Death of a Firebladewritten by -- June 13th, 2009Filed under: Project Bikes,Project Fireblade | Comments (0) |
Alas, it has finally happened. My 2000 Honda Cbr929rr, my first real sportbike, the bike that has taught me the most about motorcycling, has perished.
Not only have I logged the most miles of my young riding career on this thing, but due to its Jekyll and Hyde personality, I have learned much about the finer side of riding through its troubles and problems.
As you may recall, this bike was sold to me through a “friend,” and I use that term loosely (I’ll tell you later). After selling my Zx-6r, and not riding for about a week, I felt like a crack fiend after a binge, and had the itch to get back on a bike ASAP.
The Fireblade had previously been used as a stunt bike, and this should have sent red flags a-waving, but I was still very naive about the mechanics of motorcycles at the time, and did not know a fraction of what I have learned since then.
I was told by this “friend” that it was fully rebuilt and ready to go. It just needed paint and new fairings. I was told this repeatedly and since he worked for a local shop that I trusted, I chose to buy the bike from him. It was a huge mistake in the end, but the amount of knowledge and lessons I have learned from buying/riding/fixing this bike is unparalleled.
The Fireblade, or The Beast as I call it, started me off with a very steep learning curve. Not only was I still very new to riding, but this bike also had a lot of quirks and issues from being so badly abused by the previous owner. I bought the bike in the winter time and soon had to learn how to handle this large excess of power on very wet and slippery roads. This took a lot of time and a lot of near misses, but I now have no problem riding in the rain, through the hills, on any bike. I have also started learning how to work on bikes because of this thing constantly breaking down.
Most people would not ride this bike, or deem me crazy for doings the things I do on it, but it is mine and I loved it no matter how bad of shape it was in. It was like having an ugly child, it’s still your kid and you love it no matter what.
A few weeks back, the fuel injection system started going haywire. It would randomly shut off. It was extremely unnerving and very dangerous. It happened many times at freeway speed and also in the middle of turns up in the mountains. When the fuel would cut out, the bike would lunge forward then back as the rear wheel began to lock.
I took it back to the “friend’s” shop to have it fixed, but they said they rode it and felt no problems. This was laughable but it seemed the only one who knew how bad it was, was me. I rode it for a few weeks in this shape which was scary to say the least.
Finally, I took it for one last ride in the mountains despite reasonable concerns for safety. I found that if I never used the brakes, thus not having to use throttle as much I was able to keep it from cutting out a bit longer. I used the brakes a handful of times on 20 miles through the mountains, kept my cornering speeds very high and used only minimal throttle. The bike only died out 4 times on the way back but one was mid turn as I decided to give it a touch more throttle than usual. It cut out then came back on hard causing the rear tire to slip then regain traction fast also known as a high-side.
The bike tried to catapult me over the side and into a mountain, but despite having one leg in the air, I managed to keep the other planted on the inside foot peg. This was the closest I have came to crashing in a long time and it turns out my excess weight might have saved me from a horrible crash in this situation.
I made it back the rest of the way without issue from the bike. The best part was coming through a high speed left hand sweeper going down hill, where a HUGE deer with a GIANT set of antlers was posing majestically in front of the backdrop overlooking the valley. As I came into the turn, I looked straight into the deer’s eyes and he looked back at me. An eerie calmness took over me, like I knew everything was going to be fine. By the time I arrived in the town of Saratoga, I hopped off my bike to take a breather. I looked over my bike and laughed when I checked the tires. The sides were shredded as if I had gone to a track day. Normally I would not brag about this, as this meant I was being completely stupid and unsafe, but not this time. This ride, I knew, was going to be my last on my bike. I knew it was never going to see a track day now, but maybe, just maybe, it got to taste a little of the track on its last mountain ride.
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