Kawasaki Z1000

1977 was a good year for Kawasaki fours. That was the impression I had in 1997 when I saw the shining beast of a Z1000. It had done 16000 miles but looked like new, all glittering chrome, alloy and paint. The dealer grinned happily at my obvious lust for the red beast. Fortunately, the ticket price was prominently displayed and quite reasonable. Finance forms were filled in and a few days later the bike was mine. No test ride, just a brief blast on the throttle - music to my ears.

The Z1000 was closely related to the infamous Z1, its extra capacity used to broaden the power band rather than turn the motor yet more fearsome. As was the way back then, the Z1000 weighed even more than the earlier model at an invigorating 530lbs - putting the monster safely on the centrestand soon sorted the men from the boys. Because of this mass, high and wide bars were fitted to aid leverage, were definitely necessary for hustling around town and slinging it through the tighter bends.

Its handling wasn't the first thing that I noticed. No, it was the power of the motor that got to me. I was used to a Honda CG125, going from 12 to 85 horses a massive shock to the system. Without really thinking about it, I gave the Z a big handful of throttle - just like I did on the little Honda - and the bloody thing shot off up the road with the bars twitching in my hands and my neck feeling like it'd been broken in half. Once I'd experienced that sensation there was no stopping me. Each and every ride was throttle to the stop, wondering if I was going to survive.

It didn't taken long - five seconds? - for me to start wondering about the handling. The fierce acceleration that left me gasping for breath also left the front end all light. With little traction between the slim Avon on the nineteen inch front wheel and the tarmac there was nothing stopping the bars twitching away in my tender grasp. The CG had never felt very secure but was so light and slow that sheer muscle power could keep it under control. The Z, by contrast, was so powerful and heavy that it felt like it had a mind of its own that no sane amount of muscle could counter.

Surprising, though, what a bit of adrenaline assisted willpower can achieve - when it's a question of exerting control or death then there's no contest. After a clash of wills, it emerged that the Kawasaki could indeed be controlled, at the expense of aching muscles and a nervous twitch. The brakes weren't much help. Not only did the solid discs add unwanted unsprung mass to the wheels (exaggerating their reaction to bumps) they did nothing to aid serious retardation. The age of the bike was highlighted by the fact that the calipers were placed in front of, rather than behind, the forks.

Unlike the Z1, at least there were two discs. Some kind past owner had gone to the trouble of fitting Goodridge hose but the rest of the system was as it came out of the factory. Many times I had the brake lever right back against the handlebar with a painful four finger grip that still failed to get close to locking the wheel or howling the tyre. The bike pulled up at its own rate, and if that was insufficient you had to be damn well handy on the tiller-like bars to avoid hitting whatever was in the way...

I dig riding on the back roads, a couple of times in unknown country I spied too late a junction when I was doing a ton, ton plus ten. Despite some desperate braking, the Kawasaki sailed majestically across the junction, one time but narrowly missing being run down by a huge truck, which gave me a salute on its air-horns - I probably did even more damage to the trucker's mind than I did to my own.

A small voice kept chanting, ride slowly, ride slowly, but the throttle kicks were too intoxicating to take any notice. The other trick from the poor braking was to hurl up to corners about 30mph faster than the bend merited. The Z1000 was endowed with a remarkable lack of ground clearance but could sort of be hurled around the bend, half the time on the wrong side of the road, with the undercarriage grinding away - the brilliant spark show in the dark almost made up for the inadequate lights!

Having gone in too fast, shunted halfway through the curve in a vicious mess, I then got my kicks by whacking open the throttle on the exit lane and making believe I was Foggy. Hard power in third would twitch the back end and shake the front, but the old dinosaur more or less kept on its line throughout all the shuffling and was flicked upright just in time for a hustle up the box. The gearchange was heavy but accurate with none of the CG's false neutrals, which was just as well as I don't think the engine would've liked being revved to fifteen grand, or so.

There wasn't any point revving the venerable four cylinder mill beyond 9000 revs. I often changed up a 1000 revs below that as the power seemed to keep up its momentum better than when trying to bounce the eight valves. The motor was surprisingly free spinning for such an old and large brute, going deep into the red in the first three gears if I felt nasty, though not having any dosh meant I tended to treat it with respect. And, anyway, the way the secondary vibes poured in after 9000 revs dissuaded me from going completely silly.

The bike also buzzed at 70mph but cleared up nicely between 85 and 100mph. 145mph flat out, but the clock was undoubtedly optimistic, the tests of the day reckoned on 135mph, which feels about right. The tall bars would've been uncomfortable above 80mph save that I managed to crouch down, kissed the clocks, and got out of the airstream. I've done a 100 miles in an hour, so it couldn't have been that bad. The bike will run through town on a minimum of throttle, the only disturbance a bit of transmission lash if the throttle's unwound in the taller gears. The searing acceleration and chunky appearance keeps the cagers in their place and few people have tried to knock me off. Just as well, as I'd probably break my back if I ever had to lever the mammoth up off the tarmac.

As far as I could tell, the suspension was as it came out of the factory. Probably fortunate that I don't weigh much. Though panned by many, the handling's pretty good in a straight line on smooth roads. 130mph cruising with only the slightest of back end wallows. I frightened myself silly once, though, when loaded up with camping gear on the pillion and riding over a bumpy back road. One moment, not a care in the world. The next, felt like the frame was disintegrating - the Z hopping about like an enraged kangaroo, the bars swinging from lock to lock and yours truly trying to think of a last request. I reckon the only thing that saved us was the road suddenly smoothing out. Calm descended again. Needless to say, I cut way back on my speed and bought some diapers at the first store I came to.

That was a few months ago. I haven't done a huge mileage but nothing seems to wear out rapidly, fuel's usually around 50mpg and the big Z has become a firm friend, a true highway companion. It's fast enough to be a very dangerous tool, looks well raunchy and goes as well as ever. It definitely needs serious muscle and guts to ride fast - I don't think I will ever become bored with it! 

Mick Walters