The Yamaha RD-60 was a 55cc two-stroke street bike manufactured in the early 1970s.

My primary form of recreation at the time was exploring the northern Nevada high desert that surrounded Winnemucca, which was miles of dirt roads, sagebrush, mountains and canyons, with the occasional creek and reservoir thrown in. When I had the hankering to do something else, I'd make the 180-mile trip to Lake Tahoe for swimming, skiing or hiking in the Sierras.

On one of those weekend jaunts, I stopped in Reno and dropped by a couple of motorcycle shops. Just to look at the chrome, listen to the exhaust sounds and sit on a few cycles. I didn't really think I could afford a bike.

As I was leaving one shop, I took a walk past their fence-enclosed storage lot, which was full mostly of disassembled sportbikes along with a few bent dirt bikes. Pushed up against the fence, I spotted a tiny blue two-wheeler that appeared to be complete and undamaged. It caught my eye because it was so small, but was styled almost like a racing bike -- it looked like a 12-year-old's dream bike. I looked it over, and went back in to ask if it was for sale.

The RD-60 included oil injection, so you didn't have to mix oil into the gas.

The salesman had to ask around the shop to find out. It turned out that the bike had been a trade-in, but the mechanic had understood it wouldn't run, and they were planning to use it for parts. If they could get it to run without too much work, I could have it for $90. I returned a few hours later, they hadn't found anything wrong with it, and it was mine.

By removing the passenger seat in my Jeep, which just took a second, I was able to snake the bike in through the passenger door and stand it upright inside the Jeep. I didn't even have to unsnap the soft top! I lashed the little beast to the rollbar in a couple of places so it wouldn't roll around, grabbed a hamburger and a milkshake, and started on the 160-mile drive back to Winnemucca.

As I rolled along I-80 at 65 mph, about as fast as a ragtop Jeep can go without deafening you for life, I begin wondering if the little Yamaha strapped in beside me will prove to be worthwhile transportation of just a fun toy. It still has the original street tire on the front. The rear has been replaced with a blocky-treaded trials tire. Everything else looks original. The odometer reads 3,001 miles.

I'm ready for the first drive on the open road. Open the gas valve. Flip on the choke. Step on the kick starter. The single cylinder roars -- well, puffs -- into life. The two-stroker is well-muffled, and sends out a muted, soft-edged purr. It idles better without the choke. (I eventually learn to turn off the choke as soon as it starts, which is almost always on the first kick.) Blip the throttle and the tachometer instantly snaps up to 6,000 rpm. The redline is 12,000 rpm - wow. Squeeze the clutch, pop it into first gear, release the throttle smoothly -- and away we go. Accelerate smoothly up to 6 mph and shift into second. Shift into third at about 15 mph. Hmmm. Not very fast.

The frame was nearly full-size, so the seating position was reasonably comfortable. NOTE: These photographs were taken the early 1980s - my clothes today are slightly less dorky. I hope.

As I had expected, the Yamaha was only remotely like my old twin-cylinder Honda 350. The Honda, widely respected as a forthright if somewhat sluggish road bike, could easily out-accelerate the average car. The RD-60 is more closely related to a moped. But it's a whole lot quicker and more stylish than a moped. Moped engines displace 49cc. The RD-60 displaces 55cc. But the RD-60 has a much higher compression ratio, better valving and much better gearing.

I find the Yamaha is fine for getting around the small town. Winnemucca stretches about three miles East to West and a couple of miles North to South. The cycle is just about as quick as a car for getting around town, and much faster than walking. Like many small motorcycles, the electrical system can barely keep up with accessories. The headlight gets brighter as the engine revs faster, and the turn signals don't blink unless the engine is well above idle. No problem -- I just use hand signals when necessary.

The gas tank holds 2.1 gallons. It is several weeks before I decide to fill it the second time, and then I calculate it went about 98 miles per gallon. It has oil injection, and consumes less than a pint for every tank of gas. Volkswagen Beetles have no trouble out-accelerating me from stoplights. But then, I'm a 170-pound guy sitting atop a lean 160-pound machine. Because the bike's frame is nearly as tall as a full-size motorcycle, it's comfortable to ride. It's so narrow, it feels almost like riding a wide-seated bicycle. I don't mind going slower than cars, because I know I'm going much faster than I would be if I was riding a bike. And 98 mpg!

The bike weighed only 160 pounds, so you could pick it up and carry it - even up stairs - if necessary.

Climbing Golconda Pass, I am reduced to fourth gear and 35 mph, then third gear and about 28 mph. Heading down the long eastern slope, tucked in over the tank, I hit 51 mph at redline. As is typical in much of the desert west, someone has spelled out the town's name in white-painted rock in huge block letters across a mountain side. But they abbreviated it - BM. Nice. Purring into Battle Mountain, I have plenty of time for a leisurely lunch before the game. On the return trip, I get frustrated by the slow climb back over Golconda Pass. But back in Winnemucca, I top up the tank and discover the RD-60 has traveled 110 miles on exactly one gallon of gas. My Jeep would have used seven gallons.

But, looking back over the four bikes I've owned, the tiny RD-60 was my favorite motorcycle. It didn't go very fast, but is sure was easy to handle and fun to ride. And the amazing economy doesn't hurt, either.