It’s March 1994, and I’ve decided that I’m going to buy a motorcycle. The thought has been brewing in my adolescent head for several years, but funding shortfalls and parental units had previously placed restrictions on such things. There’s no stopping me now, though. The classic mystique and excitement of two-wheeled motivation is in me for good.
I don’t really know anyone who rides, so I’m left to mosey around used bike lots and scour classifieds and take wild guesses at what bike is for me. The internet isn’t mainstream yet, so there are no busy forums to guide me. I’m shopping on my guts.
Miraculously (or maybe foolishly), dealers are willing to allow me test rides with just a motorcycle learner’s permit and a helmet. My first ride was phenomenal. I’d never felt such powerful acceleration! I was hooked, and the bike was sold.
I was happily oblivious to the physics of motorcycling back then, and it didn’t matter. Until I crashed, just two months later. Fortunately I was wearing my helmet, but unfortunately not a whole lot else. A minivan pulled out of a lot on a curve and I locked the front. My helmet saved me a severe smack on the road, but I suffered significant road rash and was treated to a ride to the hospital and what I now affectionately call “the toothbrush treatment”.
Still, I kept riding. In fact, it never once crossed my mind to quit. I don’t know how many people asked me if I was going to sell the bike now, but I didn’t understand their mindset. It wasn’t an option.
I didn’t learn much from that crash, though. I evolved as a rider, and not always for the better. I quit wearing my helmet for a while, and I still wore shorts and t-shirts on occasion. Simply, I wasn’t a safe rider. I didn’t take it seriously. It wasn’t until online forums like this one grabbed my attention that I began a final transformation. I matured as a rider, and I began to see my riding experience differently. I realized that my first crash was almost entirely my fault, and it shouldn’t have happened.
I’ve read several books on motorcycling. I’ve read countless accounts of accidents and near-misses in forums. I’ve taken the Motorcycle Safety Foundation’s Experienced Rider Course. I’ve begun to think differently.
Here are what I consider to be the four major phases of motorcycling. They don’t apply to everyone. They’re what happened to me.
1. New bike nervousness. Your family has warned you against those dangerous machines, and you’ve read the ominous statistics. You want one anyway, and to heck with the consequences. Still, you’re concerned. Maybe you checked into training. Maybe you got help from a friend who owns a bike. Maybe you’re a solo spirit and are determined to learn it yourself. However you go about it, you’re likely to be more cautious now than at any time to come. This is a survival stage, when your fear keeps you in line.
If you bought a helmet and planned to wear it, you probably will. You may have purchased a leather jacket, either for protection or simply to look the part. You know that motorcyclists wear jackets for protection, but sometimes it’s just too hot.
At this stage, you’ll likely put more interest into straight-line acceleration, which made you buy the bike you did in the first place. You’ve seen the racebikes on television and read the ads in the magazines. Once you’ve been on a bike, and tasted the power, you’re hooked. But you still have that little voice that says, “Hey, this might not be smart.” Your gut clenches and you relax the throttle.
You’ll either do fine during this stage, or do something dumb and dump it, like I did.
2. False confidence. At this stage, you’ve learned the controls and the feel of the bike. You’ve pushed your personal top speed upward, little by little. Maybe you’ve popped the front wheel up a few times. This leads you to believe that you’re a fairly skilled rider. You’re not. It takes years and thousands of miles, not to mention some actual study of those who do have skills, to become a talented rider.
Also, this is the stage where you decide that your risk is low, and you stop wearing your helmet and start posing. Maybe you carry passengers now, and you’re feeling pretty good about yourself. You’re thinking that maybe you’re ready for a bigger, more powerful bike.
In fact, this is probably your highest risk stage. Your false confidence is leading you to try new things, some of which you aren’t ready for. And since you may not have had an accident yet, you aren’t paying enough attention to the world around you - namely the idiots in the cages out to flatten you.
3. The wake up call. This will either come in the form of a bad experience, like a crash, or news of a friend’s crash (or death, or paralysis). You realize that you’re not the rider you thought, and wake up to wearing proper gear, and doing some learning. You might buy a book or attend a track day, and you realize that motorcycling satisfaction might just come from handling the curves, rather than rocketing ahead in a straight line. I have forums like this one to thank for my wake up call. Reading posts from anonymous friends has changed me as a rider, only for the better.
4. Maturity. This doesn’t mean invincibility. It means that you’ve studied and practiced emergency maneuvers. It means you know what the moron in the minivan will do before he does it. It means you ride for yourself, and the feelings you generate, rather than to impress anyone else. And it often means you give up the race-replica squid bike for something more appropriate to your skills and usage.
That’s not the end, though. After a number of years or thousands of miles with no close calls or crashes, riders tend to wander in and out of various stages. Confidence goes up and carelessness creeps in. If we’re fortunate, we’ll get a gentle reminder to sharpen our skills and improve our awareness. If not, well…
I
hadn't heard of the Bandit before. Perhaps that's because I really didn't
get into motorcycling until I got the Bandit. I hadn't done any reading
about modern bikes, I didn't own appropriate gear, and there was a stretch
where I was no longer wearing a helmet. All that's changed. I've read countless
articles and several books on technique and safety. My favorite book is Proficient
Motorcycling, by David Hough. I'm now a motorcyclist, as opposed to
merely a motorcycle owner. I always wear my helmet and gloves, I now have
an actual motorcycling jacket, and I received new boots from Jolene last
Christmas. I'm using some Suzuki branded textile pants that I got on clearance from the dealer.
I bought the Bandit before I knew about Maximum-Suzuki.
They have proven to be an invaluable resource, nonetheless. When it was
time to retire the 1992 Nighthawk that I'd owned for about 5 years, and
ridden about 3000 miles mostly during two summers, I made my choice of a
replacement by reading online reviews. I discovered that the Bandit has
been around for half a dozen years, and that it was built around the well
proven GSX inline-four air cooled engines. It had received numerous updates
for model year 2001, including induction, suspension, aerodynamic and aesthetic
changes. At Maximum-Suzuki I was able to confirm that mine wasn't included
in the range of 2001-02 Bandits that had defective pistons installed, so
I knew I wouldn't have to deal with the recall.
It's been a fantastic bike. I have almost 10,000 miles on it over three seasons. It's never enough, but I can't ride to work and I now have a young son. Jolene likes it, which is
important because we do day and weekend trips whenever we have the chance.
I slap on a set of soft bags along with the tank bag, and we're all set.
I have to admit that we're fair weather riders, though. We haven't had the
ambition to invest in good all-weather riding gear. Maybe we'll eventually
try some long distance trips, but for now we'll watch the weather closely.
I go for solo rips frequently in the evenings. Since I can't ride to work,
I usually don't get out until after supper. By then any sign of rush hour
has passed, and the quick jaunt to the edge of town is easy. What pass for
curves in Central Minnesota often take a while to reach, but it's always
worth it. While I've made leaps and bounds in my riding skill since buying
the Bandit, I'm still mellow by any track guru's definition. I barely wipe
the chicken strips from the rear tire, and I have yet to drag any hard parts.
I've added a Hayabusa rear shock, $38 shipped from ebay, which really improved control over the ride and handling. It's a no-brainer mod if you have a stock Bandit. I went with Dale Walker's Holeshot Performance slip-on and stage 1 jet kit. That was well worth the money, too. The bike now sounds like it should, and cold starts are better. Power's up a bit, too. I went with a Suzuki touring windscreen, but I'm not sure it did much for me other than make more noise at my helmet. It looks good, though.
The Hella™ mod was a result of my frustration with the Bandit's stock lighting. Upon first owning the Bandit, I was thrilled at the cool-looking projector-beam lights. Turns out that they're not that good, and worse they accumulate some sort of black, sooty substance. When on a tour of Lake Superior this summer, I found myself in moose country after dark. The lighting was so bad I had to tailgate logging trucks for three hours. It was terrifying.
Well, now I'm really set up for touring. I've added Suzuki's smoked touring windscreen, which raised the windblast into my helmet a bit, and I've upgraded to Racetech fork internals. Also, at the International Motorcycle Show this February I found a deal on the Givi bags I wanted and jumped on it. They're fantastic bags, but the electrical components leave something to be desired. The bulb sockets and other parts look like bottom-of-the-barrel made in Taiwan junk. We're still trying to get the optional brakelight to work. This should be a great season.
