Equipped as it was with a manual box, one must consider whether it was an alternative designed to sell alongside the Convert or a hasty replacement for a lame duck in an attempt at a sales rescue bid. Fitted with a couple of user friendly gizmos and a consumer acceptable price tag, the G5 was an attractive proposition for anyone who fancied the idea of a 1000cc transverse V-twin. I’m not aware of how many were sold, few people seem conscious of their existence, though I have seen one other example which ye pleased me in so much as it looked even worse than mine.
I have the dubious fortune of knowing the full history of the bike, as it was originally bought by a mate of mine. I suppose that it would have been fair comment to say that armed with this information I should have considered my purchase more carefully.
The demands imposed by modern day conditions limit fitting a sidecar to smaller bikes, machines of a frail disposition or those which would necessitate major alteration. An outfit to be equal of any circumstance benefits from being big, strong and powerful. In all these areas the Guzzi scores highly. It has a full duplex frame providing ample choice for fittings. Shaft drive negates quick wear chains from the added mass of pulling a chair, and the combination of a wide spread of power and a five speed box means the ratios can be left stock without any problems fifth gear is only brought into play above 60mph, when the engine is purring away at a mere 3500rpm.
This may also help to dispel the rumours that combos are slow. I can cruise at seventy and above with little effort. The guy I bought the bike from claimed to have done several hundred miles, two up, at 95mph. Also useful for sidecar work, the bike has a diaphragm clutch with no less than two friction plates. It’s a fact of life that when you have the extra load capacity of a chair you tend to go beserk and pack in everything including the proverbial kitchen sink. Believe me, when I go touring any item which would normally be considered a luxury on a solo becomes a basic necessity. As an example, at last years BMF rally the only department in which I was found to be lacking was that I’d forgotten the teapot. You just don’t realise what hell it is having to brew up in a china mug.
If on paper the GS seems ideal for chair pulling, in reality it’s so dubious that I’m not able to give a succinct and unbiased opinion. Not only is the bike a brute, I think it hates me. The previous owner had hated the bike from the day he took delivery. The description often given to big Guzzis is The Italian Stallion. This was never more apt, I only wish I could break the beast in.
I’m unable to give an idea of what the bike might be like as a solo (though every day the possibility comes ever nearer) but as a combination it is a weight lifters proving ground. The macho image sometimes given to motorcycling is underlined by the sheer physical strength necessary to manoeuvre, unless it’s in its element of fast motorway cruising. At which point it becomes evident quite how heavy is the throttle. Mileage covered can easily be estimated by the decreasing lack of feel in the right hand.
Town traffic reminds me constantly of that enormously strong clutch - every time it’s used I’m forced to consider the viability of getting it power assisted. It’s just as well that the engine develops enough power to enable me to dump the clutch and temporarily forget about it. I swear that as I pull the clutch in I can feel the handlebar bending toward the lever.
That side of my body is rapidly becoming over developed because the gear lever itself must also be the worst design ever known to man. The lever must be the best part of 18" long and pivots (or should do) on a large, rust attracting, bolt, which like the air filter, distributor and starter relay, is almost completely inaccessible. Not only does this make gear selection something of a lucky dip, the full horror of a missed change is only realised when I have to use that bloody clutch again. Devotees of Guzzis will be quick to remind me that the gear pivot actually has a nylon sleeve that should be lubricated by the water thrown over the pivot by the rear wheel - my answer would be that it’s the only rusting nylon bush I’ve ever come across.
Another virtue (?) is the linked braking system, which distributes braking 25/75% between rear and front disc, with the handlebar lever working the right front disc. This is an excellent set-up when new, but spoiled by the decay of the calipers - I hope to replace the calipers with car units for cheapness and improved predictability.
These problems only manifested themselves after I’d got the beast to actually start. I had been warned that the voltmeter had to read at least 12V before thinking of starting the motor. Under my ownership the bike kept needing more and more presses of the button before it would fire up.
It soon only managed a click of the solenoid. I never did get the price of a new starter motor; presumably you'd need to wield an American Express Gold Card to buy one - an ever increasing frantic series of phone calls reduced the price of a reconditioned unit from £120 to £65.
The nice man in the shop smiled happily as he pocketed my hard earned dosh, adding that it was quite common for the starter to pack up. Scampering away with my newly acquired family heirloom clutched tightly to my chest, lest it should fall and leave me with the prospect of avoiding the bills next month as well, it was with foolish optimism that I bolted on the new part, only to be rewarded with the too familiar loud clicking noise.
What I’d overlooked was the tradition of Italian electrics. Bravely delving into the lecky area under the seat, I discovered between the battery and the brake cylinder, that the Wops, in their wisdom, had popped in an additional relay to that already existing in the starter motor. Removal of relay and cleaning of contacts produced a starter motor that turned the motor over until it hit compression and died a death.
It then occurred to me that the Guzzi’s high tech electrics ran to an ignition cut-out on the side stand and a starter motor inhibitor in the clutch cable. The prop stand was pulled off along with the most complicated method of operating a micro switch you could ever hope to encounter and the clutch cable device was wired out of the system. Not entirely to my surprise, the beast now starts reliably. The switchgear is of a standard equivalent to having bare wires and a bit of insulating tape.
Even though I know it hates me, for some inexplicable reason I keep coming back for more. Despite spending countless hours fiddling, often to no benefit, I’ve always reckoned that it’s basically an excellent bike with just a few adjustments...
There is something a about the bike that is most endearing. It’s one hell of a brute, totally lacking in finesse, every action is a job of work, but somehow it makes you feel part of it (I nearly have been several times). Though some would substitute the term wrestling for handling and archaic for proven design, to me it represents what biking’s all about - controlling a machine which lives and breathes, leaving you in no uncertain mind as to the experience.
The throbbing V-twin with its accompanying mechanical clatter does for me what a Plastic Maggot can never do, and until age or infirmity deems otherwise will continue to do so.
Alik Wickford