“Motorcycles are like women in that it is very hard to become interested in one you don’t want to fuck or fall in love with. My approach to motorcycles has always been through lust -never friendship.”
The 1300cc Judge Dread law master with the MMA cage fighter tattoo defiling both sides distinguishes itself from a standard sport bike not only in appearance but also in that is has twice the engine most of us require from a loin missile.
The “cultural baggage” attached to the Hyubusa have left me to question whether intentional or not, its success in reaching a certain ethnic minority in America was through the appeal of its unique aesthetic. This bike is bought by black guys, which, bear with me, leads me to presume that “this bike it bought by the men that love big arses”.
Before branding my thinking brash or racist lets clarify that a brief look at the shelf targeting an “African American male readership” at any local magazine stand will confirm that a large manure spreader is an absolute must to garner sales. No secret and nothing to be ashamed off. Video’s and album covers cement the concept that a giant pooper trumps titties any day of the week in Queens, Compton and all ethnic communities in between. I was starting to see a connection here. Had this bike been conceived for the booty coinsure or has its ardent posterior inadvertently drawn the attentions of the assworshipper?
The Bikes designer, Koji Yoshiura approach to the design was to build a powerful bike that looks like it had muscle tone. Koji has been quoted as saying “I created a somewhat grotesque design in the hopes of creating a strong initial impact”. Mr. Yoshiura I think we can safely say that you have achieved your goal. But my theory had fallen flat.
Having never ridden a Hyubusa I started the bike and was surprised at how little soundthe stock exhaust produced. I pulled out onto the freeway feeling more like I was pilotinga 7 series BMW than the infamous 196.87 horsepower widow maker until my wrist decided to that it was Hadron collier time.
There is one word that best describes the results. FUCK. After a brief and unscheduled power wheelie I nicknamed the throttle “you want the truth- you cant handle the truth”.
Unlike the CBR or the GSX the Hyubusa’s engines power seems to stem directly from a connection to a volcanic fault line somewhere beneath the tires. Broad, wide, ancient. I will admit that there was a part of me that just wanted to twist until my head exploded but the 405 North is not the best place to see how quickly I would reach the limited 186mph. (though we came close in relative comfort.)
A friend, Former British GP Champion and lover of dogs Jamie Robinson had nothing but good to say about “the fat girl”. Turns out he had had the same press bike I was currently riding sloppy seconds on and sung its praise. A blast up the popular Angela’s crest highway with his buddy on a GSX’er left no doubt about whether or not the bikes cholesterol level was a factor in performance. Jamie sung the praise of its power, its brakes and said the bikes weight would only be a problem for the rider without the plums to “chuck her about abit” in the turns.
Over the course of two weeks I would have to admit that the performance of the bike quickly overshadowed the styling. All my life I have seen any connection to an instrument of speed as a love affair and for the first time I was becoming friends with a motorcycle. This silent monster took me everywhere I wanted to go in comfort, without question and when I gave it a little twist it would softened my will to live.
I decided to create my own logic out of the ass’tetic and enlisted the help of a local Argentinean nicknamed “The Onion” because her “booty” apparently makes black guys cry in the street. Once the plastic camels hump was replaced for a rear seat and the onion was gently lowered into place the planets aligned and lust once again became factor in the equation. The quintessential aftermarket part for this bike is not an extended swing arm or chromed iron cross mirrors. This bike requires a rear passenger with large, shapely buttocks for it to achieve symmetrical harmony. I think Mr. Yoshiura was an ass man after all.
Last year two friends of mine traveled from London down through Europe to Italy where they spent a month negotiating criminally low rates for luxury villa’s in this down turned economy and eating heavy smoked sandwich meats with folding knives on the side of French motorways. I have sworn to join them this summer and I cannot think of a better bike to head south on. I taking my new Japanese friend.