I don't know quite what I was expecting - one of those Gull-arm replicas? - but it wasn't the rather sensible, half faired Honda that stood before me. Back in 1986 the word radical didn't really exist in motorcycle design. Second UK owner, 36000 miles, bit tatty in the cosmetics but a nice mechanical whirl. The owner warned me that the gearchange took some getting used to - understatement of the year! It whizzed up the road in its rev happy way and I thought it wasn't half bad for a grand. Okay, let's deal!
For this kind of money, if you want something that shifts, you don't get all that much, but I figured a high tech four cylinder Honda was going have more life left in it than some highly strung stroker on its last legs. The Honda had to be wound up to about ten grand before it showed any signs of its 40 horses. Even then it wasn't wheelie time but the exhaust took on a nasty snarl and horizon thundered back towards me.
It was on my first hard run, just as the speedo flicked past 95mph, that the handlebars twitched in my hands. The road was smooth, as far as I could discern, and the bike was upright. One moment calmness and precision, the next the bars were knocking from stop to stop. The bike was still accelerating, as the ton came up the flutters died down and by the time we were doing a ton-twenty the front end felt glued to the tarmac again.
The back end didn't. A bit of shimmering, a touch of looseness and the impression that at any moment it might just turn vicious. When I later checked the tyre over, the Japlop was unevenly worn across its carcass. When I checked wheel alignment it was slightly out but spot on according to the adjusters. Unfortunately, the tyre was so worn that it would never recover an even tread pattern and the handling didn't improve until I fitted a brand new pair of Metz's.
Even then the front end wobble persisted, although the back end felt rock solid. However, it almost always died out if I accelerated through it, became a party trick that would have unwary pillions dropping a load! The only problem with that was the time I took a really fat mate on the back and the wobbles didn't die out. Not that surprising because his weight practically had the bike in permanent wheelie mode and he could barely be squeezed on to the minimal pillion perch.
The front end was in a real 100mph frenzy under this abuse. The bars were practically wrenched out of my hands and it was only the sudden loosening of my grip on the throttle that saved us. The CBR has strong engine braking, and the sudden lack of revs allowed us to loose speed rapidly but not so viciously that it made the wobbling any worse. Still, we almost came off, and the poor old pillion was literally spitting blood, having bitten his tongue during a panic attack.
It did my standing in the local motorcycle community no end of good, as he went around telling everyone I was so mad I should be locked away. Nothing like a bit of madness to get the girls lining up for a stint on the pillion. The CBR could feel really constipated two-up, needed the throttle and gearbox hammered mercilessly.
As mentioned, the gearchange was an invention of the devil's, guaranteed to make as many false neutrals as clean changes. This ain't a good idea when you're revving the motor to sixteen thou, although the young ladies willing to splay themselves on the pillion reckoned that the tingles at 20,000 revs had them thinking the Honda was a high speed dildo! I never had any trouble getting me end away.
There were several consequences to the constant high speed battering that the mill took. By far the worst was the cracked down-pipe on the exhaust, which had the immediate effect of sending the motor into a fit of the stutters and the long term consequence of reducing the whole exhaust system to dust when I tried to remove it. I also ruined all the collets' screw-threads in the head!
As can be imagined, this is such a rare model that it's not easy to find a replacement, although if I wanted to blow 400 sovs I could have ordered a new one from Japan via a grey importer. An end can off a GPZ500 looked vaguely similar, whilst the small amount of remaining down-pipes were welded to a couple of bits of tubing out of some old 4-1's that the local breaker let me have for a tenner. The result would have won some applause from Heath Robinson, but appeared to work rather well, as it mirrored the essential dimensions of the old one.
Going back to caning the engine, other hassles were heavy oil consumption - an empty sump in 500 miles of thrashing - and terrible fuel consumption - 30 to 35mpg. Despite its age and high revs, engine maintenance was miraculously minimal, just do the filter and oil, the rest seemed to look after itself. It took 6000 miles before the exhaust went down but only 700 miles until the engine, er, melted...
It happened like this. A rare sunny Sunday Autumn afternoon, me and my mates deciding a ride out into the country would be just the thing. Load up with the fuel and women, hammer the throttle and head en masse out of London.
Mostly 250/400 replica's, both fierce little strokers and wailing four strokes. We made a wild pace, no-one wanting to be seen as a wimp, which meant riding on the throttle and gearbox in the 90-120mph range. That is, thrashing the balls off the CBR. This didn't worry me at the time, it positively seemed to thrive on revs, being ultra smooth at 15000rpm, feeling like this was a spot in the range where it was designed to fiercely hum along all day long.
Handling on the Metz's was close to excellent. I felt I could heel the bike so far over that the bird was going to pop off the pillion, a feeling she shared judging by the way she clung on to me. I wouldn't say that the Honda was in any way inferior to the modern rep's in its handling, although it obviously lacked urge compared to either the 400 fours or the stroker 250's, but given some curves I could more than make up that deficit by going into my crazy mode.
I was really getting into the bike - you know, when the thing feels like an extension of your limbs and you don't even have to think about it, the bike just goes where it should almost on automatic pilot. I was pushing the motor to sixteen thou in fourth gear, trying to stay in the slipstream of a CBR400, clicked up to fifth only to hit on a false neutral.
It was like losing an erection whilst deep inside some nubile, completely ruined my day. The CBR didn't have any kind of rev limiter...well, if you exclude the valves clouting the pistons! It probably touched rather more than twenty thou as I'd kept the throttle wide open. Even so, the valves didn't touch the pistons, and for a few moments I thought the engine had survived the slaughter.
It soon became apparent that something serious had gone down, though, the engine just wouldn't pull and my mate behind gave me a soliloquy on his horn, as he didn't like being engulfed by clouds of engine smoke. I pulled over, everyone else pulled up or came back from out ahead.
Day ruined, some brave soul agreed to tow us back. Don't do this, the piss-head on the ZXR400 rode like a lunatic with us flapping behind in a series of near suicidal wobbles. We reached home in one piece, but I think only because God wanted to punish me further - the engine strip revealed four holed pistons and ruined main bearings. The gearbox selectors were also well bent, and teeth were missing off some of the cogs. In effect, the engine was a complete write-off. It's not the kind of bike you pop down to the local breaker and ask for a cheap replacement motor, either.
What was left was sold as spares, netting about £400. That left me well down over a mere eight months of riding. It was probably the non-standard exhaust that ultimately did for the machine, which just shows you can't be too careful with old Japs, however high tech they might be.
Mike Ross