Yamaha RD 80 MX: Impression
The first bike
The first moped, loved and unforgotten ?? almost everyone still remembers it. In the 70s it was the hellish 50s mopeds, later the decade of the 80s lured the youngsters into driving schools and onto their saddles. Artur Bondza, 29, relived the flair of the very first bike.
Creak, croak. The garage door opens and there it says
them, the old Yamaha RD 80 MX. My first “motorcycle”. Handlebar fairing, gold cast rims, design just like that
large RD and XJ. Has she always been that little? She is one of the last survivors. Although Yamaha once sold an almost unbelievable 16,000 pieces, all MX seem to have disappeared from the earth? Rotted, worn out, boned, pulverized on guardrails. I’ve negotiated a deal for them: I’ll get them on loan? and make it work for it.
Sure, earlier taken apart in sleep, that thing, no problem. New battery and spark plug and plug are quickly replaced, but the complete carburetor refurbishment and a wobble
Electrics cost a lot of time and nerves. Anyway, get on the saddle. Well, upright sitting position? With my M handlebars
they are a real racing bullet! Knee closure is also not possible, the tank corners press uncomfortably and provoke a slight straddle. Funny, never noticed before.
A jolt, the main stand reluctantly clicks into place, as do the alleged spring elements. Ignition on, fuel tap on and kick starter out. The first courageous kick remains almost without any resistance. If it weren’t for the slight intake noises, one might think that the kickstarter shaft would run into nowhere. Finally, after countless attempts, thin two-stroke patters splash out of the end bags. Well, with the Sebring sports exhaust it sounded completely different, it also smelled different
?? Castor oil. We always mixed in for better combustion … Heaven knows who gave us that.
First gear, the load is moving. How easy the little one goes around the corner, easy in the curves, past every line of cars, I’m back in immediately. The maximum handicap are tires built in ?? 82, but they will be enough for one lap. Turn right, in the direction of Heidelberg-City, into the hunting ground from 1990.
1990. Finally 16, finally an end to the endless bus driving, to begging with the parents, whether they might … just take them to the cinema or to a party in the neighboring town … Finally belong to the cool clique that comes in the morning before the School bored and smoking leans on their RD and DT. Many were already gone, apprenticeship, prison, who knows where, that’s what I’m here for now. It had taken long enough and cost a lot of effort, but then it was in my pocket, the 1b driver’s license. And me
I’m proud like Harry, would have loved to hang the pink paper around my neck so that everyone could see: “It’s going soon, girls, hold on!” For months delivering newspapers, cleaning salad and dishwashers in the restaurant
filled ?? and what had come around? It was enough for the cardboard, after that there were only a few beeps left. No matter, an 80s was needed, no matter what.
Week after week in search of a bargain countless advertising papers tattered. No chance, the dreamed-up RD 80 LC II moved into the unreachable distance. Finally an advertisement gave hope: “Yamaha RD 80 MX, year of manufacture 81, good condition, signed off for a long time, 400 Marks.” There, viewed, negotiated and bought. Yamaha RD 80 MX, nothing with LC like Liquid Cooled, but with thick cooling fins on the cylinder. Looked ultra-old, but it could be bent.
Because the parents donated a helmet? after you yourself
had come to terms with the fact that their son would henceforth be with a
extremely dangerous means of transport. Dangerous ?? just right. The helmet didn’t interfere
really, because even if he ruined the hairstyle, the greens didn’t arrive quite as quickly with headgear-
flown. And with a black visor you could even turn something in the direction of coolness.
The first exit, tap on, 50, 60 things, torn through the aisles, but the fifth ended at 70. What!? Such a crap! Pear on the tank, the speedometer needle climbed to 75, then it was over. Rien ne va plus, nothing worked anymore. The disappointment: colossal. The buddies’ water-cooled DT and RD ran easily over 100. At least that’s what they said. The decisive tip came from the father of all people: “Boy, this is a two-stroke! It has a long time
Confessed and it’s definitely closed. ”Okay, unscrew the exhaust, burn out, cut the carburetor, clean up. “Just don’t turn it anywhere, or you’ll get it
never to work again. ”Father seemed to know his way around.
However, drilling out and polishing the intake manifold was not on the prohibited list. Membrane stops? Garbage can! Transfer channels: polish to a high gloss. Inlet and outlet bore: file, file, file. Everything strictly according to the tuning manual. I was almost a little surprised that after a week in the handicraft basement, all the parts actually fitted together again and the now heavily tuned cart even started. Sebring sports exhaust, a chrome-plated M-handlebar and a racing candle from Gotz finally destroyed the last savings, but the result was phenomenal: 95 according to the speedometer. The friends’ LC could pack up. They weren’t as loud and illegal as mine, but ?? no risk, no fun. In any case, there was now significantly more than the slight 6.8 HP in the feed.
A strong gust of wind brings my thoughts back to the present on Neckarlandstrasse. Despite rain and temperatures of around five degrees, the air-cooled unit warms up after a few kilometers and takes on the gas well
at. Yes, she always got warm quickly. Too warm though. Because the air-cooled RD 80 MX was everything, just not thermal
balanced. Especially not in my “improved” version. With a pillion passenger, the air was often out after a few minutes in summer. My goodness, back then with Thorsten on the Neckar-Uferstrasse, when we wanted to go to the stupid handball game and the box only pushed 30 km / h onto the hot asphalt. Man, that was embarrassing! Hours later we arrived and the whole water-cooled clique peed on with laughter. Once, in frustration, I poured a bucket of water over the hot cylinder. After the clouds of fog cleared, it even started again. Not to be killed.
With every two-stroke cloud and every street corner
I think of new stories, Christian’s winter rides in a T-shirt and kidney belt or Markos
failed wheelies across the road. Or almost
daily police checks, the races on the last groove and the graves at the most beautiful pillion. Drive, fall, screw, have a party? life was lovely.
The realm is becoming more and more familiar: Bismarckplatz, Untere
Street, old bridge, the former beer fountain, the strange bar and the distillery ?? absolute cult. Here was cruised what it took. Sudden gurgling from the exhaust, bang, off! The dying engine rudely brings me back to the present. Hey, what’s up? I arrive at the last chapter on coming to terms with the past, and as it was then it is called: tools
free. After an hour of screwing at night
eI give up on a street lamp. My revival has become more authentic than I wanted? even then I actually pushed her home far too often. Husband, papa…
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