Essaying the alleged merits of motorcycles for monetary reward may well seem like a glorious step back into the Garden Of Eden for many. But sometimes, I can honestly assure you, it isn't. First sight of the Suzuki DR600 was one of those times. The cloying chill of Autumn mist cloaked the Sussex Downs with seasonal drabness and misery. The drizzle did what it was best at — drizzling — whilst that phenomenon known to the medical profession as a 'productive cough' repeatedly wracked the degenerating remains of my pulmonary equipment.

Staggering aboard such an obviously brutish and unforgiving banger isn't on the therapy list for chronic bronchitis away. Being forced to aim the thing ever onward across exposed chalk, baked concrete-hard by the summer sun before being lightly glazed with gripless liquid mud thanks to weeks of rain, suggested only one possible consequence — I was an accident statistic looking for somewhere to happen. Personal survival actually surprised me as much as the big Suzook.

There's no doubt that an impressively massive amount of controlled violence occurs in the top end. Some of it necessarily gets lost, though, in the labyrinthine crankcases because a pair of balance shafts make the lump a particular smoothie. The cases themselves are large, which also means heavy, because Suzuki chose a wet-sump garden path to follow — hence the oil cooler hanging onto the barrel's nearside . For the record, dirt thumper wisdom states that dry-sump logic wins, because it leads to a shorter motor — promising lower C of G — and using a remote oil tank or the frame means easier cooling of the lube. Nevermind. Nobody's perfect...

This engine is hung inside a chassis that, initially, appears to be a mixed bag of do's and don'ts. The frame is a semi double-cradle red meat eater with a box-section front down tube. It is undoubtedly very strong and rigid but is not a little old-fashioned in conception, as it totally ignores any structural properties the motor might have and therefore contains far too much steelwork. At least the rear sub-frame extension and pillion footrest mounts are bolt-on jobs which can be safely bolted-off by judicious weight watchers. . .

The back end is graced by Suzuki's 'Full Floater', rising-rate suspension system which is, without payment of bribes, the finest of the current crop of progressive, single-shock-plus-linkage devices. Unfortunately, the box-section DR swing arm only masquerardes as alloy behind the usual lyin' and cheatin' coat of silver paint. Considering weight problems displayed elsewhere, this is indeed a shame. At the front, leggy leading-axle stanchions with 39mm sliders do the heave-ho act with reasonable good manners. Air caps give choice of pogo rate.. .

Cycle side salads and garnishing are, once again, a mixture of sensible practice and stylistic silliness. Brakes, comprising lightweight slotted disc at the sharp end and rear drum are excellent and sensitive both on and off tarmac. Cleated, folding pegs and foot controls suggest robust dirt biz but plastic pinky protectors do little to divert attention from an exposed, bar-mounted master cylinder and the pair of throttle cables sticking up their hands and asking to be excused by first contact with grasping shrubbery. The pretty blue MX-style safety seat is both bottie-friendly and roomy in forward body-English demands for dirt use. Trouble is, when the frontal crawl-up facility gets used to its limit, world population control is forcefully underlined as the rider's shrivelled seed-sac encounters an upwardly-projecting and awkWardly formed 21-litre fuel tank. This last item contrives to give the bike an exaggerated sense of top-heaviness that isn't real. The offside plastic does little to conceal an admittedly quiet but nevertheless vast silver-toshed silencer. Besides being ugly, it would probably tip the scales on a sack of coal. . . Ugh! Even more weight. .. And that's not mentioning the butch steel stair rod holding the back brake plate when it could be holding up the Forth Bridge. As with the rest of its genre, Suzuki's DR wears cosmetic idiocies designed to kid on prospective punters that it's capable of honouring the most fatuous claim made in the factory's brochure, which is: "This new machine meets the requirements for winning Paris-Dakar Rally."