The scariest motorcycles I have ever ridden, in no particular order, are: the thundering ‘Headbanger’ Suzuki GSX-R750, the Yamaha RD350LC, the Yamaha V-Max and both the other 2004 big fours, the R1 and the Blade.
Twenty minutes ago, I thumbed the starter of the 2005 Kawasaki ZX-10R and the bike laid a black darkie crossing out all the names and is now perched menacingly at the very top of that list.
At the push of the starter button, the LCD tacho jumped from 0 to 4000 and settled to 1500 rpm in the time it takes me to say ‘f***.’ Neil Grant, the owner, warned me, ‘it makes my ’03 R1 look like a pomeranian. The Yam just barks away, but has no bite.’
I roll off thinking ‘whatever dude...’ Negotiating a bumpy residential street, the ZX-10R seems civil enough, managing to keep the old gluteus fairly happy, the rubber on the tarmac and the growl low enough not to wake the still asleep.
Once on an open stretch, I snick second and whack the throttle open. That’ll be the last time I do something like that for this story. The revs jump in four-digit increments per second, and the amazing torque flashfloods down the driveline, taking no prisoners, recognising no boundaries and pulling no punches. The rear wheel spins up instantly. I notice that there was no time between 5 kph and 60 kph on the speedo. And that the rear wheel is slewing wildly about, unable to put the prodigious (and sudden) rush of power down.
Gently, then. This time, I roll the throttle open and another expletive splashes against my faceshield. Every slight twitch of the throttle sends ten or more horses instantly to the rear wheel. The ZX-10R will hit a hundred kph in just about 2.7 seconds if you have the balls to keep the throttle pinned in first.
This has a few side-effects. At about 1.5 seconds, the front wheel will be lofted way up high by the sheer force of the thrust. Before you can react to the new attitude of the motorcycle, the rear will also begin to spin simultaneously. And every object that got classified as, ‘Hazard, keep an eye out,’ seems to leap about half a kilometre closer instantly.
As you desperately hit the brakes to slow this manic rate of progress, you will feel a sensation similar to what pilots in multi-G turns in state-of-the-art fighters feel – a brown out. As the edges of the world go dark, you will now feel the rear end of the motorcycle flap like a chequered flag, as the instant weight transfer leaves you with a minor endo. The brakes are even better than the motor. Friendly with the bite but with enough power to dig a furrow into the tarmac as the front tyre bites down to a hard stop.
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