AWESOMES-II

For the first few days that I'd got her, I used to steal downstairs at night. Start her up, and listen. I'd sit beside her, and watch the smoke billow out of her old beat-up muffler. Then get up and rev the accelarator ever so slightly.
And all of a sudden, you'd feel the beast come to life. The slightest touch would awaken the engine, ever alert, and she'd spring to attention.
Introducing, to the idiots who haven't been introduced to her yet, the Yamaha RX-100.
They speak of the Japanese automobile, they speak of the Japanese electronic appliances and the Lord alone knows what else. But for this one single act of holy creation alone, the Land of the Morning Sun could sit back and soak in the applause for decades to come.
Quite simply, she's the best bike I've ever ridden. Yes, there's the Bullet, and yes there's the Pulsar. And no, I haven't ridden a Hayabusa.
But to a guy born and brought up in Pune's traffic, there's nothing that beats the charm of a bike that can turn the sharpest corners, weave in and out of traffic with awe-inspiring agility, move up ahead of anything and everything with humbling ease, and in general, beat the living crap out of anything that moves.
Ooh, but she rocks.
Low slung and sleek, she ain't a classical beauty. But to those in love, she looks about perfect. A no-nonsense headlamp hangs below an equally bare console. There's no fairing to speak of, and the Yamaha engineers, geniuses though they were, weren't too big on rider comfort.
But ah, peoples, get on to the bike, unlock her by that peculiar twist and swing maneuver, and kick start it. Ridiculously easy to start, she springs to life with a quick roar, as two stroke bikes are prone to. Rev her up once, to feel the engine below assure you of it's prescence. Drop her in first gear and release the clutch... ever so slightly.
Yamaha riders, wipe that wistful grin off your face.
She rolls into motion, quickly and smoothly, gathering her pace as you shift rapidly to second. The high pitched scream that the first gear gives off settles into an ever so slightly quieter beat, as you hit... oh, say, 25 kmph.
Ratchet her into third, and feel her gear up for action. She gives you a slight push back and the speedometer arcs forward to 40, 45, and then 50.
She's screaming along now, begging to be thrown into the fourth. You hold her back until 55, feeling the madness engulf you. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the envious glances as you roar away in smoke. If you have a pillion behind you, there's some rapid prayers being sent straight up via speed post.
And then, just before you hit 60, you put the gear into fourth and rev up the accelarator.
Biking nirvana.
There.
Now she's in her element. Roaring along at 90, you speed along the roads, swerving first left, then right, ducking and weaving past odd ball obstacles, and I assure you, doing this on a Yam is incomparable fun.
And then you reach a traffic signal.
Hah.
Hah hah.
Repeat above, with around fifty losers eating your smoke.
Orgasmic, nothing less, I tell you.
I've driven to Goa on the thing, and it was 14 hours of sheer pleasure.
But the Yam ride that I remember the most is in December, 2005.
I and Denny boy were riding back to Pune, and Denny boy being Denny boy, we started off at around 4, when Plan A had us leaving at 2. Now the thing is, I wanted to hit the Ghats before sunset, which, the non-geographically challenged among you know, happens quite early in December.
So once we left behind us the town of Panvel, we hit that part of the NH-4 which is four laned, fast and wonderfully smooth. For almost an hour, that bike went nowhere below 90, and I'm guessing Denny boy's BP was somewhere around twice that.
But with the sun about to set, wonderfully empty roads, and a freshly serviced Yam giving me all she's got, I had the time of my life.
She's here with me in Bangalore, with a freshly rebored engine, and 500 kms to go before she becomes the queen that she once was. After that, it's lovey dovey all over again.
Bangalore is around 900 kilometres away from Pune.
No, no... random info.
I've nothing in mind. I swear.
P.S. With eternal thanks to Binoy Oommen.