Bummed by a test ride

[Firstfour_imp]

Can someone pls tell me point blank if the engine response and sound as shown in virtualGuth video (7:35-8:15) normal and typical of CB1100? Because this was pretty much my experience on the test ride, and I didn't like it.

Normally this might be considered splitting hairs and overly nit-picking, but we all know that Honda engineers spent an obsessive amount of effort to get it 'just right'. So I just want to know if this is the expected end result? Because if it is normal, and expected, I would like to know if a pipe or a tune can change it.

Normal and typical of CB1100? Want to be told point blank? OK, here goes:

This bike can only be described as a complete travesty. An insult to the honourable history of motorcycle evolution. Why? Lets start with the engine, if you can reluctantly bring yourself to describe it as such - completely underpowered for the task, more suited to a CT90 frame but only with riders not in excess of the 101lbs of fun class. Styling - prehistoric, as ugly as the north end of a south bound camel. No amount of botox in the form of mail order farkling can save this wrinkled crone. Suspension - solid, mate, solid, almost brick like, virtually non-adjustable and that produces handling remarkably similar to my 1950 Rumanian built Crapislava Special (solid tyres, cast iron rims and unsprung). Colours - words like nauseating, loathsome, gross, gut-churning and emetic spring to mind. Obviously chosen by a latté sipping, pointy toed shoe wearing set designer for the Australian ballet. Dealer service and support - laughable, totally inadequate except for excellence in the black art of money gouging. Honda - The Power of Schemes seems appropriate. Ever wonder why they are reluctant to give test rides? Obvious I would have thought. Service departments (did I just say service? I must be hallucinating) populated by pimply faced, flat headed, dull eyed pseudo mechanics who wouldn't even know what grade oil to use.

There is more, much more. So why would I buy such a grotesque pile of underpowered dung? I didn't. I still curse the day it fell off the back of a truck over-loaded with unsaleable stock bound for a beach on the sub-continent where it was to be broken up, smelted down and made into low grade knife, fork and spoon sets for the knock-off market in Bangkok. Due to being in what might be called an impecunious and necessitous circumstance (temporary I can assure you so all those outstanding loans will be honoured), I have had to endure 38000 miserable kilometres on this execrable excuse for a motorcycle; when I can coax more than 5kmph from the evil apparatus I'm being exposed to the elements by that almost unendurable and certainly inescapable wind blast - no screen, not even the all conquering National Supersize Road King, can help; my hearing being inexorably destroyed by the high pitched shrieks from that straining excuse for a power (please don't laugh) plant; my haemorrhoids raw, bleeding and abraided by the seat-that-has-no-mercy. At my age only death can release me from this motorcycling hell. Mercifully, with the handling of this treacherous beast that may not be far away.

Mate, don't feel guilty about nit-picking. So my advice, mate, is to get another bike, not a CB. There it is. Point blank and with the full metal jacket.

Cheers, especially to all my brothers in CB motorcycling perdition.

Normal and typical of CB1100? Want to be told point blank? OK, here goes:

This bike can only be described as a complete travesty. An insult to the honourable history of motorcycle evolution. Why? Lets start with the engine, if you can reluctantly bring yourself to describe it as such - completely underpowered for the task, more suited to a CT90 frame but only with riders not in excess of the 101lbs of fun class. Styling - prehistoric, as ugly as the north end of a south bound camel. No amount of botox in the form of mail order farkling can save this wrinkled crone. Suspension - solid, mate, solid, almost brick like, virtually non-adjustable and that produces handling remarkably similar to my 1950 Rumanian built Crapislava Special (solid tyres, cast iron rims and unsprung). Colours - words like nauseating, loathsome, gross, gut-churning and emetic spring to mind. Obviously chosen by a latté sipping, pointy toed shoe wearing set designer for the Australian ballet. Dealer service and support - laughable, totally inadequate except for excellence in the black art of money gouging. Honda - The Power of Schemes seems appropriate. Ever wonder why they are reluctant to give test rides? Obvious I would have thought. Service departments (did I just say service? I must be hallucinating) populated by pimply faced, flat headed, dull eyed pseudo mechanics who wouldn't even know what grade oil to use.

There is more, much more. So why would I buy such a grotesque pile of underpowered dung? I didn't. I still curse the day it fell off the back of a truck over-loaded with unsaleable stock bound for a beach on the sub-continent where it was to be broken up, smelted down and made into low grade knife, fork and spoon sets for the knock-off market in Bangkok. Due to being in what might be called an impecunious and necessitous circumstance (temporary I can assure you so all those outstanding loans will be honoured), I have had to endure 38000 miserable kilometres on this execrable excuse for a motorcycle; when I can coax more than 5kmph from the evil apparatus being exposed to the elements by that almost unendurable and certainly inescapable wind blast - no screen, not even the all conquering National Supersize Road King, can help; my hearing being inexorably destroyed by the high pitched shrieks from that straining excuse for a power (please don't laugh) plant; my haemorrhoids raw, bleeding and abraded by the seat-that-has-no-mercy. At my age only death can release me from this motorcycling hell. And with the handling of this treacherous beast that may not be far away.

Mate, don't feel guilty about nit-picking. So my advice, mate, is to get another bike, not a CB. There it is. Point blank and with the full metal jacket.

Cheers, especially to all my brothers in CB motorcycling perdition.
Priceless.

I hate myself for my cycle-choosing incompetence.