SRX! - Motorcycle.com

Anywho, I cleaned my stuff out of my old office at Motorcyclist, and backed the MO truck up into the shop with a goodly proportion of my worldly possessions, including my old Yamaha SRX-6 "racebike," not that I think I ever actually completed a race on it. I remember being pretty damn excited 13 years ago when I got the ok to buy the thing and do a series of cheapie-racing articles, though. And I did do a few stories--a couple in Cycle World and one in Motorcyclist after I jumped ship, and then I gave birth to the sprog and bought a house and got the chance to ride bikes around the track that didn't want to spit me off all the time--either that or I learned better how not to be spat--and the SRX sat in the Motorcyclist basement and moldered, an object of scorn and derision in the eyes of the moto-sophisticate. Greg McQuide borrowed it to do his first race school, though, and came back beaming, but then that guy pretty much beamed all the time, what a nice kid he was. And then he loaned Senor X to his buddy Jim, who crashed it, left it in some Hollywood garage for a year "waiting for parts" or something, and you get the picture. The poor thing's been passed around like Minime's photo at a "Scared Straight" high school assembly.

It took me by surprise, then, to see Mini's and Calvin's expressions when I dragged the bedraggled thing into the MO cave. 1986 doesn't seem long ago at all to me, but Mini was nine when Yamaha imported the SRX and Calvin was eight. They'd never seen one before (and even if they had it would've scarcely resembled my SRX). They thought it was some sort of old Norton or something. That is RAD dude...

It is?

What IS that?!

I gave the kickstarter a couple of kicks, something felt more resistant than usual, and told the kids the show was over and to get back to work (which is cool since Mini's not just a MO employee, he's also the President). A couple of hours later I wandered back downstairs into the shop, saw the bike sitting there, and lost my willpower yet again. A couple more kicks produced negative results, but Mini and Calvin heard and were right there again like a couple of big dogs observing a meat cutter at work.

After another hour or so of headscratching and putzing, the light bulb went on and Bumpy was deployed--the motorized thing you use to start your racing Buells by spinning the back tire. BAVWHOOOOM! I didn't recall the old single sounding this good, really... Then, of course, we all had to ride the thing up and down the alley out back, thirty or forty times, with our tails wagging, and I swear the SRX was smiling like Thomas the Tank Engine. (While this was happening, the shop also contained a new ZX-12, a 120-horse V-Rod, an R6 Yamaha, etc.)

I'd always told people, whether they cared or not, that I wouldn't be surprised if the 600 single made 50 horses or so, just guessing. Our on-site dyno beckoned. We strapped the SRX down and there it is--52 horsepower, baby! Just as Mini rolled off the throttle after the second deafening run, the drain plug flew out and spat a quart or two of barely-used, warmish Castrol all over the place; thankfully Mini got his left size-13 Steve Madden out of the way in time.

"Wow," Calvin said, "I guess that thing really needs the safety-wire."

To which I could only observe that stock SRXs don't seem to.

Any way, no harm done and in fact the oil spill only added to the fun and excitement, and in truth I can't remember the last time I spent a more enjoyable day playing with good friends and tools and motorcycles. I also can't help but think the SRX was really happy, too, but of course it's an inanimate object. It heard Mini saying how he wants to go out and race it, what a blast it would be. And it got me remembering I heard the other day that Curtis Adams, of Formula USA fame and the fastest guy at Willow Springs for years, has lately been spotted at WSMC weekends racing his old Honda Ascot single--his first racebike--and having a blast. Last time we spoke,Curtis said he was done racing. Now I can't help wondering if my SRX is faster enough than his Ascot to make up for the talent difference? It would have to be a very ill Ascot.

Say, have I bored you yet? I can't figure out how to get a word count on this new computer and like I said last week, a beauty of the 'net is I'm free to drone on for as long as I want. If you've had enough, you can stop right here, as I feel a slight philosophical wax coming over me.

So I was lounging on the poop deck with a cold cocktail, about nine-ish, listening to the radio and pondering my fate, when a man's head popped 'round and said "excuse the interruption, but this boat belonged to me for 22 years--from '74 'til '96." With a name like Mike Mallarkey, I didn't really need to ask if he'd like a beer, but did anyway for appearances sake. Mike had his wife with him and a couple of friends and they hung out for a half-hour or so, talking about how they'd all played cards at that table 20 years ago--the same one I played cards at a couple of months ago with my friends.

"We raised our kids on this boat," Mrs. Mallarkey said, and I told her how much I already love the thing, and hope to be able to afford it long enough to raise my boy on it too. Nobody teared up, but it was a near thing, for me.

"You know why your bilge keeps filling up don't you?," Mike asked. "You need to tighten those shaft seals."

Shaft who? I have those?

After the Mallarkeys departed it hit me that Senor X can never be just a motorcycle to me, any more than Midnight Rambler could be nothing but a floating pile of fiberglass and wood to them. I can't look at Senor X without remembering the trip to the AHRMA race in Las Vegas with my nine-month old baby's car seat strapped into the shit Motorcyclist van with tie-downs, half a foam earplug stuck into each of his ears, Mickey Mouse nook firmly in mouth. Er, wife still in love with me. Can't have been eight years ago. No way. And the time I took Jane to her first motorcycle race, and sat her where she'd have a prime view of me performing 70-mph cartwheels down the straight toward turn three. And it reminds me of McQuide, too: Senor X inspired him to go racing, which was the most exhilarating thing he got to do in his too-short life. Now I can't believe I thought, as recently as last week, that I could ever part with the damn thing. There very literally are,in this life, things we can't leave behind.

Doesn't mean I won't consider all reasonable offers.