I have been having an affair with this fiery Italian lady for about three years now. My number one woman, a trusty old Yamaha TR1 definitely suspects something's going on. But what can she do? How can she possibly compete?
To own a Laverda is an experience that nothing could have adequately prepared me for. Sure, I've owned a whole series of much admired large oriental missiles in my time. Some went faster, some handled better, some even looked better than the Jota. But - and this is a big but - none of them were as much fun! In fact, in the fun department, the Jota just walked all over them and at the end of the day isn't that what biking's all about?
This particular character is a 1979 Jota, with the original 180 degree crankshaft, featuring a very subtle paint job, a sort of a bloodcurdling orange. Bloody gorgeous! This is the model that everybody tells you to avoid in favour of its later, more refined, more reliable, more civilised, more boring stablemate. This is the original undiluted bad 'un and proud of it. This is motorcycling's very own V-sign to the world, and all that's good and right and wholesome. To ride this bike through the middle of town is akin to having a large neon sign strapped to your back saying, I don't give a shit.
Yes, this bike is very anti-social, no two ways about it. Tootling through town doing an impression of a Honda C70 is not this bike's favourite activity. At anything less than 40mph she mumbles, grumbles, stutters and splutters in displeasure. If this doesn't suitably convey the message that she wants out to a good A-road, then five minutes worth of juggling the clutch, gears and throttle soon will. You need the forearms of Popeye to pull the clutch lever in and nifty throttle control at zebra crossings as the Jota will not tick over in anything resembling a civilised manner.
Once out of town and on to open roads, however, you are transported from hell to heaven. This is where the Jota is happiest. Open the throttle wide and the petulant grumbling of the 1000cc DOHC triple turns into a delighted and delightful howl! Pure music to the ears. Well, I think so anyway. Whether the grannies in their Metros or the old farts in flat caps driving Nissan Sunnys would agree as the Jota and I go screaming past, about six inches or less (if I'm feeling mean) from their hearing aids I don't know. To be honest, I don't care either.
And, that's another thing, this bike, goddamnit, can transform the most benign Reginald Molehusband into a two wheeled kamikaze pilot who breaks every traffic law in the book. On each outing. And that's before you even leave your own street! The Jota does invite you to ride it very quickly, that can't be denied. At slower speeds the bike is at best a bad tempered bitch. Wind her up, however, and she behaves almost impeccably, and if she is in a really good mood, at about 70mph the alternator will actually kick in and power the lights for you! Seriously, though, daylight headlights are not recommended as the charging system is completely inadequate, although I understand that later models overcame this with uprated electrics. Still, all part of the fun.
I've owned a ZX-10 which accelerated very quickly, quicker in fact than the Jota. But the way in which a Jota accelerates at full throttle makes it far more exciting and more fun (there's that word again) than any ZX-10 could ever be. How? Well, there's the noise for a start. It sounds as though it's about to launch itself into orbit, and it warns all other unwary road users, from about half a mile back, that it's coming through and if you don't get out of the way, then it sure as hell will go straight through you.
Also, the power comes in great big gulps, it reaches the redline in a couple of arm wrenching seconds and just when you think it's going to ease off, it enters warp factor 9! At the redline! Contrary to other bikes, where redlines mean danger, on the Jota it just means now we're getting serious. In contrast, the ZX-10 is a little predictable, a little too civilised and a lot less (yeah, you guessed it) fun.
In the heady days of the mid/late seventies when the Jota had just been born, the pundits positively went overboard about its superb Italian handling....well, does it? It couldn't seriously compare to todays plastic replicas but it's not too bad. When you get used to the top heavy feel and adjust to the rock hard suspension, you'll soon be flinging it around like any old Z1300 or Gold Wing! Well, okay, it's not quite that bad.
Approaching fast bends you do have to chose your line carefully but once committed it will go around surefootedly. The brakes I have always found more than adequate, twin discs out front and a single rear. The fact that the rear brake lever is on the left has led to some frantic moments as I've approached silly buggers who get in the way at a rapid rate. Your first reaction, of course, is to slam down your right foot. All this does is propel you down to a lower gear, without clutch, and depending on your speed and weather may result in a locked rear wheel - definitely no fun!
How fast does she go? The once world's fastest bike! Well, my only honest answer to this question would be, bloody fast enough thank you very much. Just before you hit the redline things get decidedly frantic. The vibes are almost all consuming, not to mention the noise. The clocks become a blur, lights blow their filaments and your eyeballs almost shake themselves out of their sockets. You feel as if you're about to go through the sound barrier. You steal the courage to glance down at the speedo, and shit....is that all? 120mph! Well,. it sure as hell feels faster. And then I lose my bottle. It will go faster, a lot faster, I suspect, it was certainly pulling strongly when I gave up. But it will take a braver man than me to exploit it to its limit. This bike is definitely not for the weak hearted.
Maintenance is kept to a minimum, mainly because being a fair weather biker (okay, I admit it I've got a company car), the mileage is kept low. An oil change every 1000 miles is a must, the drive chain stretches like an old whores you know what and needs regular adjustment, not to mention plenty of lubrication. The oil filter is tucked thoughtfully away behind one of the down pipes, and the pipe needs to be removed to get at it. Although it can be used again, just needing a soak in Gunk. Valves and carbs stay in tune for long periods.
Front tyres wear well but the rear is down to the carcass in a few thousand miles. When I first bought the bike it had a Motad 3-1 but the engine spluttered badly at high revs; no amount of adjustment or rejetting would cure it. Fortunately, I also had the original exhausts, which were thrown in as part of the deal when I bought the machine. Thank goodness, the old system was fitted and, voila, she ran smoothly right up the rev range. I have yet to come across an aftermarket system that works all through the rev range. Long runs, 100 miles plus, will result in things shaking loose - I've already lost two footrests, an exhaust bracket and assorted nuts and bolts. So all bits need to be checked with a spanner, immediately on return. But, of course, this is all part of the fun.
To conclude. A Laverda Jota is not just a motorcycle, it's an event. Owning one is pure joy and not a bad investment to boot. Your relationshop with this, your Italian mistress, will be tempestuous to say the least. But never boring. Treat her gently and she'll take you to places you've never been before. Abuse her in any way and she'll no doubt make you regret the day you ever set eyes on her. She can be bad tempered, she can be stubborn, she can be loudmouthed, she can be unpredictable, she can be downright dangerous, but boy oh boy.......she's FUN!
Simon Nicholls
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Ever since I read about the antics of various journalists aboard Laverda Jotas in the late seventies I have been consumed by the need to own one. Every inch of one bedroom wall is plastered with pictures of these fiery triple cylinder, 1000cc machines. I used to go to sleep with visions of roaring down the road on a bright orange example, chanting to myself - I will own a Laverda Jota - time and time again.
It took more years than I care to admit until I finally got my hands on one. It was a 1978 model, 33000 miles under its belt and a fistful of past owners. The first crack in the dream came when I tried to clamber on board. The seat is very high off the ground, I felt I should summon someone to give me a leg up as if I was mounting a horse. The owner looked on with a sickly smile as I precariously held the beast upright on tiptoes.
The starter rumbled and growled for about 30 seconds until it got the better of the three high compression pistons and six valves controlled by double overhead cams. The bike shuddered as the rev counter flipped up to 2500 revs and I hurriedly searched for the choke in vain. Into first gear with an agricultural clunk only for the brutal take up of the clutch to make me stall it. By then I was perched on the one toe and the sharp lurch forward unbalanced me. I was only saved the embarrassment of splattering the Jota on the tarmac by the owner rushing forward to stop the machine on its descent.
I was given the choice of handing over £2500 or pissing off, there was no way he was going to let me have a test ride after that incident. Naturally, I handed over the money. My second attempt achieved forward motion and the thought that the journos never reported the vicious vibes at low revs. The Laverda just didn't want to run cleanly below 50mph in top gear, it was as if the machine was telling me to get a move on and stop fooling around.
The growl from the almost straight through exhaust system, reflected off the shop windows, turned the heads of startled pedestrians and caused one young kid to cover her ears with her hands shortly before bursting into tears. It seemed to run best at low speeds in second gear but stopping for a pedestrian crossing without engaging neutral revealed that the clutch dragged evilly. The motor soon stalled, again causing me to lose my precarious balance and dump a boot on a conveniently placed car bumper. This did not amuse the driver of the Volvo 740 who shook his fist at me.
He had the last laugh, though, because the motor refused to start again. I had to leap off, use all my muscle to stop it toppling over and then push near on 600lbs to the side of the road. I gave various car drivers the vee sign when they started using their horns and nearly had a fight with an irate taxi driver. Having finally got the machine on the sidestand I was able to collapse on a nearby bench. By the time I returned to the machine, it naturally fired up first touch of the button.
The blast down the A roads to my country mansion (sick joke) put me in a better mood. The power delivery on the Jota is something else and all than I ever dreamed it would be. The first time I opened the throttle in third gear I almost had a heart attack. By the time it reached the redline and I'd foolishly assumed there was nothing left, the bike suddenly picked up power again and blasted off down the road like a turbo charger had just kicked in or someone had opened up the nitro bottle.
By the time I'd managed to stop the huge grin from splitting my head in half, I realised the beast was entering a corner 30mph faster that was physically possible. Ramming on the immensely powerful front discs and jumping on the right-hand brake pedal produced enough stopping power to catapult the unwary over the bars and a terrible noise from the gearbox.....in my panic I had forgotten that the Wops used to put the brake and gear levers on the wrong side.
The Jota is long, top heavy and overweight, it will stick to a well set up line like glue, but if you enter a bend with all the suspension wound up from frantic braking it gets thrown about all over the tarmac. I have ridden many a big Jap multi that is much worse but something like a new CBR600 kills the old Laverda in the bends....but then there would be something seriously wrong if the best of the modern bikes couldn't handle better than this quaint old Italian dinosaur.
Later, I was to find that maximum speed was an indicated 140mph, although the speedo needle would waver 20mph to each side at times, so the true top speed is anyone's guess. It's easily fast enough to lose your licence. The engine feels best between 3500 and 6500 where vibes are not too noticeable. Between 6500 and 7500rpm the vibes are bone rattling but come eight grand the motor suddenly settles down and smooths out before going berserk again. Very weird indeed.
It will cruise all day at 90 to 100mph along motorways with the most delightful growl from the exhaust and tolerable levels of vibration - it needs this kind of speed to make some sense of the riding position, even with the adjustable bars in their least sporting position there's still a lot of weight on the wrists and all the controls are very heavy, making the bike quite tiring to ride long distances.
Stability is surprisingly good up to about 110mph, thereafter the back end waltzes about, as it does if you back off in fast sweepers. Its suspension, even now, is on the harsh side and this probably contributes to the occasional white knuckle speed wobble that happens if you hit a bump when accelerating past 120mph. I've found if you keep accelerating, by the time you're past 125mph it gradually dies out.
The first time it happened I was petrified that when I slowed down it would come back and had a vision of myself spending the rest of the day careering along at 130mph until the fuel ran out. Fortunately, it doesn't speed wobble when you slow down from greater speeds. Fuel consumption varies between 30 and 50mpg, usually somewhere around 40mpg. Oil consumption is heavy, a litre every 400 miles and the gearbox becomes very agricultural if you don't change the oil every 800 miles.
Because the growl under heavy acceleration is so addictive, a decent chain only lasts 4000 miles and expensive rear tyres about 2500 miles. I prefer Pirellis myself as they seem safer in the wet when it's extremely easy to lose the back end under the ferocious power delivery.
I'd got the mileage up to 46000 miles when on a particularly bright and sunny day, the kind of day when you just want to ride and ride, I suddenly realised that the bike was being followed by a cloud of white smoke that would have done a 30 year old Jawa proud. 50 miles later, by the time I reached my home, the engine was coughing and spluttering like it was only running on two cylinders. Sure enough, when the local mechanic took the head off an exhaust valve had burnt out.
Everything else appeared fine, so the cause is not known and I've done 15000 miles with no further engine problems. It became a very reluctant starter, a problem eventually traced to the mess of wiring. I had to rewire the whole thing myself and took the opportunity to modify the battery compartment to take a small car battery. It now has a couple of hidden switches that stops anyone from riding off on it and, along with additional rubber mounting of the lights, has not had any more electrical problems. I think the system is basically sound, it just needs a bit of tender loving care to sort it out.
It's that kind of bike. When a bit of rust pokes through the tank or frame paint you think nothing about tearing off the bits and paying out for the best available job to be done. Rather than leave it out in the street, subject to the vagaries of the local louts or winter weather, you risk permanent back injury pushing it up into the hall. Rather than buy a machine with a sensible seat you order a pair of boots with built up heels. Rather than become civilised and sensible by buying a Ford Onion you spent all your spare time and money on the Laverda. If Jota were Italian for Fun I would not be surprised, because it's the most awe inspiring and addictive motorcycle I've ever come across, but certainly not the most practical.
Dick Westcote