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