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.