THE GORILLA FILES – Yamaha’s 2019 Super Ténéré ES arrives at my house. I shit myself
It is not smiling.
Look at this thing. Just look at it.
It’s not so much a motorcycle as it is an act of bestial brutality.
It’s huge and it’s black and it’s come to be with me for a while.
It’s terrifying. But in a good way. I think.
Its rear tyre looks like it came off a Mississippi paddle-wheel steamer. The front looks like it chews granite.
Someone’s gone and hung a set of playground monkey-bars on the front. Presumably so it will goulash any living thing it hits with its 260kg hurtling along at 180km/h.
It wants to fight the Ford.
I’ve done the maths. They were shit. But I’ve done them anyway. Those numbers translate into an impact force equivalent to fridge full of cement falling from orbit, hitting the earth and cracking it open so all the stuff comes out.
It has vast black trunks on it. I thought they might be full of hate, but they were empty. Or hate is invisible in Japan. I don’t know.
It has electronic suspension. Yes, really. I’m not sure what that’s about, but maybe when I launch it off a cliff the electronics will kick in and soften the landing.
Otherwise the massive bastard will just lie there on top of me, crushing me, drinking my life-juice, and laughing at my shitness.
You could pump hate through these pipes.
It is matte black.
No-one paints Adventure bikes matte black, do they? Aren’t you supposed to paint them bright colours so a) rescue teams can find you from the air; and b) to keep your spirits up with cheery hues while you bleed out into the sand?
You go painting these wilderness-bastards matte black and that tells me you don’t care about any of that.
The key to its dark heart lies between those black rubber things on top of the forks that inject electronics into the suspension. Or blood.
It costs bugger-all. Like 16K. That means that anyone, even people on the dole, can afford it. And when dole people go adventuring, that can only mean trouble.
It’s been sitting in my garage since Sunday, when Geezer kicked it off a trailer, tossed me the keys, and drove off cackling into the night.
More unknown electrically-based electrics for electricity.
It didn’t want to come off the trailer. The ratchet straps had seized tight and we had to beat them with hammers to get them to let go.
It’s like the ratchet straps knew things.
I’ve been looking at it, and it’s been ignoring me. Least I hope it has.
The green Indian in the garage is terrified of it. So is the Katana. They are both cheery happy bikes.
This bestial slice of grim and dirty darkness is not that at all.
It even makes a sound when you start it that sounds like “Daikirai!”
I Googled it. It means “I hate you” in Japanese.
I cannot wait to ride it somewhere nice.
It also lives on a website here, if you need to look at the specs
About the Author
Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.
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