In the early 2000s I got bit by the motorcycling bug, somewhat surprisingly, since I grew up around bikes—my dad always had at least one or two bikes and would often trade them for newer or different models depending on what he felt like. He would take me to kindergarten on his Honda CB750—I remember my hands gripping the tank and all the street smells on the route from our apartment to the school. And maybe because of that familiarity with bikes, I didn’t associate them with rebelliousness or anything, or really think of getting one until I was in my 20s.
I knew I had to take it slow and not jump into a Ducati 916 right away, to avoid ruining many years of expensive and painful orthodontic work. Riding takes skill, and skill takes practice. So my first bike was a very easy-to-ride Yamaha XV535—a small cruiser with a 535cc V-twin, air-cooled engine.
And what a wonderful bike it was. Despite being quite old and used when I got it, it always started at the first push of the button, never left me stranded, and was a lot of fun.
It was a bike you could enjoy—the sports bikes I had later demanded so much more of their rider that, I found, I did not enjoy them as much. But, after a couple of years, of course, I felt the urge to get something a bit more modern, sportier and… faster. Enter the R6.
I do miss that Yamaha.