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| Object of Lust You cannot deny its power over mortal men! |
I want a motorcycle.
I want a Yamaha FJR. I want
a 2013 Yamaha FJR. I want a 2013
Yamaha FJR even though they only come in a blasé gold/silver color called Stone
Grey.
Is this a passion or an obsession? Is there a difference?
Does it matter?
A favorite theory says we are the same person throughout
life, with only minor changes to accommodate the changing landscape of our
immediate environment. Our
personalities are formed and finished by late-teens, and we retain those
personalities forever. Behaviors change
to accommodate a spouse or children or jobs or other major life changes, but
the basic personality remains inside.
This theory provides an explanation for a man’s mid-life crisis or a
usually calm neighbor going on a walk through the nearby college campus
shooting at everyone he sees.
Why shouldn’t I lust after a motorcycle – and not just a
motorcycle, but a Yamaha FJR? Thirty years
ago, I was struck with the same fever to buy a motorcycle. It sprang from several motivations, of
which these were the most obvious:
1. Being
stationed at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, the year-round climate is great for riding
motorcycles,
2. At
my prior duty station, I was one of the few car owners, and therefore often
tapped for taxicab service, which motorcycle ownership would seriously quash,
3. I
was a twenty-something male and hopelessly attracted to speed, horsepower, jolts
of adrenaline, hot girls, and all the other natural accompaniments to
motorcycles, and
4. The
Navy would not ship my car from Charleston to Honolulu.
What might not be obvious are the traits I currently share
with the young man of so many years ago:
1. Warm
climates are not ideal for riding when one decides to wear appropriate
protective clothing and armor, so the New England climate is better for
riding motorcycles,
2. My
days of carrying passengers is over, so why not adopt a vehicle more suited to
single-passenger transport,
3. I
am a fifty-something male and hopelessly attracted to speed, horsepower, jolts
of adrenaline, hot women, and all the other natural accompaniments to
motorcycles,
4. I
am lucky to have enough income that allows me to indulge in a motorcycle
purchase, and
5. (jumping on the environmental bandwagon... ) Motorcycles get well over 40 miles per
gallon and produce virtually no greenhouse gases.
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| Fun by the bucketload |
Substitute yourself and a hottie of your choice into the photo on the left, which shows a happy couple clearly headed for fun and adventure, and tell me you don’t also want one – and not just any motorcycle, but a Yamaha FJR?
Years ago, the twenty-something me walked into a Yamaha dealer on Kamehameha Highway just outside the front gate to the Pearl Harbor submarine base, and purchased an RD 400. It was a glorious machine: a silver creature with Yamaha-blue accents, shaped like a café racer with a flat seat and low, swept-back handlebars. It had a two-stroke, 400 cc engine that was taken directly from Yamaha’s racing program (no kidding) and placed into a frame and suspension package that was better suited for riding around town.
Years ago, the twenty-something me walked into a Yamaha dealer on Kamehameha Highway just outside the front gate to the Pearl Harbor submarine base, and purchased an RD 400. It was a glorious machine: a silver creature with Yamaha-blue accents, shaped like a café racer with a flat seat and low, swept-back handlebars. It had a two-stroke, 400 cc engine that was taken directly from Yamaha’s racing program (no kidding) and placed into a frame and suspension package that was better suited for riding around town.
[Ed: Two-stroke engines produce power with 2 strokes of the piston, and differ greatly from the typical four-stroke engines common in automobiles and lawn mowers. Two-stroke engines produce very rapid throttle response, but low torque. In other words, they are terrible engines for heavy vehicles that require torque to get started from a full stop, but they are gas-powered rocket engines on lightweight vehicles like Yamaha RD 400 motorcycles. The only modern uses for two-stroke engines are chainsaws and some leaf blowers; they’re easily identified by the sharp whine of the engine and the oil fumes contained in the exhaust.]
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| Yamaha RD 400: Forgive the labels; this is the only photo I could find |
It took a few dozen miles before I learned how to handle my
new ride; you know, “treat her like a woman,” and all that stuff? BZZZZZZT – WRONG! You had to treat this bike like she was
Satan’s pet serpent. Constantly
aware of throttle position, lean angle, pavement condition, surrounding traffic
and the psycho drivers therein, weather, and pesky traffic lights that always turned yellow just when it seemed you couldn’t stop in time. Focus, focus, focus, or you’d find
yourself in trouble instantly.
But Satan’s serpent and I managed to find a balance that
suited us both. I was definitely
in charge when we were on base – the Navy doesn’t brook recklessness,
especially on motorbikes – and I relinquished a bit of control when we hit city
streets. But it was on the
embryonic Hawaii interstate system, or on flat, straight roads through miles of
pineapple fields, that she seduced me into releasing all control. I have never been able to resist a
seductress.
We would fly down the highway. Since the bike weighed
nothing and I weighed nothing back then, it was almost literally flying. The light would turn green, my right
wrist would flick back, that marvelous fruit of Japanese engineering (or the
heart of Satan’s serpent, depending on your perspective) would scream with the
fresh supply of gasoline, the front tire would lift off the ground, and the
tachometer would spike to the right.
Before I could catch my breath or shift to third gear, we’d be traveling
at twice the speed limit. If the
seductress was in charge, the front tire would rise with every gear shift –
every gear shift – up to and including sixth.
I learned to ride with my feet located far to the rear,
resting on the passenger footpegs.
This allowed me to get much closer to prone, almost lying down on the
long seat, with my chest pressed against the cold steel gas tank. In this position, the slightest
movement of my helmet would cause the bike to lean and turn. After looking at motorcycle racing
photos, I learned to extend my knee out and away from the bike like a sail,
which would augment the helmet-tilt when making turns in
the depths of Honolulu’s urban jungle or on the curvy switchbacks of Tantalus Drive.
I am astonished, sometimes, that I am still alive.
All that changed when I met a flesh-and-blood
seductress. She was the perfect
biker boy accessory: long silky hair, firm arms around my chest as we rode, and
tanned thighs that flashed in the sun like gold. She was even comfortable with the title “Biker Mama,” but
absolutely unhappy with the RD’s tendency (and mine) to lift the front tire.
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| Yamaha XS 750 Special: Unquestionably Sophisticated |
Satan’s serpent was replaced with a used, dark blue Yamaha XS 750 Special. This bike had a bigger engine: a four-stroke, with three in-line cylinders. The larger size and four-stroke power made it much more sedate, predictable, and controllable. I added a sissy bar so the Biker Mama would feel more secure – something I’ll never do again since the firm arms around my chest immediately disappeared.
Its bigger engine and upright seating positions started a
new, calmer era in my bike riding history. But that extra power gave the 750 its own sly seduction.
Within a few months, I detected rust holes in the mufflers and replaced the exhaust system. On went a black, powder-finish Kerker performance header and pipe. The Kerker made the exhaust note almost silent, but made throttle response so much more tempting. My 750 never was Satan’s serpent, or any of Satan’s pets for that matter, but she could boogie down the highway when I asked her to, blasting through the Honolulu nights like a comet. We rode regularly, all over Oahu, and she never failed me.
Within a few months, I detected rust holes in the mufflers and replaced the exhaust system. On went a black, powder-finish Kerker performance header and pipe. The Kerker made the exhaust note almost silent, but made throttle response so much more tempting. My 750 never was Satan’s serpent, or any of Satan’s pets for that matter, but she could boogie down the highway when I asked her to, blasting through the Honolulu nights like a comet. We rode regularly, all over Oahu, and she never failed me.
During four years in Hawaii, motorcycles were my only
transportation. When I learned I
would be a father, I sold the 750 (OK, a month
after I learned), bought a diesel Rabbit, and moved back to the mainland.
Last year I bought my next motorcycle -- after a 28 year hiatus. Another Yamaha, because Yamaha knows how to build bikes. I wanted a sport bike, the term now used
instead of crotch rocket; a bike I thought would resurrect the memory of
Satan’s serpent. Let’s just say the
spirit was willing but the body was not.
After thirty seconds of sitting on the sport bike, I realized my
shoulders, wrists, and back were far to old to adapt the prone riding position of 30
years ago.
I quickly dismounted – “Wow, it’s been a really long time
since I rode” – and looked through the inventory for something more like the
750. Found a Yamaha VStar 950 with
saddlebags, a windscreen, and an upright sitting position. Stereotypical black, but the only other
choice was red, and I’ll not own a red bike.
Rode it for about 10 months before circumstances required it be sold. She had 7,000 miles on her when I turned her in, a product of gradually regaining confidence and re-learning rider skills. I rode almost exclusively alone, and ranged all across Georgia with one brief excursion into Tennessee for a RTE (Ride To Eat) at a microbrewery in downtown Chattanooga.
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| Mr. Cool and bike at the Georgia Nuclear Aircraft Laboratory |
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| The Poppy Lady -- you know, "In Flanders Field ..." -- is from Georgia |
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| Mr. Cool at the Georgia Guidestones |
This bike has the engine capacity, luggage capacity, wind protection, and ergonomics to travel far. It is the mount-of-choice of Iron Butt riders, but retains enough of the motorcycle soul to run through curves just so it can demonstrate it has proper balance and response. It could easily take me to Atlanta, Charlotte, Florence, Fairplay, Labrador City or Gerlach, Nevada. It could just as easily take me to work.
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| Isn't this your dream? |
Me? I want a 2013, Stone Grey, Yamaha FJR. I am certain it will get me there, no matter where it takes me.
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