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These custom nutters drive me crazy. One such had taken a 1982 XV750 and performed upon it his perverted pleasures. Garish chrome and paint that had me wailing for a pair of deep black shades. Long forks that put the wheel miles out in front. A tiny bum pad that I just knew would have my woman howling in protest. Slash pipes that allowed a thunderous racket out of the big vee-twin motor. Sat in the saddle the huge bars and forward mounted pegs did nothing for my feeling of well being.
To cap it all, the owner wanted £1500. I tried to point out that I'd have to find some stock cycle parts. No way I was going to ride around with the bike in that state. Astonishment was written on his face after this admission. After a brief, somewhat mind warping, test ride I left him my phone number. Three weeks later he'd agreed that £850 seemed a fair price and the deal was done. That was when my troubles started.
The XV is well known for having a dodgy electric starter. This one had made some furious noises but eventually fired the motor. At the vendor's house. By the time I got home, though, all it would do was whirr, clatter and clonk. The whole mechanism was wrecked beyond help, must've been bodged with Superglue and prayers. I didn't fancy trying to beat the previous owner to a pulp, he was twice my weight and half my age. Luckily, a friend had lots of bits left from his XV (it blew up with 112,000 miles done), which included a much modified starter and mechanism. Mine for £30.
The bodging, I soon found out, extended to the rest of the bike. If the owner had wanted a degree in bodging he would've been up there at the top of the honours list. They didn't all come to light at once, though, I'd foolishly assumed that with the starter fixed I was going to enjoy lots of fun on the 18000 mile engine (the speedo wasn't stock which should have alerted me). I'd also assumed that the custom guise meant it wasn't hard ridden.
I'd managed to acquire some forks and proper seat off the same mate, as a straight swap as he was getting into the chopper scene himself. Poor fool. So with the woman on the back, I was all set for a pleasant weekend's run out to the Cotswolds. About 600 miles in all. Trolling along quite nicely for the first fifty miles, I suddenly became aware of harsh vibration and heavy smoke out of the exhausts. End of outing, ran back home at 30mph. Just made it, at the last set of lights we'd been choking on the exhaust fumes.
The engine was quite easy to extract, if you allowed that two of the engine bolts didn't have any threads, the nuts were glued on. It was with a mixture of horror and fascination that I viewed the engine on my workbench The studs were intact, which is more than can be said for the piston rings. Turned out that there was a complete mismatch between bore, piston and ring size. The bores were a bit scarred at the bottom but a bit of work with emery cloth removed the worst of it.
A used set of rings and pistons gave the motor a chance of functioning properly. The gaskets were either missing or smeared with such an excess of Hermatite that there was no chance of rescuing them. A complete new gasket set added to the carnage. I spent a whole evening flattening out the cylinder head surfaces, the large nicks made by some irresponsible moron's screwdriver causing much swearing.
The reassembled motor went in without hassle, even came to life after a few minutes churning on the starter. Felt a whole lot smoother, seemed to rev cleaner and I was quite impressed with my mechanical skills. The slight oil weeps of the old machine had disappeared. So we started out on another weekend's ride to the good old Cotswolds.
This time we got all of 120 miles until one of the front calipers seized on to the disc. It must've taken off a millimetre of rubber. For once I was quite thankful for the amount of leverage resulting from the width of the bars, though they made a mockery of town riding. I had been hurling the XV through lots of curves, which helped explain the red hot heat of the caliper. I burnt my finger when I gave it a gentle probe. Luckily, there wasn't a large hammer available or it would've been smashed to pieces. I didn't fancy the rest of the weekend with a dodgy front brake.
After letting it cool down, undoing the bolts (actually snapping them off, they were so corroded into their threads) and kicking the caliper off, I was able to cruise home at moped speeds. Thankful that the vee twin had scads of engine braking. Decent calipers proved elusive, so when a whole XJ600 front end was offered for £50 I grabbed it with both hands before the vendor had a chance to realise his foolish largesse. Putting it on was a bit of a pain but I eventually pulled out, after visiting three breakers, a pair of yokes that suited both the forks and steering head.
For the third weekend I set out full of hope of completing the simple task of riding 500 miles. I couldn't believe it when the gearbox locked into fourth. The vee twin might be full of torque (just as well as there seemed a lot less power than the 65 horses claimed) but there certainly wasn't enough to let it run below 2500rpm in that gear. By the time we reached home, I had clutch slip to add to my woes.
The selectors turned out to be rather bent and a couple of gears had teeth missing. My mate with the blown engine came to my aid again. The clutch drum looked oval, so I had to put in a used one as well as a new set of plates. My mate reckoned the engine must've done at least 60,000 miles to be in such a state.
This was all getting a bit much. I hadn't even done 500 miles and I kept having to pull the monster apart. With foolish optimism I set out for another weekend's fun and games, having done a proving run of 120 miles worth of commuting. Much to my amazement, this time the rumbling rhino made it to my destination. Though, not without losing half its oil. Judging by the obscured cylinders the head gaskets were weeping, so I gave the studs a hopeful tweak.
Coming home wasn't so straightforward as the battery decided it didn't want to hold a charge. The lights started dimming, the engine began to stutter at high revs until about 30 miles from home we ground to a halt. Then the rain started and the woman went into a mega-nag. Something about motorcycles being the dirtiest, most foolish, craziest way of travelling known to the civilised world. I decided then that I was never going to marry the bitch. I dumped the bike in someone's garden and we hiked home.
After retrieving the bike, I went into a rage at the state of the electrical wiring, the burnt out alternator and blown rectifier. The battery, predictably, had sod all acid. A few raids on breakers found the parts but I had to rewire large chunks of the bike and throw away the rotten horn. I decided that I was never going to try to take the bike to the Cotswolds again. Just too unlucky.
To get some value out of the XV I used it for riding back and forth to work for a couple of months. It was a heavy, awkward old brute in town, not helped any by the way second decided it liked leaping out of gear. It left me stranded in front of crazed cagers, who were warming up for the kill, until some desperate footwork reconnected the engine to the back wheel with a terrifying lurch. Using third gear bogged the engine down at town speeds.
Apart from oil consumption and the odd blown bulb, the XV held together for about 7800 miles with nothing more than 2000 mile oil changes. I really couldn't be bothered with valve and carb maintenance, I wasn't that impressed with the bike. I felt fairly sure about setting out on a 3000 mile holiday, with the new girlfriend, a motorcycling innocent, on the pillion. Thrilling was how she described our first blast up the motorway, at all of 75mph. Well, she was perched high above me, took the full force of the wind.
75mph turned out to be the maximum speed the mild custom riding position would allow. The engine was also significantly smoother at this velocity, probably designed to please the Yanks, who seem to wet themselves at talk of going any faster. Even at such a slow speed, the chassis didn't feel well planted on the road. There was a lot of weaving from the back end and head shaking from the front. It was tolerable as it only gave any sign of going really terminal once the speedo crept above 95mph, something that was accompanied by foot numbing vibration.
It was all smiles and happiness for the first day and 250 miles. The next morning the engine proved reluctant to start. The girlfriend wasn't too amused to find herself pushing the combined weight of myself and the machine. The mill eventually grumbled into life, but power was as sullen as the frail. Carry on or head for home? Compromise by riding around the district in a big circle to see what developed! It was the same old story by the look of the smoke, rings on the way out.
The engine made it home, albeit with a boring slowness, and another pissed off girlfriend, as the rest of the holiday would consist of tearing the motor apart. This time the bores were far gone as well, no hope, even, of reboring them, so deep were the score marks. I was becoming a favoured customer of all the breakers in the area, so soon tracked down a new set of barrels and pistons.
That was a month ago. The rebuilt engine ran quite well but I had absolutely no faith in it. I knew there would be another pile of expenses further down the road. I sold it at a bargain price yesterday. Never again!
Rick Wilson
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Chuff, chuff, chuff.....one of the more enjoyable aspects of owning a 1000cc vee twin with an excess of torque was seeing how low the revs would go in top gear. I could get right down to 1200rpm without the transmission snagging, but then the throttle had to be opened in a very, very gentle way. Just whacking the throttle open made the chain feel like it was about to leap off the sprockets. For smooth acceleration at least 2000rpm was needed. From those revs on the motor gathered momentum, until by 3000 revs things began to really happen.
With nigh on 500lbs and only 70 horses the power to weight ratio did limit the overall effect of the grunt. By the time 6000 revs were up power and torque were finished, although the engine would eventually sing up to 7500rpm. These characteristics were with an almost straight through 2-1 exhaust and an airfilter subtly modified with a screwdriver and brute force.
The 1981 bike had gained a few other modifications over nine years and four owners. I actually knew each owner, the Yamaha being passed on amongst friends when they moved on to more interesting machines, usually Harleys. No-one had really thrashed or neglected the TR, mainly, I guess, down to its friendly, laid back nature that turned a bit gruff, almost dismayed, if the 1500 mile service was neglected. The best mod was a recovered seat with a delightfully compliant layer of foam, which together with its mild riding position, made a few hundred miles in a day as free of trouble as taking the train (I think that's a compliment rather than an insult).
The vee twin motor looked like someone had cobbled together a couple of SR singles and, indeed, hints of that troublesome beast's vibration were not entirely absent. Low rev rumbling wasn't up to Norton Commando levels but taking the engine to 8000 revs would provoke a passable imitation of a Bonnie (or even Harley). Of course, it wasn't a new bike, having done 57000 miles when I took over ownership. Top gear was acceptably smooth, in that the engine movements did not fade entirely but didn't intrude enough to cause discomfort to feet and hands, between 40 and 85mph. A range of speed that perfectly complemented the frame's ability to hold a reasonably stable line.
Handling was undoubtedly aided by the recent addition of an XJ900 front end, after the previous owner had a mild prang. Hitting the side of skip whilst mildly intoxicated actually broke the forks in half! The owner survived with a mild groin bruising and a bit of brain damage from viewing the castrated TR1. He bravely managed to resist the drunken temptation of dumping the broken bike in the skip and actually had the audacity to drag me from the warmth of my bed. Well, I lived but half a mile from the scene. We must have looked a sight, each holding the remnants of the forks that were still attached to the bike (the other half and wheel were rudely abandoned in the skip) whilst pulling the reluctant TR1 through the street.
The TR1 was only endowed with the mildest of custom steering geometry, unlike the later XV1100 which looks almost grotesque by comparison, so the XJ forks and wheel looked more or less at home and did not radically change the steering geometry. What they added to the TR1's poise was tauter springing, competent damping and thrilling braking. I'd had a go on the Yam before the forks were changed, was not too impressed with forks which seemed very flimsy and tended to creak over bumps. The old disc had rotted calipers and as much fade as the poorest design of SLS drum.
The frame is a fairly minimal affair, with the engine as a stressed member most of the trellis is hidden away under the petrol tank and sidepanels. The steering comes from the relatively long and lazy geometry, making the bike, once on decent suspension, deceptively stable in a straight line to the extent that a large amount of effort is needed to twist it through the bends... at least I thought it was heavy going until I tried an XS1100, which redefined the whole business. As the XV had a lot of its engine mass low down between the long wheelbase, it felt naturally balanced making town work easier than expected. For the vast majority of the time the TR1 was great fun to ride!
Surprisingly, it was quite cheap to run, too. Fuel was 55mpg, tyres about 15000 miles and the enclosed chain hardly ever needed a tweak. Why the TR1 ended up with a chain when just about every other Yamaha vee twin had an excellent shaft drive is one of the great mysteries of life. The only time I was annoyed with the consumables was when a Dunlop tyre with 3mm of tread left kept picking up punctures - I had three in a week until the rubber was finally dumped. One of them happened at 70mph, sent the back wheel into some desperate oscillations.
One of the more amusing aspects of ownership was that it would stay with Harley Sportsters without losing a breath, even match them in top gear roll-ons between 40 and 70mph; few Harley owners seemed willing to go any faster. The only one I knew who regularly thrashed his 883 ended up with a thrown rod, a gaping hole in the crankcase and a girlfriend who swore never to swing a leg over a bloody motorcycle again.
There was little doubt that the Yamaha had a tough engine. It'd received a valve regrind at around 40,000 miles along with a couple of new camchains. The starter problem, endemic to the breed, had been fixed way back within the first two years of ownership (it involved using parts off another Yamaha, but don't ask which as no-one can think that far back, sorry!). The incident of the disappearing oil was the only really black mark in its history, pints of it flowing out of a blown seal in a mere 10 miles. The following rider who suddenly found his front wheel sliding down the road after hitting an oil slick was not too amused - a one month old Harley, but give them their due, they do have a tough chassis and the damage was only cosmetic.
Oh, there was also the case of the disappearing gears, when the engine was only working in first and fourth. It says a lot for the torque of the motor that the owner was quite happy to run the TR in this state for nigh on six months before he went to the trouble of fitting secondhand selectors. Mind you, the way he rumbled along in fourth at low revs used to shake windows in their frames and have vicious dogs foaming at the mouth.
It perhaps says a lot for my luck that at 64000 miles I ended up with the same amount of power as my wife's Yamaha Townmate (I had great fun riding this on one wheel until she caught me....) and even more smoke than the local youth who ran his TZR on open pipes and 20/50 oil. The simultaneous demise of both bores and pistons was greeted with disdainful glances by the Harley crowd, but by the simple expedient of enriching British Telecom executives and reading MCN classifieds I soon tracked down a reasonable set of barrels and pistons. They were only thirty notes plus risking my life on the back of the youth's TZR for a 100 miles. Bloody kid, hadn't yet learnt about double white lines and looking behind.
The engine proved easy enough to tear apart, although there was an excess of oil lines and the piston rings were an incredibly tight fit in the bores. Hermatite was used on the old gaskets as I'd become used to the oil weeping out between cylinder and head. The 2-1 exhaust had sprung apart when I'd removed it, I had to get a mate who weighed twenty stone (of pure muscle) to force it into the heads and even he was muttering under his breath at the sixth attempt.
The week off the road had flattened the battery so the neighbour with a car was persuaded to hook up his battery. Ahem. Fifteen minutes later he was cursing me because his battery was also flat. It was then that I noticed that the HT leads looked a bit convoluted. Damn! Swap them over, drop in my charged battery and the old darling grumbled into life first press on the starter. Pissing out enough oil from the head gaskets to put a large puddle on the drive. Yes, I had to take the engine out and put some new gaskets in!
Almost as soon as that was completed I had to do a 200 mile bash across England to sort out a relative whose wife had deserted him. I had to thrash the TR at the ton most of the way there because he was threatening to top himself. It was motorway most of the way, so all I had to do was hang on and try to ignore the hand and foot numbing vibration. The bloody relative had changed his mind, had his feet up watching the TV whilst I stood there shaking from head to foot.
Perhaps because it never had a chance to run in properly, the big 1000cc vee twin was always a bit rough after that minor adventure and I didn't really trust it again, although I kept it long enough to put more than 70,000 miles on the clock. Most of that riding was on the local lanes and hustling through the traffic to work and back. The only other problem that occurred was an ignition fault that had the engine stopping dead, refusing to start for the rest of the day. There was only a faint spark getting through to the plugs when that happened and one of the past owners recalled having the same problem which was solved by fitting new ignition coils. I tried that and everything was fine, even though they were car ones rather than originals. The TR was sold shortly after that, but to a stranger; it was becoming too dubious to sell to a friend!
Mark Tinsley
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The Bike Show, NEC, 1988, was the first time I saw the XV. She was encircled by an excess of other admirers who were also magnetised by her stunning shape. I made my way forward with disregard to all the others around me. As I moved in closer she unveiled herself to me in all her glory. My legs turned to jelly at the sight of the shining shaft drive vee-twin. Style is almost all in the custom game and Yamaha had got everything dead right. I wanted one!
Five years passed before I was able to purchase one, but it was worth the wait. The test ride confirmed the bike to be sound but a few scratches were good haggling points. I parted with £1775 for the 1990 example with 13000 miles on the already fading chrome clock. The chrome is generally crap in comparison to the old B31 I used to own, which incidentally stood in a barn for 25 years and all the chrome needed was a good polish for a Mr Sheen shine.
The XV rides very smooth with only minor vibes apparent through the feet. The model I own has straight bars which I have since modified by pulling them back a bit and adding two inches either end, giving a nice wide feel and more leverage than stock, although at just over 400lbs it's not a heavy bike for this type of device.
The seat is well padded and nicely contoured but this is all for naught due to the forward mounted pegs. A very numb bum resulted after a mere thirty miles. As for the pillion pad, I've sat on a more comfortable bag of marbles. There seems no excuse for this discomfort, after all the cruiser idiom is supposed be about laid back riding and enjoying yourself.
It didn't take me long to become used to the XV, it was a friendly old bugger that was happy to shuffle through town with the minimum of work and was generally stable over the bumps. The slimness and low centre of gravity gave a nicely assured feel and the custom geometry wasn't too extreme. Some choppers are so bad that they are rolling deathtraps.
The summer of '93 saw a tour of the Welsh coast, an excellent test for the 535 and my girlfriend's bum. With a back rest I made up out of the stock rack, the pillion perch was slightly improved and much safer as there's otherwise sod all to hang on to except for myself, of course.
From the West Midlands we headed for the Mumbles, the XV cruising effortlessly along the A-roads, bouncing over the bumps like a small boy on a spacehopper. The OE shocks are soft, so maximum adjustment was in order to cope with the added luggage, for which there's no place to stack it, so with heavy bags over our shoulders it was a great relief to stop and collapse. Ground clearance limited cornering but it was quite easy to cut and thrust through both bends and cars. As a steady cruiser on straight roads with no cornering to occupy my mind, the lack of comfort meant any excuse was welcomed for a stop and hobble around.
We worked our way along the coastal roads, camping every night at a different spot. Eventually ending up at Harlech some 400 miles later, the Yamaha didn't miss a beat. It could have done ten times the distance but I certainly couldn't have survived. At the end of the holiday I felt like a saddle-sore cowboy with piles!
Under those circumstances, it was just as well that it was all plain sailing. The vee-twin motor purrs into life easily at the tickle of the button and the carb mounted choke can be knocked off after half a mile. For a cubic capacity of 535cc there's bags of low down torque for overtaking the caged species without having to change down from top, pulling along strongly all the way up to the ton, the riding position playing havoc with my shoulder muscles. 70mph cruising was only just tolerable for an hour or so.
Fuel averages 55mpg but as the tank only holds three gallons a fill up is needed around 125 miles as the reserve tap is dubious. The tap is worked by a switch on the handlebars which is often ruined by the elements, so there's a big chance that it won't work. This can be fun when the engine stutters to halt just as some cages are about to run you down. When that happens get off the road, bank the bike over to the left until the petrol pump has filled the carb with what fuel's left in the tank. Then onward about a mile, repeat the procedure and wait for a petrol station to appear.
Another horror turned up when I had a rear tyre puncture. Removing the wheel proved impossible on my own. It's a three man job due to the lack of a centrestand. Two men have to lift the back end whilst the other dislodges the wheel from the shaft. On the road it's best to fill a deflated tyre with Finilec or the like.
The vee-twin engine has been around for long enough to sort out any problems and they are generally strong for the first 50,000 miles. Automatic adjustment of the camchain tensioner keeps them rattle free and tappet adjustment is simple screw and locknut, although it can be difficult to access them unless the carbs are whipped off. The last time I took the tank off to do this I decided a respray was in order - metallic turquoise.
The brakes are more than adequate, as I'm used to old Japs a combination of single front disc and rear drum were not going to cause me any problems. The rear drum lacks feel and periodically needs all the asbestos dust cleaned out. The front disc even works well in the wet, so the XV is surprisingly safe in an English winter. Often, I could just rely on engine braking as knocking off the throttle was amazingly effective at losing speed. This, and the directness of the shaft drive, could prove troublesome in slow riding in town when the XV would try to imitate a Kangaroo! A sensitive right hand and a bit of time to become used to the bike is all that's needed to eradicate this trait.
The XV535 proved cheap to run, not churning through tyres or pads and turning in about 55mpg. Oil changes are every 3000 miles and oil filters cost only £5. I change the plugs, airfilter (£6) and shaft drive oil once a year. The latter has none of the nastiness of a BMW boxer and it'd be very churlish not to give it new oil occasionally. It would be very hard to go back to the rigours of a chain after the civilisation of a shaft.
People might compare the XV to a Harley Davidson but the small Yam starts, stops and handles much better but costs loads less. Also, insurance doesn't cost the earth as it's under 600cc - I paid £138 for a Rider Policy (TPFT).
I am very happy with its performance, reliability and its slim looks. After 21000 miles the engine still feels tight, which given the mileage is pretty amazing. The older style of Yamaha four strokes didn't have the best build quality. SR pistons, for instance, being infamous for disintegrating but the vee-twins seem jolly tough for a simple OHC design.
The low centre of gravity and light weight makes it very manageable in traffic, something, along with its low seat height, that makes it very popular with female riders. There's also minimal depreciation, losing only £750 over the first year compared to the ZZR1100's £3000! The same model has been produced for over six years, so spares are readily available. Because of their style many are not hard ridden, most are well looked after and there's no reason why you shouldn't go for an early one for around £1500.
Steve Sewell
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Six months with a stock Harley Davidson 883 had completely pissed me off! The mythology and the reality were completely divorced from each other. The only good thing I could think to say about it was that the image was so strong I sold it quickly without losing any money.
I love cruisers, the whole badass image. Enter a lovely chromed Yamaha Virago, complete with shaft drive, marvellously comfortable two tier seat and an overall civilized feel that Harley owners can only dream of. The front brake worked, the light lit up the road ahead and the shocks absorbed the road imperfections. There was much less vibration than the Harley, more speed and a general feeling that here was a bike that wasn't going to break down in the middle of nowhere (the Harley's primary chain had gone). To my ears, it even sounded better than the Harley!
Well, it wasn't perfect. The gearbox was a bit awkward, especially with five gears to abuse when four would've been more than adequate. Just over 60 horses was developed at 6000 revs but even more revealing was that the torque maxed out at a mere 3000rpm! All the more surprising then that it was a short stroke unit (95 x75mm), its torque coming from the vee-twin configuration and mild, two valve single overhead camshaft heads. Doing the valve clearances on the rear head was especially awkward, but they did stay in adjustment for a long time.
The cylinders are quite markedly offset to facilitate cooling of the rear one. In this air-cooled configuration it's the location of the rear cylinder, more than anything else, that limits power output to such a low level. In summer weather that back cylinder runs very hot indeed, great blasts of heat warming my legs to an uncomfortable degree. Sustained town riding in such circumstances can turn a normally nice motor very finicky indeed, ruining the laid back, relaxed feel.
That it was hot running was shown in the amount of noise the engine made when it was started from cold. Until it warmed up it sounded just like a knackered Yamaha XS650 twin! The clutch was also very changeable. The pressure needed at the lever going from moderate to knuckle busting as the engine warmed up.
With the directness of the shaft drive, the odd gearbox and the lurid clutch, it was dead easy to get the transmission clanging away like an old BMW boxer. To be fair to the Yamaha, gears were almost always engaged and it was only after the engine was used hard for a few hours that its noises became particularly virulent!
Distressingly, this usually coincided with the tail end of a hard day's ride when all I was looking for was a comfortable bed (and/or woman) and the last thing I wanted was a fight with a reluctant gearbox. This was not too difficult to overcome as there was loads of torque and the XV could usually be dumped in third or fourth. Or even fifth if the road was open and clear.
Clearly, custom cruisers have riding positions that severely limit both top and cruising speeds. Placed in a proper chassis I'd guess that the engine would cruise at 90-95mph and have a top speed of 120mph. In Virago guise 75 to 80mph cruising was the most I'd like to sustain and I never pushed the bike beyond 100mph, more down to the riding position than any fear of the chassis letting loose. The engine thrummed quite vividly around 95mph, due to the offset con-rods and the resulting torque reaction. It wasn't annoying as it was impossible to hold that speed for any length of time.
I didn't feel that the XV was a particularly dangerous bike in the corners. Ground clearance was not very generous, but the tips of the footrests would touch down just before anything else, giving a chance to back off before anything solid dug in. I never really pushed it hard, always aware that there were 500lbs ready to bite back.
The 60 inch wheelbase undoubtedly aided the general feel of stability, but did nothing to help the speed with which it could be chucked from side to side or turned through traffic. Slow and steady was the best description. I felt much happier than on the Harley, which had harsh suspension and a feeling that it would like to let go in a very big way.
The Yam's suspension was a congenial balance between absorbing bumps and stopping the chassis going way off line. Speed and bumps had the worst effect, but even then it was only a matter of mild weaves rather than mind boggling wobbles. Different courses for different folks, of course, but as a cruiser fanatic I found the Virago one of the best handling bikes around.
People who buy cruisers like gloss - shiny alloy and chrome, deep paint and enough sheen to make sunglasses obligatory. Three years worth of summer abuse didn't do any damage to the Virago, although I got into the habit of doing a Sunday morning polish. I could see my reflection in the alloy and paint. Lovely. The previous owner had replaced the exhaust with a stainless steel system so I didn't even have the problem of quick rot silencers.
I know a lot of people hate these kind of machines but for all their inherent faults they are a very positive experience. Even the Harley could get me high, on the XV I rode everywhere with a wide, wide smile, any semblance of violence I might've harboured dissipated by the feeling of good times that the vee-twin emanated. Relaxed in the laid back riding position, bathed in the beat of motor and stimulated by the great gobs of torque, I would go for a long ride and come back full of joy and happiness that not even all the cares and horrors of the modern world could dissipate.
I should, of course, have been cruising along Californian highways rather than in the UK when the sun could disappear in an instant and a nasty downpour soak me through before I had a chance to get my waterproofs on. The engine was equally horrified at being drenched, sometimes going on to one cylinder, other times cutting out completely. For some reason screaming at it caused the ignition to resume working, with a resulting wrench that almost broke my arms. If I thought it was going to rain then I'd spray the motor with WD40 before going out, which stopped any maliciousness.
Other than rudimentary maintenance and oil changes, the motor ran well. There was twelve thou on the clock when I bought it and 28000 miles done as I write this. Any problems are likely to emerge from that hot rear cylinder and I wouldn't be too happy about buying a bike which had gone past 40,000 miles. Don't be put off by a cold engine that rattles, they should diminish as the engine warms up and the clearances tighten up.
Harley owners will think I'm unfairly biased in favour of the XV, but, believe me, I originally lusted after a Harley with more intensity than I've ever experienced before or since. The reality was like finding out a beautiful woman was frigid in bed. All that energy and enthusiasm blown on a dud. The XV works well and has slowly but surely wormed its way into my heart.
Mike Nicholls
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1992 was a very good year for me. Not least because I bought an imported Yamaha XV1000. A strange history, this one. Only a single owner in the UK, it had needed a replacement engine at 36000 miles and a lot of the finish was corroded, way past its sell-by date. I'd imagined choppers like the XV lived a mild and cossetted life. This one had evidently been ridden in all weathers and somewhat neglected. For £600 I couldn't complain too loudly.
Riding home I was impressed with the flow of low rev torque if annoyed by the agricultural gearbox; at least the shaft drive removed one major maintenance chore. The chop layout, with long forks kicked way out, felt rather relaxed at sub 60mph speeds. Stability was good, the ability to chuck it through curves helped by the low placement of the narrow vee-twin engine. In fact, it was the undercarriage grinding away that proved the major limitation on handling and not the laid back layout.
A bumpy curve had the Yam veering all over the place, great lumps of tarmac ripped out of the road. I felt like someone was kicking me in the kidneys and that death was near at hand. Riding fast through corners required a deliberate if not desperate cut and thrust technique. I soon decided that this wasn't much fun and that it'd be better to labour along at a more moderate velocity. The XV and I both felt much more relaxed.
I have ridden Harleys before, the XV stomping out more torque, not to mention speed and acceleration, than the 883 but hardly up to the standards of the bigger vees. There's enough torque, though, to stomp along in top gear once out of town. In this hectic world of ours it's difficult to get a handle on laid back creatures like these vee-twins but after about a month I was kinda addicted.
A large part of this was undoubtedly down to the way the parked XV had attracted a stunning blond nubile. She ended up on my pillion and eventually in my bed, her lithe body not making the slightest impact on the Yam's performance. I was quite shocked by the way the bike pulled birds - perhaps they had cottoned on to the fact that owners of luxury customs usually had bigger wallets than they had cocks? Although the logic of the female mind ain't something that I'd want to contemplate for very long.
It was just as well that the Yam had proved itself quickly because I wasn't too amused when the front guard fell off. I wouldn't say the XV vibrated harshly but I was always aware of some thrumming, even thudding when the shaft drive churned in. When the guard went it became coalesced with the front wheel until it disintegrated. The long forks flexed and fluttered as if they were about to snap off. Gave me the creeps, anyway, and we ended up veering towards oncoming traffic. They were not amused. I made it home without being booked for not having a front guard, the only good thing to come out of that adventure.
I don't know if the above is connected to the following but suspect so...Three weeks later I was lovingly wiping over the front wheel in readiness for a session with the Solvol, when what should I spot beneath the thin film of corrosion but a crack where one of the alloy spokes joined the rim. A shiver of horror ran through me as I viewed the potential carnage in my mind. It was barely more than a hairline crack, easily missed. Could've been caused by the past owner's misdeeds - the breaker who sold me a used replacement reckoned he'd never come across it before but took delight in showing me another XV with a collapsed front end (from a crash). He was a speed freak, tended to laugh at cruisers, but he threw in the twin discs for free as neither of us could be bothered to remove them.
I suppose this was just as well because the old discs were looking thin by then. The calipers didn't take too well to working on the thicker material, taking a good 2000 miles before they settled down. The twin discs needed some care as they were a little snatchy, especially in the wet. Pads lasted for over 10,000 miles but the calipers needed a strip and clean after an English winter. I wasn't overwhelmed by the feel and effectiveness of the rear drum, just thankful that it never needed any attention.
The bike ran superbly for about four months after the wheel was fixed. Then starting became difficult and running poor. I tried new spark plugs, relieved that there was a big, fat blue spark but it didn't improve the running. After some cursing I traced the problem to rotting wiring and corroded switches. I replaced the necessary bits and all was well again; had I left it much longer I'm sure the electrical components would've burnt out. There was a slight tendency for the front cylinder to cut out in the wet, due more than anything else to the concentration of water on its head. The cylinder never went completely dead, stuttered for a few yards until it cleared up. I tried the obvious solutions with absolutely no effect; gave up in the end and learnt to live with it.
Just part of the character, I kept telling myself. There was loads of that, the bike always felt like it was working away. At times, literally groaning under the strain but always pulling through. Most bikes only give their kicks when excess speed's dialled in, but the XV was Harley-like in the way I could get high on crossing the country at speeds under 70mph. Boring old fart, do I hear the younger readers mutter. Just wait, time will catch up with you some day.
Just after celebrating a year on the Yam, I thought the Grim Reaper had caught up with me. He took the form of a bloody big tour bus that roared through a junction, caught the front wheel. The bike twirled and I flew! Grinding meal and screaming rider. Oh my lovely cruiser (by then the alloy and paint shone) and my poor old elbow cracking up. The bus driver celebrated the event with a tune on his horn and an amazing disappearing act. The rescue services were left to pick up the pieces and myself the cost.
The damage stopped at the headstock, the front end completely mashed. One side of the bike was heavily scratched but not broken, the other had a couple of dents in the hardware. About £200 spent on used bits and six weeks off the road. Believe me, the withdrawal symptoms were worse than the pain from the elbow!
Back on the road for another year, only minor hassles, ending up with 79000 miles on the chromium plated clock. By then, if the engine was both rattling and knocking - more like an old Brit than a pure bit of Japanese engineering - there was still enough power and torque to have real fun within the limits of the chassis (amazingly enough, save for the crashed front end I hadn't had to replace even a set of wheel bearings). Trying to find a good XV engine was proving futile. There were a couple of 1100 engines on offer but the breakers I talked to were vague on the possibilities of doing a successful swap and the one time I tried to phone the Yamaha importer I kept getting put on hold.
I kept riding the XV. The gearbox was becoming rather vile and when I slammed the throttle shut there was a lot of pattering from the back wheel (probably the shaft's universal joints on the way out). I was determined to wear out a newish set of tyres (about 9000 miles) before trading or selling the bike. With 84000 miles done the local dealer offered me a 1000 notes off the slightly inflated price of a '94 XV1100 - I fell for the deal, like the true child of the sixties that I am.
The newer cruiser's better in every way than the old, which seemed worn out after 75000 miles of abuse (on its second engine, remember). That's not to say that it's a bad bike, because I did many thousands of miles on mine, just one that was a bit tired out. Speed maniacs will find the braking, handling and acceleration hardly worth a light. Those pissed off with Harleys, or who merely can't afford them, will have a wonderful time on the XV, as long as they find a low mileage example. The 1100 pulls the frails even better than the old bike!
Kevin Carson
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Bright alloy and chrome threatened my eyesight, if not my coherence. Perhaps it was that which swung the deal. God knows I wasn't too keen on customs. Silly was the nicest description of the riding position but it's surprising how quickly I became used to it. I definitely liked the vee twin engine. Tuned totally for grunt it would slog away from 1000rpm in top gear despite the complaints of the shaft drive.
The only thing that diminished the forward progress was the sheer, excessive mass - nearly 600lbs! This is all rather strange as the engine's used as a stressed member - no down tubes - most of the bike consisting of its motor. Done properly it should weigh way less than 400lbs, done with regard to Jap cheapo production techniques it ends up an heavy old elephant.
Of course, it isn't just the weight that slows the top end goodies, it's also the sit up and scream riding position. Fine for bopping around town but try for any speeds above 70mph and it's agony time. Shoulder muscles screamed, even some pain hit my thighs. Hold the throttle open in top, the bike will shudder up to 115mph. The Yam wanders around a little, thrums up a bit of vibration and generally feels a bit frightening, as if both the mechanics and chassis were pushing beyond their design limits and might catastrophically fail at any moment.
The bike wasn't new though it gleamed as if it was. The clock had 36000 miles on it. No doubt some wear in the engine and chassis added to the feeling that it was about to fly apart when pushed to the limit. The bike screamed out to be ridden in a sane, sedate manner in keeping with its custom guise. Ridden thus it was glory time all the way. Once used to the riding position and handling quirks it was just a matter of laying back in the comfy saddle and letting the torque thump out like it would pull a few elephants apart.
Yamaha claim 8.7kg-m at 3000 revs, with the 62 horses peaking at 6000rpm. The power's pathetic for a 1063cc machine, at least in theory - in reality it's like those Harleys, the stonking stomp overwhelms everything else and the engine never feels in the least bit weak. A similarly powered GPz550 engine, for instance, is revealed as totally wimpy in comparison to the sheer excessive grunt.
In practice this led to annoyed and disbelieving replica riders who couldn't believe that such a pose vehicle could growl up the road at such a rapid pace. It was quite funny watching them in the mirrors, front wheels up around their heads and wavering all over the place. Of course, once they got their act together they would shoot past at some unlikely, three figure, velocity.
I did the same trick with any number of car drivers, reassured that they didn't have the space to try on anything hardcore. Riding around Gloucester was a laugh a minute, helped along by the silencers being degutted - enough of a blast to rattle shop windows and set off alarms! I reckoned that the exhaust noise was a prime safety device - no-one, but no-one, not even the most dozy ped or cager, was surprised by my sudden appearance.
Where the bike did need a bit of skill was in the normal cut and thrust of riding. Accelerating and braking hard needed a smooth grip on the controls to avoid turning the bike into a manic rocking horse. The front forks were coupled with rebuilt twin discs (Goodridge, EBC's, braided hose, etc), the former sprung perfectly for 55mph cruising on wondrously smooth American highways. Harsh braking made the forks plop down on their stops whilst feeling like the stanchions were close to breaking off.
It was all the violence of the 600lbs of mass suddenly shooting forward. The narrow and thus lowly slung mass of the engine was all that stopped the disturbing transference of weight going right out of control - one area where vee-twins are way ahead of similarly styled and suspended fours.
Further complexity to the handling fun and games was added by the grossly mismatched wheels. A fat fifteen inch rear wheel and thin nineteen inch front were par for the course on a custom but not much use in helping to control such excessive mass and torque. The mismatch was explicit in the faster bends when neither tyre wanted to go in the same direction and the overwhelming impression was that the bike was on the edge of slipping into oblivion. This on fresh tyres at the correct pressure. Okay, customs aren't supposed to be ridden with elan and if I went into laid back mode then all was joy and jubilation.
But that was something of a waste, having to back off just as the glorious torque was taking the forward momentum up to yet again another level of sensory excess. Message to Mr. Yamaha, do a Vincent-esque version and make loads of dosh.
The only time I had any real complaints about the engine was in the wet when the front pot would occasionally cut out. Not a nice experience; a profoundly unbalanced thumper with a direct connection to hell via its shaft drive on slippery roads is akin to abandoning all hope and entering a strange realm of survival dependent purely on hope and luck. I won out most of the time but there were sufficient near scrapes to give my heart the odd flutter.
WD40, sprayed on the plug cap and coils, helped a little but it always seemed to happen when I least expected it. The bike also felt like it was going to go sideways if I ever tried to ride hard on damp roads with any curves in them - not a good idea to go wild on the throttle, not with the direct shaft drive and heavy torque waiting to let loose.
It wasn't so bad that it actually stopped me riding the bike through winter. The vast swathe of polished alloy and chrome needed daily work to keep it up to spec. I could see that it would fade away rapidly unless I took great care of it. The underneath of the engine was a different matter - loads of nooks and crannies for the road salt and grime to hide. Only Gunk and a jet-wash had any effect on it.
The worst aspect of the Virago in the wet and cold was the lap full of water that resulted from its laid back riding position. Difficult as it was to look cool on a motorcycle in the winter, it was much more embarrassing to get off a bike looking like I was an incontinent old bastard. Winter riding equated to frozen extremities and a complexion that would only go unremarked on some OAP who indulged in sixty fags a day. Not the nicest experience in the world, but a necessary one as it was my only means of transport. Overall, the Yamaha survived much better than I did.
In slow winter riding, fuel was a reasonable 60mpg, compared to nearer 40mpg when spirited use of the throttle was employed. The shaft drive was obviously maintenance free and a godsend in mucky weather. Tyres wore not heavily in the 3750 miles I've done on the bike in the past nine months. Only the front pads had to be replaced. Not too surprising as the grunt would often power me towards corners at a suicidal pace, requiring a large handful of brake to avoid crashing.
There I go again, admitting to trying to ride a custom like a proper motorcycle, but the engine's such an excellent bit of kit that I often got carried away. Which just about sums up life with a Virago. Some great engineering in there, somewhat emasculated by the genre that Yamaha has see fit to inflict upon it. Whatever, Virago's are interesting bikes in a world full of replica fours and there's even an owners' club! I haven't joined, prefer my motorcycling to be an individual affair. And whatever you think of customs the Yam's a true original.
Keith Dickinson
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I admit to fitting the description of a born-again biker to a tee. I sold my last bike, a CB400F, back in 1980 and since then the familiar route of car, wife, house and children had come along in slow succession. Fourteen years passed me by before the biking embers, I had long thought to have gone cold, suddenly re-ignited themselves and I found myself one day in a local newsagent buying a motorcycle magazine...
A month later I was the proud owner of an eight month old Yamaha XV535, only 480 miles on the clock and a grand off the list price (with some haggling) in the local dealer. Behaving like a five year old on Christmas day, I was all set to go. Now, fourteen years without riding a bike may or may not sound like a lot. Believe me, the first five minutes of riding seemed like a lifetime!
The memory of riding the 400/4 and the actuality of riding a 535 were the proverbial chalk and cheese. Where's the revs, and how the hell do you steer it, and what were my feet doing out there in front of me? A roundabout 50 yards from the dealers was the first obstacle, taken at 10mph. Very worrying. A stop for a fag and petrol was called for (though not together).
With a full tank and a few more miles under my belt I began to relax and then later to get cold. It was a bright April evening but I'd genuinely forgotten just how cold you get riding an unfaired bike. By the time I'd covered the thirty-odd miles home, I was already having serious second thoughts about what should be worn on such a bike. Forget the posing that the thing invites you to do and just concentrate on staying warm.
April turned to May, the beginning of a very hot summer. Now the joy of riding am XV on a balmy summer's evening along deserted country roads is one that defies description. The stresses of the day melt away, the feeling of total freedom is intoxicating and the sound of the vee twin mill fills your ears. Emotional stuff but all very true.
In addition, I joined the local Virago Owners Club (VOC) whose twice monthly gatherings regularly attracted 20 to 30 bikes at a nearby pub, and where the depth of technical knowledge on the Virago was stunning. The beer was pretty good as well.
As we all know, the summer of '95 was a bit of a blinder. Day after day of hot sunshine meant I rode the bike most days or evenings but three highlights from that summer do stand out. The first was a whole Sunday spent at Beaulieu at a motorcycle show. Leaving home early in the morning brought me to the edge of the New Forest by half past nine. Riding through the forest the number of bikes increased steadily until every road was full of them. The parking areas were already almost full when I arrived, and still they kept coming.
The weather, the sideshows, the museum, the displays, the sound of bikes and the good humour of all the bikers combined to make it a glorious day. Riding back up the M3 afterwards, in the company of a dozen homeward bound bikes, the true appeal of riding a motorcycle like the Virago became crystal clear and you can only feel sorry for those who have never felt the urge.
My second highlight of the summer was a long weekend trip to France. I rode down to Portsmouth on the Thursday evening to catch the overnight ferry to Cherbourg. I'd dressed for a long journey but had to stop after only 20 minutes to peel off a couple of layers as the night was hot and humid.
Arriving, still relaxed, at the ferry terminal, I joined up with half a dozen other bikers in the car park, and we were all shepherded on to the ferry together. Rope lashings and lumps of foam were provided but we had to secure the bike ourselves. With a calm crossing this presented no worries but I could imagine that rough seas might see one or two nervous riders hanging around close to the car decks, especially on well finished bikes like the XV.
The ferry arrived at Cherbourg at 6am, just as the dawn was coming up. I rode off the ferry and down the deserted city streets until I found myself cruising down a quiet, dead straight main road in the middle of the French countryside. Although the day promised to be a scorcher, at that time of the morning it was still cool, with a bit of a mist around. After an hour, I stopped for a coffee in a small village square. A number of school children gathered around the bike, admiring their reflections in the mass of chrome which made me believe that all my polishing had not been in vain.
The rest of the day passed all too quickly as the bike cruised happily at 70 to 75mph down perfect roads. Finding the ideal speed on a 535's not easy as it tends to vary a bit. Ride at under 70mph and it's easy to doze off with the lack of wind noise, the laid back riding position and the quiet rhythmic engine. Over 80mph requires a vicelike grip, gladiator sized muscles and a good set of ear defenders.
Five days were spent riding around Brittany which before the start of the holiday season proper, was a mass of quiet roads and near deserted beaches, all under a glorious hot sun. The ride back was a sheer delight as I took the coast road up the Cherbourg Peninsular. I passed only six cars in over forty miles of smooth, level, gently sweeping roads and all with the sea glinting on my left side. I could've ridden the Yam forever!
The third highlight of the summer was attending the Yamaha weekend festival at Donnington Park. Due to baby-sitting commitments, I only left home late on the Saturday afternoon. However, the warm air made for an easy ride around Oxford up the M1. I arrived just after 7pm. The designated campsite was full, overflow sites set up in the main car parks. In one I found a group of Virago owners from Cambridge, who welcomed me as one of their own and I set up camp alongside them.
Setting up camp is a loose description...hammering six inch tent pegs into earth baked harder than concrete with a crude lump of stone proves there is a price to pay for a long, hot summer. Saturday night was party night with a live band, far too much beer, a good BBQ and a truly laid back feel.
I went to bed a happy man, that is until one in the morning when some total plonker tried to blow up his RD350 engine by holding its throttle wide open for twenty minutes. The bike expired not unsurprisingly but at least silence descended again.
The first arrival at East Midlands airport's 5.30am. This is a fact noted by its passing 50 feet over the Donnington car park. Who needs an alarm clock? A misty Sunday morning with a pale blue sky and a bike parked outside the tent discouraged a lie-in. Having purchased too much beer and BBQ the previous evening, a quick ride to Ashby-de-la-Zouch was called for in search of a hole in the wall.
By 10am bikes were arriving at Donnington in their hundreds. My next appointment of the day was with the exhaust scrutineers in preparation for permission to ride around the track. A decibel test was rendered useless by another Airbus thundering overhead on its final approach but at least I was through. Long queues followed, leading up to the Yamaha mechanics who tested brakes, frame, suspension, etc, before allowing the bike to enter the track.
After an hour, or so, I was in the pit lane, the only Virago amongst a host of FZR's. The marshal's flag waved us out on to the track and we were away. The next fifteen minutes were the most terrifying, exciting and exhilarating that I've ever spent on a bike. It takes a couple of laps to get the hang of the track but even more importantly to realise what it's surface will allow you to do with a bike.
Grinding the pegs becomes too easy and braking hard can punish the front forks. Acceleration's improved, which on the straights allowed the Virago to touch 100mph on several occasions. Accepting the fact that I was lapped by every other bike on the course, it was still a great experience; one that I repeated twice more that day even though the queues to get on the track were longer on each occasion.
The VOC was only one of the many clubs represented, along with a host of side shows and exhibitors but at least it was a focus for the Virago owners and well over a hundred bikes were parked alongside its tent. A great bunch of people from all over the country with some quite magnificent machines.
The day ended all too soon and I found it a wrench leaving for the 150 mile ride back south. I had company for a lot of the way from a variety of other bikes but by the time I hit the M3 was on my own again, burbling along in the warm summer evening. Just a really great day.
Now love them or hate them, the Virago 535 can't be ignored. Consistently one of Yamaha's best seller's around the world, including the UK, for over eight years now, ownership of one will rapidly show you why! I rode some 4000 miles during the summer and my only gripes are minor ones - a clunky gearchange when cold (and I mean CLUNKY); a useless pillion seat whose only redeeming factor was that it looked right; no centrestand which is a real pain for servicing; and a small petrol tank.
On the plus side the list is endless. Shaft drive, reasonable rider comfort, better handling than the average factory custom, very reliable, plenty of torque; all with head turning looks.
Ian Perrott