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 My
First Ride Ever... The FZ That Got Away |
by John
Inama
Associate Editor
Beginner Bikes Magazine
Even
though it happened a few years ago, I thought I'd share my first
riding experience.
I was working at a small factory in my hometown, which, curiously
enough, was full of young men who rode motorcycles. At times, it
would look more like a used bike shop than a factory. The manager
had three bikes, all Hondas - an old VF1000R which he stored in
the back, a VTR1000 Super Hawk (red and absolutely gorgeous) and
later an RC51. One supervisor had first a Ninja 600R, followed by
an R6, another had a CBR1000 Hurricane, and other employees had,
at one point or another, a Virago 250, a Ninja ZX-6, a Katana 600,
an FZ600, a Kawasaki 440LTD, and a big fat Harley.
In this environment, it was natural that my long-lost love for motorcycles
was reborn (I traced it back to CHiPs on Saturday nights when I
was about 6 or 7, but that's another story). I started scouring
the classifieds for bikes, working overtime for the extra money,
and buying motorcycle magazines like they were going out of style.
Then, opportunity arrived.
 It
arrived in the form of the aforementioned FZ600. The owner recently
upgraded to a ZX-9 Ninja, and was selling the old Yammie for $500.
It was a sorry little bike. It had been dropped more times than
the big ball at Times Square. The upper faring was tilted off-center.
The bike was repainted - if a couple guys with spray cans counts
as repainted - burgundy, although gas overflow washed away some
of the paint on the tank, leaving a smear mark on the left side.
But, it ran. And ran well, a point seconded by another employee,
the owner of the Hurricane. It only needed a voltage regulator to
be 100%. So, I said I was interested, and the owner left bike, keys
and helmet at the plant for me to check it out.
Now, apart from my Huffy, I'd never ridden a bike before. So, was
I afraid of a 600 sportbike? Hell no. I pulled on the helmet, turned
the key, pressed the starter button, clicked it in gear (I had already
learned how to "theoretically" ride a bike), gave it some
gas, let out the clutch... and stalled it.
I tried again. This time I gave it too much gas, and the bike nearly
flew out from under me. I managed to get in under control with a
"flailing foot" technique.
I tried again, and this time, I was riding. Wow. My palms were sweaty,
my heart was pounding harder than the machines churning next to
me, and my feet were still flailing. I finally tucked them in, gave
it a little more gas, and rode out the door into the back parking
lot.
I rode around and around, out the back, down the road a bit, to
the front parking lot, back around, around and around, I was loving
it. I managed to get to third gear after a while, at an indicated
40 mph. I don't care, it felt like light speed to me. After my last
turn around, I decided to put it back. I was going to buy it.
Then something strange happened. I was at a complete stop, waiting
to pull out onto the road for my last loop into the back parking
lot, when the bike started to lean to the left. By the time I had
realized it, it was too late. I tried with all my strength, but
my leg couldn't hold the weight. Down it went. I was able to jump
free, but there it was, the poor little FZ, on it's side again.
I panicked. I grabbed the handgrip and the seat, and shoved. The
bike was a lot lighter than I had thought. Did you ever go to the
fridge to grab the milk, and thinking it's full, lift hard, only
to discover there's only a drop left? Well, that's what happened.
Right over on the right side.
I got my bearings, lifted it up, and pushed it to the back parking
lot. It had lost some gas on the initial drop, and something was
leaking out of the engine. Total damage: one broken turn signal,
one broken clutch lever, and one oil plug, along with a few quarts
of oil.
Then came the hard part. The first was calling the owner, telling
him I'm not buying his bike, and oh, by the way, I dropped it. The
second was telling my wife I had to pay 50 bucks to fix someone
else's bike.
A few years have passed since then, but I can remember that ride
as if it happened last week. I've never come close to riding since.
I still think of that bike. I should have bought it. I feel a connection
with it, like we shared a major moment in my life. I'm also a sucker
for hard-luck cases.
The moral of the story: when you find your bike, buy it. No matter
what. And keep both feet firmly planted when you stop. |
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