The ‘experienced’ 16-year-old kamikaze…

It’s a few days after my 75th birthday. Time to roll out my three motorcycles from the stable and bring ‘em back to life (at their every-two-weeks ‘freshening-up séance).

Among them are now 1) a 2002 Honda VFR800 Interceptor, bright red (Honda’s passion red…a sure-fire color guaranteed to draw the attention of a policeman, or perhaps WOULD have been before our present Black Lives Matter social revolution depleted the nation’s PDs, LoL); 2) a black 1992 Kawasaki ZZ-R1100 (otherwise known as the ZX11 in the USA) Ninja; and 3) a 1994 ZX11 Ninja that is a mysterious deep-black shade of green.

All three are of what are regarded as ‘sports-touring’ machines, featuring a slightly more ‘rider-friendly’ sitting position than dedicated, ‘pure-sportsbike’ designs. But they are still fire-breathing monsters in that back in 1992 and 1994, the two ZX11s were the fastest production motorcycles sold in America, capable of going from 0-60 in roughly 2.7 seconds and with a top-end of just slightly less than 200 mph! Not that any sane person needs a machine that only has two wheels and is capable of that sort of absolutely insane performance!

Since then, the sheer madness of the motorcycle horsepower competition between manufacturers has resulted in a few machines that can top out at slightly over 200, but still…I think you get the idea! [If you missed it, the whole story behind that rather insane motorcycle manufacturer speed competition is beautifully explained in John Burns’ whimsical 2012 CYCLE WORLD Magazine article, titled “Do you Know How Fast You Were Going?”, which may be viewed here.]

My 2002 Honda VFR800, with its V-4, 16-valve, fuel-injected engine and impeccable road-handling manners (excepting the controversial ‘VTEC’ complications, which are featured on all ‘6th-generation’ VFRs…that is, from 2002 onwards), with its somewhat more modern technology and 800 cc engine, remains my favorite motorcycle, however, and is a perfect mount for just about every need I might have in terms of motorcycle capabilities.

But for reasons I can’t (and never have been able to) explain, there’s something romantic and mystical about my two black Kawasaki dragons and I keep them on hand to revel in their excess and technologically formidable performance overkill.

Not too long ago, I reflected mightily on the fact that I am now in my 7th decade of life, and perhaps as a partial sop to my experience in trauma wards and emergency rooms, I sold my last superbike, cajoling myself into believing that I was now far too old to keep from being a potential road hazard to others as well as myself. That bike was, as we used to say in the Air Force, a ‘Sierra Hotel’ suicycle (in fact despite its 900cc engine, it had a slight edge on the ZX11 in that it could go from 0-60 in about 2.47 seconds; of course, it was slightly lighter than the big ZX11, too!). It was bright Kawasaki green all over and I had named it, alternately Quikasfuki (self-explanatory) or Fugu (the Japanese Puffer Fish, certain parts of whose flesh contain one of the deadliest toxins known to man…guaranteed to kill you in a few seconds, should your sushi chef not take care enough to render it properly for consumption!).

At the time, I had a sneaking feeling that I would regret that decision and sure enough, not long afterwards I felt that familiar old, lifelong itch of wanting another bike. My 2000 ZX900 Ninja, Quikasfuki, went to a good home…a 30s’ish young fellow who struck me as being mature enough to give the bike the care and TLC it deserved, but I still miss that machine…as much because when I acquired it, it had been sitting in a garage, undriven for some time, and for over a year I lavished much time and attention on getting it back into top shape, once again! It was a remarkable beauty, as well, with its Kawasaki signature green paint. Ah well!

Finally, however, the motorcycle bug returned in the form of a good buddy who was my co-crewchief on our air museum’s Convair F-106A Delta Dart (a Mach 2.45…that’s 2.45 times the speed of sound…delta-winged interceptor flown as America’s primary air defense fighter, protecting American air space from hostile penetration for almost 30 years). Known as Super-Dave after a character in a TV series of the late 80s named ‘Super-Dave Osborne’. Osborne was an inept stuntman who had a knack for always screwing up. Super-Dave became my friend’s call-sign, at any rate and the 1992 Kawasaki ZX11 I now have was originally his. Since Dave lived a rather haphazard life, the bike had been ‘around the block’ a few times and when he gave it to me (yes, that’s right, he GAVE it to me) it had more than 56K miles on the odometer…a distance that may seem excessive for a motorcycle, but for a large capacity, bomb-proof engine like that of the Kawasaki ZX11 Ninja it was not as extreme as that figure sounds.

Dave had originally approached me to ask whether I had some space that he could store the bike in, since it wasn’t running and he vaguely planned to get it back up to snuff when circumstances permitted. I had agreed to keep the machine for him at my home but long-story-short, I was impressed with how ‘all-there’ it was and that got me interested in restoring it myself, purely for the fun of it (and to teach myself a few things about Kawasaki motorcycle service/maintenance). Before long, I was into it full-bore and having a great time testing my modest mechanical skills on it. Dave, sensing my interest in the bike, asked me one day if I wanted it?

Thinking that he wanted to sell it to me, I at first demurred, but Dave explained that he would be happy to give the bike to me if I gave it the same level of TLC and care he had lavished on it himself. I could hardly believe I, but yes, I gratefully and eagerly took this new charge on board not fully realizing that this was the start not just of my most recent suicycle acquisitions, but a further expansion of my interest in the vaunted Kawasaki Ninja line that had first gained a wide-spread following when actor Tom Cruise raced a Grumman F-14A Tomcat down the El Toro main runway on his 1986 Kawasaki GPZ900 (the forefather of the subsequent, legendary ‘Ninjas’) in the iconic 1987 film ‘TOP GUN’.

All of my machines have names, by the way, a custom I began back in my active-duty Air Force days when I christened my beautiful little blue used VW convertible that I bought at my first duty station in North Dakota, Heinie. Heinie was my faithful, sturdy mechanised burro while I served in North Dakota’s frigid northern latitudes and there were more than a few times out there in the frequent ND white-out snowstorms that I had conversations with that ever-dependable little beastie! Having an air-cooled engine, there was never a fear of freezing the radiator and it never failed to start right up, despite long stretches of temps in the below-zero range.

But I digress. Over the past 10 years my motorcycle corral has included Beauty (a red 1993 Yamaha XJ550 Seca), Beast (a black 1982 XJ750 Seca), Scarlett (a rare red 1983 Yamaha XJ900 Seca), Trotsky (a red 1992 Yamaha FZR1000), a 2000 yellow Honda VFR800 Interceptor named Tojo, and later an all Kawa-green 2000 Kawasaki ZX900E-1 Ninja (named Fugu); these were followed by my current three bikes, a 1992 black Kawasaki ZX1100C-3 Ninja (named Mako…although it would probably be better suited to Lazarus, since I nursed it back from a long dormancy), a 1994 black Kawasaki ZX1100D-2 (named Kami) and finally a screaming red 2002 Honda VFR800A Interceptor (named Kata). And yeah, I’m a sentimental old anthropomorphic fool, but heck, who cares? No one else, that’s for sure! I am convinced that there’s a very strong streak of animism hidden away inside my psychological makeup…perhaps a latent relic of very early Hawai’ian days.

And there’s not a single Hardley-Goodson amongst those machines, I’m happy to say, since I’ve never had any interest whatsoever in American-style motorcycles (hogs). To some extent this is ironic, since I belong to the Antique Motorcycle Club of America, a long-lived national motorcycle association with hoary roots in the dim past, the majority of members of which adulate the HD brand (as well as Indian, etc., etc.). For my money, however, only the Japanese bikes are worthy of my attention, since I first cut my motorcycle baby-teeth on a 1962 Honda C-110 Supersport (50ccs of snarling power, capable of just barely topping 45 mph with a strong tailwind!) and yeah, I was one of those "...nicest people you meet" on a Honda, back then, as a sophomore in high school. Japanese bikes have therefore been in the blood, as they say, right from my earliest days. Call ‘em rice burners, crotch rockets and/or UJMs (Universal Japanese Motorcycles) or whatever you wish, there’s little denying that they represent the very highest of world standards in fine, precise two-wheeled technology. Comparatively, American traditional motorcycles are virtually all relics of early American powered two-wheeled machinery: heavy, old school and until very recently, little improved from their 1940s antecedent relatives.

Be all that as it may, I had just sold my beautiful, racing green Kawasaki ZX900E-1 and was experiencing intense seller’s regret when my buddy Super-Dave asked if I wanted his old 1992 Kawasaki ZX1100D-3 Ninja.

As already remarked, I ended up not just giving it space at my place to rest its weary Japanese metal bones (after faithfully covering over 56 thousand miles) but gradually taking growing, serious note of exactly what a beautiful design the ZX11 series machines of the 90s actually were. I was soon hooked and Mako (or Lazarus) took pride of place in my garage, forcing my long-suffering and faithful steed Moby (a white 1996 Hyundai Elantra GLX wagon) out of its comfortable, protected enclosure and into the driveway.

Since then, with Kami and Kata added to the herd, I’ve had my present three bikes in there to play around with and have fun maintaining to my heart’s content! ‘Hanger queens’ perhaps, but as I’ve explained to my friends who wonder how often I actually take a pleasure-putt on them, I get more fun out of working on them than from actually playing ‘Dodge-em cars’ on the highways with all those murderous cars and semi-trucks out there (threatening to give us all 18-wheeler enemas when we least expect it, LoL).

Frankly, and due in no small part to both the pandemic’s constraints AND the depredations of the far-leftist progressives as they continue to force dilute forms of repressive PC identity-socialism on all of us, the highways have now become literal killing fields. If it isn’t road-rage shootings or drive-by gang hits, its scores of starkly crazy young hotshots in way-overpowered muscle-cars driving insanely fast and recklessly amidst all the unaware and highly distracted ‘other third’ of the road population. The increasing number of large trucks on the road account for the last third of highway dangers motorcyclists face these days and too often driving a motorcycle on the highway is like trying to navigate an aluminum canyon, with these behemoths on both sides.

Ironically, there are also the much younger kids out there on their over-powered sports motorcycles to add to the hazards by driving erratically, so between all four of these road-hazards, it’s best, as far as saner motorcyclists are concerned, to be about as far as one can be from our present express roadways and interstates (meaning out in the beautiful scenic countryside, if such a setting is close at hand and available). Adding to the danger all motorcyclistas now face is the suicidal recklessness exhibited by too many of these kids in superbikes. Some of their colossally stupid antics, weaving through closely packed highway traffic at high speed, serve to inflame motorists’ inherent (perhaps unconscious) resentment of their mobility and the next motorcyclist to suffer an aggressively dangerous action by a motorist may be one of the safest, most conscientious bikers on the roadway. "Displaced aggression", it’s called, and in a similar manner to the popular fad of ‘paying it forward’ you hear about these days, pissed-off 4-wheelers all too often take out that resentment and irritation on the next motorcyclist to come along. Typically, a case of simple bad timing and inappropriate transference of anger, but either way, it can end up with the motorcyclist paying the heaviest price if he is struck by a belligerent driver.

And so it goes on this July 4th, 2021. Very recently, I heard a 76-year-old motorcyclist friend of mine refer to himself as a 16-year-old at heart…but with 60 years of experience! Hopefully, those years of observing and making notes on the actions and behavior of one’s fellow humming beans will serve him in good stead out there on the highway, which some wag once termed "...the bullring of human insecurity".

See if that isn’t true , next time you head out onto the freeway and witness the craziness that now passes for ‘normal’ driving manners!