Two words: holy sh!t.
145HP. Somewhere around 100ft-lbs of torque.
I just about crapped my pants as the owner of the dealership was rattling off the numbers with a huge grin on his face (he owns one, you see). He says "..it's insane. Past 6000RPM it pulls like an R1."
Hyperbole, you say? No, my friends, I think not.
The first thing that strikes me as I toss my leg over it is how deep the exhaust note is. The next thing is how much more comfortable the seat is than my R6, and - do my eyes deceive me? A fuel gauge? On a bike that looks this mean?
Right foot on back brake, clutch in, stomp on the shifter (hmm, that was surprisingly smooth), twist the throttle a little bit (mmm, that sounds nice!)... slowly let out the clutch and we're off.
Stable, composed, not even remotely exciting. I'm kind of dissapointed.
Left turn out onto the highway, I goose it a little in first gear and am shocked at how quickly the tach needle sweeps to the 9,000RPM redline. Pull in the clutch, kick the shifter (hmm, that was remarkably smooth), let the clutch back out and open the throttle again.
Stable, composed, exorbitantly fast and stupidly, stupidly fun.
I take the first corner faster than I should, but the bike remains planted and neutral. No understeer, no real effort to steer. The throttle is easy to control and the bike is easy to lean.
I could get used to this. I'm doing things in traffic that I wouldn't do on my R6. This bike makes me fearless. It's so confident that it makes me confident.
At no time do I think of the sticker on the bike (or the warning on Yamaha's website) that says "THIS BIKE FOR EXPERIENCED RIDERS ONLY."
It's so easy to ride in heavy traffic that I'm giggling (literally). I actually do a U-turn on a two lane road because there's a parade I have to avoid. Everyone seems to be looking at this bad-assed silver bike (behemoth? It's imposingly large at first glance), and I'm riding it.
I work my way through the downtown traffic to get back onto the highway, and traffic's heavy, so I'm trying to get through it. On a long straight stretch heading back to the dealership, I break my own rule and begin to pass a group of cars on the right. Did I mention that the throttle was wide open?
I don't blame the fellow in the Dodge Ram 3500 for not seeing me, I was really moving and still accellerating. Besides, "drive right - pass left", correct? Nobody expects you to pass on their right, that's why I don't do it.
But here I am. And here he is.
Time stops for a moment as I cut the throttle and get on the binders (I remember now that they looked like exactly the same brakes as my featherweight R6)... and the front wheel locks.
Now my heart is stopped with time.
Loosen my grip on the brake, the wheel catches (still screeching, I think, but I can't tell because time has no meaning in this strange parallel universe). The guy in the pickup sees me and swerves back into his lane.
Holy shit, I've got headshake.
I'm not holding my weight on my wrists, open the throttle just a little, and of course she works it out herself.
I can't hear anything except the blood in my ears.
1km later, I'm off the bike at the dealership. Kickstand down, ignition locked, check the kickstand again, put it down.
Step off. Look at the sky, and over at my R6.
The owner of the dealership asked me why I was giving him the key back.
"Too much bike for me doesn't even begin to describe that beast," I replied. "I'll buy one someday, but not today."
That, my friends, is the FJR1300. Comfortable, stable, composed, stupidly fast and more than capable of biting you in the ass if you don't treat it right. Probably the craziest sport touring bike on the road. I wanted more than anything to buy it right then and there, but instead I rode home slowly on my R6.
Drive right - pass left.
Keep the shiny side up,