Rantings and ravings

The first Italian bike I ever owned was a complete and utter disaster. The Benelli 504 didn't look that bad, just a little tired from the 13,400 miles on the clock. It wasn't even expensive at 450 notes (twelve years back) but the first ride was a near death experience!

The front discs worked for a couple of stops and then failed completely! The bleed nipples Araldited (or something) in, popped out after a couple of applications. A handily placed cage door stopped the bike! As this involved me going through a red light, with no insurance or road tax, I was right in the shit. Did a disappearing act on the Benelli. In retrospect, should've cut my losses and dumped the heap there and then!

After fixing the brakes, not helped along by crap Italian alloy, I hit the road for my second joy ride. Or tried to. The starter whirled for a while, then there was the smell of burning from the battery! As in two decayed wires shorting out. By then I had TPFT insurance so was quite happy to see it go up in flames but it just melted the alternator and rectifier! And the battery...

A new battery was charged daily, could not be bothered with trying to fix the electrics. A fully charged battery gave up to 100 miles, depending on how much use of the starter was made. I couldn't trust the bike in the dark, fast shedding insulation meant that turning on the lights would probably lead to even more trouble! Similarly the horn, though the rotten silencers let out a decent wail that had the cagers twitching in agony.

The whole exhaust system was rotting away merrily, huge backfires on the overrun that were great fun in town. One of the brackets fractured (despite being a straight four of moderate power and capacity, the engine put out a lot of secondary vibes when revved - the only way to ride the gutless heap). The silencer put on a good spark show before disintegrating. Never mind, a set of Universal mega's saved the day.

There was a fairly large hole in the power delivery between 3000 and 6500 revs, then the engine revved cleanly to about 9500rpm before going dead. Even in its power band there was never any real force behind the acceleration. A bit of wind or mild hill would have me going berserk on the gearbox in a vain attempt to keep the momentum up!

Under such duress, the final drive chain snapped, leaving me about 60 miles from home. Not funny! A few begging pleas on the phone, I arranged a tow behind a Cavalier. That was even more annoying, not to mention bloody dangerous! Even a newish chain snapped, adjustment needed daily. Judging by the way the machine veered leftwards under acceleration something was seriously out of line.

After approximately 700 miles (the mileometer didn't work properly), the engine seized solid due to a crack in the crankcase depositing most of the oil into the airstream. The bike was dumped in the nearest ditch and I took the bus home...

It was completely insane of me to buy another Benelli, a 750 Sei, this time! The only thing the bike had going for it was the cost - 600 notes. This one purred beautifully, accelerated vividly and went where it was pointed. What I didn't realise was that its electrics were equally shot, blown, ruined. I cursed not extracting the new battery from the 500 when I soon had to buy another one for the 750.

The battery lasted for a lot less mileage on the 750 and a few times I had to push start 550lbs of monster six. Muscle building and back straining. It took four weeks for me to start advertising the bike and I eventually sold it for 800 quid even though, unlike the previous owner, I mentioned the shot electrics.


A sucker for punishment, I went for an old Moto Guzzi 850 vee twin. The engine clattered away as if it was yearning for life on the farm, the controls sprained all my muscles and the handling was odd, to say the least, but it would lope along at 80 to 100mph without the slightest sign of strain. Despite having gone around the clock once!

The Guzzi was a real handful in town. The big, wide bars helped keep it in order but the gearchange and shaft drive lurch would've had even a Beemer rider begging for mercy. Throw in controls that tried to break my fingers off, I was soon careering through the traffic at a pace that was highly dangerous. Much better to get it over with as quickly as possible. At least the big cylinder heads sticking out intimidated the cagers into swerving out of the way as an alternative to having the side of their cars removed!

The Guzzi rumbled on for about 13000 miles before the big-ends started to knock. By then, the gearchange was so worn that it was almost impossible to find the required ratio! The Guzzi engine can be stripped right down and rebuilt with new bearings, etc., but I decided a unit out of a crashed bike would be easier. Silly me! The reason the bike had crashed was because the mill had seized. I neglected to check the motor before buying it and the breaker just laughed when I complained. The whole mess was sold off for 300 sovs, against a total cost of three times that.


Any sensible person would've started looking for a nice little Jap middleweight, but, no, I went out and bought a 500 Strada Morini. Lovely looking little vee-twin but it just didn't handle. I know, new ones have a reputation for running on rails but this one must've been down the road before the chassis was painted up. I fell in love with the machine at first glance and the brief blast on the back convinced me that it was a good 'un!

New parts included handlebars, saddle, noisy 2-1 exhaust and wheels. Lovely bright red paint job, all the alloy and chrome shined up. Worth a 1000 notes, easy. Riding home, I held the vee-twin engine to max revs in each gear, the bike breaking through the ton barrier with ease! If I ignored the tank-slapper. The motor liked to rev but still had some low rev guts, could potter along like an old thumper.

Only two valves per cylinder, controlled by push-rods (with a rubber belt drive to the camshaft mounted in the engine), but a flat cylinder head design with the combustion chamber cast into the pistons. Helped with the production costs as well as promoting efficient burning of the fuel. Morini were a small motorcycle company and had to do things a little different to the big manufacturers.

In theory, the machine's low mass of around 350lbs and the rigid tubular frame (a miniature Featherbed trellis?) should've added up to ace handling even if the suspension was the usual Italian stiffie stuff. Unfortunately, my machine exhibited none of the expected sureness and always seemed to overreact to my inputs in an unpredictable manner. I never came close to synergy with the bastard; more often than not it scared the stuffing out of me - to put it politely.

I could go on at length about the tank-slappers, the way the bike would try to attack oncoming cars and even the way everything turned twitchy once it was banked over. But there's no point! I had the frame checked for straightness and it was over an inch out! The guy who did the check was keen to have a go at sorting it out but warned me that the high tensile tubing used in the Morini's frame was prone to snapping and he couldn't give any guarantees.

I opted to sell the bike. A pity as the rorty little motor had been rebuilt to better than new spec at 40,000 miles and was quite exhilarating to ride despite only having about forty horses. At least I made a few hundred quid profit on the deal.

Another Guzzi was next. A big old California. Floorboards, huge guards that vacuumed up passing dogs and cats, tiller-like bars, a superior seat to my sofa, and that rumbling old litre vee-twin that shook, growled and lurched like a couple of engine bolts were missing. Only settling down once 50mph or more was on the clock. In other words, a laugh a minute.

Initially, the sheer size and mass of the bike was intimidating but after about a month I was able to manhandle it through both traffic and bends at a decent clip. Beneath the cruiser shine, there was a proper motorcycle trying to get out. The biggest limitation was the way the floor-boards would dig in, turning the bike into a lurching monster. Some serious effort needed to survive.

In one of those rare moments of good sense, I sold the bike just before it started knocking its main bearings. I knew all about that because the new owner came back to complain, making all sorts of accusations. Just the luck of the draw, I told him and he went away muttering all kinds of threats but never made another appearance.


Next in line was a complete piece of Italian madness. A Ducati 860 Desmo upgraded to 900SS spec! One look at its lines and one aural assault from the straight through exhaust was all it took for the money to flow out of my bank account...

I convinced myself that I was the owner of the best motorcycle in the world. Unfortunately, there were all these hot 600's that could blow away the venerable vee. Its handling was limited by the relatively old-fashioned tyres but on its own merits it was easily the best handling bike I'd ever owned...

It also had the worst electrics, even nastier than the Benelli's! At least with the latter it was all black and white - they either worked or didn't. With the Duke it was anyone's guess what was going down. Sometimes it would start first kick and then fail a few miles down the road. Other times it would run perfectly until I stopped for a breather and it would refuse to start. Sometimes it just played dead until I was a near hospital case. I replaced every wire and every ignition component in the search for a solution but it never became any better, just a part of its Italian character.

The riding position was brilliant for ten-tenths riding. At all other times it was excruciatingly painful. The clutch lever's reputed to be heavy but after a couple of Guzzi's it was child's play! The gearchange action was remarkably sweet and the ratios matched the power punch, itself enough to strain my muscles. A brilliant bike when it was running properly but for much of the time it almost had me in tears.

Being a mere replica rather than the real thing, I lost about 500 quid on the deal - everyone wanted one of the real ones, mostly, it seemed to me, as an investment. I would've been much better off on one of the last Darmahs, which as well as being very comfortable also had an electric starter. I've yet to find one in good nick for reasonable money.


At this point I thought seriously about what motorcycling was supposed to be offering me. Yes, I wanted a touch of practicality as well as all the fun. After much soul searching I settled on a newish 750 Moto Guzzi, the engine, somewhat disturbingly, based on the V50 - of which I'd read enough disaster stories to avoid. The 750 was relatively light in mass (compared to the Guzzi big twins), easy handling (I'd mastered the Guzzi shaft lurch long ago) and a reasonable piece of iron for cruising up to the ton.

You could almost jump straight on one and not have to master any of the usual Guzzi (and Italian) idiosyncrasies - if you went very easy on the throttle and clutch when moving off. The bike had only done 4000 miles, which in Guzzi terms is barely run in. Over the next 2000 miles, the gearchange lost most of its clunkiness and the motor became freer revving beyond 5000rpm.

During top speed tests, the engine didn't so much as vibrate as grumble in discontent. An indicated 120mph with a touch more in hand, but I decided to call it a day, not wanting to seriously mash any of the engine's internals. Handling went a bit vague above the ton and even the linked brakes were a touch marginal. I always got on well with the latter, no complaints other than the ultimate lack of power.

The brakes led to the downfall of the bike. I was doing a tour of the Lake District, had got them to fade after a series of fast curves and should've backed off. But it was one of those sunny days when everything came together, I had the illusion that nothing could diminish my joy of being on two wheels. Well, a bloody big tractor did, spotted crossing the road just as I peeled out of a fast corner. About 85mph on the clock.

Upright, I hit the brakes and looked for an escape route. The gormless peasant at the controls looked up at the fast approaching motorcycle and decided the best thing for him to do was to stay where he was, blocking off the whole road! It didn't take a great intelligence to work out that a hedge to the left would provide a softer landing than some huge tractor.

The speed was down to about 40mph when the front wheel hit the grass. The tyre dug in, the bike threw me off and then somehow managed to go end over end back down the road. Only stopped by the tractor. At least the yokel was thrown off his perch by the impact! The Guzzi was seriously shortened and flattened, looked like it had already been squashed into a metal bale in a scrap yard!

The yokel played all innocent, refusing to give me his name and started up the tractor. Thoughtfully, he used the vehicle's shovel to push the bike into the ditch, totally ignoring my pleadings! Not that there was anything left to salvage. I ran along behind him for about a mile until I was close to collapse. I couldn't even be bothered staggering back to the Guzzi and walked to the nearest town and then the train home. The plod? - my guess, they would've been a complete waste of time and probably dined out on my tale for weeks to come.

The next day I was a bit dazed and confused, not quite believing that my beloved Guzzi was no longer waiting for me in the garage. I walked around in circles in the empty space, trying a bit of mind over matter to make it materialise. No luck! I was suddenly convinced that someone had stolen it from my garage, stick it to the insurance company...

Meanwhile, I needed some wheels. Bike Trader turned up a Ducati 250 Mark 3 for 750 sovs. A bargain! Or it would've been if there was some paint on the frame and tank instead of the rust. A slight exaggeration but most people would've taken one look at the wreck and walked away. Somehow, it had a new MOT! And it thudded up and down the street like a good 'un. 600 notes poorer I rode home without incident, much to my surprise.

A couple of days work had the chassis up to spec - frame bright red, chassis parts burnt orange. Engine alloy shone up beautifully. The bike had Jap switches and new wiring, all pretty minimal as Ducati in the early seventies were only concerned with putting their earthy engine in a minimal but effective frame; sod all the minor details.

The left-hand mounted kickstart required a manly frame of mind but the motor usually popped into life on the first or second kick. Ignition was non-standard electronic so no fear of the timing slipping, the bike kicking back and breaking my ankle.

This wasn't the Desmo version but it wasn't critical at 250cc as the valve sizes weren't excessive and float wasn't much of a problem. The 450cc version's probably a different game. The motor didn't run too well below three grand but then started to thud away; come six grand it became almost fearsome - the 30 horses seemed more intense than they should've, mixed in with some quite fierce vibration that as max revs were approached threatened to break the whole chassis, not to mention doing in my vision.

The bike weighed about 300lbs and even with the expected stiff suspension was an absolute delight to throw around down the country lanes and even on A-roads, where it would do 80-90mph if I ignored the vibes. Which I could do for about half an hour. After that I had serious teeth and eye problems. Except for the inbuilt quality of the engine absolutely no attempt at sophistication is apparent - no balancers, the engine mounted directly into the minimal steel frame and used as a stressed member. Every nuance of both the engine's state and the condition of the road is communicated to the rider. Total culture shock if you aren't used to it.

Town work wasn't much fun. Its only saving grace as a commuter, the 80-90mpg the motor turned in. Makes modern Jap bikes seem pathetic. Someone offered me 1500 sovs for the old dear and I grabbed the money before he changed his mind. Some people! The insurance money from the Guzzi turned up at this point. I was rich! For half a day. A two year old Ducati 600 Monster caught my eye, got to have it!

Finally found a bike for all seasons. It'll thud through town, cruise down the motorway at the ton (more available, but the police are everywhere) and ear'ole down the country lanes better than most bikes. Fuel's poor at 45-50mpg, the finish doesn't like winter spray (a proper front mudguard has improved things) and it needs frequent carb balances but I can live with all that given its overall brilliance.

Italian bikes aren't as easy as the Japanese stuff, need a bit of knowledge and skill to really enjoy but the payback is more fun on the road. And you can't argue with that, can you?

Dave Pearson