I fell in love with this three year old Honda CBR1000, resplendent in white and red in a dealers. Laugh if you must but it got to me. Those in the know will make the noises of a camchain tensioner going down, but she had only 1770 miles on the clock and rustled away with great finesse under the excessive swathe of plastic. Some might snigger at its 560lbs, but they are the same kind of wimps who snigger at my own eighteen stones. Obviously, a match made in heaven.
I'm far from being a a rich bastard, the only way I could get my hands on the Honda was by swapping my Ford Orion for it. This suited me fine as its camshaft lobes were on the way out, down to 70000 miles of neglect. It was a rust bucket waiting for the next winter to fall apart. I paused for a moment’s thought before doing the deed - autumn was nice and warm, for sure, but winter was coming and all I'd have for transport was the CBR. One look at the full fairing reassured me.
No road test was allowed but I was able to play with the throttle and bounce in the seat. A stark contrast to the car world where the mildest expression of interest in an auto will have the salesman frog-marching you into the driving seat.
My first impression was that I'd been conned. The gearbox crunched and ground away as I tried to change up from first to second. So distracting that I wobbled all over the road, giving some fat lout in an ancient BMW a near heart attack. Poor chap was even fatter than me and had about ten chins that wobbled tremulously as he tried to figure out which way to twirl his wheel to avoid me.
I'm far from being a a rich bastard, the only way I could get my hands on the Honda was by swapping my Ford Orion for it. This suited me fine as its camshaft lobes were on the way out, down to 70000 miles of neglect. It was a rust bucket waiting for the next winter to fall apart. I paused for a moment’s thought before doing the deed - autumn was nice and warm, for sure, but winter was coming and all I'd have for transport was the CBR. One look at the full fairing reassured me.
No road test was allowed but I was able to play with the throttle and bounce in the seat. A stark contrast to the car world where the mildest expression of interest in an auto will have the salesman frog-marching you into the driving seat.
My first impression was that I'd been conned. The gearbox crunched and ground away as I tried to change up from first to second. So distracting that I wobbled all over the road, giving some fat lout in an ancient BMW a near heart attack. Poor chap was even fatter than me and had about ten chins that wobbled tremulously as he tried to figure out which way to twirl his wheel to avoid me.
Finally second attained, a bit of play on the throttle. Talk about explosive power, I was wrenched backwards and the road ahead was swallowed up in nanoseconds. I went for the brakes, nothing happened for a moment and then the tyres screamed. The bars wobbled in my hands as the front tyre tried to skid away. A massive lurch finally brought us to a halt dead on the white-line of the junction.
My eighteen stones had been thrown backwards and forwards a couple of times, the finale of my first ever ride on the CBR was to have my marital tackle slapped against the back of the petrol tank. Before I had a chance to scream I found the whole thing falling sideways, having failed to get my boots down. I kicked clear, not wanting to add a broken leg to mashed balls!
After screaming, crying and staggering around for several minutes, I was able to pull the bastard upright and examine the damage. I was quite impressed, apart from a few minor scratches she still shone beautifully. Excellent build quality. I cantered home on the mildest of throttle settings, using engine braking and the back disc. Happy, at least, to find that once past neutral the gearbox worked easier though not without the odd clunk-click. Probably needs running in, thought I.
The next couple of weeks I became used to the bike, its massive power, slow turning and diabolical brakes. I let a friend have ago, he confirmed that the brakes were very nasty and that I wasn't, in this instance, a useless wimp. Air in the hydraulics my mechanic friend intoned but didn’t volunteer to fix it. A little later I found out that the forks, wheel and brakes were not standard fare... and no-one knew where they came from!
My eighteen stones had been thrown backwards and forwards a couple of times, the finale of my first ever ride on the CBR was to have my marital tackle slapped against the back of the petrol tank. Before I had a chance to scream I found the whole thing falling sideways, having failed to get my boots down. I kicked clear, not wanting to add a broken leg to mashed balls!
After screaming, crying and staggering around for several minutes, I was able to pull the bastard upright and examine the damage. I was quite impressed, apart from a few minor scratches she still shone beautifully. Excellent build quality. I cantered home on the mildest of throttle settings, using engine braking and the back disc. Happy, at least, to find that once past neutral the gearbox worked easier though not without the odd clunk-click. Probably needs running in, thought I.
The next couple of weeks I became used to the bike, its massive power, slow turning and diabolical brakes. I let a friend have ago, he confirmed that the brakes were very nasty and that I wasn't, in this instance, a useless wimp. Air in the hydraulics my mechanic friend intoned but didn’t volunteer to fix it. A little later I found out that the forks, wheel and brakes were not standard fare... and no-one knew where they came from!
The front end had been mashed at some point and hastily repaired with whatever came to hand. The dealer denied any knowledge, a couple of 25 stone mechanics coming up out of the cellar to back him up! I took the hint, left with my tail between my legs, full of thoughts of fire-bombing the building later that night.
I worked through the weekend sorting out the brakes, not helped by bleed nipples snapping off and the front spindle’s nut sealed in what looked like Araldite. Brute force won out in the end. The re-invigorated brakes were far from sophisticated but eliminated most of the lurches and had a touch of feedback. It was about a hundred times safer.
Until it rained. For a bike with so much plastic I was shocked to find how wet I became. Hands, upper body, knees... all were hammered by the rain which shimmied off the plastic with increased force. Quickly wet and bedraggled, hit the front brake for the first time to find absolutely nothing happening. Lightning speed on the gearchange resulted in a bundle of false neutrals rather than harsh engine braking but at least the rear disc began to bite.
About a ton of rider and bike, careering along a little out of control, then the damn front brake switches on like a baseball bat in the face. The front tyre flips away so rapidly that the next thing I know I’m shooting down the road on my arse, like a rhino scenting water, only my nemesis this time is one of those perennial hedges with enough thorns to lacerate my leather jacket at a closing velocity of about 40mph.
The Honda meanwhile ploughed a lonely furrow in the road, flipped over to equalize the damage and did an endo just to enliven the lives of passing cagers. No-one stopped to enquire if I was still alive, just as well as I felt like tearing the head off someone. I did the usual staggering, screaming and crying act until I got it together enough to pick the Honda up and examine the damage.
Lots of broken ancillaries, cracked plastic and deep scars. Amazingly, the engine still ran and it rode straight, so I rode home at 20mph. The wobbles and shakes were all down to my own weary body rather than any chassis demise. I was already calculating the cost and complexity of the repairs... another wrestling match with brutish breaker’s dogs, name calling and haggling.
Between fixing the brakes and falling off in the rain, I had some exhilarating rides. 150mph on the clock, stately as some massive liner and still a little power in reserve. Did that for twenty minutes down a deserted, early morning motorway. A tremendous feeling of power, lording it over the world, until I glanced down to see the tarmac flying past and imagined my tender if excessive flesh being torn apart. All it would take was the minor failure of some tiny component.
Long tours were taken in their stride. Comfort excellent, fuel reasonable (45mpg), cruising speed just a matter of dialling the throttle in and what I could get away with; handling calm over smooth roads. Bumps bounced us around a bit but nothing to loosen the bowels and as long as a little time was allowed to set her up she sailed around sweepers in a thoroughly majestic manner.
Scratching was limited by the lack of ground clearance, top heavy feel and excessive mass, but a bit of brute force would heel her over and let her wobble through the bends. I tried to avoid touching the brakes when banked over as I didn't like falling off. Stock bikes might be less prone to suicidal shuffles - I don’t know!
After doing the renovation work, I had to blast over to Berlin for a job interview. The autobahns really blew me away. Fast, or what? The CBR was right at home, lopping along at 120 to 150mph, depending on how long I could take the wind blast. Some of the road surfaces had the Honda going into a high speed weave that once, when I hit the brakes in a hurry, turned into an almighty wobble. I pulled her out of it but was a bit far gone by the time I turned up for the interview.
God knows what they thought of the drivelling, gibbering Brit with eyes out on stalks. These Germans made me feel thin, though! I didn’t get the job but had a wild time in Berlin for a couple of days. About half way back there was a terrible clattering noise from under the plastic. I guessed that the camchain had gone but staggered on at a dangerous 30mph, made it to the ferry and then home.
What a pisser, the bike only had 11000 miles on the clock, but maybe the clock was fake. I'd had enough but couldn't sell it until the camchain and tensioner were fixed. Later, a few desultory rides and a couple of near accidents. A new Kawasaki ZZR1100 beckoned in another dealers. The trade-in value for the CBR started at £2000 but ended at £3500 when I threatened to leave.
Ho ho. The Kawasaki's brilliant, way ahead of the dated Honda. The brakes work, the handling’s much more secure and she zooms up to 175mph (on the clock) like there's no tomorrow. Wet weather riding’s still a bit dodgy as tiny throttle movements equals massive power hitting the back tyre. Gor!
Mark Wilson