There were Ducatis everywhere. Which wasn't that surprising as it was a Ducati's owner meeting. I didn't belong to the club but no-one seemed to mind. The Darmah had done a 250 mile canter to get there, the vee twin engine quite happy to purr down the motorway at 80 to 85mph. A relaxed gait at 6000 revs, no vibes that I could discern and rock steady stability on the smooth motorway.
The only thing that was needed was a pint of oil. I was so used to the oil consumption that I carried a big can of 20/50 in the top-box. I was pouring some of this in when the chap next to me almost had an heart attack. The idea of putting Halford's cheapest into the heart of the big Ducati had him almost speechless. A little group formed as he found his voice and went into a harangue. Opinion varied between putting in straight 30 or 40 but I ignored them; I'd already done 8000 miles on the 20/50, the clock at that point reading 27000 miles.
I wasn't quite a Ducati fanatic, having bought the bike from a dealer in a closing down sale, 18 months before. The price had fallen from an optimistic £2500 to £995. I went in there hoping to buy a nice little XJ550, but that had gone already, so I ended up with the 900 Darmah. There were a lot worse ways to blow a thousand notes.
Ducatis have a bit of a poor reputation but the Darmah seemed jolly good fun in the first couple of months. It was just a case of getting it up to 3000rpm in top gear and then playing with the throttle, revelling in its vee twin mixture of flowing torque and punchy power. I'd almost run it dry of oil on the first long run. I became curious about the waves of heat coming off the engine and caught it just in time.
One of the saddest things about owning the Ducati was that I hadn't seen any other Dukes on the road, it was that which caused me to go to the meeting. Lots of lovely Ducatis in different states of repair. There was one guy who turned up on a total rat GT860. Judging by the looks he got he was lucky to leave without being strung up. They were certainly a very friendly lot, giving me loads of unasked for tips on how to get the best out of the breed, but where the hell were the women? Very depressing that!
It was after the meeting that some serious hassles with the Ducati intruded into my life. I ended up riding back in the dark after some chaps kept me talking for hours about the intricacies of adjusting the desmo valvegear. It all went way above my head. I'd left my cylinder heads well alone and they seemed all the better for it. With bevel driven camshafts there weren't even any tensioners to play with. There I was, blatting through the dark English countryside, straining my eyesight trying to interpret the main beam's spread when everything went black.
I thought the road was due to curve to the left so whilst braking, the three discs losing speed fast, I banked over a little figuring I was going the right way. Ducatis can be braked quite hard going into corners; I knew if I could see where I was going that I'd survive. Dip didn't work either. I suddenly felt the chassis bounce and then the wheels skidded on what turned out to be grass. As we were banked over I fell off.
The landing was soft and the bike slid away from me so I was only slightly bruised. The Ducati is well built, as exemplified by the way it demolished a thick bush before coming to a halt on its side. By then my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the countryside. I could see what I was doing as I tried to tug out the Darmah's 450lbs. Even so, I was drenched in sweat and swearing my head off by the time I finally had the Duke back on to the tarmac.
The engine came to life quickly, but still no front light. I pulled the wiring around and it flickered on and off. Taking off the headlamp shell revealed a loose connector. A few moments later I had a working headlamp again. I got only a 100 miles after that. The crash had somehow knocked the petrol tap on to reserve and allowed some fuel to seep out of the cap. The result was that I was stranded in the middle of nowhere at near to midnight. Push, push, push until an auto pulled up. An ex-biker with a can of petrol in the boot. Saved!
Rolling up to the house, with a thankful prayer in my heart, there was a discordant note from the left-hand exhaust. I looked down to find that the silencer was loose on the downpipe. The oil level was down below the minimum mark. I went to bed with a worried head, thinking maybe I was, after all, feeding it on the wrong type of oil. It was a dirty morning with too much rain and cold winds swirling up the street. The Ducati looked really forlorn.
It refused to start for ten minutes, even after I'd tightened the silencer back on. Riding the ten miles to work it was like I was on a different motorcycle. The thought ran through my head that someone had switched engines at the meeting but that seemed a little bit far-fetched. Rather than growling it went chuff, chuff, chuff. Strange, I thought, perhaps it was missing its mates.
I rode it like that for the rest of the week, no chance of having a look at it. At the weekend there seemed sod all exhaust pressure from the back cylinder. I pulled the tank off to check the plug but judging by the shock I got from the HT lead the ignition circuit was in fine fettle. I put a new plug in but the rear cylinder didn't seem to be firing properly. I'd been riding around on a hefty 450cc single.
The engine is quite easy to pull out, it sort of drops straight down with a bit of wiggling. It missed my foot by a millimetre and then toppled over on to some infant who had been curious about some lunatic screaming at a motorcycle. That was nothing compared with the mouthing off I got from his mother. The child was carried away wailing its head off whilst I almost broke my back carrying the engine into the house.
I thought, nothing to it, tearing off the cylinder head until a pile of shims flew off and did a disappearing act. Retrieving them involved pulling up the floorboards! The piston had gummed up rings and slightly scored bore. I got away with a new set of rings and a honed bore. Putting the engine back together proved immensely traumatic as I couldn't get the right clearances in the bevel drive. There must've been a shim missing.
I put it back together the best I could, there was a bit of whirring that hadn't been there before but she fired up quickly and ticked over nicely. The growl was back instead of the bland chuffing. This is definitely a character filled cycle, which though it's smooth impinges on the rider's mind all the time in a way that Japanese bikes just can't emulate. It's a natural, regular beat that pacifies the wilder instincts but has its own character. It soon gets into your heart.
The price paid for that is a bit of finicky behaviour at times. Shortly after my rebuild I had to take the bike on a two day, 800 mile round trip. The Darmah's a very comfortable bike for doing that kind of mileage, with a BMW-like riding position, a deeply padded seat and a lack of annoying vibes. Cruising at up to the ton with 50mpg and a range of over 175 miles. It combines sophistication with just a hint of brutality.
Coming back, charging down the motorway in a race with a big beastly Sierra, the clock flirting with 120mph, the speedo and tacho needles suddenly went berserk, waving all over the place. I felt some vibes rumbling through the pegs, I backed off to 70mph and everything settled down again. What the hell was the brute going to do next?
A week or so later there was another Ducati meeting. I thought what the hell, rumble along there and put a price tag on the old dear. Maybe some fanatic would make my day. Unfortunately, my fame due to my cheapskate feeding practices had spread far and wide. They found it amazing that the engine was still running, nodded knowingly, reckoning that the main bearings were on the way out. I don't know who was robbing who, but I parted with the Darmah for £800.
G.L.
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It all ended very sadly. My favourite bike stolen in broad daylight from a busy residential area, complete with two U-locks. I've learnt my lesson now, the replacement is secured to terra firma care of two hardened steel rings embedded in a couple of cubic yards of concrete. If you haven't done something similar then do it now, I always meant to but never got around to it until it was too late.
In 1987, after several delinquent years riding small capacity Japanese bikes and a best forgotten period with a sixties Vespa scooter which I seemed to push more than I rode, I set out to buy the bike I'd always fancied, a Laverda SF750 twin. As fate would have it, I ended up buying a 1978, red and white, Ducati Darmah SD900.
2200 miles on the clock for £1300. Lovely lines and that clever ninety degree vee-twin engine, with bevel drive cams, just two valves per cylinder and not a chain in sight within the polished engine cases. Only 64 horses but that belies the joys of vee-twin torque. With a mass of 450lbs it was a bit overweight for an Italian thoroughbred but better than most Japs of similar capacity.
First impressions were of a turbine smooth motor with loads of torque and adequate power. If you're not a power junkie, can live with a 120mph top end, then you'll not be disappointed by the performance. Certainly enough go to get the adrenaline flowing and strain shoulders, if not the chassis.
By late seventies standards, the handling's in a class of its own. A long wheelbase, stiff frame, rigid suspension and a low centre of gravity make for stable if slow handling. The riding position's sensible rather than racing but the lack of leverage from the bars doesn't help the controllability.
The triple Brembo disc set-up's more than capable in the anchors department. Rear disc are maybe doubtful in the long term but I never experienced a seized caliper. Muscle power was needed on the front lever but I remained in control, sure of the way the front wheel was going to react.
The bike's best suited to A and B roads, where both the power and handling can be used to full effect. I often woke up early just to spend the couple of hours before breakfast thrashing around some of my favourite lanes for the sheer thrill of it. The Ducati is the only machine that has ever regularly made me want to do this. Ducati's have always been addictive.
The downside's that riding in the city can be a nightmare. The engine overheats, causing irregular running and poor gearbox action, the clutch gets so heavy that wrist tendons reach screaming point and the ponderous handling becomes a pain. A good deal of brute force's needed to manhandle the bike through city (read heavy and psychotic) traffic. The chassis is significantly narrower than Japanese fours which helps with the flow but doesn't really compensate.
February 1988. Returning to London from Oxfordshire I left the braking at the first M40 roundabout too late and lost the front wheel. Despite desperately booting it upright, I ended up going over the roundabout at high speed rather than around it. Ducatis don't make good trail bikes. Remarkably, the tubular frame wasn't bent and with a bit of digging around 250 notes (mostly on a front wheel) saw a replacement front end grafted on.
A few days later, February 29th to be precise, I collapsed from the effects of the concussion. As luck would have it, my landlady was a medical student at Barts hospital to which she promptly rushed me. Mainly, I think, because she couldn't stand the embarrassment of having me die on her. A cracked skull was diagnosed, aspirin and rest prescribed.
In retrospect that day was quite farcical. On arrival at the hospital I was issued with one of the standard surgical gowns. Given that I'm six foot five of generous build, there was a gaping hole at the rear. My landlady collapsed in hysterical laughter when she first saw me flashing my arse to all and sundry.
In the 20,000 miles I had the bike the running costs were reasonable, not cheap but not extortionate. The biggest expenditure was on oil, lots of it and frequently. I used good quality SAE40 monograde (Castrol 351 or similar), changed with the filter at 1500 mile intervals.
Much of the reputed fragility of the crankshaft is the result of infrequent changes of poor quality oil and thrashing the bike from cold. They take 20 plus miles to warm up properly and it's insane to abuse them before then. As ever, oil is much cheaper than a new crank (£500). If you used recycled oil or other cheap muck then the engine will start to knock after a few thousand miles.
AM20/21 Roadrunners lasted well (F15000, R10,000 miles) but were dicey when cold or in the wet. Phantoms (F8000, R4000) are an expensive but safer option. Brake pads and drive chains (non O-rings) last about 10,000 miles (a set of sprockets twice that).
The valves need checking every 6000 miles but rarely need attention once bedded in. For mental comfort, I left any adjustment of the Desmo clearances to a reliable dealer (around £50 a time with the heads off the bike).
There aren't many of these bikes in the breakers so spares generally have to be bought new. Prices are either a pleasant surprise or a bit of a shock. If you want to learn how to fettle the motor I recommend one of the courses run by Brancato Engineering in Oxfordshire, which include practical tuition on how to strip and rebuild an engine.
Worthwhile improvements include a non-slip clutch (£70, fit and forget) and steel braided brake hose which increases the power and feel of the brakes. Stainless replica Conti silencers liberate more top end power at the expense of the midrange and sound gorgeous. They look real enough to convince cops that they were original equipment. The neighbours weren't crazy about the noise in the morning but traffic parts like the Red Sea for Moses when you're riding a Conti shod Ducati.
Within six weeks of the theft the insurance coughed up £2000 cash. They also doubled their quote for the next year, £1200! At this rate I couldn't cover both the cost of another Ducati and insurance. Depression. On the weekend I was in Croydon, wandered into Motodd Laverda. Now I'm the proud owner of a 1973 Laverda SF2 750cc twin. After the Ducati the performance was a bit disappointing. As a classic, insurance was only £120.
Overall, I'd recommend a Darmah to anyone. I still miss mine. They need more owner involvement than most bikes but when they're on song they are a joy. Apart from looking for the usual signs of abuse, quiz the owner about oil, get a good test ride (20 to 30 miles) to check that the motor is absolutely smooth when fully warmed up. And don't pay too much money.
Dave Fergus
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Buy a rough old Ducati Darmah for £500? No, not when it needs new consumables, looks like it's been used as an accessory in mud wrestling and had an open pipe exhaust system that sent everyone in the immediate vicinity deaf. I still had the bruises from my brief tenure with a 350 Ducati single. I'd come a long way to view the wreck so offered £100, having nothing but a bout of fisticuffs to lose. I could have it for £300...walk away, okay last price £200. Done!
I hadn't bothered with a test ride, found out that the low price was reflected in the two speed gearbox and rumbling handling. It was nothing someone who'd had an apprenticeship on a Honda step-thru couldn't handle. I was soon battering my way through London traffic, thankful for the filtering effect of my full-faced lid - ped's keeled over from the sonic boom and cagers twitched in horror.
Back home, I looked on in surprise at the way oil dripped out of the crankcases. Luckily I had a big can of recycled car oil to hand. As snow was threatened I heaved the bike into the kitchen for a quick fettle. I don't do any cooking so the kitchen's my workshop and even has some welding tackle. Amazingly, the gearbox problem was just a loose gear shaft, so that was welded, along with some alloy welding where the oil was leaking! The engine didn't actually make any nasty noises, its one redeeming feature.
Cleaning off all the gunge, welding up the rust on the tank, frame and guards, painting the whole lot bright red (what else?), and knocking on a pair of Bonnie silencers took a couple of days.
By which time the sun was shining. The suspension was still soggy and the bearings a bit loose, but the hefty tubular frame gave handling better than any worn Jap fours from the same period. Top speed was only 110mph, limited by clutch slip rather than a lack of power...as I'd welded up the clutch cover fitting new plates would've been a major trauma. Cruising at 80mph was entirely possible but fuel was a disgraceful 35mpg - something to do with my reluctance to check the desmo valves or balance the carbs!
Starting was a hellish affair. A huge car battery in the top box was essential to get the starter turning over the mill on cold oil. Backfiring and flames out of the open carbs gave pause for thought, and if times ever became really hard I could park up on the pavement, get the begging bowl out and make a fortune with all the shit going down just to get her to fire up.
Typically, changing the plugs stripped one of the threads, but a tube of Araldite solved that one. The engine was supposed to be smooth but there was a hell of a lot of rumbling and shaking below 2500rpm. Car alarms sounded and ped's looked scared, figuring Central London was undergoing an earthquake. Fun in its way until I lost a filling.
Considering the original state of the dog, and the subsequent artful bodging, I did pretty way to get over 6000 miles of harsh commuting out of her without spending out serious dosh (save for the original round of slightly used and abused consumables). I always pissed off Ducati enthusiasts by informing them that I ran it on recycled oil and thrashed her from cold. It was rather like turning up at a funeral in jeans; massive disrespect for such a famous marque.
I enjoyed my tenure of the Ducati, could see that a newish one, instead of a 75000 miler, would be the business but in the end some vile vibration above the ton made me thing the end was near. A quick polish, ride down to a nearby Duke dealer and part-ex for a 750 Zephyr that was soiling their shop floor. I got a £1600 trade-in, which made it a pretty good scam in my book. The Zephyr makes the Duke seem like an old wheelbarrow, so I'm as happy as can be. So there.
Johnny Slater