One time, I was riding my Laverda and...

OneTwenty

OneTwenty

New member
I've been trying to sell my old RGA Jota this year, after 35 or so years of owning it and that process has drug up a lot of memories of the things that have happened to this motorcycle and the ride that I was taking on it.

I'm starting this thread to catalog all the amusing stories I have about owning and riding my bike over the past few decades, because the damned thing is going to go away soon.

You should not hesitate to add your own story of riding a Laverda. I would maybe ask that we keep it to "One Day" stories; stories that take place in a single day.

Just an average day as an average Laverda rider.
 
Well, to kick things off (no pun intended) I recall in my early years of Laverda ownership, and a period of youthful irresponsible riding on my Monty, literally kicking the bumper off a transit van when we met in the middle of a blind 90 degree bend. I was riding to the white line and unfortunately so was he.
I stopped in the next village for running repairs to my little toe on my right foot before continuing on my way to an ILOC track day at Mallory Park, and then the local hospital to have further repairs to my foot.
Generally speaking, an average day in the life of a Monty owner, but I still wince a bit when I think back about the incident.
 
I'll start out with something simple, and early

I was riding my RGA 1000 Jota... and it must have been in the first few months of ownership because the Sprint fairing was still on and I was at a gas station on Huntington Avenue in Boston.

I must have been on my way to the Larz Anderson museum to show off my new Laverda to the curator of the museum; a nice lady who had sold me my very first motorcycle (her beloved KZ650), which I promptly crashed the shit out of in Vermont.

Doe-Eyed, Pie-Faced, 19 year old ingenue that I was I foolishly thought that my brand new bought high performance European motorcycle could just roll up on any random gas station anywhere in the world and put down a kickstand and rule the neighborhood. I swaggered away from the bike to make a phone call, and heard a splat. That thin, scratchy, barely audible splat. I knew what it meant. It meant that my brand new high performance wicked orange bizarro motorcycle had just keeled over and was tits up in the gas station on Huntington Avenue.

Lesson learned: I hate a Laveda RGA kickstand. Too long to keep the bike stable, and really what other job does it have to do? I parked on the center stand from then on. I have hated my Laverda kickstand for as long as I can remember.

Also; I love a Laverda kickstand, because there's a spring that retracts it when you forget to. My contemporaries were dicking with interlock switches that killed the ignition module and such; I was like, I have a spring. Never take off with my kickstand down. Can't be done. Falls over in parking lots.
 
Well I was living in the ACT Australias capital at the time where I met my life mate Tom (the wrecker) we were taking off down to the coast on the brown mountain for the weekend a brilliant road on our Jota's it was probably about 1983.
Before we took off I told Tom that I had been booked 3 times in 3 weeks and couldn't afford another booking so I was going to try and stick to the speed limits (yeah Yeah).
We took off out of Braidwood and Tommy Boy was setting a cracking pace, I eased back a bit stuck behind a car and Tom shot over double yellows egging me on for a great scratch, but no I stayed behind this f---ing car doing 40 km/h spare me kilometer after kilometer I stayed in behind this bloody slow prick, I couldnt take it anymore and shot the breeze winding the old Jota up and punted out over the double yellows only to greet a highway patrol car directly in front of me coming over the crest as I was now in his lane aaarrrrggghhhh FFS I couldnt believe it on came the lights and after quite a while trying to persuade the officer not to book me I copped another bloody fine and used the last of my points.
As I was delayed with the law for some time I took off down to Batemans Bay where Tom had been waiting for a while and then giving me a spray for being a dawdler.
I was quite subdued for the remainder of that weekend (well for a little while). Both Tom and I still have these Jota's
 
Andy J said:
Well, to kick things off (no pun intended) I recall in my early years of Laverda ownership, and a period of youthful irresponsible riding on my Monty, literally kicking the bumper off a transit van when we met in the middle of a blind 90 degree bend. I was riding to the white line and unfortunately so was he.
I stopped in the next village for running repairs to my little toe on my right foot before continuing on my way to an ILOC track day at Mallory Park, and then the local hospital to have further repairs to my foot.
Generally speaking, an average day in the life of a Monty owner, but I still wince a bit when I think back about the incident.
Click to expand...
I'm not reading how that story is driven by your bike being a Laverda. Did the Montjuic contribute to your experience in some way; some peculiar thing that only a Laverda could do?
 
mauricejota7604 said:
Well I was living in the ACT Australias capital at the time where I met my life mate Tom (the wrecker) we were taking off down to the coast on the brown mountain for the weekend a brilliant road on our Jota's it was probably about 1983.
Before we took off I told Tom that I had been booked 3 times in 3 weeks and couldn't afford another booking so I was going to try and stick to the speed limits (yeah Yeah).
We took off out of Braidwood and Tommy Boy was setting a cracking pace, I eased back a bit stuck behind a car and Tom shot over double yellows egging me on for a great scratch, but no I stayed behind this f---ing car doing 40 km/h spare me kilometer after kilometer I stayed in behind this bloody slow prick, I couldnt take it anymore and shot the breeze winding the old Jota up and punted out over the double yellows only to greet a highway patrol car directly in front of me coming over the crest as I was now in his lane aaarrrrggghhhh FFS I couldnt believe it on came the lights and after quite a while trying to persuade the officer not to book me I copped another bloody fine and used the last of my points.
As I was delayed with the law for some time I took off down to Batemans Bay where Tom had been waiting for a while and then giving me a spray for being a dawdler.
I was quite subdued for the remainder of that weekend (well for a little while). Both Tom and I still have these Jota's
Click to expand...
Hmm, maybe I'm not sure what I'm after here, with this thread. I just wanted to tell silly stories about owning my Laverda for a couple decades.

There's shit that happens on bikes, and then there's shit that happens only on Laverdas.

I want to tell you all stories that happened to me only because I had a Laverda; and I want to read the same.

Not something that happened to you while you were riding your Laverda, but something that happened because you were on a Laverda.
 
I've got shedloads. But an early one was deciding to race my street SF1 in Perth, Western Australia. C-grade, 21yo total novice, first ever race. Beat a green frame (passed under brakes ... forget trying that on the stock Super Freni!!), came 4th just behind a Rickman Kwaka 900. Probably turned a few heads. Reckon a lot of people had assumed the SF was an overweight parallel twin slug before that.

Viva Laverda!!
 
Sorry I didnā€™t quite get what you were expecting from your original posting.
But asides that considering I was scratching my way to a Laverda club track event on an ex-IOM TT Laverda race bike - no doubt trying to emulate the exploits of PK Davis et al - and incidentally, I didnā€™t own any other bike at the time of the experience, it only happened because I owned a Laverda.
 
Thanks, Andy.
You've reminded me of a qualifier:
Back in the days before noise regs., I used to do a lot of trackdays on my Laverda.
One time at Mallory Park, possibly my favourite circuit (before they f***ed up with the rumble strip at the John Cooper esses), I was having a dice with Pete Stratford, who was riding Alan Bell's Spaceframe Triple. It had better acceleration down the straight than me, but I reckoned I could outbrake him into Gerard's, which I did.
All the way round, I was waiting for him to show his nose as we came down the main straight, again.
Sure enough, about two thirds of the way down the main straight, I glimpsed an orange fairing coming down the outside.
"I know I can outbrake you, here. I know I can outbrake you, here!"
Suddenly, I realise I'm passing my braking point, so I took a better look.
I was trying to outbrake PK Davis on an OSJ!
"Oh, Sh.."
Following him round took two seconds off my subsequent lap times, though.
It could only happen on a Laverda,...
 
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Riding along a twisty single carriage road on the Mirage and came up behind a coach.Lots of stuff coming the other way so had to sit there for a while waiting for a chance to nip by.
Due to this I was probably closer to the offside of the coach than I would normally be and in a lower gear/higher rev situation.
Then it was a Do you ever get the feeling your`e being watched-I glanced up at the rear window of the coach and realised two old dears in the back seat had turned around and were staring/glaring down at me.It seems that Luciano Zen`s attempts to eliminate the rocking couple had penetrated the coach and woken them up.This stare of death business continued unabated for the next mile or so until I finally got the chance to get by.
Another time I caught up with a Jap Harley wannabe cruiser type bike,a Honda Shadow I think,and being in no particular hurry tucked in behind and followed him for a while.I started to notice that every twenty seconds or so he would glance up at the sky for no apparent reason.This continued until I pulled up alongside and he looked across and realised with a grin that the sound had been coming from behind him,not above him as he thought.This impression of a low flying aircraft at 3/3500 rpm only really works with the 180 engine,by the way.
 
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Pulled over with Steve battison to swap bikes. At that moment the hell's accountants rode past. I said to Steve, may as well wait here a while to let them get away. Steve yells back FUCK THAT, and takes off on my bike, overtaking Harley's left right and centre. Ok, here we go! Overtook around 50 very angry accountants....
 
One of the first rides I did on my 3c was in 1988, a mate invited me on a thing called a Poker Run. I just tagged along as I had no idea what it was or who was running it. My one and only time doing this. So you do a particular route and along the way pick up playing cards at stops and whoever has the best poker hand at the end wins prizes. So I arrive at the start down near Lunner Park, the old original Amusement Park on Sydney Harbour to the MOST amazing bunch of classic bikes I have ever seen in one place, MVs Vincents Boroughs Indian 4s and approx 100 or so others. So off I head, first port of call is Alambi Heights past the at the time called Spastic Centre, probably a different name now. It was a great bike road, now spoiled with roundabouts. Back then a bunch of great sweepers up the hill. By then I was surprised at the pace of some of these bikes. Next was the back way to Coal and Candle Creek, approx 20ks of linked 35k bends through a National Park, great road. That's when TROUBLE happened. The weather turned nasty with a sudden thunderstorm and massive rain. I decided it was time to head home quick. So that's about an hours trip, but the problem I had was with this pissing down rain I had discovered for the first time how bad the front discs were when very wet. Didnt matter how hard I pulled I virtually had no front brake. So that left the rear only BUT I had recently converted to a much more direct cable application left foot brake that was REALLY touchy. Adding to that I had fitted one of the first generation dual compound Bridgestone rear tyres that had a hard compound centre section. So that's no front brake and a rear brake that would lock with a bear touch. That ended with me tiptoeing home shitting myself every time I needed to stop. In the next few weeks had me swopping brake pads for better-wet action ones, not 100% better and adding much stronger rear brake return springs to soften its power. I was really happy I didn't bin it that day but there was a few rear step-outs with locked rear brakes that had my heart in my mouth.
 
News Years Day 1990.
My head was splitting, my mouth dry, the smell of bacon and sausages cooking on the bbq beckoned me out of bed.

Staggering out to the back yard, my fellow revellers cheered and clapped as I came into view. ā€œFuck offā€ was about all I could muster.

The day before, new, very cute 24 year old blonde girlfriend decided to jump on the 79 Jota an ride from Melbourne to Phillip Island for a party.

It pissed down rain, all the way, and what was a clean and shiny Jota was covered in road grime.

But, the party was great.

I was just tucking into breakfast, and someone announcy the cops were waiting across ā€˜the bridgeā€™ getting those who partied hard and thought theyā€™d drive home.

Fucking brilliant.

At 1:00, I decided it was time to go, or start on the beer again.

we get across the bridge, sure as the Pope is Catholic, we get pulled in.

Blow in the bag ā€¦.. lucky.
Cops all over bike, while checking out my pillion.

Unroadworthy sticker on headlight, and then the cops say to take the bike over to ā€˜those guysā€™ fuck me EPA.

They do a noise check, the 3/1 was deemed too loud.

Cops and EPA chat, come back to me and hand me a ticket. Driving an unroadworthy motorbike, consisting of: No chain guard, no mirror and excessive noise. They missed that it had no indicators.

Back in Melbourne, I looked at the ticket. As a footnote, cop had written

ā€œGorgeous blonde girlfriend to wash dirty bikeā€
 
Sorry One Twenty.. nothing worse than an editor wanting the story 'just right'.... However, perhaps one about the time we got pulled over by the Highway Patrol..
We were on a long ride and old mate Steve had asked me if he could have a ride on the Argy, he of the younger generation, and me to ride his modern Triumph tourer.. so away we go and sure enough I'm binged about 50 ks later by the plod.. Steve comes along and parks about 30 mtrs down the road.. once plod has finished the routine, he proceeds to sit in his car doing the paperwork and Steve tells me that all is well but.. "can I have my bike back.."
So, of course I agree, but as we are about to go he finds me squatted down in front of the Argy fairing.. (quiet toke before we crack on..) Old mate freaks.. "what are you doing..!!" "be cool" I tell him, "Argy fairing is the best in the business.."
And away we went..
:cool:
 
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