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Sportsbikes Forever
(from
www.goingfaster.com)
I used to ride a 1995 Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R.
White, with green and purple stripes and green wheels. It was
really beautiful, after the initial retina fusing color shock
faded and you got used to it owning a bike that basically glowed
in the dark without any aftermarket neon or reflective tape.
After owning the Ninja, other bikes seemed plain, drab,
ordinary. The Ninja was a crotch rocket, a rice burner as the
inbred redneck hill scoggins call these types of bikes, and it
wasn't made in America. It's Japanese, Pacific Rim hardware, and
the fit, quality, and performance are second to none. No
American bike could touch it in any category of the spectrum,
none.
My Ninja was powered by a 599cc (36 cubic inch) in-line four
cylinder engine that was liquid cooled and had a high capacity
oil cooler. It was the most compact, most powerful, most
advanced 600cc engine currently in production on the planet at
that time and received many accolades for its design from the
major motorcycle publications. The compact engine produced
ninety seven horsepower, a twin intake ram air setup with
pressurized air box bumped that to probably another five percent
additional power when under speed. Ninety-seven horsepower was a
far cry from the outdated, air cooled irrigation pumps that
powered the bikes that Milwaukee was producing. Thirteen hundred
cubic centimeters thumping out a laughable fifty something
horsepower was about the most power you could get if you went
with the best that America could build.
Put into perspective, on a power output to engine size ratio,
the Kawasaki's motor made ninety-seven horses out of a miniscule
thirty-six cubic inches. That would be the equivalent of having
a 350 cubic inch small block Chevy under your hood that made 944
horsepower from the factory, stock. In order to get anywhere
near ninety-seven horsepower out of any Harley engine, you
pretty much had to (expensively) rebuild it from the ground up,
in stages, and by the time you were finished, you had almost as
much money in the motor as you did in the original purchase
price of the bike.
The 1995 Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R could see zero to sixty miles per
hour in just over two seconds and blast down the quarter mile in
just over ten seconds at a speed of almost a hundred and thirty
miles an hour. The ultra-compact, advanced design power plant
produced a very miserly economy of over 40 miles per gallon
consistently. When was the last time that you had a 944
horsepower small block Chevy that got over 40 miles to the
gallon? Probably never.
The compact liquid cooled engine screamed through a smooth
shifting six speed manual transmission all the way to a
stratospheric fourteen thousand revolutions per minute. How fast
was that? Well, figure that, at top speed, each piston is doing
two hundred and thirty three and a third complete movements each
second. I can't even begin to imagine that kind of movement,
pistons rising and falling so fast, that their individual
movement would be almost invisible to the naked eye. The ZX-6R
could see the north side of one hundred and fifty-five miles an
hour flat out with full throttle, leaning down, and the four
hungry Kheins carburetors breathing deep through the ram air
pressurized air box.
Handling for the Ninja was like the bike was on rails, going
into corners wasn't like manoeuvring, it was more like riding a
rollercoaster. You just sat back, pointed at the curve, and hung
it. Going into the curve, you started to lean, but you were
already riding three to five seconds ahead, caching yourself
ahead in time. You had already picked your exit point from the
curve, so all you had to do was hang on, let the curve come down
through the queue, and enjoy the ride in the process.
The suspension was fully adjustable, Kayba, which allowed me to
set up the bike to the point that I felt comfortable with it.
The brakes were phenomenal; twin, Nissin, dual piston powered
calliper discs on the front and a huge Nissin twin piston
powered disc on the back. The rear brake was a little too
powerful, but I would rather have it that way than having to say
that the rear brake was inadequate. On the ZX-6R, you learned
quickly that the rear brake required real skill to use correctly
and that the rear brake did not bear fools easily, especially
when entering corners at high speed.
There was even a seat for a passenger, so I could share the
immense enjoyment that I get out of motorcycle riding with the
one person to whom I was equally devoted; my wife, Cynthia.
I was very happy, yet other people just didn't understand why I
owned a bike like the Ninja. I love sport bikes. Always have.
Always will. I'm opinionated, and that's fine. It's my site, my
space on the web, my life. If you send me email telling my how
your custom built '94 Harley Fat Boy will whip my Ninja any day
of the week, I'll just pity you and add you to a very long list
of losers who have a severe lack of both common and financial
sense.
I will probably never own a cruiser or a standard, and I promise
you that I will never own a touring bike (a rolling sofa decked
out with Christmas tree lights). I say 'probably' never, because
I don't like to say never. Never is a long time, and I've been
burned before using that word. I like some standards, and some
cruisers, it's just that the overall level of performance, of
weight to power ratio, and of handling and braking doesn't
really satisfy me, it doesn't reassure me in today's world of
blithering idiots behind the wheel. BMW's new cruiser is a sheer
work of art. Some of the Japanese cruisers are sweet looking,
back in 1990, I fell in love with a 1985 black Honda Nighthawk,
but I wisely decided to keep my '84 VF500F Interceptor. The
Nighthawk just didn't feel 'right'. Sure, it was tough looking,
it sounded nice, it had the 'look' that I feel that a cruiser
should have, but I would have given up too much performance, too
much safety, in my opinion, to go with the Nighthawk over the
Interceptor.
Personally, I hate full tour bikes and I don't really understand
the concept of a sport tourer. The idea of a 'comfortable' sport
bike defeats the purpose of the genre. Such logic flies in the
face of common sense and is diametrically opposed to the nature
of the breed.
So, people always asked me the same old question.
Why?
Why must you go against all social norms and ride the kind of
bike that you do? Why can't you ride a nice little safe bike
like a Harley, or a Goldwing? A good American made bike. Why do
you like that buzzy, screaming wasp sound when you could have
the melodious tones of a flag waving elephant suffering with
flatulence to proceed you wherever you go? Why must you support
some other country's economy when you should really be spending
your hard earned American money here in America? Why can't you
ride a good bike? An American bike instead of one of those nasty
old cheap rice burners! Why don't you ride A REAL BIKE?!
Excuse me, but in case you hadn't noticed, I do ride a real
bike.
My choice in motorcycles is based more on function and form over
image and sound. I base my decision on a great number of
reasons, the least of which is what people will think of me when
I'm on the bike, or what I think I should look like when I ride.
What I choose to ride is a choice that is always based on
performance, total performance. I ride what I feel that I need
to ride in order to compliment my skills, to enjoy my time spent
riding, and most importantly of all, to help me survive to ride
another day. I don't subscribe to an image and I don't have to
buy my riding enjoyment out of a catalogue or dress the part
just to be considered to be a real biker. I'm a long time rider
with many years of experience, I understand the siren call of
the open road and what it takes to survive in an environment
full of thousands of tons of swift moving four wheeled metal
under the control of total blithering idiots, therefore I want a
bike that matches my riding ability, that allows me to use all
of my survival and riding skills, and actually enhances those
abilities and skills. I personally demand a lot of feedback from
the horse that I ride, I want and need to feel the road, to
notice every bump and every irregularity. I need precise and
detailed information and I need that data instantly, constantly,
in a never ending stream of information imparted from the
various sensory extensions of the bike under me to my brain. I
need this information in order to be able to correctly judge, at
any given instant in time, exactly where I need to adjust my
performance, to apply my skills. I need this information in
order to determine how I need to fine tune my riding and to
judge where I am in the total performance envelope that I am
currently generating.
The world is not a kind place, and with the increasing laws
passed by this country which not only protect stupid people from
the laws of natural selection, but actually reward them
handsomely for breeding in large numbers, you have to really ask
yourself one question: are you truly safe riding your choice of
motorcycle?
I've made my choice; sport bike.
Speed is life, or so any jet fighter pilot will tell you.
However, speed also kills. A wise man once said that with great
power comes great responsibility and this was never more true
than when you own a sport bike. The dim witted members of the
bewildered herd often think that just because you own a sport
bike that you must therefore zip around everywhere at triple
digits. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I rather have
the potential for speed and not need it, than I would to need
the potential for speed and not have it. I'm sure there will be
some noggin scratching done in the trailer parks on that
thought, but there's merit in the philosophy. Let me put it
another way. Owning a sport bike is like being a jet fighter
pilot. Just because you fly an ultra-modern jet fighter that is
capable of doing twice the speed of sound doesn't mean that
every time you take off you throw the throttle all the way
forward to its full military stop, engage the afterburners, and
rattle windows behind your Mach 2 shockwave. Speed is life, but
it is the potential for speed that is what sets the sport bike
apart from all others.
Riding a sport bike sharpens your being. It awakens your senses
and tests your physical, mental, and spiritual capacities to the
limit.
Every time that I climbed aboard my Ninja and fired up the
engine, I was shooting up with a pure dose of undiluted
adrenaline. Riding the Ninja was addictive, beyond any type of
man-made drug imaginable. It was all consuming, all powerful,
and it was absolutely free. Unfortunately, like any drug, it was
habit forming. Any time I had to spare, given weather
conditions, I could take part in one of the greatest types of
enjoyment that I had ever experienced. With each RPM, each mile
per hour of speed, each pulse of spent energy through the
exhaust canister, I become more awakened, more alive, more
aware, more sharpened. It's almost impossible to describe how I
felt when the engine began to rev toward fourteen grand in sixth
gear, the roar of the ram air intake, the exhaust note, the rush
of power, the physical pull of the Ninja as it effortlessly
sliced a tunnel surgically through the atmosphere. The sensation
of the wind rushing past my full face helmet, the scents carried
on the air, the sounds, the sights, the motion, the rush, it was
incredible! When I finally had to end my ride, I felt like I was
coming down off of a comet. The rest of the world looked flat,
slow, awkward, and it took some time to readjust.
I guess it must be what test pilots feel like after wringing out
a new airplane design but like any test pilot, this kind of
performance was held to safe areas, well away from heavy
congestion and traffic. Doing triple digits in traffic is a sure
fire way to nominate yourself for this year's Darwin award, and
you might just do it posthumously as well.
Total performance throughout the performance envelope, in all
aspects. That's what a sport bike offers its rider. A sport bike
isn't a motorcycle, it's more like an extension of your body,
your mind, your heart, and your soul. It works your muscles,
your mind, your senses. It sharpens your thinking, speeds your
reflexes, and it deepens your soul at the same time that it
expands your mind.
A sport bike is also one of the harshest teachers in the world.
It allows you very few, if any, mistakes. You must pass all of
your tests, with each test comes new knowledge, new experience,
new wisdom. Each test passed is an awakening to new abilities
and deeper perceptions and the realization that greater goals
lie ahead with promise of greater rewards.
An ancient oriental proverb states that "Experience is the
hardest teacher. It gives the test first, and the lesson
afterwards." I can't think of a better way to describe owning or
riding a sport bike. Each day, many times, you will be tested.
Fail one test, and you might be replacing a damaged cowl. Fail
another test, and your next of kin may be getting a very
unwanted phone call in the middle of the night.
Sport bikes absolutely demand respect. Anything less and you
don't need to swing your leg over one. Period. If you ever lose
respect for a sport bike, that is the beginning of the end, for
either you or the bike. Get off of your bike until you respect
it again. If you can outride your current bike, don't! Get a
more capable bike. Don't ever push the machine where you can go
and it can't. Consequently, never over ride your own skills.
Don't be afraid to admit your limits, and live well within them.
If you don't, the only person you're going to hurt is yourself.
Even when I get old, I'll probably still ride fast bikes; fast
cruisers, fast standards, and fast sport bikes. Why? Because I
refuse to diminish my motorcycling experience. I want the
sharpest tool available for carving my life's images, and I
don't want those images diluted through the filters which we
have provided for ourselves these days.
People ask me why I own a sport bike.
It's because I'd rather be out, leaned over, carving up a corner
than piddling along on some loud piped, chromed out, leather
clad wannabe bike. I rather be making an image for myself,
rather than borrowing one from someone else.
I want to live and ride, and I'll do it on my own.
I want a bike that is tassel (hehe, sorry), uh, hassle free. I
don't want to spend three hours polishing chrome and one hour
riding. I don't want my bike always in the shop. I don't want a
bike made up of parts from several other bikes or models. I
don't want a loud, slow bike.
I don't want a rolling facade.
I ride sport bikes because I want everything that life and the
ride itself can give me. I want to experience it all and I don't
get that when I'm slowed down by three square foot windscreens
and hard luggage packs. Leather is fine for protecting against
road rash, but I, not my bike, am going to wear leather. I will
never own a bike with a leather seat, or saddlebags, or tassels
or highway bars. The last thing that I rode that had tassels was
my Schwinn when I was four years old.
I've grown up. So have my tastes and my needs.
I don't subscribe to studded leather, wallets on a chain, or a
host of other accessories that so many people find absolutely
required for riding a motorcycle. Required? Why? Does a wallet
on a chain drop your ET by half a second? Do tassels decrease
the drag coefficiency? Do studded leather saddlebags add to the
stability of your bike in the corner?
No. Like the rest of Harley Davidson, these items are merely for
show. It's a lifestyle, and as it is a lifestyle, it isn't a
real motorcycle. It's all pretend, and I want no part of that.
This isn't the wild west anymore and I'm not riding the Pony
Express. I don't need saddlebags to carry stuff in. If I'm going
to go and get that much stuff, I'll take my car instead. Since
when did motorcycles become moving vans or a substitute for a
camper? What's with all the saddle bags, trailer hitches, and
trailers? Motorcycles are for riding, and riding means going
fast, being sleek, streamlined, getting away from that box on
wheels that we call the automobile. Motorcycles are the
anti-automobile. They are the ultimate escape in our stress
filled civilization.
What good is getting away from it all if you take it all with
you when you ride?
It's ludicrous. Too many people won't let go of that box on
wheels. When they get on their bike, they're really just
stepping into a car that doesn't have doors or a roof. It's sad.
When your bike has a trunk, running boards, four head lights,
wipers, heater, an AM/FM stereo radio, a CB, windscreen, and a
reverse gear, what do you have?
You have a car without doors or a roof!
You don't have a motorcycle!
You have got to let go, people. If you don't, you're missing the
whole experience of motorcycling.
Motorcycling is all about freedom, about getting away, about
being one with the road and the machine. You can't do that if
you have two hundred pounds of accessories on your ride. You
can't do that if your bike won't lean or manoeuvre without
scraping something and leaving a shower of sparks. You can't do
that if your bike won't go over a hundred miles an hour without
a solid fuel jet booster attached.
You just can't.
I made my choice and I'm happy with it. Those of you telling me
to get a real bike sound like you aren't happy with your choice.
You're so miserable with the bike that you ride that you want to
somehow share that misery by taking away my joy. You can't
handle a 'real' bike and so you are jealous of those of us who
can. Those of us who are better riders than you shouldn't be on
faster, better handling, lighter motorcycles, no! We should be
on big, flashy, chrome plated snails with our arms gripping ape
hangers and our legs riding like we were spread wide open in the
stirrups at a gynaecologist's office.
Sport bike riders are, by and large, much better riders than any
other class of motorcycle riders. They have to be, their
hardware absolutely demands it of them. People who can't ride a
sport bike responsibly generally think that those who can
shouldn't ride them either. Your American-made motorcycle is a
slow, antique, chromed out, leather covered couch on wheels and
you think that I want to buy into that ideal? You call that a
'real' bike?
You won't see me going around to every rider about to get on a
Harley and saying "Hey, you! Why don't you get a real bike!"
Why? Because I'm a mature rider who has respect for other
riders. They may be wrong, they may ride total pieces of junk,
but I respect that. Ignorance is bliss, and there are a lot of
blissful riders out there (most with a shiny chain securing
their wallet).
Put yourself in my shoes.
If you drove a brand new, bright red Ferrari and some dork
pulled up beside you at the parking lot in his old beat up Ford
Escort and shouted to you:
"Hey, why don't you get a real car! You need to sell that import
and get you an American car, a REAL car! You need to drive a
Ford Escort!"
What would you think of him? You'd probably have nothing but
pity for the poor soul, and wonder if his parents were brother
and sister.
See my point?
The difference between a Harley rider and a sport bike rider is
that the Harley rider is a slave to his machine, a slave to the
ignorant facade that keeps it alive, a slave to an image that
has to be projected at all times in order to achieve the 'Harley
Experience'. A sport bike rider, in direct contrast, is the
master of his machine. It doesn't take very much, if any, brains
to own a Harley, just a deep wallet and a willingness to embrace
mediocrity. But if you buy a sport bike, you better have some
wits and skill about you or you are in for a world of hurt.
Also, since you are often dealing with close tolerance high end
high performance hardware, sport bikes are not just for every
common joe who can turn a key and twist a throttle. Any lemming
can do that.
When it comes to motorcycle riding, I want the lightest,
fastest, quickest, best handling motorcycle that honest hard
earned money can buy, average money, from someone who works hard
for their money. Harley riders, on the other hand, appear to
want the heaviest, slowest, worst handling piece of crap
motorcycle that all of their money can buy. It is unreal what
the market for Harleys is like, new and used. I'm constantly
bewildered why anyone would pay ten or fifteen thousand dollars
for a used piece of junk when half that much money would buy
them a brand new Japanese bike and a lot of other toys. For what
the top of the line Harleys sell for these days, I could buy two
Kawasaki Ninjas! When you compare the price of the clothes
necessary to maintain the 'image' of Milwaukee's V-twinkie, and
compare it to what it takes to actually protect your ass when
you ride, the difference will amaze you.
Why? Why buy a Harley? Are people just that stupid? I guess that
it's easier to dump the throttle and make lots of noise so that
everyone turns and looks at you than it is to hang a corner or
ride the street like a pro. It's easier to get people to look at
the flash, than it is to get them to notice the style.
There's a very big difference between being fast and powerful
and just being loud and annoying.
Here's what I want everyone out there to know. Don't tell me to
get a 'real bike', I know what a 'real' bike is and Harley isn't
a 'real' bike. Maybe you should check out what you ride and see
if you can make that same statement.
Sportbikes forever! |
