I quickly mastered the rudiments of riding, eventually passing my test. I felt the Suzuki to be the most powerful thing since an Apollo moon rocket (remember those?). The legend Ram Air System, inscribed upon a perfectly useless cowl atop the cylinder head, only added to the sense of the machine's dangerous mystique. The candy red tank, flanked by cream panels, had me completely seduced.
The honeymoon faded slightly when a chap at work said he owned a Suzuki Super Six, that could blow me into the middle of next week. Had Suzuki ever constructed a six cylinder 250, I wondered? All was revealed when we met at the appointed time for the showdown. I was relieved to count only two cylinders. Looking at his distinctly moth eaten example, I couldn't help but suppress a snigger. Moreover, his machine didn’t possess the cunning Ram Air System.
My smile faded when I discovered that his much earlier machine sped off into the distance. The Super Six had the edge on both top speed and handling. My sad initiation to the marketing power of the Japanese motorcycle industry left a degree of cynicism that has remained ever since. I thereafter decided that GT stood for Great Turd - which is exactly what the bike felt like when pushed into corners, thanks to a total lack of damping in the weakly sprung suspension and an ill supported swinging arm.
Disillusion turned to envy when riding with friends mounted on Bonnies. These venerable beasts looked as if they were built with authentic steel rather than an amalgam of chewing gum and sawdust. Physically, they were no larger than my Suzuki, something that impressed me greatly. In one race the Suzuki screamed along like a Jap Zero plane at 90mph whilst the Triumphs cleared off into the distance, although I had the last laugh as a Plod 750 Commando shot past me as if I was standing still and caught up with the speeding Brits. It emerged later than one of the Triumph riders had mistook the Norton for myself out of the corner of his eye and opened up fully...
A testimony to my ignorance regarding things technical at that time, was that the bike still wore its OE Jap tyres when it was eventually sold. This may or may not have contributed to its one serious dose of tarmac rash. Returning to work one late summer afternoon, I became unstuck, or rather unseated. The route was scenic, the roads winding and narrow. Negotiating a familiar, steep, downhill section, I came to grief exiting a blind bend at the bottom. Rounding the corner, I found my path inconveniently blocked by a large and very solid BL 1800 (remember those?). I struck his front wing and was thrown onto his bonnet, eventually landing on the other side of the car. I was OK, the bike needed forks and frame straightened amongst other things.
After this escape, what little enthusiasm I had for the Suzuki completely disappeared. I traded it for a late BSA A65 which was a revelation in both its handling and power compared to the GT. I guess that now the Suzi has it uses as a cheapo hack, it seems to have little else going for it.
Gerald Sturdy