Another Suzie by Zunkus

The noise from the alarm beside my bed awakes me. Hurriedly my hand sweeps upon its buttons to find the off switch before my wife complains. Sunday is her day off. She celebrates the day by sleeping till almost noon. If it werenıt for mass, which we all attend together as a family sheıd go on for longer.

I cannot sleep that long though. Too much sleep makes me feel lazy and incompetent. I have my own ritual. It's been hard for me to accept her Sunday behavior. The movies always showed us a different story. Images of couples happily waking up together at the first rays of warm light coming through the slightly opened curtains, the wife making breakfast that they shared in bed. Sometimes they even have sex. What a disappointment. When I confronted her on the subject she wouldnıt even consider talking about the matter. "Thatıs how I always was and always will be. You knew about this before we married". I thought she would change. How shall I spend Sunday mornings? Making tea and reading worked for a while. Then I tried painting, but as the rest of the week is spent doing just that as part of my work as a graphic designer, I got fed up.

I had always wanted a bike. When still living with my parents the attempt to buy one on the excuse for transport, did not persuade my mum. She said, "Youıd be buying death" and made me buy a cheap rusty old car instead. I envied the guy next door who owned an RD. I thought it was all I ever wanted in a bike. Just loved that tank. Then I got married, had the kids, always running from one job to another to pay the bills. After thirteen years of this marathon, the big decision to spend some money on myself was made. I was going to buy myself a bike, but which one? Magazines were scanned for reviews on the various types and makes. Did I want a sportbike or a custom? Both had their merits. The depth of my pockets was another criteria of course. Itıs useless to dream of a Hayabusa when you canıt afford it. Finally, the decision fell on a new Suzuki GS500.

Sandro the Suzuki salesman was a very likeable fellow; he knew all he needed to know about bikes and made me feel like I was at home. When we got to the business of my order for a GS he just frowned. "Why donıt you get an SV, they are the latest thing from Suzuki", he suggested. "Whatıs an SV," I asked, as the name wasnıt mentioned on any of the motorcycle mags. When he showed me a picture of the bike I was hooked. A V-twin with a gorgeous expensive looking frame, metallic blue bulging tank, twin front disks, 70bhp and all for such a good price. "OK, Iıll have one".

She pulls the covers over her head as my feet search for the slippers. A shower, cup of tea, jump into my leathers and Iım off to the garage. The mobile rings. Good job I switched it on outside the house. "Hi Turu". "Where are we meeting? Shall we meet at my brotherıs?". "OK, see you there. Itıs been a long time since the three of us rode together eh?". "Yep". Attempting not to disturb my neighbors the garage door was opened as silently as I could manage. A single round headlight stared at me, as if in anticipation, from under its covers. I shift away the old covers that hide the shining bike, a gleaming blue SV650. Grabbing my helmet I wheel the bike outside and close the door. I fire up the willing engine responding with a roar! That race can Fitted last week transformed the quite twin from a pussycat to a wild thing. If only the other Suzie was this willing in the mornings.

Long shadows flash by now to the sound of my bikeıs un-muffled bark as I make my way to my brotherıs house. Itıs been a year now since his accident. An old git for some reason decided to make a u-turn in a bypass, crossing a double line and coming right into his path. Simon was traveling in the opposite direction on his bike. As the old timer was shielded from my brotherıs view by another car, Simon had no time to react and smashed right into him. He hit the car in its rear end, went flying over his bike and smashed through the rear glass ending face down in the passenger seat. His SVS was written off, but he escaped with a few cuts and bruises, mainly in his face, caused by removing his full-face helmet after the accident, while he still had his glasses on. His friend, riding pillion was not so lucky though, he got four broken ribs from hitting the door pillar flat on with his chest. The old timer angered me. After admitting to the police all his folly, his insurance advised him to state otherwise to my brotherıs insurance, and said that Simon was traveling at a high speed thus making the accident unavoidable. This was outrageous! How can the law permit this? One could become an anarchist going through such an ordeal. Now both insurances need to wait for the police assessment to reach the traffic magistrate before they can proceed. During which time his SV has to remain in its dire state, as we are not sure what its faith might be. Will it be written off or will we have to pay part of its repair if the trial should go bad? A year has passed and still we wait. But Simon got tired of being bikeless. Last week he went and bought himself a secondhand grey import, a good conditioned XJR400 Yamaha.

Reaching the house I blipped the throttle three times to let Simon know of my arrival. Bleary eyed he opened the door in his underwear and said, "Let me make us some tea". He spends Saturday nights with his friends at clubs drinking beer and listening to rock. Told me he came in at 2.00am. He went out with the blond again but still hadnıt the courage to kiss her. Heıs fond of this one and wants to take it slow. Hope she doesnıt think heıs a quire though. He goes to get dressed while I take out his XJR from the garage. The bike sure needs a good cleaning. Simon was never a Harley man, he only enjoys riding bikes but not cleaning them. I couldnıt leave the bike in such a state so I hosed down much of the grime and gave it a quick buff. I turned my head to the sound of a V4. I saw a yellow blur, which was unmistakingly Turu. "Need to stop for fuel" he says as he removed his helmet. "So do I" replies Simon as he handles me my tea.

Turu also had his share of bad luck. But on contrary to Simon he had no-one to blame but our pot-holed roads and himself. He had left his thread less front tire for too long without replacing. Nailing his Honda Magna off a green light whilst going to work in company of a friend on a Virago, he found a pothole just before a curve up the hill. He lost the front. It happened too fast. He could do nothing. All he saw was the 200+ Kilo bike doing all sorts of aerobatics alongside him as he skidded on his shredding backpack. He was lucky. The iron cages were still coming up the hill being slow out of the lights. Our friend with the Virago had the sense of parking his bike in front of the mess to shield Turuıs body. Should he had fallen amongst those moving cages his faith would have been much worse. As it was he escaped with a few bruises, and well, a bike with a lot of work needed. I helped in building back the Magna and it was a satisfying experience. New forks, tank, instruments, front fender and handlebar were bought. The seat had to re-upholstered. We decided to polish the new front forks. It took forty hours between us to get those forks looking so good. We first filed down the casting ridges then sanded them down meticulously a grade at a time ending up using 2000 sandpaper and then polishing them with Autosol. The result was fantastic. We also changed all the iron bolts we could find to stainless steel ones and polished their heads as well. The result was now before me gleaming in the morning sun, resplendent in its new shod Metzeler tires. No, he didnıt forget those tyres!

"Where shall we go?" I asked. We concluded on Golden Bay, taking the winding coast road on the northern side of the island. The roads are still void of traffic on Sunday mornings as most of the inhabitants are still either having breakfast or taking it easy. We didnıt travel alone for long though as we encountered six sportbike riders going at nearly twice the speed limit. Turu quickly forgot those long bikeless months and returned to all nonsense self. In a revving fury he gave chase. What else do we live for but for these nonsense moments. Without thinking things twice I find myself flying, leaning and filling the scenery with glorious V-twin screams, which made a good harmony with the V4ıs almost twin-like sound. Maybe itıs crank gives it that sound?

At speed the SV becomes something else. I start to imagine myself being a World War 2 Spitfire pilot, giving chase to a Meschersmit 109. The sportbike riders in my sites look like less experienced riders from their point and shoot riding and we quickly catch up in the twistees. The Magna complains on the fast flowing bends but the SV is in its element. I glance at my mirrors. Simon is nowhere in site. God these mirrors are ugly. Theyıre next on the to change  list. I signal Turu to slow down so Simon catches up. Riding at a slower pace we are rewarded with the company of a bunch of old timers who come out of a junction on their classic pride and joy. Bonnevilles, Matchless, Guzzies and other classic bikes all in pristine condition. We drift into a cruise. But the SV complains by jerking on low throttle. It doesnıt like to stay under 3000 revs. Not since I changed the stock can to a beautifully made, carbon oval race can I got from England. I shimmed the carburetor needles as instructed on the SV site, the plugs burn looks ok, maybe I need larger main jets. Another item on the ŒTo Changeı list.

Fed up with all this low speed jerk and coming to my favorite patch of road I let my carbs breath more. The front rises in thanks. Simon astounds us both with an instantaneous ferocity quite unlike his current self. He downshifts quickly, revving his engine to a shrilling scream and distances himself from us like a blast from hell. Boy that XJR can really scream as much as any sport four. He reminded me of his old self, before his accident, when he had his SVS. I struggled to keep up in those days. That accident turned him into an older wiser man, too old for his age. Heıs twelve years my younger but sometimes I feel as though itıs the other way round. We dice along the last few bends, passing each other frequently in a playful manner. Ahead of us a Ducati 996 hears us coming, gives a quick glance back and decides to escape the humiliation of being passed by middleweights. Heıs too late, as we are already in an adrenaline pumping state which he cannot just come up to in the short distance left to the café. We got to the café all rear slides and all.

The café scene was fantastic, even to a non-biker. As we descended down the hill a sea of gleaming frames, wheels and chrome greeted our arrival. It was a fine day and this café has been turned to the new Mecca ever since the Gharmier café was abandoned due to the disastrous road leading there. That road resembled more the face of the moon than anything else.

Golden Bay café was now the proud host of all sort of bikers, who talked anything bikes, motogp, superbike or what they did last to their stead. "Hey there Zunkus!, I see you have removed that ghastly number plate. Wow! You sure made a good job of removing that rear fender!". David used to joke that my number plate was used by Moses to right the Ten Commandments on. It was that big. He bought a rear fender eliminator as a kit to replace his stock Bandit1200 item for $140. Under inspection it did not seem too hard to fabricate something similar for my bike from an aluminum sheet although our bikes were different. The design and template stage took a month and it was hard to take the plunge and get on with hacking with a saw the stock item. After getting rid of the extra plastic and replacing with the custom made aluminum under plate, I also fabricated a new bracket to hold the indicators and the smaller number plate, which I exchanged. The result was very professional and looked stock. Everybody said so.

"Good Lord, itıs already eleven oıclock. Arenıt you supposed to go to church at noon?" told me Simon. I hadnıt noticed the time. As they say when youıre having fun amongst friends time flies. We mounted and headed back home. The trip back was mostly boring traffic nipping as now the streets were full of cars and their jealous drivers. They complained that we overtook them so easily, or that we jumped queues at a stoplight. Because they are restricted they think we should be too. I made it home by 11:45am giving me a quarter of an hour to change into church cloths, even taking a quick shower but I noticed the house was too quite if only for the sound of a playstation game in low volume. My kid waved me hi, and indicated that mum was still sleeping! I said ok, went right to the shower and then slipped into bed beside her. Guess I'll go to church in the evening. A few moments later Susan woke up, looked at me reading my mag and said, "Didnıt you go for a ride today?"