Image source: www.flickr.com
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
My
’83 Kawasaki Australia
Image source: www.classicracer.com
