The curvaceous front end of the FJ1200 must’ve been quite impressive, bearing down on the drivers at warp speed, heading for a gap that would take the front wheel but tear the sides off either the fairing or the cars. I notched the intimidation stakes upwards by hitting the air-horns which played a fearsome rhythm at sufficient decibels to set off car alarms and blow up hearing aids.
A few yards away I added my screams to the chaos, a miraculous parting of the cages occurring but not before both mirrors were torn out of the fairing. They went with a bang that made me think death was about to descend but the impressive stability of the FJ1200 remained intact, complemented by the kind of steering accuracy usually found on the race track.
Another time I was equally impressed by the bike’s ability to be stretched to the limit. Cresting a hill at 125mph we took off through the air like an Exocet missile that had been programmed wrongly. The art, when coming back to the ground, is to come down on the back wheel first. Somehow the bike went way out of line and crashed down on the front end. Whilst airborne my mind had thrown itself into a panic which resulted in an iron grip on the wide open throttle, the back wheel screaming around at about a million revs with the inertia and momentum of an out of control water-mill.
The noise, vibes and sense of impending doom were rather like taking a cheap long haul flight on an Iron Curtain aeroplane that suddenly loses a couple of engines. When the front end slapped down with almost enough force to snap off my arms I thought I was a goner, ready for a somersault straight into hell, but somehow the forks bounced back into control and the extreme wobble started to die out. Then the back wheel, still spinning furiously, whacked on to the tarmac, a series of yard wide flipping and flopping threatened to pull the swinging arm right out of the frame whilst the front end joined in with its own permutations.
I just sort of sat there for a while frightened out of my mind, until suddenly realising I could knock on the brakes and knock off the throttle. The chassis was already way out of line and these extra forces did nothing for its composure. I surely thought I was going to die, be thrown right off the bucking brute onto the tarmac at about 80mph but as speed lessened and the chassis had time to sort itself out composure regained the upper hand, allowing me to pull over.
The following car pulled up next to me, the driver absolutely agog, shaking even more than myself and looking at us in awe. To him, the way the Yamaha had tried to tear itself to pieces had convinced him my end was nigh. We looked the machine over for signs of terminal damage but once again the old monster had just shrugged off the effects of my incompetence.
There were, also, more subtle ways that the Yamaha impressed. The time, for instance, I’d spent too long lounging on the Italian coast and it became necessary to do a 1000 miles flat out in less than 12 hours. I'd worked out that the only way to avoid the attention of the cops was to use all 130 horses to pound along at 150mph whenever possible! The French and Italians don’t have access to the Swansea computer so couldn't track me down, although I suppose it's only a matter of time until all European vehicle details are linked up.
Anyway, I did the distance in the time allowed and found the FJ to be impressively comfortable for such excesses - i.e. I could still walk! The big air-cooled engine, as always, remained unperturbed by the nature of the thrashing even if the normal 45mpg economy was replaced by a mere 35mpg. The general stability and natural riding position meant that despite the 500lbs of mass it was an easy bike to come to grips with. I’d previously owned a CBX550 and had no trouble adapting to the big Yamaha, taking a matter of minutes to feel right at home. Even hard bend slinging was easier than the specs would indicate, so well had Yamaha sorted out the steering geometry and weight distribution.
The lovely grunt of the motor meant madness on the gearbox wasn't really necessary which was probably just as well because by the time 25000 miles were done there was a rather loose and imprecise feel to the change, making correct tensioning of the big O-ring chain critical - after 9000 miles it was only useful as an adornment or weapon for motorcycle outlaws. Changing chains is very tedious as the swinging arm has to come out!
Other faults that turned up included rear suspension bearings that wore out at 15000 miles, or two years, although they had never been greased, with the shock losing a lot of damping control a little later. These had a discernible though by no means disastrous effect on the stability, making the Yamaha feel wanton above 80mph. The White Power shock I bought as a replacement (slightly used) proved even better than the original, with the same tautness but the added ability to iron out minor bumps much more effectively. I'd added gaiters to the front forks and never had much of a complaint from that end of the bike.
More serious was the major expense at 30000 miles with the simultaneous demise of the exhaust and electronic igniter unit. The former went when rust seeped through in several different spots at the same time and waving a welding torch at it just resulted in big holes as the paper thin metal dissolved. A four into one system designed for the race track needed major mods from the hammer to retain the stands and fitment of an FZR1000 can before the carbs would work with it. There’s still a bit of a hole at 3000 to 3500rpm but as it only cost thirty quid I can’t complain.
The demise of the igniter unit occurred about ninety miles from home and resulted in a totally dead engine. No way I was going to push the FJ any distance so it was dumped in the drive of an old codger who came out to see what the swearing fit was about. A used one got me all of fifty miles closer to home until it did the same trick. I phoned the breaker up to complain and he, luckily, believed my sob story and agreed to give me another unit. The cause of the failure was two wires which had rubbed off their insulation and would intermittently short out against each other.
FJ brakes are a bit infamous for discs that go thin and calipers that rot but I didn’t have any problems. Pads even lasted for more than 10000 miles. Admittedly, I didn't ride over the worst months of the winter and with the good handling and useful engine braking days could go by during which I didn't have to use the brakes in real anger. They needed a firm hand or foot to get the best out of them, but that was OK with me as I knew how much input they would take before squealing the tyres.
They worked alright in the wet for most of the time, although a bit of mysterious brake lag showed up once or twice a month. I suspected some air getting into the ancient brake fluid that I couldn't bleed because the nipples had snapped off, leaving half the screws inaccessibly corroded into the calipers.
In the wet the fairing gave reasonable protection, the tyres gripped predictably and the great reams of torque came in controllably. I was always aware of how much weight there was waiting to let loose, though, and maintained both a moderate right wrist and velocity. I would not even think about riding the FJ on iced up roads!
I've owned the Yam from new for eight years and done all of 52000 miles with no signs that the motor’s going to fall apart. The overall ruggedness is as impressive as the rock solid stability. It's the kind of bike that engenders total faith in its ability to get you out of terminal situations when the going gets desperate. In short, I can't think of any reason to sell it.
M.R.T.