Suzuki Katana 1100

In 1980, Suzuki called its new superbike the Katana, building an aesthetically stunning, cut-back motorcycle designed for individual close-quarter action

The sword known as the Katana is regarded in Japan as not just a weapon, but also as a work of art. The single-edged blade was first created in the 14th century, when traditional Tachi swords, which were longer, were cut down to make them easier to handle in combat. The Katana was not used as a primary weapon in battle, but rather as a close-quarter blade.

It’s probably something to do with being a bit of a fan of science fiction, but the look of the Suzuki Katana has always appealed to me, especially the really big one. It’s also always been beyond my reach financially. Katanas were not cheap when they were new and they aren’t cheap now, either. So, given the opportunity to actually try a virtually unused Katana 1100, I jumped at it. It’s worthy of a good look round it first.

Check out that big front mudguard that, thanks to the black flash, doesn’t look big. That knife-like nose fairing and flyscreen is set to carve its way through traffic, surely. The rectangular headlight sticking up out of that fairing; the clever clocks with one needle sweeping into the path of the other; and the clip-on ’bars are all part of the whole, rather than individual components. There are long, fake air scoops and two fins below the headlight, adding to the sharklike profile. The sharp lines of the tank, with the big red Suzuki logo, stand out, the lines then running down with those ever-so-flash side panels and the space-age choke control, and two black switches for accessories on the left, and two fake switches on the right balance the look.

The bodywork flows backwards until the silver regulator/rectifier on the left becomes part of the design. On the other side, they pull off the same trick with the brake master cylinder... all this below a black and brown suede seat, and a tail piece that looks more like a rocket exhaust port. The amazing black chrome exhausts, from the days when black chrome was a new thing, look great and the matte silver frame completes the look. It would turn anyone’s head. It polarises opinion – just as some love it, there are those who really dislike the look.

Having checked it, let’s sling a leg over it. Ah, now this is interesting. It doesn’t feel like a Japanese motorcycle at all; not even a 1990s sportsbike. This is doubtless because it’s really a Japanese superbike in a European suit. Feet flat on the ground, you lean far forward over the ’bars. It’s an interesting stance – far more Moto Guzzi Le Mans than chunky old Jap. Let’s check the riding position now, with the sidestand down… This turns the rider into something resembling a sharp Z shape. The feet are way back, far more than something with rearsets have a right to be; the knees are bent so the calves almost touch the thighs; and the upper torso is stretched out in a ‘Here’s my head, my arse is following’ position.

The extremity of the bends I’m contorting my body into requires some adjustment of my dress, as the legs of my jeans need to be hoiked upwards from the knees so I can comfortably move about. I say comfortably, but comfort is a relative concept. My stomach gets in the way, too – my fault. And one thing that concerns me is that getting the feet on to the pegs is so much more difficult than I’d expected. Even that Le Mans was easier to get to grips with than this. It does concern me a little.

With the difficulty getting my stiff old bones into position comes the problem of getting them out of position. Low-speed manoeuvrability is okay once you are rolling, but it comes with the fear that dropping your feet off the pegs to paddle the thing around or stopping it toppling over is a bit of a challenge. If it starts to topple over at walking pace, could I get my feet down in time to stop it? It gets a minute to warm up a little, as a sudden stall is not what I’m looking for at this point.

It doesn’t stall, of course, because big Suzukis go when you ask them to and slow to a tickover when you ask, as well. I’m not taking any chances though, so I engage first, drop the clutch, and leave my legs dangling until the speed picks up, just in case; 512lb (232kg) is a lot of motorcycle to cope with at low speeds. Then I lift my left foot and wedge it into place so I can get into second, and when I do, I lift the right foot and wedge that into place, with my body in a position I can only describe as being like a partlyopened Swiss Army knife. At low speeds, the weight and the long wheelbase feel unnerving; the clip-ons

are keeping my elbows tight into the sides of the bike; and there’s none of that ‘chuck it about’ feeling.

A Laverda Jota feels more manageable than this. Still, let’s press on and change up a few times. Then we get to 55 or 60mph and suddenly it all comes right. You wouldn’t want to haul this baby round a city centre and you’d think twice about nipping down to the shops on it, but once cruising, that’s when it all starts to work, with all that ‘man and machine in perfect harmony’ thing. The rider and the ride begin blending into a whole. Very sci-fi, in fact.

With the rider down low and the long wheelbase, get the Katana on a sweeping A road and crack it open, hunched behind the flyscreen, and there isn’t a lot that can touch you.

The Katana has a presence that even the doziest rep-mobile driver can’t miss. The gearbox is great, the engine superb; the whole plot feels amazing. But no sooner as we are going, I have to stop and paddle about a bit, then wedge myself back into position and open it up, and the whole process starts all over again.

If I’d had one in my mid-20s, when I wasn’t afraid of falling off (and it was my own Katana rather than someone else’s), I would have laughed off the riding position. It wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest. Mark at Somerset Classics was far more at home on the Katana than I, but then he’s carrying a lot less ‘baggage’. It really needs a rider who looks after themselves... a rider who suits flexible full-race leathers, race boots, and a Simpson Bandit Star Wars helmet rather than some stiff old boy in waxed cotton, Kevlar jeans, budget ankle boots and an open-face Davida.

I really should have bought one in 1983, when I’d have appreciated it. If I bought one today, I’d have to factor a gym membership into the ownership costs, just to make sure I was fit to ride it. And then, after dragging myself off it, I’d turn back around and think how amazing it looks for a 40-year-old motorcycle, and maybe, just maybe, with a few sacrifices, the effort really would be worth it.

Many thanks, as always, to the most excellent folk at Somerset Classic Motorcycles for the loan of the Katana. Still available as we go to press, you can buy it for £8995.

The Katana: A guide

When the Katana appeared in 1981, it turned up in a world where Japanese design appeared to have stagnated a little. Big motorcycles had got bigger and more bulbous. The coffin-tanked big Kawasakis didn’t have the charm of the old swoopy originals. Yamaha seemed to have lost its way and didn’t know where to go next.

And though Honda had come out of the gate with the incredible CBX1000, its DOHC fours weren’t quite brave enough with the Eurostyle bodywork. The mistake had been made of making them look a little too like their own 250 twins – which is never going to be a good thing. Your big bike buyer wants something that makes a point.

Suzuki had lost its mojo, too. Its first fours had come with a sleek look. Even the GS1000S, with the nose fairing and ice cream truck paint scheme, had smooth lines. But the GSX replacements for the two-valve -per-cylinder four, with the four-valve head and ‘twin swirl combustion chambers’ (TSCC) were covered in lumps and garish stickon colour schemes. It was almost as if in the 10 years it’d spent creating the mass-market big bike industry, it had forgotten that it was important to build visually imaginative motorcycles. And so, to create the Katana, Suzuki came to Europe. It had got form in this area.

The inspiration for the original Suzuki GS range is rumoured to have come from the MV Agusta fours, and Suzuki used an Italian design for its TSCC system.

It first approached Italian designers Italdesign, who styled Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and (less successfully) Morris cars. But in the end, it settled on German company Target, a three-man design team headed by Hans Muth, the man who’d come up with the revolutionary BMW R100RS before breaking out alone. Target had created an MV custom

for a competition run by a German magazine, Motorrad Revue, and the bodywork it built for the MV bears a marked resemblance to the bike it came up with for Suzuki.The Katana wasn’t just a GSX1100 with a fancy body kit on it.

There were new forks with an antidive system linked to the hydraulics of the front brakes. Riders either loved or hated the anti-dive, with a few suggesting that rather than improving the handling, it made the front wheel skittish. A simple modification was to hold the pipe banjo in place with an M8 bolt, disconnecting the system but leaving it in place.

The rearsets were new and sited nine inches further back than the basic model. The rear shocks with Koni-style click-adjustable damping were longer and stiffer than those on the GSX. By modern standards, the wheels were skinny for such a big bike: a 3.50x19in front and 4.50x17in rear. The swingarm was a box section aluminium affair.

The engine, already powerful, got an extra 11bhp, taking it out to 110bhp at 6500rpm, thanks largely to the TSCC system. This divided the combustion chamber dome into two oblong sections with a shallow ridge running down the middle, front to rear, effectively creating two swirls of fuel air mixture, mixing it up better and evening the charge during the intake process. The camshafts operated on forked rockers, and there was a pressed-together crankshaft and one-piece conrods, with a helical gear sending the power to the back of the clutch basket. Later models got forged pistons, too. Thanks to all this metallurgical magic, the Katana engine could manage a top speed of more than 140mph. Because motorcycle manufacturers can’t stop fiddling with things, and because buyers always want the shiny and new, in 1983 the old five-spoke wheels that were common to the rest of Suzuki’s range became six-spoke. The stunning original silver paint scheme was mucked about with, and the engine was painted black. The design became a little diluted as Suzuki adapted it for its 550 and 650 variants. It even made 250 and 400cc versions in the original style for the diminutive contortionist in your life.

And then the old Katana was replaced by a version with a pop-up headlight in white. It wasn’t quite as brave a design as the original, but it was easier to ride. Suzuki built a replica of the original in 2000, and a ‘new’ Katana arrived a few years ago. Sadly, it doesn’t have the jaw-dropping looks of the insane, overpowered, uncomfortable original. You can’t improve on perfection.