I’d hankered after a big Ducati ever since I could remember and particularly since Mike Hailwood stomped over all and sundry on the Sports Motorcycles Ducati in the 1978 TT. I didn’t have to check my bank balance to know that there was absolutely no chance of me being able to afford a half decent 900SS, but that hadn’t stopped me looking in the past, so I rang around likely dealers and eventually located an 11 month old example at a shop 30 miles away.
That night I restlessly formulated my plans. I was a relatively responsible person as far as the bank was concerned and I felt sure that they wouldn’t mind lending me the money for this new Ford Escort as my old Mini (read BMW) was getting a bit long in the tooth. The next day, after ten minutes of telling blatant lies and hoping that my shoes didn’t still smell of petrol, the assistant manager agreed to help... As arranged, the mechanic was going to follow me on a well used Jota, it amused me that they should deem it necessary but it made sense to use a Jota as it was probably the fastest bike on the road - in a straight line. I turned on the Duke’s ignition and eased the kickstart onto compression, then just over. My first bike was a Tiger Cub, the next a Velo single, so I’d had a long apprenticeship at kickstarting. I took one lunge at the lever and it fired. It was probably at this point that the bike was sold.
What a glorious sound these bikes make on open bellmouths and Contis, be it ticking over or on full song through the Dartford tunnel. The sound of the Jota was entirely drowned and I forgot him completely as I snicked into first and pulled out onto the road. The first half mile had a 30mph limit, and I treated the bike as gently as possible in respect of this and of being on a strange and valuable motorcycle.
At the edge of town I eased up the speed, the sound of the Contis grumbling behind me. The road was twisty and smooth but unfamiliar, even so the bike took it all in its stride. It felt so taut and safe, particularly when compared to the armchair springing of the BMWs that I’d been used to.
After 5 to 6 miles I had tasted enough to know that I could live quite happily without valve springs, so slowed to a halt to do a U-tum. When I looked around, the road was clear with no sign of my chaperone. I turned the bike around and set off, thinking that the Laverda may have run out of petrol or something. Just then he came hurtling around the corner with more than a touch of wobble emanating from the rear end. He also turned around to follow me back.
Back at the shop I asked him where he’d got to. He muttered something about early Jotas and quickly changed the subject. There was no doubt that this was the bike for me and we quickly struck a deal whereby they took £100 less than the asking price.
When I picked the SS up and rode home, the bike was perfection itself. Seductive in every respect, it looked, sounded, cruised and stopped exactly right. Only one slight annoyance reared its head on that first trip - on the BMW with its sit up and sneer riding position you’re looking straight out of the centre of your eyeball sockets, on the Ducati you are effectively looking upwards due to your forward inclination.
No problem, you may think, but with the secret ingredient of hard contact lenses it can be uncomfortable. Strangely enough, this phenomenon only occurred during the first week or so. After that, possibly due to the bike realigning my head, I never noticed it again.
I picked the bike up on a Friday and spent the remainder of the day and the Saturday running around locally. My girlfriend of the time was absolutely knocked out with it, despite the less than generous pillion perch. Even after getting used to it some weeks later, we went on a long fast trip to a pub, On arrival she dismounted, removed her helmet and uttered, ’that bike is just amazing!’ It is undoubtedly a combination of factors which make up the experience that is a ride on a 900SS, not least of which is the noise it makes. On the Sunday, I decided to go to a Cadwell racing meet, 130 miles away with a Matchless owning mate on the back. The Duke lapped up the road towards the A1 in top gear with not a hint of effort or stress, and we settled down to a half hour blast up the A1 to Grantham. It was not to be however, as I changed down to third to take a roundabout, some 30 miles from home, the gearbox refused to reselect fourth. I slowed down while trying to change up, but to no avail.
I had a three speed gearbox. I changed down to second, no problem except it wouldn’t go back into third. When I changed down to first the inevitable happened. I now had a 900cc desmo V-twin of thunderous power which was geared to redline at 40mph. Having little idea of the internals and no suitable tools, there was nothing for it but to return home at 20mph, whilst making a cacophony fit for the Sulby Straight. Ever felt a prat? The dealer found a loose grub screw which was fouling the selector mechanism; a dab of Loctite and a twist of an allen key restored full movement.
The odometer showed only 2000 miles when I bought it and throughout the time I had it, I adhered strictly to the maintenance schedule of five litres, SAE 40 oil changes every 1000 miles. Every ride thereafter became an adventure, and I don’t believe I had one bad ride on it. I visited my grandmother in hospital on the south coast soon after I’d bought it and on the way back had a run in with a Saab Turbo. The speed crept up until I passed the car, tucked in behind the fairing with the throttle open wide and 155mph on the clock. It makes a good story even without exaggerating, but after that I came to regard the speedo as a legal ornament about as useful as a solar powered calculator in a coal-mine.
However, the bike was fast, there was no doubt about that, and I came to the realisation that if I was approaching anything like the bike’s limits, I was going much too fast for the public roads. In fact, I entered the bike into an open road class race organised by the Velo Owners Club, of which I was still a member. Practice passed by without event except that it became clear that heaven must be a very similar place. I deliberately fluffed the start of the race so that I could at least get into the swing before coming across any traffic. As the race went on, my braking went from sedate to demonic, my revs spent more time around the redline, and I picked off more and more other riders. The bike was indescribable, those who have raced will undoubtedly know what I mean. The 900SS was doing what it was best at without a doubt.
I went onto the grass when I tried to accelerate with an LC, on a damp patch under some trees, the back end stepped out dramatically, but I caught it, straightened up and went onto the grass. I didn’t lose balance until just above walking pace, enough to crack my screen and break the front brake lever. My race was over, but to my astonishment, so was everyone else's. I had come off on the last corner of the last lap. I had been circulating quick enough to win a second class award. The race was to see how many laps you could do in a certain time. When I got back to the paddock I was as high as a kite.
A replacement lever was cannibalized from a new GS850, and for the rest of the meeting the Ducati and I got faster and smoother with every lap. I returned home several hours later; still elated. Soon afterwards I took the bike to the TT and had some really great rides only spoilt by the Marzocchi shocks expiring. One of the things that had struck me about the day to day running of the bike was that it consistently returned 10-15mpg more than my R100/7 with more performance to boot. This, however, was more than offset by the grossly expensive and frequent oil changes. After returning from the Island, I entrusted the bike to a Ducati specialist to shim the valves and gas flow the inlet tracts. When I got the heads back, the ports had the texture of silk and were a treat to behold.
I didn’t really believe that the engine could be made to perform better just by smoothing a couple of tubes, so I was quite taken aback on my first stomp up the road. The engine sounded mellower and pulled stronger and smoother throughout the rev range. The gas flowing really had made a significant difference. The SS performed brilliantly for several more thousand miles until one evening when I was doing a short local run, I felt a very slight hint that all was not we in the gearbox. I slowed, but the symptom disappeared and I made a mental note to check the oil level
I turned onto a main road and accelerated gently through the gears. After a couple of minutes cruising at legal speeds, a most horrendous crunching sound came from beneath me. I quickly pulled in the clutch but the grating remained until the bike came to a standstill. The problem was definitely the gearbox, it was seized. When I split the crankcases, I found the outer race of one of the layshaft bearings had broken taking with it part of the casing, which I had welded and machined to take a new bearing.
By 1982, when I went racing again, there were things like big Katanas that could take the Duke on speed. In the race the bike started to slow down and something didn’t feel quite right so I nursed it around the track. On the next ride it felt decidedly rough, something I didn’t wish to contemplate meant loads of dosh would be needed. Again, I stripped the engine to find what I had feared - knackered big-ends.
The ensuing problems with a bunch of cowboys masquerading as Ducati specialists and the expense of a crank rebuild and having other gearbox horrors rectified, made me realise I could not use the bike both on the road and for racing. After the rebuild, I couldn’t face the expense of any more problems so sold the Ducati. I had done 12000 miles at 17.6p/mile.
I’ve known cheaper. forms of transport but few so satisfying. With the proceeds I bought a BMW R90s, CB250RS and a racing RD250LC. Ironically, now six, years later, because of my young family my motorcycle mileage has reduced to such a level as to be within the capabilities of a 900SS I can’t bloody afford one.
Mike Belcher