The Cossack 350J.

Its price isn't the, only side benefit.

The superb Cossack 350J is the bike big enough to keep up with the big machines and just small enough to save you a big insurance bill. And, as a solo or combo, it has an extremely attractive price tag.

That powerful 350 twin engine will cruise you comfortably along the highway all day at today's legal limits, with plenty of power to spare. Or manoeuvre you happily to work through the thickest traffic jam.

The Cossack 350J was designed for easy owner maintenance-for instance, the rear mudguard, number plate, seat and tail light come away as one unit, making the rear wheel extremely easy to work on-and the wheel is Q.D. too. And a really good toolkit is supplied free.

Now with the addition of the stylish Cossack J Sidecar you have a combo for Everyman-Sports­man, Family Man, Learner, and Messenger.

The sidecar can be fitted to the 350J by your Cossack Dealer, or bought separately can be fitted to any other bike of comparable specification.

The sidecar has its own brake, linked to the bike's braking system. And is available now. That's what we mean by side benefit.

The Jupiter? Well, let's say it's not our favourite bike?

TO BE PERFECTLY frank and honest, I hated the Jupiter from the moment that I sat on it. I had nothing but bad memories of a similar machine that we tried a few years back and, at first impression, the Jupiter had not changed much. The main drawback was that, until a period of readjusting had passed, it was such an awkward bike to ride. Nothing seemed to function easily. The throttle was of the "through the handlebars" variety and had excessive slack, the rocking gear change was awkward to use with the heel, and the all-metal pedal at the front precluded the use of the upper side of the toe for upward changes, the brakes appeared to be non-existent, and even the clutch only appeared to grip when it felt like doing so. The latter problem was not really the fault of the Jupiter, for the gear change was linked to the clutch, making it possible to change gear, and even pull away, purely on pressure on the gear change pedal. Trouble is, I had forgotten all about that and was tending to linger on the pedal after a gear change, the result being that the clutch stayed disengaged.

Nobody would suggest that the Jupiter 350 twin two-stroke is the best-looking motorcycle in the world, though there is a smoothness about the various enclosures that is quite appealing

The first few days on the bike really were misery. Nothing seemed to work right, the machine jarred on my senses and I was not enjoying it. Time, they say, is the answer to many problems, and so it was with the Jupiter. I adapted my style to suit the unsophisticated ways of the Russian machine. I left more room for my braking. Much more. The gear change as I got used to it improved and only occasionally did I fail to engage the gear cleanly, and I modified the dual seat, which made the gear change even better. Funny, you might think. Not really. A grab handle is fitted between rider and passenger, a robust affair ideal for lifting the not inconsiderable bulk of the machine on to the centre stand. It also acted as a pneumatic drill at the base of my spine, and if I was going to ride the bike at all it was going to have to go. Two bolts held it so removal was no problem, and, because I was able to sit further back on the dual seat, I was able to angle my leg better on the footrest, thereby making gear changing easier. The only drawback: two unsightly holes in the seat and the virtual removal of the centre stand from the game, for without that handle the use of it was all but impossible.

Ignition/lights switch in the headlamp follows the old-style BMW pattern, but with a mite less precision in operation . . .

Time passed and the Jupiter carried out its daily commuting chores without fuss or bother. The 350 c.c. twin-cylinder two-stroke engine always started easily, needing flooding and full air from cold, a brisk prod from the left foot operated kickstarter when warm. It was virtually vibration-free and relatively oil tight. I never really get on with left-side kick-starters but this one was not too bad. My gear changing technique improved. From the start each gear engagement was audible to anyone who cared to listen, a loud crunch telling the world that man and machine were not in harmony. After a while I learned that it would not be rushed and, contrary to everyone's belief about Russian machinery, responded to a sensitive touch. It also made me get to grips with my lazy gear change foot:

Riding the Jupiter was, when it comes to putting it down in black and white, not unreasonable. The seat was comfortable and the suspension acceptably on the firm side. Steering with a block-tread 3.50 x 18 in. tyre on the front (and on the rear, both wheels being interchangeable), was heavy but not unbearably so. Handling was surprisingly good. The low performance, comparatively speaking; of the engine did not throw any great demands on the single-down-tube cradle frame that looks, in any case, as though it could accommodate the big Ural engine without problems. The feeling was that, in an emergency, even the massive pump, mounted along almost the full length of the front tube, would play its part. With conventional, and characteristically massive, telescopic forks at the front and swinging-arm rear suspension, the bike did not show any great signs of distress when pushed through roundabouts and the like at quite respectable speeds.

 Now we come to the bit that really did worry us. The brakes. It is, obviously an area that is giving the importers some concern for, before the machines are sold, the Russian linings are replaced by Ferodo and the cables are all changed round. Even so the brakes on the original road-test machine were poor. No, more than poor, dangerous. The rear pedal was some two inches above the height of the footrest, making a balanced use of the pedal difficult. In the end this did not matter for even stamping on the pedal never offered the response that was needed. The front brake was little better. It was particularly susceptible to the wet and even in the dry needed prolonged application before any noticeable stopping power was evident. Upon initial application there was a delay, a kind of winding up that could be likened to servo action. In a nutshell, the brakes were pretty grim. There is, however, another side to the coin for Satra, who import the machine, sent us along a second Jupiter shod with British tyres, Dunlop K70s. Now for some reason, the brakes on this bike were immeasurably better than those on the test machine. Coupled with decent tyres, the bike was a very much more attractive package and obviously the importer’s point that the provision of good tyres was a worthwhile operation was a good one. Perhaps readers are wondering why this is not done in the first place? We did, too, and the answer was that the Jupiter is a cheap bike, very cheap and if items such as tyres, in addition to the brake linings and cables, have to be changed then the bike's very virtue, its cheapness, it going to be eroded. To return, for a moment, to the original bike and its brakes. It had Russian tyres, as we have said, almost trials tyres, in fact, with a solid cross-pattern block tread. They were, as is freely acknowledged, peculiar, and on the rare occasions when we managed to screw extra braking out of the Jupiter, usually in desperation, the point of breakaway arrived so soon that it was clearly pointless to improve the braks, on their own, too much. The strange thing is that the tyres did not cause too much concern in the wet; although due allowance must be made for our being far more cautious than usual.

Engine-gear unit is quite neat with a sort of inspired simplicity in the provision of a hole in the cowling over the carburettor to accommodate the rider's "tickler" finger! Note the awkwardly shaped gear pedal

During the test it averaged 50 miles to the gallon of petrol mixture. This is a figure that we have grown used to from bikes of much greater performance but not one which we had hoped for from the Jupiter, for we would have expected that the customer that it would attract would be very economy-minded. To be fair, to Satra Belarus, they do not make a great thing of the bikes economy, claiming "up to 60 m.p.g." in their leaflet. The fuel tank held four gallons with a reserve of, generously, under a mile - which is quite ridiculous. A mixture of 20 to 1 was initially suggested but we found that the blue haze that we disgorged at anything over 50 m.p.h. was an embarrassment, and 24 to 1 was used with no ill-effect, bearing in mind that the bike was well run-in.

The performance of the machine was surprisingly good. It would cruise quite happily at 60 m.p.h. almost indefinitely. Top speed was just over 70 m.p.h. which is less than the 85 m.p.h. claimed but not, bearing in mind the kind of machine that it is intended to be, too bad. The speedometer, calibrated in k.p.h., was quite accurate at low speeds but wavered badly in excess of 60 m.p.h. The second bike, much newer, had a very much better speedometer fitted. Acceleration was not startling, nor did we expect it to be, but little difficulty was experienced beating the commuting car from the starting gate.

The lights were really not quite as powerful as we would have hoped from what is, after all, quite a high-performance machine (in the sense that it is, theoretically, as able as any other bike on the market to be ridden as fast as the law will allow). The rear light, a plastic moulding, was also less than we would have wished. The flashing indicators were not at all bad. They were reliable (at least on the No. 1 machine, they didn't work at all on the- second!), but their real downfall was in the switches. Identical either side the left hand one also had the horn button. The "neutral" area remained between dip and main that served as the cancel position on the right-hand indicator switch. This switch had no "stop" at the cancel position whatsoever and relied entirely upon the rider hitting the right spot to cancel, with the consequent temptation to look down whilst doing so. Not a good switch. Neither was the ignition switch, a removable plunger key in the headlamp that served as a light switch as well. It had a spring-loaded shutter to keep out the weather when the key was removed and this never worked on any of the machines, with the result that if the bike was left in the rain there was a danger of the switch filling up with water and activating the ignition circuit. It did this on the Jupiter and the Ural. Just to make matters worse, the connection was a simple electrical contact, not unlike that used in a voltage control regulator, which persisted in bending and making it increasingly difficult to get sparks without removing the light to bend it back. Really, one way and another, the electrics left something to be desired but at least they, had the virtue of keeping working in spite of everything else.

Let us look for a few of the assets of the Jupiter for, after all, it was not all bad. The rear chain was totally enclosed with a rubber coupling allowing some flexibility of the unit. It worked well and we never once even thought about the chain. The primary drive is by duplex chain. The rear seat, mudguard and light unit could be removed at the pressure of a button at the front of the seat, making maintenance in that area and rear wheel removal child's play. The tool kit supplied for this and other jobs was, as always, more than adequate.

It was a comfortable enough bike to ride once it had been "modified", with the seat at least as good as most that we try. The relationship between the handlebars, footrests and seat was reasonable and once we became used to the controls it was not too bad, as a basic motorcycle, to ride. It would be immeasurably improved for a little mild "modding" by owners though. The substitution of an Amal for the slow action throttle would show an immediate benefit, as would the fitting of a round rubber-covered foot-change pedal to give more control over upward changes.

The brakes worried us . . . on the original-test machine they were well below an acceptable standard, on test bike no. 2 considerably better.

Practice showed that the larger the boots we wore the less room there was to squeeze the heel into the right position for smooth gear changing, with the result that missed changes were somewhat above our average.

The silencing of the bike was about average with an occasional crackle from the exhaust that once had me comparing it to a Scott! The thought of the reaction of Scott owners to the comparison kept me amused for the rest of the journey. Not for the first time we felt that a Russian machine was over-baffled, which did not necessarily mean that it was quieter. The feeling was of a booming from somewhere down below, which became slightly irritating on the over-run. In this respect and to be fair, in many others, the Jupiter reminded us of an equivalent British machine of the late 50s. Crude, unsophisticated, basic and using cheap materials. The difference is that the Russian machines have more excuse for, presumably coming from a country where, in this area, they are still decades behind, the first priority is to produce reliable if unexciting transport for the masses.

The above supposition could also apply to the looks of the machine. Our first reaction never changed, it is ugly, full stop. The dated castings covering the carburettor, the fuel tank that was designed for capacity rather than looks, and the sheer bulk of the machine contribute to a far from handsome package. A heavy one, too, for it weighs 348 lb (dry) which is very noticeable to the rider. Finished in green or blue and cream, the paint job leaves a great deal to be desired, being cheap looking and having a marked tendency to chip at sharp corners. Much the same could be said about the chrome which looks fine but has a poor base and chips easily:

An unnecessarily harsh judgement of a machine? That is up to the readers to judge for we must not overlook the fact that the Jupiter sells at only £279, which is less than half that asked for a Japanese or Italian 350. One argument could well be, "What do you expect for that price?". Is it valid? Are those who buy the bike getting a cheap bike that is value for money, or no more than they are paying for? The poor old Jupiter has just one more thing going against it - it is undercut by one of its. Iron Curtain neighbours, the Jawa 350. We should be trying one of those too, soon, so it will be interesting to see which is the better bike.

Perhaps readers are left with the impression that we are less than enthusiastic about the Cossack Jupiter 350. The plain fact is that, even after living with it for three weeks solid, we never really enjoyed riding it. We think that it would not be difficult, at modest expense, to modify it so that its less attractive features are at least eased and, in this respect, we think that we would rather the machine were purchased by an experienced motorcyclist who knew exactly what he was getting and had the capacity to improve it. One thing that worries us about a machine such as this is that an outsider coming to it "raw" (we recognise that a learner has to limit his machine to 250) might well regard this as typical motorcycling. It is not. It is a basic machine, perhaps suitable for commuting; even touring with determination, but for us it was not fun. And that, above all, is what motorcycling is all about. Or should be, it would be a tragedy if a rider was to ride a bike purely for transport and not discover this.

Ural plus sidecar has some charms

THE ARRIVAL of the Ural sidecar outfit complete a trio of Russian machines that we have ridden in the past months. Unlike the previous two, both of which were two­-strokes, this one at least had the virtue of needing the absolute minimum of acclima­tization. The reasons will be quite clear to regular readers. The Ural bears more than a passing resemblance to the older BMWs and, as I have ridden a BMW complete with right-hand sidecar over many thousands of miles over the past few years, I felt almost at home. Well almost.

Cossack Owners Club Note:

The original magazine paragraph coloured red tells a different version of the origins of the Ural motorcycles to that given in the club archives. We know the Ural did not come from the R75 and it was before WWII, so please ref for accurate details:
(Archive link)à Origins of the Ural motorcycles

"The origin of the Ural has never been in question, for presumably the needs of the Russian motorcycle industry were for machines rather than originality. If, after the war, one or two of the 750 German army sidecar outfits were left lying around in the Russian sector (they appeared to be left lying around everywhere else, so it is not an unreasonable supposition)"

then to base a workhorse side­car outfit would seem to be a good idea. The Germans were in no position to object and no one could question the suitability of the machinery.

The Ural is of course very BMW-like (the BMW of several decades back, that is) though the standard of engineering and finish does not bear comparison; the Russian sidecar follows a German pattern as well ­the Steib, more particularly the TR500 model

The basics of the Ural must be clear to everyone by now but we will recap for those who may still be in the dark. The engine is an air-cooled flat-twin of 650 c.c. having a bore of 78mm and a stroke of 68mm. The mechanics of the motor are very similar to an early BMW (opinions vary about which BMW, but we are inclined to plump for the R75, as made in the late 30s with a smatter­ing of R51). The barrel and pushrod system, rocker assembly, and, for all we know, pis­tons, are identical to the pre-Earles type BMW. Just to keep us on our toes the ex­haust system differs in that it is a push-fit into the head, rather than being retained by a ring nut. It is a less efficient system that would have explained why the bike was inclined to bang back in the silencer, for they were not really a perfect fit. Lubrication is by gear pump with the breather venting from the right-hand side of the engine. Ig­nition is by coil with the dynamo mounted on top of the engine, rather in the manner of the BMW R51/2; The front timing cover houses the contact breaker and front end of the dynamo. A fair-sized battery of unspeci­fied power provides the essential sparks and looks after the lighting at low revs. In fair­ness, the lighting needs some looking after for the light is at best adequate, which is being a little over generous. While criticizing the electrics let us, not forget the switches, both dip, flashing and indicator. We dealt with them fully in the Jupiter test and the same poor rating applies. On the credit side, the assistance of the battery certainly con­tributed to the Ural's excellent starting.

An oil-bath-type air cleaner is mounted on the very BMW-like gearbox; with rubber intake pipes connecting it to the 24mm car­burettors, the float chambers are as on a Bing but the square body is more original. The gearbox, driven by a dry two-plate clutch (we won't accuse them of taking that from Moto Guzzi!) has that well-loved old BMW feature, the auxiliary gear change lever on the right-hand side. A most useful item for putting the bike into gear, finding neutral and, at a pinch, changing gear with, should you sprain your left ankle. While they were copying, it was a pity that they did not duplicate the kickstarter for although the position is the same it has a round, rather that flat, rubber covered surface and was very awkward to use from astride the machine. Heaven knows, BMWs are not all that easy. I always found it paid to get off the Ural and stand alongside, an easy operation with a sidecar attached.

Drive to the rear wheel is, naturally, by shaft which is exposed with built-in shock absorber. Bevel drive ratios are not given but we recall that they are about three to one, which is a sidecar ratio and comes whether the bike is solo or sidecar. Fine in our case but less so for the solo owner, for even an engine such as this can be over-­revved. All three wheels are interchangeable, with a spare supplied mounted on the side­car boot. Tyre size is 3.75 x 19in. The wheels have adjustable taper bearings. A consider­able portion of the weight is absorbed by the double front down tube, cradle-type frame. As the bike is designed specifically to take a sidecar, this is not unreasonable and it must be remembered, too, that BMW suffer­ed from the same problem! In fact in spite of the massive appearance of the Ural it is not too heavy for the claimed weight is 437 lb with the addition of the sidecar bringing this up to 620 lb.

An optional extra is the dual-seat, and what a difference that makes. The old swing seat and perch-on-top pillion seat had a certain period charm about them but most people's reaction to them seemed uncompli­mentary. The dual-seat as fitted was com­fortable, looked good and helped the pillion passenger to feel that he was out on the same ride. Should the rider desire to return to the swing seat the front mounting pillar has been retained. Less good-looking was the petrol tank, and this was mainly due to an ugly white plastic moulding that circumnavi­gated it half-way down. Perhaps it hides the weld marks but there must be more attractive ways of doing it. The mudguards would win few prizes in the beauty stakes either, but at least they were mudguards. The rear was a full six inches wide with a rubber mud flap at the front and the front was only slightly smaller, also having a mud flap. The object of a mudguard is to protect the rider, and they do this very well. The rest of the cycle parts were adequate, the robust front forks coping with the stresses of the sidecar without complaint and the adjustable rear suspension units giving a smooth ride, if a little on the firm side. What I did not like was rather too much pressed tin about the machine, front hubs that look as though they had been stamped out of soft metal, the pillion rest attachment that was pure Mickey Mouse and a rear sub-frame that looks less robust than it, in fact, was. The finish, unfortunately, as we have come to expect from Russian machines, was less than perfect. The paint was gaudy looking, the light-blue finish chipping off in far too many places. The chrome, too, was not so hot. A few days out in the rain saw a thin yellow coating appear­ing on most of it and some parts, the rear spindle, for example, had aged before their time.

What of the sidecar? Enthusiasts for the Steib marque will recognize that it is a fair imitation of the very under-rated TR500, which in its early military days was used to carry a machine gun. When attached to the Ural it somehow looks as though such an attachment would not be all that out of place. It is robust to the point of being almost too heavy, well made and has an ample boot.

Unfortunately, and we are per­haps being unfair here, when the original military version was captured I suspect that it never had a windscreen on and, as a result, such an essential item never found its way to the civilian version. The passenger missed it sorely and the way is open for someone to offer a conversion. We did hear that Mundays of Brixton were thinking of such a screen. A waterproof tonneau cover is supplied though.

The sidecar is attached to the bike by the classic Steib method of two ball joints at the bottom and two eye bolts at the top on the lean-out bars. Like the Steib removal is a matter of minutes with no disruption of the alignment of the outfit. As a matter of interest, the alignment is set up in this country with a negative camber to allow for the machine usually being ridden in the gutter or thereabouts. Suspension of the sidecar was by a series of rubber rings, one on top of the other under the body below the seat. It worked very well.

I am bound to say that I enjoy riding almost any sidecar outfit, at least for a while, and the promise of the Ural was not going to be any different as far as I was concerned. For a rider unaccustomed to riding a bike with a sidecar stuck out in the traffic it can be a little daunting at first but, as I have said, years of riding just such an outfit hardened me to the idea and I was immediately at home on the Ural. It is not like driving a left-hand-drive car, remember, for most times it is possible to see over, around the inside or by a crafty bit of body lean, around the outside with, for the real expert, the additional benefit of being able to watch a passenger's face to judge the speed and size of the oncoming traffic. This was more difficult on the Ural, for said passen­ger's face was usually contorted by the wind. The other disadvantage was a greater one, I found, for with the bike inevitably forced into the kerb at night the light dipped into hedges, etc., and following the 'line of the road could be a problem. Presumably an owner could overcome this to some extent by fitting a spotlamp on the sidecar wheel but there is not really a great deal of power to spare from the dynamo for such a luxury.

Sorry to keep on comparing the Ural with a BMW, but it is a sort of left-handed rela­tive and, because of the design, some similar­ities are inevitable. Like the torque of the motor. The old BMs had just the same power as the Ural, delivered in much the same way, too. Pulling power from low revs, a fair turn of acceleration initially, and smooth­ness. Yes, the Ural was smooth, surprisingly so, and it responded just like an old tele­scopic forked version of the Bavarian machine. Under hard acceleration the bike held its line well, any tendency to pull to the left being eliminated by the fairly wide handlebars. Changing gear (pure BMW, this!) resulted in the whole outfit giving a lurch and then it regained its line to maintain a respectable rate of acceleration without too much noise. This was not maintained for long, though, for top speed was a bare 60 m.p.h., which means that cruising must be considered a bit lower, say 50/55 m.p.h. It is a matter of personal choice whether this kind of performance is important. Personally I found it slightly less than I would normally wish to use on a sidecar outfit.

Engine layout is straightforward; power is reasonable

With a fairly heavy, well-set-up outfit it is possible to take quite alarming liberties and I soon found that the Ural was in this class.

The sidecar wheel could be lifted but it took a conscious effort and, in the normal course of riding, it kept its wheel firmly on the floor. Perhaps, when taking a round­about, it would be possible to get the sidecar wheel clear of the ground, not with a pas­senger though. The drawback to the mach­ine's abilities were undoubtedly the Russian made tyres, that had a point of breakaway that made even the brakes look good. In fact, so easily did they slide, that if there has been any great improvement to the bikes brakes it was not easily discernible. Strang­ely the problem was less obvious in the wet. In the dry, hard acceleration before the front wheel was completely straight after a corner would send the outfit crabbing in the manner of a road race outfit, and remember this engine only claims a modest 37 b.h.p.

Returning to the gearbox for a moment, it is to be expected that an engine speed clutch would result in a slow gear change but, as always, silent changes could be accomp­lished with a little patience. This was made slightly more difficult on the Ural by the provision of a rocking gear change pedal that, like the Jupiter, had a front blade sharp enough to discourage one from bringing it into contact with the top of decent boots. On the Ural the heel part of the change was tucked in just a little too far and I never felt really happy when using it, for any delicacy of control, as we said in the Jupiter test, is difficult. The clutch, on the other hand, was very good, light and positive. No complaints about comfort, either, for the dual-seat, big bars and a riding position that gave one precise control of the outfit were all we could hope for. We have already mentioned that the sidecar passenger might take a different view.

Fuel consumption of the machine present­ed us with a few problems. From the start it was awful, between 20 and 30 m.p.g. If that was the true case ~ then the outfit was not a good proposition. We decided to invite the experts to help us investigate and took it out to Sourisu, the electronic diagnosis people, to see if they could help. We took one or two other bikes too and our discov­eries will be the result of a future article, but for now it is worth mentioning that their CO analyser confessed itself baffled by the strength and unreliability of the mixture being disgorged by the Ural's silencers. Not feeling inclined to delve too deeply into the mysteries of the Ural's internals; we returned the bike to Satra. (It was much more com­plicated than that, but that was the end product.) They discovered that the main jet in the right-hand carburettor had dropped out. Subsequent fuel consumption tests on the Ural have showed that it is returning 32 m.p.g., which is fair without being too outstanding. It was fairly heavy on ail, too, using a pint every 200 miles but we were told that these machines need a great deal of running in, at least 2,000 kilometers, and the oil consumption continues even after this time. We were unable to verify this but that, is the claim. Some of the missing oil with­out a doubt escaped from what appeared to be the sump joint but could have been the rear main ail seal. All I know is it made a muck of my drive. Apart from that the motor was oil tight.

That, then, is the story of the Ural. I think that we have made it seem better on paper than it actually is. It is reliable, so some of our dealer friends tell us, solid, does the job that it is intended to do well enough and, of course, at £629 for the outfit is dead cheap. Although not as cheap as it was six months ago, for it recently went up £75. On the debit side it has a poor finish, the paint­work is thin and chipped, or rather flaked off, the chrome is poorly based and the cast­ings would send an Italian manufacturer weeping to his foundry manager. It falls down, too, on two essential items, the brakes, in spite of using British linings and cables, and the lights, which are about on a par with the not-so-good bikes of the '50s. Agricul­tural and crude are two often used terms to describe the Ural. They suit the bike well and it does not necessarily mean that it is the worse for it. It is surprisingly good ­looking, in its "agricultural" way, many people, especially those not really interested in bikes, commenting on its looks. Enthu­siasts tended to have made up their mind without having given the machine a glance.

There were, as always, areas where the Ural could be easily improved and it would undoubtedly benefit from a little detail work. Even so it was not without its attractions, although I am bound to say that if I were in the market for an outfit and had £600 odd to spend I would perhaps be looking at other machinery, not necessarily now, as well. It is important, when buying a Ural, that you should go into it with your eyes open but, provided the drawbacks are understood; it should be possible to not only get reliable basic transport but enjoy it, too.-B.P.

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