Our Back Road Ramblings scribbler Jason Giacchino thought he had managed to master his impulsive motorcycle purchases. But then he met a reasonably priced almost new DR-Z400S in a showroom and...
In much the way it's wise for an alcoholic to avoid browsing in a liquor store, so too must I exercise extreme caution when passing motorcycle dealerships. There is something about the atmosphere, the iridecent lighting, the bad coffee, and the fact that monthly payment plans always seem so much more reasonable than a single out-of-reach dollar value that can add up to the formula for disaster.
Years of failed mind-over-matter training when pulling into the dealer lot have resulted in the acquisition of dozens of machines I didn't plan on owning, didn't need, and certainly couldn't afford. So when, on an unseasonably warm afternoon in late fall, the order came in from my father to ride his '04 Suzuki GS500F into town for its annual inspection, I debated it for a solid nine or ten microseconds before strapping on my lid.
Willpower combined with the wisdom and sensible judgment that accompany adulthood would act as my shield of protection from the temptation behind the spotless glass showroom windows of my favorite bike shop. And besides, if all else failed, I rode in on a bike, making it a bit harder to bring home another.
At first the mission objective was looking good, a showroom floor littered with semi-customized VTXs and race-ready TRX450Rs well beyond my budget (even in my fantasies) were exactly what the doctor ordered. I sighed in relief, strolling over to the CBR1000RR on display. As expected, even the monthly payments when mixed with insurance premiums and maintenance allowance pushed this sparkling beauty well beyond my grasp.
Indeed the signs of an iron will and some well exercised judgment were showing through; a day spent in the presence of true mechanical magnificence with only a few dollars spent on an inspection sticker and some free brochures stuffed into my backpack to drool upon at a later opportunity. Things were sure turning around.
"Wait, what's that over there?" I found myself thinking. Oh, just a scooter, nothing to worry about. "No, beyond the scooter, wearing the yellow plastic with the high fenders."
My suspicions were soon confirmed as I approached the used section of the floor. There sat a clean Suzuki DR-Z400S recently traded in on an ATV. I had been on the prowl for one of these for some time, secretly trying not to find too good a deal on one so as to avoid sleepless nights of deliberation. It appeared stock aside from a nice set of DOT rubber and some carbon-fiber hand guards. I winced at the odometer, hoping that the meager 900 miles on the clock was actually 9000. Nope, no such luck. Then the kicker came in the form of the price tag dangling freely from the right hand grip. End-of-season markdown - $2900.
Alas, if only all bikes were like the CBR1000RR and carried a stiff enough price tag that the monthly payments put it out of the mind of a sensible but still compulsive motorcycle shopper.
The salesman approached, almost as if sensing a victim the way sharks can detect a drop of blood in 10,000 gallons of water. The weight of my wallet and the tiny plastic card within began tugging on my jeans at that very moment, inner conflict erupted like something out of "Lord Of The Rings."
My resistance crumbling, I turned back toward the bay and mounted my father's freshly inspected GS500. Those who question the GS's sportbike characteristics were obviously not present on this particular day, as a burn-out that turned into wheelie ensued that would have had Nicky Hayden blushing.
The fresh air and the open road helped clear my confusion and overwhelming desire to plunge into yet another unnecessary payment plan. Besides, I told myself, no more acquisitions without first getting rid of some of the current fleet. The lack of motivation in getting rid of some of my modest but ever-growing assortment of Yamahas, Hondas and a Kawasaki would certainly act as a deterrent to my spend-happy condition.
Within a week my 1996 Yamaha FZR600R went up for sale in the classifieds. Calls came pouring in right up until the moment the snow began to fall in perfect flakes, not unlike those within a child's bedside snow-globe. However, it turns out test riding a sportbike in the snow counteracts the desire to own one this very minute. And everyone (excluding me, obviously) appears to exercise such common sense and reasoning when it comes time to go bike shopping.
As for me the burning desire has since settled into more of a smoldering pile of coals with which I have winter to blame.
Which reminds me: You know what seems to be loads of fun to ride in the snow? A DR-Z400S.
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