Copyright (c) 2008 GoodMotorcycles.com
One of the major advantages of Suzuki insisting on selling their 600 Bandit for around four grand in 1995 and 1996 was that it stopped dead the silliness of inevitable and ridiculous price rises for some of the other tackle on offer. In 1996 it was possible to buy a brand new XJ600N for £3700 on the road (courtesy of those small display ad's in MCN). I didn't do that, instead bought a demonstrator, a yellow 1995 model with 12 months guarantee and 4000 miles for the sum of £3200 - cash, and only after a lot of swearing and sweating from the local dealer.
The XJ600N is basically a Diversion without its half fairing, its naked shape looking all the better and much more attractive, to my eyes, than the Bandit. The big difference between the two bikes is the matter of 20 horses, though the XJ does weigh some 30lbs less and, thanks to the slanted forward top end, carries that mass somewhat lower. Basically, it's a much more modern design, crippled by the perceived need to make it more civilised than the racier models. Unfortunately, there's no easy way to up the power from the quoted 60 horses.
The 80hp Bandit having the option of boring out to 900cc and over a 100 horses! Until the manufacturer comes up with some new tricks, riders are going to have to live within the XJ600N's limitations. Though power never makes it into the arm wrenching, I'm gonna die, league it's at least very easy to ride with none of the edginess of more sporting bikes, which need precise matching of gear ratio and throttle to get anywhere fast. In fact, the XJ could've got away with three or four gears, not because it was over-endowed with torque but because it had such a smooth, clean running mill (despite being run in by a desperate bunch of lunatics who used test rides to see if they could break the machine). Part of this comes from the straightness of its inlet and exhaust ports, though the use of four carbs, and the need to keep them in balance, has to be questioned on a machine with such a modest power output.
The chassis was built down to a price, but largely saved from any real nastiness by good weight distribution and a well braced tubular steel frame. As more and more miles were clocked up the suspension at each end went weaker and weaker, until, come about 14000 miles, the back end sag, under two-up riding, was unacceptable. New shock and stiffened up forks cost £250 to sort out, but transformed the handling characteristics from a wobbly jelly to a taut racer that could take late braking or radical changes of direction halfway through a corner. Feedback from the tyres was also good, so good that I but rarely felt any compunction to back off in the wet - also helped by the lack of any heinous laying down of excessive power from the motor.
Having sorted the handling, I found myself swearing more and more at the limitations of the single front disc. This had never come close to stoppie country, but was also lacking in that essential element of feedback so crucial to survival in difficult conditions. Time and winter weather weren't too kind to it, either, with the calipers seizing up momentarily and the poor old disc itself ringing out a squeak of imminent breakage.
Not wanting to die young, I fitted new pads (at 13,400 miles the old ones were down to the metal), Goodridge hose and fresh fluid. These alone were sufficient to effect a startling transformation in feel and feedback, though power remained marginal. Fine for reasonable solo work, but fully loaded up with pillion, luggage and kitchen sink, brought in the kind of fade that I'd thought was only experienced, these days, when going back to nature on some terrible old British relic.
These suspension and brake limitations are pretty much what you'd expect for the money - it costs the same as some sporty 125 replica yet has three more cylinders and all that expensive valve business. The 600 Bandit has similar suspension problems but better brakes, the top notch stuff only turning up on the £7000 600 replicas. I know which offers the better value, though perhaps Yamaha would do well to offer the option of an upgrade path to twin discs.
With the suspension sorted, I found I could live quite happily with the improved braking, and it gave me the only excuse I needed to do serious travel solo, or at least only in the company of Kate Moss sized frails (instant erection at the unlikely reality of that!). I found the seat, bars and pegs well suited to my 5'9'' lithe body, though I would have preferred the tank to be a few inches narrower where my knees were supposed to sit. The naked machine conjured up some hefty aerodynamic forces above the ton, all but killing off the acceleration.
Only when a strong wind was behind us, did the speedo venture beyond 105mph. 122mph being the most I saw, something I wouldn't have attempted on the old suspension but the tauter stuff held her firmly and neutrally on line, giving off a general impression of absolute safety. I didn't take writing an UMG contribution so far as taking my hands off the bars or deliberately riding through a pothole at 120mph, but feel sure the bike would actually survive such madness.
The nearest I came to such a calamity was riding over a small dog at 60mph. The decapitation did no harm to the Yamaha other than shaking the bars for a few yards afterwards! It all happened so fast that I didn't even have time to panic, which steadiness probably helped keep everything in line.
I was somewhat peeved, come 21000 miles, to have both wheel bearings start knocking, the steering like riding on ice. It proved difficult to hammer them out of the cast wheels but at least replacements were available cheaply from a bearing factor. The swinging arm bearings were also a touch loose, so I had to replace them at the same time. I then thought I'd better check the steering head; sure enough...they have to save money somewhere on such a bargain priced motorcycle.
Not that the general finish really suffered. Paint and chrome still shone nicely. The engine itself proved amenable to 5000 mile overhauls and oil changes, hasn't provoked any worries in the 20,000 miles I've got out of it in about a year's riding. It's taken me to all kinds of weird places, done everything from 100mph, 100 mile blasts to back lane scratching and heavy-duty commuting in London.
Fuel has averaged out at close to 60mpg, which seems pretty good to me, though no doubt the Editor will go into a rant about his 1967 CB450 doing 70mpg at 90mph. A little more urge's definitely what the bike could most do with (which would make twin discs mandatory) but I like the relentless, bullet-proof nature of the motor and its utterly safe handling in some of the atrocious weather we get in the UK.
The heavy and expensive 900 Diversion doesn't appeal at all but if they bored out the 600, added twin discs and kept the price, mass, and handling the same, I'd be mightily tempted to trade in.
Dave Lincoln
The same old shit, thought I. The heavyweight 900 four was reluctant to waltz through the capital's idiotic traffic. Gaps were too narrow or too tight. I actually had to wait in line on a few occasions. My pillion chanted insults at my ineptitude, didn't help by bobbing about like he had ants in his pants. The big Diversion ticked over with a great sense of calm and, I have to admit, fitted well between my legs.
There was also bags of low rev torque, allowed the bike to hurtle into gaps that opened up. I could've done with touch more power from the front discs, although at least there were two of them rather than the wholly inadequate single front disc on its 600 sibling. General smoothness and civility were what you'd expect on a modern bike; God knows there was enough mass to soak up any secondary vibes.
After making it out of London, I settled the XJ down on the M1. Speed was simply a matter of dialling in the throttle and relaxing behind the stylish and adequately protective half fairing. 100mph was like ticking over, 120mph no problem. Thereafter, acceleration became rather slow, until with 135mph on the clock some secondary vibes crept into the pegs and bars; a sure sign that it was time to back off.
These might seem excessive speeds, but most of the cages were running along at 90 to 100mph; the way the bike would pick up at the ton and slam up to 120mph most welcome when some cage became unpredictable. One of the great benefits of a large capacity bike is that the presence of a fat pillion doesn't make much difference to the performance. And even the excessive mass of the two of us failed to ruin the 6000 mile old suspension.
I'd borrowed the bike off an old mate for a trek up to good old Glasgow, where both the pillion and I had a tasty bit of crumpet! What is known as complicating one's life. The XJ900 owner had actually told me to give it a good thrashing as he reckoned the motor was bullet-proof. One reason for this was that we had another mate who had destruction tested one for 70,000 miles in a year and the damn thing still ticked over like new!
The Diversion's well equipped for long distance touring. Good basic stability, mostly down to the relatively low centre of gravity from the top end of the motor being aggressively thrust forward. Comfy saddle, complemented by a relaxed riding position and half fairing. An excellent shaft drive, although modern O-ring chains don't need much attention. And a general feeling of a well put together machine. Inspires belief in its ability to soak up the miles.
The big flaw's its excessive mass at 530lbs, something out of the seventies. Even 50lbs heavier than the old 900, although it hides its mass much better than the older bike, only really being a hassle in town when the cages are so jam-packed that you'd be better off on a bicycle. This mass is all very strange given that the similarly styled 600 weighs around 400lbs, and surely it would've made much more sense to bore out the 600 from a production point of view. The only sane rationalisation of this conundrum's that the 600's actually an overbored 400, the latter the main buzz in the restricted Japanese market.
Yamaha quote 85hp at 8500 revs for the 900 against a mere 60 horses for the 600 at the same revs (the 400 makes 42hp at 10,000rpm, by the way). 85hp for a 900 four ain't much but then the Yam has an aircooled, eight valve motor; this simplicity much of its appeal. It's just a pity that it doesn't add up to a low mass!
The steady drone up the M1 was only relieved by the need to stop for fuel. The bike has a big 24 litre tank, giving a range of only 150 miles because fuel consumption was quite high at 35mpg at the ton. Thrashed to the limit that dived to 25mpg whilst town riding gave around 45mpg, which was what it'd average if ridden within the limits of the law. These figures are what you'd expect from a modern motorcycle, but hardly inspiring for someone who wants to do lots of long distance touring. Tyres and pads last for over 7500 miles, which, again, is better than some but ain't exactly brilliant.
Later, I tried the bike on A-roads. It swung through the bends without a murmur of protest when solo, but there was a bit of undercarriage scraping two-up. Acceleration in top in the 70 to 120mph range was pretty good, no real need to go berserk on the gearbox. The bike was always relaxing to ride, allowing the rider to set his own pace rather than edging him on to further acts of insanity. I felt it was quite possible that the bike would outlast faster replicas, eat up the mileage whilst their riders were squirming in agony during rest stops.
Even the tighter country roads that Scotland revels in could be taken with relative ease, just so long as you had some upper body strength. Wimps might be in a little trouble in the tighter corners, though I have seen one woman hurtling an XJ through London traffic like she knew what she was doing. No doubt a little bit of skill might overcome a lack of muscle, though it's surely better to have both.
The only time I was really unhappy with the Diversion was when I swung around a bend to find two cars taking up the whole of the carriageway. I had an instant to adjust the Yam's trajectory, decided on edge of the road. The lunge left the bike wallowing on its suspension, and the grass verge had the wheels seesawing madly. The 500lbs of mass suddenly bit back with a vengeance, and I thought she was going to go completely out of control.
I lost some speed by battering the left-hand side of the bike into some bushes and slamming the throttle shut. The shaft drive reaction tried to bounce me out of the seat but I somehow managed to hang on. When we came to a halt, the motor stalled as if in protest and the bike slipped on the grass, trying to pinion me under it only I kicked free at the last moment. It was a real bugger to pull upright. Damage was merely a few scratches!
That was okay, only in the initial wrench, or maybe pulling the bike upright, I did my back in. Had heavy pains shooting up my spine. I sped back down the motorway at top speed to get it all over with as soon as possible. By the time I hit London I could barely stand upright and had to stagger off to the doctor's, which was the usual waste of time. I fancied a deep massage, at the very least, but ended up with some painkillers.
Despite much abuse on the throttle the Diversion ticked over like new, hadn't used a drop of oil and gave me the impression that it would do a round the world trek without any problems. If you can take the mass and running costs, it'd make a damn good tourer, but if you only want to do mild miles, especially solo, then the 600 might be the better buy.
Dick Lewis
I thought it was my lucky day. This old geezer, fag dangling out of his mouth, wheeled the early XJ900 into the sunshine. 20,000 miles but it looked like half that. I gawped at the immaculate condition. The machine whirred into well oiled life, a gentle vibration shaking through the 900cc four cylinder machine. I was only allowed a test ride on the pillion - when he hammered the throttle a bit the pegs shook with the secondary vibes.
It was just like my mate's 1994 model, in that respect. I'd had a few rides, been well impressed by the bike's performance and handling. I couldn't afford a newish one, hence my trip to see the other XJ. After the test ride and a cursory look over the chassis, I said I'd have it and handed over the asked for £700 before someone else turned up. I rode off full of mirth at the bargain I'd copped, wouldn't my mates be envious?
This was my first 100hp four. My previous mount was an ever so nice CB400F, which I'd hacked around on for two years and sold for twice what I'd originally paid. Nice bike but so boring. The XJ felt pretty brutal, then. Right from tickover there was a mix of torque and vibes that made me think the engine was a live, breathing thing. Hit 5000 revs, the exhaust deepened and the bars tried to snap out of my hands.
I almost screamed with fright as the tacho shot around to ten grand before I grappled with the gearbox to get up to third gear. It didn't wheelie, exactly, but the front end went very light then the bars went from lock to lock, the thing shaking its head furiously. Half forgotten stories of early XJ's having suicidal handling flitted through my brain as I found a tall gear and went all moderate on the throttle. No wonder the previous owner was bald with shaking hands!
The bike turned out to be fine up to about 85mph. Go beyond that, the front wobbles and the rear twin shocks prove wholly inadequate. The XJ had narrow, flat bars, not enough width to fight its 490lbs. I ignored all that on one stretch of motorway, wound the engine up through the gears until there was 140mph on the clock. Chickened out then!
The weave was horrific and the vibes tried to detach all the chassis parts! The little bikini fairing flapped in the wind, trying to tear itself off its brackets. Before all the XJ900 owners in the world write in full of spitting anger, I must add that my mate's newer XJ was perfectly competent in the bends (still a heavy lout, though) and was regularly cruised at an indicated 120mph.
Early XJ's are a different matter. The bikini fairing was claimed to be the culprit but even after I took it off it still handled like a three legged pig. So, I put it back on. With 20,000 miles on the clock I didn't believe that the chassis bearings were shot, but I changed them anyway. Wheel, steering stem and swinging arm bearings.
The back end weaves died down to a tolerable level and front end stability was good for 95 to 100mph, though I wouldn't have dared take my hands off the handlebars. Oddly, the XJ went into an even heavier speed wobble at 110mph than before. Frightening stuff but the bike responded to shutting the throttle. Okay as long as the back wheel didn't hit a bump when the shaft drive felt like it was trying to fall off.
Once or twice, I ended up on a bike with the back end unwinding itself and the front end close to snapping off. Character building, the UMG would probably call it but it left me shaken up and not stirred.
The forks were on the spindly side so I thought I'd go for a brace. Very clever, the increased rigidity made the forks stick, a heavy pattering motion resulted at speed. So I took that off and threw it at the local yobs who once tried to firebomb the house because I locked the bike away inside and they couldn't nick it.
It was at this point that I discovered the fork's anti-dive was playing up. The twin discs could be slammed on without fear of the tyre locking up, which was quite reassuring given the need to lose speed rapidly whenever corners turned up. But after about 600 miles, the forks started going into self-destruct mode and the tyre would suddenly squeal in a haze of smoking rubber.
Another friend had finally worn out his XJ900's motor at 134000 miles! He was breaking the venerable four for spares Did I want to buy his recently rebuilt front end, which included a new wheel, calipers and fork internals? Yes please. Later XJ's dumped the troublesome anti-dive. The forks went straight on, half an afternoon's work had the bike ready for the road.
Oh no, it was bloody worse than before. I came back home in a black mood. Checked it over again. Was the steering head a touch loose - tighten down the stem, try again. That was better, zoomed up to 110mph, smooth as a Featherbed (or how I imagine one would go), then into the weaves again, but on the mild side. Good enough not to worry about!
That was what I thought until I loaded the bike up for camping. I tried to equalize the mass between carrier and tank-bag but putting anything heavy out back brought back all the handling nastiness. Even going two-up made the front end nervous. Cruising was limited to about 80mph, which wasn't very inspiring on the motorway where various Fords and Vauxhalls tried to nudge me off the road.
The engine was only limited by the amount of vibration I could take. It was smoothest at 85 to 95mph in top, when it still had a nice wallop of power to whack it up the road. I never found out the top speed as the stability wasn't up to exploring the limits of the motor. 120mph cruising was within the capabilities of the motor but not the chassis.
XJ900 engines are renown for going around the clock with only the odd oil change and valve session, but I didn't much rate either the gearbox or the clutch, both too heavy going. Excessive use was likely to cause a sprained ankle and limp wrist, so it was just as well that for most of the time it was able to slog along in top. Again, my mate's newish model was fine, nice and sophisticated, apart from the clutch being on the firm side. Bad original design or just wear and neglect? Don't know!
It was probably too much to expect a twelve year old bike to be trouble free, however reasonable its mileage - up to 34000 miles after eighteen months of abuse on my part. A disintegrating exhaust, cracked rear wheel, slashed saddle, splintered sidepanel, loose switches and rear caliper seizure were moments of mild annoyance experienced along the way.
Finish was okay as long it was cleaned and polished twice a week. Neglect would have the paint going very dull and the alloy coming out in the usual white rash. Worth keeping the bike in good shape, because it's reflected in the price you can get for the machine. After I'd had my wicked way with the Yam, and couldn't get much further with it without risking a death sentence, I put it up for sale and was very happy to cop thirteen hundred notes from a guy down the street. He's still riding it and reckons it's brilliant!
All depends how fast you want to go. If you rarely go over the ton then it's probably a good buy, given the intrinsic toughness of the mill. If you want speed and handling then one of the hot 600's is more likely to suit, older examples of which are available for a reasonable two grand. The price with such tackle's the constant need to play games on the gearbox.
Me? Er, well, nothing like ignoring your own good advice, is there? I bought an XS1100 for £825. Peach of an engine in a wild and wobbly chassis but after training on the XJ (which was worse) no problem!
H.L.
I bought an XJ750 with only 8000 miles on the clock, did 83000 miles and still managed to sell the bike for a reasonable sum. Pretty good going. It wasn't just a tough old runner, though, there was lots of fun, high speed cruising and hustling through the bends. The XJ was very versatile, as happy churning through town as it was speeding down autobahns.
A picture of perfection, then? Well not quite. Fast sweepers had the back end shuffling around and the twin front discs were akin to a vale of tears. They worked powerfully enough in the dry but rain caused them to become on or off switches with absolutely no feedback. I tried various pads to no avail, ended up with OE items!
The dodgy brakes were made all the more imponderable in bends because backing off the throttle tried to shake the back wheel out of its swinging arm. This spoilt the otherwise splendid stability, on Avons she felt pretty solid. Partly down to toughened up suspension, but mostly, I think, due to the steering geometry being sensible rather than trying to make it the fastest turning bike in the world.
This was my first Yamaha four, I wasn't sure what to expect. They aren't the hottest looking bikes in the world but they don't that start people passing the sick bucket. I was surprised at just how easy she was to ride. Just crunched along happily in the taller gears, some throttle and gearbox work had her zooming along at highly illegal speeds - still feeling safe and secure, apart from the aforementioned problems. We were soon fast friends.
Engine problems were few. Mostly, maintenance was a matter of frequent oil changes, it would go off quickly if used in town all the time. Valves were done every 20,000 miles and carbs every 5000 miles. The camchain started to rattle at 53000 miles but it would've probably run to 60k if I wanted to chance it. I didn't, bunged in a new tensioner as well.
Cosmetics weren't so easy to deal with. Rust plagued some bits, made them more like consumables than essential parts of a motorcycle - silencers that fell apart, a petrol tank that caved in, rust that blitzed all the screws, etc. A pity, because under all that there was one tough cookie. Universal silencers work without any jet changes (but rusted almost as quickly) and GRP fixed the petrol tank! The bike was given two resprays during my ownership, using a nifty electric spray gun.
Consumables were on the heavy side, nothing lasting for more than 8000 miles. Fuel hovered around a pathetic 40mpg, which kept pissing me off when I went touring. The bike was comfortable enough to go for twice the range. The only good point was that it hardly altered even when thrashed along at autobahn speeds.
Crashes were infrequent. The bike rode well but its layout did mean that when it went it went very rapidly - too much mass too high up. The worst crash was dumbo-cager turning right when he indicated left. Luckily, the bike slid along the side of the car rather than going straight into or under it. Dented tank, bent bars, ruined indicators and a silencer that fell off, ended up stamped flat. The cager lost half the side of his car, looked like a write-off to me. Of course, he vehemently denied that he had the indicators the wrong way round and told the police I should be locked away for life, at the very minimum. I fixed the Yam with stuff from the breakers.
I don't think the bike really got into my heart. As good as it was it never really excelled in any particular area and the chance to buy a newish FJ1200 was too good to miss. The new bike's something else, an altogether more aggressive ride. Made me wonder what I'd been missing all these years. If you want a tough, reliable and practical four, though, the XJ750's not bad value.
Steve Roseburgh
The XJ750 was owned by a couple of ex Israeli army guys in the country on false British passports - and, yes, they are easy to get - who were heading for Europe. It was a bit ratty and because it had been billeted near the sea, it actually had some rust unlike every other bike I'd seen in Australia. Still, I took it for a scoot. I finally had to call them up for directions by which time they had called the police. I got back, apologised profusely and figured it must be theirs or they wouldn't have called the cops. The wanted 2300 bucks, which I thought a bit steep, new in town I wasn't sure of prices so offered $1800. They laughed, we settled on two grand and sealed our agreement with a few spiffs of some mega-magic grass they claimed to have ripped off some plantation in the wilds of Victoria where they were working as muscle.
I didn't think the equivalent of £850 for a four year old machine in good mechanical nick was too bad. It had to be the ugliest bike I've ever owned, and that's saying something as I once ran a CX. About the only neat feature was the bulk of the four cylinder DOHC engine. The tiered seat and raised bars gave a riding position that was great in town and even okay at legal cruising speeds, but for a tourer with a fair bit of welly on top it left the rider feeling a bit exposed.
The shaft drive felt a tad too direct and the back wheel would lock up at the merest hint of boot pressure on the brake, fishtailing the beast like a good 'un. The front discs, though, were good stoppers. Not only did the bike have a dazzling array of the finest idiot lights, it also had a built-in idiot computer to tell you if you weren't charging, were low on oil or had forgotten to brush your teeth.
I ran the bike for a couple of days and most things seemed fine. There were a few bits and pieces needing doing and as usual I was in a rush. I bought a repair kit for the Marzocchi shocks and decided to slip on a new rear Metzeler as soon as possible. Then disaster, the battery was dead one morning. I lived on a hill....a run, a jump, a slip of the clutch and bugger all. Try again, wheel it up the hill.....nothing. I figured the computer was doing a pre blast off check and taking all the current.
I had to buy a new battery, seventy bucks. I could have wept. The worst thing was the breather tube showing the old battery had been boiling away merrily for some time and I hadn't noticed. I didn't fancy buggering up the new power cell if the regulator/rectifier was naff, but I really wanted to get out of town to a rally....I hadn't repaired the shocks nor got the back tyre on yet.
The rally would have been a great success had not a combination of crap suspension and illegal speeds on dodgy Queensland roads resulted in a crushed disc in my back. I spent most of the weekend horizontal in my tent. Going back was sheer hell and took three times as long, although the upright riding position helped a little. It took months for the pain to die completely, although I repaired the shocks as soon as I got home. I couldn't believe how well it handled with the shocks in first rate condition. It didn't feel like a shaftie at all. Riding through Kuringai National Park, about the size of Glasgow and just about as civilised, the bike was responsive as I flicked it in and out of hilly bends and sweeping curves beneath towering gum trees. It had to be one of the best balanced bikes I'd ever ridden. If I stopped gently at a set of lights I didn't have to put a foot down, the fat Metz doing the business as I played Ninja mind games with the prat in the car before burning him into insignificance.
I fancied a swim so decided to see how it handled off road. Surprisingly well on the dirt tracks but not too hot on the rougher terrain. Still, the low centre of gravity saved me from making a complete prat of myself and I rolled down the steep terrain much to the disgust of the locals who thought their seclusion (in mega buck cabins) only breachable by sea. The clouds of dust, as I raced back up the track after my swim, could be seen for miles. I paid the price later, only on my return home, where I was greeted with hysterical laughter, did I realise what exposure to the sun had done to my skin, the red patches made all the more apparent by the white slash protected by my shades.
I was doing a fair bit of biking in Sydney, and I'd often skip off from work so intoxicating were the pleasures of the open road. The bike was four years old and maintenance seemed to have consisted of an oil change ever year and new plugs once a decade. I had a couple of niggling problems, but as I was married to one of them there wasn't a lot I could do. The fuse box was a cooking foil and insulating tape job, cos I'm a lazy bastard. There was an intermittent fault which stopped me starting that was cured by whacking the right side panel with a big stick.
One night I crawled back to the bike to find the lights stoved in. Sydney is no place to ride without lights, the driving is so bad it makes London cabbies look good. I think there are so many automatics so the drivers can toss themselves off while they're driving along having fantasies. Anyway, the promise of a few beers secured the services of my karate instructor and we pushed the bike home. I soon found out that breakers in Australia are very expensive when I went to replace the light.
I decided to head down to Canberra for another rally. The Hume highway is a great road, so quiet I thought I was dreaming and the nearest you'll get to a pot-hole free road in Oz. I hit full throttle and warp speeds many times along the road. Secondary vibes were mostly absent, although screwing the bike into the red in the lower gears would make the engine feel a little alive. Nobody told me Canberra was perched several thousand feet up and it was bloody cold as I was dressed in shorts and tee-shirt for Sydney weather. The Yam was perfect for that kind of journey. Taking a few hundred miles at gentle cruising speed was what it did best and it was one of the most comfortable bikes for moderate touring I've ever owned.
The peculiarly cut saddle and riding position suit mildly illegal speeds and the machine handles well save near its upper limits, where mass, suspension and riding position combine to produce a bit of bucking and weaving. The shaft drive had hardly any effect on shutting off in the middle of corners and the bike was generally excellent in its stability.
The only other problem I had was in a miles long jam, I was slipping past on the soft shoulder which had more than a passing resemblance to a gravel pit, when I hit a pot-hole. The bars dropped through 180 degrees and gave me a whole new outlook on life, and a desperate need for a toilet. Luckily, I wasn't going too fast when it happened. But I guess that's the way it goes. You're lucky until the day your luck runs out and then you're dead.
In all this time the bike ran great and gave me as little trouble as you'd expect from a big shaftie. For not a lot of dosh you get a good few horses under the saddle and, if maintenance is something you pay the ex-wife, then this is the machine for you. Fuel consumption hovered around 50mpg, I must have got 10,000 miles out of the rear Metz and I didn't replace the front in 15000 miles, whilst the pads didn't seem to wear at all.
The machine handles well except at top knots but I never took it over an indicated 120mph because the riding position leaves you too exposed, sitting up like a dog begging to be whacked in the mouth. It otherwise produces good vision of the traffic ahead and control in traffic and okay for touring at reasonably tasty speeds. All in all, a good bike if you want an extremely reliable, reasonably handling, cheap to run motorcycle equally at home in town or on empty roads. But boy, was it ugly!
Ricky Morton
Riding the Lincolnshire backs roads on a fast bike such as the Yamaha XJ900 can be immense fun. The countryside is so flat that you can see for miles and miles and just open the bike up more and more. My XJ has a nice growl, down to the internals of the silencers dumping on the road a few months past and it was with a wide grin that I went for the top speed, which I knew lurked somewhere around 140mph on the speedo.
The bike has Konis out back, a fork brace and a set of Metz's on the wheels - much better than Avons, Dunlops and Michelins that I've tried in the past, although they are both down to the carcass in about 4000 miles. The XJ is decidedly old fashioned in its chassis, with conservative geometry and a plain Jane tubular frame. They work well enough up to about 80mph then a gradual deterioration in handling sets in.
The worst thing about the handling is that it's not very predictable. Sometimes the bike feels like it's running on rails at other times all sorts of insanity lets loose. If I arise early enough, I take the long way to work, 50 to 60 miles out of my way just for the exhilaration of it over the back roads. On the very same road and at the same kinds of speed the chassis can react in very different ways. Weird but true.
Back to my wide grin, there I was with 120mph up, a little bit of a weave out back and a touch of front fork patter as the road surface turned rough, when suddenly the gentlest of weaves turned into the most vicious of wobbles as the speedo hit 125mph. The bars were wrenched from my grip as they violently shook from stop to stop matched only in their greed for action by the back end which intimated that some rascal had obviously loosened off a couple of bolts.
It wasn't the first time this has happened. The solution was to take a deep breath and release my already precarious grip on the bars. The theory behind such an insane act is well known to all Speed Twin and Vincent owners (subtle dig at overpriced British classics) - if you keep hold of the bars you will push back against the direction the bars are moving causing the action to swing ever more violently, by releasing your grip you give the oscillations a chance to die down.
One, two, three more oscillations later, the bike had quietened down to its normal more or less stable self. I pulled over to the side of the road, leapt off, pulled my pants down and dumped a load on to a large clump of nettles. I kicked various bits of the chassis to see if any were indeed loose, but no apparent problems there so jumped back on - anyone late for work by just a minute was sacked on the spot.
The rest of the journey was without mishap, mainly because I kept the speedo the right side of the ton. It usually takes me a month or so to get my nerve back after a speed wobble - it really is a strange sensation to be sitting atop a huge mass of steel and alloy that is totally out of your control.
My mate also has an XJ900, despite riding it like a lunatic he has never experienced a speed wobble. There is a big difference in our weights, myself the proverbial eight stone weakling who gets sand kicked in his face and my friend the kind of 20 stone gorilla who even the police give free passage to. Perhaps the Yamaha has an evolutionary purpose hidden within it to sort the men from the boys...
My machine is a 1987 model bought from a mature owner who had spent a whole year carefully running it in and then found out he didn't like the way it handled on the stock Japanese tyres. One ride in the wet converted me to his point of view and a set of Michelins were bunged on. These did a lot to eradicate the slides but fast work in the dry meant monumental weaves from the shaft drive back end if you were imprudent enough to do more than 125mph.
Practising wheelspin and wheelie starts saw off that tyre in 2500 miles and burnt the clutch out with just 8000 miles on the clock. The only nearby dealer is one of the back street variety who quoted me fifty quid for the job and then swore blind he had said £250 when I went to collect the machine. He made it quite plain that the only way I was going to retrieve my pride and joy was by paying up. The alternative of beating the shit out of him was not possible as the downstairs part of his house was a kennel for the pitbull terriers he illegally bred.
Foolishly assuming that paying that much money out meant he must've done a good job, I immediately set out on a 200 mile thrash to visit a mate. Fifty miles down the road I became suddenly aware that an unusually large amount of heat was coming up from the engine. Pulling over revealed that a huge leak had sprung between the clutch cover and the engine because the bastard had used the old gasket. The leak had been so bad that it had emptied the engine of oil!
Pushing the bike for ten miles to the nearest garage did little for my temper. By the time we got back home the engine had consumed the contents of a five litre can of oil. I didn't even bother going back to the dealer, bought a new gasket and did the job myself. The engine shrugged off the experience and ran as well as ever.
Like the chassis the engine is very old fashioned. Aircooled with just two valves per cylinder it's a large lump of alloy which goes a long way to explaining the 500lbs plus mass with a full tank of fuel. It is virtually maintenance free, though, the carbs and valves (awkward shims) stay in adjustment for long periods and the electronic ignition is one of the more reliable around. The bike has 34,500 miles up now and apart from wrecking the clutch it's been free of problems.
The electrics and the brakes have not been so excellent. When the bike started cutting out in the wet it was traced to a duff coil, whilst part of the wiring loom had corroded away, resulting in light bulbs blowing all the time. The front light was not brilliant but was okay up to 70mph on unlit roads. The switches were rather good, though.
It was the brake calipers that really pissed me off. The brakes, in the dry, were strong with adequate feedback but the merest hint of rain led to the damn things seizing up. It's one thing when they go in the depths of winter or if the bike is laid up, but the chronic seizing of the Yamaha's discs was a blight on my ownership. I had an engineering friend modify them for me, I don't know what he did but combined with some Copaslip the problem went away, much to my relief.
When I fell off the bike due to spilt diesel, the fairing was all but ripped off. As I like the naked look, it didn't take much thought to deal with that problem by throwing it away. Amazing, the chassis felt transformed, most of the weaves disappeared and I haven't got close to a speed wobble since. The fairing never gave much protection, so I came out of that crash well ahead.
Running costs are not low. Its only good point on that front is the shaft drive which hasn't been touched since I acquired the bike. Tyres won't do better than 5000 miles even when the bike is ridden in the mildest mode. Fuel consumption can be atrocious when the engine is really caned - 25 to 35mpg! Ridden gently it'll do about 45mpg. Probably down to all the mass it has to carry.
It can be ridden fast through the swervery but it needs muscles - I have huge arm muscles now, out of all proportion to the rest of my skinny body. It's great as a motorway cruiser up to 90mph, beyond that secondary vibes become rather fierce - the motor never feels turbine smooth but it's best at 65 to 85mph. Town riding is okay once you are used to its weight and it feels very stable as soon as you get minimal momentum up. I can see why everyone raves about the race replicas but I can't see myself being able to afford a new bike for a long time, so I'll probably stick with the XJ for a couple more years.
Pete Westwead
The history of my Yamaha is not typical. The guy I bought it off had worked in Oz and brought the machine back to the UK with him a year earlier.
Bikes are much cheaper there, even with shipping and customs taxes, he was able to save several hundred notes on the deal. The bike had twin rear shocks, shaft drive and 58000 kilometers on the clock. The engine rustled into life with a lovely whirr and was a lot faster than my previous GT750 Kawasaki. Having become used to shaft drive, my choice of replacement machine was limited if I wanted to maintain my civilised life.
Well pleased with my purchase, I proceeded to thrash the big Yamaha through chaotic London streets. Its high speed filtering abilities were aided by a relatively narrow engine width, the alternator being placed under the carbs, and the way the power flowed in from as low as 2000rpm right up to 9000rpm. Fantastic drags were just a throttle's twist away in second or third, although it would take serious clutch abuse to get into wheelie mode - not something recommended on shaft drive bikes unless you have a fetish for replacing universal joints.
In a matter of minutes I felt right at home on the Yamaha. It was a very forgiving bike to ride, not needing massive concentration to cut a dash through the High Street. Despite its capacity, it had a friendly, easy going nature that would quickly win advocates once they'd swung a leg over the machine.
That's not to say it was slow or boring, far from it! With any ten year old bike, though, there were a few things that had to be adapted to.
The twin disc brakes out front, backed up by a single rear, were a bit lacking in feel but powerful enough to lock up the front wheel if you put in too much pressure. For a 1982 machine, the calipers looked in good condition when I bunged in some new pads, but they did not take away the sponginess. The forks featured an anti-dive system that was hydraulically linked to the brake. This may have been fine when new, but harsh braking made the forks judder like the end was nigh. I put in some new hydraulic fluid and spent an hour bleeding the system. No difference.
I disconnected the anti-dive, but the forks were a bit on the soft side, so I pumped in some more air. The juddering disappeared, brake dive was acceptable but the forks felt a bit loose. The same kind of feeling was in evidence at the back end, the remote reservoir twin shocks were original fare and way past their best. A set of Konis for twenty notes from the breaker sorted that, although their stiffness did highlight a bit of chattering from the shaft drive when backing off the throttle.
It felt like there was a bit of wear in the shaft - changing gear under hard acceleration couldn't have been easier, but changing down and changing up on a dead throttle produced an ominous clanging noise from the box. Over time it became no better nor worse, so I learnt to ignore it - it was still a lot more pleasant than pissing about with chains. On a ten year old bike you can't expect everything to be as smooth and taut as a new 'un! With the chassis more or less sorted, I was encouraged to explore life outside the city. The bike was still able to cruise at any speed you wanted up to about 125mph, although to be honest I rarely did more than 95mph for any length of time.
Old XJ's have a bit of a reputation for being evil handlers but sub 100mph my bike was as stable as most across the frame fours. It preferred smooth roads to rough, the latter would have the wheels trying to shake themselves loose from the chassis but it rarely came close to heart attack country.
What the Yamaha does object to, though, is having the rack loaded with about ten stone's worth of building materials. Roaring off thus equipped, I thought to myself that the front end seemed a bit light but proceeded to blast up a short bit of dual carriageway. As soon as the speedo hit 70mph the front forks went into a frenzy of oscillations.
The whole bike wobbled across two lanes of carriageway. . . . cagers hit their horns and slammed on their brakes in fury. The XJ solved the problems, in an almost mystical manner, by throwing the two 50kg bags off the back of the bike. Must've taken years off the cagers' life, suddenly having the road littered with exploding sacks of cemet.
After that little affair, I was very careful to watch weight distribution, preferring a huge tank bag for carrying stuff. Passengers didn't have an adverse effect on stability, although the relatively short seat meant that if they were not already intimate friends they soon ended up that way. The secondary vibes, by the way, had a very positive effect on young frails.
Its age showed in the amount of muscle it needed to throw through corners, although there was plenty of ground clearance, and in the frenzy of secondary vibes once the rev counter hit 6000 revs. The vibration was so strong that I tightened up all the engine bolts and let a local dealer set up the carbs, but it only made a slight improvement. Some ultra thick rubber on the pegs and bars helped to diminish the vibes.
Another indication that the chassis was only just capable of taking the machine's mass and power, was the way stability rapidly degenerated as tyres came near to the end of their natural life. To be fair to the hulk, on Avons life was a reasonable 8000 miles plus. With 1mm of tread left, the back tyre liked to skid off the road when leant over and the front would walk away from the machine given an ounce of encouragement. Yes, silly to ride on illegal tyres but the cost of running bikes, these days, is so horrendous that it couldn't be helped.
Another thing that could cause mayhem was forgetting to check the tyre pressures every week, they needed to be within 2psi to keep the chassis up to scratch. My biggest complaint against the bike was fuel economy, 35 to 40mpg. I suspected that there might have been a mismatch between the carburation and atmospheric conditions (compared to Oz) but there were no flat spots or hesitation in power delivery so I was loathe to play around with carb jets and the like. Even right after a dealer service (of carbs and valves) there was no discernible improvement in economy.
I was doing about 250 miles a week skipping through London traffic, giving the bike nothing more than a weekly clean and checking the oil level (changed every 2500 miles). The engine ran faultlessly for 9400 miles then started banging in the exhaust. One of the exhaust valves had tightened up but once the clearance was correctly set (by a dealer), the engine resumed its dependable nature. I hadn't even bothered to change the spark plugs let alone check any of its eight valves.
Perhaps because conditions are a lot kinder to metal in Oz, the overall state of the bike was much better than you'd expect for a ten year old machine. The engine alloy had none of the horrible white corrosion and even the wheels still cleaned up nicely. The bike had acquired a slightly noisy 4-1 exhaust somewhere along the line, which had a few dents that had turned rusty, although the downpipes were still nice and shiny.
Other problems? The non-standard front light is useless above 50mph out of town. The horn is a pathetic squeak. The indicator buttons sometimes don't work, although they are self cancelling. The flat bars hurt a little after an hour of slicing through town, although they are ideal for 90mph blasts. And the seat isn't comfortable for more than 75 miles. Nothing major, just a few minor quibbles.
As of writing this, I've done nearly 14, 500 miles on the bike with no signs of imminent engine demise, although the clutch has started to rattle a little. I have talked to a couple of owners who have done over 100,000 miles with nothing more than a new camchain and tensioner (55-65000 miles). Yamaha make tough engine, no doubt about that. There are lots of 900s on the market, some really nice nearly new ones. In many ways the XJ900 is superior to the current wave of retro bikes and well worth a look.
Simon Halliday
Having a rest from motorcycling for five years meant it was something of a short, sharp shock to come back into the game on a 10,000 mile Yamaha XJ750. My last bike was a Honda CB250RS, which was a whole world of difference. Especially as my last moment on the RS was with a locked up back wheel after the 65000 mile engine had seized solid. The subsequent slide down the road had rather put me off motorcycling but wounds fade and bad memories heal with time and distance.
Still, the XJ's a big bugger in its way, even with the cut down, cruiser seat. Getting on for 500lbs worth of metal to chuck around, although it feels more like a 550 than a 750 once under motion. Acceleration was so good it kept catching me out; I'd go hurtling into gaps way before I was ready for them. It was the kind of madness I could happily become used to.
Before that could happen, the engine started cutting out as rain and winds lashed across the country. WD40 had no effect. Pulling off the tank I was horrified to find that the top tubes were completely covered in rust, not one speck of paint in evidence. It was so far gone that after I'd removed the rust with wire-brush and emery cloth there were large pits in the metal. They hadn't gone right through, so I assumed it wasn't going to fail, rust-proofed and then put on several layers of paint.
The next job was to pull the spark plugs out. They had been there so long that they seem welded to the cylinder head. A sharp blow with the hammer jerked them out of their somnolence. The electrodes were burnt away to nothing. New plugs fitted in, except one kept turning around and around rather than tightening up. It wouldn't come out either. All I could do was swamp the area with Araldite and leave to set overnight.
The misfiring didn't entirely disappear until I'd fitted new HT leads, coils and caps. I was beginning to think that the electronic ignition unit had gone.....according to breakers good ones were as rare as working GS Suzuki rectifiers. Having sorted the misfiring the next few weeks were maximum fun. The joy of doing the ten mile commute into work in 15 instead of 90 minutes, just thrashing around country lanes for the kicks and straining everything to do 120mph on the motorway for half an hour.
Handling became a bit vague after 90mph, the suspension appeared to lose all its damping and the steering was only accurate to within about six inches. The high and wide bars were uncomfortable for much more than 60mph, but gave loads of leverage that obscured the large amount of mass created by the old tech DOHC four cylinder engine.
After that dose of enjoyment the next thing to go wrong was the fuel line splitting just above where it attached to one of the carbs. I ignored the cutting out, thinking it was just a reappearance of the ignition troubles. It wasn't until I smelt the fuel that I realised what was happening. Pulling into the gutter in a hurry, I caused the car behind to swerve viciously outwards which resulted in him hitting another vehicle.
I naturally claimed complete innocence, after turning the fuel off. When the plod turned up they were totally disinterested as no-one had been hurt. One young copper was swearing under his breath about all the paperwork involved; after a hurried conference it was decided to leave me out of the report; it'd only confuse things and the cagers would have to claim on their insurance regardless. Given the insurance rates for motorcycles the last thing I wanted to do was become involved.
There was enough fuel hose available for me to cut off the split part and wire it back on. I was lucky, by the time I'd pulled over the motor was awash with petrol and it'd only take a discarded fag end to set the whole lot ablaze.
Over the first couple of thousand miles the bike was proving quite cheap to run. Fuel was 55-60mpg, oil wasn't consumed at all and the tyres didn't seem to wear. They were newish Roadrunners that only caused any worry on wet roads when they slithered over white lines with an intimacy that was unnerving. A couple of times the front wheel slid away from the bike and only by giving a concentrated jerk on the bars was I able to stay upright. The Yam didn't stop twitching for a good 100 yards.
The lights inhibited night riding, especially when the whole electrical system blew one time. Everything, including the engine, went utterly dead. You can imagine the angst when this occurred in the middle of a fast stream of A-road traffic. I screamed my head off in terror, instinctively clawing the horn button (obviously to no effect) as we free-wheeled through the snarling autos. Luck was on my side, not only did no cars hit us but there wasn't even a big pile-up.
The cause of all the fuses blowing was rotten insulation on two adjacent wires that caused them to short out. In the dark they were impossible to trace, which meant I had the rotten task of pushing the XJ for two miles. It was a wet, freezing night and I was already half an hour late for a meeting. The next day I joined the AA.
Searching for the wiring fault revealed that the rust on the frame had already come back where I'd painted it and lots of the wiring had gone so hard and brittle that when I touched it the insulation splintered off. A new wiring loom was prohibitively expensive, so all I could do was replace the rotten wires one by one until the whole loom was replaced. The rust on the frame was proofed and painted again.
Back on the road, I was in two minds as to whether I should keep the bike or sell it before something really serious went wrong. I began to think that it might've been clocked. A fast weekend thrash down my favourite country lanes made me love the XJ again, it was just so much fun that I really didn't want to roll home at the end of the day. I know the laid back style will not be to many tastes but it suited my mood and riding down to the ground; I found it so comfortable, at moderate speeds, that I could happily growl around all day long and then go out for a jar with the boys.
It kept spoiling things, though, by throwing up minor irritants that turned into major traumas. The next one was the front calipers gumming up. I'd half been expecting it, with the regular doses of awful weather and the pads clanging away. Things turned serious when I tried to drain the brake fluid. The nipples sheared off. I took the hose off which cracked up and sprayed ancient brake fluid all over my clothes. The caliper retaining bolts broke off or stripped their threads; it was a similar story with the calipers - there was no way of tearing them apart without wrecking them. A mixture of new and used parts were used to get a pair of working brakes again. What a ridiculous amount of hassle for such a simple problem.
The brakes worked well for most of the time but occasionally would lose all power. The lever came right back to the bars, needed frantic pumping before it'd produce some braking forces again. There may have been a bit of air in the hydraulics, but I was reluctant to fool around with the bleed nipples after my previous experience. I didn't want to replace the whole braking system again.
Something else that was in need of replacement was the OE exhaust, but I decided I'd be better off patching it up with some sheet and a borrowed welding set. I hadn't welded anything for about five years. My first attempt ended up with a rather large hole in one silencer as the wafer thin steel disappeared. Several attempts later I'd repaired the damage but I can't say it was the most elegant solution, even with two cans of heat-resistant matt black paint hiding the damage. The carburation agreed, with a mild hesitation around 3500rpm, where previously the power supply was as fluid and graceful as a sea-gull soaring through the air.
The engine was a seriously strong bit of meat that shrugged off all the problems afflicting the ancillaries. Neither carbs nor valves needed any attention and the mild patches of secondary vibes were easily avoided by judicious use of the throttle and gearbox. The chassis seemed to be wearing out fast, with the ever present threat of the frame rusting away so far that it'd fail completely. After less than a year and 7000 miles I sensed that it was time for a change. A trade-in deal on a rather nice 883 Harley Davidson.
James Henricks
I didn't expect much for four hundred quid and I didn't get much. The engine was out of an XJ750, the dodgy looking registration document claimed the chassis as XJ650 and the forks looked like they were off a GT750. Hmmm! The four into one exhaust cleverly obscured any engine noises and the cycle parts looked like someone had poured a can of paint over them - why waste paint brushes?
Normally, I would've given the owner a slap for wasting my time but the minor matter of a new job 20 miles from home with no reliable public transport intruded on my mind long enough to demand a test ride. Stability and feel defied the appearance, as nicely taut as a new bike. The twin disc brakes worked after a fashion and the rear drum shuddered and screamed. The engine ran but didn't seem very strong for a 750, even when I screwed it into the red in second and third. A lack of smoke and vibration convinced me there was some life left. Money and doc's changed hands.
I rode the 30 miles home without incident, quite chuffed that the old girl would do 120mph and go around corners without throwing a wobbly. I pulled the back wheel out to check the drum brake, remembering to grease the shaft drive's splines. The drum wasn't working because the shoes were down to the rivets. I was lucky it hadn't over-cammed and locked on solid. The shoes turned out to be identical to those in an old XS400, according to the breaker who only charged me two quid.
The next couple of months went by with the commuting chores and odd weekend blast. Fuel was 35 to 40mpg and the motor drank oil like a stroker, which was excuse enough not to bother changing it. The sluggish acceleration was down to the carburation being mismatched to the exhaust, if the colour of the spark plugs was any guide - what a joy to be able to remove plugs without taking the cycle parts off.
After an incredible fight, the airfilter was removed, found to be covered in crud. The motor wouldn't start without a filter. Breaking several principles, I visited a couple of dealers until I found one with a new filter. After another fight, which was like an apprenticeship for a surgeon or perhaps butcher in my case, the filter was back in.
The bike still wasn't in the rocketship class but it accelerated faster and would hit 125mph. I was used to old fours with the odd (very odd, in fact) excursion on a GPZ 600, so the XJ was in the same range of experience. 80 horses and 500lbs is way off the pace nowadays, but on UK roads it's quite sufficient.
When I say that the XJ accelerated slowly I mean it didn't jerk my soul out of my skin. In practice, I burnt off a Porsche and the GTi heaps didn't stand a chance. Wheelies were near impossible, with quite a lot of mass on the front wheel. The only time I managed one was on take-off when I gave her a lot of throttle, dropped the clutch and the directness of the shaft drive gave the bike such a jerk that it was like someone kicking me in the kidneys.
Shaft drives cause any number of problems in some bikes, but the XJ was well sorted. There was a bit of rising and falling, but the taut suspension kept it under control. I've ridden a GT750 Qwack with mushy suspension that was much harder going, leaping up and down like an irate bronco. I liked the lack of maintenance and the relatively clean back end. The shaft drive was probably responsible for the poor economy, which even after a new filter was fitted didn't better 40mpg.
My happy state of life came to an abrupt end when I was foolish enough to think I could do something simple like change the headlamp for a nice big round job with a halogen reflector. I was pulling on the wires to extract an extra inch or so when the whole bunch pulled out. The sudden release sent me bouncing backwards to land somewhat painfully on my arse. It took a long while for the swearing and screaming to die out.
One of the reasons I wanted to replace the light was because sometimes it flickered and almost went out. The reason was pretty obvious when I gave the wiring a close look. Spaghetti junction time. The original loom was dumped in favour of lots of different bits of wire joined by bullet connectors and insulation tape. The colour coding was one of the great mysteries of the universe. There wasn't any that I could see! Joining up the wires that'd pulled out took the rest of the day until everything was okay.
The new light worked but was accompanied by the strong smell of burning. The wires weren't up to the current and by the time the small fire had died out I knew I'd have to rewire the beast. Manual in hand, a whole weekend was blown sorting it out. A few minor problems were encountered, like one of the coils being cracked and the rectifier leads pulling out, but a visit to the breaker sufficed. I also took the opportunity to proof the hidden parts of the frame with red oxide paint as there was quite a bit of surface rust.
The lights and indicators were about twice as bright as before, helped along by separate earth leads and a new battery. The old one looked like it'd been there since year zero and I was amazed that it still held enough charge to turn the starter. The latter rumbled as if the bushes were just about finished off but the motor caught before I had a chance to despair. The last time I took a starter apart I ended up with bushes and springs shooting out, doing a disappearing act. Leave well alone, I told myself.
The front discs wouldn't allow such indolence. With the onset of the autumn rains the calipers quickly gummed up. This was tedious as the pads never seemed to wear and I had to strip the calipers every month. Perhaps because of this disturbance the brake began to become very spongy, lacking feel. Using the discs in the wet was fraught with danger, a locked up wheel threatening a visit to the hospital. The back drum worked progressively and slamming the throttle shut helped, at the price of a bit of wheel hopping as the shaft dug in.
I battled through the winter on the slime covered rat, wishing I could bring myself to fit mudflaps (ugh!) and wear waders. The dreaded black ice inspired maximum fear when the XJ went into a massive slide. I just sat there, shocked to my core, until with a final, death defying twitch we hit the bare tarmac and shot off still upright. I came back that night to find three cars in ditches at the same spot, so I was very lucky.
In January there was a spate of difficult starting and cutting out. It was so cold outside that I didn't want to check the bike over. I did the simplest thing I could think of, remove the kill switch from the circuit - it worked! Later, I took the handlebar switches apart and found some corrosion on the contacts, which I cleaned up. The switch action was poor but not so bad that I felt inclined to replace them.
A bit of spring madness saw the bike gleaming after two cans of Gunk and a jet-spray. The slime picked up from the road had given it a protective layer. Neat. My body had toughened up after the arctic exposure of winter and I had no problems hustling around during an indifferent spring. I was planning a blast over to Europe, test the Yam in the alps. That idea was put on hold by the camchain rattle.
Foolishly, I let a back street dealer do the job, told him to do the valves and carbs (the first time in my hands). He did all the work, the motor sounded superb, but the quote had gone from £125 to £275. I refused to be ripped off, came back that night with a couple of mates and took the bike out of his workshop. We'd fed his Dobberman meat laced with rat poison.
The XJ ran beautifully, with a top end of 135mph and some harsh acceleration. The only problem was that the dealer, driving a Transit with nudge bars, has knocked me off three times. The last time he tried to reverse over me and the bike! The shock of being ripped off has warped his brain!
K.T.