DUCATI SCRAMBLER?
In this standalone article, our own Pip Higham tells us the tale of this rare Ducati Scrambler. Well, at least we think it is!
Or is it? Find out more in a one-off Pip Higham build.
have one bike in my shed that appears to fire a few people up; it’s funky and (though I say so myself) it’s somewhat unusual, it’s a 1958 Ducati Scrambler... or is it?
A few years ago, about the time I was getting quite badly infected with ‘monoalbero-itis’ (see last month for details) I consumed and absorbed every bit of literature I could find relating to small-ish Ducatis. Nothing wrong with that, it’s the same for FS1-ES and Bridgestone GTRS; their owners want to acquire knowledge and I get that. One such tome was the Mick Walker book Ducati Singles Restoration and on page something or other there’s a picture of a strange bike I’d never seen, it’s a 175cc scrambler produced by the factory in very limited numbers to get a few selected riders on their bikes in countries where Ducati were desperate to expand sales of their ordinary road bikes. I think the factory was indulging in a bit of toe dipping, the bikes couldn’t hope to compete with the various two-stroke offerings from European niche manufacturers and the Ducati quickly sank without leaving a dent. Now here’s the thing, this lack of success meant that the surviving bikes became somewhat sought-after. For me this presented a challenge, I’d never be able to buy one, so, the next best thing, I’ll make one. As I researched the bikes that had survived it became apparent that no two were alike, they had different tanks, frames, engines, mudguards; you name it: they seldom matched. My decision was to make mine along the lines of one beautiful example I’d found in the USA. I quickly realised that this task wasn’t going to be easy. I would have to make mudguards and brackets, hubs and brakes, a seat and (most tricky of all) a new fuel tank. This was a real job-stopper, I can’t make fuel tanks, but I do know a man who can. At about this time I was making the plug for a front mudguard out of five big pieces of sheathing ply and a huge cast iron flange (another time maybe) and Ken Halliwell (for it is he) was in usual Scouse jocular mood – that means ripping the urine out of me at every and any opportunity. Grasping the nettle I asked him if he’d ever considered creating a tank for a little scrambler. He just
laughed and continued his aromatic, glassfibre resin induced badinage; I went back to my plywood. A few weeks later and I receive an email from Ken with a picture of what appears to be a squarish wooden box with a vaguely-tank shaped impression in it, the attached note just says: ‘Will this do?’ On closer examination I thought it would and asked Ken to work his magic! I’d already decided that I was going to do this thing. I’d already started on the frame and here I’d enlisted another long-standing mate who possesses special powers to modify the frame in a couple of areas, the most notable being the twin loops that run below the engine. They are pretty much the signature of the Scrambler but perform an essential chore, stiffening up the frame to deal with any stresses induced by riding over VW Beetles or whatever they did back in the day: check out Mike Bast in Freebie And The Bean for a giggle and you’ll get my drift. Dave Lord tigged in the tubes after I’d bolted in a gash set of cases to make sure that everything was perfectly in line. We also added loops at the rear and modified the battery carrier. It might seem strange to see a battery on this style of bike, but this was a period of change and the bike was constructed as a road-legal critter, much akin to the F3 175 sold by Ducati at that time which also had lights, horn, the works, even though it was marketed as an out-and-out racer. As I said, these were rather unusual times. And now the wheels, oh my gosh: I initially prepped a pair of wheels with new spokes, rims and 19in tyres built around stock Ducati hubs, but at this stage I was getting in deep and I decided that if the project was going to make it I had to put in the extra time and create hubs and brakes that looked the part. I could blame Ken’s FG resin for this aberration but in reality I simply jumped in, sacked the beautiful pair of wheels that I had spent a not-inconsiderable fortune on (try buying a pair of 19in 36 hole Borranis, that’ll wipe the smile off your face) and set to on a mission to find something that doth not exist, i.e. none, anywhere and that’s it. But, on close examination, I found a few very early Japanese motocross manufacturers that might conceivably have looked at Ducati’s offerings and thought ‘Oooh those are nice.’
The ones I eventually chose were ancient Yamaha. After scouring dozens of scarred, cracked, battered examples I eventually found a pair in a breaker’s in America but these arrived and went straight in the bin, the bearing location in the rear was shot and the front had more cracks than the Calgary stampede (come on, catch up, cracks? Whips? Okay?). The answer came closer to home than I’d anticipated at D&K in Stoke. They came up trumps and theirs were in very acceptable shape. Now then, this isn’t a blag: I pay for all my parts, they’re just nice people. Having got the basic lumps that might one day be the hubs I needed, I set to hacking, milling and otherwise ruining a perfectly good set of components. I estimate that I spent in excess of 50 hours on the two brake plates, hubs and rear sprocket carrier. They ain’t perfect, I know that, but I don’t think they’re too bad... and they all work! Similarly the mudguards have a very characteristic look, all stays and brackets, but with attitude. With the front wheel laced, new rim, spokes (again) I turned to the front mudguard. Now I know you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet the one, but I was running out of options fast here and then I found the perfect (well I think it’s perfect anyhoo) front blade. Just the right radius and a slender section too, oh did I mention that the mudguards had to be aluminium: ’cos they do and this one is. On re-reading this I realise that I simply haven’t made any mention of the process of fabricating the mudguard brackets, at the risk of sounding like a bit of a smart-arse I made all the mudguard brackets using a vice, a drill and a hacksaw, oh, and a great deal of time and foul language. The rear too was a puzzle but after a search I was able to match the tyre radius and create the correct clearance twixt tyre and muddie: simples! The rear shocks had to be original Ducati pieces with aluminium shrouds; I’d been collecting a few as and when I could and was able to build a really nice set. They’ll never match the supple action of a set of Hagon’s finest but they are correct for the task in hand. With the chassis on its wheels Ken pitched up with a tank in hand for a trial fitting. He never ceases to amaze me and the tank with all its curves and shape looked lovely, I was truly humbled by his commitment to my daft project, so a big thanks to Ken. After a dry-build and a trial fit of the cycle parts I had to make a seat, I did this by cutting lots of cardboard templates for the seat base. It goes without saying that you can’t pick one of these up from your local friendly Ducati dealer. To give the seat enough strength to stand a bit of abuse I fabricated a fairly deep flanged section that runs round the complete seat, much welding and sanding later and the base was finished, slender but tough, a bit like Bertie. I then looked no further than Steve ‘Lucky 7’ Adams to cover the bum perch and as usual he did a great job. I do have reservations about the ribbed cover and I might re-do it in a plainer vinyl at a later date, so I’m not sure about that one, we shall see. With all the various brackets and fittings finalised Dave Bennet at Nipro blasted the steel bits for me and Pete Priest and I spent a morning deciding on the paint configuration (that tank is pretty swoopy) and the colours. While Pete was completing the paintwork I carried on collecting the many small parts that help create the final offering. As usual Barry and Angela at Classic Ducati came up with lots of hard to get bits and John and Barry at LMPS polished the aluminium bits. I’m not a lover of mirror finished alloy and especially not on this semi-utilitarian scrambler bike, so I’ve opted for a softer sisal finish for the fork bottoms, hubs and side covers. You might notice that there’s
no battery fitted and you’d be right. I’ve converted it to 12V and it has a pair of capacitors parallel mounted under the seat. Coupled to the regulator-rectifier these work a treat, I’m still trying to find a slim SAFA battery case to fit in the carrier but so far, no luck, the search continues. And how does it go? Well courtesy of a fresh re-bore and a Kawasaki piston it feels fresh as a daisy. I’m pretty meticulous about running minimal piston clearances and the ‘modern’ GPZ750 Kawasaki piston) sourced from Dave Marsden and Phil Alford at Zed Power (think I might have been gifted this as a swap for a couple of welded fins, thanks chaps) allows the clearances to go a bit more skinny than the original 50-year-old Italian piece. I also spent a lot of time getting the valve and seat relationship spot on. If you have an ancient four-stroke and you get the above mechanical issues cock-on you’ll have a bike that starts and idles well, assuming that the carburetion is similarly well fettled. I have spent more time in the last 40 years peering at pilot jets and unravelling emulsion tubes than I care to recall. The Dell Orto SSI fitted on the Scrambler has received attention to all the important bits and critically to the needle jet and needle combination. The bike starts easily, even with my crocked legs and settles down to a relaxed idle after a minute or so, on the road it bobbles along on the Maxxis knobblies, they’re noisy but you’d be hard pressed to notice as the bike isn’t exactly quiet! I think that on a smiles-per-mile basis this little bike takes some beating, the riding position is great, the ride (despite the basic components) is amazing. The quality and precision of the Italian manufacturers of close to 60 years ago shines. Would you want to go to work on it on a damp cold morning? Nope. But for a scamper around on a warm summer evening, oh, bring it on.