ASP4 test

Litre-bike power, 250cc dimensions, no forks – and all homemade. Bike gets an exclusive ride on the ASP4, one man’s 35-year quest to do things differently…

By Jim Moore Photography Jason Critchell

Andy Stevenson leans back against the lathe in his workshop. ‘I’ve always done my own thing,’ he deadpans. ‘When everyone else was riding two-strokes, I had a Ducati. Then when Ducatis got popular, I moved on to other things.’
He’s not kidding. By ‘other things’ Andy doesn’t mean another genre or brand of bike – he built his own. From scratch. That was 35 years ago. Since then he’s created three more machines in his Nottinghamshire garage, almost entirely on his own – all of them without conventional front ends. This is his latest: the ASP4.

As well as avoiding the herd, Andy clearly likes a challenge. Staring in wonderment at his Aprilia V-twinpowered creation, my thoughts distil into one simple question: Why?
‘I built the first one, the ASP, in the early 1990s. I’d acquired a written-off Yamaha EXUP and, having always admired forkless bikes like Elf’s 500GP racer and later Bimota’s Tesi, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to see if I could build one myself.’

Confirmation he could – and make a fine fist of it – came quickly. ‘A mate, Stuart Jones, who’s sadly no longer with us, rode the ASP at Aintree. He went faster around the track than he’d ever done on his Yamaha OW01, then finished second in a race after only two laps of practice. So I knew I was on to something.’

Seasoned readers may remember Andy’s original hub-centre special appearing in this very organ as a Bike project (see p39). In the late ’90s he went as far as producing a prototype for small-scale production, the Thunderace-powered ASP3, which he exhibited at the 1997 NEC Show. ‘There was interest, but my timing wasn’t great,’ he says with a wry smile and a thick slice of sarcasm. ‘That was the year Yamaha released the R1, and we all remember what a flop that was…’

With hindsight, the ASP3’s commercial non-start was a blessing in disguise: ‘I came to realise I have no interest in building bikes for other people, so that was a bullet dodged’. It also allowed Andy the time to build a bike for himself based around the concept he cracked more than three decades ago.

What’s most impressive (and bonkers) about the ASP4 is not the steering set-up, Andy’s unique packaging solutions, or its bullish styling – all of which we’ll come to – but the numbers. This is a 1000cc sportsbike that runs a tighter wheelbase than an RGV250. At 1360mm between spindles it’s 15mm shorter than said Suzuki, and 55mm more compact and 18kg lighter than the Aprilia Falco to which it owes its engine. Oh, and the rake and trail equate to a ludicrous 15°/80mm; it makes an RGV’s 25°/94mm look positively lethargic. Figures like those confirm this is as far from conventional litre sportsbike territory as it’s possible to be, while still maintaining the aforementioned capacity and razor-sharp intent.

Thus far only Andy has ridden the ASP4 – including a trip to the TT minus bodywork, to the bemusement of those who saw it parked up around the Island. ‘Some people don’t know what to make of it,’ he says. ‘Last year I nipped out for a ride to Matlock. When I got home someone had posted a pic of it on the internet with the caption, “Batman: 9 missed calls…”’

Gotham’s hero can wait his turn, however. Today it’s mine. But given how different the ASP4 is to anything else I’ve ever ridden, I’m not sure what to expect. Andy guides me through the start-up process – it’s a keyless ignition – then grins knowingly as I press the starter and fire the barely silenced motor into life. ‘I’m keen to know what you think.’ Me too.

Perched on the 850mm high seat, I’m greeted by a unique view: a sculpted carbon fibre cover that stretches from the front of the seat to the headlamp up front, flaring out when level with the bars, then wrapping seamlessly around the whole upper front end. There’s no fuel filler (the 17-litre aluminium tank sits under the seat to aid centralised mass), yokes or headstock between me and the single Koso tacho and mini-screen. Just clean, beautifully finished bodywork; the outer thirds being conventional lacquered weave, with ‘camo’-look carbon fibre detailing the middle section. It’s the kind of luxurious finish you’d expect of a high-end production car.

‘Hardest part of the build, that,’ Andy tells me as I run an admiring hand over what would be the tank on most other bikes. ‘I’d never worked with carbon fibre before, so I had to learn the whole process from scratch: moulds, textures, finishes, the lot.’

My first few miles are tentative. The forkless front end feels very different to what I’m used to; my commands through the bars to the front wheel generate a sensation alien to my previous 45 years of riding experience. More direct, more sensitive, yet something I’m keen to explore.
Andy leads the way on my Honda CB1000 Hornet SP, away from the urban sprawl and dual carriageway near his midlands home, onto faster, quieter country routes. Before we set off he told me we’d be heading for a stretch of road he refers to as his ‘test track’; several miles of bumpy, bendy and undulating tarmac that’d put any chassis to the test.

I know instinctively when we’re there. Ahead Andy’s fighting the Hornet as it bucks and protests over the uneven surface. Despite its Öhlins shock, the Honda’s working him hard. I’m gaining ground, however, throttle pinned, as the ASP4 simply glides over the same terrain. This shouldn’t be possible on a bigcapacity twin with thumping acceleration and a wheelbase shorter than a race rep 250. But it’s encouraging me to push harder still. The key to this bike, as I’m discovering in real time, is the faster you go, the better it feels. Ten miles into our ride, the initial quirkiness of the steering has melted away.
‘A 1000cc sportsbike with a tighter wheelbase than an RGV250’

I’d expected it to feel vague, even disconnected at its front end. Bimota’s Tesi was notorious for such behaviour. ‘The Bimota’s pointlessly overcomplicated,’ says Andy, ‘with its steering forces going through several different planes between bars and wheel. No wonder they lacked feel. And unlike a conventional bike, mine doesn’t have 15kg of forks and yokes hanging out the front end, kicking back over bumps.’
Unlike a Tesi, Andy’s bike is a genuine hub-centre set-up. The bars attach to a modified mountain bike steering stem that connects directly to a ‘collapsible’ linkage, and that in turn to the steering cage. Steering forces are interpreted via a spherical bearing inside a drum that’s effectively the front spindle. Every element was designed and made by Andy.

The chassis is an exercise in minimalism. T45 steel tubing makes up the engine cradle and front and rear swingarms, while machined plates form an upper spine to which the bodywork and surrounding componentry attaches. A Mercedes-Benz E300 K&N filter is encased between the plates (‘It was the biggest I could find’).

Indeed, from both a visual and mechanical point of view, the bike’s middle section is busiest of all.

‘The key to this bike has been centralising the mass,’ Andy explains. ‘At its centre is the crank – it’s longitudinally central in the bike. Even the rear caliper is deliberately mounted on the top of the disc to get it nearer to the roll axis. The best way to think about mass centralisation is a bar bell with 10kg on each end. It’s easier to control when those weights are nearer to the centre. Simple stuff.’

It works, too. Not only is the ASP4 stoically stable over bumps that’d have most sportsbikes breaking into a twitchy head shake, it laps up corners like a race rep half its capacity. The steering is deliciously light thanks to its lack of weighty componentry so it’ll trace any line you plot as well as adjust course mid-turn without complaint. There’s a sensation of front end dive under braking, too. Not as much as with conventional forks, but enough to give the front end a familiar feel.

Quality suspension plays a large part in the bike’s remarkable composure. Twin Maxton NR4 shocks absorb forces from both ends. ‘They’re fully adjustable without having external gas bottles, which I didn’t want,’ says Andy. ‘You’ll notice horizontal lines are something of a theme in the styling. Mounting the shocks on that plane mirrors that look as well as keeping mass central and allowing the rest of the packaging to be as tight as possible.I can’t praise Richard at Maxton highly enough. I’ve not even needed to adjust damping since fitting them.’

After riding the ASP4, I’m keen to share my thoughts. All I’d change is the one thing Andy didn’t design and build: the motor. Not for a different configuration – a tightly angled V-twin like this Aprilia unit keeps the whole thing slim. But for something more powerful, like an RSV Mille lump. It’d slot straight in. The chassis could easily handle an extra 25-30bhp.

hat Andy has created through almost four decades of evolution, dogged determination and sheer bloodymindedness is remarkable. Not only does it perform where internationally recognised marques like Bimota failed, but the way it rides and hangs together are on par – if not better – than many contemporary machines from large manufacturers. Not bad for something designed ‘on the sofa with several bottles of red…’

SPECIFICATIONS
Engine 998cc 8v DOHC 60° V-twin
Power 118bhp @ 8250rpm
Torque 71lb·ft @ 7000rpm
Frame T45 tubular steel semi-cradle
Rake/trail 15°/80mm
Wheelbase 1360mm
Weight 172kg (dry)
Seat height 850mm
Tank size 17 litres
Economy 50mpg (est)
Electronics none

The original ASP
» It all started way back in 1991 with the ASP, a project bike for this very mag, and the reimagining of a crashed FZR1000 EXUP. Andy enthusiastically cut apart the Yamaha’s Deltabox frame, removing the steering head and top portion of both beams, then equipping the front end with his own self-designed hub-centre steering componentry.

Bike’s road tester Phil West sampled the ASP around Mallory Park, concluding: ‘When you remember Bimota has spent the best part of 10 years and millions of Lire developing the Tesi, while Andy spent about five grand and eight months, mostly by himself, it’s not just good, it’s disgustingly, outrageously, embarrassingly good.’

Being the first of its kind, the ASP required a fair amount of setting up and development work to tease out its best – reducing trail, experimenting with ride height, and simply getting to grips with the immense potential of then revolutionary six-pot front brakes as well as the bike’s less-kinetic reaction to scrubbing off speed.

‘Up to now it’s been quite simple to sort the chassis,’ remarked Andy back in 1992 of his finished ASP, before he started racing it. ‘Now I’ve got to bring myself up to the standard of the bike, and that cannot be done by tweaking my knob. Worth a try though.’

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Out & about

How flexible is the Kawasaki Versys 1100 SE Grand Tourer? Simon Weir heads to the Pyrenees to find out

PHOTOGRAPHY PIERS DRURY, TOM DEAKIN, BRUCE SMART, SIMON WEIR, LOUISE WORSFOLD

The view over the edge of the road is incredible. Rows of rumpled rocky hills falling away into the hazy distance, all in shades of sun-kissed tan, brown and yellow, dotted with the occasional pale green patches and one bright-blue lake.

Not that I have too much brain space to spare for admiring it. There’s a king-size hairpin fast approaching and I need to concentrate on that, not the landscape. A little pressure on the outside footpeg, tread on the gear lever – no clutch needed with the seamless quickshifter – and then I’m leaning, head craned over my shoulder to pick an apex.

As the Kawasaki Versys 1100 SE drops in, I’m opening the throttle again, gently at first, picking it up, then driving hard onto the next straight. I click clutchlessly into third, looking through the next sequence of bends – with just enough time for another quick glance over the Armco to that magnificent view.
This is Coll de Jou, outside Solsona in the Spanish Pyrenees, and is as close to a perfect motorcycling moment as it gets: blue skies, just over 30°C, on a road with an immaculate surface, an intoxicating blend of corners and zero traffic. Absolutely none. On a bike that dances daintily through the tight turns, rips through the open ones and howls down the straights like an angry beast.

I know I’m lucky everything has come together to align like this – it feels like one of those rides that will still stand out in 10 years’ time. A real memory, not just a moment to be forgotten.
I wasn’t so lucky at the start of the week, crossing rain-lashed England for the ferry to Santander. I’m here leading a trip for ChickenStrips, the tour company I operate with popular YouTuber Bruce ‘Teapot One’ Smart. Half the group are regulars, old friends, so there’s a great atmosphere from the word go as we head to the Pyrenees.

The camaraderie counts, because frankly things don’t start exactly according to plan, weather-wise. It’s okay leaving the port, but the next day swings between sunshine and showers. After a bright start over Col d’Osquich, the third day – our first full day in the mountains – is closer to a full day in the clouds.
The Versys is good even in these bad conditions. The screen is surprisingly protective, the heated grips are spot-on and the sensitive throttle means there’s no need to bother the traction control system. There is a Rain mode option, but I leave it in Sport (rather than Road) as the bike navigates sure-footedly between slippery tar snakes.

I have changed the tyres, as I killed the OE Bridgestone T32s in only 3400 miles (I’ve had more than 6000 from these on other bikes), but this fully luggaged Grand Tourer edition is 259kg with its 21-litre tank brimmed – before adding 110kg of me plus all my bags. The SE has Showa semi-active suspension, the rear preload effortlessly adjusted at the press of a button.

We creep over Cols d’Aubisque and Soulor, but skip the Tourmalet – which is partially open but fully swathed in cloud – to take the low roads through Lourdes and BagnèresdeBigorre to ride the Col d’Aspin, the gauzy cloud no longer thick enough to conceal the views. Mercifully, the weather finally comes good as we cross Col du Portillon into Spain at the end of the day.

Next morning, setting off to ride the epic hairpins of Port de la Bonaigua, the Versys feels like a different bike. With fully dry roads, I can be harder on the throttle and the big Kawasaki loves it.
There’s a glorious noise from the airbox as the revs rise. Peak power is 136bhp at 9000rpm, just 1500rpm short of the limiter, but it’s the torque that counts – a bulging 82lb·ft peak at 7600rpm. Driving from 5000-8000rpm really fires it out of every corner and keeps it feeling urgent, as I tap dance between second and third and, occasionally, down to first.

‘This is as close to a perfect motorcycling moment as it gets’

When the road changes from the C28 to the C13 at the foot of the pass, it changes character too: no more hairpins, just miles of immaculate open bends. With bigger throttle openings, carrying more revs without rushing through the gears, the Versys is flickable and laser-accurate – more like some lightweight sportsbike than a heavyweight sports-tourer. Though the reality of its size is a rock-solid stability and an oily-smooth ride quality. This is where the bike feels most at home – on fast, flowing, twisty roads.
It copes with traffic, too. Crossing Andorra is always congested but we seem to have hit the peak of both busyness and bad drivers. With its panniers fitted the Versys is wide, so filtering isn’t something I rush to do, but it trickles through the traffic, a gentle throttle and effective rear brake keeping it ultra-smooth and stable.

We eventually escape Andorra over the Envalira Pass – the highest in the Pyrenees – swooping through France and then back into Spain to start an on-again, off-again love affair with the N-260. This famous road runs along the Pyrenees, from the Med to Sabiñánigo. We start with one of my favourite stretches, heading to our overnight stop in Ripoll. The surface isn’t as perfect as it once was, but it’s still good enough that everyone is buzzing when we get off the bikes.

Next day we start with some seriously twisty roads. Crazy twisty. It does take a bit of muscle to hustle the big Kawasaki through the really tight stuff, but it remains unshakeably accurate as I lever it from full lean left to full lean right to full lean left again… the clocks store the max lean angle and it’s 43° each side when the pegs touch the tarmac.

Then things start to open up again, with a mix of flowing roads and serpentine ones, heading over Coll du Jou and back to pick up another stretch of the N260 to Aínsa. This is quite a long day, but I’m not cramped or aching by the end of it. The seat is supportive, the screen keeps things turbulence-free, and I could easily do another two hours on the Versys.

The journey back to the port starts with the old road, the N-260a climbing through Broto before dropping to Sabiñánigo – where there’s a bit of motorway across the plains to Jaca. The Versys shrugs it all off. Effortless. We get off the motorway for the scenic lakeside N-240 then flow through the hills, heading for our final night before the ferry.

This is my third tour on the Versys 1100 SE Grand Tourer and it really is exactly the bike for the job. The luggage means I can carry everything – not just clothes and laptop, but also first aid kit, locks and chains, tools, chain lube (easily applied thanks to the main stand) and there’s still room to spare.

But what makes it really work is the ride. In bad conditions, it feels like the Versys is looking after me; in good conditions, it’s more like it’s rewarding me. And when I get a ride like the one over Coll de Jou… The big Kawasaki makes it special – and I’ll remember that for a very long time. SW

Pyrenean perfection

» The Pyrenees are almost two mountain ranges for the price of one, with the French and Spanish sides having subtly different characters. They’re packed with amazing riding – in both countries, and criss-crossing the border. As the Pyrenees are lower and further south than the Alps, the higher passes usually open a little earlier and close a little later.

While there are plenty of famous roads – the Tour de France has popularised the passes of Tourmalet, Aspin, Soulor and Aubisque, and Spain has the N-260 – these mountains are stuffed with hidden gems. Coll de Jou, Col de la Pierre St Martin, the dead-end roads to the Cirque du Gavarnie or Lac de CapdeLong… There’s so much to explore. Take the time to do it.

» Find more routes and tours at simonweir.co.uk

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From the archive

To help understand the first crossplane R1, Bike invited a supersport racer named Cal Crutchlow to go for a ride...

By Martin Fitz-Gibbons Photography Chippy Wood

Yamaha’s sixth-generation R1 launched to a frenzy of hype and hyperbole, flooding the zone with jargon the world rushed to pretend it understood. From crossplane cranks to inertial torques, what mattered was the mechanical magic behind their epic YZR-M1 MotoGP racer was heading to the road. Soon we were all going to feel like Valentino Rossi.

Or were we? Simon Hargreaves flagged issues at the launch. ‘No worries with the engine,’ he said. ‘It’s charismatic, powerful and potent.’ But… ‘The problem is feedback from the rear tyre – it feels perilously light. I can’t get on with its steering either.’

Neither could I. When Bike gathered all four 2009 superbikes I was gutted to find the R1 was the heaviest and clumsiest. It sounded sublime, sure, but it also had the least rear grip and the snatchiest throttle. My second opinion (‘Don’t see what the fuss is about’) earned a very displeased phone call from Yamaha UK.

Ironically, I then inherited Bike’s long-term R1 in late 2009. With winter looming we wondered whether recently crowned World Supersport champ Cal Crutchlow fancied taking it for a spin. After all, he was about to start racing an R1 in WSB.

The 24-year-old arrives an hour late, with just a T-shirt and vented leathers despite November’s chill. Cal’s aggressive riding style is soon evident: speed limits ignored, rear tyres smoked, huge wheelies hoiked. Clutching a hot coffee, facts are declared: ‘The tyres are rubbish,’ says the chap in the Yamaha leathers. ‘And there’s a delay when you open the throttle.’ PR filter: zero.

Cal got on far better with the R1 in race trim, taking pole at his second round and scoring three wins in his debut year – including a double at Silverstone. Then he was off to MotoGP, where he would become the first Brit to win a premier-class Grand Prix since Barry Sheene. He retired at the end of 2020.

The R1 didn’t last much longer, leaving Europe’s road-bike range at the end of 2024. The crossplane crank had one final year in MotoGP before Yamaha switched to a V4. But now Cal is back racing – and an R1 return could be on the cards, too. Yamaha’s European President Olivier Prévost revealed: ‘Just coming back with [the] current R1 is not enough. We need to bring something new – it should offer a step up in performance, handling, and everything related to racing.’ If a V4 R1 does arrive, we know just the chap to tell us what he thinks…

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Sales of sub-500cc bikes are soaring. Even firms who’ve built their business around big-engined behemoths are suddenly launching small-capacity sidekicks. To explore the rising popularity of shrinking steeds, the latest issue of Bike brings together BMW’s all-new F450GS and all-conquering R1300GS for one of the year’s most revealing rides. Is now the time to start thinking big about small bikes?

If you can’t decide between the two, you could always build your own bike that combines the best of both worlds. Extraordinary engineer Andy Stevenson did just that in creating his incredible ASP4, a wild-looking home-made special that crams 1000cc firepower into a 250-sized chassis. Find out how he did it, and what this astonishing creation feels like to ride, in our world-exclusive test.

Elsewhere this month we’ve pitched Triumph’s much-anticipated Trident 800 against Yamaha’s MT-09 and Ducati’s new Monster V2, stepped inside the madcap world of Harley Bagger Racing, scaled the highest road in the world on a rented Royal Enfield, and learned the secrets of working with MotoGP’s top riders from crew chief Frankie Carchedi. All this and plenty more, only in the September issue of Britain’s best-selling bike magazine – out now.

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