Honda RC30 marked a huge leap forward m in
Japanese motorcycle design. It was the »-. S first Japanese bike to
rival the beauty and build quality previously the domain of exotic
specialists like Bimota. When it hit the market in 1988 the press were in
danger of running out of superlatives. And dealers soon ran out of bikes to
sell to the well-heeled enthusiasts who queued up to spend twice the price
of a Suzuki GSX-R on the most talked-about bike for years. And the
talk was certainly no exaggeration. The RC30 combined the light weight,
quick steering and fantastic rider feedback of a race bike with excellent
ride quality, reliability and perfectly stable behaviour on even the most
indifferent road surface.
The RC30 - also called the VFR750R, but
everyone referred to it by its factory code name -was based on the
all-conquering full-factory RVF750 Endurance and Fl bike. When Fl gave way
to World Superbikes, one-off bikes like the RVF were no longer eligible, so
the RC was designed from the start as a limited edition road bike, intended
to sell just enough to qualify for World Superbikes. Crucial parts - such as
chassis, engine casings and carbs - can't be changed under WSB rules, so
they needed to be ready to race. In other areas, Honda were free to
concentrate on making the RC30 reliable and user-friendly for the road,
knowing that those parts could be changed for racing if necessary. The
RC's V-four is a superb road engine. It's smooth, extremely powerful and
very reliable. It's also instantly recognisable - you can't mistake the
sound or feel of a Honda V-four, whether you're sitting on a standard RC30
blipping the throttle, or sitting by the side of the TT course listening to
a tuned example on full throttle. The RC has a rich droning exhaust note
that never really sounds as though it's working hard. On die road, it
probably isn't - even first gear on the RC's close-ratio box is enough to
take you to 80mph, so full load in top gear isn't something the RC has to
put up with very often.
On the track of course, hard work is what it's
all about. A full factory race kit was available from the start - containing
everything from modified pistons to new camshafts and crankshafts - as well
as kits from the many independent tuners who brought their skills to bear on
its complex V-four engine. And the RC30 was born to race. It raised the
stakes in the fledgling World Superbike Championships, dominated the
demanding Isle of Man TT course and became the bike to have if you wanted to
get anywhere in World Endurance. It would be a long time before the other
manufacturers caught up. Visually, the RC shouts its race credentials
with its single seat, its smooth, uncompromising lines and its single-sided
swing arm at the rear. The latter was designed, like the quick-change
mechanisms on die front forks, to waste the minimum time on pit stops
in 24-hour endurance races. For the road it has no real function except to
look good - and it certainly docs that! Hidden away above it, though, is one
of the most perfectly set-up suspension systems ever fitted to a road bike.
It tracks over bumps as though they don't exist, and it would take a
racetrack to make it misbehave. The forks, too, are well set-up they may not
be fashionable inverted types, but it's the quality that counts. It's
a testimony to the excellence of its design that even now, eight years after
its launch, the RC30 is still capable of top ten finishes at the TT, and
it's still a stunning bike to ride on the road.
Source Super Bikes by Mac McDiarmid
Performance Bike 1990
I'm better now. At last I've come to accept that
some good things can't last torever. We seemed to have so much in common yet,
deep down, we both secretly knew that we were bad for each other and we must
part and go our own separate ways, sniff.
There was something about the flat-sounding
exhaust note of the RC that got to me. Perhaps it was after watching Geoff
Johnson on the all-white, 180° crank VFR flash through the Verandah and up
Hailwood Rise, or maybe it was seeing Joey on his works RC howling past the pub
on Sulby Straight. The off-beat, gruff wail of the 4-2-1 pipe produces the most
haunting note this side of the Coronation Street theme tune but I know which I'd
rather listen to. So does my adrenal gland.
It was a noise that even my motorcycle-hating
neighbours couldn't object to (it was quieter than my 1952 Villiers-engined
lawnmower so how could they complain?). All they ever heard was a high pitched
squeak from the starter motor and I was gone, hidden behind a
mist of condensation. Yes, Mr and Mrs Noseybastards had a fortnight of
tranquillity; all they could do was marvel at the washing machine-ness of the
exhaust note at tickover and say, "what a lovely bike".
The first time I clapped eyes on the RC30 at the
NEC show, it was just a dream. When I first raced one at Mallory, it was a
stimulant of gigantic proportions. Later still, stuck in traffic, with its
temperature gauge nudging the danger zone, slowly cooking my inner groin, it
became a contraceptive.
Riding as the power delivery dictates (between 11 and 12,500rpm), the wailing
Honda becomes a tool of potential self-destruction; anything that'll do 80mph in
first gear in the hands of somebody with as little self control as me quickly
becomes a licence-buster or a first class way to examine the interior of
intensive care. Fortunately I was lucky, but the end of every ride was a mixture
of euphoria and relief.
The RC30 doesn't hide its race track breeding,
but it's not uncomfortable — in fact its seat and ergonomics are more sumptuous
and supportive than a ZXR750. No, it's the RC engine's manners that make it such
a buzz to ride. Although above 11,000 it produces just a tad more power than a
VFR750's, and below that the VFR is stronger (which makes it safer to ride on
the road), it's the kick in the pants at 11,000 which makes the RC a gas on the
open highway.
Humps and crests appear where you never knew they
existed. Kinks on dual carriageways suddenly become tight corners. With your
head tucked behind the low screen, listening to the noise, the sensations of
speed and excitement are heightened.
Honda say only 30 of the 150 RCs imported in '88 made it to the track, the rest
finding their way into extremely well-heeled road riders' hands (is this why it
was code named RC30?). Dealers say they can't get hold of enough RCs to satisfy
demand. Most buyers are aged between 35 and 45, trading-in the BMW or CBR1000
and pay cash. Just in case you're interested, most are also businessmen. The
exception to this middle-aged rule was a local 20yr-old builder who saved and
saved until he could fulfil his dream. He owns an FZR1000 Genesis as well. If
you're keen enough and believe you could do an RC30 the justice it deserves,
it's worth selling the house and moving back in with the parentals.
The measurable performance of the RC isn't much
better than most of the latest 750s; the acceleration is worse from a
standstill, the brakes are good but not as good as a ZXR750's, the economy is in
the tuned two stroke department and the price difference is... well.
But don't think the RC is a waste of money. As soon as you stop feeling humbled
by the razor-sharp steering and unusual riding position, your expectations of
what is possible skyrocket. I never imagined that a bike could be this together,
even after reading all the road tests. On the road it does everything you want
and more. Using the wide rev range to the full, from 4 to 12,500rpm, the
sensation is like a huge elastic band. Nothing else I've ridden comes close.
Riding it hard requires copious amounts of
concentration mainly because it means three figures, but also because all the
controls need such delicate yet deliberate operation. But to really motor most
of the rider's concentration is devoted to keeping the tacho somewhere between
the 11 and 12,500 marks. In this region the engine and exhaust howls take on a
totally different note; if you've ever seen V for Victory you'll know what I
mean. Three figure wheelies over the top of crests that once looked flat make
sure that the wildly grinning rider doesn't have any time to relax.
The RC doesn't have to be ridden in its serious
power band all the time. Whilst it may not be happy bumbling around in traffic
(the ridiculously high first gear puts paid to that) its V-four flexibility will
permit it. But it's not much fun.
Nearly ten big ones for a bike? If you've got it, or you live at home with mum,
haven't got a mortgage and understand that the RC is exotic, bloody fast, safe —
on account of its superb steering and suspension — it's a bargain. A quick peek
through the MCN classifieds shows that most RCs are rich men's toys It's a
crying shame bikes in private hands aren't used as they should be. After all,
the RC30 can only be really be appreciated when ridden at 100%. If only it were
half the price.
Mark Forsyth
RC30 TAKE TWO
The RC30 possesses two planes of efficiency and excels at both. Anyone can ride
one and appreciate its stability, power and unashamed opulence, and as a road
bike there's nothing awesome or unmanageable about it (as long as you remember
which way the throttle works). On the track however, a previously undreamed-of
level of excellence is discovered. It's not that the RCs capabilities are beyond
the road rider, it's just that road riding, no matter how rabid, could only
probe at the outer edge of what could be.
The RC30 feels like an RGV250 with a VFR750
motor, and is far more civilised than something like a ZXR750. When riding big
four cylinder bikes I find myself looking for another gear; the RC, with its
tall ratios, always has one. This makes everything at legal speeds very relaxed,
like a big twin. A comfy seat, lots of brakes, and suspension which I didn't
need to interfere with, left nothing to complain about.
If you have the money and understand exactly what you are getting then you won't
be disappointed. If you just have the money, an RC30 will line up quite nicely
in the garage alongside the jet ski and mountain bike you already have.
Peter Comely
RC30 TAKE THREE
Of course the RC is worth it. It's at least twice as stunning to ride as a bike
worth half as much, like a ZX-10. And, I was surprised to find, even an average
rider can appreciate the difference. Unfortunately the RCs kind of money is
totally out of touch with real people and real wages, and when you see what kind
of people are buying RCs for the road and what they're doing with them, it near
enough breaks your heart.
Or does it? Theoretically, as Editor, I could
have an RC30 as a company car (it's cheaper than an Astra). But I freely admit I
couldn't handle it. The first time I hit top gear on the RC it was doing an
indicated 145mph. Shortly after that it wheelied over a hump in the road I'd
never noticed before at 120mph. With my inexperienced hands hanging on far too
tightly on bumpy A-roads, the bars viciously snap from side to side almost all
the time. At Bruntingthorpe, Forsyth got 155mph with jeans and a baggy Belstaff
jacket. It makes you
ride at 140mph when even 100 would be a bit on the silly side. It is, to put it
bluntly, a complete liability — not because of what it is, but because of what
it makes you do. And you don't even feel guilty.
I later discovered that the tankslaps go away if
you relax your grip on the bars, but I'm sure that if I owned an RC for six
months I would either be mad, dead or banned. Even if I wasn't any of these
things I'd still be ready for the flat cap, pipe, Harris tweed jacket and a C90.
The trouble with the RC30 is it takes even average bozos like me to levels where
we don't belong. It is quite amazing (and, I hasten to add, a bloody good thing
too) that there isn't a law against it.
Rupert Paul
Source Performance Bike 1990
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