Honda CB1100R

You only need to put the cylinder head back on, the first thing the owner said to me. Cheeky bugger, had gone on at length over the phone about how brilliant was the bike. I couldn't get a word in edgeways. One look at the DOHC four cylinder mill was enough to convince me that it was a complex beast best left to the experts. The owner seemed shocked that I wasn't going to hand over 950 notes for the heap. By the time I reached the garden gate he was begging me to take it off his hands for 400 quid! Not being a total fool, I accepted - on condition that the Honda was delivered to my house. No way I was going to push the heavy brute home.

My expert was a friend of long standing, supplied with a few crates of Guinness, he was as happy as a sand-boy and only took a whole Saturday to put the Honda back together. We then had to lever the engine into the frame, connect up the electrics, add oil and fuel and spend a futile hour trying to get her to fire up! The expert slouched off, muttering something about his wife not letting him out that late in the evening - wimp. And what an idiot. The cause of all our problems was crossed over HT leads! He swears that was my fault; vice-versa. Just one of the hassles of trying to rebuild a bike when both of you are blind drunk!

Having heard the motor run, I staggered off to bed and slept the sleep of the good. In the morning the engine refused to start. In the end it took three mates pushing, me in the saddle, before the bike was bumped into life. The motor caught, immediately revved to about ten grand, making a ferocious roar that had curtains twitching, babies crying and dogs yowling. I switched off pronto, before the valves ended up in the sump. Turned out the throttle cable had snagged open and even when given a free run didn't really want to snap back to ground zero. The cable was corroded internally and needed replacing. The Honda dealer found the idea of stocking a part for such a rare beast hilarious, the breaker couldn't find a match but helpfully sold me a kit so I could make my own! Which I did.

That got the old brute firing up after a few seconds. The top end clattered away, the bottom end rumbled, for the first few minutes until the oil started circulating properly and the mill ceased to sound like a pack of kids throwing marbles at dustbins. The clutch was vicious, on/off, and gearbox one of those famed Honda units that majored in vagueness, but when I gave her full welly the front wheel leapt up into the air and the back tyre screamed in ecstasy.

Changing up to second - bang! - a false neutral, the bike shaking like a jack-hammer while the revs went off the scale and the front wheel slammed down on to the tarmac. The bars were ripped out of my hands as the forks spun inwards... the next thing I knew I was thrown over the bars and but narrowly missed having the bike land atop me. My mates all found this so hilarious that I had to stagger up unaided and they wouldn't stop laughing to help me pick up the Honda, which had a cracked fairing and dent in the tank, dribbling fuel. I felt a strong urge to throw a match at the bastard but got hold of myself - I hadn't insured it yet!

A GRP kit was applied to the petrol tank, filled in and lovingly sanded down (that's a sick joke, by the way). Ditto the fairing. Back on the road, I kept a mild hand on the throttle until a taller gear and reasonable road speed were achieved. The bike pulls brilliantly from 80mph in top gear, running hard up to 130mph before it began to slow down a little. 150mph, on the clock, didn't require a major effort but there was nothing extra after that, even down a long hill - I think it was the old-fashioned fairing ruining the aerodynamics.

Still, it certainly went well enough to have modern replica riders straining their necks, trying to work out what the hell it was. Not having registered the bike in my name, didn't really have to worry about speeding tickets and I left most of the plastic fantastic brigade gobsmacked as I rushed past them at max velocity.

Handling was pretty bad on the back roads but motorway curves could be waltzed through without backing off if I ignored the way the back wheel shook around. It didn't like bumpy roads and speed, ended up going all loose and imprecise. The brakes were sharp, too sharp when banked over, the bike feeling like the front wheel was falling out! A very nervous twitch resulted when I tried to stabilize things with the back brake! Conversely, backing off the throttle was an effective way of losing speed.

What I hadn't realised was that hard riding turned the bike into an oil burner. I did 150 miles of the motorway hustle, ran the lubricant right down! The first I knew of this was the gearbox locking into fifth gear. I didn't think too much about it, sauntering along for another 10 miles until I came to Bristol. By then the clutch had given up and the air seemed to be crackling around the cylinder head. When I turned the ignition off, the alloy clicked and clattered away as it tried to cool to a reasonable working temperature.

Fresh oil was hurriedly added when I found out the true state of the motor. The engine churned away for five minutes before catching, clattered horribly and wouldn't tickover, needed the throttle blipping to keep it going. I rode home, the main bearings knocking after about 20 miles! At that point, the clock claimed the mill had done 63000 miles - this wasn't the toughest design of Honda four as shown by the myriad problems with the 750 and 900 derivatives.

Back home I got the beer in, called in my friends, including the expert, and we had a fine old time of pulling the 1100R apart. A long list of damaged engine components meant there was no easy way of fixing the motor - new bits absurdly priced, used stuff rare on the breaker circuit. All I could do was wait for a replacement engine to turn up. Five weeks later there was one on offer in a breaker, crashed but whole. 500 quid. Heard the engine running, offered 400 notes and it was mine.

The clock on this one read only 34000 miles, so I was expecting a near perfect engine. The electrical connectors and even the colour of the wires were different, causing much cursing and scratching of heads. We managed to get the ignition working, the rest could wait for later. On this engine the initial clattering and knocking didn't diminish much once it warmed up and power was only good for about 135mph. Strangely, the frenzy of secondary vibration was largely absent and it didn't consume half as much oil. Various engine parts were obviously a bit worn but that didn't stop me thrashing the bollocks off it.

Much to everyone's surprise I did over 15000 miles without blowing it up. Had plenty of great rides, blew off some bigger bikes and even pulled the odd bird after I'd perfected my gearbox and wheelie action. That first to second change, even on the lower mileage engine, needed a very delicate foot. It also caught me out on the down-changes, a quick way to mess up my cornering line. Along with the handling on bumpy roads it was the most annoying aspect of the bike - it should be noted that it was still running what appeared to be the stock suspension - far from factory fresh!

All said, not the most brilliant motorcycle experience but a new one would've been something else. Sold it at a profit in the end, so for once I was a little ahead of the game. Don't know about the new owner, though.

Freddy H.

Honda CBX1000

It all began when some moron nicked my much modded CB900F, a great old bruiser of a bike that with a few minor mods topped 140mph. I had to get some new wheels fast and my cousin had a very nice CBX1000 he was reluctantly trying to sell. Only 11000 miles and never been stripped down or even seriously thrashed. Six cylinders, 24 valves, DOHC's and even two camchains - pretty much a CB900F with an extra couple of cylinders added on. Classic styling, upgraded suspension and brakes, plus a shining paint job that made the bike look better than when it rolled out of the factory.

The only negative factor was an exhaust system that was rapidly rusting away, though it gave the six cylinder mill a gorgeous snarl and backfired like a mortar going off on the overrun. Fun, in other words! Two and a half grand changed hands and the venerable steed was mine. After the vibratory, bull-like 900 four it was supremely civilized, lacking totally the sheer blood and guts feeling of the four.

Despite its width and size it was actually easier handling than the four, felt a whole lot safer. That's not a hard achievement as the CB had an heart of darkness that wanted to rule when speed was involved. Despite claiming a hundred horses, actual acceleration was down on the four, those 600lbs always needing a lot of effort to overcome to get the six running really hot. The bike was also deficient in torque, needing quite a lot of cog swapping to keep a ton-plus momentum going.

Putting 135mph on the clock required extreme effort, though the bike was much more stable than the four and didn't vibrate at all. The riding position was really good, too, despite (the bike) being naked I was well braced against the roaring gale and could hold more than a ton for half an hour without feeling like I was about to expire. The seat had non-standard foam and was about as comfy as it gets.

Ridden thus my major complaint was rapid consumable demise - fuel about 25mpg, half a sump of oil gone west in 200 miles and tyre life of less than 3000 miles! Ridden at gentler velocities, fuel improved to 40mpg, oil consumption was negligible and tyres lasted a couple of thousand miles longer. An hour shuffling through Central London - the bike too heavy and wide to really go for the traffic gaps - fried the clutch which in turn caused the gearbox to clunk and grind away like the selectors were shot. Use the bike just in town, water condenses in the oil after a mere 500 miles, so needs to be changed as water isn't renown for its lubricating properties.

After about 5700 miles of fun filled, and generally pleasurable, riding, the silencers were hanging on by mere shards of metal, both falling off when given a good kicking. Riding on just the down-pipes produced a glorious din, but such a loud one that my eardrums were soon rattling around in my helmet! God knows what the ped's thought! The local breaker had some likely looking silencers and welded them on whilst I waited.

The engine had a massive 3000-6000rpm flat spot sans silencers and the replacement silencers narrowed that down to 3500-4000rpm - the engine stuttered, felt like it was going to conk out unless I feathered the clutch and walloped the throttle open. Then it would leap forwards, trying to jerk my arms out of their sockets. Alas, the refurbished exhaust system removed the previous air leaks and the marvellous mortar effect on the overrun was a thing of the past, though it still made a spine tingling noise.

These various exhaust permutations, along with my neglect of valve clearances (never did them on the CB either and that ran like clockwork), led to some smoke on the overrun with about 18000 miles on the clock. I saw it in the mirrors the first time, nearly rode into the back of a lorry when I swivelled around to see what was going down. In no time at all, the engine started smoking when started up and then progressed to a stroker-like pall for most of the time.

Lean running had led to overheating which had fried the exhaust valves. Being the world's worst mechanic, and having read about the problems in reassembling CBX motors in the UMG, I wasn't too keen to sort this out. Luckily, the insurance money on the CB900F turned up at the right moment and the local mechanic was consulted. He's not as bad as some and even let me watch him take the top end down - it's a complicated bastard, right enough. He was able to regrind the valve seats and get the clearances right on - Honda parts for this bike are extortionately priced and I was happy not to have to cough up for any. An afternoon's work and 130 notes, I was back on the road - gotta be the bargain of the year as the flash dealers charge more than that for a service!

I kept the bike running to 20,000 miles, but didn't really thrash the balls off it as I was aware of its reputation for blowing up big time once it'd been rebuilt. Happy enough to sell it for what I'd originally paid - it even went to a good home, some born again biker who only wanted a bike for mild weekend outings. Overall, not really a speed tool but an interesting ride with a very distinctive character. Just avoid bikes that have had rebuilds and you'll probably have an enjoyable experience.

Gary Holmes

Suzuki GT750

Owners of Kettles are ever optimistic about their worth - seen them priced at as much as three and a half grand! I wasn't really serious about buying one, just kept seeing a trio of owners wailing past once or twice a week. All shining chrome and paint, partly obscured by the stroker fumes. The three cylinder mammoths were a bit of a laugh back in the early seventies but had somehow got on to the classic curve of ever increasing prices. I've always found with such bikes that prices are very high when you want to buy but suddenly do a runner when you want to sell.

The local breaker/importer had one from the States. Slightly bent, somewhat faded, but only 9000 miles on the clock and it fired up after a couple of kicks. We were soon coughing on the fumes and he seemed happy enough with my offer of 500 quid. I pushed the old heap the half mile home, the squarish front wheel thumping away, needing about three times the normal muscle. As the wheel had a sodding great drum brake, and I hate discs, I decided a new rim and spokes were in order. For 120 notes, the wheel was rebuilt and the forks straightened out. It was obvious that the fork springs were too weak even in the workshop, so a set was found from the breakers for a fiver.

Whilst that was going down, I put in new gearbox oil, fresh engine lubricant, a new set of spark plugs and checked the ignition timing. Exhausted from all that effort, I decided to the leave the chassis as it was and see if the bike was worth investing even more time, effort and money in.

Back on the road, I was surprised by the amount of punch the mill put out. All the stories suggested a fat old dame, down on the goodies and excessive in its mass, but it yowled up the street at a rate that had me hitting on the brakes to avoid the suddenly converging cagers. Not to mention that the front wheel went all light, causing the bars to slam from lock to lock in an alarming enough manner to require a rapid change of undies. So it needed a bit of respect on the throttle, then.

A couple of days went by. Some frantic work on getting the tyre pressures just right and use of the steering damper sorted the worst of the handling foibles, though it never became a bike that was reassuring to ride hard - there was always some minor weave, wobble or wriggle that threatened to go out of control without any warning. But it was a fast old tug, screaming up to 120mph without any hesitation and then slowly trundling up to 140mph (on the clock, doubtless optimistic).

It was inevitable that I'd have a run in with the trio of GT's in my area. Left them for dead, didn't I, they really didn't know what the hell had hit them. Ground clearance was a major limitation on fast cornering and they were probably amused by the spark show I put on, the old barge lurching around on its suspension, threatening to dig into the tarmac at any moment and turn into some kind of wild fairground ride. I got away with murder on the back of not really caring if I wrote the thing off!

True to its generation of strokers, I managed to get an all time high with regards to fuel consumption - 19mpg - during a motorway slog. I can be so exact about it as reserve didn't work and I ran the tank right down. The bike stuttered along the exit lane to the services, requiring only a minimal push to make it to the pumps. My entrance was met by some plonker in a van reversing into my path. As the ignition was off I couldn't warn him with the horn, not that the pathetic squeak would've made much difference. I screamed at the top of my voice... words the 250kg gorilla who staggered out of the van didn't appreciate. For once I was thankful for a loitering cop car. Even if the police looked like they were thinking about booking me for pushing the bike without wearing a helmet.

Another potential hassle with the GT was the way it would boil off the cooling fluid! Flickering idiot lights and a sudden loss of power indicated that all was not well. A cheap and effective cure, when miles from anywhere, was to unleash the old pecker and pee into the radiator, though you need a good few inches and great accuracy to avoid pissing over the whole bike; an act that would have the classic mob sobbing in horror! In the end, I took to carrying both oil and coolant; never knew when I might need them

Compared to aged discs, the substantial drum brakes weren't half bad if laughable by modern standards. No apparent wear in 8000 miles, plenty of feedback for safe stopping on wet roads and I never actually hit anything. I can well remember some idiot in the glossies going on about the then new disc brakes not needing the same kind of attention as drums - what a laugh, give them 12000 miles and all kinds of wear emerge.

The Avon tyres didn't wear too rapidly either, just about needing replacement by the time I sold the bike, having done about 9000 miles in all as they were newish when the GT was acquired. The chain was some stringy affair that stretched alarmingly after a hard run. The sprockets looked okay so a new chain was soon bunged on, lasted about 6000 miles. No doubt an expensive, modern O-ring job would do two or three times that but it would also cost loads more.

The only real running costs were oil, lubricant and fuel. The latter never bettered 40mpg even when I rode so slowly that the spark plugs threatened to oil up. Figure on 30mpg average and you won't be far wrong - the trio on the GT's reckoned they got close to 60mpg, a figure I found hard to believe. Maybe because they had later, more developed (read much slower!) models - it was somewhat ironical that my cheap and tatty GT was actually one of the first year's models and therefore potentially very valuable.

It was this, rather than any great love for the machine, that made me respray the cycle parts in the original golden orange - my son asked me why I was painting the thing the colour of dog shit! Not one to argue with a quick buck, I cuffed him around the ear and made him do penance by polishing up all the alloy and chrome - surprisingly good stuff for an old Jap! A few days work had the old steamer looking like new, well newish.

It took three months to sell. The trio expressed interest but they were already aware of how little I'd paid and not amused when I'd added a zero to that figure! In that time I did quite a few long runs without any real problems, save from those mentioned already. It wasn't that comfortable to ride fast - useless seat and poor riding position - but I was used to old seventies horrors and my body had long adapted to their deficiencies.

The only thing the bike really reacted nastily to was newly laid gravel that was left so loose even the cages were skidding all over the shop. The GT wanted to go two separate ways at the same time, feeling even more top heavy than normal. Only survived by putting both feet down and keeping the speed down to a walking pace. Some lunatic came past at about 90mph, gravel flying ferociously, his Tenere snaking all over the place. My crash hat looked like someone had attacked it with a shotgun!

After the usual time-wasters and some very silly offers I sold the GT for 2200 quid, which was fine by me and just shows how overpriced the bikes are if I can get away with such a cheap and easy renovation. The next game in town's another import, a Kawasaki H1!

James Lewis

Yamaha XT600

My best mate was off to Saudi to work and needed someone to look after his newish XT600E. With promises made - never to go off-road or over 6000 revs - the bike was mine for the next three months. As that coincided with the summer of 1998, it was smiles all the way. Luckily, I'm long of leg and fitted on the high and top heavy Yamaha with little trauma, unlike my mate who had to sport boots with three inch high heels!

Despite my apparent control of the machine, disaster struck on the second day of ownership. I hadn't quite got to grips with the power output of the air-cooled thumper - not excessive in its torque output at low revs and with a feeling of turning through sludge, whilst it didn't rev very eagerly. Grinding through moderately moving town traffic, I backed off to avoid a right-turning cage only to have the motor cough and then go dead. Whilst it was still stuttering I gave it a handful of throttle, trying to make her catch but that just seemed to gas the motor up.

The sudden lack of velocity had the following cage shoving its bumper into my back wheel, the bike humping its way into the edge of the pavement. The bars twitched as the front wheel hit home and I had to get a boot down to stop the whole lot falling over. Twisted my ankle in the process. The cager gaily blasted his horn as he roared past. The motor didn't want to start, my ankle was screaming away in pain and the back tyre was snagging on the crunched numberplate which I couldn't have kicked straight to save my life.

The bike finally fired up and I booted into first gear, only then realising that my dead ankle wasn't going to let me change up through the box! Not a pretty sight - the XT growling away at 6000 revs in first gear whilst the tyre spat off bits of numberplate - the ped's suffering from the pellet-like flight of the plastic and/or having their eardrums reduced to rubble. Got her home I did, though!

A week later I could walk again, bought the broken bits from the breaker and fixed the XT up as good as new. Before the engine would run it had to be fed a new spark plug and then wouldn't change gear until new lube was added! The big thumper motor runs to a balancer system but it didn't totally eradicate the vibes - always felt alive and full of character, no real need to keep looking at the instruments to find out what the motor was doing. After a week's riding, mostly the commuter troll, I gained a bit of confidence in its ways - thanks to the fresh plug, the stalling didn't recur.

The XT600E has a bit of a reputation for toughness, the kind of machine that's capable of crossing a Continent or three. With less than 45 horses and over 350lbs to shift it didn't inspire during normal riding. It clattered away at really low revs in top and refused to react cleanly if the throttle was rolled open, preferring to change down a gear before thrusting forwards in a moderate manner. This was at odds with its gearing, the first two ratios so high that it soon ran out of revs and I could take off in third without any serious hassle.

The motor never seemed directly connected to the throttle, always a hesitation or stutter, which took away from the pleasure of general riding. The sane side of 70mph, the riding position was very comfortable and relaxed, whilst its trail layout made it ideal for punching through traffic gaps. Ridden moderately, more than 60mpg was possible - on one laid back country lane trek I did 68mpg! I never really thrashed the bike, so the average was closer to 60mpg than 50mpg. Nothing seemed to wear out in 2750 miles, and all I did to the motor was a couple of oil changes (it could go off quickly if only town riding was indulged).

It was certainly a very fast way of commuting through town, taking huge pot-holes in its stride and even meandering along the odd section of pavement when the cars were crushed into too small a space. There was enough exhaust noise to make the ped's leap out of the way and also make sure they didn't saunter out from between cars.

I didn't much like the front disc brake. Enough power to get me out of trouble but felt like it was disconnected from the action by about a mile of spongy hydraulic cable. The motor made a strange rattling noise when the throttle was slammed shut and the chain also felt like it wanted to leap off the sprockets but the engine braking snapped in fiercely enough to occasionally have the back tyre hopping and skipping.

The tyres were more road biased than trail, their best feature resistance to wear, their worst feature too slippery on wet roads - not too bad if the bike was kept upright but I didn't fancy any spirited cornering. A pity as the bike was easy to haul over and there was an excess of ground clearance. In the dry, I became pretty enthusiastic about the rate at which I could hustle down my favourite country lanes.

After three months, I was generally in favour of the chassis but wished the motor had been a bit more developed with the way it laid down its power and generally ran. My mate reckoned I was talking a load of piss and couldn't understand why I hadn't fallen for the thumper's charms. After working his butt off in Saudi he was full of the joys of England and riding the XT through its pleasant pastures. It was a free ride, so who am I to quibble?

Henry A.

Moto Guzzi 1000 Le Mans Mk.4

I bought my red (what other colour could it be) Moto Guzzi Le Mans Mk.4 at the start of May 1991 for £3000, a little more than suggested by the UMG. But with a genuine looking 12000 miles on the clock, reasonable, I thought. Mine, being of 1985 vintage, is one of the first 950cc Le Mans that Moto Guzzi produced and comes equipped with the dreaded 16" front wheel, at the time all the rage with the Japanese.

The chap I bought the Guzzi off was some kind of engineer and had modified the bike in a couple of areas, so what I got for my money was an immaculate Le Mans fitted with Lafranconi exhausts and a set of 40mm Del'Orto carbs that are supplied as part of the race kit from the factory. I think we can safely say that it sounded pretty good. The first thing I did, upon picking up the Guzzi after work on the Friday evening, was to take it out for a spin for a couple of hundred miles so as to get the feel of it. My initial impression, as I pulled out of Oxford on to the ring road, was of how strongly it pulled from as little as 2500rpm in top gear and how, when the throttle was opened up from 4000rpm, it would leap forward, making a huge hammering sound, somewhat like a big vee eight Yank car.

After a diet of Japanese fours for the previous seven years this was a whole new experience, and I was enjoying it more than a little. Handling seemed solid and predictable if a little slow on tight bends. I can't comment as to whether the 18" front wheel Guzzis are better handling than mine as I've never ridden one, but I can say that it is as good if not better than a GPz750, which I owned a few years ago.

The first time I had to use the brakes in anger on that first ride was a bit of an eye opener. The right-hand front disc is operated by the right hand, the left-hand one and rear brake by the foot pedal. This came as a big surprise, even when you know the theory, having honed my reactions for the past ten years on the more usual set-up. When some Nigel pulled out in front of me as I stormed up to a roundabout, naturally I dabbed gently on the foot pedal and grabbed ever harder on the hand lever.

The Guzzi started to pull up but what I needed was to stop bloody quickly. Not good. Then I realised my mistake and pushed down firmly with my right foot. The Guzzi decelerated at a far better rate. I wish I could have said the same for myself, as I slid up the tank....seriously, though, the brakes on my Le Mans are pretty good, they just take a little getting used to.

I don't know if all Guzzis are like mine but my parking light in the headlight always comes on as soon as the ignition is switched on, so when the evening light began to fade I assumed that to turn the lights on properly I would have to turn the key to the next position as there was no light switch on the bars. Rather than turn the lights on it cut the motor out. The parking lights were still on but the motor was dead, so I turned the key back to its original position and the motor started straight away.

I proceeded to push, pull and twist every knob in sight but to no avail. I decided that all I could do was ride the remaining 30 miles home with my thumb on the headlight flasher so that I could at least see where I was going and hopefully people would also see me. Upon closer inspection, the next day, it turned out that the light switch is situated up inside the nose fairing. How to look like a prat in one easy lesson.

A little under a month after I'd bought my Lemon a friend and I decided that a jaunt to Ireland for a week was in order, as we both had the first week in June off work. Tickets were booked and before you could say Killmuckbridge we were off to catch the ferry from Fishguard to Rosslare. We both fuelled up before leaving our home village of Eynsham, so I was very pleased to note that the bike only used four gallons of four star when we filled up just before getting on the ferry. This worked out at 55mpg, which was to improve further, to about 60mpg, whilst in Ireland, mainly due to the grotty roads keeping our speeds down.

The Honda CB550 my mate had borrowed for the trip did between 50 and 55mpg but needed more regular top-ups as the tank was a lot smaller than that on the Guzzi. All I will say of Ireland is that the beer is wonderful, the people are great and if you ever go over then try to make it to Clonkilty on the R600 on the first Monday in June as they have a bit of a musical festival. This involves drinking vast quantities of beer whilst sampling the different types of music in all the bars and hotels.

Anyway, in the 1000 or so miles we did over in Ireland the Guzzi never missed a beat. It didn't need topping up with oil once, was good on petrol (good job at £3 a gallon) and always started with the minimum of fuss in the morning, which was mildly amazing as there wasn't a choke, just good old fashioned ticklers on the carbs. The main problem I came up against during our week away was in the personal comfort area. Due to clip-ons it was quite a stretch over the tank to the bars, which leaves you with quite a lot of weight on your wrists.

Not a problem on good roads where a reasonable speed can be kept up. I have usually found it quite comfortable, but on the pot-holed roads in Ireland it was not possible to go above 40mph very often, with the result that most of the jolts that came through the rather firm front suspension went straight into my wrists. After an hour or so of this my wrists would become rather painful, as were my piles as they got the same treatment from the back end. I have not had the problem since my return from Ireland, so maybe I've become a bit hardened to it or perhaps it's just that everything has gone numb. Who knows?

As soon as we got back from our little trip I had to put a new pair of tyres on the Lemon, the Metz's it had come with were well worn when I bought it, so I fitted a pair of Arrowmaxes, which lasted for 10,000 miles both ends. These have just been changed again, this time back to Metz's, which has cured the tendency the Le Mans had for shaking its head gently when cornering hard on a bumpy bend with a pillion on board.

The brake pads were all new when I first got the bike and they were all just about ready for replacement when I changed the tyres, so they must last about 12000 miles. So, with no chain to oil or replace, and easy, although fairly regular, home servicing, I have found my Guzzi pretty cheap to run although this is helped by my using a trail bike to go to work on.

Reliability has been 100% during my 15 months of ownership which has surprised me a little after some of the things I had heard about Guzzi electrics. All of the electrical components on my bike are Bosch which is hopefully a good sign, and the switches are the same as on BMW's. Maybe I've been lucky with my Lemon so far, and there may be worse things to come....but you see this is the first time I've ever been totally besotted with a motorcycle and I don't think I'd even care if it did need anything done to it now!

Recently, I changed the exhaust to a stainless steel Dr John Witner semi-race pipe with a Supertrapp silencer, which has meant jetting the carbs up a little. Now it sounds even better and runs better still. I will enter it in the Super Twins drag series next, I think, to see how well it matches up. I can take my Lemon anywhere which is more than can be said for me.

A.J.Craft

Moto Guzzi 1000S

I was wondering what the hell I'd let myself in for about thirty seconds after purchase. I'd bought the four month old, 7750 mile retro off some old codger who coughed as inconstantly as the Guzzi ran at low revs. He, clever chap, refused to give me a go at the controls but had proceeded to scare the shit out of me during a twenty minute test ride. Something to do with his reluctance to hit the brakes or obey minor traffic laws. Anyway, I'd been sufficiently impressed with the Guzzi's turn of speed to hand over a not inconsiderable wedge.

First time at the controls, the damn thing felt like a fully laden Goldwing. The clutch was incredibly heavy with a vicious take-up that caused the agricultural gearbox to scream for help and the shaft drive to jack itself up. I thought the bloody thing was going to flip off the road. I really needed both hands just to wind the throttle back, something that caused the engine to shudder between my knees as if it was about to bounce out of the tubular frame.

The steering was so slow at 20mph that I almost rammed into the back of a cage instead of shooting around it. Not helped any by a most uncomfortable riding position, I felt perched atop the machine with bars about six inches too low and the footrests six inches too far forward. My body was soon blitzed by terrible cramps, had to pull over after a mere 20 miles to stretch my limbs.

I know Guzzis take a bit of getting used to, that they only show their virtues after a bit of effort was put in, but this particular 1000S seemed so hard-core that only the most perverse motorcycling pervert would buy one after a test ride - I guess most are sold on their handsome looks.

Before I could become used to its nastiness, I had a spate of blowing fuses. Italian f..king wiring; spaghetti time. It wasn't very amusing to be tearing along on the Guzzi only to suddenly have the engine go as dead as my throttle hand after half an hour in the saddle. This turned out to be connectors falling apart due to corrosion, not too much fun as half the chassis had to be torn off to get at the more obscure connections. The solution was to tear them all out, wind the wires together, apply solder and then cover with insulation tape.

I only did this after about a month of electrical hassles, before that gaining an unwanted insight into how the Guzzi handled with a suddenly dead motor and wildly flapping back end. Well, I'm still here writing this so it couldn't have been all bad but I wrenched my back on one occasion, so badly that once I crawled off the bike I had to spend a week in bed recovering. The alternative to the vicious jerk was playing chicken with a giant artic, so I suppose I got off lightly.

It really took six months and 10,000 miles, a higher set of bars, mild rear-sets and a lot of mental activity until I became used to the Guzzi's ways. I even managed relatively smooth and quiet gearchanges, an art that only BMW boxer owners have to put in more effort to acquire. With the better riding position the seat revealed itself as reasonably comfortable, although if it was three or four inches lower I would've felt much more part of the Guzzi, but then I'm well over six feet tall.

Even after that period of acclimatization I still found the engine far from being smooth and sophisticated. Judging by the antics of the previous owner it may not have been run in well. My main complaint was that 70mph cruising in top gear, equating to a mere 4000rpm, was rough enough to affect my hands and feet after a just half hour. It didn't start to smooth out until more than 5000 revs were on the tacho and more than 90mph was on the speedo. Fine if you don't want to keep your licence for long but I really didn't want to be forced to cruise at that speed......the shaft drive meant I couldn't alter the final drive ratios by merely changing sprockets.

For a big vee-twin there was also not that much torque below 5000rpm, with a lot of grumbling from the engine, although once past those revs it would take off with enough of a kick to deserve my full, sometimes white knuckle, attention. I'd had some fun with the handling at speed until I'd turned the suspension to its highest settings at both ends and fitted some Metz tyres instead of the Pirellis that the previous owner had deemed suitable.

It still weaved a little, above 80mph, but had a nicely secure feel even on wet roads. Until about 15000 miles when the fork seals started leaking, down to my refusal to polish the forks every day, allowing them to develop as many pits as my acne scarred kid brother. With blown seals the front end seemed to bounce from bump to bump, with all kinds of heart attack inducing tremors if I tried to accelerate through it. The throttle occasionally stuck open for a few moments, which added to the insanity.

An amusing week was spent tearing the forks apart, having them rechromed and then reassembling with new seals and, yes children, gaiters. It was such a tiresome business that I had no intention of repeating it. Whilst the front end was apart I pulled the calipers out to give them a thorough clean, not that I had much to complain about with the linked brakes. I would have preferred pads that lasted for more than 6000 miles but they were cheaper than most Jap brake pads.

It wasn't cheap on fuel or oil, either. Fuel averaged about 50mpg, even at my moderate riding pace. This equated to a 200 mile range, which was certainly long enough in the saddle for me. Oil was about 200mpp, which meant I only rarely bothered to change it. The carbs stayed in balance for less than a 1000 miles, although the valves, ridiculously easy to get at as they were, could be left for the intended 3000 mile service.

The only mod I made to the engine was to fit a K & N airfilter, the OE one was deep in crud. The silencers had also become a bit noisier, some rattles where the baffles had corroded. Without doing anything to the carbs, this modification liberated some extra power below 5000rpm, smoothed out the engine running a little and improved fuel economy to 55mpg. Money very well spent (it was cheaper than buying a stock one).

Just to keep me awake, after this mod was done and I'd put 110mph on the clock with ridiculous ease, the front headlamp started blowing. It had never been very good with a dip that had me peering over the bars, ever hopeful that I might see where the road was going and a main beam that petered out into nothing. I was rather annoyed to have to spend hours tracking down the rotted wiring for such an ineffectual light. Some rewiring stopped this amusing trait from throwing me into screaming fits that had weird noises reverberating in my helmet.

Whilst the Guzzi tracks quite true in most bends, it does need an excessive amount of muscle to throw through the tighter stuff and until I was used to it, I ended up wobbling around bends in a most demented manner. It's one of those bikes that needs to be set up well in advance on its required line, but under extremis when some fear inspired muscle is applied it can be pulled on to a different line as an alternative to plowing into some mad auto or misplaced log.

As 20,000 miles came up on the clock I began to worry about the effects of winter weather on the finish. The frame paint seemed to be flaking off even where I'd patched it up with Hammerite. The tank was okay except around the filler where it was flaking off. The worst part of the bike was the exhaust, which was speckled with rust and getting louder by the day. The foot protectors on the downpipes had already fallen off. I was cleaning the bike up every weekend, a full Sunday morning's worth of hassle.

In a strange way I'd grown to quite like the Guzzi. It was a big, rough twin with enough character, even if it was the character of the black sheep of the family, to keep me coming back for more. On the open road, though, my mate on a neat CB400N, could actually burn the Guzzi off, albeit at the cost of frenzied footwork and 12000 revs on the part of my friend. I seemed to have put a lot of effort into mastering the Guzzi but not got all that much performance out of it. In town, she was still a bit of a pig, with poor running and heavy controls. It wasn’t wide but a hell of a handful to throw through gaps with anything approaching elan.

When I finally persuaded someone to give me a job as a DR there was no way the 1000S was going to be much use for the cut and thrust of the capital. I felt incredibly sad when someone rushed over to buy the Guzzi (for £100 more than I'd paid). After a year and 23000 miles the bike had become part of my life but it only took a week on a mundane Suzuki GS450E to put the Italian bouncer into perspective. The Jap did everything much better than the Guzzi, even cruising at 90mph was less of a hassle if more frenzied. I began to wonder why I’d put so much energy into the Guzzi until I saw a nicely renovated T3 that grumbled and growled, somehow had such a natural poise. These big vee-twins get into your blood!

Dave

Guzzi Tales

I didn't plan on buying a big Guzzi vee-twin. It was all down to seeing the neat, naked 1000S in a showroom and clocking the reasonable price. I lust after many bikes, this Guzzi one of the few that I could actually afford. £3000 in cash for a year old, 7000 miler with a six month guarantee on the engine thrown in for free. The majestic appearance of the beast was matched by the kind of bellow out of the exhaust that put the fear of god into civilians and helped make sure that any sleeping cagers were shook out of their slumbers.

This wasn't a stock bellow, the silencers had already been degutted - the only way on these pushrod valve engines to get a decent power kick and reasonable frugality. Top speed turned out to be 130mph on the clock, more likely 120mph when compared to friends' machines. The ninety degree vee-twin felt a bit ropy flat out, though it had perfect primary balance and never came close to the roughness of an old British twin. 90 to 100mph cruising didn't strain the mill to any appreciable degree but between 85 and 90mph there was a feel of particular sweetness from the motor, as if torque and power, both, had met in harmony.

As speed increased the effect of torque reaction decreased. Ticking over felt like the engine wanted to leap out of the frame. Using too much throttle on take-off had the directness of the shaft drive trying to unwind the tubular frame and made me think the often short-lived universal joints were about to break up. Only a great optimist and the most ignorant of owners would try to wheelie a big Guzzi... gearing always felt on the tall side, making the old girl, in town, as crotchety as an ancient granny caught short on a bus trip. Gently, gently, was thus the only way to treat the Guzzi during low speed work.

This often pushed my resolve to the limit, the controls were heavy going and reluctant to react to my feeble inputs. Half an hour in town had me fuming just like any of the cagers stuck in traffic. The Guzzi wasn't particularly wide, it was its slowness of turning that limited riding speeds in city traffic. In its favour, though, was an excess of low rev torque, reminiscent more of an old British thumper, such as a Panther 600, than modern Japanese multi's.

The power actually thudded rather than flowed in; I could sometimes watch the astonishment on a ped's face when the ground shook under him as if a minor earthquake was going down rather than a mere motorcycle rolling past.

The most fun was had on wide but sweeping main roads. Any heavy, long bike with the inbuilt Russian roulette abilities of massive torque reaction through a relatively primitive shaft drive is going to have trouble keeping things like RD350LC's in sight on the narrower roads. But given a bit of room, there was enough in-built stability to chuck the old Wop bruiser around like there was no tomorrow. Which there certainly wouldn't be if the centrestand hadn't been cut back.

Stock, it'll scrape away the tarmac on hard bends, offering the amusing option of levering the back wheel off the ground and sending the bike down the road awhile. If the Guzzi feels low and lean from the saddle it's an illusion that's quickly shattered when the damnable stand digs in. Neither did the bike feel well balanced when slung up on its modded stand, threatening to fall over in heavy winds.

Suspension wasn't as taut as I'd expected from this style of Wop bike, neither did it resist totally the pressures of fast, bumpy roads. As one who has actually ridden and fallen off a Kawasaki triple, I wouldn't go as far as saying the big Guzzi actually weaved. No, it was more a loose, tremulous feel when the road shocks were great and the angle of lean large. Not quite what I'd expected from such a thoroughbred machine...its mass meant that an old British twin would've been more agile in the bends.

The bike almost insisted on being treated as a high speed, long distance cruiser, a Wop BMW...alas, the riding position and the nakedness of the bike combined to make the wind blast above 90mph akin to a massive wrestling match that not only left me tired out after a quarter of an hour but also caused my hands to go a little dead. Something to do with the death-grip on bars that had a subtle yet intrusive secondary vibration running through them.

That would've been bad enough, but where the seat met the tank my groin was seriously chaffed, causing some problems with the wife if I was foolish enough to leap straight off the bike on to her. The lack of aerodynamic subtlety also had an effect on the efficiency of the running of the engine, which verged on a surreal 25mpg when caned at over the ton. 50mpg was possible during normal running; 35 to 45mpg when cruised between 80 and 90mph.

Torque there was aplenty. Once on the open road there was little need to play a mindless dance with the gearbox. Just dump her in top, play rock and roll with the improbably heavy throttle. The gearbox behaved in a somewhat odd manner. Some days it was almost Japanese in its smoothness and efficiency, other times it approached the oddness of an ancient BMW.

An excess of town trawling led to the whole engine overheating and the gearbox locking up, grauching away to itself as if auditioning for a part in an Ural motor. Fresh oil every 750 miles played a large part in making it more sophisticated. The clutch was predictably heavy but could also be quite vicious, again the engine turning too hot causing most of the hassles. I had to snap away at the throttle whilst holding her on the brakes (to avoid a stalled engine from clutch drag), which made the bike buck and shrug like an enraged bull looking for a china shop to bludgeon into a million pieces.

For my pains, I received a lecture from some rotund cop who I'd unfortunately woken up with all the thundering racket and shaking ground. He reckoned I looked too young to hold a full licence and I should be learning the art of motorcycling on something more appropriate. He wasn't in the least apologetic when my driving licence proclaimed my age as 33 and told me to get the silencers fixed fast, Yes Sir!

An easier bit of Guzzi life was undoubtedly the linked brakes, a bit of sophistication that appeared strangely misplaced on such a basic old brute. I never had any problems adapting to their nature but the calipers shared my horror at English winters. By the way they howled and seized up I could believe they were almost human, going on strike in protest at the conditions under which they had to work. Once they go down, it's a hell of a job to get everything working again...I actually had to pay a Guzzi mechanic to do the work!

Shocking, on what's essentially an easy bike to do your own maintenance. Tappets and carbs are the main chores, nothing a bit of practice can't get down to half an hour every month. It's even possible to strip most of the engine whilst it's still sitting in the frame, though fortunately it wasn't something that I had to put to the test. Neither did I have to do a complete rewire and replace all the switches with Japanese junk. I wouldn't describe the Guzzi's wiring as exactly tidy but the excessive (and troublesome) array of relays feeding into relays was absent.

The only hassle I encountered was the left-hand indicators trying to emulate the speed of the engine rather than that set by the control box. One thing to avoid, though, is adding any electrical load on the circuit...I met up with one 1000S owner who managed to get his to go up in flames when he put on a pair of lights to help out the marginal stock front headlamp. The bastards who insured him refused to meet his claim because the bike wasn't left stock!

I've done over 13000 miles since buying the bike, in less than a year, which just goes to show how much I like it - I've got a TZR125 for the commuting chores, so that was all fun riding on the Guzzi. Build quality is better than expected...nothing has rusted through, fallen off or failed. Paint and chrome both glow nicely, though I always give the bike a quick polish at the end of each day's riding, just to say thanks. Plus a major cleaning session every time I do the maintenance chores. Big Guzzi's often go around the clock when in the hands of a loving and caring owner...the limitations of a naked bike mean few are really thrashed and most are owned by true fanatics. £2000 to £3000 will buy a really good one and it's even possible to ride one for a year and sell without making a loss, though after that kind of lengthy exposure to its charms it's unlikely that anyone would want to part with such a machine. It ain't logical to be that enthusiastic about a cycle that in many ways is rather limited in its capabilities but then life ain't never been that sane. Thank the Lord!

D.V.

Moto Guzzi 750S3

''Oh, bloody hell,'' I cursed for the umpteenth time, as the starter motor whirred feebly and the big Guzzi 750S3 sat there, transformed instantly in my mind from a sleek Italian thoroughbred into a pile of metal ready for the nearest scrap merchant. I had by now, however, perfected my Agostini TT style bump start technique, even if I didn't, any more, live on a hill. Unfortunately, the busy main road outside my house meant that I was forced to manically push the 480lbs of Guzzi along the pavement, avoiding children in prams and the gaze of my aged neighbours peering from behind their twitching net curtains.

The bike in question's a 1975 Moto Guzzi 750S3, and the forerunner of the infamous Le Man Mk.1, perhaps the most celebrated Guzzi of them all. The S3 was the first model to wear linked Brembo discs all round...I have to say I swear by them but then again I'm not a road racer. The stories about Italian electrics are well founded but it also has to be said that once all the various components that make up the charging circuit are all in working order, there is no cause for complaint, although a huge car type 32 amp battery is necessary to turn over the heavy flywheel in the large lump of transverse vee-twin engine. My wiring loom is getting on for 20 years old now, so as soon as I fix one break it more often than not breaks somewhere else, and I don't have the time to rewire the main loom at present.

Sorry to use a well worn cliche, but owning something like a 20 year old Italian bike, let alone using it as one's only mode of transport in rain and sun, is like an expensive and at times impractical love affair. So many times it has frustrated me to the point of flogging it and buying something easier to live with, but then a three hour ride out of London on a dry sunny day drags me away from the financial reality into a fantasy world, in which, yes, it's a great bike to ride and, yes, I can afford to keep it at all costs. I'm sure most bikers have been to this other world at some point, if not spent all their time there.

The S3's a rare model in this country - I have only ever seen a handful of others, one of which belongs to my best mate, which is very convenient for fault finding and part substitution. Its beauty is not in doubt, and Moto Guzzi cashed in on this recently with the introduction of the 1000S model, although I reckon the angles of the square barrels can't compete with the sensuous lines of the older round barrel Guzzi motors.

The clip-ons and low seat height make for exhilarating A-road scratching, at the cost of a sore back until you get used to the riding position. Shaft drive means no messing around with chains, although the torque reaction is noticeable when the bike is pushed and replacement UJ's are a painful £120 a throw. The trick is to clean and grease them once a year, when they should give better service.

As mentioned, the brakes are Brembos and discs all round, with formidable stopping power and the pads seem to last forever, even though they are a cinch to replace. Big Guzzis handle well on Metzelers - a front can last for 10,000 miles and a rear for 5000. As they're skinny, 100 and 110 front and rear respectively, they're also cheap. As is the classic motorcycle insurance.

The motor's the bike's real strength, with a claimed 70 horses at the 7000rpm redline, although in reality it's more like 50hp. It doesn't quite have the long legged top end grunt of the bigger Guzzi engines, but revs freely and is silky smooth when well set up. 5000rpm equates to around 75mph, above which the real power's found - it smooths out as the 115mph top speed's reached, although the infamous Veglia clocks can't be relied upon.

Whilst it can hold its own on motorway, corners are far more fun, and its handling, helped admittedly by a new pair of rear Konis, is exemplary, if a little harsh on the spine in the traditional Italian manner.

Ease of access to the engine's legendary on Guzzis - the tappets can be set in 15 minutes and the points ignition's easily accessible. The worst job has to be changing the oil filter which sits inside the sump, removed by lying on your back and unscrewing 18 allen bolts. I change the oil religiously every 1000 miles, and use Castrol GTX. It's important not to overfill as the excess just gets chucked out of the breather pipe until it finds its own level. Most spares can be found in this country, although some are very expensive. I had to get the flip-up mudguard in Italy as I couldn't find one here for lover nor money.

If you're into totally stock bikes, Italy is a good source for silencers and down-pipes, too. The Moto Guzzi GB club is a must for all owners with an excellent magazine, rallies, events and local branch pub meets. My bike is fairly original, although Suzuki switches are an excellent replacement for the standard stuff, but I'm not too bothered about originality.

The 750S3 was built to be thrashed and that's what I do. It isn't a town bike, it needs long journeys and hot oil to run at its best. Then, it runs superbly from dusk to dawn. At present, it's my only motorcycle and is ridden in all weathers - unfortunately, the rain seems to ruin delicate electrical parts such as the starter motor relay - lots of silicone's the way to go. It's a bike that needs owner involvement, but rewards the rider if looked after. It's fast enough, and has an almost unburstable motor, plus it turns heads like only a beautiful Italian bike can.

It does need polishing to keep it shiny, but the alloy and chrome from those pre-'quantity over quality' days at the Guzzi factory were well made and clean up nicely every time. It's practical because it isn't complex or fragile like perhaps the older larger capacity Ducati's - I've ridden mine to and around Italy without a hitch, although the original hump-seat on mine has been replaced by the lower profile V7 Sport seat to accommodate throwover panniers.

Future mods, funds permitting, will include a stainless exhaust system (Guzzi down-pipes are prone to rust), and rear-sets as the standard hangers push your knees on to the cylinder heads, causing scorched knee-caps and a cramped riding position. I'd like to experiment with some larger carbs to replace the small 30mm Del'Orto that are stock equipment, as I've been told that 32 or 34mm pumper Del'Orto's make quite a bit of difference in the delivery, so I'll keep an eye out for a cheap set.

The bike has now done 61000km and is still going strong, and the engine seems good for a while yet. However, I'll have to find a cheap hack for everyday use, as the rain seems to cause the most problems on the S3, apart from the fact that its riding position isn't much fun in the crazy London traffic.

Its skinny profile does allow it to squeeze through the smallest of gaps, surprising many a DR. Crash-bars make sense; I was knocked off last year by a moronic van driver who couldn't decide which lane to stay in but the vulnerable heads and barrels weren't touched, which was a mighty relief. You either love or hate Guzzis but you shouldn't dismiss them until you've ridden one of their sports models. I love them, and intend to hang on to mine, even if it does mean backache and electrical hassles.

James Bolton

Moto Guzzi Spada Mk.3

The 1990 Spada Mk3 was the first, and in fact only, Guzzi I've ridden. I wanted something that would provide total body protection but not be so cumbersome as to curtail my favourite pastime of A road riding. I had tried a BMW R100RS but found the width of the engine disturbing, the chassis less than taut and the vibes horrifying. My local dealer had just taken on the Guzzi concession and was willing to allow me a go on his personal machine which also acted as a demonstrator.

"Take it for an hour," said he with a grin. "You need to get used to these Guzzis, they are not the same as Japanese bikes." Usually, when you read in the press that a bike shouldn't be viewed in the same way as a Jap you know it means that in reality it's a bit of a dog. So, I wasn't hoping for much that spring morning.

A light drizzle gave me the chance to test the effectiveness of the rather beautiful full fairing. It worked brilliantly, better than the RS as the screen was higher and its slightly wider form allowed bars with a more comfortable rise than the narrow, low item fitted to the BMW. The heavy throttle lacked preciseness, the gearbox clunky (but no worse nor better than the R100) and you could certainly feel the 1000cc 90 degree vee twin motor working away.

The roads were dangerously damp but the tyres and chassis gave it a surefooted feel. After an hour around the back roads I felt this was the kind of machine I could live with for a long time. The riding position and firm seat conspired to instil comfort, the engine had loads of grunt and, well, it just looked so beautiful in an unusual shade of deep green.

A bit of hard talking back at the dealers, got the price down to a reasonable £4850 and the promise that I could pick up the brand new bike the next day. The dealer was still grinning, so we were both happy. That evening a domestic crisis followed when I informed the woman I was living with that rather than re-furnishing our home I'd bought a new motorcycle. As it was her house we were living in, she was, I suppose, quite within her rights to throw me out!

The next morning the Guzzi was thrown in at the deep end. Its panniers were filled with all my worldly possessions that did not fit into the large bag that was strapped on to the back half of the seat. I waved goodbye to the dealer and began the 250 mile trek down to Dover. Running in speeds meant that progress was very slow for the first 500 miles. The most I dared in fifth gear was 50mph. The motor grumbled along happily enough whilst I said my thanks for that fairing which cut through the near gale force winds and driving rain.

Crossing the Severn Bridge, the machine heeled over at an angle into the colossal wind that came in off the Severn, each time the bike went past the girders, momentarily cut off from the wind it skipped a few inches to one side. Frightening stuff. No toll to pay for motorcycles, I roared momentarily ahead of the traffic. Further down the M4, with 120 miles on the clock, I felt less of a moving traffic violation as the motor growled up to all of 60mph, aided by the gale force wind being behind us - I felt I could have switched the motor off and not lost any speed for the throttle was barely off the stop.

Stopping off at some services, I tried to shake some feeling back into my hands. Even at moderate openings that throttle required gorilla endurance whilst the clutch action was very stiff. It was to take 2000 miles before these faded into the background - I had either developed the necessary muscles or the controls had lightened up a bit. At least I wasn't cold, engine heat came up through the fairing and all my extremities were well protected by the GRP.

At such low speeds, as it should have been, stability was excellent. Even after being drenched by passing artics there was no hint of electrical problems so common in wop machinery in the past. I had phoned ahead and arranged to stay the night in Southall, so was able to give the machine a proper test in town before disappearing abroad. I found, even equipped with the fairing, that the Guzzi could be filtered through the traffic just as well as the GS750 I had previously owned. However, the horn was on the weak side and the combination of clunky box and heavy clutch did not inspire me towards staying in heavy traffic for a moment more than was necessary.

After a night of debauchery in Shit City, my early morning exit found me less than fully conscious but the steady beat of the vee twin motor soon had me in a relaxed and optimistic frame of mind. I was in Dover by 9am and, in the spirit of the adventure, bought a one way ticket to Calais. A few hours later I was on French soil. After a hundred miles of back roads en route for Paris I was ready for some food. Sitting outside a small cafe in a tiny village with the sun glinting off the Guzzi, a plate of croissants and bottle of red at my side, I was at one with the world.

I was to recall that moment of contentment when I finally hit the outskirts of Paris. The weather had turned cold and wet again, the road surface was like ice and the Guzzi had begun to run on just one cylinder. Leant over for a sharp corner the motor suddenly fired on two, a large gob of torque was directly transmitted to the rear tyre by the shaft drive and the back wheel just went from under me. Ouch.

Picking myself up off the ground, amid raucous horn blasting Citroen and Peugoet car drivers, I was more concerned over the damage to my once new machine than any physical injury I might have suffered. One advantage of the oily road surface was that the Guzzi had just slipped along the road rather than impaling itself. I picked the bike up and hurried up a side street out of the sight of the glaring and gesticulating car drivers. Its once proud finish was ruined by slashed GRP but otherwise it seemed fine and ticked over as reliably as ever. It had 497 miles on the clock - Sob!

A few minutes later I found a hotel where I could inspect the damage to myself - bit of skin off my knee - and ponder the reasons for the accident. In the afternoon the sun came back, I brought some oil and did a full service on the bike - dead easy on a simple pushrod vee twin like this one. I even found the cause of the misfire, a slightly loose lead on a coil.

A few nights were spent investigating the Parisian nightlife, then it was onwards down towards Spain - I wanted some heat in my bones. I was able to open the bike up to 80mph in top, at those revs it still burbled along contendedly, the handling rock solid but the suspension reasonably compliant.

Admittedly, the back end showed an occasional lack of damping over rough going and backing off the throttle mid bend had an adverse effect upon the shaft drive. If you messed up your line entering corners it could be swung back without much trouble. It wasn't as flickable as the lightweight race replicas, but then I didn't expect it to be, but was easier to haul over than the older style of fours and more stable. As 

I broke through the 1000 mile barrier I gently rolled the throttle open, urging the bike past the ton. The gearchange had become slicker as the mileage piled up and, anyway, I had found it easier to take off in second than struggle with the box from first through neutral to that gear.

A slight leak from one cylinder head gasket and another from the universal joint were cured by the simple expedient of tightening down the bolts. I became so enamoured of France and the French that rather than rush down to Spain I spent a week and 3000 miles travelling the back roads of the South of France, enjoying the scenery and machine immensely. On B type roads the Guzzi is just the right side of being too heavy to be enjoyable. It could be flicked through roads that ran back upon themselves with an absurd ease. I am sure if a Goldwing owner tried the same he would be a nervous wreck after a few minutes.

The linked brakes were a pleasant surpise and I rarely had to use the front brake lever, sufficient stopping power coming from the combined use of the rear and front disc, actuated by the foot pedal. Using both brake levers it's possible to stand the bike on its head.

In all, my European adventure took in 7500 miles with hardly a moment of disquiet. Admittedly, the rear tyre was nearly finished and an average rate of drinking fuel at 38mpg did not impress but at least the tank takes almost five gallons. Finish was not good on the frame, corrosion breaking through its paint. Just taking one of these bikes for a five minute test ride would not impress, but over the past few months I have grown to love the machine.

S.M.W.