CLEAN GREEN MACHINE
Yamaha's Excellent XS
It began as a quest. A quest inspired by you, gentle reader, for a light enough motorcycle which would be simple to run, easy to wheel around and which would save all that tiresome kicking nonsense by having an electric starter. I’ll state my own case immediately. This is not a quest which resonates with me. In The Shed are both electric start Nortons and even a Triumph, too. None of them is particularly difficult to wheel about … apart from the Norton Commander, which is one heavy lump for a rider with tired legs. There’s also a Matchless G80 with its own self-starter, as well as an RE Bullet. The choice is decently wide, but is not wide enough for a lot – an increasing number – of readers, who demand that we offer a greater choice.
Rowena has a Moto Guzzi V35? OK. You don’t want a mostly modern Guzzi. One machine which riders appear to go mistyeyed about is Yamaha’s upright vertical twin, the XS650 in its various forms. I was pondering this when my weary eye tripped over an ad for one. In Bude. No sooner the thought than…
It’s very … green. Not a problem with that. Green is both fashionable, hygienic and good. Bright green. OK. It’s also very clean, which is also good. A clean machine … reminds me of a Beatles song.
Immediate snag here is that I know almost nothing about Japanese motorcycles. I’ve owned a few, and know quite a lot about those, especially fitting an exhaust to a Honda CB750 (advice: don’t) and trying to cure oil leaks on a Suzuki GSX250 (failed). But although I’ve ridden a decent number of Yamaha’s 4-stroke twins down the years, I know little about them. So, plainly I need to do some research. Have you ever heard of the Hosk?
That is not a question you get asked every day, now is it? According to some sources – often but not always unreliable sources – we can blame the demise of the British parallel twin (plainly brought about by the XS650 being so much better) upon a company called Hosk. Hosk – a great name for a bike company, I can’t understand why they’ve not been relaunched in the current bonkers relaunch frenzy – were a Japanese company who changed the world by building a 500cc parallel twin. I can’t find any pics of that of a decent quality with which to devastate your understanding of motorcycle engineering, although I did waste a lot of time looking.
Remarkably, the Hosk is said to have been based on a 500 Horex twin, a model sometimes modestly named the Imperator, which is Latin, although the Horex is not. Anyway, after their apparent success with their 500 sohc machine – which uncannily looked very like an ohc Ariel Huntmaster – Hosk were bought by Showa, of whom you may have heard as they’re still going, which were then bought by Yamaha in 1960, apparently so they could acquire their 4-stroke technology. If you’re bored one rainy afternoon, go do online research on the 1950s Japanese motorcycle industry. It’s instructive and fascinating. Hosk, for example, produced a remarkable range of bikes which looked impossibly like 1950s Ariels, and even used a thinly-disguised version of Ariel’s ‘iron horse’ logo in their ads. Mysterious. What is more mysterious is the way history reveals that the Japanese started out in the 1950s with technology no better than was current in Europe and the UK at the time. See where that got them. Ahem…
All of which is offered as a gentle diversion from a discovery made as soon as I hefted weary limb over exceeding green Yamaha, turned key and thumbed button. Nothing happened. Not even a click. This is faintly embarrassing, not least because I am of course a Noted Expert and we were parked up on the forecourt of North Cornwall Motorcycles – who had kindly loaned me their very green machine. They could, I’d suggested, trust me with it. I smiled limply and pressed the button again. There was of course no starter motor fitted to that generation of XS650. Of course not. It is however easy to replace a handlebar switch cluster when they break…
Moving swiftly on. Kickstarting Yamaha’s XS650 is easy, even if it’s a very green XS650. I am pleased to be able to report this, because I kicked it up, it fired instantly if rather raucously, and gargled away beneath me in a fashion which will be entirely unfamiliar to riders of modern Japanese machines. In these days of utter sophistication and oversanitised everything, it’s actually refreshing to
listen to an understandable engine breathing through comprehensible carbs and igniting its fuel using an ignition system which involves no computers – while all the while that engine is quite plainly keen to get going. The best way to warm up an engine is to ride it, not sit pointlessly blipping the throttle and irritating the neighbours.
Clutch is light as a light thing. First selects instantly. Feed clutch … pull in the lever again. Very snatchy, grabby. Hmm. OK. More revs, check for a clear road and make a smartish getaway. Clutch take-up is less than smooth and progressive, but hey, Noted Experts (and Norton rotary riders) are familiar with bizarre clutch behaviour. And much else.
Once out of earshot, I pull up and pull away again. And again. The clutch is perfect. If I were a betting man I might wonder how elderly the oil in the clutch is and how long the bike’s been standing. Anyway, it’s perfecto again, so off we go, heading for Devon, where be monsters, or something like that. Riding a bike cures many things, they say.
Back in the 1970s, five gears were enough. Unless you rode a Norton Commando, in which case you could easily be forgiven for believing that one less is fine – which is certainly true for Commandos. The Yamaha has five gears, they’re perfectly spaced, as you’d expect from a major manufacturer, and they select with ease and precision. The engine pulls better and better as it warms up. Even when cold there was little hesitation and it never felt likely to stall, both cylinders breathing well, although it was, as I said, hesitant. No more. A couple of miles sees the smiles piling up, and the local roads are very familiar, well surfaced and decently devoid of traffic, the summer’s invasion being long departed.
This is a really good bike to ride, you know? I am entirely enjoying myself. The
sun is out, the bike is lively and lithe, has plenty of punch and the riding position suits me perfectly, in a way that the 1970s Triumph twins never did. My hands are in the right place for comfort and control, and my knees are relaxed and unstressed. The seat is comfortable and I’m not sliding around on it. The exhaust is louder than I’d like, but that’s easy to fix, and I approached a favourite set of bends with just a little concern. The tyres are TT100s, Dunlop Roadmaster TT100 according to their lettering, and I’ve never been a fan, not even back in the 1970s, when I preferred Avons – and I still do. I expect the steering to be over-light on the straight-ahead, with a little weave before settling into a bend.
That’s not the case. Maybe the tyres have worn enough to work better, or maybe the compound is improved. I don’t know. The bike cranks over with ease, rolls smoothly around the rubber radii and hops up happily shifting from right to left. It is entirely obvious that by 1978 Yamaha had sorted the steering. It is excellent. No no; it really is.
The brakes likewise. There’s a pair of unsophisticated late-70s discs on the front, and a seriously simple sls drum at the back. They work well, separately and together. The
front feels wooden after a modern machine, but is typical of its time; you pull up well, but need to squeeze a lot to do that. The rear drum is unremarkable, in the way that back brakes should always be.
I ride another lap before heading to a local establishment to … ah … take some photos. Both stands operate really easily. The foot finds the sidestand with no trouble, and the bike lifts up onto its centre stand with commendably little effort. I’m attempting to suggest that this is a bike worthy of consideration by riders who are starting to struggle with wrestling a heavier, less easy to handle machine about the place. It’s very easy. No lighter than any other 650 twin from the 1970s, but easy to manoeuvre. The odo suggests that the bike’s covered 15,000 miles or so, and it feels like it in that there’s little wear in any of the cycle parts, no sag in the stands nor sog in their springs. A little precision, along with smooth workings from the two big hinges, the swinging arm and steering head.
OK. While the photos are being snapped, let’s have a few details about the bike, before getting back aboard and taking a roundabout route back to Bude, culinary centre of the universe.
Yamaha’s assault on the 4-stroke market began in 1969 – 1970 in most of the world – with their XS-1. Which became the XS-2, as you’d expect, and the model underwent annual changes and name changes depending to some degree on the market where it was sold. The test victim is a 1978, an XS-E, and is pretty much at the end of the line, as production of the standard model finished in 1979, although ‘Special’ and ‘Custom’ versions continued until 1985.
And as usual, it’s the engine which is the heart of the thing. This is exactly the engine everybody – whoever that was – said that BSA, Norton, Triumph should have been building instead of the ancient pushrod twins they straggled on with. It’s a 654cc parallel twin, with the same internal dimensions as BSA’s A65, oddly, with its single camshaft securely located above the valvegear and driven by chain. The crankcases are split horizontally and all major castings are formed in alloy of a pretty decent quality. The crank – compare this to any British design – is supported by four main bearings, three rollers and a ball bearing, so although there is always that familiar 360° twin vibe, you do not get the feeling that all is going to end badly. The big ends run on needle rollers, not shells, so life is long.
Power passes to the beefy clutch via a gear primary drive to that 5-speed box, and then by chain in the conventional way to the rear wheel.
Suspension is also entirely conventional, although the test victim has a set of aftermarket rear shocks of a quite remarkable colour. They work fine… The frame is also standard for its day, and although early versions were reputed to handle so badly that British expertise was required to sort
them out, by the time this bike was built they were good. This was good. Really good. Taut, tight and totally poised at low and … less low speeds.
So, then, mount up, suitably rested and restored, and ride back. The coastal roads around Bude are great out of season. Lots of wide open curves, well surfaced for the holiday hordes, and with clear sightlines. After the break, the engine fires up first kick after applying the simple choke – a little lever on the left of the carbs – and settles down instantly into a steady pok-pok-pok tickover. Sounds just like a 650 twin running through megaphones. Oh. OK. The clutch is once again a little snatchy, but it’s cleared properly by the time we’ve cleared the pub car park and reached the first junction. After that it’s completely fine, light and clean.
And then … then we just fly along. Sixty arrives really easily, and without much vibration – or even too much noise from the alleged silencers – and 70 follows with no fuss. After that some vibration becomes apparent, and as throttles need to be opened rather a lot to climb hills so the boom from behind becomes a racket. It’s not offensive – not to the rider – but is surely noticeable.
There’s a brilliant set of downhill swerves heading back into Stratton, home of North Cornwall Motorcycles. The view is open and wide, and although there’s a famously dangerous side turning you can see it from a long way away. I decide to let it rip down those curves. And rip it does. Like a lot of machines with this level of power – 53bhp at 7200rpm – it is perfectly possible to use all that’s on offer. Even elderly humans can handle that level of performance. This means that you can push the bike a little, approach its own limits, unlike when aboard a 100+bhp machine which is inevitably a handful on ordinary roads. There is a tremendous amount of fun in this. The bicycle handles it perfectly well. I still couldn’t figure out the identity of the rear shocks, but they worked fine, and after a decent thrash I was feeling more positive about Dunlop’s TT100 tyres, too.
Pulled up, back at the shop, and sat there for a moment while the engine ticked over and the exhaust performed its pok-pok-pok behind me. I enjoyed this. It’s very easy to see why they sold so very well – around a halfmillion of them, they say – and reinforces the view of many that a 650 twin is a great way to go. It was then, and it is now. What, as we say, is not to like?