First Time On The Five-Hunge

7 years ago | Words: Andy Wigan | Photos: iKapture

With KTM and Husqvarna recently releasing their revolutionary fuel-injected two-strokes, there’s been a lot of talk about the resurgence of two-stroke technology. It’s not that two-dingers have ever really been off the radar – cos you can always find a purist who reckons dirt bikes ought to smell like oil, vibrate like hell, go like the clappers, and scare the shit out of the hapless bloke sitting aboard the thing. It’s just that KTM and Husky have suddenly re-engaged a huge cross-section of the dirt bike community who’d wrongly assumed that their beloved two-strokes had long since seen the peak of their development curve.

So, what better time to reflect on my first altercation with the biggest, baddest, meanest two-stroke of them all: the venerable 500? As it turned out, this embarrassingly belated first ride on a 500cc two-stroke was aboard the actual KX500 that Peter “Reggie” Melton took to the 500cc Aussie Motocross Championship in the year 2000 – the last title before the 500cc class disappeared forever. Entitled “Cherry-Poppin’ 500”, this account was first published in the October-November 2010 (Issue #4) of Transmoto Magazine.

There are a few things in life I’ve always wanted to do, but which, for one reason or another, somehow got away from me. Whether it’s been procrastination, a conspiracy of circumstance or simply fear of trying, I’ve found myself on the ripe side of 40 without yet making good on a few of these dreams. And I’m not talking about bringing carnal Angelina Jolie fantasies to life here, either!

So, what specifically? Well, I’ve surfed some of the world’s most notorious waves throughout Indonesia, South Africa, Sri Lanka, New Caledonia, the Solomon Islands, France, Spain, Portugal and even far-flung Wales, but I’ve never surfed the liquid Mecca that is Hawaii. Nope, never slotted into a barrel at Banzai Pipeline or handled the bottomless drop at Waimea Bay – both of which I’ve dreamt of since I was 10 years old.

I’m also ashamed to admit that, until recently, I’d never ridden a 500cc two-stroke. I know … sad, but embarrassingly true. I’d sat on a few, seen them blast past me en route to Finke, and witnessed poor bastards whisky-throttle them off berms with frightening regularity. But I’d never ridden one. Not in the sand dunes. Not on a motocross track. Not in the desert. Not even in the carpark. I’ve skydived, snowboarded the Alps, dodged bullets in the Middle East, cut laps at Glen Helen, run the public transport gauntlet in India from north to south, climbed 6000m peaks in Nepal, been chased by a puma in Costa Rica and raced 750cc road bikes. But I’d never even kicked a 500 two-stroke over, let alone ridden one.

How come? To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. But the more I think about it, the more I realise I’ve had ample opportunity over the past 20 years. I can’t specifically recall turning down an offer to ride a 500, but I don’t seem to have gone out of my way to throw a leg over one, either. After much pondering on the issue, all I’m left to presume is that somewhere deep in my subconscious, I’ve been scarred by all those frightening stories about out-of-control 500s. And when Kawasaki mercifully stopped producing their KX500 beast seven years ago and the 500s drifted out of everyday consciousness, riding one dropped conveniently off my bucket list. Yes, it would appear I’ve simply been too shit-scared to ride one all these years. Which is downright pathetic!

All this was going through my mind as Danny Ham, Greg Smith and I drove out to the test track in south-east Queensland – the venue where I would finally get to ride a 500. Fittingly, I’d be riding the KX500 Peter “Reggie” Melton won the last ever 500cc Aussie MX title aboard, back in 2000 – a bike that we wanted to put up against a 2011 KX450F for the feature article in this issue. “Reggie reckons the track is a big natural terrain thing on a hillside with pretty easy tabletops,” I said to the boys in what was little more than an attempt to reassure myself. Smith piped up from the back seat: “Mate, if you can kick-start a 500, you can ride one. You’ll be right. The throttle goes both ways.” And just as that thought was soothing my frayed nerves, he quickly followed through with, “I reckon every time one of these things rolled off the production line, a little Japanese guy waved it goodbye with a snigger and a knowing look that it’d send someone to hospital.” Thanks, Smith! Hammy then chimed in: “I’ve ridden a 500 in the dunes, but never around a motocross track. I reckon it’s going to have awesome power, irrespective of it being 10 years old. I hope its old brakes are okay.”

“Yes, it would appear I’ve simply been too shit-scared to ride a 500 all these years. Which is downright pathetic!”

The test track was a beauty alright, but not exactly the sort of forgiving loam I’d prayed for. In fact, it hadn’t rained for weeks so the undulating hardpack had a dangerous sprinkling of sand in many sections, fist-sized rocks that lurked like hand grenades, blind crests and up-ramps with last-minute kickers that introduced unpredictability into every airborne encounter. ‘This is the price you pay for being such a pussy and avoiding a 500 ride for 20 years,’ I thought to myself as I contemplated my 500 initiation.

“She’s awesome after a bit of rain, this track,” Melton said, after picking up on my nervous energy. “But it’s pretty slick out there today. You wanna be careful that 500 doesn’t bite. Respect the throttle.”

No kidding, Reggie. A few recce laps on the 2011 KX450F didn’t do much to bolster my confidence, but I wasn’t about to turn tail now. I stood tall, kicked through the 500’s almighty compression and twisted that thing on the right side of the bars with a big “RESPECT ME!” sign on it.

Da-ding-dang-dang-dong-doonng … dooonng. Holy Jesus! The big KX500 vibrated into life amid a sea of blue smoke and induction noise. I tried to ignore the fact the left-side footpeg drooped dangerously and that Melton had emptied a couple of cans of silicon spray onto his trusty old friend to bring out its former lustre, and set off with a bizarre mixture of apprehension and pride.

The boys will certainly attest to the fact I wasn’t exactly on the stops that day, but I like to think I cut a few respectable laps on the KX500. I managed to clear half the jumps and didn’t bin the thing, and in three 20-minute sessions, I learned a new respect for throttle control. I came to understand what torque really means. I got new insight into just how quickly a bike can get away from a bloke. And I refined the art of short-shifting.

Righto, I was dawdling around … but I’d finally overcome what I now realise was an irrational fear I’d harbored for years. I’d ridden a machine that will always be part of motocross folklore, and lived to tell the tale.

Now for that ticket to Hawaii at Christmas.