I have owned too many Japanese fours. I had my first when I was only 17 - a CB750K1, a rather horrible bike that had been thrashed by three other juvenile delinquents before I got hold of it. The engine felt like it was going to seize up every time I ventured above the ton and the chassis like it was going to fall apart.
This was 1973, most of the opposition came from Commandos, Tridents and Bonnies who could not hope to keep up with the Honda even in its thrashed state. I did 9000 miles without actually blowing up the engine. I fell off about three times - give the Honda its due it was a sturdy machine that could survive rolling down the road with the best of them.
I used to cut up the British stuff in the corners something chronic, the wobbling and weaving Honda holding its line after a fashion. I think the British fanatics were too frightened to close in for the kill even when they had the power to do so.
When Bike magazine reported on the Z1 I just had to have one. What the magazine forgot to mention in too much detail was the way the thing went into speed wobbles at the merest hint of a high speed bump. The speed of the thing was glorious, it was the fastest bitch on the road and you had to be a real man to ride it rapidly.
Its fabled durability eluded me, though, with 22500 miles on the clock the engine locked up solid. I was doing 80mph at the time and I still have the scars. I had a bit of a rest from motorcycling after that, coming back into the game with a slightly used Z1000, another frightening brute of a motorcycle that tried to spit me off at every high speed opportunity.
I hung on to the bouncing bastard and showed it who was master until it finally got the better of me with 140mph on the speedo in a three lane waltz that ended on the hard shoulder with what was left of the bike facing the wrong direction and what was left of yours truly carted away semi-conscious in the back of an ambulance. They told me it was touch and go; all I knew was that I was on crutches for six months.
By the time I was willing and able to ride a bike again, the CB900F was in the shops. The press reported favourably on the handling of this machine but once again the cocksuckers had got it wrong. It wasn’t as fast as the old Z1 but wobbled just as nastily. I was a bit frightened of going fast at that stage so for most of the time kept her below the ton, where she was fairly stable. After a year and 21000 miles the engine complained about its mistreatment by producing an excess of false neutrals and a death rattle.
I conned a dealer into giving me a good trade in price on a CBX750. I thought I had it made with this bike, it was so reassuring to ride after the horrors of earlier bikes, right up to an indicated 130mph it just purred along like some huge pussy cat. The dreaded Volvo owner put an end to such pleasures and left me with an arm and leg in plaster.
A GPz900 was next to relieve me of lots of dosh. That was a gorgeous machine for its time, but one that was incredibly unreliable, requiring new cams every 10000 miles and being worn out after 25000 miles. Perhaps I had a bad one but that put me off Kawasakis for the next few years.
Another con act on a gullible dealer saw me acquire an FJ1100. Wow. Fantastic torque and not a bad handler, but heavy as an elephant at slow speeds with dubious brakes and an appetite for rear chains that saw me stripping down the back end every 6000 miles, although just maybe this had something to do with the wheelies.
Anyway, I did 34000 miles in two years, no problems until the gearbox decided it was worn out and refused to change cleanly between gears. I was tempted by the FJ1200 but the FZR1000 won out, it was just as fast but lighter and much more manoeuvrable. I cursed the sadistic bastard who designed, if that’s the right word, the seat but other than that it was a fine piece of engineering... until I crashed into the side of Transit which shot out of a driveway without any warning. Sob!
P. B.