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Winter 1989 - more bloody hassle. It's still burning oil and the damage coming back from Birmingham has resulted in a new knock from the engine above 3000rpm. Believe me, 40mph on the M5 for 50 miles is no laughing matter. Off with the head! Again.
Since the Z's return to the road last June, following extensive refurbishment it's never really run well. Running on three cylinders to Bournemouth did it no good and falling off in the South of France fairly well knackered my fairing but I was well lucky with just that, it could so easily have been a write off and fatality. Bloody French bends. The worst part of that holiday was not my prang but the fact that I doubled my fuel bill by paying as much for oil as I did for petrol at each fuel stop! Your two stroke's smoking a bit, was a common refrain. Oh yes, very funny, my sides are like crankcases.
Deglazing my bores, eight new valve guide seals and one new valve and its second new camchain have not had the desired effect, but at least the beast still looks good even if it runs like a tub of erection jelly.
December '88 - following an absolutely hassle free year and some outstanding blasts to Cornwall, the Black Country, Blackpool, Oxford, London, seven days around North Wales, Birmingham and a superb 2000 mile tour around Europe for a fortnight, and even a Long Marston drag run to crack the 14 second standing quarter with a bog standard and well worn engine (failing by the way), it was time to turn my dreams into reality.
The handling was always quite good, but I bunged on a Davida shallow braced swinging arm and GPz shocks. The headlamp had always been dangerous so a twin headlamp fairing was shoved on up front. Rearsets, K & Ns, drops, Avons, bellypan, sporty mudguard, trick tailpiece and a neat paint job, all helped part me from 450 notes.
April '87 - You arsehole, you pulled out straight in front of me! Some breakers provided Z1000 forks, bottom yoke and front guard. Back on the road just in time for a blast around the TT, dented tank probably helping rather than hindering my cred.
Having actually got a proper job meant a new Guiliari seat, chrome chainguard and fork brace as well as all the crappy running bits like chains, tyres, brake pads and filter. But I finally overtook my friend's mileage on his CX by hitting the 55000 mile mark. The Z still pulled smoothly and was a joy around long sweeping bends. High speed cruising could catch up on you but the pleasure of riding the bike far outweighed any discomfort.
October '86 - the camchain adjuster went whilst I was running the bike in after a holed piston, which I was sure had nothing to do with the new Laser 4-1. This hassle followed a month of trouble free riding with a new crank, mains and big-ends in July, which was the end result of a marvellous holiday in Scotland. The Glencoe Road is a must for every biker. Unfortunately, I let the oil drop a little bit low which meant goodbye £150.
It is not easy running a midrange sports bike when you're a student but I managed it, just, for four years. Sure, I had to work in the holidays and at weekends.
July '85 - right, the Z's just been serviced and tested. We'll get to Newhaven for the midnight ferry. Never a dull moment with my Z, hit Winchester and the lights blow. No worries, I'll just have to keep my thumb on the pass light switch. We make the ferry with 20 minutes to spare and then do 4000 miles around Europe for a month with only a puncture in Luxembourg. I'd clocked up 11000 miles in the previous twelve months, living 50 miles up the M5 in Birmingham - the only major hassle I had was electrics and a used regulator solved that.
The only maintenance the Z saw was filling up with petrol and the chain tensioned once in a while. Yet it served me very well, cruising at a stable 95mph, cornered to the point of having well chamfered footrests and centrestand. The brakes were superb when I bought the bike but are now somewhat spongy. I should replace the hoses.
There are a long list of things I should replace - the discs, the cylinder head, probably the gearbox soon, as well as the tyres, pads, chain, etc. But I have had it so long that I don't really want to sell it now.
February '84 - an 85mph seizure on a dual carriageway didn't do much for my Y-fronts. The kickstart shaft had welded itself to the shaft inside the box, which meant the kickstart whizzed around and jammed against the footrest - a fairly unique way of stopping an engine. Whilst I repaired this I also threw in a new camchain and primary chain with 35000 miles on the clock.
Summer '83 - probably the happiest year of biking I've had. I'd now got to know the bike and its limits and made the most of it......almost every Sunday, a lunch time session with the lads, pick up the lady, a good blast to the races, river, town, etc, a cup of tea, a different blast back to a pub and finally home to finish the weekend off with some bloody homework. Happy Days.
The winter had taken its toll on the Z with oxidation to the forks and side casings and the original silencers had both rotted through making it sound more like a car. £120 for a pair of standard silencers was not amusing but at least there were no more problems for a while.
I did my first tyre change on the back wheel and left out a spacer. I wondered why the chain kept falling off.....a summer touring ended with a frightening insurance quote until a friendly broker came up with the goods. Last holiday of the summer was Cornwall. A 95mph rear tyre blowout on the M5, fortunately next to an exit. We ripped the rear wheel out, hitched into town, found a friendly bike shop who let us have an old Roadrunner and use of some tyre levers. Back on the road, the throttle cable snapped - we were lucky, a van came along and gave us a lift into town with the bike in the back.
August '82 - It's off to watch my first British GP at Silverstone on my new bike, 18000 miles on the clock, good condition, £700. I'd always liked the look of ‘em standard and they'd always been in the running since I was about 13. After a KE175 this was a monster leap but it soon became chuckable and a good pose for a full time student.
I soon learnt to do the points - not by choice - and in the following seven years knew almost every part of the bike which probably makes me the most boring fart in the pub. When I first bought the bike, the whole of my first week's wages went on road tax, the second's on a helmet, by the third I could actually fill the tank up. From then on I've always been skint. I am keeping the Z - it's mileage and mods are not much help in selling it - besides that, I bloody love the old nail.
A Kawasaki Z650C3 can and has been run on a shoestring budget a lot of time, but I'm satisfied that I've had my money's worth out of it, simply from the holiday pleasures it's given me, if nothing else. But there is something rather special about it and I know that for as long as I keep it life will never be dull. A pain in the butt sometimes, a sheer delight at others, but never dull.
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In 1987 I bought my first Z650B1 for £500. It was lust at first sight, bringing back memories of the first time I'd seen the 650 back in 1978. The bloke who was selling it had a Golf GTi parked out front and the Z tucked away at the back of the garage - you can make your own minds up about that one. When it was introduced the 650 represented a much more friendly machine than the blood and guts of its inspiration, the 1973 900 Z1, but by modern standards lacks both power and agility.
It felt nippy compared to my previous machine, a GS750, but I soon found it would not cruise too happily at 30mph, blatting and chugging away, down to bigger jets to suit the K & N filter and Piper 4-1. I overcame the midrange rough running by riding flat out everywhere. The basic premise was that as long as you were accelerating it ran cleanly and went like a rocket, but at the prospect of meeting an early grave I decided to sort it out.
Smaller jets were fitted, which helped but did not entirely cure the problem. I could have reverted back to standard filters and exhaust, but the bike would happily blow off GPz550s and the induction roar was just orgasmic.
Z650B1s do not like heavy rain, they spit and cough and sometimes only run on two cylinders at low revs, due to the really brilliant idea of putting the coils directly in the path of all the water. The K & Ns also sucked damp air straight in. Covering the coils and half the bike in silicone sealant gave a reasonable improvement, only junking the non standard filters would've cured it completely.
Other problems included the dinner plate size disc which squeals and squeaks (due to glazed pads, that should have but weren't replaced every other month), and the handling which, although generally good, did a passable impression of a Z1 on a number of occasions, including a lock to lock tank slapper at 100mph in a straight line. The front wheel appeared to be well balanced so I replaced the headraces but there was little noticeable improvement.
I had not had the bike very long when the inevitable blind merchant hit me head on. The bike suffered mildly bent forks, blown fork seals and a few scrapes. I was not hurt, the Cavalier looked like it had hit a train and had a lovely vee shaped dent in the front. His insurance company bunged me £350 after deciding that the Z was a write off but let me keep the machine gratis. I spent a fiver on having the forks rolled and straightened and replaced the seals and headrace bearings (again) for about £30. With my new found fortune I replaced the tyres with a set of Michelins - good in the dry but slippery in the wet. The front lasts for 13000 miles, the rear 6000 miles.
I blasted around my seaside home town of New Brighton for the following year and the bike ran very well but I sold it to buy a bigger bike (for £650). My intention was to buy a friend's Z1R but on hearing his bike's engine noise which drowned out the straight through Laser 4-1, I decided to look elsewhere.
After weeks of fruitless searching I bought another Z650! A Z650B3 with twin discs and lots of chrome for £800. I bought new Marzocchi shocks, cables and bearings to put it into good shape. It went pretty well although it never seemed as nippy as the first one. Z650s need regular oil changes, every 1500 to 2000 miles, and oil filter change every other time. These are inherently strong motors but it's worth remembering that they have a shell bearing crank, forged in one piece to save money and the cams run directly in the head.
The original Z1 engine had a roller bearing crankshaft and is tougher, although, that said, many a Z650 has gone around the clock, but not if you don't change the oil About a year after I bought the second bike, I was cruising along the motorway at about 90mph when the bike suddenly lost power. I thought I had run out of petrol but as the wind noise died and I slowed down, I heard a terrible graunching noise coming from the engine and I saw that there was oil running down the head and barrels. I had holed a piston and it was not obvious what had caused the problem as everything else seemed okay. I hadn't changed the oil for ages so it might have been down to overheating. I decided to throw a used engine in, from a crashed B1 which I bought for £300.
The next great caper occurred was when I lost the keys to the bike and the shackle lock miles from civilization, on holiday with the girlfriend in Wales. Eventually, a mechanic was found with a set of bolt cutters (like a knife through butter, a very depressing sight) who also hotwired the bike for me before disappearing. Despite the ignition lights being on it refused, in what had turned to driving rain, to run - he had only connected the lights and not the ignition; I only found this out after spending an hour trying to bump start the machine. I could barely contain my pleasure when the bike finally burst into life. I bet the remains of the lock are still there today - as we very nearly were.
That was two years ago this summer. I still have the green Z650B3 (although it now has an B1 engine). It handles better than the earlier bike without the terrible speed wobbles and apart from new piston rings and reconditioned valves, it has been a relatively reliable bike which I use daily.
The main problem areas on old bikes are the coils, noisy and grabby brakes, candle powered standard headlamp on the very early models and the inevitable shagged electrics and bearings common to most standard and unrestored seventies bikes. All these problems can be rectified and should be set against the Z650's good points.
Despite weighing in at 480lbs it is reasonably agile. With its claimed 64hp new it should just scrape 120mph if it is a B1 in good nick and about 115mph for the later models. The midrange torque is reasonable and the fuel economy acceptable at about 35-40mpg round town (depending on your riding style) and 50mpg plus possible on longer runs.
The front brake pads seem to last well but this could be a reflection of my own tendency towards engine braking rather than a true picture of wear. Rear braking relies on a drum which is only adequate but more use than a rear disc in the wet (as fitted to the C and SR models).
The early bikes are beginning to be widely acknowledged as classics, which depending on your point of view is either good or bad news. Nevertheless, it means that an immaculate Standard B1-2, C2-3 could cost £1600 plus with an average price of around £800-1000 for most models in good nick. It depends what you look for in a bike but if you want a crowd puller it will certainly do the job. At some events I went to last summer it got quite a lot of attention (I wondered where the bastard sidepanels have gone?).
In conclusion I would say the Z650 is a good all round bike. Nippy around town, competent at touring and motorway work, although it's happiest on a fast A road with one or two bends in it. For some time now, though, I have lusted after a Z900/1000 and I will probably sell the 650 in the spring. I will miss it, though, because on a hot summer's afternoon, give me a Z650 and my open face lid - and there's few other ways I'd rather spend my time.
Nigel Whiteley
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A year or so back I concluded an article on my 80,000 mile Z650 by saying that overall I was well impressed and would certainly buy another were the opportunity to present itself...and there it was in the local rag, '79, Z650, £550ono. It turned out to be an early Z650 Custom in not very good nick, one of those with cast wheels and discs all round. It had a brush painted tank, a bald rear tyre, bent bars, welded up crankcases, lots of scratches and the general air of a machine that needed a little care and attention.
The test ride clinched the deal. The motor revved like crazy, helped by electronic ignition and gutted Motad. Also, new, non-standard sprockets had been fitted that had lowered the gearing making the acceleration especially rapid. I was only really worried by the lack of braking. The single disc on my Z650 had been bad enough, but the twin discs out front worked alright to start with and then the lever just came all the way back to the bars. I hoped Goodridge hoses would cure the problem.
But I decided I wanted the bike. The next day in the garage, I found lots of small faults that I was able to fix without recourse to further depletion of the bank balance. Cleaning the calipers could have been fun had not they been merely gummed up with old grease. The calipers worked fine but the brakes didn't. Even fitment of braided steel brake hose failed to cure the sponginess. After bleeding the brakes - with about four gallons of DOT 4 fluid - effected no cure, suspicion was focused on the viability of the master cylinder, perhaps only meant for a single disc.
As the bike was meant as a winter hack, the concept of spending loadsa dosh on an alternative cylinder was quickly dismissed. A little later the bike was subjected to a proper test ride. The footrests could be scraped and, thanks to the modified gearing, it'd do 110mph at 10,500rpm in top gear. I was a happy man until I saw that the sidepanel had fallen off, something that never happened on my previous bike. These are very hard to buy secondhand, so the one acquired was locked in position with wire.
An MOT later, I was on the road, although the tester had commented on the front brake lever - the brakes did work and, in fact, they got better with use as everything bedded in. My hack Jawa failing spectacularly, the bike was thrown straight into life as a daily commuter. Luckily, the bike has stayed together, which given the Z650's reputation, and my previous experience, should not have been a great surprise.
I bunged an Avon Roadrunner on the back to match the front tyre. This was a great combination in the dry, when I could enjoy the tyres tendency to fall rapidly away from the vertical. In the wet they always made the bike feel like it was about to fall over and I never felt confident that the Z wasn't going to throw me on the ground. Overall, I think I prefer Metzelers which feel much happier in the wet. The bike handles more or less as Mr Kawasaki intended, which means it's one of the better bikes of its era.
So far I'm averaging about 40mpg, pretty much what I got out of the old one. Oil consumption has been nil and I get the impression that the bike, somewhere along the line, has been well looked after. Even the camchain is supposed to be new, the rattle and clonk free motor suggests that it might well be. I hope that it will be good for at least another 20,000 miles. The electrics are the usual Kawasaki issue - stone reliable.
All of this begs the question, am I happy with my new toy? The answer must be yes. Bear in mind that I bought a 10 year old motorcycle and unless you're very lucky any ten year old bike will give hassle, especially a Japanese one. The problems that I encountered are no more and no less than to be expected. Admittedly, you can shorten the odds in your favour but sometimes practical considerations go straight out of the window.
Gerald Moody
When I heard that a friend was selling his Saturday afternoon toy, a lovingly cared for '78 Kawasaki Z650B1, I went, I saw, I rode and I bought. I'd known two of the four owners, and knew that the most recent, an engineer, had rebuilt the motor and the cosmetics during a year's ban after the Z was recovered from a bike thief. It was in excellent nick.
It had air forks, Yoshi swinging arm and steering damper, powder coated frame, respray, nearly new Metzelers, new Marzocchis and allen screws everywhere. All I had to do was ride it and enjoy the raucous racket of a hacked off Piper 4-1.
During the next two months I put 1500 miles on the clock. The bike felt heavy compared to Honda CB400's I'd owned but nowhere near as cumbersome as a CB750F1. It was comfortable to ride for long distances, although I'd have preferred flatter bars and less revvy gearing. Then the troubles started. I'd noticed that the bike was sometimes reluctant to start and then it refused to run cleanly until 6-7000rpm.
This made the bike a pain in traffic and had a powerband that made a H1 Kwacker feel like a big single. The Z would limp along on two cylinders until suddenly the power rushed in - not recommended in the wet. The problem was crud in the carbs. Removal of the carbs required use of a hacksaw and I had to repeat the process a 100 miles later because I didn't bother to clean out the petrol tank - there was sand, grass and grit in there! Next, the battery seemed reluctant to charge. I examined all the visible wiring and could find nothing wrong.
Then one day I became aware of a funny burning smell - I whipped the battery out double quick, but smoke continued to rise. There was a short in the wire going to the rectifier and by the time I'd got to it, there was a melted blob of black box left. The Kawasaki dealer quoted over £50 for a new 'un so I ended up making my own from some diodes and a huge heatsink.
Due to a combination of a heavy duty chain and box swinging arm, the chainguard started rattling in a most annoying manner, so that is languishing in the garage until I get around to making up some spacers. The clutch cable was replaced at the same time, as it was frayed. I've never known a bike where you have to remove the footrest, gear lever and sprocket cover just to replace the clutch cable - until now!
I've now done 5000 mile on the Z650, and despite the niggling faults I've had, I must confess it's my favourite bike out of the 13 I've owned since taking to two wheels. Being my 13th bike might account for a lot...It looks neat, handles reasonably with all the extra kit fitted, requires little maintenance other than regular oil changes. There's a nasty rattle from the front left-hand side of the engine, but they all seem to do that.
Like all bikes, they have their faults. The braking on early single disc models isn't very good, but it's an easy matter to convert to twin discs with parts from a breaker. The headlight desperately needs a Cibie conversion and the horn's a sick joke. Early bikes also suffered from quick wear swinging arm bushes, modified on later bikes with needle rollers. Rumour has it that earlier camchains last longer than older models and electric starts sometimes give trouble.
A nice enough middleweight, that may well follow the Z1 into classic status. My advice, then, buy one while they're still reasonably priced.
Bruce Enzer
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There are few bikes that are so frightful that they make me roll off the road, rip my helmet off and throw up my lunch. My Kawasaki SR650 was one such. So, it was 60,000 miles old, on shot suspension, worn tyres and dodgy bearings but even that didn't seem to excuse the bike. I'd only had the SR for a week, been trying to get used to its high bars, on-off engine power delivery and immoderate handling.
An ugly bike when new, years of neglect had done nothing for its appearance. A rusty 4-1 screamed out noise, the back disc was gummed up solid and the engine wouldn't run below 5000rpm. If you were wondering why I bought the rat, the answer's simple - it only cost £200.
I should've stripped it right down but I wanted some highway kicks. The power seemed heart burning when it flowed in from 7000 revs on, maxing out at 11k. Just about every part of the chassis blurred with the vibes when such revs were reached. That wasn't my main concern, though. I was trying to work out if the front forks shuddering or the back wheel weaving was the most cause for fear.
I forgot all that when the bars tried to tear themselves out of my hands and the back wheel felt like it was breaking up. Reaching for the front brake, my vision seemed to be going, everything going dark away from a focal point that seemed to be narrowing down into a case of terminal tunnel vision.
The front end felt like it was falling apart as the twin discs hit home. My shoulders were viciously wrenched as I held on to the brake and the bars. Coming down from 95mph to 60mph things relaxed a little, just back to the weaves. I shook my head trying to clear my vision, feeling fear settle in the pit of my stomach and the need to let loose at both ends.
I rode home very slowly, about a stone lighter in weight. At that stage, despite the heavy dose of fear, I was willing to give the SR the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was in such a poor state that it would neither pass an MOT nor a police check. Coming up to a junction the engine cut out. Much whirring of the starter but no working engine, the battery dying away. Half an hour on the kickstart did not improve matters.
A rather sullen looking youth in a police uniform took that moment to appear out of thin air. He reckoned I'd better move on fast as I was holding up the traffic. I looked down the deserted road, decided the guy was obviously on some narcotic and I'd better get out of there fast before he turned nasty. Fast, as in pushing the 500lb lump of shit the half mile to my house.
Later that week, I had torn the wheels, forks and swinging arm off. Hammering out the swinging arm spindle was only made possible by application of a sledgehammer borrowed from the builder next door. I made damn sure my fingers were out of the way. I chiselled out the old bearings and hammered in some new ones, mostly sourced from a bearing factor. Stiffened forks, less knackered shocks and a flat set of handlebars were bolted on. That just left a set of Avon tyres and cleaning up all three calipers, which in turn revealed the need for replacement pads all round (slightly used from the breakers, though they needed a bit of filing to fit).
I put it all back together, found it impossible to line up the wheels but at least all the looseness had been removed. The engine ran poorly at low revs because some urchin had thrown away the airfilter and the silencer bore more a resemblance to a drainpipe that a means of absorbing noise. A two yard long MZ silencer seemed totally inappropriate but was propped up in the corner of the garage, hence free and therefore impossible to resist. Its end needed cutting back to fit on the downpipe collector but secured with a couple of jubilee clips it seemed up to the job.
No, it didn't sound like a bloody MZ, but the muted howl was music to my ears and the foot of silencer that projected beyond the bike would surely discourage tail-gating cagers! It ticked over reliably, ran to 5000 revs, then stuttered a bit until 7000 when it took off until dying a death at 9500 revs. Even in first down a hill the engine wouldn't rev beyond that point.
I wasn't too worried as the handling was still poor and I had absolutely no inclination to go beyond 90mph. Apart from anything else, a hard thrash would stall the motor once back down to town speeds. Refusing to start again until the bike had a chance to cool down. This seemed a classic case of ignition coils breaking down but when I went to the trouble of replacing them with some car units the problem persisted. My ever friendly breaker reckoned I should use Kawasaki originals, a set of which he just happened to have to hand. That did the trick but within 2000 miles the same thing happened again and this time there were none available secondhand and I had to pay Kawasaki prices for a new set.
The Kawasaki had proved an expensive bike to run, even though it was so unsafe that I very rarely rode it above 75mph. Even then the back wheel weaved and wobbled, and every time I went into a corner I had the feeling that it was going to be my last moment on earth. It felt like the fat rear tyre was squirming all over the tarmac and the narrow front tyre had the same kind of contact patch as the rubber on a bicycle. It sort of wobbled around in the general direction I wanted to go, but really preferred me to lean off the side, keeping the Kawa as upright as possible. I think it was both too heavy for the double cradle tubular frame and the fork geometry was too steep.
Because the handling was so poor, I tore through secondhand brake pads in about 1500 miles, even though the back brake only had marginal power. Tyres wore at an incredible rate, too, something I couldn't understand as the power output was derisory most of the time but a set of new tyres in 3500 miles had me scratching my head in total gobsmacked wonder.
I thought it might be because the wheels were out of line. My expert mechanic friend tried to line them up, after an hour giving up. The different tyre sections didn't help any. He reckoned that the frame was bent, but there were no signs of that under the tank. In fact, the frame was the one item that was free of corrosion, so it could have had a respray after being straightened. It's unfair to complain about the handling when there was something dodgy about the chassis, but it was how the bike came to me and I had to suffer the consequences.
The MZ silencer, similarly, might've had an effect on the fuel, which at 30 to 35mpg was almost as bad as a fearsome old stroker with none of the wild power kicks. In a flush of enthusiasm I fitted a Z650 silencer, the engines being almost identical apart from some internal gearing differences. The SR actually came new with a snazzy set of crossover 4-2's but they had long since rusted off. The Z650 silencer made it run cleaner and let the engine breathe up to 10,000rpm...... fuel was still stuck at 35mpg. The lack of an airfilter should've made it leaner runner and more economical but it sure didn't work out that way in reality.
Another bit of reality was the level of discomfort, mainly caused by a seat that was more base than foam. Even half an hour in town was enough to have me screaming in pain. I could've done something about the saddle, I suppose, but I was so uninspired by the SR that I didn't really want to blow any money or effort on it.
By 66000 miles, the engine had become so rattly that I didn't trust it for any great distances, so the lack of comfort was no great loss. I had trouble staying with a mate on a GS500E who could lean over so far that I had no hope of overtaking him. If I'd tried such angles of lean on the Kawasaki it'd thrown me off in retribution. Given that I'd neither done any engine maintenance nor even changed the oil (it consumed it so fast that it didn't seem to be worth the effort) I guess it was quite good going to do 6000 miles without blowing up.
The end came when I was distracted with another wrestling match with the bars. Even at moderate speeds the chassis could be caught out by large bumps or ruts in the road, especially if they ran at an angle to the road. It's surprising how quickly I'd become used to fighting the chassis, which this time involved jamming the front brake on whilst sitting as relaxed as possible as speed disappeared and the wobbles calmed down.
The engine decided to take that moment, just as the bike was starting to go stable again and there was only 40mph on the clock, to seize up solid. A locked up back wheel threw the bike into another frenzy which seemed to get more intense when I finally grabbed the clutch. At least it helped knock off more speed, we finally went off the road at about 20mph. I stepped rather than fell of the bike, went into another vomit session.
The chassis wasn't really damaged and for some strange reason I pushed it home. I had no interest in rebuilding the motor or even finding out what had caused it to seize. Fitting another motor in the dubious chassis was a waste of time. I sold it off for spares for £200!
Ben Mitchel
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Around Manchester there are a lot of kamikaze pilots. I was often tempted to join in with their antics, my mildly modded Kawasaki Z650 being versatile enough to impress the wheelie brigade or merge in with the touring Henrys. One particular incident stays in the mind. I was coming home from the night shift, blitzing down the motorway at a fairly stable 95mph, when, with a terrifying racket, half a dozen bikers blew past. They crossed each other up in a frenzy of aerobatics. On a lighter bike I would've been thrown off the road by their airstream, but on the Z650 I rolled on the throttle, intrigued to see what kind of carnage would entail.
120mph....125mph....130mph, the chassis started wobbling and the motor put out a frenzy of vibration. I wasn't sure if the clocks were going to leap out of their brackets or my eyeballs were going to pop out of their sockets. I backed off, let the mad buggers howl off into the distance at what seemed like 150mph.
I shouldn't have been pushing the engine quite so hard. It was on its second rebore, although the crank, cams and gearbox were all original. Mileage was a creditable 134,500! About half of that in my own hands over a five year period. There had only been one owner, who had cunningly off-loaded the Z just as it was due for its first rebore. I didn't go around and kick the shit out of him as the price, £450, reflected the state of the engine.
I hadn't realised what I had let myself in for, after fixing up the engine I then found that by the time 80,000 miles were up the whole chassis was rotting away beneath me. I'd spent too much dosh on the engine rebuild to throw the bike away and the state it was in there was little chance of obtaining a decent price. I rode it anyway, as there was no other realistic way of getting to work.
The chassis weaved and wobbled, even at relatively low speeds. I could muscle my way through it for most of the time but had to leave a couple of extra inches clearance when overtaking cars. With the rebored engine there was loads of power, coming in hard at 6500rpm, with an almighty howl out of the illegal 4-1 exhaust.
At that stage, I figured that doing a wheelie would probably snap the deeply pitted forks, so a certain restraint was part of my riding technique. After a while I ended up with a lap full of fuel, which stunk for days afterwards. The petrol tank had rusted right through. I was lucky that the whole heap hadn't gone up in flames, along with a very sensitive bit of my anatomy. The Z was telling me it was time for a complete refurbishment.
It had reached the stage where every chassis component either fell apart from rust or cracked up from fatigue. It was the quickest strip down in motorcycle history. About the only thing worth retaining was the frame. Even that was marginal with the insane force I'd used to knock the swinging arm spindle out. The swinging arm had half its welding rusted through, was just waiting for an opportunity to collapse at high speed. It gave me the excuse to splurge out on a neat alloy job.
With that expense I had to do the breaker run to find most of the other parts. Forks off a Z1000 proved rather more robust than the originals, as did a set of used Konis, about an inch longer than stock. Taper roller bearings in the headstock, new chain and sprocket set, resprayed tank, panels and guards (all used replacements) were just a few items on the path to regeneration.
I found the electrics especially interesting. I'd already noticed that the lights were about as dim as you'd expect on something like a Honda Melody, the horn didn't work, the electric starter just clicked and the engine would often just die a death for no discernible reason. The cause was pretty obvious when I gave some wiring a gentle tug, received a handful of rotted insulation for my troubles. Couldn't afford a wiring loom so ended up rewiring the beast wire by wire. Eliminating non-essential electrical components (starter, indicators, pilot lights, ignition switch, etc) made it tolerably complex rather than merely impossible. As it needed an MOT I was forced to fit a horn.
I wasn't sure if all the effort and expense was worthwhile, the true nature took a time to reveal itself. A few teething problem got in the way. The tank vibrated like it was going to fall apart, down to a perished rubber mounting (replaced by that universal stand-by - an old inner-tube) and the front calipers went on strike by seizing up solidly. I went back to the breaker with a couple of 200lb mates and persuaded him to hand over another set free of charge.
What convinced me that the Z650 was a good ‘un was a race.....er, tour to the Continent. I'd sort of agreed to tag along when in a drunken stupor. God, these guys, on litre plus iron, were fast riders, putting the ton on the clock on the slightest pretext. I had to push the Z650's mill way beyond its natural limits just to keep them in sight. Their idea of a day's riding was adding a 1000 miles to the clock, and before I knew what had hit me I was into serious R and R on the Portuguese coast.
This wasn't actually planned, the bastards had muttered something about the South of France but when they clocked the hotel charges we were out of there so fast I think my stomach still hasn't caught up with me. While they were getting drunk out of their minds every night on the way down, I was fervently adjusting the points, carbs and valves after changing the oil. I don't know if it was old age or just bad design, but a 1000 miles of hard charging would ruin a sump full of oil, leaving it a murky brown colour. There was no way I could ignore it, the gearbox became really horrendous when the oil went off.
What impressed me about the Z was that with the chassis sorted, and the long lasting tyres in neat shape (some of the litre cruisers had to do a tyre swap in Portugal and were not too amused at the lack of choice), it could be muscled through corners and never went really vicious even when subjected to an excess of braking in bumpy bends. About the only limiting factor was the amount of secondary vibes put out when the motor was revved past 10,000rpm.
It wasn't as bad as one of the GPz1100s, whose rider shook so much after a long day in the saddle that he looked like a complete nervous wreck, but I often ended up with both legs gone so dead that I had to wait ten minutes for the life to return before I could stagger off the machine. But, we are talking long distance travel here, a mere few hundred miles that were the more normal UK fare resulted in no great physical injury.
The absolute top speed, on the clock, of the Z turned out to be 134mph. That required cunning use of two other machines' slipstreams, a long downhill section and a mild following wind, as well as about ten minutes for the clock to gradually inch around. The guys on the bigger bikes were surprised that I was still with them, I was just happy the plot didn't throw a big wobbly, the whole device feeling right on the edge of utter self-destruction. 120mph wasn't a great hassle, 100mph cruising well within the parameters of the Z (I'd fitted rear-sets, flat bars and a more comfy seat).
It was dead easy when in such mad company to forget what such throttle excesses would do to the fuel economy. Normally, I'd get about 50mpg but it went down to 35mpg under maximum abuse. My only consolation was that the others were even worse off. I was also amused to be able to ride inside some of the wallowing walruses in fast corners, although there was always the danger that one of them would let loose completely, leading to much death and destruction. Somehow we survived the trip, even wild nights riding like idiots half drunk out of our heads, crash helmets dumped in the hotel. Sometimes you live lucky (and die happy).
It was just as well that the trip had cemented our friendship, on our return, a few miles short of 100,000, the damn engine started smoking heavily and lost most of its top end power. It runs cleanly below 6500rpm but there's not exactly an excess of torque, some urchin on a 400 Superdream able to blow me into the weeds. A new set of pistons sorted it out.
Now that it's well sorted and the riding isn't too hectic it's a cheap and reliable means of travelling. Tyres and brake pads go for over 12000 miles, the latter rattling when they are down to the metal, but there's usually enough braking to ensure survival. The chain's not much use after 8000 miles but I don't exactly go out and buy the most expensive piece in town (it means that the sprockets last well as they kill the chain rather than the reverse - crafty!)
The Z650 won't be everyone's cup of tea, it needs a high level of dedication and skill to extract the maximum performance. By now, most motors will have been rebuilt and most chassis have been upgraded to a better specification. There might be the odd low mileage, original one but I've yet to come across it - believe me, I've been up and down the country looking at Z650s, the best one I saw was a sensibly modded 34000 miler.....the price tag was three grand, no offers entertained. I later phoned him up but the bike had gone for that price! They're are good bikes but not worth that kind of money.
Andy Patterson
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Early Kawasaki Z650's usually celebrate making it to 75000 miles by breaking down, one way or another. I'd actually ridden three old Z650s for that distance, and more, so I should've expected some signs of age and fatigue from the ten year old machine. There we were, blatting along the A4 at about 60mph, cursing the stupid cagers and thinking that it was time to get the Long Johns out. The next thing I knew was that my groin was soaked and there was a strong smell of petrol.
I was immediately filled with visions of my marital tackle going up in flames. Painful! The front end was off a Z1000, featured Goodridge hose and EBC pads, lost the speed in a few moments. The cages reacted to the lunatic on the rotten motorcycle suddenly swerving across their path, by blowing off on the horns and screaming abuse. Some lout in a Capri threw his fag end in my general direction, before squealing off with enough noise to convince me he was endowed less well than a hamster.
The fag sailed over the tank, landed a foot away. My heart started working again, but not for long as the petrol was sizzling on the dead but hot engine. I got off whilst I still could. The back of the petrol tank had rotted through. After ten minutes the petrol had evaporated except from my groin, which came out in a rash redolent of Vietnamese Rose, that scared the shit out of the wife. The RAC eventually took us the ten miles back home.
I eventually forgave the Z650. From 32 to 76000 miles it ran with a marvellous reliability, apart, of course, from a camchain at 46000 miles, an inevitability on this generation of Kawasaki motors. The chassis had been sensibly upgraded, although the frame and swinging arm were quite adequate once good bearings were installed in the steering head and swinging arm mounts.
Past experience had shown that the best thing to do with a Z650 with more than 75000 miles on the clock was to sell it! I'd had one bike, that by 80,000 miles, had rotted its electrical wiring, shorting out, causing minor fires until every electrical component was completely burnt out. Even after it was rewired and the electrical bits replaced, it still refused to run cleanly in the wet, causing me to fall off three times before I finally sold it.
The second one was given a new wiring loom at 60,000 miles and didn't suffer from too many electrical problems. But the engine seized at 83000 miles, and kept on seizing despite loadsa dosh spent on rebuilds, rebores, newish pistons, etc., etc. Once it went it just didn't want to respond to my ministrations, despite my having learnt the art (at tedious length) on a BSA Lightning. So, that was sold as well before it bankrupted me.
Rather than learn my lesson, and off-load the current one, I immediately set about phoning my contacts in the nether world of breakers and back street dealers. I know some people who will steal to order but I only used them as a last resort. The best I could do at short notice was a large alloy tank and solo seat. Of course, the stock bars and pegs didn't match this at all well and I ended up buying some used rear-sets and ace-bars at the same time.
The alloy tank was 'held on' by a big rubber strap which let it wobble all over the place and the seat was totally lacking in comfort, but I was used to that, having suffered a flattened stock saddle for about a year. The resultant racing crouch had my spine screaming in protest and myself hitting the throttle like a demented sixteen year old, just to keep the speed up so that the riding position was tolerable.
Judging by the vibes getting through at all points of contact with the machine, the engine was on the way to throwing its rods. However, Z650s can sound and feel like they are at death's door yet have tens of thousands of miles left in them - a useful point when trying to negotiate a rock bottom price on some old hack. Luckily, a month later some decent standard stuff turned up and my whole outlook on life improved.
The Z650 was so old that its components had worn into each other. The most I did to the engine, then, was change the oil every 750 miles, a chore deemed necessary not out of any feeling of devotion but because if I left it any longer the gearbox became completely impossible rather than just mildly nasty. As in hitting false neutrals and dropping out of gears, just as I wanted to accelerate up the street at warp speed.
Performance was better than most GT550s, which may not say much but the old girl would still cruise at close to 90mph without falling apart, and its relatively modern suspension still allowed me to mix it with the boys on the more interesting A-roads. Okay, okay, after a long hard ride, I was left with blurred vision and a dose of the shakes but anyone used to the machinations of old British twins can shake off such mild effects without a second thought.
Somehow, I always found the Kawasaki great fun to ride. It wasn't the same kind of bland four that so many Japanese factories churn out, it had its own essential character that was backed up by one of the most robust engines around. That was pretty much why I kept on riding the old girl when I would have been much better off selling it off to one the ignorant prats caught up with the Japanese classic myths (I'd kept all the old suspension gear for just such an eventuality). It kept going until 82000 miles.
Then the motor started knocking. The crankshaft on these bikes ain't as robust as the old Z900, which would go for more than 100,000 miles before giving any trouble. The Z got me the 65 miles home before it decided it was time to give up the ghost completely by seizing solid.
I was on the phone again the next day. They kept laughing at me but I persisted. Bingo, a crashed Z650. Crashed? It was about half the proper length! No way to quickly extract the engine, but he'd dump the bike in my garden for three hundred notes. How could I refuse? It was a hacksaw and swearing job but a weekend's worth of abuse had it free. Very nice it looked, too, polished cases, not a smear of oil or Hermatite, looked like it was only months old.
It went straight into my waiting chassis. There was the slight worry that the bike had crashed because the engine had seized, but it soon whirled into life, coughed for a few seconds and then settled down nicely. A few twirls on the throttle reassured that all was well, the way the tacho needle screamed around the clock hinted that there might be a few tuning goodies inside the motor.
On the road, this was confirmed with a mind melting 130mph run, which brought in a few weaves but no sign of speed wobbles. Stability had always been good at the price of rather heavy handling which took a few months to become used to. I preferred it that way, as on Metzeler tyres the ride through the worst weather the English winter could conjure still remained reassuringly stable. A bit of muscle fatigue was far better than a dose of gravel rash or broken bones.
The chassis ran to 103,000 miles without any traumas. The chrome front guard rusted through, bounced on the front wheel. It was just as well it was more rust than metal, as rather than seizing up the front wheel it merely disintegrated. There was an almighty lurch halfway through this self-immolation, which stopped my heart for a moment but I kept my grip on the bars and survived the experience. There was already a massive fork brace so I felt no qualms about fitting a plastic guard.
The replacement tank, by 105,000 miles, was feeling rather weak on its sides, I felt if I gripped it too hard it'd collapse. It was back on with the racing stuff and horrible riding position. The motor was still running well, so there was no problem hustling along at ton plus speeds for as long as my licence lasted - about five weeks, as it happens. Mr Plod was indignant about my doing 120mph down a deserted bit of A-road. He claimed I was riding dangerously as I hadn't seen him creep up on me!
Anyway, that prosecution is pending, causing me to sell off the Z650 before I killed myself. It looked, sounded and went fine, so I was a bit sad when it sold for £1450, with a garage full of discarded Z650s thrown in for free - they were so far gone I was just happy to see them go. I'm off abroad before they catch up with me, on a rebuilt Morini 350!
Z650s are good bikes, but most are high mileage now, when they become rather less predictable. I suppose that the GT550 is a better buy but it doesn't have the class of the Z650. I don't think I'd buy another, I've explored all they have to offer and it's time to move on.
Martin Caine
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Sometimes it's necessary to rock and roll, so to speak, on the open highway. Getting speed out of the Z750 was hard work, the engine less than enthralled with the idea of revving beyond eight grand. The riding position was good for no more than 75mph, before arm and thigh pains tried to age me prematurely. I was already going bald from wearing a crash-helmet and didn't fancy ending up hunch-backed from the contortions necessary to hold the reluctant Z750 at speed.
These days, the 1985 machine would be classed as a retro, an excuse for only developing 70 horses and nearly weighing 500lbs. But as an old hack there was no way I was going to accept such alibis for mediocrity and when the need arose it was head between the clocks, hands left high up in the air.
Something had to give. One time it was the chassis. Foolishly, I'd assumed that with just 11000 miles done there would be some life in the OE suspension. It was a nice cushy ride up to 70mph, not as compliant, perhaps, as my old BMW boxer but cool for anyone with a dodgy back (the cure for which, you might like to know, is to buy a device that swings you upside down and relieves the effect of gravity on your spine).
However, I wound the bike up to 110mph (on a very long stretch of motorway), held that speed for a half a mile, a bit worried by the way the back wheel skated around and thinking about, maybe, backing off to a more moderate speed. A thought intensified by my hands going numb from the secondary vibes - I've ridden 1100's that were smoother.
Then the weave took over the whole bike until it suddenly became a massive three lane wobble. God knows what the following cagers thought. My brain went as blank and empty as a DR's after a ten hour day in the capital (something I could also write about), then the animal in me took over, decided if we were going to come off it would be better at low speed. Hence I found my muscles straining at the brakes...and the bars as they threshed about. Only when 70mph was on the clock did the wobbles subside.
Pulling over to the hard shoulder, to check the state of the chassis as it felt like a few vital bolts had fallen out, I found my whole body was bathed in an excess of sweat; for a moment I thought I'd pissed myself! The chassis was, in fact, intact and the wobbles all the way home were resultant from my own shaking rather than any further degeneration in the frame.
As well as the possibilities of being thrown off at high speed, there was also the time the motor nipped up. Not being entirely stupid I'd done a bit to the chassis, S and W shocks plus fork brace and set of Michelins. Thus encouraged I'd thrashed the Kawasaki up to an incredible 120mph (well, it felt pretty incredible).
The vibes were hard going but I ignored them as I was trying to burn off a Z650. I had my hand over the clutch just in case, which was just as well. Ever had a back wheel lock up at 120mph? Don't envy me, it's not an experience that I want to repeat. For the few moments it took for my left hand to react, I had the back end doing a massive fish-tail feeling like the wheel was going to swing right round and send me charging into the traffic behind.
The Z650 rider disappeared off into the distance, doubtless laughing his head off at the sight of me throwing up on the hard shoulder. I let the motor cool for half an hour, prayed a little and hit the starter. She'd loosened off and I could rattle home at an appropriately slow pace. Most Kawasaki's fours of this type sport an oil cooler, the lack thereof perhaps explaining the seizure.
Actually, no real damage appeared to be done, the motor soon settled down to its usual mixture of lack of low rev torque and disinclination to rev into the red. The weirdness of this combination, where, for instance, the Z650 had a lot more zap, made most rides pretty boring. After nearly being thrown off and almost wrecking the engine, I vowed to take it easy, live within the means of the machine rather than trying to push it, all the time, to its extremes.
As boring as this undoubtedly was, the daily grind into work was easily accomplished, leaving behind trails of brain dead motorists who could only gasp in envy at the svelte form of the Z and I. At least that's what I think the horn work and gesticulations were all about. The exhaust was degutted in the tradition of all young hoodlums and I could graduate top of the school if ever there was an exam on the arcane art of knocking mirrors off cages!
The relaxed riding position made it easy to swing around errant cagers and I thought the brakes were quite efficient. The front could shake the forks and the rear would send us into a controllable low speed skid - scared the hell out of pedestrians trying to hop over crossings. In 12000 miles I had no problems from the calipers, although I have to admit to doing little riding in the winter - too much ice on the roads and in my veins. And the Kawasaki's finish would've done a rapid runner. I had to spend quite a bit of time cleaning her up even in the summer, but it was better than lolling in front of the TV.
Another incident that the Z turned up was misfiring in heavy rain; given English weather an all too common occurrence. WD40 didn't have much of an effect. These kind of Kawasakis suffer from coil and ignition module problems but the solution in this particular case was very simple. The front mudguard's a pathetic thing that actually concentrates the water on the engine. Replacing it cleared up the cutting out. I could've spend a small fortune on coils and ignition components trying to solve it.
Great fun was had trying to change the tyres. Something about the rims made it incredibly difficult to get the rubber back on. I was practically standing on the tyre lever... when it slipped, I went straight down and whacked my shin on the rim. It was so bad I went howling around to the doctor who sent me away with a mouthing off for wasting his time. Coming back to the scene of the carnage I found that bouncing the wheel on the floor had cracked the disc. The screams could be heard several blocks away.
Fuel was pathetic, around 40mpg, tyres lasted 8000 miles and pads about half that (I was fierce on the brakes). For a 150mph race replica those figures might've added up, for something that often had trouble staying ahead of a mate's GS500E it was just adding insult to injury, especially as there was no improvement when I went into Easy Rider mode.
Not that it really mattered in the end. As boring and bland as the performance was, the Z750 looked nice and retro, was easily sold for a profit after eighteen months. I did what I should've done first time round - bought a GPz750. For the first time in many months I sported a large grin, had an excess of adrenaline running through my body and could burn off most of my mates. Unless you want to pose, stay with the serious motorcycles.
Alan Hughes
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