Honda VFR400: Screaming and Speeding

The scream of the vee four engine tried to blow my eardrums away, forcing me to hold the throttle open as the gears lurched up through the box; I loved that growl! Degutted exhaust and derestricted ignition meant that the redline was entirely theoretical - the mill just got smoother as the revs increased; no need to back off. 130mph came up without much effort, then everything slowed right down and I had to tuck myself right into the bike to make it past 135mph. An indicated 140mph was the best I ever did - fast enough to have all the other traffic on the M4 going backwards; rapid enough to leave the plod cars wobbling behind!

The CBR600 front end made sure the bike went where it was pointed; the minimal sectioned wrap-around frame was stronger than it looked and the secondhand White-Power shock firmed up the rear end better than most new bikes - the Jap spec bike came with soggy stock suspension only suited to 50kg Jap's that sent the bike very nervous above 80mph and quite diabolical down bumpy country lanes; the upgrade totally transforming the feel and stability of the VFR.

The early model VFR had done 32000 kilometres by the time it fell into my hands, which included two UK yobs who'd just slung a leg over the bike and ridden it into the ground. The bike wasn't in that bad a condition considering the level of abuse and neglect - as well as the suspension, the front discs were a nasty mess which were so dangerous that I really didn't want to do more than 50mph - which given the race riding position wasn't very clever. Thus the fitment of the CBR600 front end, which was cheaper than buying new VFR discs, calipers and pads!

The stiffer front end showed up the soggy stock shock, which turned the bike into a fast moving pogo-stick that battered my spine and loosened my bowels. New shocks are amazingly expensive so a used but rebuilt White Power unit was acquired from the usual sources. The VFR originally cost 900 notes, another 300 blown sorting it out - that's still pretty damn cheap for a bike that handled better than most new bikes.

The chassis seems inherently stable, loves to be pushed to its limits - I can certainly get my knees down without leaning right off the machine; no ground clearance problems, the sticky Metz's can be taken right to the edge and give the safest feel in the wet I've ever come across, even if they only last for 3500 miles! The riding position makes me feel totally part of the machine, rather than perched atop a lump of remote metal. It's more comfortable than some replicas but not really up to slow riding...

That's why I screwed the balls off the engine all the time. Wheelies were but a flick of the wrist and tug of the bars away, had the front wheel up around the ped's earholes with a beautifully shrill scream out of the exhaust. Cringed? The cowardly buggers ran for cover. Especially when second gear engaged with a bang and the machine lurched towards the pavement. The first time this happened I had to get a boot down to stop it falling right over; but a bit of practice allowed some extreme body language to compensate. The major downer with doing a 50mph wheelie is that it's next to impossible to do an emergency stop when some cager or ped in another world gets in the way - how the f..k they can ignore the noise and general pandemonium I don't know.

I got intense kicks out of doing wheelies even though they scared me as much as they did the ped's... until the clutch began to rattle and then slip. It was quite fun doing 15000 revs and 30mph in fourth gear; talk about getting nowhere fast! This was the first time I'd had to take the plastic off - revealing some internal GRP repairs and some cracks around the mounting holes. Removing the clutch cover proved difficult as someone had evidently used Araldite on the threads, but the good old routine with sledgehammer and chisel soon had them out, at the price of some deep gouges in the alloy and ruined screws. Pattern clutch plates and springs were fitted without taking my eye out and the whole thing put together with a layer of gasket goo as a replacement gasket was prohibitively expensive.

The clutch lever required twice as much effort; the slipping replaced by drag in town, dead easy to make the VFR do a yard long kangaroo hop as I tried to match the braking force to the drag without stalling the whirling motor. All the more reason to stop for nothing. Exactly a week after the rebuild I found the lower fairing was flapping around, part of the mounting had snapped off - it was a difficult bastard to put back on and the few taps with the hammer obviously hadn't helped. I removed the lower fairing, revealing that the clutch cover was leaking oil copiously - had to buy a gasket after all! The engine finish was awful so I soon repaired the lower fairing and slapped it back on.

As 50,000 kilometres approached the gearbox became quite nasty, a BMW-like clunk-click and a penchant for leaping out of second and third! The rear chain was at the end of its adjustment and hanging off the sprockets. A new chain and sprocket set added, the gearchange improved marginally but still gave every indication that the selectors were shot. I'd been doing oil/filter changes every 1500 miles, so it obviously wasn't my fault, was it?

After a bit more practice I got the gearchange working reasonably, at least it would discourage tea-leaves. I was riding in the company of the usual reprobates on hot 400 and 600 replicas, the VFR holding its own except on full bore speed testing when the bigger bikes would blow through 150mph like there was no tomorrow. The VFR was fast accelerating but not quite able to jerk my head off my shoulders, its agility and stability more impressive than its outright engine power, though its noise was second to none; the exhaust howl aided and abetted by the whirling of its straight cut gears (cam as well as primary drive).

The bike was brilliant at 130mph - stable, comfortable, economical (45mpg!) and the engine feeling bullet-proof - so much so that I never did get around to touching the top end in over 20,000 kilometres. That might explain the engine blowing up! It was on an early morning cruise with about a dozen mates on replicas, strung out along the M4, no-one doing less than 130mph. The first intimation I had was a little roughness creeping out of the engine, the rev counter going crazy, which made me caress the clutch lever...

Two or three seconds later there was a huge detonation from the motor which promptly seized up solid. I had the clutch in the moment the back wheel began to skitter and rolled to a halt on the hard shoulder. I was ready to burst into tears - the fumes and oil spitting out of the motor did nothing to reassure me! Great bike, shame about its owners.

T.K.