Moto Guzzi V75 (and lots more)

Way back in 1976 my elder brother Philip started me off on a riding career that has yet to end. Despite various experiences which should've been enough to put anyone with even half a brain cell off the thought of two-wheeled transport, my love affair with motorcycles continues to this day, due largely to one machine - a Guzzi 750T.

These experiences began with Philip buying a £5 wrecked Raleigh Wisp. With a great deal of ingenuity he managed to get this bicycle with an engine going. With skinny tyres, two stroke exhaust fumes and a ride lacking in any form of comfort, security or style, this motorised mess of mechanical bits and pieces whizzed around the local Gateway supermarket car park at all of 15mph. Fortunately, it never proved capable of reaching its potential top speed of 30mph - fortunately because its braking system consisted of the soles of whatever shoes the rider happened to be wearing at the time.

The Wisp's total lack of legality did not impede Philip's ability to sell it to a friend for the princely sum of £15. An experience of dealing in motorcycles which at the time failed to register with this impressionable youth. Meanwhile, it seems brother's early style has become a model for certain types of motorcycle dealer.

Philip then purchased a Honda CD175 - grey in colour, character and performance. Yet sitting on it in the garage when he was elsewhere provided that thrill - this was a motorcycle. I travelled more miles in my imagination in that garage than I suspect he did in reality. Being far more intelligent than he appeared he managed to gain a place at Leeds Poly, and this kept me away from his Honda. Being less intelligent than he appeared, he sold the Honda and bought a 650 Triton. Not a classy, well engineered Triton but a cobbled together bitsa Triton...

A real Triton may well be an explosion of noise, power and exhilarating handling but this one more often than not was just an explosion - a loud one at that. Even my father, once a tearaway himself in the early years of motorcycling and now slightly deaf in both ears could hear him coming down from Leeds once he passed Brum. Windows cracked, plaster fell from the ceiling and neighbours refused to acknowledge us for months after one of Philip's visits. Complete with pudding basin helmet, leather boots, gloves and jacket, he looked a prat. Cutting the sleeves off his Levi jacket completed his Malcolm wants to look like Ogri image.

That didn't stop me going for a ride on the back. What would've? Even fear didn't stop me! Philip blipped the throttle, I felt the vibrations in my gut from ten yards away. Anal muscles clenched, I swung my leg over the pillion. The seat lurched sickeningly backwards (the bastard didn't tell me it was only held on by a bungee cord) as I tried to find the footpegs - the next thing I knew was idiot brother slamming the bike into gear and letting out the clutch with an excessively large handful of throttle...leaving me hurtling backwards into the road as he sped off. The sky seemed a wondrous shade of blue.

In contrast to the raw, naked aggression, oil leaks and general tattiness of the Triton, the advertisements for Italian bikes in the bike press of the time featured glossy photo's of exotic and apparently sophisticated machinery. The Benelli Sei oozed six appeal, Laverda's Jota promised to put hairs on your chest, chin and upper lip, whilst strangely reminiscent of buxom females were the sticky-out bits of the Moto Guzzi. I watched the adverts change, the 850 series, California's, then the Le Mans...one day, I promised myself.

Much later, after the dark days of redundancy, I had a new job which paid the mortgage and a bit more. Revelling in my returning sense of security (falsely, as it later transpired), the sun shone, life was sweet and I was beginning to tire of the numerous problems associated with owning an elderly BMW R65 fitted with an RS fairing. Catching the bus to Frome to pick it up once more from Difazio's I wondered whether it might be time for a new bike.

Wandering through the shop I admired a small but impressive display of well restored and attractive BMW's, secondhand but all quality machines. Pausing to admire a very clean R90S, my eye caught a subtle change in shape, angle and colour...what was that lurking in the far corner? Dark, lustrous green in colour, complete with a high, wide and impressive screen, chrome gleaming and winking at me, and cylinder heads sticking out like - you know - a Guzzi!

A 750T, not quite a Le Mans, yet with those Guzzi styling notes that can be traced back to the days of the great Carlo himself. I felt my palms begin to sweat. K reg, less than 2000 miles on the clock, only six months old and £2999 compared to £3999 brand new. At this point I should've taken a long walk. However, the thought of owning a new bike, and a Guzzi at that, pulsed through my fevered brain...no more niggling problems, no more constant hassle.

'How much part-ex for my BMW?' I blurted out. Recognizing the gleaming eyes, perspiring forehead and sweaty palms of a soon to be Guzzi fanatic, like a patient grandfather with an idiot grandson, Richard Difazio wisely advised we sort out the BMW, that I talk to my wife, before I did anything rash rather than talk to her later through Relate or, more expensively still, through solicitors.

I rode home on the BMW later that day, my mind in a whirl. I began to dream Guzzi, read up on Guzzi, found out all the expected hassles and problems of the marque, which is, shall we say, renown for certain foibles. I did the sums, argued with myself for and against, talked to people who knew something (or so I thought) about Guzzi's. I arranged a test ride, inviting my wife along, hoping she would counter any foolish, naive, simplistic tendencies that occur whenever men swing their legs across inviting new machinery, allowing unscrupulous dealers to take advantage of their prey like an eagle would of a particularly dim-witted rabbit. Shown the controls, we headed off into the Somerset countryside...

Whilst sharing a pushrod operated overhead valve engine with the BMW, the Guzzi mill felt totally different. The Guzzi feels far more relaxed, requiring fewer revs to punch it forward. Both engines produce similar horsepower (46, I believe) yet the BMW weighed 100lbs more, making it feel heavy and sluggish in town. Once on the move, however, the BMW could reach and sustain 80-90mph cruising speeds with comfort and little stress. Even two-up, the BMW coped well with motorway journeys, the fairing providing excellent streamlining for the rider and aiding fuel conservation. The passenger, however, found their head in a turbulent eddy, which over longer distances was tiring.

The Guzzi tooled along quite happily at 4000 revs in top, equalling 70mph. Above this it became quite crisp, pulling strongly from 70-90mph, and able to do this comfortably even with passenger and luggage. Neither bike can be considered quick by modern standards yet both proved very able at the tasks for which they were designed. The Guzzi's power delivery offered a more relaxed, responsive ride, though if pushed too hard it complained by weeping oil mist from various gaskets. Torque reaction through the shaft drives of the two bikes was initially strange, yet was soon easily accommodated into the riding style.

The 350lb Guzzi was easily manoeuvred in traffic, its comfortable handlebars, riding position, relaxed yet positive power and supple suspension contrasting with the flatter bars, harder and harsher ride of the BMW. Instrumentation and switchgear on the BMW was more sophisticated, the Guzzi lacking ammeter and clock, the latter on the BMW often draining the battery. The windshield on the Guzzi, whilst lacking the looks of the BMW's fairing, provided excellent protection for both rider and pillion, with no turbulence problems, though the rider's knees were exposed.

Both the BMW and the Guzzi provide riding experiences far removed from those of Japanese machines. Both offer a combination of characteristics - engines, frames, suspension, brakes and handling - that are very individual and unique. Having ridden a number of Japanese bikes of various makes and models, found them (or some of them) to be good machines, I can only offer the following perspective. The BMW and the Guzzi take longer to get to know, get better to ride the more you get to know them, and encourage you to ride them better, not faster, the longer you know them...

After 30-odd miles of Somerset A, B and C roads, we headed back to Difazio's. Without making a decision we returned home on the BMW, the bike feeling strange, harsh and lacking subtlety. Over a week went by discussing the pro's and con's. A new bike versus one that was gaining problems (like my waist was gaining pounds and my hair an ever greyer tint)? Screen versus fairing? What about the cost of spares and the quality of finish? Ever notice that BMW wheels and engine casings never look dirty? Would the servicing costs be less and pillion comfort more? Not to mention Guzzi's universal joints...

Returning to Difazio, any questions I had were ably answered and 750T became mine. The deal arranged and fixed I went home, had lunch, and so to work. In August 1997 I part-ex'd the 750T for a Guzzi 1000S at Three Cross Motorcycles in Dorset. As I write an enlarged photograph of the 750T hangs, framed, on the wall. Why? I hear you ask?

Surely the 750T is a nothing bike by modern standards, no power, no looks, no handling, no finish? Yet, owning a motorcycle is not solely about these things. For me, the 750T was a great bike, more than the sum of its parts. Garaged for the first two years I owned it, serviced regularly at reasonable rates, commuting daily and with two-up weekend runs, its mileage soon mounted. The more miles done, the sweeter and more willing the engine became, the deeper the exhaust note and with liberal doses of polish and elbow grease the finish held up to the weather. Brake pad wear was negligible, the linked Brembo system with cast iron discs providing secure, progressive braking with superb feel, helping tyre life reach 10,000-plus miles.

The relaxed power delivery of the 744cc engine and the live feel to the brakes and suspension contrasts sharply with the dullness of many Japanese bikes. The gears seemed well matched, the clutch light and the changes were smooth and easy. No booting this baby through the gears, my left foot was always able to feel the cogs engaging and disengaging. Engine and gearbox combined to give more than enough oomph at all times to get myself both into and out of trouble. The adjustable suspension front and back contributed to safe, comfortable roadholding.

By 1995 my life was again on the change and for the Guzzi this meant no more garage and the unwelcome attention of incompetent car drivers, resulting in it being knocked over. The screen proved itself a blessing, taking most of the damage. From being virtually pristine, the 750T was rapidly becoming tatty. Travelling 80 miles a day on teaching practice, living outside in all weathers, the bike began to complain.
Firstly, a coil self-destructed, leaving me to limp from Haslemere to Twickenham on one cylinder. Sorted out quickly and cheaply by CBS Motorcycles of Whitton, the bike returned to the fray, only for the bevel drive to self-destruct at 70mph on the A3. Very expensive noises filled my ears then my dreams, my nightmares, consisted of pound notes evacuating my bank account faster than Tutsi leaving Ruanda.

With the help of my late mother (financial) and Richard Difazio (trailer and technical) the 750T was restored and back on the road. The engine, gearbox, exhaust, frame, suspension and wheels performing well, whilst the painted plastic parts, chrome and saddle were beginning to resemble the different factories that contributed to the manufacturing of the bike - ie, all pulling in different directions. Paint on the centrestand started to wash off, while the beautiful black painted rocker covers suddenly became white and ugly.

With the return (eventually) of some kind of financial stability in 1996, the 750T gained some judicious restoration, a cover and a safe place to spend its nights. My new partner boldly suggested it could take us and luggage to North Wales for a holiday. Accommodation for the week booked, the 750T coped with 250 miles of varying roads, no problem. Like many women, my partner's interpretation of travelling light was redefined by this experience - the grabrail proving a handy place to take some of the weight of a rucksack filled with hairdryer, too many clothes and various other assorted feminine bits, bobs and doodahs.

The Guzzi seemed to love the roads of Snowdonia - good surfaces, relatively little traffic, with lots of ups and downs, and nice twisty bits. Speed traps abound for the unwary tourist, though the natives seemed friendly and genuinely interested in the 750T. Parked next to Carnarvon Castle, it attracted a fair number of people, who probably presumed it to be a 13th century relic of profound religious value. The bike's finish proved reasonably stable in the rain of a North Wales summer and the holiday passed too quickly, the Guzzi flying back to London at an average fuel consumption of 60mpg.

One result of the excess weight carried was that the rear suspension allowed the back wheel to chew through the rear light and indicator wires tucked up inside the mudguard, and tyre wear increased. The seat cover, too, had begun to part from its anchorages under the seat. A spot of nifty gluing stopped this, though the rear light and indicators needed a professional rewiring job by Difazio.

Back in commuter-land, the 750T proved nippy in traffic, comfortable and practical, maintaining a 50-60mpg average. Then the starter motor packed up. Guzzi electric boots are apparently very rare (as in expensive) and although very easy to bump-start when hot, the decision was taken to replace it rather than to entertain the neighbours in the morning and any of my pupils sneaking a crafty fag behind the sheds after school.

Coming up for MOT in 1997, the Guzzi needed new tyres (£100), a rear indicator, bracket tightening and that appeared to be it. A slight oil weep from the front right hand fork seemed to be nothing, or so I thought. A stone had damaged the chrome, the jagged metal had begun to damage the fork seal. One week later the hard work and incredible patience and skills of the mechanic at Chessington Motorcycles had stripped the front end, replaced the fork seals and put everything back together copiously Coppaslipped. Thus did the bike get its MOT.

Unfortunately, there was no guarantee that the fork seals wouldn't suffer in the future, so with my house in Wiltshire sold by my soon to be ex-wife (when I get the money, she'll get her divorce) the time was approaching when I would need, and be able to afford, a new bike. Sorry, a new Guzzi. Why? Buy one, ride it, look after it, get to know and love it...I wish my 750T was still outside, now, parked next to its big brother.

Julian Andrews