HONDA RVF400 (NC35)
Certain smells, tastes and even engine notes can warp you back to times long gone. My adolescence was spent thumbling around with a V4 powered grey import that made just over 50bhp and looked scabbier than a child’s grazed knee. My VFR400 was no stunner, but it engrained in me a passion for the exotic motored pocket bike. Of course, the dream was to own an RVF400 (the fancier, newer grey import that came with a 17” rear, weighed less and had a shorter wheelbase), but even with my seven paper rounds, the money I made from selling fags at school and whatever loose change I could pilfer from my older brother, I had about as much chance of copping a leg over one of those as I did Pamela Anderson (she lucked out there...).
Being realistic, I’ll probably never own one, what with age playing into the hands of the 25-year-old Honda, which has matured with more sophistication and prosperity than an 1812 Chateau Blanc. It only seems a few years back that you’d have your pick of RVFs for as little as £2,000 a pop, but the best ones are going for nearly triple that now. Of course, there are a few bargains out there, including this bike that my mate Clive picked up for his missus Deb in a tatty state for under £4k. But after too many late nights, weekends and other unholy hours of graft, this once shabby example looks as though it’s just rolled of the production line. It was to be my first ever experience on an RVF and it wasted no time in enforcing an impression. At 32, I’m not exactly over the hill, but the compact crotch rocket had me folded like a piece of origami, encouraging a few forgotten aches and pains to raise their ugly heads. The seat felt so low it could’ve shown up a few choppers, and how the pegs weren’t scraping on the floor at anything other than upright is anyone’s guess. The ’bars felt acutely angled, and I quickly discovered that turning them prompted my elbows to smack my knees. As for the classic clocks, housed bizarrely in a foam outer, they were about as old school as milk bottles. Still, it felt charming and with the cam-driven V4 booming into life, my excitement was bouncing off the limiter.
I didn’t choose this bike for speed (… which is lucky), or fancy tech. It was all about the character, looks and raw riding experience, that never failed to deliver.
Low down, the Honda felt pretty asthmatic, but with revs came added urgency and a soundtrack that really got my juices going. The tune from one of these
amalgamates a strong induction whine with a raw, deep bark that sounds heavenly when you’re smashing the motor’s back doors in, rinsing it up to its 14,500rpm redline.
With 36k on the clocks, this bike wasn’t exactly box fresh, but the way the motor glitches or flat spots to flag up. Being honest, I was surprised at how slow the thing accelerated, but when I wasn’t hell bent on keeping up with Carl and Boothy, the RVF more than delivered a good time. Ok, overtakes needed some serious consideration, and it was more likely the bike would grow wings than pull off a safe overtake unless the power was constantly in its top-end sweet spot. As for the gearbox, that was having a succession of tunes played out on it, being more worked than a call-girl in order to deliver the goods. Considering its vintage, the gears were slick and faultless to negotiate, but the experience would have been so much better with a quickshifter in the mix. Of course, that can be said of pretty much every bike that lacks the tech, of which this bike had none. The switchgears are black and basic, and as for the mileage trip that you adjust by turning a nob (as such), by hand, that put everything about this bike’s technophobic nature in perspective. Don’t see that as a hang-up, though. Arguably, any such contemporary jazz would’ve robbed the RVF of its classic persona that was winning me over with every mile clocked.
Blitzing around Yorkshire’s east coast, I was given a first-hand schooling on the user-friendly proposition that would’ve lost many a young rider’s knee down virginity back in the day. The bike was impressively stable, surprisingly agile and easier to get bent over than Boothy on a Saturday night.
Doing knee skids was child’s play and it never got boring. Because nothing happened fast, it lured me into thinking the bike was pretty much un-crashable… unless you tried to stop fast. In reality, the RVF was kitted with top-spec brakes for the time, running CBR600’s offerings of that era to shame. Whether it was a case of shoddy pads or duff rubber hoses, trying to haul up the Honda in a hurry simply didn’t happen. It’s worth remembering also that the RVF weighs a good few pounds. At 183kg, there’s a fair chunk of mass to slow down, even if you can’t feel it when you’re sat static on the bike or throwing it around the twisties. It was just another trait of the wee Honda that played into its character.
Carl and Boothy chuntered relentlessly about my choice of bike. They just didn’t get it – what was so special about this slow, antiquated and pricy offering? I guess the reality is that nostalgia had a big part to play in my hypothetical purchase. There are quite a few bikes that have caught my eye over the years, but this little beauty has always had a special place and an equally special meaning. I had the best of times with my VFR as a 17-year-old kid, and as I blasted around on this RVF, those hazy memories came back to the fore, clear as day. The sounds and smells of yesteryear, reminding me of how I came to build my life around bikes, making millions of memories and hundreds of friends along the way. This is probably getting way too deep, and before you have to reach for the Andrex, I’ll stop with the emotions. I guess this test taught me that it’s ok to ride bikes that aren’t the fastest, smartest or lightest on the market – good times come first, and if a sub 60bhp, 25-year-old V4 is what it takes to smack a smile across your face, then you’re winning.