Suzuki Gt750k

Suzuki GT750K

Makin' My Way To Donner On A Cosmic Smoothie

D. Randy Riggs

JUST PASSIN' THROUGH...

(Editor’s Note: This is the first in a series of articles that will appear from time to time on various roadsters. The purpose is to combine the sights, smells, and problems involved in touring with useful comments on the machine involved. A full road test data panel is included for your convenience. The actual test session, as always, involved the entire CYCLE WORLD staff.)

FOG AND overcast skies were seemingly endless and my spirit was waning. The sun had made such infrequent visits to the coast around Laguna and Newport Beach that summer simply wasn't happening, though already it was early August. The perfect out had to be the new Suzuki GT750K residing in the CYCLE WORLD garage, as it sat there quietly beckoning...sort of saying, "Hey, it's time for a trip, don't you think?" Indeed, it was time.

I mentioned the thought one evening to my lady: “Might be takin’ a new Suzuki somewhere pretty soon.” “Oh? ” she replied. “When?” “I think maybe in the morning.” “Oh, maybe I’d better get some of your things together!” “Yup, maybe you’d better.” I had ridden the 750 home and went out to give it another look.

The second year of production for the water-cooled Triple has helped it in many areas; those subtle detail improvements that somehow manufacturers never think of the first time ’round. Striping on the fuel tank has been changed and the result is a motorcycle with a whole lot more class. Coupled with flavorful paint colors, the scheme turns the GT750 into a bike that will demand its share of attention.

The paint has some help from a mechanical addition; something that was included for reasons other than appearance, though cosmetically they add a touch of class. The addition of dual front disc brakes is what I’m referring to, the most significant change made this year on the big 750. Last year’s four leading shoe drum unit was an excellent arrangement, but few people knew how to adjust it properly; the result was less than excellent braking in many instances. By the looks of those massive discs attached to the front wheel assembly, I was sure no more complaints would be heard.

Last year I had divided about 3500 miles between two Suzuki 750s, so the machine wouldn’t be that unfamiliar, but I still went over this new one carefully to see if I could spot any change that might affect riding comfort or operation. If there were any besides the items I’ve already mentioned, I couldn’t spot them. However, I did notice a source of irritation that continues on the latest offering...the handgrips. They are absolutely and totally worthless, with a surface that bites into your hands even on short trips...even if you’re wearing heavy gloves. How much fun it would be to take the designer of these items and position him on the motorcycle with his hands in place on the bars and wrap them there so he couldn’t move them for maybe a week or so. Next year we would see proper grips...guaranteed. Luckily, it is not much of a problem to make a switch, but it’s unnecessarily wasteful.

The damp ocean air was beginning to dim the gleam of the Suzuki’s chrome and had me thinking about a cup of hot chocolate, so I wheeled the waterpumper into its parking spot and headed inside; I had a trip to think about.

The next morning was just as foggy as ever. Don’t get me wrong, I like offbeat weather on occasion, but a steady diet of anything has a definite effect on my attitude. I bungee-corded a small duffle bag to the rear portion of the big seat; inside were a few changes of socks and underwear, some cold weather garb and a good supply of beef jerky. I like to carry jerky on any outing, because it’s nice to snack on when the nibblies hit and you’re in the> middle of nowhere.

Basically I was fairly well prepared for most weather except rain, and where I was headed the wet stuff was a possibility. This time I would gamble going without a rainsuit, like I have a hundred times before. So far Ma Nature and I are about even on the rain aspect. But at least this time she couldn’t get to me at night, since I would be snug in a motel. If this kid happens to cram a bunch of miles into a day’s ride he doesn’t relish the thought of roughing it; I get enough of that on my dirt bike trips to Baja. There are times, however, when the price of certain motels makes me wish I had a sleeping bag strapped to the front of my machine...just like Bronson.

“Just where was I headed, anyway?” my lady asked at breakfast that morning. “Think I’ll go up to Donner Pass. Lots of history there. And probably the last chance I’ll have to go through on a bike before winter hits those mountains.” “Isn’t that where some passenger train got stuck in the snow one time and it took them three days to rescue the people?” she inquired. “I’ll say it was some train, the crack liner ‘City of San Francisco,’ one of the best then...it was 1952. They had 22 feet of snow on the level.” That comment got a raised eyebrow look so I swallowed more coffee and let it sink in. “What kind of weather do they have this time of year?” was her next question. I slowly put on my jacket and grabbed my helmet. “You just never know....”

It was cold in Laguna that morning. The kind of cold that is perfectly comfortable if you’re walking but perfectly miserable if you happen to be on a motorcycle. I wondered how the new Suzuki would act after sitting all night. The ignition switch, speedometer, water temperature gauge and tachometer are all contained in one cluster, angled precisely, easy to see and reach. The switch is not one of those that will accept a double-sided key, and it has three positions-off to the left, on in the center, and parking light activation to the right. With the switch in the “on” position I fed the 750 some choke and hit the “start” button. What they should call it is an “instant on” switch. The starter motor didn’t whir or crank or grind; it simply made the Suzuki run...and right now. The water-cooled Triple burbled at about 2000 rpm until the choke was lifted; it would run on its own after about two minutes of warmup. Try to pull away smartly before that and you’re likely to embarrass yourself with a stumbling, coughing motorcycle.

Freeways are the fastest way out of the L.A. basin, and it was no time before I found myself hustling along in the fast lane at a clip well above the posted; but that was because everyone else was well above the posted and I wasn’t about to be run down! I hate riding the freeways; you can’t relax for even a moment and expect to survive. Lots of grit flies up from the roadway and stings your neck, there are usually large pieces of debris to test reflexes, cars want the lane you have, and some stretches of pavement even throw in those rain grooves that coax certain motorcycles into wiggling. The Suzuki, however, was not hassled by any of it. If there could be only one word to describe the GT750 it would have to be smooth, because, though it is powerful and a lot of other things...it is smooth above all else. That was the first impression I received out on that freeway; and that is the impression that remained with me after some 1600 miles of straight through riding.

I hadn’t ventured too far past the Los Angeles County line when the winds hit. These were tricky winds. First they’d hit head on, then quickly shift to the side. It was hard to anticipate what they were going to do next, and I was never lucky enough to have them behind me. Just once I’d like a tail wind. The Suzuki was more stable than many machines I have ridden in the wind, helped somewhat, I would imagine, by its sheer bulk.

Past Mojave, my first gas stop, the winds were not only strong and gusty, but damned hot. I pulled over for a minute on the shoulder to feel how strong the wind was blowing on its own, and I would have been reluctant to park the machine on its sidestand for fear of it blowing over. The temperature was 108 back in Mojave; it was probably the same here.

As intense as the heat was, it didn’t seem to be affecting the bike. I had been running the thing along fairly hard for many miles, but the needle on the temp gauge never once passed the center mark, well below the danger level. No amount of flogging or altitude or hard climbing and hot weather ever got that needle past the normal zone. Even more impressive was the way the GT performed under these abnormal conditions. There was never any deteriorating performance as I have noticed on many air-cooled two-strokes in the same conditions.

If there is anything annoying about the cooling system, it would have to be the hot air blast on the rider’s legs coming from the radiator. This is only during hot weather though...the rest of the time it’s not present.

The winds stopped abruptly at Olancha. Now the only gusts came from trucks passing in the other direction. The Suzuki was smoothest at 80; it simply wanted to run along at 80. That sounds a trifle fast, maybe, but the road is wide open and smooth, there is little traffic, and you can see the cops coming for miles. In fact, on Highway 395 you will be passed quite regularly if you don’t go any faster. I didn’t...and was....

By the time I reached Lone Pine, halfway up the Owens Valley, it had cooled off considerably. Off on my left a storm was brewing, high up in the mountains, the peaks of which are some of the tallest in the Continental U.S. Mt. Whitney is there, along with a few others, and by the looks of things I was glad I was down on the valley floor. The storm didn’t look like it would get out of the mountains and if it did I would be too far north for it to matter. Or so I hoped.

There is lots to see anywhere in this area, but I was headed for Donner and made only brief stops for fuel and chain servicing. The Suzuki’s chain surprised me. Though the machine was new, it didn’t stretch enough to require an adjustment until about 1000 miles into the trip. I lubed it religiously every second gas stop, which usually fell between 250 and 300 miles.

Smells along 395 had been delicious. The pungency and sweetness of sage, the dampness of irrigation ponds...and when the clouds covered the sun, one could smell the rain. It was coming. But I wasn’t waiting for it.

I passed through Bishop at dinner time, but didn’t stop. My dinner was planned at “The Top” restaurant on Conway Summit, gambling that they wouldn’t be closed by the time I arrived. They were, but let me in just the same, fired up the grill and cooked me one heck of a meal. People that nice are hard to find these days.

With a full belly the trip went much better, but now darkness had set in and cold had returned. There would still be several hours before I reached my destination, but I felt like riding, not stopping and calling it a day. The 750’s comfort allows for such long-winded excursions. I could think of many other machines that would have been torture after so many hours in the saddle.

Headlight illumination was about what you would expect from a motorcycle. Only two bikes I know of have really good night lighting, the BMW and the Electra Glide with extra cost spotlights. What I was really worried about on this stretch of 395 in the darkness were deer. Hit one of those on a motorcycle and you might as well kiss it goodbye. >

After the lights of Reno, Donner Pass lay just ahead. Once there was no road, no Interstate...only obstacles such as granite cliffs and the worst weather imaginable. Jacob Donner tried in 1846 to take his group of men, women and children over that pass; he wound up snowbound at the lake which now carries his name. It is one of the most incredible stories of hardship ever recorded. Survival for many meant eating the flesh of their frozen companions; few made it.

Only 20 years later the Central Pacific Railroad laid rails through the same area. They were told it could never be done, but spared no expense (human as well) and accomplished the feat just the same.

I spent the night at a cozy lodge right on the lake. It was hard to imagine what it must have looked like during that incredibly hard winter of 1846.

Water skiers were already playing on the lake when I awakened the following morning. After a sausage-and-eggs breakfast I went exploring.

That first day’s ride had covered just slightly over 600 miles; this particular day I would take it much easier. I checked the oil supply for the automatic oil injection system before leaving; I was surprised to see that I was not yet able to add the quart of oil I had brought along on the jaunt. I thought, “No wonder this thing doesn’t smoke any...it’s not using any oil!” Actually, the SRIS (Suzuki Recycle Injection System) is a very efficient setup. Without going into great detail, the system allows for excess oil collected in the crankcases to be metered and burned evenly; initial oil delivery is controlled by throttle opening and engine rpm. Not only was the Suzuki averaging about 45 miles per gallon of gasoline, but nearly 1000 miles per quart of two-stroke oil. Who said two-strokes were no good for touring?

One could spend weeks in the pass doing any number of things. There is now Interstate 80 cutting a swath through the grandeur to make it easier for the motor home crowd, but I avoid that like the plague and stick to the old two-lane U.S. 40. Here is a biker’s road, winding its way through Gold Rush territory, towns like Gold Run, Dutch Flat, Emigrant Gap, Auburn, Truckee and Blue Canyon. In Blue Canyon I had an interesting talk with an old-timer that had lived in that pass all of his life. “Bet you don’t know where Blue Canyon got its name,” he says, gravel voiced. “No,” I say, “now that you mention it, I don’t.”

“Back in the old days the steam engines ran through here...wood burners the old ones were. Well, they made lotta smoke...blue smoke, and it hung here in the canyon for hours...looked blue it did, when you looked out there,” he finishes, pointing...across a most spectacular curve in the mountains. He gives his watch a glance, then adds, “The Amtrak oughta be through any time now.” Within a minute we heard a train winding up the canyon. Incredible. He looked pleased that the Amtrak was on time.

There were no steam engines on the Amtrak, but at least the diesels were about 20 years old. Lots of people, too...I was surprised. They waved, and we waved. It rounded a curve, disappeared from view, and Blue Canyon was quiet once again.

On the winding road back to the main highway I heard something on the Suzuki go “clunk,” so I pulled over. One of the rear turn indicators was hanging by its wire down by the spokes; the bracket had fractured at the spot weld and the unit had simply fallen off.

I got to wondering about the other one and gave it a look. Sure enough, it had cracked as well and wouldn’t last long. I helped it the rest of the way and packed both units in with my other gear. Looked to me like weak brackets. Suzuki later informed me that some earlier models had the weak brackets; my machine was one of them. The items are covered by warranty and are being replaced by much healthier components, but I still wondered what would happen if one of those lights got tangled up in the spokes.

Another night was spent at the lake before I pointed the Suzuki in the direction of Sacramento and San Francisco. The 750 handled lighter than I expected at slow speeds; it absorbed the heavy pace of the Oakland Bay Bridge much better than I did. Though several “Superbikes” are capable of making the Suzuki lose a drag race, few will match its wide, useful powerband. Lots of torque at nearly any speed makes shifting less important. But I enjoy working the gearbox on this one, because the clutch is light and the cogs just go “snick-snick-snick,” easy as pie.

Down Highway One on the California Coast I began riding the Suzuki hard. The curves were perfect for it, but the GT750 wasn’t. Basically the problem seems to be a matter of ground clearance; things start dragging if one really heels it over. Moderate to fast riding is okay, but try to really whistle and there will be trouble. Actually, I don’t think this type of riding was part of Suzuki’s intent. It’s a long-distance machine and lots of long distance riders aren’t that interested in making like a cafe racer.

(Continued on page 112)

Suzuki

GT750KK

$1752

Continued from page 50

Aside from the clearance problem, I was happy with the handling. One couldn’t push it hard enough (without dragging) to really work out the suspension. No changes were made in the frame for 1973, or in the suspension components for that matter, so maybe Suzuki was pretty well dialed in first time around.

As expected, the brakes were phenomenal. The dual discs offer the rider superb feel, so that he is able to get on those brakes right to the point of making the tire lock...but it never does because this feel puts him in control. Mile upon mile of “dive it into the corner—don’t get on the brakes until the last second” riding never once fazed the stopping power. So much of the braking load is absorbed by the front units that life is made easier for the conventional drum unit at the rear. Well-done, Suzuki!

At Monterey I decided to take the famous 17-mile drive, but was stopped at the gate. “No motorcycles!” the guard said. “Whatdaya mean, no motorcycles! Why the hell not?” I wondered. “I know it’s a dumb rule, but I don’t make the rules,” he said. “Who does?” I wanted to know. “The property owners...it’s private property and they can do what they want with it. Used to have lots of choppers through here...they wanted it stopped. I get paid to enforce it. Sorry.” I was angry. I could drive through in my car but not on my bike. In a way, though, I couldn’t blame them, interesting how a few bad ones can spoil it for a lot of good ones. And I don’t mean to say that chopper people are bad, but some are and they’ve fixed it for all of us.

The Suzuki and I went to San Luis Obispo that evening; it had convinced me that it was ready, willing and able to head for the open road, with no fuss involved. The next morning we were home in Newport Beach. I’ll go again soon, a different route, a different motorcycle. Lots of people along the way will wave; they secretly wish they were out there too...just passin’ through.