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Someone had a low mileage Yamaha RS100 pining away in the back of their garage for 200 notes. I bought it - blue and shiny whilst I waited for my licence to arrive from the DVLC. Burbling about the yard I locked up the back wheel on some mud and dumped the bike on its side.
Fortunately, the indicators had ultra trick bendy rubber stalks which saved them from breaking off but the clutch lever snapped off - £7 from my local Yamaha dealer, I'd expected no more than £2 and found my wallet emptied.
Licence arrived, I soon found that the bike had to be wound on in the lower gears to make it shift. It took off at 35mph in third, I had discovered the powerband. From then on I thrashed it everywhere. Once, after too many pints, I missed my turning at a poorly lit junction, ending up in a ditch.
Luckily, there was no water in the ditch and I managed to haul the bike out despite six pints of the Devil's Buttermilk sloshing about inside my body and brain. I even made it home cross country through the woods at night so as to avoid the forces of law and order and other pissed idiots. The RS is no motocrosser; nothing broke or fell off, apart from myself. I had to fit a new chain and sprockets when the teeth started pinging off the rear cog, and a new set of points ten minutes before my first training session.
The course was a good laugh, an opportunity to meet fledgling bikers and ride around in a straggly line with silly orange bibs on. Our instructors were two bearded John Bulls, as fat and jolly sounding as the BMWs they rode, and a tall Mad Max outlaw type with a massive matt black Katana. I passed Part One with no trouble but Part Two wasn't so easy.
After the second time, when I failed because the examiner couldn't see the RS's pathetic 6V indicators, I rented a Honda CB125T and spent a day going around the test circuit getting every corner and junction exactly right. I passed and burned off home to burn the hated L plates.
The RS took me for a summer ride to the capital, revving hard to keep up with my mate's tuned Suzuiki GP125 and arriving in Covent Garden with a red hot motor. The rush hour was unbelievable to us provincial rodents, though the little strokers would slice through the smallest of gaps. At one point, I burnt off a Laverda Mirage rider, who was so outraged that he stalled his bike at the traffic lights. I was ahead for 200 yards before he caught me.
Another memorable trip was to a weekend party a 100 miles away in Leicester. It was February, so I taped a bit of old sheepskin to the seat and set off, thinking of using B roads as much as possible to avoid the traffic. Four hours later, having had to stop to check the map every 6 miles or so, I was still a thrid of the distance from my destination and my right foot was a frozen lump. I found a pub with delicious hot chicken and chips, had a whisky and massaged the blood back into my iced up extremities. So, refreshed I pressed on and arrived just as the fun started.
On the way back, with hangover but happy, I took the A road, an unpleasant hack on the poor old bike with knackered piston rings reducing speed to 50mph instead of the 70mph when newish, but which took me only three hours rather than six to get back.
The next day I did a bit of maintenance and found that the oil pump control cable had snapped, which meant that only tickover supplies of oil had been lubricating the engine, which illustrates just how tough these little reed valve units can be.
The RS100 isn't a stylish or exciting machine, but provides good cheap biking fun, especially as it costs the same as a fifty to insure. It's easy to fix and even when thrashed mercilessly mine gave 70mpg. It'll keep up with the restricted 125s and is easy to tune for beyond 80mph with a file, filter and power pipe. Its suspension is pretty crude but this doesn't stop it handling okay. Because of its plain looks it isn't likely to get pinched.
I don't ride one myself any more, having progressed to better things (VT250) but to an impecunious beginner who can't stomach an MZ I would strongly recommend it. The weak points are basically its pathetic 6V electrics and the slightly less than stunning front drum, but these are more than made up for by its reliability and bulletproof motor.
I still see my RS puttering around town four years on from when I sold it and fourteen years from when it came off the ship from Japan. Sometimes, I wish I'd kept it - it introduced me to the keen pleasures of biking. My fondest memories of it were the evening runs out to certain girls' houses, hunched low over the headlamp trying to pick out the catseyes and feeling the alternative warm air off the rises and pockets of chill in the dips, as we screamed through the rolling autumn landscape. My Rock Steady ‘undred, it never let me down.
I looked around at several cheap 100s and 125s but what I could afford at the time was mostly rubbish. Then an old school mate mentioned he had a bike in his garage, a 1976 Yamaha RS125, a two stroke single, that had been sitting there awaiting reassembly after a rebore. He didn't want anything for it so I was quite happy to take it off his hands. I decided to do a proper job and strip the bike down to the frame.
A Haynes manual would have made everything much easier but in a fit of misguided enthusiasm I just attacked it with a borrowed toolkit and acquired a small mound of nuts, bolts and parts after I'd reassmebled it. Replacement parts included an engine, back wheel, forks and ignition switch.
Once I'd tarted up the frame, I should have replaced the swinging arm bushes and rear shocks, which were both knackered, but I didn't. A pair of cheap shocks would have improved the handling no end and would have been £35 well spent. Having put the new motor (which I'd bought from a breaker without hearing it run) in the frame I had to wire it all up. A combination of 1980 motor and ignition switch and 1976 loom and clocks produced some interesting bodges, especially inside the headlamp. It sort of worked. In the day at any rate.
Riding 5 miles one night, first the lights and then the indicators stopped working (as it was a 6V system they weren't that bright to start with) because the generator couldn't keep up with their energy consumption. Some more rewiring helped ease the problem.
Starting up for the first time was not that easy. Putting petrol in the tank produced a leak around the tap, I could push my thumb through the corroded metal. A nearly new tank from a breaker solved that one. Fifty kicks later it actually started. Farting, lots of blue smoke at first before settling down to a somewhat ratty tickover. It didn't run for long, though starting it again was no problem.
This proved to be the way of things before it got a rebore. It would stall as soon as I stopped and pulled the clutch in, sometimes, but other times it would run perfectly. Cleaning the carb and fiddling with the pilot jet made no difference at all, nor did changing the points. I guess there were times when it just got bored with running and packed it in as a bad job. And yes, I had decoked the exhaust and cleaned out the exhaust port, so it remained something of a mystery.
The most amazing thing happened soon after all this - it passed its MOT first time. This was probably due to having cleaned the spokes diligently - he remarked on this and didn't do much else other than poke it a bit. He even missed the fork oil leaking out of the right-hand gaiter that I'd fitted to hide the pitted forks. Anyhow, I was free to start ring-a-dinging in earnest.
Looking back at it from the rarified heights of a D reg XBR500, the little heap was positively lethal but at the time it was great. An indicated top speed of 60mph later proved to be a real speed of 70mph - amazing. Oil consumption from the gearbox (700cc only) was almost negligible, with almost no leaks once I'd tied down the various initially loose bits. Fuel consumption wasn't all that good at about 55-60mpg but I was thrashing a knackered two stroke, which explains a lot I suppose.
Other consumables could be ignored (apart from two stroke oil of course) as it didn't produce enough power to wear out the chain or the front tyre and there was no vibration to explode bulbs. It did eat four or five spark plugs and one rev counter cable, though. The only other thing I had to replace was the brake fluid reservoir, which spontaneously exploded on impact with a roundabout - most embarrassing!
Mind you, if it had been made out of metal rather than plastic it would have survived, like the Honda one I replaced it with... The only real problem with it was that it just had to smell rain to stop dead - even dry air and wet roads killed it. A good clean of the HT lead usually got it going, though a new one would probably have cleared the fault entirely.
The combination of squashy forks and rear shocks plus knackered swinging arm bearings gave a ride that could be best described as dangerous. I'm still nervous about corners now! The feeble acceleration was still quicker than many cars, though.
One old duffer in an ancient Rover and in broad daylight, was sitting looking at me as he pulled slowly across my path. He didn't even bother to look left, which was quite perplexing as he was turning right from a lturning on my side of the road. The feeble wheep of the horn was rejected in favour of opening the throttle and grabbing the clutch while braking - I mean panicking - desperately. A relined 9000rpm scream shook him into wakefulness and I carried on living.
After a summer's worth of abuse the engine gave up the ghost, it destroyed part of one ring which flew around the crankcase and one part stuck in the plug gap, which was quite interesting at the time, me being halfway across a set of lights. On pulling it apart (quite an easy job as long as you have a flywheel puller) I discovered lots of damage. You should have seen the sideways wobbles on the crank! So, I patched up the better condition old engine with some bits from the newer one and a rebore. That rebuild cost £50, against £150 for the first one.
I only fell off twice. Once due to my own fault, once due to diesel and rain - talk about learning the hard way - and it was fixed easily and cheaply from a breakers both times. Possibly a bit of aggravation could have been saved if I'd spent £200 on a running bike, but I wouldn't have learnt so much. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.
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Feeling bored last October I decided to do something a bit more positive with my month's wages instead of the usual throat and belly lubrication sessions. I had £170 to spare, so after pondering various notions, such as trading in my 1979 YB100, buying new bits for an 18 yearold, knackered CB250, a cheap flight to a warmer climate or buying that Hi-Fi, decided on something completely psychopathic - I'd tour Ireland on my Yamaha YB100.
I'd bought the bike from a certain cowboy dealer in May '88 for the scandalously high sum of £355. The salesman, a Volvo driver, assured me that the bike was in exceptionally sound condition for its age and would be very reliable, thereby justifying its price tag.
Some months later I met the previous owner who, to my extreme disgust, informed me that he had happily parted company with the bike to the same shop for £120 trade in......I had just been an 18 yearold with a fistful of tenners and head full of dreams. Never trust a creep with glasses and a Volvo.
The YB is a basic little commuter with a simple two stroke single engine, pressed steel frame, SLS drum brakes and a fully enclosed drive chain. It's been around for ages, previously popular with ancient commuters, with learners restricted to 125cc machines it's a cheap way for a youth to get on the road. Thus, many are thrashed to within an inch of their life and its says a lot for their basic robustness that they seem to keep going on and on.
Anyway, I tightened the chain, cables, nuts and bolts, changed the oil and spark plug, put a small tool roll together, donned my brother's waterproofs and started the first leg of the journey, 130 miles from Edinburgh to Stranraer. It felt good as I buzzed along, humming a familiar Stepppenwolf tune....the last 15 miles were a nightmare. No street lights or cats-eyes, pitch darkness, a million artics covered in huge dazzling lights coming the other way (presumably off the ferry) on the narrow, twisty, hilly road and my totally inadequate headlamp which cast a feeble spot of light six feet in front of me.
I had no praise for the direct, 6V lighting, so popular on these types of commuter two strokes. You can probably imagine how I felt - put it this way, I was glad I had packed some spare underwear in my rucksack.
I tied the bike securely to a post on the vehicle deck of the ferry and went in search of the bar. Winning £75.25 on the fruit machine boosted my confidence sky high, so I was all set for the next two and half weeks which, according to my rough estimation would see me cover 1500 miles. The sea was calm enough and the machine and myself survived the passage unscathed.
Arriving in Larne at 2am, I ditched the L-plates and hit the motorway to Belfast, B & B and sleep. Again, the lack of lighting inspired the occasional bout of fear and loathing but there was little in the way of traffic. Of all the relatives I had in Ireland, why did they all live in the south? I forked out £12 for the night and a burnt offering that was supposed to be breakfast. The next week went reasonably well, considering my means of transport.
The little Yamaha sort of hummed along flat out most of the time, a few vibes and lots of wobbling and weaving making sure I didn't fall asleep. The excess mass had used up most of the suspension travel so I was thrown about a bit over bumpy going and it sort of bounced through corners. Just as well that it was never able to develop excessive speed. Despite being thrashed, left outside overnight and generally neglected it still started up easily.
Despite wearing two layers of clothing, three pairs of gloves and socks, two scarfs, leather jacket and waterproofs, I froze every mile of the way. Especially my feet and hands. I remembered reading in the UMG about a guy who kept his hands warm by holding the cylinder head with his leather gloved hands. Well, I discovered I could warm my hands alternatively by the use of my unique cruise control system (a sticking throttle cable), and bending down to the mildly inclined from the horizon engine.
Passing motorists appeared shocked by my strangely postured body, but it was better than ending up with frost bitten hands. The agony bits of my body thawing out had to be avoided if at all possible. During the second week minor problems started. She cut out regularly in the wet and petrol leaked profusely from the overflow when the petrol tap was on (even if I was riding). I sorted the latter out by bending the tab in the float bowl upwards a touch.
The clutch cable snapped the same day when I was about 50 miles from a bike shop. Clutchless gearchanges weren't exactly smooth on that bike so I bought a replacement from a friendly shop in Dublin. The four speed gearbox was never entirely precise, at the best of times, although the ratios were reasonably spaced given the flat power curve of the motor.
I lost my front mudguard later that week. It just fell off one morning and, to my horror, was crushed by a tractor behind me. So the next two days (which just happened to be wet) were pretty infuriating as the almost constant spray of water/mud/cowpats soaked my chest. However, a Drogheda breaker gave me a mudguard for free. Nice folks, the Irish.
The most annoying thing about the whole holiday was the exhaust pipe popping off on the hour and half hour. This was very embarrassing, especially in the north, as the noise from the open exhaust port sounded distinctly like machine gun fire. My gloves still bear the burn marks from those unfortunate incidents. I eventually bought a tub of filler and packed it into the stripped screw-on sleeve. It actually held for the rest of the trip.
Other isolated incidents proved to be minor setbacks. A front tyre puncture was easily repaired and the rear stoplight blowing simply meant I had to always have a couple of spare bulbs. Adjusting the chain every few days, replacing the spark plug once, spraying WD40 everywhere and waterproofing the spark plug cap (with cling-film and sellotape) kept me going without too much trouble.
I averaged roughly 80mpg and cruised, with large rucksack on my back, a larger bag tied to the seat behind me and an improvised tank bag, at speeds between 40 and 50mph. On one steep hill near Killarney, aided by a hurricane, I hit a staggering indicated 67mph! I also achieved a world first amongst YB100 riders, yes, a high speed wobble! On second thoughts, perhaps it was caused my by shaking in fear and trepidation of the 97cc two stroke engine exploding.
With all the weight, the brakes had become interesting. Normally, they could be relied on to pull the machine up quickly a couple of times a day, but as the 185lb machine was carrying almost its own weight in excess baggage the brakes had become more a sop to eagle-eyed cops than a useful part of the machine's equipment. I had to search far ahead before using the anchors.
Town riding was normally a cinch, but with the top heavy feel endowed by the luggage a bit of care was needed to pilot the beast through the slow bits. Acceleration was still sufficient to give car drivers pause for thought and few appeared inclined to get into races, perhaps a consequence of the dangerous appearance of the heavily loaded machine. One thing I found particularly pleasing was my exhaust blowing a small hole. This seemed to do wonders for the acceleration and made the bike sound like a DT125.
The immense feeling of satisfaction experienced when riding along an open South West Ireland road on a sunny morning is something which can't be explained in words. It is something which must be experienced first hand. Whether riding a BMW or big Jap I am sure the feeling must be of the same type. Freedom.When I returned home I'd covered just under 2000 miles and the bike was in more or less the same condition as when I left. I was not that surprised that such an ancient hack had done so well, it just goes to show that it's not the machine that limits one's adventures but the mind.
Fergus Cooney
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The first motorcycle is always viewed favourably in retrospect, the first few weeks on a machine so exciting that they are not easily submerged later when events go wrong. To be fair to the little air cooled single cylinder stroker, the RXS100 is a tough and reliable little commuter under normal usage. But the learning curve and youthful high spirits do not add up to normal use. Not much!
The problem was not so much with the machine as with myself and the company I was keeping. Most of my mates were a little older than myself and out working for a living rather than trying to pass silly things like A levels. Thus, they were on TZRs and RGs, with huge HP debts, whilst I had to keep up with them on a three year old Yamaha RXS100 that had cost £500, or about two years worth of paper delivering and weekend work in a fruit market.
The bike had 15000 miles on the clock and had been owned by three different youths who used it to learn the arcane art of motorcycling upon. I had taken a training course in order to allay parental fears, so didn't think twice about going for a ride with my mates only minutes after its past owner had delivered the still sparkling machine to my doorstep.
I was tail end Charlie, working on the basis that if they could sling their bikes around the country corners then I should have no problems following them. We were soon hurling along with the speedo touching 70mph - so fast, so exciting - I barely noticed the vibes zinging through the tank and bars or the slight weave. The first time I had to brake really hard for a slow corner, the RXS didn't respond anywhere near as well as the disc equipped 125s and only by throwing the bike to the right of the first machine in front of me did I avoid back-ending him.
By then, the bike was on the wrong side of the road going straight on when I should be banked over for the curve. Still braking, with the chassis bouncing every which way, I hurled the beast over, and made it back on to the right side of the road with one hell of a wobble reverberating through the bike. The tiny SLS front drum is a death trap if you want to indulge in flat out riding and thereafter I counselled myself to ride with due care and attention to its limitations.
Some hope. My friends made some remark about me looking a bit white faced when we eventually came to a stop. On the top of this hill, the clouds of blue smoke from the three machines enveloped the area, none of us could afford smoke free oil, we just filled the tanks with the cheapest we could find. Their other comment was about the strange ringing noise coming from my engine. The ride home was full of the fear that my new found pride and joy was going to seize up.
The next day I took the machine to the local expert. He was the Basil Fawty of the motorcycle world, renown for taking a lump hammer to motorcycles that did not respond to his particular brand of tender loving care. One customer came back to find that his cycle parts had been battered flat when the machine refused to restart after being rebuilt. It might seem strange to take my machine to such a chap, but he was the only mechanic in our area and he usually did a reasonable job for next to nothing.
He reckoned the small end was on the way out, but he would fix it for me the next day if he could buy the parts. He allowed me to watch him work and I was quite impressed by his mechanical dexterity. The bore looked okay and the crankshaft was in reasonable shape, according to him. The reassembled machine felt smoother and the noise had gone.
Indicated top speed had improved to 75mph. On the straights, the RXS was surprisingly fast, able to edge ahead of the restricted 125 race replicas. This annoyed my friends so much that they soon derestricted their machines and I was left well behind after that as they then had access to over 20hp. It wasn't the most stable of machines, its cheapo suspension meant it reacted strongly to bumpy roads, giving arm and leg muscles a real pounding.
Despite the fact that it wallowed and weaved at speed, it never became too frightening. Weighing in at only 230lbs, it was very easy indeed to haul back on to the required line. As I became more used to the machine, I became more and more amazed at the speed at which I could bounce up to corners and just haul the bike around. If it didn't exactly run around as if on rails, at least it didn't become upset if sudden apparitions (such as veering cars or pot-holes) required a radical change in direction. No, it couldn't safely stay with TZRs and the like through the curves, but what 17 yearold cares about being safe?
Town riding would have been very good if the plug did not foul up if the engine was required to slog along at low revs for a mile or so. It would suddenly clear, sending the revs soaring and the front wheel leaping into the air. I was stopped by a cop once after only narrowly avoiding bring the front wheel down on to a Volvo's bonnet (yes, I know, next time I'll hit it), but got off with a request to take my docs to the local cop shop.
Another danger of RXS riding was the rear light. At low revs this flickered on and off in a disturbing manner; use of the rear brake, thus using the stop light, would then stall the motor. The front light was the usual rubbish that left you peering over the bars worrying if you were still on the road. Yet another danger was the front guard rusting through, falling off and trying to lock the front wheel whilst I was doing 50mph. The mangled guard looked like a particularly weird piece of modern sculpture. The rear guard also rusts through.
As does the petrol tank. I found this out the hard way because the motor started to cut out erratically. I spent hours checking everything in the engine until I suddenly had a brain wave and checked the fuel. I could actually feel the side of the tank give under light finger pressure. There are loads of RXS's in breakers so it was no great deal to find cheap cycle parts.
In an attempt to keep up with my mates I started doing some engine mods. Had the ports and head modified to give better flow and higher compression ratio. It took hours to get the engine into life again because the DT175 carb my mate had declared ideal for my modified engine was way too rich. I put the old carb back on and it was much better.
There was quite a bellow out of the baffleless exhaust but it hid a huge lack of low speed power. The clutch had to be slipped viciously and the revs kept way up on take offs. Top speed improved to an indicated 85mph but it was a very hard bike to ride because of its all or nothing nature. Fuel went from 95mpg as stock to 60mpg modified and oil consumption increased markedly. I put the cylinder head gasket back in to mellow the compression ratio but it was still not much use at low speeds.
When the local breaker offered to swap me my engine for a newish one plus £75, I jumped at the deal. The new motor is a real gem, hardly smokes at all and zings along flat out all day without any vibes. Maintenance on these engines really is just a case of adding oil and it's dead easy to do 100mpg on a newish one. As a commuter it's a great deal - even a new one only costs a grand and after that there's not much need to pay out. As a learner it's dead easy to ride up to 50mph, beyond that handling and braking do not impress, but it's possible to compensate for the faults if you ride on the wild side.
I sold mine after a year, after many an enjoyable outing and will always recall the little RXS with fondness.
W.T.H
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I had been looking for a decent 100cc bike for months. Lots of spotty kids trying to off-load thrashed and neglected examples but few sensible commuters selling their barely used, regularly serviced pets. I was determined to get a good buy this time, having in the past been ripped off too many times. After a long phone conversation, the owner telling me he was selling his YB100 to buy a new one, I felt I might be on to a winner.
When I turned up at his house I saw this polished YB100 outside, which I assumed was the new 'un but in fact it was the five year old one for sale. I almost handed over the 200 sovs there and then without even a test ride. The pensioner had done only 14000 miles, just wanted to have some kind of bike to remind him of his youth. He claimed to have had no trouble with the YB, which I could believe as the single cylinder strokers are basically reliable bikes. I could find no problems on the test ride and didn't have the heart to try to talk him down on the price.
The bike pinged up to an indicated 60mph on the way home with absurd ease. Thereafter, it needed much abuse of the strange four speed gearbox to extract any extra speed. You press down to change up and neutral is not between first and second, but where you'd expect to find first. The gear lever was the toe and heel type found on C50s, which saves on shoe wear once you stop trying to curl your foot under the lever. Having complained thus, the change was very precise, neutral was easy to find at a standstill and the gear ratios well matched to the machine's power delivery.
Handling was pretty much what you'd expect from a pressed steel frame commuter. Safe enough but a lot of wallowing from the poor quality suspension. Handling was basically neutral, the bike so light it could be flicked out of dangerous situations whilst braking in corners does not upset things. The brakes are the most dangerous feature of the bike. The tiny SLS drums lack power, suffer fade and don't even respond well in the wet. The front brake cable appeared to be made of rubber at times, lots of fiddling with the adjusters needed to maintain even a semblance of braking.
The engine features a rotary valve with the carb under cover on the right side of the engine. On the left, the flywheel magneto contains the contact breakers, although to adjust the points you have to remove the flywheel, which is perhaps the most tedious bit of maintenance you're likely to encounter on the YB as it needed attention every 1500 miles if power and economy were to be maintained. I soon found the other chronic problem with the YB100. After about 300 miles the engine started to run very roughly. Shit, I thought, I've gone and bought another bloody dog. The local Yamaha dealer solved the problem in a moment, the motor merely needed a new spark plug. With that fitted good order was restored. The engine eats plugs like a Kawasaki triple, the most I've made one last is 600 miles, the least 150 miles. The canted forward nature of the engine means it only takes a few moments to change a plug.
I also found the engine needs a decoke every 5000 miles or so, gradual diminution of performance, until it can no longer gasp up to 50mph, being all the evidence needed for this. Again, just undo four cylinder head nuts and exhaust clamp and whip the top end off, couldn't be easier. After cleaning off all carbon, with just the single piston I was able to fit the cylinder without needing a piston ring compressor (which was just as well as I didn't have one). There appeared to be no wear in any of the piston or crank bearings.
Apart from these things, in three years I clocked up an impressive 29000 miles in addition to the original 14000 miles. Even with over 43000 miles on the clock, the engine still started first kick and was capable, under favourable circumstances, of doing 70mph. I left the engine stock, I knew I had a good one and didn't want to ruin it with childish attempts at tuning.
One problem that didn't go away was the lighting. The 6V system ran direct off the magneto, so at tickover the lights flickered dangerously - if the engine stalled the lights went out altogether! Even with some decent revs up the front headlamp was only barely adequate as a warning device. On unlit roads I had to pull in behind a car and stay on its tail until civilisation was reached. It really hurt my eyes to peer over the bars into the gloom on deserted roads, I often came near to running right off the road. I tended to avoid riding at nights whenever possible.
I never fell off the bike, although there were a couple of near misses that had me staining my underpants. These occurred in town when some jerk did a sudden, unexpected manoeuvre but I always managed to twitch the Yam out of harms way. The YB is brilliant in town, sneaking through the traffic like a stealth missile. If all you do is ride in heavy traffic then a bike like this is all that's needed. In fact, it's faster through London's chaos than many a large four cylinder motorcycle.
The mere 10 horses and substandard suspension make the bike a bit of a liability on fast A roads, let alone motorways. The high bars, that are great in town, act against the machine on the open road, you can almost feel the engine tearing its heart out as the bike thrums along at 65mph fighting the aerodynamics of bloody great barn door, trying not to be picked up and tossed aside my some half awake car driver. Both the bike and myself ended up nervous and twitchy after a long ride on a fast road.
Comfort was fine for a 25 mile coummute through town, but a different matter if you wanted to do 200 miles in a day. Believe me, it's not an experience you'd want to repeat. The YB is a small motorcycle, something which becomes all too obvious when the cramps set in after the first 50 miles. Running along for hour after hour at 50 to 60mph becomes as mind numbingly boring as the seat becomes backside numblingly hard. I should have felt relief at reaching my destination in one piece but I was out of my mind with horror at the thought that I would have to ride back the same distance that very day, partly in the dark!
The engine survived such abuse with hardly a complaint, feeling happier away from town where constant low speed running soon takes out the spark plug. It likes to have an occasional fast run to clean out its lungs. There was a slight vibration at some revs but so minor it hardly merits mentioning. The last time I did a decoke, there was still no sign of bearing wear whilst both bore and piston were still in fine shape. Can't fault such an engine on longevity.
The only sign of wear has been a slight increase in oil consumption. Petrol varies between 75 and 110mpg depending on how long ago the engine was given a tune-up and decoke. The full chain enclosure gives a chain life of at least 25000 miles - it hardly ever needs any attention. Similarly, the tyres don't seem to wear very rapidly, but as I've never bought a new set it's hard to put a meaningful figure on it - 15 to 20,000 miles I'd guess. Yes, an ideal bike for a miser.
I guess the bike's due for some major trouble soon so I shall have to think about trading in for something newer and, perhaps, bigger, although the horrendous increase in insurance rates means that even going up to 125cc would merit a huge increase in outgoings. Still, I've saved a fortune compared with using public transport, not just on fare costs but also because I save a couple of hours a day in commuting time which means I can do more overtime. If I end up buying a newish YB100 don't be surprised.
Jack Cummings
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When you're seventeen with hardly any money choice of machine is somewhat limited. The parents were no help at all, just coming out with tedious lectures about the dangers of motorcycling, taking no notice about the fact that I'd already done a day's training. I looked with longing at the sporting 125s but even if I was given one free there was no way I could afford the insurance.
After much running about I found a 1980 RS100 abandoned in a back yard with a huge, spider covered, plastic sheet over it. It looked so rotted that I got it for a fiver! Cracked, flat tyres and a solidly rusted chain made it hard work to push the mile, or so, home. I put it down to part of the bonding process between man and machine.
The engine still turned over, much to my surprise, so a new plug, HT lead and battery were fitted. Pouring in a gallon of petrol revealed that the bottom of the tank had rusted through and two quids worth of fuel found its way over the engine and on to the floor. As all this was taking place in my bedroom, there being no garage and too many hoodlums outside, for weeks afterwards I had a room that stunk like a petrol station. It gave my mother something to nag about .
One used, faded petrol tank later I was ready to try again. The engine wasn’t, the points were a mass of corrosion. I cleaned them up, put them back in, taking the time to get the ignition timing spot on. The engine still refused to start, although now I had a fat blue spark at the plug. I fiddled with the ignition timing and plug gap to no avail.
My rudimentary toolkit had some problems taking off the cylinder head. I eventually got the nuts to shift by giving the spanner a short, sharp shock with a huge hammer. Aha, I thought, the rings were corroded in their grooves. Then I noticed that the piston waddled about on its small-end bearing and that the con-rod did the same trick on the crankshaft, which in turn was so loose had the engine ever run it would have splashed out bearings all over the place. It dawned on me, then, that the bike had been taken off the road because the motor had failed and not, as the owner told me, because he became frightened of riding motorcycles.
Apart from the chain and tyres there wasn’t much wrong with the chassis that a wire brush and can of paint couldn't sort out. Whilst I waited for an engine to turn up I stripped the bike down, cleaned the rust off and painted it up. Mostly white, apart from a few runs on the tank (covered with go-faster stickers) it looked passable from a couple of feet away. I felt pumped up with pride at my work!
Two months later I found an engine, Micron pipe and K and N filter out of a badly mangled bike. The owner hobbled about encased in an excess of plaster, so pissed off he was more than happy to accept fifty quid for the lot. For some reason one of the engine mounts was half an inch out, so I had to fashion some steel plate to make up the difference........it worked but must have added 20lbs to the stock 210lbs.
I could hardly wait to see if the engine ran. I opened the window, then pumped frantically on the kickstart. Nothing. It was whilst tearing my hair out that I realised I had not turned the petrol on. Idiot! It came to life at about 8000 revs with a terrifying din in the enclosed space of the room, huge clouds of smoke rapidly filling up the house. I turned the thing off before I died in a choking fit.
Five minutes later the street was filled with wailing sirens, as no less than three fire engines screamed to a halt outside the house. They knocked the old man aside when he was foolish enough to open the door an inch, came tearing up the stairs with a monstrous hose poking out in front of them. Only an incoherent screaming fit on my part, pointing at the motorcycle, stopped them filling the house with water. After that the RS was exiled to the street where it was shackled to a U bracket that was supposed to stop the drainpipe falling off. I slept with the window open even in the depths of winter, ensuring that I could hear any vandals at work. I kept a bucket of ice cold water next to the window, after the first urchin had a dose the bike was left alone.
All togged up, insurance paid, MOT certificate granted, I was ready for my first serious ride on a lovely Sunday morning. The clutch and gearchange seemed very natural, lots of feedback from the former made a steady take off possible. The motor seemed very sedate, a muted wail out of the Micron. When I gave it full throttle, power suddenly appeared, as if out of thin air, the little Yamaha hurtling towards the junction with a death-wish. Clutch in, brake frantically, skid to a halt with inches to spare.
I didn't give it full throttle in first gear for a few weeks after that. The RS was much more controllable in second or third. The engine was good fun, running cleanly at low revs then giving a nice kick when the throttle was whacked open. I soon found that top speed was 70mph, maybe 75mph if I laid flat out on the bike, but that always made me feel as if I was going out of control.
Coming home after about a 100 miles in a day, I was in an exuberant mood, ignoring the twinges in my muscles and backside. Riding into a headwind got the speed down to 55mph, the glorious wail replaced by a sullen, sulky deep note. There was no difference in speed gained with the throttle against the stop and having it half open.
When the direction of the wind changed so that it was hitting me on the side, speed was down to about 35mph. Not because the RS couldn't go faster but because the bike was being shaken about by the wind so furiously that I thought I had only moments to live. I had, before that, been rather impressed by the way I could bank the RS over until my boot grazed the tarmac. I slept the sleep of the dead when I eventually got home.
After about two weeks I felt right at home on the RS. My mother, in fact, reckoned that it was my second home, complaining bitterly that she had to watch the TV all alone, the old man clearing off down the pub every night. She became even more distraught when I fell in with half a dozen other lunatics on 100s and 125s, filling up the house with my new found friends and various pillions. No pleasing some people.
After about 500 miles the performance did a runner. The exhaust was full of carbon and took a whole day to clean out. I later found that the engine needed cleaning out every 3000 miles. In theory this was a simple head and barrel off job, in practice I managed to snap one piston ring and strip two studs. I began to dread doing an engine decoke, there was no knowing what the strip would reveal, but there was no avoiding it - the alternative was moped-like performance.
The paranoia finally caught up with me 8000 miles into the game. The piston, rings and bore were all wrecked after a fifty mile, 70mph race with half a dozen other learners. I was pushing the engine so hard that the footrests buzzed so much I had great trouble keeping my feet on them. A sudden loss of power and huge clouds of black smoke were my reward. Being towed ten miles home left me shaking in fear!
Good used piston and cylinder were acquired. I took the opportunity to fit a race reed valve, the stock one having a large crack in it. The rebuilt engine was good for 70mph but vibrated a bit more, the new reed made no difference to top end power but made it run poorly at tickover until I tweaked the pilot screw. Spark plugs lasted only 750 miles.
Fuel stayed fairly constant at 75mpg, tyres (Pirellis) lasted over 12000 miles and the cheapest length of chain did 8000 miles. The brake shoes never showed any signs of wearing, probably because they never worked well enough to burn off any material.....the front drum needed massive effort to pull up in anything approaching a reasonable distance. It reminded me of a push-bike brake!
All the more surprising, then, that I never fell off. Several mates lost their front ends in the wet when their discs suddenly locked the wheel up solid. My drum was far too mild a device for such unruly behaviour, so it wasn't all bad news. I did have the back drum lock up solid once, but a few swift kicks with my boot soon freed it off...... the rear mudguard was so minimal that I wasn't surprised that the back end was covered in crud each and every time it rained. When an RS125 fork with disc turned up in the breakers for £25 I put that on my bike, which gave me violent braking that could twist the forks up like a banana. By then I was sufficiently advanced in the art of motorcycling not to kill myself in the wet, but I wouldn't recommend that disc to complete novices.
I used the Yamaha for getting to work and all kinds of adventures in my spare time, usually as part of a pack of howling strokers. The RS held its own against the likes of GP100s and MTX125s, but was obviously lost when coming across rich youths on derestricted replica 125s.
I had the RS for just over a year and did 16000 miles. What's more, when I sold the bike after passing my test, it fetched £275, which meant I'd not only had a year's biking for free but had enough dosh to buy a running but rat Suzuki GT250 twin. The whole cycle of renovation and riding had begun again. I can't see any reason not to buy an RS100 for learning on - you'll have lots of fun, make loads of friends, won't shed too many tears and still have something that can be sold for a reasonable price when the test is passed.
Larry
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One thing breakers don't like is people who turn up with vague notions about wanting to buy a crashed bike cheaply. Not if they come back week after week, making silly offers for different machines each time. After a couple of months he finally gave in to my badgering and let me have a five year old RXS for £125. The front end was smashed in but the frame was straight and the engine still ran.
No, he didn't have any forks or wheels that would fit and I'd better get out of there before he gave me a slap behind the ear for being an ungrateful bugger. That was when it dawned on me that I had no way of taking the battered machine home. After much thought, I knocked out the mangled front wheel with the breaker's sledgehammer, strung some cord from where the spindle used to go and carted the bike half a mile home with the rope on my shoulders as the Yam bounced along behind.
The forks were torn off and thrown away, they were bent beyond redemption. Close scrutiny of the pile of MCN's that I kept for reference revealed a couple of breakers who had RXS's. One of the advantages of living in the capital was an excess of breakers. One of the disadvantages was that all of these Yams seemed to have their front ends battered by mad London cagers. After enriching BT to a large degree I finally tracked down a seven year old RXS that had broken its engine (at 49000 miles, incidentally).
The rusted front end looked so dubious that the breaker let me have it for £20. I prodded and poked the commuters with it in the rush hour going home on the Tube, receiving enough nasty looks to last my whole life. It went on with ease, after cleaning up the rim with a wire-brush and using some Solvol on the stanchions. A pair of gaiters would confuse the MOT tester with regards to the leaking seals and pitted chrome.
One unforeseen consequence, but an immediately obvious one once the engine had warmed up, of the accident was that the downpipe had been knocked. The clouds of smoke that escaped from the flange soon filled up the garage, left me coughing like an eighty year old smoker. I turned the engine off and used maximum force on the exhaust nut, as the spanner slipped off I received a deep burn on my arm when I fell on to the motor. Screaming in rage, I kicked the engine cases so hard I almost broke my toes and was horrified when the RXS fell over, taking out a workbench on its way to oblivion.
After some medical attention, sorting out the mess, letting the engine cool off and tightening up the exhaust I was ready to reach for the sledgehammer again when the smoke was still there. It took a day to track down a new gasket and some exhaust sealant, just to make sure. This time the engine came into life first kick, ticked over smoothly without any exhaust leaks.
The RXS is a 12hp single cylinder stroker which is set up as a sensible commuter but also appeals to the impoverished learner as they are cheap to buy secondhand and reasonable on insurance. Most of them are used to their limits as this is the only way to keep up with the traffic but they seem to respond to such excesses by running along unperturbed. Thus, I had no qualms about leaping aboard and riding the thing at ten-tenths through the town.
This was a quick way of finding out that the front drum was worn out. It wasn't just a question of a lack of power but so much juddering that the forks were leaping up and down as if the springs were breaking up. The casing had gone oval with age and abuse. There was very little engine braking and hard use of the rear brake sent the bike into a skid. Also, back home I discovered that the front rim was so rusted that the spokes were pulling out. There was nothing for it but to throw more money away on BT and find a new wheel.
A week later and twenty notes poorer I was ready for the MOT test. The tester was very conscientious, took the bike for a test ride, coming back to complain that it was pulling to the left. The wheels were out of line. He set the back wheel up for me free of charge and handed over the certificate. I celebrated by trying to wheelie the bike up the road but changed my mind when the gearbox made a noise like a cement mixer.
The smashed clock had read 18000 miles, so I was surprised by the level of blue smoke that was following me everywhere. I pulled the exhaust off with the intention of decoking it, but the silencer fell apart in my hands, a great band of rust had formed around its circumference. Unusual on a stroker as the exhaust is usually preserved by the excess of oil spewed out by the motor but the layer of carbon was so deep that no such protection was possible. A fiver secured a newish one from the breaker but I had to buy a new gasket to stop it leaking at the cylinder.
There was still more blue smoke than I'd expected and the bike didn't really want to go over 60mph. Nothing for it but to whip the cylinder head off. That was covered in carbon, as was the top of the piston. It was only a moment's work to take the cylinder off. The bottom piston ring was wedged into its groove so completely that when I tried to dig it out the ring broke up into little pieces. The bore was fine, all I had to pay out for was a new ring and cylinder gaskets. I can't believe that this is a common problem on RXS's of such a mileage, maybe the breaker had switched clocks!
The good thing about strokers is that they are very easy to work on, the bad thing is that they need more frequent attention than four strokes. Back on the road I gave the bike a mild hundred miles to bed the ring in, then let loose on the throttle and gearbox. 70mph came up with reasonable ease but there just wasn't the power to go any faster. That made the bike a liability on the motorway, dubious on fast A-roads but moderately interesting in town and down the back roads......I could just about keep ahead of the cages and could annoy plod mounted BMWs by scampering through the tiniest of traffic gaps.
As there wasn't any damping in the forks, it being too much hassle to change the fork seals, any excess speed would probably have been more trouble than it was worth. 70mph, even on bumpy roads, didn't really seem to upset the suspension at either end. As the RXS only weighed 230lbs it was not the most secure motorcycle in the world, needing a lot of handlebar input to stay on the required course and could be thrown off the road by heavy side winds. On one ride, where there were gaps in the hedgerows, gusts of wind would sweep in, catching us unawares, the whole caboodle doing a dizzy dance with the distinct feeling that it was about to go completely out of control.
If there was a bit of a fight with the controls needed from time to time, I always succeeded in getting the better of the RXS; after a couple of months it became second nature and I found the little stroker a great fun way of getting around on the cheap.
Fuel wasn't as good as I'd expected, 60 to 80mpg, which gave a range of 120 to 150 miles. I ran out of gas once when travelling through the Lincolnshire flatlands. I had to push the bike four miles before I came upon another vehicle from which I syphoned off a couple of pints of petrol. The owner was nowhere to be seen, so what could I do. I carried a couple of pints of fuel in the top-box after that.
I was also caught out by a chain snapping. It was quite new, albeit a very cheap one and had only lasted 3000 miles. That time I had to push the bike a mile before I came to a town where I found a working telephone to summon the AA who I'd joined after the fuel incident. The cause of its early demise was hooked sprockets. A new chain and sprocket set was needed every 7000 miles! Tyres lasted for over 13000 miles, which were the cheapest item on the consumable front.
The electrics were barely adequate, with poor lights and a battery that doesn't last more than a year - the motor starts cutting out just before it's due to fail and the engine won't run when it's dead. The mill needed hardly any attention for over 20,000 miles after I'd sorted it out, all I did was fill the oil tank up every time the idiot light came on.
After a year of hard riding and high mileage I was about ready for a change of machine. The RXS is a very cheap way of dealing with the commuting chores but can be a bit of a challenge for long distances, especially if you expect to ride in the dark! I sold mine for £300, fairly sure that there was enough life left to keep the new owner in smiles for a couple of months. Most in breakers are crashed so if you have a good chassis it's possible to keep them going forever.
David Stansfield
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My short biking career starts back in 1989 aged 21 after a very drunken and doped weekend in Portrush, Co. Antrim, home of the North West 200. What stuck out from the haze of drinking, partying and racing that weekend was an orgy of well sexy road machines wherever you gazed.....and my tongue! Instant conversion from just an ordinary nutter to a total bike nutter. Except I had no appropriate sexy machine.....well, I didn't have any motorbike.
Four years, 32000 miles, four bikes, four good shunts and therefore only three NW 200's later (absence due to injury) I reckon I'm ready to talk openly. The four bikes I'd owned were a Yam RXS100, Suzuki GS125, Kawa KMX200, and Honda VT250, in that order. So, before my memory disappears down the wine alley for ever I'll tell you the tale from the start.
After studying issue 16 of the UMG for four months I'd decided what my first bike was going to be. I bought it three long months later in September '89 for £400, a well sexy Yamaha RXS100 with 10,000 miles on the clock, a year's tax and a very bent, thus wobbly, centrestand. This was a good bargaining point as there was no sidestand and the usual crude screwdriver through the ignition keyhole, suggesting a somewhat used and abused history. Otherwise, the wee bike looked and went like hell, according to the savvy of a well trusted friend who rode it home from the Belfast dealer, with a spare (still in the packet) centrestand which I fitted about ten months later, the usual 24 hour guarantee, half a tank of two star and a pint of two stroke oil.
A comprehensive training program was undertaken in my mate's back yard. I rode up and down for half an hour in bottom gear, convinced myself that I wasn't going to fall off. Lesson two consisted of matey taking me pillion outside of Belfast, the great city not being the ideal training ground for novice riders, what with the army, police and terrorists. As we sped off at a terrifying pace I recalled that the pilot was infamous for his exploits on a big stroker.....Oh, bollocks, I'm going to die. Two up over some of the craziest mountain roads near Belfast at between 50 and 70mph. My first serious pillion ride was not exactly physically and mentally relaxing.
Lesson three. My turn again as pilot, matey on the pillion just as scared and frightened as I'd been. The sweetness of revenge was forgotten beneath the need to coordinate clutch, throttle and gearchange. The brakes could've been more powerful too, beginning to fade as we charged up and down the hills. Oh fun!
Lesson four because I couldn't keep off the bike and found it difficult to sleep. In the local park at 5.00am on a Sunday morning. No peelers, no helmet, no sense which was nothing new. It was like being airborne. Enraged tramps woken from their slumbers by the neat wail from the single cyinder stroker. Brilliant.
First impressions. Very impressed, I never knew these wee learner/ commuter hundreds could go so quick. 80mph down hill when late for work. 70-75mph regularly, at the slightest excuse. Fuel consumption was about 70 to 80mpg, equating to about 60mpg when the amount of two stroke oil used was taken into account. My ten year old VT250 is loads more comfortable to ride and returns 75-80mpg using hardly any oil, but the RXS was, on looking back, ten times more fun. Like comparing high heels, stockings and suspenders to wooly tights - get my drift?
Anyway, the acceleration was pretty mad in the context of learning and a 100cc, good for the odd wheelie. I often ended up charging towards obstacles far too fast, although on the open road the ultimate lack of top end go meant it was dead easy to be sandwiched between cars when the bike ran out of acceleration.
After fitting a half decent set of Dunlops I found a whole new world of handling...whoopee! The bike had old fashioned twin shocks, a far from excessive tubular frame and marginal forks, but it didn't seem to matter as it would forgive my stranger manoeuvres and almost always was light enough to grapple back on to line.
One night, after fitting half a dozen pints of Guinness and a bloody brave mate on the back seat, I could've swore I beat a TZR250 up the road. Maybe it was the drink or the dark or more than likely a spotty kid on a TZR125, but whipping any sporty 125 on the RXS is pretty impressive. What lets the bike down, though, and maybe explains the excessive speed, is the braking, both fade prone drums. There wasn't any easy way to upgrade them but it quickly taught me the virtues of looking where I was going and planning ahead, as it was often necessary to wrench the RXS around cars.
It wasn't long before the bike started to show its weaknesses when at 14000 miles the crappy 6V battery died, leaving me stranded 20 miles away from home at night. The vibrations through the frame had caused an electrical lead to work loose and the battery wouldn't charge. Then the speedo cable broke due to a seized drive mechanism, probably due to a serious lack of cleaning and maintenance while doing 220 or so miles a week to work and back on very salty winter roads. 15000 miles meant it was time to replace the shagged chain, repeated at 29000 miles when a new front sprocket was also needed.
I'd always liked the styling of the RXS, and always will, but without any kind of fairing the winters were very cold and wet. I always had to stop every morning for five minutes to heat up my hands on the cylinder, before carrying on to work, wrapped up like an arctic explorer. Being six feet tall, the RXS was a touch on the small side but not to the extent that I couldn't adapt, but weighing 12 stone meant the bike didn't like headwinds and often felt under pressure on big hills.
By 24000 miles, though, I had become overconfident and rode the wee bike on the full (11.5hp) power everywhere I went, thus resulting in a rebuilt rear wheel and a new clutch cable. At about 27000 miles there was a very funny accident at 45mph, involving two stationary cars, a tight tow-rope, lots of cringing onlookers and an Oscar winning Superman impression resulting in serious humiliation, and broken cycle parts.
Along the way, the numberplate vibrated loose, cracked and disappeared somewhere over the rainbow, but I blame it on the hideous abuse I gave the wee Yamaha, including five weeks of despatching in Belfast, after which it was finally laid to rest with the same set of Dunlops fitted at 15000 miles still looking good at 29000 miles.
Durability, for a small bike, was generally good although it looked as if it had just attempted and failed a crack at the Paris to Dakar rally when it was traded in for £200 and a Suzuki GS125 after two years and four months of real biking fun. It was spotted alive four months later being ridden to hell by some kid from the other side of town and just as determined to never say die but live on forever. In my fading memory, anyway. Yes, a good learner bike. Yes, a good commuter bike. Yes, very sporty and absolutely f..king sexy. And me? Totally nuts but I'd have another one tomorrow.
B.A.Nutter
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Buy an old Yamaha RXS100, ride for a year, taking the time to do it up so I could sell at a nice profit. Yes, I've been reading the UMG for a long, long time. This theory led me to purchase an eight year old machine for £75. The engine ran well for the 39000 miles on the clock but the chassis was in death rot mode.
On the road home, the bike veered all over the shop and reminded me of my days on a dilapidated pushbike. After five miles my whole body had been given a good working over. 50mph was twice glimpsed on the speedo. Promising...
After some work with the wire-brush, emery cloth and paintbrush the chassis looked less likely to corrode underneath me. The vile handling and fading brakes were sorted with new chassis bearings and a used set of shoes. There are plenty of cheap bits in breakers for this model and also lots of hacks that can be bought for less than £50 for spares.
Age had crept into the cables, first throttle then clutch then brake snapping. All in the first week! The throttle went in town where I was able to throw the bike into the gutter. I bodged the carb so that it ran at 3000 revs, needing a certain weirdness on the clutch and gearchange. The snapped clutch cable didn't really faze me, I rode around quite happily for a few days before buying a replacement.
The snapping brake cable was more serious. Like it went when I had to pull up hard for a junction. Instead of stopping I went straight into the side of a car, at about 25mph, and then over the handlebars. I was only glad that it was a BMW and not a Volvo, as the former gave quite a lot. Bent wheel and forks plus a lot of grief from the cager and our insurance companies.
Used bits from the breaker cost £40. I went to the great expense of buying a new brake cable, not wanting to repeat the experience. The back pains and headaches took over three months to go away. I'd gone right over the car and landed funny on the back of my neck. On the advice of a friend who's into alternative medicine I suffered an acupuncturist sticking needles in me, which only made things worse!
With the chassis and brakes in good fettle I was able to take the little stroker right to the edge of its performance possibilities. Which meant 70mph and the Taiwanese tyres twitching on their edges. A new bike might've ground its stands but mine had been dumped, probably fallen off.
It was much safer to stick to less than 60mph, when the motor was smooth instead of trying to rattle everything off the chassis and the handling was quite reasonable. That is, it didn't try to run off the road or play chicken with oncoming cagers and it didn't shake its back wheel like a Pekingese lifting its hind leg when in an affectionate mood.
As I neither wanted to blow the motor into a trillion pieces nor end up on a mortuary slab, a bit of restraint on the throttle was the order of the day. Fine in town, where traffic moved so slowly walking was faster than a car, but on the odd open stretch of road I often found some cager trying to tailgate me. Small bikes should do at least 80mph to survive out of town. Having to ride on the edge of the road's no fun at all.
I was so worried by this that I fitted an extra back light on the rack, wired into the stoplight circuit. It was a big bugger and a few taps on the brake lever had cagers shielding their eye. It kept them from bumming me but if used when the lights were turned on the motor cut out. The rudimentary electrical system wasn't up to much and the bike was only really safe, at night, to ride in town. On the good side, the electrics were so simple that even I could understand them, the few minor electrical hassles easily fixed.
People always looked at me as if I should be strapped in the electric chair. Something to do with the heavy smog the bike left behind, especially in town. At times, when idling on the bike and the wind blew the pollution over me I could understand their anger. I used the cheapest stroker oil I could find because it went through the motor at 75 to 100 miles per litre. I always had to carry a bottle with me.
Around 47000 miles starting became very difficult and the motor took to cutting out at idle. I was pretty sure, from the smoke and high level of piston slap, that the bore and piston were well shagged. The breaker had a good set for £20. I spent a pleasant afternoon grinding the faces of the head and cylinder flat so I could discard the cylinder head gasket but was slowed down by the need to have the threads for the studs helicoiled. The exhaust carbon was also cleaned out.
The reassembled motor had a lot more sparkle and a lot less effluence. It still topped out at only 70mph but getting there was a lot quicker and I felt quite happy holding 60 to 65mph for long periods of time. The drum brakes were annoying when used from such speeds as they would fade away to almost nothing.
Either age or the increased vigour on the throttle caused the small-end bearing to go at 53000 miles. By then my year was almost up so I tried not to pay attention to the big-end which had the con-rod wobbling on the crankshaft. A new small-end bearing revived the motor long enough to trade-in at a dealers for a two year old RXS. The bike was priced at £850, with £275 off for my old one. A good deal, I thought, because the clock read only 7800 miles.
It's interesting to contrast these two machines. The new 'un did 75mph, ran so cleanly I thought there wasn't any oil in the tank, and gave 120mpg against 75mpg from the old bike.. The chassis was much tauter with none of the weaves, the lights seemed brighter and the drum brakes only faded after really hard use. An altogether better steed.
Or it was until 14000 miles when the damn motor seized up on me at 70mph. I hit the clutch in time to avoid self-immolation on the tarmac. After getting the bike to the dealer's in the back of a Transit, a faulty oil supply was diagnosed and the bike fixed with used parts - I had to pay about £25 for the bits but the labour was thrown in for free. Quite generous, I thought, as the dealer was moaning about how my old bike's engine had gone in a big way and he'd had to install a used motor.
After that little adventure I lost faith in the Yamaha. It didn't run as smoothly as before, causing me to motor along at less than 60mph again. It was still heaps better than the first one and would probably have happily run to 50,000 miles without complaint but I was ready to move on to something bigger.
That turned out to be a derestricted AR125. Fun and much safer on the open road. As a first bike or basic transport the RXS100's a useful device, as a serious motorcycle it has some significant shortcomings. There are lots on offer, plenty of room to make a bit of profit out the game if you put in some effort.
James Carney
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