Christmas Day 2003 was a great day after a hesitant start. Awaiting my unwrapping skills was a box and a card. The card was a year's subscription to "Bike" and in the box was this mug. "Prawn to be Wild." I was not a happy teddy."Look in the mug, dad" I was instructed.
2003 had been, and remains my annus horribilis. A quarter century working with like minds, similar attitudes and independent characters had been as much a joy as work can be but during 2003 they all went their ways and newly reorganised management decided that targets were no longer aspirational. Thus the joy of working with conviction gave way to the despair of working to meet managerially connived targets which had little relevance to those of us at the sharp edge of confrontation and thus began the bad years of powerlessness, pointlessness and pension securing drudgery.
For almost decade previously I had endured motorcycle emptiness, occasional rides on friends machines and having Yamaha Townmates (akin to Trigger's broom) does not really qualify as having a bike. However, after my left shoulder took out the windscreen of a Rover 216 as my pelvis simultaneously destroyed the A pillar followed milliseconds later my left knee going through the drivers window I was reliably informed that I was not having another bike.
In the mug was a note, "If I can have a new kitchen you can have a new bike." Did I feel humbled? Yup. Had I been that miserable? Obviously. Was it worth it? Oh, yes! Probably.
For the first Boxing Day (and the last) we went shopping. I found an interest in all things "kitchen," volunteered to do some of the work myself and spent every available moment investigating bikes.
It's not like I didn't know bikes, I'd always seemed to have one, two or.... A Suzuki GT380 tried to kill me before I had a license, a RD almost succeeded in scaring me to death and a Yamaha 125 AS3 saw me get my knee down and not follow it with the rest of me. A Superdream bored me, a TS90 took me everywhere and brought me back, a GS250 carried my bulk for over 50k miles finally ending up bent with bits strewn over a road junction. It now hangs from a RSJ not a million miles from where I am typing, in a workshop for which I once had responsibility. Good days.
Lurking on UKRM I noted that whenever anyone asked for advice about a new bike the answer was always "Gixxer thou" so I tried one. I'd ridden a Fireblade and felt that the bike was better than me but I felt that it was mostly benign, the GSXR 1000 was a malicious beast. Awesome but not for me. I took a Hornet over Dartmoor and loved it but almost ran the tank dry and wondered why it seemed to be such hard work. Then a SV1000 that seemed inordinately heavy but I loved the torque and thus a SV650 it was. I went to Bridge with the folding stuff in my pocket as they told me that they had a new one in blue. Unfortunately it turned out to be a K3 with an oil leak. I was told (seriously) that it was chain oil and it was to be expected. It wasn't chain oil and you shouldn't expect to see oil under a bike unless it's old and British.
A not too swift ride 120 miles west for a maternally made pasty and back then a jaunt over Dartmoor followed by a bimble over Exmoor and it was time to go to Verwood for the first service. It rained. This was the first wet ride. They were so sorry for me in my Musto apparel and yellow wellies that whilst waiting they sorted me out with a full set of Belstaff gear and a pair of Frank Thomas's finest boots.
The opportunity to do a Police organised returning to biking course was the second wet ride. Meeting at Westpoint on a wet Saturday fully expecting abandonment the policeman duly observed my St.Piran flags and Belstaff suit and said, "We Cornishmen don't mind the weather, do we? We'll meet at Axminster station, keep up if you can, overtake me if you dare but observe all the speed limits." He was from Camborne. Good chap nonetheless.
Overtake? I couldn't see him to keep up with but eventually met him at the meeting point. "This time," he said "I'll let you stay with me and follow my lines, exactly. You may find duct tape on your wrists will stop your hands getting wet." I did. A great day out and if they still do them the course was a hoot and I learned rather too much, far more than I expected. Chastened.
On the worst of the bad days getting home from work, getting the gear on and within seconds the total concentration on the road ahead drove all the days angst out and sanity reigned for a while.
Umpteen figures of eight over Dartmoor via Moretonhampstead crossing over at Two Bridges Hotel, westwards over Gunnislake bridge and eastwards over The Tamar bridge just because bikes go free and back via Yelverton became a favourite as did The Exe Valley, the toe of a Frank Thomas boot in the Exe, a ride up the Exe Valley past Dunkery Beacon and wetting the boot in the Bristol Channel at Porlock was just wonderful. Early season evening rides to Lyme became the first sign of spring. Fortunate.
The summer of 2004 saw my father in law in hospital 120 miles eastwards and my mum in hospital 100 miles westwards so the miles accumulated and Crescent saw me for another service but after that I did my own, until last month when the thought of selling it was becoming more fixed. Mum survived that time, sadly my father in law didn't.
Mum had a kidney removed on 16th August 2004. I left here at just after 1130, by Okehampton there was rain, not a lot but ahead someone had drawn along the horizon with a black marker. I had taped my boots and wrist with gaffer tape because the forecast was not good but no one said it was going to be like that. At 1300(ish) I was under a bridge on the A30 just before the A38 joins. I stopped because the rain was hurting. The cars were hammering along and exited and re entered the two curtains of water pouring over each side of the roadway above. I was a bit apprehensive but needs must so I did. To this day I can't see how but the Camborne by pass dip had so much water at the bottom that I had to walk the bike through with a bit of throttle as it was knee deep and more.
At Hayle I stopped at the garage to fill up and a police motorcyclist came alongside. "It wasn't me," I said, he smiled and I said "it's just as well you have the gear." He unzipped his leathers and was utterly sodden. "How far are you going," he asked. I told him, he offered to lead and let me follow. A couple of miles up the road at St.Erth someone had drawn a line in the road and the sun was shining. We stopped, burst out laughing and said our goodbyes. Wish I'd met him at Okehampton.
20 minutes later, on Dad's front door step looking east there was the same black horizon I'd seen earlier. I boiled the kettle, put the news on and it was all about Boscastle being washed away. The third and last time the bike was out in the rain. By1600 for the drive to hospital it was a blazing summer's day.
Mum had another four years - and seven years ago, in this week when I finally decided to sell the SV, she passed away. She'd have been happy because she never did like me riding motor bikes. Fortunately, she blamed her brother. In her last days we had one of "those" phone calls and I must say the SV performed wonderfully and I still don't know how I managed to ride it like that. When I arrived at her bedside sweating in the Belstaff sauna, clumping along in boots with a Shoei and gloves under my arm and all she said was "My, come on your bike have you? I wish you wouldn't ride motor bikes," I was glad I did. My uncle, who first put me on a motor bike laughed. Worth it just for that.
Each year since the miles have decreased and since they've been putting previous mileages on MOT certificates you can't hide the reality.
So, herewith one Suzuki SV650 K4, for sale.
One owner from new.
Delivered 8th April 2004.
11336 miles
£2000
addenuff@gmail.com
Genuine SV gel seat, original included.
HEL Performance brake lines fitted, original lines went to HEL to sort their K3/K4 fitting issues.
Original banjo bolts included.
Thanks to one AG, proprietor of NSR-World.com. Cheers, Andy.
All paperwork, MOTs, service records, spare keys included
MOT till April 2016
Serviced at last MOT.
Been caught in rain on three occasions, incriminatingly photographed once.
Close to mint.
Abba stands, front and rear,
Oxford panniers and unused no name tank bag available.
Hugger, Scottoiler fitted from new.
Original chain guard unused included along with the original banjo bolts and washers.
11336 miles when this was taken, 19th May 2015
Chicken strips to be ashamed of. The previous set of Metzlers didn't look like this apart from when they were new. I felt sorry for the elephants. No more. The way I ride now these will last a lifetime.
HEL brake lines with alloy bracket that was going to be the pattern from which I was going to shape a piece carbon. Another thing I never did. Nice rim tape, though, eh? I made them with AutoCAD and a vinyl cutter. I have spares you can have but I'd need reminding. I probably have the .dxf files on a tape somewhere. They'd peel off quite easily I expect. Ask me if I have any Bike Paint.co.uk touch up paint. I have, on a shelf in the garage. Buy the bike and it's yours. It may be all dried up, I suppose.
Scottoiler and J-cloths. Not because the reservoir leaks but because I used to keep a camera in there. Note that the tank prop is still there. The tool kit is present and unmolested as well.
I recently fitted a new battery, albeit a tad prematurely so the old one is available if required.
Security included.
Last Boxing Day my Dad announced "Here's the keys to the Jazz, do with it what you like, my driving days are done."
We all sighed with relief but ended up with the Jazz. Another one. This was the first unignorable sign that it was time to consider selling the SV. In the back of my mind I'd justified keeping it in case there's ever another one of "those" phone calls. Now without a car in his garage going home to see him on the bike was pointless as I couldn't very well strap a crash helmet on him and take him wherever he needed to go, could I? Besides, this bike has only carried a pillion once and she said never again. I have photos, though.
Thus there are two Jazz's, both once owned by Dad on our drive so I'll have to sell one soon, I guess.
From Prawn to be Wild to Jazz, a wonderful journey that's kept me as sane as I needed to be but now that work is what I choose or am instructed to do by my managerial organiser I owe it to her to sell it. After all, last year she let me dispense with the Raleigh Banana and buy a Specialized something on which I've done far more miles than on the SV in that period and when the MOT man laughed at my Townmate last August she let me replace it with an Innova 125.
Can't complain.
Life's wonderful.
