The object of my desire was going to have to last three long years, which ruled out a bevvy of mad strokers, but would also need to look butch enough for me to avoid instant dismissal by the hard-cases - hence my choice of a four stroke 125cc trailster. I'd only ridden a bike on the training course before so the DR125S would also have to see me through my test.
As it turned out, the 7000 mile Suzuki proved dead easy to ride. The controls all worked smoothly and precisely, the hard working thumper motor putting out just enough power to keep ahead of the traffic (up to 50mph) but not so much that I was going to instantly ride off the road in a frenzy of revs and breaking metal (if not flesh and bones). I had, luckily, already acquired leather jacket, boots and gloves about a year before the purchase of the bike. Many an amusing hour was spent thus dressed playing motorcycle games on the computer, causing the parents to mutter about seeking out psychiatric help, but I told them not to worry; they would get over it eventually.
This excess of enthusiasm was severely tested during the first couple of weeks by torrential rain storms that had me soaked right through each time I ventured out and made the almost worn out Japanese tyres skid all over the place as if the roads were awash with oil instead of water. My mother took to incanting that I would die of pneumonia, lose all my hair or end up a permanent cripple. My wretched state seemed to put her in high spirits.
Fortunately, on the day I was due to depart for Bristol University the sun struggled out and the 175 mile ride was dry if on the cold side. A-roads were taken most of the way with the odd snatch of country toad trickery thrown in to keep me awake and make sure that my motorcycling abilities were tested to the limit. Somehow, the trek took over five hours, including the occasional stop for fuel and food.
I had a few wild moments. The worst was starting to overtake a car only to find that the driver matched my own speed as the oncoming car also seemed to speed up. I flashed the light and blew the horn, which made not one bit of difference. I had to jam on both brakes, which were fortunately powerful, sit aboard a bike which felt like a kangaroo with broken legs, until I just had time to nudge the Suzuki behind the car that I was trying to overtake.
Of course, the driver then slowed down to 30mph hoping I'd repeat the same mistake. Instead, I took him on the inside, the back wheel fishtailing and the motor going through the red in third. I crawled back on to the tarmac before he knew what'd hit him. The bugger then bore down on my numberplate, making me throw the DR through the bends at about 20mph faster than either I or the Suzuki (judging by the wobbles) thought safe. In the end I rode straight across a curve, up a track, and let the driver squeal off into the distance. I don’t know who was the bigger plonker.
By the time I reached Bristol I was tired out, the DR’s riding position only good for about 100 miles out of town. Arms, neck, bum and even thighs were all screaming for some R & R. The fearsome rate of Bristol's traffic didn’t help my composure but at just 225lbs the Suzuki was always easy to chuck out of the way of erring cagers, or swerve around mad pedestrians. I slept very well that night despite the strange surroundings and riotous noises.
Winter and motorcycling don’t exactly mix but fitted with a pair of decent Avon tyres I was out there on the ever reliable Suzuki every chance I got. Snow and ice were mere obstacles to overcome with a fearless scowl and a bit of speedway inspired sliding and shaking. I only came off about six times, but no serious damage resulted.
At least the awful weather meant the test was a piece of cake, the examiner just seemed to want to get in out of the cold. I wasn’t going to sell the machine and buy something bigger because the insurance would've killed me, but dumping the L-plates meant I could take young girls on the back. They weren't too impressed by this idea and the DR was turned almost somnolent by the extra weight of the average West Country lass (I blame the scrumpy myself). Handling was also a little weird, traced to some wear in the Full Floater rear end which was floating about a little too fully for my liking.
That was at 11000 miles and by the time I got around to stripping it down in the spring new spindles and bearings were needed as no greasing was done since new. The finish on the engine and wheels looked like someone had gone over them with a wire-brush and a bottle of acid... the bike was all of 14 months old and the only off-road abuse it'd been subjected to was periodic raids on some deserted railway property that consisted of rolling up and down steep little hills when not falling off. The odd cop car would turn up and sound its siren but I just waved at them!
A girlfriend who hated bikes as much as I loved them meant that until late summer the DR was woefully neglected, just used for commuting back and forth to college and the odd run across town. She had a car so any long journey was done in that, although I annoyed her no end by lounging in the passenger seat reading bike magazines whilst she cursed the traffic jams. I always finished off the journey by pointing out how much faster it'd have been on the DR.
Not surprisingly, that relationship didn’t last the separation imposed by the summer break but I was working like a slave for 60 hours a week, so didn’t have the inclination to use the Suzuki for anything other than commuting. In this mode it was pretty good, about 90mpg, steadfast reliability even when neglected (I did change the oil every 2000 miles) and the ability to carve a path through tight traffic that few other machines could better.
Then in the late summer I decided a camping tour of north Scotland would be ideal. So did my best mate who weighs fifteen stone and decided the pillion perch would do just fine. He’s still bandy legged from the experience and I’m sure it was this excessive mass being flogged along at 70mph all day that caused the camchain to rattle and the cam lobes to spit off huge chunks of metal.
The engine was repairable but I was still flush with money from the summer job and decided that 250 notes on a newish motor made much more sense than testing my minimal skills as a mechanic. They were so minimal that it took me a week to work out that the battery wasn't charging because I'd trapped the wires when I put the engine in. That apart, I was quite impressed with my abilities!
By then I considered myself a serious biker and treated the DR with the contempt that any 12hp learner obviously deserved. This went so far as to running on a straight through silencer when the whole baffle assembly rotted through. A glorious racket but a big hole at 4000 to 6500rpm. I figured the piston must be close to melting, after two months hammered on a slightly better used pipe.
If there are any intelligent conclusions to be drawn from all of this it’s that DR125s are the kind of bikes which attract young hoodlums with an attitude problem. From that point of view it makes much more sense to buy a GS125, which shares the same engine (more or less) from a staid old commuter. The DR’s cheap to run, fun to ride (and even crash) and if the worst does happen there are plenty of spares in breakers to do the resurrection shuffle. Ideal for learners who need to hustle a little.
K. D.