Monday 28 February 2011

Yam XJ/XS Big Fours

How to blow up an XS1100. Not easy. Not when it was one of those bikes. You know the kind. One owner, always immaculately maintained and only 14000 miles in nine years. Winters? It was hauled into the house! When I turned up to view the Yamaha I was gobsmacked. Looked and sounded like brand spanking new.

It was much easier to fall off the XS rather than blow its motor. Mainly because the dopey bugger had left the suspension stock. The XS had 550lbs of ill-distributed mass. On soggy suspension it took merely an ill-judged bit of throttle work in corners to get it coming apart at the seams.

The direct connection to the motor's power and the shaft final drive gave a very jerky ride. That alone sufficient to upset the chassis in the bends. Further exploration of the bike was deemed likely to be highly suicidal. At that point, no way I could abuse the motor's 95 horses.

The one other area where time hadn't been kind to the bike was the braking. The discs were probably crap from new - it was that era of machinery. A visit to the breakers was in order. A very late XJ900 front end was hardly state of the art but it went on with a minimum amount of hassle. Cost a hundred notes, the old stuff part-exchanged. The breaker found me a pair of R & R shocks for forty quid, went straight on.

The back end was very stiff, the front still a bit soft. But at least the massive shuffling of the rear end was obviated. The front bounced around a little on fast exits from bends but I could control it with a bit of muscle on the bars. I liked the riding position, lacked the extremes of the replicas.

In second and third I was able to wind the throttle all the way open. The exhaust had a manly roar that went ballistic when the red-line was crossed. At low revs the engine felt a bit tractor-like. Then it smoothed out as the power and torque poured in. But come 6000 revs the secondary vibes ruled supreme. It's a big old straight four in the old fashioned mould. You get what you expect - a certain amount of violence accompanying the headier reaches of the power band.

Being vicious by nature, I held the throttle fully open in third on a long straight. By the time the ton had come up on the clock, my hands and feet were threatening to lose their nails! And my knees, where I clamped them on the big petrol tank, were tingling away. Were I a mechanical sophisticate I would've immediately backed off in deference to engine longevity. But I'm not, wanted to see if I could blow the motor in short order. I soon coped out. Whilst it felt far from bullet-proof, when my eyesight began to blur I knew it was going to win out. At least for that day.

I soon added a hefty fork brace to the front forks. Still not perfect, but every little bit helps. Now able to run flat out in fourth, the taller gear mitigating the secondary vibes. Hurling the XS through 120mph curves was fun. Kind of. The chassis felt extremely nervous, as if it was going to let loose at any moment. A few singular twitches of the handlebars gave me an idea of the violence that was hidden within the chassis.

Top gear runs were limited to 130mph - plenty more power to come but the speed wobble that coincided with that velocity was well wicked. The first time it happened, slammed the throttle shut and it faded away. Tried the same trick on the second wobble and it went totally wild. Had to wind it open again! Soon became clear that the bike's biggest trick was its total unpredictability!

After some experimentation, I found it was very susceptible to the front tyre pressure - out by as little as 2psi it could go very vicious. Even perfectly set, on newish tyres, the speed wobble didn't go away but it was more or less controllable. The best way to fight back was to gently loosen one's grip on the bars. Let the wobble die down of its own accord. Given the upright riding position, the lack of ultimate speed was no great loss.

One fun thing to do with XS11's is to take a pillion out and get the bike to do a speed wobble. Even more fun if he's a cager rather than a hardened biker, though even one of those got off the bike all weak kneed! Must've put at least half a dozen people off motorcycling! Not surprisingly, these fun and games soon led to chassis bearing demise. The bike not safe above 30mph, but easily fixed.

Because the big engine wallowed in torque, most of the time the revs weren't excessive. Hence 45mpg. Not bad for such a heavy old bruiser. Oil consumption too moderate to note. Tyres about 4000 miles, brake pads 6000 miles. Not too heavy on the running costs, at least compared to modern iron.

Back to how to blow up an XS11. With 48,400 miles on the clock the bike developed a heavy oil leak from the clutch cover. Coincided with a mad London to Land's End and back dash. I really thrashed the Yam, had to keep up with a couple of bro's on GPZ900's. Within 30 miles of London, gave the old girl a flat out blast in third. Grinding secondary vibes reached new levels of intrusion. There was a huge bang and a locked up back wheel.

By the time I braved the clutch lever, the back tyre was down to the carcass! Basically, the engine had lost all its oil and destroyed its crankshaft. The bearings on the latter are rumoured to be a bit dodgy after 50,000 miles. No real excuse for such neglect but for some strange reason I was sporting a fierce grin!

By the time I'd arranged for the XS to be returned to base I was totally pissed off with it and let it go for a mere 100 notes. The next bike was an XJ900, not a particularly nice one. But at 600 quid for a 34000 miler I couldn't really complain. Felt a bit constipated after the 1100 but a bit of throttle work soon had me grinning from ear to ear.

The XJ900 isn't actually viewed as a sweet babe with regards to handling. But it at least made a passing stab at weight distribution and steering geometry. After the big Yam it felt like a middleweight. Unfortunately, the first time I went over 120mph it speed wobbled just like the XS. What is it with these big Yamahas?

After much carnage, involving three lanes of highway, it pulled out of the tank-slapper. Sailed along with a suspicious sereneness. The problem wasn't intrinsic to the XJ, even if the early ones had a terrible reputation for speed wobbles. No, the problem was the Avon rear tyre that had cracks in it! Cold meat!

Once a new set of Michelins were fitted the bike would purr up to 135mph! Well, not purr exactly, the engine still rough and ready. Compared to the XS1100 it was rather sophisticated! It did have a rather harsh buzz at 90mph. Rather inconvenient as I considered this a reasonable cruising speed. I could change down a gear, but then the motor seemed a bit frenetic. The ton was smoother, but the plod rejoiced.

The braking was similar to my modded XS. Good for most of the time, could catch me out in the wet and didn't like being hammered from 130mph. Too much judder. Oddly, the calipers were much more short-lived than the ones on the XS. The calipers seized up every 6000 miles, or so. They needed new seals and a rigorous clean up. I was using EBC rather than Ferrodo pads, maybe the former were churning out more asbestos debris? I only thought about this in retrospect...

The bike lasted for 28000 miles, when the top end began to smoke heavily. A few miles later, the bottom end was knocking clearly. Probably down to my not changing the oil for 10,000 miles. Before it seized, I traded in at a local dealer. The new bike an an import Yamaha XJ750. Hey, these big Yams get to you in the end.

The 750 was 10hp down on the bigger four's 90 horses but weighed the same, just under 500lbs. It seemed more stable and the relative lack of top end urge meant it didn't speed wobble. There were plenty of back end weaves, down to fairly weak shocks. I wasn't too worried as they never developed into anything nasty. Even with more than a 100,000 miles under its wheels they never got any worse; worn as much as they were going to wear.

One problem I hadn't experienced before turned up - poor starting and cutting out. Especially in the wet. The shorty front mudguard was rapidly swapped for something more useful but made no difference. Nothing's that easy, is it? After much poking away at things, I decided that the coils were substandard. An XJ900 set from the nearest breaker sorted that. Hey presto, good starting and no more cutting out.

A leaking carb bowl due to a faulty float valve was next to intrude. Natch, it was one of the centre carbs, requiring massive disassembly of the bike to fix! Took three attempts to get it to work properly.

The clock read 49000 miles, the logbook had seven owners. Explained the rather worn state and constant need for fettling. A series of fast wearing chassis bearings followed by seizure of the front calipers soon had me tearing my hair out.

The engine needed undue revs to make it shift. Waste of time to use it below 6000 revs, 7000rpm better still. Come eleven grand the vibration went into a real grind; worse yet than the XS1100! But most of the power had done a runner by 10,000 revs so really not worth the effort. Unless, like me, you had a sadistic bent!

The gearbox was the worst I've yet to experience on a Yamaha. Took me 5000 miles before I got the hang of it. The best that could be said for it was that it never got any worse as the mileage piled up. Despite the early hassles and the thought that it was surely due for a rebuild sometime soon, I managed to get 60,000 miles out of the bike. And was still able to sell it.

This was surely down to the fact that the gearchange became impossible if I didn't do the oil changes every 500 miles! This is the simplest way of getting good mileage out of an old Jap. The valves and carbs were done every 10,000 miles - they probably needed it more often but I didn't need the hassle.

So goodbye XJ750, hello a totally outrageous beastie - a turbo XJ1100T. An extremely rare machine, the importer wasn't sure if it was a stocker or an American special. Someone with a sick sense of humour had turned this out with a mild custom look and then hastily added an handlebar fairing. The dealer reckoned 125 horses and I wasn't going to argue with that!

Figure about 600lbs. At very low speeds this was a very heavy motorcycle but with 25mph or more on the clock it didn't need too much effort on the wide bars. High speed corners, though, needed lots of muscle as the bike had a front end bias that wanted it to keep going straight on. A real joy when the turbo power blasted in!

Ah, that turbo! There was a slight lag, but it just seemed to intensify the blast when it went down. Jerked my whole being and nearly gave me an out of body experience. Great fun on the straights but you didn't really want to play with that power coming out of the bends! Not unless you liked to feel a chassis go all hinged in the middle and rejoice in playing chicken with oncoming cagers or walls!

Not a very practical machine. I was plain frightened of riding it in the wet! The brakes were very harsh, too. Less than a month after buying it, it was sold at a nice profit. What next? An XS1.1, of course!

Brian Williams

Triumph 750 Tiger

The bike had been slung to the back of my garage for many a year. What grabbed my attention was the offer of a recently rebuilt engine out of a crashed bike. A well built T140 motor is a veritable joy! And I knew the owner was a proper bike mechanic not the usual bodger. Cash changed hands and the old girl was rolled out from the garage. On its rims as the tyres had perished! The whole chassis was splattered with rust but, surprisingly, it wasn't that deep-seated - most of it cleaned off with a bit of elbow grease and a damp rag. Even the chrome was in pretty good shape, all things considered.

The same couldn't be said for the electrics, the insulation rotten, the battery corroded solidly white. A wiring loom was ordered and a suitable battery found in the breakers, where I also picked up a switch cluster (off some old Honda) and a pair of tyres. New cables were made up, nylon lined as the clutch needs all the help it can get.

The engine was basically stock but taken right down, blue-printed, and lovingly reassembled. I'd go as far as to say that it was better than anything the factory assembly-line ever managed. This was immediately evident when I got her fired up - quiet, oil tight and very smooth (for a British twin). Most people reckon that the single carb 650 (or even the 500) offered the best combination of torque and smoothness but a mildly tuned 750 has that added bit of urge without that much extra vibration - if meticulously assembled, ratty ones can be pretty awful!

A few grazed knuckles, a pile of nearly new consumables, some help throwing the motor into the frame and the usual head scratching getting all the electrics to work as the manufacturer had intended. In most ways the Triumph's a very straight-forward machine that's as easy as can be to work on!

We're talking about 45 horses in a 400lbs chassis. On paper that doesn't sound brilliant but the Tiger had something of a vintage charm, chugging away from 1000 revs onwards, hardly ever needing to go beyond five grand, Which was lucky because from then on the primary vibes increased in intensity in an exponential manner. Anyone who runs this kind of mill at seven grand must be very insensitive to internal stresses, not to mention the physical punishment resultant from the fierce vibration.

The gearing was very tall, so much so that the heavy clutch had to be slipped in first gear when moving off on a steep gradient. Took a fraction of a second for the torque to catch up with the back wheel and propel the bike forwards. The primary chain would, on occasion, clatter away quite loudly and there was the odd bit of clutch judder, but it all cleaned up as revs rose past the 1500rpm mark. From then onwards it was maximum happiness.

The grunty engine was complemented by the sharp chassis. Fresh fork oil and a couple of new seals were all that was needed to reinvent the Tiger's taut suspension. The previously well greased chassis bearings had survived their period of rest intact. Large of wheel and narrow of tyre section, the Triumph relied on a relatively low centre of gravity and good steering geometry rather than the outright stickiness of modern iron.

The ride was full of interest, could feel the tyres reacting against the tarmac and the bumps rumbled through the chassis. I was well braced by the riding position, the large petrol tank gripped firmly between my knees, could take most of the road abuse. The Triumph held its line even when shook about and could be heeled over as far as the rubber allowed (various prongs and brackets had been cut back; standard ground clearance a very definitive limiting factor).

I could surprise many Jap bikes with the Tiger's fluidity in the tighter curves, thud inside them in top gear whilst they went berserk on their gearchanges. Of course, their high rev power so exultant that they soon came flying past in revenge mode; not wanting to be put down by a rider and machine both ensconced in vintage ways. I doubt very much that they could match my 60mpg in spirited riding nor the 70mpg that resulted from mild running!

But then they didn't have to become very involved with their machines. The Triumph's Boyer electronic ignition was more or less maintenance free but that was merely one mountain climbed. I found it necessary to do the four valves every 250-300 miles, the exhausts' prone to tightening up. The singular carb solved the perennial need of balancing the Bonnie's twin Amals but the slow running circuit needed a daily tweak - to compensate for humidity changes? The primary chain and about two hundred bolts needed frequent, tedious attention if the bike wasn't to rattle itself into an early grave. Only because all the electrical components were mounted on extra rubber did they escape serious debilitation.

Of course, it all depends what kind of mileage you do on a Triumph twin. The Tiger wasn't my main machine and it soon settled into the role of a weekend toy that provided a blast of my past youth, nostalgia personified! So I'd do a couple of hundred miles over the weekend and then tinker with the bike for a couple of hours one evening during that dead time between coming home from work and getting into the serious TV dramas.

In such a role are old British twins immensely popular, whole packs of born-againers going on unlikely runs and generally living it up. Two to three grand, or even more, the normal entrance price. My bike ain't immaculate, nor even totally original, so is probably worth around the 2500 quid mark. I'm not pressed for cash and enjoy my outings, so I'll be keeping the old beast for a few years yet!

G. Jaminson

BSA A65


Bring on the clowns, my first thought. This big fat guy with a silly moustache radiated self belief in the kind of way that made me want to take a hammer to his head. At the very least it would knock some sense into him. Daft bugger, was shacked up with three girls young enough to be his daughters, all crammed into a tiny bedsit. The BSA was slung in the front garden of the house. One of the girls muttered something about a dead battery, was silenced by a hard glare from the guy - something out of a pantomime, so obviously a set-up. Did I look that stupid? Probably!

The bike wouldn't start but clunked over on the kickstart with a bit of violence. He wanted a 1000 notes - can you believe these guys? I assumed the engine was beyond easy revival and rated the chassis in good nick, so was maybe worth 400 sovs if I was feeling generous. I wasn't, offered 300 quid. Jesus, the pained look on the guy's face was worth framing. After much haggling he'd come down to 700 notes, but wouldn't budge down to my maximum, highly optimistic, price of 500 quid.

I left my phone number, took him 24 hours to come on line, whining about being willing to accept 600 sovs but I wouldn't budge. Take it or leave it. He took it. I made damn sure that the frame and engine numbers matched those in the logbook before handing over the money. After removing the rusted up chain, I managed to push the bike the three-quarters of a mile home. Worth the effort? Yep, running, these BSA's are worth anything from two to four grand and the chassis was mostly stock if somewhat faded.

Predictably, the engine was the usual disaster area. Cracked valves and cylinder head, the gudgeon pins (circlips missing) so loose they had scored the bores, the main bearings far gone and the primary chain so elastic it could be taken off the sprockets. The gearbox seemed to work okay. A late A65 mill, of somewhat mixed parentage, with a singular carb was available from this guy I know for 600 sovs but the old mill taken in part-ex - at least it would stop my garage getting all cluttered up with useless bits of British engines. A bit of work on the engine mounting holes had the motor fixed in the frame.

BSA A65 engines come in a great variety of forms - everything from the mildest imaginable 35hp slogger up to a rip-snorting 55hp sportster, all dependent on the state of the top end. Mine was at the lower end of the scale, with soft camshafts and the aforementioned single Amal. All its business was done by 6000 revs, there wasn't really much need to go above five grand. The good side of the motor was excellent torque from 1500rpm up and a relative lack of vibration that went with its mild nature. This, all immediately apparent on the first ride, the bike more of an old friend than a challenge to the senses... you won't find any Jap bikes that churn out the torque like these old Brits.

Okay, before we all get carried away and start burning Japanese flags, if not their motorcycles, it ought to be noted that the first ride was accompanied by the carb coming loose and the motor conking out! Right in the middle of the usual crowd of Sunday afternoon tourists who began to look worried when the strong smell of petrol wafted their way. The dead motor also locked into third gear, the heavy clutch and crunchy lever fighting back against my manic efforts, making it almost impossible to roll out of the way. I'd always yearned after a double hernia!

The carb reattached, neutral found, a few manly kicks had her chuff-chuffing away and it was back to hurtling down the country roads. Suspension was stiff and lacking in travel, but the handling was dependably neutral with a little effort needed on the bars. Thumped up to 85mph before going a bit dead, the vibes beginning to shake the whole chassis. 70-75mph coincided with a usefully smooth point in the engine's output, with that little bit of punch left to get me out of trouble.

The conical hub TLS front drum was a bit of a heart stopper, though, combining both fade and judder - didn't have much idea if it was going to work or not. The rear SLS would lock up the back wheel at the merest hint of pressure. The best way to slow down was to shut the throttle shut, but the engine braking was so heavy that it made the somewhat ancient chain - the kind of straggly item the Jap's would use on a C90 - try to jump off the sprockets, clattering and rattling its way to an early death.

It was much easier to fit a new chain than sort out the front brake, a notoriously difficult item that Triumph should've kept all to themselves. The cost of having it relined, buying new shoes and cable, added up to more than a used wheel with a proper BSA TLS drum, so I went that route, knowing it would also cut down on future hassle. And jolly good it was, too. Nowhere near as strong as even a mediocre disc in terms of outright stopping power but loads of feedback and feel that made it a delight to use on less than perfect roads or in rainy conditions; especially when those obstacles turned up together.

Thudding around on the BSA had its ups and downs. Those of a kind disposition would call the clutch manly but I usually ended up swearing at it in town. The gearing was such that first needed too many revs, second had the motor fluffing at low speeds, and it seemed happiest just off the throttle in third, which meant it was going a touch too fast. Clutch slip was just a quick way to warp the plates The bike was happiest in top gear with more than 50mph on the clock, though it would slog down to tickover and ever so gently canter off.

Handling, like the clutch and the front brake, needed a bit of manly input, mainly down to the large front wheel, but stability couldn't be faulted despite, what by modern standards, was a minimal amount of suspension travel. The seat was plush and comfy, the bars and pegs worked well together regardless of the velocities that the engine could manage. The BSA was the epitome of practicality - or would've been had the motor not needed frequent attention.

Old British twins vary enormously, from near disaster areas to a brilliant concoction of torque and frugality. One sample of any model can be brilliant, another a rolling disaster area. My engine soon showed signs of the latter. After 1300 miles, starting became very difficult. New spark plugs every week helped - for a while. Then it needed about 20 kicks, huffing and puffing up the road in a most reluctant manner whilst unleashing a huge amount of vibration. The guy who sold me the mill reckoned that it was dead valve rockers and maybe the main bearings were beginning to knock. Adding that it was about time that I did the decent thing and upgraded via those nice chaps at SRM.

Sounded expensive to me, for a machine that was slower than my friend's 400 Superdream, itself rebuilt and beginning to smoke again. I took the head off but it all looked okay to me - until I turned the crank over and noticed some heavy score marks in the right-hand cylinder bore. Taking the barrels off revealed a broken up ring and the suspected loose main bearings.

The bike was sold like that for 600 quid. Not a total disaster but in terms of kicks per quid a bit of a dead loss. I could see that a decent motor allied to the agile chassis would produce some good times but the chances of finding one at a reasonable price are not high.

Al Crowther

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There was a time when I hitched up a big double adult sidecar to the BSA A65. We all go through these periods of being brain-washed out of our minds, when the family rules and being a good citizen really matters. It's all bullshit, of course, but back then it didn't stop me trying. God knows, I tried but all I ended up with was a knife in the back and a divorce which left me with the BSA as my sole possession.

Attaching a huge chair to a '67 BSA 650 Thunderbolt was easy enough but controlling it was a whole different game. I'd previously changed the sprockets to give much taller gearing which had the clutch smouldering on take-off. The whole thing wobbled, weaved and veered with a mind of its own. I could only take it for a month, narrowly avoiding turning into a nervous wreck.

The wife protested at my proposal (or begging plea if you want to be literal) but the high point of the combo venture was reached shortly after that argument. The single carb Thunderbolt didn't normally vibrate intensely, but the added weight of the combo and passengers had upset the old bugger. Resulting from the constant vibes the sidecar brackets loosened, which put a huge stress on them.

The first I knew of this was the whole device shuddering as we approached a bend at about 40mph. I lined up for the corner, opened up the throttle (the alternative was driving straight off the road with a sidecar attached) and almost killed myself when the sidecar shot off on its own. Accelerating into a corner was not recommended on a solo BSA, which freed of the extra mass appeared suddenly turbo-charged. Somehow we scrambled around the blasted bend.

The sidecar, with wife and kids screaming, went for an off-road outing, eventually landing on its side. The wife's head had punched out the plastic side-window, allowing me to pull her and then the kids out. To the day of the divorce she maintained that it was a deliberate act of attempted murder and refused ever again to enter any vehicle that I was controlling. The sidecar was left where it lay, not worth the hassle of reviving.

I bought the A65 new and have kept it in reasonable though not immaculate shape over the past 28 years. Mileage is over a quarter of a million, with full rebuilds every 75000 miles and an extra top end rebuild in between. Maintenance's a 500 mile chore - points, valves and going over all the bolts. I haven't fitted electronic ignition because I know people who have who ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere when the vibes blew up the electronics.

The Thunderbolt, with its single carb and mild cams, isn't highly tuned, only giving 40 horses and 100mph. Forget using more than 6000 revs, not only do the vibes start churning in but the power's run out by then. As large OHV vertical twins go, this one's a big softy. Had there not been a bit of endemic primary drive slop from the triplex chain, then it'd have pulled from the 800rpm tickover in fourth gear.

80mph cruising is well within the bounds of the motor, the sensible riding position not causing any pains and the engine settling into a smooth niche that would surely shock those mounted on Japanese machines. I quite often astound youths by passing them, they viewing the vintage appearance of the BSA with a mixture of awe and outrage.

The chassis is well up to these games, but only after the standard eight inch SLS drum's replaced with the TLS unit. Whatever the traffic conditions of the day, the old unit gave the impression that it would've had trouble halting a Bantam, let alone the 425lbs of the BSA. I like to think that the excess of mass equalled sturdiness and helped absorb the vibration. The guards, tank and panels are still original, hefty items all!

Handling's steady and slow, ground clearance problems on bumpy roads spoils stability especially when the stands dig in. Modified stand prongs help but then the fixed footrests start grinding away, but at least that doesn't shake the whole machine. The Avon SM's don't allow wild angles of lean even on dry roads, but wear, of over 15000 miles, more than compensates.

New suspension starts out nicely taut but every 20,000 miles the forks need rebuilding and I replaced the shocks with Koni's ages ago. Suspension travel's only a few inches so it's just as well that the riding position's so natural, letting my body soak up the shocks from the deeper pot-holes. I have done 500 miles in one day without becoming a physical wreck so even on modern roads it's not that far out of the game.

Long distance running's aided by good fuel economy, 50 to 65mpg. With a four gallon tank 200 miles between fill-ups is common, which is just about all my backside can take in one go. An eye has to be kept on the oil tank because hard running will burn off about a pint every 250 miles and there are a couple of bolts that invariably loosen off in that kind of distance. Familiarity breeds confidence.

In the early days I had any number of hassles with the venerable twin. A lot were down to the electrics, which must've been a Friday afternoon special. Connectors were so loose they fell out as I was riding along. Annoying, as sometimes the engine ground to a halt, others the lights would go out. The dealer wasn't amused when I demanded a new loom, eventually agreed that I could have one if I fitted it myself. I did, replacing the connectors with soldered joints.

After that bit of fun I only had to worry about the Lucas rectifier and zener diode, both notorious for burning out but cheap enough to carry a couple of spares. At least the electrics were 12V which meant a decent car reflector could be forced into the headlamp. At one point I fitted a high power Lucas alternator, which allowed a brilliant front light but melted the zener diode. A higher capacity replacement saved the day. Overall, once sorted, the electrics proved quite reliable.

Because I came to know the way the engine ran rather intimately, ever aware when some component was on the way out, on the road breakdowns have been quite rare. The odd problem with the points, electrics and primary chain being most likely to intrude into the great pleasure I derived from riding the old twin. High mileage has not fazed its abilities because during each rebuild I improve on the engine internals. Roller bearing conversion for the crankshaft which was also dynamically balanced, lightened, polished valve gear, ported cylinder head, uprated pistons, etc., etc.

It's dead easy to buy tuning gear for these models as the same basic engine served as the basis for several different models, many bits just needing to be bolted on. But the charm of a big vertical twin's the surge of low and mid range torque rather than trying to get them to rev to eight grand when if the mechanical stress doesn't blow the motor the vibes will atomize the poor old rider. No, softly, softly's the name of the game.

The chassis, with bearings that won't last much past 20,000 miles (including the wheels), is more or less as BSA made it. All the cables are made up by myself, have nylon inners, which make an amazing difference to the smoothness and lightness of the controls. And the clutch needs as much help as it can get, because the lever's heavy in town, although it will slog along in third gear if I'm gentle on the throttle. There's a large gap between second and third that'll have the back wheel hopping and skipping all over the place on poorly co-ordinated downchanges. Alloy rims and stainless spokes were added when the old wheels threatened to rust through.

Obviously, I like the BSA the way it is, and it's been a good companion all these years. The lure of a new Triumph 750 Trident's very heavy at the moment but as the BSA will only fetch £2500 in today's market I'm not really in a position to do the dastardly deal. I think if BSA had developed the Thunderbolt's virtues rather than just tried to make the twins go faster they might still be in business today.

Dick Wilson

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Spring Madness. A totally re-engineered 1968 BSA A65. As tough and reliable as any Japanese twin. A large redundancy payment and no ties. Freedom and the open road beckoned. Wild winds blew in off the North Sea as I headed for Hull. In Zeebruge it was even worse. The ferry had rocked and rolled but my dinner had stayed in my stomach. I was worried that the BSA might come loose from its single rope lashing. I was lucky, a wimpy GPz305 was thrown into a cage. I left the owners slugging it out with each other. The sailors found it hilarious.

Riding on the wrong side of the road was amusing. Had to keep telling myself to keep the throttle in the gutter. I slouched around the ferry terminal, completely lost. I only realised there weren't any apparent customs when I hit the car park. What a change from the UK. They assume you're a drug dealer, terrorist or just plain undesirable.

Zeebruge didn't look very nice at all. With the howling North Sea gale freezing me in my boots, I hit the main route into Brussels. I'd read that the Belgians were all lunatics behind the wheel but they seemed no worse than the UK cagers. The BSA bopped along in the slow lane. Quite happy at 75mph and 4000rpm. The exhaust, a home-made stainless steel 2-1, growled reassuringly. The bike would go faster but the cruiser riding position became uncomfortable. The flat countryside reminded me of the Lincolnshire Fens.

The signs are a bit confusing. That's how I ended up in the centre of Brussles. I thought I was on the road to Luxembourg! Loads of old buildings plus the odd office block. Piles of cars that tried to ignore the traffic lights. I think they would've been better off switching them on to green permanently. The BSA in second, riding on the throttle. Twisting, braking, swearing. I finally got into the swing of things. Ride like a manic despatch rider. Ignore the lights and the gesticulations of the cops.

On to a fast flowing ring road, then, finally, the road for Luxembourg. I think I went around Brussles three times before I found it. Two hours of cold and rain. Just like England. I had a friend working in Luxembourg, a free bed for the night. The big, five gallon, alloy tank still had some fuel left. Thanks to the single carb and about 65mpg.

My friend in Luxembourg didn't have a good word for the place. We hung out in a couple of jazz clubs but they lacked soul. Too antiseptic and predictable. There was little of the nightlife of other major European cities. I felt, again, I could've been back in England. I blame TV, it seems to have robbed us of a feeling of newness.

That was one of the reasons I preferred the BSA. What it lacked in speed it made up for in character. Why buy a UJM when after six months it'll become so boring that it'll have to be traded in for something bigger and faster? I was in that cycle for a few years. I became fed up working like a dog to make dealers rich. Ended up trying an old Brit and was charmed by its sheer eccentricity. Maybe I was just getting old.

My friend couldn't believe how light I was travelling. Tent, sleeping bag, tools and a few clothes. He was tempted to give up his job and come pillion. I gently dissuaded him, I was hoping to pick up a young lady. With this in mind I headed for France. No border controls and much more interesting scenery. I liked the Moselle region, nice people, cheap wine and food (ask for a worker's meal in the cheaper restaurants). Lots of nice looking women but they didn't want anything to do with me. My rusty French probably didn't help.

Switzerland was next on the list, a bit too early in the year for serious motorcycling but I convinced myself it was character building. Stayed in Berne for the night. A bit of a character called Wolfy insisted on showing me the low dives. It took me a while to realise that the mosquito bites on his arms were actually needle marks. He was desperate to borrow money, I claimed poverty. A lot of Swiss kids seemed in a similar state of heroin addiction.

The Swiss Alps were next, taking a route that avoided the notorious tunnels and would deposit me back into France. The gearing on the BSA was taller than stock, leaving me wishing for a ratio between first and second on the steeper passes. In second, the torque thumped through the machine. In first there were too many revs and hence vibration. Hairpin bends wound back on themselves, with sheer drops. The cagers were all insane, almost getting up on two wheels in some bends. Threatening to play dodgems with the barriers and me! My dreams that night, under canvas, were a mixture of shivering fits and death scenarios. Pulped by out of control cars or thrown off the side of cliffs.

As we ascended, the BSA had as much difficulty breathing as myself. The fine, pure Swiss air was amazing, as were the views. Until the fog closed everything down. It was that kind of damp coldness that gets right into your bones. I spent two days shivering, stranded. A hole in the mist encouraged me to get moving. The BSA only fired after being run down one of the steepest hills in the world. One final high pass when I thought I'd have to get off to push the old girl and we'd done a big circle back into France.

It was like entering another world. The sun was shining and the snow landscape was left behind. Warmth seeped back into my bones and the BSA picked up speed, seemed never to have run so well before. I stayed in France for a couple of hours then took a detour into Italy as I knew someone who lived in Turin. A warm bed for the night would be brilliant.

It's easy to tell when you're in Italy, the roads are poor and all the drivers are mad. Macho mad. They'd rather die than give way. The BSA had lost half its tank of oil over the Alps, leaving me with a flickering oil light whilst on their autostrada. I pulled into the first services I came to, had to mix some strange 20/50 rubbish with my normal SAE 30.

Turin was completely insane. After two hours I gave up trying to find the address. Ended up in a back street hotel but at least they let me park the BSA in the concourse. It proved a talking point, with various reprobates insisting that they should show me around the town. Pretty hot nightlife but some very dubious looking women.

The BSA didn't like Turin traffic, running all hot and bothered. The clutch went rock solid, dragged something rotten. I took the hint, decided to head for the Riviera. Sat on the expressway for three hours, thankful for the large petrol tank. The drivers would glance over amazed that the vintage looking BSA wasn't falling apart under me. A hard following wind had encouraged me into an 80mph gallop. My body wasn't really suited to the crouch thus required, but I wanted to hit the coast as soon as possible.

Savona was my first taste of the sea. It encouraged me to head along the coast to Nice. Heavy traffic all the way. Real crazy stuff with cages swerving all over the place. Didn't seem to be any camping sites and Riviera prices were generally out of sight. Ended up in a motel in Finale. Not cheap but I couldn't go any further, the primary vibes had begun to get to me. The Italian men were ridiculous but the women looked okay to me but I didn't get anywhere.

The next day I did the valves, they were way out. The ignition was electronic and only a single carb. It was a nice and easy saunter into Nice, a hundred or so miles away. Stopped a few times for wine and to clock the beaches. The sun was shining but it wasn't too hot to breathe. Just right for an Englishman abroad. Stayed in a cheap campsite a few miles outside Nice.

Then the urge took me to ride down to Spain. A long loop along the coast. About 300 miles in all until we hit the Spanish border. Really pushed the BSA to do it in a day. Or rather it pushed my muscles to the limit as I hadn't set the bike up as a long distance tourer. I only stopped for fuel and a bite to eat. The bike looked hard used when I finally came to a halt in Gerona. A name that conjured up all kinds of jokes in my mind, but I'll spare you! The engine was dribbling oil out of most of its gaskets. It was only the bolts slackening off slightly, easily sorted.

The roads in Spain were even worse than in Italy but the petrol was cheap. The next day was an easy motor down to Barcelona, where I had about half a dozen mates who were living there, with no apparent means of support. They weren't too happy to see me when they realised I was as broke as them. There was one biker amongst them and he suggested that if I rode the BSA like a lunatic I'd be able to see Le Mans.

Looking at the map, this seemed a cinch. Just point the beast north for a few hundreds miles. I had three days to do about 550 miles. That seemed reasonable. I was slowed to a ridiculous speed by a BMW mounted Spanish cop following me to the border! Spanish cops don’t piss about and reach for their guns if you give them any lip.

I was going to give him the finger at the border but just as we were leaving Spain a terrible vision shot through my head. Of my passport sitting on the chest of drawers back at my friends' house. I pulled over, checked my pocket and turned back the 100 miles I'd already done. The cop followed me back to the house and was last seen busily scribbling in his notebook when I'd picked up my passport. My mates had found it all hilarious.

There was still half a day left so I headed for the border again. I'd pulled into Granollers for some fuel. Stopping at a junction some wretch reversed right into the BSA. It happened so fast that I was thrown off the bike and the front wheel ended up wedged under the back of the car. If I'd been in England I'd have hit the cager but they put you in prison on the slightest pretext in Spain, let alone breaking every bone in the body of one of the natives.

Amazingly, the gathered crowd leant a hand lifting the car off the BSA. Damage was only cosmetic and I got out of there before the plod turned up. Twenty miles later there was an awful rattling noise from the transmission. The bloody drive sprocket had come loose, needing half the transmission taken apart to reach it. By the time I'd finished I was happy to bed down for the night.

I now had 500 miles to do in two days! Hard work! Travelling north temperatures began to drop again, the cold and rain getting to me after a couple of hours in the saddle. I made it to the border, decided to leave the tax exiles in Andorra to their own devices and make it to Toulouse. Or bust. It was a hell of a road on which to maintain a decent speed. Too many hills, curves and cages. The BSA was caned at times, 90 to 95mph on the clock. I knew from past experience that it'd refuse to do more than the ton. At other times, we were down to a pathetic 25mph crawl. The road surface was good, the Roadrunners held firm however damp the tarmac. It was the kind of journey I'd like to take days over.

I treated myself to a decent hotel in Toulouse, slept the sleep of the dead. After Toulouse it was easier going, which was just as well as I had over 300 miles to do. The temperature had stabilized and with the sun breaking out it was pretty nice riding weather. The BSA seemed to agree, happy at 70 to 75mph. The road rolled by, hour after hour of riding. The deeper I went into the heart of France the more deserted the roads became. By midday I'd been on the road for fives hours and nearly 200 miles.

It was after a quick lunch and bottle of wine that I began to find lots of motorcycles on the road. I didn't have to look at the signposts, just follow the hordes of replicas (both race and Paris Dakar). They never tired of waving as they howled past. I just nodded my head; an old hand I was reluctant to let loose of the bars with 70mph on the clock. Amazingly, the cars would move out of the way and blow their horns in salutation.

After a couple of hours, which my arse thought was days, we finally rolled up to Le Mans. A huge but packed out campsite that made me feel lucky I only had to find a small space for my tiny tent. The town centre was packed full of mad bikers. There was a fairground right in the centre of all the insanity. Brilliant racing, loads of beer and wine plus a fantastic atmosphere. I'd never seen anything like it before (and I've been to the Isle of Man). The only downer was the knocking mains. It hadn't taken kindly to its thrashing.......

D.P.

****************************************************

Riding in the rain can be pleasant on a motorcycle. Modern waterproofs stop the ingress of water, so no sitting in wet underwear for hours. Of course, choice of machinery is very important. Believe it or not, my 1972 BSA 650 Lightning is an ideal mount.What's needed is a very secure chassis, decent tyres and a power delivery that lacks viciousness. Although the Lightning was the twin carb version of the A65, I'd fitted some milder compression ratio pistons which had the twin benefits of reducing vibes and making the machine much more pleasant at low revs.

The engine would pick up on just a hint of throttle and roar up to 6000 revs when power did a rapid disappearing act. It might seem strange to go to great lengths to reduce the stock machine's 50hp at 7000rpm but beyond 6000 revs the vibes blitzed so fiercely through the chassis that in practice such extra power was not easily employed. Another major modification was to the electrical system which used to send the bike into a coughing fit at the merest hint of wet weather. Electronic ignition, a complete rewire and lots of silicone sealant on things like coils, completely transformed the electrical reliability.

Admittedly, the Zener Diodes don't last for much more than 5000 miles a throw and the headlamp bulb's power was constricted by the meagre output of the Lucas alternator and, also, by the vibes which would cause its failure every few thousand miles. A most pleasant side effect of the electronic ignition and lower compression pistons was much easier starting.

When I'd first bought the bike it had required a dozen or so manic plunges on the starter to bring it into reluctant life from cold. It took about fifteen minutes to warm up, often stalling and requiring a repeat performance. For someone over forty this was more than knackering, my only other form of exercise, leaping up and down on the wife once a week. Once modified, though, a much milder kick started the bike after two or three attempts, taking only a few minutes to warm up.

Another worrying aspect in the wet was the unique TLS conical hub. Once set-up correctly (about half an hours work every week) this was pretty good in the dry, able to put enough braking forces on the forks to have them bouncing on their stops. Something quite impressive as the suspension is as stiff as an early Ducati. However, the cooling vent was perfectly sighted to pick up water, with the predictable consequence of making the front brake very unpredictable. This was largely cured by blocking off the vent with some very dense mesh and a change of shoe materials.

Fortunately, the 654cc OHV engine had bags of engine braking and a rear SLS drum that was as sensitive and predictable as could be. The art of riding fast in the rain is to go as smoothly as possible, looking far ahead to work out what actions are needed before they become necessary.

I particularly liked the 19" front wheel, shod with an Avon tyre, which always felt immensely secure on damp roads and didn't do anything really nasty even when I had to suffer the sudden locking up of the wheel before I'd sorted out the brake. Perhaps the only major horror was the way the centrestand prong dug into the tarmac when leant over at quite moderate angles.

Having the back wheel pivot off the road, sending a massive lurch through the chassis, did wonders for constipation. That was easily fixed by sawing off the prong, although use of the centrestand is now a two man job. It's not unknown for the sidestand to let the machine fall over, the chassis is basically tough and can withstand most abuse.

With its small petrol tank and relatively tall seat, the Lightning takes a bit of time to adapt to. It never feels like you're sitting in the machine, rather that you're perched way atop the beast. The seat becomes as hard as iron and the bars leave you perched perfectly to pick up the maximum amount of turbulence. It's bloody hard work to hold on to the bars at anything above 70mph for any length of time.

With the aerodynamics of a brick shit-house, it's hardly surprising that fuel is run through the engine in the 45 to 55mpg range. It didn't improve any, as I'd hoped, after I'd fitted a pair of almost straight through megas. There's nothing like the glorious snarl of a big twin on open pipes, though.

As the engine has always been a rattly bugger, I took the increased exhaust blare as a sign that I could ignore the engine noises, but was never brave enough to push engine services beyond every 500 miles. If that sounds extreme, all I can say is that the valves always needed adjustment, the spark plugs replacement and oil had turned a murky cream colour, no doubt not aided by being run through the frame to the oil tank cum upper frame tube. It wasn't particularly easy to drain off the oil or fill up the tube with Duckhams finest. Oil coolers are available and worth fitting.

As the engine is fitted with SRM main bearings, the major BSA engine problem, weak crankshaft support, is neatly sidestepped. The valvegear lasts better than most Triumphs,with no need for major attention until after about 8000 miles of abuse. Pistons and bores last about three times that distance, and the engine's barrels are now on plus sixty pistons. I don't know if I can say that the mill is easy to work on, but I'm used to it now and get it out of the frame and down to the crank in a couple of hours.

Apart from a very slight leak from the head gasket, the unit is commendably oil tight. It wasn't when I first got it, pouring out the stuff as fast as I could put it in. Much work flattening engine surfaces and careful application of liquid gasket has got the engine in its present splendid state. The four speed gearbox is still precise but needs a firm foot. The clutch is heavy enough to build up hand muscles and failure to use it when changing gears caused the box to throw the machine into a false neutral. I haven't actually had to touch the gearbox's internals, so I ain't about to complain.

Clutch cables fail to last for much more than 6000 miles despite being religiously lubricated and routed in the best possible way. The Lightning is not the kind of bike that takes kindly to less than involved owners. It would be dead easy to run the machine into the ground in just a few thousand miles. The vibes are its biggest problem, I've had things break off from time to time, I even had one exhaust pipe crack so badly it fell off, making the engine sound like a Sherman tank running through a pile of dustbins.

Even with meticulous maintenance and good engine internals there is still enough uncertainly to make each trip a bit of an adventure. But having owned the bike for the past four years, I've sorted out most problems and have no reluctance in stating that my A65 is in a much better state than when it came out of the factory! It's still fast enough to see off most cars on all but motorways, where the need to maintain a constant speed on a dead straight road leads to as massive a dose of boredom as it does vibration. The latter ensured by the need to keep 80 to 85mph on the clock to avoid being run right off the road!

The riding position ensures that the my back aches for days afterwards, even if the pillion pegs are used in conjunction with a nose in the clocks posture. I'm really rather too ancient for that kind of thing. No, where the BSA shines is on more minor roads where its bend swinging abilities come to the fore. Where the growl from the exhaust causes a wide grin to spread across my face. Where the way it accelerates on an excess of torque rather than power hits me in the gut with a lovely sensation of overcoming the laws of motion against all the odds. And yes, even when its pouring cats and dogs, and you can hardly see where you're going, the A65 still delivers the goods, more smiles per mile than most other bikes!

Tiny

****************************************************

Sat with a large quantity of BSA A65 engine parts surrounding me I was wondering what I had let myself in for. The problem being that the plain main bearing had finally worn out. The resultant crank whip had done strange things to the ball bearing on the opposite side of the crank, but I'd ground to a halt quickly enough to save the pistons and bores going the same self-destructive route. Well, the 1964 machine had done 67000 miles on a basically stock engine, so some malfeasance had to be tolerated.

The breakdown occurred about 50 miles outside Paris. The only good thing was that I was within pushing distance of a camping site. France still has lots of small workshops who would be able to bodge on the new bearings but BSA spares were non-existent. A mate was persuaded, after over-coming the strange French telephone system, to buy some and post them out. Whilst I waited, I tore most of the bits off the BSA and cleaned them up to a mirror shine. The A65 had never looked so clean.

At that point in the saga I had owned the Star for all of five years. There had only been one previous owner who had only ridden the A65 when nostalgia took a grip of him, so in 20 years he had done less than 10,000 miles! He had become so separated from the mainstream of motorcycling that he had no idea how much his machine was worth. I got there first, slapped down a deposit and by the time I returned with the cash he'd had over 30 calls!

BSA didn't make much of a job of styling their A50/65 range in the early days. It looked like a giant CD175! The dumpy looks hid some quite reasonable statistics. The square stroke 654cc OHV vertical twin made about 40 horses in mild, low compression ratio (7.5:1), single carb Star form. Mass was a reasonable 410lbs, with most of the heavy stuff concentrated low down.

The relaxed, almost heady outburst of torque below 5000 revs could rather snappily propel the BSA along; even now many a car driver's proud look of contempt is turned to dismay as the Star powers off up the street. Vibration was, of course, the bane of these old vertical twins, but in good condition these twins are not the usual horror story below 5000 revs. Gearing is so relaxed on the BSA that 70mph equates to a mere 4000rpm!

BSA went on to radically tune these motors - twin carbs, lumpy cams and high compression ratio pistons could knock out more than 50 horses in something like a Spitfire. But, this power was in practice absolutely useless, the fearsome vibes that were its corollary made revving over 5000 revs such a distressing and destructive experience that only the most mechanically insensitive moron would be able to use the Spitfire's extra speed. And, anyone so stupid would soon find nirvana on some Japanese rice burner.

BSA had always made better handling bikes than Triumph. They excelled themselves on the A65, with a strong tubular affair that had more than adequate swinging arm support and steering geometry that managed to combine stability with a feel light enough to get away with flat, narrow handlebars (non-stock) in town. Sitting on the bike it feels more like a 250 than a 650, helped by a 54 inch wheelbase and the aforementioned low centre of gravity.

It wasn't perfect. The 31 inch seat height could usefully have been a couple of inches lower. Modern neglected road surfaces showed up the short travel of the suspension. The shocks were easily upgraded with a more modern set of Girlings but there was little I could do for the forks, other than a complete refurbishment.

The bike came with a set of full width SLS drums which initially gave the impression of being able to cope with the Star's speed and mass but soon turned to mush after a hard work out. They overheated then faded away to next to nothing. I followed the usual practice of fitting the later TLS drum out front. I could still do with some more power but already the forks twist and dive under hard braking. A whole new front end off something recent is really needed.

Tyres are modern Avons, and very good they are, too. They last over 15000 miles a set (as does the chain). Both wheels are 18 inchers, the main fault being the rims and spokes afflicted with rust. They are now matt black. I'm waiting until I hit a car before getting them rebuilt!

The mild nature of the engine and sturdy, responsive chassis means that the bike is safe to ride on wet roads, even on icy ones as long as speed is kept strictly under control. Unlike most Jap stuff the mudguards actually stop the bike being covered in muck whilst, unusually for an old Brit, the electrics are not susceptible to rain.

Starting, general running and economy are aided by the electronic ignition I fitted. The old points used to wander about a bit, only the soft state of the engine tune stopping the altered ignition timing from burning holes in the pistons. With a single carb that hardly ever needed the attention of my screwdriver (though, it was worn out and replaced before 45000 miles were done), I soon realised that replacing the points would make my life about ten times easier.

That really just left setting the valves (every 750 miles), checking the oil levels and keeping an eye on the triplex primary chain. The latter lasted for between 15 to 20,000 miles, which would have been quite reasonable had not its wear rate increased exponentially after a certain point. I got caught out one time. It had seemed fine when I started out on a run but by the time I'd done a 100 miles it was dragging along the bottom of the chaincase! The solution was to replace it every 15000 miles - it's impossible to buy them now but I bought half a dozen when the dealer was selling off old stock.

So for the first five years I made minor improvements, didn't thrash the bike and gave it a reasonable amount of attention. My reward was a lot of cheap fun until the French debacle. The bits eventually turned up and the engine reassembled. It wasn't a good job, though, the mill ran very rough and power seemed poor. Still, I rather gently tore through the French countryside and did 750 miles until back in the UK.

The unaccustomed level of vibes kept blowing bulbs and causing bits to come loose. I felt thankful for having false teeth and no fear of losing fillings in the middle of nowhere. Back home, there was nothing for it but to have a proper rebuild done. SRM were the obvious people to give the job to as they upgraded the main bearings and had a good reputation. Not cheap, but it did include a rebore, top end rebuild and new bearings. The gearbox, despite its age and mileage, was still fine!

It was quite an experience to have to run in such an old bike, but I did it very carefully for 2500 miles, flushing out the oil several times to make sure any metal debris that might be lurking was cleaned out. The oil filtering system on the A65 is pretty basic and needs all the help it can get from frequent changes.

That was three and a half years ago, the clock now having gone over 100,000 miles! Once run in the new engine was really sweet, with a willingness to rev to 6000 that the previous motor had lacked. It actually felt smooth enough at 90mph to cruise all day. This was helped by a four gallon petrol tank and economy of better than 60mpg, letting the A65 do over 200 miles on a full tank.

The Star is really a very relaxing bike to ride long distances. Top gear can be used as low as 20mph without the chain snatching, able to charge forward without dropping a gear, albeit with a bit of huffing and puffing until 40mph is attained. I've been riding the bike for so long that handling it is just second nature and, I suppose, my body has toughened up so that it can take the bumps that get through the minimal suspension.

Don't get me wrong, owning one of these old bikes is no bed of roses, there's always some little problem to rectify. If you look at any long used British bike you can find all kind of minor mods that either make it more robust or better suited to the purposes of the owner. You can gradually meld them to your personal needs.

If any of this has whetted your appetite then now's not a bad time to buy as the recession has ruined the prices of old Brits. Don't buy anything in a high state of tune, they are more trouble than they're worth. Something like the Star, a big, chuffing twin with loads of guts which combines mildness with a touch of brutality and a nice secure feel, is what British biking is all about.

W. Colt
 
 
 
 

Kawasaki GPZ400 and ZX-4


A couple of my mates were running these old Kawasaki imports, buzzing away at the ubiquitous 600's that most of us rode. And not being far off the pace! After a heavy smash that wrote off my 600, I made an offer for the GPZ400R. The bike was as Kawasaki intended except for a rather loud 4-1, jet kit and modified electronic ignition. The stocker was limited to about 60 horses but these mod's allowed the watercooled four cylinder engine to rev deep into the red. The top speed of 135mph indicated about 75 horses on tap! For a thousand notes it was a damn good deal...

Or so I thought. So happened that the first day of ownership, summer turned into autumn with a massive amount of rain! The GPZ ran these relatively thin sixteen inch wheels shod with Japlops of a questionable age! Not a combination made in heaven. Any right wrist madness had the back wheel skipping and hopping all over the slippery tarmac and the front wheel felt very edgy.

This was because it had almost no adhesive qualities! I found this out the hard way after slamming the bike through a gap in the cages on a roundabout. I went to flick the bike up, making with the throttle, hoping to beat all the cages into the exit lane. I must've hit the throttle before the bike was completely upright, the front wheel flipping sideways.

My next conscious moment, landing on my knee and elbow as the bike skidded along the tarmac into the gutter. I managed to roll with my body's momentum, somehow just missing being run down by the cagers who must've thought they were tripping in a parallel universe! Both bike and I landed up at the junction of the roundabout and exit lane, the cars streaming past regardless.

After a quick look at my knee and leg flexing session to ensure nothing was actually broken, I pulled the GPZ upright. A cracked fairing, broken indicator, bent lever and realigned handlebar. Still rideable, so I blew into Reading, bought some cream for the gravel rash knee and made it home in one piece... never going over 25mph! I wasn't sure if the wobbling front end was a bent frame or wheel, or just me having a fit of the shakes.

Must've been the latter, because after I fixed the damage, the bike ran as true as before. Which isn't on rails, to use a well worn cliche, the sixteen inch front wheel always feeling a touch nervous but the upside was not much effort needed to heel it in and out of the tighter corners. Accelerate hard, though, the whole front end went light and the back squirmed all over the shop. Not a combination to experience when heeled right over on the edge of the tyres. Soon became obvious why the previous owner had been a cut and thrust artist of a high order!

Although the engine was a revvy old beast, not feeling happy until at least seven grand was on the clock, even in top gear the burst of acceleration between 90 and 125mph was pretty startling for a mere 400. As was the amount of exhaust noise it made, a lovely gravelly wail at twelve grand that used to make the hair on my back stand up.

Below seven grand there wasn't a clean flow of power, often some stuttering. This may just've been the non-standard components not interacting a hundred percent, but I did talk to another owner running a standard set-up who reckoned his was also a dull boy at low rpm. At higher revs the 29000 mile old engine felt like it was in peak condition, emphasized by the way the whole plot smoothed out!

The twin front discs had recently been upgraded to GPZ600 spec with decent stuff from the beakers. If anything, they were too powerful, just a single finger caress had the tyre smoking and the bars shaking furiously in my hands! No fun at all in the wet, tended to rely on shutting the throttle. Produced strong engine braking, along with lots of churning in the transmission and popping from the exhaust. Sounded like the whole bike was falling apart but it didn't actually seem to do any damage.

The rear disc barely worked, crud thrown off by the back wheel always found its way into the caliper, so old that it really needed a strip and clean every week but only got one every other month! Occasionally it would remember its purpose in life, locked on solidly, the back wheel snaking a good foot to either side of the bike. Sometimes it stayed on until given a good kicking!

The lack of mudguarding meant that all the nooks and crannies were soon filled up with road debris, once a little rot got under the paint or alloy it spread like wild fire. Had great chunks of frame paint fall off! With the full fairing most of the damage was hidden away, but the plastic itself was fast going off. Crazing and minor cracks were added to the red shade going very dull.

After a couple of months, the rust spread to the matt black exhaust, which then cracked up where the down-pipes joined up. What little baffling it'd been manufactured with was long gone. Even the tickover caused dustbin lids to bounce up and down, an unlikely chorus. Taking the exhaust off, two of the header bolts in the cylinder head snapped off! The threads were corroded solidly into the head! Bloody Jap alloy! As per the UMG's hacking rules, I drilled into the screws and cut a smaller thread in each. Worked okay!

The 4-1 was welded up, refitted with a proper silencer, off a GPZ600. This was a bit noisier than standard, prone itself to the good old corrosion blues. The carburation was way out! Lots of surging at low revs and it didn't want to go beyond eleven grand. The breaker gave me a collection of jets to play around with and after much messing with the four carb's I finally got back to where I started, though top speed was down to a mere 130mph. Fuel remained the same, around the 50mpg mark.

By 36000 miles, the engine rattles reverberated through the plastic! The camchain was on the way out! This was replaced by threading a new one on to the old, running it through the engine. Less of a hassle than a full engine strip. The valves and carbs were done, the first time I - or anyone else, probably - had touched them. The motor was a lot quieter but didn't give out any extra power.

A few months later there were a lot of electrical problems, traced to one of the alternator's coils shorting out. An exchange alternator and a bit of rewiring solved that. The handlebar switches were all very vague, so they were swapped for something more modern. A brand new battery was finally added, the old one looked like it'd been there from the time of the bike's creation!

Up to 40,000 miles, performance began to lose its edge. Worn out? Given the way it was run into the red most of the time, quite probably. Time to sell. The bike went for 750 notes. I added another 500 to the pile and bought a ZX-4 from another so-called friend which I'd been lusting after for a long time!

This can be considered as a more modern version of the GPZ, not much difference in power but the handling way ahead of the older bike. As it was both newer and much lower mileage (12,300 miles at the time of purchase), it's a bit unfair to compare it to the GPZ but I felt immediately elevated to a new plane of sophistication and could throw the bike around like a real hero rather than a suicidal arsehole.

Incidentally, the new GPZ owner stuffed the bike into a brick wall on slightly wet tarmac. I'd told him to watch out for the front tyre and fierce brake but he hadn't paid much attention to my mutterings. Weird chap insisted on fitting the GPZ's engine into a GPz750 chassis, having previously managed the rare feat of getting that engine's con-rods to poke out of the crankcase! Sounded like a real abortion but it's actually bloody fast and handles much better than the stocker! Kawasaki obviously missed an opportunity there.

One of the things I really like about the ZX-4, it fits me perfectly, whereas the GPZ had my knees and arms slightly misaligned and despite having a better saddle was less comfortable after the first 100 miles. The riding position on the ZX was still racy, felt much better at 120mph than it did at 20mph but, for some reason, it just suited me fine. Half the battle won!

It may just've been that, on expensive Metz's, the newer Kawasaki felt much more secure on the road - better than my CBR! - providing a much more relaxed time. I never had to wonder if the front tyre was going to go all wanton or if the back was going to shake itself to a premature death! The Kawasaki just did its job with remarkable elan.

Top speed was 140mph on the clock but this seemed somewhat optimistic as my friends' 600's had a slightly easier time of losing me than when I was on the GPZ! The ZX ran a stock exhaust which was so quiet I kept thinking the engine had stalled! However, acceleration from 70 to 120mph was a touch stronger, combined with its ease of handling, made for a much faster tool on the back roads.

Fuel was slightly poorer at 45mpg, though restrained riding could turn in a remarkable 65mpg (the GPZ didn't vary much) - restrained as in keeping the revs below five grand, the engine much smoother running and more contented than the GPZ. Oddly, the bars trembled slightly at the ton, where the older bike went really smooth, before the ZX's vibes disappeared again.

The price paid for the excellent handling and stability (I could go about twice as fast in the wet and still feel twice as safe) was poor tyre life, around 3500 miles a set. Brake pads did around 10,000 miles on both machines, the ZX actually having a rear disc that worked! For some reason it was much less sensitive to road crud whereas the front calipers gummed up after a month of winter riding. They were easy enough to clean up.

Some long, fast Continental blasting tested out the ZX's capabilities thoroughly. The bike wasn't fazed by constant 125mph cruising, held steady when the wind was whipped up into a frenzy by passing Merc's on the autobahn and generally gave off an air of quality and sophistication that was so lacking in the GPZ.

The first winter months somewhat gave the lie to that theory - wheels, brakes and exhaust rotting away at a rate that took my breath away! The easy low end power delivery was useful when the roads turned treacherous but I got caught on some diesel, went flying. After a certain point there's no way to snap the Kawasaki back into line.

The amount of damage resultant from the 35mph crash was incredible! Completely ruined the fairing, including the lights and indicators, cracked the front wheel, bent the forks, snapped off one handlebar, dented the tank and somehow detached the seat from the bike! Somehow, I'd escaped totally unscathed. In my darker moments I wish the bike had landed on me and saved itself from serious damage.

The frame was still straight, the plastic could be dumped, all that was really needed to get motive again, a replacement front end. Two hundred quid's worth of ZZR600 forks and wheel were bought from the breaker and fitted on. The bike looks rough, doesn't run so well and I've just gone off it! Have to sell soon.

Dave Crowther

 

Sunday 27 February 2011

Big Zeds: Z900, Z1000 and GP1100


Old Kawasaki fours are as much maligned as they are revered! As someone who still runs one, albeit a Canadian import GP1100, and who also enjoyed one of the first Z900's, I feel qualified to write a few words on them.

It all started back in 1982. After a Honda CB350K3, a mildly used Z900 was a massive shock to the system. The bike had only done 4000 miles in mature hands. In Kawasaki terms that was just run in, they do take much longer to bed in than rival Jap's.

In every way the Z900 felt big and powerful, though in today's terms it isn't even on a par with a 600. It was much more difficult to ride, though! The first serious outing down some well know back lanes, I rode the Z right off the road.

Revelling in the acceleration, went into a corner much too fast and hit the brakes in panic. The twin disc set-up was much improved over the single disc on the Z1. However, the brakes interacted with the banked over machine, flipped it up and thence off the road.

Crashes always hurt. Either physically or monetarily. The Z went into a ditch, ploughed up a bank and then decimated a hedge. The cows weren't impressed with our sudden emergence into their field. The bike slewed and slowed, both feet down. I felt rather like an ant atop a rampaging elephant!

Strained leg muscles and wrecked back were the result of this sortie. The latter from pushing the heap out of the field. The mud filled motor wouldn't start. I made it back on to the road just in time to avoid being run down by Farmer Fred on his tractor. He showed zero compassion or concern for my state!

After cleaning off the HT leads, the bike growled back into glorious life. Was this a tale I could dine out on for weeks to come? Nope, made me a laughing stock! Rode home really slowly, being passed by 250's and even the odd cage.

The next day I gave the bike a right talking to and kicked the tyres. I kept to the wider roads where there was enough room for the bike to shake around without hitting something. Would roar through the ton, then a ton-twenty before losing its edge. I got 145mph on the clock but the mag's reckoned 130-135mph was the true top speed. Notoriously, Kawasaki clocks are optimistic.

Smooth roads, the Z900 weaved above the ton and then wallowed as top speed was approached. All a bit precarious, a bump or poorly distributed baggage, would cause a massive wobble. A lock to lock handlebar shuffle that tried to break my wrists! Accelerate through it? No chance, I'm not that daft!

Later, I tried various concoctions of suspension, tyres and Forth Bridge swinging arm. None cleared up the penchant towards self-destruction, especially on the rougher road surfaces. The swinging arm mounts, I think, just weren't up to the job of controlling 550lbs of metal.

The one thing that really helped, dumping the stock bars for ace-bars. The extra weight over the front wheel allowed a radical redistribution of mass that made the bike an order of magnitude more stable. It also made it much easier to fly past 125mph. Unfortunately, even with rear-sets, the bike was very uncomfortable below 80mph. The lack of leverage made the old heap much slower turning.

Not one to give up easily, with 34000 miles on the clock, I had a mono-shock conversion done to the frame! A total disaster! Some subtle alteration to the steering geometry made it very flighty at speed and prone to massive wobbles. The relocation of all the electrics and airfilter also messed up the bike's lines.

After fitting a very expensive shock, the bike was much improved. Slightly better than stock but not worth all the money and effort. Around this time, the 4-2 OE exhaust was just about ready to fall off. A noisy 4-1 (Alpha, I think) was the obvious choice. An ex-racer's GRP fairing was also fitted. The transformation was complete!

Because of restricted steering lock, the bike was a pig to turn in traffic. On the second day I became entangled in the fairing, fell off rather than complete a right-angled turn. Luckily, someone's old Ford Cortina took most of the blow, though there was a big crack in the fairing. The guy wanted to hit me but I ducked my helmet and he broke his knuckles rather than my nose. He howled like a baby!

Rather than dumping the fairing, I repaired the crack and cut it back around the handlebars. Being an ex-racing job, I'd cut another hole for the headlamp, the overall effect attractive only to the cops! Not that I ever stopped. I practically had to lie down on the tank to benefit from the aerodynamic effect. Restricted forward vision and my ability to manhandle the bike!

Every time the bike clocked up 120mph, the thin fairing was blitzed by secondary vibration. The engine noise so amplified it felt like it was about to explode into a million bits. Still, it emphasized the sheer joy of the highly illegal speeds achieved.

Despite all the engine noise and vibration the DOHC four cylinder motor proved incredibly tough. With electronic ignition, the most maintenance it needed was a carb balance and oil change, the valves stayed in adjustment for tens of thousands of miles. The wet sump motor had proper primary gear drive (as opposed to similar era Honda fours with hyvoid chains and a separate oil tank) and loads of heavy-duty roller bearings.

Couldn't break the motor in about 80,000 miles of excess! The clutch did need new plates around 34000 miles. Familiarity breeding contempt, I used to cane the bike on take-offs, not that it was particularly wheelie prone. Until I fitted an O-ring chain conversation, the skimpy chain and sprockets used to last for less than 5000 miles. About what you'd expect from tyres and pads, too.

Getting a bit older, if not more mature, I took the bike back to stock spec. My arms and back were well relieved and the bike looked all the better for it. To my eyes, at least, the Z900 looks much sleeker than the whole host of retro's currently on offer. You can't beat the real thing.

I would probably still be riding around on the Z, if after eleven years someone hadn't nicked it. Pinched it and crashed it ten minutes later. They aren't easy to ride if you're not used to them! The crash involved an artic which basically crunched the bike flat! Cracked crankcases meant that even the motor couldn't be saved. As I had TPFT insurance I got some money back eventually but it wasn't any compensation for the loss of such a wonderful bike.

I've never really got on with Hondas, not the most brilliant move to buy a CB750F1. The bloody thing refused to run in the wet, skidded around corners as if the wheels were out of line and had piss all power compared to the Kawasaki. It had done 43000 miles and was almost completely worn out. I sold it off for what I paid for it; three weeks later it blew up!

A tired looking Z1000 was next in line. Only 19000 miles, the motor sounded fine. The chassis looked like it'd been treated to an acid bath! The owner admitted to three months winter despatching in London. As far as bikes go, a capital offence. The price was right. I rode home slowly, waiting for something to fall off or break up. Nothing did, concluded that the Z1000 was another tough Kawasaki four.

An old beer crate under the frame, took everything off, leaving just the frame and engine. The former was wire-brushed and repainted by hand. Oddly, there wasn't much corrosion on the engine so that was an easy touch. Several breakers later, I had most of the bits I needed. The bike was soon back on the road.

What I hadn't realised was that the rot had bitten deep into the electrics. Lots of cutting out, refusal to start and stuttering below 5000 revs. The engine didn't quite have the punch of the Z900. Much improved when I changed the airfilter for the correct Z item! 150mph on the clock was a possibility but neither my body nor the chassis really liked it.

Stability was better than the Z900 but it was at the price of needing even more muscle on the bars and even more mass. Close to 600lbs in stock form. The bike was quite intimidating in London, cagers veering out of my path. This feeling of solidly and invincibility was quickly punctured the first time the bike hit a car.

The cager had veered across two lanes of traffic to make his turn across my path. The forks - spindly things the Jap's wouldn't fit to a 250, these days - collapsed and I was thrown over the bars. The forks had actually snapped off - having landed on my head, I thought I was having visions straight from hell

A Z1300 front end was persuaded on. The sole basis for its purchase, cheapness. Somewhat stiffer and better braked, the bike felt even more nervous in the bends. The penchant for high speed wobbles was decreased but still there. The front end came with these really wide and high bars, more at home on a chopper. Made the Z much easier to turn through the traffic! At 80mph, though, my arms were pulled out of their sockets.

The Z1300 front end didn't last long. I hit a taxi which had gone mad. Weaving in and out of the traffic with a death-wish. Just as I was hurling the Z through a column of traffic. I hit his rear bumper at an angle, fell off! The cages behind actually pulled up - more than half awake, for once! The forks and wheel were mangled - I'd been doing 50-60mph!

The bike took most of the impact, only a minor dent in the back of the taxi. Its owner went into the usual rage, swearing his head off as any good East Londoner would. Violence was avoided by the plod popping up out of the sewers, or wherever they hide. They ferociously checked my doc's, disappointed that all was in order. Despite no evidence (top box, panniers, bib, etc) they accused me of being a despatch rider! Only when I showed them my work ID did they desist! They obviously couldn't spend time on an accident without securing a conviction (and money in the form of a fine.)

They left me with the problem of getting 600lbs of dead metal home. I'd had the foresight to buy another Z front end. The solution was to pull the bike on to the pavement, lock it to some railings and get the Tube home. Fitting the old forks and wheel was easy enough but I had plenty of odd looks. Just as I was finishing some little Hitler of a traffic warden gave me a lecture. Halfway through, I gave him the old front end and buggered off. Left him open-mouthed. Bloody midgets in uniforms!

Halfway home the throttle came off in my hand - the Z did a wild wobble and stalled dead amid fast moving traffic. I was almost back-ended but managed to stagger the big bastard to the side of the road. Was the bike trying to tell me something? I gave it the benefit of the doubt, reattached the throttle and made it home in one piece.

The Z1000 was too heavy without the edginess of the Z900's power delivery. A combination that makes it a bit of a grand dame. On the other hand, the motor's incredibly tough. Despite neglect borne of a certain indifference, I didn't manage to break it in 45000 miles. No valve or carb adjustments were ever done. Neither did I touch the camchain or any of the other engine internals. Consumables were on a par with the Z900 and fuel was 40-45mpg.

Not the most inspiring bike I've ever owned. I sold it for a lot more than I paid for it. The next couple of bikes were big Suzuki fours - better in every way than the Z's but they lacked a certain something! It wasn't long before I was in the market for a big Kawasaki four. I really wanted a Z1 but they were too expensive, ended up with an import GP1100.

The GP's an interim model between the Z1100 and GPz1100, having the former's chassis (with new styling) and the latter's engine. I like twin shocks, no problems from the linkages during winter riding. The styling was a bit too sporting for my liking but the massive power of the motor made up for that - 95 horses!

Come 5000 revs, the non-standard 4-1 turned a muted growl into window shattering wail! The first time I used the throttle in anger, nearly jerked my head off my shoulders. I roared around London, terrorising the cagers, reliving my teenage years. The cops went absolutely berserk, outraged by the noise and speed. One could barely restrain himself from turning violent.

Told me, next time they would assume I was a terrorist and act accordingly. Not amused, when I told him a terrorist would have to be pretty stupid to ride around on a bike that made such a racket! In the end, a silencer with some baffling was fitted and I kept the revs below seven grand in Central London.

Flat out on the motorway, saw 150mph on the clock a few times. The exhaust produced the kind of sonic boom that made cagers think Concorde was about to crash land atop them. One cager, in a big Jag, pulled alongside, shook his fist at me and almost hit the Central barrier in his rage! Obviously some kind of sexually inadequate jerk-off.

The GP had much better stability than the older Kawasaki's. The only time it really frightened me was when I was carrying all my worldly possessions on the back of the bike (the divorce laws are crap!) and the weight distribution made the front end go all light. At 130mph the front end twitched and then the bars went from lock to lock. Not as viciously as on the Z900, it quietened down once I put some of my body mass over the front end.

Cornering was helped along by increased ground clearance and tauter suspension. The main limitation, the sheer, excessive mass of the GP! I was used to big fours, which helps, but it still needs excess muscle to really ride fast. Sneaky 600 replica's can get right inside me, the 1100 running wide in corners as an alternative to falling off the edges of its tyres.

Snapping the throttle shut turned the swinging arm plastic, really needs very gentle work on the throttle and brakes to slow down in corners. Much better to get the braking done before the bend - the triple discs with Dunlopads the best braking I've ever experienced (which doesn't say much as I don't like replicas). I have, a few times, managed to lose massive amounts of speed in corners (to avoid hitting something) but lots of effort was needed to control a chassis that felt like it was breaking up. Good, though, for constipation!

There are lots of bits to upgrade the suspension but my finances were so depleted that I made do with the OE stuff. The bike only had 8000 miles on the clock, at that point the suspension wasn't too far gone. Later, a fork brace made a major difference to directional accuracy and a chassis bearing upgrade helped stability. Certainly, it's not the kind of bike to ride fast if any of the suspension components are seriously worn or the tyres are down below 2mm.

Don't know why, but tyres, brake pads and chains all lasted longer than on the older fours, over 7500 miles! Fuel was 35-55mpg, depending on the level of throttle madness. Despite its sporting pretensions and non-standard 4-1, the GP could be ridden like a big softy. Just keep the revs below five grand, the reward excellent economy and a laid back life!

The riding position suited me fine, whether in town or going for it on the motorway. A lack of leverage compared to the older bikes was the only downside. One I could live with as 120mph cruising was tolerable - the kind of speed needed to keep clear of the cages.

When push came to shove, I seemed able to pull the GP out of dangerous situations. Helped along by the fearsome front brake that would squeal, even burn, the front tyre. I ran out of luck one winter day when recourse to a new survival line took me into the gutter. Filled with diesel, it meant the front wheel lost it all, the tyre careered into the kerb and bounced out sideways.

The GP came crashing down. I was thrown at some Soho ped's whilst the bike bounced off the side of a cage and then back to the pavement. Doing a death dance with the concrete, the latter winning out. After convincing the ped's that I wasn't a biker from hell, I pulled up the big Kawasaki and assayed the damage.

One crushed 4-1, bent bars, dented front wheel, broken plastic, ruined indicators and, gasp, cracked lower crankcase. Oil dribbled out almost as rapidly as the tears ran down my cheeks. At least the GP had taken out the side of a very expensive looking BMW! Great fun was had sorting out the mess, the usual threats from the cops and cager.

That's how things stand at the moment. I'm running around trying to get replacement parts for the Z but no luck on the lower crankcase yet. A bit of alloy welding might sort it but every time I do a ton and a half I'd be wondering if it was going to fail. Meanwhile, I've been riding around on a friend's spare bike - a stripped down Yamaha TDM850 which goes like stink and makes the GP seem just a bit mundane.

Time to move on? Sort of, just got a new job with lots more money and aim to get the GP back on the road but also have a more modern bike. Probably end up with the TDM. As for the Z's, they started out good with the Z1/Z900, went a bit bland with the Z1000/1100, then peaked with the GPz series, my GP11 sort of sitting in the middle and benefiting from both strains. The early Z's are very expensive, so the later stuff does make good sense. They are all a bit brutal, but that's how I like my bikes!

Harry Wilson