Rebuilding and reviving the motorcycle of my youth
*Editor’s note: Many of us recall a motorcycle from our younger years that we wished we’d never sold or that we had rebuilt, and could ride again in our current years. For Neale Bayly, it’s a prized Laverda 1200 Mirage. In this 3-part series, we journey with Neale from his earliest experiences with this incredible motorbike, through loss and neglect, and the resurrecting of a dream. And the journey continues. Let’s ride along with Neale on his adventure with the dream bike of his youth.
In early 1981 I rolled into the town of Colchester on a well-worn Yamaha XT 500, flat broke wearing a leather jacket, a pair of thread bare jeans, and just a bag of clothes on my back. As I pulled over in the high street to get my bearings, it happened. A bright orange Laverda Jota fired up a few hundred yards away, filling the high street with the most blood-curdling roar as the owner blipped the throttle to warm the engine. Watching transfixed as he then climbed on, clicked the snarling beast into gear before dropping the clutch, and taking off with the most intoxicating cacophony of sound I had ever heard. Winding the big triple up close to red line in first gear before letting off to slow for the traffic light, the noise the big Laverda made on the overrun was as equally stunning as it snorted and backfired in the quiet English afternoon. Slack jawed, I quietly kickstarted my old thumper to life and headed off to find the work I’d been promised, planting and cutting lettuce, peppers and tomatoes. The reason I had decided to ride 350 miles cross-country with barely a penny in my pocket. It wouldn’t be glamorous, but it would beat the months of indolent unemployment I would be leaving behind in my hometown of Paignton, South Devon.
Rewind from this Laverda encounter for a moment, back to Paignton a year or so earlier, and I was in the saddle of a ratty old Honda SL125. Unemployed, close to penniless as usual and scrounging money for tea and petrol, life was a hard scrabble affair to stay riding, keep some food in our bellies and more importantly to stay stoned. At this time there was a small street in a shady part of town that was home to an underground motorcycle repair shop. Literally, as it was like a cave hollowed into a big retaining wall for a block of houses above. It was owned by a real biker, Nick Roskelley, a man no less. Nick was a Brit Biker to the core and he tolerated us teenage Jap bike riders the way most people embrace mosquitos. It didn’t stop us poking our noses in from time to time, and I’ll never forget the sight I saw on Nick’s workbench one gnarly winter’s day.
A Slater Brothers Laverda 1200 Mirage
There was this big, black powder-coated frame and swingarm cradling this massive 3-cylinder engine with the heads and barrels lifted off. Paignton’s most famous bike builder was rebuilding a Slater Brothers Laverda 1200 Mirage. I lost count how many times I rode by and peered through the grimy windows of Nick’s underground lair, but slowly over the months this phenomenal beast came to life.
Finally it was built, and watching and listening to Nick piloting his raw Breganze triple around our town one day, the visceral engine howling through a barely muffled three-into-one race exhaust, brought on the most serious school boy crush imaginable. The Laverda, not Nick.
Some roofing work with my good mate Shearsy converted the Honda SL125 to a very clean Yamaha XT500 thumper. I loved that old single, as it was my first “big” bike, bringing me out of the ranks of the young plebes on beginner bikes. Unfortunately the roofing work dried up, the XT needed parts, and living in a seaside town all the seasonal work was over, so I loaded up and headed for Colchester. I would make my way for a friend’s produce farm in the east of England where I went straight to work for a guy named John Holmes, not the famous one, and soon learned he was the owner of a 1978 Moto Guzzi LeMans Mk 1. Apparently, he had abandoned the Guzzi after crashing it and injuring himself and it lay languishing in a shed, the seat up, the battery on charge, and covered in dust and dirt. Naturally, I was tasked with getting it back to life, but with an old beaten down XT500 and no money, ownership was a pipe dream in those early days.
Months later, after many long hours, plenty of side work, and some frugal living in my single-wide trailer, the Moto Guzzi was mine. I had arrived as a motorcyclist. It was a real, fire-breathing, Italian café racer, and I absolutely loved that old beast. I even bought matching red socks and a white silk scarf, but I’m not sure I should admit to that now.
The Moto Guzzi LeMans MK1.
With the growing season coming to an end and winter coming on, I hopped on the Guzzi and made my way back to Paignton for the winter and once again slid into unemployment. A brief stint as a pot dealer and moneylender yielded a shiny nearly new Honda CBX550, but the wheels were getting ready to come solidly off the wagon. Unfortunately the 950cc big bore kit I had put in the Guzzi, after it had blown it’s stock engine, repeated the favor, and a small incident with an oncoming car had left the CBX unrideable, unless of course you wanted to go around in left hand circles. Ooops!
So, broke and unemployed once gain, and now with two wrecked bikes, a new bike purchase was the farthest thing from my mind that bright sunny afternoon (I made that up as this story happened in England) when Nick came roaring down the road on that Laverda. Pulling over to chat he flashed his wicked grin and gave the Mickey Mouse bell a ring. I was on foot with a helmet so naturally he offered me a lift, and I finally got to experience the pull of a big triple for the first time. Of course the thought of ascending to the ranks of a machine such as the Mirage was so far out of my vision that I barely paid attention when he mentioned it might be for sale.
A chance to own the dream?
Owning the dream- the Laverda 1200 Mirage was mine. The stupid grin gives it away.
In fairly short order after that ride though, some roofing work materialized and some horse-trading with a highly tuned and extremely dangerous Yamaha RD400 saw me with a simple Honda XL185 for transportation. It allowed me to get cheaply to and from work during the day and deliver small quantities of hashish to the unemployed at night. I went full out to clear my mounting debts. Then on another bright sunny day (this one was real), I sold off the remains of my wrecked bikes and took out a new loan for the Laverda.
The Mirage was finally mine.
Over the next months I would fall in love with that cantankerous old beast, learn to shift with my right foot, and spend more money on petrol than I could ever have thought possible. I even used its presence to drag a few poor, unsuspecting young ladies home, where the thought of some damp, mediocre passion with yours truly seemed more inviting then climbing back on the seat of the Laverda. It’d best 120mph down the by-pass with two people on board, and crack 140mph on the speedo when ridden alone.
Ownership was not all a delight though, as the original Italian race exhaust blew off some 50 miles from home, necessitating an expensive replacement. Insurance was through the roof, and the aforementioned appetite for petrol was alarming. It chewed through the rear tire, often fell off the side stand, and the charging system left me parking on hills and bump starting for a while. But it never tainted my love affair with the angry 180-degree triple. Nick had built the motor strong and it never missed a beat, and as hard as I tried to break it, it kept rattling windows and scaring car drivers until I took off for America.
Stay tuned for more on the Laverda!
Neale
*This story was originally published by our friends at Revzilla, before Neale joined us at Road Dirt. Published with permission.
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Great article Neale! One of my favourite bikes, that I wished I’d never sold, was a Laverda Jota with the 180 degree crank. Best sounding bike I owned I think.