A Yamaha Triple makes sounds unlike any other motorcycle.
It begins with a tractorlike rumble at idle, smooth and deep down in the throat,
with something in the pulse of the exhaust note that lets you know it's more
than a big twin, but it still sounds a lot like a twin.
When you blip the throttle, there is no splutter, no
hesitation, - just a smooth transition to a near-hysterical four-cylinder
"uuunhhh!". There's also a foreboding rasp to the sound as she spins down, as if
it's trying to say "watch out!"
You move slowly toward the highway, getting used to the
feel of this big bike, and not wanting to attract the local Gendarmes, but as
you take off from the first stop sign, you give her just a handful more throttle
than you intended - and the handlebars tear loose from your
grip!
Luckily, she forgives you, and you regain control of what
you now realize is more of a beast than you figured! At the next stop sign, you
crush the handgrips *hard* as you take off; after all, YOU are the
master!
Damn! She nearly does it to you again as she lunges
forward in one incredible heave! But then you hear the engine singing to you. It
starts off with a big-twin "rat-a-tat" that changes subtly to a
rasping
"whoo-oot" as the RPM's quickly rise to 5,000 (very quickly!).
There's another lunge, less powerful, but mighty indeed, as the engine starts to
make REAL torque.
"OK", you say, gritting your teeth, "let's see what you've
got!". Before you can say "oh shit", you're at 9,000 RPM - over 50 mph in 1st
gear, and the engine is hooting and yowling at you like a full four-cylinder,
but deeper down in the throat, not so tinny! Pull in the clutch, dab the shifter
into 2nd *clunk!*, release the clutch *another lunge*, drop back to 5,000 RPM or
so. You don't have a racing bike there, but all the same, those three big lungs
will spin up that flywheel as if it WERE a racing engine.
Now the air around you has become an animal, tearing at
you all over, as she tops out again with a triumphant *WHOOO_OOOT!* and you
shift again. The front wheel hits a bump at over 80 before you can avoid it, but
no matter - those seven inches of front fork travel eat the bump as if it wasn't
there! There's a kick in your pants as the back wheel hits too, but nothing to
worry about - she's steady as a battleship.
Your eyeball radar is working full tilt now, looking for
the cops, so you hardly notice that you're in fifth gear and long past the 100
MPH mark. The sounds coming from the pipe organ behind you are like canvas being
shredded (maybe that 3->1 header and less-than-efficient muffler has
something to do with that), and the mechanical symphony of gears, chains and
cams below your knees seems to add a satisfying, oily counterpoint to the blare
behind you. Your head is whipping almost uncontrollably as the wind tries to
tear the helmet off your head, and your clothing is beating
at you with a
senseless fury. By contrast, the big triple is just reaching its massive stride,
smooth and solid, eager for more!
As you drop back to 55 MPH to turn around for the trip
home (speeding tickets are damnably EXPENSIVE these days), you notice a whine
coming from the drive train below. Concerned, you work the throttle a little up
and down, and the whine seems to be strongest right around 55 mph. Later, you
learn that this is a characteristic of the drive train, and there's nothing to
worry about. In fact you notice later that all shaft-driven Yamahas have that
turbo-like whine between 45-60 mph.
On the way home, you notice how smooth and docile the bike
seems to have become. You "wish" for the bike to turn, and she does! Everything
seems to work smoothly and easily. In fact, "Smooth, fast and solid" are the
three best words for this machine. Turning into your driveway, you don't notice
how really heavy this bike is until you put down the sidestand and climb
off.
You tweak the throttle for one last "grrr-uunnnh!",
enjoying the "raspberry" as she backs down, never once going
"ker-pock-etta-pok", then switch off. Incredible! It was as if you and that bike
had become one!
You can still hear the hot pipes tick as you pull off the
gloves, helmet and leather jacket. It's time for a cool one and lots of "replay"
time for what's just happened between you and a magnificent
machine.
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