Dirt Biking in the Urban Jungle How did it go again? "Could've been the right place, but it must have been the wrong time." Or was it the wrong place and the right time? No matter, you know the song I mean. And whenever I think back to my
Having just sold my Allstate 250, I was once again perusing the classifieds when I came upon a small ad for a street enduro with low mileage and an attractive price. I immediately had a vision of myself racing along back woods trails with the front wheel urgently clawing at the sky, while the wildly spinning rear knobby created monstrous rooster tails showering little animals with dust and debris. And before that heroic image could fade, the bike was mine. Only then did I remember that I lived in the large metropolitan city of Toronto, and that the roughest terrain I would encounter would be potholes and streetcar tracks. Being late fall, it was already too cold to really ride much, so the first order of business was to thoroughly clean the bike of the previous owner's dirt. And the best way to do that was with a complete disassembly. Wheels, fenders, seat, gas tank - even the motor - all came off. And since the motor was out, it seemed prudent to clean up its internals as well. I will admit that I only took apart the top end to remove any carbon build-up. Going any further would have incurred additional costs without any benefit, and after all, I was still a relatively penniless high school student. So I spent the entire winter season toothbrush in hand, scrubbing at all the nooks and crannies and touching up various minor imperfections on painted surfaces. By the time spring arrived, the bike was reassembled and looking, if not absolutely perfect; very spiffy indeed. Better still, it started without hesitation and settled into a steady idle.
I rode up and down the city streets surrounding my neighborhood, and it was lots of fun at first. But the novelty of the new (at least, new to me) dirt bike didn't last very long. The first problem was the rather short gearing. I would wind the engine to redline, and then shift into the next gear. I would repeat this rapidly three more times The constant shifting of gears might not have been so bad if the speeds I was attaining were greater than 60 to 70 kph. I was barely staying ahead of the Fords and Chevys. Although I was very aware I could never venture on to a highway, the 125 was even out of its element on major city roads where speed limits varied between 70 and 80 kph. At those speeds, the little two-stroke sounded like a cat in heat. And though I am sure it wasn't in the least bit phased by the high rpm's that I demanded of it, the noise and high frequency vibration made relaxing cruising for any meaningful distance impossible. To further my discomfort, the tires on the bike were of the universal design that had a chunky block pattern, and they added their own ingredient of roughness to the already objectionable mix. The final indication that I had made a big mistake in acquiring a street enduro occurred at my high school parking lot. I was in my final year and would soon be graduating. For the first time ever, I would be able
to arrive for classes using my own vehicle (and legally at that). What seventeen year old boy has not fantasized the day that his fellow classmates, and especially those classmates of the female persuasion, would stand in admiration and awe as he parked his wheels on the school premises. He would then see Unfortunately for me, I didn't smoke. And quite frankly I doubt it would have helped me anyway. Not only did anyone take notice of my grand ring-dingy entrance, I don't think anyone was even interested. Damn collegiate nerds! Should've gone with the tech school my parents objected to. A short time later the Yammie was sold, and I graduated without ceremony. By the time I received my diploma in the mail, I had another bike. However, as you will soon learn, I had still not learned my lesson (see Yamaha 180). In Retrospect
The Yamaha AT125 was actually a very good bike. It was the baby brother to the Yamaha DT 250, a major accomplishment
for Japanese technology at the time. Had I had owned the 125 when I still in the rural parts of Quebec, it would have been a dream machine. The AT125 was infinitely superior to the Honda 65 I had in almost every way. The bike would have been very happy exploring the fields and trails that I once travelled, and it would have gotten the recognition it deserved. Instead, I now have memories of abject disappointment and what might have been. |
and then I would have to slow down or stop for traffic or lights. Then the traffic would start moving and I had to start the process of getting the Yamaha back up to speed once again.
himself swagger across the lot with all eyes upon him; maybe pausing for a moment to light up a "fag" and casually cast a wink at the swooning cheerleaders.
