Being female and petite my choice of bikes is limited. The V50 seemed ideal to me, the seat height was okay and the mass of only 360lbs was just about manageable. I even stomped up for a new Mark 1 when they first came out in '81. I then spent a tedious 1500 miles carefully running the bike in.
After 100 miles a strange electrical fault developed which caused the motor to cut out. Unfortunately, this only occurred occasionally and never when I took it back to the dealer, where the mechanics made fatuous comments about women riders and I had to avert my gaze from rude pictures of men and women copulating.
I persevered for another 200 miles but when the engine stalled whilst I was riding across a busy junction, causing an artic to shake its back end in furious braking and an embarrassing barrage of curses and horns, I went back into the dealers in a fury and tore into them with much verbal abuse. Eventually, their chief mechanic agreed to give the machine a look over. I don't know what he did but the problem did not reappear.
Another problem was the back end, which shook about in corners like there was a loose bolt or something. The shocks bottomed out over mildly rough roads and I did not feel particularly happy riding the machine quickly. Once run in, I was able to explore the upper reaches of the rev counter, but was most disappointed to find that the alleged 45hp was not much good for more than 95mph.
I was later able to get it past the ton in favourable conditions, but the little vee twin made such a dreadful racket, like its pushrod operated valves were hitting each other, that I quickly gave in to common sense and vowed never to attain such reckless velocity again.
Around town I could just about cope, I fear a heavier bike would have my puny muscles in trouble. The disc brakes were very fierce and frightening in the wet when they took a few moments to lock up solid. 55000 miles later I have just about got the hang of them.
Another problem, the indicator and light handlebar switches packed up before 5000 miles were accumulated, replaced under warranty they just about saw the rest of the year out.
By the end of the second year the switches had been replaced by Japanese items off a CB200, of all things. Motorway work, with speeds up to 80mph, was okay, the bike held a fairly predictable line although one run over the Severn Bridge on a windy day was enough to make me question the delights of low mass. There wasn't much power available for high speed overtaking, which was probably just as well because it was decidedly uncomfortable at 90mph and started to wander all over the road. The mirrors were rendered useless at high speed due to the vibes.
Just before I'd clocked up 20,000, trouble free, miles the whole of the electrical system failed. A burnt out alternator, scorched wires and dead rectifier were the result, repaired with bits from a breaker. The lights and horn were just about adequate.
In case you think I'm mechanically adept, I'd better mention that all the servicing and repair work was done by my husband who rides a Le Mans, who I met at a Guzzi meeting and married just after the warranty expired - a coincidence, honest! Without him I would have been in deep trouble.
5000 miles later the engine seized up whilst I was bowling along at 80mph, about 150 miles from home in pouring rain. Character building. As the bike slid across the front of a Cortina I think its owner almost had a heart attack. At least he stopped to offer me a ride to the nearest mental hospital. Husband and van to the rescue again.
The post-mortem blamed a failed oil pump. General engine wreckage appeared great to my tender eyes and I was not surprised when hubbie suggested buying an engine from a breaker. This was a 6000 mile Mark 3 which he fitted in with a little aid from myself. I was impressed with the greater urge of the motor, I could accelerate up to the ton just by whacking open the throttle in top gear. Vibration was also less of a problem, as was reliability, the new motor adding another 30,000 miles to the clock with only regular servicing necessary.
Both motors had given the same economy, 45-60mpg depending on whether it was a high speed motorway thrash or country lane ramble. Major expense was limited to the disc pads which expired after only 5000 miles and a set of tyres every 7500 miles - (Metzelers, so grippy I could not tolerate anything less).
I eventually replaced the poor rear shocks with Marzocchis, a major improvement in handling and stability resulting, although for my 8 stone mass the back end had become too stiff rather than too soft. Oh well! The front fork seals expired at 18000 miles; my husband tells me they were a right pain to fit. When the new ones failed after only 6000 miles he was not amused and insisted I fitted gaiters at the same time. Unfortunately, by then the fork were badly pitted and the only cure was to pay for them to be rechromed.
The rest of the finish was not exactly inspiring, either. Despite weekly clean-ups, paint insisted on falling off the frame and tank, whilst both alloy and chrome was attacked by a particularly virulent form of corrosion that reappeared almost as soon as I'd finished polishing. When funds allowed various bits were blasted, painted, chromed or polished and lacquered, so that what, in six years would probably been a terrible mess, actually looks just like new. Pity Moto Guzzi don't care about their products in the same way as their owners!
With 46500 miles up, my nearest and dearest found some cracks in both of the front discs. He insisted that I bought a new set rather than trusting to part worn bits from a breaker. As the calipers were almost beyond repair, having caused numerous problems by seizing up in the past, the whole front braking system was practically renewed. Just as well we don't have a mortgage!
I've become very used to riding the Guzzi and have been able to ruin male egos, posed on much bigger bikes, down twisty roads. I know just how far I can lean the bike over, just which gear to select to wring the maximum power out of the bike and the exact limitations of tyre grip. I have tried some Japanese middleweights but was rather disconcerted by the way they separate you from the road. I suppose I might learn to find their limitations in time, but I fear it might be a painful experience.
Husband was so impressed with the way I handled the 500, that he let me have a go at the controls of the Le Mans. I wasn't that impressed, to tell the truth, everything needed so much muscle to work (clutch, throttle, brakes and gearchange) that I was exhausted by the time the first mile had clicked off on the mileometer. The few times I hauled open the throttle fully it gave a tremendous push in the back, but it was just too tiring to ride for any distance.
I've never actually fallen off the V50, come close too many times, but they don't count, do they? Every year I've managed to keep up with husband and friends on European treks, much to their amazement, even if it's meant stringing the Guzzi along into the red for a lot of the time - I often find myself talking to the bike on long journeys, giving it encouragement to keep going! Well, if Prince Charles can talk to plants, why not?
The Guzzi has certainly been a versatile machine, at home in town or on the motorway, its shaft drive making it ideal for women who don't want to get their fingers dirty. I would not recommend the Mark 1, though, as mine was less powerful and reliable than the Mark 3. I have also come across a lot of bikes in poor cosmetic condition, if you can find one that has obviously been well looked after it's probably going to last well.
I suppose I've out grown the bike now and could do with a bit more power. The new Guzzi 750 seems ideal but I can't afford one and my nearest and dearest won't cough up either, I think he fears the competition such a device might give him. Guess I'll just have to keep going on the V50.
Sue Marshall
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The most terrifying moment during my three year tenure of the V50 was when the throttle stuck open. Cruising along a fast and deserted country road I had persuaded the reluctant Guzzi up to an indicated 90mph. If its ninety degree vee twin engine layout possessed perfect primary balance it wasn't apparent in the buzz that blitzed the bars and footrests. Perhaps old age in the form of 50,000 odd miles was catching up with it.
At least I'd sorted the suspension, which in the somewhat worn state I'd received the bike was much more mush than taut. Newish rear shocks and heavy-duty springs in the forks; an old remedy but one that worked well for the compact, light V50 chassis. None of the nasty weaving or wallowing that afflicts its erstwhile rival, the CX500.
So there I was, wrapped around the Guzzi, 90mph on the clock, coming up to a 50mph corner. Maybe 65mph if I shoved the bike over on the wrong side of the road and made a straight line out of it. With high hedgerows obscuring what was coming the other way, it wasn't the kind of thing I'd normally do.
Went to back off the throttle and change down a gear....the bloody thing seemed to bounce forward at a greater rate. The Guzzi's box was temperamental at the best of times and appeared, right then, to my panicked mind, to be locked into top gear as solidly as the throttle was stuck open. By the time my brain had responded we were practically in the corner. A frenzied attack on the brakes lost a little speed. No way I had the time to let loose of the bars and hit the ignition switch.....the stock unit had fallen apart, the replacement hidden under one of the sidepanels by a previous owner (the killswitch long dead).
The Guzzi is a nimble, responsive bike under normal circumstances. With both wheels fighting their brakes, the shaft drive trying to tear the back wheel out of the frame and the road suddenly full of what felt like bloody great pot-holes (in retrospect, the suspension was down on its stops) the machine felt like it was tearing itself apart under me.
I was absolutely convinced after I'd entered the bend that the Guzzi was going to skid off the road. But somehow the Metz tyres held their fragile grip on the tarmac, not even dislodged by the undercarriage doing a spark job as we banked over at a terrifying angle. Flicking the twitching chassis upright, I reached down to pull off an HT lead. The faltering engine finally died a death under the threat of the brakes burning to a cinder.
I was shaking so much it took half an hour for me to look at the throttle - the bloody thing had loosened off by then. Rode home slowly, did a complete strip of the carbs and cables the next day. Put in plenty of thick grease and haven't had a repeat performance yet.
The throttle is still surprisingly heavy for such a little motor, the response poor at low engine revs. Needs at least 3000 revs up before it begins to sing. I had thought the non-standard megas and air-filters might be responsible, but a friend's stock bike was, if anything, worse. That there is hardly any power below three grand emphasizes this malignant behaviour.
The motor needs 5000rpm up before there is a noticeable surge in power. 80mph cruising is perfectly feasible. Top speed is about 100mph but vibes after 85mph make this acceptable only for short sorties. The light mass means that acceleration can be reasonable.....save that the gearchange is rather horrible. My friend's low mileage bike is certainly better but by no means smooth nor precise.
The change requires a lot of thought on the part of the rider, each shift between gears differs in the amount of pressure needed and the chances of successfully changing gears. Third to fourth is the worst and, typically, the most often used. Throwing the bike into a false neutral under acceleration is bad enough - Guzzi valves can survive 10,000 revs - but messing up downchanges is even worse.
The shaft drive can lock solid when revs aren't matched to road speed during down-shifting. The reaction of the frame isn't much better when the engine is thrown into a false neutral. In bends I've had wheels snap out as much as a foot and been thrown on to the road several times. Even premium Metz tyres can't take that kind of abuse.
The worst of the crashes involved tearing off a layer of my jeans and skin. Just thinking about it makes me wince but it was partly my fault in that I had not clocked the layer of gravel. Damage to the Guzzi was minimal - bent indicators and a few minor ancillaries in need of a bit of kicking straight.
I also managed to embed a cylinder in the side of a car that suddenly turned into my path as I was passing. Guzzi cylinder heads are much tougher than the thin sheet steel from which car doors are constructed. My knee wasn't too amused by the collision, though. The bike still has the crash marks, the poor old cager was almost in tears as he surveyed the damage to his new auto.
Town riding required the motor to be caned in second or third, gearchanges being avoided whenever possible. The low centre of gravity and 360lbs of metal meant that it was easy to control and small gaps could be threaded through. The stoplight GP would see things like derestricted TZR125s disappearing off into the distance, mainly because I couldn't change gears fast enough to keep up with the power delivery. I consoled myself with the 50mpg, which stayed constant regardless of the amount of throttle abuse.
Other consumables didn't mean any nasty expenses, except for the brake pads which were worn out in less than 6000 miles. The brakes were powerful, the linked system working remarkably well and calipers lasting 15000 miles before they started seizing. However, the system did go spongy by the time the pads had worn out and proved extremely tiresome to bleed properly when replacing the brake fluid.
The V50's are a bit notorious for having doubtful electrics and a dubious finish. My mate's machine continues to amaze him with the electrical failures and the way the paint has fallen off the tank and frame. My own bike was completely rewired (with Jap switches) and repainted by the time I got my greedy mitts upon it. 22000 miles later it shows no signs of problems in either department and the electronic ignition has not been touched.
The universal joint gaiter has a minimal life and the oil light switch has on several occasions thrown me into full tilt heart attack country by seizing on. The universal joint isn't the longest lasting item, according to Guzzi lore, but mine is still there - I don't think a brand new one would help the snatchy transmission. The time the battery lead fell off whilst I was doing 80mph in the fast lane did not amuse me, either. Maintenance is minimal and simple, although the engine feels very rough if the oil isn't changed every 700 miles or so.
Generally, the V50 has been robust and fun. Cheap running costs mean I have saved the bike's original cost of 600 notes several times over in money saved on public transport. The engine must be getting near the end of its natural life but I'm more than tempted to keep running it until something terminal happens. I'll either buy another bike or replacement engine. Which says it all really.
There are lots of cheap rats around, some quite expensive refurbished jobs and lots of useable stuff in the £500 to £1000 price range. Uprated electrics, repainted chassis and less than 40,000 miles on the clock are the most important things to look at. If you need a versatile motorcycle that will do most things reasonably the V50 is worth a look.
P.J.S.
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£300 for a running Guzzi V50, even a 1980, 35000 mile one, seemed a good deal. It was December, once home I locked the bike away in my garage until the better weather in March. The bike wouldn't fire, churned over on the starter until the battery went flat I tried several more times to no avail.
I phoned up a friend who used to own a Mk.1 to see if there was anything obvious. He reckoned the exhaust valves had stuck, a common malaise when V50s are stored. It was just as well that it was so easy to pull the heads off. After renovating the top ends, just disassembling and polishing, I tried to start it again. Another flat battery but some explosive noises from the stainless steel exhaust that a previous owner had fitted. I sprayed the bike with WD40 and put a recharged battery back in. Ten minutes later I was in business.
V50s are renown for their dodgy finish but my bike was reasonable because it'd been resprayed, fitted with plastic guards and Japanese electrics. That eliminated all the most common quick decay points. It looked smart enough to past the MOT with only a cursory inspection.
Luckily, the inspector never rode the bike. He would have had a fit, as the front forks were very strange. There was sod all damping, every time they hit some minor ripples in the road, the wheel would bounce up and down for hundreds of yards. If a big bump was hit whilst in this mode then it'd feel like my arms were being yanked out of my body.
The V50 has a minimal tubular frame which gains most of its strength from using the motor as a stressed member to the extent that the swinging arm's mounted on the back of the engine. It's strong with good geometry, the wild machinations of the front end failing to throw us off the road. My body, rather than the chassis, took most of the pounding not helped any by a pair of Marzocchi shocks that were so stiff they seemed to have been designed for a 100hp, 600lb behemoth rather than a 35hp, 350lb little vee twin.
The tyres were worn Pirellis that even on a dry road seemed marginal. Especially with the way the front end wandered all over the place. In town I had great trouble keeping to an accurate line through narrow gaps between cars. A great pity because the V50 was light, reasonably slim and very relaxed to ride in town. The latter from an engine that could be best described as cheerful rather than powerful, able to run at most revs in most gears.
Even the throttle wasn't quite in the ultra-heavy league for which Guzzis are famous, a combination of non-standard throttle, nylon cable lining and lighter springs in the carbs. Had the engine not been endowed with an easy going nature, fighting a path through the crunchy gearbox would've been tiresome, but in town I tended to leave the box in third for most of the time.
Even at slow speeds it was dead easy to lock up the back wheel on downchanges, such was the directness of the shaft drive and the need to perfectly match engine revs with road speed. This was even more trauma inducing on the open road, when a locked wheel at 50mph when banked over on worn tyres was a quick way to slide right off the road. I saved myself twice with a rapid, almost involuntary, body twitch. Even if it meant riding across the brow of the road with an out of control front end!
I thought I'd better do something about the handling before I killed myself. The front wheel was heavily corroded, the calipers felt like they were seizing up, the discs were on the way out and the forks were pitted with rust, along with leaking seals and blown dampers. That added up to a whole new front end. Various breakers were telephoned until a newish V75 front end was offered for £125. It went on with a bit of mild persuasion from my boot after I'd put on a set of gaiters just to be on the safe side.
The transformation was well worth the money and effort. The bike tracked beautifully, could be hauled over until my boots were worn away and braked (with the normal Guzzi linked set-up) with unusual power and predictability. It felt like a brand new bike by way of comparison.
The Guzzi fell over three times due to a stupid side-stand that retracted with stupendous force every time the weight was taken off the bike. It was so sensitive that a gust of wind would cause it to operate. This was supposed to be a safety factor, stopping you riding off with the stand up but it was such a pain that I changed the spring and saved myself the cost of replacing the indicators every other week.
Another weekly chore was tappet and carb adjustments, both easy enough to accomplish but as I was only doing 300 miles it made me think twice about going touring but necessity overcame caution. The first 250 mile session went well enough. I was able to appreciate the comfort offered by the clear windscreen someone had thoughtfully fitted and the way the motor would plod along at a steady 75 to 80mph.
Higher speeds were not really plausible, unless the road was exceptionally long and downhill, when 85 or 90mph was possible. Into heavy winds or up hills I was sometimes down to 70 or even 65mph, although the deep exhaust note was pleasantly relaxing. Except when changing down through the box, the shaft drive was a virtuous element in the motorcycle's touring poise.
The rest of the 1200 mile journey was marred by the way performance began to drop off and some very strange noises emanating from the OHV vee-twin. By the time I was back home the engine had enough rattles to shame its main rival, the CX500. The problem was shared with the CX, a noisy camchain. The V50 didn't suffer any tensioner problems for the simple reason that, unlike later models, there wasn't one fitted. It's about an hour's job to put in a new camchain, which is conveniently fitted at the front of the engine.
I don't know if riding on a worn camchain was the cause of subsequent burning of the exhaust valves, but it's quite a common V50 failure. I was pretty annoyed as I'd always done regular tappet checks but at least I caught it early enough to get away with regrinding the valve seats and fitting a couple of used valves. The clock read 47000 miles when this occurred but I've heard of them going at as little as 15000 miles! Usually when tappet checks are neglected.
I went back to using the bike as my daily commuter, a task to which it was eminently well suited. A round trip of 40 miles a day through a mixture of dense traffic and fast A-roads. I never lacked for speed nor agility and the bike was turning in 50 to 55mpg. I would've preferred twice that but considering the original purchase price I couldn't complain too loudly.
Disc pads are rumoured to wear out quickly, but it wasn't a problem I encountered. I tended to ride on the throttle, setting the bike up by looking ahead. Closing the throttle would produce impressive engine braking of enough force to wobble the back wheel in bends! After a month or so I'd adapted to the V50's directness of transmission, was able to ride very smoothly with little reference to the brakes, although it was nice to know that they were there when some car driver went over the top. That smoothness perhaps explains how I was getting over 12000 miles out of a set of Pirellis.
The V50 ran on and on for over a year until 64000 miles were completed. Coming home one night there was a chuff-chuff noise coming up from by my right knee. The mill felt like it was running on one cylinder but it got me home. The cylinder head gasket was blowing. I tightened down the head, not forgetting to reset the tappets but it only lasted for 30 miles. A new head gasket was needed. When I took the head off I didn't like the look of the bore but put the motor back together. 125 miles later, the other side did exactly the same trick but I'd already bought a gasket just in case.
From then on it was downhill all the way. The engine seemed to have reached its service limits. Valves, rockers, pistons, bores and finally the crankshaft itself. I'd kept fitting used stuff, of which there was a surprising surplus in breakers, to keep her going to 71000 miles when the main bearings were shot. By then the gearchange was almost unusable and I suspected that the whole thing would need a complete and utter rebuild. Too expensive to contemplate.
The chassis was still in good nick, it seemed a pity to throw the bike in the nearest skip. A private ad revealed a crashed Mk 3 with an 18000 mile motor that could be heard running. When he agreed to take £150 for the whole bike, delivered to my door, I went for it. I haven't done the swap yet, but have high hopes.
Martin Grossman
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The bike was parked amid a pile of other used stuff outside a Guzzi dealer in Rome. When I saw it I knew I'd have to buy it. The military version of the V50, in mud green with massive side-racks and a set of crash bars that would take the sides off cars. Very nice. Guzzi still churn them out of the factory to order. This one had done 30,000 miles, hard to tell its age as all the docs were in Italian and it had a new set of civilian plates.
A brief test ride showed up some significant differences over stock. The suspension was as stiff and unyielding as a seventies Ducati instead of the soggy V50 standard stuff. The bike accelerated harder than a stock V50 but died a death come 7500rpm. The dealer looked a bit disturbed by the way I tested the transmission with a massive wheelie but managed a wide smile when I handed over the equivalent of £500.
I don't know how much they cost new but I can't help but feel that Guzzi UK are missing out on a big market with despatchers and people who want alternative transport. The cycle parts are basic V50 but painted in a dull green that gives it a kind of functional chic that would turn heads down the Kings Road. If they could churn them out for 3000 notes a throw they'd make a real killing.
The Italians drive like their machoness depends upon it, so the crash bars, that protruded outside my limbs were brilliant. I could ride through the traffic without a care in the world, leaving a long line of damaged cars in my wake. The traffic was so intense that there was no way they could hope to catch me. One guy tried hopping along the pavement, waving an iron bar above his head, but a brief burst of throttle soon saw him off. Laugh? I could hardly wait to ride the thing back to London.
I found some ex-army gear, togged up in that I really confused the peasants and the police. The odd porker would go into a whistle blowing, arm waving frenzy but nothing ever happened when I ignored him or gave him a cheery wave. The high and wide bars were comfort personified as I went about my various chores in Rome.
Some kind soul had fitted twin discs out front, with Brembo calipers that had a fierce action. I wasn't exactly overjoyed to realise that the pads were worn down to the metal. I'd thought all the rattling was down to the tappets being out of adjustment in the vee twin engine. Two sets of pads only cost ten quid, so my ill-humour was quickly dissipated.
It came back when the front wheel spindle refused to come out. A curious crowd of youths gathered to watch me do a John Cleese on the spindle with the hammer. It finally shot out at about 50mph and whacked into the ankle of one of the onlookers.
After that trauma I decided to leave town. The sweltering June heat was becoming a bit much, the cooling breeze of an autostrada would be ideal. I'd given the motor and chassis a cursory glance over. Nothing much wrong there. What I hadn't expected was that the bike was going to top out at 80mph, feeling happier at 70mph. Doing this kind of speed on an Italian autostrada is rather like riding a C50 in the motorway fast lane. Just about every cretin in the universe, including midgets in Fiat 500's, will sit an inch from your numberplate, hand firmly placed on the horn.
I took the first turn off, seeking relative sanity on the minor roads. Luckily, I was in no great hurry to make it back to the UK, where the horrors of despatching awaited. Had a grand old time doing a couple of hundred miles a day. Stopped off in any towns that took my fancy, had long lunches of good food and cheap wine, dropping the odd line of chatter on indifferent women half my age. If you keep trying you eventually get lucky!
In times past, importing a bike into Blighty would've been a horror story. With a couple of weeks road dust obscuring the pseudo military nature of the bike and the Wop numberplate, I rode through a largely deserted customs lane without any sense of fear. Always, in such circumstances, it's important to envisage yourself as being invisible! Zen rules. Its always useful to have a foreign registered bike in the UK as the cops usually give up in disgust and the wardens ain't got a clue where to send the tickets. Neat!
Whilst blatting up the motorway to London, in the slow lane, there was a sudden, violent increase in exhaust note. The engine tried to cut out as well and some cager went berserk on his horn. It seemed an opportune moment to roll on to the hard shoulder. Oops, half the right-hand silencer had fallen off.
Having an exhaust fly at him at 70mph had unhinged the following cager, who'd now pulled in front of me and seemed to be frothing at the mouth. I just had time to unfurl my tyre iron from my pack. Waving it in his face seemed to do the trick and he waddled back to the auto full of oaths and curses. As the downpipes were linked under the engine, I knocked the remnants of the silencer back into the pipe, so that it was almost completely closed off.
This minor mod allowed the V50 up to 85mph, also making it a bit snappier at lower revs. Once home, the silencer was completely removed and the end of the downpipe welded up. Not the most elegant repair, perhaps, but it worked exceedingly well.
An urgent need to make a couple of thousand notes meant I was back in the DR game the following day. Too many despatchers were agog at the V50 Militare, demanding to know where they could buy one and making me promise to sell them mine when I'd tired of it.
I should've taken the money and run. What I hadn't expected was the summer rains. A couple of months in Italy had made me forget all about the vagaries of English weather. The first drop of water had the Guzzi cutting on to one cylinder then going completely dead. I churned the starter over so much that day that the battery ended up warped and as flat as day old beer.
Tearing off the tank and panels, that night, revealed a dreadful mess of wiring, connectors, relays feeding into relays, and some very unconventional colour coding. Aarggh! It was four o'clock in the morning before I got to bed, having almost set the bike alight once and still not having any lights or indicators that worked.
The next couple of days there was no rain, but the engine showed a peculiar reluctance to stop when I turned the ignition key off, which was caused by various bits of the lock having fallen apart. Who needs an ignition switch, I muttered to myself after tearing all the relevant wires out during the dinner break. I didn't get any lunch that day, just a bollocking from the controller for not being ready for work when he had hundreds of collections he wanted done yesterday. No sense of place some people.
Apart from the electrics, the Guzzi was an almost perfect despatch hack. I felt so firmly planted on the lightweight and easily controllable V50 that I had no compunction about playing chicken with the cagers, swerving at the last moment. Giving them a glance of the fear inspiring crash bars had them frantically working their steering wheels in order to keep their cars intact.
Fuel worked at a surprising 62mpg, the shaft drive guaranteed that the bike could be neglected shamefully yet the thick green paint was so well applied that a jet-wash every week had the bike looking as good as ever. The only bit of chrome was on the stanchions and the discs, even the wheels and frame were painted green. Tyres were some block tread Pirellis that never appeared to wear but didn't get out of line on wet roads because there wasn't any wild power running through the transmission. The gearbox was typically aged Guzzi, which is better than a BMW but still a bit of an acquired art.
After two months of mutual abuse, with all the electrics sorted, I sold the Guzzi off to a grateful DR for nine hundred notes. I could probably have got a little more but with nearly 40 thou on the clock it was only a matter of time until the mechanicals turned malignant.
Anyone who likes the V50 will be happy with the Militare version, it takes the Guzzi experience a step closer to motorcycling essentials; if I come across another next time in Italy I shall certainly buy it.
Dick Lewis
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There I was in the summer of 1991, having been made redundant and no real clues as to what I was to do. Me and my trusty old XJ650 and sweet FA to do but ride around all day. To cut a long story short, she was getting long in the tooth, I was going back to college and needed another bike that would be relatively simple to live with regarding running and riding. Horror of horrors, I sold the XJ and bought a 1980 V50 Mk.2...In hindsight I must've been completely insane.
First thing to note was the riding position. Where I used to sit in the XJ, it felt as if I was perched on top of the bitch (the Guzzi, as she has come to be called on more than one occasion). Despite being a 500 she felt tiny in comparison with the XJ. The controls felt heavier and not so smooth, with the gearbox occasionally demonstrating the fact that unless a firm foot was used, several false neutrals could be found in that tractor-like gearbox. All was well until I'm giving her some gas out of a bend when the tacho needle went ape and forward motion just wasn't happening. Whip the clutch in, stomp her into third, clench my cheeks and hang on as the back end kicks out with the torque reaction.
It was quite hairy until I became used too it. No sense of feedback; probably makes a 500 GP bike look quite tame. It scares the crap out of cagers - quite useful really because they back off thinking I'm two or three short of a six pack. The biggest difference I noticed between owning a Jap machine and the bitch is the amount of TLC it requires. She's just so demanding and the quality of the finish and the reliability of some of the parts leaves something to be desired.
My first taste of serious maintenance was a strip down during a holiday from college. There was an oil leak from the gearchange shaft which was getting to be a pain in the backside, so without the aid of a manual or a safety net, I set about disconnecting the clutch, throttle cables, rear suspension, etc and lifted away the top half of the frame, leaving the engine plus gearbox with the frame lowers and swinging arm. The remaining bits were removed to leave the engine and gearbox. The gearbox was removed, and with the help of my dad ferried down to a Guzzi shop near Nottingham, who stripped the box and replaced the knackered seal.
I rebuilt the bitch, took her for a blast to find I could only get her up to third gear (with much difficulty) so it was another trip down to Nottingham to have the gearbox stripped and reassembled - the problem was due to a component being fitted the wrong way round. The part looked no different either way, but a second rebuild later she was running fine once again.
I went back to college in London, where she wasn't really used all that much apart from several weekend blasts to Buckinghamshire and Essex. My biggest problem in London was the rapid demise of the chrome on the left-hand silencer; I'm sure it was only the rust holding the thing together. I did have a blast down to Brighton one afternoon only to have the clutch cable snap (mind you, the cable had been repaired rather than replaced previously). Much fun was then had while riding back into Central London without a clutch and trying to time the traffic lights.
I got a bit cheesed off in London and decided to go to college in Exeter so the bitch had a long haul down to not so sunny Devon. Again, she was little used as I was lacking the folding stuff because I was financing myself at university. For a few months she just sat outside the house gathering rust from whatever Devon could throw at her (especially in the silencer department) until I eventually decided to get her taxed and insured.
I ran her for a few months and then the MOT loomed. Failure! Only a couple of things - the headlamp switch and seized rear brake. The headlamp switch was easy, just connect the headlamp as it should have been (I'd reversed the connections because with the lights on the headlamp flasher activated dip beam which couldn't be seen with the lights on). The rear brake lever had seized in its bush and fixed by a good clean up combined with Araldite and grease. I managed to break the return spring but several heavy-duty elastic bands sufficed.
The silencer had to be replaced eventually for over 80 notes, which burnt a rather large hole in my pocket, but at least she looked fairly tidy. Until the day I went up to college and parked her up on the sidestand, a self-retracting type. I walked away and heard the twang of the spring, followed by the crash of the bitch hitting the deck. Damage was a dented new silencer, smashed front indicator and a broken clutch lever.
The starter motor played up every now and then as a result of water getting in the system, making the brush mounting plate somewhat rusted. Unfortunately, I made an error in thinking it was the battery on occasion and bought a new one to no avail. As a result I stripped the starter motor down, cleaned off as much rust as possible with the outcome a functional starter motor. I'm sure there is a seal missing in the motor, which of course, allows water to get in. Must check that one day.
A major headache was carb balancing as I didn't possess any gauges, had to do it by ear. Every now and again it used to be spot on; probably more by luck than by judgement. I can't have been far out because she used to regularly return around 50mpg when ridden at 80mph.
I did a marathon journey up to Yorkshire and on the return journey left a sidepanel somewhere on the M5 (which at a cost of £60 is still missing). This resulted from taking the panel off to find a nut to replace the one that had come off the exhaust flange, which had rattled along the downpipe.
I finished my studies in Exeter and moved to Canterbury for a job, so the bitch had another marathon journey cross country and coped without any major hassles. For a while, everything was hunkey-dorey until one (what suddenly was to become a not so very fine) day the bitch was nicked from the front of the house. Well, as you can imagine, I was absolutely gutted but managed to remain really quite rational for someone who had just had his pride and joy removed. I did get her back but had to spend the next couple of months stripping her down so I could give her a good sorting out. I had to replace the indicators and the instrument panel.
Having acquire a girlfriend up the M2 in Rainham the bike and I had to spend some time travelling up and down the motorway. A few problems have occurred in the last 12 months or so, namely a leaking seal in the drive box resulting in oil getting on to the rear disc and somewhat reducing my ability to halt forward motion.
A strip down was carried out and seals replaced with a few more problems thrown in just for good measure. In replacing the cover to the drive box, which also serves as a housing for the rear disc) I managed to break off a section where the rear caliper was mounted; fortunately, I managed to get it welded. Eventually, the rear end was assembled and fresh gear oil added but after a few hundred miles oil started finding its way out of the drive box again.
A mechanic friend reckoned it was quite normal when seals are replaced but I think it's a piss poor state of affairs and my girlfriend's dad thinks the seals are as much use as a solar powered vampire. As yet I haven't stripped the drive box down to fit proper industrial seals.
I recently took the bitch to a dealer for a carb balance but they couldn't do it and reckoned the engine was in a bad way. They also said that they had replaced a bolt on the left cylinder inlet as the original thread in the barrel had stripped, probably causing an air leak, and that the compression in both pots was well down.
I was thoroughly pissed off, thought they were talking complete bollocks as I had been blatting around at 80mph plus for a couple of years; performance just doesn't deteriorate overnight unless the motor goes bang. The week before I'd had all the valve gear out to regrind the valves and then had set the clearances. I checked the clearances only to find that they had all closed up, which explained the naff compression. I managed to balance the carbs by ear but since buying a set of gauges the job is a damn sight easier and now she ticks over a treat. Much better.
If ever you're in the mood to swap your Jap motorcycle for an Italian one I'd be inclined to think long and hard because looking after one takes rather more effort than just throwing tyres, oil and petrol at it. It takes a lot of TLC and a hell of a lot of patience...I knew I should have kept the XJ, it would make my girlfriend a lot happier because she says I'm always in a foul mood thanks to the bitch...I reckon she might have a point there!
Simmo