I was trying to work out what a perfect Katana chassis with a wrecked 1000cc engine was worth. The motor had seized after the engine had dropped its sump plug and a couple of litres of engine oil. The owner had completely refurbished the chassis with lots of new bits and a Dream Machine paint job. It looked as good as new. Various disgraced engine parts were littered about several boxes; it didn't matter, the lack of oil had just about mangled everything.
£500 changed hands. All I had to do was find a new motor. As it happened there was one in the breakers which had a mangled front end, twisted frame and flattened exhaust. It was a hacksaw job to extract the engine, an incredibly heavy lump of alloy and steel. I carefully pulled out the electrical black boxes as they are a bit notorious on Suzukis. Along with the calipers and a few minor bits that was all that was undamaged. At the end of the day I had a running Katana that had cost less than a thousand notes.
A week later I was a couple of thousand miles from home, enjoying the sun in the South of France. The Katana's flash looks fitted in well with the life of wine, women and casino madness. Its reluctance to pull wheelies, due to a heavy front end rather than lack of power, was a bit of disappointment. As was a seat that turned into an instrument of torture after eighty miles of cruising. Searing acceleration and slinky young French nubiles compensated for the bundle I kept losing at the casino tables. My fail-proof system proved even more precarious than a GS550 rectifier. The Kat's headlamp proved useful on dip as it blinded Frog cagers, who would otherwise have tried to run me off the road - they usually drove like they were drunk out of their heads at night.
Blasts down the coast in the early hours of the morning, with a bimbo clinging on for dear life and helmets slung over shoulders, proved great fun. 140mph on the speedo flattened my shades into my face and caused the woman to scream with the sheer thrill of it. The police never made an appearance until about seven in the morning when we were sated with the speed and heading for home.
The Kat handled high speeds with wobbles from the bars over bumps and weaves from the back end when banked over. Incredible muscle was needed to swing through the S-bends. It was better to accelerate through the wobbles at 110mph than back off. The power output of the engine was outstanding, picking up momentum in top gear as the speedo flicked on to 105mph. It grumbled, quaked and stuttered below 50mph and often needed the same kind of gearbox action as a 250 twin! Luckily, the change was slick, although the clutch was heavy enough to strain my wrist after excessive town riding. The throttle action was sufficiently heavy to impress a Guzzi Le Mans owner.
One fantastic race followed winning ten grand in a night (I lost it all again the next day) with a Ferrari driven by a crazed Italian accompanied by an amphetamine high starlet, who halfway through the race tried to step out of the car on to the back of the Kat as we were rumbling along at 100mph. Alas the weaving Suzuki made such an act impossible so I missed out on a bit of wild action, if the rumours about her were true. The Ferrari eventually disappeared up the road at about 185mph, followed by three wailing cop cars. For once they didn't bother with me; I'd only been doing 130mph. Wild or what?
Coming back to the UK, with just about enough money for the petrol, was a complete bummer, as winter had closed in, causing me to turn up at my London flat blue with the cold. The high life had been fantastic fun for a couple of months but the money had come from remortgaging the apartment, which left me with a massive pile of debts rather than the couple of hundred grand I was going to win on roulette. There was nothing for it but to go despatching.
It was the wrong time to sell the Kat but I put an advert in MCN regardless. Zero response despite one of the glossies going on at length about its classic status. The big Suzuki was far from ideal as a despatch hack, apart from anything else it went through tyres, pads and chains like every day was pay day. It was a brutal bastard in town unless it was revved like a fifty when it was more likely to go through rather than around cowed cagers.
The sadistic controller decided that the Kat was ideal for some long distance drops. Screaming all the way up the bloody M1 in sub-zero temperatures almost drove me insane, but helped bring in enough money to stave off the bank's demands. The Kat objected to the cold by refusing to start for five minutes each time I stopped, which wore down the electric boot and battery. I had spares from the crashed bike but the starting hassles persisted. It seemed the Suzuki was cold blooded in the extreme, just like its owner.
The winter riding had turned the once immaculate finish rotten. Paint, chrome and alloy were all giving into the corrosive properties of salt, acid rain and freezing temperatures. I wasn't in much of a better state. I was wearing out my last decent suit loitering in London casinos until the early hours of the morning. My pathetically low stakes meant I'd have to get an extreme dose of luck to make any money. I kept on losing it!
I lost the Katana one January morning, too. It was my own fault. The front tyre was down to the carcass (after 4000 miles), didn't have a chance to hold on the spilt diesel. Crashing down went we, the engine bars and mirrors digging holes out of the tarmac. I fell on my knee, the leathers saving it from gravel rash but not a severe bruising. The Kat was dented but with the aid of a couple cagers (they had to stop, the bike was blocking their progress) pulled upright. A couple of hours later my knee had swollen to balloon proportions and I barely managed to hobble up to the apartment.
By the time I was ready for work again, a couple of weeks later, there was no job for me. The Kat was running but looked like a rolling wreck. Further agony was heaped on my shoulders when it failed the MOT on rusty silencers. I only realised how bad they were riding home, one of the ends blew out, making the Kat sound like a rolling pile-driver. I was lucky not to be booked on the way to the breakers. He welded on a pair of GS650 cans for twenty notes. They looked horrible but passed the MOT and only made the engine stutter between 5500 and 6500rpm.
February was almost tolerable weather-wise, so I took the Kat for high speed runs which sometimes verged on the suicidal but were great fun, adrenalin highs. Running on dodgy tyres, worn suspension and brake pads almost down to the metal, tested my reactions and the toughness of the Katana's frame. The latter was tried by the way the forks swayed back and forth between their stops and the back wheel jumping inches every which way. It seemed to use its weight to ride through the worst of it.
March I tried to flog it off again, had a couple of people come take a look and ride but no offers. I needed a quick infusion of cash to stop the flat being repossessed but no hope. One morning I woke up laughing, the apartment was worth a lot less than the money owed, there was no point going on with the charade. I packed my few prized possessions, stuck the bag on the back of the Kat and headed for the Continent; a road rat in the making.
G.L.
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There are lots of ways of getting kicks from motorcycles, but right now the most enjoyable I've found is slugging it out with an early eighties Katana. I couldn't say that when I first bought the bike two years ago. 80,000 miles and ten years of the usual abuse and neglect added up to an excess of top end rattles, terrifying lack of brakes and the kind of rat appearance that had the cops rubbing their groins in anticipation (or maybe it was just my tatty black leather jacket...).
Big Kat's are as popular in the used market as strawberry flavoured condoms in the editorial offices of the glossies (I was a DR once, had to deliver a parcel to one and you wouldn't believe these people). Somehow, this one had escaped the attentions of the desperate (probably because it was deep in depraved Glasgow) and was mine for all of £550!
Riding the 400 miles home (I think I just defined myself as a motorcycle enthusiast) I had many moments to consider the sheer insanity of it all. The front discs made strange noises, the rear seized on for half a mile before the disc conveniently broke up, and the mill was so worn it turned in no more than 25mpg. A motorway slow lane trawl saved me from going completely insane.
Being used to old hacks, I was well away, fixing the problems, replacing the camchain, a couple of valves, three calipers and the rear disc, and giving the chassis a good going over. Newish consumables were fitted all round and I was ready for some highway kicks rather than frights.
The big Kat is one heavy old donkey, at 500lbs - not just hefty in mass but also in steering effort. That comes from the conservative steering geometry which is needed to keep things stable at 140mph. The Kat's one of those bikes that you don't piss about on. You have to plan ahead, set her up and stick with the line come what may. Ridden thus, the Kat's predictable, stable and quite inspiring (once you've built up the necessary muscles).
It isn't always possible to ride that way, though. There always going to be some jerk who decides to do a U-turn halfway around a corner. I kid you not. I was well heeled over, doing about 50mph, getting ready to hit the throttle in anger for the final half of the bend when suddenly the whole tarmac's obscured by a huge cage. There's a tiny gap on the left side of the road, so I hurled the Kat over until the exhaust dug in and then twitched upright...
The cager, meanwhile, had been alerted by the howl out of the 4-1 exhaust. He hurriedly slammed the car forward, giving me a couple of extra inches. Bear in mind, that the Suzuki was twitching its bars, shaking its rear end and becoming as generally accurate as a kid's tricycle with a broken wheel. We bounced through the gap, then skidded on to the grass, ended up sliding along, yours truly muttering prayers of thanks for the presence of the engine bars.
Apart from a layer of earth on one side of the bike and myself we survived intact. I hopped up, went back to thump the driver, but found he'd accelerated so rapidly forward that the front half of the car was embedded in a hedge. He wasn't amused when I refused to help him out, the doors being impossible to open. I left him there, cursing away.
If it took me a good six months to come to grips with the handling, I always had the marvellous power of the engine to fall back upon. 1000cc's of four cylinder grunt added up to 110hp, a hell of a lot when the bike was introduced. Even so, I often found hard use of the slick gearbox and throttle was necessary to really fly, as one hell of a punch was packed past 7000 revs. The bike might've been more sedate on the stock exhaust, but in its day it was the top dog in town. Backed up by Suzuki's reputation for building very tough four stroke engines.
After I'd initially rebuilt my motor I didn't have any problems for nearly 15000 miles, or 95000 on the clock! That was about ten months into my ownership when I'd become a little blase about the Kat. As in doing tremendous wheelspins on take-off and even the odd wheelie, as unlikely as that might seem on such a hulk. That kind of madness eventually caused clutch rattle and then slip. Later clutches were beefed up in deference to both the power and general delinquency of their owners. A new set of plates sorted it, although I had a hell of a job removing the clutch cover as all the screws were corroded in solid. I know it sounds crude, but a big hammer and small chisel really is the solution to such poor engineering.
The 16 valve head's the other possible weak spot but after I replaced a couple of burnt out valves and put bigger jets in the carbs to suit the non-standard exhaust I didn't have a recurrence of that particular hassle. You can usually tell if the engine's running lean by a flat spot around 5000 revs and the exhaust banging away on the overrun. I checked my engine out with a flat out drag and then switching the ignition off. The plugs were just the right shade.
Spark plugs needed replacing every 3000 miles. They'd last longer but I ended up draining the battery trying to start her on cold mornings with worn out plugs fitted. A couple of times I almost cross-threaded the plugs, you have to be incredibly careful. Probably just another sign of the chronic alloy rot. I did the oil every 1000 miles but left the filter until the gearbox went off - even with the current 119,000 miles it's still incredibly slick on good oil.
The power and mass do make their presence felt on the drive chain, which lasts for no more than 4000 miles! It's just not usable after that because on the overrun it feels like it wants to jump off the sprockets, which last for three to four chains, so it ain't all bad news.
The rear disc has never worked well, always seems close to seizing up, perhaps because of all the muck thrown off the chain. It's really a very silly idea compared to a drum. The front discs are powerful but not too predictable. Sometimes they need an almighty wrench, other times a gentle caress has the front tyre screaming in ecstasy. The anti-dive, whose hydraulics are shared by the brake, is equally unpredictable, causing the front end to go rock solid or bounce up and down like it was trying to dig up the road. Yes, I have put new fluid in and bled the system, although it took a whole bloody weekend!
As there's lots of engine braking, I tend to use the brakes very gently unless there's an emergency. This is in character with the Kat, as it's more likely to throw you up the road than respond to LC-type tactics. I get over 10,000 miles from Ferodo pads but wouldn't be surprised to learn that crazy owners achieve less than half that.
The brakes, indeed the whole machine, become a little out of it in the wet. There's just so much remoteness from the road surface and so much engine power available that it's a quick route to the nearest cemetery. The riding position provides some compensation as it makes you feel part of the machine - I have a long upper body so the stretch to the bars isn't a problem for me. The seat is, though, turning nasty after 50 miles and also letting through significant amounts of secondary vibes. I have done 600 miles in a day but ended up with a very funny walk!
With the engine sorted out, 35 to 40mpg was possible if speeds were kept below the ton. Cruising at 100mph plus turned in 25 to 30mpg, although I never managed that for more than 15 minutes due to serious discomfort. The Kat's best at 90 to 100mph when the riding position and half fairing make perfect sense. Town work's hard on the wrist and shoulder muscles but something I got used to during the twice daily half hour commute. Whenever the pain became too much I went wild with the throttle.
I really like having that power available whenever I want it. The Kat's incredibly well built - it's still running stock suspension, I haven't had any chassis bearings rumble and its rat appearance was merely surface rust; it doesn't corrode from the inside out. Even the electrics were solid if modified by a previous owner. And that motor's the business! The shape's still stunning and the resale value's excellent. A good Kat costs close to two grand but I ain't going to sell mine.
Roddy S.
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Speed is relative. Relative that is to the speed of other vehicles on the road. In the fifties, a 105mph Bonnie was considered a fast bike. By the late sixties Honda's 120mph 750 four had redefined the concept of a rapid machine. Whilst today, 140mph plus 600's and 750's are the norm. But in the early '80s the only way to go fast was to use a bigger and more powerful engine which led to the creation of a series of totally outrageous monster bikes that have probably done more damage to the image of motorcycling than any other single factor.
When I was offered a Suzuki GSX1000 Katana for £800 I just couldn't resist it. The bike had 35000 miles under its belt but sounded and ran okay. I've always had a lot of respect for Suzuki four strokes so it seemed a good deal. A brief test ride on London's greasy, cratered streets proved that the bike was alright up to 60mph - which doesn't mean a lot on a 140mph cycle.
Getting out of London was a whole new ballgame. I mean these bikes are large, as in really big and heavy. There's just no way you can chuck 'em around to beat the traffic. It's just a case of keeping up with the general traffic flow and filtering slowly through the traffic light queue, then you can blast away in first to the next snarl up, 300 yards ahead. Frustrating and, with that much weight, tiring.
By the time I hit the motorway I felt totally exhausted and didn't give a shit about top speeds or roll on acceleration. I just left the Kat in top and cruised along at a gentle 80mph, tucking in behind the minimal fairing. At this sedate velocity there was plenty of wind protection and I felt quite comfortable, feeling as though I was sitting in the bike rather than perched upon it.
A strange thought crossed my mind that the Suzuki would make an excellent tourer. I quickly dismissed the notion, after all, no-one in their right mind would purchase such a fast and powerful machine for such mundane use, would they? I passed a BMW K100 rider cruising at a sensible 70mph. Well, there's always one.
It was sunny but cold at six the next morning. The Kat was reluctant to tickover - full choke meant a berserk 4500rpm but any reduction meant it stalled. I finally settled on half choke and blipped the throttle to keep it going. The noise was amazing, a deep and aggressive bark through the totally shot silencers. Every blip brought another irate face to a window. Poor sods, I thought, it'll be weeks before I can afford to put that right.
I headed straight for the motorway, I wasn't going to muck about. Warm it up and see what it'd do. The road was clear, the engine hot and my adrenaline was in control. Desperately trying to keep some grip on my senses, I slowly opened up in top. Up to 90mph everything was fine, nothing I couldn't and hadn't handled before. Then it really took off, almost literally as the front wheel went light and my arms were almost yanked off. Before I knew what was happening, 120mph was on the clock, accompanied by a snaky weave - a reflex action made me back off.
Sure, all you heroes out there would just ride through it but not me, not at that kind of speed with that much bulk. Besides, the skimpy fairing directed the wind straight at my head and neck in a constant series of blasts - at 120mph this was like being continually punched in the face. Tucking right down improved things but would soon become uncomfortable on a long run, not that you're going to get that far at that kind of speed on British roads.
Up to 115mph the handling was secure and stable in an almost Italian way. The bike felt big and steered slow - anyone used to modern bikes would find it hard work indeed to wrestle it through mere motorway curves! A new rear tyre allowed the beast to reach an indicated 125mph before the weave became unacceptable. The problem was that I was becoming used to travelling fast and began to feel cheated. I really had to see at least 130mph on the clock to justify ownership of such a powerful monster.
Stupidly, I tried for it. Rock steady to 125mph, then the frightening weave and then sheer horror. The handlebars shook viciously from lock to lock, whilst the bike lurched towards the armco. All I could do was hold on and try to wrench it back on line whilst closing down the throttle.
After a succession of three lane lurches, I finally regained control and rode home at virtually moped speeds, thanking every god I could think of for my safe deliverance. Investigations revealed no discernible chassis wear or slop, so I could only conclude that the hidden deterioration as a consequence of 35000 miles was such as to upset high speed stability.
This was much more apparent off the motorways. My favourite twisty roads were reduced to a boring slog as the bike was just too big and heavy to wield easily through the curves. Worse still, it was dangerously under-braked despite the presence of three discs. The rear disc is just a joke, it either locked up the back wheel or didn't work at all. The front brake faded radically after a couple of hard stops.
Fitment of new pads helped not one bit. I was told that the anti-dive was to blame - a real insult as it hardly worked. It took a detour through a hedge to convince me of the bike's total unsuitability as a scratcher. After the hedge incident, the exhaust system became an urgent matter - a 110hp, 1000cc motor really does make a racket without any silencers, although my main concern was that the engine was running weak and thus hot. I ended up fitting a pattern system for a hundred notes, as these bikes are so tough and rare there were none in breakers.
To really appreciate the bike I felt I had to take it on a tour of Scotland. Two up, with camping gear, the weave set in at 110mph, but apart from that the extra load caused no ill effects on the motorways. The pillion was not amused by the lack of a grab-rail. I was dead impressed by its ability to cover such a huge distance so effortlessly, there was no vibration and as I became tired I really appreciated the excess of torque that made gear changing virtually redundant. The final drive chain proved a real pig, needing adjustment every 250 miles, which really pissed me right off.
On the mountain roads of Scotland the Kat became a real pain. The ridiculous mass made gentle riding strenuous and any attempt at anything more sporty was instantly curtailed after we nearly didn't make it around one bend. On long descents the useless brakes forced me to stay in a low gear.
By the end of the tour I had lost most of my enthusiasm for the Kat, not helped any by the fact that on my return home the chain was totally shot. Pack a couple of thousand miles into a week and you really notice how expensive some bikes are to run! Rear chains last between 2000 and 4000 miles, which also knocks out the sprockets! Fuel is slurped through the four cylinders at 30mpg and oil consumed at 400mpp! Insurance is horrendous if you're at all young. It's cheaper to run a two litre car!
By 40,000 miles problems began to emerge. Front brake calipers gave up the ghost, the alternator burnt out and the swinging arm bearings were shot. At 49000 miles the repaired alternator was shot again. By 50,000 miles the forks had more slop than a tart's arse, so much so that venturing beyond 100mph was sheer stupidity. The handling had lost all precision and was fast becoming akin to a Z1 or early CB750. It forced me ride slowly, but I still had to incur the massive running costs.
The motor was still reliable, in 20,000 miles I just changed the oil regularly and balanced the carbs once. I never even looked at the valves. The pattern exhaust disintegrated as soon as the guarantee expired, so I hacksawed off the silencers and fitted some from a breaker - total cost £1! The noise was horrific. I was convinced that I'd be either nicked for disturbing the peace or that the pistons would burn out - consequently, I rarely rode the bike.
The Kat looked a mess, there seemed no point in pouring in consumables when I could go no faster than a good 400. I sold it for £650, surely a bargain as a bit of dosh spent on the suspension, brakes and swinging arm might have made it handle reasonably, and I was sure the motor would last.
Andy Everett