The Sweaty Young Man And His Fi-Fitty!

This photo is of the SYM’s Honda CB550-4, with friends, in his driveway. He didn’t keep this motorcycle very long, just over four months, as it would only reach 95mph as it’s top speed, regardless of whether it was on level ground, or going down a mountain. The availability of aftermarket products at that time was limited, so was the gearing, and sprocket sizes for this, otherwise, wonderfully balanced and smooth machine.
Eventhough the SYM didn’t keep this bike very long, it was involved in much fun, and merriment, after a harrowing first day of ownership.
It all began one morning, as the SYM met the milk truck driver at the Clark AB dairy, after calling in a favor, for his delivery run to Subic Bay Naval Base, which was to the SouthWest by about 45 miles, but was a one and a half hour drive, through winding mountainous roads. To complicate things, a typhoon was approaching from the east of the island, off of the Pacific ocean. The SYM had learned the day before, that the Base Exchange at Subic Bay had one last Honda CB550-4 in stock, and that the next shipment would reflect a substantial three hundred dollar price increase. SYM had to act fast, and hustled over to the Credit Union, secured the loan, and had his check ready when he boarded the milk truck.
Upon arriving at Subic, and proceeding to the Base Exchange facility that handled motorcycle sales, he completed the transaction, and was officially the proud owner of his new bike, the last of it’s kind in that color scheme, and that price. SYM was quite pleased with himself for a few moments, then reality set in. The shop foreman, responsible for assembling the bike, gave him a perplexed look, and informed him that a five dollar assembly fee was required, but due to so much work ahead of his, he couldn’t guarantee he could get to it that day. SYM had been in the Philippines for about one year, and he knew what to do, and offered to triple the assembly fee, at which time a smiling and suddenly energized foreman got to work, and proceeded to get his bike ready.
The SYM soon found himself riding on his new Fi-Fitty, on his way back to Angeles City, but not without a care, as the typhoon was now dumping buckets of rain. The highway was almost abandoned, as he crossed a few high water areas, where the water came almost up to the carburetors, but he eventually made it home, with pruny fingers. He had a rain suit on, helmet with eye protection, and boots, but not gloves. That never happened again.
As he got more familiar with his Fi-Fitty, he came to appreciate how well balanced it was, as he could approach a redlight, slow to a stop and hold it for a moment, perfectly still, without having to put a foot down. It had a pleasant exhaust note from the four baffled exhaust pipes, handled, braked, road very smooth, and was a handsomely styled bike. It just wouldn’t go fast enough, and the SYM was beginning to get very upset with all of the bikes blasting past him.
The Fi-Fitty was a great friend for those few months, and was perfect to ride up and down the Cordilleras mountain range. According to another bike rider that traveled with him up the mountains to the summer capitol of Baguio, the SYM was “nuts” for riding so fast on the way down. The SYM scoffed at this notion, as he believed the one making that assertion didn’t realize the SYM was immortal.
About a month prior to selling the Fi-Fitty, and going to Japan to find something more powerful, the SYM realized that his best bud, let’s call him Grandpa Bob, was “short” for the PI. The realization that his closest friend and confidante would soon be leaving, and who knows, may never be seen again, compelled the SYM to request one weeks leave. If they might not ever get together again and tear it up, then by golly, they were going to tear it up for a week.
The festivities began innocently enough one day, as the two buds climbed on the Fi-Fitty to go get something to eat and drink. Soon it was all about the drink, San Miguel beer specifically, and soon that was their only sustenance. The two buds had curfew passes, so the midnight to 4a.m. curfew didn’t apply to them, as the party stretched into the second day, then the third, and a fourth, with little food, no sleep, and lots of beer, they were trying to delay the reality of Grandpa Bob’s departure, and return to the world. The SYM was still hanging tough, albeit goofy, but he noticed Granpa Bob, a much thinner person, was starting to have some trouble with his emotions, equilibrium, vision, speech(among other things), and was becoming difficult to control. When Grandpa Bob became Quixotic, and started attacking the trash containers that were harassing him, SYM knew the party was over, and physically restrained Grandpa Bob, put his helmet on, and instructed him to get on the Fi-Fitty..time to go home. As the Fi-Fitty turned onto MacArthur Highway, and headed south to Del Rosario compound, SYM had the bike humming along nicely, at about 40mph, when he suddenly felt Grandpa Bob let go of his grip and start moving about on the seat. The SYM became alarmed, maybe Grandpa Bob was hallucinating again, and was thinking of getting off the bike, so he slowed down, and turned his head to tell Grandpa Bob, not to let go. It was at that moment that Grandpa Bob turned his head to his left and began “blowing beads” as they traveled down the abandoned highway, at 3a.m. When the SYM realized what was happening, he flicked the throttle grip, and quickly accelerated to over 60mph, with Grandpa Bob still spraying the contents of his stomach down the road. The SYM thinks to himself, at that moment, he has got to get a bigger bike. He got Grandpa Bob home, and safely inside, and went home himself. They didn’t see each other until later that evening, a little worse for wear, but they continued to hang together, until the day Grandpa Bob left the island.
Thankfully, to this day, the two friends are as close as ever, eventhough they don’t get to see each other very often. The wonders of the innernut have made it much easier to share thoughts, feelings, and memories, than ever before.
The SYM, from that time forward, swore off owning a motorcycle smaller than 750cc’s.