Franshhoek Pass

I know, it's been done a million times, but it never looses its allure. And everytime it is diffirent. No two rides are the same. This time was very speacial because we finally got to ride together. Lester with his CBR400, Stefan with his SV1000; and me.

Here is Lester and me warming up before the ride.

Thank you for some great pics, Stefan (that is why he is hardly ever in the photos). Let the pictures speak for themselves (in other words, no captions).

See more pix here.

A Danish Affair

I spent 3 weeks in Denmark on a study tour for my work. This is my biking encounter, which mainly involved attending the annual British Bike Rally with Finn and his riding gang, the Low-Flyers.

Finn had an old Norton then, but has since upgraded to a Duke.

It is a 750SS. Here he is at a Ducati track day.

Finn's brother Ralf has the big daddy, the 900.

And here the two of them are going to look for the sausage creature.

The Low-flyers make an annual pelgrimage to France. This is a stop on the way.

And this is the arrival at the campsite.

A menacing Speed Triple arriving.

At the annual British Bike Rally (usually meant for older British bikes) there was a stand-off between guys on newer Triumphs wanting to race, and the race-organisers refusing to let them, as they would undoubtedly record the fastest times. This guy eventually raced, but his (and other's) times were unofficial.

A Triumph going about its bit of racing.

The drag strip is actually a service road for those windmills, but it works pretty well!

The compulsory burnout. Feeling the pressure from those exhausts are enormous when you stand behind them!

A little bit more smoke if you don't mind, please...

A twin-engined monster!

The twin-engined monster about to devour some tarmac.
The British rally does not stop bikes from all shapes, sizes and nationalities to come - as long as they parked outside the entrance of the venue!

This guy brought his Mama's Vibrator from as far as Sweden.

This is a Triumph...

Or maybe it used to be a Triumph!

Wheelie bars? On these little machines? You bet!

No prices for guessing who is not enjoying Denmark's cold! Finn has the Norton 850 Commando (at the back), and his friend Bent, with the Triumph Bonneville. In the middle is his son Magnus.

The Low-flyers on arrival at the British Bike Meeting in Allingaabro.

The bike meeting (or rally!) is hosted annually by the Mosten Motorcycle Club. This is Finn and his son, Johan.
Until then, the Low-flyers mostly owned classic British bikes. Finally getting tired of the endless spannering, they have upgraded to modern (non-japanese!) machines.

Exploring Denmark was a memorable experience. Here I am with some of my collegues.


My experience as a fisherman was put to good use!

The accidental biker

I grew up around cars, thanks to my uncle Albie. Young and moneyed from his work in nearby copper-mines, he always had to have the fastest car in town. The town is O’kiep, 8 kms north of Springbok. It was the mid-seventies. Disco, afros, platform-heels and bell-bottoms. I wasn’t in school yet, and I was already hooked on anything with wheels. I drew very well at that young age already, and just about all my drawings were about cars, trucks and trains.

Uncle Albie, well, I call him Boeta, owned some of the fastest and most furious machines of the time. That meant gas-guzzlers like the Ford Capri 3.0 V6 and Fairmont 5.0 V8 that set the dusty streets of O’kiep alight with smoking rubber (up till recently he still had a red '71 Holden Monaro).

And did I revel in it! One of my strongest memories is sitting in the backseat of his Fairmont during a dice with his best buddy, who had a Mazda Capella 616 rotary.

My favourite was always the Capri however. I have the lines of the Ford Capri etched into my memory; I could redraw it faithfully from that early age on.

Until a few years ago, the fat tyres of the Capri was still lying around my grandmother’s house – stripped of the treat with the wires exposed!

My toy collection was, needles to say, largely cars. At the age of 15 I was still playing with car toys; a huge source of embarrassment for my mother at the time. I had scrapbooks pasted full of car pictures.

The Porsche 911, Ferrari 308 and Lamborghini Countach are car shapes I could recognise early on, from being immersed in the magazines, TV programmes and movies of the time. Being in a poor rural part of the country, it would take many, many years before I would actually see some of these cars in the metal. My favourite TV programme, of course was, Knight Rider (Pontiac Trans-am); followed by Magnum PI (Ferrari 308 GTS), and favourite movies included Cannonball Run and Smokie and the Bandit. The Pontiac Firebird became one of my first four-wheel idols.

I was only vaguely aware of motorbikes at the time, and the pictures of the six-cylinder Honda CBX1000 that I saw in magazines, stands out for me.

Having dropped out of my studies, and trying to make a living without having to conform to the rules of this world, the rebellious nature of biking took hold of my spirit in the mid-nineties. I shaved my had, got an earring, bought a second-hand black leather jacket, and went looking for a fight. I was a misplaced young man, riding on the steam of an anger that I did not understood.
But it did not matter, because it gave me a sense of identity. Weekend nights I hung out in Waterkant Street, where the mad bikers congregated around St Georges Pub and the Crow Bar. With my black Leather Jacket I was one of them. Everybody assumed I had a bike. I lived the fantasy fuelled by movies like Easy Rider and Kawasaki and the Harley Davidson Man. I felt, if not exactly free, at least defined.

But it was not until, until half a decade later, that Zorro, an eccentric student friend of mine from Venda, got a small scooter that we puttered around the campus (yes, I went back to the books) with one day. Zorro had several small bikes over his time on campus, but with a mind drowning in a fantasy sea of fast cars and bikes, I hardly took notice.

It was not until Eddie took hold of a rather lovely Honda MB50 from Zorro that the thought slowly crept into my mind; could I possibly really actually own one of these?

When Eddie got a Yamaha 125 Electric (also from Zorro), I took the brave step to learn to ride on it. The thing was a mechanical nightmare and most of my anxiety came from fearing it would die under me, rather than crashing.

Finally having a proper job, I could afford what I considered to be a “proper” bike – a 1984 Suzuki GSX400FW, that was painted a strange egg-yellow. But my time on the Yamaha 125 did not prepare me for this thing; the throttle was so sensitive and snappy, I could not ride it.

I made a public spectacle of myself in Waterkant Street, as I inched forward with fear and dropped the bike. Eventually I parked it and refused to get back on.

Friends had to ride it home. I was embarrassed and petrified; how was I ever gonna ride a bike?
The weekend, with no one looking, I started the bike, snicked it into second gear instead of first, and slowly rode off. I went around the block slowly, staying in second gear all the time, to afraid to change up, but gaining speed and confidence.

I started playing with the gears, practicing changing up and down. The bike fortunately had a gear position indicator, helping me not to loose track of where I was in the gears. Eventually I felt comfortable enough, and headed out into the street, and the traffic.

And this is the moment where my biking life truly started. Opening the throttle, savouring the wind in my face, the thrilling vibrations and intoxicating exhaust note, I knew the dream had become real.

Cars startled me at the traffic light, but I twisted my wrist, and they disappeared in my rear-view mirror. I could not get the grin of my face for days.

It is five years later now, and I never looked back since.

Ducati pays tribute to its heritage with the SportClassic range

Oh, another unpublished piece I came across, also written more than a year ago...

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Selected Ducati dealers in the country has received the fisrt batch of SportClassics recently. The range features the Paul Smart 1000 Limited Edition, the Sport 1000, while the GT 1000 will follow later in the year. These bikes pay tribute to the three 750cc models at the beginning of the seventies that started the Ducati heritage as we know it today.

The first real Ducati superbike is arguably the 1974 750SS, built to commemorate Paul Smart’s unexpected win of the prestigious Imola 200 race in 1972. Only 200 were built, and all were snapped up and raced successfully. Surviving examples one of the most expensive and collectable Ducatis today. That 1972 win marked the racing pedigree that is almost synonymous with the brand today.

More than three decades later, Ducati sees it fit to repeat that commemoration. Retro only in appearance, complete with green and silver colurscheme of the original bike, the Paul Smart 1000 is, in fact, very advanced.

The café racer styled 1000 Sport is reminiscing the 1973 bike, the 750 Sport. The original Sport with its naked appearance and bright paintwork was a development of the 1791 750GT (which inspired the upcoming GT1000 SportClassic), Ducati’s first V-twin, featuring a 750 cc capaitu with bevel-driven, single-overhead camshafts, and of course, the firm’s renowned Desmodrmic valve-gear that utilises the camshaft rather than springs to close the valves. Up till then, Ducati built singles only, and the V-twin was created by combining two singles as the crank at a 90 degree angle.

The Paul Smart 1000 retailes for R123 000, but are produced in extremely limited quantities (about 2000), while the Sport 1000 will be more widely available, and is also cheaper at R92 000.

The GT 1000 will be more touring oriented, and has provision for a pillion, unlike the other bikes in the range.

All three bikes feature the same air-cooled 992cc Dual Spark engine that also does duty in the 1000DS Super Sport, Monster S2R and Multistrada 1000.

Ducati has done this before, not too long ago. The year 2000 MH900e was modern intepretation of the 1979 Hailwood Replica, which honoured Mike Hailwoods emotional win a year earlier of the Isle of Man Fomula One TT. Hailwood came out of retirement, which is partly why the win was is memoritive.

The MH900e was unveiled as a concept bike only, but public response was so good, Ducti put the bike into limited production. One thousaned units was put up for sale on the company’s website on the fisrt day of the new mellinuim, and was sold in a few hours.

These emotive machines appeal to the older Ducatisti that was around when the original versions were tearing up back roads and race-tracks, but also to the younger generation that has an appreciation for the heritage of the marque.

Either way, Ducati has learned that nostalgia sells.

More on my VFR

And then came the VFR. It belonged to my mate Gary, whom I bugged for two solid years to sell it to me. He eventually gave it to me for a ride up to Langebaan on it. This is an unpublished review.

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Doing it all with finesse and on a budget
Buying and running an older Honda VFR800Fi

Are you in the market for another bike? Do you want the comfort and touring ability, combined with the commuting competence that a focussed race-rep cannot provide, yet still get the adrenaline flowing. There is a class of bike called sports-tourer to do just that with. These include the modern, purposefully designed BMW R1100S, Truimph Sprint ST and the subject of this review, Honda’s timeless VFR800.

What if you are on a budget? If you cannot afford the later VTEC model, there are the earlier 750’s and 800’s. The first 800cc is the best of the older VFRs, it had loads of character and class, came with fuel injection and a racing inspired engine.

A VFR was never made for this! I had the throttle open to the end. It couldn’t go any further. The road was a slim, focused line of clarity in the middle, flanked by a blur on each side. How fast was I? I dared not look down at the clocks. My chest was pounding. Yet I was oddly relaxed and in control. My mind was racing to absorb the road ahead. I had to be ready for any eventually. Road-signs. Bends. Cars. The back-side of a van flew up to me. No slowing down. Not today. Leant to the right and the van was gone.

The road was remarkebly free of traffic. How long could I maintain this? I can’t hear the trademark V-four drone, as the wind-noise is too excessive. But I don’t mind, the speed is thrilling enough. A long right-hander up ahead. Moved body-weight slightly. The VFR obliged. It is so light and delectable. Still no backing off. Yet I felt in serene, quiet control. Time has slowed down. I saw cars a kilometre ahead in front of me. I flew up to the back of them in seconds, but I had all the time in the world to look, see if it is safe to pass, and urge ahead. My progress was hardly halted. I just came off the throttle ever so slightly, to be ready to brake or swerve. But most of the cars saw me coming and polity made way. Sublime!

The bike felt stable but a bit vague. But feedback was hardly a concern since it is not a racetrack, and my focus was on avoiding other traffic, not shaving milli-seconds of my time.

Then it was time to back off. While my guardian angel was still awake. Braking firmly highlights the odd dual-braking system that a lot of riders hate. It is called CBS or Combined Braking System in Honda-speak. It applies both front and rear brakes no matter which is used seperately. In normal riding this is not very noticeable, but I worry about my habit of balancing and correcting my line into sharp corners, squeezing the rear brake. Under hard braking the front might lock up under load. And this bike does not have ABS. But I have never heard of VFRs spitting of riders, so maybe I am paranoid.

VFRs are sports-tourers, right? And they were always more sporty then toury. But I think I have discovered its naughty side. They can be anti-social hooligans. Who said they are for grey men in pipes and slippers only?

Honda has a corporate philosophy of building “ultimate control” for the rider into its bikes. In street-talk that means its bikes are always easy to ride, never mind how powerful and fast. Unfortunately this often leaves them feeling bland and characterless in comparison to the competition.

So I thought the Honda VFR800Fi would be like that. However, my biking experience is all about dispelling myths and preconceptions about bikes, as informed by the theory in magazines and pub-talk. My experience with a bike has often proved to be different from what I thought I’d learned through reading and listening. I now never conclude that I know something about a bike until I ride it. So the VFR had the benefit of the doubt in its favour.

Of course, I also thought I knew everything there is to know about the VFR. It has always been the benchmark for all-round perfection. A bike to cover long distances with, two-up in comfort with luggage, yet enjoying cutting through the twisty bits of the journey with a lot of fun. In spite of its comfort, it has the brakes and suspension for serious cornering work. Track days? No problem. Mountain passes? Bring it on. Commuting? Check. Touring? Of course.

Honda’s VFRs has a cult following. It is easy to see why. Never before has a bike asked to do such a range of things, and deliver so brilliantly. A jack of all trades is master of none, right? Not the VFR. It does all things brilliantly.

What I didn’t expect was how it would feel. What I love about some of the bikes from Honda’s competitors, is how involving the riding experience is that they provide. That is the point of biking. Otherwise get a car. And Honda does built good cars. Apparently.

Churning the V-four into live was a revelation. It felt light and eager to please. The idle has a muscular, baritone burble, yet it is not slow-revving with a heavy, sledge-hammer feel as I expected. The rev-needle sprang up at the lightest twist of the wrist. It is every bit as racy as an inline four. In the upper revs the deep, bass engine note has a shriek edge to it that is spine-chilling.

I was always a fan of Honda’s V-four. Mainly for that sound. It is hard to mistake it for any other bike on the road; a rumbling, hollow, haunting howl that is part booming Nascar V8, part screaming formula one.

But for it to feel so charismatic is unlike what I expected of Honda. Make no mistake though, it is still as sophisticated as anything to be expected of the marque, but with a lot more presence. Even with the original, quiet exhaust.

The bike is surprisingly light and small. Perhaps dissappointingly so, as I prefer a big and heavy mass to muscle around. It makes me feel safe. The bike is a bit tall, and I had to manouvre it on my toes. Clucth out and a bit of throttle. Gear-action is smooth and quiet. Drive take-up has no scary neck-snapping power surge.

The way the engine revs is very relaxed, without the highly-strung feel of a race-rep, yet it covers ground very fast. The engine has no weak spots and it never runs out of breath. There is a lot of bottom-end grunt, and the mid-range, where it counts, is a tidal wave of unflustered torque.

I settled in and warmed to the bike very quickly. Before long, it enveloped my being. We were one.

It was far from the remote, insulated experience I expected. The machine is gutteral in its mechanical workings; all the moving parts became an extension of myself. I could feel the gear-train turning right inside my crop, sense the pistons whisking up and down, and the oil warming my veins. I didn’t hear the engine; I experienced it.

The VFR reminded me why I love motorcycles. It reminded me why I love riding them.

But while the engine is the focal point of experiencing the bike, it does not dominate it. The VFR is very balanced, and the sum of its total in a real-world sense.

The bike is an engineering master-piece with an exotic sense to it, mainly because of its unique V-four engine with its gear-driven camshaft and valves. It is expensive to service, and would be even more costly if something breaks. But nothing breaks on a VFR; it is part of the bike’s appeal, and reliability is something Honda is rather good at in general.

Known areas of weakness are brake disks that warp or crack, while calipers corrode. The condition of the exhaust down-pipes and collector box is important, as they are also expensive to replace. The type of rider a bike like the VFR attract also means there is less of a chance that the bike is abused and neglected. Or even ridden hard. A VFR rider is not concerned with wheelies, burnouts, track-times, and fast accellartion. They are also less concerned with modifying their bikes; aftermarket exhausts to free that deep V-four bass drone are about as much as most owners will bother.

The earlier, 1998 examples retails for an average of R50 000, increasing to R65 000 for the last, 2002 model. Mileage and condition is less of a concern, as is actually finding one for sale. Owners hold on to them, which says everything there is to know about the bike! They hardly turn up at dealers, so best search-and-find mission will be in newspaper classifieds.

The 21litre tank’s range is 180 miles, but can stretch a journey to 200 miles with the revs kept below 8000rpm. Pillion are quite impressed with the comfy seat and low foot-pegs, while wind-blast is never a problem. Pillion comfort is aided by a removable grab-rail. Two-up also has no noticeable drop in acceleration or performance, while handling remains confidence inspiring. Long journeys does not cause excessive fatigue.

While the NR-inspired (Honda’s expensive, oval-piston exotic) styling of the last VFR750 was postively attractive, the looks of the 800 was inoffensive when new. Some would even call it bland. Today it hardly looks dated, helped by the single-tone paint schemes (apart from a red-and-silver tone that was produced). Most VFR’s are a deep, classy red, although they do come in other colours. The single-sided swing-arm is another VFR trademark, and adds to the sense of exotica, although its effect is obscured by the big exhaust silencer.

The mystique of the VFR is enhanced by the long racing heritage of Honda’s V-fours in endurance, superbike and GP racing. The RC30 is perhaps surpassed only by Ducati’s 916 lineage in myth, legend and desirability. Then there are the troublesome 80’s when Honda nearly took the troublsome V-four VF750F models of the market because of the many warrenty claims. The engines were destroying their camshafts due to an engineering problem. The subsequent VFR750 featured cams driven by a complicated gear-sytem instaed of chains, to win customers back. Legend has it that the system was so expensive to ensure reliabilty, Honda made a loss on every VFR750 sold initially.

The true brilliance of the VFR is that it does what the rider wants, instead of the rider having to adopt to the nature of the bike. And while the chassis has a conservative geometry, it has an agility to it that belies the bike’s user-friendliness; the bike is no soft, sleepy labrador. If its sounds like a bike of contradictions, it is not. These seemingly different qualities merge into a blended, whole machine.

In a biking world where the craze for power and speed is never-ending, the VFR800 is an island of sense and serenity. Yet, as I have proven, it can get mad when you feel like it. A sharp race-rep never lets you take it easy. It is an insult to the design and purpose of such a bike. It demands commited riding all the time. Not so with the VFR. It truly straddles both spheres with consummate ease, and since its birth in 1986 as the over-engineered VFR750, was the only bike worth consider for this role.

It became the 800 in 1998, sporting fuel-injection and trick-looking side-mounted radiators. The engine produced a 110bhp, a full 12bhp more than the 750. Suspension was sportier and it had a shorter wheelbase with the swing-arm is mounted directly to the back of the engine’s crankcasing to keep weight down. The 90 degree V-four itself is derived from the RC45 (successor to the RC30) world superbike racer. If the 750 was ever a bit bland, it could no longer be claimed of the 800. The new engine meant faster and higher revs, and along with the capacity increase, a wider spread in power and torque.

The VFR800 VTEC, launched in 2002, has lost some ground to its competitors. Styling was no longer safe and pleasing to everyone, while Honda returned to chain-driven valves - something VFR enthusiasts bemoan. But the biggest devision of opinion is the VTEC system that uses hydraulics to shut of half of the 16 valves under 7 000rpm. This allows it the higher torque, refinement and silent running of a two-valve per cylinder engine at lower revs, and the power of a 16 valve hiher up. But the system can be hesitant at low revs, while the pronounced and abrupt kick at 7000rpm makes power delivery less seamless. Depending on the rider, this can be exciting however. The engine also needs to be warmed up before the system works properly.

Fans desperatly awaits a non-VTEC 1000cc VFR!

The Katana File

I wrote this piece maybe 2 years ago. I called my Katana the Pink Panther because of the weird colourscheme its previous owner gave it. It eventually got stolen (maybe it was a blessing). Glad to say I ended up with a reliable VFR.

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My current ride is a 1982 Katana 750, a bike that I always lusted after for its styling. The Katana is a thrilling ride, and I can see why it still so sought after; it is a very commited bike that is difficult to ride slow, but I had the familiar experience of it spending more time with my mechanic than with me. I had dreams of restoring it to original condition when I bought it, but it was so troublesome.

But that was the case with my last few bikes, the Katana 550 and ZX-6R. The 550 snapped its cam-chain (also after a rebuilt...), and my beloved ZX (once a Greg Dryer race-bike) ran a bearing in the crank. I love bikes but I am beginning to wonder if they love me! They tell me; you can't break a Kawasaki motor and doef! I break it. They tell me you can't break a Suzuki motor and wham! I break it.

So what next? I hear you can't break Honda motors... I am looking for a NC24 (although there is a distractingly clean Katana 750 for sale at the moment!), and hope to eventually end up with a Honda or BMW (VFR750 or R1100S), as the peace of mind that comes with the quality and engineering of these makes - not to mention the BMW's after-sales back-up - is beginning to seduce me. Honda's and BMW are boring I know (the early Fireblade apart), so am I getting old? Maybe. All I know is that the reliability problems I seem to be dogged with, with the other manufacturers, make their comparative excitement less of an advantage as time goes on. It has become more important to know the bike will start on a cold morning and not get tired on a deserted highway in the middle of the night. Long-distance comfort with a pillion is a bigger consideration as well, but I am not quite ready for tourers or cruisers yet.

More about the Katana; I was initially going to buy a clean, wine-red GS550 for R7000,00 from Cedric’s Two-wheel Mecca showroom that he got from the dry, rust-free up-country. I actually dreamt about the bike, and even felt I am meant to buy it. Everything about the bike made sense to me. I am bankrupt so a cheap-to-buy-and-maintain bike like the GS made sense to me; it felt like a sensible buy. Until I rode it.

It was lifeless to the extreme. Starved of a bike as I was, I could not help coming away deeply unimpressed with it. Steering and brake has no feel, let alone excitement. The engine had no mentionable power, and the quiet exhaust suited the boredom express nature of the bike. But I was going to be sensible, so I stuck with my decision to buy it. Until I opened the local classifieds.

And I saw a rebuilt Katana 550. For a thousand bucks less. Same engine, different animal. I backed out of the deal with the GS, and took hold of the Katana. It was painted a lovely metallic light-purple with a metallic black frame, and I instantly liked it. The K&N filters and free-flow Cowly exhaust did the trick.

But the 550 (and its 650 look-alike) does not constitute the “real” Katana look of the bigger (750, 1000 and 1100cc) bikes, leaving one feeling a bit “less then” or even like a Katana wannabe. I mean, when you say “Katana”, it is not the shape of the 550 and 650 that springs to mind. Nevertheless they are still uniquely styled, if proportionally a bit bloated. Certainly not as sleek as the bigger bikes.

I had to go to Ceres to collect the Katana, and had one fantastic ride back home, two up (with Eddie, who took me to Ceres on his XT500, which we had leave behind because of a flat tire…), through De Toit’s Kloof, in the middle of the night, on my way home.

On that ride home, the battery stopped charging. A new rectifier was already on the cards. And for a rebuilt bike, the engine made some strange noises. I should have heeded the warning about the slack (and noisy) cam-chain. However, I did not worry, because the bike was just rebuilt, and besides, Suzuki makes bulletproof engines, right? Especially the GS models. But old Suzuki’s are notorious for their weak electrics, and I could not help wondering what is the point of a bullet-proof engine if the electrics threaten to leave you in the middle of the desert anytime.

Discouraged by the dead battery, I did not ride the bike very often, as it is quite a heavy piece of metal to running-start on your own. In fact, I had ridden it less than a handful of times by the time the cam-chain finally snapped. Luckily, I was just pulling away out of the parking bay, so damage was limited; valves and pistons were pretty much intact.

I took it to Cedric’s shop, and while scraping money together for the inevitable top-end rebuilt, another opportunity befell me.

Since the end of 2003 I have noticed what I considered to be the ugliest Katana tucked away in a corner of Cedric’s shop. It is a 1982 750 version, and has a horrific “jelly-and-custard” paint scheme, and just the rolling chassis without an engine. I’ve seen people do the most terrible things in attempts to personlise their Katanas, but this was surely one of the worst-looking efforts.

By the time I got back from Germany, I noticed the “jelly-and-custard” Katana on Cedric’s show-room floor for R15 000,00. Asking him about it, I learned that the owner could not pay for the engine rebuilt. He initially brought the bike in with a noisy crankshaft, and when it was time to pay the bill (of R15 000,00) he could only cough up a third of the money. The owner then decided to part with his bike, telling Cedric he could keep the bike for resale. Well, Cedric offered it to me for R10 000, basically making up the cost of the rebuilt. He offered me R2000,00 for my stripped Katana 550 as deposit, so I paid him R8000,00. So in the matter of a 3 minute conversation I ended with a Katana 750! Being a rebuilt, I felt at ease in spite of my experience with the rebuilt 550 Katana. The job-card in his workshop shows everything from cams and valves to the crank was reconditioned to new specification. But more importantly, the rectifier and stator was rebuilt too (or so it was claimed).

The month that I have been riding the Katana 750 has been absolutely amazing! It is not a particularly fast bike, but it provides a sensory experience of note every time I ride it. And the peace of mind that comes with knowing it will start every time I push the button, it worth bags of gold. After all, the bike is 20 years old.

And I seem to be the only one not liking the loud, gory colour-sceme. Complimentary comments range from “individualistic” to “unique”. I am not convinced though.

I would have taken it of the road for a few weeks for a chassis and cosmetic restoration, but fate had other plans for me and my Katana. More about that later. I wanted the frame and wheel-rims powder-coated, and the engine casing sand-blasted. Maybe I can still do it later... I am looking for an under-stated, if non-descript look. The colour will go back to the original Katana metallic silver. The idea is to have a clean, close to standard bike. Katanas, with their radical and unique styling, are so rare these days, there is no need to customise it if the idea is to stand out from the crowd.

Besides, I have always admired old, clean and well-looked after bikes. Concessions to “individualisation” will include red footpegs, red bar-ends, grips and smaller indicator lights. I am going for red Marzocinni gas-shocks for improved ride and handling, with braided hoses to improve the 20 year old, single-piston brakes. I might go for more modern, lighter wheels. These modifications are more practical improvements rather than customizations. The red touches will complement the red decals, which breaks the monotonous silver nicely. To expand the theme, perhaps I will outline the wheel-rims with a thin red line as well, or if I keep the original wheels, paint the spokes red. So in the highly unlikely event of ending up in a parking bay full of Katanas, I will still be able to find mine.

As if to indicate that the honey-moon is over, the first sign of mechanical trouble is appearing; a sticky butterfly throttle-valve that robs me of revs and clean combustion, resulting in an underpowered bike; and yes you guessed it – electrics in the form of a battery draining of its charge. So starting became a hit-and-miss affair again, with consequent running starts. Gone is my peace of mind.

Apart from all the electrical gremlins (stator, coils, solenoid, rectifier - parts that were replaced according to the jobsheet!) it has been diagnosed with a scraped barrel for the number 1 cylinder, because a (brand-new) piston-ring came loose. And this after running it in for a 1000km! So of course, it needed yet another set of pistons and rings.

With that taken care of, I had to abort a holiday ride to Oudtshoorn when the bike cut out with a sudden, shrieking noise, fortunately just outside Cape Town. Turns out the top-end ran dry of oil. Why? Because the oil-feeds to the top got blocked. Why? Because there maybe there was dirt in the oil, silly. Why? Because, maybe, just maybe, they didn't change the oil when they replaced the pistons, rings and barrels. It is conceivable, since I noticed that the engine was not not out of the frame when they did the job; they just took the topend of. Or could it be that the copious amount of silicon (used to make the old, re-used bottom-end gasket stick), got into the oil-feeds?

This is particularly dissappointing, as I bought the bike because it had a R15 000 engine rebuilt, therefor presuming it would be a safe purchase. It boggles my mind how a bike can give so much trouble after a rebuilt, and it must surely be a reflection on the competency of the workshop I got it from. I cant' help to feel that the bike it basically reliable, it is just the workshop that cuts corners, and the bike suffers as a result. Needless to say, I am no longer doing business with the bikeshop in question, and I am actively discouraging evey biker that I know to do so.
But the real tragedy is that this is a rather standard experience with most workshops in town, and my blacklist of bikeshops to avoid grows.

My Katana is with another place that has a good reputation, but they are very expensive. Expensive because, apparantly, they do not cut corners...

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