Aim high in 2018!
Older, more desirable and increasing in value just like Dangerous Bruce (he claims), Honda’s SP-1 is a classic sportsbike in the making.
It’s not particularly rare, powerful or even all that pretty, but there’s something about the Honda VTR1000SP-1 that makes it alluring. It’s an icon; a stand out motorcycle that was built with a purpose and delivered on that pledge to take Ducati down to China Town, by beating them at their own game in the V-twin ruled World Superbike paddock. But that meant nothing to me when this bike first came into my life, way back when I was a spotty 14-year-old working at a bike dealership, with the simple task of riding one from the car park to the service bay. It was a journey that lasted only slightly longer than my first ever snog with Becky Big Boobs, but I cherished every moment of that 37-metre joyride, unlike the bike’s owner who was having kittens as I thumbed his new sportsbike into life, and threw unnecessary revs down the V-twin’s booming end-cans. Damn, it felt so good, but that experience had also left me in a confused and wanting state. Like an addict without a fix, there were questions I needed answering. How did it handle? What was it like at wheelies? Could owning one get me a ménage et trois with Becky Big Boobs and her friend? I never did find the answer to that last one, but the other two questions got dealt with late last year when my mate Peter Boswell just happened to mention he had a couple of these HRC-inspired lovelies tucked away in his garage. Better still, he invited me to try one out for size, to which I (metaphorically) bit his hand off, and headed down south on my modern day Blade SP for a bit of a ride swap.
Trading places
Stepping off my neatly packaged, shiny new Blade, the SP-1 looked every bit its age as I walked towards it. It had light scuffs on the fairings, the odd bit of aluminium oxidisation, and the amount of grime you would expect any bike to attract during 16 years of use.
This was no ‘park and peer’ plaything of Peters. He used it regularly, on road, track and every excuse in between. He’d bought it five years earlier, just months after suffering a heart attack, with the reasoning that if he was going to ‘go’, then he may as well ‘go’ happy. And happy it’d made him, especially after he’d done a bit of tinkering.
His eyes lit-up as he took me around the bike he’d originally bought for £3,600 and rattled off an arm’s length list of mods that included an SP-2 swinger, radial calipers, clip-ons and rear sets. The engine was still standard, but a smaller front sprocket had been fitted to help in the acceleration department, and Blue flame end cans were in place to the detriment of his neighbours. The bike had been well and truly fettled, but in the most sexy of ways, guided by fellow SP owners from an online forum. The mod Peter was most proud of was to the suspension, which saw Öhlins front and rear, and had apparently transformed the bike, which was made even better by the fitment of Metzeler M7 RRs.
It felt huge compared to my Blade. The screen was massive, the tank was also, and I was blown away by the massiveness of the seat, which was clearly the result of some designer turning up to work pissed and writing down the wrong measurements. Not that that was a bad thing. Everything’s tiny in today’s world, but sometimes you want a bit of chunk for your junk and this
thing had that in spades. It also had character, as I learned when I hit the starter and fired the V-twin into life. My ear drums were in audio heaven as the bike’s booming, baffle-less race cans did their best to destroy our tranquil setting, made all the sweeter by the whine from the bike’s gear driven cams; a nod to the race inspired RVF750 the SP-1 had superseded. As tangible as the whole experience was, it didn’t go unnoticed that the Honda was far less shaky than what I’d envisaged such a big V-twin to be.
There were no vibes through the ’bars and it was only when giving the motor some serious stick while static that my double chin began to shake violently. For fear of it falling off, I knocked the revs off, clonked the bike into gear and headed off down a carriageway. The initial pick-up just wasn’t there; the motor felt lumpy and flat until 5,000rpm. And it was only after 6,500rpm that the thing really came to life, gaining in pace all the way up to its 10,500rpm limiter. The top end was where the magic was at, which caught me by surprise. As usable as the motor was at lower revs, it was obvious the main focus was on peak power, which would prove ideal on a race track, but maybe not so great on the Britain’s finest back-roads.
There was only one way to find out, and for the sake of the test (and the world’s best readers) I didn’t hold back when we got onto some decent twisties. The verdict remained the same though, and I soon grasped that the key to maximising the Honda’s performance was to ride it a gear lower than you’d imagine, and to embrace first gear when needed, as it felt hellishly tall. To make life easier, Peter had invested in an aftermarket gear indicator, which I studied ardently as I pitched into bends to ensure I was never left facing a corner exit in the wrong gear, for fear of the SP-1 grinding to a halt. Okay, I’m being a bit pedantic here, especially considering the bike packs a proven 100Nm of torque, but the truth is it didn’t blow my socks off in the way I hoped it would. It was only when worked hard that the twin came to life, which contradicted everything I’d come to know and love about big Vs.
Work hard, play hard
The physical hustling of the bike was a far more endearing experience. At 199kg dry, the SP-1 could be considered to have eaten one cream cake too many in its time, but its mass never seemed to hold it back in the bends, and the same could be said for its long wheelbase. Peter’s Öhlins setup provided a stable and surprisingly agile ride, which was more akin to a late Noughties Ninja than a New Millennium sportsbike.
The front end feel was unreal and my confidence was right up there after I’d clocked a few hours in the saddle. There was no need to go tweaking anything, which allowed me to focus fully on my blast. The rear end also felt planted, and never complained when I grabbed big handfuls of throttle time and again on the hook-up out of corners. Considering the bike’s proven output of 121bhp, it’s hardly surprisingly that rear end slides were about as common as lottery wins. It felt an easy bike to ride, being devoid of unexpected tomfoolery or modern day madness. That being the case, it was certainly no prude. It didn’t take much encouragement to get the old girl up on her hind legs, and with such a low balance point it was an effortless pursuit to practice.
As standard, the bike is very technophobic, with no traction control, power modes or any such contemporary guff. But thanks to Peter’s fitment of a Dynojet quickshifter, gear changes with the front wheel lofted were
slick and easy at all times. Even with both wheels on the ground the ’box proved remarkably precise and obliging for an older, track-abused bike. The other thing I really liked was the SP’s braking. The stock four-pot calipers had been binned off for some six-pot radial Tokicos. Using a simple adapter bracket, and when paired with a Brembo master cylinder, the anchors had been uprated to modern day standards, only with the added virtue of no ABS.
With this in mind, I failed miserably to resist the temptations of endos at every occasion, which proved childishly entertaining and never got boring. They were an extension of the SP-1’s charm, which had consumed me throughout the day, and made me grasp why it is that owners the world over treasure their SPs with such magnitude. It had nothing to do with ego, horsepower figures or extravagance; it was all about the ride. We clocked a total of 330 miles that day (and drained three whole tanks of fuel), going here there and everywhere, and when home-time eventually came I felt a genuine sense of regret to be handing the iconic Ducati-beater back to its rightful owner. Unlike Becky Big Boobs and her mate, the SP-1 did grab me by the balls and left me contemplating how I could magic in another bike to my collection… without being threatened with divorce. I’ve ridden much faster, better handling and smarter bikes over the years, but there was something pure and addictive about the SP-1 that was hard to ignore, made all the more appealing by its purposeful presence and tantalising price tag. Look hard enough and you’ll still be able to pick one up for as little as £3,500, but that’s a reality that won’t last for long because, like me, people want these bikes. And that’s a desire that’s only going to spiral now the SP-1’s reached iconic status. Better get your chequebooks out.