Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems poised to waste several hours, if not days, clicking together 643 tiny, brightly colored bits of plastic. The end result? A "Kawasaki Ninja H2R Motorcycle," a silent, stationary effigy of a much more interesting, and thankfully absent, machine. The true value, of course, lies not in the finished, static sculpture, but in the glorious chaos of the construction phase. The individual LEGO pieces themselves, small and light, are perfect for batting across the hardwood floors and hiding under the heaviest furniture. Once assembled, however, this so-called toy becomes a mere dust-collector, a monument to wasted potential. Its only saving grace is the single, precarious kickstand, which presents a tantalizing physics problem I may be inclined to solve with a well-placed nudge from the mantelpiece.
Key Features
- Motorcycle toy gift for kids aged 10 and up – The LEGO Technic Kawasaki Ninja H2R Motorcycle is packed with authentic features and gives boys and girls a rewarding building project
- 1:8 motorcycle scale model kit – Designed with amazing attention to detail, this scale model Kawasaki motorcycle toy includes a kickstand so kids can display their collectible model
- Lots of realistic details – Features include steering, suspension, a 2-speed gearbox, a 4-piston articulated engine and turbocharger
- Decorated elements – The special windshield element features custom decoration, and the Kawasaki logo appears on both sides of the fuel tank
- A motorcycle gift for kids – This set makes a fun gift idea for kids, boys and girls who love vehicles and cool toys
- A helping hand – Discover intuitive instructions in the LEGO Builder app, where builders can zoom in and rotate models in 3D, track their progress and save sets as they develop new skills
- Measurements – A 643-piece set with a model measuring over 6.5 in. (17 cm) high, 12 in. (31 cm) long and 3.5 in. (9 cm) wide
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The construction was an ordeal, as expected. My human hunched over the dining table for what seemed like an eternity, leaving my food bowl perilously close to empty on one occasion. But the tiny, colorful plastic morsels that occasionally escaped the tabletop provided brief, glorious interludes of sport. Then, one evening, it was done. The human placed the finished creation on the low coffee table, beaming with a sense of accomplishment I usually reserve for successfully waking him at 4 a.m. It was a glossy black and green insect, all sharp angles and strange protrusions, perched precariously on a single leg. It smelled of nothing but plastic and human pride. I approached it with the low, silent glide I use for investigating rogue dust bunnies. This was no mere toy mouse. It had a presence, a stillness that was almost challenging. I extended a single, perfect claw and tapped one of the rubber tires. It gave a dull, unsatisfying thud. I nudged the front wheel, watching it pivot left and right. The human called this "steering." I called it "wobbly." I pressed a paw gently on the seat, testing the "suspension." The slight springy resistance was moderately interesting for a moment, but it lacked the chaotic joy of a proper feather wand. This machine was a fraud; it possessed all the form of a predator but none of the spirit. My investigation led me to its core, where I could see a jumble of gray cogs and pistons through the frame—the "4-piston articulated engine," I'd heard the human mutter. It was the machine's heart, and it was still. It didn't beat, it didn't hum, it didn't threaten to whisk my human away to some dreadful, non-cat-centric location. It was a hollow promise. My initial cynicism bloomed into a kind of intellectual pity. The entire construct, from the decorated windshield to the Kawasaki logos on its fuel tank, was an elaborate sculpture of something it could never be. My final verdict came as I leaped gracefully onto the back of the sofa, looking down upon it. It was not a toy. It was not a rival. It was an artifact. It failed utterly as an object of play, offering no thrill of the chase, no satisfyingly destructive conclusion. Yet, it succeeded as an object of contemplation. It was a testament to the human's bizarre and patient hobbies. I would not deign to pounce on it. Instead, I shall allow it to occupy that space, a silent, gleaming testament to futility. It has earned my judgment, if not my attention. And should one of those leftover plastic bits appear, well, that's another matter entirely.
