1978 Yamaha XS11

"97 Horsepower - 11.7 Seconds in the Quarter Mile - 132 MPH Top Speed" proclaimed boldly one major motorcycle monthly on its front cover. Japan had just released its latest two-wheeled weapon, a screaming missile that would destroy all its competitors. Who should ever possess this beastie would be the top dog; the king of the hill; the undisputed winner of the horsepower wars. The marketers certainly found their mark in me. I immediately pictured myself rolling up to my regular hangout to the oohs and ahhs of fellow enthusiasts, each wanting the privilege of just touching my awesome mechanical juggernaut.

I quickly traded in my faithful Honda 750k and the almost unused Yamaha 500, and with a fist full of dollars I was the proud owner of a maroon rocket; or so I thought…

Fleeting Fame

This being my third new motorcycle, the break-in period had become an all too familiar procedure. Resisting the temptation to release those constrained ponies was particularly difficult when all I wanted to do was feel that promised brutal acceleration. So I rode and I rode, the miles rolling under me with the urgency of molasses flowing up hill until I was convinced I was going insane. Surely a quick burst wouldn't do any harm. A quick glance around me confirmed that no boys in blue were about to spoil my fun, and I was off. Cranking the throttle to its stop, the bike lunged forward with a snarl, yanking my arms with authority. And then without warning, the power vanished just as if the motor shut down. WTF?? I rolled back on the throttle and the engine regained its composure as if nothing had just happened. I rationalized that I must have upset the bike before its break-in was complete. Should I test it again? Ok, just a little. I increased the throttle once more, albeit with a much gentler touch and it seemed to respond. Then as I hit mid-range of the power band it fell flat once more. Not as badly as the first time mind you, but definitely noticeable. Oh my god, I broke it! As I rode it home, I constantly tested the throttle with the same results. Damn! Damn! Damn!!

The dealer took the bike in under warranty. They kept it for a week and got nowhere. They became very frustrated and so they sent the bike back to Yamaha Canada, which happened to be not far down the road. I got the bike back a couple of days later with the problem resolved. Yamaha Canada discovered that the carburetors had caps blocking the main jets that shouldn't have been there. According to the service rep, the bike was now tuned razor sharp and as fast as their bracket racer. That news made me feel much better and even more anxious to be impressed.

And to a certain extent I was. The bike performed very well after the fix. It was comfortable, smooth, and quick. But it never felt as powerful as I was led to believe. As I rowed through the gears almost red lining at each shift, I waited for that vicious punch that would try to unseat me that never came. This bike was, well, just too civilized.

This disappointment brought the bike down a notch or two in my mind, although none of my riding friends would be aware of that. I wasn't yet ready to relinquish my status, but the end was fast approaching, and it came in the form of Honda's CBX 1000.

My friend and fellow York Wings member Sid had just purchased Honda's most exciting model ever. It had six cylinders, six carbs, six pipes and it had presence. Nothing looked or sounded more awesome that year than that bike. Even the Benelli sei paled in comparison. But did it have the power to back up all this opulent technology?

We were riding together one day across the city on the 401, motoring along at a good clip when we mutually decided to let each of our bikes run loose. I dropped down a gear, maybe two, flattened myself against the tank and tried to force the twist grip around the handlebar. The big Yamaha responded immediately and I watched from the cornerof my eye the needle quickly approach, and then pass the 100 mph mark. We were flying! I glanced over to see Sid not only keeping pace, but moving ahead and doing so at a rate far quicker than I thought possible. Not only was I being beat, I was being humiliated. I've only had the bike a few months and it was already past its prime. The king was dead; long live the new king.

Later that summer, I raced a Honda 750F on the city streets and managed to keep my head high, but only just. It was now very apparent to me that I no longer enjoyed engine superiority. In fact, I was so disillusioned with the fast pace that newer, and faster bikes were appearing on the market that my entire perspective of the sport changed radically. Having the fastest no longer held the same importance as it once did. Horsepower, though still important, became only a small part of the criteria I would use to acquire any future bikes. Soon the question of practicality became important.