My Honda 450 DOHC Twin
My Honda 450 DOHC Twin
Again I write about YN Sissom, whom a senior MN and nicknamed "the Young'un" for being least senior, and perhaps for being a yeoman in an otherwise all-MN command. I also write about myself. While still at Naha, Sissom had wanted a motorcycle, and needed a cycle endorsement for his driver's license. I taught him how to ride, let him use my bike for practice. Then he went a bought a bigger bike than mine, thinking to show me up a bit. Mine was a Honda DOHC 450, his a 500. He also had gotten himself a girlfriend and wanted to take her out on the bike.
Sissom was a respectable chap (until the environs corrupted him, as it does all, usually to their greater enjoyment). So of course his first girlfriend on the island was not the sort of girlfriend you tend to associate with sailors. She was a very proper sort of very average Japanese girl. And pretty. There was no way that she could go anywhere too very far (in any respect) alone with a man. And most certainly not with a US sailor, not even a yeoman. So Sissom needed at least a token chaperone. His girlfriend's girl friend filled that role. But three on a bike? So I was invited.
An all day outing. We four rode down to the southernmost point, looked at the shrines around suicide cliffs, paid our respects at the Cave of the Virgins and tromped through Gyokusendo Caves (the second longest in Japan). Then on the way back, Sissom wanted to show off a bit for is lady. I should have let him. It would have been the polite thing to do. I should have but of course I couldn't. Heading back north we picked up speed till we came to the mountain (if you can really call it that). It's a mountain by Okinawan standards, anyway. Sissom figured to pull away from me with his bigger bike. Well, now...that simply would not do. The motor alone is hardly enough. It also takes a bit of nerve (which I had then in somewhat unhealthy supply).
He left me in the dust going up the mountain. But I caught up and passed him down the other side. Both of us with timid Japanese girls clinging desperately from pillion. Coming off that mountain I pegged the speedo at 160 km/h and came to that beautiful two-mile straightaway stretching north. It was brand new pavement at the time, not a seam or pothole in it anywhere. I could not pick out Sissom in the rear view at all, he was so far behind. And I certainly did not care for him to catch up too soon. So I passed a string of ten or more cars at four times the speed limit, in a no-passing zone. And blew like the wind right on through a Japanese speed trap.
I had to make a U-turn to come back. You can't outrun the radio, and the island is only seventy miles by forty-five. Americans are all too easy to spot, and all of that... There is no real escape. The girl was jabbering at me loudly in Japanese, in which language I knew only how to say, "Mizuwari wa kudasai". So I rode back. The cops were not happy, but could not express their displeasure in English. The girl spoke for me. And to this day I have no clue what words were spoken. But the cop tromped over and shook the 40 km/h sign. I nodded stupidly. Then he tromped over and pointed to the solid no-passing paint on the road. I nodded stupidly some more. Then he made go-away gestures. I kicked the starter and did as graciously indicated. Maybe Gentry had a sort of a point about me and my bikes.
Sissom had just then caught up. It was near the end of the day and we needed to have the girls home before they turned into pumpkins or something. I did not even get to find out where they lived. And I can only assume that Sissom himself did know. We let them both off in the market, no few blocks and doubtless out of line of sight from their home.
Don't go thinking that I brag on being hot-rod with my piddly 450-twin. Not so. There was also MN3 "Simy" Simmons at Naha too. He bought a Honda 400-Four cafe racer the likes of which I had not seen elsewhere before or since. It had six speeds and purred like a dream. Another time on Hwy 58 I was busting the limit and Simy passed me just like I was standing still. Not a sound did that bike make, it was so quiet with its big 4-into-1 exhaust. It was like the ghost of a bullet. Too very cool indeed.