It was sex that made me buy a 1988 Suzuki RG125. At the tender age of 17 I was much impressed by a friend who had one and pulled a string of beautiful girls. The L plates were dumped after the first day, much easier than taking the test and necessary to carry a pillion. All the girls seemed to suddenly disappear! Those I approached just smirked or laughed. I was despondent for a whole week until I realised that motorcycling was a lot of fun; even better than computer games, although you could hurt yourself seriously.
I found that out very quickly. On the third day I was giving the throttle thing a bit of effort when a couple of cars orchestrated a perfect pincer movement. Leaving me the choice of hitting a bollard or the front of an oncoming car. Luckily, the bollard had already been loosened in a previous accident and a bit of heavy work on the front brake avoided total suicide. I still flew through the air, for once thankful for the government's omnipresence (i.e. the crash helmet law) but wishing that they made tarmac a touch softer. I rolled down the toad with cages whizzing by on each side. I could easily have lost a leg or two!
The Suzuki had a cracked front wheel, broken indicators and a couple of bent levers. After the shock dissipated a little I noticed that the whole of the female sixth form were rolling around in hysterics on the pavement. They got their act together long enough to give me a round of applause. I suppose I should mention that I’m a bit underweight for my age and the old man reckoned I looked like a flea on an elephant once astride the RG. To be fair to him, he did cough up the insurance money.
There was a £200 excess on that so it was cheaper to raid the breakers. The breaker found the sight of me cowering before his dog hilarious and only begrudgingly handed over the bits, making some stupid remarks about my proficiency at riding and the likelihood of my messing up the rebuild... in my haste to be back on the road I forgot to properly tighten up the front spindle, resulting in a huge wobble at about 30mph. Just my luck for some fat old cop to pop up out of nowhere, grumbling out some sarcastic remarks about me not looking old enough to hold a motorcycle licence. Some squawking on his radio drew him away before he could demand my documents. Shortly after that, I gave up on any illusions of pulling birds and replaced the L plates.
The RG looks a touch angular and has a bunch of controls that require lots of attention. In particular the clutch had a very sharp take-up that made the bike easy to stall. A bunch of revs solved that but made the bike susceptible to twitching up off the road on one wheel. Felt very precarious to me until I sorted out the balance point, then I could go into a quite impressive act.
The least edifying aspect of the Suzuki was the hardness of the seat and the poor position of the bars. I couldn't believe how sharp edged and hard the saddle became after as little as 25 miles. My friend with a similar machine, and a desperate need to do a few hundred miles over a weekend, soon developed a bandy legged funny walk that made him look like across between Charlie Chaplin and John Wayne. Not wanting to end up in the same state I usually kept my mileage down to a more moderate level.
Given that this was a lightweight, low powered 125, the restraint in mileage was just as well because the fuel was only around 40mpg. Having to use the revs to get anywhere fast probably accounted for this dire lack of frugality but that was no help with the fuel (or oil) bills. The old man couldn’t understand its thirst, mumbling that in his day even a 650 twin would turn in 60 to 70mpg and I'd be better off buying a car. Sure, the cooking 125 singles, like the CG125 or GS125, will manage over 100mpg but I just don’t like the way they look. Riding around on a bloody pensioner’s mount at seventeen just ain’t on. If they put one of those four stroke engines into a replica chassis I might be more interested.
On the consumable front, tyres were OK (they never wore out in 5000 miles) but the drive chain was awful. What a pathetic bit of nonsense. I had to adjust it every other day and replace it in less than 3000 miles. Is this 1995 or 1905? Could’ve fooled me! I might’ve had more luck if I'd changed the sprockets (there was over twenty thou on the clock) but I didn’t think of that then.
The next accident was caused by diesel on the road. Running slowly through a roundabout the front wheel just slid away. No warning whatsoever, no chance to fight back. I flew through the air like an Exocet missile, finding the side of a slow moving car to head-butt. It nearly tore my head off my neck but I refused to go to hospital even though I'd spewed up my school dinner into my helmet. Ugggh! The bastard machine was scratched and dented but in one piece except for cracked indicators and bent levers (again). The same breaker was highly amused to see be back for more bits in less than a month.
After that accident I was a new man. For a whole month I rode with great probity, scared shitless that I was going to come off again and this time seriously injure myself. After a while boredom ruled and I went back to abusing the throttle like a druggie desperate for some kicks. School, lack of women and no money gets to you like that.
The next event of great importance wasn’t down to falling off but caused by the piston rings breaking up and scraping huge gorges in the bore. The first I knew of this was a huge amount of heat coming off the mill and lots of ringing noises. I ignored them, not knowing any better, received my just deserts in the form of the motor seizing up solid. My clutch hand worked of its own volition and death by being viciously chucked off was narrowly avoided.
Another visit to the breaker, who was becoming almost friendly (he didn’t let the mutt loose), and offered to do the rebuild (crankshaft, piston and barrel) for a hundred quid, parts included. As I didn’t know what! was doing I said OK, immediately becoming paranoid that he’d fit worn out bits.
I needn't have worried because the motor sounded quiet and went incredibly well. After the test ride I returned with a big grin, to be informed that he’d derestricted the engine whilst he was at it. Despite the obvious presence of L plates and his knowledge of the times I'd fallen off. Really, it was a bit too fast for me; the powerband was very vicious, needing the throttle to the stop and much work on the gearbox. I was a rolling accident looking for somewhere to happen...
The third crash, I like to believe, was down to a car driver roaring across a junction. His excuse was that he didn’t see me. He should've heard me as the de-gutted silencer gave a sort of sonic boom when I was up to-speed. I had the right of way and saw no reason to back off from my 50mph pace. Spying the car all I had time to do was twitch the bars and pray. I actually missed the auto but found myself aboard an out of control missile. Harsh application of the brakes caused me to slide off again. This time there were no cars in the way and I just (just!) tore off a layer of flesh from my leg. Hospital was unavoidable but I soon had the RG back on the road.
For some reason, during the first month of winter, the frame went into fast corrode mode. There was rust breaking out everywhere. Added to this were loads of hairline cracks in the plastic, due as much to the harsh vibes as my rough handling when trying to get at the engine (not to mention the crashes). I was soon riding around on a bike that looked like it’d done 100000 miles off road! I half heartedly wire-brushed the rust off the frame and touched it up. The fairing didn’t fall off so that was left to its own devices.
I shouldn't have bothered as in a matter of weeks all the rust was back. The motor was making funny noises again, objecting to the way I caned it everywhere. The final straw was yet another accident. I think there’s something wrong with the front end’s geometry [What could possibly have caused that? 2021 Ed.]. The wheel just went away without any warning at 40mph around a country lane. Took a lot of careful searching to find the patch of gravel. More leg rash for me and the one side of the bike took a battering from the grass. I struggled with the bike all the way home, almost screaming from the leg damage, and the way the RG veered all over the road. I sold the thing in that state for £150 and bought a nice little car.
Motorcycling hurts too much and derestricted RG125’s encourage crazy riding. The race replica style’s one big rip-off and I only wish I'd read the UMG before I got into the game. What am I doing reading a motorcycle mag if I’m driving a car? Well, simple really, these traffic jams are driving me crazy and I’m really yearning for two wheels. Next time around I'll be more careful in my choice of bike and buy some body armour!
T.R.