Never say die, or something like that. This big old Guzzi was up for grabs. Only 19000 miles - just run in according to Guzzi California enthusiasts. Brutal V-twin motor that shook and rumbled in the frame. Pretty friendly and laid back once under way. Mind, you had to be used to the shaft's lurch and the stately feel to the handling. My apprenticeship on a series of nearly dead. V50's proved useful! Twist grip and clutch lever mildly modded so you didn't have to be a Stallone to control the shining cruiser.
Much mumbling over the cost followed. Outrageous optimism versus magnificent miserliness, resulting in 1900 notes exchanging hands. A bargain, I'm told by those in the know, but it seemed quite expensive... I was used to spending a couple of hundred quid on hacks and running them for a year or so. The wife, quite taken by the machine's looks, said it was time I treated myself. We decided to share one car rather than tun two, more than covered the cost of the Guzzi.
Within a week I was beginning to wonder what I'd let myself in for. I knew it would take a little getting used to, was prepared for that - not a big problem! No, the way the battery fell apart annoyed. Then finding that the charging circuit was giving out 30 volts amused me no end! The only thing to do was a complete rewire and fitment of second hand parts.
It ought to be noted that the headlamp wasn't too brilliant but I was loathe to risk overloading the circuit with something more powerful. That was the least of my worries, though. A long weekend, with wifey out back, was used to test the bike's long distance cruising abilities - up one side of the country, back down the other, though we didn't venture into Scotland. The Guzzi rumbled away to itself, feeling best in the 70 to 80mph range, though on motorways this was likely to leave us as victims of road rage. Even 70mph gave my arm and neck muscles an unwanted workout, but the nearest and dearest seemed quite content on the relatively plush pillion - she still moans about a misspent youth on a Triumph Speed Twin!
The Guzzi sat comfortably on the road, much better than most machines of its ilk, its sporting heritage shining through in the relative tautness of its suspension and usefulness of its steering geometry. Not a lot of effort needed to get it where I wanted it to go - either in town, on the motorway or trundling through the more snaky A-road bends. A bit misplaced on bumpy B-roads, the shaft drive lurch trying to throw the machine in the nearest ditch, though a manful tug on the tiller-like bars always pulled us back on line.
The first symptom of a much deeper malaise came as stuttering below 3000 revs. Felt just like the fuel was running out, but cracking open the throttle cleared it up, so that couldn't have been the problem. Just as we'd reached the furthest point from home, within sniffing distance of the Scottish Lowlands, the ignition gave up the ghost completely! In the middle of nowhere. My initial concern was, of course, for the engine internals but this was soon displaced by the wife going all hysterical, full of visions of us dying in the middle of the deserted countryside. Truth to tell, I wasn't entirely sure where I was, having been sidetracked down the B-roads by a traffic jam!
I told her it was probably just the spark plugs needing a clean, not really believing it. Luckily, they are easy to pull out! Succeeded in looking like I knew what I was doing until I asked for her nail-file to clean up the contacts! Now her energies were spent on the act of vandalism involved in ruining an absolutely fine nail file. No pleasing some people. After a bit more pulling and shoving of various electrical components, shaking the tank between my knees, and half a dozen fairly desperate prayers, I attacked the starter with near desperation! The big bugger fired up immediately, sounding very healthy. The wife suddenly convinced that I was a hero!
This happened several more times during the journey. I thought a new set of spark plugs would fix it, but no difference. I then sussed that maybe something was overheating and needed time to cool down! I was right on the ball, only problem was that there was a lot of things to chose from as the culprit. Intermittent faults really nasty because they invariably disappear when a professional tries to suss them. Given the previous electrical problems I decided it must be something in the ignition circuit. New(ish) coils and HT leads eventually solved it. But that wasn't much help on my around Britain tour and the wife reckoned I'd bought a pig in a poke, conveniently forgetting the fact that she had encouraged the purchase.
No sooner had I solved the ignition problem than the universal joints started rumbling - they are infamous for going at inconvenient moments! In my case, this was on the M1 with 70 miles to go to get back to base, fortunately without anyone to nag me from the pillion! My arrival home was foreshadowed by a metal band effect and a shaft drive housing that was a curious molten colour, much more effective in the dark than the somewhat lackadaisical rear light. There didn't seem to be any oil left in the shaft - whether this was a result or cause of the problem I haven't got a clue.
Needless to say, at this point I didn't feel like lavishing a surfeit of dosh on the moving disaster area, so stuff from a breaker was acquired. The Cali there was mashed from the front end, making a mockery of the feel of being a substantial piece of iron - the front wheel broken, distorted and embedded in the cracked engine cases! Some girlie had ridden into a bus at 60mph - I mean, how do you miss a bus? Anyway, a bit of brute force had the old girl back to trawling around, though the gearbox was even worse than before and would actually jump out of second gear. Yes, Guzzi valves do float despite (or because of) the antiquated pushrod design.
Which neatly brings us to another nasty maintenance. Simple enough, you could almost do the valve clearances at the traffic lights... no, my main concern was with the 1000 mile need to do the valves and carbs - I mean, on a sixties Honda I would expect that, but on such a modern machine? Oh well, it cost nothing and could be written off as part of the bonding process between man and machine. Fresh oil was also needed at this mileage, though I never did the oil filter.
Much mumbling over the cost followed. Outrageous optimism versus magnificent miserliness, resulting in 1900 notes exchanging hands. A bargain, I'm told by those in the know, but it seemed quite expensive... I was used to spending a couple of hundred quid on hacks and running them for a year or so. The wife, quite taken by the machine's looks, said it was time I treated myself. We decided to share one car rather than tun two, more than covered the cost of the Guzzi.
Within a week I was beginning to wonder what I'd let myself in for. I knew it would take a little getting used to, was prepared for that - not a big problem! No, the way the battery fell apart annoyed. Then finding that the charging circuit was giving out 30 volts amused me no end! The only thing to do was a complete rewire and fitment of second hand parts.
It ought to be noted that the headlamp wasn't too brilliant but I was loathe to risk overloading the circuit with something more powerful. That was the least of my worries, though. A long weekend, with wifey out back, was used to test the bike's long distance cruising abilities - up one side of the country, back down the other, though we didn't venture into Scotland. The Guzzi rumbled away to itself, feeling best in the 70 to 80mph range, though on motorways this was likely to leave us as victims of road rage. Even 70mph gave my arm and neck muscles an unwanted workout, but the nearest and dearest seemed quite content on the relatively plush pillion - she still moans about a misspent youth on a Triumph Speed Twin!
The Guzzi sat comfortably on the road, much better than most machines of its ilk, its sporting heritage shining through in the relative tautness of its suspension and usefulness of its steering geometry. Not a lot of effort needed to get it where I wanted it to go - either in town, on the motorway or trundling through the more snaky A-road bends. A bit misplaced on bumpy B-roads, the shaft drive lurch trying to throw the machine in the nearest ditch, though a manful tug on the tiller-like bars always pulled us back on line.
The first symptom of a much deeper malaise came as stuttering below 3000 revs. Felt just like the fuel was running out, but cracking open the throttle cleared it up, so that couldn't have been the problem. Just as we'd reached the furthest point from home, within sniffing distance of the Scottish Lowlands, the ignition gave up the ghost completely! In the middle of nowhere. My initial concern was, of course, for the engine internals but this was soon displaced by the wife going all hysterical, full of visions of us dying in the middle of the deserted countryside. Truth to tell, I wasn't entirely sure where I was, having been sidetracked down the B-roads by a traffic jam!
I told her it was probably just the spark plugs needing a clean, not really believing it. Luckily, they are easy to pull out! Succeeded in looking like I knew what I was doing until I asked for her nail-file to clean up the contacts! Now her energies were spent on the act of vandalism involved in ruining an absolutely fine nail file. No pleasing some people. After a bit more pulling and shoving of various electrical components, shaking the tank between my knees, and half a dozen fairly desperate prayers, I attacked the starter with near desperation! The big bugger fired up immediately, sounding very healthy. The wife suddenly convinced that I was a hero!
This happened several more times during the journey. I thought a new set of spark plugs would fix it, but no difference. I then sussed that maybe something was overheating and needed time to cool down! I was right on the ball, only problem was that there was a lot of things to chose from as the culprit. Intermittent faults really nasty because they invariably disappear when a professional tries to suss them. Given the previous electrical problems I decided it must be something in the ignition circuit. New(ish) coils and HT leads eventually solved it. But that wasn't much help on my around Britain tour and the wife reckoned I'd bought a pig in a poke, conveniently forgetting the fact that she had encouraged the purchase.
No sooner had I solved the ignition problem than the universal joints started rumbling - they are infamous for going at inconvenient moments! In my case, this was on the M1 with 70 miles to go to get back to base, fortunately without anyone to nag me from the pillion! My arrival home was foreshadowed by a metal band effect and a shaft drive housing that was a curious molten colour, much more effective in the dark than the somewhat lackadaisical rear light. There didn't seem to be any oil left in the shaft - whether this was a result or cause of the problem I haven't got a clue.
Needless to say, at this point I didn't feel like lavishing a surfeit of dosh on the moving disaster area, so stuff from a breaker was acquired. The Cali there was mashed from the front end, making a mockery of the feel of being a substantial piece of iron - the front wheel broken, distorted and embedded in the cracked engine cases! Some girlie had ridden into a bus at 60mph - I mean, how do you miss a bus? Anyway, a bit of brute force had the old girl back to trawling around, though the gearbox was even worse than before and would actually jump out of second gear. Yes, Guzzi valves do float despite (or because of) the antiquated pushrod design.
Which neatly brings us to another nasty maintenance. Simple enough, you could almost do the valve clearances at the traffic lights... no, my main concern was with the 1000 mile need to do the valves and carbs - I mean, on a sixties Honda I would expect that, but on such a modern machine? Oh well, it cost nothing and could be written off as part of the bonding process between man and machine. Fresh oil was also needed at this mileage, though I never did the oil filter.
Neglect any of this, the bike would become very recalcitrant, just like the wifey if she didn't have her weekly orgasm (old women take about an hour before they come!). Its main revenge was stalling dead just before the lights changed, went with a backside dislocating lurch! Oh, the cagers had a fine old time as it was very reluctant to fire on the starter, though I'm sure the artillery barrage of backfires must've kept them at bay!
Good points - tyres didn't seem to wear, the repaired shaft drive was maintenance free and the overall feel of the mammoth was very relaxed and laid back, no great hassles if you wanted to motor along at a moderate pace, which at my age I actually quite enjoyed. Economy was shockingly lacking - 35-40mpg! Comfort was good at town speeds, acceptable up to 60mph but beyond that arm and neck stretch were a bit too excessive and I never really adapted to the riding position. No doubt, those more closely related to the orangutan wouldn't have any problems,
The final hassle, after about 7000 miles of mixed riding, was the gearbox seizing up in third gear. True, the motor had enough torque to trundle off in this ratio but it didn't like holding a steady speed and the vibes weren't exactly intoxicating. I went back to the breaker who supplied the UJs and he was quite keen to do the work. His exclamation that he had never worked on a big Guzzi engine before gave pause for thought, but in line with his cheap charges.
The rebuilt machine worked, after a fashion, but even the handling seemed a little odd, as if he'd force-fitted the motor back into the frame with the nearest lump-hammer. Hmmm. The Guzzi was traded for a big Harley (for more than I bought it), which is yet another tale of tears! Another day, it's Prozac time!
Good points - tyres didn't seem to wear, the repaired shaft drive was maintenance free and the overall feel of the mammoth was very relaxed and laid back, no great hassles if you wanted to motor along at a moderate pace, which at my age I actually quite enjoyed. Economy was shockingly lacking - 35-40mpg! Comfort was good at town speeds, acceptable up to 60mph but beyond that arm and neck stretch were a bit too excessive and I never really adapted to the riding position. No doubt, those more closely related to the orangutan wouldn't have any problems,
The final hassle, after about 7000 miles of mixed riding, was the gearbox seizing up in third gear. True, the motor had enough torque to trundle off in this ratio but it didn't like holding a steady speed and the vibes weren't exactly intoxicating. I went back to the breaker who supplied the UJs and he was quite keen to do the work. His exclamation that he had never worked on a big Guzzi engine before gave pause for thought, but in line with his cheap charges.
The rebuilt machine worked, after a fashion, but even the handling seemed a little odd, as if he'd force-fitted the motor back into the frame with the nearest lump-hammer. Hmmm. The Guzzi was traded for a big Harley (for more than I bought it), which is yet another tale of tears! Another day, it's Prozac time!
Andy Gray