Ode To Mr. Max
ODE TO MR. MAX
CYCLE WORLD EXCLUSIVE
Twelve years later, Yamaha's V-Max is still one of the world's most entertaining motorcycles
STEVE ANDERSON
BACK IN 1984 WHEN YAMAHA ENGINEERS WERE HOTrodding the V-Four from the company’s since-departed Venture touring bike, they came across a small stash of a secret ingredient: Essence of Small-Block. How this mysterious substance-then and now on the DOD’s controlled-technology export list-made it out of this country to Japan is still unknown, but there are clues. This particular batch was the rare and expensive
“Pro Stock” variety, and perhaps, just perhaps, someone from Yamaha’s U.S. headquarters spent weeks hanging around NHRA pits accompanied by a large satchel bulging with unmarked bills. Perhaps the Yamaha operative found the right engine builder, one with the essential connection and in debt to his eyebrows. If so, it was a brazen move, because the motorcycle that resulted gave the show away. All that is certain is that the FBI has never again allowed a foreign power to acquire any quantity of the essence.
A strange story, true, but how else can you explain the VMax? Here’s a motorcycle that was introduced in 1985, and, almost 12 years later, the ’97 model is a twin to the original. Heck, even most new Harleys differ from their ’85 predecessors by virtue of an all-new frame or bottom-end. But the Max soldiers on largely unaltered, sell/ ing steadily on the strength of •/ its engine character and the
ƒ purity of its purpose.
Jß I remember when I first met Max. It was in 1986 at the much-missed Baylands Raceway, once the fastest quarter-mile of asphalt in the country. Now an industrial park, Baylands sat on the southeast end of San Francisco Bay, about 5 feet above sea level and with a perpetual chill tailwind. The air was dense enough to pour, and just walking across the sticky starting area could rip the heels from your boots. Yamaha had already been there with a V-Max and Jay Gleason, and was boasting of low-10-second quarter-mile times. I was there for Cycle World to see if a production V-Max with a normal magazine guy riding could come anywhere close.
Starting the Max, you could tell it was different. It had a rumpetyrump idle that spoke to anyone who had spent any time around hot VEights. There wasn’t anything unrefined about it-no staggering or misfiring, just enough deep-throated syncopation to tell of long cam timings and high compression. Off the line, the Max’s strong midrange allowed launches with little clutch slippage. But then the tach hit 6500 rpm, and it was Oh my God! time. The “V-Boost” valves opened, allowing each cylinder to breathe through two carbs, and the Max surged ahead whether you were ready or not, its engine note shaipening into the kind of high-rpm music that car guys only hear after they’ve gone to heaven.
That day I clicked through the gears to run a 10.89-second quarter, the fastest I had run on a production bike. And that was with the stock rear tire. A wheelie bar and drag slick dropped my times by another quarter-second, and left me almost giddy with acceleration. I’d just drop the clutch at 8000 rpm, and the Max would slam onto the wheelie bar and pull the 6-inch Firestone slick-breaking it away lightly with a unique graunching howl-then hook up and head down the strip with the authority of a slug leaving the barrel of a .44 Magnum. The Max shrugged off a full day of this dragstrip abuse, as willing at the end as it was at the beginning.
In all essentials, the ’97 V-Max is the same powerful, soulful rock. The V-Max was conceived by Ed Burke and his product planners at Yamaha Motor Corp. USA as a literal hot-rod-a Venture reduced to its bare bones, power pumped to the maximum, styling borrowed from American automotive hot-rod traditions and not Harley-Davidson. Every V-Max since springs fully from those decisions. Yamaha engineers had done a thorough job of controlling mechanical noise in the Venture’s V-Four, so this year’s VMax maintains its exhaust note while meeting noise emission laws 3 decibels stricter than when it was introduced. While many new motorcycles hiss almost silently, the Max rumbles when you start it. It’s a rorty short-shifter around town, living in all that bountiful midrange power. And it positively howls up high. Light flywheels let the Max spin up quickly and react near instantaneously to throttle movementunlike those millstones that V-Twin cruisers are equipped with.
Light flywheels also mean that engine braking is strong, so the Max demands its rider be smooth-chopping the throttle in a corner can give you more response than you might like. The V-Boost system remains a clever, slightly cynical gimmick. Giving the engineers the benefit of the doubt, perhaps it helps meet low-speed emission requirements. Certainly, it makes the Max feel even faster than it is by creating a powerband hole between 6000 and 6500 rpm. We humans aren’t too good at sensing absolute levels of acceleration, but we’re great at detecting changes in acceleration. So when the V-Max comes through the hole in its torque curve and surges forward, it feels as if full afterburners just kicked on. I’ve ridden a V-Max fitted with Dynojet’s kit that eliminates the V-Boost valve entirely and produces a smoother, marginally higher torque curve, but it simply didn’t feel as quick as the deceptive stocker-though it was measurably faster.
It’s amazing how well the V-Max’s engine has survived the years, remaining one of motorcycling’s best. The chassis, though...
When the V-Max was introduced, it had more engine than chassis, and that was by the standards of 1985. Despite upgrades to the suspension and brakes in 1993, it’s doubly true today. In giving the V-Max its hot-rod look, the stylists gave it more than fake air scoops. They also angled the steering head at 29 degrees and pushed trail to a whopping 4.7 inches for a raked-out appearance. That steering geometry increases steering effort without a commensurate increase in stability, and you’re always aware that you’re riding a big, heavy motorcycle when you’re on the Max-one that just might shake back if you push on the handlebars too hard. It’s happiest on roads with middling-fast, sweeping corners, where the high steering effort translates into deliberateness, and midrange oomph thrusts the Max luxuriously forward. It has more ground clearance than most any cruiser, and in smooth, fast corners, it holds its own. But try to go hard on a switchbacked mountain road, and you might as well take up bull wrestling.
Still, the V-Max’s many attributes add up to a motorcycle with continuing appeal. Think of it as a more refined and more modern, yet hairier-chested Harley Sportster-a motorcycle to entertain you with power and character on any short-range errand or ride. The sit-up riding position is comfortable around town, though totally unsuitable for the speeds the Max could reach, say, on Montana highways. Its engine will deliver power with aural appeal in any quantity you want, whenever and at whatever the engine speed. Like the Sportster, range is limited; the Max’s small underseat fuel tank will hit reserve before you’ve run up 120 miles on the odometer.
Of course, you could dream of an updated Max, one that was quicker yet, lighter in weight and more nimble. After all, when the Max first came out, this magazine compared it with a 427 Cobra; the automotive equivalent today would be a Dodge Viper, a far more refined and better cornering vehicle. Let’s hope Yamaha kept a vial or two of the secret essence in the corporate vault. Better to continue with this V-Max than attempt to build one without it. □
