I turned it on. It needed a little coaxing, but soon gave into my twist. The rev-needle shot up and the sound was quite, for want of a better word, incredible. Like a more powerful RD 350, but with a smoother, freer flowing sound through the shortened sports exhaust, something I had never experienced before.
The year was 2003, but the bike was into its twenties already. Which meant it came with a big overhauling bill. The twin brake discs were on their last turns. Also, it would overheat as regularly as my ex-girlfriend and the leaking gasket for its quartet of cylinders accounted for oil slicks in the garage.
But the 40-odd bhp output needed respect. That’s more than our nation-moving Maruti 800 possesses, to put it in perspective. The previous owner had chucked on some cheap, ultra-anorexic tyres before selling the bike to me, so when at a fair clip, they would nervously twitch like Bill explaining Monica to Hillary. The handling wasn’t anything to write home about either. I couldn’t bank on turns as much as I liked to, because of the severely limited grip.
But could she accelerate in a straight line. Ask my friend Myron. The guy learnt very quickly to hold on at the green lights. Out-accelerating most cars to the 100 km/h mark was done quite easily. And it was quite the looker as well, with a blue and gold metallic paint job, much like the Subaru WRC colour coding. There was the added thrill of being part of the small biker crowd in Brisbane, where bikers nod at each other in mutual respect.
My ’83 Kawasaki GT550. Not many wanted a courier bike, but I loved it. Man, did we share some good times. Drags (up to the speed limit, obviously…), the lass pulling factor, touching 150 clicks, seeing that kid’s Grand Canyon-wide eyes when I pulled up behind his car and waved to him, and such. Unfortunately, since there were no buyers before I left, I was forced to donate its parts to the local junkyard. ‘I used to love her, but I had to kill her.’
The writer is an automobile enthusiast based in Kodaikanal.