RaWarrior
Well-Known Member
(Big post alert)
So this actually happened a couple weeks ago when I was home for the weekend, but I see it as a testament to what an awesome motor the Vmax has. Since my riding season's pretty much done, I like to recollect fun times with the vmax. I kind of write for a hobby but don't share much of it, more for personal enjoyment and relaxation. This is one I think any Max owner can enjoy though so figured I'd share it.
Was a nice "indian summer" day. Temp around 70 on a saturday afternoon. Was out on a ride with my buddy on his M109, and an older R6, an 02 I think. It's second gear is shot and we're pretty sure it's got some valvetrain issues....it's got almost 40k on it.
We did some cruising on back streets, just enjoying the ride. Ended up going through saratoga springs, and went toward the exit 15 interchange of I87(for anyone who knows the area). I figured we would head south, we both live off exit 7. Instead we pass the southbound exit on the right and continue to the northbound turn lane on the left. I ask my friend what's up, says he wants to haul ass a bit. He rides like an idiot all the time, so when he says "haul ass" I know some seriously asshole riding is about to go down. Southbound traffic gets heavier, while northbound gets lighter(away from the cities). I check my trip meter, 45 miles since I last filled. Plenty. Temp about 1/3 of the way up, as always. Dual Dale's rumbling softly, the tach needle wiggling ever so slightly over the "1". I notice, for the millionth time, the red box around the "55" on the speedometer, then looking all the way around to 4 o'clock at the 155 and the single dash after it. I think it's kind of funny. I scope out the ramp. We are cleared for takeoff.
The green arrow appears. Lil bit of gas, ease into motion, the motor effortlessly pulling. Make the turn through the intersection, keeping it in first but getting the revs up to boost range. Held it at about 6k, as soon as I straightened out I was pointed down the on-ramp. No traffic. The "launch tunnel" scene from Independence Day came to mind as I whacked it wide open. The back got a bit squirrley and the the cluster of red LED's on the speedo lit almost instantly at the 9200 setting. I was ready for it, feathering the clutch oh so slightly and lifting it into second. Back against the throttle stop, lose the clutch. .....and Houston we have liftoff! Front wheel lofts slightly though second, lays back down as I grab third. By now the ramp is about over and I'm already pushing ninety, throttle still firmly lodged against it's stop, v-boost valves open, I'm sure the slides were pulled all the way back shoving as much fuel into the motor as it would drink, and drink it did, but we'll get to that later.
Check out the highway, light traffic, northbound is typically light on saturday afternoons. Slide over to the left lane, now watching the needle slip past 100. Soon Max's lone red eye winks on again, load up on the shifter and roll back on the gas until it slips in, then instantly back to velocotius maximus all in a fraction of a second. The M109 is keeping pace, but solidly behind me. I hear the R6 but don't see it. Too busy to bother with mirrors. Who needs em. Don't care where I've been, only where I'm going. Traffic is really light. Accord in the right lane, some econobox a few hundred yards up in the center, left is clear for once. Two cars in a mile's visibility. Speed is still climbing...getting to the wiggle danger zone, but so far so good. 115. 120. Coming up on 3 o'clock. Beige Accord goes by like it isn't even moving. 9200 RPM again, so soon? Click it into maximum warp drive, still jammed wide open. The light does dark again, the motor's song falls in pitch slightly, with a different inflection, that it's giving everything it possibly can, straining to turn 5th gear and a pumpkin it got in transplant from it's half-brother Venture. But tall gears are no match for four high compression cylinders, and it's song indicates it's winning the battle. I hear the M109 approaching, still behind me but getting close. The R6 is nowhere to be seen.
Speedo is rounding 140, I feel the beginnings of some steering wobble. The bike is questioning me. It rarely ever is pushed this hard. I ease my grip on the bars, forcing calm, and press myself even flatter against the lid. She settles back down, confident it it's pilot once again. I chance a look to the side, in the split second I turn my head I see the M109 maybe two bike lengths behind me, also in that instant I swore I heard the violent hiss of all four carbs sucking as much air as would possibly fit down them. Kind of a strange noise. Tach is at 8500 and climbing, but it's losing headway with the same force that lets it run....the atmosphere. Needle is now pointing down on the right side, finally leveling off at about 145, spinning 8800 RPM.
And we rode like that. For twenty-one miles. Twenty one miles at wide open throttle. Countless crank revolutions, countless discharges from the four coil sticks stolen from a R6, every part in the engine spinning nearly as fast as it was ever designed to, and maximum possible load. I look down and see the front rotors are a blur and appear hollow in the center, as if the disc is levitating next to the wheel. The white odometer dials were spinning like slot machines. Twenty one miles seems like a long time, but in reality it took around ten minutes, maybe less. The M109 fell back and slid over to the right lane, honking as it did. Figures, a Suzuki always has to ruin a Yamaha's fun. For the first time in ten minutes, I released the throttle. Abruptly the engine's note changed, from a song of ectasty to one of muted obedience. The needle quickly descended into the realm of the sane once again, I watched as it sweeped past the red 55 box as the dual R1 four piston calipers did their job as well as the engine had just done its.
We come to a stop light at the end of the off ramp. It has one of those annoying strobe things in it that's like getting a camera flashed in your face. I tap the shifter from second to neutral, coming to a halt. I put my feet down and almost dropped the bike from one knee buckling. I caught it, and steadied myself. I released the bars and watched both my hands shake uncontrollably. It took me several tries to catch the tang that lifts my chromed one-way visor. I glanced down. Once again, the motor was happily rumbling away, wagging it's tail over the 1k mark. Temperature was about half way up. Ran a bit hotter than usual, but I certainly can't fault it for that. I reached down and clicked the fan on, instantly feeling a warm rush over my knees. I still could barely hold the bike upright and was almost afraid to lift one foot to put it in gear. But I did, and we rolled on. I'd never been that jacked up on adrenaline before, it's actually a bit disconcerting.
Several minutes later we stopped at a gas station, more for a break than fuel. I was still jittery, but not as bad as before. The adrenaline was wearing off, and now I wanted a nap. The M109 was idling kind of funny. It always idles funny, since it never seems to run on more than two cylinders, but even moreso. Farts and pops were mixed in. We parked the bikes and shut them down. The Vmax wanted a nap too. It was tired. I heard a faint ticking as it cooled, the M109 sounded like crumpling up a ball of tin foil. I pulled my helmet off and plopped it on the built in helmet holder aka sissy bar, then proceeded to drop my ass on the bench outside the mini mart. I settled down and now really wanted a nap, so instead I went inside a got a tallboy of Arizona sweet tea. We talked a bit, my friend on the M109 said it started running funny, why he pulled off. Said it started losing power and misfiring and was now idling kind of weird. I asked my friend on the R6 what's up, since I figured he would take us both in the top end. His motor is fubar. Said it wouldn't rev past 12k, or about 120mph, and makes a nasty clattery noise if you try. I guess that's that 40k miles with no valve adjustments gets you.
I checked the trip meter. Read 67 now. Figured we had gone maybe a mile or two off the exit. Twenty one miles on the highway going absolutely as fast as the bike would go. I had let the Max wind out before, but never for more than a few seconds on a straightaway. We fueled up. Normally, I get around 38-40mpg with my normal quasi-asshole riding. I figured I was down only a gallon or so when we started, all the prior riding had been pretty easy. When I filled, I took a bit over two gallons. Assuming one gallon from "before", I burned about a gallon in 21 miles. Worst mileage I've ever gotten, but even at WTFO it still bests my truck by 50%.
Aftermath: The M109 ran fine again once it cooled down, but now shoots a puff of white smoke out whenever it's under hard acceleration, long pulls through the gears give a faint but detectable oil burner smell behind it. The R6 owner was pretty pissed that he "missed out" on this rare opportunity of such light traffic and now wants to get a new bike, haha. Meanwhile, my Max never skipped a beat before during or after. No farty idle. No overheating. No burning oil. Perfect.
I drove home and went to bed at like 7pm. I got up at about 10. Mmmmmm.....hungry. Put a hawt pockit in the microwave since I was far too lazy to cook anything. I almost walked back to bed with it, but decided to go say good-nite to the Max. I padded out to the garage wearing a purple robe and nibbling on whatever it is they fill hot pockets with. The Max was silent, with a faint bit of warmth still radiating from it's block and cylinders. Warm to the touch....it's just settling down to sleep, it certainly earned it. I figured it was tired of being on it's feet so I set the hot pocket on the seat, and using a flip-flop I found out in the garage, hoisted it onto the centerstand. Stood there for a moment, and went back to bed, about as proud of a machine as it's humanely possible(any maybe a bit too much so) to be. But then again, my Max has always been more than a machine to me. If I get into that I'll really sound like a nut, so I'll stop here.
Well, that's my story. I didn't plan it to be, but it ended up being the last ride of the season. Best to go out with a bang!
Of course, if you're a state trooper, this is a work of pure fiction and I neither practice nor condone exceeding posted speed limits. :biglaugh:
Ride On!
unk:
So this actually happened a couple weeks ago when I was home for the weekend, but I see it as a testament to what an awesome motor the Vmax has. Since my riding season's pretty much done, I like to recollect fun times with the vmax. I kind of write for a hobby but don't share much of it, more for personal enjoyment and relaxation. This is one I think any Max owner can enjoy though so figured I'd share it.
Was a nice "indian summer" day. Temp around 70 on a saturday afternoon. Was out on a ride with my buddy on his M109, and an older R6, an 02 I think. It's second gear is shot and we're pretty sure it's got some valvetrain issues....it's got almost 40k on it.
We did some cruising on back streets, just enjoying the ride. Ended up going through saratoga springs, and went toward the exit 15 interchange of I87(for anyone who knows the area). I figured we would head south, we both live off exit 7. Instead we pass the southbound exit on the right and continue to the northbound turn lane on the left. I ask my friend what's up, says he wants to haul ass a bit. He rides like an idiot all the time, so when he says "haul ass" I know some seriously asshole riding is about to go down. Southbound traffic gets heavier, while northbound gets lighter(away from the cities). I check my trip meter, 45 miles since I last filled. Plenty. Temp about 1/3 of the way up, as always. Dual Dale's rumbling softly, the tach needle wiggling ever so slightly over the "1". I notice, for the millionth time, the red box around the "55" on the speedometer, then looking all the way around to 4 o'clock at the 155 and the single dash after it. I think it's kind of funny. I scope out the ramp. We are cleared for takeoff.
The green arrow appears. Lil bit of gas, ease into motion, the motor effortlessly pulling. Make the turn through the intersection, keeping it in first but getting the revs up to boost range. Held it at about 6k, as soon as I straightened out I was pointed down the on-ramp. No traffic. The "launch tunnel" scene from Independence Day came to mind as I whacked it wide open. The back got a bit squirrley and the the cluster of red LED's on the speedo lit almost instantly at the 9200 setting. I was ready for it, feathering the clutch oh so slightly and lifting it into second. Back against the throttle stop, lose the clutch. .....and Houston we have liftoff! Front wheel lofts slightly though second, lays back down as I grab third. By now the ramp is about over and I'm already pushing ninety, throttle still firmly lodged against it's stop, v-boost valves open, I'm sure the slides were pulled all the way back shoving as much fuel into the motor as it would drink, and drink it did, but we'll get to that later.
Check out the highway, light traffic, northbound is typically light on saturday afternoons. Slide over to the left lane, now watching the needle slip past 100. Soon Max's lone red eye winks on again, load up on the shifter and roll back on the gas until it slips in, then instantly back to velocotius maximus all in a fraction of a second. The M109 is keeping pace, but solidly behind me. I hear the R6 but don't see it. Too busy to bother with mirrors. Who needs em. Don't care where I've been, only where I'm going. Traffic is really light. Accord in the right lane, some econobox a few hundred yards up in the center, left is clear for once. Two cars in a mile's visibility. Speed is still climbing...getting to the wiggle danger zone, but so far so good. 115. 120. Coming up on 3 o'clock. Beige Accord goes by like it isn't even moving. 9200 RPM again, so soon? Click it into maximum warp drive, still jammed wide open. The light does dark again, the motor's song falls in pitch slightly, with a different inflection, that it's giving everything it possibly can, straining to turn 5th gear and a pumpkin it got in transplant from it's half-brother Venture. But tall gears are no match for four high compression cylinders, and it's song indicates it's winning the battle. I hear the M109 approaching, still behind me but getting close. The R6 is nowhere to be seen.
Speedo is rounding 140, I feel the beginnings of some steering wobble. The bike is questioning me. It rarely ever is pushed this hard. I ease my grip on the bars, forcing calm, and press myself even flatter against the lid. She settles back down, confident it it's pilot once again. I chance a look to the side, in the split second I turn my head I see the M109 maybe two bike lengths behind me, also in that instant I swore I heard the violent hiss of all four carbs sucking as much air as would possibly fit down them. Kind of a strange noise. Tach is at 8500 and climbing, but it's losing headway with the same force that lets it run....the atmosphere. Needle is now pointing down on the right side, finally leveling off at about 145, spinning 8800 RPM.
And we rode like that. For twenty-one miles. Twenty one miles at wide open throttle. Countless crank revolutions, countless discharges from the four coil sticks stolen from a R6, every part in the engine spinning nearly as fast as it was ever designed to, and maximum possible load. I look down and see the front rotors are a blur and appear hollow in the center, as if the disc is levitating next to the wheel. The white odometer dials were spinning like slot machines. Twenty one miles seems like a long time, but in reality it took around ten minutes, maybe less. The M109 fell back and slid over to the right lane, honking as it did. Figures, a Suzuki always has to ruin a Yamaha's fun. For the first time in ten minutes, I released the throttle. Abruptly the engine's note changed, from a song of ectasty to one of muted obedience. The needle quickly descended into the realm of the sane once again, I watched as it sweeped past the red 55 box as the dual R1 four piston calipers did their job as well as the engine had just done its.
We come to a stop light at the end of the off ramp. It has one of those annoying strobe things in it that's like getting a camera flashed in your face. I tap the shifter from second to neutral, coming to a halt. I put my feet down and almost dropped the bike from one knee buckling. I caught it, and steadied myself. I released the bars and watched both my hands shake uncontrollably. It took me several tries to catch the tang that lifts my chromed one-way visor. I glanced down. Once again, the motor was happily rumbling away, wagging it's tail over the 1k mark. Temperature was about half way up. Ran a bit hotter than usual, but I certainly can't fault it for that. I reached down and clicked the fan on, instantly feeling a warm rush over my knees. I still could barely hold the bike upright and was almost afraid to lift one foot to put it in gear. But I did, and we rolled on. I'd never been that jacked up on adrenaline before, it's actually a bit disconcerting.
Several minutes later we stopped at a gas station, more for a break than fuel. I was still jittery, but not as bad as before. The adrenaline was wearing off, and now I wanted a nap. The M109 was idling kind of funny. It always idles funny, since it never seems to run on more than two cylinders, but even moreso. Farts and pops were mixed in. We parked the bikes and shut them down. The Vmax wanted a nap too. It was tired. I heard a faint ticking as it cooled, the M109 sounded like crumpling up a ball of tin foil. I pulled my helmet off and plopped it on the built in helmet holder aka sissy bar, then proceeded to drop my ass on the bench outside the mini mart. I settled down and now really wanted a nap, so instead I went inside a got a tallboy of Arizona sweet tea. We talked a bit, my friend on the M109 said it started running funny, why he pulled off. Said it started losing power and misfiring and was now idling kind of weird. I asked my friend on the R6 what's up, since I figured he would take us both in the top end. His motor is fubar. Said it wouldn't rev past 12k, or about 120mph, and makes a nasty clattery noise if you try. I guess that's that 40k miles with no valve adjustments gets you.
I checked the trip meter. Read 67 now. Figured we had gone maybe a mile or two off the exit. Twenty one miles on the highway going absolutely as fast as the bike would go. I had let the Max wind out before, but never for more than a few seconds on a straightaway. We fueled up. Normally, I get around 38-40mpg with my normal quasi-asshole riding. I figured I was down only a gallon or so when we started, all the prior riding had been pretty easy. When I filled, I took a bit over two gallons. Assuming one gallon from "before", I burned about a gallon in 21 miles. Worst mileage I've ever gotten, but even at WTFO it still bests my truck by 50%.
Aftermath: The M109 ran fine again once it cooled down, but now shoots a puff of white smoke out whenever it's under hard acceleration, long pulls through the gears give a faint but detectable oil burner smell behind it. The R6 owner was pretty pissed that he "missed out" on this rare opportunity of such light traffic and now wants to get a new bike, haha. Meanwhile, my Max never skipped a beat before during or after. No farty idle. No overheating. No burning oil. Perfect.
I drove home and went to bed at like 7pm. I got up at about 10. Mmmmmm.....hungry. Put a hawt pockit in the microwave since I was far too lazy to cook anything. I almost walked back to bed with it, but decided to go say good-nite to the Max. I padded out to the garage wearing a purple robe and nibbling on whatever it is they fill hot pockets with. The Max was silent, with a faint bit of warmth still radiating from it's block and cylinders. Warm to the touch....it's just settling down to sleep, it certainly earned it. I figured it was tired of being on it's feet so I set the hot pocket on the seat, and using a flip-flop I found out in the garage, hoisted it onto the centerstand. Stood there for a moment, and went back to bed, about as proud of a machine as it's humanely possible(any maybe a bit too much so) to be. But then again, my Max has always been more than a machine to me. If I get into that I'll really sound like a nut, so I'll stop here.
Well, that's my story. I didn't plan it to be, but it ended up being the last ride of the season. Best to go out with a bang!
Of course, if you're a state trooper, this is a work of pure fiction and I neither practice nor condone exceeding posted speed limits. :biglaugh:
Ride On!
unk:
