Suzuki GT500

After finally throwing away my learner plates I was ready for action. After what'd seemed like an eternity of riding around under a cloud of gloom and an endless stream of 125cc motorcycles, I thought I'd purchase myself a big machine. Yes, I was ready for a real bike, I was going to play with the men.

My last motorcycle, a moth coloured RD125LC, was stolen a week after my test, so bang went all my ideas of instant cash, another total bummer was that I was broke. When all seemed lost, along came my fairy godmother on his GSX550GS with a beaming smile - what he had to offer me was an S-reg Suzi GT500 twin in a faded burgundy. It had a slick rear tyre, no brake shoes, pitted disc and a leaking exhaust system that even a Dutch boy would've had trouble damming.

But for a hundred quid it was mine, and the nightmare began. After pushing the bike home (no petrol, of course), I took a long hard look and thought of the many open roads ahead of me. Sunday morning I opened up the garage bright eyed, full of hope and carrying two gallons of petrol. I was full of determination, I was going to ride the bike today!

After filling her up, I perched all my weight over the handlebars find struck the left-hand kickstart - ouch! It really hurt. My skin was bleeding, I was hopping around muttering more swear words than a drunken nun. A badly worn spline and a snapped return spring were the cause of my injury.

Once the two cylinder stroker engine had been cracked open the parts were ordered. A little arc welding cured the exhaust and with a new master cylinder for the front disc, things were looking up. I tidied up the wiring loom, put the battery on charge, cleaned up the spokes, stuck on a used Avon rear tyre and retired for the night.

Once the bike was back in one piece and semi-roadworthy, I started her up. A screaming howl, the tacho needle deep in the red. A sticking throttle needle, nothing that half an hour's worth of work wouldn't cure. Once on the road, I found the bike sluggish but it pulled about 90mph in top, which at least confirmed I was riding a big motorcycle. Tax, MOT and insurance followed. I was on my way, the road was all mine, the world my oyster.

Not being a member of any breakdown service was probably one of my biggest mistakes - I found myself sitting on the side of a road somewhere near Bristol with a hole in my left-hand piston. Fantastic, considering I lived 78 miles north of that spot up in Shropshire.

The problem was caused by an extremely weak mixture due to a lack of air filter and wrong sized jets. Once fixed I didn’t have to wait long for next horror, the kickstart gear broke. I was forced to bump start the old heap. Two weeks and 400 miles later, I found myself virtually committing suicide because of not being able to afford a chain and sprocket kit. I extended the chain by eight links and fitted a Maico 490 back sprocket - this sped up my acceleration but knocked about 10mph off my top end.

After about four months I crashed due to some well placed diesel, resulting in a badly bruised girlfriend. 3000 miles, four pistons, an AA bill and lots of grief. The bike came to a solemn end, wrapped around a speed barrier after throwing its chain at 20mph in the rain. My pride was further injured by almost being run down by a Plastic Pig. Took me three days to free the GT, sold for £50 for scrap. On the whole she was worth £100.

Clark Robinson