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.