I was drunk out of my mind and should not have been anywhere near a motorcycle. But I could not resist the charms of my Suzuki DR400. Fumbling with the kickstart and finding the necessary co-ordination to lunge her into life was hard going but I succeeded after the sixth attempt. I live way out in the country and see a policeman about once a year within a ten mile radius of my farmhouse, so there were no worries about being caught.
After a night and early morning bout of booze and sex (as in orgy) I could not sleep. Leaping on the Suzi seemed like the only thing to do. A fast thrash around deserted country lanes as the sun slowly rose above the horizon filled me full of joy. On trail tyres and knackered suspension the bike leapt about a bit, but it was always predictable. With only 300lbs to get out of hand, there was no problem controlling the beast even when inebriated.
There were a series of small hills that I could hurtle up and down, leaving my stomach behind each time and sometimes getting both wheels off the ground. Fantastic fun. Not so much joy, though, overcooking it and sending the bike hurtling into a hedge when a bend suddenly tightened up and I found my reflexes weren't as quick as I thought.
No damage to the machine, tough little bugger that it is even after ten years of abuse and neglect, but dented pride and a few scratches to myself. Oh well, running off the road is one way to sober up pretty fast. Back at the farmhouse, a naked woman insisted on a run round the lanes. Finding the vibes stimulating she had my zip undone in a moment and...
I'd owned the DR for four years, getting back to the important subject, bought it as a tired out scrambler that had seen hard times. The motor was basically OK, needed a bit of work to the valves and a new camchain to sort it out. The chassis was a mess, suspension sagging, frame bent as a glossy motorcycle mag journo, etc. More a question of hard graft than loadsa money to sort out.
In that time I've done something like 32000 miles on top of whatever the DR had managed before - can’t be too accurate as speedo cables keep on breaking and aren’t replaced unless I'm feeling very rich; which is very rare. It's my only machine and as such is used for running fifty miles into the nearest large town once a week, fun in the country lanes and a bit of mild trail work when I'm feeling bored.
This country retreat of mine was bought dilapidated and is not much better now. A detached cottage with its own half acre full of weeds and bits of broken motorcycles. Any planning officer who got out so far would probably be appalled to find that the lower half of the house is now a workshop, with a couple of ancient lathes and milling machines on which I quite happily churn out engineering components. Handy when something goes wrong with the bike as I can usually manufacture it myself.
The upper half of the house is just one big space, a large fridge, couple of beds, 100 watt stereo and as much beer as you can gulp. Friends come from hundreds of miles away because they know they can have a ball free of hassle - anything goes. Most turn up on bikes, so there are all kinds of impromptu races and general madness.
The DR is slightly modded with homemade exhaust, open carb and race camshaft, putting out about 35 instead of the stock 30hp. With its lack of weight it shifts surprisingly well up to 70mph then slows off to about 95mph maximum. My cunning use of local knowledge means I can see off much bigger machinery to the nearest town. Some really wild races have been won.
Nothing is that straightforward, though. I once had the whole machine explode in a ball of flames when the petrol pipe fell off due to vibration (the OHC single cylinder engine doesn’t have a balance shaft). The charred mess cleaned up rather well but at the time I only narrowly missed becoming part of the conflagration. A very sensitive part of my anatomy was seconds from being burnt alive - I saved the day by jumping the bike across a ditch into a stagnant pool. I stank like I don’t know what for days afterwards.
Mechanical problems have been rare as I changed the oil every 500 miles! The top end is sensitive to neglect and the piston takes a battering but the frequent oil changes seem to give the motor unexpected longevity. That and paranoid checking of the points and valves which seem unable to maintain their optimum settings for very long.
The gearbox has gone from super slick to Honda-like nasty, with an excess of missed changes and an expensive grating sound that gets no worse if you ignore it; so I do. The clutch plates only last about 7000 miles a set, something to do with the drum being slightly warped; which in turn was probably down to a period when I insisted taking off from a standstill on the back wheel but every damn time. Great fun until I grew bored with it.
On the trail work the DR is easy to leap over logs and the like but tends to sink into mud rather than skim over it. I also find it's dead easy to catch the front wheel in a rut and be forced to charge forward wherever it leads - usually into a tree trunk. The DR has proved remarkably robust in such incidents, it's my poor old body that absorbs all the momentum not the bike!
On the country lanes around here, down which not much more than a Mini can pass, the DR is ideal tarmac fodder. True, the tiny drum brakes can leave a lot to be desired when Farmer Fred decides to unleash his bovine friends into the road, but they provide a remarkably soft landing. Said farmer has now taken to wandering around with a loaded shotgun which he’s not adverse to letting loose in my general direction, for some strange reason...
On main roads the DR is a bit lost, weaving all over the place above 70mph but a firm grip on the bars and a throttle wound fully open sees off most autos. I have had to put my foot down a few times when the whole plot has threatened to let loose but the bike seems to respond OK to aggressive rider input.
The vibes when the motor is thrashed flat out are something else - I've broken two watches, lost four fillings and numerous bits have fallen off or come loose. Batteries were also a pain, one actually exploded, until I replaced it with a huge capacitor out of a defunct TV someone had dumped in a nearby ditch (energy discharge ignition if you insist on being precise, and Lucas do proper capacitors if you want to spend a large dollop of cash).
At less frantic revs, say six grand, the motor still vibrates but not at a level where it does any damage to either moi or machine. These revs are probably conducive to good fuel economy but I haven’t managed to work out the figures, it's so good that it does not really bother me. At least 65mpg, probably lots more. Oil is bad, a pint every 100 miles, though some of that is leakage (cylinder head gasket, gearbox seal, etc).
In town the machine is brilliant. It sails over pavements, somnolent tramps and policemen’s feet with no trouble. Again, the brakes are hazardous in the extreme, especially in the wet when the drums fill up with water, but the bike can be flicked, foot down if necessary, out of harm’s way most of the time. Pedestrians expecting me to stop while they cross the road are often in for a hard time and I even managed to knock a couple of weaving cyclists out of the way once.
Lasting impressions are of a strong engine and tough chassis. It's rather like the old British singles with a go anywhere, do anything character. Once you get on top of its idiosyncrasies, it fair flies along whichever way you want to take it. The nearest modern equivalent is the Yamaha XT350, itself a fine motorcycle but one I'm unlikely to be able to buy for two hundred notes, as was the case with the Suzi.
Brian Byratt
[Anyone else reckon Bill Fowler wrote this one? Yeah, me too. 2018 Ed.]