I bought a really immaculate Suzuki GS650M. An ’81 model, only 9000 miles despite being ten years old. The elderly owner explained he’d had a heart attack some time back and had kept the bike out of nostalgia. His family had finally persuaded him to cash in and I was to be the happy recipient of his unfortunate circumstances. It was touch and go at the beginning, though, as he was going to make sure it was going to have a good home. My youthful enthusiasm shone through, although he was probably still muttering about long haired youths wearing ear-rings by the time I got the Kat on the motorway.
I kept telling myself to take it easy. An unknown bike, unknown roads and the fact that it had six times the power of my restricted 125. That lasted for a couple of seconds as a long empty straight came into view. The Katana’s a big lump with a long, wide tank, a narrow hard seat, flat bars with rear-sets. The seat only became comfortable with in excess of a 100mph on the clock. Power poured in hard as I twitched the throttle and played with the gearbox. 90, 100, 110, 120mph!
125mph caused all hell to descend upon my strained head. The back end waggled a little then the whole bike went into an arm wrenching speed wobble. I thought I was going to die, hit the triple discs and killed the throttle dead. The resulting fight with the bike reminded me of the hero despatching King Kong. The fork stops snapped off, the tank ending up battered. My wrists felt like they were broken. The wobble had started in the middle lane, by the time we finished I’d gone from nearly smashing into the central barrier to ending up slewing over to the hard shoulder.
Luckily, I had sped so far ahead of the cars that no-one ran me down. Unluckily the whole incident was witnessed by a jam-sandwich. When I finally wobbled to a halt and fell over, because my legs had turned to jelly, they pulled over, siren blaring and lights flashing. They lifted the bike off me then gave me a right bollocking. They pointed out that although there was plenty of tread on the Pirellis the sidewalls were cracked. From my white face and shaking hands they could see I'd learnt my lesson and I got away without being booked!
I rode home at moped speeds. I thought about selling the Katana and sticking with my CG125, but in the end a pair of Phantoms were fitted. Forthe next two months my right wrist was very restrained and fast roads were avoided. At 500Ibs the Suzuki was hard going in town, not helped any by the riding position. The front discs were incredibly sensitive, howling the tyre, it seemed, every time I looked at the lever! Hitting the front brake when banked over in slow bends caused the front end to go berserk. The bike reared up to the vertical, jerking my shoulder muscles and radically altering my line through the traffic.
The first time it happened we hit the side of a Metro. The engine bars and my knee saved the Kat from any damage. The owner of the battered car was some grey haired old lady who burst into an hysterical crying fit. The peds looked at me as if I’d tried to rape her (perish the thought) and some youth in a police uniform (I'm only a teenager but this guy looked like he’d just been let out of kindergarden, with a huge helmet coming down on to his nose) got his book out but could find nothing to charge me with. Just as well I’d got a bank loan to pay for the insurance.
Coming from a light learner, the Kat was a continuous shock to the system until I'd become used to it. Eventually, I summoned up the nerve to head for the open road and cruised along at 90mph. The feeling of security was good, with no weaves or wobbles but I kept recalling the way it’d suddenly switched from calmness into death mode.
I've been told that the way to avoid speed wobbles is to loosen my grip on the bars rather than try to fight the oscillations or go crazy on the brakes. The theory is that you should not fight the wobbles and let them die out of their own accord. Fortunately, the new tyres stopped any repeat of the previous excess, although they only lasted about 5000 miles before I deemed the tread dubious.
After six months the bike and I were old friends, well used to each others ways. I rarely went above 100mph, though, apart from anything else fuel was thrown out of the exhausts at about 25mpg against a more normal 55mpg and even 65mpg when the bike was ridden in a really mild manner. The engine was amazing, the valves and carbs needed no attention, whilst the rest of it needed no regular maintenance, save, naturally, for 1000 mile oil changes and oil filters at 3000 miles. Finish was good except for the cast wheels and engine cases that corroded at the first hint of rain.
After a year, though, the silencers began to corrode through. I was able to ignore it for a few months but when one end cap fell off I knew I had to find some replacements. The noise it made was deafening and I had to hide behind a van when coming level with a cop at a junction. As I accelerated away I glanced in the mirrors to see the policeman scribbling away in his notebook.
Before the house was raided by irate cops I knocked on a couple of universal megaphones which were still on sale in the local motorcycle shop even though they were illegal for road use. The downpipes were permanently rusty, no way the corrosion would abate for more than a day however much wire brushing and heat resistant paint was applied. There was a slight hesitation around 6500rpm but otherwise the power flowed in as nicely as ever.
The electrics started to give me a bit of a fright shortly after that, with a flat battery making it impossible to start. The battery was full of white corrosion, so chucked over the wall and replaced with a new 'un. Starting became good again, the motor roaring into life first press of the button even on mornings so cold that I wished I was in another country.
In December I came off an icy bit of road. Even the big nineteen inch wheel failed to save me. One moment I was leaning into the bend, the next it was screaming metal and my knee-cap trying to explode. The pain was incredible for a while, but it was only bruised with a lot of skin torn off. The Kat only had a minor bit of damage to its extremities, saved by the engine bars.
Motorcycles and the British winter don’t mix at all well and I say that as a fanatical biker. I went back to my Honda 125 for the rest of December and most of January, its light weight and mild power allowing me to skid it around like a pushbike. Even safely tucked away in the garage, the Kat's alloy still corroded away!
The winter also caused the calipers to gum up, although I never did wear the pads out in 14000 miles of riding (and they weren't new when I got the bike). The calipers were easy to strip down and cleaned up nicely. I eventually got the art of braking infused into my brain, so much so that when I went back to the Honda I kept braking too late and frightening cagers, if not myself.
The one thing I haven't adapted to is the hardness of the seat. After 100 miles it’s like sitting on a knife, and 200 miles has me staggering around like I’ve got piles. The seat is so much part of the styling, though, that it’s impossible to contemplate replacing it. Other than that it’s turned out to be a very practical machine.
I've finally sold the Honda 125, with a tear in my eye, and am looking for a ring-ding-a-ding stroker for town kicks. The GS is hard charging above 70mph but below that it’s a bit too heavy to be much fun. The engine's very tough, the looks are still stunning and I'm really into life with it.
Jim Mann