Yamaha XS1100

No, no, no! I didn't want to know, did I? The wife scowled, the kids looked concerned and I didn't want to know. An old friend, a total reprobate in wifey's eyes, phoned up with the offer of an XS1100 at a bargain price. I hadn't ridden a bike for over ten years, had been talked out of the game by the family. So I didn't want to know. That was what I kept telling myself...

An empty stretch of the A4 at six o'clock in the morning. A long straight and a big, fat XS1100 underneath me. A mechanical symphony, a howling exhaust and the far horizon gulped up by my eyeballs as the bike tried to go airborne. Houston, we have take off. Needless to say, it took about three seconds to become totally addicted to motorcycles again!

I persuaded the wife that motorcycling would save lots of dosh and time in the commuting chores. What a laugh! The big bastard shredded tyres in a few thousand miles, did about 35mpg and threatened to blow my heart into a million pieces. There was so much power and torque that the merest hint of throttle movement had the beast charging forwards at a ferocious rate. I almost broke my right hand during remedial action on the brake lever, not that the twin discs didn't bite - there was a disconcerting, momentary, lag when the throttle was slammed shut that appeared to make the bike leap forwards!

I'd become used to the acceleration of a family hatchback, the way the Yamaha moved had all my reactions reeling, trying to keep up with the madness. The first time I took off from the house, with wifey and kids watching, I thought the motor was going to stall, gave it a bit of stick and found the bars shaking wildly in my hands as the bike shot across the road, almost taking out the local vicar who was minding his own business on a push-bike.

Despite weighing around 600lbs, the XS could be pushed on to a less suicidal trajectory with a minimum amount of muscle. It felt top heavy, as if it wanted to fall off the side of its tyres, but this was something I soon became used to. I felt a bit perched atop the thing rather than a part of the machine, but again, I soon became used to it. It was only the sheer degree of grunt that kept messing up my mind...

After a couple of days I felt sufficiently in control to take part in the traffic light GP. Some joker in a big Merc was giving it a bit of stick, so I wound the throttle open, dropped the clutch and went for it as the lights changed. The aircooled 1100cc motor vibrated heavily when wound up but this seemed all part of the brutish fun, encouraging me in my juvenile antics (I'm actually 39!). The violence of the take-off was such to waggle both the bars and the back wheel, the latter careering a good foot to either side.

Unfortunately, this meant it battered into the gutter, causing one hell of a wobble just as I changed up to second. By then, the cagers were well back, so I had the room to twitch the bike out of the gutter into the middle of the road. It didn't like the momentary backing off of the throttle necessary to achieve this, trying to up the waggle into a full blown speed wobble. This happened so fast that by the time I realised what was going down I'd wound open the throttle for a second dose of the acceleration. Luckily, this pulled the bike out of its suicidal death dance.

Every time I came home, the wife looked more and more concerned - something to do with eyeballs out on stalks, shaking hands and an odd shuffle rather than my normal upright walk. The XS's riding position made for a 60mph stroll rather than 130mph burn-outs. I ignored all her comments and laughed derisively when she showed me some leaflets on scooters. I further annoyed her by going joy riding each and every night.

As I became used to the XS, I wanted to push the bike further and further. Its limits were easily found in the corners by the way the undercarriage interfaced with the tarmac. The bike had done 62000 miles, thus nothing dug in as it had already been worn down by past lunatics. It just scraped, sparked and shuddered. The shocks and forks were both tauter than stock, the tyres modern Avons and the chassis bearings newish. I wouldn't like to think how the bike would handle if any of those were seriously worn.

The hefty mass became apparent in the tighter curves when too much throttle was employed - it tried to twitch right off the road, careering into oncoming traffic and generally feeling like it wanted to fall apart. That was on smooth roads, over bumpy going it could get completely out of hand. My favoured means of getting around corners was to hang off the machine, keeping it as upright as possible, which meant I didn't have as much control over the jerky elephant as I'd have liked.

I never actually fell off! I came damn close on several occasions. I always managed to ride through the twitchiness or jerk the bike back on to a safer line. The whole thing was put in perspective when I had a dice with some race replica. I thought I was doing pretty well to keep the CBR900 in sight until the bends turned really nasty and he was well gone. I caught up with him at a petrol station, turned out it was a CBR250 ridden by some spotty youth! Bloody hell!

After that I became a little bit disenchanted with the XS1100. The wife was relieved that I was actually spending some time with her again, though disconcerted by the large pile of motorcycle magazines that had become my sole reading matter! I decided an R1 was the answer to all my problems; just a matter of finance and persuading the wife!

The final nail in the coffin came when I had a race with a Kawasaki Z1. I should've been able to whip the bastard into the ground, but with its much modded chassis he was able to ride around the outside of me in the bends. True, we were both wobbling dangerously, all over the shop and looking like accidents about to happen, but he had the legs on me in the curves even if on the straights I could make up some ground. What a heap, thought I, couldn't even burn off a seventies relic like the Z1.

Bikes of this type are, curiously, in demand in certain circles and I had no trouble off-loading the Yamaha at a reasonable profit. The wife breathed a sigh of belief which rapidly turned into disbelief when eight grand's worth of R1 was deposited on the doorstep in a large crate. The whole gang of my new found biker mates turned up for the occasion, and we had fun getting the svelte Yamaha on the road. I had even more fun exploring its abilities - absolutely marvellous; another story.

James Line