I hadn't had a street bike since '82 when I sold my CB750F and devoted my bike time to off-road riding. For about 10 years I was deep into motocross, enduros and hare scrambles. I'd been bike-less since about '96 when I sold my CR250 because I wasn't using it anymore.

I'm crowding 50, hard, and decided I had to have a bike for my 50^th birthday. I'd seen a yellow SV650, probably an '01 or '02, at a dealer a few years ago and was captivated by the tubular silver frame that had that sort of cobby, but cool, works look to it. The V-twin was different, not the same four across that is everywhere. It was kind of Ducati-like, or as close to one as I was going to get. I liked the riding position and the tubular handlebar. I also liked the price.

The itch finally got so bad I, had to scratch it. The search was on. I was all over the want ads, Cycle Trader, and of course, Ebay. Too new, too much, too beat, too wrecked or too far away, nothing hit the spot. Then one day, there it was, this kinda dirty looking, SV650 on Ebay. I was looking for yellow and it was red. Low price, no reserve, red's good. I jumped in. Some light competition, but as the time wound down I threw in one last bid, determined to go no higher. The clock ran out, and it was mine. I was so stoked. You're either a bike owner or you're not and I had crossed over the line. A bike again. It was great.

I brought it home one rainy evening. The first order of business was a bath. A little degreaser and a lot of soap and water and beneath the crud was one nice looking motorcycle. Mostly. Great paint, no dents, and a very nice sounding motor. The tires were shot. The rear brake pads were gone. The bars were bent. It needed some love. Off to the bike shop. Pads, bars, fluids, oil, plugs, tires and a helmet. Yes, a new helmet. Dr. Sloan's finest. They've come a long way since the Bell Star 120.

My "new" bike was hanging from the rafters, what was left after stripping it down. I'd discovered the SVRider.com website and learned that there were some items I must have. Fed-Ex showed up with fork springs, a 636 shock and a Haynes manual. I changed the brake fluid, checked the valves, drained the coolant; basically gave it a full motorcycle physical. A fresh set of skins and it was ready to roll. Almost.

The weather is pretty damp in the Northwest in January. An opportunity to roll was not forthcoming. I stewed and paced through 35 days of "measurable precipitation" waiting for a chance to get my bright red scoot out for a cruise. I took advantage of the paving laid in advance of a new industrial park to practice some basic skills before each of several short outings. It's nice to have a deserted little piece of practice track to play around on. I was really looking for a chance to go for a ride.

The weatherman finally decided to be my friend. Several days of dry weather and the roads dried out. It was time to put in some miles. Where to go? An enthusiastic salesman at the bike shop had recommended a loop that sounded promising and I had never seen much of it before. I checked the map to orient myself, filled the tank and headed out.

Suburbia quickly gave way to small farms and ranches and small towns with one school and two gas stations. Curvy roads with ups and downs and plenty of interest. Really great riding and very few cars. A cool, old bridge with a great view took me over the end of the first of three lakes on my route. A little further on and I stopped at a boat launch and picnic area to take a short break and admire the scenery. I also took a minute to size up my new ride.

The bike was just what I wanted. The size was right and the power plentiful. Not a fire breather, but then that's not what I was looking for. I like the torque. I also like the way you sit on it. I'd had the chance to put about a hundred miles on a Ninja a couple years ago on the north California coast. Great roads and while a Ninja may be more of a scalpel for carving the corners, this bike fit me better and isn't so one-dimensional.

Heading out again, following the shore of the lake and then over a dam to another larger lake, to more great winding roads. Climbing up above the shore at the far end of the lake I encountered another bridge, a mini Golden Gate, with its suspension cables, over a deep, narrow gorge. And further up I climbed. Did I mention I kept climbing? I had failed to take note on the map of the elevations I would have transition on my route. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 4,000 to 5,000 feet. It can be pretty cold in that neighborhood in January in the Northwest. But I'm pretty sharp and I figured it out when I saw the snow.

I back-tracked a mile or two to a Forestry Service center I'd just passed and consulted the big map they had posted outside by the door. It looked like it was just a little farther to go back than it was to keep going, and just a few miles to my next turn. So I decided to press on. The thing was, I hadn't topped out in altitude yet. I made the turn and thought "Well, I'll probably be heading down now". Not really. That turn just got me on the road to the road that goes down.

By now I'm in the shadow of the mountains, there is five feet of snow plowed up along the road and the dry patches no longer outnumber the wet ones. I had paid a small premium and waited a couple days to get Pilot Powers instead of Dunlops because I had read they were better in the wet. Well, I don't know if they are better, but they never slipped, and I was happy about that. Not that I was pushing them. I had gone into full caution (survival) mode. I wasn't really scared, but I was not feeling too good about things and I was being really careful.

I finally reached Wind River road that would take me down the mountain. This road would be a hoot in the summer. The upper end is posted 35 mph because it has so many turns, so close together. The thing is, it wasn't summer. The road was narrowed by snow and in a few places there were ice patches. These had been easy enough to go around. Then I came to a snow park. This is where the guys with the Arctic Cats and SkiDoos come to play. When they are done playing, they drag a fair amount of slush and snow out on to the road where it turns to ice. No problem for your 2 ton F250 wheeler. Slightly bigger problem for Joe Newbie on his 2 wheeled "Insta-flop". Sport Rider neglected to test those Michelins on ice.

Thankfully, Joe Newbie did not flop, but peddled slowly, nervously over the section of popsicle paving. From there the road dropped like a rock and the snow was quickly gone. Smiles returned inside the helmet and I was riding (verses surviving) again. In no time I passed through the town of Carson, touting its natural hot springs, and popped out onto the Columbia Gorge Highway. Also known as Washington state route 14, this is an awesome two lane that starts in Vancouver and swoops along the Washington side of the Columbia River for about 200 miles. I stopped in Stevenson to check the view and let the sun beat on my jacket awhile. The road drops down to river level then rises to the junction with the "Bridge of the Gods" before straightening out for a while as you pass the Bonneville dam. Soon it's up to the cliffs for a stunning view of the river, if you care to stop, and back down to river level before encountering civilization, traffic, and stop lights.

All in, it was about 140 very cool miles. No pun. I could have done without the snow and I feel a bit stupid about that. It was a situation that would have been pretty obvious to most anyone. But motorcycle fever can dull one's thinking. Not unlike boat fever, ski fever, fish fever or any of a number of other toy induced diseases. I'll check the elevations next time.

The next morning I tried to roll the bike out of the garage to wash it. It would barely move. I thought I was supposed to be the one stiff after a long ride. Turns out I managed to put what appeared to be a nice sharp rock right through my 160/60-17. It was flatter than road kill. 200 miles new and shot to hell. The bike shop said "Sorry", and I ponied up for a new one. And a plug kit. And one of those CO2 inflator jobbies. And a fender eliminator and some of those LED.........another symptom of the fever. SVRider is a carrier.

The SV is a sweet bike. Small, but plenty. I love the V-twin power, the look and feel of the bike. But even more than that, I love cruising down the road on two wheels, shifting with my toe, leaning into corners, listening to the motor. It feels great to be on the other side of that line...to be a rider again.