So, I got myself one of those Suzuki 650 dual sport bikes a while back. You know the one, the DR650. Everybody and their brother told me, “Man, that’s the bike! Perfect for learning, tough as nails, you’ll never wanna sell it.” And I figured, yeah, why not? Sounded like a solid plan.
I wasn’t looking to be some kind of adventure god or anything. Just wanted something simple, something I could bumble around on, maybe hit a few easy trails, get the feel for riding. And for that, it was pretty damn good. Started up every time, took a beating when I inevitably dropped it a few times. No big drama.
They all rave about the DR650’s reliability, right? Say it’s legendary. And I gotta admit, the machine itself, pure gold. That engine just thumps along, doesn’t ask for much. It’s like an old, loyal dog.
But here’s the thing…
Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it. I bought that DR thinking it’d be my weekend escape, my little piece of freedom. Simple fun, that was the idea. But then things got… complicated. Real complicated, real fast.
I’d just gotten the hang of changing the oil myself, feeling all proud, when outta nowhere, my job situation went totally sideways. One week I’m looking at maps for a little camping trip with the DR, the next I’m staring at bills piling up, wondering what the hell I’m gonna do. Stressful ain’t even the word for it.
And that Suzuki, man. That bike stopped being just a “learner bike” or a “fun toy” pretty quick. It became my lifeline. Seriously. It was the cheapest way to get anywhere. To those soul-crushing job interviews all over town. To the grocery store when I was counting pennies. That thing just had to start, and it always did. Never once let me down, not when it really mattered.
People always say, “Oh, you’ll ride the DR for a year, then you’ll want something bigger, faster, fancier.” And maybe they’re right for some folks. But when you’re scraping by, that “legendary reliability” isn’t just a cool feature. It’s everything. That bike was a constant, something I could actually depend on when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
So when I hear folks say, “Never sell your DR650,” it hits different now. It’s not just about holding onto a decent bike. For me, that thing represents a whole chapter. It’s a reminder that sometimes the simplest, most unassuming things are the ones that get you through the toughest times. It wasn’t about becoming a “serious rider” on it; it was about the bike helping me stay serious about life. Yeah, I still got it. Can’t see myself parting with it, to be honest. It’s more than just metal and rubber to me now.
