Three months later I was just about ready for the road. The engine had been filled with oil, so I assumed its internals were OK. The only original electrical bit was the alternator, the rest sourced from a crashed Superdream. Cables I made up myself. Cycle parts were patched, welded, smoothed down and finally painted bright red (what else on a Ducati), as was the tubular frame.
The DOHC vertical twin engine was lovingly rubbed down and polished until it glowed. It wouldn't start until I'd swapped the new HT leads around. The bellow out of the universal megas had the dog running around in circles trying to bite off his tail. The whole bike quaked at the 4000rpm tickover then died as suddenly as it'd started when I hit the choke off but started again on the second try.
The MOT tester was in a bad mood, listing inadequate brakes, loose forks, loud exhaust and shot swinging arm bearings. I was tempted to offer a bribe but refrained myself when I recalled that a friend had a blown Pantah with a perfect front end, mine for a song as he was terminally depressed by life. Temporary baffles, left over from my Bloop days, were hammered into the silencers and weren't spat back out until the MOT was granted. I couldn't find much wrong with the swinging arm and neither could the tester second time round when I claimed to have fitted new bearings.
The clock read 26000 miles which might explain the most obvious fault with the Duke - vibration! Whether at tickover or 9000 revs the old girl gave out a ferocious buzz that was especially excruciating at 6000 to 7000rpm in top gear, which equated to my ideal motorway cruising speed. And here speaks a guy who would quite happily flog a 400 Superdream with knackered balancers the length and breath of the country. The best way to think of the Duke’s vibration is to equate it to the secondary buzzing of an old seventies Jap four, then multiply it by a factor of ten!
I even checked the Desmo operated valves, which were just within tolerances. As the bike would blast up to 95mph in a way that left Superdream owners bright green with envy, the mill couldn’t have been that worn out. I did note the odd of puff of smoke in the mirrors, but given the way they blurred it could just as easily have been a grey car or something.
The chassis was as impressive as the acceleration. Way better than the Superdream, anyway, with none of the nasty wallowing or weaving. A decent set of Avon tyres helped, as did the prime condition Pantah front end, although the OE shocks could turn into pogo sticks when the going became seriously rough. At around 400Ibs it was just the right weight to chuck around without being worried by side winds or bumps throwing it off the road.
I was so impressed I decided to do something about the vibration. Ultra thick grips and footrest rubbers were the most obvious solution That made life more tolerable but the excruciatingly painful seat also allowed through a lot of vibes. I retained the cover but used thicker foam and mounted the seat surround and base on two layers of rubber. After all that effort it was just about acceptable for an hour at a time, only slightly worse than a nearly dead Superdream!
The vibration saga didn't end there, for though I was reasonably well insulated the rest of the chassis had to bear the brunt of my crazed use of the throttle. Crazed because this was one vertical twin with a siren song of power once above 6000 revs, that much preferred to be ridden where the power resided than loped along at lower revs where there was none of the torque of an old British twin. Some configuration of bore, stoke, valve size and camshaft timing had removed the dual nature that so many 500 to 650cc twins used to sport. It was all or nothing.
I had pause to ponder this trait when one of exhaust downpipes cracked up. Cracked in way that left about six inches of pipe in the head and the rest of the exhaust doing a shuffle with the tarmac. I didn’t hear the grinding metal because all sound and any kind of thought was drowned out by the open downpipe. Further fun was added by flames shooting out of the end of the pipe, singeing the engine and frightening pedestrians as well as blowing their eardrums. It was so bad that I pushed the bike the half mile home!
Don't even think about approaching a Ducati dealer to ask if he has a downpipe. The vertical twin’s regarded as an embarrassing folly, best ignored and forgotten. I made up a 2-1 system consisting of an old CG collector, the existing downpipes plus a bit of extra tube, and a universal megaphone. This had the added benefit of stopping me wearing out the engine by cutting off the power dead at 9000 revs.
Nor was this the end of the self destruct antics. Lights blew with disturbing regularity despite enough rubber mounting to keep Malayasian peasants in work for a month or two. The petrol tank actually split (admittedly it'd previously rusted through so badly that I’d welded in about two pounds worth of steel), covering the hot engine in fuel - I pulled over, leapt off and ran like a lunatic but it didn't explode. More welding fixed it. Mudguards cracked, the seat base split and the battery opened up, ruining the finish on the frame. Minor brackets and electrical components also gave up the game.
Despite all this, | still managed to do 7000 miles of riding in the six months of the summer and autumn. I had races with things like CX500s, GS650s and Z550s, and didn't have much trouble keeping ahead of them. As long as I was willing to abuse the throttle and ignore the vibes, the Ducati proved a willing partner in my assaults on the highway.
Then the fall from grace came. As might be expected from an engine that'd done 33000 miles and only received cursory maintenance, the pressures of the fast life would eventually catch up with it. I'd half expected the clutch to blow as it’d begun to chatter and grumble, although the gear change remained positive (compared to a Superdream, which ain't saying much).
There I was, burning along this nice bit of A-road at 90mph, my teeth beginning to buzz with an echo of the vibes, when the whole bike suddenly felt like it was shaking apart. An earthquake in Somerset? Such notions were removed from my mind before I’d even had a chance to slam the throttle shut. The engine and then the back wheel locked up solid. Clutch, my mind screamed, which when acted upon caused an almighty bang! At least the back wheel freed up, came out of its suicidal slide allowing me to freewheel to the side of the road.
I never did work out which component went first but from top to bottom I had one completely ruined engine. I don’t think there was one internal component that I could salvage. The mangled crankshaft sits on my desk as a reminder of my close shave with the Grim Reaper whilst the rest of the bits are somewhere in the garage. I do have a nice chassis that’s looking for a donor engine and I'm pretty sure that I could get a CB400N motor to fit in there, but they are just as rare (in good nick) as Desmo 500s. All I can say is that it was pretty damn good whilst it lasted for a £100 hack.
Keith Evans