Honda VFR 750F-L

Review

by Trevor Franklin

If you wanted one 1990 sportbike talented enough to act like a garage full, your choice came down to one machine: the VFR750F. It delivered V-4 thrust, sophistication and charisma in one meticulously finished, marvelously rapid red package.

Beginning with the 1983 VFR750F Interceptor, Honda's V-4 had established itself as the high-performance signature of motorcycle engineering. Compact and blessed with an amazingly broad power band, it was the most advanced engine on the street. By 1990, four gear-driven camshafts opened and closed its 16 valves precisely up to the 11,500-rpm redline. Down below, a 180-degree crankshaft helped boost high-rpm horsepower. Up around 8000 rpm, the sound was somewhere between a kinder, gentler NASCAR stocker and the Hound of the Baskervilles.

Power flowed to the pavement in a measured, marvelously accessible rush from 3500 rpm to the 9500-rpm peak, where the bike cranked out 79.2 horses on the Cycle magazine dynamometer. There may have been more powerful 750s, but none of them generated sporting thrust so effortlessly.

A new twin-spar aluminum frame and single-sided Pro-Arm swingarm laid the foundation for handling as fluid as the engine's power delivery. Positioning the engine lower and closer to the front wheel than its predecessors gave the '90 VFR neutral, predictable handling manners. A slightly shorter wheelbase helped as well. The 41mm fork and hydraulically adjustable, gas-charged shock did an admirable job of erasing imperfect pavement. Twin-piston brakes were at the top of their class in 1990, and no other 750 had better wind protection.

Factor in ergonomics that kept you comfortable through a whole day's worth of twisty roads, and you had a machine made for riders capable of appreciating its unparalleled refinement. Riders like you'd find writing for Cycle magazine, for example. "All we can tell you," Cycle's editors said in their May 1990 test, "is that the VFR-F is a polished jewel, a streetbike that addresses real street needs rather than attempting to produce towering statistics. It's a pentathlete in a world of single-event specialists, and its charm extends much further than any specifications page can ever show."

That magic combination of technology, charisma and broadband performance made the 1990 VFR — and every one since — the sportbike for all reasons.

How goes the song? Don't you know that it's different for girls? It would be more accurate to say, Don't you know that it's different for five foot four speed freaks who aren't build like the proverbial powder room?

Not for me the winding, breathtaking curves of Misano a la Mark Forsyth (PB Jan 1990) but the tortures of suburban South London and Commercial Road, with relief(?) provided by the damp, sheep-laden Peak District. I got something wrong here.

Let's talk real commuting, through the BlackWall Tunnell and into the City centre. For those of you lucky enough to work outside of London, this is where traffic from three counties and freight lorries from the continent converge into a single lane, due to permanent "road improvements".

When it comes to the ultimate commuter crawl, I have to say that my first impression was that the VFR is as far removed from excellence as Saddam Hussein is from sanity.

The advantage of a motorcycle is that you can weave in and out of the traffic piling into nightmarish caverns with little ventilation. Unless, that is, you get stuck behind two fumigating lorries with only enough space for a C90 squeeze through.

VFR width, including non-retractable mirrors, is 34 inches (I measured it), which means you face the possibility of being stuck, trying to hold your breath to prevent a serious case of carbon monoxide poisoning. The disadvantage of a bike in London is that you get to inhale every one of a plethora of pollutants, unless you move PDQ.

The trick is to avoid getting into that situation in the first place. This is not easy with heavy steering (compared to smaller bikes rather than other 750s) that seems to require well-developed biceps for maximum control, and an engine that shifts into overdrive anywhere above tickover, followed by warp factor seven.

I got to work exhausted. My wrists ached from leaning on the bars and having to use a stiff, hydraulic clutch so frequently. My back ached from being crouched over the tank. I was also starving from burning up so many calories.

Other city hazards which made life on the VFR difficult include narrow roads — try parking a bike quickly when, at a curb weight of 5291bs, it's nearly four times your body weight — and pot holes and adverse cambers conveniently placed at traffic lights (where's the road gone?) were pretty unsettling.

Stalling the engine coming out of a blind bend caused my heart to stop with visions of crushed legs, dented fairings and ego. Plus the thought of (probably) having to find someone to help me pick it up. Luckily enough" I didn't have to test this.

After that I turned the tick-over up to 1,300 which eradicated the problem but did nothing for fuel consumption.

The irony is that the VFR looks every inch a city-slicker subtle, sophisticated and oozing latent power. That, I found, was the image rather than reality. Commuting did get progressively easier if not altogether enjoyable the more I got used to the bike. But I still wouldn't describe it as having useable power — although that's not the bike's fault. The blame lies with town planners.

Mr Forsyth must have been talking about regular jaunts up A roads when he recommended Honda's market-bashing 750 for commuting not the chaos you have to cope with in the capital. Anyway, his legs are longer than mine.

Now for the good stuff. All urban frustration was blown into the smog once out of the straight jacket of the M25. The first time I tried the VFR's flat-out acceleration felt like the boost you get when an aeroplane hurtles down a runway. The nose fairing and jutting-out mirrors made it feel even more like a cockpit.

High speed is taken care of by more-than-adequate suspension. Even with the rear preload set high for more accurate steering, cat's-eye bumps merely rippled the nitrogen gas shock absorber. At slow speeds the wobble was so slight it was hardly worth mentioning. I-thought I would have problems with this due to my (lack of) weight.

Honda's manual included a memo about the rear shock. "Please note, 26 positions between hard and soft". Was this for me? Reducing the preload improved the bike's manageability in town. Seat height at the softest setting was 30.8 inches — measured from the lowest point of an empty seat to the floor — compared with Honda's quoted 31.5 inches.

Engine response is exciting and smooth through first to fifth. Top gear (sixth) is a shade uninspiring, particularly as I wanted it to take me past the 148mph top end recorded in the last speed test (May 90), which it refused to do. What a waste of revs I thought, but then I had to remind myself it wasn't a race replica. Every other gear responded with the potency to convince me the VFR is more than worthy of the label 'sports machine'.

Brakes. Well yes, what can I say, except prat (re: Escort 1.8L, Pennines, Saturday morning). A line of cars trudged along a cornice behind a tractor. Escort, hacked off, overtakes them, sees approaching sharp left, wavers — is he? isn't he? — and bottles out at the last vehicle, leaving me no space to pull in (Tsk. 0% for anticipation—Ed).

After I'd discovered the emergency stop (thankfully superb), my faith in the Honda and its meaty Bridgestone tyres led me to open it up and hurtle past the lot into the corner.

I wouldn't normally try that on after such a short acquaintance. But it says a lot for the big impression the Honda gave me, of total stability and competence at pretty high speed. Also good for avoiding sheep grazing on tarmac.

Setting the bike up for corners took some getting used to because of the severity of the ever-present acceleration and engine braking. I messed up a few bends, initially by changing down too soon, then winding the power on to compensate for speed loss. It made a better rider out of me as I thought a lot more about lines and forgot my LC's non-existence power band.

The engine never tired of relentless motorway tarmac bashing. I met up with a Porsche Turbo on the Ml who was impressed enough by the Honda's apparent cruising capacity to move out of my way (smile). Riding position was good. The worst ache was in my shoulder blades, caused by the wind whistling down the neck of my leathers. Wear a scarf — or do them up properly. I also got an earache as the fairing directed the wind into my helmet. Get a smaller helmet.

On the speed test at Brunting-thorpe the fairing's knack of directing a jet of air straight onto my head was worrying. I though my neck would snap over 135mph. This was alleviated by getting my chin virtually on the tank and praying there were no bumps.

Given the bike's mass I was surprised at how badly I was buffeted across motorway lanes in freak sidewinds. This was improved with weight on the back and after Rupert taught me about countersteering. In fact, VFR handling overall improved when the bike was loaded up. A good excuse to stuff myself with Mars bars.

Coming off the motorway I straightened my back with relief and took my hands off the bars a la Schwantz. It was still rock steady at 70mph.

Passenger carrying was chore, particularly as the pillion in question had never been on a bike and insisted on grabbing me every time I accelerated (I' hadn't found the retractable grabrail by then ). The pillion cover is removed by unscrewing a pin either side of side of the cowling. This also had to be removed to get to the tool kit. The screws were already showing signs of damage.

The grab rail folds up under the seat — neat, except that Honda recommend it's torqued into position. Not exactly conducive to a romantic, impromptu jaunt "Hold on dear, I'll just get the torque wrench". (Not supplied in tool kit).

Another pretty important job which required torqueing was the rear wheel pinch bolt, particularly as it undid with alarming ease. There is not much leverage room between the rear wheel and chain guard which limits you feeling how tight it is.

Seat removal instructions were in the manual under the seat. Ask your Honda dealer — simple when you know how.

Clutch and brake span adjustment were easy peasy and a welcome addition. The grab distance was acceptable; surprising, as gorilla-span levers have caused me much angst on smaller machines.

Removing the middle fairing (sic) to check the coolant was a pain. I gave up. I like having long nails.

One wonderful revelation was that the bike was easy to get onto the centre-stand. No more having to find a strapping lad/lass to do it for me.

The difference for girls includes the impression I gave as well as the one I got. Preconceptions were shattered when I took my crash helmet off and shook out a tangled mass of hair — not like in the adverts. Gobsmacked is probably the best word for it.

The VFR looks every inch a design classic and business machine. Even the friendly copper who let me off a speeding fine said, "I know it's difficult, but keep it to thirty". Difficult? I'd call it impossible out of traffic. He also asked if PB had any more jobs going — RP see Derbyshire constabulary for details. So, how was it for me? This woman wants the VFR's power, stability and looks crammed into a smaller, more town-friendly unit, although as I have said before with a concerted effort down the gym, I could learn to live with it as it is. Maybe I should just move into the country.