The first came when I parked my 1991 VFR750 in the parking lot of Central Mass Powersports in Lunenburg, MA and hopped on the brand new (51 miles on the odo) VFR1200.
Right away I noticed: the seating position is nearly identical to that of my '00 BMW R1100S outfitted with a peg-lowering kit. I was in the exact same position and both bikes share a very skinny waist. The difference there is the Beemer tends to push you into the tank on rapid decel (fixed with application of stomp-grip on the tank and some time on the thigh-exercising machine at the gym), while the VFR leaves you right where you want to be. My feet, knees and ass all remained where I wanted them, no unintentional sliding around while riding. It really sits like a proper sports-tourer.
Unfortunately (for me) it doesn't ride like one.
Thumb the starter and the engine hums to life. Crack the throttle open and this startling, slightly threatening growl emanates from between your knees. The noise is rather lovely, but unfortunately that was the last time I heard it; the dirty airstream off the front screen precluded listening to that gorgeous engine.
Roll out onto the road and the primary concern becomes keeping this freaking sportbike under control. Now, the suspension's well-sorted and totally competent. The brakes are fantastic, no problem hauling the nearly-600-lb (would never have guessed that to sit on it or ride it) motorcycle down to a stop, and the bike's stock tires are up for the task, too. No, the issue is the entire drivetrain feels like a tightly-wound spring. I never found the sweet spot, that point where maintaining a speed doesn't take work. The shaft drive was rather prone to pogo-ing, but the main problem was a twitchy, twitchy throttle. Much, much worse than the '05 VFR800 I had some experience on. In fact, much worse than any bike I've ever ridden -- even a Ducati ST3 at 40mph in 2nd gear was a calmer beast than this VFR. I wanted to hop off it and shake a finger and say "CALM DOWN!"
That sweet spot, for all I know, is around 80mph. I didn't take it on the highway. But riding this bike on back roads at speeds (mostly) below 60mph, it was never not work. I'd expect that out of a supersport, but not out of this "sport tourer." Tiring to ride, and overly expensive, I had zero interest in ever owning one. That and the bike never talked to me -- as expected, the new VFR has exactly the same amount of soul the '05 800 has; that is to say, none at all.
Now, as it happened, I'd mentioned to my friend Jim that I was going to go test-ride this new VFR, and he was curious too and all for coming along. So he did.
Instead of waiting for me to come back to the dealership with the VFR, he took the only other bike they were demo'ing, and joined me for the ride on a "candy fire red" Vulcan Vaquero.
Since he wanted to ride the VFR, I suggested we swap halfway through the loop.
The second comparison came when I put the kickstand of the VFR down and walked over to this giant beast of a Vulcan freakin' cowboy "bagger." Honestly I was a little afraid of this 1700cc monster, having sort of a "big bike phobia" stemming from an incident with dropping an extremely top-heavy '82 KZ750 on myself in my formative motorcycling years. I could argue that none of the bikes I own are "big" but... this thing. This was a damn big bike.
When we stopped the bikes to swap, Jim slowed down, and I noticed had this giant red monster's stereo system blasting Journey; we laughed about it. OK maybe we were laughing at the bike, just a little. He said yes, it's enormous, but, it's a motorcycle.
And it clicked: Right. It's a motorcycle. I know how to ride motorcycles.
And so, I sit down on this thing: eight hundred thirty-seven pounds and lifting the kickstand I believed _every single one of them._ Floorboards. Heel-toe shifter. Right. I've never ridden a bike with a heel-toe shifter, though I knew how they worked, in theory.
The bike shuddered with application of throttle in neutral, but didn't make much noise. I idly wondered how much people who buy these bikes generally spend on aftermarket exhausts. I stomped the toe of the shifter into first.
I watched Jim take off on the VFR, a little jealous that he got to ride the "little" bike back to the dealership.
I let the clutch out.
I looked to my left and wobbled into a right-hand turn, out onto the crossroad.
And it just went. Now, with that giant fairing up front I couldn't see anything closer than 20 feet from my front wheel (I guessed), but it didn't seem to matter. This thing was not made for speed, not made for twisties; the word "sport" couldn't come anywhere near it. But that wasn't the point.
The point was that I was driving a sofa. A sofa with a pretty good stereo system. I stomped the heel of the shifter and the bike thunked into second gear. BLAH-BLAH-BLAH-BLAH accelerating in second gear. Turns out the heel-toe shifters are really intuitive. I turn the stereo system on.
Springsteen rock-block. Righteous.
As we passed "Cliff's Cafe," a local cruiser-biker hangout, I realized I must have looked ridiculous: full leathers and a full-face helmet on this ... thing. Time to go all the way. So after negotiating another right-hand turn (this time onto Route 13), I changed the radio station to "Mix 104.1" and, as if on cue, Katy Perry's "Firework" was on, just for me.
YOU JUST GOTTA IGNIIIIITE THE LIIIIGHT! AND LEEEET IT SHIIIINE! JUST OOOOOWN THE NIIIIIGHT LIKE THE FOOOOURTH OF JULY!!
THAT's the stuff.
I let Jim get way ahead on that VFR, since I was in no hurry. By definition this bike cannot be in a hurry. I wondered what all those 1700ccs were doing exactly, when I rolled on the throttle, 'cause they weren't making horsepower and they weren't making noise. I figured Kawasaki could put a more powerful and smaller engine in this thing and then weld some lead weights to the bottom for character. But that was before I was confronted with the bare fact that this thing weighs 837 pounds. Stomping my heel down on the shifter to roll through the gears was oddly satisfying. Stomping my toe down on the shifter when I wanted the thing to speed up was a little annoying.
I thought the air the VFR pushed out of the way was disturbed; the wind hitting the top of my helmet off the tiny little screen attached to a dashboard they must have wrenched out of a '50s model Chevy made my head explode. I wondered if Laminar Lip made an air-calming device for this thing. I doubted it.
Also, every bump the front wheel encountered (and there were a lot of them on these New England roads) was transferred through the handlebars and kicked my palms back. What, an 800-lb bike, undersprung? Say it ain't so. (I can't comment on front-end dive; the brakes were absolutely adequate for slowing this beast down but I did not, and would not want to, do any extreme maneuvering.)
That said, all I wanted to do was get on the highway and ride this thing to Texas.
I pulled into the dealership on this thing blasting Taio Cruz's "Dynamite" and LAUGHING MY ASS OFF.
(OK, side note, I had no idea there was a BMW S1000RR in that video and ALSO CHRIST woman what are you doing using an angle grinder in THAT OUTFIT ... anyway...)
And now I understand the draw. It's a cruiser. It's for cruising. It's for not having to think about the motorcycle much, and staying on main roads, and blasting at maybe 72mph down one highway after another but having more fun at it than you would on your other ride which is probably a minivan, or a motor home. No fussing with earbuds in your helmet, no, you just blast a half-mile radius with whatever the fuck you're listening to, on your rolling sofa.
The VFR apparently sells for around $17,000, and the Vaquero for $16,500.
It feels like a little bit of a betrayal of my sport-motorcycling past to admit it, but if I had $17K I had to spend on one of these bikes, I would buy the Vaquero in a hot second.
I'd have it repainted to read "Vaquera," though. Or just shorten it to "Vaca." I wouldn't love her any less though.
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