After the total failure of my marriage, which had left me not just penniless but lumbered with huge debts for the rest of my life, I was more than despondent. I had been forced into going back to live with my parents - it was that or a railway arch and a cardboard box - and it was my father who saved the day. A keen British motorcyclist for many years he had finally given into the call of the rising sun at the great age of 62, ten years ago. He handed me the keys and told me to get out on the road, son, enjoy yourself.
There wasn’t much else I could do, so I did what he suggested. The machine was not very remarkable to look at. If anything, it was even less prepossessing than a MZ250 or CD175. The 1980 Suzuki SB200 stood there, all polished up and ready to run. Dad, bless his soul, was just as happy tinkering or cleaning the SB as he was riding it. Ten years old then, 38000 miles done, the bike looked better if anything than the day she was rolled out of the showroom.
I would soon change that state of affairs. Armed with a tent, sleeping bag and a gift of cash from the old man, who was almost as cut up about my personal state as I was, I kicked the old girl into two stroke twin life and set off to rediscover both myself and the joys of the open road. Living in the south, it seemed only natural to go north.
The exhaust note was deceptively mild, for the 200cc engine developed 20hp, which in car circles is still pretty amazing. As might be sussed from the appearance, power delivery was not at all highly strung like some Suzuki strokers, but gained more urgency once past 5000 revs.
The gearbox and clutch were an absolute delight, I felt I could have changed gear in bare feet and not bruised my skin, so light and precise was the action. I soon discovered that I had the choice of revving the motor to the red zone and playing silly buggers with the gearbox, or sticking her into top and slugging it out.
This ability perfectly matched my moods on the trip. At times I took the bike to the limits of its chassis in order to forget my wretched state; turn dark to light. At other times I was content to potter along deserted country roads thinking what a damn lucky chap I was to have discovered this wonderful freedom.
I also found that fuel economy was as constant as the wonderful reliability of the bike. It did 62mpg come what may - wild right hand or peaceful pottering. In fact this economy gave the machine a range that bettered its comfort. Father, diehard son of England that he was, had had the sense to convert the suspension to a hardness, tautness that any Bantam owner would recognise and place in its handlebar clamps a set of bars that would give any Triumph owner heartache. I had even seen him measuring up a Bonnie tank to see if it would fit, such was his nostalgia, but I had been given the bike before any such confusing transformation could be consummated!
What he had not yet done was modify the seat. At his age he had rarely taken the bike more than 50 miles and doubtless found in the reassuringly soft foam of the SB’s saddle a perfectly adequate seat. It took about 80 miles for the foam to crush flat and the metal base to make its presence felt. When combined with the aforementioned tautness of suspension this resulted in very sore buttocks very quickly. The only solution I managed to come up with was a couple of folded sweaters on top of the seat. I found it necessary to stop for a walk every 50 or so miles, although I did once do 120 miles in one go.
The bike was, naturally, equipped with Avon tyres, which proved good in the couple of downpours I experienced that summer. Most of the time it was dry and hot - the back tyre would let loose when the bike was banked so far over that the undercarriage produced a torrent of sparks, it may even have been pivoting on the stand, but came back into grip with a flick of the buttocks.
Handling was weird. It would have been horrible if equipped with the usual cheap and nasty Japanese commuter suspension. Girling shocks (of indeterminate vintage) and, I think, BSA B44 springs, had made sure there was no suspension flop. Road deflections were fed directly through to the chassis which often gave signs of having a hard time of coping with my often near suicidal riding.
The weak spot in the very basic steel frame is probably the swinging arm mounts. Not that it ever became vicious, but there was a slight hinged in the middle feel when the machine was pushed near its limits. Father reckons the bearings are original (but greased every six months) so they might just be protesting at the length of time they've been abused.
Braking, if adequate rather than startling, was at least predictable in both dry and wet weather... having ridden some old Jap fours that turned into killers in the wet I was thankful enough. The chassis was stable enough to take late braking in corners, the line tightening up usefully rather than sending the bike careering off into oncoming traffic. That combined with the light mass meant I could often take some outrageous risks without the same fear of instant demise from some massively powerful and vicious multi. Most of the time I enjoyed myself immensely in the bend swinging, despite the signs that the chassis was not as overjoyed as myself.
It's possible to get an indicated 85mph on the clock. For that you need an extremely long road that is going downhill and a helpful wind at the rear. More normally, the bike will hold a steady 70mph cruising speed in top, come what may, although if speed slides down to 50mph in adverse conditions it's necessary to kick down two gears and work back up to 70mph, which top can then hold - something, I think, to do with maximum power and torque coinciding.
After 70mph there is a little in hand for acceleration, with 75mph easily achieved most of the time and 80mph after a bit of effort. Considering that the bike is still on all the original engine components and now has done 57000 miles, that's quite remarkable for what is supposed to be a basic town commuter. Dad did very carefully run her in for 5000 miles, which obviously helped. He also did all the servicing as regular as demanded - but now everything has ground in so well that there’s no need to check anything other than the oil levels!
The only time the engine ever caught me out was when the plugs fouled after being stuck in Glasgow traffic for about six hours. The little bugger just coughed a few times and died on me. No great effort to pull the 300lbs up on the pavement and change a couple of plugs, save that I nearly burnt a hole in my hand when I touched the engine, I was sure I could hear the oil boiling away inside! By the way, father used to do a regular decoke but spent so much time polishing all the components to a mirror finish that it's now only necessary every 10000 miles.
I went all round the country on the bike, did about 12000 miles over a couple of months. I camped everywhere and ate cheaply, the bike didn't get through any consumables whilst oil and fuel were drunk in a very reasonable manner. I still had loads of money left out of the £750 I had been given. Riding the bike took up so much of my time that I never thought much about buying food and such good times were had that the blues were eventually dissipated.
I came back home in much higher spirits, full of plans of working for a while, buying a bigger bike and going around the world - getting out of the country being the only way to avoid the financial demands of the ex-wife.
The SB was placed back into the tender hands of its real owner, who spent about a month cleaning off the layers of road grime, touching up the paint and lovingly polishing the alloy and chrome. I am still allowed the short excursion on the Suzuki and revel in the quiet, friendly and efficient way it goes about its business. I think it is the most deceptive motorcycle I have ever ridden. Father, of course, keeps muttering that they don’t make ‘em like this any more. Which is quite true!
Arnie Cummings