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May 2025

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Soldering on

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Reshaping the Bonneville

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A slice of originality

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April 2025

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Jumping back in time

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Road racing returns!

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Bolognese source

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Subscribe to Classic Bike Magazine

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March 2025

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Miller’s marvels

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February 2025

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Time for a TZ?

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Norton P11

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Petrol: What you need to know

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We want it: History in the metal

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SKY HIGH HILLCLIMBING

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Stately pile-on

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Get up for the Kop

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Time for a T140?

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Rick’s Fixes: cold comfort in the shed

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hole sideways

Did this Curtiss really do over 136.36mph at Ormond Beach, Florida in 1907? Nicksy thinks not...

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A RECORD OF EXAGGERATION

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HOW TO: MAKE A JET BLOCK EXTRACTOR

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BARON’S STROKE OF BAD LUCK

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How To: Make vintage bike grips

HOW TO: RECYCLE OLD CAR PARTS

THE ISLAND’S BIGGEST DRAW

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KEEPING THE FAITH

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HOW TO: FIT AN AMAL CARB TICKLER EXTENSION

HOW TO: REPLACE BSA BEARINGS

Offers and Competitions

Latest Competitions

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Features

Rick's Fixes

Mike Nicks

Magazine

Magazine Issues

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The May issue of Classic Bike features a true icon of motorcycle design on the cover – the Ducati 916. It heralds a buyer’s guide within the pages of the magazine, to help readers buy the best possible version of the bike that stunned the world when it arrived over 30 years ago.

Delving further back in time, there’s the story of a great might-have-been – Craig Vetter’s re-imagined Triumph Bonneville from 1973, showing the prototype that failed to make it into production before the company’s descent into financial collapse.

There’s more variety served up with the story of a Yamaha RD350B restored after being owned for 48 years, a test ride on a 1989 BMW K100RS ‘Flying Brick’, and an interview with Alan Carter – the British racer tipped to be ‘the next Barry Sheene’ in the 1980s before it all went pear-shaped.

There’s also readers’ rides, Classic Bike project updates and other regulars – including a tour of MotoCatman’s workshop where classic Suzuki race bikes are fettled – and more practical hints and tips than you can shake a torque wrench at.

#### The May issue of Classic Bike is out now at all good newsagents, or why not :a[subscribe today and never miss an issue!]{href='https://www.greatmagazines.co.uk/classic-bike-magazine?utm_source=classicbike.co.uk&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=bau_classicbike&amp;utm_content=newissue_clb' }

#### Last time the **Henley-Blackburne** was on the bench, Rick said it was nearly there and just needed the oil tank fixing. Of course, it turned out to be more involved than that...

I’m hoping to ride the Henlely at an event in the next couple of weeks. I’ve already got my skates on – but sometimes I seem to be going backwards!

Well, I call it ‘shed truth’ – stuff you think is true at the time, like ‘I’ll only be five minutes’ or ‘This is my last project’. Yes, the oil tank was the last big job left on the Henley, but as you work through the big jobs, smaller niggles always assume a greater importance so there’s always something left to do.

The oil tank is soldered together – and where it had leaked, degreaser-resistant Castrol R had penetrated the soldered joints, meaning it couldn’t simply be re-soldered. MIG welding would work – but just as oil pollutes soldering, solder pollutes a weld and once filled with water as a test, the tank leaked like a shower head.

The next step was to polish up the welds and solder the leaks, but it’s still not an easy ride. Most of us are used to soldering wire, but tin-work is like painting – preparation is the biggest part, it won’t stick if you just slap it on. Flux – acid, like Baker’s Fluid – is useful but won’t do all the work.

Grinders, power files and abrasive burrs are all needed to get the joint bright, after which the flux will assist flow to tin the surface; only then can the repair start.

Talking of oil pollution, the engine’s stood a long time and while Castrol R is very sticky, it also absorbs atmospheric moisture so it can either protect or corrode. Fortunately, 1920s engines don’t have the drilled oilways that gummy old R can block, but it was still worth stripping. That also allowed me to drill and tap an extra oil hole in the crankcase and find out why the head was shimmed up so far it was tight in the frame. Luckily there were no horrors in the engine – as I suspected, the bottom end has been reconditioned and any parts needed came from my spares stock.

So, with that all done and the oil tank fitted and filled, surely that’s the Henley finally finished? Er, well... full of the joys of spring, I made the fuel pipe and put fuel in the tank... which leaks nearly as badly as the oil tank did! Oh well. I ought to make a primary chainguard too, but like I keep saying, it really is nearly there now!

I’m glad I checked. Inside the timing cover, the Castrol R has dried out like wax – it’s very crusty and gritty in there after standing in a damp shed for 15 years and wants a good clean up.

There is one piece of good news – the camshaft is the asymmetrical ‘kidney cam’ profile used on Blackburne racing engines. One follower was a repro, cast in bronze, but I had an original in my spares stash.

This grubby piston is from a side-valve Blackburne. The ohv engine’s combustion chamber requires ring grooves lower on the piston to clear valve cutaways at the top of the cylinder.

Which is why this bike had thick shims under the barrel and head gasket – and why the rockers almost touched the frame under the tank. Just as well I’ve got a spare ohv piston!

The bore is standard and the big end feels good, but the small end bush is free to move in the conrod. I’ll need to make one slightly larger on the lathe to restore the press fit.

The bush wasn’t seriously loose in the rod, just sliding, so I added 5 thou. When sizing for the pin with an adjustable reamer, take tiny cuts – ¼ turn of the adjuster – to prevent digging in.

This is what I mean about R; you won’t get this out without a stripdown and scraping it away with a knife. Great oil, great smell – but don’t leave it lying in an engine for too many years!

Bearings were all good, and with everything clean there was just one other job to do: mount the case and drill a hole for the auxiliary hand pump. This was common on race engines.

Three-stone cylinder deglazer’s a bit hit ’n’ miss compared to real honing – but if you use one, go up and down fast to steepen the hatching angle and make sure the barrel’s well secured!

Deglazing the bore will help bed in the new piston rings I’ve fitted. I made a new base gasket and fitted the barrel. The engine was looking much better. I’m pleased with the twin oil unions, too.

A few days soaking in my caustic soda tub cleans oil and carbon from iron heads/ barrels. It also burns skin and shoe leather as well as dissolving alloy castings, so use with care and rinse thoroughly.

With the valves ground in, the next job was to set the rocker heights. They screw in and need to make good contact with the valve tip throughout the opening range. After that, the valve springs can be fitted.

The head had been fitted with Allen bolts, but I had some originals. I have an original key for the square heads. Fit them in the head before the rockers or you can’t get them in the holes.

The difficulty with the oil tank is that, as you grind back the welds, tiny blowholes like this one (pointed out) appear. I think they’re caused by pollutants that reappear as you try to weld over them.

I find the best way to get around this problem is to use a small burr on a Dremel tool – use it to open out the hole, like a dentist on a tooth cavity, cleaning up the surrounding metal so that solder will take.

Unfortunately, blowholes are often duplicated in the solder too – sometimes they’re just tiny dots – and can be stubborn to beat. Once again, burr them out as deep as you can and try again using flux.

If all else fails, the last resort is to heat very locally and blob solder over the blowhole so that it fuses with limited melting. That’s sorted, but there’s a drip of water – from underneath this time.

So it goes on, until all leaks are fixed. Here the solder won’t flow over the tinned surface, which may be due to a lack of heat or possibly pollution. Try heat and brushing with flux – it should follow the brush.

This is what you don’t want. Seeing the edge of the solder tucked under tells you it hasn’t fused. It may work, but is unlikely to last; if you try to tidy it up, the leak’s likely to restart.

That got it! Note how the flux floats to the top where it can be wiped clean later. Use a small flame – and sparingly. Too much heat warps the steel, so it’ll move as the solder sets.

I made a new tank top ‘lid’. Rolling the edge around anything you can use as a former will increase strength, so it resists heat distortion and produces a groove for weld or solder.

My lid needs soldering to the internal frame to prevent oil leaking from under the bolt. The best way to do that was first to generously tin both the bracket and the steel top.

Bolt/washer secures the lid while supplying a conductor for heat to reach the solder without risk of distorting the lid. Tightening the nut as the solder melts presses the parts together.

Don’t try to bridge gaps when welding sheet, you’re likely to burn holes that way. Just dress the metal with a hammer to close up the gap as you go; weld heat makes it easy.

All done. The cap needed altering to fit properly and I had to make a pipe to run from the hand oil pump on the left to the new crankcase fitting – it’s an extra for high-speed use.

Another little job I’d been meaning to do was finding a way to grease the rocker spindles. I made these domed nuts on the lathe; threaded for grease nipples, they’ll make the job easy.

For soldering steel, Baker’s flux is essential – but it’s corrosive, so wash everything clean after. Carbide burrs in a Dremel and a power file are also great for buffing corrosion.

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#### In 1971, American freelance designer **Craig Vetter** was asked to restyle the Triumph Bonneville. The result received good feedback in the USA – but British bosses disagreed and the bike never entered production

**Words** MICK DUCKWORTH **Photography** CRAIG VETTER & MICK DUCKWORTH

**O**f all the misadventure and missed opportunities that littered the last days of the British motorcycle industry in the 1970s, the Bonneville TT is probably one of the most unfortunate. The dirttracker-influenced machine could have been a contender – especially in the USA, where Triumph’s esteem had taken a dip – and earned lucrative Stateside sales. But, although a prototype was produced and shown to Triumph bosses in the UK and dealers in the US, it failed to make production. Why?

The model’s creation was fuelled by the reaction from Triumph’s US dealers and loyal customers to the redesigned 650cc Bonneville, launched for 1971. They thought the makeover, executed by the BSA Group’s Umberslade Hall research centre, was a disaster. Not only was the seat set so high on the oil-bearing frame that it could be awkward even for six-footers, the new look also lacked the pizazz that had become a Triumph trademark. Sales were plummeting, just as the US went into an all-time motorcycling boom.

That’s why Jack Redmon, Stateside Triumph’s newly-appointed Product Planning Director, turned to Craig Vetter. The switched-on Illinois-based industrial designer and fairing manufacturer had already made his name by creating what became the Triumph X-75 Hurricane. Commissioned by BSA’s Eastern US office in 1969 because of disappointment at the 750cc Rocket 3’s boxy looks, the radically-styled triple caused a sensation when pictured on the cover of _Cycle World_ magazine in September 1970. But potential Hurricane owners had to wait until 1973, when it emerged as a Triumph. It has since become a cult machine.

“Jack called in November 1971,” Craig recalls. “He was worried. Demand for the Bonneville had fallen off and Triumph was in trouble. He wanted a redesign of the just-redesigned Bonneville and suggested a number of solutions. The one he favoured most was a chopper style, like a conversion he’d seen offered by Triumph Burbank in California.” That didn’t work for Craig. He knew Triumph history and understood how much styling established by Edward Turner and his gifted assistant Jack Wickes, known as ‘Turner’s pencil’, had contributed to the brand’s success in the USA. Like Redmon, he thought the 1971 redesign had lost the magic.

“I was asked to return the Bonneville’s good looks – but at the same time, take the model into the future. Making it American, but also British. I looked to the style of bikes racing on American TT dirt tracks. Studying photos of Gene Romero’s 1970 AMA National Championship-winning Triumph, I was inspired to make a TT bike for the street.

“I signed a contract with Triumph in January 1972, and in May I was given two Bonnevilles to work on – 750s, like Romero’s. I had three months to do the redesign, but was also busy with my Windjammer fairing that had launched a few months earlier.” Charly Parethian, an enthusiastic student from the Rhode Island School of Design who’d written to Craig asking if he could work for him, joined other keen design students in making various parts to his designs, sometimes in cardboard.

Even before being contracted, Craig had started making loose sketches, a method he favours over the detailed renderings produced by some automotive stylists. “I think quick sketches have more life and spirit than polished drawings,” he explains. One of the first elements he chose to accentuate was the widely-splayed individual K&N air filters on the 750cc Romero engine’s carburettors. Looking to create the same effect, while complying with construction regulations, he and Charly fashioned a cardboard mock-up of cylindrical filter housings that drew air from a closed underseat box acting as a plenum chamber with a slot for air to enter.

Craig felt it imperative to replace the flat-backed headlamp shell with the traditional teardrop style, mounted on ‘ears’, rather than the much-criticised chromed wire and rubber bushes arrangement adopted in 1971. Vetter’s brackets would also carry direction indicator stalks. Thinking about the legendary raised ‘dinner plate’ instruments on Vincent twins, he designed a new binnacle unit that lifted the speedometer and rev counter into the rider’s line of sight. The tilt angle of the assembly, which incorporated the ignition key switch and warning lights, could be adjusted to suit the rider. Noting that the rubber surrounds for the standard instruments sagged out of shape, he changed the material. The horn was sited at the front of the binnacle, facing those who needed to hear it. The handlebars had the high-rise pattern many US dealers had wanted for years and the seat was made as low as possible.

“I wanted a slender gas tank in the Turner tradition,” Craig explains. “Round at the front and pointed at the rear.” A shapely dummy was formed with board and clay, which had to surround the large-diameter top tube of the oil-carrying frame, compromising on fuel capacity.

“The biggest mistake I made was to paint the bike all black, because that doesn’t show up details. We had tried and rejected the blue and white livery of Romero’s racer livery, but in hindsight I should have kept that.” The tank’s deep gloss black with gold pinstriping in typically Triumph scallop shapes was later changed to incorporate a gold-edged red panel on the front upper part.

“I always believed my under-engine exhaust system was the design’s best feature,” Craig says. Aware of Triumph’s concern over looming noise regulation, he combined a strong styling statement with a technical solution. “With 15 times the engine capacity, it would make the new Bonneville quieter than anything ever. Honda did the same thing a few years later on the GL1000 Gold Wing.” TT-style slanting downpipes fed into the large canister under the power unit, while heat shields on the twin outlet pipes were formed by the outer casings of old-style Bonneville silencers, with the assembly achieving six inches of ground clearance.

Craig – and many US owners – thought Triumph rear lamp units had become ugly. Aware of upcoming US regulations, Vetter made sure his version was large. “I didn’t know what the new minimum size would be, so I measured existing Japanese tail lights and made mine bigger. I put a grab rail over it and raised it to make sure car drivers could see it over their hoods \[bonnets\].

“We had expected the 1971 Bonneville to have disc brakes,” recalls Craig, who had been given a rear wheel assembly with an AP Lockheed caliper and disc by the US BSA/Triumph racing organisation – but no front disc was forthcoming, although one would eventually be fitted.

Craig completed the job in the autumn of 1972 and called his creation the Bonneville TT, echoing the admired Bonneville TT Special of 1963-1967. It was despatched to BSA/Triumph’s Eastern headquarters in Verona, New Jersey and shipped to the UK, arriving on October 28, according to Craig’s notes. He doesn’t recall enthusiasm for the design when he followed the bike to Triumph’s Meriden factory. Standing out from the suited managers with his long hair and fashionable clothes, at least he had the satisfaction of seeing the Hurricane finally roll off the assembly line during his visit.

The Vetter TT was toured around six main centres in the US for evaluation and a marketing survey produced in February 1973 for BSA Co Inc by the Ruben Kleiman Research Company. It reported dealer and rider reactions, both to the ‘contemplated 1974 Bonneville TT’ and the new 750cc T140 Bonneville. The report said that only one in ten dealers were negative about the Vetter version.

But then, in March 1973, the BSA company collapsed.

A plan for Triumph to be taken under the control of Norton’s owner Manganese Bronze Holdings (MBH) with government support went ahead and all bets were off. Norton Villiers Triumph, formed in mid-1973, planned to close Meriden, transfer equipment to the former BSA plant at Small Heath and, after building a final large batch of Bonnevilles, kill off the long-lived Turner twin design. Setting up to produce another version of the Bonneville was not on the cards. Vetter’s Bonneville prototype now resides in the AMA Hall of Fame, alongside the Hurricane design study and the limited edition 1980 Mystery Ship. It was brought to the UK for the Triumph Owners MCC Bonneville 50th anniversary celebration at Gaydon in 2009, when Craig gave an illustrated talk.

Craig says he was never formally told that production of the TT Bonneville would not go ahead. “Nobody ever told me why,” he says. “I don’t think they liked it, but then the BSA guys in England didn’t like the Hurricane. All I was told was that some parts of my design might be used.”

That assurance did have some basis in truth, as it turned out. Probably thanks to the cordial relationship that had formed between Craig and Jack Wickes, one major element of the TT design did survive – the shape of the fuel tank on NVT’s Small Heath-built Trident T160, which was launched in 1975, shows strong Vetter influence. It’s a small epitaph for a bike that could have gone so much further.

_In 2015 Craig Vetter suffered life-changing injuries at the age of 72 after a wild deer hit his Honda CN250-based feet-first streamliner near his California home._ CB _thanks him for collaborating with this article._

#### Owned for 48 years, **Mark Ship’s** early RD350B has been toured, raced, crashed, stripped and rebuilt, but retains its authentic aura – right down to the ‘bacon slicer’ front numberplate

**WORDS** JIM MOORE **PHOTOGRAPHY** JASON CRITCHELL

Mark Ship has a remarkable connection to his Yamaha RD350B. It began back in 1977 when, aged just 17, he stepped up from a mundane Honda CB250 to the RD – his first two-stroke, having started out on an SS50.

“The extra performance, compared to that of the CB, was a bit of a shock. Twice the power in one hit. As surprises go, it was a really good one,” remembers Mark, with a wry smile. And it left enough of an impression for the pair to remain together for the next 48 years (and counting), despite almost 30 other bikes passing through Mark’s hands in that time.

Since 1977, the RD’s been toured (around Cornwall with his mates in the late ’70s, complete with top box), tuned, raced, crashed, repaired, stripped, boxed-up and taken through six house moves, before finally being brought back to a splendour reminiscent of how it looked when Mark bought it off a mate almost five decades ago. As you’d expect, Mark knows his RD inside out. His knowledge of mid-’70s Yamaha two-stroke twins borders on the obsessive, adding an extra layer of authenticity to the bike’s restoration.

“See that?” says Mark, pointing at the front mudguard. “That’s specific to early ’75 bikes like mine. This was one of the first 350Bs in the UK; the original owner told me he was asked to take it back to the dealer after he’d bought it, so it could be inspected by Japanese technicians – that’s how early in the run it was. Anyway, when I first started riding the 350 a couple of years later, I was advised by a copper to remove the front plate because by then they were deemed dangerous.”

Serendipitously, Mark bought a later mudguard when he took the RD racing because, as he puts it: “I just knew the original mudguard was rare, so I wrapped it up and stored it in the loft for later”. Little did he know that ‘later’ would be 45 years ahead in the future...

The silver spark plug caps are the original Nippon Denso items. All the bolts in the engine are original – very usual for a ’70s resto

The original wiring loom was getting quite tired, so Mark found a new old stock loom to go on the bike. “I still have the original, though.”

Mark ground the brake discs back to smooth, but he thinks the front is a replacement NOS part he bought.

In between bombing around the lanes of south-west England, riding to work and generally enjoying the addictive kick of a lightweight stroker, Mark took to the track with the North Gloucester Racing Club, again on the RD. “I did two or three seasons – 1978 to ’80, if I remember right – because by the end, LCs were making their mark and my 350 just wasn’t competitive against them or the later RD400s.

“Our bikes were supposed to be standard, but we all knew everyone was running tuned engines, so I ported the 350 myself – the tricks were to cut the backs out of the pistons, open up the transfers and enlarge the exhaust port. I widened the exhaust port rather than taking material off the top, because that would’ve made it too peaky.

“I fitted a larger airbox from an earlier model, too. Back in the mid-’70s, because of the fuel crisis, Yamaha tried to make these 350s more fuel-efficient by fitting smaller airboxes. That worked against the porting I’d done, so the original had to go.”

Eventually, as LCs started joining the grids already brimming with tuned RD400s, it became harder and harder for Mark to be competitive on his 350B – even with the aid of home fettling, a larger airbox and Ace bars that allowed him to tuck in as tightly as possible on the straights.

“At one meeting, I had a go on my mate’s Stan Stephens-tuned RD400, which was fast enough to take me from running midfield to battling with the LCs and 400s up front. After that, I bought an LC for racing and stuck the 350 back in the garage.”

Despite this, Mark never entertained the idea of selling the RD. In fact, he did the opposite – tracking down parts to replace those that’d been damaged during his time racing and by the odd incident on the road.

“I didn’t plan to start tidying the bike at a specific date,” explains Mark. “I was just picking up parts when I could. There was quite of lot of ’70s new old stock around at the time; it was only the early to mid-’80s, after all. I remember phoning Damerall’s Motorcycles \[in Cornwall\] to enquire about a pair of shocks. I ended up buying a fuel tank, because my original had been dented in a road spill. It’s gold dust now, because it’s original – the silver colour is in the lacquer, not the paint, so it’s hard to match. Plus you only get overspray on the underside. That’s how they left the factory – and that’s how I wanted the RD to be, once finished. It cost £150 – you’d barely get a tatty one for twice that now.”

The crash that dented the tank also bent the forks, so they were replaced at the time and received very little use before the bike was taken off the road and stripped. As a result, they still look new. As we stand chatting about crash repairs, Mark draws my attention to the brake caliper. “They’re like rocking horse shit,” he says, matter-of-factly. “It’s an opposed-piston caliper, the same as Yamaha fitted to the TZ250, 350 and 750. I tracked that down through Dennis Trollope Racing in Bristol; doubt if you’d find one now.”

Other parts took longer to find. The original exhausts were dinged and scratched. Mark eventually found a pair in a shop in Scotland. That was the early 1990s. Again, Mark knows the particulars: “Earlier pipes, like mine, were a bit longer. Only an RD anorak would know that.”

Mark’s on a roll now, pointing out specifics to the 1975 350B, like the rear UK mudguard which differs from the US part that features holes top and bottom for a different mounting bracket. And the lack of an inspection window on the rear drum – that was for later models only. Oh, and the tuning fork logos on the mirrors. “Finding this stuff nowadays is nigh-on impossible. I’m so glad I bought and stored the correct stuff when I did.”

The restoration has been something of a two-pronged process. Mark stripped the bike way back in the early 1990s and began painting and restoring components when he could. Being an engineer by trade and having a paint shop at work helped, allowing him to replicate a factory finish on the frame – “nothing’s powdercoated,” Mark’s keen to point out – and re-plate bare metal parts that had lost their original lustre.

Then the project stalled. Lugging a bike in bits and boxes through numerous house moves didn’t go unnoticed in the Ship household. Mark’s ever-patient wife Kristina suggested that the RD might never get finished, so perhaps it’d be better to sell it to someone who might actually complete the job. Mark wasn’t for turning, however, so they agreed upon a compromise that allowed him to rebuild it in the back room – a perfect solution, for a while...

“As much as I wanted to put the whole thing back together, it became a physical impossibility,” says Mark. “I’ve got nerve damage in my back from a big racing crash years back – I ran off circuit at Castle Combe on the LC, got flicked over the banking and landed awkwardly – so working on the bike became harder and harder. It was a really tough thing to accept.”

Fortunately, locally renowned mechanic Kenny Langford – gaffer at Ace Motorcycles in Bude – loves a challenge. And a classic. “Working on Mark’s RD was really enjoyable, because most of the work had already been done – paint, plating, finding new parts,” says Kenny of his involvement. “I just put it back together.”

The engine was in remarkably fine fettle, having had a crank rebuild and a rebore in 1979. Despite seeing Mark through a further season-and-a-half on track, Kenny found the crank to be spot-on. “No float in it at all, mains and big-ends were all good too. It really helped that Mark filled the engine with two-stroke oil before storing it. Even the clutch is original.

“The only thing I’ve done is hone the bores and fit fresh rings. I did think the tuned barrels might be an issue, making it peaky, but it’s not – it’s got loads of torque thanks to Mark’s tune and works really well for road riding with the standard pipes. Mark sourced some standard barrels, at my recommendation, but there was no point fitting them, as it runs so well as it is.

“I really like how original the bike is, too,” continues Kenny. “Most 350 owners fitted electronic ignition back in the day, but this one’s still got its points set-up. For me, the most enjoyable part was setting it up, getting the fuelling and ignition timing bang-on. This one’s turned out really well. It’s so crisp and responsive, an absolute pleasure to ride.”

This is music to my ears. Having spent the past few hours chatting about everything Yamaha RD, I’m itching to swing a leg over Mark’s gleaming 350B. Kenny’s already warmed the top end through by the time I jump on board, so there’s no need to fumble about flicking off the choke switch as the RD whisks me away from Bude in search of a quiet road where I can stretch its legs.

Fuelling is spot-on – crisp and precise – just as Kenny promised, and the motor gets into its stride from as low as 4500rpm. The powerband’s wide and strong, with genuine two-stroke fizz from 5500rpm all the way to a peak of 8000rpm – bob-on for the rarely-straight roads in this part of south-west England. And thanks to Mark’s clever tune, its remarkably flexible for a modestly-sized stroker, too.

Unlike the later 400, this 350 runs only five gears in its gearbox – sixth is blanked off, so an extra ratio could be fitted. But there’s no need. Zipping along between 60-70mph with a bit in reserve is what this ’70s gem does best. The RD’s handling is of its time, however. Wide ’bars provide featherlight steering – a little too rapid at times, given that it can feel a touch skittish and nervous on its Cheng Shin tyres when pushed (a set of Avon Road Riders would provide more grip and control). Coupled with a bouncy ride, due to softly-sprung suspension, and a turning circle tight enough to do a 180° on a single-track lane, the whole thing feels like an enlarged moped. A rapid and devilishly fun one, mind.

Riding isn’t as easy for Mark these days, what with his nerve damage. Short blasts are possible; he’s got an SR400 as well – with, he says, a lighter clutch. But Mark gleans as much pleasure from the interest his RD350B receives when out and about (we were stopped numerous times by fellas in their fifties wanting to have a look and a chat about their old Yams) as he does in using it. That and the fact he’s resurrected a part of his youth that keeps on providing pleasure.

#### **SPECIFICATION**  
1975 YAMAHA RD350B

“A great tool – it’s like a mobile dyno. Powered by a 12v battery pack, I can use it anywhere. You stick the probe down the exhaust, connect it to the throttle position sensor \[on modern tackle only\] allowing you to plot the bike’s fuelling through a PC, then make adjustments accordingly. Great for home mechanics, because it saves the cost of dyno time.”

“This allows me to diagnose what’s wrong within an engine without having to take it apart. I can use it to detect whether an issue is with the valves, rings, pistons or other componentry. I had a cheap Chinese one before this, but it was useless – this Snap-on one is way more accurate. For £290, it was worth every penny.”

“Getting the exhaust nuts off an ’80s or ’90s bike can be a nightmare. They weld themselves in place through corrosion. With this, I can heat them cherry red and they simply screw off. It’s powerful enough to cut metal, too. I get about a year out of every gas bottle – and I use it a lot.”

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#### Rupert has become a glutton for punishment. Having spent ages and much cash restoring a BSA 650, as recorded in these pages, he’s bought a £1500 **Moto Morini**...

WORDS: **RUPERT PAUL** PHOTOGRAPHY: **RUPERT PAUL & LAURA DYER**

Why did Rupert buy this bike? ‘Had to get the train... from Potsdamer Platz,’ he replied, referencing Bowie’s Where Are We Now? from The Next Day album...

If you’re any kind of Bowie fan, you’ll know the song mentioned above, and the achingly nostalgic feeling behind it. Well, that feeling is pretty much why, at the age of 62, I find myself owning a Morini again, 44 years after the last one. How strange that it’s this obscure Italian marque bracketing a biking career which has spanned at least 1500 different bikes ridden, owned, raced, thrashed and crashed.

It’s a first-generation 350 Kanguro, the X0 model. Y-reg, nine former owners, 50,000 miles. The X0 had the round-tube frame, which I think looks nicer than the later square-section version. Rather less appealingly, it has drum brakes and cast iron barrels, instead of the plated bores Morini used on later bikes.

Obviously I wanted a 500 Camel, because it’s as beautiful as the roadgoing Morinis. But Kanguros are affordable. I paid £1500 to the previous owner, a land speed record fiend who needed a little more space in his amazing garage.

The bike had obviously been looked after most of the time; it was in nice, original condition apart from a smoky exhaust, and it’s reasonably light and agile.

That last bit is important, because I have entered the bike in the Land’s End Trial, an all-night endurance event across the lanes and trails of Somerset, Devon and Cornwall, as featured in _CB_ last May, when Hugo did the event on his Morini Camel. So I need the Kanguro to be reliable, comfortable and have some lights.

Easy bit first – the wires. These bikes came with electrics that mixed 12V AC (presumably for the headlight) and 6V DC (for indicators and brake). I suspect it was to keep production costs down by reducing the amount of copper each bike needed, even though the left handlebar switch had to run separate circuits for the two systems.

Happily, a previous owner has converted the whole bike to 12V DC by the cunning ruse of disconnecting the AC coil from earth, and adding it to the other coils being used to charge the battery. The details of this procedure are on the Morini Riders Club website. You’re still left with a fairly modest alternator, powering a tiny 2Ah battery, and to keep electrical load to a minimum the bike already had LEDs for indicators, tail and even the dash lights.

I spent a day going through the modified loom, working out what each wire was doing, and checking current capacity and connections. A few new wires here and there, plus some fresh bullet connectors, and all was well.

There are two (count ’em!) warning lights on the dash, originally to tell you: a) Your lights are on, and b) You’ve selected high beam. As the indicators are invisible when you’re on the bike, I decided to repurpose the ‘lights on’ one to ‘indicators on’ instead.

This didn’t work; the indicators are weird aftermarket ones that contain their own flashing programme. They don’t need (or have) a central flasher unit. So, if you wire up a conventional indicator warning light, they all flash – whether you go left or right. Thinking I could outwit them, I made up a diode pack (what Paul Goff at Goffy Electrical calls a ‘tweaker’). This stops left indicator current from crossing over to the right (or vice versa). The warning light still didn’t flash, because – doh! – the flashing is internal to each indicator. It just lit up continuously while the indicators are on. I’ll get used to it...

To boost night vision, I found some20-watt LEDs on eBay for a mere £15. Obviously, they weren’t going to match a pair of £400 Denalis, but I hoped they’d be better than nothing. I made up some spacers to fit them, and some more for a little bracket for a tiny volt meter (£7.50) to check how the battery would cope. To keep my options open, I ran them through a little relay, so they could be conveniently switched on in various ways/amounts.

Result: the spots add lots of light for about 20 yards, and as long as the revs are above 2000 the alternator manages fine. Lathe time well spent.

Next job: engine. The simply excellent Benjy Straw, who I have known since my first Morini in 1979 (and who egged me on to get the Kanguro in the first place) reckons the smoky exhaust is unlikely to be valve guides. He suspects rings, with the possibility of needing a rebore too.

But to have a look inside, you first have to get inside. This is when I noticed the bronze exhaust nut castellations are mostly snapped off. And no amount of penetrating oil and heat would shift them. My friend Rupe Farnsworth, who has bigger muscles and some map gas, eventually got the rear one off.

The threads in the casting are not pretty. I’ll see if they can clean up sufficiently by turning the old nut into a thread chaser. Three hacksawed slots should do the trick. I’ve already got new nuts to try afterwards. So some engine expense to come. And Benjy reminds me that I’ll need to brace the pillion footrest brackets, to avoid cracks. Later bikes had it as standard.

Meanwhile, I’m loving owning this thing. Morini’s engineering philosophy is beautiful, and I appreciate the way the bike goes together. It should also make a very handy trail bike.

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