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The best bike I never bought. 3/6/2006

Dom’s post in “Mega Kwak” brought back some memories for me. Somewhere in the very early 90s, when I was recently out of college, and still in my first “real” job, I was in the process of sorting out things, after having changed countries. The moment my funds cleared in the bank, I immediately went bike hunting. The flavour of the time was a liter four inline 4 four-stroke. And Yamaha’s OW01 was rampaging over everything. So I went and got myself an FZR1000.

I wasn’t thrilled with this bike. It was fast. It was reasonably comfortable. But it lacked a certain something. Everytime I rode the machine, it was like this “thing” was missing from the equation. But ride it I did, all the same. It was getting to the point where I was reasonably hot on it. And thoughts of rear sets, and Ohlins shocks, and Harris frames, were drifting in my thoughts daily.

One bright Sunday morning, a bunch of us gathered for the regular Sunday morning canyon strafing session. It was to be a quick ride, because all us, for one strange reason or another, had committments at lunchtime. So we geared up, and headed out. 22 bikes all told, sportbikes and superbikes only. No cruisers, no tourers, just a bunch of guys with a load of steam accumulated from the corporate work week to blow off.

I was about halfway up the mountain, blasting along at a fast pace. Or at least what I thought was a fast pace. Until I heard this sound that I hadn’t heard in a couple of years. At least, not since Willow Springs. I headed into this left hand uphill corner, in 4th gear, leaning the bike way over, thinking I was pushing the limit, when I lifted my head slightly, and out of the corner of my eye, caught sight of the deep midnight blue flash, with gold and red accents, come blasting around me on the outside of the corner, and shooting away so fast that I felt like I was standing still.

Being the young hot head I was at the time, I immediately gave chase. I saw the 4 exhausts poking out at me from behind, and noted the smell of R40 in the air. The bike that had just zipped past me, and was steadily rocketing away, was a Suzuki RG500 in Walter Wolf colours.

Picture by Craig Egan from www.suzukicycles.org

When I finally caught up with the guy at our stop at the top of the mountain, I immediately walked over to see who this guy was, and what this machine was that had blown me into the weeds. It turned out this guy had raced in the UK previously, and had brought the bike back from the UK with him. I looked at the RG500 all over, and fell in love with it. It was really 80s in design, with the square 4 engine configuration, and that inimitable 2 stroke sound.

Picture from www.suzukicycles.org.

We started chatting, and the call came for everyone to suit up, and head for the run down. When he turned to me and said, “Would you like to give her a spin?” I didn’t need to think twice. I tossed him the keys to the FZR, and promptly hopped onto the RG. I kicked her into life, and he gave me a few pointers about the power band, and throttle openings. I nodded, and flipped my visor down. I clicked her into gear, and went off down the mountain. We were doing a really fast run down, before time was ticking away towards noon.

And I had the time of my life. A light responsive bike, with power to spare, provided you kept her in the power band. This machine was the closest thing a road rider could get to a full monty GP bike of the time. Riders today are spoilt for choice. The line between a superbike for the road, and one for the track, is getting blurry. You can walk into almost any bike dealer today, and with enough money, buy a bike that you don’t have enough brains or skill to deal with. In those days, it was different. The gap between what went for sale on the road, and what you saw and heard on the track, was wide. The nearest you could get to it was a Ducati 888. Which, for me, at the time, was for rich bastards only.

And this thing was pressing all my buttons in the right places, at the right times. I rode her fast and hard, and I knew that the owner was right behind me, because I could hear him gunning the throttle on the FZR and rolling it off, as he kept pace with me through the corners. And this sinking feeling I had inside me because I knew he was riding my bike better than I could, and all I was doing was holding him up.

As we reached the gas station near the city, we stopped for the last stop of the day, and I returned the RG to her rightful owner. He looked at me, and said, “I don’t have to ask if you enjoyed it, because it’s written all over your face.” I gave him an idiotic grin and thanked him for the ride. And walked back to the FZR, which now looked a little sad and forlorn to me. And it was never the same. I sold the FZR shortly after that, landing myself with a Suzuki GSXR-1100.

But nothing came close to that RG500, with it’s power and handling. I was offered the bike when she came up for sale, but unfortunately my finances didn’t permit at the time. I’ve been asking around quietly as to what happened to her, but no one seems to know where she is.

One day, I’ll find her, probably sitting in a corner of someone’s garage, or in the back of abike shop. And this time, if she is for sale, I won’t pass up the chance to add her to the stable.