How low can you go.......................
Is big horsepower the only way you can get an ear to ear smile smacked broad against your chops? Or can little bikes fulfil you just the same? We sent Pretty Boy to find out...
How much is too much? It’s a valid question in today’s world where every other sportsbike seems to make nigh-on 200bhp. Of course, if you feel like we do then you’ll agree that there’s never too much power to be had. The trick is to just keep upping your game to match the excessive outputs on tap (or to buy a bike with enough rider aids to make you look good, even if you’re out of control). We’ve all be there. But somewhere most of us haven’t been in a very long time is to the opposite end of the power spectrum, where minute horsepower figures rule supreme.
Legislation is the bane of all evil in most aspects of life, and there’s no finer example than in the power-castrating rulings that mean riders are heavily restricted to minimal power figures. But rules are rules, and it doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t have a great time on two-wheels on a bike with limited ponies. In reality, most of us will fondly remember the great times we had growing up on little bikes with less pungent output than a fart in a storm. And so it happened that after one too many beers and a drunken suggestion from a mate, the idea popped up to see how ‘low’ we could go and still be assured of a good time on two wheels. Could a teeny-weeny A2-compliant machine, sporting fewer than 47 ponies, be all that was needed to have a whale of time on road and track? There was only one way to find out.
Naturally, this meant finding the correct bike for the challenge rather than just picking any old offering from the rammed A2 sector. And after countless seconds (maybe even a minute) of contemplation, I found the very best bike for this extremely scientific test: KTM’s RC390. Why so? Well, because it’s a bloody great bike to ride, for starters, and the fact it has its own racing series that runs alongside the British Superbike Championship really was the icing on the cake. Better known as the Santander Consumer Finance RC390 Cup, it involves a pack of wild 14-22 year olds battling it out on slightly adapted versions of the road going RC, and they kindly invited me along to get stuck in and scrap it out with them. Well, once I’d ridden my road-going RC the 325 miles of motorway and B-roads that separated me from the Oulton Park circuit where the said battle was going to take place.
Pleasantly puny
It’s funny how things always sound better in theory, as the reality of such a huge trek on board a baby sportsbike wasn’t the most appealing thing to wake up to on a wet and blustery Thursday morning. Still, forever the optimist, my eyes were well and truly fixed on the prize of having three days of racing around one of my favourite circuits... and discovering whether this bike could be the hoot I hoped it to be on my soiree up north. Armed with little more than a rucksack of clothes, a padlock and a few Mars bars to comfort me if I felt the urge to pull over in tears, I hopped on that little KTM and got cracking with intent. If you’ve been following my termer piece then you’ll know I’ve been running a 390 Duke this year, which felt pleasantly familiar to this faired sibling which I was now (joy) riding: the bars were at a sensibly high level, the foot-peg positioning was acceptable for a sportsbike, and the seat welcomingly soft.
The best bit? It had a screen! Just the ticket for the first tedious stint of my trip that would see me take on the hustle and bustle of the UK’s largest car park. I’m talking of the M25, of course, where the RC proved a dab hand at cutting its way through traffic in a similar vein to the Duke’s level of prowess. And then there was the torquey motor to feel thankful for. It made gaining momentum a doddle as I navigated my way through static cars. This was the first real test for the bike, and it got me wondering whether life
could have been better with an extra 100bhp in my arsenal? In truth, it would’ve made things worse, as the single’s motor was so smooth and effortless to utilise. I genuinely didn’t feel the need for anything more: one point to the small bikes.
I’m not going to bore you with every second of the journey, but once clear of the traffic, I was soon up to the wrong side of the legal speed limit and crunching down the miles to my destination. There were times when the bike’s limited speed became a little hard work, like when trying to pass vehicles doing 70mph, but the RC would drag its way up to decent figures without too much hesitation and that was more than enough for me. The thing that surprised me the most was how comfortable the little RC390 was transpiring to be, leaving me pleased to note that after four hours in the saddle my ass still felt intact, my arms weren’t done in and my legs felt box fresh.
Not being equipped with a sat-nav was almost a blessing in disguise, as getting lost on northern roads was a great way to explore the A2 bike’s handling credentials. Small bikes typically weigh less, and the advantages of that are that they’re easier to sling around, with the 390 proving no exception to that rule. The KTM was gagging to be thrashed, and after way too many hours of mind-numbing motorway, I was gagging to thrash it. Corner speed was the order of the day, as the motor was a little lifeless when depending on it for high speed corner exits, but this only made the ride even more fun as it made the ride that bit more interesting. Before I knew it I’d arrived at my destination, feeling fresh, excited and strangely endeared towards the 390. I thought travelling so far on such a small bike was going to be a right ball-ache, but that hadn’t been the case. Would a big bike have made the travel any easier? Maybe. A bit more power would have been welcome at times, and features such as cruise control and more protective fairings probably would’ve made life more pleasant. Still, the salient point was that the KTM had got me to my destination intact. Now all I had to do was survive the weekend.
Test of time
With the sun shining down on the beautiful rollercoaster that is Oulton Park, it was hard not to get excited like a 12-year-old at Christmas as the guys at KTM rolled me out a race-ready RC from their van and stickered the old girl up. Keeping in line with the general ruling at British Superbike events the RC Cup bikes are kept incredibly stock; the only permitted performance mods being an end can, upgraded fork internals and an uprated shock. These combined features meant the 45bhp motorcycle had shed a substantial 9kg in weight, which was around 10% of the bike’s total mass. That, along with the looks of the thing, gave me the horn before I’d even turned a wheel on the petite racer. It certainly looked the part, and after heading out for free practice I soon learned the 390 actually felt like a proper race bike.
It was stiff, noisy and had a riding position that made the stock bike feel like an armchair. I was pumped and gagging to get the bike’s throttle wide open, with visions of blurry-eyed speeds and endless power wheelies. But it didn’t take long to realise I was kidding myself. Big time. As I exited the pit-lane and opened the throttle, the KTM felt depressingly lacklustre on such a big track. On the roads you’re confined, so the stock road bike hadn’t felt too bad, but with speed limits gone and a wide open space to get my groove on, the little nipper felt absolutely lost out on track. And I felt pretty lost, too. Being used to racing much bigger bikes, I had no grasp of what to do to make this bike lap at a non-embarrassing pace. There were kids on rival 390s passing me left, right and centre, leaving me questioning whether they had some hidden turbo or bored out version of the bike. But after a few tearful laps and on the verge of throwing in the towel, I got my shit together and started latching on to these lethal little ’uns who clearly knew how to extract the very best from a minuscule motor.
Following these little dudes (and a dudette) around Oulton Park showed me how fun something with no power could be. Every single corner needed attacking as if I was on a qualifying lap, and if I wasn’t carrying stupid amounts of corner speed then it was a pointless waste of fuel. I felt like I was riding out my socks yet no matter, consistently struggling with what gear to be in and how to the best drive down the straights. It didn’t help that I was one of the heavier entries on the grid either, as this gave me a handicap over the featherweight jockeys I was competing against. I’ll admit, I was missing the fix-all benefit of big power, and finding it a tad frustrating to say the least. Still, that first session bagged me a seventh place finish, which wasn’t a bad way to start the weekend.
Jeremy McWilliams. of MotoGP fame, was on hand as the Cup’s official trainer to get
THE RC CUP BIKE WAS ESSENTIALLY A MINIMOTO ON STEROIDS, AND I RINSED IT DRY AT EVERY GIVEN CHANCE
me thinking and riding right for the next outing, with loads of advice on how to make a powerless bike become a powerful weapon on track. I wasn’t riding it like it needed to be, in that I was braking too hard, scrubbing off too much speed, and waiting too long to get winding on the gas on the exit of bends. Armed with a better perspective of what I needed to do, I was desperate to get back out there and defend the virtues of small bikes. But then it rained, and rained, and rained. In order to keep the costs down, the RC Cup bikes don’t run wets, meaning the Metzeler M7RR control tyres had to deal with whatever came their way; rain or shine. Usually I adore the wet, yet this being just my first time on M7RRs on a soaked track I had no idea how hard to push, which led to a little wobble round and a torrid qualifying position of 17th. In all honesty it was quite pleasant being on something with such low power in the damp, but I just couldn’t get the feel I needed to be confident enough to push harder. It was it was; I was still enjoying the little A2 bike, which was the main thing.
Race face
The A2 warrior had done me proud up until this point, proving perfectly capable of carving through traffic and a top laugh on Britain’s spindly B-roads, but it’s biggest test was now on the table. Could I get the satisfaction I was used to when racing big bikes from a 45bhp motorcycle? It was a tall order, and I was a little sceptical that it might have what it took to fill that void. It didn’t help that I was feeling a little dejected,
sat towards the back of the grid on row seven. And things didn’t get any better when I fudged my start by hitting the rev limiter and watching two other fledglings come belting past as we tussled our way in towards a crowded turn one. It was time to get stuck in, which I did as by the third lap I’d managed to jump from 19th to 11th,
I was riding it desperately, confidently and, as it happened, pretty quickly too. The brakes were stunningly fierce for a small bike, the chassis was sublime and the power was linear. The one drawback for me though was the ground clearance, as throughout every single corner I could get nowhere near the lean angle I wanted, constantly dragging those fairings, which impeded my corner speed. I’d never had to concentrate so hard on riding so slowly, with the throttle spending most of the lap wide open. And when I was off the gas, I was never off it for long – quite unlike the case on a big bike.
The RC Cup bike was essentially a minimoto on steroids, and I rinsed it dry at every given chance. Having caught the next group, the final five laps saw all six of us lunging, elbowing and slip-streaming each other, to the point where I was literally laughing out loud inside my helmet. I was well into the little bike zone, right up to the point I took things a bit too far on the last lap and lunged balls-deep to take a place, which ended up with me ramming a 13-year-old girl (sorry Annabel). I thought it might be best to tone things down a little, and ended up crossing the line in a credible 7th place.
Not a bad effort from 17th on the grid, but it was no podium. Following a bit of a breather and some more insight from McWilliams, my second and final race bore tastier fruits. Not quite a podium, but a fifth place finish. It was another great outing, and another good chance to fall for the delights of little bike racing. It wasn’t better than big bike racing; it was different. It demanded a different way of thinking. I’d had an education in the process and savoured every moment of the experience, because it was unadulterated fun from start to finish. What was less fun was the prospect of riding 325 miles back home.
Home time
All good things must come to an end. Handing my race bike back and picking the stock RC up, I felt excited to be stepping back on the road-going version, and the journey home was more pleasurable than on the way up. That’s not just because I plotted a rural route back and took advantage of every roundabout as a chance to wear a little more life from my haggard sliders.
Five fuel stops and three coffees later I was home. All together, that was one hell of an experience. It reminded me of the joys of little bikes, which offer far more laughs to the mile than you might expect. Power is an awesome thing, but it’s how you use it that counts. I can’t think of the last time I genuinely felt like I’d extracted every last ounce of horsepower on tap, but that was certainly the case with the 390; on road and track.
And knowing that gave me such a buzz. I’m not saying I’d turn down the chance of a litre bike in a favour of an A2 offering, but I sure wouldn’t turn my nose up at the chance to do another race on the RC, or at taking one out for a blast down my favourite back roads.
Trust me, there’s no better feeling than humbling an R1 rider with just 45bhp at the rear wheel. And with that in mind, be warned that little nippers bring out the child in you. Which isn’t such a bad thing.