My oldest brother, Rob, lives in Vermont. Lush forests and picture-postcard dairy farms blanket the Green Mountain State, a mostly rural region favored by close proximity to major metropolitan and cultural centers like Montreal, Boston and New York City. Yet despite its obvious attributes, the state’s population growth rate stays quite low. My brother chalks it up to the area’s long, cold winters, which, he opines, naturally limit Vermont’s population, separating the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, as not everyone can abide the discomfort. Likewise, old bikes — with often sketchy ergonomics, sometimes indifferent mechanicals and questionable reliability — demand a unique mix of perseverance and a sort of defiant irrationality that combines to keep the herd of active riders in check. You don’t just fire up a 50-year-old anything and putter off without first tending to myriad checks to ensure said 50-year-old is actually in the mood to putter off. Or even start, for that matter.
You can’t own a vintage bike if you’re not willing or able to keep a step ahead of its repair and maintenance curve. That’s easier said than done if you’re lacking specific knowledge about whatever it is that needs doing. You might be willing, but the able bit becomes a bit harder. Although it’s true that many people actually pay other people to keep their machine(s) going, I’m not one of those people. I’ve never considered myself a masochist, but I consider old bike mechanizing, which can and often does involve a fair bit of banging one’s head against the wall, part of the fun of old bike ownership.
I used to favor British bikes, Nortons in particular, but the last few years have seen me trend German and Italian, with a pair each; two BMWs, along with a Laverda RGS and more recently a Ducati Paso. When it comes to working on them, finding info on the BMWs, especially the older of the two, my 1973 R75/5, is easy. Aftermarket manuals are still plentiful, and there are gigabytes of YouTube videos detailing one repair or another. And while the pool of info is shallower for the newer of the two, my 1995 K75, it’s almost inconsequential, because the K75 doesn’t appear to require much beyond oil changes and tires. Funny that; the K75’s user-friendliness is a virtue to most, but I’ve nicknamed it “The Appliance” owing to its overall blandness. I don’t argue that it’s a good bike. It is in fact a very good bike. It’s just that it’s not the kind of machine that inspires ambitious ownership.
The two Italians inspire — and demand — a bit more engagement. Over a roughly four-year span starting in 1982, Laverda manufactured an estimated 2,500 RGS models, with perhaps 10 percent, some 250, making their way to the States. Hardly big numbers. I have two (my daily rider and a second still in process), which means I have almost 1 percent of the total U.S. inventory. Unless you’re heading to a vintage Italian bike gathering, chances are you’ll never see yourself coming or going when you ride a Laverda. The same applies to my 1988 Paso. Although production was higher at just under 4,900 in three years of production, only half of those came to the U.S. My white “Limited” is one of only 50 made. With those small numbers, you’d be forgiven for thinking that finding technical and maintenance information would be challenging. It’s not. Compared to the 1983 Kawasaki GPz 750 I once owned, a bike built in the thousands and based on mechanicals built in the tens of thousands, finding solace in repair is actually quite easy. And counter to what you might expect, parts for my Laverda are not only still available, but compared to the GPz easier to find and cheaper.
Motorcycles such as Laverda and Ducati inspire an ardent audience of owners and, importantly, vendors who support the brand. The quantity and quality of information owners actively share to keep their machines running is disproportionate to their collective size. Bikes like these, designed by enthusiasts for enthusiasts, were built to satisfy the fringes of motorcycling culture, not the mainstream, a fickle body if ever there was one.
There is something indefinable about the allure of certain motorcycles. Mass produced motorcycles like Honda’s justifiably heralded CB750 Four and CB350 Twin, with 800,000-plus examples built between them over a 10-year period, reshaped motorcycling, changing it from an activity of the few to a leisure pastime for the masses. Small-caliber manufacturers such as Laverda and Ducati drew core enthusiasts to motorcycling not just as a leisure pastime, but as a central point of engagement and passion. And it is that engagement and passion that ultimately decides and drives our ability to suss out the information we need to keep our bikes on the road for years to come. Ride Safe.
Originally published as “Old Bike Mechanizing” in the May/June 2023 issue of Motorcycle Classics magazine.
