(01-21-2018 04:19 PM)PowerDubs Wrote: Quote:89 HP vs. 86 HP
http://world.honda.com/CB1100/spec/
Both rated at 66KW @ 7,500
The new bikes actually make less tq, at a higher rpm than the old ones..
I pulled those numbers from a couple of tests; pretty sure that my '13 did say 86 HP somewhere. Those are Euro numbers on that spec page linked above. They can be quite different. Euro ZX-10R makes 15 HP more than the US model! Reflash cures that but I don't miss it, so I never flashed mine.
Difference is very minor but it's all in the cams and ignition timing, compression ratio, etcetera.
A guy COULD make a real screamer out of a CB1100 no problem, especially the RS. 105-110 HP is very possible. The chassis could handle it.
It would sure make it a very lively competitor to the Z900RS although still much, much heavier.
(01-21-2018 03:00 PM)W/R Wrote: The centipede's whole head opened up into a giant mouth (think the movie Tremors) and promptly chomped off Festus' head. After that we killed all centipedes we saw. I still can't talk about the camel spiders.
Those centipedes are real dangerous. Almost as dangerous as the amount of dough you can pour into a motorcycle!
Calls to mind "House of Pride" by Jack London:
"And I must tell of one other thing. It was down in Kona, -- or up, rather, for the Kona people scorn to live at less than a thousand feet elevation. We were all on the lanai of Doctor Goodhue's bungalow. I was talking with Dottie Fairchild when it happened. A big centipede -- it was seven inches, for we measured it afterward -- fell from the rafters overhead squarely into her coiffure. I confess, the hideousness of it paralyzed me. I couldn't move. My mind refused to work. There, within two feet of me, the ugly venomous devil was writhing in her hair. It threatened at any moment to fall down upon her exposed shoulders -- we had just come out from dinner.
"What is it?" she asked, starting to raise her hand to her head.
"Don't!" I cried. "Don't!"
"But what is it?" she insisted, growing frightened by the fright she read in my eyes and on my stammering lips.
My exclamation attracted Kersdale's attention. He glanced our way carelessly, but in that glance took in everything. He came over to us, but without haste.
"Please don't move, Dottie," he said quietly.
He never hesitated, nor did he hurry and make a bungle of it.
"Allow me," he said.
And with one hand he caught her scarf and drew it tightly around her shoulders so that the centipede could not fall inside her bodice. With the other hand -- the right -- he reached into her hair, caught the repulsive abomination as near as he was able by the nape of the neck, and held it tightly between thumb and forefinger as he withdrew it from her hair. It was as horrible and heroic a sight as man could wish to see. It made my flesh crawl. The centipede, seven inches of squirming legs, writhed and twisted and dashed itself about his hand, the body twining around the fingers and the legs digging into the skin and scratching as the beast endeavored to free itself. It bit him twice -- I saw it -- though he assured the ladies that he was not harmed as he dropped it upon the walk and stamped it into the gravel. But I saw him in the surgery five minutes afterward, with Doctor Goodhue scarifying the wounds and injecting permanganate of potash. The next morning Kersdale's arm was as big as a barrel, and it was three weeks before the swelling went down."
(Public Domain since 1986)