THE CONTENTS PAGE
Two Triumphs. And aren’t they about as different as you can get! Great start to the new year
more to do with marketing than engineering, offering no drastic improvement in performance although the extra mid-range grunt made it worthwhile. Worth having but not transformational, and definitely not directly competitive with mid-capacity Japanese bikes of the time.
And so to the Lario’s Achilles’ heel, well ‘heels’ actually. In 1985 the press suggested that as the Lario was basically the same as the earlier Vs then it should have the same reliability. Unfortunately this did not turn out to be the case. There is no debate that the four-valve Guzzis have valve train issues, and the V75 probably has more than the others. For the 650 and smaller machines these woes usually manifest themselves with a dropped valve when approaching the 15,000 to 20,000 mile mark – sometimes sooner and sometimes (rarely) not at all. Camshaft damage can happen even sooner and snapped cam lobes are not unknown.
There are many theories and not many four-valves, but a common view is forming among those owners who are committed to engineering a permanent solution. Based on these views of folk more knowledgeable than I, and in my opinion, there are two key problems. Firstly, the valve springs are over specified: a V75 spring requires over 50kg of force to compress it. Secondly, the V75 springs (and maybe Lario, I’m not sure) are within 1mm of being coil-bound at full valve opening. The result is that not only do many four-valvers drop valves but they also ruin camshafts and followers. The hypothesis is that the strong springs place huge pressure on two-piece welded valves and that coilbound or near coil-bound springs at high revs transmit hammering forces through just two pushrods, trashing the cam and followers. Simon Howers stripped his V75 after just 3000 miles and found the cam and followers badly damaged.
Other factors may contribute to the problem, such as insufficient oil mist condensing and dripping onto the rockers due to a reduced finning cast inside the rocker covers, which leads to overheated valves; mushrooming of valve tips due to slightly offset rocker gear, and inadequate external finning leading to high head temperatures.
Most agree that Guzzi did not fully understand the root causes. In 1986 they made some upgrades to the Lario range, including a cam with lobes increased from 12 to 14mm wide, lash caps for the valves and different valve springs. Some owners think this is the solution, others believe it’s a bodge, citing trashed bikes that have the later mods. There is no common view. Regardless, for Guzzi, it was too little too late. Favourable launch reviews became distant memories as the bikes attracted a tarnished reputation. Guzzi’s historical reputation for quality and reliability was undermined by insufficient rigour in the design and testing of the fourvalve head, and production ceased in 1989.
One wag observed that the V50 was the first V-twin small-block and it was pretty good – and they’ve been developing worse ones ever since. That’s a bit harsh. The Lario has its problems but it is a faster, better handling bike than the V50. However, the extra oomph comes at a price not everyone will be prepared to pay.
Should you get one? It’ll probably always be a niche bike and only Guzzi fans are likely to be tempted. It’s worth taking on if you like a challenge, connecting with other owners and specialists, and working to resolve its issues to fulfil the Lario’s original potential. For me, it’s refreshingly different, with real
design innovations that Guzzi were once famed for; a pushrod four-valve engine is a technical novelty worth celebrating. If the valve train can be made reliable it’s also an exciting middleweight sporting prospect with 9500-10,000rpm redline potential. If you’re a spanner-happy masochist who appreciates 1980s styling and the colour red, then you might want to buy one.
If so, how much do they cost? When new in 1984 a V65 Lario cost £2899, an 850T5 £2999 and a Le Mans 1000 £3999. The Lario was the most expensive small-block and only £100 less than the T5 big block offering. At the time, a Honda CBX750 cost the same and a CX650 was £500 less. These days, a decent, original Lario can be had for about £17002200 but, like all small-block Guzzis of that era, prices have been increasing recently.
RECOMMISSIONING
I bought this bike a couple of years ago, having looked for a good one for several years without success. It’s a very early bike from 1984, restored about 15 years ago and little used since. At around 30,000 miles it had dropped a valve, trashing the head, piston and barrel. A subsequent owner spent a lot of time and money fixing that and fitting Suzuki GN250 valve springs, one piece stainless steel valves and matching machined guides. Bear in mind there’s more Kajagoogoo original vinyl for sale on eBay than Lario piston and barrel sets.
It arrived in autumn and so was recommissioned over the winter, a job that proved more taxing than it should have been. Everything was straightforward but seemed to take twice or four times as long as it should have. The linked brake system, the same as on my V35, caused a number of issues, the most irritating of which was the Magura front master cylinder. I’ve spent a lot of time fixing and bleeding this cursed component to an MoT standard. Rebuild kits are no longer available, so to cure the piston leak I needed to transfer seals from another kit that has a piston of the same diameter.
Then the lid leaked, and after trying several different lids and seals without success, I finally sealed the sod with a light smear of silicone, but its braking action is still pretty poor. The preferred solution is to get rid of it and the switchgear and replace the hand controls wholesale with a set from a Le Mans. This is expensive and requires rewiring, so I’ve not done it and persist with the existing assemblies. The back brake would not bite and it took me a long time to realise I had bled it properly, and just the linkage needed adjustment.
The V65 also had its share of electrical niggles; most surprising was the MoT fail due to a Euro spec (left hand dip) headlight. Fortunately, it came with three headlights, one of which was UK spec, so it was just a matter of changing it. This took an age, removing the nose cone and fitting and aligning the beam which remained at about half a candle power.
Taking on someone else’s restored bike can be a mixed blessing. There is much that is good and shiny but also some weird stuff, like the rear brake caliper that should be attached with Allen bolts from the outside to the disc cowl that holds two captive nuts. The nuts are beneath the rear disc. On this bike the nuts were of the chrome domed variety and were on the outside of the caliper, meaning the only way to remove the calliper without removing the wheel and disc was to split the caliper. I thought my bodges were odd but this one was baffling.
One of the bigger recommissioning jobs required the removal and rebuild of the bevel drive with new oil seals and, while I was at it, re-greasing the drive splines with moly grease. Bevel drive seal leaks are common, and come from its two oil seals, one large diameter seal on the inside and a small one on the outside. Changing them is one of these dark arts that often people are happy to farm out to a specialist. If you are simply changing seals and not changing cogs or reshimming then it should be straightforward enough with a set of gaskets and seals from Gutsibits, a few photos to remind you of the assembly order, some Loctite and a torque wrench. It’s usually the big seal close to the rear disc that goes, and you’ll need a puller to get at this, but no other special tools. The leak can be as a result of corrosion on the
hollow shaft which the seal runs on. If you’re changing it, remove any surface corrosion or you could be facing the same job again sooner than you think. Removing the small, outer seal requires a blind bearing puller.
Once back on the road, the speedo gave up the ghost. This uses the same drive on the front wheel as many other small blocks – a Veglia gear drive that relies on a steel tank sitting between the spokes and being rotated by the wheel. The tangs snap over time, and many running repairs have been done, including cold soldering on a bit of a sardine can because new units were expensive… but no more. Nik’s Euro Bits on eBay sell a new ring / tang piece, so if the rest of your speedo gear drive is OK it is quite simple to replace it. The trick is to find the circlip that holds on the ring; it is there but you’ll need specs to see it.
Finally, those allegedly ‘difficult to obtain’ 16” tyres. The rear was badly cracked but Metzler coughed up a replacement to my local fitter no problem. You don’t get a lot of choice but then perhaps that’s good news.
TAKEN FOR A RIDE
Almost every rebuild story I read ends with ‘and she fired up first time.’ While I salute the expertise of those involved it creates an element of envy among the less mechanically adept fraternity in which I find myself. As I left the house, the Lario lay in wait, leaning sharply on its suicide stand, ready to do its best to not start (again) or simply fall over. While recommissioning the V65, it has had me sweating and cursing many times when it refused to combine stored energy, petroleum vapour and high voltage electricity in a productive way. Now, finally, after many false starts and a lot of new, expensive and quite possibly unnecessary parts, it is getting predictably reliable. This is its starting sequence:
Open a fuel tap, pull the choke lever out, then do it again because it’s sprung closed, unbidden
Repeat at least twice, avoid fluster as others may be watching. Achieve a state of lever stability and then turn the key clockwise
The dash lights illuminate with an unconvincing glow of green and red that makes you regret buying that cheap eBay battery
Take a breath, squint at the rev counter and push hard on the red square on the righthand control. Hear the worrying mechanical grating from within and then, amazingly, it fires first or second time
You need to catch the revs and keep them up while releasing the choke lever part way – tricky as the thing only has open and closed positions. It’s all a bit contorted and a faff, but after 30 seconds or so it can be controlled on the throttle alone without threat of stalling.
The first impression is the loud gnashing from the top end. It’s loud, louder than other Guzzis or airhead BMWs, but then there are four valves in there, moving just two pushrods, so perhaps a lot of chatter is to be expected. Given the valve dropping habits I suppose hearing them chatter on start-up should be pleasantly reassuring, but to avoid complete distraction and paranoia once underway, ear plugs are a good idea. Did I say what lovely looking rockers they are? Perhaps this is where the design budget went. Hopefully there’ll be a photo.
First gear is one down on the left side and no different to any other small-block Guzzi. A good bit of foot pressure and release the clutch, then pull the clutch as first engages. The rest of the gears are good, and it’s simple to change up or down and even find neutral. Pulling away, keep the revs low to let it warm up and escape the built-up area for a nearby back road. Broad Scots pines and silver birch line the route with a lithe strip of tarmac
squiggling away ahead. Open up the throttle, not explosive but a solid shove of mid-range torque feels good and you can easily be at 70 or 80 without really trying very hard. Jinking along the gentle swoops of the road, the Lario tilts with ease while always feeling rock steady. There’s some good sucking noises from the induction system and a reasonable thrum from the exhaust that help immerse your senses in the ride.
The riding position, which requires a winch to extract less supple riders, is fairly sporty, with legs pushed quite wide around the tank, feet a bit back and arms stretched forward to the wrist-wrenching clip-ons. The bars can be adjusted – but only so far, because my nemesis the Magura master cylinder fouls the nose fairing as the right clip-on approaches something like a comfortable angle. The seat is a steel-based item, an original replacement (note the red piping) sourced from Italy, and despite the apparent thinness it’s comfortable if you can tolerate a modicum of genital compression under heavy braking. As the first real corner approaches, a dab of the foot pedal actuates the linked system, quickly retarding progress without any need for the third disc up front.
Countersteering to the right, the bike leans, maybe slightly easier than my V35 but not a big difference. Perhaps the narrow clip-ons cancel some of the effect of the small wheels? Roadtesters in the 1980s reckoned it was worth persevering and applying a little care and premeditation to get the best out of Lario cornering, with which it was possible to flick it about quickly, changing line at will. Given the machine’s extreme angle of lean when fully banked over, it could be held off on a late approach and heeled over at the last minute.
You can really feel the nimble chassis; the small-blocks are well suited to these narrow lanes where I found my old Le Mans a bit of a handful. Now onto some good straights alongside the river and past the sawmill. Well warmed, the engine feels more eager to pull, although any real shove is all over by 6500rpm. For more it would need a less restrictive exhaust taken from the Le Mans, or the super-rare unbaffled Lario Lafranconi Competizione.
Time for your pre-loaded foot to slip the next cog in. That was fun, and for a while the Lario’s problems and mine are forgotten as we work together to run up this familiar test path. The speedometer waves at me giddily and I smile back, while the rev counter’s more sober needle suggests it is the better guide to actual speed. The twin shocks are firm, the forks quite springy and nose dive substantial when braking hard. Did I change the fork oil? I really must check.
We’re 30 minutes in and heading home at a comfortable 70 and therein lies the rub; my bottle’s going as the umbilical stretches. Many a Lario sits in its owner’s shed, immobile, such is the consequence of a dropped valve and the difficulty and expense of sourcing replacement parts. My own tolerance is gradually increasing as the miles pass and, as we approach the final straight, I open it up fully, confident I could coast home if needed. Yet I’m reminded of pushing it back from the MoT station. It might be quite light compared to some but it’s heavy enough.
Back in the garage, looking on with a cup of tea. Is it a baby Le Mans? In some ways yes, in appearance if nothing else. But the Lario is more of a backroad Le Mans. It lacks the loping muscle of the bigger bike for long hauls, but has the punch and stability to make a decent all-rounder. Combined with its nimble ways it’s a proper backroad hoot!