2004 Honda CBR1000RR Fireblade
The 2004 Fireblade was designed by a whole new team, and you could really tell. The previous model had, even then, started to look a little dated, but when this, the all-new ’04 model hit the showrooms it, like the R1, was considered pretty cuttingedge. Not to mention cool. So when my mate Ash told me about the ’04 Fireblade that he had just bought, I have to admit I was a little bit jealous. It was the first under-seat exhausted ’blade, but that wasn’t where the modernisation stopped. Honda had worked hard on masscentralisation, and given it a gutsy 170bhp motor in an attempt to keep up with the Gixer and R1 brigade.
First things first. Ash’s Fireblade looked great in black to us. It was reminiscent of a Honda Blackbird, but one that had taken some LSD, or something. Its aggressive styling gave it a real sporty look, despite the front of the bike looking a little flat. Instantly there is a racy feel to the ’Blade when you climb on it. The seat is higher, which instantly makes the ’bars feel lower, and lunges you forwards, towards the dashboard. It wasn’t an uncomfortable, cramped riding position, though, being sporty in nature, and actually fairly spacious. The same can’t be said of the modern Fireblade.
Unlike the buggery experienced with the rival R1’s barrel, the Fireblade’s key turned in the ignition with a lovely motion. It was a beautiful moment, totally destroyed when I went to thumb the starter and watched the bike’s dot matrix dash dim in protest. The battery was flatter than a pancake that’d been run over by a steamroller. Deep joy. Not to be beaten, I instructed Frodo to give me a shove so that I could bump the old girl off, which, to my surprise, was really rather easy. Without a cough or a splutter, the motor barked into life. And boy, did it bark. It had a real bellow to it, which sounded brilliant. It wasn’t so loud that it was obnoxious. Knowing Ash as I do, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d have fitted one of those ridiculously loud exhausts. You know, the ones that are funny for the first
30 seconds, and then just become annoying? Well he hadn’t, instead opting for a rather classy Yoshimura pipe. Even at tickover it really did sound good, so I couldn’t wait to get the thing bouncing off the limiter (sorry, Ash).
The aforementioned dash on the ’Blade was neat and tidy. You’d be disappointed with it on a modern bike, but it was as clear to read as it needed to be, and it fitted the cockpit so snug you’d believe it had been grown there. From where I was sat (i.e., on it) the whole bike felt well designed, really.
INSTANTLY THERE IS A RACY FEEL TO THE ’BLADE WHEN YOU CLIMB ON IT.
The clutch was refreshingly light compared to that of the R1, but the ’Blade’s gearbox didn’t feel anywhere near as pleasant, even slotting into first gear when stationary. It wasn’t that it was difficult to get from one gear to the next, but there seemed to be a very noticeable crunch when slotting into gear, and it was as though you could feel the actual gears clunking into place. On the plus side, the Honda had been fitted with an SP quickshifter, so when it came to getting a move on and bashing through the gears, things were that bit easier.
Before we started to get a move on we had a fair few miles worth of very narrow, very winding mountain roads to contend with. This, as we were to find out, was not the Fireblade’s natural habitat. Early on in the relationship I found myself cursing the Fireblade before I’d really got to know it, all thanks to the poor fuelling and lowdown power delivery. It was just too harsh. You had to be so gentle when opening the taps up, particularly on that initial part of the throttle, as the thing would lunge forward uncontrollably, causing three things to happen in a very specific order. First, the contents of my bowels would try to evacuate themselves; then I would quickly and sharply roll the throttle completely off; at which point the braking force from the engine would be enough to throw my bodyweight forward, such that my testicles would smite the back of the fuel tank with a force I wouldn’t even wish on Frodo.
Once we got out of the mega twisty roads and I’d finished my bout of scrotum smacking, I started to get a better idea of what the Fireblade was really like. It was fast! The jerkiness of the throttle-off to throttle-on fuelling didn’t get any better, but once the throttle was open, the ’Blade really made things happen. The mid-range was far more wholesome than that of the Yamaha, and in all honestly it took me a little bit by surprise. The fact that you didn’t have to keep the Fireblade singing for its supper did make it a slightly easier bike to ride hard, because you felt like you could open the throttle wherever the needle was, and there’d be a healthy amount of drive.
That’s not to say that the ’Blade wasn’t prepared to sing for its supper. It was. Its grunty midrange soon turned into a hearty top-end, which just seemed to keep on giving. If we thought the R1 sounded trick at full-steam ahead, the ’Blade rocked our socks off. It was phenomenal, and possibly one of the best sounding road bikes my ears have ever had the pleasure of hearing. Its raucous boom was so intense that I quickly forgot about all the pain which the fuelling had previously inflicted on my manhood. I was really enjoying life on the Fireblade, and the quickshifter was most welcome. I don’t make a secret of the fact that most modern electronic riding aids do my head
in. I just don’t think they are needed, and I also think a lot of them take something away from the joy of riding – but quickshifters, I like. The ’shifter worked well on the ’Blade and took a little bit of the drama out of every gear-shift. Not all of the dramaoutofallofthem, however. There were, on a few occasions, the odd missed gear. Don’t get me wrong, the ride wasn’t plagued by falseys, but once you have had a couple, you do start to lose a bit of confidence in your gear changes; which is exactly what happened on the Fireblade.
Something that didn’t cause me to lose confidence on the Honda were its brakes. This is probably something to do with the fact that the brakes on the ’Blade were far from standard. Brembo disks and M4 callipers with braided lines and an Accosato master cylinder meant that Honda didn’t have any trouble stopping, whatsoever. The front brake felt like that of a pucka race bike; it was powerful and sharp and no matter how muchabusewethrewatit,it remained 100% composed at all times. It was mega impressive, but it was also mega aftermarket, so it ought to have been better than the poor R1’s anchors.
The brakes impressed, and so too did the chassis. The Honda feltsoftersprung(butonly slightly) than the Yamaha, but it didn’t seem to be to the detriment of its roadholding capabilities. At slower speeds, chassis-wise, the Honda didn’t feel much different to the Yamaha (its power delivery did make it a bit of a pig to handle, though) but as the pace increased, the Fireblade’s mass-centralisation seemed to come to the fore. Everything seemed fully balanced and the bike would change direction with minimal effort at pretty much any speed, despite the suspension not being the stiffest. I can only imagine that with a slightly stiffer setup the ’Blade would be even more impressive in the fast sweepers. As always, however, suspension setup is a compromise, and to tighten things up is only going to adversely affect comfort levels and grip. After calling the ’Blade (and its owner) every name under the sun during my first few miles of smapling, I quickly fell in love with it. It wasn’t perfect (hey, who is… apart from me?), but it made me smile and made me feel something. Like the R1, the ’Blade was a really involved bike to ride, and you might have to bust your balls (quite literally) if you want to get the best from it, but if you ask me, that’s part of the fun.