WILD IN THE WEST COUNTRY

Inspired by the Moto Giro, Russell Benney’s riding events for small-capacity classics have become famous. We went along for the ride

Words HUGO WILSON Photography GREG MOSS

A directive from God has decreed that on this sunny Monday morning in June the roads of Devon will be emptied of all traffic, save for a bunch of optimists riding small-capacity classic bikes. I am one of them, and we are on the A377, a twisting two-lane route that runs alongside the river Taw as it descends from Dartmoor. With no mobile chicanes, there’s just mile after mile of undulating (and occasionally potholed) tarmac wriggling its way in and out of tree cover, and in and out of sunlight as the road follows the curves of the valley. It’s glorious.

There are a couple of bikes somewhere up ahead that I occasionally glimpse on the longer straights, but I’m not gaining, and on the outside of a village I see Alan Houghton, his Gilera 250 and another bike – a BSA Bantam? – parked up beside the road with the spanners out. I slow, but big grins and a thumbs-up tells me they’ve got their situation well under control.

On the 1970 Honda CB175 that I’m riding, it’s all about maintaining momentum. With less than 20bhp to play with, you need to keep the engine spinning by flicking the five-speed gearbox between fourth gear and top, try to avoid touching the brakes, control the steering with the lightest of touches on the handlebars and ignore the pogoing effect from the rear of the bike as you bounce over road surface irregularities. What fun.

It’s day three of the June Jaunt, a 300-mile ride along West Country roads specially selected for small-capacity suitability by event organiser, endurance racing legend and all-round good egg Russell Benney, who’s also kindly loaned me the little Honda. At the pre-ride briefing, 48 hours ago, before we started from a farm near Bridgwater in Somerset, Russell admonished me to be gentle on the bike. He may even have mentioned something about 50mph. Unfortunately, on a road like this, and on a bike that is redlined at 10,500rpm, that kind of self-control is impossible.

‘When in doubt, I cheat by using my phone to check my location’
The Jaunt is one of three UK events that Russell, partner Lida and a team of helpers run. They’re all aimed at small-capacity classics and were inspired by the original Moto Giro. The Giro is a five-day, 1000-mile riding event in Italy that was originally meant for pre-1957 175s, though its purity has been diluted with classes for bigger and more modern bikes.

“I went to the Giro in 2012 with my 1957 Moto Morini 175 Turismo,” explains Russell. “I loved it, but it was too expensive to do every year, so we started transporting other people’s bikes down to Italy to help pay for it. Then we started thinking about organising a UK event.”

The Jaunt is restricted to 250cc bikes made before 1975. But the other UK events have a stricter limit of 175cc and pre-1970. Russell is evangelical about his desire to get small-capacity classics out on the road and being used. “The emphasis should be Italian machines, which is born out of those trips to the Giro and the Milano-Taranto. They are precision jewels, but people had stopped riding them because they were getting too expensive. That’s not right.”

The mix of bikes at the start bears out Russell’s philosophy. There are 20 Italian bikes, 16 Brits and 15 Japanese (of which Honda’s 160-175 twins are by far the most common), plus one Austrian machine in the form of Anthony Goodall’s Puch 125. But not everything is going to plan. Cliff Langdon’s little 49cc Honda C110 from 1964 has arrived as a non-runner. It’s lifted effortlessly onto a bench in the Phase One Endurance workshop, where exotic race bikes like Suzuki XR69s are fettled, and a group of fellow competitors offer to help (or hinder) Cliff as he tries to find the fault. It turns out to be a broken condenser wire.

After a pre-ride briefing (the one where I’m publicly urged to ride slowly) the bikes leave at one-minute intervals following a prepared route. Sat-navs are frowned on. Some people have nifty route rollers. I’ve got a magnetic map pocket on the tank containing an edited (thanks Arthur) version of the route. And when in doubt, I cheat by using my phone for location

For the first few miles, you trundle down minor roads through the Somerset landscape without seeing any other bikes. The route climbs up and over the Quantock Hills on tight single-track roads, through a tunnel of tree cover with patches of dappled sunlight on the tarmac. I catch up with Katy Jones and Stuart Scott on a Honda CB125 and a sweet little CL100. They’d started a minute before me.

Then there’s a wriggle up to Dunkery Beacon and an amazing view out over the Bristol Channel to South Wales. One of the great things about little bikes is that you get the challenge of maintaining corner speed, but you are still going slowly enough to admire the view. Hills can be tricky, though. I shift the Honda between a wailing first gear and stuttering second for the one-in-four ascent of Porlock Hill, then we’re back out onto Exmoor and more amazing sea views to the north and a lovely rolling road westward to Ilfracombe before making for our overnight stop in Barnstaple.

On the Honda it’s been a relatively straightforward 80-mile run; at the end of the day, it only needs a chain adjustment. For other riders there is more work to be done. The fuel tank on Neil Campbell’s 1954 Parilla has sprung a leak. Gary Jenkins suggests a fix involving soap – does this actually work? – but someone produces some epoxy putty, so the tank is drained, removed and allowed to dry. Then the putty is applied and left to cure overnight. We retire to the bar, to tell tall tales. The genteel guests at the high-quality hotel are surprised by the arrival of 60 motorcyclists to lower the tone of their evening, but everyone is very nice about it.

At breakfast the next morning, as a strong smell of petrol mingles with the aroma of fried bacon, I meet Neil, who’s been outside since seven o’clock. The fuel tank fix appears to have held, so he’s refitted and refilled it, which explains the smell.

On day two we head from Barnstaple in Devon, across the border to Cornwall. After a fantastic inland ride to Bude, the route switches to a spectacular and sinuous single-track cliff-top road to Crackington Haven.

Cornwall is in full summer mode. There are big blue skies, amazing views out across the Atlantic, VW campers in every layby and everyone seems to be carrying a surfboard. At Crackington café, with sunlight glinting on the little Honda’s candy gold paintwork, it’s time to enjoy an ice cream.

Honda started making small-capacity ohc parallel twins in the late 1950s, but the 161cc models introduced in 1964 were significantly different from the earlier 125s, and from the bigger 250 and 305 models, even if they did all have inclined cylinders. Capacity was increased to 174cc in 1967, when the cylinders became more vertical, an extra gear was added to the ’box (except on the dowdy CD, which also made do with just a single carburettor) and the frame became a cradle, rather than a spine design. Capacity went up to 198cc in 1974 and then the engine got a really significant redesign in which the bikes lost a lot of their charm.

The engines powered a bunch of different models: the sporty-looking CBs like the one I’m riding, street scrambler CLs and SLs, and ride-to-work CDs. In the UK we only got CBs and CDs, but lots of the great
CB175 doesn’t miss a beat; tucking in doesn’t make it fast, though looking pseudo off-road CLs have subsequently been imported from America, where they were hugely popular.

As a youth, Russell switched from a 350cc Triumph 3TA to a CD175 and was impressed. “It was night and day – the Honda was just as fast and it never went wrong. It was a proper little jewel of a bike.” I had a CD175 too, but mine was a £40 hack that’d been abused. Dirty oil had wrecked the camshaft bearings.
On the CB, 6000rpm is 50mph, 7000rpm is 60mph and there is minimal vibration from the 360° crankshaft, just the gentle rustling of the camshaft’s drive chain. Period road tests in Motorcycle Mechanics quoted top speeds of 77mph for a CB160 and 86mph (which seems optimistic) for the CB175. Honestly, Russell, I never went that fast.

There is limited damping in the rear shock absorbers, but because it weighs less than 300 lb, the handling is sweet and the steering responds to the lightest of inputs. They look great, too. What a lovely thing.
After a tour of East Cornwall taking in Pencarrow House, Jamaica Inn and Bodmin Moor, we roll back over the border and into Devon once again, up and over Dartmoor where the sheep baa, the birds tweet and wild ponies stroll across the road. It’s idyllic. And then I encounter Clifford Lewis, whose 1969 Triumph TR25 is being temperamental, right at the bottom of a big hill where there’s no phone signal. We’re just three miles from the day’s finish point.

‘There are satisfied grins all round’
Clifford gets the Triumph restarted. It stops again at the top of the hill, then restarts and limps to the hotel car park. It’s not the only British bike in trouble. Stuart Baker’s 1964 BSA Bantam D7 has arrived in the naughty truck. Removal of the flywheel cover reveals that it won’t be fixed with duct tape and zip ties – the crankshaft has snapped. “My fault really,” admits Stuart. “It was going really well and I was trying to catch the group in front; it was doing 50mph and then it just stopped. Oh well, I’ve got enough parts at home to build another engine.” Commiserations take place over a beer. I check the Honda’s oil. It hasn’t used any.

Last day is a 90-mile dash back to Bridgwater, but still with lovely roads including that run up the Taw Valley on the A377. These events are social and it’s great meeting up with other riders during the day, then splitting off for a solo run before joining another group. At Bishops Lydeard, I meet up with the West Wiltshire trio with whom I’d sat for supper on the first night, and Keith Johnston leads us back to the finish.

There is something really special about covering decent distances on a small-capacity classic. The riding on twisty roads is entertaining, the scenery in the West Country is glorious, and there’s also the challenge of preparing a bike. What a good do.

Back at base, as vans are loaded (and Anthony Goodall mounts his 125 Puch to ride it home) there are satisfied grins all round. Russell is in full evangelism mode: “The whole point of these events is to get the bikes out there and taking part. These bikes are meant to be ridden, not just looked at as decoration in your front room.” Amen to that.

‘Over 40mph on the flat!’

Chris Langdon, 1971 Suzuki TS50
“I bought this to go to the Isle of Man. Our dad’s a biker and he wanted to go to the TT with all his sons [all four of them], so we went in 2021 with three of us on 50s. I was just looking for an older 50, a Fizzy or an AP50, then this turned up and it was local. It’s an American import that they sold as the Gaucho model, so they are quite rare over here. It’s really just an AP50 with a high-level pipe, so parts aren’t too hard to find. I use CSML in Holland or eBay to find stuff in America. It’s completely standard, but I’ve been through the whole thing, replacing the seals and cables.

“It was in pieces the week before the event, because I was sorting out the forks and fitting a new oil pump, but it’s gone brilliantly. I’ve got it geared quite high, so when you point it downhill it takes off. But it’ll climb anything in first and sits at over 40mph on the flat. The only issue is fuel; I’m running it flat-out, so it’s using quite a bit – the tank only holds about four litres, so I’m stopping every time I see a petrol station.
“It’s been a great event, on fantastic routes with a lovely bunch of people. Getting to the finish felt fantastic.”

Cliff Langdon, 1964 Honda C110
“I bought this bike in 2023 from a bloke in Birmingham that had worked in a bike shop assembling Honda 50s from crates in the 1960s. Three days later, I had it on the Isle of Man during TT week and it was doing laps of the course. “I’ve gradually converted it into race spec. There’s a bloke in Holland [GRP Racing] that races them and fabricates parts, so I’ve had a lot of parts to improve the performance and make it look right. The rearsets are genuine CR110 and the megaphone exhaust, oil breather kit and the single racing seat are from a CYB racer kit. The engine’s got a high-compression piston, racing camshaft, stronger valve springs, a competition clutch, a close-ratio gearbox and the carburettor from a CL175. It’s a bit over the top, but it’ll do 55mph – and it’s faster than any Fizzy.”

‘Not started for 13 years’
Lee Phillips, 1959 Francis Barnet Plover

“I got it 14 years ago on eBay as a project. I paid £460, but I don’t think the seller was very happy because there was a receipt for £430 for an engine rebuild. I bought it because some friends and I gave ourselves a challenge to go to a classic bike rally in Belgium [the Ostende Run for pre-’75 bikes] where we’d buy a bike, get it running and pay for the ferry for under £1000.

“The tank was in primer, but I painted it and put it together in three days over one Easter weekend. [Lee’s a car painter by trade.] It did the run no problem, and then I put it away. It hadn’t been started in 13 years until two weeks before this, but it started on the third kick, then I gave it a 40-mile test run and loaded it into the van. It’s gone really well considering it’s only 147cc and three-speed, though the float’s just started sticking.

“It might be better walking up some of these hills, but you put it in first and it gets up at about 5mph. I’ve had the speedo needle off the gauge on one of the downhills, so we might have been doing 60!”

‘Smoking like hell’

Ben Bartlett, 1937 Rudge 250
“I like to make things difficult. I did the Three Moors Run last year on a 1929 two-speed 175cc Terrot. It was so slow that I had to walk up some of the hills. On the second day the magneto drive failed after 90 miles, but I managed to get it running again that night. It finally stopped when the wheel bearing collapsed on day three.

“I thought I’d get something more suitable [he laughs], so I bought this. It was cheap, but the first time I took it out I found out why. It was smoking like hell, the magneto was failing and the carburettor was shot. It needed a complete rebuild.

“While doing that, I found that the gearbox was from a Triumph, the clutch was from a BSA and the fuel tank was an Indian copy with a hole in it. The rebuild took a while and I wasn’t sure it’d be finished in time to do this event, so I bought a Tiger Cub to do it on. That turned out to be in even worse shape – but at least I was able to borrow the carburettor, which I fitted to the Rudge the night before the start. It’s been a bit of a rush. Apart from using a lot of oil, it’s run perfectly. The highlight has been getting up the road to Raleigh’s Cross without having to push.”

‘Totally original’

Neil Campbell, 1954 Parilla Fox 175
“I’ve owned this for a couple of years. I brought it here last year, but the big end went – and you can’t fix that with plastic metal. We fixed that, and a valve seat that’d come loose. I’m entered in the Paris-Madrid run in a couple of weeks, so if it gets through this I’ll be taking it to Paris.

“It’s original down to the little transfer on the wheel rims that’s still there after 72 years; it’s never been painted or anything. It’s a high-camshaft engine, not overhead camshaft.
“The interest in little Italian bikes kicked off because my brother [who was riding a 175 Ducati on the run] bought a Gilera Rosso 150 to do the Moto Giro. He said he’d seen another, so I bought one and it ended up being a collection.

“I’ve got a 1954 Gilera, and an earlier girder-forked model with friction dampers, an MM 250, an MV Agusta RS150 and the Parilla. I’ve got some non-Italians, too. I love riding them and working on them.”
(Postscript: the tank repair failed again in France while taking part in the 1000-mile Paris-Madrid run. Neil had taken the precaution of borrowing a spare tank, and although it didn’t quite fit they made it work. That apart, the bike acquitted itself well, covering 200 miles a day on smaller French roads.)

‘Eccentric adjustment’

Jon Hewitson, 1954 Mondial Extra Lusso
“I bought it in 2020 at the auction of bikes when the Morbidelli Museum closed. I’d read about Mondials in a copy of Sammy Miller’s biography that my dad had, but never actually seen one, so I went along to see them at the auction and ended up buying this one. It took a while to get it running because of all the missing bits.
“It didn’t have a wiring loom, there was no compression and the forks were totally worn out, so I overpaid for it really. The target was to have it at the Giro in 2021, which I managed – but only because it was moved from May to October because of Covid.

“The hard part is finding information about them. The crankcases are unusual because they’re not split in half. You put the crankshaft in through a window on one side; the valve clearance adjustment is on eccentrics. And the gearbox is weird, too. It’s still a work in progress, but ran perfectly on this year’s Moto Giro. It was was cleaned and had an oil change before doing the June Jaunt and it’s run perfectly here too. It seems to be one of the faster bikes here.”

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INTERVIEW
The ace mechanic tells us all about driving across Europe with Kevin Schwantz, falling out with Keith Huewen and Paul Iddon’s impressive ears…

Words JOHN WESTLAKE Photography STUART SHIPMAN, BOULTON ARCHIVE, JOHN WESTLAKE

Paul Boulton was a top-flight Grand Prix mechanic who worked with stars including Kevin Schwantz, Rob McElnea, Mick Grant and Keith Huewen. But, listening to his tales from earlier days, I’m wondering if his most astonishing achievement was the speed with which he went from servicing GPz550s in a Kawasaki dealership to working on factory Grand Prix RG500s.

“Yeah, it was about three weeks,” he says while waiting for his steak and ale pie at his local in Lincolnshire. Key to this extraordinary trajectory was Paul Smart, the legendary racer who owned the shop where Paul had worked his way up from tea boy to mechanic. “Smarty found out there was a job going at Suzuki GB and asked if I’d be interested. Obviously I was, so on Smarty’s instruction I found Rex White [Suzuki’s team boss] at the Brands Transatlantic and had a chat.

“It turned out a mechanic for Keith Huewen [then riding for Suzuki GB] had just left and they were looking for a replacement. I went for a formal interview a week later and was very nervous. Luckily, as I walked across Suzuki’s car park, I noticed Rex’s car had a CB radio in it. I was really into all that, so as soon as possible I asked him about his radio – we got chatting and he said: ‘You seem like a decent bloke, you’ve got the job’. And that was it – I was a factory mechanic. I’m not sure it could happen like that these days.”

Understandably, the race team didn’t trust Paul with much to start with, despite a glowing reference from Paul Smart. “I was just taking the fairing off, checking tyre pressures and changing wheels. But at the first meeting I did at Donington, I was walking through the paddock fetching some wheels when Iris Sheene [Barry’s mum] said: ‘Oi, what are you doing here?’ I knew Iris and Franco from when they used to come to Smarty’s shop and she was a lovely lady. She dragged me off for a cuppa and a chat in Barry’s caravan, so I was late getting back with the wheels.

“The team were all asking where the hell I’d been, so I explained I’d been having a chat with the Sheenes. This was 1982 and Barry was still a big star, so maybe that raised their opinion of me, because when I went into work on Monday they told me to pack my bag because I was off to Salzburgring for a fortnight of testing and then the Austrian GP.”

That season, Huewen was riding the factory XR35 RG500s that Randy Mamola and Graeme Crosby used the year before, which Paul was expected to fettle. Except he knew nothing about them. “For testing at the Salzburgring, we were spannering the bikes in the hotel car park, alongside Kork Ballington and the Kawasaki guys. Our team mechanic was Mick Smith, who told me to put certain jets and gears in. I said: ‘OK, but where’s the workshop manual?’ Of course, there wasn’t one for a full factory bike – you just take it apart and get on with it.

“In a way, it was haphazard, but that’s how it worked – the only information we had was the jetting and gearing records from the previous year. There were no set torque values or explanations of how it came to pieces. You were supposed to know. And if you didn’t know, you found out pretty quickly.
“It was so exciting, though. Being taken away to a foreign country with a star rider to work on factory bikes... it doesn’t get much better.”

Unfortunately, Huewen crashed into a fallen bike on the first day of practice and broke his wrist, sidelining him for two months. But for Paul, this wasn’t all bad. “We had to take the bike back to HQ, straighten the bent bits, change what needed changing – the cranks, pistons and rings were on their mileage limits anyway – and generally check it over. It was bad for Keith, but really useful for me, because that’s when I really learned how it went together. Those RG500s were easy to work on, though – a mechanic’s dream.”

Huewen’s injury put paid to any chances of top 10 results that season. “But I did get to witness some pivotal moments,” he says. As a normal race fan, I’m expecting rider-based incidents – last lap battles, amazing comebacks, paddock brawls, etc. But Paul is a dyed-in-the-wool mechanic, and I’m beginning to learn that his superstars are engines rather than people.

Here’s his pivotal moment of 1982: “I was there when the three-cylinder Honda [NS500] was first wheeled out,” he says, his face a picture of schoolboy enthusiasm. “It was a big deal, but my impression at the time was that Suzuki and Yamaha weren’t too worried about the triple – they were confident they’d got their four-cylinder bikes sorted. Obviously, we did wonder if there were any engineering secrets in there, but ultimately there weren’t – it was just a three-cylinder two-stroke. The real magic was the guy turning the throttle [a certain Freddie Spencer].

“Interestingly, lots of privateers bought RS500s to race, but it wasn’t quite the bike they thought it was. It didn’t have the factory bike’s performance and cost a fortune to run. You could buy an RG with a spares package for £25k or so and race in GPs, but the Honda was £40k. And whereas if you didn’t throw the RG up the road too much you could get away with just replacing pistons and rings, the Honda needed the crankshaft renewing throughout the season."

For 1983, Paul was working with Huewen again – this time using two brand new Mk8 RGs – but the relationship broke down before the season was out, partly because of Paul’s devotion to engines. “I got on well with Keith, and he was a good rider. The problems came when I knew, technically, that I had a good solution – but Keith wanted something else that I knew was worse.”

Matters came to a head at Hockenheim, where it was scorching hot. “The bike was running hot anyway, but Keith wanted the jetting leaner because he liked the crisp feel and we kept burning pistons. We even got the occasional seizure and there was lots of detonation.

“I went back to the previous year’s records of the XR35 and decided to put those settings in, which were quite a lot richer. Keith went out and was the quickest he’d been. Up until then, he’d been gradually getting slower and slower. He asked if I’d put the smaller jets in as requested, so I told him that in fact I’d gone the other way and he was really, really cross. He said the smaller jets made it feel sharper and it was my job to do what he asked – which it was. I did mention to him that his times were quicker on my settings, but that wasn’t really the point – I made the change to try and protect the engine, because I was running out of pistons.

“We fell out because I hadn’t done what he asked. I’m not proud of that, because I should have done what he wanted – even though it would have almost certainly meant more burnt pistons.” Paul clearly still regrets the episode, but I can’t help feeling most of the responsibility lay with Huewen for not listening to reason. Also, Paul had only been a Grand Prix mechanic for 18 months and had yet to learn the intricacies of managing highly-stressed riders – surely Keith was out of order?

“Not really, no,” says Paul wistfully. “There’s a lot of psychology involved in bike racing, and if a rider believes he’ll go faster with square wheels, then you put them on and let him work it out. They have to trust you.”

‘I asked: “Where’s the workshop manual?” Of course, there wasn’t one for a factory bike’
With the relationship soured, Suzuki called on Paul’s previous experience of four-stroke road bikes and sent him to work for Rob McElnea on his XR69, then in 1985 for Mick Grant on his new GSX-R750 F1 and Superstock bikes. So what was Mick Grant like to work with, I ask, silently wondering how long Paul can resist talking about the new GSX-R motor.

“Granty was a top bloke. But what was really interesting was that the new GSX-R engine was oil-cooled. The advantage of oil is that it’s good at getting where you want it – around bearings and under piston crowns, for example – but it’s more difficult to take the heat out of the oil once it’s hot. So the GSX-R would be alright for the first half of a race and then it’d start to overheat and things would go out of shape.

“That’s why if you look at the oil-cooled TT F1 bikes of the time they had oil coolers all over the place. And of course, everything you did to make more power generated more heat. We eventually got 98bhp out of the Superstock bike – we measured it as 83bhp stock – and that was with standard cams, valves, pistons, rods, crank and gearbox, but with a gas-flowed head and an F1 exhaust. We won the first four rounds [of the British championship] outright before other people worked out how to make their bikes as quick.”

Though happy working on four-strokes, Paul was desperate to get back into the GP paddock where he could work on his beloved 500cc two-strokes. Consequently, after finishing work on Granty’s GSX-R, he’d wander across the corridor at Suzuki GB’s workshops to help out with the factory GP bikes.

“They were developing the new honeycomb carbon-fibre frame and those evenings spent in the GP workshops were when I began to realise that I enjoyed designing and developing more than the actual racing. As a mechanic, once the bike goes to the start line there’s 45 minutes of not doing anything except holding a signal board out. But developing and testing was much more interesting, because you could experiment.”

Paul’s extracurricular enthusiasm paid off, and in 1986 he was back on Suzuki’s GP team working with Aussie star Paul ‘Loopy’ Lewis and the Skoal Bandit 500s. And he kept experimenting. “At the Salzburgring, I started recording Paul’s speeds around the circuit with a radar gun. This was all new back then – it meant we could measure improvements after changing set-up.

“It was very useful, because you’d get loads of feedback from the riders, but little other information. Obviously my speed data wasn’t as clear as modern datalogging, because you never knew if the rider had gone in 4mph slower in order to get that 3mph improvement in exit speed, but it was data. When the other riders saw what I was up to, they all asked me to measure their speeds too – and I did. I ended up noting them down for half the paddock and telling them afterwards. Different times!”

Later in the year, he got the opportunity to look after someone with even more potential than Loopy Lewis – Kevin Schwantz, who had been given three wild-card rides on an extra Heron Suzuki. “He fell off at Assen and rode with me in the truck to the next round at Spa, while his mum and dad drove their camper. That’s when we struck up our friendship. At Spa, he actually fell off on the warm-up lap, so I helped to repair his bike on the grid. That was stressful. But he rode well, came 10th and got his first point in GPs. Only then did he tell us he was riding with a broken collarbone [from his crash qualifying for the Daytona 200].”

Looking through Paul’s scrapbook photos later, it’s clear that he and Schwantz spent loads of time together and became good mates, but extracting tales about the Texan superstar is charmingly difficult. I don’t get the feeling Paul is trying to maintain confidences, it’s just that he’s so much more interested in GP motorcycles than what his young rider got up to.

“His final round that year was at Misano,” he continues, “where he came 10th again, but the highlight for me was seeing the new Suzuki V4, which Gallina [the famous Italian GP team which had won the 500cc World Championship with Marco Luccinelli in 1981] had been testing. That was so exciting. I couldn’t wait to work on the V4.”

Unfortunately, he had to – because at the end of the year, Suzuki sent him to look after Paul Iddon’s TT F1 GSX-R. “Paul was a great rider, who had an amazing feel for an engine – unlike a lot of top racers. I remember once we went to Mallory Park and he said there was an odd noise from the engine like faint detonation. I pulled the plugs and everything looked alright, but it kept happening. So I dropped the sump to check there was no swarf in there and a 6mm bolt fell out – it was one that held the two halves of the crankcases together and couldn’t come all the way out because the sump was in the way. So Paul could hear it rattling, despite the racket of a race exhaust while thrashing round Mallory Park. Amazing. We got on really well and he was such a good rider – he should have won the world championship that year [he came third, behind Joey Dunlop and Virginio Ferrari].

“But I was back working on the V4 with Kev [Schwantz] and Rob [McElnea] in 1988, which was great. I was in Japan for nearly three months at the beginning of the season, building bikes, and we struggled to get the carburation working properly to start with. Partly that was because we were learning a new engine and partly because one of the crankshafts was spinning the wrong way [at first, Suzuki had both cranks spinning in the same direction, which caused one bank of pistons to draw in mixture earlier than the other, mucking up the carburation]. As soon as they had the cranks spinning in opposing directions for the 1989 season, the bike worked so much better.

“But despite that, we won the first GP of 1988 in Suzuka, and I remember watching Kev celebrating by standing on the footpegs holding the American flag. We were a new team, with a new sponsor [Pepsi] and we won first time out at Honda’s circuit. That was pretty special. And there was constant development – nearly every week there was something new going on the bike. The best I saw on the dyno for the square four was 137bhp, but the V4 made about 145bhp.”

las, the vagaries of team budgets and staff politics meant that was Paul’s last year in GPs. I glance round the pub and notice the other diners have left and we’re alone apart from a well-oiled chap who looks like he’s been propping up the bar since 1962. Aware our time is up, I ask Paul to summarise what happened next. “I got a series of proper jobs not linked to bikes,” he says.

“Then in 2005 I started looking after Steve Wheatman’s collection [of mostly two-stroke Grand Prix race bikes]. It was lovely, because some of the bikes I was looking after were the ones I’d worked on 35 years ago, so I’d see a bracket and I’d remember making it all those years ago. Or I’d see a dent in a frame and know exactly how it got there. That’s a great feeling. It feels like I’ve finally come home.”

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TWIN VINCENTS

When it comes to special, little outshines the Vincent Black Lightning. We get up close and personal with a pair of exceptional big twins

Words MARK GRAHAM Photography ADAM SHORROCK

Sometimes ear plugs are not a thing. Occasionally, circumstances demand the 3M bungs remain in your pocket. A day like today. A day with not one, but two of the rarest, finest, loudest and most hallowed motorcycles ready to be savoured, revered.

Days like this are golden. Deenethorpe Airfield near Corby; patchy tarmac shimmers in baking July heat, scarcely a breeze troubles the windsock, all is quiet, and we’re ready to stir the Black Lightnings into life.

Even standing in their presence, shuffling around marvelling at the dense blackness of stove-enamelled crankcases, inwardly trembling at the wispiness of the brakes, clocking the sheer nothingness by way of frame members, and gazing at that fuel tank legend: The Vincent.

All Vincents are special, but some are more special than others. Of the single-cylinder variants, the Grey Flash is the one. Only 30 were built. Maybe 20 survive. When it comes to the big twins, the Black Lightning, the Stevenage factory’s special-order hot rod is the ne plus ultra, the absolute daddy of all post-war V-twins. A mere 28 still exist from 33 produced.

‘It was not billed as the fastest production motorcycle on a flimsy pretext’

Black Lightning. Was there ever a heavier, more terrifying tag for a motorcycle? You know it’s bad from the moment those two words tumble from your lips. Say it again. No doubt. It’s a bad motorcycle. The baddest.
Rocked onto the starting rollers, into first gear (of four) and this machine, rebuilt to original spec, is spun up, clutch dumped...
Slugs of combusted mixture exit the straight pipes at 350 feet per second. You feel the pulses 10 feet away. Birds scatter, control tower windows rattle, and the crowd around the barking machine can do nothing save smile broadly at one other. It’s one of the great classic start-up moments.
The power unit is mechanically quiet. All the while this stupendous exit noise plays, the whirring internals emit a light buzz while the valvetrain produces scarcely a tick. Six pints of Rock Oil TRM 20W-60 circulate the innards absorbing heat, while burnt Sunoco 102 octane race fuel residue wafts into the atmosphere.

t sounds and smells almost animal. Small wonder the Vincent bible by EMG ‘Eddy’ Stevens is titled Know Thy Beast. Few other big beasts of the classic world can hold a candle to this leviathan. The only other machines with such charisma are perhaps the AJS Porcupine, Honda’s RC166 250/6, Ago’s 500cc MV triple, King Kenny’s TZ750 dirt tracker, and the Norton RCW588 rotary race bike.

The mystique behind the Black Lightning is deserved. It was not billed as the fastest production motorcycle in the world on a flimsy pretext. Black Lightnings posted world speed records with numbing regularity. Rollie Free famously managed 150.313mph in 1948 (in his swimming trunks), Jack Ehret set an Aussie record of 141.5mph in 1953, while Kiwi Russell Wright hit 187.14mph in 1955 with a streamlined Lightning.

This factory hot rod could be ordered from the Stevenage works in 1949 for £508 (including purchase tax). It cost as much as a modest house, and you have to marvel at Philip Vincent’s sheer chutzpah in producing such a thing while the world was still trying to recover from the blight of war.

It was an extraordinary creation. Yet Vincent guru Glyn Johnson, who rebuilt Walo Bertschinger’s 1950 Lightning, says: “I’ve had three of these apart over the years and I’ve always been impressed at how un-special they are.” Johnson restored Bertschinger’s machine to original works spec, which is surprisingly close to Black Shadow roadster trim.

The Black Lightning is a 998cc 50º V-twin, as per Rapides and Shadows. It shares the same bore and stroke of 84 x 90mm, the same 30º valve angle, and the same pressed-up crankshaft with crowded roller big ends – although lightened, polished and dynamically balanced on the Lightning.

A key difference was the Lightning’s connecting rods, designed for heavy-duty performance. Machined from Vibrac – a nickel-chrome-molybdenum steel – they had a tensile strength of 80 tons per square inch (although the bike here has replacement Carillo rods fitted).

By 1951, the factory was fitting two front cylinder heads (not a designated front and rear) as the front head casting had more ‘meat’ around the rocker area to allow for opening up the inlet port to 32mm. Valve head diameters were the same as the Black Shadow’s at 1.8in inlet and 1.67in exhaust (45.72mm and 42.54mm). Lightning combustion chambers, ports and rockers were polished, and the MkII camshaft employed with a long 106º of valve overlap (where inlet and exhaust are open simultaneously). Ignition advance was 38º before TDC (although less with modern fuels).

With straight-through exhaust pipes of either 1⅝in or 2in internal diameter (smaller for circuits, larger for outright top speed), a Black Lightning would produce around 70bhp at 5600rpm. A rev limit of 6500rpm was an absolute maximum. Pistons were forged items made by high-end supplier Specialloid and could be specced at the desired compression ratio for petrol (usually 9:1) or methanol (up to 13:1). With all the road clobber left behind in the Vincent stores, a Black Lightning weighed in at a feathery 380 lb (172.5kg) where a Shadow tipped the balance to 458 lb (207.7kg).

‘It kicks like a spooked shire horse from as low as 2000rpm’
With numbers crunched, what does it all add up to when you’re lucky enough to straddle a Black Lightning and give it the gun?
We have two bolts of Lightning to sample: Walo’s stringently stock machine and Ben Kingham’s heavily reworked version. Both are race machines, built to be given generous handfuls of throttle within strict maximum-revolutions parameters, with clutches and gearboxes given proper respect, and with the overarching proviso that both are returned to the owners’ hands without so much as a scuffed seat from a boot heel slung too low on a dismount.
The Bertschinger Lightning barks again, and then Ben backs his machine onto the rollers. They can cope with the 9:1 compression on Walo’s bike, but not the similar ratio of Ben’s machine, differently geared. The Kingham bike bangs into life with a swift push start, and after a few squirts up the runway both machines are handed over to editor Mike and your correspondent.

Both engines have to be kept on the boil – there is no tickover on either of these thoroughbreds. Rider transfer is no more fraught than with anything still worth the price of a house, and as excitement bordering on frenzy takes hold, we each snick first gear and fire these magical devices at the horizon.

The two of us have sampled much machinery over the years, many and varied motorcycles of great pedigree and prodigious performance, but we can’t help stealing a glance at each other as we power off. This is very special.

I’m on Ben’s highly developed, very far from stock Lightning. It kicks like a spooked shire horse from as low as 2000rpm on the tacho. And just keeps on stomping. You’re nowhere near the 6000rpm limiter and it’s devouring the asphalt in a blitz of sound and fury.

Gearchanges are measured more than slick, but with all that ripping torque (75 lb ft at 3000rpm) and maximum power (75bhp at just 4000rpm) you can afford to dwell on achieving a positive engagement without trying to bang in the next ratio like a quickshifter might. Vincent gearboxes are big, heavy things, as they had to be. Wafer-thin pinions and shafts would never handle the torque.

These engines make as much of a racket on the overrun as they do on acceleration. Back off the throttle and you leave a solid wall of sound behind. Something like 10 sheets of heavy tarpaulin torn in unison amplified through a Led Zeppelin-level stadium stack.

It’s those harmonics from the straight-cut pipes that do it, plus on the Walo bike the two pipes on the one side truly pump up the volume.

The Ben bike runs on 40-weight castor oil. Anyone familiar with the sweet aroma of that little film of bean oil creeping past the piston rings to be combusted and exhaled will imagine just how heady a day this is.

We complete a few runs and swap bikes. Still hard to take in that we’ve got a pair of the most storied machines of all time in one place with carte blanche to go out and have some fun. It’s beyond mere enjoyment. It’s an honour to get let out on stuff like this.

‘It barrels you forward in a cacophony of brutish aural treats’’

The ripped-up runway makes us concentrate like crazy. Get one of these beauties caught in the weedy crevasses on the edge of the strip and the consequences of a tankslapper and tumble hardly bear thinking about. Road rash would be the least of anyone’s concerns.

Now aboard the Bertschinger bike – and even in ‘standard’ Black Lightning order, it’s every bit the bike Ben’s breathed-on version is. It has a slightly softer edge, but not by much. The get-up-and-go is all there. The chassis is more pliant, mildly lazier with its longer wheelbase, yet just as arresting in the way it relentlessly barrels you forward in a cacophony of brutish aural treats. There will never be anything quite like a Vincent Black Lightning again. Sure, there exist factory V-twin specials from many manufacturers, some rarer even than these Vincents. There will no doubt be more to come. Nothing will match these.

Once sampled, never forgotten. What a day.

Ben Kingham

Ben makes no bones about his Vincent race bike’s provenance. “It’s a modified road bike with a logbook. We call it a Black Shadow, because it’s raced in the road bike class,” he says. “We built the bike in 2019, converting my dad’s roadgoing twin for racing and adding parts from my Vincent Comet race bike. It also has a Series B swingarm because it’s an inch shorter, and we generally try to keep it as close to Lightning spec as we can by avoiding the inevitable development that any race bike gets.”

The bike has undergone constant improvements since – and the current development that Ben now races is one of the most effective Vincent racing machines in the world.
“It’s won at Goodwood, been on the podium every time and set the fastest lap each year with Josh Brookes riding it,” says Ben. “He got on it and immediately went two seconds a lap quicker than me. I just thought: ‘Right, I think I’d better take up golf’.” In fact, he hasn’t taken up golf – more usefully, he works full-time running the Vincent Spares Company in Desborough, Northants.

Like the Walo bike, this machine runs 9:1 Omega pistons, MkII cams and Carillo connecting rods, but has 11/4in Amal GP carbs. Trispark ignition fires the mixture in twin-plugged cylinder heads, with the battery, coils and CDI unit hidden cleverly in the back of the seat.

Both machines run multi-plate clutches as opposed to the original Vincent shoe design, while this bike is fitted with a five-speed Quaife/Surtees gear cluster. It is geared for a top speed of 140mph. Riding on 18in rims front and rear, and with stopping supplied by a (twosided) twin-leading-shoe brake conversion, it was never intended to be a faithful rendition of a factory Lightning.
“It’s a race bike and it has a hard life,” says Ben. “The engine hasn’t been touched since 2020. So aside from Covid, it’s done five seasons [of Lansdowne series] and two Goodwoods, which are each an hour and a half of thrashing. It’ll need an engine rebuild this winter.
“We’ve been trying to shed weight all the time, by running a DID520 superlight chain that saves 400g and using lots of titanium nuts and bolts. I reckon it weighs in at about 160kg (352 lb).”
It will be raced as intended on open pipes at Goodwood in September. “I was in a riders’ briefing one year, and the Clerk of the Course said to the guest riders that these bikes are all very precious to their owners and should be treated with respect. One well known Irish rider whispered ‘b*llocks to that’ to Dean Harrison next to him,” laughs Ben.
You can happily guarantee that every machine in pitlane at Goodwood this year will be ridden hard, just as the makers intended. This Vincent will be no exception.

Walo Bertschinger

Swiss road-building magnate Walo Bertschinger came late to racing motorcycles. He was 50 before he began hill climbing and endurance racing on a Black Shadow. He also rode the 2011 Manx Grand Prix on a Honda CBR600RR and a 1968 Paton. But the Vincent bug bit him hard.
Fully infected, he went on a quest for a Black Lightning. The machine he found had ended up in the USA after first being exported to Belgrade as a sidecar racer in 1951. Walo bought it and imported it to Switzerland. After a few events, including the Grossglockner hill climb in Austria, he decided on a rebuild to original factory spec.
The man for this was Vincent specialist Glyn Johnson. “We didn’t want it to be a museum piece,” Johnson says. “It has to be respected, but it also has to be able to do what it was intended for – and that is to be raced.”
Glyn went through it with a fine-tooth comb. Timing gears were replaced, Omega 9:1 pistons fitted, engine tolerances honed to perfection, rear damper seals modified, a breather inserted in the front exhaust valve cover, and originality maintained – even down to the correct cloth-covered HT leads.
Inhaling through the correct 32mm Amal 10TT9 carburettors, fired by the original magnesium-bodied TT magneto, exhausting via straight pipes, it did not disappoint on the dyno. At 4800rpm, it equates to 66bhp at the crank, which compares favourably to the factory’s claim of 70bhp at 5600.

There’s plenty of go, but stopping is more of a headache these days. “It’s hard to get decent brake linings,” explains Johnson. “We keep trying different friction materials, and in the end you have to ask yourself: ‘How good were they back in the day?’
“The wheels would have been 21in front and 20in rear, but we now run a 19 rear due to race tyre availability,” he adds. “This means the bike now rides a little lower, so cornering clearance can be a slight issue; modern more “sticky” tyres probably contribute to this, too. We’ve also had to replace the original blade handlebar levers for ball-ended to get through scrutineering.”
Despite necessary deviations from standard, Walo is plainly delighted with the result: “We can run it at Goodwood as it was originally on open pipes, and at Donington, too. Cremona, south of Milan, is another place we can run it as it should be.”
Dario Tosolini, a former European Superstock runner and several times a winner at the Spa Francorchamps Classic Endurance on a 1968 Paton, is Walo’s designated rider for Goodwood. He tells us: “The amazing thing is how modern it feels to ride when you know it’s a motorcycle built in 1950.”

Vincents at the Goodwood Revival

‘It barrels you forward in a cacophony of brutish aural treats’

Vincents have form at Goodwood. In 1951, at the only bike meet held at the circuit in period, George Brown riding for the Vincent factory’s Experimental Department won the 400-1000cc scratch race convincingly on infamous ‘Gunga Din’, a heavily reworked Black Shadow. Vincents also finished second and fourth, proving the mighty twin well capable of running at the front of any field.

This year’s Goodwood Revival (September 18-20) marks the 75th anniversary of Brown’s victory. You will be able to witness Walo and Ben’s bikes racing, plus two Australian Vincent entries and a Grey Flash carrying number 97, as used by John Surtees on his bike at the ’51 meeting. It’s the place to be if you want to see, hear and smell these marvels at full song on open pipes, and the bikes will occupy adjacent shelters in the paddock. Get your tickets in advance from goodwood.com, and remember to dress for the occasion. It’ll be a special day.

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A double-header of fabulous Vincents blasts across the cover of September’s Classic Bike. It features the ultimate 1950s hot rod, a Black Lightning, ripping alongside a hopped-up Black Shadow that’s a Goodwood winner – both ridden by CB testers.

Delve into the magazine and another V-twin that was radical in its time is tested – the Buell XB9R Firebolt – while at the other end of the performance scale a fabulous Honda CB175 takes on the ups and downs of the West Country on a rally for tiddlers.

There’s an in-depth buying guide for Honda’s brilliant all-rounder, the evergreen Dominator, while elsewhere you’ll find Grand Prix legend Kevin Schwantz… erm, in a shopping trolley. CB’s project BSA Gold Star scrambler also gets shaken down off-road, we have lunch with a 500 GP mechanic, and Editor Mike heads for Scotland on his 1994 Triumph Sprint 900. Did he make it? You’ll have to buy the magazine to find out…

The September issue of Classic Bike is out now at newsagents, or why not subscribe today and enjoy your first 3 issues for just £3!

INTERVIEW
He became the world’s most successful motorcycle journalist by winning races, getting rides on astonishing bikes and then telling us all about them. Sounds easy, but it definitely wasn’t…

Words John Westlake Photography Cathcart Archive, John Westlake

Has this man ridden more different factory GP bikes than any other human in history? We think so
In September 1980, Alan Cathcart and his wife Stella were on holiday in France, driving through the Rhône valley near Avignon. By then he’d had some classic racer tests published in Classic Bike, but was still a full-time businessman in the travel industry. That was about to change. Suddenly a stream of identical BMW twins came barrelling towards them. As they passed, Alan recognised them as the new R80 G/S he’d read about in MCN. This, it turned out, was perfect timing.

“I knew they must be on the press launch,” he says as we sit in a restaurant near his home in Hampshire. “A few months before, I’d been in Australia on business and used a copy of Classic Bike to blag my way into the press room at a round of the Australian Superbike series at Oran Park. I met Mike Hanlon, editor of Australian Motorcycle News, we got chatting, and he asked me to be his European correspondent. I explained I only wrote about old bikes as a hobby, but he persuaded me I could get him some good stories. So when I saw those BMWs I knew I had to track them down.”

Unfortunately, by the time Alan had turned the car around, the bikes were gone. “I was ready to give up, but Stella got out our Michelin restaurant guide and found the nearest one with a car park. Sure enough, we found the BMW launch team there. I told them I was from Australian Motorcycle News, and asked if I could have a ride. They loaned me some kit, and off I went. So my first bike launch happened by complete accident. But Mike published my article, sent me a cheque, and it occurred to me that I might be able to make a living from writing about bikes.”

So began one of the most extraordinary motorcycle journalism careers ever, with Alan going on to test dozens of factory bikes from GPs and World Superbikes, plus securing world exclusive first rides on multiple road bikes from the Ducati 916 to the first ever Buell. All this while running an international racing career in parallel that saw him win – take a deep breath – the Australian TT (twice), Daytona ProTwins (three times), 1997 Sound of Thunder World Series and British Supermono Championship, 1996 BEARS World Series, 1993 Dutch Open and Japanese Supermono Championships, and the 1979 British Single-Cylinder Championship. Plus he was twice runner-up in World Superbikes’ European Supermono support series, and got three top ten TT results. Oh, and he co-founded the Classic Motorcycle Racing Club (CRMC) and the International Historic Racing Organisation (IHRO) too.

He must have been into bikes from a young age then, I venture... “Not especially,” he says. “As a 16-year-old I got myself a Berini [a Dutch moped] and used it to ride into Warwick from the village I grew up in. But I started off racing cars.”

In fact, his passion for two wheels wasn’t ignited until 1968, when he met an American named Jeff Craig. “I’d started working for a travel company, looking after foreign students, and Jeff was part of a group of Americans on their spring break. Jeff was an avid student of British motorcycle culture – he had a Velocette – and when he came over to Britain later on we shared a flat and he got me enthused about bikes. Because of the car link, I wanted a Maserati motorcycle and in 1973 saw one for sale in MCN. Off I went, but the owner wouldn’t sell it unless I also bought his 1964 four-speed 250 Aermacchi racer.”
Alan behaved like any right-thinking motorcyclist: “I bought both, telling myself I’d just sell the Aermacchi. But Jeff said it would make a great road racer for him, and rushed out and bought some Lewis leathers.”

This got Alan thinking. “Racing cars was too expensive, so I found a Ducati 250 Mach 1S [the limited-edition single] and bought that instead. I came 14th in my first race at Brands – it took me a while to find the limits of my cornering speed – but I loved it.”

After that, Alan went full-bore into bikes. “I bought a 350 Manx Norton, a 500 G50 [which he still has], and later a 1974 Ducati 750SS.” When the conrod on the Ducati 250 broke at Brands in October 1974, he decided to race his brand new 750SS in the Production class.
“In the first race I just survived, but in the second race it rained and I came fourth. That convinced me that I might be OK at racing.”

And indeed he was, gradually getting to the sharp end of various club racing classes. But trouble was afoot. “In those days the VMCC [Vintage Motor Cycle Club] had a 25 year cut-off, which meant that in 1979 you could only race a 1953 long-stroke Manx Norton, although they let short-strokes that had been built up to 1962 race. They weren’t applying the rules properly, so I argued I should be able to race my G50 Matchless [a 1961 bike]. But that didn’t work.”

Instead, the VMCC said Alan could organise a parade for ‘modern classics’, which he duly did. “But the secretary of the meeting really didn’t like me or the more modern bikes, and he accused me of cheating. In a parade! It was ridiculous. He told us that the VMCC would never invite us again, and that we’d have to find somewhere else to ride.

“Stella and I went home and had a chat with our friend Dick [Linton – a fellow racer] and we decided to create the CRMC to cater for pre-1973 bikes [ie, just before the start of the two-stroke era]. We needed to make sure there were enough people who would support us, so in November 1979 we announced we would hold a meeting at Donington’s Redgate Lodge [which was still a pub then] to gauge enthusiasm. We thought we might get 100 people.”

Alan (#69) awaits the start of the 1977 Manx GP on his Aermacchi 350. It was his Isle of Man debut
In fact, over 500 turned up. “It was incredible. We had to open the windows so the people outside could hear me. And it really was 500 because I’d printed 500 membership cards and they all went, at £6 for a year’s membership. There was obviously huge demand.”

But to get the club off the ground, Alan, Stella and Dick had to persuade circuit owners to take a punt on them. “Then we had a bit of luck. I’d won the 1979 Bemsee single-cylinder 350 championship and had to go to the dinner-dance to get my trophy. By chance, I was on a table with Snetterton circuit manager Peter Stayner. I got on well with Peter and chatted about our new club, and he introduced me to his boss Chris Lowe.

“Chris ran Motor Circuit Developments, who owned Brands, Snetterton, Oulton and Mallory, and I offered to bring 30 classic racers to do parade laps at each round of the British Championship at his circuits in return for two entry tickets per bike. Obviously he agreed – it was a good deal for him to get more entertainment. But it was good for us too, because it got the idea of classic racing into the minds of the general racing public. And it meant that Peter was allowed to give us our own first race meeting at Snetterton.”

‘I bought a Maserati motorcycle... the owner made me buy his Aermacchi racer too’

Alan also had some high profile supporters. “Croz [GP star Graeme Crosby] was a good mate of mine – he’d been sleeping on the floor of our neighbours’ flat in Ealing while prepping his Moriwaki TT F1 racer at Peckett and McNab nearby. Back then, I was racing a P&M Kawasaki myself, which is how we met. But for 1980 he was racing for Heron Suzuki, and when he heard about the classic parades, he wanted to ride in one. I got a 7R for him for Snetterton, and in the wet he practically lapped us all before pulling in five minutes early to get ready for the TT F1 race, which he won. What a rider – and a genuinely lovely bloke.”

The CRMC’s first race meeting at Snetterton in August 1980 turned out to be a hit, with every grid full apart from the sidecars, which grew over the years. “Overall, it was hugely successful – thanks to all our supporters, the CRMC was off and running. And it’s still the world’s largest historic road racing club.”

With the CRMC rolling, Alan decided to throw himself into motorcycle journalism. He realised the only way to make decent money was to sell stories to different countries, getting paid multiple times for each feature. It was a nice idea, but extremely difficult to pull off due to language difficulties securing a global audience. Fortunately, Alan had a few crucial advantages.

For a start, he’s an excellent linguist, speaking five languages fluently and getting by in several more. Secondly, he’s a doer – he gets on with stuff. Having decided to get into motorcycle journalism, he drove to Italy and visited 17 race teams and manufacturers in two and half weeks. “I just walked in off the street and asked for interviews – speaking Italian was a huge asset and, as it turned out, a lot of the junior engineers I met on that trip went on to become bosses, so I was in on the ground floor.”

It helped that anyone who met Alan tended to remember him. Well-spoken (he went to a prestigious public school), well educated (he studied law at Cambridge University), and well travelled, he wasn’t your standard racer. Hence the ‘Sir Alan’ nickname bestowed on him by one of his UK editors. Plus, he’s entertaining company and a good listener. Loads of his tales include the line “he was a good mate”, relating to everyone from GP stars like Crosby to legendary designers such as Massimos Bordi and Tamburini. It’s easy to see how he managed to get so many world scoops – people liked him.

Plus there was his racing, which often fed directly into his journalism. “I always regarded my racing as a source of raw material – I wanted to ride interesting bikes. That’s why I raced the Saxon Triumph or the Bimota Tesi or the Ducati Supermono. I was interested in experiencing unusual motorcycles.”

The Saxon Triumph gig started with a test ride of the Saxon Engineering-framed Laverda Jota at Mallory Park – good material for a feature, he thought. But because his lap times were so good, Paul Taylor, the man behind the Saxon, asked if he wanted to race it.

Of course, Alan did. He took it to Assen for an international four-stroke meeting, won, and agreed to race it the following year in the Sound of Thunder World Series. “I did OK until Austria, when the motor blew to smithereens in practice. But I wondered if I could get another triple motor, because Triumph had recently started up again. I’d done an interview with John Bloor, so I thought I’d ask him because I knew he liked racing. I gave him the pitch, he agreed and gave us a couple of engines, spares support, and put us in touch with the R&D guys.

“We went from shakedown testing at Mallory in April 1994 straight to racing at Monza later that week in the big Thunderbikes meeting, where I finished third. At the next race in Austria we won – and a year later at Monza we beat the Brittens and won again.” And, inevitably, Alan got a great feature out of that as well.

Racing success led to testing GP bikes and WSB racers. It all started when he rode Joey Dunlop’s TT F1 world championship-winning Honda V4 750 at Brands in 1984 and got within two seconds of the lap record. “When that news got back to Japan, my testing career with Honda was pretty much assured. The manufacturers talk to each other, so that led to more.”

At a track test in 2006 with one of his all-time heroes, Kevin Schwantz. Other Cathcart-approved riders (who match talent with a generosity of spirit) include Eddie Lawson, Johann Zarco and Graeme Crosby
In 1989 he got to ride Eddie Lawson’s championship-winning Honda NSR500. “At every track test, we got the fairing removed for photos. And when I saw Lawson’s Honda, I couldn’t believe how many layers of aluminium there were around the steering head that had obviously been added over the season. It was reinforcement on top of reinforcement.

“Anyway, coming out of the chicane, I pinned it in third gear and the bike went mad, shaking its head and trying to kill me. Somehow I stayed on and rode back into the pitlane. It turned out the mechanics hadn’t tightened the steering damper after removing the bike from the truck. But when they tightened it, the steering was completely locked. I complained – how was I meant to catch a slide with it like that? ‘Eddie-san always rides like this,’ they said. How he ever won the title on that bike I will never know.

“That December, I went to the Bologna Motorshow where Eddie Lawson was competing in a Supermoto event. I went to find him and when he saw me coming he started smiling – and with every step closer I got, his smile got wider. ‘I hear you rode my bike,’ he said, smirking. I told him I did and that it tried to kill me. ‘Join the club,’ he said. He’d won the championship on a lemon. I was a fan of Eddie’s before that, but my respect went through the roof. What a rider.”

We’ve finished our meals and Alan has things to do – aged ‘over 70’ he’s still far from retired. I’m aware we need at least two more lunches to cover his TT forays, World Superbike tests, winning the Sound of Thunder World Series and starting the International Historic Racing Organisation. So how does he reflect on a life crammed with racing, writing and organising?

“Honestly, I don’t regret any of my choices. I was a late starter racing bikes, but I’m satisfied with what I achieved and I enjoyed achieving it. And doing everything backwards made for a nice progression – starting out racing vintage bikes, then classics, then twins and singles, then superbikes. I’m happy, and as passionate about bikes as I was all those years ago when I turned the car round to find those BMWs...”

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Rick rides
Its ‘King of the Rockers’ looks have always attracted Rick – but surprisingly, this is the first Matchless twin our Brit bike supremo has ever ridden. Can it deliver on its glinting promise?

Words RICK PARKINGTON Photography GARY MARGERUM

Yes, I know road tests are supposed to be very matter of fact. A technical evaluation, like putting a bike through its Eleven Plus examination. But the first thing I want to say about the Matchless in front of your eyes is... just look at it. What a very pretty thing. I know beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, but on a day like today with the sun bouncing of the mix of fiery red, polished alloy and chrome, it’s hard to deny its appeal.

One of the pleasures of classic bikes is the chance to buy with your heart, not your head – and looks form a big part of that. I have flirted with AJS/Matchless twins over the years, nearly buying one on a couple of occasions, but this is the first one I’ve ridden.

Fuel on, I retard the ignition a shade (sports riders still regarded auto-advance as a bit amateurish in the early ’60s) and with a couple of kicks the G12 comes to life, a muted but assertively deep note emerging from its twin megaphone-style silencers. Up into first on the reverse-pattern Norton/AMC box and away we go.

I didn’t know anyone with a Matchless twin in my young days. That was part of the appeal of this bike – I like a bit of mystery. They were unusual in the early ’80s, even compared to BSAs, Triumphs and Nortons, which themselves stood out in pub car parks otherwise rammed with Japanese bikes. Many bikes later, I’ve settled on Triumph to tickle my parallel-twin fancy – but having missed out on the Matchless, it’s good to check if I made the right choice.

Changing up through the gears the engine feels beefy, like it has a bigger flywheel than my ’59 Thunderbird. The Triumph isn’t a sports model but it still seems revvier, and I wonder how the Matchless would fare against one of the more lively Triumphs in a traffic light GP. It pulls strongly enough from low down, but I suspect it would start running out of enthusiasm while the Triumph was still revving merrily away.

I’ve heard that the 650s have a reputation for vibes too, although this feels OK. I’m told that Matchless dynamically balanced their cranks – but that may not help after decades of rebuilds and rebores with oversize pistons. My impression is that this is an engine that’s happier to build up to a speed and stay there than haring up and down through the rev range. Given that the G12’s greatest production racing success was in long-distance events, that may not be far from the truth.

The heavy crank feeling translates to the bike as a whole. It’s ‘chunky’ – although this isn’t a criticism, it’s more of an impression. If anything, it seems bigger and heavier than it is – I think it’s just got a solid quality to it that makes it feel firmly rooted to the road. Matchless frames may not attract the same reverence as Velocette or Norton, but I’m immediately impressed by the G12’s handling. I feel instantly at home pushing it through bends, because it feels so stable. Neither rock solid nor flickable, it’s simply firm and under control, like a toned muscle. I’m genuinely surprised at how soon I find my boot scrubbing the tarmac; I didn’t think that I was trying that hard.

Associated Motor Cycles (AMC, the parent company of AJS, Matchless and later Norton) updated their original single-downtube frame to duplex in 1960. They’d been one of the first to fit swingarm suspension. The original ‘Springtwin’ appeared in 1951, when other manufacturers were still fooling about with plungers and sprung hubs. Part of the original design had been a unique clevis bottom shock that restricted choice of replacements, but that had been abandoned by the time the test bike was made – and on the roads I’m riding today, I can’t fault the handling.

The brakes are another surprise. Seven-inch single-leading-shoe, front and rear, is not very impressive for a sports 650, yet these work very well. Whether they’d fade under more duress I (thankfully) don’t discover, though the attractively-finned alloy drums may keep them cool enough to prevent that.
‘Just look at it – what a very pretty thing’

These late models have alternator electrics, making 12-volt conversions easy. Touring models were equipped with coil ignition and a distributor, but popular opinion dictated that sports bikes should have magnetos because the spark intensifies with speed. The rev counter may look a bit strange, stuck up on a separate bracket – but again, that was a performance marker. Rev counters were a racy extra; there was no room for it alongside the speedo, so why not show it off? It’s a wordless statement: ‘I know it’s not tidy, but for my type of riding it’s an essential.’

That’s the thing, you see. Really the G12 CSR is a bit of a sheep in wolf’s clothing – but what a handsome wolf it makes. Image is just a part of fashion today, but time was when you had to be what you pretended. Before World War II, you sought ridicule just by wearing a helmet (‘Think you’re a racer?’) and even in the 1950s, parking a fast bike outside a strange café might earn you a ten-bob note left on the saddle – a challenge wager from the local ace, you either accepted or left quickly.

But the softer ’60s was less hard on poseurs. Kids stomping about in big boots and studded jackets got away with turning up on a Bantam with the ’bars turned upside down. Well, those kids would soon be taking their tests and Matchless recognised there was money in making something that looked the part enough to catch their eyes.

Not everybody liked it, though. For older riders, Matchless reflected a time when the world was in black and white. The 350cc G3L had been the favourite wartime despatch rider’s bike with its tele forks and perky motor, and company products seemed to carry on with military efficency in peace time. Designed with quality, mechanical quietness and reliability in mind they were finished in black, as profoundly deep and glossy as a parade-ground toecap. Who’d think Matchless of all people would about-turn like this and try to get in the groove? CSR? Huh, ‘Coffee Shop Racer’!

The CSR may seem tailor-made for the café scene, but in fact demanding US distributor Joe Berliner is said to have been behind the more dramatic styling update. He took on the importation of AMC bikes around this time and knew what he could sell to Stateside riders brought up on shiny chrome plating. Love it or loathe it, the CSR’s style is a statement – something that broke the rules, and that’s something that cements a bike as a classic.

Back in my Rocker-revival days, the G12 CSR was a desirable, if rather left field, choice. But these late models were always scarce – and expensive – and there was also performance to consider. While the Matchless looked spot-on to recreate the original Rocker era, it was known to be slower and less robust that its BSA, Triumph and Norton peers. And because we all liked tearing about, that mattered as much then as in the ’60s.

And there is an elephant in this room. The main reason I never bought a Matchless twin was a simple warning from my dad’s generation: “650 Matchless?” (sharp intake of breath) “They break cranks, son.” It doesn’t get much worse than that... but I don’t know anyone affected, and an internet search doesn’t uncover any modern horror stories. So is it really that bad? I’m sure it happened, but ’62-on bikes like this one have the stronger ‘noddy crank’ anyway – and surely any bike that’s lasted this long is alright. It strikes me that back when I was put off buying a G12, in my day job I had to explain to customers why the used Honda CX500 they were looking at wasn’t about to destroy its camchain. ‘Yes, there was a problem on early bikes, but it’s sorted now – why else would they be so popular with despatch riders?’ Mud sticks. I knew the facts with the Honda – but with the Matchless, only the legend.

Nowadays I don’t mind that the Matchless isn’t that fast. It’s pleasant to ride, rare and gorgeous to look at – and that’s what most people want from a classic. Funny, when you’re actually riding you don’t get much chance to appreciate your bike’s visual appeal – beyond a surreptitious glance passing a shop window – but dropping your eyes to the G12’s tank top there’s a dazzling blaze of red and chrome divided by that wild lightning strike, zig-zag pinstripe. Then, further forward, is the dreadnought outline of those outrageous tank badges. With all the subtlety of a Showaddywaddy belt buckle, they could have been prized off anything from a Chevrolet to the Ace Cafe’s Rockola jukebox. Maybe I should have dug my old rocker jacket and winklepickers out of retirement in the loft...

The G12 may not be a real café racer, but it’s a feelgood bike for a sunny afternoon ride. Like someone pretty hanging off your arm, it makes you feel young – and surely that’s what really matters.
This bike is for sale at Cosmo Classics (01424 437719 or cosmoclassic.co.uk)

SPECIFICATION: 1963 MATCHLESS G12 CSR

ENGINE/TRANSMISSION
Type Air cooled 360° parallel twin
Dimensions 72 x 79.3mm
Capacity 646cc
Power 44bhp at 7000rpm
Compression ratio 8.5:1
Carburation Amal 389 Monobloc 1.125in (28.5mm)
Clutch Wet multiplate
Gearbox AMC four-speed

CHASSIS
Frame Steel tubular duplex cradle
Suspension Front: AMC ‘Teledraulic’ telescopic forks. Rear: Swingarm with Girling twin shocks
Brakes Front: Single-leading-shoe 7in (178mm) drum. Rear: Single-leading-shoe 7in (178mm) drum
Wheels Spoked, chromed rims
Tyres Front: 325 x 19. Rear: 350 x 19

DIMENSIONS
Wheelbase 55.2in (1405mm)
Weight 381 lb (173kg)
Performance Top speed 110mph

Noddy to the rescue

AMC was late to the parallel-twin party, giving them time to assess faults in other designs. In an attempt to reduce vibration, the crank has a central main bearing. The flywheel is divided into two discs with a journal between, and a shell bearing is contained in a cast aluminium disc that bolts between the crankcases. Another peculiarity is that the cylinder barrels and heads are separate, so you can access one piston without disturbing the other.

Pub talk says the extra bearing made the assembly too rigid. Unable to flex along its length, forces focused in one place, causing breakage. The cure was the ‘noddy crank’ – made from tough nodular iron, it was fitted from 1962. Today these are reproduced by the AJS/ Matchless Owners Club.
That’s one explanation. But by raising capacity from 500 to 650cc, with a longer stroke and raised compression, it inevitably put more stress on the design – and a vertically-split crankcase is better located against shuffle by a one-piece cylinder block than the Matchless’s separate barrels.

There’s also talk that a duff batch of cranks led to its bad reputation, but the blame may also lie in complexity. If the centre bearing plate is not perfectly aligned on assembly, excess wear will result – this causes lost oil pressure and disaster. These engines are more complicated to put together than other twins, making them more vulnerable to inexpert hands – and that’s possibly the main cause of trouble.

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FZR1000 EXUP

Fast and sharp yet flexible and forgiving, Yamaha’s FZR1000 EXUP is the defining 1980s superbike – and a modern-classic bargain. Mike Armitage explains why it’s so special

Photography BAUER, GARETH HARFORD, YAMAHA

My crush on the Yamaha FZR1000 started in summer 1987. It was Mat Oxley’s fault. The Classic Bike contributor was on the front of the July issue of Performance Bikes, which sported the headline ‘Ringaround a Lambo’ and a picture of him scooting past a ridiculous yellow car. Mat was riding an FZR.
New that year, the Yam was the first 1000cc sports bike with a twin-spar aluminium beam frame. Twin round lamps made it look like an endurance racer. Scoops in the fairing (vaunted as the FAI or ‘fresh air induction’ system) directed atmosphere into the airbox. And the 20-valve 989cc inline four used the Genesis concept, being tipped forward 45° for near-vertical downdraught inlets and a low centre of gravity. Speedblock paint, too. Phwoar.

With a dyno-tested 107bhp and the ability to do 0-125mph in just eleven and a half seconds, the FZR matched the performance of the benchmark Suzuki GSX-R1100 – but also scurried around corners like no big bike had ever done before. It was the most intoxicating machine I’d ever seen.

Or it was until 1989, when Yamaha released a new FZR with something called EXUP.

Variable engineering
We all love a good acronym, and EXUP – EXhaust Ultimate Powervalve – is right up there. It’s not really a four-stroke version of the Yamaha Power Valve System used on the firm’s two-strokes, though. YPVS changes the engine’s timing; EXUP also brings variability, but uses it to effectively fool the engine into thinking it has a different exhaust.

When a four-stroke’s exhaust valve opens, the ‘blowdown’ of the pressurised hot gas shoves it down the exhaust pipe. This positive pressure wave goes down the header, arrives in the larger-diameter collector (or a change of section) and expands. This slows it down and sends a ‘negative’ wave back to the cylinder. It reflects up and down a bit.

There’s a period during which the inlet and exhaust valves are both open, known as overlap. In high-revving engines, the valves need to open for sufficient time to let enough gas past, so exhaust closing gets later, inlet opening earlier, and overlap increases. Though good for making power, the valve timing isn’t then great at low revs and gas flow suffers – exhaust gas finds its way back in, hampering volumetric efficiency and torque, and causing worsening combustion.

But the exhaust’s pressure waves can become useful. Header pipe diameter and length can be tuned so the negative wave returns as overlap occurs, effectively drawing waste gas out and a fresh charge in; as the exhaust valve starts to close, a positive pressure then prevents fuel escaping into the exhaust. Handy.

However, pressure waves move at a speed that’s dependent on gas temperature but irrespective of revs. Short headers can put the negative/positive double-hit at the right point for high revs, but won’t be right at low-speed running; a pipe working at 12,000rpm will also work at 6000rpm, but will be unsuitable in between. Pressure waves will be out of sync, ruining efficiency and knocking holes in the torque. Silencing causes problems as well – abrupt restrictions reflect high pressure back towards the engine, making it work harder to push exhaust gas out.

This is why you see bikes with staggered headers, link pipes and tapers. They’re to give reflections over a wider range, and work to a point. But what we really need is variable geometry.

Yamaha discovered that a throttle valve at the collector could control pressure waves. The original EXUP was a sort of guillotine across the end of the header pipes and before the collector. Controlled by a servo, it partially-closed the outlet and varied the reflection. Very clever. Its position was varied with revs and it allowed them to use what was essentially a race pipe for horsepower, but alter the geometry using the valve to clean-up holes in the torque. Experiments with a four-cylinder FZR400 gave 10% more power, 40% more torque, and reduced noise. Adorned with a suitable acronym, the system debuted on the Japanese-market FZR400R in 1987. It reached the mass market on the FZR1000 two years later.

With a 0.5mm wider bore giving 1002cc, increased compression ratio, larger carbs and fatter airbox, the 1989 FZR1000 EXUP made 108bhp on the dyno and hit 158mph at the test strip. Not much different to the earlier FZR, but that’s because Yamaha sent restricted versions to some markets. Introducing a Stanley knife to the rubbers bunging up the inlet tracts released the full potential of the EXUP-equipped engine – the Yam could nudge 130bhp and an unprecedented 175mph. Bewildering. Crucially, it was also useable. Thanks to the cunning exhaust valve, the big FZR was tractable and manageable, delivering effortless overtakes and smooth, surging corner exits.

‘This is the pivotal point when it comes to balance’

The complete package

There was another change to the EXUP’s engine. It was more upright and less ‘Genesisy’. This new 35˚ angle allowed the motor to sit further forward, giving more weight on the front for stability and permitting a shorter wheelbase, down 10mm to 1460mm.

It was part of a big chassis refresh, inspired by the YZF750 endurance racer. The engine hung from the beams of a sculpted frame, rather than sitting in a cradle, and there were hollow wheel and swingarm spindles plus a GP-style swingarm with hefty chain adjusters.

“Advances in three-dimensional stress analysis technology made it possible for us to reduce torsional rigidity on the aluminum Deltabox frame while increasing lateral rigidity,” said Jiro Izaki, a member of Yamaha’s test team. “Tyres meant for big bikes were further developed and size settings that could bring out the inherent benefits of the low-profile radial tyre were found.” The rear wheel became 17in rather than 18in and grew to a 170 section, and the shock boasted rebound damping adjustment, rather than just spring preload.

“We brought the handling to a new level of maturity by improving the bike’s overall balance rather than trying to aim for lightness and agility... With a big bike, the chassis always has to outperform the engine. I believe that this is the pivotal point when it comes to balance in a big bike,” continued Izaki.

The FZR dominated comparison tests. It showed the bludgeoning GSX-R as dated, skipped around Kawasaki’s ZX-10 and ZZ-R1100, and made the Honda CBR1000F look like a chaise longue. “The Yam is silk,” gushed Bike. “Smooth controls, cleaner carburation, less vibes and more progressive power... the Yamaha manages to be both more stable and more responsive than you’d expect. The [front end of the] Yam is a model of well-controlled compliance... it’s much the same story at the rear; the Yam’s as near perfect as any mass-produced bike has any right to be.” They loved it in the US too, with Cycle World declaring it Bike of the Decade. The 1989 Production TT was the last year stipulating bog-stock bikes; in the 1300 class, the first eight finishers were all on FZRs.

Homologation machines like the RC30 and OW-01 may have been more exotic, but they were an irrelevance to most people. The smart EXUP-equipped FZR was the turning point – after a decade of engines tying chassis in knots, handling and useability had caught up with power. The superbike blueprint was set.

‘I’ve got two’
Classic Bike reader Howard Martin-Taylor
“Back in ’89 the EXUP was the bike to have, the ultimate sports bike. I had a few when I was younger, from original models through to RUs [the ’91 facelift version]. I really loved them. At one point I sold mine to buy a Suzuki GSX-R1100J – but that was like a barge compared to the FZR, so it didn’t take long for me to swap back. Now I’ve got two: an ’89 original and a ’94 fox-eye.

“It wasn’t only the performance that made the EXUP stand out – removing the restrictive rubber webs in the inlets was something we all did to release full power – it was the bike’s handling that really shone. A 170mph missile that could go around corners – there was nothing else like it. It took Honda’s FireBlade to change the game again.

“I’ll not sell my two. They really mean something to me and capture a perfect moment in time. If anything, I’d even buy another because they’re currently cheap to buy – £3500 gets an absolute minter – and they will go up in value. Plus, they’re still great fun to ride.”

‘I loved it’

Road tester, racer and bike tech Bruce Dunn

“I owned three in the early 1990s: two originals and an RU with USD forks. The EXUP was a little heavier than the model it replaced, but it made it a better bike – it seemed to give more mechanical traction and stability. And the engine felt revolutionary. It was super smooth from low down, with a ton of user-friendly torque and power. A bike that could do everything.

“I distinctly remember blasting to the Bol d’Or in the South of France, hammering down the autoroutes and encounters with like-minded randoms on ZZ-Rs and GSX-Rs, wheel-to-wheel at don’t-tell-anyone speed. Downside? Fuel consumption – we filled up every 60 or 70 miles.

“A couple of mates and I entered the Kent Racing Combine six-hour endurance on that bike. I fitted race tyres, put heavier oil in the forks and that was it. It ran faultlessly. Only issue was the silencer kissing the tarmac. Next day at work at A&J Motorcycles in Ramsey, I started the FZR and it was lumpy. A valve check showed they all needed reshimming. I spent hours measuring, swapping shims and putting it back together. Great times.”

Get it bought…

The EXUP was the peak of 1980s superbike development – and today offers peak modern-classic value. In the ’80s and ’90s, the World Superbike championship was the preserve of 750cc fours and bellowing big twins, and in 1992 Honda rolled out the CBR900RR FireBlade – and both these factors mean the defining 1000cc machine gets overlooked. Fast, stable, reliable, confidence inspiring and handsome, good examples of the FZR1000 EXUP are around £2000 – about the same as the average BSA Bantam. Utter bargain.

Later FZRs got upside-down forks, frame mods and new looks, including YZF750-style ‘fox-eye’ lights from ’94. The changes let it remain the go-to big bike until the mid-1990s. For us, the first 1989-90 model is the standout – all the bewildering capabilities of the later bikes, with styling and aura that characterise the heady late-1980s. But whichever version you choose, they’re all stupendous motorcycles. And so affordable. Read about how to buy a good one below...

What to look for

Exhaust
Take a good look at the exhaust if it’s still the original – which ideally it will be, as you’ll want it to benefit from the EXUP system. The downpipes and collector box (which houses the EXUP) are all in one piece. End cans are widely available. Hindle still list a full replacement system (without the EXUP valve) at $1015 (£760), plus shipping and duties. Serviceable originals do occasionally turn up on eBay as well.

Shock absorber
The standard shock isn’t up to the job – or at least it isn’t once the miles really start racking up. Most will have been replaced by now – but if not, budget for a replacement. There are plenty of good quality aftermarket units available.

Engine

It’s reliable, but burns a little oil. The oil light is a level sensor, so it can flicker on under hard acceleration; don’t be alarmed, just check the level. Look for oil leaks from the gearbox output bearing; it can suffer premature wear if the chain is too tight. Check second gear engages positively and doesn’t slip out under load – the engagement dogs can wear.

Frame
Look for any damage. The EXUP’s frame is massively strong, but the twin-beam alloy construction means it’s not easy to repair. Many frames were mirror polished by keen owners in the day, so you may want to look for a bike with the original finish if you want to avoid ‘Autosol finger’. The EXUP was a popular target for thieves too, so make sure that you check frame numbers carefully.

Bodywork
Fairing panels are easily damaged, so look for broken lugs and cracks around mounting points. Decent used panels regularly appear on eBay, but factor-in repainting costs. Copper grease on fairing bolts is essential; they’re captive nuts and can seize in place.

Brakes

Examine the twin front discs for wear, especially on early models. They wear fairly quickly and can warp, too. Replacements are readily available, but it’s another cost to factor in. The six-piston front calipers fitted to 1994-on bikes can be tricky and a little costly to refurbish if the pistons are seized. Check them carefully.

THE BIG QUESTION

Is the EXUP working as it should?

Keith Alderman has been working on Yamahas for more than 45 years. He’s raced twinshock and classic motocrossers, restores TZ750s and knows his way around EXUPs, having owned and worked on plenty of them over the years.

“The EXUP system gives the FZR1000 its fabulous low and midrange torque while retaining top-end performance,” he says. “But they do need regular maintenance. The valves don’t cycle when you turn on
the ignition (though you will hear the fuel pump clicking for a few seconds as it gets fuel pressure up), so you have to check their operation by hand. Remove the tank, as the servo is underneath it near the battery. Turn the pulley and check that the cables aren’t stuck. The EXUP valve is in the exhaust collector box – if you remove the triangular cover, you’ll be able to see if the valve is turning when you rotate the pulley on the servo motor. Even if it is, it’s a good idea to pull the EXUP apart and grease the spindles and bushes if you do buy the bike.”

Serial owner Howard Martin-Taylor says to also watch out for warping. “The valve is held by bushes at either end. These collapse over time. If one goes, it allows the blade to warp – and when reinstalled with new bushes it won’t rotate as it should because it’s no longer straight.”

Which to buy, what to pay…

There are essentially three models of EXUP. The first two years of production (1989-90) have conventional forks and twin round headlights; in 1991, bikes got USD forks, revised frame and a single headlight; and the final 1994-95 models have twin ‘fox-eye’ lights, uprated fork internals and six-piston front brake calipers. Values seem to be broadly similar – but, for us, it’s the first version all day long.

In practical terms, the final variant is probably the best, but all versions deliver an electrifying experience. None are lightweights, but they handle remarkably well and that engine remains an utter joy.
There aren’t always many EXUPs on the market, but lack of supply hasn’t pushed up prices. Even examples in show-stopping condition cost little over £3000, while tidy bikes sell for around £1800. Stonking value for the class-defining machine of its day.

It comes down to the well-used adage: just buy the best example you can afford. Why buy a project for £1000 when you can buy a great ready-to-ride bike for £2000?

Once you’be bought your FZR, at least once a year you’ll need to strip and grease the EXUP valve to keep it doing its job of providing a wave of seamless power and torque throughout the rev range. It’s fiddly rather than difficult, involving removing the EXUP cover on the exhaust collector box, slackening the adjustment of the operating cables enough to get them off the valve pulley, then removing the retaining plate that holds the valve in. If the job hasn’t been done for a while, be careful not to break the 6mm bolts holding the cover on. Penetrating fluid, heat and patience are all your friends.

As it was launched during a time of possible Euro power restrictions, the UK market bikes were restricted to 125bhp. The restrictor webs moulded in the carb intake rubbers will more than likely have long been trimmed back. If they haven’t, just dig out a craft knife – it’s the quickest, easiest performance gain ever.
Handsome, engaging to ride, dependable and an ’80s icon for two grand. Doesn’t sound like much for the best big sports bike of its generation.

Head into stores to grab your latest issue, or why not subscribe to Classic Bike and never miss an issue! What are you waiting for?

The greatest sports bike of the 1980s bursts from the cover of August’s issue of Classic Bike – Yamaha’s FZR1000 EXUP. Why is it so special? Well, that’s explained inside the magazine, along with a buyer’s guide to show you how to buy the best.

Celebrating the 50th anniversary of Barry Sheene winning his first 500cc Grand Prix title, there’s also a joyful scrapbook of his life in 1976 – from the pitlane in Belgium to hanging out with James Hunt in Japan.

Delving further into the past, there’s the story of Adam Bolton’s 1933 Moto Guzzi – bought from a stranger in Italy, it’s now back on the road for the first time in 56 years. There’s also the first run in four decades for CB’s project Dunstall Honda CB750 – doing the ton on an airstrip!

Add in a test of a Matchless G12 CSR, an interview with vastly experienced bike tester Alan Cathcart, plus all the usual workshop tips and classic world insights, and you get a magazine that bathes this glorious summer with even more sunshine.

The August issue of Classic Bike is out now at newsagents, or why not subscribe today and enjoy your first 3 issues for just £3!