Linhai Quad Test

Let’s be honest, off-roading can be a bit of a schlepp; move all the crap off the trailer, load the bike, find all your gear, pack it in a bag (that you’ve also had to find), drive to the country, unload the bike, get dressed, fill up the bike, try and find the one glove you forgot to pack, fill the camel back to find it now leaks, try and start the bike (which has been standing for 6 weeks), swear a lot. Only then can you actually start to ride.

But, as soon as that happens; as soon as a wheel turns and you hit the dirt, all the above ceases to matter as you pit yourself and the machine against the best, or worst, that nature can throw at you and come out on top (well, most of the time!). Even getting hot, sweaty and dusty/muddy (delete as applicable) is fun, in a masochistic sort of way.

Throw in a few mates and a cooler box of cold ones over which you exaggerate the trials of the day’s ride as the sun sets and you have the perfect recipe.

Deep down, we never lose that childlike passion for getting really dirty; show an off-roader a puddle and he’s attracted to it like a fly to poo; show him any expanse of mud and he’s in heaven. Somehow, returning clean from an off-road excursion misses the whole point of doing it in the first place; we’re not there to actually ride and practise our skills. No, the idea is to get ourselves and the bike as filthy as possible to prove to ourselves that we haven’t forgotten how to be a big kid.

Now, the question remains; two wheels or four? Both have their adherents and some of us don’t care how many wheels there are, as long as we’re riding something. Four wheels can mask many deficiencies in skill, but two wheels can be more rewarding when (and if) you get it right. But it’s horses for courses and here we are concerned with four.

There are many variations of the quad theme, from out and out sport, through general purpose to workhorses. It is into the latter category that the Linhai models tested here fall into, although Linhai has tried to jazz up the bikes to widen the appeal.

As is the case with many categories of bikes these days, there are competitors from Asian countries which ape their Japanese and American rivals, with greater and lesser success, in every respect except for one important area; price. And, in this day and age, price is becoming more and more important.

 But can these cheaper alternatives deliver the same riding pleasure or capability in the field of work? As to the latter, I’m no farmer or land owner who needs one of these to carry out its duties without excessive downtime or issues with longevity of service, but we can judge them on pure enjoyment of use alone, even though many recreational riders wouldn’t necessarily consider one for that purpose.

4X4 capability!

So, what did we ride? In one corner we have the 4X2 Rustler 300 (actually 275cc) and in the other is the 4X4 Rustler 400 (a measly 352cc). Both are chunky and dumpy looking machines, with CVT transmission, high and low range gearboxes plus reverse and large, roll-over-anything wheels. There are front and rear carriers of generous proportions and both have a towing capacity of 200kgs. The 2WD model has a single rear shock and solid axle whilst the 4WD has twin-shock independent suspension at the rear. Simple to operate, useful and cheap; what more could you possibly want?

Well, a bit more good old fashioned grunt, to be honest. Out at the Maraisburg mine dumps, the first thing that made itself felt was the relative lack of any real ‘go’ about the bikes. Not sure if this was down to the CVT transmission or simply a lack of oomph from the motors. It was probably a mixture of the two, but it was immediately clear that these are not intended as purely recreational vehicles. This was made apparent even more comprehensively when we realised that there was little, if anything, that would stop these bikes moving forward and I’m talking obstacles, gradients, surface, rider ineptitude…… We just couldn’t find anything that would stop them.

And this is exactly as it should be, given their targeted role in life. The 4X4 was especially unstoppable, which in itself brought a new element of enjoyment to riding them. A 45 degree fine sand slope proved no obstacle to it, a fact that was brought home when the toggle switch that changes the drive between two- and four-wheel drive was inadvertently switched to 2WD half way up. Obviously, it got stuck, but as soon as the mistake was noticed and 4WD re-engaged, it set off with no fuss and completed the climb.

When I say they were virtually unstoppable, that also unfortunately also applies to the brakes. I’m not sure when I last used brakes as bad as these – possibly a 1963 BSA Bantam comes close – but I do know I don’t want to come across them again in a hurry. Allowing for the fact that these were brand new bikes and so maybe the pads weren’t bedded in at all, there was woefully little stopping power. The front brake lever might as well have been attached to a piece of oak, for all the lever movement and feel that there was, whilst the back brake (the bikes have discs all round) didn’t really seem to do anything much. Maybe it was just as well that they couldn’t go very fast!

Whilst acknowledging that no-one looking to buy a quad for recreational use would necessarily look at these machines, the very fact that we were hooning around and having a blast tells you more about the fun to be had on any kind of bike, no matter what its makers intended. The 4X4 was difficult to turn quickly at any speed, but both bikes in 2WD would hang the tail out with little effort. In fact, the lack of power meant that these were as unintimidating as a Rottweiler with no teeth; still large and heavy but not likely to cause any real damage through misuse or abuse.

Going back to the child analogy, riding off road on a bike custom made for those conditions brings out the child in anyone and, to that end, despite being underpowered, the two Linhai’s were just as much as fun as anything I’ve ridden. If you put away your snobbish performance expectations borne of more expensive choices there is enjoyment in simply being on the right machine for the conditions.

It is easy (and all too common) to slag off the unglamorously labelled underdog or his poor relation but if you can get over these uncharitable feelings and need a machine to hold its own up in the working environment then why would you need to pay more than the R40,000 or R50,000 for the 300 and 400 respectively? The cheapest Polaris, the Sportsman 450, for example, comes in at R70,000. Alright, so it might last longer and have less reliability issues in the long term (something I couldn’t possibly comment on in respect of the Linhai’s given our limited time with them) but, given the inevitable higher cost of parts and servicing of the Polaris, can the cheaper alternative be ignored? What is more, how long will it take the Chinese to get their act together and improve their build quality and reliability to become real rivals?

Finish of components, especially plastic switchgear fittings, loses marks but they do what they are designed to do even if they feel cheap and a bit nasty. You gets what you pay for, I suppose. Both bikes sport the inevitable digital dash readouts, but how often does anyone really look at them, apart from the fuel gauge?

At the end of the day, we achieved exactly what we set out to do; have some fun and get absolutely filthy and feel like real men! There may be better machines out there that we could have done this on, but not many of them would be able to fulfil a dual role as these could for the price. So, if you’re a farmer who hasn’t completely lost his sense of fun and needs to let off steam every now and then, there is now even more choice to confuse you.

(This article first appeared in Offroad and Adventure SA Magazine)