Copyright (c) 2008 GoodMotorcycles.com
After spending a whole weekend replacing an O-ring chain that I just knew was going to piss me off again, some mere 7500 miles down the road, I had to get my equanimity back by taking the FJ1100 for a blast down some favourite back roads. I'd found the rear suspension linkages so covered in crud that I just couldn't resist pulling the spindles out to give them a good greasing. Just as well I did, as they were so dry that they were just off seizing up. I expected the back end to respond to this tender loving care by staying rock steady however far I banked the behemoth over.
I knew the roads well, but not so perfectly that I could ignore the limitations of the Yam's front headlamp, as by the time I'd finished rebuilding the back end the sun had disappeared below the horizon and the country lanes I lived close to were totally devoid of artificial illumination. Main beam was good for 60mph under those circumstances, maybe 70mph if I was willing to take some eye strain and live a little dangerously.
That kind of speed seemed just like ticking over in top gear on the brutish, torque filled FJ motor, itself a development of the infamous XS1100. For a very short period, the FJ had a state of the art, square section, wraparound frame that seemed decades ahead of the old wobbling XS, but even more radical developments on lighter and more powerful rivals soon had the FJ consigned to tourer status.
My 1986 machine was last of the model line, replaced by the FJ1200. When I took the machine over in '89, as the second owner, the clock had 19000 miles and the bike was in generally excellent condition. Five years and 40,000 miles later, the Yam still runs well but looks rather tired, even rusty in places.
Just the gentlest of back lane explorations revealed the 550lbs of mass, mostly in the amount of muscle needed to swing it from side to side. Heavy as it is, stability is generally fine unless you do something silly. Like whack open the throttle when banked over in second or third gear; the back end twitches so violently it's like there's a sudden earthquake. Just backing off the throttle quietens it down.
The neutrality of the steering means it's not impossible to suddenly lose speed in bends or even change trajectory. All of its stability and neutrality does a runner when the tyres (I usually use Metz's but their wear is so poor it's too depressing to admit here, maybe later) are down to less than 2mm. Shades of seventies muscle bikes on dodgy suspension come to mind when I recall the couple of times I was forced by circumstances to ride on bald tyres. The front end is by far the worst, with a tendency to slide out from under the bike in corners on anything less than a perfectly smooth and grippy piece of tarmac. I've considered sending the wife out to work as a hooker to keep the bike in prime rubber.
I was once foolish enough to fit a pair of dodgy Michelin tyres that weren't even the correct size. They actually seemed to work quite well in town, making the steering significantly lighter, but once I hit the motorway and 90mph the poor old FJ turned in a massive speed wobble that caused the following cagers to go crazy on their horns and myself to almost lose my dinner simultaneously out of both ends of my shaking body. Somehow I survived the experience by hauling like a lunatic on the front discs. Luckily, the tyres wore out so fast that I didn't have to wait long to replace them with something better.
On decent rubber, with the suspension (still stock, by the way) turned up high, I was pretty good at hustling the Yamaha through just about every type of country bend. My favourites have some fantastic roller-coster type roads that really give both my body and the bike a work-out. One of the nicest things about the FJ is that despite its mass, the twin front discs will haul the brute up with extreme effectiveness without any traumas turning up in the chassis.
Anyone who's owned an FJ for a little while will also know that both calipers and the discs don't last for much more than 15000 miles before needing serious, as in expensive, attention. The calipers gum up and the discs go wafer thin after what seems like ridiculously short distances. The best solution is to keep a spare set of everything, I even take the bits with me on long rides as they can go amiss with an alarming suddenness.
By modern standards, the brakes need a lot of pressure but I'm used to that now, would probably end up doing cartwheels on more modern, sophisticated machines. The back disc has always been a bit remote, but despite the amount of gunge thrown up by the wheel it resisted seizing to a much higher degree than the front. Strange but true. As I've greased all the suspension linkages with what my friends think is a religious intensity, the back end is still mostly original!
As is most of the rest of the bike, even down to a much patched seat and filled plastic (it eventually cracks around the mounting holes). The former never intruded until more than 250 miles of cruising was accomplished. It's about due for replacement now but I've always had more important things on which to spend my hard won dosh. The amount of water it soaks up is not so amusing.
As a high speed, motorway (er, autobahn, officer.....) cruiser the big Yam really comes into its own. With an excellent riding position (better than a Beemer, in my experience) backed up by one of the most useful half fairings around, anything up to 120mph can be maintained with a surprising ease. Top gear roll-ons from 75mph are spine tingling although as little as 30mph can be held, even if acceleration and engine noises are about as graceful as a knackered artic struggling up a steep incline.
The wide spread of torque helps with the gearbox which before 20,000 miles was merely acceptable and afterwards the kind of intolerable nastiness that would send any casual thief or rider screaming for the nearest cage. I think it's probably a left-over from coping with the old XS's shaft drive, but that hardly excuses missed changes or the way the box will suddenly lock into a gear for a few miles. According to FJ lore, I've been exceedingly lucky as complete failure of the gearbox at the kind of mileage I've done is not unknown!
Other engine problems I haven't encountered despite having only a marginal interest in engine maintenance. I once left the valves for all of 20,000 miles only to find, after tearing half the bike apart to get at them, that they didn't actually need any attention. I know people who have had to put a new camchain in after as little as 30,000 miles, but mine's still original with no nasty rattles. People have done over 100,000 miles without any serious effort expended on the engine; one guy is still running an FJ1100 with 193,000 miles on the clock, looking like he's going to breach 200,000 miles. Tough or what? They share with the later FZR series a hard won reputation for invincibility.
The only real nasty I've had to endure was the electrics. At about 52000 miles the battery went dead and shortly after that, with a new replacement fitted, the motor refused to start. Down to a dead ignition module. If you want to amuse breakers phone them up, asking for a working unit; no chance. Luckily, I know the local dealer well and he got me one at trade cost. But not before I'd tracked down the cause of the malaise, a generator that was shorting out. An exchange one and replacement of some dodgy looking wiring soon sorted things. The switch clusters need the odd dose of WD40 in winter, otherwise indicators or horns can go a bit bizarre.
Actual on the road failures have only occurred twice. Once when a carb came adrift and the second time when a chain fell off. The latter happened at only 15mph, so no great damage was done, whilst the former had the engine coughing and spluttering in the 90mph fast lane. I survived the experience by cutting up a couple of cages, at least it woke the drivers from their reveries. The only other thing to upset the engine was holes appearing in the exhaust (it's on the second one); the current one is so patched that it's about due for replacement (I certainly wouldn't trust it on a trip of more than a 100 miles). Letting the holes grow unchecked causes lots of midrange flat spots and enough backfiring to get the FJ a backing spot in a Punk band. (Remember them? No, well wait around for 20 years they are bound to make a come-back.)
Whist I remember, I've killed back Metz’s in less than 4000 miles, whilst the front lasts little more than a 1000 miles longer. Heavy speeds gets fuel down to about 35mpg and oil goes out the exhausts and aged gaskets at 200 miles per pint. Pads last a more reasonable 7500 miles (shame about the rest of the braking system).
The tedious hassle involved on the consumable consumption front has to be put against the massive amount of fun I get out of riding the beastie, whether it be the back lanes in the dark or Euro-touring at preposterous speeds. It's a bit naff in heavy traffic but the sterling reliability and brutal looks more than compensates for that minor quibble.
Dean Harrison
Return to Contents for FJ fours
I ran the FJ at the too small gap between the cars. I figured I was completely within my rights as one of the oncoming cages was overtaking on my side of the road. There wasn't any room to run off the road on either side. I held the bars firm, revved hard in third, determined, if necessary, to go out in a blaze of glory and excess of speed.
The curvaceous front end of the FJ1200 must've be quite impressive, bearing down on the drivers at warp speed, heading for a gap that would take the front wheel but tear the sides off either the fairing or the cars. I notched the intimidation stakes upwards by hitting the air-horns which played a fearsome rhythm at sufficient decibels to set off car alarms and blow up hearing aids.
A few yards away I added my screams to the chaos, a miraculous parting of the cages occurring but not before both mirrors were torn out of the fairing. They went with a bang that made me think death was about to descend but the impressive stability of the FJ1200 remained intact, complemented by the kind of steering accuracy usually found on the race track.
Another time I was equally impressed by the bike's ability to be stretched to the limit. Cresting a hill at 125mph we took off through the air like an exocet missile that had been programmed wrongly. The art, when coming back to the ground, is to come down on the back wheel first. Somehow the bike went way out of line and crashed down on the front end.
Whilst airborne my mind had thrown itself into a panic which resulted in an iron grip on the wide open throttle, the back wheel screaming around at about a million revs with the inertia and momentum of an out of control water-mill. The noise, vibes and sense of impending doom were rather like taking a cheap long haul flight on an Iron Curtain aeroplane that suddenly loses a couple of engines.
When the front end slapped down with almost enough force to snap off my arms I thought I was a goner, ready for a somersault straight into hell, but somehow the forks bounced back into control and the extreme wobble started to die out. Then the back wheel, still spinning furiously, whacked on to the tarmac, a series of yard wide flipping and flopping threatened to pull the swinging arm right out of the frame whilst the front end joined in with its own permutations.
I just sort of sat there for a while frightened out of my mind, until suddenly realising I could knock on the brakes and knock off the throttle. The chassis was already way out of line and these extra forces did nothing for its composure. I surely thought I was going to die, be thrown right off the buckling brute on to the tarmac at about 80mph but as speed lessened and the chassis had time to sort itself out composure regained the upper hand, allowing me to pull over.
The following car pulled up next to me, the driver absolutely agog, shaking even more than myself and looking at us in awe. To him, the way the Yamaha had tried to tear itself to pieces had convinced him my end was nigh. We looked the machine over for signs of terminal damage but once again the old monster had just shrugged off the effects of my incompetence.
There were, also, more subtle ways that the Yamaha impressed. The time, for instance, I'd spent too long lounging on the Italian Riviera and it became necessary to do a 1000 miles flat out in less than 12 hours. I'd worked out that the only way to avoid the attention of the cops was to use all 130 horses to pound along at 150mph whenever possible! The French and Italians don't have access to the Swansea computer so couldn't track me down, although I suppose it's only a matter of time until all European vehicle details are linked up.
Anyway, I did the distance in the time allowed and found the FJ to be impressively comfortable for such excesses - ie I could still walk! The big air-cooled engine, as always, remained unperturbed by the nature of the thrashing even if the normal 45mpg economy was replaced by a mere 35mpg.
The general stability and natural riding position meant that despite the 500lbs of mass it was an easy bike to come to grips with. I'd previously owned a CBX550 and had no trouble adapting to the big Yamaha, taking a matter of minutes to feel right at home. Even hard bend slinging was easier than the specs would indicate, so well had Yamaha sorted out the steering geometry and weight distribution. The lovely grunt of the motor meant madness on the gearbox wasn't really necessary, which was probably just as well because by the time 25000 miles were done there was a rather loose and imprecise feel to the change, making correct tensioning of the big O-ring chain critical - after 9000 miles it was only useful as an adornment or weapon for motorcycle outlaws. Changing chains is very tedious as the swinging arm has to come out!
Other faults that turned up included rear suspension bearings that wore out at 15000 miles, or two years, although they had never been greased, with the shock losing a lot of damping control a little later. These had a discernible though by no means disastrous effect on the stability, making the Yamaha feel wanton above 80mph. The White Power shock I bought as a replacement (slightly used) proved even better than the original, with the same tautness but the added ability to iron out minor bumps much more effectively. I'd added gaiters to the front forks and never had much of a complaint from that end of the bike.
More serious was the major expense at 30,000 miles with the simultaneous demise of the exhaust and electronic igniter unit. The former went when rust seeped through in several different spots at the same time and waving a welding torch at it just resulted in big holes as the paper thin metal dissolved. A four into one system designed for the race track needed major mods from the hammer to retain the stands and fitment of an FZR 1000 can before the carbs would work with it. There's still a bit of a hole at 3000 to 3500rpm but as it only cost thirty quid I can't complain.
The demise of the igniter unit occurred about ninety miles from home and resulted in a totally dead engine. No way I was going to push the FJ any distance so it was dumped in the drive of an old codger who came out to see what the swearing fit was about. A used one got me all of fifty miles closer to home until it did the same trick. I phoned the breaker up to complain and he, luckily, believed my sob story and agreed to give me another unit. The cause of the failure was two wires which had rubbed off their insulation and would intermittently short out against each other.
FJ brakes are a bit infamous for discs that go thin and calipers that rot but I didn't have any problems. Pads even lasted for more than 10,000 miles. Admittedly, I didn't ride over the worst months of the winter and with the good handling and useful engine braking days could go by during which I didn't have to use the brakes in real anger. They needed a firm hand or foot to get the best out of them, but that was okay with me as I knew how much input they would take before squealing the tyres.
They worked alright in the wet for most of the time, although a bit of mysterious brake lag showed up once or twice a month. I suspected some air getting into the ancient brake fluid that I couldn't bleed because the nipples had snapped off, leaving half the screws inaccessibly corroded into the calipers.
In the wet the fairing gave reasonable protection, the tyres gripped predictably and the great reams of torque came in controllably. I was always aware of how much weight there was waiting to let loose, though, and maintained both a moderate right wrist and velocity. I would not even think about riding the FJ on iced up roads!
I've owned the Yam from new for eight years and done all of 52000 miles with no signs that the motor's going to fall apart. The overall ruggedness is as impressive as the rock solid stability. It's the kind of bike that engenders total faith in its ability to get you out of terminal situations when the going gets desperate. In short, I can't think of any reason to sell it.
M.R.T.
Return to Contents for FJ fours
The 84000 miles on the clock gave me pause for thought. The owner chimed in with the advocation that it'd been all around Europe and Africa. Judging by the gearbox action I could believe him. The clutch chatter vied with the valve rattle, easily overcoming the stainless steel four into one exhaust. Full chain enclosure covered the chain, gaiters the forks and shock, and powder coating the frame. It didn't exactly shine with vigour but it wasn't half bad for an '89 model. I offered a grand against the £1500 price and the deal was done.
The FJ weighs over 500lbs and any bike with that kind of excessive mass is going to be hard to handle. Forget what you read in the glossy comics, forget tales of lateral frames and remember that when they say that FJ's handle well that they always add for its weight. An utterly meaningless phase, as evidenced by the way I almost rode straight through a bus instead of around it and barely managed to twist and swerve around a startled ped. As a motorcycle, the FJ's a bit of a pig. Of course, there are legions of older fours that are much bigger pigs. But that's small consolation when things start to go out of control.
During the first couple of weeks I didn't push the air cooled, 16 valve, DOHC four very hard, what with a clutch that was threatening to explode and the valves pinging away. There's no need to go throttle crazy to go fast. 120 horses at 8500 revs and 80lbft of torque 1000 revs lower hid the fact that the engine can be stuck in top and will pull from tickover without clutch abuse. A few thousand revs had the engine working with an elemental fury, with the kind of rough edge that I didn't expect from a grand tourer. It may've been the mileage but wasn't the valves or clutch as it was still there when I fixed them. Remember, this bike has its roots in the Incredible Hulk (XS1100) a bike so elemental that it scared the faeces out of most riders.
The valves were just a matter of servicing. The clutch, which may well have been original, was well worn out with the slots a funny shape and all the plates warped. The incredible torque and nasty gearbox that showed not a sign of improving with the fitment of a secondhand clutch, were to blame for the early demise. I say early because the reputation of the motor is such that the engines are supposed to go around the clock with little more than oil changes.
I don't know how to describe the gearbox. Its action was very variable, therefore difficult to accommodate. Sometimes it'd approach a slick change between two ratios, then go into a graunching act on the next change. Sometimes the lever went almost solid as if the oil was turning very thick. Other times the change went very light with no feel. It was pretty much pot luck whether or not the gear went home, a fifty-fifty chance of ending up in a false neutral.
It soon dawned on me why the old clutch had burnt out. The easiest way to ride the bike was to get her into fourth and stay there all day. Such was the torque of the engine that only a little bit of clutch slip was needed on, admittedly sedate, take-offs. Once under way it was just a matter of snapping open the throttle and waiting for the ton, or more, to come up.
One of the stranger aspects of the FJ was that a bike with such a worn out gearbox should have such a smooth transmission, with no chatter from the drive chain. When I later checked, the cush-drive looked new, so was probably replaced just before I bought the bike. The hefty O-ring chain lasted well for such a brute, over 10,000 miles, but needed removal of the swinging arm to replace unless you're willing to buy one with a split link. I wasn't, not with all that splendid torque running through the chassis.
With the engine sorted I rode hard and fast for a couple of weeks. Straight line stability wasn't half bad, but it was dead easy to lose it all in the bends. Bits of the bike dug into the tarmac when I became too enthusiastic. Such reactions with reality left the bike wallowing (on the undoubtedly worn suspension), way off line and with a total disinclination to react to my fervent muscular inputs. Sitting on a heap of heavy metal which had suddenly found a mind of its own was rather like finding yourself in a darkened alleyway with an escaped psychopath. I had no idea which way the bike was going to react.
This was all mildly amusing, far better for me than going brain dead sitting in front of the TV. Alas, one time the thing buckled upright, shot across the front of an oncoming Transit and ran into a hedge. It didn't just run, though, for the only way I could avoid extinction from the van, was by twisting the throttle wide open for a second or two. The bike seemed to leap, like a pure bred horse over a fence, into the hedge. The momentum was such that the bushes parted before us until the front wheel dug in. I cartwheeled over the fairing, rolled over a couple of times on the damp, soft earth, coming to a final halt with a hell of a thump.
Nothing was broken, both bike and I merely bruised. I was stiff for a couple of days and I never did get around to dealing with the scratches on the fairing. I modified my riding to a more point and squirt approach as well as dumping the centrestand and hammering a dent in the exhaust where it was catching. I was still caught out a few times but managed to ride the bronco back into submission.
Wet weather riding wasn't too brilliant. For sure, the half fairing gave useful protection, but the front tyre didn't have much of a grip on reality. Even with an expensive Metz there was a tendency to try to slip off road markings, the wheel whipping away with a suddenness that was heart stopping. It gripped again once on the tarmac proper but it seemed to me that if I came across a patch of oil it'd go before I had any time to react. The back wheel would wheelspin given a reckless hand on the throttle, but the waggling back end appeared easy to control.
Later bikes have uprated suspension, better wheels, superior brakes, etc. FJ brakes don't like winter after a couple of years worth of abuse but my machine had newish calipers and discs. I found the brakes both powerful and safe, putting in some startling stopping distances. Just as well because it wasn't the kind of bike to wrench around erring cagers.
I could live with the weight, handling and even the gearbox, what I couldn't take was the way the carbs celebrated 95000 miles by turning the engine very recalcitrant. They were so worn they proved impossible to balance and I had no end of hassles with the engine turning into a triple, becoming difficult to start and cutting out at junctions. The electric starter sounded on its last legs by 100,000 miles. A newish set of carbs was acquired and three days and nights spent fitting the buggers.
Fuel still stayed at a pathetic 30 to 35mpg, the engine still rumbled with its rough edge, but all the other problems cleared up, with even more low down torque. I was worried that the new carbs might not suit the non-standard exhaust but the worthy old warrior could be strung out at 10,000 revs at the mere price of everything going a little blurred. The old carbs needed an attempt at balancing every 500 miles, the new ones stayed in adjustment for 6000 miles.
By 110,000 miles the front forks had become so loose that I could only calculate the position of the wheel to within a foot. The weaves dissuaded me from going above 100mph, giving both the engine and my licence an easy time. I'd seen 150mph on the clock and what I thought was a cop car in the mirrors. I held on to the speed until it was no longer there and took the next exit off the motorway.
For about six months the bike was used for as a long distance commuter but abandoned at the weekend in favour of a Lotus Elan (a rather fast car with an open top that was a knock out with the gals). The FJ was still hard work to hustle through the cars, but the juggernaut dimensions kept most of the cagers at bay.
One old boy in a GTi insisted on chasing me each morning, apparently unaware that big though the Yam might appear it was still much narrower than his cage. I would zoom down the road at 80, 90mph with the old git sticking on my tail like he was being sucked up by my airstream. I held my speed, dodging down two lanes of cars, pressing hard on the horn to make sure they knew I was coming. I once went past two cops cars in that mode. The GTi driver usually squealed his brakes but one time he was two slow, back-ending two cars. The debris was still there, shunted to the side of the road, when I floated back home. No signs of blood or severed limbs so I assumed he'd survived.
That exercise in commuting meant there was 126000 miles done by the time I bought a GPZ500S for the commuting chores and odd weekend blast. I kept the FZ for a while, to impress innocent pillions. I could actually throw them off the back in full fury mode. If the sudden acceleration didn't get them the sudden lurch when I mucked up the first to second change would finish them off. Evil, man!
A mate who'd received this treatment was so impressed that he kept pestering me to sell him the bike. I let him borrow it for a weekend (Insurance? What's that, mate?) and he came back full of enthusiasm if a bit grey haired from the handling foibles. He offered me £850, I said no way.
He went looking for another one whilst I used the FJ hard again when the nimble GPZ lost its front wheel in a corner. I thought the FJ was bad but the GPZ lost it with no warning whatsoever. Deathrow stuff. By the time the FZ was up to 130,000 miles it was turning into a right grumpy old sod. I think the valves or rings were on the way out.
The friend came out with a £1250 offer which I felt I couldn't turn down. He fitted newish suspension and has pushed her to over 150,000 miles without the motor blowing up. The cheeky sod now burns off my resurrected GPZ! He's got no engineering sensibility, just screams the engine into the red and hangs on, rather like a monkey on the back of a cart horse. The FZ's got a tough motor but the gearbox and handling may not be to many tastes on old ones.
A.H.
Return to Contents for FJ fours
A tired, 1985 Yamaha FJ1100 for £1500. Cheap because insurance was silly for anyone under the age of 30. I was only 22 but what the hell, no need to stop for the cops on a 150mph motorcycle, was there? The vendor took me for a fantastic blast on the back which had me full of lust for the 550lbs of magical metal. 62000 miles on the clock and all the consumables just about on the way to being shot.
After I handed the money over, storm clouds obscured the sun and by the time I was on the open road the rain was so heavy that visibility was down to a few yards. The FJ slid all over the shop, more like a top heavy pig than a sophisticated piece of iron. The balding tyres just couldn't cope with the river of water flowing down the road. I tried to keep the bike as upright as possible through corners, causing following cagers to curse on their horns at the 20mph cruising speed. Really, it felt so suicidal that I didn't want to go any faster. Even when I fitted new tyres there was always a certain edginess on wet roads.
Not a good beginning, then. Finished off the first ride by dropping the bike on my driveway. Couldn't find the sidestand, lost my footing and that was all it took for the sheer mass of the bike to crash down to the earth. My leg saved the bike from serious damage but kept me howling in pain for an hour or so.
Next day the sun was shinning and the FJ ridden to the tyre dealers for a new set of Metzelers. I came back to find the chief hoodlum asking me if I knew if my discs were cracking up. I'm sure they had walloped the wheel on the ground but couldn't prove it. If I didn't pay up for the tyres they would confiscate the Yamaha. Grumbling insults under my breath (they were a lot bigger than me) I rode back home, forced to rely on the rear brake and engine braking. Phone calls to breakers revealed that disc demise was all too common but persistence eventually won out and a set were sent down COD from, er, Scotland!
Better get some serious road work in, thought I. Head for France and then Spain. Loaded the FJ up with a pile of junk that had the rear shock down on its stops. I started gibbering when I realised that the mono-track bearings were as shot as the shock. Sod it, rip off most of the junk and ride it regardless. The handling was a bit weird but okay up to the ton when I could ignore the weaves. Blasting along at 140mph I needed the whole width of the lane to survive but I've ridden lots of seventies fours that were more frightening at lower speeds. It all depends on what you're used to and the FJ, even on worn suspension, would be pretty good compared to, say, a Kawasaki H1.
As soon as I was in France I went berserk. Don't know quite what it was but within minutes of hitting the autoroute I was flat on the tank with the throttle to the stop. The half fairing gave jolly good protection and the indentation in the saddle helped hold me comfortably in place. French cagers were weaving all over the place, or maybe it was just the combination of grinding vibes and wallowing chassis that got to me. A couple of time I had to slam on the anchors to avoid whacking into some car that was tottering along so slow it seemed to be going backwards, though in all probability it was doing 90mph to my own 150mph!
Charging into Paris, full of adrenaline and that peculiar frenzy that comes from high speed motorcycling, the back end actually started clanging over the rough streets. It was impossible to pull over so I tried to accelerate through it. The bike became more like a fairground ride than a piece of high tech motorcycle, causing maximum applause from the cagers. By the time I found a hotel I was pretty wrecked and I'm sure in Blighty I would've been refused entrance.
Because the shock was shot I'd left my bag full of tools at home. Two weeks were spent lounging in Paris whilst a mad scrappie fixed the back end with new bearings and shafts. The used shock he fitted was off an artic or something equally hefty as I could bounce in the seat without any movement from the rear end.
150mph all the way back down the autoroute to Calais, no signs of the previous weaves. When I went to slow down for the exit, there was a bang from the gearbox and about a trillion revs on the tacho. I shut the throttle dead and stamped on the gear lever. The box caught in third and then tried to lock the back wheel up until I got the throttle and clutch working.
It wasn't until I was back in England that I realised the top two ratios had disappeared. The bike could still be thrashed down the motorway at 90mph but an indication of the vibration was the way the mirrors tried to unfurl themselves. I was actually stopped by the cops but they couldn't be bothered giving me a ticket for speeding as I was only 15mph over the limit. They spent ten minutes trying to pull the back end apart so perhaps they'd clocked my antics on the ride down...the elephant-like appearance of one of them suggested a long memory.
By the time I reached home the chain was trying to break the chainguard off and the bike was locked into second gear. There was enough smoke out of the exhaust to please an MZ addict which I thought a bit odd as I'd almost drained the engine dry! Old Japanese motors can burn the oil like ancient British twins. It nearly did my head in when I realised the swinging arm had to come out to replace the chain! The swinging arm spindle was slightly bent and corroded. Great!
With the back end fixed up, a few months of high speed commuting followed. New engine oil allowed selection of a full complement of gears if I didn't mind the noise of tearing metal and the need to wear ex-army boots. Fast commuting was a pretty weird trip - 120mph down the middle of crowded A-roads and the ton-fifty on the motorway whenever possible.
I couldn't believe the rate at which consumables died. Tyres in 3000 to 4000 miles, chains in about 5000 miles and a set of EBC front pads in a ridiculous 3300 miles. The latter from speeding up to corners at about twice the correct rate and then slamming on the anchors in desperation. The twin discs had plenty of power but lacked any kind of feedback, the first I knew of a locked wheel was the screaming tyre, which doubtless contributed to the early demise of the front rubber.
In its day, the wraparound, square section frame was highly rated but the FJ was still one overweight bastard when I wanted to speed through corners. There was so much grunt from the mill that it could have the bike going sideways when applied with too much enthusiasm in the bends. There was also a lack of ground clearance that stopped me getting the FJ right over on the edge of its tyres. I would swear my head off at the bike but it didn't make any difference. One, highly dangerous, technique was to lean off the bike whilst keeping it as upright as possible. An almighty wobble would turn up if I got the balance slightly wrong and I'd end up sitting in dirty underwear at work for the rest of the day.
Then there was the time one of the silencers fell off, rust finally overwhelming it. The bike had always been a bit loud, all part of its character to me but this was ridiculous. Sounded like a platoon of tanks was rumbling up the road. By the time I hit the breakers for a replacement, the other one was also hanging off. A fiendish matt black four into one was hammered on. Looked the business but put a 2000rpm flat spot deep in the midrange.
With 83,500 miles on the clock I was about ready to sell. The brakes looked like they would need replacing soon, plus yet another round of consumables. The engine was very tough, all I'd done was keep it topped up with fresh oil. The chassis was competent rather than inspiring, too much weight to be really enjoyable. The power gave one hell of a kick but destroyed the chassis in short order when used in anger. Finish was okay, surviving with just the odd bucket of water thrown at it when I was feeling bored. Sold it for £1700 but wouldn't have another unless I was desperate for some high speed excesses.
E..K.