2004 Yamaha YZF-R1

I’ve got a real soft spot for the Yamaha YZF-R1. It doesn’t matter if it’s the very latest, all-singing, all-dancing R1M, or an original 1998 jobby, the thought of throwing my leg over one, fills me with delight. I have always considered the R1 a cool motorbike and in 2004, when this model came out, I wasn’t alone, because it was the best-selling sportsbike of that year... and for good reason. Not only did the new Yam come with a new engine, but they’d tilted it forwards, allowing room for an extra brace across the top, which apparently increased the Deltabox frame’s rigidity by 200%. This particular bike belongs to a friend of ours called Dave. Now, Dave is a bloody nice chap, but he’s also a bit strange, and he’d taken it upon himself to fit his R1 with some pointy bar ends and studs on the nose cone (I have no idea why, but that’s Dave for ya’). Although Frodo and I didn’t care much for his cosmetic additions, we both agreed that this model R1 is still a cool-looking bike; under-seat exhausts and aggressive headlights looked great in the mid-noughties and, although they might not be as fashionable as they were back then, we think they still look great today. Granted, it doesn’t look ultra-modern, but I don’t think anyone with 20:20 vision could seriously say it looks dated. Image aside, the real question was whether the riding experience would show the model’s age? I can remember, all those years ago, there being quite a bit of a fuss when this R1 came out, so I was looking forward to seeing what it was all about. The moment I swung my leg over the thing, I was instantly reminded of the aforementioned 1998 R1, which I had ridden only a few months before. This was mainly born from the fact that you seem to sit ‘in’ rather than ‘on’ the R1. It wasn’t the same as the 1998 bike, but it certainly had the same early R1 feel to it. A feel which my 2018 R1M long-termer certainly didn’t have; it was instantly charming. Less charming was the ignition. I’m not sure whether Dave’s been opening bottles of beer with his key, or whether it was a dicky ignition barrel causing the problem, but when I slotted the key into the ignition (the first time and every subsequent time) there was a whole lot of waggling and twisting needed to get the thing to turn to the ‘on’ position. A sure-fire sign of age at the very first hurdle seemed like a pretty bad omen to me.

Having learnt which side of my mouth I had to hang my tongue out of to get the key turned and the ignition on, I pressed the button and the R1 fired into life on the first spin on the crank. Joy. The sound that wafted out of the R1’s standard end cans was so far removed from the roar of a modern ‘big-bang’ R1, it was funny. However, typical of an inline, four-cylinder 1000 from back in the day, in fact, from sound alone, it could have quite easily been a GSX-R1000, ZX-10R or Fireblade from the same era, had we not known better. The absence of any electronic modes to confuse yourself with was welcomed, as I heaved the clutch in to engage first gear. I didn’t worry too much about how heavy the clutch was at first. After all, it’s a 15-year-old bike, but it soon became a bit of a nuisance. It worked perfectly well, but it was really heavy and, of course, with no quick-shifter, and certainly no blipper, my left wrist got a damn good workout. On the subject of changing gear, the R1’s ’box was really quite impressive. The fact that this bike has never been fitted with a quickshifter has probably helped maintain its un-molested feel,as it slotted into gear with a lovely, smooth action. In all fairness, a good gearbox is probably more noticeable when you haven’t got a ’shifter, and it’s up to you, the rider, to get the timing of your inputs just right.