My head was reeling from the list of modifications made. The logbook said it was a 1981 Ducati 500 Pantah. The owner insisted it had a 600 engine, pointing to a large box that contained the remnants of a wrecked 500 mill. The forks and shocks were off something else, apparently much stiffer than the puny stockers. He didn't seem sure if the wheels were original or not. The plastic certainly wasn't, racing thin replica stuff in dull maroon. The seat was just a bit of bare foam that had been roughly cut and glued in place. The electrics had been ‘upgraded’ with Jap stuff that looked like it came straight from a CD175, but despite that the lights didn’t work.
The bike howled into life, bellowing at tickover courtesy of straight through silencers that had more than a passing resemblance to drainpipes. The owner enthusiastically twisted the throttle, I watched amazed as the tacho needle flicked deep into the red. I rolled around on the floor with my hands over my ears waiting for the flimsy garage to collapse about me. I was dumbfounded that the noise hadn’t destroyed every bit of glass within a mile. Helmet on, tickover merely purgatory after that, I gently rode off up the road.
The bike had the most sensitive throttle I've ever come across. Coupled with an engine that supposedly boasted race components, and junking of inessentials like stands, indicators and pillion pegs, the Pantah roared up the road in a series of wild lurches as I hastily backed off and then gently opened the hair-trigger throttle. Whatever, it went like a pocket rocketship, handling was stable yet light and the brakes almost sent the bike into a series of cartwheels.
Back at the vendor’s I offered £1250 instead of the two grand he was demanding. Despite its appalling state and noise, even old Pantahs are expensive things to buy. We settled on £1475 plus several boxes of spares and free delivery to my home 26 miles away. There was no way I could ride the bike in that state, I was bound to be pulled over and non-existent insurance and MOT documents demanded.
I live out in the country, so next day felt fairly safe in riding the Pantah. What a bike. The engine was in a hot state of tune, no doubt about that. The cams were so wild that it wouldn’t run in fourth or fifth below five grand, the point at which it came on cam, hitting yet more delicious V-twin power at 7000 revs, sending the tacho needle deep into the red at 9500rpm. I gloried in the acceleration, having stuffed my ears full of cotton wool to ameliorate the otherwise deafening bellow at full whack.
The Pantah must be one of the best handling bikes on conventional suspension. With all the bits torn off, and the thin GRP, it couldn’t have weighed more than 350lbs, which obviously helped a lot. With low clip-ons and rear-sets, I found I was immediately part of the machine with vast amounts of feedback from the Pirelli tyres. I could lean the thing over until my knee touched down and know full well that there was still a bit of grip left between the tread and tarmac.
Even with the wild power delivery and twitchy throttle, the machine could be safely powered out of corners like nothing else I've experienced. To cap it all, riding fast over the very bumpy straights belied its sheer flickability by impressing me with its on rails like stability. I was able to put 135mph on the speedo in no time at all, the only thing spoiling the good times was the way the thin GRP vibrated furiously, the perspex screen all but flattening out in the massive gale created by the machine.
Back home I was delighted with the machine but my head was throbbing with a terrible headache from the noise despite the cotton wool. There was a huge pool of oil under the engine, the rear cylinder head gasket was leaking copiously. I found it impossible to access the cylinder head bolts with my limited toolkit, so was forced to drop the engine out. This revealed that the top members of the frame had been welded (presumably after snapping) and braced with additional steel sheet...
While I was at it, I decided that the half fairing could be dumped and an old but working Bonnie headlamp fitted. The wiring proved simple enough to work on, as the previous owner had radically simplified the loom by junking most of the electrical components. The reason the lights didn‘t work, I later found out, was because the generator wasn’t putting out its full power - the battery would gradually drain if you were foolish enough to actually expect to ride the machine at night with the lights on.
I found a pair of old Pantah silencers amid the boxes of spares and bunged these on in place of the drainpipes. The machine took about ten minutes to growl into life and ran very rough below 5000 revs, refusing to exceed 7500rpm. With working lights and relatively quiet exhaust I took the bike for an MOT, which was granted despite the lack of horn and stoplight. Riding there and back proved interesting as the limited rev range meant slipping the clutch was mandatory. Back home I was not that surprised by the strong burning smell which the next day revealed itself to be a knackered clutch. No problem, the boxes of spares provided a solution.
The carbs were running without a filter, so I tried putting the old one back on. The engine refused to run. There weren't any other carbs or jets so | was forced to fit the drainpipes back on and buy a pair of proper earplugs. These were slightly more effective than the cotton wool; I was able to do about 15 minutes of riding before suffering from an horrendous headache. I had to take the bike for a quick, mad blast and then pull over for five minutes recovery... the bike was totally impractical and liable to cause normally sedated citizens to go into a frenzy of curses (not that I could hear them!).
Vibration was also a problem. In theory a 90 degree V-twin should have perfect primary balance and a slight rocking couple from the out of line conrods. In practice my bike was so heavily tuned that vibes thrummed through the machine (that slab of foam absorbed absolutely nothing) from tickover upwards, going into a frenzy as the rediine was crossed... the carbs needed setting every 200 miles to stop the vibes from becoming unbearable. Nothing fell off because most of the bolts were wired in position, as per racing practice.
I| tried to avoid heavy traffic whenever possible. In the lower gears I still had not mastered the throttle and the looks I received were one step short of forming a lynching party. Back road riding was the machine’s forte where it could excel in speed, acceleration, braking and handling. I have never had so much fun on a bike on those tight, intricate series of bends so beloved of road makers of times past. Motorway sorties were OK, I could get my head down between the clocks and the wind howled over my helmet with the speedo stuck way past the ton. Even then the exhaust bellow was still omnipresent.
I suppose I did about 2000 miles before becoming totally pissed off with the machine. It never had any mechanical problems save for the clutch, needing a pint of oil every 100 miles and doing only 28mpg! Obviously, a stock Pantah would be a hell of a lot more practical but in the few months I had the machine prices seemed to go up to ever more absurd heights. I was able to sell my bike for £1975 within five hours of the advert appearing!
The purchaser told me I had just sold him a bike with one of the rarer 650 engines, which alone was worth a couple of grand. He was evidently used to Italian iron, as he didn’t seem to notice the exhaust bellow, and roared off with a horribly, insane grin. | was glad to have got shot of the machine at a profit before | went permanently deaf.
Alex Gray