Bill Gysin with his crossbreed Mobylette and a Kawasaki S1

‘A whole new level of fun' (1)

‘A whole new level of fun’

Front three-quarter view of the Suzuki GS1000S being ridden along a country road

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JUST SO COOLEY

A Ducati 906 Paso being ridden on the road

‘I’ve always been obsessed with the Paso’

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Paul outside his workshop where he carries out bike restorations (mostly Suzukis)

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At lunch with… Paul Boulton

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Double top

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Every summer a few hundred enthusiasts gather in the Alps for ‘Les Meules de Savoie’. It’s a rally in celebration of the humble Mobylette (and a few of its more exotic brethren) with herds of dinky two-stroke step-throughs riding up a mountain and down the other side.

“The going is tough,” says Bill Gysin, who has made the trip for the past couple of years. “But the scenery is fabulous and the sense of achievement in reaching an altitude more suitable for skis than mopeds is considerable... although at this point it must be admitted that some people cheat. Namely me.”

‘Cheating’ means not putt-putting over the peak on a standard 1.4bhp Mobylette. Bill zings to the top on a three-cylinder ripsnorter with ten times the power.

Building hilarious multi-cylinder mopeds was perhaps always on the cards. As kids, Bill and his brothers Rob and Jim were given a New Hudson autocycle to tear around the fields, and an NSU Quickly along with Evarious Mobylettes and Raleigh Runabouts came the brothers’ way. Bill’s first motorcycle was a BSA Bantam, followed by Triumphs and a Suzuki GT380. Then he got into souped-up cars, which led to modified two-wheelers which may ring a bell to long-term readers. “We built the ‘3 Brothers’ bikes \[a Triumph Bonneville, Triumph Trident and BSA Lightning\] which were featured in _Classic Bike_ and _Bike_, which is our finest hour from a motorcycle point of view.”

Bringing hot-rodding to the mopeds of his youth is therefore entirely natural. “The art of mating two, three or four Moby engines together has been a fringe activity in Europe for years, but understandably doesn’t even make the fringe of a fringe in the UK,” says Bill. “It was Antibes-based Franck Vivet who set me off on the mission. As well as being a superb largely self-taught engineer, he’s been generous with his knowledge – and although heavily dependent on WhatsApp and Google Translate, it’s massively improved both rusty schoolboy French and fledgling machining skills.”

First came a twin-cylinder conversion of a 1959 AV79. Mobylette engines are simple and self-contained, with flywheel ignition on the right end of the crank and a variator pulley and clutch on the left end. To join a pair together, Bill sliced the left crankshaft off one engine and the right off another, leaving 20mm stubs protruding that could be linked with a well-fitting split collar and high-tensile bolts. The engines were set up in the lathe with the cranks indexed 180˚ apart, and the crankcases joined using rods and spacers through their bolt holes. Ignition was an off-the-shelf electronic kit with a second spark at 180˚. For transmission, the frame-mounted pulley was moved outwards to line up with the variator, with the front sprocket offset back to its original position to line up with the rear.

Pleased with his efforts, Bill built another based on a 1977 bike for youngest sibling Jim, who’d owned one in original form when he was 16. The pair of blue ‘Mobytwins’ were taken to Meules de Savoie in 2024, conquering the gradients and performing faultlessly.

Bill had been toying with the idea of creating a triple for a while, and a desire to revisit the mountain run seemed an adequate excuse. But more cylinders need more thought. “The same method as the twins can be employed, but the resulting engine is too wide and insufficiently rigid,” says Bill. “I wanted something that does a passable impression of a baby Kawasaki S1 – and that requires a different approach. To allow the crankcases to be immediately adjacent to each other, the barrels must be made narrower and the external clamps deleted. The trick is to use the crankshafts themselves as the clamps – but as my scrap bin will attest, this is easier to say than to do. It can be improved by using splined rather than simple clamped joints – but that requires professional machining and spark erosion. This engine was a purely amateur effort.”

Ignition is by a heavily modified Peugeot 103 electronic unit with three triggers set at 120˚. Drive reaches the rear wheel via a crossover shaft (through the crank bracket for the original pedals) to a right-hand chain, ensuring the offset pulley is supported without needing an outrigger bearing. Belt tensioning is dealt with via a repurposed steering damper alongside the tensioning spring to halt the violent oscillations discovered on test rides. “Aftermarket variators allow the torque-to-revs equation to be retuned to match the engine,” continues Bill, “and numerous options exist to replace/upgrade the centrifugal clutch.”

Finished the week before the 2025 Alp gathering, there wasn’t much time to fully test the triple beforehand. Fuelling was a tad rich – fine in East Anglia, but less suitable halfway up a mountain. The Moby also devoured its clutch – the ‘OEM quality’ part disintegrated. “Franck Vivet delved into his hoard of dismantled bikes, retrieved a barely worn original and fitted it for me before we had finished the bottles of ice-cold Evian he furnished on our arrival. ‘Only use factory original clutches,’ he opined. As such things have not existed for years, I thought this was fairly unhelpful – until he gave me several more to take home for future projects. What is ‘diamond geezer’ in French?”

With smaller main jets, adjusted variator weights and a proper clutch, the triple is now properly sorted. Bill is modest about his abilities, using words like ‘amateur’ and ‘fledgling’, but the build and finish are spot on – with its carefully extended engine covers, neatly executed frame brace and perfect presentation, there’s little to suggest it’s anything but a restored original Mobylette. Until you spot that it has three exhausts...

Or until you open the throttle. Started with a pullcord around the end of the crank, the triple twitters into life with a smooth, even exhaust note from its 120˚ firing interval. Tease in a bit of throttle – the modified transmission is effective but still prefers gentle application of drive at low speed – and the revs pick up briskly, the machine whisking itself forward with the sound and feel of any other Moby... until you glance down at the discreet digital display and see 60mph instead of 28.

With big-bore cylinders and fancy carbs, the conservative estimate is around 15bhp – and it delivers top-drawer amusement. The crisp chirp from the trio of standard, surprisingly sporty-sounding exhausts and bemused expressions from other road users make it impossible to ride without letting out joyous whoops.

All tiddlers provide much entertainment, but the easy-access frolics of the Mo3ylette are a whole new level of fun. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

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Ahead of me the smooth, hot, grippy tarmac flicks away – right, left, right. A squeeze on the front brake, two rapid dabs on the gearshift lever and a double blip of the throttle and the big Suzuki scrubs off speed before railing precisely through the turns. Back on the throttle and thrust builds smooth and quick, firing me up the next straight in a heady rush of revs, wailing exhaust and adrenaline. This might be just a roundabout on the A21 north of Hastings on a baking hot and most un-British summer’s day, rather than Willow Springs Raceway in the early ’80s – but, hey, a man can dream.

And on a bike like Ian Webster’s US-market GS1000S homologation model, it’s all too easy to dream. I’m certainly no Wes Cooley – the American racer who inspired the model – but I feel instantly at home and confident in my own modest abilities. Sometimes a bike just feels right – and this is one of those machines.

Back at Ian’s workshop, I want to find out more about this bike. At first glance, you’d be forgiven for thinking that this is ‘just’ another Suzuki GS1000S – albeit a very well restored one. Suzuki only produced the striking S model for two years – 1979 and 1980 – before it gave way to the 16-valve GSX1100, and it’s a rare enough occurrence to come across one anyway. But this is more than a GS1000S; this is a US-market homologation model, designed to make the most of (and cash in on) Cooley’s remarkable success in AMA Superbike racing on a Yoshimura-tuned GS1000.

Over a welcome brew, Ian – a serial restorer whose bikes have appeared in CB before – explains the back story to his latest project. “I was after a UK S-model originally,” he tells me. “I couldn’t find a decent one at first, but I spotted a really nice E model – it’d had around £13,000 spent on it – for sale at Manor Park Classics auction and bought it. But then I heard about this homologation model for sale. The owner had imported it from the States himself; I ended up buying it unseen and picked up both bikes on the same day.”

_The engine only had 17,000 miles on it, but Ian stripped it and measured every single clearance_

That was back in 2023 and, back home, he assessed both bikes. “The E was lovely, but it needed finishing off,” he says. “I could see the S was something special, so I offloaded the E and concentrated on the S. But the first thing I had to do was try to find out exactly what it was. I’m still learning, but it’s a fascinating story.”

It certainly is. Ian doesn’t claim to have unearthed all the facts yet, but he’s happy to share what he knows. “Apparently, after Wes Cooley had switched from Kawasakis to the new Suzuki GS1000E for the 1978 season and was doing well, Suzuki decided to reap the benefit of that by producing a racier version of the GS for the following year – the result was the S.”

_Forensic restora_tion included having all the original fasteners replated

The new model certainly looked the part with its striking red and white or blue and white colour scheme, and handlebar fairing. “There was just one problem, though,” adds Ian. “The new model wasn’t available in America. Suzuki dealers were up in arms once they’d seen it, so Suzuki Japan sent around 700 bikes to the USA. It worked out at about one bike per dealer. Because they’d missed a trick there, for 1980 they produced a limited run of homologation specials, primarily for the US market. This is one of them.”

Some of the upgrades on the homologation models made it to the rest of the 1980 production machines. The slotted front brake discs and front master cylinder, for example. But there are many features unique to the few hundred homologation models. The frame is different at the rear, to accommodate the rearset footrests with revised brake linkage and a stepped seat, while the silencers are shorter and more free-flowing. The carbs are bigger, too – 34mm CV instruments – and there’s a larger airbox to allow them to breathe more efficiently. Engine mods include bigger valves – 2mm up on the inlet and 1mm on the exhaust side – plus higher-lift cams and altered cam timing, with more advanced timing on the inlet side.

_As per original, the frame was painted, although it was blasted and primed first_

The overall package boosts power and increases midrange torque. Win/win on track – and on the road. In many ways, this homologation model is the forerunner of better-known racers on the road like Honda’s CB1100R and RC30, and Yamaha’s OW-01. But, unlike them, it wasn’t created with the sole intention of securing competition success. Cooley and Yoshimura had already delivered that on a reworking of the GS1000E. The GS1000S homologation model allowed Cooley to run the distinctive bikini fairing in 1979 and may have put more Suzukis on AMA Superbike grids, but it was more a reaction to Cooley’s exploits than the genesis of his championship-winning performances.

It captured Ian’s imagination, and he began restoring the bike straight away. “A lot of people would probably have said that it didn’t really need restoring,” he smiles. “The previous owner had resprayed the paintwork and the bike looked fairly tidy. But I wanted to know everything was done right. That’s just how I am.”

Even though the engine had just 17,000 miles on it, Ian stripped it completely. “I measured every clearance,” he reveals. “Most of it was perfect, though. The ring gaps were still a little on the tight side, and there were honing marks still visible on the bores. It’s certainly never been thrashed. There was some slight cosmetic damage to the clutch case and a couple of cooling fins, which I repaired with TIG weld and carefully refinished them. Then I just had to rebuild the engine with new gaskets and seals – and replated original fasteners. I fitted a new camchain to be on the safe side, too.”

Ian’s perfectionist streak came to the fore again on the frame. “Suzuki used fairly thin-walled tubing on all the GS1000 models to help keep weight down,” he explains. “The frame is easily damaged – even falling off the side stand can cause problems. So I had the frame, forks and brake discs checked over by Maidstone Motoliner (motoliner.com). They made a few tweaks to the frame, one fork stanchion and the discs, so I’m glad I did. I think it’s made a difference. I’ve ridden plenty of GS1000s, and they are a good handling machine, but this is the best one I’ve ridden.”

_Gez has happy memories of his GS1000S in the ’80s – and this one’s even better_

Rather than powder-coating the frame and swingarm, Ian went for a more authentic finish. “I wanted to keep the bike as original as possible,” he says. “It’s been vapour-blasted and painted by a mate of mine. Suzuki didn’t use primer under the frame paint, but I have. I wanted the finish to last, as well as look right.”

The exhaust system – unique to the homologation model – has benefitted from the Webster touch, too. “The standard baffles rot out,” he explains. “So I carefully unpicked the spot welds, removed the old baffles and made up replicas in stainless steel. The silencer doesn’t look any different from the outside, but I know the baffles won’t be rusting away unseen.

“The only non-original parts are the front brake Ian’s top three tools, Axminster milling machine master cylinder and the brake lines,” adds Ian. “Oh – and the tyres. I still have the correct master cylinder, though – I just couldn’t get any seals to rebuild it. The chrome parts have been re-plated (apart from the grab rail) but are all original; the fork springs and shocks are the factory-fitted parts, as is the seat cover. I’ve polished the wheel rims, but not touched their paint.”

_Homologation bikes got larger carbs as well as top-end changes_

Overall, Ian is pretty pleased with how it turned out. “I’m not 100% happy with the paintwork,” he admits. “I usually do it myself, but this was just too good to justify doing it again. And it is the right colour for a homologation model – the blue is subtly different to the shade used on the standard production bikes. I like my restos to look like well-looked-after six-month-old machines, rather than over-restoring them.”

I’d say Ian’s hit the spot with this one. It looks the business, and personally I’d be more than happy with the paint. Now, following my earlier familiarisation run up the A21, I’m off for a longer ride to see how the big GS handles life away from A-roads.

It’s still a pretty big beast. I owned a GS1000S in the ’80s and have ridden quite a few over the years, so I’m interested to see just how different the homologation model feels compared to a stock machine. But, once on the move, the weight seems to melt away – the GS just feels neutral and well-balanced and I pick my way steadily through the maze of narrow lanes surrounding Ian’s home. So far, so good, but the real test will come when I can find some faster, wider and quieter roads.

_Rearset footpegs require different linkages for the gears and rear brake_

Thanks to Ian’s local knowledge, I soon do – and they reveal that the riding position feels better than the standard 1000S. Those rearset footrests, while not radically positioned, tip me forward just enough to feel more natural when attacking corners – yet still feel comfortable and unstressed after a couple of hours on the road. They’re a definite improvement.

It’s more difficult to make a performance comparison without having a standard model to compare it with, though. Ian’s bike certainly sounds racier than a stock GS, thanks to the free-flowing exhaust with its lighter baffling. And cracking the throttle open provides even more punch than I remember – when the revs hit 5500, it really picks up and goes. I can’t vouch for absolute top-end performance, of course. But if the brutal midrange punch is anything to go by, I’d be prepared to believe it holds another 10mph over the standard bike. And I’m confident it’ll get there quicker, too.

_Ian is regretfully putting his ultra-rare GS1000S up for sale, inviting serious offers around £17,000. Contact him on 07941 970109_

But it’s the handling – a game changer in the late ’70s – that’s perhaps the most impressive trick in the GS1000S’s repertoire. It’s genuinely impressive even today – closing in on half a century later. On decently surfaced, fast sweeping bends, it really is a match for most modern bikes. The steering is neutral and vice-free and, while super-quick changes of direction take a bit of input, it remains great fun to ride. Even the brakes are pretty good. Do I really have to give this back?

Sadly, I do. But not before I’ve enjoyed a great ride on a genuinely excellent motorcycle. A standard GS1000S is a great bike, make no mistake. But throw in a little more performance and the cachet of owning a genuine factory homologation machine, and you can see why Ian found it so irresistible.

‘I’ve owned this for about 15 years – such a handy bit of kit. It’s a tilt-head mill/drill; I use a better one at work, but wouldn’t be without this one at home. I used it to machine some of the exhaust baffle parts.’

‘I’m obsessive about using a bike’s original parts wherever possible, but they have to fit perfectly or I’m not happy. I spent hours turning down parts so they fitted better than when they left the factory.’

‘I can’t remember where I got this from – but it was very expensive. I’ve had it for 30 years, and it cost around £400. It’s German-made and lifts more and weighs a third less than most benches on the market.’

### SPECIFICATION: 1980 SUZUKI GS1000S HOMOLOGATION SPECIAL

Sunday afternoon on the A444, heading south from Appleby Parva towards Twycross. On a family outing to my grandparents, I’m bouncing along on the back seat of my dad’s car when a gaggle of bikes rush up behind us. They blast past one at a time, but oncoming traffic means the machine at the back trails us for a bit – and it’s the most astounding device I’ve ever seen.

There’s no screen. Instead, the fairing extends up over the hunched rider and flows seamlessly to the tail beneath a colour-matched seat. Mirrors hang low and the front tyre looks fatter than the rear on most bikes. This bright red spaceship surges past with a deep bellow, and I catch a glimpse of its name – Paso.

This was 40 years ago, summer 1986, but I still remember it vividly. It was a fleeting encounter, yet the squat Ducati wedged itself in my cluttered head. The more I read up on it, the more fascinated I became. Not only futuristic and breaking with the brand’s tradition, I liked that the Paso also incorporated unusual solutions – and when a 906 version arrived in 1989 with its water-cooled engine based on the race-winning 851, it was surely the greatest bike ever. Who cared that period tests still grumbled about the low-speed fuelling from the car-type Weber carb and its grumpiness in town?

Standing outside the Moulsdale Foundation in Glasgow as their spotless 906 Paso exhibit warms on choke in the sunshine, I’m not sure whether my stomach feels strange due to nerves or excitement. After four decades of curiosity, I’m getting to ride one.

Any expectations of old school Ducati obstinance are blown away in the first few hundred yards. The riding position is a shock. The Paso places you forward, close to the comfortably-set ’bars and up over the headstock, with the scooped-out seat holding you in place and the top of the fairing (it’s wrong to call it a screen) barely in your peripheral vision. It’s astoundingly modern, almost like a current road sport bike. It still traps thumbs against the tank on full lock, though – perhaps engineered-in to appease Italian-bike traditionalists.

This perch gives fabulous control over the chassis. After rumbling through the edge of town, the Paso rolls with fabulous balance as we head into open countryside. Older Ducatis had a rearward weight bias and ponderous steering, which reappeared on 900SS models that followed the Paso through the 1990s. But this 906’s weight distribution seems spot-on. Steering is accurate despite the 130 width front tyre, stability is great, and the adjustable Marzocchi suspension feels… well, right. It’s a bike that rapidly brings confidence.

I like the under-yer-elbows mirrors, too. They take a while to get used to, but the view is decent.

The V-twin engine is a blend of the previous Pantahbased 750 and the 851 sports bike. The bottom end, liquid cooling and radiator are from the 851, but the heads are desmodromic two valve like the 750.

The 92mm bore is shared with the 851, but with a 4mm longer stroke at 68mm, giving 904cc – the number on the fairing is to indicate it’s a 900 with a six-speed gearbox, not the five-speed of the previous The twin-choke Weber carb is carried over from the 750, but fitted with larger main jets. It all adds up to a claimed output of 88bhp at 8000rpm.

Is the fuelling perfect? Erm, no. Though the carburation of the 906 was generally considered a little better than on the 750, period testers still chuntered – and this big twin’s response is a tad unpredictable in town or picking up drive on tight badly-cambered mini roundabouts. But out here on proper roads there’s linear, controllable drive and strong torque.

Period tests moaned that the 906 wasn’t any quicker than the air-cooled 750 – despite the factory’ claims, tests revealed only a few more horses, offset by the larger bike’s 10kg increase in weight – and to be honest, there isn’t the bulging thrust you’d expect from 904cc. Any initial disappointment soon fades, however. The Paso delivers the sort of lazy easy-going useable drive and effortless pace that big twins are renowned for. With the balanced, steadfast chassis, making rapid progress down cascading B-roads is deliciously simple.

In fact, the 906 Paso is a fabulously useable classic. You can sense that this was the crossover period for Ducati, with tradition and modernity nuzzling up together; the Veglia dials, a pleasing sprinkling of Cagiva’s elephant logo, two-valve configuration and thumb-bruising ’bars shout early ’80s, while liquid cooling, radial rubber, sharp geometry and all-enclosed bodywork were ready for the following decade. The result is a machine that’s still packed with character and essential Ducatiness – and one that remains striking today. I agree with Rick that the styling has more elegance and has aged better than Honda’s CBRs, and I think the 851-style white wheels of the 906 make the bike appear lighter than the 750 (even if we know it isn’t).

Sure, the 750 that Rick rides on the preceding pages is the original – that’s the model that fired my imagination four decades ago and I’m all for its unusual blue colour scheme, too. But I’ll take the 906’s image and its extra grunt and refinement. And while the later 907 (see below) might have cleaned up the fuelling by using injection, its move to 17in wheels also meant chassis alterations that upset the fine balance that’s a highlight of the 750 and 906. Spoilt the Paso’s two-wheeled-rollerskate proportions, too.

Sporty yet practical, fusing classic charm with contemporary ability, I’d very happily ride this bike every day. I think I want one more than ever now…

**748cc air-cooled V-twin, Weber carb, 72.5bhp, 16in wheels, 224kg (wet)**

Designed for ease of manufacture and to bring Ducati up to date and in-line with the advancing Japanese brands.  
**What to look for:** check under the bodywork for corrosion. Make sure the mirrors haven’t been knocked off and bodged back on. Some bikes have aftermarket Mikuni or Dell’Orto carbs – if so, ask who did the swap. Check rims for peeling lacquer. Service history, please.  
**What to pay:** £2500-£4500

**904cc liquid-cooled V-twin, Weber carb, 88bhp, 16in wheels, 235kg (wet)**

Less fork travel and extra trail to clear the larger 851-based engine. Marelli ignition and slightly improved fuelling.  
**What to look for:** Check for coolant leaks – the expansion tank is known to crack. Also check the front of the fuel tank around the mount. The 750 had three keys (ignition, helmet lock, seat), but the 906 just had one ‘master’, plus occasionally a small extra key for the filler cap.  
**What to pay:** £2500-£4000

**904cc liquid-cooled V-twin, injection, 90bhp, 17in wheels, 235kg (wet)**

Larger wheels require chassis mods that make the bike taller and longer. Four-pot brakes and 851-style swingarm. ‘Paso’ name dropped.  
**What to look for:** Inspect the inside of the swingarm’s left-hand side – if the conical spacer has been installed the wrong way round it leaves deep marks in the swingarm. Look for corroded connectors in injection wiring and check for clean fuelling.  
**What to pay:** £2750-£4250

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The colours might be well-known, but the blast of blue and white across Classic Bike’s November issue is no regular Suzuki GS1000S – it’s a rare homologation special. There’s the full story of its renovation, with a test ride that proves it has the substance to back up its AMA Superbike image.

There’s a celebration of the 40th birthday of Ducati’s groundbreaking sports tourer, the revolutionary Paso, with tests of two different versions of the model that defined red as the brand’s signature colour. Ducati stories continue in an interview with much-loved racer Trevor Nation – he reveals how he dumped one of their factory bikes into a ditch…

You’ll also discover an in-depth buying guide on Honda’s pocket rocket NS400R, moped madness with the tale of a man who builds multi-cylinder Mobylettes – including a crazy triple – and an archive celebration of 100 years of Fowlers, the famous dealer and race outfit. There’s a report from the ever-popular Goodwood Revival, too.

And then there’s the workshop section, with stories on reviving girder forks, a visit to a specialist BSA workshop, two-stroke fettling, as well as other project bikes, insight and hands-on guidance.

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October’s issue of Classic Bike is raring to go, with a fabulous Harris CB900F special haring across the cover and the full story of its meticulous build inside. There’s also a taste of speed from another era, with a ride on John Cooper’s BSA Rocket 3 that famously beat Agostini’s MV in 1971.

A test ride on a tasty 1977 Ossa 500SS two-stroke mixes things up nicely, as does an interview with straight-talking Kiwi Graeme ‘Croz’ Crosby – arguably the greatest racer never to win a Grand Prix. There’s a report on the Brit Bike Bonanza, an old-school scramble over the Dorset Hills, as well as a visit to the jaw-dropping collection at the Moulsdale Foundation – the best museum you’ve never heard of.

And have you ever heard of a BSA Tracker? We’ve bought one to do up – it nestles amongst the Rudge and TZ250 project bikes, practical tips and mix of mechanical mayhem in the workshop section of Britain’s best-selling classic motorcycle magazine.

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HARRIS CB900 SPECIAL  
If you’ve ever fancied building a one-off motorcycle, let this fabulous **Harris F1 CB900F** be your inspiration  
Words **RUPERT PAUL** Photography **CHIPPY WOOD**

  
Many people will tell you that life is a complicated thing. And they are probably right. But two truths stand above all others. First, one does not simply walk into Mordor. Second, one does not simply screw a bespoke motorcycle together and press the starter button.

  
Which is why the twin-shock Harris F1 CB900F you are looking at is so wonderful. It is that rarest of things, a special that works properly. Not just on the internet, but in real life.

  
Getting to this point has taken two previous owners, 15 years and probably more money than the bike would realise if its current owner, Mark, ever sold it. But that’s OK, because he’s not selling.

  
“I learned about the bike in September 2025,” says Mark. “It had been built in 2011 by Chris Kyriacou of Incafe Racing in London. From what I can tell, he sold it as a part-finished project to a chap who put lots more effort in, but died before he could complete it. I bought it off his widow a couple of years later.”  
Mark paid £10,000 for the bike, plus a list of what had been done, and all the spares bagged up. Even with a terminal illness, the previous owner was clearly thinking of someone else finishing and enjoying his unique motorcycle. And Mark was that person.

  
“I knew I wanted it. I’ve always been passionate about sports bikes and racing. It’s embedded in me! I’ve seen Hailwood go round Brands. My dad ran a bike shop in Hoddesdon selling Yamaha and Benelli. I bought an RD200 when I was 17 and convinced him I should enter it at Snetterton, despite never having ridden it. (It wasn’t a glorious debut.) I came back a bit more seriously in 1980 with a TZ250 and only stopped because my bank manager froze my account. My dream machines were Moto Martins and CB1100Rs. So this is the kind of bike I aspired to in my 20s and 30s – but couldn’t ever afford.”

Incafe Racing had built the Harris with red paint and traditional Harris F1 bodywork. By the time Mark acquired it, the seat and fairing had been pared down and repainted, and the engine had been replaced (following a catastrophic failure) by a new one with a 985cc big bore. But it was still a work in progress. There were two speedos and two rev counters fitted, plus a couple of warning lights, all powered (or not) by a mangled version of the original Honda harness.

  
“He had got it running, but the electrics weren’t good. It wasn’t charging and the carburation was all over the place. BSD Performance sorted the fuelling out, then Rupe’s Rewires built a new loom.”

  
BSD’s carb work on the dyno is a classic case of filling in a low-rpm flat spot, which always happened in the 1980s when you ditched the airbox and fitted a four-into-one exhaust. Power at 3250rpm went from 14 to 54bhp, with a peak of 94bhp at 8400rpm, so it was money very well spent.

  
Getting the electrics prepared for a loom build took a long time. Coils, ignition, indicators, solenoid, battery, ignition switch and fuse box all needed mounting on custom brackets or spacers. The handlebar switches needed rebuilding too, after some genius had filled them with axle grease. The twin headlights pull a lot of electrical current – but by mounting their relays next to the lights, the whole fairing can be supplied by just five wires. This means Mark only needs to undo one electrical plug to remove the fairing.

So, what exactly is a twin-shock Harris F1? Only made in 2010/2011, they are not the same as the more famous Magnum series, which were a march towards a perimeter frame design in steel tube. The F1 layout is ‘just’ a double cradle. Harris started making this design for big Japanese bikes in 1982, when Suzuki GB asked them to do some replica XR69 frames, but of course these came with single rear shocks. A Z550 Harris I rode in 1986 (the briefly famous Sam Fox bike) looked very similar to this one, but that was single shock too. Harris made other twin-shockers, for example the Triumph Hyde Harrier, but they were quite different. It looks as if they did a short run of twin-shock F1 frames for revival racing classes. Or possibly just because they look so damn cool.

Compared with the plush roominess of a stock CB900F, engaging with the Harris requires a little mild torture. It’s the same on any race bike with a long tank; the distant bars and high-set footrests are better suited to the physique of an ape than that of a Homo sapiens. I’m 5ft 10 and the clip-ons still leave my elbows less bent than I’d like. Owner Mark is contemplating some one-inch risers to bring the bars a little closer. If you’re flinging the bike around, or cornering hard, the riding position comes close to working well. If you’re fighting the tiny steering lock to execute a paddling U-turn in a busy high street, the curses fly freely.

  
Despite the small size, the first impression is that it’s long and stable. It is therefore quite startling when you discover that it can also change direction very, very quickly. This agility/stability balance is partly down to Harris’s understanding of centre of gravity and chassis stiffness, and partly to original builder Chris Kyriacou’s choice of running gear. Forks are off a Bandit 1200 with revised springs; shocks are Japanese Nitron; wheels are PVM’s forged aluminium. Best of all is Mark’s decision to fit Bridgestone S23 tyres, because they are fantastically good.

The result is a bike set up for the road: enough suppleness to deal with small and medium ripples, and enough feel to make cornering a joyous experience. The worst bumps (our national speciality) are probably beyond the ability of any twin-shock bike. But even when you get kicked out of the seat there’s no great drama.

  
The star of the show is not the chassis, though. It’s the engine. The best you can say about a stock CB900F is that it drags 230kg along without too much trouble. But with the twin advantages of a 985cc big bore and maybe 50kg less to haul around, it transforms into a churning, low-revving, high-torque monster.  
You can burble through a 30mph limit at 1800rpm in top and pull away flawlessly. Or lift the front wheel over crests when you’re leaned over and driving hard. Either way, it is sheer velvet. If you are used to modern bikes with their emission-related glitches and harshness, you would be amazed at the lazy deliciousness a bunch of carburettors can achieve.

  
‘Enough feel to make cornering a joyous experience’

  
I know from years of speed testing that, with the right gearing, 90bhp is good for 150mph in still conditions. But Mark has geared his bike a bit shorter: 60mph is 4000rpm, and even when you want to get a wriggle on, 7000 feels like plenty. Mark says he’s seen 120mph on the accurately-calibrated Daytona speedo. In the words of the kid in John Steinbeck’s book _Tortilla Flat_, who ate nothing but tortillas and beans: ‘Jesus Christ, what more do you want?’

  
I cannot offer the same vote of confidence for the AP Lockheed brakes. They look neat, they’re British, and they’re fine in regular use. But when you squeeze them hard, the feel goes dead. I discovered this while giving the bike some beans for the first time on a country road, when a car turned sideways across my lane... and stopped. As a once-in-a-decade emergency, it concentrated the mind wonderfully. I pulled up with a few metres to spare, but only after being pretty sure I wasn’t going to. There is power there, but no feedback to let you use it. Even the brakes on standard 1990s Japanese are better.

  
So it’s beautifully set up, has a great motor and the brakes are reasonable. But is there some extra secret sauce that only a Harris can provide? Maybe there is... Around 2015, I did a couple of years helping Team Classic Suzuki in endurance races, which at the time was the nearest thing to the Star Wars cafe scene – every kind of 1970s and early 1980s motorcycle all jumbled in together. Our riders Pete Boast and Michael Neeves were running on a braced Katana frame and used to rave about the ability of the Harris-framed bikes to change line. When we blew a motor one time, they managed to borrow a Harris to qualify and were astonished at how modern it felt.

On the road, you can’t get near that intensity. What you can appreciate is feeling an unusual calm, that the bike has bags of ability in reserve.  
As Mark texted me the day after I rode the bike: “I’ve just been out to Suffolk on a 100-mile loop. It really is a very useable and enjoyable bike.”

  
**SPECIFICATION: 2011 HARRIS F1 CB900F**

  
**ENGINE/TRANSMISSION**  
**Type** 1980 Honda CB900F  
**Capacity** 985cc  
**Bore x stroke** 67.5 x 69mm  
**Compression ratio** 10.25:1 (est)  
**Oil cooler** Earl’s nine-row  
**Carburation** 33mm Keihin CR smoothbore  
**Gearbox** Honda five-speed  
**Exhaust** Harris 4-1  
**Ignition** Dyna 2000

  
**CHASSIS**  
**Frame/swingarm** 2011 Harris F1 twin-shock  
**Front suspension** 43mm Bandit 1200 forks, Öhlins springs  
**Rear suspension** Nitron Japan twin shocks  
**Front brake** Lockheed AP Racing CP2696, EBS discs  
**Rear brake** Lockheed AP racing CP2696  
**Wheels** PVM forged aluminium  
**Tyres** Bridgestone S23: 120/70-17 front, 180/55-17 rear

  
**DIMENSIONS**  
**Weight** 172kg (380 lb) wet  
**Wheelbase** 1448mm (57in)  
**Seat height** 749mm (29.5in)  
**Fuel capacity** 24 litres (5.3 gallons)

  
**PERFORMANCE**  
**Top speed** 125mph (est)  
**Power** 94.3bhp at 8400rpm  
**Fuel consumption** 45mpg (est)  
**Price** £25,000 (our guess)  
  
**Harris: making bikes go round corners**  
![](https://c02.purpledshub.com/uploads/sites/30/2026/09/fc80752d-16d8-4d00-834d-918abe680857.jpg)  
**Magnum**  
After starting making chassis for Yamaha TZ250/350s and frames for endurance racing, Steve and Lester Harris launched their Magnum range of road-going frame kits. This is a Kawasaki-powered Magnum 1 in 1978; the later Magnum 4 became the defining special of the ’80s and ’90s.  
![](https://c02.purpledshub.com/uploads/sites/30/2026/09/02396b00-9a37-45d8-966b-48b6a7fc9ca4.jpg)  
**GPs and WSB**  
Yam started supplying Harris with 500cc V4 two-strokes in 1991, and their privateer bikes often worried the factory efforts. Below is Carl Fogarty in the 1992 British GP. Later in the ’90s Harris ran the Suzuki World Superbike team with GSX-R750s, ridden by John Reynolds and James Whitham.  
![](https://c02.purpledshub.com/uploads/sites/30/2026/09/d91e8447-7c69-478e-a3e8-72d94bf4fabe.jpg)  
**Aiming high**  
When big four strokes replaced 500s in MotoGP, Harris built Sauber Petronas’ GP1. It went from concept to running bike in just three months, but the team decided to do WSB instead. The timeframe was short, so Harris withdrew; it appeared as the Foggy Petronas FP1 – below with Troy Corser.

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**Rick rides**  
  
Best known for off-roaders, **Ossa** doubled up their 250cc two-stroke single to create a genuinely unusual road bike. Was it just a quirky blip or a Spanish RD beater?

  
Words **RICK PARKINGTON** Photography **GARY MARGERUM**

  
**I**t’s not often you get onto a bike with no idea what it’s going to be like. In my mind, the name Ossa is grouped with Montesa and Bultaco as a successful Spanish manufacturer of off-road bikes. The only 500cc Spanish road bike I recall is the ponderous Sanglas four-stroke single, which was imported briefly into the UK in the late ’70s with little success, but this is a very different thing. The Ossa Yankee – a 500cc two-stroke twin roadster, based on a US dirt bike and essentially a pair of 250 singles glued together.  
  
On first look, the Yankee is a curiously difficult bike to date. Made in 1977, I’d have guessed it was a few years newer. Since the early 1970s, Japan had established a strong enough grip on the market to lead where others followed – and of all the European manufacturers, Spain was one of the least likely to challenge that. Yet the Ossa’s twin front discs, cast wheels and electronic ignition were pretty state-of-the-art for 1977, and its styling was up to date.  
  
I like its stance – with the back wheel tucked in and the front kicked out, it looks fast before it even turns a wheel. Ossa avoided the Morris Marina boxy coffin tank look that prevailed at the time and the silhouette of the bike reminds me of an early H1 Kawasaki, another timelessly stylish model of the silly ’70s. I could be convinced that the Ossa had been made any time up to the mid-1980s.

Swinging a leg over it, I find the seat comfortable and the riding position relaxed. The overall quality also feels reassuringly decent. The black switchgear, with its curious Lucas-style flipper switches, the clocks and console are all contemporary, clutch operation is light and the Brembo logo on the master cylinder cap is always a reassuring sight.  
  
The Ossa is kickstart-only, which remained commonplace on two strokes for years afterwards – as was the need to hinge up the footrest before kicking – but it starts very easily, first time. Two-strokes typically benefit from electronic ignition and owner Martin Kemp has replaced the original Bing carbs with Mikunis from personal preference. One quirky feature that I’d bet relates to its off-road ancestry is that the rubber of the Ossa’s kickstart pedal clips into a notch machined into the engine finning, avoiding the irksome tendency gangly kickstarts have to flop out and grab for the undergrowth when rough riding.  
  
My only real criticisms of the Ossa come next. Martin had told me the chokes need to be shut off as soon as the engine fires; that means a certain amount of coughing and spitting for half a mile or so until the bike warms up. That could be due to the non-standard carbs, and once warm it runs perfectly.

The next thing is the gearchange. Can I get this bike into first gear? Well, yes – but the feedback through the pedal as I carefully press downward is that juddering sensation you get when pedal travel won’t fully engage the gear. The impression is caused by the engine being rubber mounted (like an MZ) so when you press hard on the pedal your foot bridges the still footrest and the wobbling motor. After this, I just tap it into gear with no more problems. It’s a heel-and-toe pedal with no rubber for upchanges, allegedly so that stylish local riders didn’t besmirch their Spanish leather shoes. Being a British ruffian, by the time I realise, my Hush Puppies are looking fit for Battersea Dogs Home from toeing up the rough pedal underside.  
  
That vibration is harsh at low speed, but once you get on the open road the rubbers start to work and it smooths out perfectly. I warm to the Ossa as it warms up and the erratic running stops. It has a very stable feel about it. The frame is well made and it handles well, albeit with a slight tendency to fall in on slow corners – but that’s the sort of thing you soon get used to, and it doesn’t do it on faster roads where the handling can be properly exploited.

The Ossa doesn’t claim to be an RD beater, but it certainly picks up its skirts when you wind it up. I’m not sure what the spares situation is for something this obscure and the rev counter isn’t working at present, so I don’t want to go silly. But opening up for some twisty bits of road, I’m very happy with the performance – especially in the first four gears, which are delightfully close. They produce that effect where each upward change chimes exactly the same note, ready to keep a race bike right on the boil. That’s until I change into fifth, when the gearbox seems to say ‘enough’s enough’ with a very civilian drop in revs, matched by a normal touring-style change to sixth.

  
I’d like to say Ossa took the trouble to devise ratios that offer a scratcher’s charge round the lanes with two overdrive gears for the motorway, but I suspect it’s simpler than that. Trials gearboxes often have a much higher top gear to provide a practical speed for stretches of road between sections – like the clip-in kickstart, I bet Ossa’s off roaders are where these ratios come from.

As I continue my test ride, there’s definitely something odd about the Ossa. I can’t get it into my head that it’s a 500 – it feels more like a 250 with a very gutsy motor, but I don’t know why. It’s not particularly light and feels quite tall; maybe it’s to do with balance again, which might make sense considering its background. It all works for me, but as I ride along with my new friend it reminds me of those people you meet and instantly like – but there’s just something about them you can’t quite put a finger on.  
  
There’s a question mark floating about in my head – and not only can I not answer it, I can’t quite work out what it is. Maybe it’s simply this: why would a successful off-road and lightweight builder from Spain try to break into a market that was already amply and unassailably covered by the Japanese?

‘Rods and pistons are shared with the more common 250cc single’

I really like the Ossa and I start to bond with it in my short ride. If I owned it, I know I would enjoy exploring that performance, plus the handling has all the potential to be very good, matched by excellent brakes. Yes, it’s quirky – the engine does have a bit of a ‘shed-special’ look about it, with two separate top ends on a common crankcase – but it’s well done.

  
On paper the spec is good, although owner Martin says that on a dyno his rear wheel output was 34bhp – even allowing 10% or so for transmission losses, this is far short of the 58 claimed at the crank. He’s been advised that aspects of the porting make it unlikely the engine would ever have been all that powerful.

  
Even so, it’s stylish and enjoyable to ride. It’s just that in 1977, Yamaha were already making the popular and successful RD400, Suzuki the GT500 and GT380 and 550 triples, and there were Kawasaki’s triples too. What chance was there of anyone with a handful of sales brochures ignoring all those excellent bikes in favour of buying an Ossa? I wouldn’t have – would you? We were young, we envied the bikes we saw around us in pub car parks or dealer showrooms. The Ossa was just too alien to appeal.

  
Thankfully, in our classic world it’s a different matter. Quirkiness and rarity are massive positives. As Martin will testify, turn up to a ’70s night and no matter what Suzukis, Kawasakis and Yamahas are there, everybody will be looking at the Ossa – most of them wondering why they’ve never seen one before. But in 1977? No, like the Sanglas and any of the other international oddballs that appeared in those annual World Motorcycle Catalogue books in WH Smiths, you knew it was obscure enough that you’d probably never see one in the metal – and parts would be impossible to get, anyway.

  
Well, I’m pleased to report that Martin hasn’t had too many parts problems. He had the motor rebuilt by Nametab Engineering – the centre crank seal had failed from long-term inaction – and discovered that rod kits, pistons and so on are shared with the more common 250cc single. Other parts are available in Spain, although Martin finds sourcing them harder since Britain left the EU because suppliers are often older enthusiasts who don’t want the paperwork.

  
Still, no need to worry – you’re still highly unlikely to end up owning one, because only about 1500 were made and nearly all were sold in Spain. The truth is that the 500 was largely made as a means to an end – partly to shift a surplus of engines from a project that failed when the US importer went bankrupt.

  
That being its history, you’d expect the Ossa to be a bargain basement lash-up made solely with the intention to recoup losses. But it isn’t. Maybe my question is this: considering that troubled background and a non-existent future, how did Ossa manage to give the Yankee enough love to make such a cracking bike out of it? I don’t know, but the fact that they did makes Martin a lucky man.

  
‘My Hush Puppies are looking fit for Battersea Dogs Home’

  
**SPECIFICATION: 1977 OSSA YANKEE 500SS**

  
**ENGINE/TRANSMISSION**  
**Type** Air-cooled 180° two-stroke parallel twin  
**Dimensions** 72 x 60mm  
**Capacity** 488cc  
**Power** 58bhp at 7500rpm (claimed)  
**Compression ratio** 8:1  
**Carburation** 2 x 32mm Bing (replaced by Mikuni on test bike)  
**Clutch** Dry multi-plate  
**Gearbox** Six-speed

  
**CHASSIS**  
**Frame** Tubular cradle  
**Suspension** Front: Betor 35mm telescopic forks. Rear: Twin Betor air-assisted shocks  
**Brakes** Front: Twin Brembo discs, opposed-piston calipers. Rear: Single Brembo disc, opposed-piston caliper  
**Wheels** Cast aluminium  
**Tyres** Front: 325 x 19. Rear: 400 x 18

  
**DIMENSIONS**  
**Wheelbase** 1510mm (59.5in)  
**Weight** 158kg (348 lb)  
**Performance** 115mph (claimed)  
  
**For just a few dollars more...**

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