1978 Moto Guzzi Le Mans vs. 1980 Ducati 900 SS
(Page 3 of 4)
July/August 2008
Story by Neale Bayly; Photos by Tom Riles and Neale Bayly
The bars feel narrower and more slanted than I remember, as I think I had the adjustable Tommasellis on my Le Mans set differently. With a strong, progressive pull on the heavy clutch lever, the Le Mans drops magically into first gear and chuffs off toward the track like a steam train, making its way through the memories of my youth as it pulls me along.
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At low rpm the engine feels flat and unresponsive, and I remember that nothing much happens below 4,000rpm. Increasing my speed out on the longest straight, the next excitement is working out how to use the brakes at the end. With the front lever operating one of the single 2-piston Brembo front calipers, the rear brake pedal works the other front caliper in combination with the rear. For maximum stopping power a heavy foot is required, something that is counter-intuitive for me on a track. Once I muster the courage to really stand on it hard though, I find the brakes are remarkably strong for being 1970s vintage.
Before riding the 900 SS or the Le Mans, my money would have been on the Ducati to come out as my favorite. But cranking on the throttle and hustling to stay ahead of Aaron, who is now riding Shane’s Magni we tested in the January/February 2008 issue, the tide is beginning to turn. Spinning the big pushrod twin up past six grand invites more throttle, as the power increases without any sign of tailing off. Pulling all the way past 7,500rpm with stout authority, I find myself getting more aggressive as I work my way around the Summit Point track.
Diving into the downhill left, wincing at the scrape marks still visible from my little faux pas on the Ducati earlier, I hammer the throttle down toward the fast left-hander. Inducing some serious pitching and rolling, I indulge in some internal debate where I reason the chances of spinning the rear tire are slim, so I keep it pinned and ride out the waves. Accompanied by the sound of the big pistons sucking air through the plastic bell mouths, and the blood-curdling howl from the Magni MV that is hot on my tail, it’s the most amazing ride. With things happening a little slower on a vintage bike, the stage is set somewhat differently than a modern sportbike, but there is no less concentration needed to go fast.
A handful of laps later, I am growing relaxed enough on the Le Mans to make a committee decision to pull in before I get too far off the side of the 120-series rear tire. In reality, I am still being somewhat tentative and confirm for myself that I was indeed a raving nutter in my youth, as I remember thrashing my Le Mans on public roads. Enjoying one last lap on the throbbing beast, I savor each and every moment before rolling off for the last time. With Aaron pulling in behind me, we find Shane sitting on his Ducati, and peeling off my helmet, I am grinning from ear to ear.