Bimota YB4
Although a classic bike wouldn’t normally be my tipple, once I understood what Bimota were all about I was really looking forward to trying out the YB4. I knew it wasn’t going to be the fastest thing in the world, but that is because it’s 2017. Wind the clock back to 1987 though, and it was the one of the fastest things in the world. So, eager to learn what a top racing motorcycle was like back before I was even born, I climbed on the immaculately prepped YB4.
Before you go anywhere on the classic bike the lack of refinement really hits you. The throttle is heavier than the BB3’s and doesn’t have as defined a ‘stop’ to it. The clutch doesn’t have as smooth an action either, unlike the modern bike’s hot knife through butter clutch, the YB4’s item is more like a spoon punched through lumpy mash potato. But it works to a usable degree. Not featuring an electric start, a set of rollers were needed to get the old girl barking into life, which it eventually did after a good few stabs. The fuelling wasn’t anywhere precise and there were noticeable lulls and peaks as the comparatively prehistoric flat slide carbs tried their level best to provide the 750 with the right amount of air and fuel to keep the thing ticking over with a modicum of decorum.
Give the throttle a twist, though, and the engine revs as cleanly as any modern bike, emitting a menacing roar. Suited and booted, I hauled the clutch lever in and had an attempt at clunking the thing into gear; a failed attempt. I hadn’t compensated for the extra play in the gear shift. No matter, I’ll have another go, I thought. A proper go. CRUNCH! There you go, we’re in. Lovely.
Sat upright and gliding down pit lane the bike felt a bit odd, but I didn’t worry too much about that because the pit lane at Oulton Park isn’t very long. The first few laps were taken at a really sedate pace but once I dared to start opening the bike up it became clear I was in for a treat. The rev-happy nature of the engine was the first thing that surprised me. You don’t get much from the YB4 if you don’t rev it. It’s not like the ’3 which has more torque than Dangerous Bruce; you want to be up towards 8,000rpm if you mean business, and the exhaust note when you’re up there is something to behold.
It sounds like a sheet of metal being torn in two, inside a brick tunnel… to be precise. It didn’t take me long to get carried away and forget that I was on a bike that could have been raced by John the Baptist so it took me rather by surprise when in reasonably quick succession the gearbox threw a couple of falseys at me. I put this down to my increasing exuberance and the sloppy gear selector that I had already identified. Once I concentrated on being a bit more positive with my up-shifts the ’box proved much more amiable.
The more I rode the ’4, the more I liked it. Like the ’3, it was a bike you had to hustle. It was heavy but its low centre of gravity made it super stable. It didn’t drop into turns like the ’3 and it wouldn’t change direction quickly or let you switch lines mid corner, but once you were settled in a bend it was planted and proved to be one of the most stable bikes I have ever ridden, giving me loads of confidence. Each lap on the ’4 got faster and faster until I was literally LOLing my way past other trackday boys and girls on brand new superbikes. It got a bit silly to be honest, but I didn’t want it to stop.