Grabbed my toolbox this morning and hauled ass to the storage unit where my buddy’s been hoarding his 1999 Suzuki Hayabusa for like, a decade. Tarp was dusty as hell, smelled like old tires and forgotten promises. He mumbled something about “keeping it for the kids” but I know the truth – he’s scared of it. Can’t blame him.
First Look:
Yanked the tarp off. Sunlight hit that purple and silver paint. Still looks fast just sitting there, like a sleeping bear. Big bastard though. Huge.
Kicked the kickstand, leaned it up. Frame felt solid. Poked around the engine block. No major leaks spotted, just the usual weepy old Japanese bike stuff. Surface rust on some bolts, nothing terminal. Those dual exhausts though – they’re massive. Like coffee cans. Absolutely ridiculous by today’s standards.
Waking the Beast:
Battery was deader than disco. My jumper pack barely woke it up. Coughed a few times, sounding dry as bone. Had to pour some fresh high-octane down its throat like coaxing a drunk friend. Finally cranked over after the fifth try – sounded like marbles in a tin can until it smoothed out. That exhaust rumble? Deep. Angry. Made my chest vibrate.
- Gearbox Clunk: Dropped it into first. THUNK. Old Suzuki trademark. Sounds terrifying if you don’t know it.
- Clutch Pull: Heavy. Like squeezing a brick. My forearm remembered this workout.
- Digital Dash: Flickered to life! Green numbers straight outta ’99. Speed, RPM, basic trip stuff. Actually… kinda charming.
The Real Test: Rolling Out
Took a deep breath. Legs over. Feels like sitting on a damn sofa, wide seat. Handlebar mirrors are useless if you’re not built like a linebacker. Rode it real slow through the industrial park first. Brakes felt… vague. Like pressing sponge. You gotta squeeze hard and think ahead.
Found some empty backroads. Cracked the throttle. Gentle at first. Then boom – even at half-throttle, that 1,300cc turbine punch hits you. Straight-line speed? Yeah. It’ll still paste your eyeballs to the back of your skull today. Doesn’t feel outdated in the go department. Not one bit.
Try to corner though? Ha! It ain’t a flickable thing. Feels heavy and lazy. Stable as hell at high speed in a straight line, but tip it into a bend? You gotta muscle it. Like steering a yacht with sticky tires. Suspension? Basically pogo sticks. Any bump feels like a mountain.
Verdict?
Is it good? Depends what you mean.
- Pure Speed Demon: Hell yes. Still stupid fast. More than most folks can ever use.
- Tech & Comfort: Nope. Primitive by modern standards. Rough ride, heavy clutch, basic brakes.
- Cool Factor: Off the charts. Looks mean, sounds pissed off, dripping with late-90s “we’re all gonna die” energy. That GIANT SUZUKI logo plastered across the front? Iconic.
Would I commute on this old beast daily? Not a chance in hell. Your wrists and back will hate you. It’s a gas-guzzling, backroad-blasting, respect-demanding dinosaur. But man… twisting that throttle wide open? Yeah. That magic? Still there. Still terrifying. Still amazing. If you dig raw, old-school muscle with zero finesse? Yeah, it’s still good. Just know what you’re getting into. Prepare to wrestle it.