First impressions were terrible. An impossibly heavy clutch. An engine that tried to rumble its way out of the frame. A tall seat height and top heavy feel that threatened rupture. Tickover was transient but the starter still worked. I wobbled home, so out of it that I left the box in second. The front discs were so vicious that I had to rely on the back brake and engine braking.
An hour late I'd done the 30 miles to my home. Absolutely exhausted I slung the triple in the garage and slunk into the house. Next morning she wouldn't start. There was a strong smell of battery acid. The bloody thing had split and been repaired with some kind of glue and tape. It took me a week to buy a replacement battery and persuade her into life again. At least the cutting out at tickover had disappeared.
The rusty, straight through silencers made a demented bellow that had all my neighbours running around looking for the army manoeuvres. They would certainly have to be replaced with something quieter if I was to avoid being lynched. My son was despatched to the breakers to look for a likely pair of silencers and returned with a set of unknown providence. They were well baffled and I knew, at worst, that they would just make the engine run hot. My son fitted them in about an hour and the resultant lack of noise was most welcome.
I now felt free to roar off up the road. Below 50mph the Jota felt horrible. Head shaking, vibration, an awkward, top heavy feel and massive muscle expended keeping it under control. I tried to ignore the heavy clutch but that made the gearbox feel like it was falling apart. I later found that the chain was worn out and the sprockets hooked, which amplified the change’s poorness.
I felt like I was riding around on some old rat until more than 70mph was up. The engine began to smooth out, the steering eased up and the gearchange became smoother. The Jota had adjustable bars that I placed as upright as possible but the seat’s foam was almost non-existent. 25 miles had me squirming around in agony. I pulled over, had a ten minute break and headed back home.
To get it over with as quickly as possible I hurtled along the A-road at about 85mph. The exhaust was soul stirring and I was almost smiling when we hit a big bump. A full lock to lock front end wobble almost caused me to throw up, but it died out after a few yards. I didn’t touch 50mph for the rest of the day.
I decided to let the local Laverda dealer give the bike a thorough going over. The engine was in reasonable shape but the steering head and swinging arm bearings were shot whilst the front forks would soon need rebuilding. I decided to let him sort it all out. He also re-routed the clutch cable which allowed mere mortals to operate it.
I felt much more confident in the Jota but it was still awful at low speeds. Motorways and wide A-roads were where it really performed, although the engine was choked by the silencers around 95mph. Not that I really wanted to go any faster. The Jota was supposed to be the top handler in the late seventies but it was really just too heavy, at over 500lbs, to be very impressive.
I had harboured visions of roaring up to work in London on the beast. But town work soon became hell on wheels. I’m only 5’9” inches and the Jota’s saddle, even with the lack of foam, left me able to get just the tip of one boot down. Extremely careful balance was needed to avoid falling over. Whilst it wasn’t particularly wide, and could be punched through lines of slow moving cars, doing any slow speed turning was more likely to result in falling off than rapid progress.
The first time I rode to work I was left a nervous wreck for most of the morning. I decided not to go home until after 9pm and the traffic had cleared up a little. Quick, desperate reactions were needed to avoid being mowed down by the car drivers. I soon decided to use the bike just for evening and weekend work.
I suppose that any 120000 mile machine’s going to turn up some hassles. Perhaps I had the wrong attitude, but when the left-hand (Japanese) switch cluster fell apart one day as I was loping home in the rain I was enraged. Sparks and springs bounced all over the place. Distracted, I only narrowly avoided plowing into the back of an illegally parked car, that seemed full of half naked kids. By the time I'd separated the wires and wrapped them in a plastic bag, I was absolutely soaked through. The engine stuttered rather than ran but home was eventually reached. A used Honda switch cluster was fitted.
A chronic fight was had with the the triple Brembo discs. As with the rest of the bike, massive muscle was needed to make them work but they would go from hardly working to melting the tyres without any warning. This all or nothing technique took some getting used to - after about six months I did, indeed, find that there was some feedback hidden within the system... only after I'd bought new pads, fluid and Goodridge hose. Wet weather riding remained quite frightening, with the brakes and the precarious feel, I always felt I was but moments off total disaster.
Of course, the Jota still looked the business. With its massive DOHC engine, defined by fine castings, dominating the classic lines of its chassis, the Laverda didn’t look in the least dated, especially with the current spate of Japanese retros. I spent many an happy hour polishing the bike to a mirror shine, almost despite the way the Lav annoyed me for a good 80% of the time.
Those days when I got a grip on the machine were thrilling, though. Magically, the somewhat vague steering tightened up, the exhaust howl blew my mind away and the normal fight with the clutch and gearbox became almost sublime. I scattered all before me, roared down favourite roads at improbable speeds (at least for me) and ended up thoroughly exhilarated.
Exactly why the bike should run so well and why I should display such a mastery of the monster is one of the great mysteries of life. Other times it came pretty close to purgatory. The gearbox balked, the engine cut out, the front wheel veered off of its own volition, and terrible shakes and wobbles ran through the chassis, as if the damn thing was suffering from a transient fever. I let the dealer have a go but he reckoned I had a good one!
With 125000 miles up there was a lot of rattling from the engine, just like my son’s CX500 with its camchain on the way out. The camchain was OK, it was the primary chain that was thrashing around out of control. I also had a new set of clutch plates fitted. The rest of the engine was OK, a comment on its basic toughness and the rewards of 1000 mile oil changes.
With the saddle refurbished, comfort wasn’t that bad once on the move, although town work left my inner-thighs rubbed raw as I desperately tried to get a foot down. The bike would sit on the motorway at 80mph for an hour or two without complaint, sustained higher speeds not really possible with the naked nature of the machine. Fuel averaged about 35mpda but the 6500 miles I did in a year were insufficient to ruin the tyres or chain. The oil never went below the minimum mark between lubricant changes, which suggested an engine in good fettle. The carbs needed a balance at each oil change, more a result of their great mileage than anything else.
After a year I'd had enough of the Jota. My youthful dreams were threatening to turn into middle-aged nightmares. I wanted the kicks but not the hassles. A test ride on a 900 Triumph Speed Triple was a revelation. The bike made me feel like a hero rather than an idiot, could be used in town with the ease of a machine half its size and was so fast on a bit of open road that I burst through the ton before I knew what'd happened. The great irony was that I was allowed a huge amount on the Jota for the trade-in. They are period pieces now, pretty nasty for most of the time and way overvalued.
J. L.