YAMAHA R6 (13S)
If you had a pound for every Yamaha R6 ever sold… you’d have lots of pounds. I don’t know exactly how many of the machines have trundled down the Japanese brand’s production line since the model’s inauguration back in 1999, but the answer is ‘a lot’. R6s are everywhere, and rightfully so because they’ve been up at the pointy end of the supersport sector from the second they joined the party, changing with the times to stay at the top of their game. I’d go as far guessing that the R6 is possibly the most commonly sold 600 of the 21st century (although Honda might have something to say about that). Of the many generations we’ve come to know and love over the years, the one you see before you is perhaps the most popular of them all (13S).
Technically speaking, that might be down to the fact it’s had the longest shelf life among its siblings, first appearing in showrooms in 2008 and staying there for nine years until Yamaha trundled out a Euro 4-spec option in 2017. That latter bike was based largely around what you see here, albeit with 43mm forks, a six-tier traction control system, a quickshifter, better brakes and a fairing design which Yamaha claimed made the R6 8% more aerodynamic. Not too shabby, and when you factor in the slim-fast treatment it was given to get on the right side of the weighing scales, you’d think it would be the weapon of choice to go for… but that’s not the case. It certainly moved the game on aesthetically, but from a performance point of view, in road trim, it was a lethargic flop compared to this
iteration. Before you get suspicious of why I’m building up this bike’s hype so much, I should probably remind folk that the 13S version was formed on the pillars of greatness. Before it came the 2CO that hit the scene in 2006 and completely transformed the model’s appearance and competence on equal levels. The 2CO was a revolution in its own right, being the first mass-produced motorcycle with a ride-by-wire throttle, while also boasting radial calipers and a whole load of trick tech and features. It was very good (I owned and raced one), but the model update that came in 2008 (13S) capitalised on all that it offered and made the package so much sweeter.
At a time when manufacturers’ hands weren’t completely tied by legislation, Yamaha was able to dive into the guts of the R6 and better it in a whole host of ways. The 13S saw its frame beefed up around the headstock, while careful alterations actually increased its flexibility in other areas where it’d been too stiff. In contrast to that, for added stability, there was a new swingarm added to the mix that was stiffer and more supportive. The suspension was tweaked too, the bars were dropped 5mm lower, and there were loads of updates made to the engine to strengthen its disposition. The main gain to the bike was the introduction of variable length intake trumpets. According to revs,
IT WAS A GAME CHANGER ON SO MANY LEVELS.
they’d alter in length to optimise the engine torque or revs as was needed most. What this did, coupled with revised fuelling and a new ECU, was to make the 2008 model much punchier in the midrange, for starters, while ensuring it had the legs to run with the best of its rivals up the top end too. For me, this was bad news, as in 2008 I was racing a
GSX-600 L8 in BSB’s Stock 600 class – where the new R6 rocked up and dominated the series. They could match the Suzuki’s punch out of corners, but often made an average of 10bhp more than the GSX-R on the championship’s control dyno. Of course, it could have been worse… at least I wasn’t on a Honda.
ASIDE FROM THE YCCT THROTTLE, IT DIDN’T HAVE ANY TECH.
The point in that anecdote was to hammer home the impact this machine made the moment it arrived, especially on a race track. It was a game changer on so many levels and ultimately, as the aforementioned tale told, could be and should be considered Yamaha’s finest R6. The funny thing is, having heaped praise on it to the point even I’m feeling a
little sick, one of the first things I noted when straddling this R6 was how basic it seemed. It was cutting-edge at the time, but by today’s standard it didn’t even have a gear indicator on its small, dot matrix dash. Aside from the YCCT throttle, it didn’t have any tech, actually, not even ABS, which is maybe not such a bad thing, but the lack of shifter and blipper didn’t exactly warm my cockles. You could fit such items to this bike if desired, of course, but maybe the owner didn’t warrant their addition? It was a pleasantly stock example, with the only addition being an SC Project can that needed no introduction when the four-cylinder motor fired into life. Subtle it was not, but I quite liked it. The R6 is a screamer and is one of those machines that should be heard, especially if you rev it to its towering redline. Being on best behaviour with this borrowed steed, Tim and I made sure not to do so – promise – but we didn’t hold back from indulging in its general offerings. I’ll admit, I was a little disappointed by the motor at slower speeds, which did anything but rip my arms off when opening the throttle hard. The fuelling felt a bit gash on throttle pick-up, which might be more down to the fitted can than anything else, but let’s just say it took a bit of calibrating too. Once moving, the R6 would soon pick up the pace and I relished the way it was powering me around. North of 8000rpm, it certainly needed no encouragement and the delivery seemed to get spicier the higher the revs went. That was the bike’s happy place. The place it’d been
designed to perform at its best, which harks back to the R6’s track-inclined origins. What you have right here is a pedigree racing product that makes most sense when ridden with zest. To tootle around on, it wasn’t the kindest of machines. I don’t necessarily mean from an engine point of view, but more so rider comfort. I’m not a tall person (5ft 9in-ish) but the R6 felt cramped, with my feet high on the pegs, the seat high above the bike, and the reach down to the low-set bars a painful one. You very much sit on top of the R6, with minimal protection from the screen, fairings or anything else, for that matter. It’s a committed position which, again, makes great sense on track, but not so much for those clocking long days in the saddle.
The upside to the riding position was the connection I got from the front wheel. It felt very telling, very planted and extremely trustworthy. The front-end weight bias might not make for the most comfortable of dispositions, especially so for your wrists, but it puts you and your body at an angle of attack that just makes sense when throwing this thing into bends. The R6 felt an absolute treat in the corners, being easy-peasy to throw around and extremely telling of what was going on at all times. The stock suspension on this bike is far from the fanciest, but it rode so nicely that I’d struggle to criticise it. Maybe on track it’d throw up a few gremlins, but most stock bike set-ups would. The main thing was it offered adjustability, if needed.
A particularly weak point were the front brakes. It’s kitted with a decent-looking Brembo master cylinder, but somewhere between the lever and the Yamaha ownbrand calipers, the performance gets lost. I’d hazard a guess that better pads could be the answer. I’ve raced three different generations of R6s in my time, and the last of the lot was the 13S. The brakes on my race bike were anything but bad, with the only thing different to this machine’s being the use of Castrol SRF brake fluid and EBC GP-FAX pads. That combo seemed to work a treat… on track. Those pads aren’t road legal, but there would be a better HH option out there for these, and that, plus the fuelling, would be the only areas I’d look to improve on if I were to buy this bike. Truthfully, I’d love one, but I’d buy one knowing that it would be no armchair or obliging Labrador that’d behave at all times and look at me dotingly (not even my wife does that). It would be a bit of a handful, but a rewarding one at that when ridden the way it craves to be. That’s when the 13S really comes into its own.
IT PUTS YOU AND YOUR BODY AT AN ANGLE OF ATTACK THAT JUST MAKES SENSE.
As Brits, we’ve many feats of engineering to be proud of, such as the Forth Bridge, Big Ben and the Reliant Robin. Okay, maybe that last one doesn’t resonate in the same way, but you get the idea… we’re not bad at design, innovation or production when it comes to it. That’s probably why Triumph was able to pull off the deed that it did when it released the Daytona 675 back in 2006. Hot on the heels of the mediocre Daytona 600/650, the Hinckley-based brand pulled off a magic trick so bewildering it wowed the world. From seemingly nowhere, this three-cylinder, middleweight marvel was born, going on to win championships and hearts the world over, adding several TT wins to its name for good measure. Lightweight, powerful and packed full of torque, never before had we known such a capable mid-capacity sportsbike, let alone a triple with so much charm. I could wax lyrical about the Trumpet up until your bedtime, but I’ll save you that trauma and simply insist that when it came to choosing what bikes should be featured in this shootout, there was no way the Triumph could be missing from the lineup.
Admittedly, it’d been a few years since I’d last ridden one, and especially one of this vintage, being the last of the first generation and the spiciest at that. The original 675R spec was only in production for a year, from 2011-12, bridging the gap between the underseat example that came first, and the more powerful, more capable, but less original second-generation Daytona that came to an abrupt end in 2018 when Triumph called time on its supersport stable. With the ‘R’ there’s no mistaking its presence, with the biggest giveaway being the red, tubular steel subframe that can be seen from the moon, while keener eyes will pick up on the Brembo monoblocs, Öhlins suspension and smattering of carbon fibre that set this version apart from the first-gen base model.
Compared with the inaugural version, the engine was untouched, but back then it wasn’t exactly lacking in ponies, producing a claimed 123bhp (about 111bhp in real money) and a class-leading 72Nm of torque. The funny thing is, hopping on this bike and trundling off down the road during this test, the last thing I felt it needed was any more zest. I say that while acknowledging that if you’re after litre bike performance, you’re going to need a litre bike – ‘there’s no replacement for displacement’. But for sheer fun and a fulfilling soundtrack, I was immediately warmed by the Triumph’s offerings. Most bikes of this age have had a few tweaks made to them, but this machine was largely original, with the only blatant addition being the optional-OE Arrow race silencer that not only looked the nuts but audibly stirred the soul, adding to the bike’s electrifying induction noise with a bark so deep and throaty it’d terrify a guard dog. I loved it, and better still, it pulled unadulteratedly, without any hiccoughs or
hangups in the power delivery. Whether that’s because this bike’s been flashed to within an inch of its life, I’ve no idea.
What I did know was the 675R didn’t look or feel like a decade-old machine… at least, if I chose not to acknowledge the old-school clocks that nestle neatly below the bike’s tall, narrow windshield. I’m not opposed to analogue rev counters – there’s something about them that’s cool – but the days of minute, hard-on-the-eye, dot matrix dashes are long gone. Unfortunately for the Daytona, that’s exactly what it’s got and there’s no scouting around that fact. Considering the bike’s also largely devoid of tech, excluding the shifter that came standard on the ‘R’, there’s probably no need for anything other than the speed, gear selection, clock and temperature that’s displayed.
The point is that in more recent years we’ve come to know better and if you’re used to more contemporary machinery, you’ll likely see this as a drawback. What you’re less likely to be hung up on is the handling of the Daytona.
To sit on, the bike’s very slim, perched tall at the rear and sporting an undoubtedly front end weight bias. What that means is the bike turns fast and with little encouragement needed, especially so thanks to the size of the stock clip-ons that are long and wide-set, offering loads of leverage to hustle the thing around. The Öhlins suspension on this ‘R’ felt racetrack firm but it’s arguably why the Daytona was so precise and planted once it was on its ear. To cut to the chase, it was a dream to throw about, being very telling of what was going on beneath it through the blingy NIX forks and TTX rear shock – if you thought they were just there to look pretty, think again. The other thing that helps in the handling department is the lack of weight. We never got the Triumph on the bathroom scales, but it was claimed to weigh in at 185kg (wet), which is lightweight by anyone’s standards, and especially so when compared to bikes of today that are crammed full of weighty exhausts and suchlike. Even the way the weight is stacked in the bike helps it change trajectory – it’s well packaged and the transition through lean is progressive and predictable. You get the point, this thing knows how to move, and it’s no slouch in the stopping department either. As mentioned, there’s no tech on this bike which means there’s no annoying ABS to spoil the party every time you go to capitalise on the powerful Brembo brakes. This thing stops exceptionally well, with loads of bite at the caliper end and plenty of feel through the radial mastercylinder. It all adds to the polished persona of the Triumph, making you
WHAT WOULD MAKE THE MOTOR BETTER IS A BLIPPER.
like it more than you maybe should. It’s quite simply a cracking bike to experience, built around a solid engine that truly is the bike’s party piece.
Triples are weird things, often sounding like they’re not even trying, while catapulting you along at speeds that’ll guarantee prison time. The Daytona’s motor is a subtle assassin, and that’s probably why it’s so lauded by so many. It doesn’t need revving hard like so many of its inline-four 600 rivals do. The spread of power is palpable throughout its rev range, never feeling daunting, but dependable all the same. Whether you’re in town or punching your way on to a circuit’s backstraight, the Triumph seems to find legs you wouldn’t expect it to have. The delivery on this bike felt super linear, crisp and a joy to access through the cable-operated throttle. It’s easy to forget that this bike harks back to a time when electronic throttles were in their infancy, but I don’t think its lack of one detracts from the riding experience in any way. What would make the motor better is a blipper. While it comes as stock with a shifter, going down the ’box is a much more laborious experience. The good news is that the Triumph’s stock clutch isn’t too bad at mopping up excess revs, and on the road you’re unlikely to need a GP-spec slipper to absorb the energy created when going down the selection, but that’s not to say the Trumpet’s rear wheel can’t be made to wag
or lock if you throw too much abuse at the ’box. Of course, that only adds to the riding experience and it’s actually a fun bike to play around on. Even wheelies on this thing are super fun because its first gear seems to go on forever. On stock gearing, anything over second is a bit ambitious to get the front lofted from near stationary, but it’ll do so easily off the throttle in first… and it balances a treat once you’ve got it up.
I want to throw some negative this bike’s way, if only for measure, but it’s a hard machine to fault. Especially an example as clean and original as this one. From the way it looks to the way it rides, there’s so much to love about this bike, as I’ve hopefully hammered home. The only real downer is they don’t make Daytonas anymore. At least, not right now…