Biking’s not as good as it once was? You’re joking! It’s a hell of a lot better than when I first grabbed a pair of bars back in the late 70s.

My life with motorcycles started off in 1977, and man were things different in the biking world back then. The bikes, the kit, the law, and the whole attitude to motorcycles and motorcycling wasn’t at all like it is today.

I’ll admit, some stuff was a bit better and I remember the roads being a fair bit quieter than they are these days. But thinking of the bikes, the gear, and the general public’s perception of biking, I’m relieved things have moved on as much as they have.

Of course, you’re never fully aware of just how much things are going to change in the future, so back then, just like today, bikers were generally happy with their lot.  However, looking back, riding bikes could be a lot harder work than it is now.

One of the biggest differences was the performance of the machinery on sale. In the 70s bikes may well have been considered pretty fast and thought of as handling and stopping respectably well. But that wasn’t always the case. Loads of bikes on sale, especially the Japanese stuff, had to be modified as soon, if not even before they left the showroom, if you wanted to get the best out of them. Even big-bore superbikes that did over 130mph came with tyres and brakes that just weren’t up to the job. The rubber’s grip was tolerable enough in the dry. But in the rain things were so bad you were liable to crash just tipping over a few degrees from vertical. Fitting some British-made tyres like Dunlops or Avons was essential if you rode in all weathers and wanted to stay alive.

Swapping the original brake pads for superior aftermarket items was another advisable thing to do. Trying to haul up a disc-braked Jap bike in the wet in the 70s needed a fair bit of hope and prayer. Stopping distances were shockingly, and at times dangerously long. Riding at night was also risky thanks to the appallingly poor headlights the bikes had.  Only a complete replacement could rectify this.

With all that sorted you then generally had yourself a decent package. But with tyres running inner tubes, chains not having O-rings, and ignition systems relying on points, there was always a chance of needing to get the spanners out. If you ran an Italian or British bike, joining the AA was an absolute must! There was no way you could rely on a totally trouble-free run like you pretty much can these days.

The overall performance of a bike could always be improved, and the accessories firms did a roaring trade thanks to the technology on bikes back then being so basic. Stuff like adjustable suspension, electronic ignition, sealed chains, fairings, and cast wheels were all popular purchases. Some riders would even buy expensive complete rolling chassis kits from firms like Harris and Bimota simply because even the best production bikes were a bit wobbly and weighty back then in standard trim.

These days, high-tech superbikes like BMW’s S1000RR need absolutely nothing to boost their performance, reliability and safety – they’re utterly fantastic in the exact trim they leave the factory. They’re even vastly superior to Grand Prix race bikes the likes of Brit hero Barry Sheene won his world championships on. Compared to the 70s kings of the road, like the Kawasaki Z1B pictured, they’re light years more advanced. In those days, computer-controlled fuelling, suspension and ABS braking, power modes, multi-compound tyres, and the rest of the equipment we’ve come to expect today was nothing more than a pipe dream.

So too was the riding kit we take for granted today. Thirty-odd years ago when it rained, there was a good chance you’d get soaked. If you crashed, a broken bone or two wouldn’t be uncommon either. But today the choice of quality clothing on offer is massive, and the standard of the more expensive stuff is very high indeed.

Leathers today not only look fantastic, with their exceptional design and build quality, but they’re a hell of a lot safer than the jacket and jeans most of us wore in the 70s. With body armour and air bags that some are now equipped with, the chances of injury from a crash these days are thankfully much reduced.

Helmet design is in a different league these days too. The latest technology means they’re lighter, stronger, safer and more comfortable than ever. And luckily the visors don’t scratch in the way they used to. In my early days I remember you could ruin a visor’s night clarity just by trying to clean it with a soft cloth!

Materials like Gore-Tex have transformed the comfort levels and practicality of bike clothing. It’s not always cheap to buy gear made with advanced products like these, but at least you can stay warm and dry – even in the very worst weather.

Biking was a lot more popular back in the 70s, but not with everyone. I remember some pretty obvious prejudice existed, and a fair number of people viewed us as unwashed yobs not fit for society. Signs outside pubs and other public places saying ‘NO BIKERS’ weren’t uncommon and you often needed to win people over before they’d accept you as a fellow human being if you were dressed in bike kit. Today things are far more positive and we’re viewed as being socially acceptable. No doubt the changed face of motorcycling has a lot to do with celebrities getting involved, and the Ewan and Charley effect is something we should particularly grateful for in my book.

Mind you there’s still a long way to go, and the impending threat of the introduction of anti-tampering legislation, as well as new licensing laws coming along next year are sure signs of biking still being viewed unfairly by those in authority.

It’s hard to say where motorcycling will be in another ten years time, let along thirty. But if it alters as much as it has in my time on two-wheels it’s certainly going to be a lot different. I just hope I’m not going to be the one saying, ‘biking’s not as good as it used to be you know!’

IT MAY NO LONGER BE THE KING THAT IT ONCE WAS, BUT KAWASAKI’S ICONIC SUPERBIKE STILL HAS MASSIVE CLOUT

The passage of time can really change your perception of things, especially when it comes to biking. In the ever-changing world of bikes, things move on, and what was hot and revered hugely one minute, can be devalued to also-ran status before you know it. But some things that were great in their day may go through that status-reducing period to emerge as classics. Kawasaki’s 900 fours from the seventies are great examples of this time-affected ranking.

Back in their heyday, they were seminal machines that changed the face of biking, arguably more than any others have done, before or since. I was around at the time and to me, as a then complete newcomer to the world of motorcycling, the Kawasakis held legendary status. Every time I saw one, I gawped in utter disbelief. I could only imagine what they would have been like to ride. They were the machines of gods, and I didn’t ever dare to speak to an owner. When I got a wave from one when I was out riding on my Honda SS50 moped, I suddenly felt I’d been accepted as a member of the biking fraternity. Nothing could touch a Z1 for appeal for me back then. It was the most amazing thing in my world.

The strange thing is, since then, I’ve owned lots of (better) bikes and ridden a hell of a lot more as a bike journalist. But until very recently, I’d still never ridden one of these cult machines. Then out of the blue, an opportunity to do just that came along, and plans were laid to go back to the time of my youth. To be honest, I wasn’t really certain if it was a good thing to do. The 1975, 29,000-mile Z1B that owner Adam Bagnall asked me if I wanted to ride, is his absolute pride and joy. In virtually bog-standard trim, its condition can only be described as excellent and his pertinent words, “if you crash it, then just leave the country” summed up how just close the bike is to his heart.

But it wasn’t the risk of damaging it in any way that bothered me most, it was having my dreams of riding a bike that meant so much to me as a younger man shattered. What was the king of the block once upon a time was no longer what it used to be judging things by modern performance standards at least. And though it might have a classic, iconic ranking today, I remembered it as a fire-breather that mere mortals were simply not man enough to get the best from. Surely after riding as many contemporary superbikes as I have, the Z1B would feel flat and disappointing, and ruin my rose-tinted view of it irreparably. It wasn’t really something I wanted to happen. I didn’t want my riding experience to spoil any of my adoration for it in one fell swoop.

In saying that, the chance was just too good to turn down, and when I left my house for the trip up to Manchester I was very much looking forward to the experience. Circumstances beyond my control nearly prevented that happening though, and definitely spoiled the start of the event for me. An accident on the M6 delayed us by over three hours and meant we had to move smartly on arrival. Photographer, Jerry and I plotted a route to the Peak District via the most direct roads and things now seemed rushed. On top of that I decided to travel together with Jerry and stay at the pace of his car.

Believe me, sitting on one of the world’s most relevant bikes ever, at a pace your grandmother would be happy with, was not the way to do things. I wanted to ride in my own way and travel at the speed I fancied, not what other traffic was dictating. This was my great chance to get to know the Kawasaki, and I was missing it.

By the time we’d trickled through the heavy traffic and eventually got to Buxton I wasn’t a very happy bunny at all. I’d not been able to assess the Z1B properly and was frustrated by the whole affair. It was like having dinner with Joanne Lumley and not being invited back for ‘coffee’. But then when I started to ride around the Peaks so we could take some pictures the mood started to lift. I started to get more familiar with the Kawasaki, and realised just what it could and couldn’t do. This allowed me to feel more at home on it, and much more at ease.

As far as the actual performance of the bike was concerned it definitely felt very dated. The engine, though torquey and flexible with the ability to pull cleanly from low down, was hardly the stuff of dreams. And the front brake was nothing short of shocking, with some of the most feeble stopping power I’ve ever experienced. Viewing things from a dynamic point of view, the Z1B was, as I’d feared earlier, something of a disappointment.

Thankfully, soon after we’d started to do some photography, something happened to alter that view. While we had the bike set up for a static shot, a trucker pulled up and asked if we’d mind if he took some pictures. He was beside himself with joy at being able to look over the icon, and remembered when he’d, just like me, worshipped the Kawasaki. It made me realise that there was a lot more to this bike than just judging what it could do. Instead I considered more about what it did and represented back in its day, and just how massive it was in biking. It then dawned on me that I was riding something very special, the like of which you very rarely, if ever, get the chance to sample. From then on, the day with the Kawasaki became much more than a test, it became an experience. And one that I was likely to savour for many years to come.
I was quite often reminded of its importance by those who recognised its famous four pipes and ‘900’ badge on its side panel. A wave or a chat quickly ensued and the clout of this incredible bike once again became apparent. And I actually pitied those younger bikers on modern machinery who were clearly ignorant of the standing of the Z1 when they passed it without realising just what it was.

By the time we were half way through the day, I’d got used to the bike enough to know where its limits were, and could ride it with much more confidence. The front brake, which had limited me so much earlier on was now something I could ride around and worry about a lot less. And the engine which I’d found to be a bit gutless suddenly seemed to have a bit more life to it. The longer travel throttle action and my worries about revving it harder had combined to restrict me from using all it had. And though that’s a lot less than a 600 has these days, it’s still enough to carry the 900 along at a respectable rate, once you open the carb slides fully and let the crank speed get nearer the redline. Do that and there a bit of a kick around 6000rpm along with a booming exhaust note, just like the one I remember all those years ago.

Dealing with the twists and turns of the peak District was another thing I found more pleasurable with time too. Rumours of ill-handling never really surfaced. And while it’s obvious the basic-spec of a flimsy steel frame and relatively primitive suspension, not to mention a wet weight of around 250kilos, was never going to result in too much progress round corners, it provided a better balance than you’d think. The fork revalve and Koni shocks this Kawasaki features definitely help by giving a more planted feel, and though the suspension and tyres didn’t give me the sort of feedback to take it right to the edge, I still felt happy to ride in a spirited manner whenever the mood took me.

In fairness though, as the afternoon wore on the more content I was to just revel in the fact that I was on board a slice of biking history. And doing that in the sunshine along great roads wasn’t doing any harm either. I felt like I was seventeen again, only this time I was actually on the bike of my fantasies, rather than just dreaming about it. It helped me realise just why Adam felt so proud to own such a machine. If I ever get enough money, I’ll probably try to buy one too.

It was a great experience to ride around on something so significant, and once the photos were done and I got the chance to ride back to Manchester at my own pace, the thrill of it all heightened even more. In the end, I chose not to rush things. The Kawasaki might have been designed to go fast back in the seventies, but by modern standards it’s not a quick bike anymore. But it is a classic, and one that prompts plenty of emotion. It helped me to reminisce about life in the seventies and how much different things were in the biking world back then, what I was doing, and how much things have altered since then.

Handing the keys back to its owner was quite a sad experience at the end of the day. Once I’d tuned in to what the Z1B is all about and soaked myself in all the emotion it generated, it turned out to be a truly enjoyable day. Time might change things as they become older. But few of them have the ability to remain as special as they were in the beginning, even if that’s for very different reasons. Kawasaki’s Z1B is the same bike that it always was. My perceptions of it though, are very different.

ADAM THE OWNER
Manchester lad, Adam Bagnall aspired to owning a Z1 long before he actually got hold of one. “I’ve longed for one since I started riding, but I could never afford one,” said the 43 year-old bike shop owner.
By the time I had the money, things had moved on and I ended up buying other bikes like a Jota and GPz1100. I did actually get hold of a Z1 in the 80s, but it wasn’t a good one, so I didn’t keep it long. Then I had a Z1000 and an H2 which I restored. But the triple didn’t feel safe to ride and it used as much two-stroke oil as fuel so that had to go too.

“Finally in 1999 I was offered the one I have now for £2000. I loved it and rode it as often as I could, putting 6-7000 miles on it in the first year. I’ve bought a set of genuine exhausts for it, had the forks revalved and stuck some Konis on it. Bar that, I’ve not really done much, and I don’t think the engine has been apart ever since it was new. The shop takes a lot of my time now, so I only do about a thousand miles on it a year.

“I never want it to become a collector’s item, I want to ride it when I can. It’s still pretty solid thanks to the more robust materials bikes were made from back then. And short of replacing some tired oil seals and cush drive rubbers, nothing much needs doing to it. It’s worth about £5-6000 now, but I want to keep it forever and never want to sell it.”
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