So, as I mentioned in the last chapter, the VTR1000, beguiling as it was, was gone and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. The (younger) members of the forum were harassing me about what I would purchase next, the discussion centering around why would I buy another VFR when there were so many other good bikes out there; why didn’t I try something else? Well, the answer was that (a) I liked the VFR (b) There wasn’t really another bike that did what the VFR did and did it anywhere near as well and (c) unlike the young whipper-snappers, I had already DONE my research and had found the bike that suited the sort of riding that I did best.
So, despite the derision, it was always going to be another VFR and I found a lovely example, locally, with some “extras” and at the right price. I gave it a long test ride (memories of TYS) and money was again exchanged for goods. My 3rd VFR was nicknamed “Blue Bayou”, homage to the Roy Orbison song but also a very clever (or so I thought) pun (blew by you). The standard muffler was soon swapped for a high level Staintune and the two helmets that came with the bike on-sold on ebay for a small profit (both were almost new but were small in size and didn’t fit my swelled head)
So began a great relationship. The colour was unique (I have never seen another VFR in this colour) and, with the addition of some rim-tape, I thought it looked great. As usual I spent a deal of time exploring the backroads and commuting.
At the time I was doing a fair bit of casual teaching at Port Hacking High School in Sydney and the bike proved to be a real Godsend as commuting to Sydney, even to the southern suburbs, is always a pain and the ability to sort the traffic as well as the fuel savings meant the BB came into its own. That is until one fateful afternoon. Cresting the rise at the top of Mount Ousley on the way home I rode straight into a winter wonderland. The whole highway appeared to be covered with snow and cars and trucks were sliding around all over the place on the white surface. It was already raining and I was wet from not having my wet weather gear with me so that was all I needed. I quickly deduced that it wasn’t snow on the road but hail, tiny stones of hail that, when added to millions more of them, gave all the appearance of snow.
On reflection I should have just stopped but, as already mentioned, cars and trucks were sliding around all over the place and I had no desire to be a target. Many cars HAD pulled to the side of the road but my dad had always said that, in conditions like this, it’s better to keep going than it is to stop, so I dropped the bike into low gear, put my feet down and cautiously started negotiating the slippery surface. For a couple of minutes things went well and I was starting to feel that getting to the bottom WAS doable as long as nobody (including me) did anything silly. Unfortunately, the lady in the grey BMW in front chose just that moment to do something silly. Quite why she did so I still haven’t figured out. She was managing extremely well, she was in her own little “pocket” of traffic and it should have been a doddle. But she suddenly jammed on the brakes. I WAS travelling at a safe distance and not in any danger of hitting her but, as soon as she braked, I did, the front disks grabbed, the front wheel locked and down I went.
As I skidded down the road on my back I could see the bike disappearing into the distance, skidding along in rapid circles and getting closer to the Beemer. I remember thinking, “Please don’t hit it.” and my prayers were answered. The bikes slowed its circular motion away from me and, at the same time, the lady in the BMW accelerated away. I got up, rushed to the bike and, with the help of a couple of bystanders, righted it, started it and rode on.
At the bottom of the hill the storm had passed but I was saturated by this stage and all I wanted to do was get home so I didn’t even check the damage (which I knew would be slight) until I got home.
As can be seen the damage was a little more severe than expected but I wasn’t that concerned. One of the forum members worked at a panel shop and he assured me when I rode the bike around there, that it was fixable so I left the bike there to get the work completed. Of course you know what happened, don’t you? The insurance assessor deemed that it wasn’t repairable for the amount for which it was insured and it was written off. Another good bike, including another Staintune muffler gone to hell. You’d think I would have learned, wouldn’t you?
Having the money in the hand didn’t compensate for the hassle of having to look for another bike. I determined right there and then that that would be the last time I would take out comprehensive insurance on an old bike. So the search began again.
It was early 2009 I guess and, once again, the choice boiled down to two bikes, a dealer one and a private sale one. Both were 4th Gen bikes and both had their advantages. The first was a red one at Western Motorcycles at Penrith. It had all the fruit, Staintune and all but it had been fiddled around with which was a bit of a worry. The private sale one was at Springwood in the Blue Mountains. It was mint, had a Staintune and was unmolested and original. PLUS, it was cheaper, so Black Betty became my best friend and I loved it, absolutely loved it.
That will do for today, more of my VFR’s next time.