Kava And Sakei Got Me High

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I turned her on. She needed a little coaxing, but soon gave into my twist. The rev-needle shot up and she sounded incredible. Like a much more powerful RD 350, with a smoother, freer flowing sound through the shortened sports exhaust. Not like sweat-free John Abraham’s superbikes, but an awesome something I had never experienced before.

The year was 2003, and she was into her twenties already. Which meant she came with a big overhauling bill. The twin brake discs were on their last turns. And she would overheat as regularly as my ex-girlfriend and had a leaking quartet of cylinders which accounted for oil reserves in the garage that even Shell would’ve been proud of.

But she sported a 40-odd bhp output which needed respect, especially when she hadn’t heated up too much. That’s more than our Maruti 800 possesses, to put it in perspective. But the 800 has 4 wheels while she hardly had two. Meaning the previous owner had chucked on some cheap, ultra-anorexic tyres before ownership was transferred. When at a fair clip, they would nervously twitch like Bill explaining Monica to Hillary. And the handling wasn’t anything to write home to either. I couldn’t bank on the turns as much as I would have liked to, because of the severely limited grip, armoured tank-like weight, and lapsed insurance.

But could she accelerate in a straight line. Ask my friend Myron. The poor guy learnt very quickly to hold on at the green lights.  And she could out-accelerate most cars with ease to the 100 km/h mark. She was also a looker, with a blue and gold metallic paint job, much like the Subaru WRX colour coding. And there was the added thrill of being part of the small biker crowd in Brisbane, where bikers nod at each other sharing mutual respect possibly for having the guts to ride where average speeds are so high. Imagine that happening in India. We’d be head banging, in all senses of the phrase, all over the country!

My ’83 Kawasaki GT550. Not many wanted a courier motorcycle, but I had one and loved it. Man, did we share some good times. Lass impresses, hitting 150 clicks racing a Daewoo Nubira, seeing that kid’s Grand Canyon-wide eyes when I pulled up behind his car, and such. Too bad this was such a short-lived experience, because I left Australia two months after I bought the bike. And since there were no buyers before I left, I was sadly forced to donate her parts to the local junkyard. I used to love her, but I had to kill her.

Image source: www.classicracer.com