Big is good. Bigger is better. That's how I saw trading in my ever reliable GS550 for the GS1000. The dealer gave me a good trade-in price and I thought it the best 500 notes I'd ever spent. A 1982 model with 17000 miles on the clock and just one previous owner in the logbook. She looked quite perfect, sounded good and went like a real rocket-ship, especially after the bland old GS550.
The GS1000 was quite easy to ride. There was so much torque at low revs that it was just a case of putting it into a suitable gear and using the throttle. Just running between 2000 and 5000 revs was all that was needed to burn off the vast majority of traffic, the GS burbling away out of the Motad 4-1, which looked new (about right as GS exhausts rarely last for more than five years, especially if the bike's used in town a lot).
Hitting 5000 revs changed the whole nature of the beast, with thunderous, tyre churning power coming in and the tacho needle trying to flip off the end of the scale. I had to work the gear lever like a maniac to keep up and it was dead easy to become totally distracted by the acceleration, only realising the bike was about to run off the road, or head for a non-existent gap, at the last possible moment.
The previous owner had obviously experienced the same sensation, having uprated the triple discs with Goodridge hose. They need a firm hand and foot, but repaid that with scorching power and good feedback. The GS weighs 525lbs, didn't take too happily to the sudden change in momentum that resulted, came on a bit like a rocking horse.
The forks would also flutter a bit, but this was down to slightly loose taper roller steering head bearings - very nasty items as they were extremely sensitive to the tightness of the steering head spindle. A touch too tight caused the bike to go into some disturbing low speed tank-slappers, a touch too loose caused rattling under braking and a vague feel. After five attempts I got the tightness perfect, a chore I had to repeat every five to six weeks.
The front forks were air-assisted, a useful feature as they could be set up to suit my riding style. The air valves on each leg had been linked together, which made it easy to set-up. Stock, they were a real pain to balance. In town I favoured 10psi, which gave sufficient softness to absorb most bumps. Hard riding needed 20psi to remove the shakes coming out of the faster bends.
In the first couple of months I had great fun getting used to the bike. Ridden mildly it was a breeze, the extra mass not really making it any slower turning than the old GS550. But using that throttle and the full range of performance kept getting me into big trouble. Put it this way, it only took me 3000 miles to put the almost new front brake pads down to the metal.
The GS1000 wasn't such a safe handling bike as the 550, not taking so kindly to having the throttle backed off or the brakes hit when banked over in fast corners. Accelerating hard out of bends would send the front end skittering off towards the white line, the wheel threatening to slide away as soon as it touched the road markings. It took me about three months of practice before I had perfected the necessary point and squirt technique.
The bike came with Metzs, which normally gripped well and lasted 5500 and 9500 miles back and front. Once they were down to 2mm they became very skittish over white lines, cats-eyes and manhole covers. The bike took on a passing resemblance in stability to an old Francis Barnet I'd been forced to use in my impoverished youth. After talking to a couple of other GS owners, I became aware that any mismatch of tyres would turn the beast into a suicide ride and that, yes, Metz's were the best choice of rubber. So, I stayed with them.
Another item that caused concern was the short-lived swinging arm bearings. More than anything else, the weight, power and the sheer brutality of the beast seemed to concentrate at this point. The slightest bit of wear was soon amplified, wear increasing at an exponential rate. I used to take the spindle out at every 2000 mile oil change, but still the bearings wouldn't last for more than 6000 miles. The slightest bit of wear really upset the handling, leading to excessive wobbles every time I tried to go above 50mph.
The GS had Street Stroker shocks which helped keep the back end in line, the standard items reputed to be a bit toy-town. The ride was a touch on the firm side, although the saddle was good until it started seeping up water. I soon grew tired of looking like I'd pissed myself even on dry days, fixed it with a seat cover. It looked less than brilliant and allowed me to slide about a bit too much, but that was a small price to pay.
Further down the line, with about 50,000 miles on the clock (can't be too accurate as speedo cables keep breaking), the front mudguard started to break up. I'd wondered what had happened to the front end, as it was sliding, wobbling, under duress much more easily than previously. I'd thought it was the fork wearing out but it turned out to be just the lack of bracing offered by the decrepit mudguard. A new plastic mudguard and fork-brace revived its former, er, prowess.
Reliability of these bikes is good, if given regular 2000 miles services. The only real weak spot is the clutch which reacts to wheelies by breaking, but survives if a light touch is maintained. The other area of note is the electrical system burning out. It happened to me, the once, at 38000 miles. The first symptom was the mysterious blowing of fuses. I thought I was being clever putting a 30 amp fuse in, but that just delayed and exacerbated the complete burning out of the charging side of the circuit.
I ended up having to charge the battery every night, which was fine for the ten mile commute every day but not much cop for any serious riding. Eventually, I had the alternator rewound and fitted Superdream rectifier/regulator along with a few yards of new wiring. There are various theories about the electrical demise, from too hot oil to naff insulation allowing wires to short out. Suffice to say, anyone buying any of the GS series should give the electrics a good look over, as all kind of bodges were used.
Another sign of old age came at 57000 miles, with the petrol tank depositing two gallons of fuel over the mill. I was going along at 40mph at the time, suddenly had huge flames leaping off the engine, threatening to engulf both myself and the bike. Rather than leaping off at 40mph, I hit the throttle, forcing the last of the fuel in the carbs into the stuttering engine until we whacked up to 70mph. The dissipation of the fuel and the excess wind put the fire out but not until one last flame tried to singe my eyebrows.
The whole bottom half of the tank had fallen out. Apart from some tubes and wiring, miraculously, most of the damage was confined to the petrol tank. The AA man reckoned that I'd had a close escape.
I didn't have to use the recovery services when the camchain started rattling at 69000 miles. It's possible to bodge the automatic tensioner so that it exerts a bit of extra pressure. Not a long term solution but it was sufficient to get me the 125 miles home. Both the camchain and tensioner needed replacing (the latter because of the bodge?) but I bought a split link job and did the work myself.
The rest of the engine has been remarkably reliable with valves that don't need to be touched for tens of thousands of miles. There's still no sign, with 78000 miles done, of any smoke out of the exhaust and the motor is remarkably quiet for such a mileage. They regularly go around the clock without too much attention, but watch out for heavily tuned motors that throw their rods.....it's got such a nice blend of characteristics that this really is one engine that's best left in standard tune.
They were last made in in '83, which means over a decade's worth of abuse under their wheels. They were frequently employed as tourers so there's some hope of finding mildly used examples rather than some of the abused ones I've seen loitering in dealers. They are still useful, even against modern machines - I had great fun burning off a fat bum on a 1100 Zephyr and even put some replica riders' noses out of joint by taking rather wide lines through bends; they, poor chaps, left in a frenzy of left foot action trying to find their power bands whilst I just growled by in fourth gear. I just love the old Suzuki, they don't make them meaty like this, any more.
Gary Price
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The badly mangled front end of the 1978 Suzuki GS1000 suggested that the frame was a write-off as well. It was obviously a good bargaining point. The speedo read only 11,760 miles and the engine would still fire up and tick over as normal. We settled on four hundred notes with free delivery to my home thrown in.
There was a long list of parts to replace, but I had few qualms about fitting non-standard stuff. The GS was not a bike for which its suspension was famed. When a complete GSX1100 Katana front end turned up in MCN I was on the phone in an instant. It went on with only a minimal amount of hassle.
After removing the petrol tank for filling and respraying, I was relieved to find that none of the frame tubes were bent or kinked. This showed that the tubular trellis is a hefty piece of work if not a particularly pretty one in its welding. The exhaust down-pipes were crushed flat by the front wheel and were, anyway, very rusty, so a 4-1 from the breaker was whacked on - only after breaking off two of the bolts holding on the exhaust clamps. They were sawn off flush with the head, drilled and tapped to take smaller bolts.
It took about two weeks and £250 to put the Suzuki back on the road. It already had a set of Konis out back, so I was not too surprised to find that on my initial outing the ride was very firm and heavy. This was 1988 when 16" wheels were all the rage and GS1000s and the like were beginning to show their age. The tyres were Avons in reasonable shape, but they liked to follow every road marking and gave the Suzuki a rather vague feel.
The first couple of days were spent getting used to the machine, just hustling back and forth to work, through some pretty chaotic traffic where the GS was not at its best. On the positive side, the gearbox and clutch could not have been easier to use and minimal throttle produced quite vivid acceleration. It was just all the muscle needed to swerve around cars and operate the rather wooden brakes that was all too debilitating.
Come the weekend, it was off for a dose of high speed motorway riding with a bunch of similarly mounted mates. Top speed turned out to be a reasonable 140mph on the clock, which kept the GPz1100s in sight. A dose of the weaves and wobbles above 110mph threatened to chuck me off a few times, but I held my breath and nerve to good effect.
The Kawasakis could waltz around the GS in the fast bends, where my mount came close to throwing me off the road on several occasions when the suspension could not cope with the abrupt changes of direction and the 550lbs of metal. God knows how bad it was with the OE suspension!
The engine was a real charmer. With loads of low speed guts it could also churn up the back tyre if 10,000 revs were dialled in and the clutch dropped. The stomach lurching dose of acceleration never failed to bring a wide grin to my face, even if the whole chassis twitched away merrily until some semblance of sanity was reached with the change up to third gear.
Cruising speed turned out to be any rate of knots that I could keep my grip on the bars. The riding position, with the Kat's flatter bars, was not ideal for high speed work, pains in shoulders, arms and neck seeing to that. In town it was okay for about thirty minutes until my wrists stared to complain about the excess pressure. The footrests were stock, when I eventually fitted some rear-sets to match the bars, the bike became more comfortable.
Fuel worked out at 38mpg, but other consumables were more reasonable. Tyres did more than 10,000 miles, as did the chain and pads. Oil consumption under mild use was negligible but during a long, hard thrash worked out at about a pint every 125 miles, although there was no smoke out of the exhaust. Oil changes were done every 1250 miles.
The rest of the engine has proved almost invincible in 51000 miles of serious abuse. There are quite a lot of rattles at low revs, which is quite typical of the GS models, but they disappear when the motor is revved. The clutch needed new plates at 47,600 miles - what would have been a simple job made difficult by engine cover screws breaking off even when attacked with an impact-driver. After I carefully drilled out the remnants the threads were still usable.
The GS series is infamous for its electrical pyrotechnics but my GS didn't have any problems until about 58000 miles when the wiring started to rot. I assumed that it was either the rectifier or alternator that was causing the fuses to blow, spending hours checking them over. In fact, some of the insulation had turned rigid, fallen off, causing adjacent wires to short out. I ended up rewiring the whole bike wire by wire not wanting to fork out for a loom, with the added benefit that the front headlamp was discernibly brighter.
The chassis was almost as tough as the engine, although by the time I sold the bike, last year, the suspension was on its last legs, making the GS less than safe above 85mph. Caliper rot was the only major expense incurred, but even then they would go for about 15000 miles before needing attention, which compared to my mate's CBX750 was brilliant, as he had to replace the whole front brake at less mileage.
Before the suspension went off I had mostly mastered the handling quirks of the GS. A matter of muscle over mind for the most part and showing the bike who was master. I currently roar around the streets on a 750 Zephyr, a rather confusing bike as it's ever so bland after the GS, but looks much more butch than the Suzi, which could, in appearance, be called classic, if you're being kind, or insipid if you're telling the truth.
Memories of great rides with my friends on similar high speed relics from the late seventies stay most strongly in my mind. There's nothing quite like the sound of a gaggle of fours on cam with open pipes. The sheer force of our presence used to make the cagers shift out of our way in a most rewarding manner.
Less enjoyable were the times I fell off. A pack of us were involved in a pile-up, the lead bike hitting the back end of a swerving car. He was thrown off, the path of his motorcycle, as it slid along the road, taking out the next two riders who promptly came off, taking out the next bikers, who did the same trick until we were all sprawled along the road, nursing a dose of gravel rash whilst we rushed to pick up our fallen machines.
Luckily, damage was not serious to either bikes or riders. The cager had done a runner, probably just as well as we would have tied him between two of the bikes and torn him asunder! The other times I came off, the GS proved equally able to defend itself against the depreciations of its immature rider and the hardness of the road.
I wouldn't advise a novice 125 rider to buy one, too heavy and awkward. Nor would I touch something with more than 80,000 miles on the clock, having observed a friend's GS do a self-destruct act at 84000 miles, mostly down to the roller main bearings breaking up! They used to be popular race bikes so there are some dubious engines about, although mild tuning or big-bores kits do not significantly weaken the motor.
I sold mine with enough mileage left in the engine to ensure that the owner didn't come back ready to beat me into pulp. I felt I'd had the best the GS had to offer, that if I still wanted to ride hard I'd be in for some very serious expense. I'd certainly be happy to buy another one if it were of a low mileage, but good GS1000s are much more the exception than the rule.
H.N.M.
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After nearly 6 months with the GS1000G I came out of the house one day to find that it wouldn't start. The electric start's solenoid didn't even click. Complete electrical failure. Delving into the fuse-box revealed a blown main fuse. Where did I put that nail? No, seriously, a spare fuse was found, inserted, and the ignition key turned back on. The idiot lights blinked at me, the starter growled and the beefy DOHC four cylinder motor blared into life.
Blared? The rotted through silencers were worse than straight-thru's because they also had big holes in their sides. An all too typical demise on this era of Suzukis. As was the electrical hassle. Which caught up with me three miles down the road. The fuse blew again. I hadn't been stupid enough to leave home without a few spares in my pocket. They got me the rest of the ten mile journey to work. Lunch time I bought a large supply from the nearby garage, twice the recommended ampage!
Coming out from the hard day's slog at the biscuit factory (I kid you not, these are tough times), I found that the fuse was intact but the battery dead. Most Japanese bikes won't run without a working battery (unlike those old British sods), the GS1000G no exception. Lock the bike up tight on the factory grounds, cart the battery home to the charger, come back in the morning. It took those two commutes on a series of buses to convince me that motorcycles were the only way to go.
Rule One when GS electrics go, always disconnect the battery when leaving the machine standing. Some short circuit in the alternator when one of its coils burnt out meant that the battery was discharging through the charging circuit when the ignition was switched off. Rule Two is to rewire the output from the alternator so that the coil that charged the battery when the lights were flicked on is now charging the battery when the ignition is switched on - a matter of swapping over a couple of alternator wires (refer to your wiring diagram in Haynes', as colours vary with models and years). Rule Three is to expect total electrical failure at any time once the electrics start going down - join the AA!
This went on for about a month, ending up with the charging circuit totally disconnected and the battery charged up overnight. Good for about a 100 miles as long as the lights and horn are ignored, though they will work long enough to convince any loitering cops that the bike's legal. Exchange alternators cost about fifty quid, a car rectifier and regulator about a tenner. It's a good idea to do a total rewire as well as I found the fifteen year old bike was beginning to shed insulation from its wires. This may well have been the original cause of the blowing fuses. Or not. When buying any Suzuki of this era expect the worst from the electrics, and you won't go far wrong.
The clock read 67000 miles when I bought the bike. I've added 18000 miles without doing much to the engine. Changed the oil every 2000 miles and the filter twice. I had one carb balancing session but it made absolutely no difference to the performance or smoothness. Clutch rattle at low revs is normal but this should disappear when the throttle's blipped - if it doesn't it's something far more serious, like the camchain going. There's only eight valves which hardly ever need any attention, though total neglect over 50,000 miles, say, might cause one of the exhaust valves to burn out - check for smoke out of the exhaust on the overrun as the first sign.
Engine life is mostly down to the type of owner and the degree to which the motor has been thrashed (and those oil changes are important). As the 1000G's the shaft drive version any serious thrashing is limited by the propensity of the chassis to throw serious miscreants right off the road. Under a civilized right hand the shaft drive barely intrudes and doesn't do any harm to the excellence of the gearchange's action - I've ridden modern Honda's that have had far inferior gearboxes. Wheelies do nasty things to the shaft's universal joints, a jerky transmission a sure sign that the bike's been maltreated in the past.
Even under such a regime of neglect it's very rare for an engine to last for less than 50,000 miles. The clutch and even the main bearings can go at this point. Usually, though, it's such a heavy, slow handling old dear that few people can bring themselves to inflict much harm on them - rather like taking a hammer to a favourite uncle just because he's getting on a bit. I expect mine to bounce through the 100,000 mile mark with few major problems and have a friend who's got his up to 140,000 miles. In today's throwaway society that's quite an achievement.
Minor problems, in contrast, abound. Disintegrating silencers are the most obvious eyesore - these weren't even the originals that came with the bike. Universal cans were eventually shoved on. No problems from the carburation, the engine so mildly tuned by modern standards that it was even able to accommodate the well rotted state of the old cans. It is worth hunting around for a pair of replacement silencers that are the same length as the originals, so as to not upset the exhaust tuning. I've always thought that a loud exhaust system adds a good degree of safety to the ride, especially in town where both cagers and ped's seem to live in a different world to the rest of us. Seems to work.
Just as well that many are warned of my approach as the aged disc brakes out front are not up to much, these days. They find it hard going to arrest the progress of the excessive bulk of the bike and I. I've experienced worse - an XS750 triple, for one - but modern traffic warfare does give pause for thought. The discs are okay, they don't go thin or warp, it's the calipers that go a bit sticky with winter riding and don't really provide much feel or stopping power. EBC pads last for over 10,000 miles and make the best of the brakes.
Alloy rot's so bad that I ended up taking off the engine cases for bead-blasting. The Japanese evidently consider the engine a sealed unit, the only way the covers were removed was with the good old hammer and chisel routine on the screws. Rather than actually coming undone, some of the screws bent, others broke off (a similar disaster is waiting to happen if you remove the down-pipes, the collets' screws heat-welded into the cylinder head - best leave well alone). An allen screw kit saved the day. I also had the wheels bead-blasted. Now it just takes lots of elbow grease to keep the bike's sheen. Paint was of a remarkably good quality, only fading where petrol spilled around the tank's cap. Chassis bearings last around 25000 miles, but tend to go at the same time, best to replace the whole lot in one go.
Despite being a huge old thing it's not that expensive to run. 50mpg, 8000 miles from a set of Avons and hardly any maintenance expenses. It runs best at 60 to 100mph in top gear, has good comfort, reasonable range and is able to do everything remarkably well. Yes, you need to get used to its weight and slow turning nature, but that's all part of its charm. Its quality shines through the more it's ridden.
Alec Earling
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Tom Mason said it was a good bike. He should know, he's wrecked more products of Nippon's consumerist boom than most balding hippies. Apart from some old hacks, I'd mainly ridden German and Italian heaps for distance and British junk for fun. So the idea of a GS1000 was only half appreciated. The deciding factor was his offer. If I ran it for the summer I could pay for it in August if I wanted it or give it back if I didn't. The ultimate test ride. I, er, accepted.
He brought the Suzuki down from its stable in April of '89. The start of the longest, hottest cliche of the century. It was a pristine T reg model with electronic everything, 37000 miles from new and had been well cared for by Riders of Yeovil among others.
A test blast around the Ilchester bypass definitely did not show 85mph in third, 115mph in fourth and 130mph in top without going anywhere near the redline, officer. Contrary to the rumours in the back of the UMG vibes were not significant and the braced forks gave sterling service. Her indoors liked the size of the pillion seat and the flame red colour, so we were away.
I used it to do some minor commuting to start with. It was utterly reliable, although straight away I found some foibles. The mirrors gave elbow coverage only and the dip-switch could easily be confused with the main light-switch.
This was most amusing blasting down a Dorset lane to Piddletrenthide. Oncoming Landrover flashes at me, I dip but out go all the lights. I stop on the verge, swear profusely as Farmer Giles blunders on probably hoping he'd culled another Angel. If it was mine, I would swap those switches for some more modern gear.
After a month, I found myself on more adventurous work, up to 700 miles a week. To save money I dropped over to unleaded fuel. This is where the twist in the machine comes, it's as thirsty as a bloody car. The best I ever got out of it on shorter commutes was 39mpg. That was after a full vacuum carb balance and replacing plugs and jets to standard. Okay, I'm not exactly slow but even my BMW RS and 900SS managed 45 to 50mpg average.
The effect of the change in fuel and riding route was to bring fuel consumption up to a half decent 45mpg. I did feel a loss of power, particularly midrange, but it was only a slight delay. With something like 90hp on tap it wasn't crucial. With unleaded it still pulled to 130mph and was hard to beat on the streets.
I did think I'd blown it, though. Setting off from Plymouth to Gosport one afternoon in May, I found that I could only get 90mph out of the beastie. After 30 miles I decided to investigate and found only three pots were firing, so it wasn't a bad 750 triple if it could go that fast, was my first reaction rapidly followed by, shit I must have holed a piston using unleaded fuel.
I swapped plugs and the problem switched cylinders. For the first time in 15 years I found a genuine fault I could blame on the plugs. The Exeter services came up with a new 'un for £1.30 and I was on my way.
Despite the Suzuki's new found frugality, I reckoned to have to refuel every 150 miles. The tank looks huge, but it contains some weird pressings which eat up capacity. As my usual trip was 170 miles this seems to add a quarter of an hour to the just over two hours it took on my RS. As a tourer it wasn't bad but its natural place was definitely the traffic light GP.
London work for a few weeks in June definitely proved this. The GS loved to sit purring away waiting for the amber. A quick check for the light jumpers and then dial on 6000 revs, drop clutch and scream away, front wheel aloft. One shift up saw sixty in not a lot of time and the rest of the traffic way behind. It was so enjoyable that I found myself doing it at every available opportunity. There was occasional opposition from the likes of GPZ900s but cars had no chance.
Then, curiously, around this time I started to get a bit of rattle from the clutch basket. I explained to Tom that I had been using the bike for boring commuting so he told me it was probably the carbs out of balance and he'd do them in August. I said little but did resolve to ride a little more sympathetically.
Another fault was the starter motor relay. This first manifested its charms around the Buckfastleigh bit of the A38 at some speed when the engine simply stopped. Such anti-social behaviour caused considerable revision to my then rather committed overtaking status. I blundered my way to the soft shoulder, in some peril.
All the idiot lights were out and with the assistance of an allen key and a Laverda owner who stopped I deduced the main fuse had blown. The cause was not apparent but by switching the headlight fuse over I got home under Wop escort.
In Speedwell's mechanical parlour, the fault was traced to the death of the starter switch. The agents wanted thirty-something quid for a new one. Haynes' otherwise dreadful manual told me that there were no user serviceable parts inside. I took it to bits, inside is the most simple of switches you could imagine. The solder on one of the terminals had died. So out with the Halfords soldering set and ten minutes later it was fixed. This is, I later learnt, a common problem. If you are prepared to hack the wires about to fix it you can save loadsa dosh.
Towards the end of July, the rear tyre began to look bare. Much as I admire slicks, and with all the faith I had in the summer providing no rain, a trip to the best little tyre shop in the South West was in order. Gupa-P fitted an excellent Pirelli for £40 and the rear end lost its wallowing effect in corners.
Handling generally was average. It was not up to the standard I was used to, care of Messrs Moto Guzzi, but neither was it as wallowing as say an R80 BMW. For its time, I reckon it was a good bike. By the standards of the late eighties, way behind but acceptable for town blasting and moderately enthusiastic use around A roads.
Some people have tried to tell me it's a classic. What a load of bollocks. It is a virtuous machine that is in all respects better than a seventies Triumph, I agree. It has a bulletproof motor that put on 10,000 miles for me without hassle. It even looks fairly aggressive and right. But classic? Don't make me laugh.
For that you've got to have character and performance, quality of all round construction and design. Give me a Ducati or Guzzi of the same vintage and there's no comparison.
So come August, I took it back to Tom. Don't you like it, he asked. Sure, I said, it was good fun for the summer. But like a bird you pick up on the Costa Wotsit it wasn't something I'd want to wake up next to every day. Tom has since sold the GS to a mutual friend, I hear. So far there have been no problems and nor do I expect any.
Perhaps the best thing about the bike was its blastability. The most accurate memory is the lack of regret that it no longer sits outside Chateau Speedwell. It just goes to disprove the old theory that the best things in life are free.
Harry Speedwell
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I'm not a brave man. So purchase of the GS1000S was all a little bit mad. Big, brutal and beefy it was the kind of bike some twenty stone lout might fall for. Yours truly was the proverbial eight stone weakling who assiduously avoided beaches or anywhere else I might have to take my clothes off. However, I was obsessed with motorcycles and fancied a bit of a challenge.
Also, the GS1000S had only done 13000 miles and looked like new, despite five owners over the years. It was an odd bike to sit on. All that top heavy weight with me perched atop it like a flea on an elephant. Elderly neighbours wobbled out to make the emphatic point that it was too big for me! Bloody suburbia! I blipped the throttle, blew their hearing aids away. Laugh? I nearly fell off.
It wasn't that bad once under way. Not until I touched the front brake lever. Vicious twin discs that squealed the front tyre when I sneezed too heavily! These took some getting used to. By the way, my last bike was a much underrated Suzuki GS500E, so the difference in feel and character was huge! The GS1000 had gobs of low rev power, didn't need much work on the slick gearbox. All I had to contend with, really, was the heavy steering and suicidal braking.
That was until I came to a stop on a bit of a camber. Putting the sidestand down would've left the bike tilting over towards the horizon. What I had to do was climb off and haul the bike on to the centrestand. This would have made a good comedy sketch, as the bike was reluctant to go up on the stand. I had to put all my weight on the prong whilst holding on to the grabrail with one foot perilously resting on the camber.
Get it dead right and she shoots up on to the stand with a bang. Get it wrong and the whole lots falls over on top of you. Somehow, I always got it right but it hammered my spine a couple of times. Before buying, check out to see if you can handle it or not. This is a minor but very important point,
The weight also caught me out when parking up. I nonchalantly rode into a slot, not thinking much about it. Until I came to pull it out. There wasn't enough room to paddle it backwards, needing to bend it every which way to avoid nearby mirrors and indicators. It was a pig to push a couple of yards, 550lbs combined with dragging discs and flapping chain. In this mood of disenchantment I managed to go sideways into an MZ 301. I almost broke my leg stopping it going all the way. The poor old MZ fell off its stand and then landed on a scooter, which fell with an alarming crash. By then I'd hauled the GS out of the space and got out of there fast. Always reverse into parking spaces!
So the first month was pretty traumatic. A steep learning curve. Some good things. The time I put 150mph on the clock, flat out on the tank and almost shaking with fear. The road was smooth and the bike was remarkable in its stability, the weight finally doing some good. Acceleration from 90 to 130mph in top gear was the kind of stuff to cause a nose bleed and premature ejaculation in the unwary. And it had presence!
Whenever I parked up, someone came and talked to me. Even young women were taken by it, a CG125 owning girl insisting I give her a lift. I almost had an out of body experience when she clamped herself around me and screamed speed, speed, speed into my helmet. Alas, I dropped her off in the shopping centre and never saw her again. It don't half make you go mad on the throttle. The sheer grunt of the GS giving the impression of great competence on my part.
In a straight line I had no problem keeping up with my mates, on diverse machinery - from a ZXR600 to an XS1100. Whilst the replica riders worked furiously on their gearboxes I just smacked the throttle open and ruled the roads. The XS might've had even more grunt but it was in quite a bad way, putting out so many vibes that it could've made it as a portable slimming machine!
The corners were another matter. The suspension was stock! Gulp! We all know what that means, don't we? Especially when allied with all that mass. At first I was reluctant to lean over more than a few degrees. As I pressed the bike harder, not wanting to be back-ended or thrown off the road, I went over further and further. It took a lot to convince me that the massive downward vector of its weight wasn't going to let loose and pitch me off. Coward!
The bike could be taken way over on smooth roads, until the undercarriage began to take bits out of the tarmac. It was the bumpy roads that were really frightening! Oh, that suspension was crap! The damping just couldn't cope and it took very little to have the heavyweight champion all over the place. Put it this way, on a bumpy curve all my mates stayed well back, gasping in wonder at the sight of the buckling brute.
It was this impression that stayed in my mind, of being aboard a wild buffalo, barely in control and courting death with every passing second. I tried using the throttle to pull her round the bend but this was more likely to alter the trajectory so that we hit oncoming cars or had an intimate chat with a hedge or stone wall on the other side of the road. I was often close to shitting myself, and when we pulled up for fuel my hands were shaking.
They also shook from the secondary vibes when we were pushing our bikes to the limit. It wasn't immediately obvious, a quick blast giving an initial impression of smoothness. The vibes were subtle but there nevertheless, attacking my digits after about 45 minutes. If I stayed at the controls for more than an hour my fingers began to go numb, unable to operate the somewhat fidgety switches.
Which, I guess, brings us to the electrics. As far as I can tell, mine were all stock. With 18000 miles on the clock, sure enough, the battery started discharging overnight and the fuses would blow just as I was in a desperate overtaking manoeuvre. One of the coils was burnt out and the rectifier was dying. Rewound alternator, car rectifier and regulator sorted it out. I didn't want to end up with the electronic ignition and battery blowing up. The rewind cost fifty quid and the car components a tenner the pair. As long as you can follow a circuit diagram it's an easy enough job. Much better than suffering malfunctioning electrics which can cut out the motor at any time.
Having fixed that I then had problems with the middle carbs leaking fuel. Meaning I had to take the whole lot off. The airfilter was full of crud, another expense. The carbs were full of a strange white deposit. I'd been using unleaded petrol which might have contributed to the gunge which was so hard to remove I should have sold the formula to NASA for a space craft coating, or something.
I spent a hundred notes on a new set of carbs from a dealer who was having a clear out of old stock. What a difference they made. Lovely smooth running, easy starting and an improvement in fuel from 35 to 40mpg. Fuel was always heavy, hardly any improvement when ridden mildly, which encouraged me to use most of the available power.
The mileage piled up over the next seven months, 23,400 miles on the clock when I was collared by a dealer. I was minding my own business, just looking the new bikes over, like you do. They had a Honda 1100 Blackbird on demo. 'Have a go,' said he. 'We'll do you a good trade-in deal on the GS. You won't believe how they've improved.' He was right and I was parted with a large wedge plus the GS plus a mortgage sized bank loan. I made a £750 profit on the GS in the deal, though I could probably have bought the 1100 cheaper for cash.
I still look like a flea on an elephant but I'm a bloody fast one! The GS1000 was brilliant in its day but is a bit of a pig now. Tough, fast and interesting, though.
D.P.