Only Sleeping
Only sleeping
LEANINGS
Peter Egan
NATURALLY, ON THE FIRST REALLY good day of spring riding weather this year—a record 78 degrees and sunny—I was not riding one of the bikes I actually own, but driving all day to look at a bike I don't own. Nothing ever changes. Windows open, elbow on door, I was cruising through downtown Chicago in my blue Ford van, headed for Indianapolis where a 1979 Moto Guzzi 1000 SP lurked in the back of a man's garage. Yes, the very bike whose attractions I mentioned in last month's column.
"Lurked" is perhaps the wrong word, as it suggests a certain readi ness. This bike was "located" in the garage, as Grant's Tomb is located in New York City. It had been, according to its owner, absolutely stationary since 1986. Twelve years. I wondered if centerstand steel could form a mol ecular bond with concrete, and mov ing it would be like pulling King Arthur's sword out of the stone. We'd see. "How," my friends would later ask, "did you ever find out about an old Guzzi in Indianapolis, 350 miles from home?"
The owner, I explained, sent an e mail to my friends at the nearby Moto Guzzi Cycle shop in Brooklyn, Wis consin, saying he had a silver-blue 1000 SP he'd bought brand-new in Denver in 1979, but it had been sit ting for a long time and needed a bat tery, carb cleaning, brake work, etc. Did they know anyone who wanted to buy an SP, cheap, with only 7700 miles on the odometer? A few days later I was on my way.
And breaking one of my own rules. I had vowed some time ago that I would never, ever, buy another motor cycle that could not be started up and ridden. There's too much mystery in a non-running machine. A motorcycle that starts, runs and shifts is worth twice as much, in my book, even if it needs rebuilding. At least you can as sess the extent of work needed. With a non-runner, everything is unknown.
Still.. .a Guzzi with 7700 miles on it. These bikes are notoriously over engineered and reliable. What could go wrong, unless the guy had run it out of oil? I decided to place an $1800 bet that the bike could be brought back to life.
It was the shortest transaction in the history of commerce. I found the owner's tidy suburban home, he lifted a blanket off the bike in the corner of his eerily uncluttered garage and I saw a dusty, unrusted and fairly straight SP. There were a few minor flaws. The centerstand had its side peg broken off, some minor fairing damage had been repaired around the right handgrip, as if the bike had tipped into a wall. A small dent in the tank had been painted over with a slight wave in the filler material. Otherwise, the bike was clean and
straight, and the engine turned over when pushed in gear. All the gears worked. The rear master cylinder (which controls both the rear caliper and the left front on Guzzi's integrat ed braking system) was mush, but the front master and right front caliper worked. The carb slides were stuck solid.
"Why did you quit riding it?" I asked the owner.
"I took up golf," he said. Fifteen minutes after my arrival, we loaded the SP and I headed home.
It took about one week of evenings and $120 in parts to get the Guzzi back to perfect running condition. I removed and rebuilt the Dell'Orto carbs, which were full of red granules of rust and fuel precipitate, checked the valve adjust (still perfect), installed an $18 garden tractor battery (which fits right in older Guzzis), cranked it for oil pressure, added gas and put the plugs back in. It started right up and ran fine. I also rebuilt the rear master cylinder and bled the brakes, changed all the fluids and gave the bike a thor •ough cleaning.
: .~UIIi~18• I've put 600 miles on the Guzzi in the past two weeks, and it feels like a brand-new, just-broken-in 1979 motorcycle.
This is the first Guzzi I've ever owned, and I confess to being pretty taken with it. The bike has a strangely seductive mechanical presence, with a great relaxed rhythm and heartbeat going down the road. It also handles remarkably well, turning-in effortless ly and falling through corners like a fighter plane peeling off into an at tack. It has a very low center of gravi ty and a low saddle, so you sit in the bike rather than on it.
The 1000 SP was Guzzi's answer to the BMW R100RS, a sport-touring take on the G5 with lowers, a windtunnel-developed upper fairing and short bars. It's nowhere near as fast or smooth as my old 1984 R100RS, nor as long and roomy for two-up touring. Nor did it come with builtin luggage. On the plus side, the SP is easier to work on, slightly better handling (or at least more re assuring) and a little nimbler and more fun to ride around town. The Guzzi also emits nicer exhaust sounds and has a harder, more direct and charming mechanical essence. Italian, you know.
It's a fun, honest motorcycle, and I'm glad now I used up a perfectly good spring day to go get it. Two or three times on that trip I almost turned around and came home, imag ining all the things that could be wrong with a motorcycle whose crank had not turned a single revolution since the year (according to my al manac) Platoon won Best Picture and Chernobyl melted down.
I was 38 when those pistons stopped in their bores, and now I'm 50. But with a battery and a splash of gas, the engine turned over and started running instantly, rocking itself gently in that measured, even beat that only Guzzis have. The abiding patience of forgotten motorcycles always amazes me.
