CBR600 that passed through my hands proved to be even better, a rare evolution of motorcycle design, in my experience, especially for a large multi-national company like Honda.

Red and silver paint enhanced the lines of the plastic on that first model. The only one I liked more was the white and red effort, which made a passable impersonation of a plod bike at speed. Useful if I was in a hurry. Bankrupt of further paint ideas, Honda lately turned the CBR into a suicide mission by the use of metallic grey paint that merged so perfectly with the tarmac that it all but became invisible to other traffic. Honda wasn't the only company to make this tragic mistake, many a GSXR also heading for an early bath. I shouldn't complain, at least there would be a ready supply of engines in the breakers. That first CBR seemed incredible after struggling with a GPz750.

The latter did run worn, stock suspension, so I shouldn't have been that surprised by all the effort needed, nor by some of the monstrous weaves. Truth to tell, the CBR was also wearing worn forks and shock, but the massive frame, relatively low mass and superior design made it seem like I was on another planet.

The effortless way it floated through bends, bimbled up and down mountains, and blatted along straights at incredible velocities turned me into the hero of the local bike gang and left me drooling at the prospect of more to come. 150mph on the clock, with me in a relatively comfortable crouch, the rev counter flirting with the red and just a flutter of secondary vibes through the plastic. The GPz was rough and elemental by way of comparison: The Honda was running a stock exhaust that undoubtedly aided the smooth carburation, a revelation after Kawasaki's amateur efforts. (not helped by a race 4-1).

If both bikes responded well to harsh use of the throttle, the Honda lacked the GPz’s torque below 7000 revs but confusingly ran much smoother due to its superior carburation. The Honda ran in a civilised manner at low revs where the Kwack would surge like a dying stroker, but wouldn't accelerate any harder than a Superdream unless a few gears were dropped and the throttle hammered to the stop. The resulting exhilaration was well worth the effort. This was a trait that became more defined on later models.

The only complaint that I had against this stroker-like need for the powerband blues was the gearbox. Honda had a long history of producing bikes with awkward boxes, especially after the first 20000 miles. The CBR was no exception, often seemed a throwback to the sixties, with more false neutrals than gears. Being used to aged machinery was a definite aid to producing a series of clean changes - after about a month I'd developed enough feel for the box to snap my way through the gears without too much hassle. If I let my concentration lapse, though, it was dead easy to have the engine screaming into an early death in a false neutral. The life of O-ring chains varied between 5000 and 13000 miles, depending on make and throttle abuse.

Later gearboxes had a slightly slicker change but were, again, badly affected by age and high miles. Persistence equalled a perfect change. I would've preferred a taller top gear, the engine always giving a revvy feel in all of the six ratios - I often found it easier to scream off in second rather than first.

The clutch was a beauty, light with plenty of feedback. I could even move off on a dead throttle by just gently feeding in the clutch. The real neutral was easy enough to find on the move but elusive at a standstill. Starting and the general controls were what you'd expect of such a sophisticated piece of machinery - bloody good. I did find it necessary to bung in a new set of plugs every 4000 miles, to avoid difficult starting and even the odd bit of cutting out in the rain during the winter months.

Maintenance wasn't easy as there was a ton of plastic to pull off, sixteen valves to adjust (rarely needing attention) and four carbs to balance (every 2000 in the early model and every 3500 miles in later examples), plus an oil change every 2000 miles (some owners reckoned that every 6000 miles was sufficient) and a new oil filter every third oil change. Not too onerous, I guess, and more importantly I never experienced any mechanical failures from an engine that did between some 60000 and 95000 miles. I never even replaced a camchain, although previous owners had probably enjoyed that chore at least once. Was I lucky? Maybe, there were some examples I viewed that had obviously enjoyed a sojourn on the race track and rattled and knocked like death was at hand.

Easily sussed if you know what a good CBR is supposed to sound like. I never came across the fabled one owner, low mileage example, they do seem to be turned over awful fast. Probably down to speed freaks seeking more kicks. The highest mileage example I came across had done all of 123000 miles, sounded like there were a few ball bearings loose inside the mottled engine casings. The owner reckoned the engine was basically stock, wouldn't even admit to a cam chain change.  The experience does dull a little with extended exposure, the engine coming over as a little bland despite its massive power. Those use to big V-twins wouldn't be too enamoured of the high revving excesses but those used to Honda twins will find more of the same, only with a hundred fold increase in kicks.

All it takes to get the best out of the Honda is an interesting piece of road early enough in the morning not to have the police hiding in waiting (and they loiter in the oddest places). Handling, braking and acceleration are all sublime, at least to anyone brought up on the older style fours. A newish '92 model showed up my bike as a bit slow and worn (with eighty thou on the-clock), as equally past it in the ride quality as the acceleration, but I was soon used to its ways again. I sold that bike only because I was offered a brilliant trade-in deal on a new '92 example.

Not surprisingly, the dealer clocked my bike and sold it for even more than I was offered but ended up in court over the matter as I tracked down the new owner and told him the awful truth. Save for minimal servicing, a depressing excess of tyres and brake pads, and one wrecked half of a fairing when the side stand snapped, I did 61000 miles of wild riding, pure highway excesses, until someone stole the CBR. Except for even less low rev torque the bike was in every way superior to the earlier model. Because of increasing costs, I had opted for mere third party insurance, which unless you mow down a line of peds is worse than useless. Cry?

Various bits of this bike were handed back to me by the plod after the thief crashed into a lorry. About the only useful one was the engine. This was sold off for £750, some more money added to buy a ’91 CBR600 with 71000 miles up and scratched plastic. The least successful of the CBRs I’ve bought, it still hammered around the country at speeds so illegal that it finally helped get me banned for a year. Cops laying in wait down a deserted country road.

The latest adventure has been test riding a couple of ’94 models and taking a 93 example for a spin. Fantastic after a year out of the game. The engines definitely give their best with 30000 miles or less on the clock but don’t appear to have any chronic faults up to 75000 plus miles! Raced examples, obviously, should be avoided and minor cracks in the plastic can turn out very expensive. Soon, I’m going. to. buy a newish example but not one with the grey paint scheme, although it might be useful in avoiding the cops.

Gary

Suzuki GN250

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Shudders ran through the front of the bike. Whatever could the matter be? Don't scream, I told myself, it’s unmanly. When the debris of the chrome front guard was finally cleared the bike settled down to its normal poise. Not that directional stability ever approached legendary status. Infamous, more like, with lots of twitching and vagueness. Any bike with bars high enough to inspire fear in outlaws was never going to make the big time in the handling stakes.

One mudguard disintegrating in an afternoon I could put down to bad luck. But two? Deliberate built in obsolescence, to my mind. The rear broke under the seat, tried and faailed to lacerate Taiwan’s finest rubber then flew down the road. The attached rear light, something straight out of the sixties in design, went with it. By the time I sussed its demise a couple of cars had flattened whatever the rust hadn't destroyed. Three years old and falling apart under me!

Did I mention that both darkness and rain were threatening to fall? Life’s an adventure, ain't it? I love British weather and Taiwanese rubber (not dolls, boyo). The only way to compensate for the missing rear light was to wire both back indicators into the light’s circuit. Probably blew a few car drivers’ brains trying to work out what the hell was going down but we all have to make sacrifices. The GN has good guards, their disappearance turning the mild rain into a maelistrom which the pathetic front light did little to penetrate.

The tyres slid, my teeth chattered and the engine threatened to cut out but once again the old bugger got us home in one piece. Albeit a rather soggy one. If the GN feels like it weighs next to nothing most of the time, the need for insane countersteer measures to compensate for the naff tyres keeps my muscles up to scratch. The dicey handling revealed by the ease with which I picked up a pair of guards from the breakers for af iver. Some black gunge was brushed on to the undersides to keep the dreaded rust at bay.

The finish wasn't exactly inspiring in other areas. The wheels were more rust than.chrome and the exhaust was replaced after a mere three years (15000 miles). The GN has a singularly simple OHC thumper motor, a sort of grown up CB125. But it’s a fastidious one that produces lots of flat spots once the rust has eaten into the exhaust system. I christened the bike Lurch with rather a lack of affection when this trait was revealed. Cutting out at junctions was another joy but the electric starter saw that one off without any angst.

Another thrill was the time we ground to a halt. Felt like fuel starvation to me. The tank had rusted internally to the extent that there was a mass of sediment in the bottom and the reserve pipe was totally blocked up. I’d thought the tank was becoming a bit thin by the amount of give in the sides. By the time I'd finished the desiccation I was left with an empty tank and a large pile of gunge. Those of a sadistic nature might conclude that the half mile push was good exercise but my heart and back were close to agony.

After this little vexation I neglected the GN for six months until the tank gave way. The fountain of fuel over the still running engine failed to cause spontaneous combustion. Even when I threw a match at it from a safe distance. I performed this cowardly act with an eye on my TPF&T insurance and an awareness that the never touched valves were beginning to burn out. The solution to these woes was fifty quid to the local breaker/mechanic who fitted a one year old tank and a newish set of valves as well as giving the engine its first ever service. I'd been quite content with changing the engine oil when the gearbox became full of false neutrals. What the fuck!

What kinda piss artist’s going to expend lots of TLC on a motorcycle that feels like it’s falling apart on a rare day when it does 80mph? I know some sorry souls who try to keep them immaculate, but they rot just as quickly as when brutally neglected. One other misdemeanour showed up a couple of times. The power pulses never stuck me as being the stuff of legends, but then I'm a cynical old bastard. The drive chain didn’t share my total disregard for the power output, destroying itself in about 6000 miles. The way it broke whiplashed the chromed but rotting (there’s a surprise) chainguard into a trillion pieces. One of these ended up embedded in my leg!

Yes, I’m one of those wimps who faint at the sight of blood. Especially my own blood, a fountain gushing out when I removed the offending piece of metal. For a moment I thought I'd hit an artery but the flood died out with my animal screams. I had to strip down to my long-johns and tear up my shirt to use as a bandage. Some youths in a neon Fiasco found it all hilarious, but disappeared fast when | gave them the finger. Readers should be warned that tearing out a bit of rusty chrome and not seekIng subsequent medical attention is a quick way to lose a leg to gangrene. By the time I staggered into the hospital I needed strong enough antibiotics to make my hair fall out!

The second time the chain snapped it took out the crankcase rather than my leg, which was anyway safely enclosed in wader length leather boots. Way kinky, my man, and sent the ladies into a furore. Plastic metal was carefully applied to the hole (in the crankcase, please) but took three increasingly panicked attempts until it held. What can I say? Greasing and adjusting every week didn’t make much difference to neglecting it until the gearbox refused to work. I started changing it every 5000 miles!

In the fourth year of ownership, with some 15000 miles done, I rode the bike harder than ever before, adding 14000 miles to the clock. I’d changed jobs, had to commute across London. The pace was so frenetic that I was only achieving 55mpg instead of the more usual 70mpg. If that sounds impressive remember that the performance wasn’t that much better than a GS125 which does 100mpg. A set of cheap Michelin tyres stopped much of the skidding on the greasy road surfaces and a newish front end much improved the braking which, via a single disc, had gone rather vague. A combination of warped disc and seizing caliper.

As the spokes were almost rusted through it seemed like a good moment to put in a better wheel! Indeed, a couple of months later I had the weird experience of the back wheel breaking up. Ever sat on a bike that was disintegrating under you? Loadsa fun! I stopped before any terminal damage was done to myself; the egg shaped wheel was something that should only be encountered on an LSD trip! Luck was on my side, a King’s Cross breaker was just 100 yards away and had a replacement on offer. We had a good laugh over the build quality of commuter Japs, the prime exhibit being a five year old C50 with a rear subframe that'd cracked in half.

After that exhibition of poor quality there wasn’t much left to fail in the chassis, apart from the frame which I'd at least kept touching up - you can only take neglect so far and I'd been suspicious of Jap frames ever since my mate's GS550's top frame tube cracked up. The GN has a barely adequate trellis that rust could easily turn to rat shit.

As strange as it might appear, despite these hassles, I'd actually grown quite fond of the ageing heap. We had some close scrapes together in London traffic. Call it a bonding process. The GN reacted well to my instinctive survival manoeuvres, a reflection of its lightness and wide handlebars. I’m naturally muscular, fear and adrenaline adding to the effectiveness with which the GN could be snapped around offending cagers. Twice, even this combination failed.

God, these cagers are as stupid as they are arrogant. Shooting out of nowhere, doing mad U-turns and just not thinking before they act. Once I hit a cage hard enough to snap off the forks and end up thrown over the bars. I landed on the roof of the cage, leaving a large enough dent to write off the car. I laughed at the cager when he demanded insurance details; just boasted that I'd fix the bike for less than a hundred.

The other time I ended up sideways in speedway style, screaming until the tyres lost their grip. My leg suffered more than the Suzuki, which took most of the damage on the engine bars. I hobbled over to the a cager, head-butted him into oblivion and leapt onto the GN before I had to pay for my sins. Divine justice I'd call it,

It'd be easy to dismiss bikes like the GN250 as a pile of crap, fit only for a hacking role, but the thumper engine has its share of character and the rest of it’s tolerable. They are cheap to run, repair and renovate, their biggest flaw the rate at which they rust when neglected or used in the winter.

Gary Davies

BSA Gold Star

The bike went dead just as I was about to pull off from the junction. The big 500cc thumper just went clack-clack-clack. A sound full of contempt for my reluctance to keep the mill turning over at 3000 revs.

The brutality of the combustion process was so evident in the Goldie that high revs threw all my senses into overload. Not that the venerable single could ever be said to vibrate. Lord no! The pegs and bars jumping about were merely a manifestation of the engine working out.

Who needs tachos when each and every pulse of power is all too apparent in the chassis? Such an outlook is just as well as the rev counter kept breaking down with such monotonous regularity that I eventually dumped it and blanked off the gear drive in the engine. The speedo went the same way but that was more important because despite its age the Goldie would still thud along at the ton.

When it wasn’t stalling at junctions. The problem with a dead motor was getting it to fire up again. The kickstart was geared for gorillas and humping the motor over compression was in itself hard work. The variable timing syndrome that could affect Goldies made for vile kickbacks that could shoot the unwary rider high in the air. Alternatives to this painful demise were a fireball out of the carb or a loud detonation that caused OAPs to keel over and canines to go berserk. After a while, after a few bruised limbs, these character building defects become part of the motorcycling experience and a perfect first kick start akin to the holy grail. But rarely achieved.

The Goldie still looks butch, when stalled at junctions a large crowd gathers, all the encouragement it needs to refuse to start. Starting from the saddle is difficult, it's usually best to put her on the stand. A huge queue of cars often forms, adding further chaos to the traffic congestion. Few are willing to help push the heap into life. Perhaps fearing the fireballs and loud farting.

Just as exhaustion sets in it usually roars into life. Awkward in bad weather as the protective clothing generates quite a sweat. Stock Goldies run incredibly tall gearing but my own bike has been modded so that city riding is relatively easy. The clutch is still heavy and violent, also short-lived as it owes its inspiration to the B31... watch out when buying used Gold Stars, it’s not unknown for owners to bodge in weaker parts from the B31/33 range. They can explode or crack up under the much more powerful regime from what's basically a refugee from the race track.

The Goldie won many races in its time. The reflected glory of riding one on the road is often submerged beneath the plain hard work of keeping it running. As well as stalled engines, the thing often oils up its spark plug, giving performance like an aged stroker. The series of resulting lurches are near spine dislocating. The tremors running through the chassis providing interesting moments, like when the seat fell off and the headlamp exploded.

The latter happened at night down some wondrously curving country lanes. The light was an upgraded 12V halogen conversion, worth its weight in gold up to 80mph, whereafter it failed from the vibes. One time I was plodding along at 75mph when the sudden darkness fell and the Goldie ran right off the road. For the time, the forks were beefy but not strong enough to take a battering through a rutted field. As an example of the forces involved, the front brake lever snapped off and several spokes broke up. The superb alloy rim was mangled way out of shape. The RAC did the rescue quite rapidly, for once.

A steel rimmed wheel was fitted for a while, which meant vintage events had to be avoided. The old chaps were enraged by any sign of non-standard issue, giving me the same kind of hassle as I got for not cutting my lawn every week in good old suburbia. The old dears babbled on but I just turned up my Walkman and nodded regally at them. Most of the Goldies at classic meetings were taken there on a trailer, so valuable had they become.

Understandable, but a bit of pity because once on the pace, on a nice bit of fast A-road, the bike became fun. The kind of fun that took some time and effort to fully appreciate, but well worth taking the minor irritants. Power flows in hard from 3000 revs up, the end of the surge not really known as the clocks begin wobble into oblivion as the revs go past 6000, and by seven grand, when it’s still accelerating hard, it's difficult to hold on to the clip-ons.

The bike feels better under acceleration than at a constant cruising speed. The thrust forward taking my mind off the riding position, which is straight off a race-track. Town riding is as thrilling as being kicked in the kidneys by a skinhead. The bars making the clutch and throttle seem even heavier and more difficult than they are in reality. Too much town work turns me into a hunchback until after 15 minutes of muttering, I’ve managed to snap my muscles back into an upright position. Many modern replicas are just as bad, so the answer seems to be to buy a BSA Bantam for town work.

One of the great deals with the Goldie is going on a run with my mates. The big thumper holds it own against 500 and 650 twins, though no-one tried to do more than the ton in deference to the bike's age and sometimes indifferent rebuilds. There are usually some minor problems that call for a roadside stop and thinking session but we've never had to call for the rescue services. What a glorious noise the bikes make when they thunder through the countryside or brick villages, where the sound reverberates off the stone walls. Heads turn in fury but when they see it’s a pack of British bikes inevitably some old guys give us the thumbs up. It’s nice to be liked!

The engine, rather than the chassis, gives the most cause for disliking the Goldie. Everything or anything can blow if it’s thrashed but because mine ain't it’s mostly down to the primary chain (I’m tempted by a belt conversion), the valves burning away (poorer quality replacements, maybe), leaking cylinder head gasket (just bad design), quick wear rockers (er.....?). and a piston/bore life of no more than 10000 miles.

The points aren't crap but give some moments of diversion, usually when I’m running late. The engine often cuts in and out in the wet, a large thump of torque twitching the rear tyre in a death dance - change of underwear time. The clutch is crap and the gearbox as primitive as that in a Ural but probably a touch less likely to disintegrate.

I’ve done 18000 miles on a 95000 mile engine that’d been comprehensively rebuilt by a genuine character who lounged around in an ancient Barbour jacket that had an inch layer of grease, grime and oil. Useful for taking palm prints. The most onerous task I had to do was rip the top end apart for a rebore. The engine was easy to work on but spares are heart breaking in their expense. I had to lie to the wife (lucky that she considers the UMG as undesirable as my skin mags).

The Goldie looks like a classic, except for the third world seat (it’s long enough to take an extended family) and the quick rust silencer (a pattern item, admittedly). It certainly sounds like a classic, with the kind of blat that bounces windows in their frames and had people looking for the runaway road roller. Performance is what you'd expect from a tuned thumper and handling just about matches it, more than likely due to low mass and good geometry than any particular attributes of the somewhat basic tubular frame.

The overall experience is somehow rather more than the mere sum of the parts, rather more exciting than the litany of complaints I've felt that have been my duty to pass on. The Goldie isn’t an easy ride but the daily challenge of getting the better of the swine is rather invigorating, blasts away the cobwebs and gets the blood flowing.

It all depends on where you're coming from and where you're going. Many will find the Goldie a device straight from hell and laugh at the prices demanded for the ancient classic but to me it’s well worth the money. I’d buy two if I could afford it.

Martin Alington

25 Great Bodges

With the massive expense involved in running most modern bikes, it's sometimes necessary to resort to short-cuts. These are often well dodgy, and only for the desperate, but they have to be better than being off the road. The UMG can take no responsibility for their effectiveness...

Chains can be kept going by removing links. By the time they are this worn they will probably be full of tight spots which can be worked out by soaking in oil or spraying with WD40, then working the links back and forth between two pliers or Mole grips. Soaking in Linklyfe will help. Chains with links removed will ruin the sprockets (but they'll probably already be wrecked anyway) and will eventually snap, taking out either the back of the crankcases or your leg (wear boots) [If you consider this to be an acceptable risk, then I would respectfully suggest that you are a fucking idiot. Just buy a cheap chain already - 2022 Ed.]. If you're buying a bike, check for tight spots in the chain, which combined with adjusters with lots of movement left shows that the rider’s a cunning bugger.

Engine breathers on modern machines are often vented into the airbox, where they do no amount of harm to induction efficiency. Redirect them on to the top run of the drive chain, where the drip feed of lube should prolong its life; especially neat where full chain enclosure’s employed. There shouldn't be great gobs of oil or heavy fumes out of the breather, at most a mild mist; anything else means the engine’s already on the way out.

Silencers often rot before the rest of the exhaust system, especially if the bike's used in town excessively when condensation forms. An amazingly effective repair to a crack that runs almost all the way around the circumference of a silencer consists of an old beer can (or any container made out of thick tin - I often use an old biscuit tin) and two Jubilee clips. Cut the can into a flat strip that can be wrapped around the silencer and hold in place with the clips. Spray the whole thing matt black and it'll hardly be noticeable. Gun-Gum, used in holes in silencers, tends to fall out but will last long enough for the MOT [Good luck with that... IME it falls out before you've even reached the test centre - 2022 Ed.]. Welding holes works better, but if the silencer's far gone then it may dissolve when the welding torch’s pointed at it. Universal megaphones are still sold (‘for track use’), can be bolted on to the end of most down-pipes and are not unduly noisy (often not affecting the carburation). If you can afford it, go for the stainless steel variant as the normal ones rust within six months. It’s also possible to mix and match silencers from breakers (about a fiver upwards). When buying a motorcycle give the silencer a good kick to see if it falls off.

The bolts holding the exhaust clamps on to the cylinder head will often snap off when trying to undo them as they become heat corroded, leaving the stud flush with the head. An easy repair is to drill a smaller hole in the remnant of the stud and tap to take a smaller bolt: Don’t try gorilla force on this repair as it'll probably snap off or strip. The same kind of repair can be employed on other snapped bolts as long as it's not attaching an important structural component.

On smaller screws, usually in the engine when the alloy strips, a useful bodge is to oil the screw very lightly, cover in Araldite (not the fast setting type, though) and screw in lightly after cleaning out the thread with a bit of rag. As long as there's a bit of thread left the Araldite will bond to the alloy, if left overnight, producing a new thread. The oil on the screw will let it come undone, but it's probably better not to use this bodge where the screw has to come out often, nor where it’s going to cause problems if it falls out. Use helicoils if the screw has an important purpose.

Araldite really is wonderful stuff, the best epoxy resin around as long as you're willing to wait 24 hours for it to set properly. The rapid setting variety doesn’t have the same kind of strength. Other uses include bonding pieces of broken fairing, repairing minor brackets and gluing leads back into rectifiers etc.

Superglue’s much overrated, and doesn’t work at all well on some surfaces. However, in minor spills where the bits of indicators or clocks can be collected, Superglue can be used to bond them back together. Done properly, you have to look very closely to see the join. Be aware that you can also bond your hand to the broken component! Other uses for Superglue include gluing small cracks in plastic bodywork, repairing tears in seats and cracks in plastic reflectors,

Plastic Metal's popular for filling in holes in the crankcases (often from a broken chain) but sometimes falls out, emptying the sump of oil! Use as a temporary repair only and don't try to sell a bike with such a bodge without telling the new owner, not unless you want his possible death (from a seized engine hence back wheel) on your conscience. Plastic Metal's also been used for filling small splits in leaking petrol tanks (again temporarily), hiding cracks in frames (very nasty) and silencer repairs (doesn't last long).

Alloy welding offers a more permanent fix to engine holes and cracks. There are a couple of fusion welding kits on the market that let you get away with using a blowtorch. A bit of practice's needed to avoid wrecking the engine but the repair’s as strong as the original aluminium.

Bodywork, seat bases and mudguards, among others, can be repaired using GRP kits (available from Halfords and most car accessory stores). Useful, also, for strengthening after-market fairings which are so thin that they often crack around the mounting brackets. GRP is pretty messy stuff that can stink out the average house; best to work in the garage or open. It’s also possible to produce small pieces of bodywork using GRP on top of cardboard moulds, although usually an awful lot of work’s needed to clean up the finished masterpiece; more useful for desperate street rats than exotic race replicas. The fumes given off by GRP as it sets can also be a bit noxious.

One of the nastiest aspects of low rent motorcycles is the way they disintegrate over a typical British winter. If the bike’s stored away spray WD40 over the engine, wheels and exhaust; it protects as well as penetrates (also hit suspension linkages if you can’t be bothered with proper lubrication). Better still, used Scientific Coatings’ protective liquid on both alloy and paint (though not the bits that get hot). All the grime and grit just washes off and it lasts for years, making it much easier to sell the bike later.

One of the cheapest bodging materials is old inner tubing - never throw this away. Easily cut, moulded or glued, ideal for extra rubber mounting of batteries, electronic components, Silencer brackets (at the frame end, please) and lights.

Silicone or the cheaper mastic sealant has a number of uses, can even be pumped into handlebar ends to help damp out vibration. Also used for sealing coils, electronic boxes, back lights on to mudguards and air filter boxes.

Electronics are a perennial problem on old bikes, not least the rectifier and regulator. Both can cheaply be replaced by components from car accessory stores (less than a tenner the pair), although as they are designed for use inside the car alternator some extra work's needed. The wiring’s fairly obvious if you look closely at the circuit diagram but such a bodge won't work on bikes with field alternators (such as the Yam XS650).

A simpler if more expensive and potentially dodgy solution’s to use second-hand Superdream rectifier/regulators - they work well in the GS series which are renown for naff electronics. In theory, alternator, regulator and rectifier should be matched to each other but by the time the rectifier's blown the alternator will have burnt out as well and there's not much point putting new crap components in. Make sure, though, when mixing and matching rectifiers that it’s up to the power of the alternator. Rewound alternators are available on an exchange basis by return post for around £35; cheap and reliable.

Some bike suffer from very simple faults that can be fixed for next to nothing. Many bikes that run points ignition blow their condenser, leading to poor or impossible starting, evident by arcing across the points. Bike manufacturers charge silly money for replacements, buy one for less than a quid from a car accessory store (they have their uses, after all). Don’t worry if it’s 12 instead of 6 volts, it'll work fine. If the bike has magneto ignition and the replacement’'s too big, run a couple of wires out of the generator and fix the condenser to the frame (out of the weather).

Another use for a condenser, or capacitor, is to stop lights blowing. When there are voltage surges from a fading rectifier or regulator bulbs blow; place a condenser (at least 18V) in parallel with the light, it'll absorb the excess voltages. If this doesn't work either the vibes are getting at the lights, there’s a loose earth wire or the electrical system is about to fail.

Yet another use for a capacitor is as a replacement for a battery, use at least LEA 24V and 5000pF (about 30mm in diameter and 60mm in length). This won't work on bikes with electronic ignition but with points ignition what it does is phase the alternator output with when the ignition needs power, allowing the bike to be kicked into life. The lights and horn will still work, though idle often stalls the engine. Lucas supplied the system (energy discharge ignition) for many trail bikes and the Commando. Rubber mount the capacitor as it’s susceptible to vibration.

Cheap tyres are available from breakers and dealers often sell Japanese rubber that has been pulled off new bikes in favour of superior European stuff. Tyre dealers sell nearly worn out rubber for as little as a fiver a throw. Use washing-up liquid on the tyre’s bead to ease on the rubber. Avons seem to last longer than most, sometimes at the expense of the grip.

Pitted forks can be repaired by filling the holes with Araldite, smoothing down by hand before it sets, then the next day finishing off with a bit of emery cloth. Grease and add a pair of fork gaiters to protect from further damage. Hard chroming is the only other alternative, expensive but long lasting. If there are any crease marks on the forks then they've been straightened, should be swapped for something better as soon as possible - before they break in two!

Brake calipers always seem to seize after a British winter. Spraying with WD40 every week helps, as does using brake grease during reassembly. Some calipers can be modded so that screwing in a couple of bolts pops them apart, much better than the usual swearing fit. Always use after-market brake pads, they are superior (often eliminating wet weather lag) and cheaper. Ferodo seem the best of the bunch.

Nylon coated cables smooth clutch, brake and throttle action and last longer - cheaper, too, if you buy one of the kits. Cables that break at the handlebar end can sometimes be bodged for a short time by using mole-grips on the end. It looks strange and weird but will get you home. Better still, tape spare cables alongside the existing ones.

Modern liquid gasket can replace normal gaskets (but don't block any oil ways) whilst it’s still possible to buy sheets of gasket material to cut your own. Pattern gaskets are cheaper but check they line up with all the oilways in the engine.

Never be without those essential bodging tools, a large hammer and small chisel. Imperative for removing engine screws that have been solidified in the motor by corrosion. Ideal for hacking away at exhaust brackets and useful for frightening small children. I'm never without mine.

Honda CB650

I wanted a flash set of wheels but didn't have the thousands necessary to buy one. What I ended up with was a very neat mild custom Honda 650 Nighthawk. The last in the line of SOHC Honda fours.

With a chromed four into one exhaust that did nothing to ruin the soft power delivery. I didn't mind in the least that all the action was below 100mph. Bright blue and silver were the colours of custom joy. Bars high enough to drain the blood from my mitts and a feel that was so laid back I yearned for the days when lids weren't compulsory and black shades were!

Any old Honda four, however shiny, with more than 42000 miles achieved, is going to be a bit finicky. My first taste was the gearbox action, as slick as a Chinese haircut and noisy as a steel band. Definitely not too cool, but not a great hassle as the bike would run down to 1000 revs in fourth gear without the usual transmission lash. Other than carbs that needed a balance every 750 miles, a couple of balmy summer months went happily by.

Then came the joys of the autumn rains. That old Honda nasty, cutting out in the wet. As a triple or twin the Honda was about as tasty as a pile of shite. In one raging rainstorm the CB cut out completely. I had to get down on my knees before it and empty a can of WD40 over the top of the motor. In the dark the sparking was an impressive fireworks display. Not until I mounted a set of used CBX750 coils on new leads and caps did the dangerous habit abate.

If the upright riding position was a veritable joy in town, and just about acceptable down my favourite back roads, speeds in excess of 70mph were comparable to a few hours on the rack. In the rain my groin was targeted for special attention, ending up looking like I’d pissed myself. An action not entirely unlikely given the rather remote ride and the worn state of the Far Eastern rubber. A new set of Avons were acquired as soon as finances allowed.

Most of the handling woes were then down to worn out suspension and swinging arm bearings. The back end would hop and skip, the front forks quaver at ant sized bumps, and I'd often think I was on some kind of deranged rocking horse. A pair of used but not too abused Hagon shocks were fitted without too much hammering (they were off a CB750) and a mighty fork brace attached out front. A couple of phosphor bronze bearings replaced the decrepit bits of plastic masquerading as swinging arm bushes.

Life became saner after these attentions. The double cradle frame looked tough enough but some idiosyncrasy of the kicked out front end still made for some interesting weaves at 75mph. Throw in character building speed wobbles when a large bump or pot-hole disturbed the poise of the forks. No end of minor adjusting was undertaken trying to sort this out but was as effective as screaming prayers when things got out of hand.

The Honda was thus a bit deceptive. Running calmly and strongly below 70mph only to turn vindictive at the slightest excuse at higher velocities. I let a few mates borrow the Nighthawk, forgetting to explain fully its nature. They came back all shaken up, full of wonder at my prowess, or at least at the minor fact that I was still alive.

Pushing the Honda to 90mph caused it to quiet down a little, although I was totally aware that I was riding a potential death-trap that could throw me down the road at any moment. These heroics became more intense with 110mph cruising, when devilish weaves were combined with a shuddering chassis that felt mere moments off complete disintegration. 120mph was the most I ever dared - and only the once!

The truth was that the engine ran out of power by the time the ton was done, and that secondary vibes doubled with every extra 500 revs. The OHC engine can trace its ancestry back to the CB500/4, which in turn was inspired by the late sixties CB750. The most marked difference between the 750 and 500 being the use of a separate oil tank on the former, a passing tribute to the antiquity of old British twins. The 500 and 650 share another bit of ancient design, the dreaded (hyvo) chain primary drive. Although to be fair to the 650, it tends to rattle and produce a grumbling transmission rather than actually wear out.

Electronic ignition removed one maintenance chore on the 650, but the eight valves need regular attention to their screw and locknut tappets - tedious every 1500 miles or so, but at least I don’t have to fork out for shims every ten minutes. A flurry of secondary vibes around 5000 revs announces the carbs going out of balance. If they are ignored fuel drops from a poor 40mpg to a cataclysmic 30mpg! I actually went as far as taking the carbs off to clean them out (gunge from the rusting tank had gotten into them) but wished I hadn't when I tried to put it all back together again. Oh well, we live and learn a little.

Apart from such chores the motor ran to 69500 miles before it was completely worn out, right down to shot crankshaft and gearbox bearings. The last few weeks were ghastly, with 250 performance and enough noise to announce the second coming. The engine didn’t quite seize but ground to a halt outside work, refusing to start even when pushed by a couple of burly louts. The chassis was still splendid, especially with the suspension mods, so I could not easily abandon the Nighthawk to a fate worse than death - left to rot in the car park where urchins would quickly tear it limb from limb.

My first thought was to pull the motor down and do a quick rebuild. Apart from a couple of screws there was nothing left that was of any use to anyone. My second ploy was to buy MCN and do a lot of phoning around breakers until a good motor turned up. CB650s were never the most popular machines but an engine did turn up after about a week of abuse swapping. No, it couldn't be heard running but for £175 what did I expect?

How about a little civility and truthfulness? No hope! After the usual cursing match the replacement motor was installed and even started after an argument with a car battery. I knew it was a pile of crap within moments. You didn’t need to belong to Scotland Yard to detect the way the vibration made it shuffle across the garage like an old Bonnie.

Nor did you need the acute hearing of a blind man to notice the rattles and knocks. It was the kind of bike that made packs of juveniles throw bricks at it! Such unpleasantness lasted for all of 367 miles when the motor locked up solid. It could’ve been a disaster but we were only doing 20mph and I kicked the bike out of the slide. The back wheel remained locked up until we skidded to a halt - the clutch had just exploded when I grabbed its lever.

Charmed I was not. A week later reports reached my elephant ears of a friend of a friend of a friend whacking into a coach at 50mph. My mind twitched when I realised that his CB500/4 engine would surely fit straight in. The guy was so disillusioned that he said I could take the compacted bike away for £100. Promising, the speedo only read 29 thou.

The engine didn’t go straight in but with modified engine mounts and a spacer on the gearbox sprocket it was wham-bam-mam. To be honest, I couldn't find much difference between the 500 and 650’s performance. I didn’t even feel much difference between the low end grunt. I was so impressed I tore the engine covers off for bead-blasting and did the rest of the motor in matt black (originality was never my strong point). The motor has so far done 15000 miles with the usual maintenance chores (plus points on this engine).

Some chassis malaise showed up as the bike pushed past 80000 miles. The twin front discs had only needed pads every 12500 miles and the odd clean out but by 80 thou the discs were ringing due to thinness, not helped by the heat treatment doled out when both calipers locked up. Replacement with used bits the only cure.

The rear drum’s still there, just, but the exhaust’s hanging on by silvers of chrome. The steering head bearings went and the forks are somewhat loose. Despite all that, I've the feeling that the bike will make it past the 100000 mile mark - just in case it doesn't I've bought a good CB650 mill for £250. Nighthawks are well worth a look.

Ian Sterling

Honda CB350K4

I could smell a bargain a mile away. The advert in the shop window told of a 1973 Honda CB350 twin, a non-runner for 25 notes. No phone number so I had to make the trek on spec. The bike was whole, a bit rusty in places and the motor still turned over. Better still, the owner’s old man would deliver it to my house free of charge within the hour. The deal was struck and the adventure began.

I've lots of experience making old engines run. My immediate suspicions centred on the ignition system. The spark at the plugs was yellow rather than blue. New plugs, same trip. Cleaned and set the points to no avail. New condenser. Nothing’s ever that easy but receiving about 10000 volts via the HT lead put me on the right track. Car coils with new HT leads and caps resulted in a bright blue spark. But still the engine only stuttered rather than started. The next logical place to look was the carburation, although I could smell petrol getting through. The rubber manifolds were intact, as were the diaphragms. Some jerk had screwed the pilot jets right in.

After a bit of trail and error I got the engine sounding positively enthusiastic but not quite firing. The final piece of the puzzle was an OE air filter clogged up with 32000 miles worth of grime. A few strategically placed holes revived the flow characteristics and the motor finally fired up. Nothing’s quite that easy, is it?

The top end rattled and the gearchange was way past its prime. The top end was down to a dead tensioner and camchain, the gearbox had worn out selectors. Whilst I waited for the bits to come from Japan, I set to the chassis with a vengeance. Rust had almost ruined the guards and seat base but GRP and paint revived them. The frame was rubbed down and touched up where necessary. The forks and shocks were handed over to a mate who had a small engineering workshop in his cellar and was able to renovate them for fifty quid. The wheels were painted silver, the chrome long since lost to the mists of time. An expensive round of consumables completed the renovation effort.

What I had was a plain and simple vertical twin of 325cc, about 35 horses and 360lbs. Utterly conventional in almost every aspect, the CB350 was one of the best selling motorcycles ever in the USA, although licensing laws made the 250 version much more popular in the UK. Its looks are somewhere between bland and classic but grow on you with time. My bike was a dark green that still shone up nicely after a bit of T-Cutting.

Once the engine had been reassembled, a relatively painless process, I was all set for some serious riding. Already, there were fitted rear-sets that matched the flat bars much better than the forward mounted pegs that came stock. The seat left me feeling perched atop the machine, but other than that the riding was really easy. A moped graduate would have no problems if he were allowed aboard such a machine, making rather a mockery of the 125 laws.

To be sure, I was initially aware of a top heavy feel that tried to tilt the machine into slow bends but my body soon compensated and I was kicking the bike around like the proverbial juvenile delinquent. Braking, with a TLS front and SLS rear drum, was close to brilliant loads of power and plenty of feel.

The refurbished suspension was rather stiff for modern, ruined roads but stopped any wandering or wallowing. Performance was up to 250 Superdream levels but lacked any kind of viciousness or wickedness; I could just crack the ton in neutral conditions, maybe 105mph flat out down a steep hill. Even when thrashed into the red at unlikely revs, there wasn’t very much vibration. Surprising on a bike of this age and mileage; a testament to the basic correctness of the design and an indictment of nasty things like Superdream balancers that Honda later inflicted upon the world.

This style of older Japanese bikes have taken over from ancient British twins as righteous sickles. Don’t laugh, they have the same kind of performance, are still cheap to buy and run along without too much expense or effort. All attributes that Bonnies and Commandos used to have but they've priced themselves out of the market, these days. If you don’t believe me just look around at the number of cheap chops that’ve been built around old Jap twins. A sure sign of the times.

I felt pretty secure with the Honda's engine but slightly worried by the stories of the chassis cracking up. I'd noticed with alarm the appearance of great gobs of rust at the upper shock studs. My friendly local mechanic tested them with his largest hammer, got the right hand one to fly off. He said not to worry (something about the alarm in my face), the welding torch would solve all. And it did, praise be to primitive technology.

Next on the list of possible disasters was ageing alloy in the drum casings. It’s not unknown for old hubs to crack up after 20 years of service. A weekly jet wash and inspection kept some kind of peace of mind. However, after about 6000 miles the rear drum started to crack up. Alloy welding didn't inspire much confidence in such an important component. A used back wheel was found in the small ads of one of the other magazines.

There was no guarantee that this wasn’t about to disintegrate but in the greater scheme of things it was a risk I was willing to take. bin Eventually, some 14000 miles further down the line I ended up with a pair of Bonnie wheels (with concentric hubs), forks and shocks, making the similarities between the breeds all the more noticeable. A couple of Brit bike fanatics made nasty noises about my misuse of Triumph components but in general the little Honda was received well wherever I went.

The stiff Triumph suspension and powerful brakes allowed me to ride the Honda right at the limits of engine performance. With 52000 miles on the clock such levels of abuse couldn't last for long. Sure enough the pipes began smoking and top speed decreased to a mind nurturing 80mph. The top end was OK but the bores and pistons looked like they’d been around the clock a few times. Replacements were already to hand, in the form of CB250K3 barrels bored to take high compression pistons, a popular move back in the seventies when the porkers were unable to tell that the motor was bored to 325cc. Still useful, today, as it brings down the cost of road tax and insurance (damn, I should've bought the 250).

Out of sheer respect for the motor I bunged in new top end gaskets and added a shiny new set of exhausts. The engine, given a gentle bit of running in, managed to push the Honda to all of 110mph. Some replica jockeys were quite surprised at the way the bike would cruise along at 95mph (in excellent comfort, I might add) and, also, at the angles of lean it'd take (the stands had their prongs ground down and the Triumph suspension made the bike ride an inch or so higher). Acceleration was, it has to be admitted, rather stately by modern standards, a lot of effort needed to see off derestricted TZR125s, and the like.

Much to everyone’s annoyance (I mean there’s nothing like getting up the nose of people who spend thousands on new bikes, is there?) the CB ran with an almost miraculous lack of faults to 82000 miles when the camshaft bearings, rockers and valves were all dead meat. The thing with these kind of bikes, rather like MZ250s, is that along the way you tend to collect all kinds of rats and out of this accumulation of junk, er, valuable future classics, I had the necessary bits to fix it.

However, the purchase of a bargain priced FZR600 with ruined plastic meant I had my hands full. This was my first replica and the performance turned out to be so stunning that I left the Honda to rot. There’s no excuse for this kind of neglect, other than rampant self-indulgence. If any UMG readers want to buy a CB350 plus several rat CB250/350s then drop me a line via the UMG. About £250 seems right! CB350’s are neat motorcycles with a future.

John Trent

How to destroy a five year old Yamaha YB100 in six months.

Some old guy had looked after the Yamaha very nicely and only done 16000 miles. We had a pretty big argument over whether the smokescreen was heavier than it should be and whether the drum shoes were worn out or not. I’m not sure who won but I got fifty quid off the price and paid £300. Of course, none of my mates believed this low cunning and laughed just as hard at the machine's commuter appearance, dominated by heavy guards and that pressed steel frame that was also employed in the FS1E (engines will swap, there’s the odd, strange pervert riding around on a moped powered YB)

After a week of running around without mechanical incident, only falling off three times due to the completely ineffective brakes, I decided the smokescreen wasn't a sign of knackered bearings. The combination of a 70mph top speed and nearly 100mpg showed that the engine still had plenty of life left. Acceleration didn’t exactly frighten me to death but kept most cars in line up to 50mph.

The brakes went soggy whenever I did an emergency stop from such a speed, proving only that my heart was able to withstand massive stress. The front’s lever would come right back to the bars without seeming to pull the bike up. Riding off the road had strong retardation qualities (for both bike and I, as I often felt I belonged in a lunatic asylum) but as a trail bike the YB gave every impression of falling apart fast. Even on smooth roads I was bumped about in the saddle, the rough stuff akin to being on the big-dipper.

That was how I ended up howling home with a cracked silencer. The constipated engine had trouble catching pushbikes and I didn’t even bother to kick the riders off as the earache was punishment enough. Finding a used silencer was a cinch; loads of YBs end up crashing into cars due to the lack of brakes and the oiled coated exhaust doesn’t rust rapidly. Unless a lot of destructive force is involved the chassis is quite tough.

After a month I was convinced the engine was about to seize up. Cruising along at 70mph for more than ten minutes I could feel the motor tightening up. If I persisted, which I tended to do, then the back wheel momentarily locked up until I hit the clutch lever over which my hand hovered nervously. The engine freed up straight away and didn’t repeat the trick if I sauntered along at 60 to 65mph with just the occasional outing to the magic 70mph.

This wasn’t all that great a loss as an awful lot of gearbox action was needed to maintain that final 5mph and the resulting blurred vibes did rotten things to my eyesight. Against a head wind or up a steep hill, speed could fall right back to less than 50mph. Riding with a pillion had a similar effect. With a mass of less than 200Ibs and only 10 horses, external variables could play havoc with my attempts at breaking the law. There was absolutely nothing in reserve to scoot off down the road when the plod showed up.

Desperate pleading had the required effect when I was stopped for doing 45mph through town. Luckily, I clocked them in the mirrors, which became miraculously clear between 40 and 50mph, in time to abort the planned 60mph howl past the local school. I’m not sure why I delighted in such antics as it was impossible to drop a line of chatter on any young girls in those circumstances.

The only time I lost a cop car was after we’d screeched up a one-way street the wrong way at a wicked pace. I turned left, knowing full well that the short stretch of road was blocked off to cars by pavement and bollards. I managed a small wheelie up on to the pavement, grinning at the squeal of brakes behind me. Blow me if one of the cops didn’t come belting out of the car, wild on his plates of meat. A bit of throttle left him eating the bitter exhaust fumes and I had enough time to make it to my house before the helicopters arrived.

After two months the seizing up started at 65mph and the mill needed a good ten minutes of cooling before she freed up. Someone told me to push the bike backwards in gear to free up the engine but it made no difference that I could see. I changed the oil to a synthetic type and put in a harder grade of spark plug. The result was that it went back to 70mph cruising without seizing for a good half an hour.

By then 23000 miles were on the clock and the chassis was falling apart fast. The brakes were the most obvious failing. Even new shoes and cleaning out half a kilo of asbestos dust didn't help. The brakes might’ve been just adequate for the average Joe going to work and back every day, but for any juvenile out to impress they were crap.

It wasn't as if the Yam had an ace chassis that allowed it to be flicked out of harm’s way. The steering was vague, the damping pathetic and the frontend surprisingly heavy going given the low mass. One amusing trait was the way the bike would veer from side to side if I released the death-grip on the bars. In an adventurous mood I discovered that this was caused by steering head bearings with lots of little dents in them. Probably the result of my experimenting with the tightness of the steering head stem. New bearings helped a little, but the suspension was so worn that I still had to expend a lot of muscle correcting all the wanderings. Not impossible to make it through the corners but the constant fight left little room for finesse - at least my vocal chords had a good workout when the fear set in.

They needed all the training they could get to help out the horn that could never be heard over the rasping exhaust. The quality of the horn was reflected in the rest of the 6V electrics. The switches went haywire in the wet and the lights made night riding as adventurous as sleep-walking in Rio. It was the rear light that caused the one serious accident. At tickover it flickered on and off, so it wasn't that surprising that a speeding car didn’t see me until the last moment. The first I knew of it was screeching brakes, then a huge detonation just before I was hurled through the air. The bike was crunched and I landed heavily on my head. So heavily that I had to wear a neck-brace for a month. It was supposed to be for six months but I'd had enough of the sniggering and excessive physical abuse.

Meanwhile, the Yam was left out in the garden to rust away under the autumn rains. Rather than 26 thou it looked like it had been around the clock - twice. The wheels were also slightly out of line, corrected by the highly technical method of hitting the swinging arm with a large lump-hammer. I had to be careful, though, as the arm was very rusty. A couple of tins of rust-proof paint were thrown at the bike and bye-bye pedestrian blues. My neck was very pained for the first couple of weeks but I survived.

You may’ve gathered that I’m not the most sensitive soul in the whole world, or even Brum, but even I could tell there was something seriously amiss. The engine made some strong knocking noises, the exhaust covered whole streets in smog and the acceleration made old gits on C50s look fast. I tried to close my mind to these horrors and rode on blithely for a couple of months.

By the end, top speed was down to 40mph and fuel had increased to 45mpg. Oil consumption kept whole Arab economies turning over. I kept going until the front fork springs broke! It seemed impossible to break the engine. It seized up often but always freed when left to cool. The forks broke at about 15mph and I avoided being thrown off. Just had my groin whacked by the bars. I was so pissed off I left the rotted machine in the gutter. I doubted that there was anything I could salvage from either the engine or chassis. The clock read 33 thou. No doubt had I ridden it sedately, done some maintenance and kept the thing clean it would've lasted a lot longer.

T. Knowles