Racing a Suzuki X7.

A picture of the X7 as it was raced in its first race, detailed in the story below.	By the end of the season the bike had mutated into a garish set of clothes calculated to scare the opposition.	When that failed the paint scheme was muted and the bike prepared for the following season.

For those readers of a slightly greyish complexion, who sport tusks, big flappy ears and a trunk, who can remember the tale of a white Suzuki X7 in issue number 12. Here follows an update. To paraphrase the magnificent Gil Scot Heron. I had said I wasn't gonna thrash it no more. I lied. The bike was supposed to be retired, poor thing. From being a knackered old wreck it had been transformed into a nitrous breathing LC eater, then back to being a tired old wreck if not quite so knackered. Two seasons of drag racing had all but done for the crank and the top end was on it's final oversize and completely battered to death. A standardish top end had been procured and rebored, an ne crank inserted and the Suzi was all set for a few years of graceful Sunday bend swinging and daily commuter duties. Alas, it was not to be. The first signs of impending further lunacy were felt when an article about the Earlystocks racing club appeared in a national bike magazine. "The Earlystocks race club was set up to provide cheap racing for beginners". That sounded like a good start I mused. "Any bike is eligible as long as it has a twin shock rear end and is air cooled." I cast my mind back to the late seventies and tried to remember the last air cooled twin shock hot poop proddy racers of the time. Unlimited class would see the Laverda Jota and the GS1000s as being the ones to beat. 750s. Hmmmmm. Probably the early GSXs would rule the roost there. The 550 class was going to be dominated by Yamaha RD400s and the 250s ... Of course. X7s !

Plans began to formulate.

A couple of months later, the results for the first seasons racing were published. As expected x7s took the fist second and third places in the championship.

Plans began to firm up.

A phone call to series organiser, Rob Hooper, had an information pack winging my way. I read it, liked it, and was going to do it. Christmas was coming, the pockets were emptying, but with a devil take the hindmost attitude I ruthlessly assaulted my credit cards. My much coveted standard barrels and pistons were sent to Terry Beckett for conversion to formula 3 spec, and the entire bike was stripped down for mew bearings throughout and a major facelift. In retrospect the facelift was a waste of time and money, but it made me feel better. The top end returned with excellent instructions for setting up and it as time for some roadtesting. It soon became obvious that my micron micralloys were not up to the job of making the most of the porting. Being a computer programmer by trade, I had for some months been toying with a project to design expansion chambers on my BBC micro. I dug the program out and with the stimulus of having a real world problem to apply it to finished the project in record time. Armed with a list of measurements it was now time to visit the breakers, where I found the ideal thing. two RG125 pipes for £30. After a modicum of cutting and shutting they were made to fit the bike. (Fit being used in its loosest possible sense). Careful jetting and plug chopping eventually got the mixture right, then it was off to the local bypass. The power was a revelation. Both tacho and speedo needles well off the top of their respective dials. 115 mph. Probably not impressive to owners of modern watercooled 250s but quite astounding for a ten year old air cooled 250. I had a problem with the pipes though. they were so fat that they just wouldn't tuck under the bike and any serious angles of lean had the sparks flying and a dangerous lack of adhesion in the rear tyre department as the back end was levered off the ground. Back to the drawing board. In fact back to the lock up where I found a pair of LC 250 microns that I was never going to use because they were so loud. not only were they much slimmer than the RG pipes, they were dangerously close to the measurements I had calculated.
These pipes in their turn, were cut and shut and with a pair of race cans grafted on bolted to the bike. the verdict. Almost as good but not quite. The problem I believe is with a lack of internal volume. however this gave me better ground clearance. A favourable trade off.

Next came the difficult bit. Clothing
Full leathers, decent helmet, body armour gloves and boots. Helmet gloves and body armour were procured at the Ally Pally road racing show in Jan 1990. The best I could afford. Leathers there were too expensive for me so I resolved to wait for a bargain, which turned up in the form of a new set of scott leathers for £250. Ordered to measure and not collected by someone. they fit me ok and have proved their worth over a number of years now. Boots by Prexsport at £60 seemed value for money at the time and have also proved strong enough to last the course.

I was set.
The butterflies had started to wing their way around my digestive system.
Paperwork came next. First one joins the ACU, whereupon you get a little booklet about what you must wear, what you can and can't do to the bike. what you must do, like lockwiring, oil catchtank etc. I should have read this before I went and bought all my clothing. Specifically I should have read this before I built the bike as I futilely tried to squeeze a de rigeur beer can behind the battery box for the carburetter overflow catchtank. Eventually I found that the only thing I had to fit in the space was a Timotei shampoo bottle. Well 'ard. (Sigh).
Time was catching up with me and I still wasn't happy with the bike. I still hadn't completed the paperwork either.

I joined the Earlystocks race club.
I joined the EMRA race club
I joined Retford and district race club
I joined the bantam race club

I waited. I received the entry forms. I panicked.
If I was the driver, (And I certainly wasn't the passenger), who was the entrant ? They seemed to be different entities.
I phoned Rob and in his broad Birmingham accent he assured me that the paperwork would sort itself out. It was on the track that I had to worry.

My butterflies instantly mutated into mice. Mice with little claws scratching around, trying to get out.
By this time it was March and I had the paperwork sorted out. The bike was running, still not to my total satisfaction, but I had all the gear. Many weekends had been spent trying to get the bike to fire consistently throughout the rev range. There was a problem. I checked the timing, changed the CDI, changed the coils, checked all the connectors, fitted a new battery.
In desperation I changed the carbs. That was it ! Worn slide bores in the carbs themselves. And it felt so much like an electrical fault.
I had no further excuses. It was time to race. I can distinctly remember the hours leading up to my first meeting. After the van packing, (What to take, Spares ?, tools ?), and the drive to the midlands from Brighton, we spent the night at a friends house in Wolverhampton. I couldn't eat, I couldn't drink, I could hardly breath. I think the mice in my stomach had mutated again... into Sheep... filling it with a soft woolly feeling with hard hooves. Still trying to get out. I can remember sitting in a pub trying to drink a beer, with everyone who wasn't going to race offering advice. I can just about remember trying to sleep, and failing, then waking up and feeling awful. Then it was 6:00 am and time to get up. Pulling clothes over rubbery skin and climbing into the van, thankfully driven by a friend. Mallory at 7:30 am... I went to relieve myself, the first of many, while assorted helpers unloaded the bike. Things blur a little here but that my brand spanking new leathers looked... well brand spanking new in comparison to the scuffed, ripped and reparied leathers of the other riders. They looked a hard bitten bunch of neer do wells, ready to lockhandlebars at a moments notice to dispute a square foot of track space. Scrutineering went well until I was advised to remove the sidestand. Well I didn't know did I ! The fact that I couldn't ground it on the road cut little ice with the examiner. The road number plate was also consigned to the parts bin along with the pillion pegs. It was ready

It had passed

It was now down to me

I could not back down. I signed on giving my scrutineering pas for a pair of practice passes.

The sheep mutated.

Rhinos now roiled in the Serengeti which used to be my digestive system. I had to go for another visit to the toilets. I think I managed to expel one of the rhinos.

An hour to go to the first practice... An Age... An Eon...
When it was time I was totally unprepared. I had list my novice jacket, my gloves. My Pass, my practice pass. wHere is my practice pass ? I couldn't get comfortable, my body armour itched. I was so pumped up with adrenaline it felt like it was coming out of my ears.
then I had to wait again in the staging area until the track was cleared of the last riders to practice.

It was one of those cool, still moments when you can hear your heart.
I desperately wanted to visit the little boys room again to get rid of these damned mastadons trampling all over my pancreas and small intestine.
Close my eyes and think of... well anything really except the fact that my 'friend' had brought a video camera with him.

By the time we got on to the circuit I was quite calm really, until a rider in front of me fell off before we actually got to a corner !

After that it became a blur, after second practice I felt a little disappointed. It didn't feel that different to riding on the road.
Then the race. My first ever real race on a real roundy roundy race track. A track that every up and coming rider in the land has raced on. And now me... and 33 other riders.
I was at the back of the grid. I remember a good start, a legacy of the drag racing I had done, then being totally swamped by all manner of bikes in the first corner, a long sweeping deceptive right hander. I remember the red haze, then I remember nothing until I parked the bike.
Really nothing !

I lened the bike against the side of the van. The grass seemed greener, The gravel sharper underfoot, the world seemed somehow more solid.
I found out I had achieved a sixth place in the 250cc class. In Earlystocks, one point.

My first race and I had scored a point. On road tyres too !

Nothing I have ever done compares with that first race meeting as a consistent source of high and lows.The fear, the elation, The danger, The comedy, The camaraderie.
As for the X7. 6 months of setting up seemed to have paid off. It is probably the third fastest x7 on the track. It reaches 112 mph at the end of the Revett straight at Snetterton, and completed the whole first season without blowing up.

In the first season I did six meetings out of twelve, falling off twice.
The bike bounced most satisfactorily, needing only kicking straight and a bit of welding on the exhausts each time.
I managed one second place at Cadwell park and a few third places, finishing the year in sixth place in the championship.
Ray Briddock 1991.