After a year and 10,000 miles on a 550 Zephyr I was looking for something a bit bigger. The Zephyr suited me fine - light, low, red and retro, utterly reliable, great suspension, comfy seat - just on longer trips a larger engine would have come in handy. A 750 Zephyr seemed the obvious choice, but a bit under-achieving - sort of more of the same, and since I had always ridden Japanese it was about time I went for something rather more exciting. Something with character. So Italian it had to be, and the 750 Strada looked like it met my requirements - red, retro and light. A not too distant dealer advertised a one year old, 2000 mile example in MCN, so round I went to look it over.
And pretty good it looked, too - all polished up, rather putting the Zephyr to shame. I sat on it, started it up...I wanted it. I passed up the offer of a test ride because I knew I wouldn't really find much out on a run around the block when my main thoughts would be mostly about not dropping it. And the dealer and his assistant did inspire confidence and enthusiasm, heartily endorsing the choice of a Guzzi (''I like a bike with personality'') and listening with something approaching idolatry to the sound of the engine as I played, tentatively, with the throttle.
Corresponding derogatory remarks were made about Japanese build quality (stunningly exemplified by the tatty Zephyr) and general blandness. It looked like I was about to enter motorcycle heaven. The price and the p/ex weren't too horrific, and the Strada came with Datatag and an alarm thrown in. So I succumbed, ordered up a few essential extras (crash bars, screen, heated grips) and arranged to collect once insurance, etc was sorted out.
It was a bit frosty when I turned up for the Strada. The mechanic (''I like working on Guzzis'') showed me the basics and I headed off, sort of, along the icy roads, wobbling a bit on corners. The seat was higher than on the Zephyr and gearchanges rather laborious - presumably something to do with the shaft drive which I had never before experienced. Also, neutral was totally elusive. As fate would have it, I got caught up in a lengthy traffic queue and kept stalling when I tried to filter through at low speed. I went for the starter but never seemed to be able to get the thing going smoothly without stalling it again. The engine died completely, right in the middle of a sea of crazed cars at the exact spot where the immobilised bike totally impeded any movement on the road in either direction.
Hardly an auspicious first encounter with an Italian motorcycle. I could only presume that the gross habits I had developed in riding Japanese had made me totally incapable of handling the refinements of the Strada. The dealer politely refused to support this notion, which further compounded my feelings of guilt and inadequacy. However, equipped with a new battery, I made a second start. Gearchanges remained elusive - neutral as far as I was concerned had totally disappeared - but by resolutely refusing to trash the starter no matter what dimensions of traffic disruption this might produce, at least I kept the battery functional.
Once I accepted the idiosyncrasies (the dealer advised a sharp action on the gear lever), I could see the Strada had its good points. Moving off in first it'd give an appealing little leap. The gearing was gratifyingly taller and it did go generally faster than the Zephyr - but then again it was a 750 as opposed to a 550. The legendary linked brakes didn't present any problems. There were a few downsides certainly - it did bounce around a lot on rough surfaces and vibrate notably at speed, indications, presumably, of a more real bike.
On a minor level, the fuel warning light was a bit irritating (and petrol did seem to go down rather more quickly than I was used to) and the steering lock apparently only operated with the bars turned to the right - this because, the mechanic told me, it was Italian, right-hand driving, see? After a ride or two the paint and chrome grew somewhat dull (the discs were developing a coating of something that looked awfully like rust, though this could be brushed off) but the Strada was still red and retro, emphatically sounding different from the Zephyr. What could I do but strive to be worthy of it.
The initial two weeks of becoming used to the overall feel of the thing were punctuated by a couple of unfortunate incidents. Stalling on a slope on a corner resulted in a discreet drop (new clutch lever), and there was a second and more expensive drop (screen, brake lever and heated grips) when a car misjudged its parking space and knocked the Strada off its stand. Certainly, as compared to the Zephyr, the side-stand did seem a little less than rock solid. I was becoming something of a regular around the dealer's, and he seemed as puzzled as I was at how, since I took up with the Strada, carefree biking such as I'd come to assume as normal on the Zephyr now totally eluded me.
But I did, once, experience an early Sunday ride round country roads, with a few fast A-roads and a bit of motorway to boot when it all fell into place. The bends were sinuous, I could even find neutral at will (almost). That was with the smashed screen. Incidentally, adjustment of the handlebar fairing was another matter under scrutiny, since its position was such as to interpose the large black line of its edge in my vision if I tried a natural riding position.
The next - and last - two weeks of my Italian experience could be described as sheer hell. One morning the Strada refused to start. The starter turned over but the engine wouldn't pick up. A new starter motor was fitted. Subsequent early morning starting hassles were attributed to a ''duff cell in the battery'' and ''rain in the electrics''. It did cross my mind that the Kawasaki had never objected to a bit of adverse weather. The dealer provided a magnificent service, picking up the dead machine from my doorstep and rendering it operational by the following day - though by this time a growing sense of mutual embarrassment was colouring our relationship. Each time I collected the repaired bike, all of us - me, the dealer, the assistant and the mechanic - would stand at the roadside, listening to the engine. Sweet as a nut was the invariable comment, as I took off yet again, almost willing to believe that this time I would at least get back to base before the now familiar feeling that all was not well started to creep over me.
A reasonable reaction to having to keep the throttle constantly open to prevent stalling at low speed. I suppose it did add to the unpredictability of life, wondering every morning whether the bit of Italian fluff parked on my doorstep would show willing or not. And not it generally was. I even acquired a puncture - and on the Kawasaki only once picked up a nail in 10,000 miles, and that was on a country road.
By now it was clear to me at least that I was not destined to ride an Italian bike - at any rate not the one I had acquired. Then I had the luxury of not starting at work rather than at home and hence calling the AA. I went on at some length about my tribulations. The kind man pointed out that the clutch cable was routed so as to inhibit gearchanging (I thought it was the vagaries of the shaft drive) and that the immediate dysfunction was cured by a change of spark plugs and cleaning the carbs, both of which had been overlooked by the mechanic.
Even so, the plugs were still fouling, for reasons beyond the limit the AA man was empowered to investigate at the roadside. This the dealer diagnosed as being caused by debris in the petrol tank and the mechanic duly cleaned it out. But by then cynicism had set in. I phoned the importers only to find that the dealer had been struck off and they sent me to a real dealer some 20 miles away...the Strada made it there but inspired no great love by then and the sight of an 8000 mile 750 Zephyr in their showroom made me do a deal there and then!
This is hardly an adequate appraisal of the Strada. It may or may not be much better when fully sorted. I'm still vaguely intrigued by the Italian stuff but the Kawasaki seems to suit me much better - and Guzzi's really need a garage to survive English nights. Some day. Maybe!
Margaret Hogan