I knew I'd got things a little wrong when the local urchins started throwing eggs at me as I wobbled past on the Gilera. Okay, okay, I was on the back wheel, screaming along in first gear with an insane grin popping out of my helmet. Machines like the Nordwest do that kind of thing to sane and sensible riders. My first impression was that it was dead easy to ride up the pavement and pop into the front hall; an essential requirement in my kind of neighbourhood. The next day I was splattered in eggs, which given the mental retards around here was a mild retribution - they normally like to throw bricks and bits of masonry. Still, it's so bad that the police never seem to bother us.
The Gilera does look a little odd at the front end, with a great swathe of largely useless plastic and a stupid little fairing that only just manages to protect the instruments from the elements. This is a big thumper - right? - and therefore narrow but the cycle parts make little use of this and my knees are still stuck out in the rain and cold. The plastic does hide most of the plumbing for the watercooled motor, a short stroke unit that displaces some 558cc and puts out a far from sensational 50 horses.
However, the thing's a lot lighter than it looks at just over 300lbs and for once it's a big thumper that combines low speed urge with a surprising rush for the red line in the last 3000 revs. It took me about five seconds to realise I was aboard a machine that was both a snap to ride and a bundle of fun!
The Italians are style mad lunatics, who else would equip such a hairy brute with triple discs and upside-down forks? Clocking the front mudguard and massive road tyres revealed that it only had a passing resemblance to the Paris Dakar Replicas, and much like the overweight TDM850 was intended for pure highway excess.
It's brilliant in town, perfect for work as a reluctant despatch rider, such as myself. Riding above 6000 revs, using the gearbox, throttle and brakes with the kind of gusto reserved for a crack addict getting it off at a rap party, I broke records for cross London sorties, taking huge risks that would've thrown lesser machines down the road or left them embedded in some poor twerp's cage.
I stopped for nothing, rushing up pavements with the mildest twitch on the bars, charging through pedestrian precincts on the horn and doing wild back wheel slides with a foot down to get through unlikely gaps that left poor Joe Cager either clutching his heart or reaching for his shotgun.
The fierce brakes took a little getting used to, insofar as I didn't expect the back wheel to leap up so far and fast, and real abuse would twitch the whole bike in a way reminiscent of some ancient rigid framed machine. Strange that, more amusing than frightening, for the suspension was as compliant as any I've come across, soaking up some massive pot-holes and even coping with abandoned ditches left by bloody minded council contractors.
When my ageing body tired of keeping up with youthful lunatics, I could always relax for a while, revel in the bottom end torque, dumping the box in third and just bopping through town with nary a worry in the world. After a hard day's graft, the light steering was much appreciated and the easy going nature always gave me a chance to grab a breather from the derangement of despatching.
Of course, only an idiot pays thousands for a big thumper just to ride it in town, however much fun it happens to be. On the motorway and A-roads the engine was more impressive than the chassis. What let the bike down was front forks, that though splendidly resistant to twisting, had springing that left me thoroughly confused. At times it seemed too hard, at others too soft. There was no adjustment, either, which whilst normal for a lot of bikes was very annoying in this instance. In the end, I became used to the lack of smoothness, just ignored its machinations and got on with enjoying the power surge from 6000 revs onwards.
The Nordwest was quite happy to cruise at 90 to 100mph for as long as I could hold on, which wasn't long if the truth be told, and could even put 120mph on the clock without too much frantic effort. Vibration was never nasty, more than anything else it gave the motor a live feel and added to the quality of the experience. Overall impression was of a well sorted motor than could be caned from London to Lisbon and back again.
Service intervals are at an impressive 5000 miles, though the cam belt drive is worth noting on high mileage machines. The twin choke carb hasn't been touched with 11000 miles on the clock and the four valves have needed attention once. Oil filters are reasonable at £7.50, though the air- filter at £25 is less reassuring. I wanted to hit someone when I had to pay £90 for a full set of pads after they all wore out at 6750 miles.
That was because I caned the bike everywhere, which did nasty things to the fuel. 45mpg ain't impressive for a middleweight, although I did achieve 55mpg on a couple of laid back rides. Despite the huge amount of plastic, insult is added to injury by the fact that it takes less than three gallons, meaning some desperate action is needed after a 100 miles in the more remote areas.
It wasn't that much of a horror story, though, as by then the oddly shaped seat was beginning to cut holes in my bum and I'd guess that 200 miles in one sitting would have left me wielding an axe on the machine in retribution. The riding position doesn't help at all for out of town work, far too upright for sustained cruising but it's tolerable for a day's despatching. There's not much room for a pillion if you like big women, and 15 stones out back put the thing into permanent wheelie mode. All that mass seemed to crack up the plastic and make the marginal front light illuminate low flying aircraft, but the rear shock shrugged off such abuse and I still had a lot of fun chucking it through country lanes.
I've got big hands, find the switches and choke far too fiddly but I've just about got to grips with them by now. The engine purrs into life even when covered with a layer of snow and quickly settles down to a regular tickover. Italian engineering has often seemed dubious but the Gilera (now defunct, by the way) is a strong package without any of the old horrors.
This was brought home to me in the company of a friend, whose GSXR750 ground to a halt with dead electrics. It was decided that I should tow him the 25 miles home. It wasn't exactly my idea of fun, but the thumper coped with the excessive mass of the plastic reptile and rider, though he wasn't too happy about being pulled through country lanes at 60mph - he found it rather difficult to copy my wild angles of lean, resultant from a narrow and light single. He was a nervous wreck by the time we rolled up at his house and got rid of the Suzuki shortly afterwards.
I've never experienced the excesses of the litre plus monster bikes, they say that once encountered they are impossible to forget. Compared with my usual fare, middleweight fours like the GT750 and GS650GT, the Gilera has a similar cruising speed and loads more fun filled biking in every other imaginable circumstance, from city to A-road madness. Buy one!
James Longman