In the Spring of 1983, I was a 75 pound 6th grader with a love for motorcycles. I didn't have one, but my dad and older brother did, and I wanted one with a passion. At that time my motorcycling experience could be summed up in a few rides on my cousin Randy Wilcox's Honda Z50.

I nearly fainted the day my dad came home and offered up the opportunity to own a brand new 1981 TS100, a leftover model the local Suzuki dealer had acquired from another dealer which had closed its doors. The TS100 was far from a serious dirt bike and much bigger and heavier than anything I should have been riding at that point in my life, but I didn't care. All I had to do was pay for half the cost of the bike, which was as simple as withdrawing $350 from my savings account.

Suzuki's TS models in 1981 were the last of their full-size 2-stroke dual sport motorcycles sold in the U.S. market. With a 100cc engine, the TS100 was the smallest in the lineup, which also included 125, 185 and 250 models. The engines were air cooled and possessed as tame a powerband as any oil-burner I've ever ridden. These were popular bikes where I grew up, probably because of their moderate cost, relatively light weight and decent 2-stroke power. The engine was oil-injected, which was great when filling up with gas but not so good if you forgot to keep the 2-cycle oil reservoir full.

Like many of Suzuki's dual sport bikes in the 1980's, the seat was mounted on hinges and could be opened to reveal the 2-cycle oil reservoir, a tool kit and a battery. These bikes did not like to get wet. The front fender was shaped to allow maximum airflow to the engine, which caused the front tire an unobstructed path to kick up water and throw it directly onto the spark plug. I'd sometimes ride my TS in our barn lot in the wintertime and perform endless power slides in the snow, but the only way to keep the bike running was to wrap a towel around the top of the engine.

The TS100 was a Stichnoth family affair, as my brother Jim owned an identical model, as did Uncle George and my cousin Dan. For many years after Jim and I left the farm, my dad used the bikes to check crops and scout for tile holes. The "Twin TS100's" my brother and I rode endlessly on the farm are now with me, waiting for some TLC to make them road and trail worthy again.

For a teenager, this was a fantastic little bike. I bought the SP200 entirely with my own hard-earned money, and the first several years of its life were spent riding the back roads of Illinois and Indiana. Me and my SP explored just about every country road within 30 miles of my house. I preferred dirt and was always in search of the roughest, worst maintained roads. The SP200 saw plenty of use exploring abandoned or sparsely utilized railroads. As a major railfan, I loved exploring railroad bridges and once even rode between the tracks across a highway overpass.

The suspension was not entirely suitable for jumping, but this didn't stop me from pretending I was a motocross racer. On the SP, my ankles would hurt after taking on a certain natural-terrain jumps around the farm. In high school, I so loathed riding the bus to school that I'd take the SP into town, nine miles each way, on any day the morning temperature was above 40 degrees. If I was lucky, I'd find a semi-truck to draft behind. The engine was just large enough to cruise comfortably at 55 mph, but with no wind protection whatsoever, those were some cold mornings.

The photo above was captured in 1997 during a trip to Montana, where my faithful SP200 saw the last of its best riding days. The bike was perfect for the wide open spaces of Eastern Montana, as its range on a single tank of gas was over 200 miles. Later in that same trip I took the SP to the Black Hills region of South Dakota, where its lean street jetting and stifled airbox were no match for the thin air at 6,000 feet above sea level. I decided to pull off the airbox cover and let the engine breathe a bit, and the mild-toned exhaust note suddenly became a roar heard all throughout the mountains.

In the spring of 1998 I sold the SP200 to a customer of my employer. I planned to return to the Black Hills and do some dual sporting in Wyoming the following summer and knew the SP wouldn't cut it in the high mountains. Plus, the bike had traveled more than 10,000 miles in its 10 years and was beginning to show its age. It was a sad day, letting go of my trusty SP200.

Here are a few more pics, along with the original Suzuki marketing brochure.

The 1996 version of the RMX250 finally received some much-needed updates, notably the conventional forks. The rest of the chassis was mostly unchanged, but the engine was given a few minor updates which resulted in a bit more power out of the crate. Even so, the RMX still needed the same exhaust, airbox and jetting modifications. The suspension was a huge improvement, front and rear, with the forks super plush and the rear end stiffened somewhat.

I always enjoyed the finer details of the RMX's, such as grease zerks on the shock linkage and a buttery-smooth clutch. Even to this day, the RMX had the lightest pull of any cable-operated clutch I've ever operated. The transmission was also an exceptionally smooth shifter.

The 1996 RMX was another good "learner" bike, especially when I seized the engine at a mud race in Canton, Illinois. The local Suzuki dealer sent the engine to be re-sleeved with an iron bore, which I later discovered is not the preferred method for fixing an electro-plated cylinder. Even after sending the engine away a second time to install an aluminum bore and new electro-plating, I never could get the jetting sorted out. It became someone else's problem when I traded for a KTM 300EXC in late-1998.

For a nostalgic look back on the RMX model, please visit Tony Blazier's excellent The Motocross Vault.

Throughout most of high school and college, I had my mind set on eventually trying my hand at racing hare scrambles and enduros. To do this, two things had to happen: 1) I needed to be living on my own, away from my disapproving mother 2) I needed a race-worthy motorcycle. In the early 1990's Suzuki had developed an RM250-based off-road racer designated as the RMX250. It was an overly EPA-friendly 2-stroke, terribly tame in the woods. However, with a few modifications, mostly to the exhaust and airbox, the RMX could be converted into a very capable race bike.

My Suzuki theme continued with the purchase of a new 1994 RMX250. The RMX was a great bike on which to learn the art of woods riding. As a rider's abilities grew, so could the engine's power output. The first modifications most racers performed were removing the heavily restricting airbox cover and snorkel, which channeled a very small path of air to the carburetor. Next came an aftermarket pipe and silencer to shed some weight and uncork the exhaust flow. From there it was a few minor jetting changes and, like magic, the RMX could be competitive in any woods racing environment.

All it took was a decent rider, which I was not. I was also a poor mechanic, but the bike served as a learning tool for basic repairs and maintenance. As shown in the photo above, I still needed to figure out how to properly mount hand guards.

My first hare scramble was on this bike in 1994, as was my first serious trail riding trip to Michigan and my first attempt at an enduro. Two years later, I traded the bike for a newer version of the RMX250.