Read this poem written by a RD-luver!!
The Yamaha RD 350 (twin)
When I was nineteen years old,
Typically rash stupid and bold,
I went through a phase called the double 'A' -
My automotive adolescence so to say.
As a compromise between power and money,
I was given the Rajdoot Yamaha 350,
Yes, the one with the miserable fuel economy.
Though the four figure petrol bills,
Gave my father nasty chills,
The machine gave me amazing thrills.
The bike was built for mad, suicidal speed,
And that was my strongest need.
Under me, my Rajdoot Yamaha,
And the road was my virtual Suzuka.
You feel an incomparable high,
When on the road in harmony, you fly,
The bikes an extension of your body, you two are one,
You think about changing a gear and it's done.
Roaring into a corner you come,
The wind in your ears a loud hum.
Physics says you have to fall, and gravity does try,
But you make poor old Newton sigh,
He rolls over and over in his grave,
Wondering why, according to his laws you don't behave.
Your confidence soars,
Louder the bike roars,
The throttle is like a baton in your hand,
The pistons and the crank, the best orchestra in the land.
And it is Wagner’s opera to your mind,
The sound of the engine screaming toward the red line.
The adrenaline in your blood makes it boil,
But, on the next corner there's spilt diesel oil…
Then comes the fall,
With a shower of sparks, bike, you and all.
You hit the tar at a hundred and one,
Dragged along with the bike, remember you two are one,
But now it isn't so much fun.
You have burns due to friction,
And pain has reached a new dimension.
You are laid up in bed for quite a while
And now it is old Newton’s' turn to smile.