Buying guide: Laverda Jota

Forget Ducati 900SS, Honda CB750 and Moto Guzzi Le Mans – come the mid-Seventies you needed a Laverda Jota to be top dog. And beginning in Italy, the Jota was really born in England

The big man, the don: but is a Jota easy to live with?

IT WOULD HAVE been the summer of 1980. I was at an agricultural show in Devon, because that’s what teenagers did in Devon for weekend entertainment in 1980. You went to an agricultural show, looked at tractors, and then retired to the bar where the licensing regulations were purely advisory. Inexplicably there was a motorcycle dealership with a stand. Not just any dealership either, as the bikes they brought along were a bit special. There was a Benelli 750 Sei, a Ducati Pantah and a bright orange Laverda Jota. And the dealer did not mind people sitting on them, which was another surprise as at most of the dealers I knew of, just looking at a bike closely was tantamount to jumping on board and riding off. I tried the Benelli for size and I decided it was just, well, silly. The Pantah, on the other hand, fitted me perfectly. And then I sat on the Laverda, for a very long time indeed. It was mesmerising. It was huge, too. It felt amazing but also a bit terrifying. Even teenage enthusiasm wasn’t enough to convince me that this motorcycle wasn’t an angry and uncontrollable animal, and that if I actually rode it, it would try to kill me. Fast forward 40 years and I’m up close and personal with another Laverda Jota at Somerset Classic Motorcycles, and this time I’ve got the keys. Originally from Italy, then shipped to Herefordshire for Jota-ising, and then Belgium, and back to the UK, this Mk.II Jota was as impressive as ever. There is something very special about the way it’s been put together. There are sturdy in-house made cycle parts and topquality components. Electrics from Bosch, twin front discs from Brembo, Marzocchi shocks and Nippon Denso instruments. The engine is huge, with big fins and sandcast casings, a pair of camshafts and a bank of three 32mm Dell ‘Orto carbs. There’s not a lot of slim elegance about it. This is a heavyweight champion, not some lithe middleweight, but it’s Ali, rather than Tyson. And the quality of the build stands out.

For the rider of an older British bike there were familiarities with this 1977 model, including a left-foot gear shift and a hefty but manageable clutch. The presence of the thing is what stands out. I’m a lot bigger than I was in 1980, and the Laverda fits me a lot better now.

The adjustable Jota ace bars make for a comfortable riding position. This is a surprise, as I’d expected it to feel a lot more of a handful. Not that it wasn’t. Engage first gear, slip the clutch and the massive amount of torque from the 180-degree triple takes over.

Legend had it that the Jota’s crank, with two outside pistons rising and falling against a single central piston made the Jota vibratory. On this Jota, there was nothing of the kind, which might have had something to do with the rubbermounted foot pegs, or simply the way it has been looked after. The machine had a fine, though non-standard, red paint job. Whoever put this particular machine together really knew what they were doing. Starting a Jota usually requires choke and a closed throttle. Get too much air in and the engine will resent the lack of go-juice. Give it too much throttle and the Dell ‘Orto’s will enthusiastically squirt fuel in, flooding everything. On this one there was not a moment’s hesitation.

There is a tall first gear, which means everything starts off in a grumbly fashion until I get to 3000rpm and the grumbling turns into a snarl; things then start to happen very quickly. There is a change up, then another and things blur into the background. The important thing is to concentrate on the stretch of tarmac ahead, keeping an eye open for bumps and preparing to hit the bends. To my surprise the Jota knows exactly where it is supposed to go. Riding it becomes instinctive. Keep it in third – all that is really needed on the country lane route – and think your way through everything from then on. After a slightly wobbly start, the motorcycle and I come to an understanding. If it trusts me, I can trust it. It does not have the “hang on tight and crack it open” feel of a big Jap four. Rather, you need to concentrate, while at the same time let it feel as if you know what you are doing – even if, like me, there was a tiny, but nagging feeling I was faking it. Some riders like to move about a lot in the saddle, throwing things this way and that. For me, a more classic, keep the knees tight into the tank, ‘shut up and hang on’ style seems more appropriate. Off the sweeping curves of the former A-road, things are a little heavier in the nadgery. Doubtless on better roads with better bends, clambering all over this marvellous motorcycle to use every inch of the remarkable highspeed handling and every ounce of its power would have made it even more impressive. Personally, I was more easily impressed by the sheer quality of the thing. It is a bit heavy to heave about from a standstill weighing in at 550lb, as I discovered while shoving it back and forth to take pictures, and I certainly would not want to commute on it. Anyone capable of chucking one around city streets has bigger cojones than me, that’s certain. But after this regrettably brief encounter, I did feel that the Jota and I had come to something of an understanding. I respected it, and it was prepared to put up with my initial nervousness. Some motorcycles fail to live up to their reputation. The Jota’s reputation is if anything, understated. An heroic motorcycle, and up there with Black Shadows and Gold Stars. If you ever get the chance, ride one. The only regret is likely to be felt by your bank account.

LAVERDA’S FIRST STEPS INTO LEGEND

Laverda had a reputation for engineering excellence long before the arrival of their big triples. Laverda started turning metal into machines in 1873 when Pietro Laverda began making farming implements, wine-making machines and bell-tower clocks. The first motorcycles were made in 1948 – these were watch-like 75cc machines with castings made in Francesco Laverda’s kitchen, with the help of the splendidly named engineer Luciano Zen. More of a hobby than a serious business proposition, Laverda kept making a few bikes alongside farm equipment and parts for jets and helicopters until the late 1960s. Francesco’s sons, Piero and Massimo, worked with Luciano to develop a 650, then a 750 parallel twin and a prototype SOHC triple which never made it to production.

THE TRIPLE ARRIVES

The SOHC triple became the basis for the 981cc 3C, an oversquare DOHC triple with the single cam chain running between the second and third cylinders and a 180 degree crank, the two outside pistons rising and falling together, creating an off beat throb at low revs, which disappeared the faster you went. It was a world away from the only other mass market triple on the

market, the OHV Triumph Trident/BSA Rocket 3.

The first 3C, revealed in Milan in 1971, had a sturdy double cradle frame with substantial bracing and Laverda’s own SLS front drum brake. Suspension was from Ceriani, with the rear shocks near vertical and the rear end looking very similar to the SF750.

There was a Bosch electronic ignition system, which was quickly changed for a better-quality

Nippon Denso unit, and the clocks also came from Nippon Denso and could be seen on big Hondas.

This marked Laverda apart from other Italian manufacturers, who stuck with locally made instrumentation despite its dubious quality. The paint was well applied too, in another not terribly Italian move, and even the chrome would stick to the metal, for a while at least.

The 3C could easily top 125mph. An updated model, the 3CL had Laverda’s own cast wheels, the L in 3CL standing for lega, Italian for alloy. There were three Brembo discs and a tidied up rear end, featuring a tail fairing. Even in stock form, though, the 3CL was the bike to beat, with a tested top speed of 133mph.

In the UK, Slater Brothers had already established a reputation for top-notch engineering, building Egli-framed Vincents under licence. When the 3C arrived, Roger Slater got to work on it, fitting higher compression 10:1 pistons and racing cams. Development was not limited to the engine, and fork yokes from the endurance racing SFC750 were used. The bike had higher foot pegs, a single seat, a racing chain and a very noisy exhaust system that increased performance by 8bhp.

Massimo Laverda agreed to supply a factory-built version as the 3CE, exclusively for sale in the UK. Laverda sent the bikes to the UK without silencers or an exhaust box, and they were fitted with the Slater Brothers exhausts. Calling them silencers was pushing it, a bit. The result was christened the Jota, after a Spanish dance in three-four time.

Making around 90hp, it was the first production motorcycle timed at more than 140mph. A Slater Brothers Jota was entered into the Avon Roadrunner

“Legend had it that the Jota’s crank, with two outside pistons rising and falling against a single central piston made the Jota vibratory. On this Jota, there was nothing of the kind”

“The Jota’s reputation is if anything, understated. A heroic motorcycle, and up there with Black Shadows and Gold Stars. If you ever get the chance, ride one. The only regret is likely to be felt by your bank account”