Copyright (c) 2008 GoodMotorcycles.com
If I was on a shrink's couch he would've told me that my desire to own a road going moto-crosser was revenge for seven years of L-plate infliction which the politicians had enforced upon me but the truth was all my mates had got them so I wanted one.
Within days of passing my test the Honda NSR125 was dumped on to the local back street dealer, complete with a big-end bearing that sounded like two skeletons shagging in a dustbin. Why he never asked me to start it up I don't know but I grabbed the cash and made a dash for it.
After a quick perusal of a well known trials publication, a Kawasaki KDX200 turned up on a farm not too far from where I live. Cash in hand I dashed off. The owner was quite open about the fact that the bike had been heavily raced and had won its fair share of trophies. His workshop was immaculate and there was just that air that everything was going to be alright.
It was mine for £750, fifty quid less than the asking price if I got my own MOT, complete with spare piston, two sets of front disc pads and a workshop manual. A friend of mine rode the bike home as I followed. I was itching to get on the beast but had to wait until I was semi-legal.
Much to my surprise it passed the MOT second time round after changing the rear wheel bearings and the addition of copious amounts of masking tap to the front and back lights to blank them off. The bearings cost nearly thirty quid as there were three of them residing in the wheel. The tape was free from the tester, so, all in all, it cost £820 on the road, ready to go.
It was obvious right from the start that life aboard a road going enduro bike was going to be fun. Even a 26 mile trip to work each day was transformed into a mini Paris Dakar. If the attention the bike commanded from other motorists was anything to go by, the first plod that saw me was going to have a cardiac on the spot and his colleagues would bang me up forever.
The KDX has legendary reliability amongst the enduro fraternity (especially in air cooled form, like mine) and in eight months only let me down twice. Both times were more due to my lack of detailed checks than anything the Big K did wrong. The first time was when the KIPS valve fell to pieces leaving me completely stranded. Application of a screwdriver and Loctite solved this one.
The second time was nearly terminal as all four of the screws holding the reed valve block fell out but luckily stayed in the inlet tract until I withdrew the assembly when they promptly fell into the cylinder, seizing the engine. A magnetic screwdriver and divine intervention saved the day, much to my relief.
Night-time journeys were an absolute nightmare due to the pathetic candle-like glow emitted by the six volt system. 33W in total, 25 of which went to the headlamp, leaving sod all for the back end. My solution was to scrounge an old dry rechargeable battery from work, fit it behind the headlamp cowl and use this for back up. The battery was well up to the vibes as it was originally off a helicopter and it effected a cure, of sorts, but I never really had satisfactory forward vision in the dark.
Tyre wear was quite high, exact mileage being hard to gauge as a speedo was an expensive luxury I couldn't be bothered to fit, although part worn ones could be bought from a breaker for about a tenner. Application of sand paper and a scalpel soon had the ‘Not for Highway Use' markings erased.
The handling on tarmac was akin to riding on marbles but their off-road progress made up for this. The reason the previous owner had been so generous with the disc pads soon became all too obvious when they wore out at an alarming rate. Rear shoes seemed to last forever, which in a drum with as much feel and power as the KDX's was rather surprising.
The bike was quite practical, despite its faults, and easily cleaned and brought up to a mean green glow with the use of scouring powder (all the bodywork including the tank being made of plastic) and plenty of elbow grease. Maintenance was a breeze - check all the nuts and bolts for tightness, squirt oil here and there and cram loads of grease into the generously provided nipples. Oil was changed every month and the air filter washed out and re-oiled at the same time.
Fuel consumption wasn't too bad for a stroker engine so highly tuned, around 35mpg I'd guess with good quality two stroke oil being added to ensure adequate lubrication, the oil itself taking up a large chunk of my budget.
Not once did I get pulled for a roadside chat, even though I work next to the police traffic HQ. I came close one day after a marathon quarry bashing session, both the bike and I were covered in sandy mud, the small numberplate totally obscured and long strands of grass hanging from the buckles of my boots. I had about as much idea of my velocity as a speeding member of the royal family but, lo and behold, when the cop car cruised past he kept going. It must've been his tea break or my guardian angel was on a double shift.
The cycle parts stood up to the passage of time quite well, the alloy parts were well chunky and a quick polish kept the white rash at bay. There was no paint-work to worry about, and, anyway, a dirty enduro bike merely looks the part.
The time to move on to pastures new was heralded by total brake failure whilst I was bombing around a sand filled quarry. It wasn't the only thing that was filled, I can tell you. Closer inspection revealed a warped front disc and an oval rear drum. A quick call to the breaker turned up nothing except a quote big enough to scare a Bolivian coke dealer. All this combined with the fact that, even at 25 years old, I couldn't get fire and theft cover without selling one of the kids, meant it had to go.
To be fair to the bike, it had suffered a hard life, being thrashed by a demented farmer and was due for a major refit in the brake department, not to mention chain and sprockets (the chain was so loose it would've been more use on a forklift truck) but an offer of £650 was too good to turn down.
Would I buy another? Yes, if the price was right. I've now got a 1980 Suzuki PE175, yet again a full blown enduro bike picked up for £225 with a monstrous rattle from the crank. Spares seem cheaper than for the Kwacker and the twin shock layout makes it a lot simpler than the potentially expensive Uni-Trak. It's in a hundred bits at the moment but should be ready for summer.
Don't dismiss enduros out of hand, especially if you live in the country. They can repay a modest outlay with unlimited grins - unless, that is, a woolly hatted hiker and his chums get hold of you.
Mark Hough
Return to Contents for Kawa Commuters
The hundred quid hack was all I could afford. It didn't even run but was whole. That was what the 125 world had come to. Anything interesting was either expensive or a wreck. Sometimes both. I pushed the bike the six miles home. None of the bikers who sped past bothered to stop.
The AR isn't the most flash 125. But it's been around for yonks with lots of spares in breakers. That's where I headed for some engine parts. I'd stripped the top end off the AR to find a ruined bore and piston. The small and big end bearings were okay, so I had a lucky escape. Forty notes secured a barrel and piston.
The watercooled engine was easy to work on. I'd had lots of practice tuning old mopeds. The only thing to watch was for the studs stripping in their threads. Either a torque wrench or a good touch were needed. Old gaskets smeared with Hermatite were used in the reassembly.
The AR had been standing for so long that the tyres had rotted and corrosion had obscured much of the chassis. The breaker gave me some reasonable Jap tyres, skinny enough to suit a push-bike. I spent a whole weekend cleaning and patching up the chassis.
It was all together for the beginning of the week. A reluctance to start was down to a duff spark plug. Riding off to work I was a bit worried by a misfire below 4000 revs. It threatened to kill the engine dead. I was given some fish-eyed looks as I stoked the throttle up at junctions.
Coming home it ran better. I guessed there was some crud in the carb from standing so long. The Unitrak back end felt a bit loose. Pot-holes sent the bars into some fearsome twitches. It more or less went where it was pointed. Until the front tyre exploded. I was only doing 25mph. Managed to pull over, both feet down to control the wobble.
It wasn't the tyre that had gone but the cast front wheel. A crack ran through one of the spokes and the rim. I've never heard of any other AR's doing that. It must have been in an accident. Not very inspiring. Some desperate pleading secured a corroded wheel for £35.
Luckily, the bike was still where I'd left it parked the next day. There was no way it could be pushed or pulled along with the wrecked wheel. AR125s only weigh 230lbs but that's too much to single-handedly drag across town. Curious juveniles gathered as I did the transplant. They seemed surprised when I was able to ride the bike away.
The AR was less than five years old but looked worse than most 20 year olds. I still hadn't passed my test, so couldn't derestrict the motor. Its twelve horses was good for 75mph. But only down a hill with a following wind. Usually 65 to 70mph was the most it'd buzz up to.
The gearbox operation was one of those acquired arts. I'd experienced worse on an old Honda moped. But not much. Gears once firmly engaged didn't slip out again. To the extent that the box would sometimes lock into gear. Depending on the ratio this could be amusing or hell. The only way to change gear then was to let the motor cool its heels for ten minutes. The mileometer suggested the engine had done 21000 miles. The gearbox two to three times that.
Apart from these minor irritants the motor was holding together well. The chassis appeared to be rotting away beneath me. Fork seals lasted 500 miles. Calipers gummed up every time it rained. Which was pretty much every day. The rear brake locked solid sending the bike into a wild skid. When I hit it with the hammer the alloy housing cracked. My mates reckoned it was I who was cracked from riding such an old dog.
This litany of minor disasters carried on as the months and mileage piled up. The silencer cracked around its circumference and fell off. I wasn't sure if it was the vibes or rust. Or a combination of the two. It didn't matter what I thought. The engine thought it was a restricted fifty with a violent, chainsaw wail. I popped into the breakers before they locked me away.
Still, the engine ran. It belched a bit of smoke in town. Would oil its plug after fifteen minutes of slow work. If it wasn't cleaned out with a fast blast a new plug was needed. Cleaning the old one was a waste of time. I had to carry a couple of spares just in case. With everything sorted there was a broad range of power. Better than most other 125s. Fuel was good, at 60 to 70mpg.
When the wobbles finally became too terrifying I took the back end down. Parts from breakers saved a lot of hassle in reconstructing the UniTrak and swinging arm bearings. The only difficult job was removing the swinging arm spindle. The blows from the hammer jarred my body. God knows what they did to the little Kawasaki.
That just left the front end in a rather sad state. Pitted forks, a wrecked caliper and worn out tyre. It was cheaper to exchange it for a newish one at the breakers. Total cost of the cycle parts was £65. I enjoyed putting the shiny bits back together.
I wasn't disappointed with the stability. Just the slightest fluttering flat out. Town work was a breeze. It could be a real giant killer. The thing to catch me out was the mirrors. They hung out a long way, would hit the sides of cars when I wasn't paying attention. I just kept going, no point giving a cager a chance to beat me up.
About 8000 miles after the rebuild the silencer started pissing out steam! The cylinder gasket had finally failed. I quite enjoyed leaving behind huge clouds. New gaskets sorted the problem. I noticed that the piston was a bit scruffed but the bore looked fine.
In one of those silly manoeuvres that you curse afterwards I was involved in an accident. I decided to do a sudden ninety degree turn. Some cyclist had assumed I was turning left rather than right. He went over his bars into my lap. AR and I toppled over. I cracked my helmet open, was left a bit dazed. The next thing I knew I was frog-marched into an ambulance and spent hours in hospital. I kept insisting on leaving but they ignored me.
The police had carted the AR away, were reluctant to return it to me. The cyclist was threatening to sue me. I had visions of never ever again being able to insure a motorcycle. The AR had a few dents that were sorted with filler and paint.
After that incident it never seemed to run so well. It may have been all in my mind. It veered slightly to the left. The mill kept grinding out vibration every time I tried to crack 70mph. There was not much that could be serviced. All I did was change the transmission oil and check the fluids.
I guessed that the next engine rebuild would involve replacing the crankshaft. The gearbox was also becoming even worse. That all added up to a major expense. It'd be cheaper to fit an engine out of a crashed bike.
I kept the AR until I passed my test. Not an ideal contraption for this purpose. It looked a little loud in the bright yellow I'd applied. If the gearbox seized during the test I'd be deep in execrement. It didn't. I polished the whole bike until it shone and put it in MCN for £350. I accepted £300 and bought myself a crashed Suzuki GS450.
Kev
Return to Contents for Kawa Commuters
Slightly faded in orange, the little KH still looked good to my innocent eyes. This was 1991, the bike had four owners but only 19000 miles. The rotary valve induction stroker came alive first kick. Only a minimum of blue smoke and no rattles equalled a good machine to my eighteen year old mind. It would've been easy to get it completely wrong, to buy an old dog and be put off motorcycling for life.
I already knew how to ride, having gone the motorcycle school and hired machine route to pass the test. I wanted to buy a bigger machine but insurance costs blew that option. As it was, I was only going to be able to afford third party and a large shackle lock. The test ride went well enough, the KH handled okay, the gears worked and it seemed fast enough. My only qualm was that I felt rather highly perched on the bike - my kid sister asked me why I'd bought a noddy bike. Cheek!
Every bike is a little different and it took me a few hours to become used to the KH. It seemed well built, with taut suspension, easy handling and enough go to keep ahead of the cars, at least up to 50mph. On a long straight, during the ride home, I checked out the top speed. 75mph. I was never to get more than this out of the bike during the following year's riding. It seemed happy to cruise at 60 to 70mph, whilst turning in 85mpg. As for town work, it must be one of the easiest bike's to fling about and despite the two stroke motor it never seemed to choke up under mild use.
I was pleased as punch with my purchase. I laughed at my mates on their 125 replicas as they were also limited to 12hp (at least until they passed their test) but had to pay off thousands of pounds in loans. If the KH125 didn't look flash in the least, it was much more comfortable than the replicas; I could go for 150 miles without a sore arse, whilst my friends spent most of their time thinking up excuses to stop every 50 miles!
The KH was also dead simple to look after. All I had to do was add fuel and oil, as the engine stayed in tune regardless and the cycle parts were plain and simple. Its one concession to fashion was a single front disc, but I didn't mind this as it was still a good stopper that pulled me out of trouble several times. It could squeal the cheap, square section Avon, but the rubber regained its grip as soon as I backed off.
Whilst the tyres were as far from being state of the art as the rest of the bike, they seemed well suited to the Kawasaki's performance and wore out incredibly slowly. I was amazed by the 12hp replicas going through tyres in 6000 miles. The one area where the KH was a bit lacking was the suspension, which on bumpy roads let through most of the bumps and left me feeling like I'd been given a good going over by the local pack of Angels. One of our group on a Cagiva chop had no end of trouble with these louts, but that's another story.
I enjoyed myself immensely, caning the KH across the country, usually staying at the back of the screaming pack of replicas. It was a bit noisy but I could study their progress through the bends, seek out the smoothest path for the Kawasaki's tired suspension. They never managed to shake me off, and at the end of the run I'd still be there with a silly, albeit triumphant, grin.
Both the engine and the chassis hark back to the sixties rather than the eighties, but what the hell, the basic package worked well enough everywhere except on the motorway. The 12hp replicas had the same problem. Although I could hold 70mph, that was way insufficient to keep up with the traffic flow in the slow lane and I often ended up riding next to the white line that divided the slow lane from the hard shoulder. Even then mutants in cages would give me a dose of horn and overtake with such closeness that I ended up wobbling in their airstream for a couple of hundred yards.
That was the only time I was really frightened, although overtaking cars that were doing 65mph on A-roads could also be interesting. Acceleration above 65mph could best be described as stately. Several times I had to abandon the manoeuvre when I ran out of space, slam on the brakes to get back behind the car. A couple of drivers found it hilarious to accelerate as I came alongside them then brake as I started to slow down, hoping that I'd smash into an oncoming car. I had two near misses but survived with both knee-caps intact.
In town I invariably got my own back. Oh, how I pitied those poor buggers trapped in tin cages that had cost thousands of pounds. Even in the wet and cold, when I was well wrapped and protected by waterproofs, I didn't lose my feeling of well being. Well, only the once, when the front wheel hit a patch of oil and slid away. Down we went in a fuselage of sparks and grinding metal. A couple of old women went hysterical as I slid across their path, supposing me dead or grievously injured. But I went with the flow, shook myself and leapt back up, more concerned with the fate of the KH than any broken bones I might've received.
The KH had flipped back up and then fallen on to the side of a passing auto, which had in turn dragged it along for a few yards, before it bounced back down on to the tarmac. Aaarghh! The engine bars, handlebars and back indicators had taken most of the impact. There was a slight dent in the tank and silencer. The one side of the car, along its entire length, was a complete mess. New wings and doors would be needed. I felt rather sorry for the driver who looked like he was in the throes of an heart attack. Luckily, I'd paid out for third party insurance.
The Kawasaki was quickly fixed with bits from the breaker, though I didn't bother with the tank or exhaust. It could've done with a new set of wheels as the spokes and rims were beginning to rust away. A can of matt black paint would have to suffice. By then the clock was reading 26000 miles and I decided the engine needed a decoke and tune-up. The rings and bore were very worn, so I copped a newish barrel and rings from the breaker. It was an easy engine to work on with a bit of help from the manual (this being the first bike I'd worked on) but I stripped one stud when I bolted down the head, which meant I had to take it all apart again. Araldite seemed preferable to a helicoil and leaving it to set overnight worked jolly well (this bodge I picked up from reading the UMG, thanks chaps).
After the accident, the steering seemed a little nervous and the engine didn't run with quite the elan of the old one. The handling turned out to be the front wheel bearings breaking up. When they finally went I rode into some old dear's garden as it went completely out of control. Only problem with that was that there was a bloody big clump of rose bushes in the way. The thorns tore huge chunks out of my clothes and then my skin. Whilst I was having a cursing fit the old woman who owned the house came out and started whacking me on my helmet with her walking stick, not too amused to have her pride and joy of a garden completely ruined by some motorcycle lout. The local bobby came to my aid and I agreed to come back to help rebuild her garden at a later date. She's still waiting and my skin still has the scar marks.
After pushing the bike home, I hit the local bearing factor for a new set, got the old ones out with a chisel and walloped the new ones in with my biggest hammer. The handling was then back to normal, but top speed was down to 70mph, on a good day, and by the time 33000 miles were done I had the impression that a full engine rebuild wasn't far off. Being a sucker for punishment I traded it in for a low mileage KH125.
From that you'd gather that I like the KH rather a lot. Certainly, for the first 25000 miles there shouldn't be too many problems, thereafter they do start to wear out but there are lots of spares and even engines from breakers. I wouldn't use one for any distance on the motorway, although I have done some UK tours. They are generally adequate and particularly brilliant in town, and very, very cheap to run.
Adrian Miller
Return to Contents for Kawa Commuters
I was a bit dubious about a seven year old Kawasaki AR125. Not helped any by the open carb, loud spannie and chortling youthful owner who couldn't live without blipping the throttle. He reckoned the watercooled stroker single had a complete rebuild, almost to race spec, 4000 miles previously. He was only selling it to take his sick mother on her last holiday!
The test ride revealed that there was no power below 6000rpm, thereafter it came in like a crossbow bolt going off. This highly reprehensible, if not illegal, little missile almost endeared itself to me when I became lost in the gearbox, ending up in second instead of fourth with a wide open throttle. The owner's grin wasn't diminished by the spectacle of me scraping along on the numberplate in maximum wheelie mode. He confided that she was a smashing little number and I couldn't find it in my heart to disagree.
For the next couple of weeks I displayed a commendable caution on the throttle until I'd grown fully confident in both my own and the bike's abilities. Weighing in at only 300lbs meant that the AR was dead easy to control but was also thrown about by road shocks, side winds and the airstream of large vehicles. The desired path was often ruined by such obstacles, making the AR both frustrating and even a little dangerous.
The crazed nature of the power delivery didn't help one bit, but then it did sport something like 30 horses instead of the obligatory 12 judging by the way the howling engine would shove the Kawasaki up to the ton! Unfortunately, the suspension had not received much attention, was worn to the point where anything above 70mph threatened to turn cataclysmic.
The first time I hit a big bump at speed I thought I was going to die. The bars seemed to lurch right out of my hands, shake wildly for a hundred yards, leaving the whole bike in the kind of lurches I'd only experienced previously in a fairground. Below 70mph the suspension was still capable of holding the plot in line.
Rather than do anything expensive like buy new suspension components I hit the breakers for stock carb, filter and exhaust, only £25 for the lot. With these fitted I was immediately impressed with the new found civility of the motor, with plenty of torque between 3000 and 8000rpm. Top speed was radically reduced to about 80mph, which was still better than stock - the internal porting mods were not totally subsumed by the restrictive induction and exhaust mods.
Another cause for joy was the 75mpg economy instead of a pathetic 40mpg previously. Starting had also become a first rather than sixth kick affair, even if the spark plug would still oil under extended town use. Sometimes it'd clear up under a bit of throttle abuse, other times I had to change it for the spare that I always carried, not being a complete novice in the ways of strokers.
The engine went through oil at the approximate rate of a pint every 100 miles, which seemed excessive, as shown by the amount of exhaust pollutants. Idling for more than a minute left the immediate area covered in quite a dense fog. If the wind was blowing the wrong way I had to inhale a very painful amount of burnt off oil, that left me coughing like an eighty year old asthmatic.
As the engine had soon started rattling like the piston rings were breaking up I had no intention of adjusting the oil pump to a milder setting. I was relieved to find that other AR's rattled just as noisily as mine despite the watercooling and there was no immediate drop off in performance.
A good engine can be most easily sussed by the presence of a slick gearbox. Despite having its own oil supply, lubricant needed to be changed every 1000 miles if a passing resemblance to a grinding machine was to be avoided. Even with new oil my box was far from easy to use, suddenly finding false neutrals where it'd been previously polished. After a while I became used to it and smooth engagement of gears became the norm rather than the exception.
It was important to maintain the sprockets and chain in good shape to keep the gearbox working. Effectively, this meant replacing them every 7500 miles! Yes, utterly pathetic for such a light, low powered motorcycle but I did use the cheapest set I could buy. Huge quantities of oil were thrown off the chain, by the way, leaving the back end and any pillions not sporting waders deep in grime. I did have a passing thought of using some kind of condensing mechanism on the end of the exhaust to divert the oil that was spewing out on to the chain!
Apart from regular chain adjustments, spark plug replacements and putting oil in the tank, the rest of the bike was relatively free of maintenance chores. The first on the road failure was the result of this wanton neglect - the back tyre had picked up a nail and ended up shredding the inner-tube. The wobble when the final deflation occurred was intense enough to cause us to run off the road, completely out of control. I narrowly missed being mashed by a couple of cars and almost felt relieved when we hit some grass, sliding along until a fence stopped our progress.
Damage was minimal, the AR being narrow with everything well tucked in. I sprained an ankle which sent shudders through my body whenever I placed any weight on it. A van driver actually pulled over, insisted on running bike and I to my house some five miles away. He was an ex-biker who bitterly regretted his marriage and mortgage, regaled me with tales of misdeeds on an RD400. He also agreed to buy the AR off me, until he figured out what would be his wife's reaction. My ankle took a lot longer to recover than the AR.
The second on the road failure occurred after about 12000 miles of abuse. The piston seized up when we were rolling along at about 60mph. The locked up back wheel sent my heart rate crazy until I hit the clutch. The reason for the failure was that I never bothered to check the coolant level which had dropped so far that there was only steam left in the radiator. I knocked on someone's door demanding a bucket of water as a temporary solution. I received some very funny looks from the old girl but she eventually acquiesced and the engine cooled off after a while to loosen up the piston.
The journey home was accompanied by terminal rattles and enough smoke to have fire engines rushing to the scene. When I took the cylinder off I was relieved to find that the bore was okay, the rings had just collapsed into the piston - only thing was that the small and big ends were shot! Oh well, the AR was about due for an exchange crankshaft.
The bike was only off the road for two weeks, allowing me to also fit some new bearings in the rear suspension and put in a nearly new shock. The rebuilt motor, as is often the case, performed less well than of old even with 250 miles of careful bedding in. Top speed was only 75mph (under favourable conditions, usually it was only 70mph) and fuel consumption was around the 60mpg mark. The stability had improved noticeably, allowing me to hammer along flat out whenever possible, so journey times were often shorter.
The third failure was down to the generator burning out, blowing every electrical black box on its way to oblivion. This ain't a common demise, used bits readily available from breakers but I found that a lot of the wiring had turned brittle, a rewire becoming necessary. I never did get the indicators to work properly again, but hand signals and a loud horn sufficed. The lights and switches were pretty much what you'd expect on a bike of this size, adequate rather than in any way brilliant.
A further 9000 miles were done after the rebuild, with just the electrical hassles by way of trouble. I'd owned the bike for just over two years, which was more than enough for me. I yearned for something newer, bigger, faster and flasher. As it was back in 12hp spec by default rather than planning I had no trouble selling the AR to an eager learner for what I'd originally paid. I'd had quite a few expenses along the way so it wasn't a free ride but I felt I'd had good value and plenty of good times out of the experience. They ain't bad bikes overall.
Dick Williams
Return to Contents for Kawa Commuters
The KH100 wasn't my first choice of machine, its appearance was too old fashioned to inspire but I soon learnt that looks ain't everything. A four year old with just 13000 miles under its wings, the engine rattled into life first kick, I clambered on board, my nerves settling as the experience of CBT came flooding back. Truth was, that the mildly tuned KH, even though it was a stroker, couldn't have been easier to ride.
The gearbox was crunchy but didn't have false neutrals and the front end was a bit vague, but those minor faults aside I had no problems riding back and forth to work. I wouldn't go so far as to say I was relaxed. There was too much madness from the car drivers, requiring much ducking and diving to survive; I'd spent too many years on a bicycle not to know the survival routines.
There was just enough power to keep out of the way of the cars, the engine running as well at tickover revs as with the throttle to the stop. Power began to run out at 60mph, though a steep hill would put all of 72mph on the clock. I never achieved 75mph even in the most favourable conditions. For town work the KH was more than adequate but dual carriageways, let alone motorways, didn't really suit the bike, which as well as lacking speed also wallowed a little bit.
Three weeks of joy was abruptly brought to a halt when the motor refused to start however many times I kicked or pushed the cycle. The motor was half catching but then refusing to light up. I phoned a friend who was an expert in these things. Try a new spark plug was his advice. It so happened that the old one had solidified into the cylinder head, probably the original plug!
Yes, you guessed it, I ended up with a near perfect bike ruined by half a spark plug broken off in the head. Perhaps I shouldn't have used that long bar on the socket wrench. The head came off very easily, revealing that it would benefit from a decoke but it wasn't worth the effort as there seemed no way to remove what was left of the plug. I phoned my friend in despair who told me to buy MCN and check out the breakers. I did, ended up with a good head for a mere tenner. In my mind I was thinking it'd cost me hundreds to repair. This was a useful lesson for a novice to learn, use breakers whenever possible.
The second lesson was to buy a new cylinder head gasket as the old one blew as soon as I started the motor. Finally, I had the KH back in running order and my commuting run back on schedule. Once used to the cheapness and quickness of a commuter motorcycle it was a terrible shock to the system to go back to the car or public transport. These things get a grip on your mind after just a little while.
Wet weather riding wasn't that much fun. I was equipped with a set of nylons that made me sweat a bath full of water on each run but kept out the rain even in hurricane type weather. The Japanese tyres skittered over the slippery road surface, causing me many moments of palpitation until I became used to the feel, it appearing more frightening than it actually was.
My motorcyclist friends were all astonished that I was running the bike on Japanese rubber, muttering something about recycled condoms and hoping I had large life insurance (I don't have any, don't believe in it). Maybe they were right and I'd be better off on European tyres but the existing rubber had one great advantage - it never seemed to wear. My low running costs made most people weep with envy, as well as not wearing anything out the KH turned in 80 to 100mpg. Insurance, road tax and maintenance costs added up to next to nothing.
One frosty winter day we were rolling along quite happily despite cold that'd left icicles hanging off the end of the handlebars, when a tiny mutt shot out into the road and my front wheel. The furry ball of anger somehow ended up clamped between wheel and mudguard, bringing us to an abrupt halt. I moved the bike backwards which freed the dog with a yelp after cracking up the mudguard. The ungrateful canine then tried to take a bite out of my ankle but had to make do with a leather boot, which was promptly smashed into its head.
The guard fell off halfway to work, scraping down the road to be crushed under the wheels of a car. Coming home it rained really heavily, with plumes of water pouring off the wheel straight over the machine and myself. I was stopped and warned by a cop about the lack of a guard, needed no such encouragement to buy a used guard the next day for a fiver. Dogs not on leads should be shot or run down on sight.
Minor hassles like that didn't put me off riding the Kawasaki in truly atrocious weather. I don't know quite why I was so willing to abuse my body in this way, maybe it was the basically happy nature of the bike that shone through. I was so certain that the little stroker single would keep on going come what may that it filled me full of energy to take on the challenge of winter. Work was becoming a mere inconvenience in between bouts of riding the KH; routes becoming longer and longer as time wore on. My brain was filled with visions of bigger bikes and wilder times. What was supposed to be merely a practical and economical means of beating the traffic jams was becoming an obsession.
First, there was the minor matter of the test. Riding had become second nature and my sixth sense for danger had blossomed under the threat of the mad cagers (mad from spending too much time in traffic jams, probably very nice chaps in real life) but that wasn't what the examiner would want to see. Actions had to be deliberate, larger than life, so that they could see you knew what you were doing. The Highway Code was religiously studied until the day of the test. I was failed on not going through junctions fast enough and nearly knee-capping a ped who'd run out of nowhere on to the crossing. Second time around I passed with a warning about riding a touch too fast and not using the mirrors enough.
A look at the cost of buying, taxing, insuring and running a big four soon dissuaded me of that notion. Even a pre-'78 bike, with cheap classic insurance, didn't inspire. A sensible 250 twin was more like it but a couple of test rides revealed not much more go than the KH. Not worth the effort, thought I.
I'd enjoyed a year's running on the KH, adding 16000 miles to the original mileage. It has to be admitted that the motor had lost its edge, going dead after 55mph and only doing 70mpg. My neighbour with an MZ was at long last able to sniff dismissively at my excessive smokescreen. I knew that it was just a question of time until the engine blew up.
What should turn up but a tuned KH125 motor, in the local breaker for £250. I was a bit doubtful about the spannie but it was unlikely the motor would run without it. The engine slipped straight in and transformed the nature of the KH. 85mph or so, but weird handling that threatened to throw me out of the saddle at speed. I tended to use the thrilling acceleration in town rather than the outright speed. Great fun!
H.R.T.