Ashes In The Handlebars
I'm not sure why I still have it, sitting in the shop. Surely it is unlikely I will ever restore it, and yet I have never really considered scrapping it, despite Sherri's oft-repeated request that I do so.
I speak, of course, of my 1977 Suzuki GS750, fifth and next to last (well, maybe) motorcycle.
Oh, I did mention that my automotive history included six motorcycles, didn't I? I'm sure I mentioned that my first non-human powered transport was a Moped. After that I graduated to a Cushman Eagle.In fact, I rode for some months before I ever drove a car. But I don't include those basic transport modes in the six.
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| It seems more cool now than it did then ©Mecum Auctions |
The odd car gig happened like this. Some friend, long since forgotten, had a buddy who was 18 and had his full-fledged license. Best I recall I was 14 and had only recently received my learner's permit. This allowed me to ride a “motor driven cycle” of five or less horsepower, and to drive a car “under adult supervision,” meaning...an 18 year old would work just fine! As I write both those statements I am astounded at how uncomplicated the world was, and how there seemed to be little risk in either activity, despite the fact that a young person like me at the time had absolutely no prior instruction in either riding or driving!
I believe the car I thus had my first experience behind the wheel with was an early 60s vintage Falcon...with stick shift no less! When I told Dad about my first lesson in the car his response was “good, you can tear up someone else's car rather than ours.”
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| Not cool back then But I didn't care It was WHEELS! And someone else's gas money |
Good ole' Dad. Such a confidence builder.
To me, the moped and Cushman were somewhat embarrassing conveyances, with their only redeeming features being that they were (barely) better than walking. The moped was so underpowered I could actually pedal the thing almost as fast as it went under power. The Cushman was better, but the centrifugal clutch was so slow to “hook up” it was a real dog off the line.
So as soon as I got my “full” license at 16 I was off two wheels and into four with the Dodge Dad bought pretty much for my exclusive use (Uncool? Yeah, But I'm Riding and You're Walking!).
But after “tasting” the amazing “grunt” of my roommates Suzuki X6 250 when, at the time, I was driving an Austin Healey Sprite with a 0-60 time you needed a calendar to compute, I was again intrigued by what, in particular, a two-stroke bike offered in low cost thrills.
I had to have one. And even though both Mom and Dad were totally opposed, Mom actually loaned (gave?) me the money to buy my first bike...a used Yamaha “Big Bear” 305.
While not as quick off the line as the X6, in similar fashion the engine power was far ahead of either the suspension or brake's ability to handle...while I have always been a conservative rider I was quite willing to use that power on occasion. It was exhilarating....and probably a lot more dangerous than I thought.
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| Definitely Cool Classic good looks Brakes and Frame too Yikes! |
When Marcia and I got married I thought it was time to “grow up,” and sold the bike. I spent the next six months sniffing the exhaust of every motorcycle I got near, and was miserable. I finally scraped together enough cash to buy a used Honda 160, which made me even more miserable.
This was my firsst four-stroke bike, and while well built, I was amazed at how far behind in terms of fun quotient Honda seemed to be. Their “big” machine was a 305. It was top heavy and, relative to either the Yammie 305 or the Suzy 250, painfully slow. The 160 was the worst of both worlds. Built as a “Scrambler” it was also top heavy and even slower than the aforementioned “Dream.” I might have dubbed it the “Nightmare.” I actually tried to use it off-road once...a true disaster. But then, a high pipe Yamaha 305 was available, and no doubt would have been even worse.
When we moved to Georgia for me to continue Grad School I had had enough of the Honda, and almost as soon as we arrived in town bought my own X6 ( see WTF...or HRD? for my own introduction to the X6). I had to go to Atlanta to get the bike, and of course return there for its first, break in service. It was 31 degrees when we left Athens for the 60 mile ride to the shop, and 29 when we got there. I don't believe I had any protection other than a helmet and a jacket, and we were both totally exhausted and hypothermic when we arrived. My hands were so stiff that the right one had taken on the curve of the throttle, and I feared the shape might be permanent.
But we survived the trip, and I kept the bike when we returned to Florida. I remember that at one point we were living in the back unit of a one story duplex in Miami Shores. I kept the bike on the sidewalk leading to the unit, and there was an identical, though mirror image, unit opposite, on the sidewalk of which was a Norton 850 Commander This was the killer British machine to have at the time.
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| THE Bike of the early 70s Wikipedia Photo |
Thing was that, like all Brit bikes of the era, reliability was not its strongest point. My Suzuki had electric start with a kickstarter for backup. The Norton was kick only. While Miami was rarely cold, it could get pretty cool in the winter, while still maintaining relatively high humidity. In these conditions the Norton could be quite stubborn about starting. I would try hard not to gloat when I pushed the button on the Suzy and the “world's fastest popcorn popper” instantly came to life, albeit sounding like a wounded house cat. As I left for work the Norton's owner was still exhausting himself cranking his monster.
By the time I decided to trade the Suzy (why, oh why?) Honda had come out with their first really big bike, the 400 twin, and Kawasaki had blasted away the “fastest bike” title with their 500cc H1 two-stroke triple, which quickly became nicknamed the “Widowmaker.” The power of this thing was so far beyond the ability of its frame to stand the flex, or its brakes to shut it down, that it was, and remains, one of the most dangerous street machines ever produced.
Of course we all lusted after it. When the company decided to produce a supposedly somewhat tamed little brother of 350cc I was all in for that.
Worst bike I ever owned. Within six months the paint was fading and every rubber piece on it was falling apart. But that wasn't the worst part. While undoubtedly quick, it did not feel faster, nor was it, than my X6 and, unlike that well balanced machine, wanted to become the “world's fastest unicycle” if you did try to wick on the throttle. The front wheel would instantly try to point at the tops of the telephone poles. Pure evil.
And the gas mileage, or more precisely, the lack thereof, was amazing. I calculated it multiple times before I would believe that 350cc could really get only 22mpg. That, of course, was well after the beast dumped me by the side of the Florida Turnpike one day. I had switched to to the reserve setting all bikes had back then when it began to stutter...and ran totally dry about five miles further on. I just couldn't believe it.
The night it was stolen off my driveway I actually felt relief. This was enhanced greatly when I got the insurance check, which was just big enough to pay cash for a used Suzuki 305.
Do you detect a note of brand loyalty here? I always liked the company and thought their products well designed, good looking, and exceptionally well behaved and quick.
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| Another Good Looking Suzy And another Mecum Photo |
This was the bike that moved with me, buried in a U-Haul trailer connected to a 24 foot rental truck, to Las Vegas at the end of 1972. In early 73 I took a ride outside of town, on US 95. I stopped for a break near the junction with NV156, one of the routes up Mt. Charleston. I took one look around at the totally empty vista and realized...we're gonna need a bigger bike!
Enter yet another Suzuki, the 550 triple. The firm also made a larger 750 version, but after the 305 I figured the 550 was big enough. I outfitted it with a small fairing, and wandered all over the desert with it for the two years we lived in Vegas.
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| My 550 In Front of Our Home in Redwood City c1975 |
I kept that bike for another couple of years after we moved to California. It was big enough and fast enough to stay with anything, and I remember in particular our first real exposure to Bay Area weather. We were living in San Mateo at the time, so this must have been the summer of 1974. When we left that town the temperature was about 75...pretty warm for that part of the Bay. We were headed for the top of Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County, where we planned to picnic overlooking the City and the Bay.
We were astounded when we reached the Golden Gate...it was in the 50s and foggy...we were freezing! Then we zipped up through the Waldo tunnel and on into Marin. When we reached the top of Mt. Tam it was 96 and sunny. In about 30 miles the temperature had first dropped 20+ degrees in about 25 miles, and then climbed over 30 from there in less then ten. Welcome to California!
Two-stroke bikes are simple, and should be durable. But motorcycle technology in the early 70s was progressing rapidly, mainly in suspension and chassis design as well as braking. By 1976 Suzuki hit the market with their first four stroke, and it was a winner right out of the box.
I first noted the GS750 in Through the Corkscrew II. I did not rush out and grab the early 1976 model, but by 1977 I was convinced it was the way to go next in my progression with bikes. In particular, it had front and rear disc brakes, a huge improvement over any drum system. It was also absolutely gorgeous, and I was convinced that the company would not put a bike on the market which did not meet their usual high quality standards.
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| Still a good looking bike And a great ride Beautiful Handling and Plenty of Power (60hp) |
I was right. So in early Spring 1977 I bought the bike which now sits in disarray in my shop. Not that I didn't get my use out of it. By the time I stopped riding regularly, in about 1984, I had put 40,000 fun miles on it. It was still in fine shape and totally reliable. Though it also was the only bike I have ever dropped, and I did it twice. The first time was much more dramatic than the second, though I'm not sure Sherri would agree.
I was taking my usual route to work...which meant peeling off 101 onto 280 near Army Street, then off at Mariposa, across the China Basin Bridge, and on to park someplace like Montgomery Street. In the early days there were no motorcycle parking spaces, so I often left the bike in an unobtrusive place on the sidewalk. Most, but not all, meter maids would leave me alone, since by doing that I was not tying up a space for a car. When the City first put in bike parking spaces I recall a few of us standing around and looking at them in amazement. Wow...something sensible...in San Francisco!
Fortunately, when I dropped the bike I was in full leathers, with gloves and boots. And it wasn't the bridge grating which got me. Though that is scary as your machine wobbles about it is not really dangerous and there is little chance the grid will actually drop you. But leading up to and across the bridge is a railroad siding which runs through the right lane of the street, and that is dangerous. Both on the street and on the bridge you do not want your wheels anywhere near those tracks.
I knew the siding was there...I rode this street every day. I knew I needed to avoid it. What I did not know was exactly where it started. And that was further hidden by a delivery truck in the right lane. As I started to cut to the left to pass the truck I started the move just as I came to the siding. My front wheel cleared the track towards the left lane just fine, but the back crossed the lefthand rail at a shallow angle, tried to play trains, and came around sideways.
I suddenly found myself on my hands and knees doing 40mph without a bike. Fortunately I came off the back and did not “high side” it. I was just fine and the bike sustained only a couple of scrapes to things like the clutch lever. So after 15 years of riding, the mantra about there being only two types of riders caught up with me...either you have been down....or you will go down sometime.
The second time was just...annoying. I was in the left turn lane of El Camino Real southbound at Whipple Avenue, going to turn and cross the Caltrain tracks. When the light changed I slowly started forward, and the back wheel started to try and pass the front of the bike. I backed off the throttle, but the wheel continued to swing out, gradually assuming an unrecoverable angle, and down we went.
Yes, Sherri was on the back...the last time she rode. There was no damage to either of us or the bike, and I was confounded about what happened. There was nothing visible on the pavement to explain it. I could only conclude that, while I knew about so-called invisible “black ice,” I had just stumbled into “black oil,” an invisible film with just enough slickness to cause a traction loss of my back wheel.
Still, not bad for over 25 years on bikes.
But by 1984 I had not only stumbled my way back into sports cars in a big way ( see Through the Corkscrew II), I was also half way through turning a “roller” and nine boxes of parts into a vintage race car (I Think I'm Alone Now; There Doesn't Seem to be Anyone Around).
I also realized two things:
- The Suzuki needed work
- I was really just riding it to work and back
The work included a leaking front shock and a rear sprocket which was pretty far gone...to the point it might be unwise to ride the bike without replacing it. As for riding to work...in the ten years since we had moved to the Bay things on the roads were already getting a lot more dicey. From “laid back and friendly” there was a new aggressiveness and tension which grew out of the development exploding from the former groves of the Santa Clara Valley, which had been newly redubbed “Silicon Valley.” It was getting dangerous to ride a bike up 101 every day. And I was already anticipating a new hobby which was also life-threatening. I decided two such activities with a wife and young child might be tempting fate a bit too far.
So I parked the Suzy in a shed I built next to the garage, totally planning to “get back to it” one day. Hah...life had other plans. 15 years later I cut dozens of vines away from it, undid the frozen rear caliper, and hauled it out into the daylight to bring it up to Jackson.
It was a mess...corroded chrome, peeling paint. Sad indeed. I parked it in the shop, out of the way, where it has sat ever since.
I did have one more bike, a Kawasaki 150cc “metric cruiser” or “wannabe Harley” if you prefer.
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| My Wannabe Harley I never grew to love it |
A group of guys up here wanted to ride, and those were the kind of bikes they wanted. While I could have bought something that I likely would have loved more, I fell in with what the group had, a big though relatively nimble machine with footboards and loads of torque but neither the looks nor the ride of the Suzuki.
And then the guys started feuding with each other, and I realized that, with leathers and some body armor for protection, it was too hot for me in the summer, and too cold in the winter, to be comfortable. I found myself saying “I need to ride the bike” instead of “I really want to ride.” I sold it in 2004 and used the proceeds to buy the closed trailer I needed to take the Siata cross country to race. (See the “Long and Winding Road” series).
Wait...”where it has sat ever since.” Isn't that the same thing that happened to the 914 (see the “Bring 'Em Back Alive” series)? And look how that came out! Assuming parts are available it would not take much to put the Suzy back together...
And that would resolve Sherri's concern about this visual reminder of the effort it will take to clean up things if I die before her. In fact, as the title of this piece attests, she has threatened multiple times to have me cremated and my ashes stuffed in the handlebars of the bike if I do not get rid of it.
While I actually think that is not a bad place to wind up, I am reminded of the (paraphrased) words of Road and Track's Peter Egan as a cautionary tale: “Stop Me Before I Restore This (Bike)”
“Then one night over cigars and too much brandy, I began to take the thing apart.”
Bulletin...a couple of weeks later
I happened to mention this article to Sherri, telling her it was triggered by realizing how good a title her "ashes in the handlebar" threat made. I then mused about the last lines of the piece, about how it would not seem to be a difficcult project to get the bike back on the road.
She not only said "hey, why don't you do that with your grandson" (who is already riding his own bike...a Ducati 750), but she then texted him asking him if thar would interest him.
The Internet being the greateest tool in history to test how practical exercises like this might be, with no effort at all to find out, I meantime "Googled" "Suzuki GS750 parts" and had enough hits which seemed to have, in a quick glance, extensive lists of brake, cable, engine, body, graphics, and other parts to make further investigation worthwhile.
Tristan, of course, said he would love to do that project. But, Tristan being Tristan, interest does not always translate into action. I would be willing to give him the bike at the completion of the activity if he at all would stick with putting any reasonable (tbd) effort into it.
Wait, I probably should not be putting that in print!
Uh oh...have I just taken on another restoration project?
Bulletin...a couple of weeks later
I happened to mention this article to Sherri, telling her it was triggered by realizing how good a title her "ashes in the handlebar" threat made. I then mused about the last lines of the piece, about how it would not seem to be a difficcult project to get the bike back on the road.
She not only said "hey, why don't you do that with your grandson" (who is already riding his own bike...a Ducati 750), but she then texted him asking him if thar would interest him.
The Internet being the greateest tool in history to test how practical exercises like this might be, with no effort at all to find out, I meantime "Googled" "Suzuki GS750 parts" and had enough hits which seemed to have, in a quick glance, extensive lists of brake, cable, engine, body, graphics, and other parts to make further investigation worthwhile.
Tristan, of course, said he would love to do that project. But, Tristan being Tristan, interest does not always translate into action. I would be willing to give him the bike at the completion of the activity if he at all would stick with putting any reasonable (tbd) effort into it.
Wait, I probably should not be putting that in print!
Uh oh...have I just taken on another restoration project?
