A friend on Facebook posted this yesterday and asked the question, “Do you feel like this about your bike?” I immediately answered yes because, even though it is 21 years old, I still think my bike is a very beautiful bike. And, at various times, I suppose that I have felt the same about all my bikes else why would I have bought them to start with?
But it isn’t that simple, because the depth of affection that you feel for you bike cannot be based on looks alone, though it is an important contributory factor. A bike can look great but be a dog to ride or it can be brilliant dynamically and look ordinary. Beauty IS in the eye of the beholder, as the famous saying goes.
I have to say that there has only been a handful of bikes that I have owned that I truly disliked. There is certainly only one that I truly hated and it didn’t last long in my ownership. My first bike was the little cherry-red 350/4 Honda with the noisy gearbox. After pulling it all apart and failing to solve the problem, I stupidly sold the bike even thought there was probably nothing wrong with it. At the same time I also had an unregistered TY250 Yamaha trials bike. There were plenty of open spaces around my place so, every afternoon after school, I’d wheel it down the street and practise my trials riding skills in the earthworks for the F6 Freeway.
When I sold the 350/4 I figured that a road/trail bike would be a great idea. Commute to school and round about and go further afield on a registered bike and explore some more dirt riding venues, Close to my place was a Yamaha dealership and the staff there were heavily into trials competition so I guess they encouraged my dirt riding fantasies. Unfortunately, my choice of a road/trial bike was diabolically bad. A Honda MT125. It had none of the advantages of a proper dirt bike and all of the disadvantages of using a dirt bike on the road. It was supposedly based on the CR125 Elsinore MX bike, the definitive MX bike in its class. It mimicked its style, its colour scheme and traded off the Elsinore’s reputation. But it flattered to deceive.
It had no power, AT ALL, an anemic 6 volt electrical system, microscopic brakes, a headlight that was so weak that it repelled moths, its trials universal tyres offered zero grip and, apart from the fact that it was brand new, it had nothing to recommend it at all. I think I sold it within a couple of months, reasoning (correctly) that, since 90% of my riding was done on the road, I should be riding a road bike. A bike I truly hated. To this day, the mere mention of one causes me to shudder.
Then there were a couple of bikes that, while I didn’t HATE them, I certainly didn’t like them. I should add that my poor choices were entirely my fault and I blame myself completely for them.
There was this Honda 750/4 F1, you see. All the guys in the club had big bikes and I figured I needed one too. It was immaculate, had an after-market electronic ignition fitted (set and forget, no stuffing around with points on the side of the road) and had more than enough power for my inexperienced status. I loved the look of it and contemplated from the very beginning replacing the awkward stock muffler with a Walker 4-into-1 pipe and so fixing the bike’s only styling fault. Unfortunately, before my plans could be put into effect I discovered that bike’s handling was appalling. Only a couple of rides convinced me that the things was determined to kill me and it was quickly onsold. Of course, had I been more experienced and had more mechanical “nous” I would have realised that all it needed was a new set of steering head bearings and it would have been perfect. A bike that I could have and should have loved but I ended up disliking it intensely.
The only other bike that even comes close to the “dislike” end of the spectrum was my Suzuki GS850G. When we returned from Queensland to Canberra in 1987 a change in my riding habits suggested that I should probably buy a touring bike. I’d done a lot of middleweight touring in the conducive Queensland weather so it seemed logical to buy a touring bike. A lovely red GS was available at a dealership in Belconnen and money was exchanged for goods. I LOVED the smooth, creamy power delivery, the torque at zero revs engine and the soft, cushy and comfortable seat. I also loved not having to lube and adjust a chain. I added a handlebar fairing and a top box and headed off. What a fine touring bike it was. BUT, it had a ferocious appetite for headlamp bulbs and was constantly running the battery flat (again, probably easily fixable). The factor that turned love into ambivalence was the fact that it was so BORING. I could sorta live with the fact that it was big and bulky and hard to maneuver, but I couldn’t live with the fact that, while it was competent, it just had no character. Once moving back to Canberra, my work schedule meant that far less opportunities to tour were available than had been the case in Qld, so the negative factors outweighed the positive and it was bye bye Suzi. I never hated it, or even disliked it, I just never fell in love with it.
It goes without saying that I loved all my CBX550’s (well, maybe not the NOISY one) and you would think that I would conclude my missive today by saying that I have loved all my VFR’s (there has been 7 of them altogether). Sadly I can’t because there were two of them that I didn’t. One I hated and one I tried to love but it and I never really “clicked”
“The Yellow Submarine” was my first (and only) VFR800. The price was right and I was ready to upgrade to a “better” bike than my 750. It wasn’t. It gained its nickname by bringing on the rain every time I brought it out to ride it and the first three all-day rides I did with the club cemented its name. It should have been wonderful, but it was diabolical. The thing handled evilly. All of my riding mates suggested solutions. Many tinkered with it, messing with preload, damping, static ride height and all the intricacies involved in suspension settings. We even did a back-to-back ride on the old road one day, Max riding TYS while I trundled carefully along on his new GSX-R750. At the bridge, Max got off, shook his head and admitted that he had no idea but that there was something fundamentally wrong and it was a scary thing to ride (and he was telling ME???)
TYS went out of my possession, unloved and unmourned. It was only after it had gone that its new owner (a fellow OzVFR member) discovered that the front forks were bent. Needless to say I felt pretty peeved that I had sold him a bad bike but his diagnosis solved the puzzle that I had been unable to solve.
Then there was “Blue Bayou” (I went through a phase there of naming my bikes.) A dark blue 750, it looked great and had the “cred” of the 4th Gen that I wanted but I was never comfortable on it. It did everything that it was supposed to do but somehow, it just never seemed “right.” I’ve never been able to explain it but, when the bike was written off after a (very) low speed tumble, I didn’t miss it, instead being secretly grateful that I’d been given the opportunity to replace it.
Finally, as far as bikes that I truly LOVED, there is one standout. BBII, my glorious black 4th Gen was the perfect bike, in my estimation. Yes, gloss black bikes are hard to keep clean, but I adored it. It went to God in my accident 5 years ago and I somehow feel ashamed that I didn’t mourn it the way it deserved to be mourned. In the immediate aftermath of the accident, concentration on the pain and the complete overhaul of my life sort of took priority and motorcycling became, for a period, completely unimportant. It was as if someone had turned off a switch in my brain and the connection was totally lost. Only later did I think of her again and realise how much I would miss her. (I’m thinking of getting my red one resprayed in gloss black!)
I’ve loved NEARLY all my bikes, which, I suppose is why the unloved ones stand out as much as they do.
