Extremely good vibrations

From Cyril's memoirs dated 15 March 2007

I'm often asked, 'Cyril, why are your recollections so full of smut and filth?' I can only hold my hands up and say, Mother, I've lived a charmed life full of good fortune.

The other day, Francesca and I were poring over the January issue of Bike and the luscious photos of the new Ducati 1098. We agreed that certain motorcycles really do have a certain sex appeal in themselves, and I can assure you it goes beyond the merely academic discussion of bulges, tubes and orifices.

Many years ago I had a Suzuki GSX-R750H, hard to believe now, but there was a time I could bend this old frame of mine to fit a supersports bike. And talking of bending my frame, this was when I was married to former Soviet discus champ Anoushka (she of neck-twisting thighs and killer right hook fame). She always loved the bikes and would climb on the back at any opportunity (she'd climb on my back at any opportunity, but that's another, rather painful, story). The woman was a real speed freak and always urged me to go faster, whatever bike it was we were riding. But when it came to the Gixer, it was different. We'd get up to about 80 and she'd start nudging me in the kidneys to slow down. This would generally happen on long stretches of boring road, such as a motorway.

It wasn't until we tried an intercom that I realised what was going on. It turned out that in top gear at 80mph the 750 would produce a particular frequency of vibration through the subframe. I'd never really noticed this, but Anoushka certainly had, as betrayed by barely stifled whimpering and laboured breathing one day on the M6 between Kendal and Moffat (normal enough after a service station lunch, but we hadn’t stopped). And there was me thinking it was the fresh air leaving her rosy-cheeked at the end of a good ride. The intercom didn't last long, by the way. Ever had 110 decibels of Russian profanities piped directly into your ear while trying to find an obscure address in an unfamiliar city?

Another experience I had happened when much younger. I must only have been about 18 years old and riding around on a tatty AJS single. Well, you chaps will know what it's like when a healthy teenage body is flooded with out-of-control hormones; a nanny goat in a summer dress could have given me a stiffy, but the vibes created by the old Ayjay would cause trouser anarchy.

I recall having to run a package round to a local engineering firm, the aptly named Upright and Sons. It was a mild day and I had on a woollen jumper, with no jacket, and loose-fitting worsted trousers. Traffic was heavy and I had to make several detours before I reached the Upright offices, by which time I could have honed a Panther cylinder with my own special tool. The cruel trick was that after ten minutes or so of these vibes the old todger would be left practically numb and I'd become pretty much unaware of it.

Have you ever seen a woman faint? I entered reception with the package in my hands and as I walked across to the desk I saw a look of absolute horror on the aged receptionist's face. Her gaze was fixed firmly on my groin and by the time I'd realised my predicament it was too late, up she stood and down she went. This was, let's remember, 1953, a more reserved age. I'm sure if an 18-year-old arrived in such a state these days the receptionist might well go down, but in an altogether different way.

I was terribly sad when I sold that bike, rattly and slow as it was, but the old boy who bought it was thrilled. He never let it out of his sight and even when he became too old to ride he could be seen sitting on the Ayjay on his drive, revving the thing rhythmically, a wistful smile on his dreamy face.

Suzuki's GSX-R750 prompts a frank and revealing exchange of emails

From Cyril's memoirs dated 27 December 2005

From: deaconblue@purgatory.com
To: cyrilgreen@libero.it
Date: 12 October 2005

Dear Cyril

I read with interest your account in Bikes and Bikemen of the invention and naming of Suzuki's SRAD induction system. Now, you and I both know that the naming process was long and hard and took place at a seminar in Berkshire in April of 1995. As I recall, it wasn't you who came up with the acronym which was to grace the following year's GSX-R750T. No, in fact I coined Suzuki Ram Air Direct after several of your suggestions were rejected, including, if I'm not mistaken, High Air Intake Rate Yield, or HAIRY. I’m surprised you seem to have forgotten this, but am prepared to put it down to the heavy medication a man of your age and condition must be forced to endure. I look forward to seeing a letter in Bikes and Bikemen correcting the error.

Yours, Charles Deacon

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From: cyrilgreen@libero.it
To: deaconblue@purgatory.com
Date: 13 October 2005

Dear Charles

Many thanks for your message, but I feel I have to defend my ground on this one. I know for a fact that SRAD was coined by myself to great acclaim and relief from all involved after discussions had reached deadlock on day 18. You may not recall the decisive moment too well as I believe you were out of the room at the time on (yet another) toilet break. How is that nasty waterworks trouble, by the way? Incidentally, your embarrassing bladder-based 'accident' earlier that day could have happened to anyone suffering from chronic incontinence, although to have had the same mishap eight times in two weeks does seem a little unfortunate.
The fact that the problem was prompted by urethral chaffing during the 1992 Le Mans 24-Hour does make it seem a little more heroic, although as you were a mechanic, not a rider, I'm a little puzzled as to when this chaffing actually took place. It may well have been caused by going balls-out on something long and French, but I doubt it was the Mulsanne Straight. We'll say no more.
HAIRY, I'm afraid, doesn't ring a bell and I suspect your mind is playing tricks on you. It's only to be expected when a man suffers premature baldness, but you really must put that to one side, as I presume you do your rather fine toupee each night before bed.
Oh, and may I say that my only medication involves liberal doses of my lovely young wife Francesca and the finest Umbrian olive oil, usually taken separately, though not always!

Best wishes, Cyril
PS: how's the rash?

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From: deaconblue@purgatory.com
To: cyrilgreen@libero.it
Date: 16 October 2005

Cyril

Dear oh dear, you really are a bitter little man, aren't you? Do I need to send you a copy of the photo of me shaking hands with Masahiro Nishikawa as he congratulates me for my work on the GSX-R project? It would be a simple thing to take a quick snap of it in situ on my bedside table. No doubt you won't recall the photo being taken during Nishikawa's surprise visit to the seminar, as you were otherwise engaged in a maintenance store cupboard with a waiter you'd been chatting up at lunch. Or was that just another 'misunderstanding'? I'm sure 'the lovely Francesca' (or is that Francesco?) would be interested to hear all about it. Just write the letter, Cyril.

Charles

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From: cyrilgreen@libero.it
To: deaconblue@purgatory.com
Date: 27 October 2005

Charles

Please forgive my tardy reply, but I've had many more important things to do, such as fettling my small but lovely collection of motorcycles and tending to a troublesome boil on the dog's bottom.
It's a pity you had to bring up the incident in the cupboard with the waiter – and in such a threatening manner. Perhaps it's time to tell you that the photo you have cherished all these years is not, in fact, the GSX-R750T’s engine designer Masahiro Nishikawa, but rather Kevin Hom who worked at the Shell Minimart, Twyford. If you knew one iota about the team behind the GSX-R you'd know that Nishikawa has never sported an afro perm, is unlikely to be seen in a blue nylon snorkel jacket – least of all with the hood up – and didn’t, the last time I met him, have a lazy eye. We were all in on the joke, Charles.
As I recall, and you obviously do not, you then drank yourself unconscious in a self-congratulatory frenzy before being carried up to bed by the rather burly night porter. As a memento, I have in front of me as I type a rather interesting collection of snapshots. My word, it's not so much the length of those GSX-R750 conrods as the external diameter of the big-end. Ouch! Thank goodness for polished internals. And how are the old Chalfonts, these days?
If I were you Charles, I'd forget all about this whole SRAD business, before you make a complete TAWT of yourself.

Yours, still wincing at the thought

Cyril 'Polaroid' Green