MotoGP for the masses…

There are special bikes… and then there are MotoGP missiles with mirrors. But does Honda’s RC213V-S live up to the hype, let alone its staggering price tag? Bruce volunteered to find out…

I’ve seen a fair few things roll out the back of a van in some dodgy looking laybys, but until this point, an RC213V-S wasn’t one of them. It was a proper pinch myself moment, made even more memorable when one of the bods from Honda UK placed a carbon-clad key fob into my hand and told me to behave. Today was a day I thought would never arrive, and I was hellbent on making it count.

For the best part of a decade, the MotoGP-derived protagonist had lived rent free in my head. I’d seen it, I’d heard it, I’d studied it… but I’d never so much as sat on it. I’ll admit, I’d come to accept that it was a joyride as improbable as Big Mac getting a round in down the boozer. Afterall, how often do you come across a mate that just happens to have a £160k road-going-race-bike kicking around, egging you on to hear how good it sounds up at the limiter? Whilst I’m not always best at reading the room, something told me Honda wasn’t keen on hearing that limiter, either. Like a fine wine, this was a ride to be savoured not devoured, and it was to be kicked into life with a good old skirt around its abundance of shiny bits. I’ve always been into engineering and the RCV had my eyes pinging around all over the place. Like a magpie, I was drawn to its chunky, gleaming Moriwaki-built frame; an exact copy of the unit that granted Marquez his first MotoGP world title in 2016. While the geometry on the road bike is a little more relaxed than the race bike’s (because of the headstock angle – though it’s still adjustable), not a lot else is different, and neither were the R-clip fastenings that located the carbon-weave bodywork into its clinically prescribed place. Another component that was impossible to ignore was the larger than life, under-braced swingarm. Nothing says ‘factory’ like a hefty swinger, and they don’t come much meatier than the Honda’s. Asymmetric in its design, the one thing both sides had in common was a scar-like weld running the length of it, buffed to perfection and making me wonder why the unit hadn’t been cast in one piece from the outset? Just like every inch of this bike, there’d of been a reason behind it, and chances are it would have been a bloody good one at that. From the proportions of the seat pad to the wholly different design of the left and right rearsets… it was all with purpose and it was all there for me to feast my eyes on. And there was so much to take in, including the Marchesini forged wheels, the Brembo GP4 monoblocs, the race-spec Ohlins TTX25 gas forks and the conical-shaped upper end can, that poked neatly out of the carbon number plate hanger – I salivated over it all. This thing was majestic, finely honed and, for the next few hours, all mine.

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There was no need for a second invite to clamber aboard the RCV, which struck me immediately with its minimal proportions. For context, the current Blade feels like a compact litre bike, but even that would be considered overgrown when compared to this. It was long, low and like so many machines of this vintage, it gave me the sensation of being locked in between the high-rise tank and the bum-stop seat pad. Looking downwards, the gold-coat-effect top yoke glistened back, stamped with its serial number and the HRC emblem; there was no chance of forgetting this was Honda at its proudest. By today’s standards, the switchgears appeared basic, the minuscule digital dash a reflection of the times. Thumbing the power button brought the display to life, showing the changeability of the bike’s traction levels, power modes and engine brake setup; tech that was egged on by the bike’s six-axis IMU and electronic throttle… features that were craved desperately by the Fireblade of that same era.

With a touch of a button the V4 barked into life. Fireworks? Not quite, more a muted tone of this machine’s potential. As similar as the V-S is to the pukka racer it was spawn from, mirroring it in nearly every way, altered electronics and a stifling exhaust system were what was needed to make this thing road legal. The result? Well, a heart-wrenching cull of power, down to 157bhp. In track form, with the optional Sport Kit fitted (yours for just £25k), Honda claimed an output of 215-ponies… making it not too dissimilar to the latest spec Blade. But to access that degree of potency would mean fitting the bike’s 116dB exhaust system, which would probably give you an ASBO and a burst eardrum… in no particular order.

The Honda slotted smoothly into first, and on releasing the clutch lever I was hit by the enormity of first gear. As you’d expect, the bike featured a close ratio gearbox and the inaugural cog was a whopper, demanding a solid dose of revs and a protracted slip of the clutch to get this thing rolling. In a funny way, it reminded me of my childhood VFR400. That too had an impressively long first gear, that too had a V4 motor and that too featured the unmistakable whine of gear-driven cams. What it didn’t have was the presence of this V-S. I’ve ridden many special bikes in my time, from grand prix 500s to Desmos and Superleggeras; they all have a special aura about them, bolstered by the heart-in-mouth tension that comes from riding something infinitely more valuable than the crumbs in your bank balance. Crashing a bike like this is simply not an option, and neither is blowing one up. But after about 10 minutes of gentile riding, navigating some of Norfolk’s bumpiest back lanes, curiosity was starting to get the better of me. The motivation was coming from the exhaust cans, which sounded lackluster when the motor was being tickled, to the extent that I could hardly hear what the hell I was riding. Throw a few more RPMs their way and the pitch became a whole lot more appealing. That aforementioned first gear is probably good for around 90mph, so I figured the solution to the problem was to ride the bike in first… everywhere. By doing so, the package came to life; the exhaust note was energised and the silkiness of the V4 motor was intoxicating. From a pure speed point of view, the bike felt more akin to a sorted supersport machine than a contemporary litre bike, but I was ok with that. The Honda’s fuelling felt accurate and stutter free, regardless of where I was in the range, and on the rare occasion I did select second or otherwise, the gearbox shifted clinically through the selection, leaning on the quickshifter to make the process light work. There was no blipper fitted, so downshifts were old-school, requiring a squeeze on the lightweight clutch lever to enable them. It was hardly a chore and there was something pleasurable about the process, with the reward being another burst of excitement from motor as the revs climbed in protest.

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Yep, the motor was a peach, but the bike’s handling got me frothing every bit as much. Just like a superbike the Honda felt ridiculously lithe at slow speeds, and it also felt pretty damn firm. I’ll hold back from saying this is the best handling bike I’ve ever ridden, but it was easy to note the potential that could be unleashed on a billiard smooth race track. A combination of its light weight (188-kilos fuelled), aggressive geometry and low-slung mass was only ever going to provoke this reality, making it a treat to throw into bends, railing the front end while lauding its stability. The Honda’s visibly long, and when you delve into the specs and clock its 1465mm wheelbase, it reaffirms that your eyes are not deceiving you. Look at any MotoGP bike and that formula is present to this day; low and long, with the aggressiveness of the headstock angle often meaning a bike that should feel like a barge can turn on a six-pence. Whether in town or let loose on some of the fast, more flowing corners on my travels, it was a joy to ride, and I can only imagine how immense it would feel around a grand prix circuit. That said, the suspension had its work cut out at times, doing its best to stomach the onslaught of lump, bumps and imperfections that flowed our way. Most flagship sports bikes these days feature electronic suspension that allows you to dial in a much more comfortable and capable setup in the touch of a button, but not so on the RCV. Whatever it felt, you felt, to the extent of dislodging fillings if you weren’t careful. Still, it was a price worth paying, and despite a few grimaces along the way, the pleasure definitely outweighed the pain.

As the miles clocked by, the experience felt no less special. In fact, understanding the package only made the blast that bit sweeter, anticipating the grunt from the motor and knowing how sharply the bike would respond in a corner to any rider inputs; the connection between it and the rider is perhaps what makes this machine so special. It felt almost inappropriate knowing that I was blasting along on a bike that is perhaps the nearest living thing to an actual GP bike, separated merely by the addition of some bar-end mirrors, a headlight, indicators and a horn. When I cast my mind back a decade or two, I remember the excitement and inconceivability of Honda ever going down this route. Of course, it was touted but did anyone ever believe someone would actually make it happen. Arguably, Ducati was the first to tick that box with the Desmo, but surely Honda were too sensible to ever fulfill such a notion? Yet, there I was, riding that dream, lost in the madness and the magic of the moment. Honda had done the unthinkable and I was relishing it. But the unthinkable comes at an unimaginable price. I’ve heard figures range from £130-£180k for one of these, and that’s just in road trim. Bolt the race kit on and you’ve spent the equivalent of a house on a motorcycle that, at best, lives up to the performance figures of a modern production bike straight out of the showroom. It’s when you look at the picture that way that you realise a bike like this isn’t bought for stats, or how fast it’ll lap around Cadwell. It’s a purchase made from the soul, backed up by a big bank balance and the hope that in a decade or two the uniqueness of the investment will still be as worthwhile as it is right now. Not everyone will know what it is, nor appreciate the magnitude of the feat required in making a MotoGP bike fit for the road, or the overwhelming attention to detail that’s gone into every nut and bolt on this beauty. But I did, and it will forever rank as one of the best motorcycles I’ve ever had the pleasure of riding. Thank you, Honda.