The Z1300 is a good hacking bike. Fact or fiction? I can hear the guffaws, but let me put the record straight. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to say one way or another. What I will do, though, is tell you of my experience with the beast and let you decide for yourself.
I picked the bike up brand new, my bank balance considerably depleted to the tune of over three grand. It looked like a large bike should — big, black and beautiful. Six chrome exhausts thrusting from the matt black, fuel injected lump of engine alloy. I think I drooled idiotically when I first saw it in the flesh — either that or the mechanic gave me a funny look because he thought I was a prat.
Anyway, it fired into life first time I touched the button, a civilised purr from the smooth and silky six cylinder, watercooled engine. With a gentle twist of the throttle — so light and responsive to the touch I rode it cautiously from the shop, head high and leathers tight, posing to the best of my abilities.
It was as l was riding away from the dealers that I hit my first snag. The time was about five in the afternoon, midweek, and the rush hour traffic around Newcastle was starting to clog the streets. a never ending mess of four wheeled expletives queuing to get home. I joined the traffic and, shock, horror, waited with them!
The bike was too wide to go down the central gap in traffic, too ponderous to weave in and out, too heavy to throw into the gaps that exist for only a split second. So. I sat and moved with the cars, other bikes of numerous denominations scampering past me Well, I didn't care, I was still getting used to the bike and I didn't feel like thrashing it with so much traffic on the road.
I arrived home later (much later) and showed it to the missus; raised eyebrows the only welcome. So, enthusiasm dampened, I started the long, boring haul of running it in — a thousand miles of unforgettable tedium. To spare you the pain, I will pass over it completely.
The day arrived when I could thrash it, 1001 miles on the clock. This was it, I thought. The time had arrived, I took it out on the A1(M), just short of Newcastle and pointed it down the long road. The engine felt good, smooth and clean. I opened it up in every gear, hitting the edge of the red line.
It didn't falter, the power effortlessly piling on. The steering held true and firm, not a twitch, even at over 130mph. The only thing I noticed was a slight wallow on tight corners when the rear end started to drift. I put that down to the shocks being wrongly adjusted. I stopped and twisted the top of them, adjusting the air damping even on full the bike still wallowed. Next, I cranked the spring up 3 notches, which appeared to cure it.
The bike roared around the corners, sticking to the line I set with ease. Gaining confidence, I started to do silly things, like dropping the clutch at over 6000rpm — the rear wheel snaking as the tyre fought for grip, finally snapping into place, my arms nearly wrenched out of their sockets as the bike hurtled off.
With the suspension set properly, the handling was transformed in another area. The bike, long wheelbase and all, was heavy, but it laid into corners with only a minimal amount of effort — and it wasn’t just a case of the whole plot about to fall over as will be explained by the next event...
I was riding back from London with the better half on the back when l misjudged a bend, the line tightening dramatically. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't have been so bad, but I was doing 130mph. the power delivery not affected by the weight of the pillion. The bike went lower and lower as I tried to ride it through, fearing to brake in case I lost it completely. The bike went lower, the ground creeping closer and closer when it happened the pegs touched. and I rode the entire bend at a 130mph, with a shower of sparks from the footrests.
As I came out of the bend there was still ample power left to roll on the throttle as the behemoth came up, bringing it vertical without the need to flex my fear filled muscles. The hardest bit was trying to convince the wife that you'd planned it that way all along — not easy when you're hobbling around a garage forecourt after being kicked between the legs; hell hath no fury...
The next incident that surprised me was again when I had the wife on the back. We all know how the handling changes with a pillion passenger, but the Z1300 is one of those bikes that is so big and powerful that it’s easy to forget. It still has the same low end grunt (many’s the time I’ve pulled away in third in heavy traffic because I couldn’t be bothered to go down through the gears) and virtually the same acceleration.
Except for the time I was stuck behind a bus in Newcastle when a gap opened up in the traffic. Doing a sedate 30mph, in what I assumed was fourth, 'cept l was in third... l dropped two cogs and then whacked open the throttle. Without a moment's hesitation, the bike surged forward in first, the front wheel lifting clean off the ground into the air by a good couple of feet. We sailed past the bike on one wheel, startling passengers who gawped at us whilst my sphincter muscles fainted, the two of us screaming our heads off. It wasn’t until we were past the bus that I could bring the front wheel down again. I always checked my gears after that.
There’s one thing I'm not really certain about, but I will mention it anyway. It might be a good point or not. The engine is water-cooled, the radiator thermostatically controlled with a huge fan. In cold weather revving the engine caused the fan to cut in, blowing hot air past your legs to warm you up The only problem was that it did the same thing in summer — the wife refused to wash my socks and my friends showed a marked reluctance to let me into their homes if the sun was shining. It did keep the engine cool at all times, though.
To be fair, I must mention some poor points; there are quite a few bad points. Being a shaftie, whenever I changed down gear quickly the back wheel would momentarily lock up. I went through rear tyres every 3000 miles, becoming the favourite customer of my local tyre dealer who could run his Jag on the back of the Z1300's consumption of tyres. The rear shocks rotted, the enamelled numbers on the dampers rusting away completely, although they still worked after a fashion.
And the services. Even the simplest cost over £150, those 6 cylinders. But the thing that got me the most were the brakes. They were good, I must say that, two discs at the front and a single out back, but as soon as it rained they just refused to work. Fortunately, the bike still went around corners OK.
At one point the black box failed. The injection system gave up and I had to coast to a halt on the motorway's hard shoulder (with the wife on the back...). A quick, ignorant fumble under the seat, where it was all kept in a neat cluster, revealed that merely the lead had come detached. Luckily, it never happened again.
The petrol consumption made me think I was running Concorde. 30mpg around town, 40mpg cruising at reasonable speeds. There was a little switch on the bars with cruise marked next to it, but in use it had no effect. The dealer said it only worked in America and a nasty letter to Kawasaki UK was not answered. What a load of crap.
By far the worst thing to happen was the rear disc cracking. It actually cracked! Can you believe it? The bike was less than a year old and it had a whopping great crack cleaving through it. I dread to think what would have happened if it had happened when l was on the bike. It took six weeks for the new part to come from Japan.
So there you have it. The pros and cons of being the proud owner of a big Jap six. I don't want to put anyone off, but l traded it in for a Kawasaki 1100; such sweet bliss.
David O’Neill