I guess that for most bikers there is a ride that always makes you smile when you think about it and that you never tire of doing again and again. For me, that ride is from Epping in Essex to Mersea Island, a short ride of only 45 miles but really the means of escape from everything - people and reality, no phones, no neighbours, just me, my bike and a very comfortable caravan on the island.
It starts on a Friday at the end of a crap week, I pack the rucksack, put on the gloves and helmet and kick the bike into life. Give it a few revs to warm up and let the neighbours know that I'm off for the weekend. Wave bye, bye (boring sods) and slip into the evening traffic through the town, forward to freedom and the open road.
The fresh air of the evening begins to ease my mind as soon as I hit the countryside, the charms of the local piggery blasts my brain and I open the throttle to escape the stench. The first few miles from North Weald to Ongar are a constant flow of bends that gets the adrenalin going in just the right way.
The two stroke triple howls from one gear to the next as I enjoy the surges of power before shutting off for the approaching curve. Braking is a bit naff via the single disc even with EBC pads that produce an aggravating squeal. The original Bridgestone tyres circa 1979 (when the bike was first registered) are great fun on the bends if you're into kissing tarmac. I'n not, so have a healthy respect for keeping speeds down and the bike up.
The two stroke triple howls from one gear to the next as I enjoy the surges of power before shutting off for the approaching curve. Braking is a bit naff via the single disc even with EBC pads that produce an aggravating squeal. The original Bridgestone tyres circa 1979 (when the bike was first registered) are great fun on the bends if you're into kissing tarmac. I'n not, so have a healthy respect for keeping speeds down and the bike up.
The coolness if the air begins to creep through the clothing as the fast straights from Ongar to Chelmsford arrive and the speed, all 70mph of it, flows freely. The smell of damp grass and the glowing sunset behind heighten my feeling of freedom. Chelmsford arrives all too quickly and so do the queues.
Back to reality. I negotiate my way through the mayhem, not too easy on a bike that is top heavy, wide and has restricted lock. On to the A12 for a quick blast with the other hordes of escaping townies keen to arrive at their weekend retreats (not the same feeling in a car, though, is it?).
This is the fastest bit, 80 to 90mph, 6-7000rpm, fingers and arms tingling due to the high revs (redline is 8000rpm); not even foam grips help. Tuck in behind the bulbous fairing that was so fondly described as a sports item when they put them on the Dunstall Suzuki range in 1979 along with a moulded GRP seat and tank unit.
Was this the start of the race replica, or what? Strange that I've never seen another GT380 in this outfit. I wonder whether this was a way for Suzuki to off load the very last of the GT380s that were hanging around in dealers showrooms? Still, the fairing keeps the wind off and makes the car drivers laugh as you pass them clinging for dear life to a vibrating mass of red fibreglass and chrome. The kids are always impressed by the four exhausts, and they leave such a lovely haze of blue smoke for all behind to savour in their tin boxes.
Was this the start of the race replica, or what? Strange that I've never seen another GT380 in this outfit. I wonder whether this was a way for Suzuki to off load the very last of the GT380s that were hanging around in dealers showrooms? Still, the fairing keeps the wind off and makes the car drivers laugh as you pass them clinging for dear life to a vibrating mass of red fibreglass and chrome. The kids are always impressed by the four exhausts, and they leave such a lovely haze of blue smoke for all behind to savour in their tin boxes.
Darkness descending and the pathetic 35W headlamp struggles to light the way, so at the turn off for Kelvedon I have to slow right down as there are no more tail lights to follow. Into Kelvedon and a welcome few moments of 30mph through the village to regain the feeling in my hands and then I'm back on the winding lanes to Mersea Island.
No street lamps here at all and even though I know the roads well, my heart is racing a bit as bends arrive at an alarming pace. Still that's part of the fun of riding out of date machinery which just can't handle quick changes of direction. You really do have to use your body to wrestle this one about. Nimble is not a word that springs to mind with a 19" front wheel doing its tractor impression.
There is something about the smell of the countryside at night. It's so invigorating, gives you a clear head and a bit of a buzz, makes you pleased to be there, especially on a motorcycle. Nothing beats a night ride with only the stars and a candle to light your way; the knowledge that a quiet sanctuary awaits where no-one can stop you reading bike mags all weekend and dreaming up bike projects that will never come to fruition.
There is something about the smell of the countryside at night. It's so invigorating, gives you a clear head and a bit of a buzz, makes you pleased to be there, especially on a motorcycle. Nothing beats a night ride with only the stars and a candle to light your way; the knowledge that a quiet sanctuary awaits where no-one can stop you reading bike mags all weekend and dreaming up bike projects that will never come to fruition.
The Suzuki copes well enough in terms of power. It has a smooth delivery up to 5000rpm without too many vibes but the real surge starts after this and so do the vibes. When I first got the bike it felt quite quick and certainly had no trouble overtaking cars, but when I came up against my first LC350 I realised just how old the bike really was in terms of stomp. The engineering is from 1972 so I guess you can't expect that much.
The UMG is quite accurate in its comments on the GT380, performance is bland by todays standards and I like the styling of mine only because of the GRP bits. I did have some electrical problems when I first got the bike in that various cylinders kept on cutting out until the bike stopped. Then it would be a real pig to start. This turned out to be the plug leads, the dealer never quite knew why but replacement solved the problem.
Fuel consumption always seemed to end up at 45mpg but would give more if you were less heavy on the throttle but with performance that's hard to extract that was difficult. Oil was the same, quite good until you whacked open the throttle at the lights, and left everyone in a smoke screen. Not very Green, I know, but the smell is lovely.
Fuel consumption always seemed to end up at 45mpg but would give more if you were less heavy on the throttle but with performance that's hard to extract that was difficult. Oil was the same, quite good until you whacked open the throttle at the lights, and left everyone in a smoke screen. Not very Green, I know, but the smell is lovely.
Back to the ride and I've now reached Tiptree where a small amount of life exists. I slowly go through the main street, exhausts burbling in their uneven way hoping that the local 125 brigade will spot me and follow. People are never quite sure what the bike is due to the fibreglass bits covering up its true style, so they always take a look and are disappointed to find it is only a GT380.
A couple of 125 screamers appear, I let them get alongside on the unrestricted stretch of road at the other side of the village. I let them stay whilst I built up the revs and then dropped a gear and left them standing. The bike can't stomp anything bigger......well, maybe a Superdream.
The roads here are great fun, short straights with kinks and a sharp bend to finish. You really can feel the road surface through the Bridgestones as the bike skitters across the tarmac towards the hedges on the fast curves. Then, on with the brakes for the hairpin. The forks are so soft they dive into bends, but coming out you can drop a gear with the full confidence of knowing that you won't loose the front end; it never seems to go light.
As for pulling wheelies, forget it. That just leads to clutch burn out, so it's not much use for posing on Box Hill. After several miles the main road to Mersea Island appears at the Peldon Rose junction where there's a very nice pub to visit on a cold evening complete with open fire.
The approach to the island is on a lovely straight where you can wind it up a bit and give yourself one last thrill of speed before the place swallows you up. I always feel great when I cross the causeway as I leave the mainland and all its aggro, escaping to a place where no one knows you or can disturb you.
Quietly I weave my way round the island, through its main road and down to the boatyards by the estuary, up the very narrow lane where the cottages have stood for hundreds of years and into my sanctuary of peace where the caravan stands. Put the bike on its stand and switch off. Not a sound to be heard except the occasional cry from an owl on the marshes in front of me and the cooling of the engine in the damp evening chill.
Looking at the bike in the dim glow of the moon I can't help but feel a warmth towards the GT for the good times I've had. I wonder what the next day will bring and what fond memories will be created with my faithful friend. Oh well, off to bed with a cup of coffee and a mag to look at the latest clutch of mega bikes available, but have they really got the character to become a friend?
P.D.Marven