Italian Connection : a Benelli 750 Sei, Ducati 900 Sport Desmo or Darmah, Laverda 500 Zeta and Moto Guzzi V 1000 G5
It's morning. Dew pearls the red gas tank. You
wipe-off the seat, the tank, and strap-on the touring bag with clothes for six
days on the road tucked inside. Key in the ignition. Choke on. She's a
cold-blooded Italian. Press the starter button. VrrreeEEE! Back the choke down
and the six cylinders settle into a steady grumble. Snick it in first, let out
the clutch and you're away.
It's been a long time. Commuting to the office day after day you begin to forget
what motorcycling is really all about. Now you've got six days and four Italian
motorcycles. You've got some tools. You've got some money. You've got a map.
You've got a goal: Lake Tahoe. But your goal is not merely to get to Lake Tahoe,
your goal is to enjoy all four of those Italian motorcycles, find out what
they're like, and what they'll do. Down the Hollywood Freeway, the Golden State
Freeway, morning traffic flows the other way. The speedometer touches seventy.
The wind is chilly. You zip your jacket up high against your neck.
After a scheduled rendezvous for breakfast at a country/western cafe right out
of "The Last Picture Show," there are now four of you riding together.
Two V-twins, a parallel twin, a straight six. They • sound good running
together. The route you've chosen vaults over a range of hills. The road twists
right and left up the side of the desert massif. The speedometer needle creeps
to the right. Wind keens past your helmet. The road shoots around a corner. The
desert sky is brilliant blue directly ahead. It looks like the road ends at a
cliff. But in front of you the Ducati and Laverda snap over, the riders' knees
skimming over the asphalt. You see sparks fly from the Ducati and flash! they
are around the corner and out of sight. You circle the corner in time to see the
bikes bank quick left and right, braking and accelerating through turn after
turn until they top the crest of the ridge and are gone.
The theme of the six days is set. Find the good roads, the twisty back country
roads that only the ranchers know and blast over them just as fast as you can
make those motorcycles go. Get that adrenalin flowing, work-out those
frustrations, get high on the narcotic of speed and the machinery which can make
you fly 30 inches above the surface of the earth at 150 feet per second per
second. So fast you can feel the solid earth undulate, rise and fall, heave and
roll like some great living creature. That's what it's all about this trip.
Going fast.
Four Americans Take A Look At Four Italians
Discovering
The Italian Connection
MOTORCYCLIST / DECEMBER 1978
We had done it before and it was always fun,
pursuing the snake-like roads which bring-out the true purpose of a motorcycle.
But in recent years a sameness of machinery had diluted one dimension of the
motorcycle journalists' fun— that of trying different motorcycles all the
time. Japanese machinery, brilliant as it can be, has a sameness of fragrance
and feel, a sterile predictability that leaves only the road to provide variety.
We were tired of Japanese motorcycles. The public, too, has been bombarded by
multi-cylinder dragstrip wrinklers and subjected to the overkill of three-valve
counter-balanced commuters long enough.
There is another country which also has a Big Four. Italian bikes are often
tested individually, but no one had gathered a Benelli, Ducati, Laverda and Moto
Guzzi all at once and taken one of those berserko tours which make or break a
machine, or an entire breed. Six days on the road would put the Italian
offerings in mutual perspective for the first time.
Certain preconceived notions, spawned by the same irreverent tradition that
dictates a puddle of oil lay under every British twin, brought visions of
headlights, mufflers, axle bolts and maybe even cylinder-heads falling off and
bouncing down the road. Everybody's list of things to bring included a tow rope.
Would the heavy Guzzi, tainted by saddlebags, fall hopelessly behind in pursuit
of its agile cohorts on twisty roads? Snide references to pizza and spaghetti
cropped-up incessantly during trip planning. Conversely, we savored the thought
of tasting the Laverda's handling and the Ducati's gutty mid-range. The
Benelli's exhausts, seemingly poised to launch a salvo of rockets, had us
intrigued.
It didn't matter that the bikes weren't all 500s
or all 750s because this wouldn't be a head-to-head performance shootout which
produced a winner and loser. It would simply be life with the Italian
alternatives to experience their ambiance, their tradition and their distinctive
technological approach. The drag strip, and dyno, be damned. We wanted to go
riding on something different and tell you what it was like.
North of the hills is desert. Bob Hannah country. Willow Springs Raceway
country. Edwards Air Force Base country. Country where they find out how fast
things will really go. The roads are straight, black grid-lines disappearing
into wavering heat haze. How fast will the bikes go? The Laverda 95. The Guzzi
105. The Ducati and Benelli 110. Except for the wind and the speedometer you
wouldn't know. The land is flat and doesn't change no matter how fast you go.
Not like the hills, where speed is measured in degrees of bank and what scrapes
and how hard you stare ahead to catch what's around the next corner.
Lunch is at Rosamond, a desert town built to last as long as a movie set. The
flies refuse to land on the tacos. You switch bikes and head-up into the
Tehachapi Mountains. No traffic. The road is really bad, but also really good.
Hairpin after hairpin. Cattle on the road. The desert is behind you now and you
're in ranch country. The air is aromatic with the oils of brush and trees.
Insects splat against you as you shift up and down, accelerate and brake for the
twisting road. A bee bullets into you and you feel like you've been shot through
the neck by a sniper. Tears blind your eyes and you fumble a shift, almost miss
a turn. Maybe you shouldn't have taken off your turtleneck. A ground squirrel
races across the road just in front of you, tail pointing straight up like an
exclamation point.
The road is working its analytical magic and
opinions emerge quickly. Laverda's 500 Zeta, the newest and smallest product
from the Moto Laverda factory in Breganze, is quite simply a $3000 production
racer cleverly disguised in glittering commuter clothing. Laverda makes no
concessions for its gouging price, its narrow hard seat or its reluctance to
provide comfort over long distances; the 500 was designed to assault the
pavement, and taming twisty roads is its redeeming virtue. It'll grit its teeth
upon command, bury its shoulder in the asphalt and then look over its sleek,
plastic tail section and laugh at the so-called "sport" models gasping
for breath far behind it.
While it competes head-to-head in the marketplace with Yamaha's XS 500 in basic
design, Laverda has attempted to out-shine the Japanese at every opportunity.
Like the Yamaha, the Zeta has a high revving (8000-rpm redline) DOHC
four-valve-per-cylinder vertical-twin engine. It also utilizes a 180-degree
crankshaft layout and counter-rotating geardriven balancer to minimize
vibration. But here the similarity ends and the Italians start justifying their
asking price. For increased longevity the Laverda's pressed-together crank rides
in roller and ball bearings instead of plain bearings and the cams ride in
needle bearings rather than in bare head metal. Add to this a fiddlefree Bosch
electronic ignition and a racy six-speed transmission and you have the
beginnings of a very tempting package.
Like most Laverda's the Zeta isn't particularly majestic sounding. It has an
offbeat lumpy exhaust tone and the twin Dell'Orto pumper carbs generate a noisy
drone each time the slides are cracked open. Its internal workings were
inherently stiff too: the tranny was reluctant to shift smoothly, finding
neutral at stoplights was nearly impossible and clutch engagement seemed rather
abrupt. With past Laverdas these annoyances have worked out in time, but
unfortunately all three persisted throughout the test.
Aside from a little vibration at cruising speeds, a painfully agonizing seat and
a set of unyielding throttle return springs, the Zeta performed civilian duties
equivalent to any Japanese twin. But despite its small size and lightweight
chassis, the Zeta doesn't readily conform to the boring, repetitious stop-and-go
life of a citydweller—it has considerably more spirit hidden deep inside its
flashy shell. The 500 is a force to be reckoned with in the engine performance
department (it'll butt heads with any spirited machine in its class), although
liberal use of the gearbox is needed to keep the tach needle swung past 6000
rpm, and the power building. Sixth gear is more or less an overdrive— and in
most cases down-shifting two gears is necessary to streak past traffic with any
authority. True, the little 496cc twin worked hardest (buzzing 5100 rpm at 60
mph) on the open road, but it always had reserve muscle—so much so that it
pestered and nagged the larger bikes constantly and was cited for chronic
tailgating more than once.
But what the Laverda does best can only be experienced in shadowed canyons where
the road turns into a tight, twisting jungle of esses and switchbacks. Laverda
has beautifully combined sound geometry with racetrack-proven components and no
other production 500 fourcylinder, 500 twin or 500 single we've ever tested has
ever handled so superbly. Even the accompanying Ducati, the Italian mark of
excellence, found the 500's canyon pace beyond its limits at times. With a
lightweight framework that undercuts Yamaha's XS 500 by nearly 50 pounds, a
steep 28-degree steering-head angle and exceptional ground clearance, the Zeta
slithers through corners incredibly fast. It has a tendency to oversteer in
slower corners, but steering becomes light and more neutral as the pace is
quickened.
Other features that give this Italian a distinct advantage in handling and
appeal are excellent gripping Pirelli Mandrake tires mounted to Laverda's own
brand of stylish-looking five-spoke alloy wheels, a quartz-halogen headlight
strong enough to pierce wood, and racetrack quality Brembo triple-disc brakes
that feature cast iron discs. Even though cast iron is susceptible to rusting
when exposed to moist conditions, all four Italian brands use them because they
dissipate heat more rapidly and give a more predictable "feel" than
the stainless steel discs used by the Japanese. But, does it all add-up
sufficiently to warrant the $3000 asking price? If you're into commuting for the
sake of economy the answer is no. But if motorcycling is a turn-on, a way to
relieve pressure or an avenue for escaping into your own little world—and an
incredibly fast, stable and surefooted 500cc canyonstreaker fits the bill—then
the Zeta is the ticket. And worth every penny.
At Lake Isabella in the Greenhorn Mountains you stop at a Yamaha shop to fix the
Laverda's sticky throttle. It's nonstock and giving trouble. While you sit
outside the shop and watch the traffic the president of the local Liars Club
gives you a song and dance. Every place you stop the oddity that you're all on
Italian motorcycles provokes comment. Chopper riders sneer or demand to know why
you're not riding "American" bikes. Lots of people ask that-chopper
pilots, gas station jockeys, kids in Volkswagens with fat tires. Some ask if
we're foreigners. All because we're on Italian bikes. People who would never
look twice at a Kawasaki or a Suzuki stop and stare at the six pipes on the
Benelli. Teenage girls eye the massive cylinders of the black, bull-like Moto
Guzzi with what appears to be a skittish fascination. Other riders look at the
Ducati, squatting down to examine the form of the parts. They've heard about
Ducatis. "A dude's got to be real mellow to ride a Ducati," a fellow
dressed in leather flying helmet and goggles from out of the Twenties says after
chugging up to the gas pumps on a Harley-Davidson Low Rider.
"Mellow" isn't exactly the right word to describe most knee-scraping
throttlebenders who own Ducatis. The 900 Sport Desmo, also known as the 900
Darmah, definitely lives up to its name Darmah means Tiger in Italian. The
blood-red Darmah was built to bridge the gap between Ducati's 860 GTS (known as
their economy model) and their 900 Super Sport (the no-nonsense deluxe racer
version.) It's a compromising model for Ducati enthusiasts who aspire to the
best of both worlds. The styling, even though flamboyant, allows the convenience
of two-up riding, and for those pseudo-racers who must uphold their manly image,
the famed Ducati performance is still present by way of the Super Sport's racier
desmodromic valve train, Brembo triple disc brakes and legendary Michelin M45
tires. The Darmah even steps into its own prestigious world of exotica by coming
with Campagnolo gold-anodized magnesium-spoked wheels. So far it's the only
production bike I we know of that sports these jewels.
Ducati has done more than picked pieces from existing models; they've managed to
modernize the Darmah in many little ways. For example the complete shifting
linkage now resides on the left instead of partially on the right as on the GTS
and Super Sport. The untrustworthy Italian instruments and switches have been
replaced by Japanese units. The Italian electronic ignition, used on the GTS and
Super Sport, has given way to a new Bosch CDI using Nippondenso coils. There's a
powerful quartz-halogen headlight throwing an impressive beam up front. The
choke lever has been repositioned adjacent to the speedo, and most noteworthy is
a new frame snuggled beneath all that flashy fiberglass. The frame is several
inches lower in the saddle area and it's seen some widening to accept a larger
battery for the new electric starter.
Whatever its new identity is, the Darmah is still very much a Ducati:
performance orientated in every way and one that definitely doesn't cater to the
luxuryminded enthusiasts. The narrow 7-inch wide seat is harder than six-day-old
bread and given enough distance (about 80 miles) will commit hemorrhoidal
homicide every time. Then too are the stiff race-influenced suspension units
that offer a harsh pummeling ride over concreteslabbed freeways and irregular
road surfaces. And even though the low seat height is conducive to smooth
effortless cornering, it combines with the Darmah's rather high footpegs to
place the rider into a cramped frog-like position that leaves a lasting
impression at the day's end. But despite these obvious complaints our staffers
were drawn-in by that mysterious "magnetism" that seems to accompany
the Ducati marque and each anxiously anticipated his next turn in the saddle.
The Darmah's powerplant, an 864cc 90-degree V-twin, is no doubt responsible for
"charming" its rider. One of the lightest and most compact engines
ever produced for its size, it quietly, smoothly and effortlessly powers the
Darmah down the open road (turning just 4000 rpm at 60 mph) with all the
authority and thriftiness of a full-sized touring machine. And like the Moto
Guzzi it relies on a wide powerband and brute torque to pull away from corners
or flatten steep uphill sections. It doesn't require much shifting to keep the
power on tap, but when it does the gears engage with a crisp snick.
Three of our staffers had never ridden a Ducati before and all praised the
smoothness of the V-twin's power delivery and the responsiveness delivered from
the twin 32mm Dell'Orto pumper carbs. But even though the Darmah has the racier
desmodromic valvetrain (where the valves are mechanically opened and closed
without valve springs) which eliminates valve float at higher revs, our one
staffer who has owned Ducatis before was quick to note that the 900, like every
other '78 machine, has suffered greatly from the effects of modernization. And
although the Sport Desmo could easily motor away from the larger Moto Guzzi, it
could never equal the performance of earlier models and it surely can't match
quarter-mile times with such rivals as Laverda's 1000 Jarma, BMW's R100/S or
Moto Guzzi's 850 LeMans. The blame rests partially in the power-sucking
LaFranconi mufflers and the fact that the Darmah with its modern-day electric
starter and collection of disc brakes is roughly 40 pounds overweight when
compared to its ancestors.
The power shortage wasn't disconcerting, but our resident Ducati connoisseur
couldn't justify the added convenience of the electric starter, nor could he see
any logical reasoning behind the Darmah's new swingarm pivot arrangement in
which adjustable cams (one in each side of the swingarm pivot) are used to
control chain tension. The cams are difficult to manipulate, not easily
accessible and there's no assurance that the rear wheel is in alignment when the
ordeal is over.
However, these little annoyances didn't stop our staffers from wrestling over
the Darmah every time they spotted a "Winding Road Next 10 Miles"
marker, for here lies the 900's true stomping ground and there are few bikes of
equivalent size that can match its expertise in the canyons. Attribute it to
engineering, experience or just good quality, but the fact is: the Darmah
instills confidence in nearly every movement and is capable of making good
riders even better. Steering, although somewhat heavy in slower corners due to
the 900's long 60-inch wheelbase, is always neutral and precise, the racebred
Ceriani front forks and Marzocchi rear shocks keep the Darmah tracking true and
straight and when the shock springs are set in their stiffest position they
boost ground clearance enough to use almost all the rubber on the sticky
Michelin tread pattern. As can be expected, the Brembo triple-disc brakes are
indicative of a thoroughbred racing machine: a little sensitive, but ever so
powerful. We were impressed with the Darmah's performance character in every way
except one: high-speed handling, which is supposed to be Ducati's greatest
virtue. If you can believe it, our Darmah had an occasional wobble in high-speed
(90-mph) corners. We're not sure why either, but it was definitely the bike's
own doing because in each case the road surfaces were mirror smooth. In spite of
this shortcoming the Darmah radiates an aura of excitement and magnetism the
other three Italians simply don't have.
You're in Sierra country now. The giant Sequoias perfume the air. Living
fossils. Except for here in California and one 600-acre patch in China there are
no more Sequoia redwoods. The Ice Age killed them off. You stop and look at the
trees, each one a colossus. You're an intruder in this forest. You can feel if.
On the bike, riding here you could feel how the air changed-got cool and moist
as the western shoulder of the Sierras hunched and caught the rising sea air.
Only here is the weather just right, the lay of the land positioned just so, and
the Mesozoic survives. Your boots crunch in the dust as you walk back to your
motorcycle from the base of General Sherman, the world's mightiest tree.
On you ride to the mightiest geological formation of all Yosemite, a valley left
in the wake of a glacier that won a shoving match with solid rock. Someday it
would be nice to see at something less than 80 mph, but it's getting dark, and
one of man's piteous obligations is to arrive at a motel room at the appointed
hour, lest it become someone else's haven for the night. The bikes with quartz
lights have the advantage over treacherous Tioga Pass, a scary place to be in
darkness. The Benelli's howl, amplified by rock walls everywhere, makes all the
riders smile.
The Italian with the most standing-still appeal was unquestionably the
six-cylinder Benelli 750 Sei. It received more stares, gawks and pointing
fingers than a Hollywood transvestite on roller skates. It had onlooker's gazing
in wonderment and understandably so. When a man like Benelli's president,
Alejandro de Tomaso (famed for his sleek-looking Ford Pantera) sets about to
build an exotic two-wheeler, you can count on something extraordinary.
Throughout our ride people were repeatedly saying, 'Hey look, Benelli makes a
six cylinder too; which is indicative of how much people really know about the
Benelli six, for the 750 has appeared in the states (although in limited
quantities) since 1975, long before Honda's CBX ever reached the production
stage.
Design-wise and appearance-wise it compares most notably with Honda's 500 four,
having identical bore and stroke (with a 50-percent mark-up, naturally), a
forged plain-bearing crank, insert bearing-rods, a single overhead camshaft and
valveclearance adjusters built into the rocker arms. It's much simpler than the
sophisticated CBX, but since it has undergone relatively, little change in three
years it has become somewhat outdated. It still uses mechanical ignition points
and whereas the slimmed-down CBX engine measures just 22mm wider than a CB750,
the Benelli is a full two inches wider. But we found the extra width didn't
interfere with rider comfort, nor could we ever grind the wide cases during hard
cornering and Lord knows we tried valiantly.
The Benelli possesses one sparkling trait only a multiplicity of cylinders can
provide: smoothness. Unlike four-cylinder designs which have power impulses at
every 180 degrees of crankshaft rotation (the impulses consequently meeting but
not overlapping), the six has a power impulse at every 120 degrees to provide a
power overlap of 60 degrees. The result is a quick-revving engine that's as
smooth as silk throughout its powerband. And the exhaust note? As
potent-sounding as any Ferrari ever hoped to be.
Performance-wise the Benelli is deceiving: the three Dell'Orto carbs (each carb
feeds two cylinders with the outboard intake manifolds being angled inward for
knee clearance) provide instant revs, making the six sound like it's tearing up
the pavement, but in reality it'll get blown-off by anything healthy like a
Suzuki GS 750. But it sounds threatening and that alone is enough to keep its
rider bursting with pride.
The Benelli was without a doubt the most versatile of our Italian contenderssort
of a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Its slick-shifting gearbox, smooth
clutch engagement, compliant suspension and surprisingly torquey engine made it
a nifty city slicker, and yet it motored effortlessly and smoothly down the
highway, the engine spinning just 4400 rpm at 60 mph. Like the spirited Laverda
and Ducati, the Benelli's banana-like seat lacks sufficient padding, but this is
the only deterrent to an otherwise pleasant touring package. When the going got
fast and furious, the Benelli didn't take a backseat to either the Laverda or
the Ducati, although manipulating the 548-pound mass over lowspeed snaking roads
required a more aggressive and skillful rider—one willing to use more muscle
(and daring) than finesse. Benelli front forks and Sebac rear shocks do an
admirable job of maintaining the Sei's composure through winding high speed
sections and we found its cornering ability was hampered only by a lack of
ground clearance. Just when the Benelli would get the Ducati in its sight and
was ready to pounce, it would start grinding away the undercarriage— sidestand,
centerstand, pipes, everything. We wouldn't want much more lean angle anyway
because it's questionable whether the Metzeler tires could handle the task—they're
adequate, but nothing superior.
The Benelli was the only Italian with a drum brake in the rear, and although the
Sei never hurt for brute braking power (the Brembo dual discs up front are
flawless), we found that a little caution was required with the rear, especially
when downshifting and braking simultaneously. The sixcylinder engine has a lot
of compression braking and a tendency to skid the rear tire if downshifted
abruptly. And, during one prolonged downhill pursuit, where the rear drum never
received a breather, it faded and became useless. Compared to the space-age
Honda CBX, the Benelli seems like a silver-haired veteran. But it still offers
exclusivity and sweeping individuality—and these are obviously major
priorities for those considering ownership of an Italian two-wheeler.
You struggle with routine maintenance in the dank shiver of morning. A funnel is
too bulky to pack, and a newspaper makes a bad funnel. The oil spills. The
Laverda, brand new, needs half-a-quart after 778 miles. The Benelli takes the
other half. What's required to adjust the Ducati's chain is preposterous. The
Guzzi, also brand new, but with shaft drive, needs no attention.
There is a road called Sonora Pass. In half-an-hour the scenery switches from
grazing cattle to towering young mountains embellished by patches of snow. They
have shapes like continents on a map. You ride toward what man considers the
mightiest thing on all the earthgold. The Mother Lode. The fuse which triggered
the California explosion. Sonora. Angels Camp. Sutler's Mill. Placerville. Some
of the nuggets weighed 10 pounds. The miners of 1850 probably would have traded
one for the A&W root-beer float you sip.
Across the border in Nevada you wade through Reno traffic. Just as it becomes
unbearable an engineering marvel looms to the left. The Geiger Grade. The street
racer's Road Atlanta. You get on the gas and charge for 13 miles. The odor of
blistered brake pads and crackling hot engines is pungent. Emerging from a blind
turn, you gasp as fear bolts through your body. A police roadblock. God, they've
spotted you from the air. It's over. "Hello boys. You all traveling
together? We'd like to welcome you to Virginia City. It's a big weekend here,
lotta tourists, so you better park in the designated motorcycle lot-that's next
to the police station. You can stow your gear inside. There's lots to do in town
so have a good time".
It wasn't over after all. Nice, but you never want to feel that feeling again.
Virginia City harbored the Comstock Lode, a prolific vein of silver which
financed much of the Civil War and the building of the Central Pacific Railroad.
Mark Twain got his first newspaper job in Virginia City. Adolph Sutro built a
6-milelong tunnel to drain the mines. You ride up a dirt road to the tunnel
entrance and take many pictures using Sutro's mining relics as a background.
An hour later on Lake Tahoe's casinoriddled South Shore, the mood is quite
different. Hustle. Bustle. Lose. And Booze. The next day is a 500-mile nonstop
ride home. Everybody wants the Guzzi.
Maybe the Laverda, Ducati and Benelli are too blatant for your taste—too rash
for your body. Maybe you desire combining comfort with performance. If so, Moto
Guzzi's V1000 G5 might just mesh with your personality. The G5 is brand new to
the Guzzi line-up and like the Darmah, it fills an existing gap between the
850-T3FB (their 5-speed economy model) and the V1000 L-Convert (their most
prestigious touring mount featuring the twospeed automatic transmission). It
offers Guzzi enthusiasts the styling and touring appeal of the automatic, the
power of its larger 948cc powerplant, but also the manual shifting of the T3PB's
5-speed gearbox.
Most of the G5's major components (engine, transmission, frame, brakes, wheels,
etc.) were picked from its two sister models, however the G5 has some old
features revamped and some new ones added. For instance, the T3FB's manual
transmission has been beefed-up to handle the increased engine displacement. The
instrument cluster, which is busy as a 747's, features new lights for better
visibility. Beneath the speedo resides a newfangled console housing the
tachometer and ignition switch. New-fashioned handlebars with a flatter bend
await the rider's hands. The 6.6-gallon fuel tank has received a locking gas
cap. The gearshift linkage is now interconnected with ball joints for easier
shifting. The T3FB's police-type floorboards have been discarded in favor of
sportier footpegs. The front crashbars (they like to refer to them as engine
guards) have been reworked to afford better cylinder protection. The seat has
gained a new railing in the rear, and last but not least, in response to many
complaints, Guzzi has redesigned the standard-equipment saddlebags with lids
that allegedly allow easier accessibility. New or not, we could never get them
to lock and the lids were a pain to shut properly. Yes, you should plan on
replacing them; and yes, a windshield is available as an accessory.
Guzzis have always been labled as one of the most uncompromising motorcycles
ever created. They excel highly in certain areas and fall flat on their face in
othersthere are no in-betweens. As in the past, most of the controversy centers
around the G5's push-rod OHV 90-degree V-twin engine and its accompanying
drivetrain. Design-wise the engine has obvious virtues: (1) It cuts a slim
profile for slithering through traffic. (2) It carries its weight low which
compliments handling. (3) It offers gobs of torque over a wide powerband and
good gas mileage that's beneficial to touring. (4) It affords simplicity along
with dependability. But it has one major imperfection: It lacks sufficient
counterbalancing and therefore vibrates not necessarily at steady cruising
speeds, but anytime the throttle is whacked open at relatively low engine rpm.
The whole bike shudders for an instant, shaking the handlebars and mirror, and
then disappears almost completely just as quickly as the revs rise. This we
could tolerate, but the G5 also displays the usual Guzzi antics when under
acceleration (such as torquing to the right and raising the rear end). Add to
this a "clunking" gearbox that refused to downshift smoothly at slower
speeds and we realize why motorcycle cops riding the Guzzi marque can't wait to
get home and kick their cat.
While its feasibility as a care-free commuter has a lot to be desired, its excellence
on the open road is unparalleled. When our staffers felt their bodies crumbling
from the torrid pace, they invariably i turned to the Guzzi for relief. With its
deep-pile seat, Cadillac-type suspension and high overall gearing (at 60 mph the
engine was quietly cruising at 3600 rpm), the G5 eats up mileage like an overdue
Greyhound bus. And although the G5 doesn't have the acceleration or top speed of
equivalent 1000cc machines (even the Benelli matched its swiftness), it wasn't
meant to; its virtues are a torquey engine, the ability to carry lots of weight
easily and guaranteed comfort.
The G5, like past Guzzis, comes with their unique "integral braking
system" in which the front-brake lever controls the right-front caliper and
the rear-brake pedal controls the rear caliper and the left-front caliper. When
the rear pedal is depressed, a proportioning valve allocates about 35 percent of
the fluid pressure to the front caliper and 65 percent to the rear.
It's designed to eliminate "human error the kind that has riders
applying too much rear brake and not enough front, too much front and not enough
rear, or just too much so the wheels lock up. It's a little unnerving at first
to apply the rear brake and have the front end compress, but the more we rode
the Guzzi the better we liked the braking system. And we don't know of any other
bike that will stop hard in a panic situation (without skidding either tire) by
simply applying the rear brake.
However, for a machine of its size, weight (a whopping 574 pounds) and obvious
touring status, the G5 totally amazed us with superior handling. It was easy to
see why the Guzzis receive as much praise as they do criticism. Most of it could
be attributed to the excellent damping from Guzzi-built front forks and rear
shocks. Although the softly-sprung suspension would seem to imply a wallowing
and reckless canyon performance, there is no such occurance the suspension snugs
enough for solid tracking when put through the twisties. Steering is near
neutral (although it understeers slightly at slower speeds and requires some
body english to initiate turning) and combines with a low center of gravity to
make the Guzzi feel more agile than its size would dictate. They don't fudge on
the tires either; the Pirelli Gordons (the Gordon has a softer compound than the
Mandrake and also a faster wear rate) supplied excellent traction. Like the
Benelli, the Guzzi only needs additional ground clearance (the sidestand and
centerstand touch too easily in left handers) to make it as good a handler as it
is a tourer.
Conclusions are quite simple. The Italian
motorcycles carried us 1600 miles, safely, without a single breakdown (except
for the Laverda's Japanese tachometer bracket). We had an amazing amount of fun
throughout and experienced confident performance (especially handling) that
eludes many other brands. In return we had to put-up with little aggravations,
some of which, inexcusably, have been around for years: The Laverda's tricky
sidestand, hard seat and sticky gearbox. The Ducati's leaky engine, terrible
seat and difficult shock-spring adjustment. The Benelli's scraping sidestand,
poorly-padded saddle and fading rear brake. The Guzzi's hopeless saddlebags,
tricky switches and lunging drivetrain. The Japanese would have such problems
solved in a matter of months. The Italians...well, who knows. Unpredictability
in their quality control, dealer network, parts availability, etc., is really
the only taint they have. As motorcycles they are fine.
Sometimes the unpredictability is exciting; right now Benelli is rumored to be
producing a V-8; and probably some Italian firm now turning-out cheese cutters
has plans for a boxer twin. Or maybe a flat six.
So, why buy one of these machines? You could get near equal performance from any
equivalent Japanese marque and still have enough money for a down payment on a
cemetery plot. You could. But, just like you may not want a cemetery plot, you
may not want a Japanese motorcycle. You want something different. Why? Because.
Just because. These days you've got a swell choice of non Japanese motorcycles.
You can get a Harley-Davidson, which is nice if you like Harley-Davidsons, but
which if you don't is just an old-fashioned V-twin. You can still get a Triumph,
which is nice if you like Triumphs, but which if you don't is just an
old-fashioned parallel twin. Then again you could buy a BMW, which is nice if
you like BMWs, but which if you don't is just an old-fashioned flat twin.
Which leaves... the Italians.
Background
LAVERDA
You 'don't see that many Laverdas on the road in the States. In fact, there are less than 2000 in the country. But Moto Laverda has been making motorcycles since 1949 when it marketed a 75 cc fourstroke which had the gearbox built into the swingarm. The company is famous in Europe for its endurance road racing successes. In recent years Laverdas have won the Oss 24-hours, the Zandvoort 6-hours, the Barcelona 24-hours and the Bol d'Or 24-hours at Le Mans, as well as achieved numerous victories elsewhere to establish an enviable record for what is really only a small division of a large company. Moto Laverda is part of an industrial group privately owned by the Laverda family, with no outside shareholders. Laverda is Italy's biggest manufacturer of agricultural machinery, and also makes travel trailers. Located in Breganze, 60 miles northwest of Venice, the Moto Laverda factory is a large, modern automated plant only a few years old. Two-hundred and fifty employees turn out about 4500 motorcycles a year, most of which go to satisfy domestic demand. The family directorship is firmly commited to making motorcycles and plans to expand its production facilities—and exports—in the future. Laverdas were at one time exported to the U.S. under the American Eagle brand. Since July of last year the Yankee Accessory Co., Schenectady, New York, which introduced Bultaco, Ossa and SWM American riders, has been the United States distributor.
BENELLI
The Italian government is not happy when any private company begins to flounder: unemployed workers marching in the streets can make political and social edifices sway sickenlngly. So when grand old Italian motorcycle maker Benelli staggered into the ropes a few years ago the government tapped Argentine entrepreneur Alejandro de Tomaso to work some resurrecting magic. The first result of de Tomaso's hand was the six-cylinder 750 Sei, introduced at the end of 1972. But Benelli has been making motorcycles since 1920. By the late Thirties the company was producing superb racing machines which could rev to 9000 rpm. In fact a DOHC 250 single won the Isle of Man in 1939. Benelli prepared a supercharged DOHC, water-cooled, four-cylinder 145-mph 250 for the 1940 season, but war came and the machine was never raced. After the war, Benelli continued to compete in racing and in the 1960s was a major challenger of the Japanese GP steamroller. In 1965 a Benelli four trounced both Honda and Yamaha's best at Monza in one of the most fiercely contested matches of that era. Today Benelli, which concentrates solely on making motorcycles, employs 600 workers at its factory in Pesaro, about 100 miles from Bologna, who build about 30,000 machines a year. Until recently the U.S. distributor was Cosmopolitan Motors, Hatboro, Pennsylvania, which had been importing Benellis since 1962. Now it is the Santa Ana, California golf cart company Rivlex Industries, which has close personal connections with Mr. de Tomaso.
MOTO GUZZI
Moto Guzzi, which has a factory on the shores of Lake Como outside Milan, earned its bread and butter supplying the Italian constabulary and military with two-wheeled transport for decades. During the war Mussolini's neo-Roman legions coursed through Africa on big Guzzi singles. In racing Moto Guzzi has been a force to be reckoned with almost from the day it began making motorcycles in 1921. In fact, the first Guzzi, an inlet-over-exhaust 500 single, won at Targo Florio the year it was introduced. By 1924 an OHC four-valve single had won the Grand Prix of Europe at Monza. An OHC V-twin took the Manx Senior TT in 1935 and by 1940 the company was racing a blown 500cc triple. In the early Fifties Guzzi raced an in-line four with water-cooling, fuel injection, shaft drive and twin overhead cams. By the late Fifties the company was campaigning a DOHC water-cooled 500cc V-8. In 1957 at Spa Francorchamps this machine was clocked at 178 mph. That was the peak of Moto Guzzi success. As Italians grew prosperous and bought cars the company fell on hard times. Now de Tomaso and the Italian government have their hands firmly on the handlebar grips of Moto Guzzi for much the same reasons as they do Benelli. Today Guzzi V-twins have found favor with U.S. police forces and touring riders, and have done well In production racing. The company seems firmly back on its feet. Berliner Motor Corp., Hasbrouck Heights, New Jersey has been the American importer since 1964.
DUCATI
Berliner is also the U.S. distributor for Ducati, which they have been bringing into this country since 1957. Ducati Meccanica is not primarily a motorcycle maker, but earns much of its revenue manufacturing stationary diesel generators and diesels for ships. None-the-less, the company has just completed construction of a new factory in Bologna to produce not only the V-twin roadster we are familiar with, but also motocross machines, and expects to export more bikes in coming years than it has recently. Ducati first started making motorcycles in 1950. With its capital stock partly owned by the Italian government and the Vatican, the company had enough money to market a line of 50 and 65cc motorbikes and a 175cc scooter right from the start. In 1956 Ducati became famous when it introduced a 125 with a desmodromic head. In an astonishing display of reliability for a new model, the machine won its class at that year's Barcelona 24-hour Grand Prix d'Endurance. Soon a 175cc version of this bike appeared and quickly became Ducati's biggest seller. In 1960 the 175 won the 24hour Barcelona race ahead of the works BMW 600, a truly remarkable performance. In 1962 the company introduced a 250 desmo, the Diana, which could hit 104 mph. In the early Seventies Ducati unveiled its 750cc OHC V-twin, the prototype of which promptly romped to victory at Imola. Over the years this machine has grown to be a 900, and one of the finest sporting motorcycles you can buy.
Italian Connection
a Benelli 750 Sei, Ducati 900 Sport Desmo or Darmah, Laverda 500 Zeta and Moto Guzzi V 1000 G5
MOTORCYCLIST / DECEMBER 1978
Database